He'd thought he could handle it. After all, he'd wanted Orlando for so long...this separation should have been a breeze. Should have mended his heart. Should have cleared his soul. He'd been wrong. He couldn't do this anymore. The pain was too fucking much. And memories of Orlando were everywhere. Every time he heard "I Will" -- playing the song over and over on his stereo, Paul McCartney's voice filling the air, filling his brain. But unable to compete with the memory of his own rough voice as he sang it to Orlando, emotion choking him. Remembered the sound of Orlando's tears spilling through the phone line. Remembered wanting to crawl through it, to erase the distance separating them. Every time he saw a pool table in a pub. Remembered Cuervo-flavored kisses between turns. Remembered silly bets on each shot and Orlando's bright laughter whenever he managed to sink a ball. Remembered that he never really had taught Orlando how to play the game...but that it hadn't really mattered. Every single time Karl closed his eyes, Orlando was there, his rolling gait and slow smile dancing across Karl's brain, his memory. Remembered coy glances and bad jokes over shared cups of tea in Orlando's kitchen. Remembered the way Orlando always talked with his hands, how he sounded -- words soft, intent -- when he was trying to explain something. Remembered the utter concentration with which he listened. Remembered the smell of clove burning Karl's tongue whenever they kissed, the taste acrid, yet as addictive as the nicotine Orlando inhaled. Remembered how beautiful Orlando looked when Karl was inside him, sexy beyond belief when he came, Karl's name spilling from his lips. But mostly, Karl remembered the feel of Orlando in his arms at night -- how Orlando always curled into him, practically slept on top of him. And remembered staying awake most nights, just breathing in Orlando's scent. He wasn't supposed to need this much, wasn't supposed to break. He'd known, from the very start, that Orlando wasn't his, would never be his. Would only be his in dreams, was really only his in a friendship that was sometimes more. But never quite what Karl needed it to be. Karl had finally found his soulmate...only, his soulmate wanted someone else. Wanted another's touch lulling him to sleep, another's voice whispering words of love in his ear. No matter how much Orlando loved Karl, how much Orlando wanted Karl, Orlando would never belong to Karl. Karl would never have his soul. And so, Karl never told anyone that he couldn't even look at eggs anymore without thinking of how much Orlando liked breaking them. And he never told anyone that he knew how to play pool. And he never told anyone that he'd started smoking again, smoking cloves on his back porch, just to have part of that forbidden taste in his mouth. And he certainly never told anyone that the last thing he did, just before slipping into twisted dreams, was to tell Orlando he loved him...just so he could hear the words back, and pretend they meant something else. Onto Connection
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