Disclaimer: This didn�t happen. Ever. I don�t know these people.

Beta: Reisling, my invaluable Scottish beta Kira, and Jeanette.

Author�s Notes: This series began with a quote from the Simpsons and ends with one from Aristotle. Either the story became something much deeper than I ever intended or I�ve gotten pretentious in the intervening years! I�m not ruling out the possibility of both. ;)

I wrote the first chapter of this series on the 4th of July 2003 and I had no idea it would turn into such an odyssey. I�ve grown a lot as a writer, and a person, during this series, and I�ve enjoyed it immensely. I want to say thank you to all the readers who�ve been with me since the start and all of those who�ve joined along the way. Thank you for reading and for your patience. Thank you also to my wonderful betas who�ve made sure I�ve not made too much of a fool of myself, especially Reisling, who deserves as much credit for the writer I am now as she wants to claim. I owe her a great deal.

It has been one hell of a journey, and as satisfied as I am to have it finished, I will miss it, too. My thanks to everyone who has taken part in this series in any way. This is Lemur, signing off. Now, to the story.

~~~~

�Erotic love tends to be an excess of friendship.� -Aristotle

Elijah spoke, endlessly enthusiastic on the other end of the line. The wind blew in a rough crackle over the speaker of his cell phone. �You gotta go, man. I keep missing him. Fucking elf�s like a mirage or whatever.�

�Aye, I guess I should,� Billy said. He swallowed against the strange stirring in his belly.

�Crapola. I gotta go. I�ll call you during next break.� Without a farewell, the line clicked dead and Elijah was gone, leaving Billy alone, staring at his hotel carpet in silence. It was only when the phone started beeping at him that he realized he hadn�t hung up.

After a few too many moments, Billy stood and walked into the hotel bathroom, a crisp clinical white that shined obscenely bright in the harsh lights. The minute he stepped into the room with Orlando�s name so recent in his ears, his mind screamed, Wrong room, wrong room! This was the wrong room to be in if he wanted to avoid the memories.

But then again, the bedroom wasn�t much better.

Billy closed his eyes and turned off the lights; he could piss by the faint orange charging light on the blow dryer. It took so little, so very little, to take him back through the past few years to that warm bedroom in New Zealand, that absurdly candlelit bathroom with its soft towels smelling of fabric softener. That final night; Billy�s cheeks burned red to remember the words he�d said, those three little words.

That morning and for days that followed, Billy had composed a hundred letters in his head, but he never sent a single one. He never set pen to paper or fingers to keyboard and he never received a word from Orlando. He and Orlando never wrote to one another, or spoke on the phone. From that morning and for months after, Billy and Orlando didn�t see each other even once.

The first Rings screenings had been their first reunion, and with remarkable ease, they�d greeted each other with hugs that barely connected and hurled themselves into the old cloak of the Hobbits and Orli, avoiding eye contact all the while. It was simple and effortless to hide within the boisterous camaraderie of the Fellowship. The only side effect Billy noticed was the way his smile fell almost instantly when left alone again, with lingering discomfort and unease twitching under his skin. He never examined it; never gave it deep thought. He ignored the feeling and moved on, to the next premiere and the next. They were always surrounded by cast mates and it was too soon, too close to those events to say, �So you and me in New Zealand. What was with all the snogging?�

And then, Billy had met someone, a lovely girl from Scotland, and forgetting everything related to Orlando had been the easiest course.

Billy walked back out of the bathroom and looked at the phone. It waited, silent and polished shiny, on the dark wood side table.

He didn�t know what would happen � or worse, what he wanted to happen. He�d been so mad about Orlando, utterly barmy for the boy, but his life had changed since then. He�d settled back into his life in Scotland, realigned with his friends. He�d met his lass. For her, he felt allegiance, and desire in every sense of the word; desire to touch her, know her, comfort and love her. For her, he felt the first stirrings of something substantial and capable of lasting.

So Billy was scared. He had every reason to doubt himself around Orlando. Everything he�d done with him had been nothing he would ever do. He tried, he rationalized, but he couldn�t convince himself that it wouldn�t happen again, that he wouldn�t fall into the same intoxication, and his heart pounded to think who he might hurt this time � and she might not be as forgiving as Dom.

