Like a Moth to a Flame

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"...And how do I know you won't chicken out on me and run into his arms, just before he puts a bullet in my head for being a bad friend? Because he will. He almost killed me a day ago, and I swear I've fucked my head up real badly," admitted the woman as she quietly felt for the lump on her head, grimacing at the crusted, dried blood she'd failed to clean up properly. Arguably, though, it was evidence for the police that Alexander was a violent person, and the person responsible behind all of the crimes they suspected him of.

"He's not your soulmate, he's not my best friend. He's a psycho, alright? He thinks he's doing good for the world, l-like-- we'll get going around midnight when he's asleep. He can sleep through a hurricane, it'll be fine."
 
"He didn't hurt you intentionally, I swear. In fact, he freaked out pretty badly," he reminded weakly, before letting out another groan. Taking a heavy swig of the vodka, he flopped on the leather couch and pinched the bridge of his nose. Only an idiot wouldn't notice his clear emotional turmoil, though he took a hard swallow.

"Alright, alright. Midnight. I... If he wakes up to me leaving, I'll say I needed a glass of water or something. This will be fine." He told himself, while absently running his fingers through his hair.
 
"Of course it'll be fine! J-Jeez-- I don't really want you coming, I'll be honest. You don't want to be away from his side, you'll probably run to him when he's in prison and visit him every weekend like an idiot," muttered Sandra, already regretting opening up to the other about her planned escape - she really didn't trust him that much right now after witnessing the affectionate display outside.
 
"Even if I don't run with you, I'm not going to tell him where you went. I love him, y'know? He's... I mean, maybe I've got Stockholm or something, but I know he still cares about me. He promised he would stop all of this nonsense, and I trust him, I guess? It's stupid, I know. I would never let anyone hurt you, Sandra, that I'm sure of." He insisted, while letting his eyes drift to the porch, where the men were chatting casually.

"... What do you think they're talking about?" He questioned, his lips slowly pursing. "I mean, I know they aren't planning to hurt us. That guy seems chill, and Alex wouldn't do anything to us."
 
"That guy is not chill. He's as psychopathic as your boyfriend-- what sort of weirdo keeps this secret and actually encourages this sort of behaviour from their best friend? Alex is a best friend of mine, and I wouldn't dream of defending his behaviour! It's sick, it's depraved, it's... that guy deserves to be in prison too. You're a cop! I-I swear, fuck you. I don't want anything to do with you either. Crazy's catching, isn't it? Because you're acting just as fucking psycho as they are," she suddenly hissed, shaking her head in genuine astonishment. No matter what the other said right now, it always seemed to be defending some aspect of Alexander or Randolph's personality. Sure, maybe she was being a little dramatic, but given she had to face all of this and felt alone in doing so, could anyone blame her?
 
Staring at his feet, he remained silent for a moment before getting to his feet, bottle of vodka in hand. Shooting a glare towards Sandra, he trudged to the deck, if only to grab onto Alexander's arm and tug him from his and his friend's conversation.

"I need to talk to him," he grunted, his hand clutching the bottle of vodka tight. "It's important. Sorry."
 
Side-glancing at his boyfriend as calmly as he could, Alexander offered his childhood best friend an apologetic smile before stepping to the side with Timothy, hardly that pleased at both the interruption and the fact Tim seemed ready to fall over, drunk. Granted, after everything he'd learned recently, getting drunk seemed a logical way to deal with things.

"...What's so important? You're not going to get all emotional again, are you? I thought we were back on track now-- I'll be honest, I'll be a little pissed off if you're just going to start crying again. I told you I don't like people who cry."
 
"You need to let Sandra go." He grumbled sternly, before tossing the bottle into the bed. Taking his own seat on the bed, he ran his fingers through his hair anxiously. "She doesn't need to be here. This is supposed to be a romantic vacation for just you and me, right? This was all my mistake, anyway. Can't we just... I-I dunno, drive her back to the city while she's asleep? She doesn't know how to get back, right? I just want to be left alone, you and me. I mean, I want someone to nurse my bruise, and I want your full attention to do that.'
 
