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Link had never been to the dump before, and he didn’t particularly want this to be the nature of his first visit, if he had to visit. But here they were.
A truck borrowed from a mutual friend, who they now owed a favor. Rhett at the steering wheel, leaning close to and peering over the sun-bleached dashboard to better gain his bearings in unfamiliar territory. Kicking out into the hills of trash that smelled like refuse and sawdust.
Their doors slammed shut, and they observed one another over the hood of the vehicle.
“You ready?” Rhett asked, eyebrows tented in worry and head bowed respectfully.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” shrugged Link. He turned and headed for the bed of the truck and let down the tailgate with a bang.
There it was. A squat, thick thing, composed of gnarled wood falling apart at its joints. Brown paint covering the natural beauty of oak peeled from every surface; it looked more like a giant bug trying to molt than the desk it actually was.
Rhett didn’t move first. He waited and wore that face of concern, shooting glances at Link in his periphery as they stood side by side and considered the piece of furniture like they were attending a funeral.
Link chewed the inside of his lip. “Shame, that it’s in such a state.”
“Mmm.”
“Should’ve taken better care of it.”
“You couldn’t’ve known, Link.” Rhett’s consolation fell on deaf ears.
“I mean, I did though–didn’t I? Deep down? No one lives forever. It was only a matter of time.” Link’s voice was beginning to crack and he wasn’t sure he cared. Not in front of Rhett. Not for this. He swallowed, trying to be at the very least audible. “I knew my grandfather wasn’t going to be around forever, and he gave this to me such a long time ago. It’s the only memento of him I have left. But I didn’t–I didn’t have the fuckin’ foresight to…"
“Link.” Rhett’s arm rested easily over his shoulders and squeezed. “It’s not your fault. Anyone would’ve kept it in storage. You aren’t heartless or dumb for doing that. Your grandpa would’ve understood.”
Link wiped the wet from his cheeks and cleared his throat of grief. “…Still wish I could keep it.”
Silence settled over them, and Link was bracing himself to climb into the bed when Rhett snapped the tailgate shut. Blinking, Link looked up at him. “What are you–”
“We’re gonna refurbish it,” Rhett supplied simply, turning to give Link a hopeful smile. “It’ll be hard, to find someone willing to give it a shot, but… this is obviously important to you. So, we’re gonna do it. I’ll pay for it.”
Link stuttered, glancing around at the ruined ground and debris. “Rhett, you really don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. We’ll take it to someone who knows what they’re doing, and they’ll fix it up, and then they’ll probably chew us out for even considering trashing it in the first place, it’ll look so nice. Sound good?” Rhett took Link by the shoulders, searching for enthusiasm in his eyes.
There was no smile of relief like Link felt he should give, nor nervous laughter or giddiness. There was only a weepy nod before Rhett pulled him into a hug and kissed the top of his head, cradling him as Link sobbed into his shirt.