Karl sighed. Didn't matter. He'd made a promise to come. He could do this. He walked slowly up Orlando's front steps, smelled salt, tasted the ocean air. And was suddenly so homesick he could see his own house by the sea, pretend he was home. And...even more dangerously...pretend that Orlando was inside, waiting for an entirely different reason. He let himself in with the key Orlando had insisted he keep, padded through the familiar living room, down the hall to the never-forgotten bedroom. Even in the shadows, everything looked the same. Clothes strewn on the floor, papers and scripts in haphazard piles on the dresser and nightstand. Art on the walls, including a Viggo Mortensen original (and, if Karl thought about it, really thought, he could almost remember the carefree happiness of the day Viggo had given it to Orlando, remember the old days, back before he'd given his soul to Orlando -- back before Orlando had started to unwittingly shatter him into small pieces). And finally, the bed -- still the same four-poster king-sized monstrosity bought by Orlando with one person in mind, but shared with another. Shared with Karl. His gaze finally rested on the warm, restlessly sleeping figure sprawled in the middle of the bed. How odd that just the sight of tousled curls and patches of sun-kissed skin caused Karl's throat to close, his palms to itch. Take the step. Follow through. And another. And another. Stand beside the bed, ignore the trembling in your limbs, your fingers, as you brush back a few strands of springy hair from Orlando's face. Pay no attention to the tears threatening to fall behind your eyelids, the love swamping you, the despair overwhelming you. He'd asked you to come. It would have to be enough. Karl quietly slipped off his shoes, threw off his shirt, slid under the soft, cotton sheets, body weighing down the mattress. Immediately, instinctually, Orlando rolled into him, plastered himself on top of Karl. Just like Karl had never left. "I love you," Karl whispered, the words so fucking inadequate. But they were all he had left. "So much, Orlando...so much..." Closed his arms around Orlando, felt the heat, the pull -- the rightness of it all. "I'm here now." Another promise. Another one he'd break come morning. Orlando quieted, soft whimpers giving way to even breathing. Karl ran a hand through soft curls, massaging Orlando's scalp the way he'd always loved best. So many little things, so many ways Karl used to bring Orlando peace. Back before peace became a lie. Back before the memories got to be too much. So many little things...and Karl remembered them all. If he'd still owned his soul, he'd sell it to forget. The joy may have been worth it, but the pain was going to kill him, anyway. Onto Awakening
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