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#boris pavlikovsky one shot

froggywritesstuff · 5 months

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yandere!boris pavlikovsky hc's

ship/pairing: yandere!boris pavlikovsky x g/n!reader

fandom: the Goldfinch

request: @racheldreamsworld: Can you do a yandere boris Pavlikovsky from movie goldfinch headcanon?

warnings: yandere, unhealthy and toxic relationships, obsessive behaviour, stalking, mentions of cigarettes, pressuring into to doing drugs, emotional blackmail, mentions of addiction, mentions of suicide, guilt tripping, non consensual touching (not explicitly sexual), there's a lot going on so please let me know if I've missed any warnings

word count: 460

A/N: i do not in any way support yandere behaviour, please know that this writing is purely fictional, and should not ever be reenacted in real life

as soon as he saw you, he immediately became obsessed with you

though near the beginning of his obsession, he tries to be quiet about it

he follows you wherever you go

if you're eating lunch, he's sitting beside you

he walks you to your classes, silently bidding you farewell

when you ask him what his deal is, he nonchalantly introduces himself and claims to be your friend

he does not care how he gets it but he needs your attention

so he is definitely satisfied when you just stare at him with a confused expression and try to distance yourself from him while he walks beside you on your way home

speaking of which, once he finds your address, nothing is stopping him from stalking you

you're relieved when you find him not at school some days, unaware that he skips school to go to your house and look through all your things

you don't question it when you come home to one of two of your shirts on the floor, thinking it's because you were in a rush that morning

you are a little weirded out when said shirts and your pillow have a slight scent of cigarettes and something else you can't put your finger on

eventually you grow more and more paranoid as you find more and more things out of place or missing from your room

when you gather some courage, and ask Boris why he's so adamant on following you everywhere, you're more than surprised when he asks to be your boyfriend (though the way he words it makes you feel like you don't have a choice)

will threaten to kill himself if you try to reject him

like no hesitation, he thinks it's the only logical response

he guilt trips you a lot of the time

you can't talk or hang out with your friends without hearing Boris getting pissed at you, mumbling about how you'll leave him, just like everyone else does

he’s always inviting you over to his house

meaning if you don't want an earful about how bad of a partner you're being by not wanting to spend time with your boyfriend, you hang out at his house a lot

he pressures you to try some of the drugs he has

he wants to get you addicted so you'll want to go to his house more and he can keep you from everyone else

and sometimes when he gets you high, you're much calmer around him, and he can be way more touchy with you, so that's always a plus

acts like you're the cure to all his problems when in reality his coping mechanisms and the way he acts around you are the cause of his deteriorating mental health

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lady-stardust-incarnate · 10 months

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not my fic but

I dont even care I will never shut up about this fic, it's super short but it's pure gold and I need more like this

#boreo fic #boreo fanfic #boreo #boris pavlikovsky #boris x theo #theo decker #theodore decker #theo x boris #it's so ahhhhh omg I love it #boreo one shots are my life

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w-wolfhard · 2 years

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NOTHING by bruno major

pairing : young!boris pavlikovsky x fem!reader

warning(s) : underage smoking and drinking .

wrds frm seb! : USER @w-wolfhard FINALLY POSTING FLUFF 😱⁉️ (NOT CLICKBAIT !!!) (NOT FAKE)

IN WHICH a deep conversation with boris turns into a confession .

you and boris were sitting on your roof, a pack of beer and a bottle of vodka on your side, while boris has a cigarette in his hand. you both had shot glasses next to you, empty.

it was late at night, but who gives a shit?

your parents were out of town, leaving your whole house to yourself. your house wasn't all that to fuss about. it was a one story, with a flat roof. which is why you, boris, and theo often hung out there.

"boris, i really enjoy talking to you. like a shit ton." you mumbled, taking a sip of the beer bottle. it went down your throat, the stinging feeling went away a while ago.

"i like talking to you too." he chuckled. he grabbed your shot glass and poored some vodka into it, doing the same to his.

you rolled your eyes, and clinked your glasses together, taking a sip at the same time. you instantly downed your glass, taking a sip of your beer to wash down the strong taste of vodka.

getting drunk on the rooftop probably isn't the best idea, especially since it's 11:37 pm.

the moon shined perfectly on boris, making his cheekbones look fucking majestic. the wind making his hair curly hair move so perfectly. he looked so pretty under the moonlight.

you didn't even notice you were staring at him until he snapped his fingers in front of your face, "you okay?you spaced out." he stated, his accent was thick.

"perfectly fine." you smiled at him. you both sat on the roof, gazing at the sand in the desert. there was nothing to look at in the desert. everywhere is just cacti.

you brought the bottle of beer to your lips, taking another sip of the drink as you continued staring into the desert.

it was quite windy, and of course, you forgot your fucking sweater. how great.

your curled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your legs.

boris noticed your action, "do you want my sweater?" he offered.

as much as you needed a sweater, you didn't want him freezing, so you shook your head, "i'm fine. thanks boris." you gave him a slight smile.

he just nodded, and took a hit of the cigarette. he slightly leaned his head back and blew out the smoke. you couldn't lie, that was really attractive. i mean, you've had a crush on this boy ever since you met him. and little did you know, he liked you too.

"y/n." boris said. you turned your head to look at him. he looked at you with half lidded eyes.

"yeah? what's up?" you asked him, tilting your head a bit.

"i admire you." he blurted out, turning his to face the night sky, which was gorgeous.

"you admire me?" you raised an eyebrow at him.

"yeah. you make me feel a different way." he shrugged, letting out a sigh.

you chuckled, "what? are you in love with me or something?" you joked, yet didn't laugh.

he shrugged again, "probably."

you were in absolute shock. boris pavlikovsky, your best friend ever since you moved here, is in love with you?

you stayed quiet, not replying to what he said. you didn't know how to reply. of course, you liked him too. how could you not? talking on a daily basis, and having late night talks like these nearly 3 times a week since you've met? basically impossible to not fall in love with him!

you were tired of the silence, so you spoke. "you love me?" you questioned, still in complete shock. he was drunk and high. how did you know it wasn't just the substances speaking?

"i do love you. i have since we first hung out on your roof." he informed, and your eyes stayed wide, your eyebrows still raised. "now my turn to ask,"

you hummed in response, "ask what?"

"if you love me."

"hell yeah, man. i have since i saw you in class that one time." you admitted. "i'm sure i've gone mad, falling in love with you." you sarcastically stated, rolling your eyes.

he smirked at you, and started laughing. you shook your head and chuckled, and soon you started laughing too.

so here it was, two drunk teenagers in love, sitting on the roof, laughing their asses off so much for no damn reason, that they feel their stomachs hurting.

"why are we even laughing?" you asked him, through your fits of laughter. which was not calming down at all.

"i don't know. we said we love each other and now we're laughing maniacs!" he replied, still laughing his ass off.

you both continued laughing harder, tears brimming at your guys' eyes at how hard you were laughing. soon enough, the laughter died down into weak chuckles. you wiped your eyes, and exhaled a breath you didn't know you were holding in.

"you're gonna be the damn death of me." you muttered.

"that's love does, eh?" he replied.

you rolled your eyes, playfully hitting his shoulder. you both sat on the roof, continuing to drink and smoke. enjoying your time as two teenagers in love.

#finn wolfhard #boris pavlikovsky #boris pavlikovsky x reader #the goldfinch #fluff #boris pavlikovsky fluff #roof talks #w-wolfhard #✿┊𝐬𝐞𝐛'𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬!

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wwwurbunnygrldotcom · 2 years

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wwwurbunnygrldotcom’s Master List!

Boris Pavlikovsky -

“California 2:27 AM”

After your seemingly perfect boyfriend starts to dabble in the wrong friend group you decide to change settings and move to your aunt’s in California. Boris goes mad and does everything he can to track you down, you did such a good job keeping him out of your mind until you couldn't anymore.

Here

“California 8:39 PM”

You believed maybe after all this time apart he had changed, oh how wrong you could have been.

Here

Light Yagami - (request)

In the perspective of Mr. Yagami himself, watching you was the best thing he could have ever imagined. Heaven on the earth for the poor kid.

Here

Min Yoongi (Bts)-

“I Don’t Want to Grow Up”

Being a hybrid can be one of the most soul crushing things, after observing and experiencing hell you finally feel what being loved truly means.

Part 1- Here

Part 2- Here

Kim Taehyung (Bts)-

“Two Valentines”

After having your daughter, Gwen, and the father of your child leaving you never though about love. Not until one Valentines day you meet a stranger at a jazz open mic night.

One Shot- Here

Han Jisung (StrayKids)-

“File J.ONE”

File title Han Jisung. Age; 17, occupation; student enrolled at Seoul high school, alis; J.ONE.

Normal kid with a normal cyber background, seemingly there was nothing special about Jisung. Except for the alarming amount of porn he watches, although I didn't expect much coming from the vice president of Seoul high school’s robotics club.

Part 1- Here

Part 2- Here

Update- Here

These are my works for far, but so much more to come!!

#bts #yoongi #jungkook #taehyung #jimin #boris pavlikovsky #finn wofhard #light yagami #masterlist

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skycaptainkai · 3 years

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I wrote my first fanfic in AGES... this is what boreo has done to me. Enjoy!

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch (2019) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky Characters: Boris Pavlikovsky, Theodore Decker Additional Tags: boreo, Kissing, Fluff, Angst, Feelings, Love, Gay, Drug Use, Drinking, Bittersweet, Nostalgia, Implied Sexual Content, One Shot Summary:

Finally, I said, “Wow,” which was always my go-to when I was speechless.

He nodded as if I’d voiced something profound. “Yeah. So, we are better in small doses, I think. Like with your pills and my needles. Just a fix, once in a while. Not addicts. See what I mean? We need space.” He waved a hand to indicate the small distance between us on the couch.

