How in the bloody hell had this happened?! He hadn’t even been gone that long!
Wait…no. Foxx not knowing meant there was still time to divert this disaster!
Not that any attempts to divert Foxx had worked in the past. Maybe he could just get Daydric to kill the human?
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.
