Chapter Text
It’s three in the afternoon on a Saturday, so of course Theo is at the gas station.
Gasoline, the heady, intoxicating scent of it, fills the air, and he absently thinks that of course he used to hate the smell. He used to hate a lot of things, or the idea of them. Now seventeen feels so old and so young at the same time - Theo is leaving for college, in less than a year, working after school and on weekends to put himself in a better financial position for it, something he couldn’t have imagined just five years ago. Now he sits behind the counter and rolls his eyes at customers behind their backs.
There’s a tremendous crashing noise from the back room. “Potter! Do not come back here - you will not like what you will see!”
“I never like seeing your ugly face,” Theo shouts back, because that’s just how they talk to each other, and because maybe there’s such a thing as spending too much time together. Class, free time, work.
Theo works at three in the afternoon on a Saturday, so of course Boris is at the gas station. Boris, too, has been working, had put off college for reasons that certainly weren’t Theo, but he likes to think he was a nice benefit.
He’s pretty sure Boris isn’t even supposed to come in for another hour, but he always seems to bribe someone else into switching, so Theo doesn’t think about it too much. He thinks more about how the gas station doesn’t really need two workers at a time. It’s easy money, besides the whole ‘working in retail’ shtick, so he can hardly complain. It’s weaned them off the harder drugs, too - they can’t come into work totally shitfaced, and they always have work.
“Okay, now come see,” Boris demands, “I have made back room cleaner than it ever was.”
It’s only been a few minutes, so Theo sincerely doubts that. Then again, Boris ducks back there for at least an hour every shift, ‘cleaning’. So far, he hadn’t thought much cleaning occurred at all.
“Alright,” he calls, sliding long-sufferingly off his uncomfortable swivel chair, already longing for the absent relief of propping himself up on the counter. “But I swear, if this is a plot to make me clean whatever you’ve broken -”
The door snaps open, inches away from slamming into his nose. Boris flies out of it. “Of course not! Well, maybe I would do this. But not today! Today is less plot, more pot.”
Theo eyes his coworker carefully. (He likes to compartmentalize like that, sometimes. The hilarity of calling Boris his coworker, especially to his face, helps him lose that ‘dour look’ that Xandra always pinches his cheeks over.)
Boris’ eyes are faintly bloodshot, his smile wide, his curls bouncing. He always looks prettiest like this, the edge taken off, in focus. Theo likes to make excuses so that he’ll take a hit first, so that he can see that glassy-eyed gleam while he himself remains temporarily sober, when Boris is less likely to ask him what he’s looking at.
“Are you high at work?”
There’s a long, considering, pause. Boris blinks at him. “Kind of stupid question is that? I have been high at work many times, yes?”
“Well, yeah.” Theo rolls his eyes, shifting to lean against the doorway. “But like. Sharing is caring.”
At this, Boris cackles, lurching forward to pat Theo’s cheek. His breath smells like weed with mint thinly layered over it, because Theo refuses to - to get near him, when he reeks. Because Boris leans too close, always, and gets in his space, and sometimes Theo -
Well, Theo knows what Boris’ tongue feels like in his mouth, and maybe more, and he feels less unclean when he tastes like mint.
But these are highly inappropriate thoughts to be having about a coworker, so he shoves them aside.
“I care for you, Potter,” Boris croons, rubbing his nose along Theo’s, so he shoves his stupid fucking face away and barges into the back room to get high.
That, too, has become routine, replacing long summer nights in which he’d partaken in enough alcohol to make him sick on a regular basis. At some point - he thinks maybe after his first year of high school - he’d sort of looked at himself. Not in the way he usually did, deep loathing for any and all of his actions, his entire state of being, but a little kinder. A little more like his mother would have looked at him, Before.
This isn’t forever, Theo had realized, staring at himself in the mirror, after a rare night in which they were just a little intoxicated rather than incredibly so. I am happier than I was a year ago, and next year, maybe I will be happier than this.