I laughed again, more out of befuddlement than humor. “This still sounds very much like a break up.”

He sighed and leaned his head back for a minute, while I examined his shadowy profile, his elegant hooked nose. “Okay, fine. Maybe it is break up.”

“But we’re not…”

“Are we not?” he cut me off, lifting his head to fix me with his sharp, dark gaze.

I stared back at him blankly, mouth hanging slightly open, like an idiot. He rolled his eyes at my expression and muttered, “Jesus Christ, Potter.” Then he reached over to grasp me by the back of the neck and kissed me.

#boreo fic #the goldfinch #fanfic #theodore decker #boris pavlikovsky #theo x boris #boris x theo #fanfiction #donna tartt #one shot #boreo

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troxk · 4 years

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When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the ‘nay’ in your own mind, nor do you withhold the ‘ay’. And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart; For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed. When you part from your friend, you grieve... For what which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain. And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit. --Khalil Gibran, The Prophet

my journal pages from when i saw The Goldfinch in cinemas last year. anyone else remember cinemas? cause i don’t. (please click for better quality!)

#you all get to see the pitiful set of screencaps they used for the flyer #that shot of finn?? blurry and embarrassing #aneurin? not even present #tragic #also i didn't want the description to be too long but the other quote if it's illegible is the 'it was boris i missed..' one #the goldfinch #goldfinch #boreo #theo decker #boris pavlikovsky #mine

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potter-pavlikovsky-popchyk · 2 years

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My portfolio of hyperfixating and projecting, if you will. ENJOY! <3 (Most songs i post about are then put on this playlist... or another in the works, some of which aren't public for fics. I link fic playlists on fics.)

Ignore songs that don’t go, I might have added by accident since i be doing the most.

Boris' playlist has vibes for his whole life, him alone, with family after Theo and of course with Theo. So, energetically, very all over the place. Some dark desolate vibes, mixed states of being in a place of distortion as well as, of course mania. Drugs, mental illness struggles, unhealthy coping mechanisms, disconnect, discontent, and overwhelm.

Theos playlist. Idk I may change the image but I wanted to show how he lights up with Boris. Same difference as Boris for Theo but more sad boy™ in that way that is so much more Theo... you know what i mean.:

Also here is my Archive. Many are ongoing so pls subscribe incase i forget to post here about next chapters added since I'm super busy and don't want yall to miss a thing! <3 open to suggestions! comments or asks are always welcomed!

Richard Papen/Henry Winter fic (NEW CH IS UP!!!!! More to come):

The (original concept for the above mentioned) SUPER DARK AU gone even darker upon my revisit and much more layered. oops, now another long fic RIP! (PLS READ TAGS AND NOTES/SUM. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED) if you enjoy such content as this, follow the Dionysus2xBorn on tumblr as well so you don't miss the mischief over there!:

Random poem i wrote when i saw this lovely persons fanart. Called Cling.

A whole thread on figuring out some features/aspects about Boris from the book's description.

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goddessofmischief · 3 years

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@goddessofmischief’s Mega Masterlist

* Requests are currently open for Trevor Spengler, Boris Pavlikovsky & Richie Tozier *

Loki Laufeyson x Reader (Marvel)

Series

Blue Monday - Loki Laufeyson x Reader (Series)

Summary: Loki and TVA!Agent Reader team up on an epic quest, one where Loki believes Reader is actually his long-lost love.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

In Case We Don’t Live Forever - Loki Laufeyson x Reader (Series)

Summary: The TVA brings in their most unlikely variant yet - a supermodel.

Teaser

Chapter One

One-Shots

I Put a Spell On You... Loki is convinced Wanda has put a love spell on him.

Memory … Loki helps Witch!Reader uncover a memory.

Lovely … Loki and Witch!Reader brew a potion.

Put a Finger Down … Loki tries a TikTok challenge.

Your Song … Loki does karaoke.

Wine Tasting … Loki takes you to Asgard.

Wake Me Up … Loki has nightmares.

Ice Cream … Loki never eats ice cream in front of you. You figure out why.

Home Renovation … Loki and Reader decorate Avengers Tower.

Spa Day … Loki misses being pampered.

Ms. Who … Loki meets Doctor Who and the Doctor’s companion.

Champagne Problems … Mobius tells Loki about you.

Cosmic Mistakes … Loki and Reader escape the TVA.

Hurt and Comfort .. Reader, an assistant at the T.V.A., comforts Loki.

Shoelaces … Reader teaches Loki how to tie his shoelaces.

Remind Me .. Loki remembers Reader.

Love Triangle … Loki and Sylvie fight over you.

And Every Person Seems More Beautiful … Loki remembers singing to you.

Fireworks … Loki comforts you.

Headcanons

Spending Halloween With Loki and Sylvie Would Include...

Peter Parker x Reader (Marvel)

One-Shots

Jumping (Platonic)

Rescuer

Secrets (Sister! Reader)

Together (Stark! Reader)

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Marvel)

Series

Old Habits - Bucky Barnes x Reader (x Zemo) (Series)

Summary: During the events of ‘the Falcon and Winter Soldier,’ you and Bucky reconnect.

Part One

Part Two

One-Shots

Team Up Part 2

On the Run

Mine

President Loki x Reader (Marvel)

Series

the American President - President Loki x Reader (Series)

Summary: Loki’s tried and failed to become president before, but this year he needs to win. So, he brings in an unlikely campaign manager - a Widow.

Chapter One: the Best Laid Plans

Chapter Two: We Didn’t Start the Fire

One-Shots

Healer

Smug

Sylvie Laufeydottir x Reader (Marvel)

One-Shots

You Know (+ Loki)

Wingman

If the World Was Ending

Choose Me

Big Spoon

Sword Shopping

Secret Dating

Braids

Kitchen

Sweater Weather

Sick

Hairstyles

Late Nights

Sleep Talking

Attention

Headcanons

Being Roommates with Loki and Sylvie Would Include…

Earth Things with Loki and Sylvie Would Include…

Loki and Sylvie Teaching You Magic Would Include…

Sylvie and Loki Reacting to You Feeling Insecure Would Include…

Sylvie Learning to Trust You Would Include…

Sylvie Falling In Love With You Would Include…

Telling Sylvie You Love Her Would Include…

Dating Loki and Sylvie Would Include…

Dating Sylvie Laufeydottir Would Include…

Sylvie Dating Short!Reader Would Include…

Loki Being Jealous of You And Sylvie Would Include...

Sleeping Next to Sylvie Would Include…

Reuniting with Sylvie Would Include…

Sylvie Protecting You Would Include…

Living with Sylvie Would Include…

Sylvie Helping You Repair Something Would Include…

Being Sylvie’s Younger Sibling Would Include…

Natasha Romanoff x Reader (Marvel)

One-Shots

Stay // Natasha surprises you.

Shoe Shopping // A shopping trip with Nat leads to a confrontation.

Makeovers // Nat gives you a makeover.

Lamplight // Nat buys a lava lamp.

Vegan // You get ice cream for Nat.

Peter Maximoff x Reader (Marvel)

Series

All and Then Most of You - Peter Maximoff x Reader (Series)

Origin Story // Reader joins the X-Men and meets Alex Summers.

Detention // Peter causes Reader to get detention.

Detention, Part 2 // Peter admits his feelings to Reader.

Noah, Part 1

Noah, Part 2

Noah, Part 3

Noah, Part 4

Noah, Part 5

Noah, Part 6

Sorry // Reader admits to Professor X who Noah’s father is.

One-Shots

Didn’t See That Coming // You and Pietro train.

There Was Only One Bed

Popsicle // Peter gets excited about the ice cream truck.

Terrible Flirt

I Win // You and Peter spar.

Tee Shirt // You and Pietro wake up together.

Whenever You’re Ready // Peter comes out as bisexual.

Home // During ‘WandaVision’, you see Pietro again.

Home, Part 2

Home, Part 3

the Maximoffs // During ‘WandaVision’, you and Pietro find yourselves living an idyllic sitcom life.

Wanda Maximoff x Reader (Marvel)

One-Shots

Tickles Wanda tickles you.

Hoodie You steal Wanda’s hoodie.

I Don’t Want To Be Your Friend Wanda confesses her feelings for you.

Meet the Parents You take Wanda home for dinner with your parents.

Modern Art You and Wanda paint the walls of your house.

My Superhero Girlfriend Wanda fights for you during the battle against Thanos.

Witches of Westview During ‘WandaVision’, you and Wanda have a disastrous barbecue.

Catch Your Death During ‘WandaVision’, Wanda cheers you up when you get sick.

Agatha Harkness x Reader (Marvel)

One-Shots

Insult to Injury

Hey Hon

Fair Weather

My Best Girl

My Best Girl, Part 2

Rescue Me

Kiss Me Goodbye

Who’s Guarding Hades?

Who’s Guarding Hades? Part 2

Winter in Westview

Headcanons

Dating Agatha Harkness Would Include

Peggy Carter/Captain Carter x Reader (Marvel)

Captain Carter

John Walker x Reader (Marvel)

One-Shots

Hesitate

Sirius Black x Reader (Harry Potter)

One-Shots

Afternoons in the Common Room

Advice

Boyfriend

He Loves You

O.W.L.S.

Daylight

Back to Black

Headcanons

Sirius Black Dating a Shy Hufflepuff Reader Would Include…

Being Sirius Black’s Wife/Girlfriend Would Include…

Finnick Odair x Reader (the Hunger Games)

One-Shots

You and Me

Gardens

Steve Harrington x Reader (Stranger Things)

Series

Driver’s Ed // You help Steve during the events of ‘Stranger Things 2.’

Maybe // Steve doesn’t think he’s good enough for you.

Prom Queen // Steve’s jealous at prom.

