4. Reflection

Harlow pulled on his tank top, and paused upon catching his own reflection in the large vanity mirror. He stared blankly at himself. Pale skin, hawk-like nose, strong jaw, light brown eyes, hair cut short on the sides and left longer on the top to be swept back, and a trimmed beard and mustache…

The features of his face had matured as he had aged, but were still close to what they had been ten—fifteen years ago. And besides some new scars, even his body was much the same as it had been over the years—fit, muscled, and taut.

Yes…the silver in his hair had spread further, and the line around his eyes had deepened as the years went by. But, to be honest, given his age and his job, he probably should have had more. Harlow supposed he could thank the parents who'd abandoned him for that, as it probably was genetic—maybe…

Looking at the signs of his aging…Harlow felt… Well, he didn't really care that his looks were changing. The part that irritated him would always be what was going on inside him. Because while he didn't look much older…inside, he felt it. And as the changes continued, as minuscule as they were right now, eventually…what would follow would be an inevitable decline in his abilities and strength.

Harlow…wasn't entirely sure…that he could handle retiring. A thought that seemed to be making rounds in his head a lot lately.

His discussion days ago with Tony had brought it to the forefront of his mind, amongst the rest of the bullshit. As if he needed more things to think about at the moment.

That he was getting older, was just a fact. Unfortunately, this wasn't a job one could take lightly, if they wanted to live. Slowing down…wasn't an option. Yet…retiring…to do what exactly?

A desk job? Become, what? A handler? Death would be a better option.

He grimaced and rubbed at his neck, trying to relieve some of the tension there. The muscle was tight…not from stress but irritation. He really had a whole list of things that were just pissing him off lately.

For starters…Foxx… Well…less Foxx and more the way the vampire was acting… Timid… It was…weird as all hell. And he needed him to cut it out, because it was pissing him off like everything else was. Well, he wasn't mad at the vampire, just…

Harlow sighed. Releasing his grip on his neck, he tilted his head from side to side. After a few loud cracks, he sighed again.

He wasn't sure what he ‘was' when it came to the damn vampire anymore. He just wanted things to go back to normal, and for Foxx to stop jumping at shadows…and him. Because in those brief moments of him accidently sneaking up on the vampire, the man stared at him like he was some monster that had come to get him.

It wasn't the first time someone had looked at him that way. Most of the time, he found it amusing… But he just wasn't used to Foxx, of all people, looking at him that way.

Harlow groaned and rubbed his face. He felt like he was losing it. The vampire was making him lose his motherfucking mind. Because he kept going from murderous to…confused…and to…he didn't even know what. The nightmares kept coming too. Heart racing, hand shaking nightmares.

Fucking Tony… How the hell was that psychiatrist supposed to help him? Why had he gone to the man in the first place?! Now, not only did he still have no answers, but he was being forced to see some head doctor today, and for who knows how many times in the future.

"Fuck," he growled.

Shaking his head, he exited the bedroom and headed to the stairs. At the top, he spotted Foxx on the first floor, sitting on the dark purple sectional in front of the TV.

His short black curls were looking extra unruly today, and the vampire's aquamarine green eyes seemed glued to the screen as he sat curled up on the couch. The man was wearing baggy blue jeans, and either the thickest sweater Harlow had ever seen, or just the most layered one, because Foxx was looking bulky.

Likely the latter, as the vampire's damaged threads—or whatever they were—were making him even more sensitive to the cold.

The green knit sweater had a sad looking white puppy on the front of it, that Harlow was pretty sure could be used to describe the vampire's mood for the last week. He had to say, in terms of outfits, this was definitely on the tamer end of Foxx's wardrobe.

Slowly making his way down the stairs, Harlow's eyes were drawn to the cross-shaped burn on the man's cheek. For the first time since coming home, the vampire apparently had decided to remove the bandage. The scar was a medium pink color now, not super dark but still noticeable. Though, compared to the raw deep red it had once been…it was getting there. It was possible by next week, or the week after, it would be gone all together.

Harlow averted his gaze from it, not wanting to risk Foxx catching him staring. He knew it bothered Foxx, as did the others that remained. As with all the marks still left behind, seeing it made him feel…murderous.

