"I didn't mean to hurt her, and Timothy... that was necessary just so I could get out the city without protest. Look, it's... I thought they'd both understand once they knew, but they clearly don't. They'll get it eventually, I think. Fingers crossed," replied the designer as he flopped down on his armchair after pouring out a much needed glass of scotch. After everything that had gone on, he could easily envision himself getting drunk tonight.

"You know I'm grateful, Rand. I've always said thank you whenever you come and help me clean up and sort out a story in case they question me. Whenever you need my help, you know my number," he continued tiredly, watching Sandra head on upstairs. "...I think I'd have lost my mind if I'd killed her. It was accidental, trust me. She was in the way, I'm stronger than she is and pushed her back. It wasn't meant to happen. You know I love Sandra like a sister, I'm always mentioning her to you."
 
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"You never seem to mention me, though, huh?" He murmured, before taking a seat at the chair adjacent. "Notice how I've never asked you for help? I had that one time when my car broke down, sure. Meanwhile, you're needing my help to get you out of being sent to jail. Not too even of a trade-off. Like... What if they don't get over it? I know you think otherwise, Alex, but people won't follow your every command. It would be a miracle if your boyfriend still stayed with you, especially after rocking that mighty fine looking bruise."
 
"...He'll come around. God, he... he's smart enough to know that I'm not a bad guy. He knows I'll never hurt him-- yes, I punched him, but I had to. He can punch me if it makes him feel better, to make us equal," sighed Alexander, shooting his friend a slightly irritated glance. He didn't expect to sit down and then be made to feel shitty again by one of his oldest friends.

"I'm going to put your attitude down to you having to stitch Sandra up. I assume it had you on edge, seeing the blood. I mean, you aren't normally on my case like this, Rand. Just... I have it under control, alright? Sandra's my best friend, Timothy's my boyfriend... they'll understand eventually and it'll be just fine."
 
"Best friend? I'm going to pretend you didn't say that. Pretty sure this Sandra girl wouldn't help you clean up crime scenes." He reminded, though waved the other off as he rummaged through his pocket to pick up a cigarette, lighting it casually.

"This is the dumbest shit you've ever done, Alex. I mean, I don't really care what you do, as long as you don't wake me up at one in the morning anymore, got it? Just, don't drag two people out to the country again." He advised, while staring at the stars through the living room window.
 
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"I don't think it's the worst thing I've ever done. I wasted a full year flirting with you when we were 15, only to get told after 12 fucking months that you weren't even gay. Do you know how exhausting that was? I could have been flirting with that cute guy in Biology. I can't remember his name, but he was all over me, and I fucking gave him the cold shoulder in favour of you. That ranks pretty high on the list of mistakes," drawled the designer, albeit with a faint smile. After everything, he just wanted to be able to sit back and relax with one of his best friends; not continue to feel like shit.

"If it helps, I'm here for two weeks at least. We can hang out properly, alright? And when I'm spending time with Tim, you can keep Sandra busy, can't you? I know she's your type-- just don't be an ass to her. She's... genuinely one of my best friends, and I've put her through a lot of shit lately, so be nice."
 
"Clearly," he teased, while fully popping out the recliner, clearly being barely able to stay awake. It was nice, though, being able to enjoy some quiet time next to his oldest friend. With a grossly loud yawn, he glanced over to his friend and offered a smirk.

"That's always a confidence booster, to be honest. To have some rich fashion designer fawn over me is pretty great. I'm sure your boyfriend loves it, when you're not punching him."
 
"I've punched him once-- you're no angel in relationships, by the way. Not that I blame you for dumping your ex girlfriends, they've all been horrid. I've not approved of a single one. They were all gold-digging, narcissistic twerps," laughed Alexander without too much resistance. He had always been incredibly opinionated, and he wasn't afraid to voice it aloud, especially when it came to one of his dearest friends.

"I've always said you should pretend you're some normal guy on a normal salary, without millions in the bank so a girl can fall in love with you without dollar signs in her eyes, you know?"
 
"How am I supposed to do that? Besides, don't be such a hypocrite, you've happily flaunted your wealth to the media. That's one thing I like about my job, you know? The only people who care about me are politicians, and they're not going to jump my bones. It's not like I walk down the street with a solid thousand dollars sticking out of my pocket. Hmph... I want someone like Sandra, yeah. She works for you, so she makes enough money. She seems nice, too... granted, she sort of had a giant crack in her head." He murmured, while taking in a hard inhale of his cigarette.
 
"...Yeah, well, as nice as she is, I'd rather you didn't date her. On reflection, it'd be weird for me, and she's not your type." Alexander suddenly muttered, contradicting his earlier emphasis on hoping the two would get together. Now, he looked like there was nothing worse in the world than that happening.

"I mean, just thinking about it, you know? I'd rather she find someone in the city, so I can see her all the time and she can still work for me. She ain't even your type. Don't you date bimbos?"
 
"Wow, okay, rude. I date women I find attractive, and it just so happens that a lot of women I find attractive aren't the brightest. That's like me assuming that you only lust after twinks, but I'm sure you'd date some big, strong man like me. If I find a girl that's smart and still cool, then I'll do it. Hell, how about this? If I find a girl that's smart and well-adjusted, I'll give you fifty bucks. If your boyfriend dumps you and you end up having to look for someone new, you'll have to give me fifty bucks if you don't hook up with some beefy dude." He offered, though he was clearly on the verge of passing out, as was indicated by his snores.
 
