"Hold still!"

"Ow! Timon, stop!" Simba swatted the meerkat clinging to the back of his head. "You're just making it worse!"

"Well then you need to figure something out!" Timon hopped down and looked up at the juvenile pointedly. "What, did ya stop grooming all of a sudden? I see you licking your fur constantly, how is it that your little mane looks like a bird's nest?"

"I can't lick the back of my own head, genius!" Simba shot back, clearly frustrated. As his red mane began to make an appearance, it had quickly gotten matted and tangled, pulling at Simba's scalp and causing him pain. Timon had picked a few pieces of bark and a twig out of the mess, but had been unable to help the youth untangle it before Simba gave up. Timon and Pumbaa had noticed that their little cub was on the cusp of becoming very big very fast, and none of them were prepared for it. In fact, Simba seemed just as daunted and concerned by the unfamiliar changes as his caretakers.

"Oh sure, the cat who can't clean his mane calls me a genius! How do you not know how to clean your own mane?"

"Nobody ever taught me, okay?" Simba shouted before turning away dejectedly. Realizing that they'd touched a sensitive topic, Timon assumed a calmer voice.

"Hey, listen," Timon rubbed the back of his own head, "maybe we can, you know, get some help?"

"How?"

"There may not be lions here, per se, but I bet if we look around a little we can-"

"No," Simba instantly rejected the idea. "Nobody's going to want to help me."

"Hey now, how do you know-"

"I just KNOW, okay?!"

The silence between them was thick.

"Alright," Timon threw his paws up. "Your choice, kid. Let me know if I can help. I'm gonna go catch up with Pumbaa. Holler if you need anything, okay?"

"Yeah," the lion looked burdened, his gaze fixed heavily on the ground. "Okay."

"Well maybe he just needs another lion to show him!" Pumbaa offered with a smile.

"Nah, he won't go for that," Timon chewed loudly as Pumbaa rooted under the log, his ears perked in Timon's direction to signify that he was still listening. "I think he's scared of other lions or something. I don't know, he said somethin' about how nobody would want to help him."

Timon and Pumbaa didn't know what circumstances had dropped the cub at the edge of their home, but it was immediately clear that the cub wasn't ready to talk about it. As the weeks turned into months, it was becoming evident that he might never be ready. This was alright. Simba was their family now, hakuna matata. Although while Simba had tried to put his mysterious past behind him, it seemed to nip at his heels, stealing his peace as he slept and watching him from the shadows of the trees. Whatever had happened to their baby, they knew it had been bad.

"Well, we want to help him, don't we?"

"Believe me, I tried! That thing is like a rat's nest, my little paws aren't strong enough, and your hooves aren't exactly up to the task. We need someone with that scratchy cat tongue. I don't know," Timon snatched a beetle and tabbed his chin with it as he thought. "Think maybe we could find a leopard or something?"

"Why not a lion? After all, we found Simba!"

"Sure, we'll just venture out into the desert, find another cub and wait for it to grow up and show us," Timon rolled his eyes. "No no, we need an adult cat, preferably a girl. Girls at better at that, right?"

"Actually Timon," Pumbaa pulled his snout from the dirt to make eye contact, "aren't boy lions the ones with manes? I think maybe we need one of them."

"Where the hell are two delicious snacks like us gonna find a male lion that would even hear us out?"

"Maybe they'd hear Simba out."

"No, Simba's in one of his moods, he won't leave the tree. And plus, I already told you, I think he's spooked of 'em." Timon grew more somber, and he let the struggling beetle go. "We need to figure this out, Pumbaa. He's gonna start needing stuff we can't give him."

"He figured hunting out pretty well, didn't he?"

"For now. Like I told you in the beginning, he's gonna get bigger. This is just the start. A few stray birds and the occasional rat aren't gonna keep him full forever. Lions eat gnu and-and zebra. You can't just pick those outta the bark."

"He is looking kinda thin," Pumbaa admitted, suddenly weighed down by the guilt that he hadn't been able to provide what their cub needed.

"Yeah," Timon frowned. "I think we need to find ourselves another lion, Pumbaa."

"You want to what?" the parakeet shrieked. "Timon, are you maetuh kamil?"

"Yeah yeah, I'm crazy," the meerkat shook his head. "Look Akhdir, can you help us out or not?"

"I can't say I can."

"Pleeeeeease?" Pumbaa pleaded. "You know everyone, Akhdir, you have tons of friends!"