Then Boris had stumbled into the bathroom and draped himself over Theo until he’d finally agreed to be dragged back out - For what are you in here, Potter, do not tell me your tolerance is this low, come see Popchyk do a little dance. Then he’d stood Theo’s dog up on his hindlegs and swayed with him, cackling, pleased with himself, and Theo had thought nothing of simply watching him.
Idle recognition of that - that Theo liked watching Boris, that it made him happy to do so - hadn’t done much besides make him slightly nauseous, but it was fine as long as nobody knew. Perhaps Theo was watching him in a way that was less unfriendly than more-than-friendly, but that was his business, and nobody needed to know, least of all Boris or anyone outside their microcosm.
So now he was at his job, getting high enough that the monotony didn’t destroy his mind, and, as always, watching his best friend.
Boris had a few work habits that amused and pissed Theo off in equal measure, as if they were specifically designed so that Theo would let them go on as long as possible without his objectives actually being reached. He liked to create stacks of those canned chips, but he took it far enough that the stack always almost reached the ceiling before Theo told him get down off the counter, you’re supposed to be taking inventory, not being a child, if you fall and break your neck I’m not dragging you to the hospital, and I’m sure as hell not paying for it. Then Boris would shrug, as if he hadn’t cared that much anyway, and knock over the stack.
Theo hated when he did that, because it meant they then had to gather all the containers off the floor, but Boris usually waved him off when he tried to help, so there wasn’t that much work to be done. But while he stood on the counter - that Theo put his face on when he was too bored or stoned to function - and strained slightly to reach the ceiling - Theo was gaining on him, height wise, assisted by his new discovery of a thing called somewhat healthy eating habits - his shirt rode up. While Theo had discovered healthy eating, Boris had discovered the gym.
Mainly because he wanted to look nice for girls, but whatever.
He also liked to put licorice in his mouth and act like his sole goal in life was to convince Theo to remove it, preferably with his own mouth, but the one time Theo had almost done it, Boris had turned an alarming shade of pink and informed the store at large (empty, of course) that he was joking. Which Theo knew, of course, he’d just wanted Boris to admit it, and to stop fucking around.
It was typical of him to try and convince Theo to smuggle Popchyk into work, too. He’d even managed it once by sneaking into Theo’s room in the middle of the night to convince him via subliminal messaging. That hadn’t been annoying, at first, because Theo had been asleep, and hearing Boris’ voice had sparked a rather nice dream about the two of them going on a picnic, or something, and holding hands, and probably that wasn’t normal and he should get his head checked out, which could never happen because no one could ever know. But then he’d woken up, and usually, after a dream like that - him and Boris - he had to throw up.
Boris had been right there when he lurched upright.
So that, too, made the list of Boris’ infuriating misdeeds, but Theo couldn’t be too angry with him for any of them, considering they all had positives. It was also hard to be angry about the last one, because Boris had been thoroughly thrown up on, and they’d agreed to never speak of it again.
Theo sets his head on the counter, watching the door. The likelihood of any customers entering is low on a good day, and today has been slow in general, but that doesn’t mean he wants his back to the entrance. Even here, where he feels surprisingly safe, anxiety lurks over his shoulder. So too does Boris.
“You are tense,” he breathes in Theo’s ear, far too close and far too confusing. “Are you wanting any help with that?”
“What?” Theo jolts away. He’s had dreams like this, or maybe they were real, just made blurry by intoxication, but that doesn’t mean he wants to reenact them at work. Or at all, he tells himself firmly.
Boris grins at him. “I can make fun game!”
“Your ‘fun games’ usually end up with us owing our paychecks back to the gas station,” Theo reminds him, but he leans back against the counter, arms crossed. “Fine. What.”
“Am wounded by your tone,” Boris whines, still grinning. He winds a long arm around Theo’s shoulder, always close, close, close, as he’s been since he broke up with his most recent girlfriend a few months prior (and even before that, only now there’s something else in his eyes). “Could be harmless. Cards.”
“When have we ever been harmless?”
He wants to pull Boris in, close, close, close, the same way he does for Theo, but it’s always been so easy to be pulled instead of pulling. He’s been pulled to every major choice of his life, it feels like, and he’s not sure he knows how to stop reacting and start acting.
