It felt like forever that we sat there together in the corner, Boris quiet in my arms while I hummed my mother's old forgotten tunes. I debated with myself about what to do next, unsure of whether or not I should ask Boris what he had dreamt about, or if I should just wait for him to offer the information himself. Part of me, a selfish part, didn't want to know what horrid things Boris had seen in his dreams, or what dark memories may have triggered such an intense panic attack, or who he was screaming at, or what he was begging them not to do. Boris was my rock, he had been so ever since the day we had met. I'd melted into his protectiveness over me and loved the thrill I got whenever he taught me new things like how to snort cocaine or his favorite swear words in Russian. I was afraid to admit that I'd failed him as a friend, too caught up in my own head to acknowledge that Boris might have his demons too. To my credit, he had never seemed that bothered when his father would beat him, nor very heart-broken over his mother's death, but I'd never pushed beyond what he'd told me, and that was how we'd worked.

At last, Boris was the first to move, his arms (which were snaked around my torso) slackening in their death-grip and falling into his lap as he leaned away from me, swiping at his eyes and nose and staring at the floor.

"I'm sorry I woke you," he whispered very quietly, and I had to strain to hear him. For a second I was at a loss for words, "You...don't apologize for that Boris, it's not your fault." I said gently, wishing he would look at me. He didn't respond, instead focusing on picking at the skin around his nails.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked, reaching out and taking his hands when I noticed he was making his fingers bleed a little bit. Boris shook his head, swallowing thickly. "Is nothing," he whispered.

"Boris, I can't help you if I don't know what's going on," I pushed. I remembered the first time I'd ever had a nightmare around Boris. I'd sat up quickly in bed and attempted to slow my loud breathing back to normal, praying that I hadn't woken him. I was too afraid to look and see, but my prayers were not answered because soon two dark, chocolate brown eyes were peering at me from my left side. I had been so afraid that Boris would judge me, see me as inferior, leave me for someone else who didn't wake up crying every week, that I hadn't stopped to consider that he might actually understand. Seeing Boris reluctant to tell me about his own dreams, I falsely assumed he was embarrassed as I had once been.

"It's okay you know, I'm not going to judge you," I said, startled when his head has snapped up, his hands pulling away from mine. His eyes were wide and frantic as he shrieked, "You'll hate me!"

I was shocked, but I didn't hesitate before shaking my head, "No, no Boris I could never hate you," I assured him, staring into his eyes. "I could never," There was a long silence as Boris stared at my shirt, his eyes dark and haunted. Somewhere in the back of the house, Popper barked. "You'll hate me," he whispered again, agony in his voice as though our friendship had already slipped through his fingers. I shook my head again, my insides squirming at the thought of ever hating him. I couldn't even imagine it. "No, I won't,"

"I...I didn't want to do it," Boris began, shaking as tears gathered in his eyes. I waited patiently for him to continue, taking his trembling hands again in my own and rubbing soft circles on his milky skin.

"My father, he...he needed the money, you have to believe me we were broke! He just needed the money and...and they said I-I was pretty, I-I couldn't...I couldn't...they made me Theo," he cried, eyes shining with tears as he finally looked at me, "I didn't want to!" he insisted as though I might not believe him.

I wanted to vomit, my mind was piecing the rest of the story together on its own. Born and raised in the city I knew what rape was. My mother had explained it to me one evening as we had sat on the couch, the coffee table littered with Chinese takeout boxes and my father god knows where while the television broadcasted a photo of a thin, fragile-looking girl with innocent eyes as the newscaster announced that she had been raped and left to die in an alleyway. I'd cried when my mother explained to me in the gentlest way she could what rape was. I didn't understand how someone could do that to another, and I'd hurt for the girl, mourned for her. But Boris? Boris I knew, Boris I had overwhelmingly passionate feelings for that I could only describe as love, yet that word didn't truly articulate how I felt for him, I didn't think anything ever would. Boris was my protector, my only true friend, my rock, my confidant, the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes on and someone had broken him.

I hadn't spoken for a few long moments of shock as my brain tried to process this new information, and Boris was staring at me, dread in his eyes.

"If I ever, come across those people I will kill them Brois," I'd never been a violent person, but I meant every word of that, and Boris stared at me in shock.

"You-you don't hate me?" he questioned uncertainty in his voice but hope in his eyes. "No!" I yelled, lowering my voice when he flinched slightly, "No Boris I don't hate you. I just wish I'd known earlier, I could have helped sooner." My fingers ghosted over the shadows under his eyes, "You're gonna kill yourself if you keep avoiding sleep." Boris looked away, and I bit my lip, finally asking the question I had been dreading the answer to.

"Have...have you been having nightmares the entire time? That we've been together?" He must have seen the guilt in my eyes, for he shook his head quickly. "No, I take pills to knock me out," he explained. My brow furrowed, "Then..." my voice trailed off, the unspoken question hanging in the air. Boris shrugged. "I dunno, they stopped working."

I bit my lip again, tasting blood. "I used to take pills too you know," I started, and he nodded as though he had known that his entire life. "I hated them but they kept the nightmares away. They always left me feeling groggy though, really dizzy and sick feeling. I stopped taking them then when I came here. I ran out, really, but I didn't like them anyways. Then you, I dunno, it's just always been different with you," I rambled, not exactly sure where I was going. Boris watched me patiently, waiting for me to continue.

"What I mean, is, maybe we could do this together? They won't go away but they might get better, and your life won't depend on a pill." There were a few seconds of stunned silence before Boris' lips turned upwards in the suggestions of a smile, and a bit of his old spark seemed to shine in his eyes. "Okay," he said breathily, truly smiling at me now.

I enveloped him in a hug, pressing as close as I could to him, burying my nose in his curls and inhaling his scent. His bony arms wrapped around me too, and I felt him sigh.

"I'll always be there for you Boris, never forget that," I whispered to him. There would never be the right words to describe how much Boris meant to me, but I hoped that he knew.

"Thank you, Theo" he whispered back, sending a little thrill through me at the use of my real name.

"I love you."