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The moon was full, hanging brilliantly in the cloudless night and illuminating the sole figure wandering through the hedges of Shadow Pond. Boris knew where his feet wanted to take him, a course charted by emotion without regard to common sense. He pretended to be ignorant of it, as though a siren wasn’t calling to him from across the estate, beckoning from the still lit guesthouse he couldn’t quite let out of his sight no matter how aimlessly he wandered.
Willful ignorance only served him so far; he watched as the moon climbed in the sky, the stars’ faint twinkling almost washed out by the city’s lights. Gravel crunched beneath his shoes, the light in his periphery growing and the faint murmur of laughter sharpening. Boris stopped at the edge of the guesthouse, unable to pretend any longer that his final destination was anywhere else, and let his gaze fall to the occupants inside.
HankMed gathered together on the patio, Divya Katdare and Evan Lawson pointing and laughing at one another, a collection of empty beer bottles on the table. The siren himself sat beside them, tilting a beer back as he laughed, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
Hank Lawson.
Boris’s eyes traced the lines of the doctor’s face, taking in the crinkling of his eyes as he smiled, the way he held his tongue between his teeth as he laughed. He looked happy, a far cry from the bone-deep weariness he’d worn when he first graced Boris’s doorstep. Not that Boris would change a thing about their first meeting; Hank was the breath of fresh air he sorely needed, the stale confines of Shadow Pond and his impending demise nearly suffocating him before Hank waltzed in.
Which was why Boris’s feet led him there that night, the dark rooms of his beloved estate too full of memories and inescapable non-futures. He needed a change of pace, needed the relentless determination with which Hank practiced medicine and approached life in general. That night of the party, when he’d challenged Boris and refused to be cowed, Boris had felt hopeful about the future for the first time in years.
Evan gestured with his hands, knocking over Divya’s half-full beer in his exuberance and only managing to set it upright a few heartbeats too late after it spilled its contents over the table and down onto the floor.
“Evan!” Divya exclaimed, startling to her feet to avoid the mess, and Hank laughed harder, shaking his head as Evan sputtered out an apology.
Hank was having a nice evening, perhaps one of the first in a while. Boris wanted him to feel at home at Shadow Pond; he shouldn’t go barging in with his melancholy and ruin the night. Boris sighed, allowing himself one last look at Hank’s smiling face before turning away. He took long, quick strides, eager to distance himself from the bright joy of HankMed and its alluring promises. He slowed when he came to a bench far enough away that the hedges obscured the guesthouse from sight. Boris sat down, tilting his face up to the heavens as he swallowed back another sigh. There was no reason to be disappointed. Boris had spent his share of sleepless nights kept awake by the looming shadow of fate. He’d weathered it before, he could weather it again tonight without Hank Lawson.
Boris blinked up at the stars. He didn’t have much time left to bask in the moonlight, he should try to enjoy it. He closed his eyes, letting the salt of the ocean breeze waft over his face, searching for a calm that grew evermore out of reach with each passing day. The sound of gravel crunching under quick footsteps interrupted his fruitless attempt to relax. Boris turned, a sharp reprimand on the tip of his tongue poised to draw blood from whoever dared disturb him, and froze as Hank rounded the corner.
Hank looked down the path, frowning as he canvassed the area, before his eyes fell on Boris, frozen in place on the bench.
“There you are,” Hank exclaimed, his voice just the slightest bit too loud. “I thought that was you.”
Ah, Hank must have seen him leaving. Boris cleared his throat, adjusting his suit jacket as Hank strode over, his steps even and steady despite his intoxication.
“Why didn’t you come in and say hi?” Hank asked as he drew closer.
“You were . . . occupied. I did not want to intrude.”
Hank waved the concern away. “You could never intrude, Boris, you’re always welcome.”
You’re always welcome. Boris’s chest tightened at the invitation and he allowed the wisp of a smile to flicker across his features, which seemed to delight Hank.