Ask Me Anything // You and Steve think you know everything about each other.

Grown-Ups // Steve worries about you leaving for college.

Homecoming // You come home to Hawkins, and home to Steve.

One-Shots

Video Store // Steve helps you pick out a movie.

Robin Buckley x Reader (Stranger Things)

One-Shots

Always Something There to Remind Me

Good Morning

Runaways

Richie Tozier x Reader (It)

Headcanons

Richie Tozier Dating an Arachnophobic Reader Would Include...

Richie Tozier Dating Someone with ADHD Would Include...

Boris Pavlikovsky x Reader (the Goldfinch)

One-Shots

Second Chance

Trevor Spengler x Reader (Ghostbusters: Afterlife)

One-Shots

Ghostbuster

Proposal

Paul Atreides x Reader (Dune)

Hands

Jealous

Din Djarin/the Mandalorian x Reader (Star Wars)

Series

And I Didn’t Like the Ending - Din Djarin x Reader (Series)

Jedi Scum

I Love You

Just Tired

Excuse Me?

Because I Love You

And I Didn’t Like the Ending, Part 1

And I Didn’t Like the Ending, Part 2

One-Shots

Cya’rika

Sabacc

Brown Eyes

Wounded

Goodbyes

Bo-Katan x Reader (Star Wars)

One-Shots

Off My Shoulders

Partners

Partners, Part 2

Hold On

James Conrad x Reader (Kong: Skull Island)

One-Shots

Adventure

Just Passing Through

Benny Watts x Reader (the Queen’s Gambit)

One-Shots

Pretty

I Love You

the Artist

Love Letter

Rick Flag x Reader (the Suicide Squad)

One-Shots

Task Force X... Amanda Waller recruits you to join Task Force X.

Uniform ... Harley Quinn helps you design your uniform.

Style ... Rick likes your new uniform.

the First Night ... Cold in the jungle, you warm up to Rick.

Jealous ... Rick is jealous of your best friend.

River... You almost drown. Rick saves you.

Sacrifice ... You refuse to leave your mission without Rick.

Drunk ... You and Rick get drunk together.

Princess ... You and Harley are taken captive on Corto Maltese.

Betrayal ... Peacemaker threatens your life.

Headcanons

Dating Rick Flag Would Include...

Tim Kono (Only Murders in the Building)

Headcanons

Dating Tim Kono Would Include...

Helena Bertinelli/Huntress x Reader (Birds of Prey)

One-Shots

Fun House

Home

Billie Logan x Reader (Bill and Ted Face the Music)

One-Shots

Weddings and Funerals // You and Billie meet at Deacon’s wedding.

Excellent

the Girl Next Door

Put Your Records On // You and Billie bake in the morning.

the Louvre

Happiest Season // You come out to Billie’s family.

Stay-In Days

Janey // You and Billie finally have a child.

Bloodsuckers - a Vampire AU // Billie, a Vampire Hunter, finds you, a Vampire.

Thea Preston x Reader (Bill and Ted Face the Music)

One-Shots

Quidditch // Harry Potter AU

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brendaaaa · 3 years

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Dumb Russian (Boris Pavlikovsky x fem!Reader)

You stormed into the apartment building, furious with Boris. After three months, three whole fabulous months of dating, you had strong reason to believe he was cheating on you. With none other than your very best friend Theo Decker. You were practically seething as you threw open his bedroom door. “BORIS!”

He looked at you with a thoughtful expression. He was strewn across his unmade bed in just a pair of ratty jeans. A cigarette teetered between his middle and forefingers. “Woah there, принцесса (princess). What is wrong?” “Everything. Everything is wrong Boris! You stupid fucking idiot!” You kicked his bed frame. He looked at you, slightly disturbed. “What did I do?” “Oh! Play dumb, sure you asshole! You know what you did,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. It was a painful truth you had seen written in a notebook in your boyfriend’s untidy scrawl a few days ago. Wish I had Potter instead of my любимая девушка, he’s so good В постели. (Girlfriend, In bed.) It took you three days to translate. Three goddamn days struggling through your English-Russian dictionary, three days poring over the notebook, desperately wishing for it to mean anything else. Anything but the unbearable truth. That Boris was indeed cheating with “Potter”, his stupid nickname for Theo. You spent all night crying, sobbing into your pillow. Tossing and turning and deciding whether or not to confront him. After the few restless hours that you were able to sleep, you woke up angry. And all you wanted was to know why your boyfriend “wished he had Potter.” “Oh god Boris, don’t even give me that innocent face bullSHIT,” you escalated, throwing your arms up in the air. Boris didn’t move a muscle except to take a puff on his smoke. “If it was bullshit, as you say, then why do I not know what you are talking about?” He said calmly. “You idiot!” You screamed, a tear escaping your eye. “You cheated on me!” You choked back a sob. “How could you?!”

Boris still looked confused, but there was a twinge of annoyance in his voice as he said, “Pot calling the kettle black, Y/n?” Your eyes widened in disbelief, as you sniffed, wiping a tear off your cheek. “What did you say?” Boris sat up, discarding his cigarette, “You say...I’m a cheater. But you aren’t one to talk. I know what you do.” You bitterly laughed, “I don’t know if this is some sick game of yours, trying to avoid telling me the truth, but it’s absolute bullshit. Be a fucking man, Boris. Own up to what you did.” “Own up to what? I never slept with anyone else. You are галлюцинации. Псих” (Hallucinating, crazy). “I’m what? Speak english, asshole!” He rolled his eyes to the high heavens. “Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t fucking matter. YOU are a cheater, y/n. I saw you leave his house.” You brushed him off, “No, no, no. I’m not falling for your stupid trick! Just tell me why you did it! Was I not good enough?” You said, emotion spilling out of your words. “Why don’t you tell me, сука?” (bitch) “I saw you. I wasn’t going to tell you I saw. I didn’t think it worth confrontation. But, here you are, being a Псих сука.” (crazy bitch) “So why, y/n, WHY DID YOU DO IT?” He got up, raising his voice and pointing a finger in your face. “I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!” You yelled back. “WHY DID YOU BORIS? WHY DID YOU?” You cried, tears now dripping down your face. “I...did NOTHING,” he spat. “You,” you sobbed. “You hurt me. You HURT ME!” You screamed, backing away from him. “YOU ARE CRAZY! OUT OF YOUR MIND! I DIDN’T CHEAT ON YOU, YOU CHEATED ON ME!” Boris shot back. “NO, BORIS, NO! IT’S THE OTHER FUCKING WAY AROUND! I SAW WHAT YOU WROTE ABOUT YOU AND THEO!”

Boris froze, and you thought miserably, ha, got him. But instead he tilted his head to the side, “Y/n, are you stupid? You know Theo and I used to hook up. Before you. It was probably old. Show me. What did I write?” You glared icily at him through tears, because even if he didn’t actually cheat, he had still accused you of it. Which made no sense at all, as you would never dream of seeing anyone else. But nevertheless, you reached for your backpack and pulled at the notebook, throwing at him.

He managed to catch it before it dropped to the ground after hitting him squarely in the chest, and opened it to the dog-eared page. He scanned it for a moment, then snorted, tossing it on the bed.

“Girlfriend. You thought that was you?”

You nodded, very confused.

“No. Kotku, my ex girlfriend. A real сука,” Boris sucked in his teeth and continued, “I cheated on her. Yes, with Theo. But Theo doesn’t want to be with me. I don’t want to be with him. I’ve been faithful the whole time we are together. You,” he shook his head. “You have not been.”

“Lies,” you wiped your face with your sleeve. “I never ever would’ve cheated on you, Boris. Not in a million years. I don’t know what you saw. But I promise.”

He sneered at you, shaking your head, “Like I’ll believe you. I saw you leave Theo’s house. You probably staged this to try and cover up what you did. Didn’t you?”

“But-Boris, what?” you sputtered, trying to understand. “You friggin’ saw me leave Theo’s house? Well, OKAY! He’s my best friend, I didn’t know hanging out with friends was incriminating evidence all of the sudden,” you said, exasperated.

Boris glared, crossing his arms.

“Dumb russian,” you added for good measure.

“Uh, guys? What’s going on?” A voice asked, and you spun around to see Theo, holding his coat and looking perplexed.

“Oh, thank god!” You exclaimed. “Theo, tell Boris we never slept together!”

Theo made a face, “Excuse me? Boris, what the hell? Why would I sleep with your girlfriend?”

Boris didn’t respond, he actually seemed kind of embarrassed that he was wrong, so you filled Theo in on the fierce argument you just had.

When you were done explaining, he only shook his head, a slight smile on his face.

“What?” you asked, rather defensively.

“Only you two,” he grinned. “Well, go on.”

“What?” Boris raised an eyebrow.

“Apologize to each other, dammit!” Theo exclaimed, and you begrudgingly stuck out your hand.

“Boris, I’m really sorry for assuming the worst. Forgive me?”

He shook it, saying, “I forgive, принцесса” (princess)

“I’m sorry too.” he said. “Want a beer?” He pointed towards the kitchen.

You grinned, “yeah,” and just like that, things were back to the way they always were.

“Come on,” Theo complained. “I came here to hang out, not to babysit you two.”

“Then don’t,” you said sassily.

“Get wasted with us,” Boris suggested.

Theo swore under his breath, then grabbed a bottle.

“Fine. But only a little.”

You and Boris turned, made eye contact, and laughed, knowing that Theo would get plenty drunk in no time. You kissed his cheek, so relieved that you had screwed up, and Boris still loved you.

As if reading your mind, he muttered, “I love you, принцесса,” under his breath, so that you and only you could hear.

