Like a Moth to a Flame

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"Oh, not every week. The paparazzi will accuse me of alcoholism if I was out every weekday, drunk. I could do without those rumours in the press. Granted, I have connections at the newspapers that could prevent such awful headlines, but I'd rather not go through that trouble," answered the designer as he gently pushed another shot towards the other with a slow smile on his face, while leaning on the bar. He would claim that this was through tipsiness, but honestly? He wasn't all that drunk. He was taking a leaf from Sandra's book - he was drinking alcohol, but also was discreetly discarding most of the drinks too, simply because he wanted to learn more about Timothy. It was clearly ironic that the two were using the same technique of wanting to get the other drunk and hope that would make them reveal some information-- even though Alexander was hardly going to say a thing when he wasn't even remotely drunk.

"You're surprisingly good fun, Timothy. You're always welcome to accompany me to bars in future. I would like to go for lunch tomorrow, so make sure you organise that for around 12, assuming you remember. Hangovers are a bitch."​
 
"I don't get hangovers easily," he bragged, before chugging it down without a second thought. "Organize lunch? Really? Like, with who? I'm sure it's some big shot bank owner or something... like, what's that movie called? The Devil Wears Prada? Hey, it beats working with a ton of homophobic sleazbags, eh?" He cooed, before offering a snort.

Mimicking the other's relaxed pose, he shot a side glance towards the man curiously, though tried to keep them subtle as he ordered one last glass of the finest wine they sold. Fuck, why not take advantage of the moment? He was going to just go home in his one bedroom apartment alone anyway, maybe with a cheap box wine to finish the night.

"How the hell are you going to get here, then home, and still have the energy to go to lunch? When I drink, I'm not too hungry after, and I always get wicked sick if I eat seafood with it, too." He explained in his babble, as he tried to sip the wine elegantly.
 
"It's an important lunch meeting with a friend of mine. It's not business, not completely, so I think I'll struggle to meet him tomorrow, even with my raging hangover," laughed the designer, deciding to adjust his position a little to make out he needed the support the bar provided. He wasn't drunk, not at all, and could easily drive his car back to his apartment if he so desired without breaking any law, but he knew he ought to feign drunkenness. He trusted that Timothy was just his new assistant, and didn't have any ulterior motives, but he did think he was hiding a few things-- and he did want to find out all the little secrets he may be harbouring. He liked to know his employees inside out, and apparently he would go to any length to discover that-- going as far as to organise these little drinking sessions as a cover for his own curiosity. It often worked, with new employees babbling their life story out to him. All it took was a few dazzling grins, his one-on-one company and a ton of strongly alcoholic drinks.

"Now, these homophobic sleazebags-- from your old job, I assume? Where was that? I've been fortunate enough not to deal with too much homophobia. Of course, there was the odd slur when I was in high school from some ignorant people, but nothing totally devastating," he admitted casually, though he had genuinely taken interest in the other's comments. "I don't know where you used to work. Sandra didn't get that information from you, apparently. Was it for another designer? Are you working undercover to steal my designs for them~?"​
 
"Nah, nah. This is my first time doing anything designer related,0 he admitted, while wiping his lips on his sweater's sleeve carelessly. Despite being pretty hammered, it would take more than alcohol to give away the mission. Instead, he offered a genuine previous job.

"I've worked at a few fast food chains, y'know? Trying to get a place in the city is hard, especially for an outsider. I mean, I worked my ass off and people still poked fun at me. How fucked up is that?" He babbled on, while a frown grew at the memory. "... That's why I'm sort of excited to be here. I mean, the environment seems really modern and liberal, which is rad. That's not much to ask for, right? What about you? Like, what were you doing before this?"
 
"I think it's just called human decency. Treat others as you'd like to be treated, I suppose. Nobody's going to make fun of you here, at least I'd hope they wouldn't. It'd be a little hypocritical of them, given I'm completely and pretty obviously gay," answered Alexander, deciding to have a glass of champagne himself. He wasn't going to get himself drunk, but he could at least have a drink to enjoy himself, couldn't he? He was the sort of person who did say things when he was drunk that he really shouldn't, which was why he got drunk when he was alone and not around others. He could hardly babble on about killing his competition and making it sound like a joke, after all.

