"Um. Well, I was about to tell you...please don't get mad, but..."

Orion gave Culver a flat look. "You stuck your nose in my business again, didn't you?" he asked.

"No! Yes. Maybe?"

"Alright, out with it."

"It really won't be troublesome, you'll be staying at home the entire time-"

"Culver..."

"-and you can keep working unless you're really really sick, I talked things out with your bosses-"

"Culver! Spit it out!"

"Eek! Isignedyouupforarehabprogrampleasedon'tgetmadit'sforyourowngoodIpromiseyouwillfinditeasiertoquit-"

Contrary to Culver's expectations, Orion didn't lose his temper. He only sighed the heaviest sigh in the world and hung his head in his arms. "You are the most intrusive person I've ever met, you know that?" he groaned.

"I know," Culver sheepishly admitted. "You've told me. Multiple times."

"Incorrigible little..."

"I'm not little! I'm just below average."

"Whatever you say. What were you thinking, Culver? How do you expect me to pay for a rehab program? I'm pretty sure I've been fired from both my jobs!"

"No, I talked to your boss at the docks and convinced him to keep you on. I even provided him with a temp."

"How did you know where I work?!"

Culver raised an eyebrow. "I'm the Prince," he pointed out. "I have access to almost everything."

"Right. You're walking a thin line between overbearing friend and creepy stalker, you know."

Culver ignored that comment. "Part of the rehab program is distancing you from possible drug sources, so I let the boss there fire you," he continued. "Calm down, I did find you another job. Rather, Dr. Deo did. His friend is a vet and needs a receptionist. She agreed to employ you - you start next month once you've recovered your strength."

Orion still looked unhappy. "That still doesn't solve my problem," he said worriedly. In the background, the beeping of the heart monitor picked up pace. "I still can't afford rehab. I, well..." Orion paused, struggling with words. "I have driven myself into a mountain of debt. I'm already on very thin ice with my ex-boss at the Memoria, and if I have to declare bankruptcy, I'll be ruined! I'll never get re-employed! I'm never getting re-employed anyway, what am I say-"

"Calm down, Orion, hey - hey!" Culver cupped Orion's face and coaxed it  towards his own. "Hear me out. I'm paying for your rehab. It's an executive program, so you don't have to stop working. If you make it through rehab, you don't have to pay me back."

"I don't want to be indebted to you."

"It's not a debt. I'm simply trying to give back as much as you have given me. You know..." Culver's voice broke. Unable to hold his posture anymore, he slumped, his forehead knocking lightly against Orion's. His fingers curled into fists in the latter's hair. "No matter what I say or do, you see right through me. It's as if I'm transparent, and I like that. I like not having to keep up appearances. Since you're not very fond of me anyway, I like not having to worry that I'll do something to make you hate me."

"Stop right there." Orion, sensing that Culver's trembling wasn't because of the cold, put his arms around the smaller man. "I don't dislike you. You just get on my nerves a lot."

"With you, I feel more peaceful than I ever have since my brother died," Culver continued, only half-listening to Orion. "I'd forgotten what it was like to simply look out of the window and not have a single thought cross your mind. For the first time in years, everyone I have lost just...just stayed as they should be - gone. I'm only trying to repay you for that."

"Thank you," was all Orion could say in response. "For telling me and for  helping me. Though I can't fathom why you'd go so far for someone you've only recently met."

"If it's familiarity you're worried about, I think we can both agree that we both ended up getting an overload of information about each other dumped on our heads in a very short time."

"Yeah." Orion chuckled. "I know you still play with toy blocks."

"Legos! And to answer your question, I don't want you to die." He shuddered. "This time's accident...it reminds me of the time my ex died. I don't want to go through that again."

So it's not that you don't want me to die: you simply don't want to see death. Orion frowned, but didn't say a word. Since he knew that Culver's psyche was warped, he couldn't expect Culver to be able to tell that he was still trying to fill his empty world with replacements.

Orion held Culver close till he had stopped shaking. "I'll do it," he told him. "I'll go to rehab."

"That's great," Culver said, pulling away with a tremulous smile. "You're going to complete the program. I believe in you. Now - turn around, your hair hasn't been thoroughly brushed in a month."
*
"No, no, and for the third time, no!"

Culver checked his phone. "The cab's here," he said, adjusting his wig. "Let's go, giraffe."

Orion clung to the end of the hospital bed. "Why are you moving in with me? Hey - don't you go picking up my bags! Wait, whose bag is that?"

"Mine. I'm not moving in. Someone needs to stay with you while you detox. Once you've detoxed successfully, I'll get out of your hair."

"I get that, but why does it have to be you?"

Because I couldn't find anyone else who would. Culver shook his head and turned away. "Let's go," was all he said. "Before I get charged extra for making the driver wait."

Culver had not wanted to take on this responsibility in the first place. It felt strangely like he was cheating on Daniil - why that sensation had popped up after two years he couldn't tell. Besides, he still had to deal with the unrest caused by Echart portraying him as an egotistic war-obsessed young man.

But he, as a man who'd lost most of his family, couldn't abandon a man whose family had turned their backs on him.

Culver would never tell Orion that he'd actually woken up eleven days after his overdose. But he'd been only half-conscious, and in that stupor he'd repeatedly asked Culver if his family had come by to visit. Every time he heard a doctor or nurse come in, he'd eagerly ask if it was his parents or his sister or nephews. And with every time, he'd respond with a bitter "I hate you!" to the voice that would answer "no."

When Orion's new therapist told Culver Orion would need moral support during the detox, the best choice that had come to his mind had been Orion's family. So he'd donned a disguise, dug out the address of Orion's family home and paid them a visit.

