When Aremant returns, Grant smiles so wide that it’s almost painful. He watches as he sits primly on the very edge of the bench seat, eyes glued to the caller in his hand, and Grant is bewildered that he actually did get the subspace caller. He wonders at that, thinking and deliberating that bit of information over and over in his head.

Grant got the subspace caller with the specific purpose of being able to contact his father while away on missions through the galaxy. It was the only reason he could think of to even log it out. His dad is the most important person to him in his life, but Grant isn’t so sure anymore that it’s his father who needs to be programmed into his subspace caller. “Aremant?”

The look of blank indifference doesn’t fool Grant. He can spot a mask from several metres away. “Yes, Grant?”

Swallowing thickly, Grant gestures for the device. Aremant, after an aborted move to clutch the device close to his chest, carefully lays the bracelet into the center of Grant’s palm. He then takes his thumbnail to gingerly pop the back off of the interface. Aremant makes a noise that sounds like it could be one of distress, but before he can stop it, Grant has already programmed the interface to connect with his own. With a tiny smile that could be mistaken as a grimace, he grabs Aremant’s hand and clips the device on without further ado. “If I try to contact you in the near future and the call attempt doesn’t go through, then… well. I’ll know you’ve gone and factory reset your contact, and that’ll be the end. But if you don’t, then I should warn you that you’ll be a part of the greatest adventure of your entire life.” He stands up, eyes following his own caller interface as he programs it, likewise. “And I’ll have you know… I’ve never been known to disappoint.”

With that, Grant turns tail and leaves, feeling reckless and giddy all at once at his daring. Aremant watches him go with eyes nearly as wide as saucers. What a day to decide to finally leave his house.

~ . . . ~

Grant’s walk home isn’t as enjoyable as the walk from home. While he is utterly devastated by his rejection to the APD, the main occupation of his mind is, undoubtedly, Aremant. He flushes at the memory, at his daring to program his caller so spontaneously and thoughtlessly - the image of Aremant trying to stop him is the most obvious in his mind. How could he do something like that? Force himself on a stranger?

Grant pauses on one of the short paths near his home and scrubs a hand through his hair in mortification. Oh, stars, he thinks, blush spreading to his ears with a reckless abandon. I wouldn’t blame him if he never wanted to see my face again!

Instead of heading up the remaining few feet of grass to his doorstep, he sits heavily next to one of the solar lights next to him. It’s already glowing, faint and reddish, from the sunset. Hox is always at its prettiest when it’s retreating behind the horizon, but then again, Grant supposes it’s the same for every solar system’s orbital star. As a general rule, sunsets are peaceful and alluring.

At first, he talked to Aremant because he was interesting. A distraction. A selfish motivation with a non-malicious intent. Grant is disappointed in himself for how shallow his actions were - he isn’t sorry, because he wouldn’t have met Aremant, but he certainly isn’t happy with the circumstances of his mindset when they did. He wonders if he should apologize. He wonders if he should leave him alone. Most of all, though, he wonders what his intentions were when he force-feed Aremant his company and his contact information into a device that is designed to have only one contact.

Who is he to decide that he’s worthy of that slot? Just because he made the sacrifice of not adding his father does not mean Aremant was willing to make any ridiculous sacrifices to benefit an overly-friendly stranger.

And yet… and yet Grant can’t seem to regret it, even as he is overanalyzing it. He presses his first two fingers onto the caller interface, successfully activating the messaging system. He’ll hold off on direct calling for now. “It’s Grant,” he whispers into the steadily growing dark of his front yard. “I was a little unhinged when we met earlier. I’m sorry.” He swallows thickly. “But if you’re still up for it, I think I’d like to go on that adventure I mentioned. I could use a good adventure. You looked like you could, too.” He ends the message and waits patiently, closing his eyes against the strain of the day.

He doesn’t get a response. Not yet. But when the interface speaker informs Grant that the message was successfully sent… he smiles. And cries a little. What a way to end his day.