A sharp, persistent beeping sound echoed throughout the room, messy and dark, with two schoolbags tossed beside the door, books and empty beer bottles resting in the corners, dirty clothes tossed in piles around the bed. A window across from the bed was cracked slightly, letting in a slight breeze that aired out the room, which smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and cheap alcohol. A worn pair of black, steel-toed combat boots sat at the foot of the bed alongside a pair of sand-stained black converse with the laces frayed at the ends. On the nightstand rested a black alarm clock, the culprit responsible for the sound that had now turned to shrill whines. The numbers, still glowing faintly from the shade of the room, read 6:18 am. Next to the alarm clock sat a pair of brown, circular glasses, a few black leather bracelets, and a small bottle of black nail polish.
Theodore Decker, dressed in a pair of blue pajama pants with little red rockets and Boris' black t-shirt with the three cat faces decorating it, moaned as he stretched out a freckled arm and slammed his hand down on the 'snooze' button. The whining immediately ceased, leaving the room in peaceful silence. Theo sighed, pulling his arm back under his pillow and shifting slightly to face Boris, who had apparently, at some point during the night, buried himself underneath the covers, with only the top of his head adorned with wild black curls poking out.
It was true that Boris could be rather unpredictable, but the two boys had fallen into some resemblance of a routine over the past few months, and Theo had grown to know him as a little bit of an early bird: rising not soon after the beep of the alarm and rousing Theo, who was most definitely not an early bird, from his slumber, handing him Advil and popping a few of the tablets himself, (most days) slipping into new clothes (usually) and lacing up his beloved boots all while Theo slowly gathered the will to rise from the bed. If they had time, Boris would often start the kettle, boiling tea for Theo and himself and they would sip on that quietly, enjoying the silence they shared until one of them would curse loudly, having just checked the time, and soon they would be scrambling for their bags, searching the floor and table for keys, giving a few soft pat's to Popper's head, and racing out the door for the bus.
Today though, Boris seemed content with sleeping in, silent and still. When the beeping of the alarm clock returned at 6:30 am, Theo moaned again, reaching over to turn it off and flipping over on his back. He rubbed his eyes, blindly fumbling for his glasses as he debated whether or not he wanted to make the effort of going to school. They were often absent, for various different reasons, and Theo sometimes worried that one day some staff member would come knocking on his door and send both Boris and him off to some shelter, as neither of their fathers were even half-way decent in taking care of them. Sighing, Theo nudged Bori's shoulder, earning a small whine from the black-haired boy as he shifted slightly, revealing more of his messy curls.
"Wake up, Boris," Theo called, "We're gonna be late again," Boris whined again, and Theo took that to mean he was awake, sliding off the bed and snatching up a pair of black pants from the floor, walking off to the bathroom to get ready. Dressed, he stumbled down the stairs, pouring a generous amount of dog kibble into Popper's bowl after letting him outside to relieve himself, pocketing his keys, (which were on the counter) and started the kettle. He took Boris' favorite red mug from the sink along with his own blue one, giving them a quick wash and setting cinnamon tea bags into both. When he didn't hear any movement from upstairs, Theo grew suspicious and made the treck back to his room, Popper trailing at his heels. Boris was exactly where he'd left him, curled up in a ball underneath the covers, his hair blowing just slightly from the breeze outside.
"Boris," Theo called, nudging his shoulder. He received no response, and rolled his eyes, reaching out with his foot and kicking Boris gently.
5 minutes later,
"What the fuck?" Boris yelped, raising his head from the covers and squinting at his friend, "What the hell are you doing?" He flipped over to his back and groaned as he stretched, cat-like and beautiful.
"Well, if you'd woken up properly the first time I kicked you, I wouldn't have had to do it four more times," Theo said smugly, smirking as he rolled his eyes.
"Fuck off Potter," Boris snapped, a bite in his tone that Theo had never heard before.
"Calm down, we were gonna be late if I didn't wake you up," Theo retorted, hurt slightly from whatever foul mood Boris had woken up in. He huffed, sitting up with a wince. Boris had fallen asleep in his clothes, a faded-black band t-shirt, and black cargo pants. He slipped into his combat boots, leaning over to tie the laces and snatch up a black zip-up hoodie from the floor. Theo rolled his eyes, retreating down the stairs to grab the screaming kettle from the stove and poured the boiling water into the mugs. Boris came stumbling down the stairs shortly after, his backpack dangling from his arm. He dropped it next to Theo's bag and all but threw himself into his chair at the kitchen table, burying his face into his arms, only to raise it back up again when Theo cautiously pushed a mug towards his arm.
"Thanks," Boris mumbled, swiping at his nose with his sleeve before taking a long sip and sighing. Theo peered at him, head tilted slightly.
"You look like shit," he said, and Boris did. His face was paler than usual, making him look almost dead, and accentuating his dark circles. His nose was red along with his eyes, rimmed with color and watery. He looked feverish, but when Theo reached over to place his hand on Boris' forehead he found it strangely cool. Boris leaned into his touch, before pulling away suddenly to cough.
"Are you okay?" I asked him, bringing my hand back to my mug. He gave a bright, very Russian-accented shrug. "Just a cold," he assured me. I was about to ask him if he wanted to stay home when Boris glanced at the wall-clock in the living room, a scratchy curse exploding from his mouth before he grabbed my arm, yanking me off my chair and nearly spilling my half-drunken tea and dragging me to the door, scooping up our bags on the way and his black umbrella. "Blyat we are late," he mumbled, coughing into his arm as we raced out the door.