"Is that a joke? Is this you attempting to be witty? I mean, you are witty anyway, you're easily the smartest guy I know, but... let's not joke about? She'll go and tell someone. I want my best friend back, and I intend to keep her with me as long as it takes until she realises that, hey, I'm still Alexander; I'm no different than I was, say, a month ago. Once she realises that, we can go back to normal, all of us," he casually responded, going as far as to roll his eyes to ridicule the very notion. He didn't now if the other was serious or joking, but on the chance he was being the former, Alexander needed to get the message across that nobody would be leaving unless he said so... and he really didn't say so for Sandra, not yet anyway. "Can't you just relax and ignore her? She'll come around like you did. Randy's a charmer, he'll get her on side in a few days."
 
"I've only 'come around' because I love you, and I know you'll change. Why are you so reliant on her falling for your friend? She won't. You can't make her, you know?" He whispered, while moving to carefully run his fingers through Alex's hair.

"This... This is a mess. A real, proper mistake. All of this." He murmured, before moving away to grab the bottle of alcohol to take another hard swallow, "I'm taking a shower, okay?"
 
"I'm not reliant. I'm a good matchmaker, and they'll be in love and happy within a month, I imagine. I wouldn't set my best friends up if I wasn't so certain-- for the record, I always planned to get them together. This isn't how I wanted to do it. I wanted them to dine out at a favourite restaurant of mine, sip fancy wine and share a dessert. I didn't think this was ever going to happen, but here we are. You've just go to get on with it, darling, that's all you can do, isn't it? Now, will you relax? I'm handling all of this perfectly," he promised, consolidating his hushed purrs with a quick kiss to his boyfriend's head, deliberately avoiding the darkened bruise on his forehead. He hadn't wanted to hit him, after all, and it was one of those rare times where Alexander actually felt guilt.

"Really? A shower? Just top up your glass of wine and come back outside, have a burger and dip your feet in the pool. Just ignore Sandra, would you? If she's ruining this vacation, I'll... I dunno, I'll find a way to shut her up-- I didn't mean for that to sound ominous. I just mean I'll find a bunch of gossip or fashion magazines to keep her occupied. She's like a child, really."
 
"I've been wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday, and they aren't even proper," he insisted, while motioning to the other's button up shirt and boxers. "I'd love a proper bath and whatnot, b-but... but we're not in the right environment to do that. You've got guests to entertain... I mean, there's nothing I'd rather be doing than just relaxing in bed with you, but it seems Sandra and your friend are ruining that."

He offered a shaky smile, though one he hoped was at least convincing enough for the other to follow his plans. If he could get Alexander to stay in bed and relax, at least Sandra had the opportunity to bolt if she needed.
 
Pursing his lips in genuine contemplation while glancing outside at the disconnected Randolph and Sandra, it took a few more seconds of examining his boyfriend's dishevelled state before he finally sighed and nodded, grabbing his hand to head to the stairs. "You do look like you need a nap," he admitted softly, grinning sideways at the other. "I mean, I did bring you your clothes from your apartment, but hey, if you prefer wearing my clothes, that's pretty cute too. You should wear that rose-patterned suit when we head out to a date next, it'll look fantastic. I think I have a fashion event coming up, and wouldn't you look superb in that suit while sat in the front row of the event? You and I would be in all the magazines. You know what they're like when it comes to me and my love life. They'lll go mad when they realise I actually have an official boyfriend... Assuming we get to leave here. I don't... I want to trust you, that you won't go running to the police. I do trust you, I suppose. it's still... I'm still understandably wary, though."
 
"I don't blame you," he reassured, while running his thumb along the knuckles of Alex's fingers slowly. Following up the stairs quickly, he did offer a halfhearted smile. This was all he wanted in an actual vacation, after all; to be able to lay in bed besides Alexander and sleep the day away. Both of his jobs were stressful, and the fact that he had to be so active back at home, he would just enjoy staying in, wrapped all neatly around his boyfriend with a nice cup of wine and the latest episode of The Bachelorette. He focused on that once finally in the bedroom properly, and immediately went for the closet to at least change into a proper pair of pajamas, as opposed to the pajamas he wore when just with Alex... nothing.

