Rusty listened quietly, the blood draining from his face as Orion began to elaborate on the details. His friend could have sharp edges sometimes, a fierceness to him that was obviously the result of trauma. But he was soft and kind and overwhelmingly supportive, and the thought of anybody treating him so horrifically was utterly heartbreaking. “You don’t- you don’t need to talk about it if- if you don’t want to anymore.” He said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “Don’t ever feel like you need to- to explain yourself or justify yourself. Not to me… never to me.” He swallowed thickly, emotion causing his throat to constrict. He stared at his friend, hearing the surprise in his voice. He only realised now how little they actually told each other they cared. They showed each other, they protected each other and helped each other, and they stood by each other’s side, no matter what. But saying the words aloud felt different somehow, a milestone in their relationship. “Of course I do, Orion.” He said, blinking tears from his eyes. “How could I not… you’re family now. You’ve been family since the moment I met you. You have to know that.” He smiled upon hearing his friend loved him too, the expression causing fresh tears to fall from his eyes. He reached up to swipe them away, smile growing as he caught Orion’s eye. “You’ve been here for some of the highest too.” He pointed out, thinking of the better parts of his life. They were tainted, as everything was, by the loss of his parents, but getting clean, meeting Matt, falling back into the habit of playing the piano… they were all stepping stones to creating a better life, all moments to celebrate. “I know you’re not going anywhere because I’m not going anywhere either.” He teased. “You’re stuck with me so I suppose that makes me stuck with you.” He laughed, the sound gentle and quiet. “I’m sure I owe you considering how many times you’ve been forced to listen to me ramble, both under the influence and sober.”
Orion had sharp veneer about him that other often underestimated due to his timidity, and he wouldn’t consider himself as brave; in time, he was uncovering the parts of himself that burned like blue-hot fire, the bite that the rest of the family had to keep themselves alive. His own parent had sought to smother it down, but he’d finally allocated it within himself, and listening to his friend, he shook his head and replied quietly, “I was getting tired of not having a voice. I’m okay.” He’d always been the quiet kid, not necessarily the goody two-shoes of the classroom but the student that never spoke up. Only by those close to him did he dare to have a louder voice, most of the time, to talk more-- of course, present circumstances complicated that desire he’d expelled in his childhood. Harboring a rundown voicebox that he was lucky to avoid being removed in its entirety, speaking for long periods was exceptionally difficult, forcing him to break his sentences into parts. Staring into his friend’s eyes, the artist was transformed into that kid who, while worn from the world around him and kids that would pick on him in school, was still tremendously innocent. You’ve been family since the moment I met you. Thinking on it, he could hardly fathom meaning that immensely to someone else’s life-- sure, he had absolutely stuck with Rusty through thick and thin, tried to persuade him to attain help for his disease, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary realm of a friend, was it? They’d done what all childhood friends did, played games and talked about crushes-- namely for himself, the purple-haired girl that was now his wife, and it only took him six Goddamn years to get the guts to ask her out in spite of everyone’s encouragement-- and he’d been there for his friend when he hit rock bottom with the loss of his parents. “I am?” he asked, unable to restrain himself from that desire, “I figured you would not want... With all the pain you’ve endured--” His English failed him horribly in his lack of composition, pausing before he spoke sincerely and clearly in his thick accent, “You are my family, too. Always. If you fall off the wagon again, I may kick your ass, but I will never... kick you out if you need someone.” Squeezing his hands, the words owe you stirred his memory, brows raising and withdrawing his hands. “Stay right here. I have something for you.” It wasn’t exactly unusual for him to recall something important in the midst of a conversation, call it the brain of an artist. Getting up from his seat to sweep through his apartment and to his art desk in the next room, a moment or two of necessary rummaging through the scattered projects finally landed upon the object he was seeking. Returning to the kitchen with his hand held behind his back, Orion smiled brightly at Rusty and reached his green eyes. “Fermer votre, oui?” When he’d followed the instruction, he placed the keepsake into his hand. “Okay, open...” he said softly, gesturing to his friend’s hand, “A long time ago, I think you mentioned... when you saw this in the store window, it sort of reminded you of your parents... I turned it into a keychain after I, ah, returned to get it for you... I wanted to wait until you were-- on the wagon. You know, when we were kids, and I told you I wanted us to be friends forever. Best friends, end quote, because let’s face it... you were my only friend. So consider it a token of friendship. Do you like it?” His smile chanced into a grin for a slip of a second, masked by his teeth sinking into his lower lip and brushing his fingers through his pillowy curls.