Perhaps, seeing him again, Billy would feel something Orlando didn�t. Or the opposite, which would be worse. Perhaps Orlando would show up with stars in his eyes and a torch in his heart, and Billy would have no choice but to hurt him. That fear churned in Billy�s gut, gnawing and terrible. He didn�t want to get hurt; he didn�t want to hurt Orlando. He wanted to get through all of this with all hearts intact, but he wasn�t sure that was even possible. Surely, such conflicted romances could only end in tears.

But in New Zealand, he�d learned one lesson very well: ignoring it wouldn�t make it disappear.

He reached into his back pocket where he had Orlando�s cell phone number jotted down on the pretentious, stylized business card the wannabe actress at the coffee shop downstairs had given him when he�d first arrived. Sean had insisted he take Orlando�s number down, and like Elijah, he�d jovially insisted that Billy see Orlando. Billy was in town for interviews and Orlando was in town filming his pirate movie. �Hey, Orli�s in town, too! You guys should totally get together!� were the all-too-similar cries. When Billy returned to Scotland, he would be asked about his time with Orlando. Both of them would receive phone calls wanting details. All of the hobbits clung to the closeness they�d felt in New Zealand, but now, the only real way to feel it again was to attach like a suckerfish to any two of the group getting together and demand to know the happenings and inside jokes they spawned. There was nothing to be done for it but for Billy and Orlando to meet.

But it was Dom�s words that gave Billy the final push he needed when in a phone call late one night, Dom had simply said, �You should know what�s still there.�

Billy picked up the phone.

Laughter answered the call before Orlando did, mixed male and female laughter, and Orlando�s �Hello?� flitted off the end of a chuckle.

Billy cleared his throat. A distant murmur came through the line, punctuated by a burst of laughing from everyone. Orlando�s laugh blared through the line.

�Hello?� Orlando said again.

�Hey!� Billy acted. �It�s Billy. Bad time?�

�No, no.� Orlando�s voice was significantly more subdued this time, sobered. �Hey, man. How�s it going with you, man? You good?�

�Aye, yeah, I�m good. You?�

�I�m good, I�m good.� The chatter behind Orlando went on, the party evidently continuing without him.

�Good. Yeah, so, you want to get together? I�m in L.A., by the way. I�m here.�

�Really?! Yeah, we should � yeah, let�s get together. We should.�

And with that, their first words spoken individually to one another with no frenzy of press and fans to distract them, they planned to meet up the next day and go surfing. Billy was relieved when he finally hung up and his lower back ached from holding himself so tense. Elijah didn�t call back; he probably forgot.

The next morning, Billy sat in his swim trunks and a t-shirt in the swanky lobby of his Los Angeles hotel, staring at his reflection in the black marble end table. His old grey gym bag from school rested by his feet with his wetsuit stuffed inside, and the face that looked up at him from the black marble wasn�t pretty or perfect like everyone else�s in this town. Glamorous tourists rolled by with their matched luggage sets, comfortably separate from the plastic Academy Awards and Maps to the Stars� Homes that seemed scattered all over the rest of the city. Billy knew he didn�t fit in, but this was hardly the first time. Or the last. And he�d lived with worse.

He wandered away from the main lobby and toward the small alcove by the toilets. Only one part of this hotel hung not sleek or polished: a large map of the world, stuck full of tacks. On the bureau in front of it sat a cup full of gleaming, metallic tacks, a guest book, and a small note to �Mark Your Home�. The United States was a field of tacks, from sea to shining sea. Metal points dotted Asia, Japan, Russia here and there, and Scotland had maybe three, none, strangely, on Glasgow. Billy reached into the cup and scooped out a tack � which he promptly dropped to the floor and lost. It seemed to vanish.

Billy looked over the ground, and then a shape entered his peripheral vision. He turned to see Orlando, tanned, toned, and taller than he remembered, fitting perfectly into this world of beautiful people.