"Hmmm," the parakeet considered the compliment. "I am familiar with a multitude of animals. What, you giving your pet back to its own kind?"

"Now you listen here, beak face!" Timon stomped forward, waving his clenched paw at the tree. "Our little 'pet' is gonna eat your feathered ass one day and you'll wish I was there to stop you!"

"Uh Timon?" Pumbaa whispered. "I thought we agreed not to do this anymore."

"What? I'm not threatening him, I'm just-"

"No, you're threating me. Not that it's working."

"Look, what do you want, food?" Timon gestured in exasperation. "'Cuz we'll get it for ya! What do you eat, bugs? Worms? Seeds? Children's dreams? We'll get all of it!"

"Huh," the bird looked at Timon more intently. "You'd do all that for the little monster?"

"Well, yeah," the meerkat shrugged. "He's our little monster. And a good kid."

"You're weird, you two," Akhdir shook his head. "But fine, I'll help ya. I know there used to be a small pride in the valley, it's about a day's travel north for me, so that'd be, what, four or five days for you? Six?"

"Not a problem!" Pumbaa affirmed.

"Look, I don't even know if they're still there, but I'll ask around."

"You're the best, Akhdir!"

"Yeah yeah, everyone loves me when I'm doling out favors," the bird grumbled. "If you two get eaten, I'm not raising your little wahasha."

"Message received, how can we thank ya?"

"Oh, I'll think on it," the bird took flight.

"Hah hah, oh…." Timon's smile faded as he waved to the bird as he disappeared above the treeline. "What are we doing, Pumbaa?"

"We're doing it for Simba," his friend reminded him.

"Yeah," Timon climbed atop the warthog. "For Simba."

"Wait," Simba wrinkled his nose, "where are you going?"

"To visit this...really...boring, um," Timon jabbed Pumbaa.

"Mud pot!" Pumbaa nearly shouted.

"Oh, yeah, totally," Timon nodded eagerly. "Just a big, steamy pit full of mud that's got like, all kinds of animals sticking their grubby paws in it. Really bummer, you'd hate it."

"You don't have to lie, Timon, it's fine if you don't want me to come." Simba's ears drooped.

"No no no, it's not like that!" The meerkat insisted.

"No, really," the lion stood, "it's fine."

"It's a surprise, okay?" Timon blurted. Simba's mood didn't lighten.

"I um, I don't really like surprises anymore, okay?"

"But everyone likes surprises!" Pumbaa frowned.

"I guess I'm not everyone."

"Listen, Simba," Timon stepped in front of their friend, "we want to do something for you, just let us do it, okay?"

"I'm not stopping you," Simba stepped over the meerkat. Timon lightly swatted his hind leg before Simba's tail swatted him in the face.

"Just don't get yourself killed while we're gone, okay? Simba?"

"I can take care of myself, guys," Simba called over his shoulder before bounding off into the jungle.

"Gee," Pumbaa sounded disappointed. "You think he'll be lonely?"

"Aww, come on, he's a big kid, we're not gonna be gone that long! Plus, aren't most lions like, on their own at his age?"

"But he's not ready," Pumbaa pouted. "He's our boy, Timon!"

"Which is exactly why we're doing this. Come on," he patted Pumbaa's head. "I bet you we can make it there in three days, you're almost as fast as that green-feathered know-it-all, right?"

"I'll try."

"That's the spirit!"

"What have we done, Pumbaa?" Timon whispered fearfully as they surveyed the clearing before them. Two lionesses laid in the grass talking calmly. "We're gonna die, that's it, we're gonna die."

"They aren't...that big," Pumbaa whispered back hesitantly from the cover of the foliage.

"'Not that big?' Not that big?! Pumbaa, they're like twice his size! They're giants! They're gonna pop our skulls like beetles! It's over, we're done for!"

"Actually, I don't think lions eat bone," the warthog pondered this. "Maybe we should ask Simba."

"Oh, what would he know? He's terrible at being a lion! That kid is far too innocent and sweet to grow up to be one of those monsters. What were we thinking?! Do lions eat their own young, or is that just a myth? I bet it isn't!"

In the distance, one of the lionesses laughed.

"Monsters," Timon whispered in a husky voice.

"Shouldn't we at least try?"

"Shh, shh shh!" Timon shrank back. "One of them is coming, shh!"