So he starts small, and doesn’t shove him off.
He’d usually have to be higher than that, to allow sustained contact for more than a moment, and Boris knows this - glances over, instead of down, like he used to. Swipes his thumb over Theo’s back as he pulls away in what might have been a twitch.
That’s fucking confusing, too, how Boris always seems so casual about touching Theo, about teasing, but now that he’s started to reciprocate, Boris doesn’t know what to do. Maybe it’s because they’re breaking those long formed boundaries of what Theo allows himself to do. Allows them to do, as… Them.
“Okay, plan is this,” Boris rumbles, low and pleased, as if his newest game is a secret. He lets his accent come through a little more, playing it up. Theo shoves at his face. “Ouch, great violence against me - listen, I will make funny faces behind the backs of customers, and you will keep straight faces.”
God, I wish, Theo thinks, then shakes himself furiously. “That’s so stupid.”
“Bah! You always say good fun is stupid. So. What are your true thoughts.”
His true thoughts are what he just said - Theo thinks this is mildly idiotic, and one of Boris’ ‘games’ are going to get them fired one day. But today, his eyes are big and puppylike, as if he’s been taking lessons from Popchyk, and he looks mildly biteable, because Theo hasn’t kissed him in so long - he’s been two steps from sober, half the time, and the rest he’s exercised careful restraint - so he thinks it’s well within his rights to agree just so he stops thinking about it.
A man in his late fifties enters the building, the small bell above the door sounding his arrival, and begins to peruse the snacks. Boris glances at him, then back at Theo, pleading. Whatever. Theo can’t even blame the mild high permeating his brain for what he does next, which is to swipe a thumb over Boris’ shirt collar, slightly stiff and very fake. They’d bought shirts specifically for work, because they thought dressing up a bit would bring more levity to it, but all it really means is that they’re overdressed for a minimum wage job at a gas station.
“Fine,” he mutters, releasing the fabric. Boris jolts back, somehow slowly, ungainly in his late-teenagerdom. He’s all sweeping movements and quick, awkward steps.
It’s not hot at all.
(Theo watches his tongue sweep briefly over his bottom lip as he walks away.)
Boris walks idly behind the man as he makes his way to the counter, purchases-to-be in hand, and winks. Theo almost rolls his eyes before remembering the name of the game.
“Just this?” he affirms, preparing to ring up the items. The man nods, and Boris stands up straight and mimics his stance. A hand on the hip, as if he’s a ‘nagging wife’, as some of the other men who come to the gas station like to complain about, fishing rods in their cars and beer in their hands. Just leave her, if you are hating her so much, Boris likes to say, once they leave, but Theo knows you shouldn’t stop doing something even if it makes you miserable. They were married, so it’s only right that they stay together, isn’t it?
That is not how love should work, Boris protested, solemn, that is not love at all.
Theo had shrugged, had said nothing, because he’s never had a girlfriend, so how is he supposed to know what love is? It itches him to think Boris loved - maybe still loves - one of the many girls he’s dated. It’s just another area that he feels left behind in, something he has to catch up to. If he can just get over whatever is happening in his head now, if he can fix all the shit that nobody should have to deal with, then he can think about love.
He presses the buttons on the register a little too hard, thinking about that memory, but remembers to look up and flash a smile when he offers the man his change. “Thank you for - shopping with us today.”
Boris is stacking chips again, only this time they’re in a weird shape, one not conducive to stacking. The man turns, sees the teenager making pyramids out of product, pinches the bridge of his nose, and walks out the store. Theo thinks that he must have children of his own.
“That wasn’t funny at all,” Theo remarks, idly watching the stack build.
“I was tired of that game,” Boris replies petulantly. “You were not even looking at me, so I did not care.”
He gives in to the urge to roll his eyes. It’s an ever present desire, around Boris. “What, you want my attention that much?”
The stacking never pauses. “Yes.”