“Wait you’re not—you don’t need me as a doctor tonight, right?” Hank asked, frowning as he came to a halt in front of Boris.
“No,” Boris said and even he wasn’t sure if that was the truth or a lie.
“Oh, good because I’m a little drunk, but I could call somebody if you needed.”
“I am fine, Hank, I am not in need of your services tonight.” That was a lie.
“Yeah? Well, you look like you need something.” Hank paused, considering. “How about a friend? I’m not too drunk for that.”
“I always welcome your friendship, Hank,” Boris murmured, perhaps too honestly.
“Good,” Hank said, looking down at the bench.
Boris started to shift over so Hank could join him, but he didn’t get the chance to move so much as an inch before he suddenly had a lap full of Hank Lawson. Boris froze as the doctor settled sideways onto his lap, legs swinging up to stretch across the bench. Hank laid his head against Boris’s shoulder, both arms coming around to settle under Boris’s suit jacket, fingers spreading out across his back.
“You look sad,” Hank said, his breath warm against Boris’s neck. “I don’t want you to be sad. I was sad, for a long time after . . . well. Anyway, it’s not fun. I don’t want you to feel that way.”
Boris blinked down at Hank, who smelled strongly of cheap beer and antiseptic.
“Hank, you are drunk.”
“I told you I was,” Hank agreed, tightening his arms around Boris. He shifted a little, bringing his knees up so they rested against Boris’s side. “Why are you sad?”
“That’s a story for another time, when you are not drunk.”
It was selfish to allow this to continue given Hank’s state, but he let his arms wind around Hank, holding the doctor steadfast in his lap. He was only a man; how could he refuse affection so freely given? He rested his chin on top of Hank’s head and felt the other man sigh. Boris closed his eyes and tried to memorize the feel of Hank in his arms, the weight of the doctor against him in case he never got the chance to hold him again.
“Alright,” Hank said, shivering slightly as a breeze cut through the night. “I don’t want you to be sad and alone though, so I’ll stay. Is that okay?”
“Perfectly,” Boris breathed into Hank’s hair.
Hank burrowed a little deeper into Boris, his nose cold against his throat. Boris ran a hand down Hank’s arm, feeling the goosebumps that rose under his palm.
“Here, sit up a moment,” Boris instructed.
Hank complied, opening one eye to watch disapprovingly as Boris leaned back. Boris had no intention of leaving, however; he merely slipped off his suit jacket before pulling Hank back against him. Hank returned to his former position, hair tickling the base of Boris’s throat. Boris shook out the jacket before carefully arranging it around Hank. The doctor wore only a thin shirt, a hideous cheap thing that did nothing to ward off the chill blowing in from the ocean. Perhaps one day Hank would let Boris replace it. He smiled slightly at the thought as he tucked the jacket securely around Hank.
“You can always find me,” Hank said, tilting his head to look up at Boris. “Whenever you’re feeling sad. I want you to find me. It doesn’t matter the time or why you're sad.”
“Thank you, Hank,” Boris said and Hank grinned, teeth flashing in the moonlight, tongue held temptingly between them.
Yes, Hank was the breath of fresh air that Boris needed, and perhaps one he might even get to keep, if Hank's behavior tonight was any indication of his true feelings. Boris tightened his grip on Hank, gently urging him to lay his head back down. Boris gazed up at the stars as Hank curled around him, a comforting, warm weight that kept the demons at bay. They sat, holding each other in the quiet night, Boris watching the stars and Hank fading in and out of sleep, occasionally rousing enough to peek up at Boris as though checking on him. A habit from his hospital days perhaps; endearing, no matter the source.
“Hank? Where did you run off to?”
Evan Lawson’s loud, grating voice crashed through the night, invading the peaceful little sanctuary Hank had managed to carve out for them. Boris scowled, fingers curling tighter around Hank’s arms, knowing that the younger Lawson would try and steal him away. Sure enough, Evan came stumbling around the corner a moment later with all the grace of a bull in a china shop, only slightly less drunk than Hank and looking for his wayward brother.
