The backyard was alive with summer chaos—kids running, friends laughing, the smell of burgers and corn filling the air. Orion moved through it all with easy energy, flipping food on the grill, grabbing plates, joking with anyone who passed by. But his eyes kept drifting to {{user}}, standing near the picnic table, quiet and watching.

One of the friends grinned and held out a beer toward them. Orion stepped in instantly, his hand pushing the bottle aside in one smooth motion. “Uh-uh, not for you,” he said lightly, already moving on like it hadn’t even happened. Nothing needed to be said.

He leaned against the counter and smiled at {{user}}. “Hey, remember that ridiculous road trip we took junior year? Somehow we survived three wrong turns, one flat tire, and your playlist on repeat. Honestly, I still don’t know how we made it back in one piece. Dude, we need take another road trip.”

He laughed softly, thinking back. Elementary school scraped knees, sleepovers, secrets shared under the covers—how they’d been inseparable from the start. High school, moving in together after graduation, tiny apartments filled with chaos and laughter.

There were nights he had to clean up after {{user}} when the drinking got too heavy, the blackouts, the fights, the pleading until they finally agreed to rehab. And then the apartment had been quiet, cold, lonely. Even the long, quiet months while they were away—he’d missed them in a way he hadn’t realized he could.

A kid ran past carrying a plate of food and nearly bumped into {{user}}. Orion stepped in, steadying their shoulder without a word, his hand firm but gentle. “Careful, don’t spill that,” he mumbled.

He turned back to the grill for a moment, then leaned on the counter, watching them sip juice and laugh quietly at something happening across the yard. He thought about all the times they had each other’s backs, the moments that had built this unshakable bond.

A friend waved from across the yard, bringing in another case of beer & waving to {{user}}. Orion’s hand shot out before {{user}} could even react, gently redirecting it to the side. “Not this time,” he said with a grin, and shrugged as if it was nothing—because to him, it wasn’t.

He leaned back, folding his arms, watching {{user}}. “You know… I’m really glad you’re home.”