Scanning the lobby, Orlando�s eyes slowly got to him and caught. They stared at one another a long moment; Billy�s heart trembled with memory. Orlando smiled slowly, awkwardly, and walked over. His hair was long and tucked back into a messy second-thought ponytail. He grinned too wide and grabbed Billy into a hug that was all arms; Orlando used to hug with his whole body. �How�s it, mate?� He laughed uncomfortably. �How�s it? Cripes. How�s it going, mate? Left a fucking word out.�

Billy pulled back and said the first words in his head. �I dropped a tack.�

�Hm?�

�I dropped a tack.� Billy lifted his feet, looking under them for the missing item. �I was about to mark home and I dropped it. Now it�s gone for a burton.�

�Oh,� Orlando said. His gaze dropped, searching the floor.

Billy lowered to his knees, peering under the furniture, and felt Orlando kneel beside him. Orlando bent his head low to the tile, reached an arm under the bureau, and drew out a small, glinting bit of metal. �Is this it?� he asked.

�Aye, looks like,� Billy said, and accepted the tack from Orlando�s hand; his fingertips just brushed the skin of Billy�s palm. �Thanks.�

�Glad to help.�

They stood, and Billy pushed the tack decisively into Glasgow. He turned to Orlando and smiled. It felt uncomfortable and ungainly on his lips, and seeing him, Billy wasn�t sure how he felt to be standing in front of Orlando again. His heart stirred, his mind, his senses, his memory, but it wasn�t the same. Time had passed and he�d lost track of where they�d been before.

�Shall we then?� Orlando asked brightly.

Billy nodded.

Orlando insisted on taking Billy�s bag as he led him to the hotel�s car park and the slick rented convertible that was his for the duration. Discomfort flitted low in Billy�s belly; something about this car, these mannerisms; they didn�t feel like Orlando. Not like the Orlando he remembered anyway.

Orlando talked incessantly about everything and nothing as they walked to the car and drove onto the freeway. Billy got to hear about the weather in the Caribbean, the rain that was expected in L.A. later that week, the polls and political debates that were all abuzz in the city, but that Orlando knew almost nothing about. As Orlando prattled on, Billy dimly recalled a distant memory when he�d observed that, indeed, Orlando�s reaction to an awkward situation was to talk ceaselessly, as if the absence of silence would create the absence of discomfort. Hadn�t worked then, in that long ago meeting with the costume girl who had one-sidedly fancied Orlando, and it wasn�t working now. But Billy appreciated it; he had no idea what to say.

Mid-sentence, Orlando�s cell phone rang and he answered it with a cheery, �Yeah, hello?� and a moment later, assured whoever it was that, �No, no, this is fine. Whatever. Just driving to the beach with a mate.�

It took Billy only a few moments of listening to realize that Orlando had granted an interview while they moved along, top down, wind blowing as they drove across the bridge. He sat silently and listened to Orlando�s abstract chatter about his career, his prospects. Only the way Orlando kept rubbing his free hand on the steering wheel belied any uneasiness with the topic, or maybe with the company.

Billy looked up and squinted into the California sunshine, the wind ruffling his hair as the convertible cruised down the highway. He seized the armrest frantically when Orlando swooped them into the left lane with barely a glance at the traffic behind him and an earnest, �I�m having a ball, man� into the phone. L.A. drivers, Billy had heard something about them; he�d never thought Orlando would become one. He let out a sigh that was completely lost within the raging wind and he had the very small, yet profound thought that this wasn�t the same Orlando he�d known in New Zealand. The wind slicked Billy�s smile across his face and he felt vindicated, justified in never having written to Orlando. And Orlando�s reasons for never calling suddenly felt explained.

Thou dissembling cub, Billy thought, thou wretched boy. It felt good to think this way, strangely wicked and hot, like the first bite into a cherry rum ball, all burst of liquor burn and cherry sweet � and just as satisfying in that it wasn�t, not at all. In only moments, Billy felt hollow again; irritable and sad beneath his skin. But then he remembered he�d been warned: Orlando had told him he was a coward and pretending nothing had ever happened was the coward�s way out.

Billy let himself believe the wetness in his eyes was from the wind.

Orlando laughed gaily with the stranger on the phone, a laugh Billy didn�t recall ever hearing before, a coddling, showy laugh. The wind blew softer as Orlando eased them toward the beach�s car park.