Foxx's freckled button nose wrinkling, the man's plush lips pursed in irritation at whatever was happening on the TV. But on him reaching the bottom of the steps, the vampire looked over.

Harlow smirked smugly when Foxx's eyes started to roam over him.

Smirk firmly in place, he asked, "Do you plan to spend all day watching TV?"

"Why?" A small smile slipped onto Foxx's face, his dimples appearing. "Have something for me to do?"

Walking towards him, he leaned over the man, boxing Foxx in by placing his hands on the back of the couch. "Mhm," Harlow hummed.

Foxx's smile widened, his dimples flashing fully. Eye's heating, the little vampire drew closer to him, until their faces were inches apart. "Do you now?"

"I do."

"Well…I could maybe be persuaded, if I think it's worth it." Foxx's hands slid up his chest.

"Could you?"

"Mmm, I could," the vampire practically purred. "So, what do you have for me, old man?" The man's gaze flicked down to his crotch, and back up.

Harlow's smirk widened. "Well, brat, I was thinking…how about you come…watch me work out?"

Foxx's smile fell, his lips pursing into a pout. "Why work out when you can fuck me instead?"

"Because fucking isn't rest for you, and I need to work out more areas than just my hips," Harlow drawled with zero feeling.

"If sex isn't a full body workout, you aren't doing it right," Foxx huffed, before whining, "I want dick!"

"No. Besides, Doc doesn't really want you to be too active yet."

Doc Robinson wanted Foxx to pretty much ‘couch potato' out as much as he could. The vampire tired easily, and apparently, he would until his ‘threads' were healed. That in mind, and the fact that Harlow may have gone overboard a few days ago, he'd decided that rest and relaxation couldn't include sex, for now.

Mainly as he was not looking to ever again exhaust the vampire to the point of knocking him out for a full fucking day. Harlow had not enjoyed whatever the fuck he'd experienced on realizing Foxx wouldn't wake up. Nor had he enjoyed the lecture from Doc after he'd called him and explained what had led up to the situation.

Foxx glared. "You know what? I bet it's just that you're not up for the task, old man!"

Harlow chuckled at Foxx's obvious attempt at winding him up. "Not going to work, brat."

"Did you throw your back out or something? Or are you just getting too old to keep up?"

He snorted. "I'm not the one who couldn't move the other day."

"Yes, and I want that again!" Foxx cried.

"No," Harlow said blankly, before scooping the vampire up, his hands gripping Foxx's ass tightly. "Come on, let's go."

"Noooo," Foxx whined loudly, even as he started carrying him towards the door. The man only had socks on, but…it wasn't like he would work out, so what did he need shoes for?

"Put me down." Foxx wiggled in his hold.

"Nope."

Foxx hissed, and in an instant, he was biting his shoulder—fangs poking but not piercing.

Harlow rolled his eyes. "Cat."

"Shut up," Foxx grumbled. Mouth still on him, the word came out more like, ‘ut up'.

When they reached the door, Foxx huffed and stopped chewing on him to say with a long-exasperated sigh, "Fine!"

Harlow smirked and moved to open the door, but Foxx squeaking out, "Wait," had him stilling.

"Why?"

"Put me down. I don't need to be carried into the gym."

"But I want to," Harlow hummed.

That, and he liked where his hands currently were, and he wanted to keep them there a bit longer.

"No! People will stare."

His brow rose at that. "Since when have you ever cared about people staring?"

"This is not the same as people staring because I look cute!"

"It is the same. And we both know they aren't staring because you look cute!"

Foxx gasped. "You take that back! I look adorable ten times out of ten! And it is NOT the same!"

Foxx glared. Harlow glared back. His eye twitched as his mind floated back to months ago when he'd been held captive by Foxx dressed as a pink fucking bear, while the man carried him princess style past laughing police officers. "Yeah…I'm going to keep carrying you."

"Harlow!" Foxx cried in protest when he opened the door and kept on going.

* * *

Foxx's cheeksmay have still felt heated after being carried into the damn gym…but his current view was making up for it—even if he'd rather be getting fucked at the moment. He could have done without people continuing to peak over at him. Though, some assholes were just outright staring—rude bastards.

His gaze followed a drip of sweat as it trailed down the thick muscled bicep, over scars and taut skin.

