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Boris opened my door in a rush-like manner, looking excited. I took a minute to process him, as I was busy thinking of other things—his giggle, his nails, his soft looking lips, his scent—but when I did, Boris showed me three ice cream cones, all vanilla.

"Thank you? What's the third one for, though?" I asked, rising off my bed and walking over to my door, where Boris stood.

"Who do you think? Is for Popchik." Boris showed me the most genuine smile I had ever seen, and poked his head out of my door, shouting, "Popchik! Come here!"

We heard small pitter patters when Popchik's beige toenails hit the floor, springing himself in the room, door open from Boris' abrupt arrival. Boris leant down, holding the ice cream over his own head as to not let Popchik have it just yet or not to drop it. He cupped the sides of Popchik's white face, giving a small kiss on his wet nose, then rewarded him with his ice cream. My heart seemed to flutter when I saw the small action and a soft smile spread widely across my face.

"Is yours, Potter." Boris smiled at me, handing the ice cream.

"Thank you." I held it and we enjoyed our ice cream together, Boris held his ice cream and Popchik's in his other hand, the maltese lapping at it. Once we finished, Boris started to dig through some drawers, reaching Xandra's room, he held up a familiar plastic bag. "Get high, have fun, yes?"

I nodded, though Boris knew what my answer was going to be before that, I presumed. The day escalated quickly, us snorting, drinking and smoking. The activities drifted to night, and as we heard a knock on the door, it was clear we had to clean up, staggering while doing so, of course, I felt like I would throw up.

Boris put the last plastic wrapper in the trash bin, wiping his brow as he turned back to me. We were tired as hell and I expected to see the same reflection on my face on his, but I didn't. Boris had this look in his eyes along with a weary, tired one, and before I knew it, he was pulling me down the long hall toward my bedroom.

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