| ʙᴏʀᴇᴏ ᴏs |

𓁹

this is also published on ao3 under the title:

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༄𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 ⁂
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Something you realise quite early in life, but never seem to care to bring up- is how many colors, shapes and forms they come in- yet, there will always be a pair of eyes that'll bring light into dark places... into my dark place. A pair of eyes you'll know better than anything else- that you can read like a book that is written for kindergarten kids.

My mother used to explain to me, why portraits look so alive- she said it is because of the eyes, that they're reflecting your soul, your deepest secrets... your hurt and emotions... that it's the part of the face that shows how human you are. I never made big of a deal out of that and saved the new gained information in the very back of my head, focusing back on the other paintings in the gallery, never caring to bring that up in my head again- thinking it was utter bullshit... yet- I find myself getting attached to the dark brown colored eyes that still have a lively shimmer- a shine that reflects all thoughts in a vulnerable way... and I can't keep her words out of my head each time I again lose sight in the ocean of brown, that seem to be addictive and pulling me closer to them. His eyes appeared like an opened book with a messy handwriting, that sometimes didn't gave the impression to make sense, but I understood him perfectly, as if I never even did anything else than study the mirror of his soul (as my mother used to describe eyes)

Boris is a very bubbly and opened person, but his eyes show his true shades...the dark silhouette of his past- sometimes they look lifeless and sore, but however always shimmering mysteriously in my direction- horrible bruises under them standing in contrast to his light, pale skin.
I've found myself staring into them, trying to find out what he's thinking about, not even realising that the set of eyes is doing the exact same thing, staring into my soul and my eyes exposing me to him.

The scary part is, that he always knows what I'm thinking of- what I wanted to say... keeping things a secret became harder with time, so I surrendered and let him uncover my mental capacity- I surrendered to him and he knew it, but it stayed unspoken und ignored...
He knows me better than I think- than I want to accept- he knows me better than anyone else ever did... and it scares me. It scares me how much I've got used to seeing those two eyes, staring right into me, revealing my whole mess of a mind to him, within seconds.

NOT A SINGLE night goes by where I don't wake up in complete fear, clothes drained in sweat and silent tears making their way down my cheeks and either drop down my chin onto the thin, blue bedsheets or roll down my neck, leaving wet trails and stains. Every time the events of my nightmare replays in my head like scenes in a movie that I can't forget, my breath increases and my head begins to spin- but every time I look to my right side, to check if he was there, there to save me from my trauma- like a plaster for a paper cut- the pair of brown eyes, that look black due the darkness of the room (their mysterious shimmer still as present as the taste of smoke and blood in my mouth, an ugly company from the memories of the bombing like the ringing in my ears, almost as loud as the time where I woke up, covered in ash) and learned to love, were looking up at me. I saw a worried expression in them... my nightmares are a common thing, an unspoken one, but he always was worried, no matter how repeatedly nights like these happen... he cared, even if I don't wanna believe that someone still cares about me, at heart I know he does. He blinked a few times and scooted himself closer in my direction shortly before a pale, thin arm wrapped itself around my torso and pulled me back down onto the soft mattress and to it's owner, where I was pressed against a bare, sticky chest. I slowly wrapped myself around him like a koala, scared that if I would let go of him, he'd disappear like everyone else... that he would leave me... but I heard his breathing, his heart beating... slow but strong, which assured me that he was, in fact, still there.