Word Count: 1120

#boris pavlikovsky #Boris Pavlikovsky x reader #russian polish australian guys amiright #misunderstandings #angst before the fluff #somewhat toxic relations #ruining your lungs for fun #the goldfinch #theo decker

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froggywritesstuff · 2 years

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safe | boris pavlikovsky

Pairing: Boris Pavlikovsky x aromantic!g/n!reader (platonic)

Warnings: swearing, underage drinking, underage smoking, cigarettes, alcohol, mentions of drugs, mentions of arophobia, parental issues

Fandom: The Goldfinch

Request: no

A/N: this made more sense in my head. and i definitely didn't write this in under half an hour

Boris sighed as he took a long puff from the cigarette in his hands, nothing to do but watch you pace and pace around the room.

”It’s fucking messed up, Boris. Why can’t people just accept who I am? Why do I have to pretend to be someone else just so I don’t piss off someone else. Arophobia is fucking stupid.” you ranted, barely feeling the pain going through your legs as you walked.

Boris tilted his head to the side, “Are you sure that’s the right word for arophobia? Isn’t that fear of planes?”

You squinted at your intoxicated friend, “That’s aerophobia dipshit.”

Boris blinked at you, his face blank, “That’s the exact- you just said the exact same thing!”

You rolled your eyes, “Really? That’s your takeaway?”

”Y/N, I’m sorry, that’s all I can say. Your family is a piece of shit and so is anyone else who tells you you’re wrong for being who you are. So, you can keep ranting, or you can get almost as drunk as me.” he suggested, earning another eye roll from you.

”Of course your advice is to just get drunk.” you mumbled, shuffling to the bed where Boris was sitting, taking the bottle from his hands.

He furrowed his brows together, “Oh sure, take my alcohol, I give away for free now.”

You rolled your eyes at him, taking a sip from the bottle, “Calm down,” you said, ignoring the glare you received, “You’ve got stashes in every draw and cabinet in this house.” you argued, taking advantage of your best friends distracted state and taking the cigarette from his mouth and using it as your own.

A look of shock and betrayal flashed on Boris’s face, “Wha- really Y/N? What happened to your stash?”

You shrugged, leaning your head against the wall, “Me and my stash aren’t talking anymore.”

“Yeah, if I was your stash I wouldn’t wanna talk either.” Boris scoffed, earning a glare from you.

Rolling your eyes, you took the cigarette from your lips as you took a sip of the bottle, “You’re talking to me right now,”

Boris took the cigarette back from your hands, “I’m not your stash. And you’re my only friend.”

“I better be.” you said with a yawn as you felt Boris leaning his head against your shoulder.

”Your parents took it away. Didn’t they?”

Sometimes you hated being best friends with Boris. Hated how he always knew what you weren’t saying. Hated how he always knew what was really going on.

You just sighed, Boris accepting that as an answer.

You weren’t exactly best friends with your parents at the moment. After coming out as aromantic -something they didn’t understand nor did they want to understand- you felt like everyone in your house hated you. And once your parents found the collection of cigarettes under your bed, they were considering kicking you out. The only place you found safe was wherever Boris was. Which was ironic, considering at your first sleepover together, you both nearly passed out. Still, whether he was shoplifting from grocery stores or taking pills he definitely shouldn’t take, he was your best friend. He made you feel safe.

Boris let his eyes slowly shut as he mumbled, “If you don’t wanna go back there you can stay here as long as you need. My father shouldn’t be back for at least a week.”

A smile grew on your lips as you began to shut your eyes as well.

He really knew how to make you feel safe.

buy me a coffee <3

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mihaelfuckingkeehl · 4 years

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@lightlessons tagged me so now y’all have to read cool things about me.

name: unknown

nicknames Aliases: Mihael & M

gender: also unknown, who the fuck knows right?

sexuality: pan / ace, it’s complicated

height: 5’5

Languages: English and that lame amount of Japanese that everyone picks up from anime.

nationality: British

current time: 15:52

favorite season: I’m a summer boy

favorite flower: I never know what to answer for this but today we will go with water lillies

favorite scent: jasmine and bread

favorite color: deep red, pale blue

favorite animal: oh all of them, but specifically cats and ducks and penguins.

favorite fictional character: what like ever? because that’s tough. let’s throw Boris Pavlikovsky and Miles Fairchild out there.

average hours of sleep: eeeesh, in lockdown with no job? like 8/9 hours I’d say.

coffee, tea or hot chocolate: almond mocha with a shot of caramel please.

number of blankets you sleep with: just one but I own about 12

dogs or cats: cats

dream trip: Disney World again but, only when things are safe enough.

dream job: taking care of animals or let’s be honest, a sugar baby.

followers: 100+ my blog is baby

blog established: April this year

reason for my url: it’s my name nyeh

random fact: I don’t know how to ride a bike and death note isn’t my main fandom

I tag, uh..... @animedick @bipolar-barbecue @hackerjeevas because ily

#stfu mihael #not dn #ty darling

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putanauhere · 4 years

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a portrait of the artist as a con man

The Goldfinch | Theo/Boris | 38k+ words | @putanauhere + @foxesmouth

“And how did you come across a particularly sloppy Renoir reproduction?” Theo can’t help but ask as Boris gestures at the bartender for another two shots and smirks when Theo says reproduction. Even if Boris struck Theo as the art type, a fake Renoir is not the sphere of work that Theo could imagine Boris’ collection to be.

Boris ticks a thumbnail against the side of his glass pensively. “Friend of friend gave it to me. A gift of sorts. One of my associates suggested I get it looked at by professional.”

“And you found me,” Theo finishes for him.

Boris holds his hands out, palms up, and replies, “Small world, no?”

[Or art restoration expert Theo Decker finds himself slowly pulled into the high risk/high reward world of art forgery at the hands of his old classmate, Boris Pavlikovsky.]

#i wrote #amy wrote #the goldfinch #boreo #pleased to give this last update - we finished it!#somehow we managed it #Sincere gratitude to anyone who kindly patiently waited until the end #portrait of the artist

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jsctens · 4 years

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writer questions

i was tagged by future pulitzer prize winning author anna @dustinhendrsn thank you stoopid head

1. what’s your favourite genre to write?

canon compliant and angst!!! i absolutely thrive off of angst the more devastating the better babey

2. do you pull inspiration from real-life, or do you pull things from other books/fanfic?

uhhh i usually take inspo from songs?? so idk if that counts as real life or not but i guess so. i also definitely am inspired by other things i read so i guess it’s a little bit of both

3. do you tend to write one-shots, short stories, or longer things?

one-shots, i have yet to brave a multi-chap afkhdaf and the longest fic i’ve ever done is 5k but i am working on a few longer things rn (who knows if i’ll ever finish or if they’ll ever be posted)

4. do you prefer description or dialogue?

description only because with dialogue i’m CONSTANTLY paranoid that i’m getting it all wrong and it sounds ooc and lame !!!!!

5. favourite fanfic/book of all time?

okay i think everyone who follows me is aware of what my fave book of all time is (the one about the bird . u know how it be) so here are a few of my fave fics

visions in the water (static in your mind) by @dustinhendrsn -- (the party) this fic has such dark eerie vibes i love it so so much, it would honestly be the perfect opening for next season and i wish the duffers had anna’s braincells so that they could make something like this happen

if you should fall to pieces by @elizabthturner -- (mike wheeler / el hopper) this is such a perfect fix-it fic that rewrites the s3 scene where el is getting cleaned up in the bathroom after the sauna test so that mike is the one helping her out, i WISH it had actually happened like this in the show but at least i can read this to compensate

limestone, bruised by veausy -- (mike wheeler / el hopper) not even gonna try to sum this one up bc nothing i say will do it justice. just read it

look homeward angel by heartofwinterfell (mike wheeler / el hopper, nancy wheeler / jonathan byers) post season two and honestly so stunning!! the parallels between nancy and el are incredible and the way the fic itself is formatted is really really cool.

if we can find some light by @maplestreet -- (mike wheeler / el hopper) if you’re looking for a really good multi-chap to get invested in PLEAAASE read this one. lia’s writing is incredible and mike and el have so much depth in this story

corrina, corrina by curlymcclain -- (theo decker / boris pavlikovsky) a tgf fix-it fic and probably the best boreo ever written into existence. miss donna tartt herself is quaking

night is falling, and the dawn is calling by juxtaposie -- (mike wheeler / el hopper, plus like everyone else) this fic is pretty heavy on the angst but i think it explores el’s trauma in a really important way and it also involves a lot of what the other characters are dealing with too

there’s like A MILLION more that i can name, if ur my writer friend and i left you off this list please know your writing is still some of my all time favourite im just trying to shorten the length of this post

6. favorite trope?

enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers. god tier tropes right there

7. are you the kind of person to work on more than one wip?

yes my brain loves to go back and forth between wips and never finish a single one

8. how long have you been writing for?

a long long time but i only started posting fics on this tumblr in 2018

9. do you tend to write more during the morning, afternoon, or evening?

a lot of my writing gets done at 3am when im running on sleep deprivation and im not rlly even sure what im writing anymore

10. do you prefer to post your wip chapter by chapter, or do you prefer to wait until your wip is 100% finished before posting?

imagine thinking i had the talent for multi-chaps. i HAVE to laugh

im tagging @formerlyjannafaye @maplestreet @wheelermikes @dobrien @harringtonbuckley @milevenhearteyes

#thanks for the tag anna it was rlly good for my procrastination <3 #tag game

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sparksstreet · 4 years

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long post warning!!!! i’m sorry, i don’t think you can add a keep reading option while on mobile and i don’t have a computer, but i know a lot of us are cooped up at home and bored out of our minds right now and i want to show some appreciation for a few creators, so here is a fic rec list of reddie fics (and one or two boreo) that i have really enjoyed recently:

• portrait of two boys in free fall, artist unknown by saintsrow2 on ao3: not complete

1993: When Richie was seventeen he wrote the boy he loved a love letter. The letter said “I would do anything for you”, and he wrote it by throwing a brick through the windshield of Henry Bowers' car.