�Sure thing, yeah,� Orlando said. �Yeah, thanks. Mm-hmm. Bye.� And he snapped his cell phone shut. �Sorry about that, mate. We�ve been trying to find a time for weeks.�

Billy grunted a neutral reply as he got out of the parked car. Orlando stepped out as well and turned, grabbing his stuff out of the back. Just as he did so, his phone rang again. Billy heaved a sigh and hauled out his wet suit. From Orlando�s scattered, �Yeah�, �Mmm-hmm� and �right, okay�, Billy wasn�t able to deduce who it was. He decided he didn�t care. �Here, mate. I got an extra,� Orlando whispered, and pushed a towel into Billy�s hand before turning and opening his own bag lying on the ground.

Billy�s jaw tightened. He dropped the towel on the dirty roadway and began tugging and pulling, working his wetsuit up his legs. Orlando wedged his phone against his ear and did the same. Separated by the convertible, they peeled off their shirts and Billy denied any temptation to peek. He had no way of knowing if Orlando did.

By the time Billy turned back around, wet suit snug all the way to his waist, Orlando was just setting his bag in the back of the car. �Yeah, okay,� Orlando said into the phone, then laughed his showy laugh. �That�s brilliant. Great. Yeah, bye.� He closed his phone, grabbed up his towel, and smiled widely at Billy, neatly avoiding his eyes. �You ready?� He slapped a button on the dash and the car�s roof rose with a whirr, extending over the seats.

�You takin� that in the water with you?� Billy nodded subtly toward the phone palmed in Orlando�s hand.

Orlando�s eyes met Billy�s first, then lowered to his phone. �Oh. No, I guess that�d be a bad idea, huh?� He chucked the phone into his bag on the backseat just as the roof lowered with a clap. He smiled uncomfortably at Billy. �You ready?�

Billy followed Orlando toward the small surfboard rental shop. With the wetsuit constricting him, he felt like the very definition of lean and mean. Orlando rested on the doorjamb toward the tan girl in the bikini top and jean shorts who stood inside amid the dozens of boards. In a polite rush, he told her what they needed.

�Sure thing, dude,� she replied, and turned to grab up one board. She handed it to him, and in the time it took for Orlando to hand it to Billy, she was standing and ready with the next. �Coolio, that�s it.� She raised her head from the beach-stained paper work and accepted Orlando�s money with a look of sudden recognition, not of celebrity, but of an elusive creature rarely seen in the wilds: a genuinely gorgeous man. Her expression of casual officiousness instantly turned to coy and spunky. �Heya,� she chirped. �Have a good surf.�

�Thanks.� Orlando smiled at the girl and she winked back.

Instantly, Billy loathed this girl and her pixie haircut. I�ve had him, lass, he thought, in ways you never can. He followed Orlando toward the surf, eyes narrowed shrewdly at the girl as they passed.

They took to the water with all the force of practice, but standing up and riding the waves proved to be much harder. Billy had gotten out of surfing shape and his knees began protesting early, creaking and snapping when he tried to pop himself up to standing on the bright green board. He fell a few times and lost his sense of up in the roiling waves. He and Orlando laughed and called to one another, slipping into the fa�ade of easy times, as if nothing had happened because you couldn�t be silent and sullen when your mate � past or present � finally got to his feet and stayed there for a full twenty seconds.

After nearly an hour of paddling, popping, and surfing, Billy�s muscles twinged all over with fatigue and his eyes burned from the salt. He rode the waves atop his board, enjoying the crest and fall as they carried him. Orlando paddled over to float beside him, his own red board shining in the sun. They both faced away from the beach and out into the endless blue-sky-meeting-blue-water expanse of the horizon.

The waves lapped gently at Billy�s knees. Despite his wet suit, he shivered until the sun stayed broken from the clouds long enough to dry and warm him, just enough to dull the chill. He idly paddled with his hands and kept an eye on the distant buoy marking the safe zone; past that and Billy suspected they�d hear quite the whistle from the lifeguard on land. Orlando sighed beside him and wiped the water from his face with a sniffle. �Man,� he said.

