you and boris were dating, and you usually slept at his house— you two were quite attached to eachother. sometimes, he’d even sing you a lullaby in russian or polish before you fell asleep, if you had been crying or something like that. you two were soulmates, you were sure of it.

he lay behind you, spooning you as he stroked your hair with one of his hands, the other holding onto you. “wlazł kotek na płotek i mruga,” he sang in polish quietly, beside your ear, “taka to piosenka nie długa..”