In 1993, the Losers Club are coming up to the end of high school and Richie Tozier is the only one who doesn't know what he's going to do next. All he has is a couple of hundred dollars and a best friend he doesn't want to leave behind. They've just had their first kiss, and he doesn't want it to be their last.

In 2014, Richie Tozier hasn't been back to Derry since he was a teenager. But for the first time, he thinks he might have to go back.

An AU with no Pennywise exploring Richie's teenage years in Derry, his relationship with Eddie, and the plan of two boys to run away from the place that threatens to crush them.

[i read all of the available chapters just last night and this morning and it had me in tears almost the entire time. this really captures the ‘closeted gay in a small town’ experience and it was all a really familiar feeling for me. great for angst lovers. beautifully written and fucking heart wrenching, i can’t wait for the next chapter.]

• & that’s for all time by rednoseredhair on ao3: not complete

It's the summer before college, and Richie Tozier is prepared for approximately nothing to change. The club works at a Renaissance Faire, and somehow in between the turkey legs, marathons of Super Smash brothers and cheap beer, some of them have time to fall in love.

[i have been following this fic for around a year or so now??? it’s great if you love angst, complete dumbassery, and slow burn. like. actual slow burn. this fic doesn’t specifically focus on reddie, the friendships between all of the losers and each of their lives being the most important part, which i love. this author writes probably my favorite versions of all the losers and the fic itself gives off the vibe of a well written sitcom that will bring you to tears every other episode.]

• a portrait of the artist as a con man by dramaturgicallycorrect and p3trichor on ao3: not complete

Boris ticks a thumbnail against the side of his glass pensively. “Friend of friend gave it to me. A gift of sorts. One of my associates suggested I get it looked at by professional.”

“And you found me,” Theo finishes for him.

Boris holds his hands out, palms up, and replies, “Small world, no?”

[Or art restoration expert Theo Decker finds himself slowly pulled into the high risk/high reward world of art forgery at the hands of his old classmate, Boris Pavlikovsky.]

[another beautifully written story. i love this au with my entire heart, the idea of just a few things changing their lives but their tether to one another still remaining and pulling them together in the end just hits different, i don’t know what to tell you. incredibly well written, characterization is great in my opinion, creative plot line. it’s great.]

• in the heat of the summer (you’re so different from the rest) by kaboomslang on ao3: complete

There’s a heatwave in L.A., the first time Richie sees Eddie naked.

One very hot year in the life of two idiots in love, working shit out.

[one of my absolute favorite fics in general. this story invented being horny and head over heels in love and singlehandedly made me want to fall in love. the author is so wonderful with capturing the way richie thinks and goes about things in a way that i think is really realistic. i might actually give this a re-read soon.]

• lies and slander by abbeyway on ao3: complete

Eddie only makes up a boyfriend to stop Beverly nagging him about his non existent work life balance. He never expects that she'll actually come to town and want to meet said boyfriend.

Just another fake dating AU, because canon killed me.

[i don’t know what to tell you, i’m love a good fake dating au and this is a fantastic one. eddie and bev’s friendship in this truly made my heart swell ten times bigger. the relationship between eddie and richie was fun to read because this is one of the few fics with this au where they aren’t already close friends when it starts, so you get to see their relationship develop.]

• running up that hill by speakslow on ao3: not complete

When Eddie Kaspbrak's mother gets remarried, she sends him off to Catholic boarding school. Will it be exactly what he pictures: same old prison, new location? Or will it be something else entirely?

[90’s boarding school au!!!!! what’s not to love at that alone? i love everything this author puts out, but i think this one might be my absolute favorite. i don’t know if i’m capable of listing everything i love because it’s just the entire thing. sports, repression, crushes on your roommate, protective richie, sneaking around with beverly marsh. it’s great.]

• baby, i’m counting on you by puddingtown on ao3: not complete

When Richie Tozier breezes back into his hometown of Derry, Maine, he’s expecting to see familiar faces. Of course, he’s not expecting to see an old flame chasing around a baby. With a million questions, nowhere to go, and a help wanted ad for a nannying job, he finds himself at the doorstep of Eddie Kaspbrak.

[this is going to be my last rec since i don’t want the post to be too long. another angsty one, but still soft at the same time. this fic makes my heart ache a lot but there is also so much love in it that it makes up for the pain. if you want to cry over “right person, wrong time” and then coo over a fictional toddler, this fic is perfect.]

#i didnt do as many as i wanted because i didnt want the post to get overly long but #these are just some that i have enjoyed recently! maybe other people will too if you havent already #let me know if you are the author of any of these and want your tumblr tagged!!!!#fic rec #fic rec list #it #reddie #the goldfinch #boreo #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #boris pavlikovsky #theo decker #reddie fic #boreo fic #long post

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excelxiors · 5 years

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the past is behind you; boreo; 7.4k

well heres a long one! boris overdoses and then goes through withdrawl

tw// graphic depictions of overdose and bodily functions during withdrawal, as well as self harm and suicidal ideation

It happened back in New York. Months after Amsterdam, months after Antwerp, months after Boris agreed to come home with me. We had stayed with Hobie for a little while (he clearly delighted in watching us interact, later telling me that we reminded him of himself and Welty, decades earlier), and then we had bought our own little place not too far away. I apologized to everyone. Kitsey, first and foremost, for leaving during the party and for being so cold towards her and for not loving her very much at all. She accepted my apology, saying that she herself had not been overwhelmingly kind. It was true, of course, but telling Mrs. Barbour that the wedding was off had been hard. She was understandably upset but tried to be kind about the situation, and I made a vow to myself to visit her and the family whenever I could. After everything she had done for me, it was the least I could do. Hobie hadn’t been difficult to apologize to. He was worried when I disappeared without a word, but seeing me again had been enough to reassure him that I was alright. After my apologies, I did what I came back to New York to do: buying up all the phony antiques I sold and making an honest living as Hobie’s business partner, without lying this time. With the reward money from the paintings it wasn’t hard to do.

It happened on a normal day. Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary, just a regular Thursday working with Hobie at the shop. Selling his beautiful restored pieces and not lying about what they were. Telling him I’d see him tomorrow, hugging him goodbye, giving Popchyk a customary head pat, and closing the shop early. Walking the couple of blocks to our apartment like I did every day, running up the stairs from the lobby to the 3rd floor, opening the door, and taking off my shoes. “Boris,” I called out, “I’m home. What are you doing?” No answer. It wasn’t entirely unusual. Though he was usually home when I got back, sometimes he’d slip out. He had his own life, after all, and I tried not to get too caught up in it. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I went into our bedroom to change into something more comfortable (dressing nice for customers had its perks, but comfort wasn’t necessarily one of them) and finally lay down after a day’s worth of work. That wasn’t what happened.

Boris was laying on the bed. He looked asleep at first glance, but with closer inspection I could see that his lips were blue and that the pale, milky white skin of his face was tinged with blue as well. “Boris,” I panicked. “Boris, are you alright?” I immediately forgot everything in the world other than Boris, hopping onto the bed to get a closer look at him. He was out cold, his skin clammy to the touch. “Boris, please.” I was begging, slapping his face and shaking his shoulders to try and wake him. In my panic, I couldn’t understand what had happened. Why my Boris, generally so full of life and energy, looked minutes away from death. I put my head to his chest, listening for a heartbeat or a breath. Anything. His heart was beating, albeit slower than it should have been, and he was breathing, though it sounded like something was stuck in his throat. “Boris. Boris, wake up. Wake up, please!” I had begun to scream. His breaths had sounded so labored that I tried to lift him into a sitting position to alleviate some of the pressure on his chest, but he was dead weight. His body was completely limp, and far too heavy for me to move alone. The struggle of trying to lift Boris had exhausted me, and I slumped back against the wall to take just a moment to breath. That was when I noticed something and it all finally came together, the whole terrible picture. A syringe on the ground, next to a spoon and a lighter. The scene was seared into my brain: Boris desperately trying to get a fix, to get the high he needed to feel normal after years of shooting up. I fumbled in my pants for my phone, shaking as I dialed 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?” said a calm, female voice on the other side of the line.

“I need an ambulance, I think my boyfriend is dying!” I was crying, almost screaming to the woman on the line. I had never told a stranger that Boris was my boyfriend, and saying the word out loud was startling. It was all too much, thinking about what might happen to Boris. “Please, help.”

“Sir, what happened?”

“He overdosed. Heroin, I think? I need someone to come now, I can’t help him!”

“Try and remain calm, sir. An ambulance is on the way.” I couldn’t possibly remain calm in a situation like this, so I just laid down next to Boris, cradling his cold, blue face, and waited for the ambulance to arrive. I tried my best to give the operator the rest of the information she needed. Where we were, what his name was, a list of other questions that didn’t matter when Boris was here dying. It felt like a lifetime, and all I could think about was what I could have done differently. Gotten home earlier, called 911 earlier, forced Boris into rehab against his will. Anything I could have done so that I wouldn’t have been there then, holding Boris as he died and waiting for the paramedics to come and save him. It took too long. It was minutes before they arrived, and all I could do was sit there. I had his head in my lap, peppering his face with little kisses. I didn’t know if he could feel them or if he was even conscious, but I prayed that he could. That if he didn’t make it, the last thing he felt was my lips on his.

When the paramedics finally arrived they pulled Boris out of my lap and onto a stretcher where I couldn’t reach him. I heard them talking, confirming what I had suspected. Heroin overdose, and by the looks of it, a bad one. It felt like a dream: Boris on a stretcher, the paramedics mumbling to one another, a shot of Narcan into his thigh. They whisked him away, out of the building and into the back of an ambulance. I couldn’t get to him. I think I may have been screaming, but it was all too chaotic to remember. I just know they wouldn’t let me in the ambulance, and that I had to find another way to the hospital. It was too far to run and I didn’t have a car, so I had to hail a taxi. The taxi driver stayed quiet as I told him where I needed go with tears in my eyes, trying my hardest to hold back sobs.

