"Last boxes here," called Orym, shuffling into the house.

"Hey, what do you guys want for dinner?" Fearne called through the kitchen's large service window.

"Pizza!" Dorian shouted back.

Orym shook his head, watching Dorian fiddle with the television cords. Bright blue beads, the same color as his eyes, decorated the braids woven into his long, achromatic ombre hair. Fuck, the man was pretty. Orym took a moment to refocus and stretch his joints back into place.

"You guys get pizza," he said as he leaned against the wall near the gap. "I can cook for myself."

"Are you sure? This place has chicken pes-to…," Fearne sang.

She waved her phone in his face, showing a picture of an honestly amazing-looking chicken breast under a thin green coat of seasonings laid out next to a salad and breadstick.

"Oh, that does look good…"

Fearne took back her phone with a grin. "No croutons, no dressing, right?"

"Oh, come on, Orym," Dorian laughed, not even bothering to look up. "Treat yourself for once! You worked hard today."

"And no cheese," Orym added, crossing his arms. "Moving isn't a reason to abandon my health, Dorian."

"Fearne…"

"I got this, Sweetie," the tall woman cooed, pushing buttons on her phone. "I know exactly what to get."

"What would that be?" asked Orym.

Fearne grinned widely.

"Apple. Bacon. Pie."

Orym's stomach flipped.

He pouted, "Oh, that's just not fair."

"Sounds good, right?"

"It sounds perfect," Orym groaned. "Just… don't make it a habit! I'll go back home, and you can do college without me."

Fearne chuckled again and nodded. "Well, I'd hate to make you leave so soon."

Dorian tugged Orym's sleeve and pulled him closer.

"You're not," he said very quietly, "bailing on another doctor."

"Dorian…"

"Foster is fantastic, Orym. He got Cyrus and me talking to each other again."

Orym sighed and glanced over his shoulder. Fearne had retreated back into the kitchen. He turned back to the skinny bohemian still fiddling with a handful of wires.

"I'm glad you got your confidence back," he said softly, "but my issues are a little bit different."

"Not really, though. You had your life figured out, and reality pulled the rug out from under you."

"'Pulled the rug out?' Dorian, if that's what you call getting laughed off stage, I got fed through a damned paper shredder."

"Okay, fucking ouch. But I'll let it slide because I know that you're still hurting pretty bad. Look, taking care of us - of me and Dariax and Fearne - I know you think that's helping, but it's clearly not. It's… projection. And Foster says it's unhealthy regardless of how it presents. Hold this," he said, passing Orym a handful of cables. "After how you dealt with Opal and Ted, I kind of have to agree with him."

"Somebody had to step in."

"I'm not saying it was the wrong call. I'm saying it destroyed you all over again," sighed Dorian. "You couldn't stop checking in on all of us after that, Orym, and… Look, I get that feelings can't catch you if you don't slow down, but you're going to run straight off a cliff again if you don't relax."

He took back the cables from Orym and pulled a twist-tie from his pocket to bind them together. Orym could only shrug.

"Dr. Grass teach you that, too?"

"Different grass, actually."

Orym rolled his eyes and held out his hand, but Dorian only laughed.

"You're not my dad."

"I don't think I'm old enough to be."

"It's not my fault you act fifty instead of thirty."

"I do not act fifty."

Orym felt a hand on his head as fingers twisted into his short brown hair. He glanced up at Fearne, her ever-present smile bleeding into her brilliant green eyes.

"You do act fifty sometimes," she warbled.

"Bah!" Orym swatted playfully at her hands until they retracted from his hair. "I do not. You all just act like teenagers."

Fearne giggled and pulled the pins out of her blonde hair to release the tight crown of braids.

"Hey, Dorian, you don't have any more 'Dr. Grass' hanging around, do you?" she asked softly.

"Christ's sake, Fearne. How long were you listening?" asked Dorian.

"I heard Opal's name and clicked in. Why?"

"Because some things are personal," said Orym gently. "I'm not just here to be your roommate, you know."

Fearne giggled again and sat down. She then scooped Orym into her lap before he had time to protest and, honestly, he wasn't in the mood to try squirming away right then anyhow.

"Of course not. You got a job out here, too, didn't you?"

"I'm just not ready to go back to Zephra. It's… too hard right now."

"Because of what happened with the twins?" prodded Fearne.

"It didn't help, no."

"Good. They need to be in the hospital. You shouldn't feel bad for that. Or responsible for it."

"But I could have-."

"No," Dorian interrupted. "You couldn't have. They were sick, Orym."

"You were looking out for the rest of us, too," Fearne added. "Dariax nearly died."

"We all did."

"If I'd noticed sooner-."

Fearne covered his mouth with a gentle hand.

"If, if, if," she muttered. "What if we all just relax tonight instead?"

Dorian rubbed his neck. "The food…"

"Delivery. What do you say, Orym? You can watch over us, make sure we don't do anything stupid tonight. That's what you do, right? Take care of people?"

Fearne lowered her hand, and Orym nodded.

"It's all I'm good at," he whispered.

Dorian snorted. "Well, that's just not true. You're also an excellent dancer and a good cook!"

"Cooking is still taking care of people."

"You have impeccable clothing taste," said Fearne.

"They're Will's."

"Impeccable taste in men, then," Dorian said, waving a hand. "Face it. You know a cutie when you see one."

Orym narrowed his eyes and said, "I know you think you're complimenting me, but you're really just stroking your own ego there."

Fearne squished him as she nearly doubled over in laughter. Orym wiggled out of her grasp while Dorian sputtered and blushed. Orym felt his eyes crinkle in amusement before snickering as well. Dorian only turned redder.

"Okay, I'm getting a hotel room!"

"No, no, don't," Fearne insisted. "It's a waste of money!"

"I'm not gonna try stealing you from Dax," Orym said. "He's a good guy, and I'm happy for you."

"He's such an idiot," replied Dorian with a fond sigh, "but he's my idiot, and I love him."

Orym grinned at him.

"He's excited to have you back," Fearne told him. "I wish he could have come along, but…"

"No, no, the bar's more important."

"If he can run it one week without help," Orym said. "I still think he'll give himself alcohol poisoning before your plane lands."

"I'm gonna give him a call," Dorian said, standing up.

"Bring back weed!" Fearne shouted after him.

Orym sighed and glanced around the townhouse. Most of the contents were still in boxes, but a small table with a few chairs had been set up in the corner, right next to the kitchen entryway. The pull-out sofa faced the wall-mounted television Dorian had just finished hooking up, the shelf beneath supporting Orym's only gaming console and Fearne's movie player. A bare bookshelf stood ready to hold said movies and a selection of Orym's succulents. At the moment, they were still outside, enjoying the sun with the other flowers to be planted over the upcoming weeks. The raised beds in the backyard had been one of the selling points after all. May as well make use of it.

The ping of Fearne's phone pulled him from his garden planning. She smiled and stood up.

"Food's here."