�Aye,� Billy agreed.

�I�d forgotten how tiring it was.�

�Aye. Me too.�

Water lapped against Billy�s board, splashing across the neon green surface. Orlando wiped his face.

�Man.�

�Aye.�

The sea stretched out before them. The sounds of the beach drifted from behind, the occasional shriek of a child�s laughter, indistinguishable calls from one friend to another, a dozen different types of music playing from a dozen different radios creating one cacophonous song. Peace. To Billy, it felt like peace. His arms draped loosely and his legs floated listlessly in the water. He was too exhausted to feel tension anymore and his mind had to focus too densely on breathing and staying upright; it couldn�t race over options, scenarios, possibilities or outcomes. He could only sit and admire the sun as it reflected off the endless ocean.

�It�s beautiful.�

Orlando nodded. �It is,� he said.

Billy closed his eyes and sunshine glowed brightly over his face, heating his damp, salty skin. He breathed in with a slight smile, and then exhaled slowly, luxuriously. He heard Orlando take a deep, relaxing breath next to him.

�So,� Billy said. His heart and lungs felt calm. �You and me in New Zealand. What was with all the snogging?�

Orlando�s relaxing breath ran its course, finishing just as a breeze blew across them. �Good question,� he said. �Very good question.�

Water sloshed up loudly on Billy�s board, splashing on his skin. �Do we have an answer?�

�I don�t know.�

�Do we want an answer?� Billy added, lowly, a question more to himself than to Orlando. He wondered bitterly if Orlando had even thought about them since New Zealand. He looked down and pulled a finger through a fat drop of seawater on the end of his board, painting shapes and curlicues.

�I�m not sure we need one,� Orlando said. �I mean, does that sort of thing need an explanation?�

Billy laughed humorlessly. �I don�t know about you, but that wasn�t my usual sort of thing.�

�Me neither, but � but � I don�t know.� Sitting, floating on his surfboard, Orlando scratched idly at his forearm. �I mean�was it bad?�

In the awkward tilt of Orlando�s mouth, the crinkling of one eye, and shrug of his shoulder, Billy caught a glimpse of the Orlando he remembered. Not a callous California beach baby. �I didn�t think so,� Billy said cautiously.

�I didn�t either.�

Billy stared at the water lapping onto his board. �So...�

Orlando shrugged again. �So...�

�What�s that mean?�

�I don�t know.� Orlando dragged a wet hand over his face and let out a sharp bark of laughter. �Shit, man. I don�t know what my problem is.�

Billy turned to look at him, eyes squinted against the sun. He had done it a few times before, but there was still something monumentally bizarre about reuniting with someone who had seen him naked. To sit calmly beside someone who has licked parts of his body that are never visible in public; that are, indeed, prohibited by law from being shown in public in some countries. To look at that someone and know he�s done the same to her. Or him. To remember where he sucked and bit. To remember the words he said while panting and rubbing.

Billy�s face suddenly burned hot, fiery red, needing no help from the sun. He remembered exactly what he�d said.

He distinctly remembered sucking on Orlando�s earlobe and whispering to him, all hot breath and filthy. He felt now like it hung in the air between them. All the words they�d said in those heated moments.

Fuck me harder.

I love your cock.

Billy supposed, in the long run, those were ever so much more embarrassing than saying I love you.

Orlando cleared his throat. He batted at the water again, keeping himself away from that distant buoy. �Wanna head back in?� he asked.

�Aye,� Billy said. �I feel like a salt lick.�

Orlando chuckled and they both lowered to their bellies on their boards, paddling themselves back to shore. Billy�s legs were leaden and tired as they walked up the beach to the sunny little spot where they�d left their towels. They were still there, bright swaths against the sand, which was a bit surprising for Billy as he�d half expected them to be stolen; this was L.A. after all. They set their boards aside, peeled off their wet suits and collapsed onto the sun-warmed towels.

Orlando let out a long groan. �Oh, man. I�m not as young as I used to be.�

�Aye.� Billy grimaced. �I�m not as young as you used to be either.�

Orlando snickered.