"Before this? I worked general jobs in the fashion industry, you know? I was an assistant, then I helped models out, did some photography. Bits and pieces, really, while trying to get my designs out in the world-- I worked for everything I have. Everyone assumes I came from money, that I was granted it all. On the contrary, I had to work my ass off. I think I'm entitled to splash the cash now and then, given how tough I've had it-- do you want to get into the industry? If you're interested in fashion, seriously interested, I assume that being an assistant isn't where you want to spend your life, is it? Do you want to design, or photograph-- fashion journalism? I could at least help you out with tat in time, if you desired something... better than assisting me."​
 
"I-I don't know, I'm not the most creative person, to be honest. I mean, you saw my style, right? I'm pretty lost. That doesn't mean I can't appreciate a proper suit and tie by someone like you. I'm content staying an assistant for awhile, until I can learn to be better. That's my thing, you know? I see myself as pretty dedicated. It took forever to get this job, after all." He lied easily, before offering the other a sip of his beer.

"It isn't anywhere as classy as champagne, but it gets the job done. I'm sure you're too good for it, huh?" He coped, before scooting a tad bit closer. Peering around curiously, he eyed the small space before offering a grin.

"Hey, you're a big shot designer, right? Are you seeing someone? I mean, I'm sure all of the girls who work here swoon after you, you know? I mean, you're a proper gentleman and all."
 
"I can appreciate beer. It's not my favourite, of course. I'd much prefer a good bottle of wine, but I can sit down with a beer from time to time, don't think you know me so soon. I'm an enigma wrapped in mystery. For all you know, I could harbour some dark secrets," he cooed playfully, smirking slowly at the truth behind his words. He had done a lot of bad things in his life, and while he prided himself on his intelligence, he wasn't able to predict that the man in front of him was anything more than a simple assistant.

Taking a sip from the bottle to prove that he could deal with beer as much as he could wine, he held back a grimace at the taste as he cast a glance across the floor at the employees the moment he was complimented. "Oh, I don't think I'm that handsome that I have girls swooning over me. Besides, it's all rather useless if they did. I'm obviously gay-- and single. I was dating a hairdresser a few months back, but it ended almost as soon as it had begun. I like being single, though. Keep this to yourself, but I have a mild addiction to cheesecake. I enjoy lounging back in bed with a good cheesecake and having my bed to myself without anyone whining that we should head on out. I don't know if you've noticed, but when I head out, I have cameras in my face. Sometimes it's nice staying in, alone, with no obligations to anyone. Saying that, I can't have sex by myself, and I do like sex," answered the designer with a dramatic sigh, leaning on his arm and, admittedly, let his smile grow more playful by the second. "Do you have a boyfriend, Timmy? I imagine you do. You're boyfriend material."​
 
"I had a boyfriend for, like, a solid four months back in seventh grade, until he had to move up north to Potsdam. Can you believe it? That's... That's so fucking far, you know? It had something to do with his parents finding out and sending him up north to 'help him'. I'm okay, though, I guess. No one knows me better than myself, and my babies, you know? I have the cutest pet rats-- wait, hold up, I've got pictures!" He babbled, before yanking his phone from his pocket to find a proper photo, before offering a grin.

"Aren't they the sweetest things?!" He gushed, his face practically beetroot and his eyes teary at the sight. "I mean, there's a bad stigma for them! I m-mean, I would love to show you them one day," he admitted, before sniffling and wiping his tears clean.
 
"I'm more of a cat person, and cats and rats don't mix very well-- you're a weepy drunk, aren't you? Come on, we should get you home. Would you prefer to exit via the back? I like to use that exit when I know I've had a few drinks and don't want my face splurged on the cover of every media outlet claiming that I've got an alcohol problem. It wouldn't surprise me if they photographed you and began calling you my boyfriend," he admitted, casting a quick glance at the photos on the phone before smiling fleetingly. He did think that the display was far cuter than any photograph. He enjoyed seeing passion in people, regardless what for, and if he had learnt one thing about Timothy, it was that he had a passion for his pets. Granted, it was hardly juicy gossip-- but it was valuable in getting to know the man, which had been the purpose of the drinking session - to find out who he was, personally.

"Now, you can't say I'm not a good boss," he teased lightly, gesturing the other behind the bar with a slight nod to the bartender. He was a regular at the place, and had often helped the owner out with financial troubles. In return, he was allowed through the back whenever he needed -and wanted- to make a quiet exit. Texting his chauffeur to discreetly bring the car around the back of the building, he leaned against the cool brick wall outside, humming slowly at the mixture of cigarette ash in the air and the alcohol on their breaths. "I'm sure we'll get on like a house on fire, Timothy. It's always nice to have someone around I can talk to freely, and who isn't blatantly always kissing my ass. A little honesty goes a long way. I know you admire me, which is nice, but you're also not buttering me up. I'm sure you'd disagree with me if I said something you disliked, hm? That's what I like. Some good ol' fashioned honesty."​
 
Nodding quickly, he kept himself silent as he was led through the back. The tears only stopped a tad once finally by the wall, and he awkwardly blew his nose in the rather fancy napkin he had picked up and brought with him. It was a pathetic scene, and he'd regret it when he woke up with a surprise hangover, one he wasn't quite expecting.

