𝒄𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒔 .* : ｡ﾟ

iii. 𝐬𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐳𝐞

— Boris' p.o.v —

I must've completely crashed on the couch— for a long time too, since when I woke up it was dark, and Popchik was completely asleep by my head.

Slowly I stood, trying my best not to wake the dog. Where was Potter? The house was still and quiet and felt as if it were completely empty. There were cartoons playing on the television, but the volume had been turned down all the way earlier that evening.

I made my way over to the kitchen sink and splashed my hot face with water, and searched the cupboards for some Advil or Tylenol for my head. There were empty glasses and bottles of beer and vodka tipped over on the table, and I tried to put them away best I could so no one else would see.

After a little while, I glanced at the oven-top clock, it read 1:56am. Potter must have gone to bed.

I made my way up the stairs—,I knew neither Xandra or Potter's dad we're home, cause there were no cars parked in the driveway, nor keys on the counter. This was common occurrence of course.

When I entered his room, Potter was no where in sight.

"Potter?" I muttered as if I were going to get an answer. I then laughed out loud for no reason at all. But my hysteria didn't last long before I got a wave that something really bad could have happened to him. I clutched the door frame and thought about where he could possibly fucking be, and sighed of relief when I heard muffled breathing and sniffing coming from the closet.

Quickly, I stepped over the dirty clothes lying on the floor, "Hey, Potter," I said softly as I pushed open the closet door. There he was, sitting with his knees pressed to his chest, staring at the ground.

He didn't look up at me, instead he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Cautiously, I sat down in front of him and closed the door a bit.

"You okay?" I whispered, and waited for a reply. He shook his head, no. I scooted closer to him, but couldn't see very well since it was mostly dark in there—  except for a little light coming from the crack between the doors. "Shit, what's going on? Are you hurt?"

"No," He said quietly.

He must be wrecked. I thought.

I put my hand on his arm for a moment in attempts of comforting him, then turned to lean myself against the back of the closet. We were quiet for a couple minutes.

"Want to go to bed?" I nudged his foot with mine, "is late."

He just shook his head and took in a shaky breath. I kept my foot on top of his and tried to close my eyes. Hopefully he would just fall asleep.

I was startled when he finally said something.

"I wish it were me," He paused and pulled his knees closer to him, "I wish it were me instead of her."

I looked at him gently and tried to figure out what he was getting at, "What are you on about?"

"I wish it were me— who had died. Not her." He muttered even quieter, a type of desperation in the way he was speaking. I couldn't quite tell if he was crying or not, but the sound in his voice made me so sad and angry, how could he say something like that?

"Potter, you don't mean that."

"I do." He replied and in an instant there were tears. He started sobbing into his knees and I swiftly shifted myself next to him with the space that was left, and wrapped my arms around him tight. He was wailing and gasping for air. I felt a terrible, pain in my heart.

"Shhh, is okay," I rubbed his back, "You're okay," I felt him shake his head no, "Just close your eyes, Potter, I'm here."

His wailing quieted down within a couple minutes, and he nuzzled his head into my sweater. I didn't know what exactly to say, how to help him. God, I wish I could do something more. I'd do anything to keep him happy.

There was a scratching sound that came from outside the closet. Perfect. I opened the doors a little bit to let the scruffy szczenię in with us. I picked Popchik up and gave him to Potter, where he stayed happily in his arms. "Want to get into bed? It will be more comfortable there."

He looked at me with his tear stained face, and shook his head the smallest bit.

"Okay," I whispered. "Come here."

I let him lay on me with Popchik, and I kept rubbing his back, comforting him while he would go in and out of sobs. I tried not to think about how uncomfortable the closet was, sitting on the cold hard wood floor. It did feel nice against the vegas heat though.

~

About an hour later, Popchik got up and crawled out of the closet— stirring Potter and I awake a bit.

"Alright, come on," I said as I started to get up. I lent my hands to help him, and he took them hesitantly, "There you go, kochanie."

"Boris, I'm sorry I—"

I brushed the hair out of my face and watched him adjust his glasses, "No, I understand."

I guided him over to bed, and after he got comfortable, I turned off the lights in the hallway. I climbed over him and laid down, draping an arm over his chest and grazed his arm with my thumb softly.

"Sleep Potter, It will get better. I promise." I said, before we both fell into a deep, much needed sleep.