"No, no, I understand," said Culver, icily. "The oxygen content up there near your head is low. Must've messed with your brain."

"I'm terribly, terribly sorry," Orion said, sitting down next to Culver. "Here, more ice."

The salt shaker had caught Culver squarely on the forehead, sending him staggering into the lamp behind him. As Culver had risen, a thunderstorm brewing on his face, Orion had quickly lowered the blinds and told him to stay away from the window.

"You could have told me we were being watched!" Culver snapped, snatching the bowl of ice and roughly dumping it into the towel.

"You were already moving by the time I recognized that car," Orion explained. "I'd happened to see it pulling into the street when I was attacked. If they'd seen you-"

"There's this incredible capacity you have called speech!"

Orion smiled sheepishly. "My body acted on its own," he admitted. "By the time the word 'stop' reached my lips, the shaker was already in the air."

"Do you know what the punishment for assaulting the heir to the throne is?"

"I don't want to know. I am sincerely sorry, Your Highness. What can this lowly peasant do to atone for his sin?"

Orion bowed deeply and turned his head to the side, sneaking a glance at Culver from underneath his eyelashes. Culver, unable to resist Orion's silly antics, cracked a small smile. Orion beamed too, and the visual of the silly giant doubled over and grinning was so adorable that Culver began to laugh. "Damn it, you're forgiven!" he chortled, pulling Orion upright. "Where did you learn to smile like that?"

"Like what?" Orion touched his cheeks. "What did I do different?"

"It's...bright. Happy. Looking at it makes everything alright for a second."

"Then I don't think I've smiled like that in years." Orion thought for a minute before continuing. "You know what? You were right. I should have let you help me all along. For the first time, I feel like I can make it through rehab. I can literally feel the withdrawal setting in, but I still think I can do it - ouff!"

Orion felt the wind get knocked out of him as Culver threw himself into his arms, squashing him flat. For a little guy, Culver was shockingly heavy, and as Orion held him tight to prevent him from falling off the couch, he noticed that Culver was nowhere near as slender as he looked. "What gives?" Orion asked, surprised by the sudden skinship.

"I finally did something right," Culver responded, his voice muffled by Orion's neck. "I didn't do what the Culver I pretend to be does. I did what I would have done! And it was right! Oh, thank you," he sighed. "Thank you for having confidence in me."

Orion didn't know how to respond to that. There was a lot he had to know about Culver before he would be able to understand why Culver thought that being himself only hurt others. So he stayed silent and resorted to patting Culver's head softly.

"Mmmm," Culver hummed, drowsily. "Orion?"

"Yeah."

"That smile of yours, the bright one..." Culver yawned widely. "It's mine."

"Yeah?"

"Don't show it to anyone else."

Right. Sleepy Culver was rather bold. Orion chuckled to himself. Fulfilling Culver's demand would be easy: the ones to whom he used to show that smile before wanted nothing to do with him anymore. But then again, he doubted he'd ever smiled so freely even before his family. With Culver, he had the freedom that came with the absence of a need to pass his words and actions through the filter of caution induced by his sexuality.

He smiled as he continued to indulgently pat the dozing Culver's head. The Prince's body warmth felt amazing in the chilly air, and the hum of the refrigerator was a comforting break from the dreary silence. Orion's withdrawal symptoms seemed to have faded for the moment too. Before long, his patting had stopped and he, too, had sunk into a deep, peaceful sleep.
*
Ten Days Later

"Finally out of juice, huh?" Culver rinsed his soapy hands in the bathroom sink and eyed the man asleep with his head hanging over the toilet bowl. "Alright, let's get you to bed."

With that, Culver hoisted Orion onto his shoulder and carried him to the bedroom. Kicking aside the sleeping bag that had been his bed for six nights, he gently lowered Orion into the bed and tucked the sheets around him. Noting the severe tremors rocking his body even in his sleep, Culver sighed and added another blanket.

Orion's father had not been exaggerating about his son's withdrawal. By the morning following their return from the hospital, withdrawal had set in with full force, leaving Orion curled up in bed in excruciating pain as his abdominal and leg muscles cramped repeatedly. That was followed by depression and anger, and Culver had his hands full trying to get Orion to eat. Anything that Orion did manage to eat got thrown right back up, and between the constant vomiting, severe cravings, chills, cramps and anxiety attacks, he couldn't sleep.

The insomnia only worsened Orion's aggression, and Culver had lost count of the number of times he'd been attacked while trying to stop Orion from running out to get more drugs. This morning had been particularly bad and had ended with Culver punching Orion so hard the latter couldn't stand up and tying him to the bed until a doctor arrived to check on him at lunchtime.

Orion groaned in his sleep and curled up into a tight ball, his entire face scrunched up in pain and distress. "Nightmares," Culver noted, trying to soothe him by stroking his head. "Oh, please don't let them wake him up."

Something went bump, making Culver sit up ramrod straight. He was still reeling from the incident two days ago, wherein he'd come home from the pharmacy to find the paper he'd stuck into the doorjamb on the floor, indicating that someone was inside the house. Culver had pretended he'd noticed nothing, heading to the kitchen to make Orion some rehydration solution. And there, reflected in the television that was reflected in the microwave, had been the figure of a man crouching in front of the couch.