"Absolutely not," said Orion's father, a striking old man with the same shade of tea-colored locks still persisting in his thick grey hair. "Everyone has done more than enough to help him."

"It's not money he needs help with," Culver reasoned. "If you could just be there for him, he might just make it through this time."

Neville Blake shook his head, jaw clenched in determination. "You probably haven't dealt with a person in withdrawal. Orion is horrible to the people who try to help him. He's violent and spits out the harshest words possible. I love my son, don't get me wrong - but the pain of being his carer is more than I or my family can take."

"He doesn't have the strength to be violent anymore," Culver said, quietly. "Please. He's tried to quit six times. I'm scared of what will happen if he fails a seventh time."

Neville gave Culver a look that made the latter squirm. "...why do you care so much?" he asked. "Young man, are you dating my son? It's not a good idea."

Culver resisted the urge to shudder. "No," he said, trying his hardest to swallow his misplaced fear. "I'm a friend."

"Then you're welcome to look after him yourself."

Culver's next alternative had been Orion's friends, but the man himself was unconscious and when he did wake up, he didn't remember his password. In light of the attack on Orion, Culver didn't trust hired help, so here he was now, trying to stuff the stubborn oaf into an elevator.

"Come tomorrow!" Orion positively howled. "My house is a mess! I don't know where my keys are! I don't have any food! I don't-"

"I have your keys," Orion drawled. "I'll can easily go buy food, and we're going to clean up your house together. Now get!"

Orion pouted and sulked all the way to his apartment. As the neighborhoods began to get more and more rundown, he turned to Culver, who was quietly watching buildings pass. "That's the one," Orion said, indicating the driver to stop before turning to Culver. "It's no palace," he told him.

"I don't need one." Culver got out of the cab and helped Orion out. "Alright, let's do this. Get out."

Culver dragged his bag, Orion's bag and the reluctant Orion himself all the way up to his apartment. "Quit your whining," Culver said, jiggling the key in the lock. "I have faith in us, we can do this -"

His voice cut off abruptly the moment the door swung open. The apartment wasn't filthy - just the magnitude of messy typical of a bachelor pad. No, the problem was the stale dampness and the mold choking the air in the cold, barren apartment and making it depressing and downright inhospitable. Behind him, Orion had fallen silent. He turned to find him standing with his head bowed in shame, clenched fists shaking.

"You're not alone anymore," Culver told him, taking Orion's hand in his and trying to pry his fingers open. "We'll turn this place around. Come on."

Orion wordlessly let Culver lead him inside without lifting his head. "First things first - fresh air," Culver said a little too cheerily. "I know it's still chilly, but the mold won't be brought under control without it."

"Do what you want," Orion mumbled, shuffling towards the couch.

"Oop! At least dust it off. It's so musty I can smell it from here."

"I'll get something."

Culver watched Orion lumber around with his face parallel to the floor, dejection rolling off him in waves. The man was clearly not comfortable having Culver around, but this time Culver would not let Orion have his way.

Orion gave the small couch a half-hearted smack with a rag before sinking on it. Culver was right. It stank. "Here, shell these," Culver ordered, pushing a bag of peas and a bowl into his hands.

"Peas? What for?"

"For playing a game of marbles, dumbass."

"Dumbass? Excuse me, Mr. I'm-so-smart-I'll-skate-in-a-blizzard!"

"You're excused."

For the next two hours, Orion watched the heir to the throne of Mevinje sweep his house, dust his furniture and cook him lunch. As he watched the Prince serve him food with a lime green Kiss the Cook apron on, he had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. "It's just stir-fry today," Culver said as they sat down to eat. "I made do with the frozen stuff. Everything else had to be thrown out."

"You know how to cook?"

"I was in the army, remember? Everyone takes turns cooking, and my troop was a bunch of fastidious aristocrats."

Orion raised an eyebrow as the genuine fastidious aristocrat before him spooned some stir-fry. "Sometimes the chefs will let me dabble in the kitchen," Culver continued. "I'm no Michelin star chef, but I can cook well enough to raise a healthy family." His face fell. "If I ever get to have one."

"Why wouldn't you?" Orion asked.

"One, royals aren't allowed to marry partners of the same sex. Two, I'm terrified of having a family. If I don't have one, I don't lose one."

"Then why were you dating your ex? And that stuff about no families is bullshit. You're not the solitary type, and that's a shitty way to live anyway."

"I thought I'd find the courage to tell Dad about my ex one day. I'd convince him to break tradition and let me marry my boyfriend." Culver chuckled darkly and stared out the window. "That's what I get for being a coward. He died before I could even ask him to marry me."

Absently, Orion followed Culver's gaze, wondering what the King would say if he discovered the reason for Culver's temporary change of address. And find out he would - life had a cruel way of bringing the most terrifying truths back to bite one in the butt if one didn't tell them when they had the chance.

That car.

It was ostentatious in its unobtrusiveness. A silver Toyota sedan, not too shiny, not too beaten up, was parked on the opposite side of the street in direct view of his second floor window by which he was seated. In such a dilapidated neighborhood where anyone who did own a car owned dented, scratched, rusted tin cans with a patchwork of differently colored body parts, the Toyota managed to stand out.

"Ah, want seconds?" Culver asked, standing up to head to the kitchen. Orion ignored him. He'd seen that silver Toyota before. His mind struggled to rife through his spotty post-coma memory to remember where he'd seen the car. The sound of Culver's chair scraping back vaguely registered in his brain. His brain went click.

"Hey," Culver said, stepping away from the table. "I asked you if you -"

Orion picked up the salt shaker and hurled it at Culver's head.