Billy threw a hand over his eyes, shielding them, and let the sun warm and dry him, let it bake the funky angle of his swimming suit across the skin of his thighs. It was too perfect to move.

�So,� Orlando began abruptly. �I met this girl at the last thing, the premiere.� The waves crashed between his words. �And I like her, more than I�ve liked anyone in a � in a long time... She�s really...she�s really great.�

And he let the information hang there, unresolved and pointless. Billy�s heart contracted painfully, one sharp tug and he let out a slow breath, raising a brow beneath the forearm thrown over his face. �So...what, are you asking me for permission?�

�No...� Orlando said with a weak laugh. �No, I�m not. Just -- do I need to?�

Billy shook his head. �No.� His stomach swam. He dug a heel into the sand, feeling down to the moist, cool level beneath the hot, sun-dried one. �Actually, I met a girl too.�

�You did? That�s great, man.� Orlando�s smile tinted every word. Billy couldn�t see if it was genuine or not. A small part of him hoped it wasn�t.

�Aye, it is. She�s amazing.� Billy tried to quietly release a calming breath, though he still felt tension and fear in his arms. They�d said it; they�d both moved on. There was no going back.

�Smart girl, too, I�ll bet,� Orlando said.

�She is.� Billy sighed and settled rigidly back into the sand. �Yours too, I�d guess.�

�I think so.�

Billy pressed his forearm down against his eyelids, enjoying the steady pressure. He willed his pulse to ease. Suddenly, the wind blew, casting a cool breeze over them, and brought with it Orlando�s scent. Billy instinctively pulled in a deep breath through his nose. He couldn�t identify all the components, but he knew it was Orlando he smelled because in a flash he remembered mornings he�d forgotten that had begun with his nose buried at the base of Orlando�s neck. God, he thought, that�d been such a comforting smell. Even now, his thoughts stilled peacefully as he breathed in. Those were good times, unequivocally.

There�d been bad times, he knew that. There had been bad times, and weird times and crazy fucking confusing times, but they�d faded over time and lost their potency. Instead, he vibrantly recalled the excitement, the discovery, the absolutely fecking amazing sex. And he remembered being mind-shot and startlingly in love. He remembered being so in love it scared him.

Wetness pressed from his eyes to his arm and he turned his head, squinting to see Orlando in the blinding sunlight. Orlando lay with his eyes closed and his face turned up to the sun, open and absorbing.

A girl giggled and Billy let his attention flicker over to the trio of young women in bikinis passing by. They talked amongst themselves, like girls did, hands over their mouths but eyes peering over toward Billy and Orlando, so that the topic of their whispers was clear.

�Hey,� Billy said, moving his elbow enough to nudge Orlando�s across the towels. �You�re getting checked out.�

Orlando lifted his head, squinted at the ladies, and then dropped his head back down again. �They�re looking at you.�

�Aye, right.� Billy snorted.

�You�re fucking hot, man.�

Billy turned back to Orlando, shielding his eyes to make colors appear through the bled-white bright of the sun. He glanced up and down the body beside him, all bronzed and fencing-fit. �I say again, aye, right.� He even repeated his derisive snort.

Orlando grinned and turned his head to look at Billy. His hand came up to block his own eyes. �You sayin� you think I�m hot?�

Billy sighed dramatically and blinked. �Maybe.� The sun shone bright red through his eyelids and when he opened them again, he caught the very end of Orlando�s long, slow look up and down his body. He shivered despite the warm air.

�They�re stupid if they weren�t looking at you,� Orlando said quickly, and looked back to the sky.

Billy smiled. The flirtation still felt good and his heart eased a little. He stretched on his towel, the warm sand giving in to the press and weight of his body. Billy knew there�d been a time when talk like that would have lead to kissing, and more. In New Zealand, the body laid out beside him had been as open to him as his own. Lying in bed with Orlando, he could reach across and slide a finger across his neck if he wanted to, or on the set, he could pull him aside for a quick snog behind a trailer. Orlando�s fingers could seek out his and be welcomed. Billy could press a kiss to Orlando�s chest and be hugged all the closer. Now, Orlando was no longer his to touch. Nor was Billy�s his. He didn�t know how Orlando would react, or how he would react if Orlando touched him, and those touches that had come so easily before didn�t fit any more. They would be out of place, awkward for the sort of friends they were now. A bittersweet flavor burned at the back of Billy�s throat.