"I'm so, so sorry, Alexander. I'm usually not this emotional, j-just... stuff has been really stressful lately and I'm usually not around high-class people. I just, I usually get drunk with whoever shows up at the bar near my apartment. I bet I seem like some weird, classless loser." He murmured, before pressing his forehead against the stone with a sniffle.
 
"Classless? Not at all. Weird? Definitely. But I think I've made it clear I don't entirely like conventions. I like pushing the boundaries, embracing oddness. I don't think I'm that normal, so why would I like normal people? Between you and me, they're all utterly boring. You really are down in the dumps, aren't you? Psh, I thought I had whisked you out for a nice evening at a classy bar, but that's not enough to get a smile out of you? You make it real hard, but I accept the challenge," he openly laughed, suavely pulling open the car door for his 'assistant' to shuffle on inside, having gestured his chauffeur to stay sat in the front. He would usually be ushered into the car by the driver, but he was more than capable of holding a door open himself, and he was on the charm offensive with the tipsy cop right now. Not because he believed he was hiding anything, but simply because he was intent on getting the boy to smile and open up with something other than a self-deprecating comment.

Scooting in beside him, he hesitated a moment before asking to be taken home, smiling slowly. "I don't make a habit of taking new assistants to my apartment, or bringing anyone home for that matter, but you're drunk and I think you need to get to sleep soon. My apartment isn't that far from here-- unless it's awkward? Sleeping at your boss' home isn't that usual, I suppose-- but we're not normal, Timmy. We're oddballs, hm?"​
 
"I don't want to be a burden to you ," he insisted, and properly buckled up even in his drunken state. "I mean, isn't this out of your way? I... bet your place is really cozy, though..." he murmured out loud, the thought of properly sleeping in a comfortable, high class mattress being heaven. Timothy didn't live in poverty, and had a pretty cozy apartment, but he didn't really think about getting a luxury bed and pillows.

"... it sounds really nice, though. Like, really nice. I can sleep on the couch, that's cool. I promise I'll leave the minute I wake up, though, okay? I don't want to be getting sick in my new boss' apartment. Like, that sounds terrible..." he groaned, while holding his temples in embarrassment
 
"You'll do no such thing. We'll breakfast together and I'll have us driven to work. I can imagine what everyone will say, so prepare yourself if anyone asks you if we slept together. I've... made a habit of sleeping with some of my employees. My old assistant being one of them. I'm not a whore, I just... I like to think of myself as romantic," smiled the man to himself, casually resting a leg over his thigh and tapping his fingers calmly against his knee, in time with the classical music station the chauffeur often listened to. He himself wasn't a fan, but he appreciated his driver enough to allow the man to listen to what he wanted when he drove Alexander around.

"I don't usually bring my assistants to my home. Nobody comes there, if I can help it-- but I'm helping out a damsel in distress-- or at least the male equivalent," he smirked easily, at least hoping the other wasn't too drunk to appreciate the lack of seriousness. He didn't quite know what sort of drunk he was. He had been excitable earlier on, to the point of comical in his liveliness, to now being weepy and emotional. Admittedly, the stark contrasts were amusing to watch, while also being mind-boggling and confusing.

"You are cute, though. Me swooping in to help you may not have happened if you weren't such a cutie pie. You have the whole awkward, adorable vibe going on right now, you know? You should let me pick out a proper outfit for you. You'd look fabulous in that rose-patterned suit jacket, for example. The red elements would compliment you superbly..."​
 
"Damsel in distress? I'll have you know that I'm a black belt. I think that makes me pretty tough, right? If anything, you'll be begging me to protect you from some mugger on the street," he protested easily, once realizing just how hard Alexander was trying to cheer him up. Offering a small smile, he moved to push his hair from his face, before easing against the leather seat.

"I never called you a whore, and I'm sure as hell not judging. I mean, people toss themselves at your feet, why wouldn't you take advantage of that? Not to mention, nearly all of your employees are pretty attractive. I guess that's one good thing about being an assistant, right? I get to sort of blend in the background," he insisted, before offering a snort. "Can't really blend into the background in a million dollar suit, right? I-I mean, really, you don't need to do that. I just don't really give off the air of red carpet material."

At this point, he had fully turned to face the other, and despite his seeming cohesiveness, it was discredited by his slurs. The comments of him being a 'cutie pie', naturally, caused his already rosy face to grow beetroot in embarrassment. After all, he was a cop, and he desperately wanted to seem tough and masculine in front of the other squad.
 
