It starts with Karl on the porch, hands bunched in the front pockets of his jeans. His hair's a dark, spiky mess, like he's been running his fingers through it (the way he always used to, and Harry remembers, even though he's tried to forget everything), and the lines around clear, hazel eyes are more pronounced than they used to be. Getting older, but then, aren't they all? "Karl. What a...um...wow." If Harry's holding the doorknob too tight, Karl's polite enough not to comment. "Yeah. Good to see you, too. Mind if I come in?" Karl smiles, lips curving slightly. "Ah, no. God, um, no -- please." Manners, ever the fallback in awkward situations. Harry opens the door to let Karl step in, watches in silence, waiting, as Karl wanders the living room. When he turns and faces Harry, he's still wearing the same small smile. "You painted." "What?" Karl points. "The walls. Didn't they used to be beige?" "Ah, yeah. Yeah, they did. Good memory." But not as good as Harry's. "Why're you here?" "In the neighborhood?" "Pull the other one." Karl shrugs, but the motion is stiff, practiced. "Haven't seen you in awhile." "Three years," Harry replies, softly. Three years, five months and sixteen days, not that he's been counting. "Like I said." Karl gives Harry a sidelong glance, all too familiar. All too dangerous. "Heard you were living in the States." "For awhile, yeah. New York." "You like it there?" "Yeah, it was nice. Cold." Karl shakes his head, smoothes long fingers across the cushions of the sofa. Their sofa. "Never did get that about you." "We were never too good about getting each other." Karl looks down, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "No, I suppose not." It comes out as a whisper. Harry takes a step forward before he realizes what he's doing. "You still haven't answered my question." "Yeah, I did." When Karl looks up, Harry's breath freezes. "You need me to spell it out for you?" Oh God, oh fuck, no. No. "I might." He trips over the words, feels the walls closing in on him, the weight of Karl's measured stare pinning him into place. Just like always. No. "'Cause if you're, I mean, if you mean... I can't do this again." "It won't be like last time." Harry can't help the smile, even if he knows it's tinged with the faintest traces of bitterness and regret and panic. "That's what you said last time." "I'm a different man now." "You said that last time, too." "And that I've changed and seen the error of my ways?" Karl asks with a rueful smile and a ducked head. Impossible not to smile back. "And that you'll spend eternity making it up to me and you know what a bastard you were and if I just give you one more chance..." "God, I sound like a walking cliché, don't I?" "Well, I'm the sucker that fell for it twice." "They do say third time's the charm." "Karl..." "I'm serious." "I know," Harry replies, every nerve in his body urging him to run. "And that's what scares me." "So what do I have to do to prove I mean it?" "I'm all out of ideas on that." Had been all out of ideas the last time, too, but it hadn't stopped him from wondering and waiting and wishing. The wishing had been the final straw, pushing him towards New York and what he'd thought would be a fresh start. Instead, he'd spent a miserable year around strangers wondering what in fuck-all he was doing to himself. Coming home had been the only answer. "Well, how 'bout I think of an idea, then," Karl murmurs, taking a step closer. Harry tenses, every instinct on full alert. He weighs each word carefully through a strangled voice. "Sex was never the problem between us." "I'm not going to have sex with you." "You-you're not?" "No." Another soft smile, another step closer. "But I am going to kiss you. Because I'm an idiot and it's been too long and I don't want to kiss anyone else." "You, um, you don't? What about --?" "I said no one else and I meant it." Karl's lips hover against Harry's, close, so close. "Please." Don't move, don't breathe, don't feel. "Never, um, b-begged before." "Never needed to." "Karl..." "I'm right here." Karl's lips are on his the next moment, the kiss hungry, raw and desperate. When Harry lifts his head, licking swollen lips, he's not surprised to find he's shaking. His voice is none too steady, either. "So...now what?" "Now we talk." Karl sounds just as shaky as Harry, and somehow, it helps. "And we keep talking until I convince you." "And if it takes more than talking?" Karl doesn't move. His fingers are soft on Harry's forehead, as warm and gentle as the summer breeze. Full of apology and promise. "I'm good at action, too."
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