Shimmying into the soft shorts, he took a comfortable seat besides the serial killer and scooted close, his eyes avoiding Alexander's shyly. "I love you, you know that, right?"
 
"I mean, sure. I know I'm hardly easy to be trusted, but you did lie to me for months about who you were. So did I, I suppose. I'm just slightly concerned that this is a way of you tricking me into a false sense of security, blowing out my brains with a gun when I'm sleeping and then running off with Sandra to tell the police the truth, I suppose. Maybe I'm paranoid, but it is a concern I have. I've told you I'd never hurt you. I'm promising that I won't hurt another living soul. I'm talented, right? I don't need to... hurt people to get to the top," he decided quietly, consolidating his earlier promises in the hope of fully convincing his boyfriend.

As wary as he was over Timothy's true feelings, he was well aware Timothy was probably wary over Alexander's promises, too. It wasn't a nice situation, being full of that distrust and insecurity, but he was trying to be open with how he felt - that was the only way these things could sort themselves out.
 
"First of all, I'm not going to - nor want to - blow your brains out. Secondly, I don't even have a gun to do that. I left it in my apartment, remember?" He replied, while shooting a concerned glance over to the man. His eyes then returned to the dresser as he shimmied on the proper boxers. Pursing his lips tight, he let out a heavy sigh before returning to face the other.

"... I can't control Sandra. I don't know what she's going to do, or when, or why, but I'm not in charge of her. If she does something, like runs away, I'm not at fault, alright?" He whispered, while nervously tapping his fingers against his stomach, chewing on his lip. "Let's just lay down, okay?"
 
His relaxed, laid out position almost immediately changed once hearing the comments on Sandra, sitting up with a less than subtle scowl now marring his face. He was an extremely intelligent man, but even someone with just an ounce of intelligence would hear the nervousness and put two and two together quickly.

"...Did you want to come and lay down so Sandra could run off when I went to sleep? That's very smart of you, really. Utterly fucking annoying, but smart," he murmured, getting to his feet and leaning on the window, just to make sure Sandra was still out there which, given Randolph also was, she reluctantly had to be. "And here's me thinking we were back on the same page. You're really a treacherous little liar, aren't you?"
 
Gripping his shirt tight, he looked away briefly to really get his mind together. On one hand, he wanted Sandra to escape. On the other, he didn't want Alexander being whisked away and put to death. There was really no in-between, it seemed, hence why he simply shrugged.

"She's not going to do anything, but it wouldn't be all that shocking if she did, right? I mean, no offense, but she isn't your girlfriend, she has no reason to be here. You whisked her off involuntarily, a-and I'm sure she wishes she was home. Wouldn't it be normal to expect her wanting to leave?"
 
"You do realise that I'm not going to let her leave just to allow her to go and tell the police, right? That I'd rather kill her than let that happen? You're very stupid sometimes, aren't you? You'd honestly sit back to let her inform the cops and have me arrested? i thought we were back on track, that you loved me, but gosh, maybe I'm the stupid one," laughed Alexander, rolling his eyes unsubtly and forcing himself to stare outside, knowing that if he even looked at Timothy, he would just get enraged again.

"How about you go and tell her not to continue with her little runaway plan? I love Sandra, she's a good friend of mine, but don't you dare think I'd spare her life. I'll kill her if I need to keep myself out of prison, love. Do I want to? Of course not, hence why I think you should scurry off and convince her that it would be a dreadful error to leave."
 
"You wouldn't do that," Timmy replied simply, while locking onto Alexander, hiding his horror. "No, you wouldn't do that. I know you're a murderer, a-and I know that you'd kill people who would get in your way, but you're not going to kill your best friend. You wouldn't kill me, right?" He questioned warily, his hands nervously fiddling with one another with pursed lips.

"I'll try and convince her to stay, okay? We aren't going to threaten her, a-and... we're going to talk, like normal, sane human beings. We'll talk about the consequences, without killing anyone."
 
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