"Oh, come on. You said it yourself that that suit was one of your favourites, right? You need clothes, I have a spare suit hanging right at the back of my closet I'm never going to wear again. You can borrow it, if that makes you feel better. You don't have to keep it if you feel that's too much. Just wear it tomorrow. You'll be the talk of the office-- it'll probably fire up rumours we're sleeping together even more, but I don't think that's such an awful rumour to hear. You're cute. I'd easily sleep with you if the chance ever came up," he admitted, dropping in the comment as though it really didn't hold much gravity to it. He wasn't constantly sleeping with new people each week, despite what magazines and newspapers printed, but he did have a prevalent sex life with various people. Sex wasn't a taboo topic, not in his eyes. If he liked someone, he told them. If the chance for sex came up with said person, no matter if it was an employee of his, he took it... even if he only barely knew them. Where was the problem with that?

"Now, do stop fretting. We've had a nice night out, haven't we? You've had a good time, everyone's bonded with you. You'll fit right into the place, I know you will. Tomorrow, we'll ease you into the work by having you help Sandra, and then by the end of the week, you'll be answering two calls at the same time and handling the job expertly~" He continued, his hand moving subtly to push a few strands of hair back from the cops's face, humming to himself thoughtfully. "You should dye your hair, I think. Blonde. Blonde would look superb..."​
 
"Blonde?!" He murmueed, only to burst into a mixture of nervous laughs and snorts. It was a good distraction from the other's blatant flirting, which was something he never experienced before. Being from a relatively small town, even New York, there wasn't a very open LGBT+ community. There was a small group of kids that would meet up, vent, but it was mostly secret. For Alexander to be so confident, it was a little overstimulating.

Nonetheless, he tried to keep it cool despite being tipsy, and nervously pushed more hair from his face. Clearly, if Alexander made it such a big deal to push his hair, it meant it was too long, right? His fiddling continued to the sleeves of his sweater, anything to keep himself busy.

"Do you really think I would look good blonde?" He questioned quietly, while twirling a long strand of hair absently. "I mean, I've never died my hair before, so... so I don't know. Blonde is such a big change, you don't think people's make fun of me?"
 
"Who would make fun of you? If you're aware of me, you'll know that I've dyed my hair countless of times. I think I went blue once, about three years ago, which was a disaster-- but I don't regret it. I wanted it at the time, I did it, I moved on. Who cares what other people think? I have my critics, people who don't appreciate my work. It's just part of life. Some people won't like you, whatever you do," he casually drawled to himself, peering out of the window of the car at the nightlife outside, while discreetly smiling to himself. After all, one or two of his critics had been killed by him purely out of petty annoyance.

"You should go blonde," he repeated with a little more confidence, mostly to convince the other not to give a shit what people thought of him... especially when he was certain blonde would suit him to a T. "Granted, I could just be tipsy, but I think it'd be adorable on you."​
 
"I guess I could, if you think it would look good. I mean, you're a fashion designer, you know way more about looking good, right? So, if I were to take advice from anyone, it would be you...?" He answered warily, while locking his eyes on the man. Carefully, he curiously tested the waters a tad by setting his hand on Alexander's, mostly to see his reaction. When it wasn't instantly yanked away in disgust, Timothy donned his own small smile.

"I thought you looked amazing with the blue hair, to be honest. I mean, looking confident is key. I mean, have you seen some of those ridiculous outfits some designers make? They look stellar on celebrities and models because they've got the air of knowing what they're doing. Put a crazy outfit on some average guy on the street, people'll look at them weird."
 
"Fashion should be accessible to everyone, I think. Why can't the mom at the school gates look like a million dollars? Highstreet fashion really isn't too bad these days. They sort of copy runway designs, but I don't mind too much. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, isn't it~?" Laughed the designer, absently rearranging his currently messy hair with his spare hand, while the other gratefully entwined their fingers together. He didn't make a habit of getting this comfortable with people he just met, but what did it matter if the feelings were apparently reciprocated? Sure, the alcohol probably had an influence, even the very minimal amount he had, but it didn't stop him shifting a little closer to the assistant.

"So, what is this?" He murmured slowly, gesturing to their entwined hand in amusement. "Do you just hate car rides and need the moral support~?"​
 
"... Yes?" He offered weakly, before quickly yanking his hand away quickly. Instead, he slipped his hands into his pockets. He was drunk, and Alex was attractive, was it really such a strange concept? "A-Absolutely hate them, aha... are we almost there, by the way? I mean, jeez, how late is it? I'm gonna pass out any moment."

In that moment, his babbles and stutters soon turned to silence when realizing it was a pretty useless attempt to try and block away what he did. It didn't help that the designer went out of his way to entwine their fingers.
 
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