I take up Orion's left hand that has the black band on it, the one that has Tristan engraved on the inside. He wears it on his left thumb, because that's the hand he strums his guitar with--his dominant hand--while I wear mine on my right index finger.

"Orion," I whisper to him, crying and kissing the ring. "You have to be okay. I want to marry you one day. You can't leave me, I still need you."

~

"So," Orion says quietly during dinner one night.

I look up from my food. His fork is sitting besides him, and he's spinning the ring on his thumb over and over. It's a nervous habit he's taken up in the weeks since we got the rings. He's also not looking at me. I put down my own fork and knife, ready to have a serious conversation.

We're sitting at the far end of the granite counter in the kitchen. The lights are turned off, candles lit for light. I love how Orion likes candles. He has them scattered all around his house. They're nothing special, simple white and unscented, but more and more he's been lighting them for ambient light instead of using electricity.

The entire thing makes me nervous admittedly, though I'd never tell him that. I'm always afraid that he's going to forget to blow one out and unintentionally burn down his mansion. If I ever voiced that concern I know he'd simply laugh and call me silly, and nothing would change. Besides, I've noticed he's really good about having only one room lit at a time, and he blows them all out before he leaves.

I love the way he looks in the candlelight. I love how the shadows play on his face. I don't know how often he lights candles around other people--I know he does it as some sort of comfort thing. It relaxes him, brings him peace. I know that much because when he writes music he always retreats to the basement, playing by candlelight.

Three candles illuminate his face now. I'm not sure what is with Orion and the number three. I'm not even sure he's consciously aware that this number is a re-occurring constant in his life. I know he's been diagnosed with OCD, but I don't know if this number three thing is part of that. If I had to guess though, it is.

All candles are grouped in three. He writes most of his music in ¾ time. His favorite type of dances are waltzes. When he knocks, he knocks in a succession of three. Assuming the food isn't larger, like steak or something, he eats everything in sums of three. I've noticed he even takes things in groups of three--he tears off paper towels three sheets at a time, he uses three pumps of soap, never just one.

And maybe this last one is a stretch, but it even applies to his social life. His core group consisted of three people forever--Jake, Ben, and himself. And even now that I'm in the picture, if he doesn't count himself as part of that equation, he still has the number three--Jake, Ben and myself. It's... strange.

One day I might bring it up to him, but as of right now it doesn't really seem to be hindering him. Besides, for all I know it's already been addressed in his therapy. It's just a curiosity I have, one that I'll eventually ask him about.

"Yes, Orio?"

He rubs his hands on his pants, another nervous tick he's had since I've known him. My brow furrows.

"What's wrong, love?"

He glanced at me. "Nothing's wrong, I just--I wanted your opinion on something." He lowers his head. "I haven't even asked Jake or Ben for their input yet."

Yikes. This is serious. "Go on."

"Er, do you remember that PI I hired a couple years ago to find my birth mom?"

Oh Lord. "Yeah."

"Well, I've had her periodically keep tabs on my adoptive parents."

"And?"

"They left Michigan and are living in Pennsylvania."

"Is that closer than Michigan? You lived in the UP, so--" I visualize a map in my head, and trace it with my finger in the air, "--wait, wouldn't that even be a little farther?"

He shakes his head. "It's not the distance I'm worried about. Since I saw them last, we've gone back to radio silence with each other. But...Jessica called me, because the fact that they moved to Pennsylvania sent her a red flag."

"Okay..."

"Do you know what a filfia law is?"

I think. "No."

"Yeah, well," he says, running a hand through his hair, "neither did I. It's a law that says you're monetarily responsible for your parents if they're impoverished, but not receiving Medicare. It's for debt, to make sure debts are paid. So like, if they die in a nursing home, you'd get the bill. Or if they--I don't know, get cancer and die and have outstanding debt--the adult child has to pay."

I'm confused. "Are they sick?"

"No."

"Didn't you give them about forty-seven thousand dollars last time you saw them?"

"Yeah," he tells me, pushing his plate to the side and tapping his finger tips on the smooth surface as he speaks, "but it's not about money. I mean it is, kinda. I'm a millionaire--if they get sick and die, I'd have no problem paying the bill. It's more than that."

I let him speak, leaning my cheek against my palm.

"So, apparently Pennsylvania is one of only two states over the past twenty years that actually upholds the filia law. Jessica seems to think that they probably moved to Pennsylvania specifically because of that."

