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Boris and Theo stumbled from the Russian club laughing to themselves and tripping over each other's feet.
They both had way too much alcohol, the sharp lights of the city looked like fireworks in their vision.
By the time Gyuri finally drove them back to Theo’s place, they had already done another line on the back of Boris’ palm when waiting for him, in the back of his car from a small tin, and once again outside the door.
The cold New York air stung Theo’s face like a slap, he giggled and reached out his hand for Boris to get out of the car.
His shit-faced grin wavered for a moment when he saw the apartment. His eyes, though very foggy, held a small amount of lingering suspicion.
“I think it’s a mistake to go anywhere with you.”
Theo rolled his eyes and huffed out a stream of hot air, “I don’t understand why you don’t just trust me, I’ve been doing lines off your hand for the past hour, I’m not gonna kill you.”
He let out a strangled sort of laugh, and glanced at Gyuri and said something fast in Russian (Theo was far too wired to understand a lick of what he was saying, though now sober he has a sort of idea.)
Theo grabbed his hand and started pulling him towards his house. Boris grabbed Popchik and held him in his arms.
The little white maltese looked so frail and little surrounded by Boris’ black long coat that Theo started laughing hysterically. Boris (only after looking at him perplexed) started laughing too.
Once they finally made it inside again, they were stumbling around, tiptoeing and giggling, then shushing each other when they laughed, which only made them laugh harder. Theo threw his hand over Boris’ mouth when they snuck past Hobie’s bedroom in case he was sleeping.
Theo was so drunk he didn’t even notice Boris’ gaze switch from foggy and out of it, to sharp with intent.
Theo must have been staring at him too long because Boris stepped a little closer. And though he was wired out of his mind, and at this point with more alcohol in his veins than water, he still knew the dangerous place we were heading to.
They were both drunk, and alone.
He swallowed nervously and mumbled something incoherent. He went to the bathroom to grab a drink of water.
Theo walked carefully back into the room to find Boris sitting on his bed with a cigarette in his lips.
“You shouldn’t smoke in here,” he said stupidly, thankful for the excuse of the drugs to explain his bright rosy cheeks.
Boris scoffed and waved out his cigarette, “Old poofter really got to you.”
He rolled his eyes and sat down next to him on the creaky wooden bed.
They sat there for a moment, knees touching, in comfortable silence. Oil and fire, bound to go up in flames.
Theo stole a glance at Boris, only to find he was already looking at him, black eyes boring into him with such yearning he had to look away.
“Boris,” Theo muttered, staring at his hands. They’ve slept together before, but something about this, something about the atmosphere and the look in Boris’ eyes that somehow made it feel like they were crossing a line.
He took his ivory hands and placed them on his cheek, he moved closer, just an inch, but it made Theo’s heart pound in his chest.
He stared at him, searching his eyes for any hint of permission. Theo’s lips parted subconsciously and his hands rested themselves on Boris’ shoulders.
Theo slowly leaned in and they kissed.
The world around them seemed to explode, every part of him burned with longing. Theo pulled away to take a quick breath but before he could fill his lungs Boris dove back in. Theo’s hands flew to his curly black hair, shorter than when they were kids, suited for a respectful member of society.
His quick touches felt like they were glowing, painting him with beautiful colors. Like he was Boris’ masterpiece. His Goldfinch.
Theo almost couldn’t keep himself from smiling against Boris’ lips.
Pippa, the painting, Lucius Reeve, the pills, Hobie, his mother, they all fell away and he was left with just his bones. His head spun from the copious drugs they did and from lack of oxygen (and from Boris’ presence.)
They broke apart for a moment, “I love you,” Theo muttered lips brushing against his neck.
He froze and Theo immediately sobered up, He opened his mouth to apologize, to take back what he said.
“Potter,” He whispered. Boris pulled away and Theo quickly pulled back, anxiety building in his bones.
“Theo,” He said again solemnly, acting surprisingly sober. The use of his real name cut through him bone deep, and the anxious twist he felt only got worse.