“Hank!” Evan called again and Boris felt Hank stir, consciousness returning at his brother’s call.
“Oh, Boris, shit, I’m so sorry I didn’t realize—” Evan only spied Boris when he had blundered halfway down the path, starting to apologize before his eyes flickered down and he saw Hank.
The expression on his face might have been comical if it didn’t promise to ruin Boris’s night.
“Hank!” Evan exclaimed, eyes all but bugging out of his face. “What are you doing?!”
Hank lifted his head, turning to scowl at his brother. “Keep your voice down, I’m drunk not deaf.”
Hank nestled back into Boris after delivering the reprimand, unbothered by his brother’s dismay. Evan sputtered, looking from Hank to Boris and then back to Hank. If he was looking for help from Boris, he was out of luck. Boris wasn’t about to play a hand that lent to Hank’s removal.
“Boris, I am so sorry about him. He’s a bit clingy when he’s drunk, but he doesn’t normally climb onto people’s laps like this—”
“I asked,” Hank defended.
“You asked if you could stay, not if you could sit,” Boris murmured into Hank’s ear, too low for Evan to catch.
Hank frowned up at him, blinking as he tried to remember. “Oh. Sorry.”
Boris hid a smile in Hank’s hair as Evan groaned, both hands coming up to rub at his face as though Hank were embarrassing him.
“You don’t have to apologize.” Boris’s words were barely a whisper, his lips brushing over Hank’s ear. Emboldened by Evan's assertion that this was not typical drunken behavior and Hank's earlier promises, he added, “You are always welcome on my lap, Hank.”
Hank laughed, bright and delighted, which pushed Evan over the edge.
“Okay, that’s enough—come on, Henry, we have to go, get off the billionaire’s lap, nobody wants you climbing all over them,” Evan babbled, quite incorrectly, lurching forward to grab his brother by the arm and pull him off Boris.
Hank grinned, his arms going slack as he allowed Evan to pull him up and onto his feet. Hank stumbled only slightly, limbs stiff from sitting in one position for so long, but he kept his eyes on Boris, who steadily gazed back. They both ignored Evan as he apologized some more, useless chatter that fell on deaf ears as he dragged his brother to a respectable distance. Boris tilted his head, taking in how Hank looked: hair messy, shirt ruffled, eyes bright and fixed on Boris, Boris’s jacket still hanging about his shoulders. He could easily imagine a similar scene under different circumstances if Hank were less drunk and Evan less meddlesome.
“Oh, your jacket,” Hank said, catching the garment as it slipped from his shoulders under Evan’s frantic retreat.
“You can return it to me in the morning,” Boris said, watching as Hank adjusted the jacket so it sat more securely around his shoulders.
The suit jacket was a total loss, the material stretched beyond repair from its use as a makeshift blanket. A trivial loss compared to what its sacrifice earned him. Only the morning would tell how much Hank remembered from this night and what he would make of Boris’s invitation. Tonight, though, he would walk home with Boris’s jacket around his shoulders, a stark reminder the night was real. Maybe he would even sleep with the garment, Boris’s scent surrounding him. Either way, it was a point in Boris’s favor.
“Henry, did you steal his jacket?” Evan asked, plucking at one of the sleeves as it dangled. He looked ready to tear the jacket away but Hank held on tight.
“Alright, sure, first thing in the morning,” Hank agreed, talking over his brother as though he weren’t there.
“I’m so sorry about all that, he’s not usually like this—I’m going to take him back to the guesthouse and put him right to bed,” Evan apologized, dragging Hank away from the nobleman.
As they walked away, he could hear Evan hissing angrily at Hank, who looked over his shoulder at Boris. That earned him a sharp smack from his brother and more angry hissing. He could just make out the phrases “disappeared”, “homeless”, and “never drinking again” as the Lawsons disappeared into the night.
“Sweet dreams, Hank,” Boris bade, looking up at the moon and allowing himself a small smile and a deep breath of fresh air.