He closed his eyes. It hurt, a pain in his chest, but he let go. He breathed in deeply and knew it was time. They�d moved on; there was no going back.

They shouldn�t go back.

When the sun had dried them head to toe, Billy raised his arm to look at his watch. Without opening his eyes, Orlando said, �Should we be going?�

�Aye, probably.� Billy sat up, letting his back slowly curl. �I have a phone date tonight.�

�Me too.� Orlando folded his wet suit over his arm. �Well, not on the phone, but a date.�

Billy looked fondly over at him. �Then we�d best go, eh?�

The ride back to the hotel was a thousand times more pleasant than the trip to the beach. They barely stopped for breath as they talked, catching up on the past years, about the last time they�d seen Dom or Sean or Elijah, and when Orlando�s phone cell rang, he didn�t even pause in his sentence to pick it up and switch off the ringer. They carefully avoided talking about their girls, or anyone they�d dated since New Zealand. For Billy, the bruise was still too fresh, and he could only hope it was the same for Orlando.

At the hotel, they took the stairs. Outwardly, it was because the elevator was too crowded, but really, it was because taking the stairs would take longer. Billy wondered if they were trying to make up for two lost years in two short hours.

Billy�s lungs burned by the time they reached the eighth floor landing, but it good. It felt hearty and real and happy.

�We should do this again. How long you in town?� Orlando asked.

�Just till tomorrow.�

�No way, man. That fuckin� sucks.�

�Aye. Been here a week, though. I probably shouldn�t have waited so long to call.�

�No,� Orlando agreed with a shrug. His eyes fell to his shoes, hands in his pockets. �But I get why you did.�

Billy�s own gaze flickered to the ground. In the end, he supposed they�d both been cowards in their own ways, at different times. Maybe they could both be braver now.

�Well, next time we�re in the same town, one of us calls right away, deal?� Orlando extended his hand for a shake and Billy did so gladly.

�Aye, definitely.�

Orlando smiled and leaned in for a hug. It was still all arms, but Billy forgave that and accepted it. He hugged back tightly. �Have a good date tonight, mate.�

�Thanks. You, too,� Orlando breathed, pulling away. �See you, man.� With that, he turned and trotted down the stairs.

Billy spun around to the metal door leading to his hallway. His hand had just touched the cold handle when he heard:

�Bill?�

He turned back to see Orlando standing at the next landing. His eyes lowered self-consciously as soon as Billy�s gaze fell upon him.

�I�ve been doing this thing, right? This reading, this, like, �know thyself� stuff and I was thinking � it says that if you have good feelings...sort of, like, if you can make someone feel good without diminishing yourself or sacrificing yourself or whatever, then you should because it�s good and...that�s good, because � because making people feel good about themselves is a good thing.� He twisted on his feet, his eyes downcast and his fingers turning about on the stairwell post. �So I thought � I wanted to tell you that, like, in New Zealand I sorta loved you, you know? I mean, I fell in love with you. I was in love with you.� The air turned light beneath those words and Orlando let out a shuddering, scared breath. �You don�t have to do anything,� he added hastily, �or anything, but I thought you should know because it�s a good thing. Love is a really positive feeling, positive energy; it�s good. You�re, like, you�re an easy person to love. You should know that.�

Billy stared silently as Orlando�s eyes opened so fractionally that he saw perhaps only his own feet. Several floors up, a metal door opened with a clang and footsteps began an echoing descent toward them. Orlando�s still-fidgeting fingers picked at a bit of flaking paint on the post. �Huh,� Billy breathed, sounding surprised.

Orlando looked up, discomfort plain in his expression, but it was not mingled with regret. And as much as Billy imagined he could see Orlando�s heart pounding from where he stood, he knew a response wasn�t expected.

�I didn�t even know your face could get that red,� Billy said.

