When Orion finally found himself capable of making sense of what was going on around him, he realized he was sleeping.

It was an odd feeling. He was awake enough to know he'd been sleeping, but far too asleep to move his body. Like he was prone to do every morning, he had to forcibly unglue his eyelids to wake up.

Only to focus on the clock, which said it was 9 pm. This wasn't his room. He didn't have a clock, and his walls were mouldy and grey, not off-white. His bed didn't have rails, and his alarm tone did not beep.

Wait. Rails. Beeping. White walls. "Hospital?" he wondered aloud, and raised his eyebrows at how hoarse his voice was.

"That is the first word you say?"

Orion turned at the sound of the familiar voice. Culver was seated in the chair next to his bed, eyes sunken and lined with deep shadows and an untidy stubble on his chin. He smiled when their eyes met, but he was so tired that it faded away within a second of appearing. "I'm still high, aren't I?" Orion asked. "Or I'm dead."

Culver gave him a light slap on the cheek. "You shameless fool," he said, but there was no vitriol in his voice. Only relief. "Why would you say that?"

Orion looked away sheepishly. "Well, I knew I was overdosing," he admitted. "It was different from before. Worse." He paused to allow his slow brain time to organize his thoughts. "I thought, "Ah, I'm fucked this time." But I kinda wanted to see you again."

That made Culver laugh, but there was no amusement in the sound. It scared Orion. "What are you saying," Culver groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Well. I'll make a confession of my own, then. I was really, really, really scared you wouldn't wake up again."

"How long was I out?"

"Three weeks! You were in a coma, you hear? A coma! You weren’t breathing! What the Hell did Ezekiel make you do? Were you attacked? Weren't you trying to quit using? What if you hadn't woken up? When did this whole deal with Ezekiel even -"

Orion reached out and took Culver's hand that was clutching the rails of his bed. "Calm down," he said with a small smile. "One question at a time. I can't think that fast."

Culver seemed to swell and redden with aggravation before deflating. "You're right," he said, slouching. "You need rest."

"Will you stay with me?"

Culver was so used to Orion pushing him away that the sudden request sailed straight over his head. "Right, right," he said, moving away and detangling his fingers from Orion's. "Keep distance, don't look at you as my ex-"

"No, Culver. Hey!" With a burst of energy, Orion lashed out his arm and grabbed Culver's wrist. "I want you to stay," he said.

Culver blinked. "Huh? Why?"

Orion retracted his arm, his weakened muscles unable to hold it up for too long. "I find it easier to deal with the withdrawal when you're around. Maybe because you're the Prince and I feel the need to behave, or because you really get on my nerves and distract me - either way, I can live outside of my craving for drugs for a while when I'm with you."

A smile not unlike the one that had graced his features when he had danced with Orion spread across Culver's face. Unable to hold himself back, he leaned forward and planted a long, sweet kiss on Orion's temple. "I'll do whatever I can to help you," he said, "so you can live in this world without me."

Exhausted by all his talking, Orion fell asleep with pink cheeks and a shy smile. Culver was more than happy to remain by his side, but the more he looked at Orion's prone form, the more he was reminded of the similarities between this incident and Daniil's death.

Just like with Daniil, he'd received news about Orion from a third person. Just like with Daniil, something bad had happened right after a fight with him. Just like with Daniil, he'd been unable to do anything to help.

"No, that's not true." Culver stood up and began to pace the room, slapping his temple in an attempt to get his mind to stop replaying the day he'd found out Daniil was dead. "Orion's different from Daniil. Evaluate the diffferences, Culver. Daniil was blond, this idiot's hair looks like brewed tea. Daniil was shorter, this damn lighthouse is too fucking tall to kiss!" Culver paused. "Not that I want to," he added sheepishly to the shepherdess following his footsteps from within her picture frame on the wall. "Daniil was conciliatory, this guy always marches off in a huff. Daniil didn't laugh about my Lego hobby, this dimwit does. Daniil understood why I am the way I am. Orion only gets angry and lectures me. Daniil isn't coming back." Heart heavy and aching, Culver sank back into the chair. "Orion's still here, but Daniil...Daniil is gone."

For a long time, Culver sat absolutely still, his palms pressed into his eyes to stop the tears from flowing out. Once the wave of crushing grief passed, however, it left behind a moment of hope-filled clarity. Orion was still here, Culver reminded himself. And that meant he had a chance to keep it that way.