He looks away again. "It's not about the money like I said. They're shitty people and I want nothing to do with them. If they have debt when they die, I don't wanna be the one to pay for it. If something happens to me, I don't want anything to go to them--I don't want them to have a stake in anything I own, not my money, not my property, not my stocks."

I raise my eyebrows. I had no idea he even had stocks. I'm also a little surprised that we're discussing such a serious matter. It's probably not fair to him, but I never imagined Orion thinking about these sorts of things. He was acting, well, like an adult. Between his profession and his issues, I've never seen this serious side of him before.

I like it.

"So," he continues, "I had a living will written up, and I cut them out."

I pick up my silverware again. "Good."

He shakes his head at me, and I lower my hands as he speaks. "That's not just it."

I raise my eyebrow as he takes in a long, slow breath.

"I never thought about emancipating myself from them when I was a teen. So now that I'm an adult, it doesn't matter. And if they lived anywhere besides Pennsylvania, it still wouldn't matter and I still wouldn't be thinking about this..." He looks at me straight on, the flickering flames making his dark eyes all the more intense. "I want to take steps to legally separate myself from my adoptive parents."

I honestly don't even know what to say. "Oh."

He deflates a bit, holding his head in his hands. "I mean, I d'no Tristan. Jessica said that's probably not why they moved to PA, that it's probably just a coincidence. But I trust her, so if it raised a flag for her, then it raised one for me. And even if that's not what they're doing, well..."

I see him shudder. I hate seeing him like this. I haven't seen him like this for awhile, and it makes me sad.

He sniffs. "I just want nothing to do with them. And yeah, it would be mostly symbolic, but...I-I just think it's time I cut them out of my life. For good."

I reach across the counter and rub his arm. He looks at me, and I'm happy when there are no tears. I smile gently at him.

"Especially since I get along so well with my birth family," he continues, "it just...It makes sense to me."

"How would you go about that?"

"It would be relatively easy, I think. I know as a minor you'd have to provide proof, circumstantial evidence... I'm not sure as an adult to be honest, I haven't looked into all that yet." He laughs bitterly and glares off to the side. "God knows my therapists could give an encyclopedia's worth of proof over why this should happen."

"Would your parents--I mean, adoptive--have any say in it?"

"No, especially since I'm an adult." He grins wickedly. "They wouldn't even have to find out I've done this...But if I do, I'll have my lawyer write up a nice formal letter explaining it."

I frown. "That's kinda petty."

He just grins wider. "I know. I love it."

I sigh and then chuckle, cutting off a piece of chicken. "You really don't like them, huh?"

I catch Orion narrowing his eyes at me. "My dad used me as a punching bag to get his frustrations out. My mom turned a blind eye, and the last time I saw her she threw a hot cup of coffee at my head. They ruined my self-esteem pretty much irreplaceable. Now I think they made a chess move to ensure they'll be looked after. So you're right, Tristan, I really hate them."

I feel my eyes go wide. "S-sorry...I didn't mean--"

He cuts me off. "It's okay."

"You didn't--you didn't tell me she threw coffee at you that day."

He rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah... first time she ever did anything violent towards me...I mean, I guess I had it coming. I told them both they didn't deserve the title of 'parent'."

I wince. "Ouch."

"Yeah. In their defense I wasn't...Well, the best son, either."

"Be that as it may, that doesn't give them the right to beat you or throw dangerous things at you. Or throw anything at you for that matter."

He's grinning.

I'm confused again. "What?"

"I love the way you talk sometimes."

I'm still confused. "What did I say?"

"'Be that as it may'. You speak so...eloquently sometimes. Proper."

I laugh. "Just because I don't say 'fuck' every other word like you do doesn't mean I'm eloquent."

Orion laughs. "Fuck off."

"See?"

"It's just surprising is all. I mean, being from Texas and everything."

"What's that supposed to mean? Do you think I'm dumb just because I'm southern?" I laugh and then really do an over-the-top Southern accent. "Well golly gee Orion, is this any better, partner?"

He laughs. "I'm sorry, that's not what I meant. Never mind. You're right, I'm being rude."

I grin and take his hand. I love how our matching rings touch; it's why I wear mine on my index finger. "You're being cute. If I was offended I'd be angry. I'm not angry."

"Alright, good." He slides his food back in front of himself then, cutting at the chicken. "So...what do you think?"

I grin. "About what? Me being a stupid Texan who shouldn't speak properly?"

He shoots me a look. "Tristan."

I smile. "I think you should do whatever would put your mind at ease and make you happy, Orion."

He smiles faintly, nods, and goes back to eating.