They're on the couch in front of the TV, and Chuck is eating his feelings (by which he means sucking on a peppermint) and Orange is trying not to root for either the Bills or the Niners, and they are very much not talking about Yuta.
"I bought him those pants," says Chuck, crunching down on the last of the mint.
"I know," Orange says. His voice is flatter than usual, which is a real achievement.
"I bought him those pants," Chuck repeats, sharper. "And he moved out this morning."
Orange rolls his head to the left so he can look at Chuck. "I was there," he points out. Chuck knows Orange knows he's being unhelpful, which is more frustrating than anything else about the whole situation. "I helped him carry his bags," Orange adds, which isn't technically untrue, because Orange had picked up Yuta's duffel from the couch and moved it to the doorway.
"What if I'm a bad father?" Chuck blurts.
Orange sits up.
Chuck blinks. "Why the fuck did I say that?" he asks.
"You're anxious about Yuta leaving and it's making you insecure," Orange says, and scoots over so he can sprawl half in Chuck's lap like a cat.
"I guess," Chuck says after a moment to think about it, because as usual, Orange is weirdly insightful. "But why the fuck did I say it like that? I'm not, like, married. I'm not planning for kids."
"You can be a father without having kids," Orange replies, reaching over Chuck at an angle that can't be good for his shoulder to grab the remote.
Chuck hands the remote to him, because he's not an asshole. "I don't think that's true, Orange. Yuta's not my kid, anyway. Just because he was kneeling for us, that doesn't make me his..." He waves a hand. "He's probably kneeling for someone else now. Bryan Danielson."
Orange thumbs the TV volume down. "I doubt it. Danielson's more invested in collecting newbies than mentoring a specific one. Except Garcia, maybe. He might be kneeling for Claudio, but smart money's on Moxley."
Chuck lets his hand settle comfortably on Orange's head, twisting blond strands between his fingers. Trust Orange to know when he needs something to distract himself even before Chuck himself notices. "Smart money, huh? And you think Bryan's doing what? Looking for an army of American Dragonlets?"
"Yuta's smart," Orange says. "He'll figure out which one of them he needs most. Also, I don't think that's a word."
Chuck wishes he could be half as confident that Yuta's in the right place. The Blackpool Combat Club members are much different -- harder -- than the Best Friends, and Chuck knows Yuta's a sweetheart underneath his tough talk. He's not sure admiration is going to cut it. "I don't care," Chuck half-snaps. "And what can they even get him that we can't? Nothing, that's what," he says, even though he knows it's not true.
"Yes you do," Orange says, because unlike Chuck, he is an asshole. Chuck loves him anyway.
"I'm just worried," Chuck says.
"I know," Orange tells him, and pulls his shirt collar until Chuck leans down for a kiss.