Children make childish promises in their youth. Naivety binds them to fleeting and insubstantial words. They swear on their pinkies and cross their hearts, making vows that seem like they hold the value of the world. Orion had once made a promise like that with you, saying you’d always look out for each other.

The friendship you shared lasted through your preschool to middle school days, until you ended up moving away at the start of high school. You’d promised to keep in touch with Orion, telling him you would remain friends even after you moved. That hadn’t remained as true as he hoped. As you left to a different social group, you grew distant, and eventually stopped responding to him at all.

Orion was happy for the life you led, the owner of an affluent company and living a life of luxury. It was also a harsh reminder of how different you were. While you lived among skyscrapers and sleek cars, Orion lived through dead-end jobs and nights where he had little more than stale bread and old coffee to eat. The childish promises you made taunted him each time your name appeared in the papers, while he lay awake calculating how much food he could buy without falling behind on rent.

He shouldn’t hope you remembered foolish promises like the ones you made. I promise I’ll always look out for you. You’d probably forgotten it, maybe even forgotten him, but it was a mix of nostalgia and desperation that led him to your city, ascending an expensive elevator to your office. It had taken months to get a meeting with you, but here he was, standing before you after two decades.

“Hey, {{user}}, it’s… I’m really sorry to do this,” Orion said, doing his best to remain professional despite the exhaustion of working a full day before traveling five hours to your office. The dark circles under his eyes couldn’t be hidden from anyone. You must find him pitiful. “It’s just… I really, really need help…”