Orlando listened to the voice greeting once more before flipping his cell phone closed. All the years… wasted. He was thirty today, and despite all the people here at his party he was incredibly lonely. Even the warmth pouring off the people around him left him cold. Their mirth and joviality left him sorrowful for everything he'd lost and could have had. There had only been one pair of arms that could chase away a chill.

He had been the one to turn away when fame called, shunning the one who loved him beyond life itself. God, he'd completely arsed it all up, and now, on the eve when he wanted to tell the man just how much he regretted those actions, the phone went unanswered.

True, what he wanted to say really needed to be said face to face, but Orlando was too chickenshit to go to his house and camp on his doorstep. Even tonight, when his courage seemed grander than it had been in many months, he felt flutterings of nervousness at the idea of seeing the tawny-haired man greet him from his doorway.

He had a feeling the door would meet his face if he stepped too close. It was nothing less than he deserved, he supposed. He could have everything money could buy, but not the one thing his heart desired most.

Tired of the mindless chatter around him, he walked to the back of the ballroom, stepping out onto the sheltered balcony. The champagne had been flowing all night, and suddenly the glass in his hand felt as heavy as his heart. He set it down on one of the several small tables that were scattered about the ballroom, sighing heavily. This birthday sucked, and for none of the reasons that turning thirty was supposed to.

His cell buzzed in his pocket, and he contemplated not answering it briefly before pulling it out. He didn't recognize the number displayed, but the text message attached to it read: "ARE YOU FREE?"

More than anyone realizes, he thought somewhat bitterly. "YES" he texted back, pushing the send key before he could think about it too long.

Orlando was glad he wasn't holding the champagne glass any longer, because moments later the voice he heard would have startled him into dropping it. "Good. I've waited a long time to have you to myself."

Orlando spun around, brown eyes clashing with crystal blue and immediately sinking into them. As if he didn't trust what they saw, he mumbled, "Viggo?"

The older man turned, pulling the sliding glass door shut behind him. "Vision is the first thing to go," he teased.

Orlando chuckled. It was so easy to fall back into old habits. Viggo teasing, him laughing. But there was an ocean of hurt between them - an ocean he had created - and Orlando remembered it all to well once the laughter subsided.

Nervous now, the Brit shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to look out over the view, partially obscured as it was by the one way glass mounted to the outer ledge. Viggo came to stand beside him, glancing at the solid profile before turning to mimic his stance.

The silence stretched. Orlando knew Viggo could go for hours without a word, but quiet was not the younger man's strong suit. He knew he had to say something before he started vibrating from the strength of the pent-up words.

"I'm glad you came. Surprised, really." He wished now more than ever that he hadn't quit smoking. He could ask Viggo for a cigarette, but nicotine wasn't what he needed right now. A solid backbone was. He grinned at the terrible pun and caught the curious look Viggo gave him out of the corner of his eye.

"Thirty is a milestone, Orli. Wouldn't miss wishing you a happy birthday."

Orli. He hadn't let anyone else call him that since Rings. Only one voice sounded right saying it, and he felt himself shiver as his mind replayed the raspy purr. He almost missed Viggo's next words.

"Is it happy, Orli?"

The reply stalled in his throat. No, nothing's been happy since you. He looked to the man, the keeper of his dreams, and opened his mouth to say them, but again the words hung unspoken. Tears threatened as blue eyes delved into his soul through the brown gates, and he lowered his gaze with a shake of his head. Shame and self-loathing filled him. Why couldn't he just confess his heart? Was it pitiful pride or simple foolishness?

He felt solid fingers grab his upper arm, gentle but resolved, not to be ignored. He wanted to turn to Viggo and kiss him. Apologize until dawn for being so insecure in who he was, such a complete ass about the whole celebrity bullshit, and for going along with whatever his management decreed without a backwards glance.

But that wasn't completely true. He'd always looked back, hoping to see that one familiar face in the crowd to tell him it was all right, that he was forgiven, that he could continue on as long as he needed to and the light would still shine for him at the end of the tunnel. Only the face that he prayed to see never shadowed his footsteps.