Arriving at the hospital was a whole different beast entirely. Since Boris had just arrived in an ambulance, the receptionist at the front desk of the emergency room had been unable to give me a room number. “I’m sorry, no visitors are allowed until the patient is put in a permanent room,” she explained to me. “You can wait here and I’ll tell you when?”

“I just need to know if he’s alright. He’s probably in there right now, can I just go there and stay with him?” I was begging her. “Please, his name is Boris Pavlikovsky. Can I just go and see if he’s okay?”

“I’m sorry, sir. If he’s been taken in for emergency medical care, I can’t let anyone who isn’t immediate family visit until he’s been placed in a room. What is your relation to Mr. Pavlikovsky?”

“He’s my boyfriend. He’s family.” It was the second time in that day that I had told someone I didn’t know that Boris was my boyfriend. I didn’t know what else to call us. If we weren’t boyfriends then what were we?

“I’m really sorry. I’m not allowed to let you go.” She did seemed genuinely sorry, but I couldn’t help but wonder why she couldn’t just bend the rules. “I’ll keep an eye on it though, and tell you when.”

I slumped down onto one of the chairs. “Alright, thank you,” I told her. If I thought the few minutes waiting for the ambulance to arrive were hard, waiting nearly an hour for the receptionist to flag me over to her desk was torture. When she finally did, I ran over with a great sense of relief, though I suppose she could have given me bad news.

“He’s stable. He hasn’t been placed in a permanent room yet, but I’ll have a nurse come around and show you where he is.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” A nurse did come around, opening the door to the emergency room and showing me down a hallway full of temporary rooms. On the outside of one of the doors was a paper stuffed into a plastic compartment with what I can only assume were medical documents. Written across the top in messy handwriting was: Pavlikovsky.

“He probably won’t look so great,” the nurse told me. “They had to give him a second dose of Narcan on the ride over, his breathing and heart rate had slowed so much that the first dose didn’t do much. He’s lucky you called when you did. A few minutes longer and he probably would’ve been a goner. You can go in if you want.”

“Yeah,” I breathed out, “I will. Thank you.” Boris was laying on his side, his back turned away from the door. When he heard it open he moaned, probably a sign that he didn’t want any visitors after the hour he spent being brought back from the dead. He was hooked up to an IV, and to a myriad of other machines surrounding his bed. “Boris?” I asked tentatively, waiting at the door.

“Potter?” His voice was weak, and he sounded almost surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?” He was still facing away from me. “Can I come in?”

“Sure, but I don’t really want to talk.” He scooted over, making as much room for me as he could on the tiny bed. An invitation.

“That’s alright.” I got in next to him, putting my face in his hair and wrapping my arm over his waist, the way he used to do to me when we were kids. “I was so worried, Boris.” My tears were soaking his hair, and all I could think to do was hold him tight and kiss the back of his neck. He still hadn’t looked me in the eyes, and when I kissed his neck, he sighed. “What’s wrong?”

“I said I don’t want to talk. I can’t right now, I’m so tired.”

“Sleep, then. Do you want me to stay?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, “stay.” I laid there for a while, my arms around Boris as he slept. I couldn’t even imagine how exhausting the whole ordeal had been for him. The overdose, the ambulance ride, not knowing where he was or what was happening. We stayed like that for a few hours, as they monitored Boris’ vitals and prepped a more permanent room for him to spend the rest of his hospital visit in. When the doctor finally came in, I sat up and whispered “He’s sleeping. Can it wait?”

“We’d rather not wait, there’s people who need these rooms.”

“Okay so where is he supposed to go?” At the time, I wasn’t sure what the hospital would do. Boris had been hooked on all sorts of drugs for half of his life, with no signs of improvement and no apparent desire to stop.

“We’re going to take him to the general population and monitor his withdrawal symptoms. We can give him stuff to make the experience less painful, but it isn’t going to be nice. I’m glad he’s got someone to support him through that.” She began to move the equipment around Boris’ bed, rolling the stuff towards the door to take it out of the room before rolling Boris’ bed out too. I followed her into an elevator, out into a hallway, and into one of the hospital’s permanent rooms. It was a white, antiseptic space that I knew Boris would hate. He somehow managed to sleep through moving his bed, and I hoped he’d sleep a little longer. Once he woke up, I knew I would have to tell him what they’d planned. For him to come off heroin in the hospital, suffering the withdrawal symptoms I knew he was terrified of. Once the doctor left I got back into the bed with Boris, listening to him breath. His breathes were easier now, the gurgling sound completely gone and replaced with a gentle exhale. He still looked sick, though. His pale skin was devoid of even more color than usual, and he was clammy to the touch. Early withdrawal symptoms, probably the reason he had overdosed in the first place. Shooting up more than he ever should have in an attempt to make those feelings go away.

I knew Boris’ calm wouldn’t last long. About 20 minutes after the room move, he woke up moaning. “Potter, why are we still here? What happened?” He finally rolled over to look at me, resting his head on my chest.

“You don’t remember?”

“Not really. I remember waking up on the ambulance, the machines, the people around me. But I do not know. Why are we here?” he asked again, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

“You overdosed, Boris. I found you passed out on the bed. You were barely breathing and you wouldn’t wake up. I didn’t know what to do.” Talking about it was painful, and talking about it to Boris was even worse. He didn’t like to bring it up. The darker parts of his existence were off limits, particularly his heroin use.

“Why did you call the ambulance? I hate the doctors, Potter, you know this.”

“You were dying,” I whispered. “The doctor told me if I had waited 5 more minutes you would have been gone.”

“You should not have called,” Boris answered.

“You know I had to. I couldn’t just let you die there, Boris. I love you.” I kissed the top of his head. His dark curls were sweaty and sort of gross, but none of it mattered. He was here with me now.

“So when can we leave? I just want to go home.” This was what I had been dreading. He sounded tired even though he had just woken up, and defeated, too. Defeated in a way that I wasn’t used to hearing Boris sound.

I took a deep breath before saying, “We aren’t going, Boris. We’re gonna stay until the withdrawal is finished, and then we’ll go home.”

Boris immediately jumped, getting up off the bed and ripping the IVs out of his arms. “No, no. I will not stay here, I don’t want to do it. You know this.” He had gone from slurring his words in exhaustion to frantic in the span of a few seconds.

“Boris, please,” I begged. “It’ll be better here. You don’t want to go to an impatient treatment center, I won’t be there. At least here I can be with you.”

“I want to go home, Potter. No hospitals at all. I’m not crazy, I don’t need to be here. I’m fine now, I can go home.”

“Please, calm down. Come here.” I got up, putting my arms around Boris and holding him tight. “Nobody said you were crazy.” I kissed his jaw, then his lips. “You can finally get clean, Boris. It’ll be good.”

“I’m so scared.” I could barely hear the words, they were so quiet. “I don’t want to do it. The withdrawal is bad, and it’s going to hurt, and I don’t want to do it.” He was shaking a bit now, forcing the words through tears.

“Yeah, I know. But it’ll be better here than at home. They can give you stuff, make it a little less horrible. I’ll be here, too. I’ll stay as long as you want me to.” I rubbed circles onto his back, holding him as he cried.

Boris pulling out his IVs must have triggered some alarm, because a nurse walked in shortly after, asking what had happened. I had told her that Boris freaked and pulled all the wires connecting him to the machines off, but that he was okay now, and that she could hook him back up. He agreed, laying down and looking away as she stuck his arm. He was hooked up to a bunch of wires on both his chest and arms, probably to monitor his heart rate and oxygen levels as well as give him fluids. When she left, I joined him on the bed again. He still had tears in his eyes.

“Hey. Boris, it’s going to be alright.” I cupped his face with my hands, wiping his tears away and kissing him gently. “You’re so strong. You can do this, I promise.”

“Yes, I just don’t want to,” he answered. “Have been through worse, probably, but it will not be good. I really don’t want to go through all of it.”

“I know. I know you don’t. But once it’s over you’ll be so much better off. Healthier and happier. Right?”

“I already feel sick, Potter.” He looked sick, too. He closed his eyes, the way people do when they’re trying to stave off pain, and took a shaky breath. I soon realized it wasn’t pain he was trying to stave off, but his nausea. It hadn’t worked. He began to vomit, all down his chin and on hospital gown. He groaned, in pain maybe, but more likely in embarrassment at the first real symptom of his withdrawal. “I am sorry. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“It’s nothing. You’ve seen me worse, Boris.” I helped him into a sitting position, which caused him to vomit again. It was pooling in his flimsy hospital gown, the sharp and sour smell of bile in the air. “Let me help you take it off.”

“No, I can do it myself.” I knew it would get worse, and that eventually he probably would need my help, or a nurse’s, so I didn’t fight back, even though I knew that it would be easier and faster if I helped. It took him a little while to peal off the hospital gown without getting vomit on the bed, and once he did he was lying in front of me completely naked. He folded in on himself into a fetal position, moaning again. “I think I’m dying,” he said.

“You’re not dying. I promise, you’re going to be okay.” It was probably muscle cramps, his stomach tightening up after violently expelling all of the bile in his system. “Come take a shower, it’ll feel good to be under the water after everything.” I helped him up, walking to the small hospital shower with my arms around him. I’d obviously seen him naked before, but now his nakedness was startling. He looked thinner than I remembered, his ribs prominent and his stomach hollowed. I sat him down on the little chair in the shower, moving the shower head out of the way to make sure the temperature was okay before turning the water towards him. I hadn’t gone back home, and I didn’t think to bring toiletries in my panic, so we were stuck with the hospital’s cheap two in one shampoo, which I poured into my hands and rubbed into Boris’ sweaty hair.