"Hello?" One of the lionesses sniffed the grass curiously, gently padding towards them. Timon and Pumbaa shrank back in fear. As her nose gently parted the leaves, Timon screamed, startling everyone. The second lioness bounded over quickly.

"What the hell was that?" One asked the other in the jungle tongue. Taking a courageous breath while Timon quivered, Pumbaa broke through the bush with a snort.

"Ladies, we need your help!" He declared, his voice steady in the face of potential danger. Both lionesses looked equally perplexed, and a bit shaken.

"You need our help?" The first one asked in a baffled voice. "Why?"

"Because," Timon appeared, nervous and agitated, "we've got a lion, okay? And he's growing up, and he's a great kid, but we don't know how to help him grow up. We just need some pointers, then we'll be our of your fur, we swear!"

"This is weird," the second lioness stepped back. "I don't talk to food, I'm going home. Come on, Afdalia."

"Actually," the first cocked her head, "I want to see where this goes."

"Suit yourself," her friend shrugged as she walked off.

"So," the lioness called Afdalia rose an eyebrow and leaned closer than either Timon or Pumbaa cared for, "you two have a lion, huh?"

"That's right," Pumbaa affirmed. "He's like a son to us!"

"Is that right?" She smirked. "What's the story there?"

"What's it matter?" Timon asked defensively. "He's with us, doesn't matter why, he just is now and that's how it is!"

"Fine, fine," she sat. "So, about how old is this lion son of yours?"

"Uh, about this high," Pumbaa gestured with his hoof above his head, "and-"

"No no," Timon climbed atop Pumbaa and reached higher. "This high."

"Whoa, big kid. So, what kind of pointers do you need, sounds like he's almost done needing help. He's hunting, isn't he?"

"Well," Timon gestured vaguely, "mice."

"And grubs!" Pumbaa added.

"What?" This was the first genuine display of emotion from the lioness, and both prey animals winced. "No no, he needs meat. An adolescent like that needs to be learning how to eat like a lion, not a pig. Where's his mother?"

"Lady, were you not listening?" Timon pointed at himself. "We're it, we're his family. He hasn't got another!"

"Well, what happened to his pride, did they kick him out, are they dead?"

"Sure, they're dead, whatever! What's it to you?"

"Well I can't very well explain how to hunt to you and expect him to retain it when you tell him, can I?" She huffed.

"Look," Timon rubbed his face, "we're only here to ask how to get all the tangles out of his little mane, alright? He can't figure it out."

"Aww," she sat back. "Well, he's probably having trouble reaching, it takes practice. Here, tell him to do this," she licked her paw pads and stroked the back of her own head. "Have him do that until it's better. And tell him to do it often or the tangles will come back. Now I want to see you do it."

"Here," Timon copied her, "easy, got it."

"Good."

"Well, thank you!" Pumbaa smiled. "He'll be so happy!"

"Sure thing," she gave them an odd look as they departed as quickly as possible, scurrying back into the lush thickness of the jungle.

"Where the hell did you two go?" Simba quickly rose as they collapsed into their familiar resting spots, clearly relieved to see them. "I was starting to think you'd gotten yourselves eaten or something! When you said you'd be gone for a few days, I-I didn't think you actually meant it!"

"Simba," Timon looked up at the lion, hardly able to keep his eyes open. "Do me a favor and lick your paw."

"What? Why?"

"Shhh, just do a favor for your pops and lick your paw, I wanna see if it works..." with that, Timon faceplanted and began breathing deeply.

"Pumbaa?" Simba turned to the warthog. "You're not gonna sleep too, are you?"

"No, no, I'm just gonna...just gonna rest my eyes..." Pumbaa immediately began snoring.

"Cool," Simba stepped over them grumpily. "Nice to have you guys back."

He wandered along one of the paths he typically took, kicking a piece of bark into the brush. Simba often took off on his own for a night or two and had never had a problem, he didn't understand why their absence had upset him so much. He'd hardly slept at all while they'd been away, and when he had slept he'd had horrible nightmares, with no one to comfort or distract him upon waking. He was tired, but didn't have the mental energy to deal with another bad dream. He just didn't have it in him. His ears perked up at a rustling in the foliage. He frowned.

"Min hunak?" He asked in the local tongue. Who's there? As a response, a lioness stepped out. He jumped back with hackles raised, his eyes as big as moons. She was young, much closer to his age than his mother, but still an adult. And strikingly beautiful in a way he'd never noticed about any lioness before.