By the Goddess, there was just something so mood lifting about watching muscles work. Specifically, Harlow's muscles. Foxx couldn't help but lick his lips while he continued to watch the man pull down the bar on the weight machine he was on. He was struggling to remember what the equipment the human was using was called…but did it really matter?

Foxx watched for a few moments more before he got off the machine he'd been relaxing on, saying to Harlow, "Nature calls." He heard Harlow grunt in response as he passed him, rushing into the back.

Foxx entered the male changing rooms and found it empty for only a moment, the door swinging back open not even a second after fully closing. A familiar face appeared—the staff member who'd helped him before.

He glanced over, and had been about to head to the stalls in back when the man stopped him.

"Wait!" the minotaur gasped.

Foxx paused, brow raising in question. "Yes?"

Face grim, the man neared. Being taller than even Harlow, the guy pretty much towered over Foxx. "I can…take care of him, if you need me to."

He tilted his head in confusion. "What?"

"That human…" The minotaur's eyes lowered.

On realizing where the man was looking, Foxx's hand flew up to cover his cheek. On feeling a bare cross-shaped burn instead of a bandage, his hand started to tremble. Foxx had…forgotten he'd taken off the bandage to let it air out. Under his hand, the burn started to sting, the damaged skin still tender to the touch.

"Your boyfriend…he hurt you. I can take care of him."

Despite how uncomfortable he felt now that he realized the stares hadn't been due to Harlow carrying him at all…a slightly baffled chuckle slipped past his lips at the words. "That would be a bad idea."

"I have people." When the man reached out, looking as if to touch where Foxx's hand was, he stepped back. The guy's hand instantly dropped. "Umm, I'm Mason. You can trust me. And, I promise you, we can keep you safe."

Foxx winced. Ahh, this is what he got for pretending to be a damsel in distress. Now random people, who didn't know him, thought he needed saving. Saving from Harlow, of all people—pft.

"Harlow is NOT my boyfriend. And HE didn't do this."

Mason's tanned face pinched. "You don't have to lie for him."

Foxx huffed. "I'm not lying." He forced himself to drop his hand down to his side. What was the point of hiding it now? The minotaur had seen it already, as had the whole fucking gym… No wonder people kept staring.

"Look, Harlow is my partner—my work partner. I'm a hunter, as is Harlow, so I wouldn't suggest attacking him. This burn here…" He pointed at his face, plastering a fake smile there. "Happened when a case we were on went tits up."

The man's dark amber eyes widened. "You're a hunter?"

"Yes. One who"s been extremely unlucky lately in the injury department. But I'm fine. And Harlow…would never hurt me." Foxx frowned once the words left his mouth.

He really…wouldn't…

Sure, the human had threatened him before. And Harlow definitely did want to fight him, at one point, just for fun. Yet…somehow…he just knew Harlow would never purposely hurt him. More than that…he knew if things went south again, the human wouldn't leave him behind… He would come save him. He could…trust Harlow.

"He's really not your boyfriend?"

Having looked off as he'd gotten lost in thought, Foxx blinked and peered back up at the man. "He's…not."

Foxx glanced away, blankly staring at the large mirror over the row of sinks. He wasn't lying… Harlow wasn't his boyfriend, nor would he ever be…

Foxx's stomach dropped at the thought, followed immediately by his heart racing in sheer fucking panic. Because, for a brief second, he'd not only felt this overwhelming sense of disappointment, he'd also seen it clearly reflected in his eyes in the mirror. And it was not something he could or should feel. Not with this.

Harlow wasn't his… But did he…maybe…want him to be?

Foxx swallowed hard as his gaze locked on his own eyes in the mirror again. Panic, hope, disappointment, sadness…more hope… The emotions flicked through too fast for him to even fully feel them.

Fuck a duck! He couldn't do this. He really couldn't. Harlow was not someone he could do any of whatever the bloody hell ‘this' was with.

No matter what the man had done, how he treated him…Foxx couldn't do this.

No, he refused to let himself do this. Because no matter what he felt…Harlow…wasn't someone he could have. Harlow wasn't someone anyone could have. He didn't belong to anyone, and likely didn't want to.

Don't go there, Foxx, he begged himself. Don't stupidly set yourself up for pain. Haven't you done that enough times in your life already?