Time flies by once Will starts dating Boris. He’s not exactly sure how. Maybe it’s because the days are more enjoyable; a sweet note passed here, a stray pinky slyly linked with his underneath the lunch table there. They even spend more time together outside of school. Sometimes, Will goes to Boris’s house, but more often than not, Boris is at Will’s. So much so that his mom has taken to coddling him like a third son.
Will never did bring up the other boy’s home situation with her, but she either senses it, or sees something special in Boris, just like Will had hoped she would. It’s not uncommon for her to offer him seconds or thirds at dinner, or to include him in the cleaning up afterwards. She asks him about his grades on tests and quizzes, and even expresses her disappointment when he doesn’t do well. The first time it happened seemed to shake Boris to the core, sent him stuttering and stumbling over his words in a confused apology. If it had been any other person, Will might have found it humorous, but knowing that Boris has never had anyone to press him to do better when it comes to his grades, the whole situation left him drowning in a shadow of melancholy.
Will’s favorite part of Boris coming to his house so often, and of his mom’s affection of him, is that on some days, if they’re really lucky, she lets him spend the night regardless of whether or not it’s a school night. It kind of helps if they casually mention that Boris’s dad is away at the mine—a move that’s a mixture of honest and manipulative. Sometimes Will feels bad because she doesn’t know the whole picture, but at the same time he feels that telling her would be worse. Because he couldn’t just tell her one thing, like that Boris’s dad disappears for weeks at a time. He would have to tell her everything. The abuse. And that they’re more than friends now. It’s just how talking to his mom goes.
And neither Will nor Boris are ready for that. Maybe for different reasons, but still, it would likely be too much.
Either way, tonight is one of those lucky nights in question. It’s a Thursday, and they just had lasagna for dinner. Boris is dressed in a pair of Jonathan’s old pajamas because Will’s are far too small for him, but Jonathan’s are way too big still, and the pants drag over his feet, and the shirt leaves his collarbones exposed, and Will can’t help but think that Boris looks cozy and cute in the warmest of ways.
They’re sitting in Will’s room, Boris lounging by the window, cigarette in hand, and Will on his bed, fingers itching for his pencil and sketchbook.
“Can I draw you?” Will asks.
“Huh?” Boris cups his hand to his ear in an old man gesture.
“You heard me.”
“Yes, just wanted to hear you say again.”
Will rolls his eyes.
“C’mon. Let me draw you.”
Boris ashes his cigarette before taking another drag.
“Why now?” He questions.
Will shrugs.
“I dunno…you look…” he gestures vaguely “…nice.”
He’s more than familiar with the smirk that slides across his boyfriend’s face. Sly and playful and lively, and even though they’ve been together for weeks at this point, it still sends the same sharp rush of heat into his stomach as the first day he met him.
Boris stubs his cigarette out and tosses the butt out the window before making his way over to Will’s desk chair. And he sprawls, all gangly limbs and elongated neck, tousled hair and vivid eyes.
“Draw me pretty, yes?”
Will can barely breathe.
“Okay,” it comes out as almost a whisper.