"Ana Afdalia, min'ant?" She smiled, undeterred by his aggressive show of fear.

"Who are you?" He asked in a language he still didn't have a confidence grasp of.

"Like I said," she stepped forward, only stopping as he stepped back, "I'm Afdalia. I followed your two little friends here. They told me they had a little lion, and I had to see for myself. Of course," she began to circle him, "you're not little, are you?"

"Stay away from them," Simba managed to snarl, though he was mesmerized by the sight of her, rationalizing his interest with the fact that he hadn't seen one of his own kind in a very long time.

"It's not them I'm interested in," she looked him over. "What's your name?"

"It doesn't matter." He couldn't take his eyes off of her, she filled him with both anxiety and curiosity, though he felt exposed in a way he wasn't' familiar with as she continued to size him up.

"Your accent isn't local, you're not from around here at all, are you, Red?"

"Like I said, it doesn't matter."

"Well aren't you just full of secrets?" She stopped, still smiling. "When's the last time you had a good meal?"

"I can feed myself," he felt defensive.

"I can see that," she eyed him again. Again, he felt uncomfortable. "On my way over, I spotted some river deer tracks. If I catch one, will you eat it with me?"

Her offer tempted Simba, but he felt a surge of emotion that caught him off guard. She was offering to share a deer with him, something he hadn't eaten in so, so long. The last real lion's kill he'd eaten had been brought down by his mother, and he'd eaten beside his father. He wanted so badly to sink his teeth into some hot, bloody flesh instead of picking pink scraps off of rodents, but something in him rejected the idea. He didn't deserve to eat as he had when his father had been alive. He didn't deserve what this stranger was offering. And if he accepted, what would Timon and Pumbaa think?

"No, I can feed myself."

She seemed surprised by his rejection of her offer, but was nonetheless determined to get a positive response from him. "Well, if you say so. But would you at least let me sort that sorry mane out? I promise I'll be quick."

"Oh," he lightly touched the top of his head in embarrassment. "Sorry, I tried to fix it, but-"

"It's alright," she moved forward before he had a chance to mull the offer over. He backed into a tree nervously. "Come on, Red, just a little fix. Two seconds, alright?"

"...Okay," he tensed, allowing her to lick the top of his head.

The second her tongue touched his fur, he wanted to sob. Her tongue felt exactly like his mother's had. His mother had been the last to groom him, and he'd always assumed that she would always be the last. After all, who would want to groom him now? He didn't only miss his mother in a way that he hadn't allowed himself to in months, but he felt a strange grief that he'd been touched by another lioness, as if some sort of purity between himself and her had been broken by allowing a stranger to take her place. He steeled himself against any show of emotion, stuffing his thoughts down as far as they would go.

He didn't stop her as her grooming carried beyond the sprouts of his mane, her tongue straying below his jaw, making him feel warm and fuzzy. He was so distracted by the novel feeling that he didn't flinch until a second after the tip of her tongue had stroked his mouth.

"What?" She giggled. "Don't tell me you've never been kissed!"

Was that what that was? Only then did it occur to the adolescent what was now glaringly obvious; she was being coy with him. Perhaps even flirtatious. But why? Growing more attached to the attention he'd been so desperately craving by the second, Simba was determined to successfully mimic her behavior in hopes of prolonging the interaction, though a few fears danced a the back of his head. Where was her pride, did they know about his father's death? Would they know who he was? If she heard his name, would she? His thirst for the warmth and softness of another lion drove him to shove his anxieties aside. After all, if he were exposed, he would simply run away again. It wasn't like Timon and Pumbaa would care once they knew what he'd done. He had nothing to lose. Nothing in the world.

"No," he admitted sheepishly, letting his guard slide down. "Not really."

"What, handsome guy like you? Don't tell me you're single?"

"Well, yeah, duh." He silently chastised himself for saying 'duh' to this beautiful lioness.

"Interesting," she studied him for a moment. "So, you're out here all alone, aren't you?"

"I've got Timon and Pumbaa, we look out for each other."

"That's cute," she responded dismissively. "No pride then, huh? Are you a rogue?"