Orlando�s nervous expression relaxed into a smirk. �Sod off.�

The footsteps neared and a man in maintenance cover-alls trotted down the stairs past them. Billy nodded a greeting, noting how strange he and Orlando must look out of context, standing on different landings, staring at one another. At last the man�s steps faded and another metal door slammed shut. �Fuck,� Billy said.

�What?�

Billy let out a long sigh. �You really are an enormous fucking bother, Orlando.�

Orlando�s lips raised in a weak smile. �I know,� he said softly. �Sorry about that.�

�And yet, I was very much in love with you,� Billy said suddenly. His heart skipped, but otherwise, no nervousness, shyness, or embarrassment weighted his body. He said it, he meant it, and felt no remorse; most certainly not when Orlando looked up at him with such a fragile, hopeful expression. �Which I think proves I�m daft.�

�Yeah,� Orlando replied with a thick voice, and Billy thought he recognized that quieted sniffle. �Thank you for that, mate. That sounds stupid. But thank you.�

Billy cocked his head, jerked his chin, silently motioning for Orlando to come back to him. Eyes steady, Orlando complied, taking one step, then another. He ascended the stairs to stand before Billy, one step down from him, leveling their heights.

Orlando gave a lop-sided, almost boyish smile and the moment Billy realized his gaze was focused on Orlando�s lips, he felt Orlando�s eyes on his own. Hesitantly, he moved forward. Their lips pressed lightly, closed, and Billy�s closed hand came to rest on Orlando�s shoulder.

They stood before one another, lips a breath apart, breathing, deciding, thinking. Remembering. Then, with a saliva-wet click that seemed to resound against the concrete walls, their mouths opened and their tongues touched. Billy slipped his palm against the back of Orlando�s neck and his fingers sank into long, bound curls. The hair felt different, but the lips were the same; he even tasted the same. Slow and wet, they kissed, and Orlando�s hands rose to lightly grip Billy�s waist. Billy�s knees weakened just a bit and he locked them to keep from falling. Faint arousal sparkled through him. It was all so familiar, so effortlessly sensual that it was comforting, like slipping beneath the covers of one�s own bed after weeks spent in hotels.

Their mouths parted and Billy licked his lips, savoring the last of it, only to see Orlando doing the same. Orlando looked at him with deep brown eyes that still touched Billy in a way no one else�s ever would, even if they didn�t touch him the way they used to.

�We were always good at that part,� he said.

Billy shrugged. �I think we were pretty good at all the parts.�

Orlando looked away for a second, thinking. �You�re right. We were.� He smiled charmingly. A lone drop of seawater dripped from a curl tucked behind his ear.

Orlando tugged him close and embraced him, a full-bodied hug. Billy closed his eyes, letting himself absorb and be absorbed. He held Orlando to him with all his strength, so hard his arms trembled, and beneath the synthetic smell of Orlando�s wet hair extensions, Billy caught the scent that took him back to those warm beds and peaceful mornings in New Zealand. With a soft smile and a final, good squeeze, he said a very happy and fond farewell to those times. Never, he thought, never would he regret having this man in his life.

When they pulled back, Billy pressed a final, chaste kiss to Orlando�s cheek and smiled. Orlando beamed back at him. �Call me?� he said.

�I will,� Billy replied.

Orlando turned and trotted down the stairs, footsteps as light as his expression had been.

�Hey, Orlando?�

Orlando turned back to him from the landing below, his hand on the railing. �Yeah?�

�Thanks.� Billy consciously forced himself to hold Orlando�s eyes even as exposed and foolish as it made him feel. �Those times with you...those were some of the best times of my life.�

Orlando smiled beautifully. �Yeah, mine too.�

Billy turned and pulled open the door to walk into the hallway. Sunlight streamed in through the windows at either end, illuminating the whole length, shining light upon the swirls of bright, classy colors in the carpeting. He had to get packed and he had a phone call to expect; even better, he had a welcome home awaiting him. He knew that that first hug, holding his girl Ali in his arms, would be all the better for today. The path was a little different, his companion a little different, but at its core, it was the same quest and Billy knew he�d been here before, he�d fought these devils and pushed through these obstacles. And he was capable. He was capable of loving, and being loved.

He supposed that was the best life ever got.