The words were softly spoken, so that even Orlando had to strain to hear. "What would make it happy for you, Orlando?"

It was now or never. Take the plunge or get off the damn diving board. "You."

Viggo heard the response and smiled inwardly, but he wanted it repeated. Louder. Much louder if he had his way. "Come again? Hearing goes next, you know." A grin parted the sweet lips he yearned to taste once more.

"You, old man. You would make my birthday happy." It was much easier to talk to him with a smile on his face. A genuine smile for a change, not the forced one that clouded his eyes, never letting the real Orlando shine through.

Viggo was glad to see the hint of light return to the dark irises. "Well, I'm here, so you should be happy, right?"

Orlando nodded, but the sadness returned to his eyes. "Should be, yeah." A raised eyebrow was Viggo's only comment. He's waiting for you to admit what an arsehole you are, you git! his mind shouted at him. Summoning what remained of his courage, Orlando began, "Viggo, I'm-"

"Gay. Yes, I know. Surprising that the world hasn't figured it out quite yet, though."

Lips pursed in the beginnings of anger, Orlando nearly shouted, "No! I mean, yes, but - what I trying to tell you is: I'm sorry." His eyes locked with the older man's, determined to make him understand even if he didn't accept the apology. Orlando needed forgiveness, but he needed his friend back more. "For everything. For the hurt, the lack of giving, for ignoring you, for treating you like you were gum on my shoe… everything. I'm sorry."

"I know." Viggo tossed the remark out as casually as if he was feeding birds in the park.

"You know?" Dumbfounded, Orlando leaned back against the concrete railing as the other man walked a few steps away.

"We still have mutual friends, remember? Some who would see us back the way we were. Some who really do know what's best for us."

"Beanie."

Viggo nodded, swiveling slightly to catch Orlando's gaze. "He's tired of seeing you hurt. He's tired of listening to me complain about being lonely. Correction: he's immensely tired of hearing me complain about being lonely." Viggo laughed lightly.

"So what do we do about it?" Orlando had no qualms about what he wanted to do about it, but he needed to know what Viggo wanted before he put his heart out in such a vulnerable position.

Viggo approached him slowly and pulled the Brit's hands from his pockets when he reached him. He could feel the slight tremble of Orlando's fingers within his own. Was he nervous for what he didn't want, or what he did?

Never one to mince words, he let them loose. "I miss you, Orli. I miss waking up with you, sharing time with you, doing nothing all day but staring into each other's eyes. I miss us Orlando. Desperately."

That was all it took for the tears to let themselves through the floodgates. "I've never stopped loving you. No matter how hard I tried, it wasn't possible. I'd look for you everywhere. It killed me to think you'd given up on me; given up on us. I want you back in my life, Viggo. I need you back in my life. You balance me; pull me back from the edge when I stray a bit to close. I miss that… miss you."

"Not any more, baby." The words were as gentle as the sounds of a soft spring rain to Orlando's ear, but it was the hard, warm lips meeting his own that sent him spiraling nearer to the edge than he could ever recall being.

Orlando's mouth opened, welcoming Viggo in as worn hands wove their way into long, dark strands of hair, releasing the band which held them. He groaned at the simple touch, the fires of love rekindling from their dormancy inside him until they burned hotter than a lightning strike on the open plain.

Viggo probed Orlando's mouth, almost timidly at first, relearning the wet cavern before plundering it when the younger man's tongue teased and accepted him home. This was what had been missing - the connection between them, the circle unbroken, it was yin and yang in any language.

Breathless, Viggo pulled back, his eyes radiating all the love he'd held inside for so long. It was with great relief that he saw it mirrored within Orlando's own. "Please tell me you rented a room here?"

Orlando actually blushed. "Presidential Suite was taken, so…" Viggo had to nudge him to get him to finish. "I'm in the Honeymoon Suite."

As they carefully and unobtrusively made their way past the revelers, Viggo didn't think he'd ever heard of a more appropriate room.

END