"...Just get to sleep, would you? You're actually a mess right now. Why don't you head up to the spare room? Or, you know, just crash out right here, that's fine too," smiled the designer as he casually looked his friend over, brow arched at the exhausted state. Granted, he hadn't realised it was the early hours of the morning until glancing at the clock seconds later, which led him heaving his heavy bones up off the couch.

"Hey, maybe you can make those famous pancakes of yours tomorrow morning? It'll win Sandra over, she loves anything full of sugar."
 
"Yeah, she looks like the human box of Lucky Charms," he slurred, while slipping further into the recliner and snatching the quilt on it's arm. Peaking an eye open, he put his cigarette out on the ashtray besides the chair before he lit the whole house ablaze. He genuinely wouldn't care of the house set on fire with no one in it, since he knew that he could help Alexander get another one, but like hell was he going to set on fire.

"Go sleep with your boyfriend, will you? I want to sleep, let me at least have this."
 
Chuckling in response, (mostly because he had no energy left to mutter words) Alexander made his way upstairs to his main bedroom, dumping the bag of Timothy's clothes he had brought and slipping into bed beside him. Even in the dimness of the room, he could see for himself the deep bruising on his boyfriend's face, and of course, it made him cringe guiltily. It was a spur of the moment decision to hit him, and one he knew he had to make, but it didn't make him feel good to look at his boyfriend and see the black eye.

Wrapping his arms around him from behind, after tiredly changing into his pyjamas, he offered what he hoped was a gentle enough kiss to the back of his neck. "...You are okay, aren't you, Tim? We're... on good terms, yeah?"
 
Timothy had been completely passed out for the last hour, from a mix of both the concussion, the extreme amounts of alcohol, and just general exhaustion. The pillow was stained with tears from the harsh crying he had done before passing out, and he was clearly curled up tight within himself. Once feeling the weight around him and the kisses, he did wake up enough to just squirm closer into himself until he was practically a ball. If he was conscious, he would have probably smacked Alexander silly, but he was not ready to have any of that shit.
 
"Guess not, huh?" He laughed quietly, retreating from the close proximity once sensing the other was hardly comfortable with it. He wasn't going to push his luck and force Timothy to be affectionate. He was just going to lay as far away, give him some space, and hope, by morning, things could be resolved. It sucked that he couldn't cuddle with him, but after everything he had done, he was thankful Timothy was even in the same bed as him.
 
Timothy didn't wake up 'til nearly five in the afternoon, and he certainly didn't want to stay awake for very long. If it was up to him, the cop would happily just stay in bed for the two weeks he was essentially forced in the vacation home, but that was practically impossible. That is, unless he drank two bottles of wine ever day, as he did that night.

With a weary stretch, Tim glanced out of the large window with a frown once noticing the beautiful mountains, instead of the usually bright and loud city. Covering his bruised eyes curiously, he could only wince at the sensitive flesh, and how it began to grow darker.
 
By that time, Alexander had been awake for a good eight hours. He was an early riser, even on weekends, and despite everything that had happened, he still got up at a respectable time. He put away Timothy's clothes, which wasted a good half an hour, before wasting the next few hours just pottering about the house, settling in again. Sure, he spent some time with Randolph, but he couldn't really relax properly until Timothy woke up, which was why he had wasted most of the day laying in bed watching some crappy reality shows, just to be there the moment his boyfriend stirred awake.

Clearly, it paid off. He jerked to attention the moment he heard his boyfriend grumble and stir, grinning happily to himself. He had panicked that Timothy would sleep through the whole day, which wouldn't have been at all fun. "...Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. Gosh, you slept hours! I guess... that's what getting punched will do to you, huh?"
 
"I guess." He replied flatly, before tugging his knees close to his chest to just take in the situation. Glancing at the time warily, he groaned in distress when realizing just how long he was out. His body needed it, though.

"Two bottles of Amarone wine will do that, I guess, huh? I'm surprised I'm not vomiting my fucking guts out." He admitted, trying his hardest to try and act casual. He wanted to enjoy himself, after all.
 
"Hey, we're on vacation, aren't we? I think you're entitled to have a good drink, even if it's... two whole bottles. How do you fancy coming to sit outside? Randolph has the barbecue going, and I think Sandra's tried to make cocktails. I mean, she'll inevitably fuck it up, but it's alcohol, so it'll taste nice regardless," he smiled as he got to his feet and pushed his sunglasses back over his eyes. "It's literally the nicest day of the year, and it's a waste to spend it in bed-- you can rest up, that's fine, but I don't want you missing out, you know? Sandra's... sort of forgiven me. I mean, either that or she's a great actress."
 
Offering a quiet grunt in response, he wandered to the closet to look through the clothes, though first wandered to the shower to fully inspect it. He felt gross, and he fully intended to take his damn time getting adjusted.

"Did you take care of my rats while you were out? I mean, that's the least you could have done when you went to my place. To be honest, I wish they came with me. It's not like I could call anyone at work..."