“You do not have to wash my hair. I am alright, Potter.”

“Shh, don’t worry about it,” I whispered. “I want to.” I massaged the shampoo in, a strangely intimate act, before bringing the shower head down to wash it out more easily. “Stand up and wash your body?” Boris nodded, grabbing the hospital issued bar soap and rubbing it over his chest and arms. He was doing fine until another muscle cramp must have hit him, and he slipped down to the floor.

He saw me jump back in panic and bend down to grab him, respondng with “Do not worry, is okay.” He grabbed onto the stool, struggling to get back up with the slippery surface of the shower floor under his feet, and I caught him as he almost fell for a second time. I sat him down, helping him wash the rest of his body before shutting off the water and going to grab him a towel. In the minute I was away, I heard him moan again. “I’m sorry,” he said, at a volume I could barely hear from across the room. I couldn’t see him yet, but coming back into the bathroom it was obvious what had happened by the smell alone. He had shit himself, diarrhea pouring down the back of his legs and sitting stagnant at the bottom of the shower. He was shaky, and kept apologizing out loud, over and over. Maybe to me, maybe to himself, maybe to some higher power. I couldn’t tell.

“It’s alright. Calm down, Boris. We can clean it up, it’s only in the shower. Better here than out there.” I turned the water back on, and Boris grabbed the soap to clean himself as the shit ran down his legs and to the drain. I kept the water on his back and legs until it ran clean and the smell was mostly gone from the room. “Here,” I said, wrapping him with the towel. “You just need to lay down.” I got Boris into a new hospital gown and back into bed, kissing him through it all. Once we were laying back down, I told him “I love you so much, Boris. Thank you for staying here.”

He turned away from me, like he had before. He didn’t want to make eye contact. “This is why I didn’t want to do this,” he admitted. “Now I am like child and you have to take care of me.” Because he was only wearing a hospital gown, Boris’ entire backside was visible to me. I kissed his neck and rubbed the small of his back as he said “I hate it. I feel sick, and it only just started, Potter. I will be grown man shitting himself like baby for a week. Might was well put me in a diaper so I don’t fucking shit the bed. I don’t want the nurse to have to clean me because then I feel like invalid, but if you have to clean me I feel horrible too. Like I have lost all my dignity in the world.” He was crying, his voice shaking as he spoke. His body was shaking too, craving the heroin that had nearly killed him.

“Please,” I said gently, “look at me when I tell you this. It’s important.” Boris turned around, but focused his eyes on my chest and not my face. I grabbed his face gently, stroking his cheekbone as I told him “I’m here because I love you, Boris. Whatever happens, I’m going to stay until it’s over. And I don’t mind taking care of you. After everything you’ve done for me, it’s the least I can do. You cleaned my puke more times than I can count, and I’m sure there’s times I don’t even know about. Blackout drunk, remember? And that’s just when we were kids. You did so much for me, not because anyone forced you to but because you’re a good person. And I’m trying to be a good person, too. I love you more than anything in the world, and if that means cleaning up your shit for a week then so be it. Because you deserve to get better, and you deserve recovery and you deserve happiness.”

“You are too good for me.”

“No, I’m not.” It was late, past midnight. Maybe 9 hours after I had found Boris in the apartment nearly dead. “I really don’t want to leave you, but I think maybe I should go back to the apartment and grab some stuff? Just some clothes for us, soap, toothbrushes, that sort of thing. Try and sleep, maybe? I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.” Leaving Boris was the last thing I wanted to do. The thought of being away from him now terrified me, but going to grab the things we needed before he got too bad sounded like a good idea.

“Yes, go. I will be here, probably puking my guts out.” He saw my look of concern and laughed weakly. “Is okay, just joke.” I gave Boris a deep kiss before getting out of the tiny bed, standing at the door for a minute before promising I’d be back soon, and walking fast down the hallway. I intended to keep that promise.

After taking a taxi back to the apartment, I walked quickly to the bathroom to grab our toiletries, and then into the bedroom. It was exactly as it had been after the ambulance arrived, completely untouched by anyone since then. The place was a wreck, Boris’ syringe still on the ground. I threw away the drug paraphernalia in a rush, praying that Boris would never need any of it again, and got some clothes together. Pajamas, underwear, socks. A couple of comfortable outfits. Stuffing it into a bag with the toiletries, I ran out of the apartment, hailed a taxi, and was back at the hospital in less than half an hour.

Walking fast down the halls at night was strange. Nurses and doctors on the night shift stared, and I was glad to be back in the room by Boris’ side and away from their glances. I entered quietly, hoping Boris had fallen asleep, but he hadn’t. Instead, he closed his eyes when he saw me and said “It happened again, Potter.” He didn’t specify what, but I knew. This time, though, he had shit the bed.

I flagged a nurse and asked if she could replace the sheets, while I took Boris into the shower to clean him off again. It had only been around an hour since the last shower, and it was the early hours of the morning, but the thought of Boris feeling any more demoralized than he already was broke my heart. I took out the fancy body wash we had at the apartment, and helped Boris as he washed himself off. “This will just keep happening,” he said. “I will not be able to shower every time.”

“I know, but I want you to at least be clean before you sleep.” I rubbed the soap onto his back, then rinsed it off with the shower head. “And I brought some of your pajamas from home if you don’t want to sleep in the hospital gown.”

“I think maybe it is better to not ruin my clothes,” he said. “Not until this part is over.”

“Okay.” As I helped him out of the shower, he leaned over the toilet to vomit. “Have you eaten anything?” I asked.

“I will just puke it up or shit it out.” He exhaled. “Even water. And I am not hungry at all.”

“Alright, do you wanna try and sleep? It’s late.”

“Yes, I will try. You will not leave?”

“No, Boris. I won’t leave, I promise.” After I got Boris back onto the bed, I pulled the couch in the room close to the bed, so I could be as close to him as possible without squeezing next to him. We had squeezed in beds before, but the twin sized cot was far too small for us to sleep in together now that we were fully grown. He held out his hand, and I gave it a tight squeeze. “Goodnight, Boris. I love you.”

My back hurt bad the next morning, a sign that the too stiff couch was clearly not meant to be slept on. I had woken up at around 6 am, when a nurse came in to check on Boris and got out of bed shortly after, when Boris got up to commence vomiting into the toilet. When I sat down next to him the only thing I noticed was that he looked worse. His skin was clammy, his hair was matted down from sweat, and his nose was dripping. “Did you sleep alright?” I asked tentatively.

“Tossing and turning all night, Potter. Did not sleep much, but when I did I was dreaming. Of Las Vegas, and you, and my father. I want this to stop already. I just need a little bit, it is in my drawer at home. Just a little to make this go away, and then I will stop.” He was desperate, pleading with his eyes.

“I’m not going home to get you heroin, Boris. I’m going to call Hobie and ask him to throw it all away.”

“No, please! Please, I just need a little.” He was vomiting again, his hands on the sides of the toilet and his face resting against the cool porcelain of the seat. He must have been hot, because he had sweat through his hospital gown.

“I’m not going to let you do that, and you know it. You’re this far, let’s just stick it out.” I rubbed his neck as he vomited, hands running through his sweaty hair. It was like that for hours. Boris, vomiting into the toilet bowl as I rubbed his neck. Occasionally, Boris recoiling and closing his eyes in embarrassment as diarrhea ran down his legs and onto the bathroom floor, as I quietly left to find someone who could clean up the mess. The nurse was in and out, checking in on him and giving him medication for the nausea and diarrhea that did little to help his situation. By the end of the day, I was surprised that Boris even had anything left in his system to expel, but the vomit and diarrhea continued on and off until nearly midnight, when Boris fell back against the bathroom wall.

“I am so tired, Potter,” he said to me, his voice hoarse from vomit. “Think I should shower, but don’t know if I can stand up.”

“Sit on the stool, then. It’s there for a reason.” I pointed at the little seat in the shower, and Boris nodded softly. He took off his sweat drenched hospital gown and threw it to the ground, stepping inside the shower carefully before sitting down. He took the entire shower that way, sitting with his back resting on the wall as used the shower head to rinse him off. I had to help him more this time, washing his hair like I did before but also lathering the soap all over his body. He was weaker than I had ever seen him, and he quickly resigned to let me help. “All clean,” I told him, shutting off the water. “Wanna just sleep in a pair of boxers? You’re sweating through everything, I think the less you wear the better.”

“That’s fine.” He really seemed exhausted, collapsing down into his bed as soon as he got his underwear on. “Turn the light off, I will try and sleep.”

“Alright. Sleep well, I love you.” I gave him a kiss on the forehead before shutting off the lights and laying down on the couch.

Sleep came easy, but didn’t last long. I was abruptly awoken, hearing a panicked voice yell, “Nyet, nyet!” Boris was frantic, switching between Russian and English. I rolled over to look at the clock. 4:17 am. I got up off the couch, rubbing my eyes and yawning before approaching Boris. “Ne podkhodi blizhe! Don’t come any closer!” He was scared, wrapping his arms around his chest to protect himself. “Nyet, papa!” I didn’t know much Russian, but I suddenly knew what was happening. I could understand those words. He was begging his father to stay away from him, telling him to not come any closer, and in his delusional state he either thought I was his father or that his father was next to me.

“Boris, listen. I’m not him,” I pleaded, hoping to get through to him.

“Prekrati eto!”

“Boris, it’s me, it’s Theo!” I tried to approach him, but every time I did he panicked, scooting further away from me. “Theodore Decker!”

“Pozhaluysta, papa!” He was crying now, “Don’t hit me, please!”

“Boris I would never hurt you. I promise, I would never hurt you. I love you so much.” He didn’t seem to see me at all or to be listening to anything I said, so I did the only thing I could think of, which was to run over to him and wrap him in my arms. He tried to fight me off, but once he realized that I wasn’t hurting him at all he calmed down. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s just me.” A callback to our childhood, something that might bring him back to reality.

