“You had Centy, Griffie, and Alek. Maybe Raf?”
“No, silly, Aleksander hadn’t met Rafe yet.”
“That’s so hard for my brain. In my head they’re such a unit that I can’t remember them being apart. It’s like trying to imagine my parents without each other.”
“I’m glad I have only the vaguest recall of the days before my dad met Aris because I get what you’re saying. But I remember the big fight when Aris moved back to Uncle Timotheus’s house. I have no clue why they fought, and I’m sure as fuck not asking, but I’m glad it happened that way, otherwise I’m not sure I would’ve been at the house with my uncles.”
“Yeah, they’re great guys.”
“I don’t have many memories without you in them. Even after you were gone, I was pissed about a holiday you were missing or wondering where the fuck you were,” Pyxlevir said. The words were terse, but his tone wasn’t angry. That didn’t stop Gramlithyn from feeling guilty.
“I’m sorry.”
“I wasn’t asking for another apology. Just pointing out how important you are to the story of my life so far.”
Gramlithyn licked his dry lips and swallowed thickly. “I get it. I…well, it was easier to walk away from everything I knew and all the people I loved than deal with your rejection. You were too big a part of me to pretend like it didn’t matter or that I wasn’t hurt.”
“I hate that your overactive brain cost you everything.”
“It took its toll on you too.”
“Stop it,” Pyxlevir ordered as he shifted on the sofa so he was sitting cross-legged facing Gramlithyn instead of the television. “You’re deflecting the whole thing as if your feelings weren’t involved too.”
“Trust me, I’ve spent many hours feeling sorry for myself or kicking my own ass. I can do that in the privacy of my room if the urge hits. Right now, I’m with you and we’re discussing how my decisions affected you. Would you rather I pretended the last six years didn’t happen just because you accepted my apology? That’s not fair, Pyx.”
“Do you know what I think?”
“Tell me.”
“The best thing for us right now is a subject change. We’ve been over the past. If I had to guess, it’ll be a subject we’ll revisit, but let’s not make it the center of everything, okay? Let’s figure out how to rebuild our friendship and focus on the happy memories we share.”
“I like that idea.”
“Good, do you remember the first time I made you get drunk?”
Far more interested in chatting with Pyxlevir than bothering to put on the movie they’d discussed watching, Gramlithyn scooted so he was tucked into the corner of the sofa and in direct eye contact with his mate. “Of course I do. Youlaughed so hard at me puking that you rolled off Timotheus’s deck.”
“You deserved it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t you remember? You were convinced you could drink twice as much as me because you’re a zebra and have a larger body mass. Please, I’m short, but I don’t have to absorb protein. My metabolism is probably four hundred times faster than yours. You were singing songs off-key and giggling to yourself while I was still nearly sober.”
“You’re built differently than the rest of us. Or maybe you’ve been sneaking alcohol since you were six.”
“Nope, had my first one at eight. My parents grounded me, and I cried because we couldn’t hang out after school for a week.”
Gramlithyn recalled those dark days well. At eight, being parted from Pyxlevir for seven days outside of class had seemed like the end of the world. They’d had a sleepover at Gramlithyn’s house as soon as Pyxlevir’s punishment had ended, and his best friend had been so excited, he’d kissed him on the cheek.
“For some reason, I remembered the punishment but not why you were grounded in the first place,” Gramlithyn said.
“I celebrated by kissing you for the first time. Your little cheek turned a cute shade of brown. Who knew that’s what happens when you mix red or pink with light green.”
“How do you remember that?” Gramlithyn asked.
“Because I thought it was adorable and repeated it as often as I could to see it happen again.”
Ignoring the heat building under his skin, Gramlithyn shook his head as Pyxlevir chortled. “Shut up.”