Emery was in the middle of wondering where Josh might be, that he hadn't showed up in time for dinner, and occupying himself once again with browsing apartment listings when he heard Josh's muffled voice in the hallway.

"Emery? Can you hear me? I could use a hand."

He opened the front door to find Josh balancing two heavy-looking cardboard boxes in his hands and couldn't help needling, "Josh. I was on the verge of sending out a search party."

"Sorry," Josh said, sheepish, "I didn't realize it was this late."

"That's quite alright," Emery assured him, relieving him of the top box. "Where would you like me to put this?"

"Just set it down next to the couch. I have something for you."

He did as instructed, curious at what Josh might have for him that would make his captivating gray eyes shine like that. "You do?"

"Sit down for me, will you?" Josh set the box he was holding next to the first one. "I... I found something that I think you'll like. No, that I know you'll like. That I know you'll think is important. I'm not sure like is the word." He swallowed, ignoring Emery's puzzled expression. "I went to your old house today."

"You..." Emery couldn't finish the sentence, pain lancing through him. Not at the house itself, no. He didn't miss the comforts he'd once had, the bedrooms and swimming pool, the air conditioning and the spotless kitchen without having to lift a finger. But any mention of the old house brought back images of Emma, and he didn't think he could ever remember his sister without pain. It had morphed in the last year, yes, become less absolute and more like a deep-seated ache, colored with fond memories and softening at the edges, but it was still present.

He'd drifted off, leaving Josh hanging. He swallowed the ache and managed to ask, "Why?"

"I was hoping whoever had bought it knew what had happened to the things you can't replace," Josh replied without meeting his eyes.

Emery's eyes widened, breath hitching. The things he couldn't replace. His memories, his photos, the small mementos he had no hope of ever seeing again. Josh wouldn't bring them up if he believed they were forever beyond his grasp, so that must mean... Had he found a way for Emery to reclaim them? "What did they say?" His voice cracked.

"The rest of your stuff's gone, but these," Josh indicated the boxes with his chin, "Are your photo albums. And a few video tapes. I thought you'd like to have them back."

Time stood still as Emery processed what Josh was saying. This... It wasn't a nebulous clue, a storage facility somewhere where the most deeply-cherished pieces of Emery's past may or may not be hiding. If Josh was to be believed — and he always was — then those pieces were right here, inside a pair of innocuous-looking cardboard boxes, waiting for Emery to rediscover them.

He knelt in front of one of the boxes reverently, almost afraid to open it. Then, squaring his shoulders, he pried apart the cardboard and peered inside. His face crumpled, tears all but leaping from his eyes. A sob tore free as he pulled an old photo album with the hand that didn't shake against his mouth.

His parents' wedding album. His baby book, Emma's baby book, he could see so many of them just by looking at the spines, neatly written in his father's handwriting. He could recall some of them without even opening them, how his father had been precise with his memory-keeping, and then his mother had haphazardly written anecdotes wherever there'd been available room — in the back of photographs, in margins, in papers that she'd tape to the inside of books — until they'd formed a complete picture. It had a lot to do with who his parents had been.

He'd taken more after his father, Emma a freer spirit like their mother, but there were pieces of them both inside of him, as there had been inside of her.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Josh walking away and managed to drag his gaze away from the inside of the box. "Josh?" Josh turned to face him. "I have no words to thank you. Whatever I might say feels inadequate at best, and it... I never once considered these might still exist. I never had the courage to find out. You..."

He swallowed the words he'd long lost the right to utter. 'I love you.' 'You came into my life and made it worth living.' 'I wish you were mine.' "Thank you," he settled on instead. "I couldn't have asked for anything as moving as what you've given me. I wish I could..." He trailed off.

Josh held his gaze, something pained in his eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You're welcome," he replied, voice soft as he took a new tissue from his pocket and held it out to Emery. "Here. For your glasses. I'll be in my bedroom if you need me."

Emery nodded, accepting the proffered tissue. He was busy cleaning his glasses and so couldn't see Josh's expression when Josh said "You're the one with the fancy words, and I never know how to say the things I mean, but you've given me a lot too. More than you know."

Emery's eyes shot up, but he couldn't put his glasses fast enough to look at Josh before Josh spun away with an, "I'll leave you to your memories."

#

Emery lost track of time after that, absorbed in every album he pulled from the top box. His first steps, Emma's first lock of hair, photos of their mother's first sculpture exhibit. A family vacation, and he could always tell who had taken the photo of Emma and himself by how they were framed. Their father would pose them, bright-eyed and neatly dressed, two picture-perfect children. Their mother would capture the messiest, liveliest fraction of a second; no one ever looked like they'd fit in a magazine when seen through her viewfinder, but those moments were the clearest, most vivid ones.

Wrenched out of time and captured in a 4x3 piece of paper for all eternity was Emma, accidentally soaked through by the garden hose; Emery, all of two years old, with bits of modelling clay stuck to his body, having been used as a living sculpture by a seven-year-old Emma. His father's hair on literal fire. Graduations, Christmases, grandparents. Emma dancing at a club. So many pieces of his life.

Emery hadn't even glanced at the contents of the second box when the doorbell rang and Josh moved past him to open it.

"Hey," Josh said with a slight smile as he shut the door, "It's late and I ordered pizza. Whenever you feel like it, I'll leave your half on the counter."

Emery became aware of a few things then. The lateness of the hour, sky long since dark. Josh must have turned on the light at some point without him noticing. He took stock of his protesting back, a byproduct of the unforgiving position he'd chosen for himself on the floor. And the overwhelming, absolute need to share some of what Josh had unearthed with the man himself.

He rose, straightening his back. "I'd prefer to eat it now. With you."

Josh's smile widened. "Well, come on, then."

"In a moment," he replied, feeling the coat of dust on his hands and making for the bathroom. He could hear the clinking of glasses and what had to be Josh rummaging in the fridge for one of his sugary aberrations. One day he'd have to enlist Mark's help to stage an intervention.

"I've been looking on Craigslist," Josh all but yelled from the kitchen, "and I think I found you a VHS player. For the tapes. I've sent the guy a message, but even if he falls through I've found a couple more. It'll be my housewarming gift to you, once we find you a new place."

Emery's heart skipped a beat.

After everything Josh had already given him, everything Josh had allowed him to rebuild, he still managed to pull something like this out of his hat. Josh's thoughtful, caring nature always drew Emery in, even when the intention was him stepping further away. Moving on was complicated when every fibre of Emery's being wanted to wrap his arms around Josh, to hold him tight and never let go.

He was getting better at keeping those instincts in check. Somehow, despite the yearning, Emery didn't resent his feelings in the slightest. Loving Josh brought him more happiness than not loving him would have, even if that love would never be reciprocated. Emery couldn't be sure, but he suspected he'd miss those feelings in himself, once they were gone.

Whatever the future held for them, he was glad he'd been allowed to be where he had been, over the past sixteen months. With Josh. He was a deeply selfish man to even consider it, in light of those who'd lost everything because of his carelessness, but, on a personal level? He'd much rather have his life follow the path it had than if he'd gotten back to work the week after Emma's funeral and had kept his millions, never setting eyes on Josh again. Regardless of what he had lived while on the streets — from his TB to the demons that still made him wake shivering in the dark — what he'd gained this year far surpassed whatever wealth he'd accumulated in his lifetime.