“Potter?” He was clearly confused. “Where am I?”

“The hospital, Boris.” I still had my arms around him, holding tight. I pressed a kiss to his sweaty temple.

“In Las Vegas? What happened?”

“No, in New York. You overdosed, we’re here to help you get better.”

“Why are we in New York? When did we get here?” He didn’t seem aware of the situation, perhaps thinking himself to be a child again.

“We live here, Boris. In our apartment, remember?” I was trying to be as gentle with him as possible, reminding him of our life together. The life we made for ourselves in New York.

“I don’t know.” He looked confused. Aware that he should know, but worried about the fact that he didn’t.

“Try and sleep, Boris. It’ll be better when you wake up tomorrow. I promise.” I loosened the grip, letting him out of my arms. “Are you cold?” I asked, since he was in only a pair of thin boxers. He shook his head no. “Okay, then you should sleep.” He nodded, though he seemed completely out of it, then got into bed, curled up into the fetal position, and fell asleep. I followed soon after.

Boris’ episode of delusion and panic frightened me greatly, as I had never seen him lose touch with reality the way he did during those 10 minutes. The next day, though his vomiting and diarrhea had become manageable, and though he knew that I was me and that we were in New York, Boris began to terrify me in an entirely new way.

He woke me up with his crying, telling me “I did not sleep well last night, Potter. I don’t know what I did.”

“What do you mean you don’t know what you did?” I asked gently. I knew Boris was in a sensitive emotional state. Three days into withdrawal meant his cravings were rampant and his moods were swinging wildly.

“I hurt myself, I think?” He held his arms out for me to see, and where there were usually faint track marks I saw bloody holes. It looked as if he had dug into the marks with something sharp, creating craters over twice the size of the scars that usually littered his arms. “I don’t know what happened?” He phrased it like a question, like he genuinely didn’t know how the marks had gotten there.

“You did it to yourself?” I whispered, and he nodded. “With what?”

“Razor blade, when you were sleeping. Dug the corner into the holes, I needed to let the blood out.”

“Why did you need to let the blood out?” He still seemed not quite in touch with reality, but I desperately didn’t want to get him sent to the psych ward, so I kept it all quiet. Made sure he was under the blanket and pretended it all was fine when the nurse came in to check on him.

He began to cry harder, wiping away tears as he said “To feel something? I need to feel something, Potter. I feel so numb without the drugs, it makes me wish I were dead. I need to do a pop but I can’t get it here, so I need to feel something else. Anything else, before I slit my wrists and end it, Potter.”

“Boris.” I didn’t know what else to say. I knew heroin withdrawal could create depression so strong the addict was drawn to suicide, but I had always figured Boris couldn’t feel that way. Boris laughed off his trauma, and even when he let it affect him it was never nearly this bad. “We just need to get through today.”

“I can’t,” he said. “I can’t do it anymore, this whole thing.”

I kissed his head, whispering “You’ve made it this far, I know you can make it the rest of the way. I know it.”

“I don’t want to make it if this is how I’m going to feel. I would rather be dead.” I laid down with him, and he rested his head on my chest. “I hate being me and I hate that I put myself in this situation. I hate it all.”

“There’s no use in being upset for the things you did in the past, Boris. You need to forgive yourself for the things you regret doing and just promise yourself you’ll do better. The past is behind you and you can’t change it. You can’t go back and decide to not use drugs, but you can try your hardest to never start again. It hurts, I know, but you just need to remember that we’re here for a reason. And you need to look forward to that, you need to look forward to the future. Every day it’ll be easier. And it’s hard now, but tomorrow it’ll be less, and the next day even less, until it gets easy enough that you won’t have to think about it. You know?”

“Will you just lay with me today?” he asked into my chest.

“Do you really think I’d leave you now? Of course I’ll lay with you. And soon we can go home.”

We stayed in the same position for hours, only getting up when one of us had to go to the bathroom. Boris was finally able to keep food down, and he looked much healthier than he had the day before. He was still clammy and pale, but his skin looked less dull and he wasn’t shaking. He was finally able to put on sweatpants and a t-shirt without sweating through them, and the doctor cleared him to be discharged after one more night in the hospital as long as his symptoms kept improving.

We spent the last night the way we spent the first two, with me on the couch pushed close to Boris’ bed. I knew he wasn’t sleeping well, a result of the withdrawal induced anxiety and insomnia, and that he probably wouldn’t sleep well for at least a week after, as he body adjusted to not having heroin in it’s system, but he got a few hours of sleep that night. Better than any of the nights before, and without any trips to the bathroom to puke or delusions interrupting his rest. The next morning, he took a shower and changed into a new set of sweatpants and a new t-shirt without any help. He still wasn’t himself, but he was able to do the things that had seemed impossible in the two days prior. He gave me a weak smile as he left the bathroom, wet curls hanging down over his forehead. Eventually, a doctor came in and explained to Boris his options for after we left: personal therapy to help discuss the trauma that had led to addiction, group therapy to foster better coping skills, follow ups to see how he was doing. All things I knew he would object to.

“They think I am crazy, Potter. That I need shrink,” he laughed.

“Nobody thinks that. It’s just to talk about yourself and any problems that happen to arise in day to day life. It might be good for you.” He didn’t seem convinced. “I go to therapy, Boris. It helps, I promise. After everything we’ve been through, sometimes you just need to talk to someone who wasn’t involved in it all.”

He sighed, “We can talk about this later.”

“Okay.” I didn’t want to push him. Even though he was visibly better, his withdrawal wasn’t finished. The doctor had made that clear. He had puked and shit himself constantly for two days, then spent the next in a clear mental crisis. It would last for at least few more days with less severe physical symptoms, and his body wouldn’t be completely used to being without heroin until next week. There was just no need for the hospital to monitor him anymore. His overdose hadn’t killed him, and the very worst of his withdrawal was over, so the responsibility of making sure Boris was alright was placed entirely on me.

I packed up the one bag I had brought, and Boris put on the clothes he had come to the hospital in. A black shirt and dark jeans, the outfit he had been wearing when I found him laying on the bed. We signed the necessary paperwork, and within an hour he was discharged. The air was crisp and the sun was bright, especially after three days of the bleach smell and fluorescent lights of the hospital. Boris took in a deep breath, and I put my arm around his shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”

“Three days is nothing,” he said. “I’m still going through it.”

“I know. But I’m proud of you for getting this far. You’ve never done it before. That’s something to be proud of.”

Being back home wasn’t as much of a relief as I thought it would be. Our home was the same, but it all felt different. The promise of a better future for Boris echoed throughout the halls, but the knowledge that he might relapse and that we might have to start all over lurked in the back of my mind as well. He was happy to be back, though. Being able to lay in our bed instead of the uncomfortable hospital bed helped him sleep better, and being in a familiar environment eased his anxiety. I spent the next week in bed with him as he recovered, calming him when he woke up screaming and promising him that his life was well worth living. It got easier, but it was never easy. He managed to remain clean that entire time, a feat that I frankly didn’t think was possible for him. He looked healthier than he ever had, too. His skin was clear and glowing in a way that I didn’t associate with Boris one bit, the dull pallor replaced with rosy fairness.

One night, weeks after the hospital, we were laying in bed when Boris said to me, “Thank you. For making me stay in the hospital. I didn’t ever think I’d stop, and I didn’t think that anyone would care enough to make me. But you did.”

“Yeah, of course. You know you mean the world to me, right? That if I had lost you that night I don’t even know what I would have done.” I kissed him then, slow and deep. Boris was alive and breathing, and he was kissing me back, and that was more than I could have ever asked for.

I can’t speak for the future. None of us know what’s going to happen tomorrow, and the thought of that terrifies us all. But for now, I can say that Boris remained clean. Threw his drugs down the garbage disposal and watched them get incinerated, went to therapy, took it all one day at a time. Put years and years of numbing his pain with drugs behind him, and decided he would keep going despite everything he had been through. And that’s more than I could ever ask of him.

read on ao3

#the goldfinch #boreo #boris pavlikovsky #theo decker #fanfic

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vaguelyprophetic · 5 years

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don't mind me just laying on the floor thinking about the first time boris has to kill someone

okay you didn’t have to hit me with this right now jfc.........

how old do you think he was? how soon after theo leaving did he get pulled into that world? we know he fell pretty hard into drugs pretty quickly, but how many years went by in that kind of misery before he got involved with the wrong kind of people?

because imagine if he was still just a kid. eighteen, nineteen, twenty years old. while theo is going to college and making a life for himself in new york (however much of a sham that life is), boris is diving deeper and deeper into shady back alley deals and violence and drugs and fear. and he trusts the guys he’s with, and he’s seen nearly as much shit as they have, but he’s still just a kid. and maybe it’s the first time a deal goes wrong, and suddenly everyone’s pulling guns out, and he’s held one before but he’s never shot one at a real person, but in the moment it’s adrenaline pumping and kill or be killed, and he closes his eyes and points the gun and takes the shot.

and it gets easier as time goes on. he tells theo he’s never killed anyone, not really, because it was always in self defense. how many times did it have to happen before he became numb to it? how many times did he have no other choice? the first time haunts him. the echo of the gunshot, the recoil, the warm metal against his hand. the thud of a body hitting the ground. the others, they fade eventually, but the first one sticks around.

it’s a whisper from darkest corners of his mind: killer. he tries to tell himself it isn’t true, because he’s never killed someone without a reason, but there’s no running from it. boris pavlikovsky is a killer, and he knows it’s true, no matter how he tries to justify it.

#sorry if this is incoherent #im going to have a breakdown #boris pavlikovsky #the goldfinch #ask #anonymous

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