"I guess I never thought about it like that," he admitted. Was that was he was? A rogue? He associated rogues with the scarred outcasts that had challenged his father, harassing the lionesses until the king had bloodied them and chased them off. Their injuries were celebrated by the pride, a the rogues were nothing more than vagabond threats, looking to steal territory. Simba wasn't like that, he'd never bother anyone or cause trouble. But did it matter? Were there good rogues? He'd never thought about that.

"So, Red the young rogue," she nudged him playfully, "Wanna mess around, or are you saving yourself for someone?"

"No, I'm-I mean whatever you want to do," he answered awkwardly, unsure what she was implying. "I'm cool with whatever."

"Come on," she nodded at him to follow. "Let's have fun, I've been feeling lonely."

"You think we hurt his feelings?" Pumbaa fretted. "He seemed kinda down."

"Pumbaa, he's been 'kinda down' for weeks, since we met him, really, he goes up and down, it's just, you know, a growing thing. He'll bounce back, he always does."

The two were resting where they'd awoken, waiting for their third family member to return.

"Should we tell him?"

"That we traveled for days there and back to ask someone how to fix his mane?" Timon snorted. "I think we can keep that between us."

"No, I mean, that he's not the only one."

"Pumbaa," Timon grumbled, "he knows he's not the only lion. Nobody is the 'only' anything. He knows."

"He doesn't know about them, though. I think he maybe should."

"What, you think I want to hide it from him?" Timon asked defensively. "Of course we'll tell him. You know, if he ever asks."

"I think we should tell him sooner than that, Timon."

"Why you gotta be like that? Why does he need to know now? It's just gonna bother him. You've heard how he talks, he doesn't like other lions."

"And you really think that's okay, huh? You don't think that's a problem?"

"It's in his past, he's over it. I'm tellin' you."

"Well, what about his future?"

"What about it? It's right here, with us! Isn't that what we want? Wait-" Timon cut his friend off before he could respond. "I know, I know. We want what's best for him. I just...I just don't know what that is. How do parents do this?"

"I think they just do their best," Pumbaa reasoned. "That's enough, right?"

"Is it?" Timon was exasperated. "And what-what if he wants to join them, huh? I'm not talkin' about stopping him, I mean, what happens to our Hakuna Matata if he doesn't want to be part of it anymore? The kid's grown on me. He's our little buddy, y'know? I'd miss him."

"Well, we'd visit!"

"Yeah," Timon chuckled. "Yeah, I guess we would. Alright, you win, Pumbaa. We'll tell him when he shows back up. It's his call, whatever he wants to do, we've got his back."

"I'm sure gonna miss him," Pumbaa looked down sadly.

"Me too, Pumbaa."

"You're not saying anything," she rose an eyebrow. Simba blinked before realizing that she was expecting reassurance, perhaps praise. Right?

"No, no, sorry, it was-i-it was great," he nodded quickly, "It's just, you know, not what I expected."

"You didn't like it?"

"No, that's not what I meant, it was great, you're-I mean you're beautiful and I really, really liked it, I just don't know that much about you, that's all. I just didn't expect it to happen."

"It's called casual sex," she ruffled his mane teasingly. "You've earned your rogue title now, kid. My work here is done." She stood, stretching with a yawn. "I'm gonna head home, but maybe we'll cross paths again some time."

"...Yeah," he forced a smile, torn between the desire to ask her to stay and the knowledge that it probably wasn't very rogue-like to try and make friends with her, still reconciling the fact that his first experience with sex had not been on his wedding night. But then, that night wouldn't ever happen with him, would it? After all, who would want to marry him? It hit him that he'd never find anyone willing to marry him, not after what he'd done. As a cub, he'd found the idea disgusting. Now that it wasn't an option, he felt like he'd lost something. Why? What did it matter? Afdalia had gotten what she'd wanted, and this was, he concluded, as close to another lion as he'd ever get. Was that how this worked? Was this what he was supposed to want? Wasn't this what males were supposed to want? What did it say about him if it wasn't enough? "Yeah, I'd like that. I mean, you know, if we're ever in the same place again. For some reason. It might happen, right?"

"You," she batted his cheek playfully, "are adorable. Stay out of trouble, alright? Rogues that pick stupid fights die stupid deaths, remember that, okay?"

"You don't have to worry about me, I don't do that kind of thing."

"I know. You're friends say you're a good kid. But," she winked, "not too good anymore, right?"

"Heh. Yeah, I guess not."