“Okay,” Theo mutters. He sweeps a hand through his hair. God, it’s embarrassing, the way Boris can just say shit like this, like it means nothing. Like if the wrong person heard it, it wouldn’t fuck them both over completely. “Let’s say you had my attention. A hypothetical.”
That makes Boris turn, makes him abandon his chips. “Now you are thinking of a fun game.”
His eyes are dark. They always are, Theo knows this, but now they’re interested, and not in the you made a fun, platonic comment or even the we’re almost blackout drunk, and we should fuck around way. This makes him think of the wine dark sea of classics, of marble statues that make him feel equally lit up and ashamed. He lets Boris come closer, wrap a hand around his wrist.
We should make out, he almost says, to trivialize it, turn it into something they’ve done a million times before, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t say no, either.
“Am not hearing a yes, so we will just think of new game, hm?” Boris says, letting him off the hook.
Apparently, consent is sexy. That’s been the new thing, figuring out that okay isn’t yes when it comes to something like this, that some boundaries aren’t made to be pushed like others are. There are some things that they thought were okay when they were younger, and both a little more fucked up than they are now. Sometimes Theo still wishes Boris would kiss him without prompting, so he didn’t have time to think about it. But Boris doesn’t do that anymore, which is why they haven’t done… anything like that.
Theo has also realized he wants things, over the past year. He wants college, and to hold Pippa’s hand, just to see if it feels as shattered as he does, on the inside, and to smile at his dog, and to stop seeing his mother’s face in his dreams (but it kills him kills him kills him because what if that’s it, what if he forgets her face when he’s not seeing it before him, mangled, each night), wants to feel clean and correct.
But the simplest and hardest thing to want is Boris.
“No,” he says, and then, when Boris accepts this easily and steps further away, “No, I meant - come back here.”
Theo pulls him by the sleeve into the back room again, then drops it awkwardly.
Boris raises an eyebrow. “Inventory?”
”God.” Theo puts his hands gently on Boris’ face, watches his pupils expand slightly. “Kiss me.”
“Oh,” Boris whispers, and their mouths collide. Theo can feel large hands slide over his hips, one easily reaching to cradle his back, and Boris shifts so that they’re firmly pressed up against each other, like he thinks Theo is going to run away. Theo wants to run away so often, even now, but instead he flicks a hand into dark curls and tugs lightly, reassuringly. His other hand remains on Boris’ face, palm against cheek.
“That is how love should work,” he breathes, and then his hand twitches on Theo’s hip, like he hadn’t meant to say that. Like he hadn’t meant to say anything at all, maybe ever.
“I guess so,” Theo admits, tremulously, and he glares when Boris pulls away to study his face. “I mean - yes, okay? I meant yes.”
Then they’re kissing again, harder, and maybe Theo bites him a bit, lightly, and Boris laughs into his mouth, and everything is alright for a few minutes. (Better than alright.) (... more than a few minutes.)
“Fuck,” Theo huffs, breathing hard.
Boris nods, quickly.
“No, not that,” he says, then, “Okay, yes, sure, but we’re on the clock right now.”
“Such things have never stopped you before,” Boris replies, unflappable, drawing circles on his back.
This is true. Dedicating himself to something is out of character for Theo, but he’s been trying his best with work, and school, and his future, or whatever. He feels like he might have one of those, these days.
“Maybe I’ve grown as a person,” Theo retorts.
“You have barely grown tall as me, physically,” Boris smirks, and coaxes him in by the waist.
Theo’s basically ready to give up on going back to work at all, at this point, but he’s gently released after a few moments and ushered out behind the counter.
“Go pump some gas,” Boris orders him, and takes the inventory sheet with him into the back room. “I cannot see you any more, because I know you are wanting money, and I am wanting to ignore work in favor of you.”
You can’t just say things like that, Theo thinks, instinctive, but keeps his mouth shut. Maybe - maybe Boris can say things like that, for now. And Theo can listen. And then, when he can come up with things like that - simple phrases, ones that make him afraid but will probably be positive for Boris - he can say them.
Not for a while. But he can get there.
Theo’s got a whole future to work for.