He pulled out his phone and settled down to make some calls. Orion was going to get really angry and there was an urgent need for Culver to evaluate why he was struggling with this stubborn oaf he'd only met recently, but he'd worry about that later.
*
Orion knew something was off the moment Culver walked in a couple of days later. He had cleaned himself up and dressed a little too stylishly (were collarbones even allowed to be that sexy?) and was seated with his back ramrod straight, wiggling constantly, hands wringing nervously in his lap. "If you want to poop, the bathroom's that way," Orion told him, yawning widely.

That earned him a smack upside the head. "I know that," Culver said.

"Then what's got your boxers in a twist?"

"Excuse me? I don't wear boxers!"

"Briefs?"

"No! Well, sometimes."

"Don't tell me - you wear jockstraps?!"

"Absolutely not! Why is my underwear of so much concern to you?"

"Accuracy, my friend. How else will I know what it is that you get into a twist? I can't use the original 'panties,' unless that's your thing. No judgement."

"Trunks! I wear trunks! Happy?!"

"Very." A mischievous smile spread across Orion's face. "I feel special. How many people in this country know what underwear their prince wears?"

"Nobody needs to know!"

"So, what are you wearing now?"

Culver picked up a brochure from the bedside table and began to whack Orion with it. "That's-on-a-need-to-know-basis," he growled, punctuating every word with a hit. "You-don't-need-to-know!"

"Wah, hahaha!" Orion held up his hands to protect his face from the assault. "Alright, alright! We're straying off-topic anyway. Why are you so nervous?"

Culver froze. "Uh, it's that - I mean, you've been - it's for help, and - ah, damn it! Why'd you take a bigger dose than usual?!"

Orion stared for a moment before sighing in resignation. "Might as well," he muttered. "I didn't use, Culver. I was attacked."

"What!"

"Yes, sir. Ezekiel contacted me a couple of days after the gala asking for my help. He'd managed to find out who Tony was and wanted me to help catch him. I was in a shitty place, so I agreed - if they succeeded, I'd be compelled to quit, and if they failed, well..."

"If it was that bad, you should have called someone. Anyone." Culver gave an involuntary shudder. "Dying while having regrets is a shitty way to die."

"Fortunately, everything went well," Orion said, ignoring Culver's words. "I hadn't used for days and withdrawal was setting in, so I went home immediately after. Right as I was about to call my doctor, there was a knock at my door. It was two men dressed as cops. I let them in, and the moment I turned my back, they pinned me down and injected something."

"Something?"

"The doctor came in while you were out. He said my blood contained heroin and lethal amounts of fentanyl. What I use is a mix of cocaine and heroin."

Culver frowned. "Did they find anything in your house? Like the syringe those men used?"

"They used a syringe and needle from my house and injected my own drugs. The prints on the syringe were mine - but they did that after I was unconscious. Don't bother with it, Culver. It's impossible to find them. Ezekiel has already been here to discuss that. There's no cameras in that neighborhood, I can't identify any of the men and they didn't leave any prints."

"Not so fast." Culver's eyebrows came together in a grim line as he turned the facts over in his head. "If they used your syringe, they must have used the same dosage you usually take to keep up the ruse, right?"

"Yes."

"But why didn't the drugs affect you when you took them yourself?"

"I'd been using an old stock. When they searched the house, they should have found the pill bottle I kept the old drugs in too, because they opened all the bottles in my bathroom cabinet. Still, they used the new ones."

"Doesn't that mean they knew that the new packets had fentanyl?"

Orion nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense," he said.

"Were those men wearing gloves?"

"No. Cops don't wear gloves. It would've been suspicious. But they seem to have wiped down everything they touched."

"Hmm. Hey, where did you keep your new packets?"

"Taped to the bottom of the drawer under the bathroom sink. Culver, where are you getting with all this?"

Culver straightened up suddenly, his eyes shining. A hopeful smile spread across his face. "If the packets were on the bottom of the drawer," he said, "they probably had to feel around for them."

Orion's eyes widened in realization. "You're a genius," he gasped. "There might be prints on the bottom of my drawer!"

Culver grinned as he sat back in his chair. With a serene smile on his face, he listened to Orion describe in graphic detail what he would do to the two men when they were caught. This was probably what Orion had been like before his addiction - cheerful, noisy, energetic and so very passionate. Culver felt good knowing that he had brought back Orion's vitality, even if it were only for a few minutes.

So engrossed was Culver in watching Orion's face that he failed to notice the latter pick up the brochure he'd been using as a weapon earlier. "Eh?" Orion peered more closely at the brochure and scowled. "Culver, why do you have the brochure of a rehab program?"

Well, shit.