He wanted to follow her as she trotted off, but knew it would be childish to do so, and held himself back. Suddenly, he felt a tight sense of isolation as it sank in that he couldn't tell anyone what had just happened. Timon and Pumbaa would be...well, mad, right? He'd just done something wrong, hadn't he? He felt a sense of shame, but didn't know exactly why. He'd never been taught much about sex, only vaguely told by his parents that it was something sacred that happened between a married couple, and his curiosity about the taboo subject hadn't turned up any additional information before he'd lost interest. Now he knew, and he didn't feel like he'd experienced anything sacred or special at all.

Though he knew he couldn't tell Timon or Pumbaa, he still didn't want to be alone any longer, and figured that they were likely awake after their nap, so he headed back to their tree, trying not to think too hard about his strange encounter. He did wonder, however, what Timon and Pumbaa had been doing when they'd encountered Afdalia. What had they really been doing on their trip?

When he found them, they immediately stood.

"Simba!" Timon gestured grandly. "How are ya?"

"What's going on?" Simba wrinkled his nose in suspicion.

"Pssh, nothing's 'going on!' How was your walk?"

"Nothing! I mean," Simba backtracked, "it was fine, I didn't do anything, it was just a walk."

"Good, good," Timon clearly didn't care. "Listen, Simba? We have something to tell you."

"Is it that you guys didn't really go on a trip to sit in mud?" Simba sat. "'Cuz that's pretty obvious."

"Fine, fine, you caught us," Timon sighed. "Look, we maybe by random happenstance stumbled across some...felines of a leonine nature on our trip."

"You're saying you know where other lions are?"

"...Yeah," Timon looked guilty, or perhaps sad. "And Pumbaa here and I...well, we just wanted you to know that if you ever were to decide that there's a better place for you, well, we'd understand. We'd even take you there. You know, just to make sure you got there in one piece."

"Oh," Simba blinked. "Um, thanks, guys. What else did you do on your trip?"

"You mean," Pumbaa frowned, "you don't want to go live with them?"

"No," Simba scoffed, lying down. "Why would I? I live here."

"Whew!" Timon grinned. "See, Pumbaa? I told ya!"

"We sure are happy to hear that, Simba!" Pumbaa grinned.

"Dorks," Simba rolled his eyes as they hugged him.

"Hey Pumbaa," Timon looked at his friend, "how about you go and toss up a log for us, we'll catch up in a second!"

"Ooh, I'll find you a good one!" Pumba happily pranced off. When he was gone, Timon produced a single, thin hair between his claws. Simba's expression changed instantly.

"This isn't yours, is it?" Timon asked in a voice that told Simba he knew whose it was. "Did you follow us?"

"She followed you," Simba knew immediately that he'd been caught, but it was unclear if he was in trouble. Once he'd gotten big enough to feed himself, Simba's relationship with Timon and Pumbaa had shifted from a parental relationship to a more brotherly one, but there was still an air of authority where Simba's safety was concerned. They were in uncharted waters.

"Where is she now?"

"She left."

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't it be?" The lion did his best to feign innocence.

"Anything you uh, wanna tell me?" Timon asked awkwardly.

"Nope," Simba backed towards where Pumbaa had gone. "Everything's good."

"Alright," Timon nodded. "Well, you know I'm a good secret-keeper if you ever do wanna talk. Or if there's a talk you, you know, need to hear..."

"I'm good! Nothing to talk about."

"Alright," Timon shrugged. "Well, we're glad you're sticking around. You're a good kid, Simba."

"You tell me that all the time, Timon, I get it."

"Well, it's true all the time. It'll never not be true."

"Thanks," Simba didn't seem to believe him. "You're good, too." This, he seemed to believe.

"I try. Hey, enough secret talk, let's eat."

They joined Pumbaa, who had proudly overturned a large rotting log, exposing hundreds of brightly colored grubs. As they ate, Timon glanced at Simba, who looked distracted. Timon knew that their chance to hover and protect Simba was gone, if it had ever been present at all. Simba's life was more complicated than they could know, and Timon somehow knew that it had just become even more so. Their boy was growing up, perhaps faster than any of them were ready for, and his problems were quickly maturing with him. All they could do was provide a home that he'd want to come back to at the end of the day. Somewhere he felt loved unconditionally, no matter what the outside world said or did to him. He'd always be their kid.

There might come a day when their friend was ready to let them in. And there might not. Timon was alright with this. If that day ever did come, they'd be there, ready to listen. Until then, Hakuna Matata.