He wasn't going to think about it. He wasn't. Fuck Karl. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, tried to rub out some of the tension behind his eyes, to work out some of the kinks in his neck. He hadn't been sleeping too well the last few days, and he'd been pushing things in Bangkok so he could leave a couple of days early. Why, he had no idea, but, as lonely as the place was, he was still home. He picked up his cell phone, dialing the familiar number in a blur of movement. He'd be profoundly grateful when he and Orlando could really communicate without the stupid things. He listened to the phone ring once, twice, three times... "Hello?" "Orlando?" "Hey, Harry. How're things going?" "Better now," Harry sighed, flopping down on his own bed with supreme satisfaction. "Good to be home." "I know the feeling." Orlando laughed a little. "You sound tired." "That obvious, huh?" Harry sighed again, tried not to think about the thousand things he still had to do, people he needed to see... "I'm actually only at the house for a bit. More fucking meetings." "You okay?" Fuck, he was going to have to start taking lessons from some of his actor friends in prevaricating. Because he clearly sucked at it. "No, not really," he replied, rubbing that stupid ball of tension behind his eyes again. "What's wrong?" What wasn't? Oh sure, his companies were booming, he was still immortal, still rich, still had his friends, his interests...but it was all so fucking hollow right about now. Even getting to know the young mortal was beginning to pall. Not that he was bored with Orlando, because he wasn't. Harry refused to name what was wrong with him, though, refused to even think about it. "Just got a lot on my mind is all," he finally said aloud, propping the phone on his shoulder so he could shrug out of his shirt. He had time for a quick shower before he had to be at his next meeting. "I see," Orlando said, voice soft and almost emotionless. "Guess there's a lot of that going around these days." "What do you mean?" "Just that you're not the only person to tell me that lately." Harry tossed his shirt on the floor. "Orli...talk to me." He didn't like the quiet desperation he heard in the kid's voice. "It's nothing, really. Guess I'm just not my usual charming self tonight." "I can sense that. Now tell me what's wrong." Harry sat up, pulled off his slacks, crumpled them into a heap in the corner. "Nothing's wrong. Not really. I'm just...I'm worried about Karl." Just hearing his name caused a dull ache to pound in Harry's blood. "How?" What could possibly be wrong with Karl? He had everything he wanted. "He's...not himself. Hasn't been for the last couple of weeks or so." Orlando sighed. "It's like he's...I don't know. Depressed. I'm doing everything I can, but...I don't know." "Depressed?" Harry couldn't stop the sharp stab to his heart, the almost reflexive need to fix whatever was wrong. Not his problem anymore. Not his concern. "Yeah. He's kinda withdrawn, quiet, won't talk about certain things. He's been staying home unless he's had to go out." That didn't sound like Karl at all. He was always out and about, constantly at this club or that opening or Sean's or Vig's or his own house, this meeting or that, wheeling and dealing, surrounded by people and conversation. "What things?" Harry asked, hating himself for doing it, for allowing himself to get sucked in. The silence drew on for an eternity before Orlando spoke up. "You. And what happened." "Oh." The word was flat. "It's not like that," Orlando said, voice so soft it was almost a whisper. "Then what is it?" "He misses you. Every time I mention you, he gets this look on his face and it's always 'that's nice' and then a subject change." Harry repressed the urge to laugh. Karl couldn't possibly miss him. Karl had Orlando, had the one thing that had been missing from his life, the one thing he'd desired above everything. "I'm sure you're misinterpreting things," he said reassuringly, relaxing back onto the pillows. "Yeah, I'm sure you're right. I mean what's to miss, right? Just 800 years of..." Orlando stopped, took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. Forget I said anything. Are we still going out on Friday?" For a mortal, the bitterness in Orlando's voice had been surprisingly harsh. "Yeah, thought I'd pick you up around eight, if that works with your schedule." "That's fine. I've actually got a short day at the office on Friday." "Okay. Well, look, I've really got to get going if I'm going to try to keep anything resembling a timely schedule here," Harry said, voice laced with regret. "Take care of yourself, alright? For me?" It was the first time he'd made such a personal request, but Harry needed the assurance. Mortals were so fragile, and Orlando had become precious to him. "I will. And you take care of yourself. Don't wear yourself out." "Please, it'll take a lot more than boring people in middle management to wear me out," Harry joked. "See you soon." Orlando resisted the urge to call Harry on his comment. Instead, he tried to inject a smile into his voice. "Yeah, see you in a couple days." He hung up the phone, his hand resting on it for a moment. Then he sank down into the cushions, closed his eyes, let out a little sigh. "Who were you talking to?" Onto Part Eighteen
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