His brows furrowed, “I’m sorry, I’m high and drunk. I-“
Boris shook his head to cut him off, and pure fear filled Theo up to his bones. This was it, he fucked it up with the last person who cared about him. The one person who takes his mind off his mother. The one person who he needs.
Boris looked sad at Theo’s crystal eyes, “Why don’t you hate me?” He said, deathly serious.
Theo’s lips parted slightly, “Oh Boris, I could never hate you,” He whispered, fingers twirling Boris’ curls.
“Even after what I did?” Boris said quietly, guilt written all over his face.
Theo laughed incredulously, “What got me into drugs? I was already heading down that path, with Xandra and my father. You know this.”
Boris looked away pulling his hands away from him, “We both know that isn’t what I’m talking about.”
Theo stared at him for a moment, “No I don’t know, what are you on about?”
“I’m so sorry, I wouldn’t have taken it if I knew you would leave at that moment! How was I supposed to know!” He took a sharp breath of air. “I would have given it back to you the moment you asked! I swear!”
Theo (mind still foggy from the drugs) stared at him in open mouthed confusion, “Boris, what the fuck are you talking about?”
Tears glistened in Boris' eyes, “Please mój mały ptaszek, don’t make me say it.”
“Boris.”
“I took it! I took your painting ok!”
Oh.
Oh.
Theo’s world crashed around him, despair came creeping into his veins and in his eyes. The world had gone grey.
“What the fuck Boris.”
Boris looked panicked, moving further and further from Theo, leaving him in an empty cold space.
“Please don’t be mad,” Boris said, fear dancing in his eyes, “I would have given it back. The moment you noticed it was gone I would have.”
Theo didn’t say anything.
“Please Potter.”
“Why,” Theo’s hands shook, betrayal was written all over his face.
Boris looked at him in confusion and sadness (and something else Theo was glad to ignore.)
“Why the fuck did you take it,” He was crying now, he couldn’t feel it.
“I don’t know, a joke! Just a joke ! For a good laugh eh? Then in a couple days I’ll reveal it and we would laugh about it and-“ Boris chirped, waving his hands around frantically.
“Boris please.” Desperation. “Why did you steal my painting?”
Boris stared at his hands shamefully, “I just wanted to.”
“Boris,” Theo said again, eyes boring themselves into Boris’ back. “Boris.”
“What can I say Potter, I am a thief,” He said laughing blackley and depressed.
Theo shook his head, “No.”
Boris glanced up, so guilty looking Theo almost felt sorry for him.
“What do you mean ‘No’? Is what happened, I swear.”
Theo laughed, and laughed. Hysterics taking over his body. He cackled to the moon hanging in the sky. He laughed to his mother, watching him, disgusted. It was cathartic.
Boris stared at him in horror, “Potter-“
“I can’t believe it! All these years,” Theo exclaimed waving his hands frantically in the hair, still hiccuping and giggling. He felt stripped raw without his painting, he felt exposed and naked.
Boris looked away.
“So what was the real reason you took it,” Theo said smiling, but his blue eyes told a different story, one of pain and anger and betrayal.
Boris opened his mouth and shut it, “Theo-“ He started but Theo quickly interrupted him.
“Well it’s- I mean,” Boris squirmed uncomfortably like a toddler who needs a piss, “That painting -your finch- is, is like your heart, no? Me, stupid Borya, wanted your heart. I wanted to keep you safe, in my pocket away from the desert.”
Boris put his head in his hands, “I’m sorry.”
Theo stared at him long and hard, “Leave my fucking house Boris.”
They were both crying now, Boris’ hands shook as he took a cigarette from his coat pocket. He lit it and glanced at Theo. Pure pain emitted itself from the boy, his whole body shook in waves, his hands gripped his hair like a mad man.
Guilt built up in Boris’ throat.
“I’m so sorry Theo,” he whispered, reaching his hand out but quickly putting it down.
Then he got up and left.
Theo watched him stumble out through his fingers and tears. But before he fully left the room, he turned around unexpectedly.
“I will get your bird back Potter, I swear I will do whatever it takes to bring it back to you.”