He had slipped out when Culver went to the bedroom, the quiet click of the door shutting audible to Culver's sharp, conditioned ears. Culver had arrived just in time: he'd walked in to find the sheets pulled back and Orion shaking. "I heard him come in and pretended to be asleep," he'd told Culver, eyes wide in terror. "He tried to kill me, Culver! His knife...he...look! Look at my throat!"

Culver traced the thin scar with his finger. He was sure now that someone was after Orion's life, and that the first overdose Culver had helped him through had also been an attempt to kill him. But why?  To remove witnesses? It couldn't be: Tony had already been convicted without Orion's testimony. Was it revenge? It was possible now, but it didn't explain why Orion was targeted while Tony was still free. Could it be loan sharks? Loan sharks would use scare tactics, not try to kill him. Whatever the reason, these people were persistent - and they would be back.

Only this time, Culver would be ready.

There was a timid knock on the door. Culver answered it to find a bruised, trembling woman with dirty, greasy strands of blonde hair hiding her battered face from view. She was Alana Kinsey, the abused girlfriend of the next door alcoholic, whom Culver had saved from getting beaten to death three days ago. Her screams had been easily audible through the thin walls, and it was Orion's passing remark of "Oh, she sounds worse than usual" that had sent him running.

He'd broken down the door just in time to stop the man from bashing Alana's face in with a baseball bat. To avoid any unnecessary complications, Culver had told her not to tell the police about him. She'd complied, but instead of leaving the apartment she'd stayed behind, determined to help him somehow.

"Alana," Culver groaned. "I'm good, I promise you. Please, go home -"

"It's not that, mister. There's two cars now."

"Excuse me?"

"You and that druggie are worried about the car, right? I could hear you through the walls. Another one came. They have guns."

"Shit!" Culver tugged Ayana into the apartment, shut and locked the door before parting the blinds imperceptibly. "Where's the other one?"

"Fire escape. They've blocked every exit."

"They know!" Culver plunged his hands into his wig in agitation, nearly pulling it off. "They know I was watching them too. I knew they'd come, but so soon?!"

Alana wrapped her arms around herself and turned away. "There's no need for caution around here," she said bitterly. "Nobody ever says anything."

They were trapped. Culver couldn't call for outside help unless he wanted to reveal his own identity. Orion was in no condition to run, and he couldn't carry Orion anywhere without attracting attention. If he called the cops, he'd have to leave before they arrived, leaving Orion unprotected.

For a moment, utter despair shut down his brain. Why was this happening? Whose curse was it that kept putting everyone he cared for in danger? Why did things always come down to a choice between them and himself?

You know why, said his own voice to him. You were never helpless. Caolan, your sisters, your mother, Daniil...every time, there was something you could have done.

But you didn't, and this is your punishment.

"What do we do?" Alana asked.

Culver looked up at her, his face ashen, breathing rapid and eyes deranged. "Huh? I...I don't..."

"It's already past the time you usually leave. If it gets too late, they'll attack despite your being inside, mister."

You know this doesn't end without you revealing who you are. Culver froze. This time, it wasn't his own voice - it was Daniil's. Will you leave him to die too, darling? Just like you did with me?

Culver whimpered incoherently.

Someone will know you're the prince, Daniil's voice said. But nothing matters more than hiding who you are, does it?

"No, it isn't like that..."

Run, Daniil hissed, mocking, bitter, vicious. What's one nobody's name on the list of people who've sacrificed themselves for you?

"No, no, no, no..."

Let him go! The one who knows you're gay without your telling him - let him die, and your disguise will be perfect again. Let him die!

Culver's blood turned to ice. His knees gave out and he fell to his knees, eyes wide in horror. It had appeared again - that dreadful apparition that his mind had been conjuring night after night for two years - that apparition that he'd found occasional reprieve from since he'd met Orion. Run, my darling, run, it sang. If you could let your lover die, this man is nothing! Run!

Tears flooded Culver's eyes. "I don't want to," he pleaded.

Run, darling! Save your own skin, and run!

"No - it's not real - "

RUN!

"DAMN IT ALL!"

Culver blew up. Leaping to his feet, he brought his clenched fist down on the dining table - and drove it straight through the wood. Alana screamed.

He could barely remain upright as he pulled his arm back out, splinters scratching his skin on the way. His knees knocked against each other and his breath left him in shaky hisses as he tried to force air through his chattering teeth. Slowly, he turned to Alana, who had covered her ears with her hands in fear. More tears soaked his face. "Alana," he called. "Alana. Alana!"

"Don't hurt me, mister!"

"I won't. I'm not like that, just listen to me. You want to help me, right?"

"I'll do anything."

You wanted to stop being a selfish coward, Culver, he told himself, clenching his jaw in determination. Here's your chance. Man up and face the consequences it will bring.

"Alana?" he said, grabbing the damaged table with one hand to keep himself from bolting. "I think I know what to do."

Alana nodded and swallowed convulsively, trying to hide her nervousness. "What do I do?"

"First things first." Raising his free hand to his hair, Culver gripped the wig. "Can you keep a secret?"