Like a Moth to a Flame

Sandra didn't really want to walk away and leave her best (and only) friend in a strange place when the news that Alexander had been released had just broken. But what other choice did she have? She could hardly stay and, at the back of her mind, she was well aware that this was the best place for him. He was at least guaranteed privacy and safety, whereas Sandra would be staying in an apartment Alexander could easily get access to if he so wished.

Except, despite her assumptions, she was apparently better off in the apartment, because Alexander really had little interest in her. He had been arrested and interrogated, but they didn't really have any evidence on him - and his fame did help get him released. Accusing someone with such a reputation as Alexander's without the evidence to back it up was suicidal, and aided Alexander's release. Within minutes of that, social media was alight in fury at the police for accusing him, which was a nice sight - it gave him hope that he could come out of this as the victim and reap the rewards when, in fact, he was guilty as hell. This all at least protected him from discovery and won him some new fans. His business, he hoped, would be fine, but he didn't even want to focus on that right now. Rather, he just wanted to see Timmy, even if it was down to him that he'd had to go through all of this mess.

It didn't really take all that much convincing to gain entry into the facility. It was the last place he should be granted access into, but money did tend to talk, and he was happy to splash a thousand or two if it meant getting to see Timothy. One morally weak nurse eventually led him into a private room in exchange for the cash and, after hurrying to fetch Timmy and achieve her end of the bargain, Alexander finally got to lock eyes with his boyfriend-- or rather, his ex at this point. He assumed the relationship was over after being shopped to the police, anyway.

"...Don't freak out. I'm not... going to hurt you or anything. I just... wanted to see you," he began cautiously when the door had been locked to prevent anyone stumbling in and discovering them. "I... why did you-- that doesn't matter. Look, I... I just... it was silly, telling the police. It was never going to work, you know? And it effectively ruined what we had because I'm not that happy with you right now-- I won't hurt you, I'm not doing that. I'm just not happy, that's all."
 
Before Alexander made an appearance, Timothy was attempting to adjust to his temporary living after requesting a coffee and a book to at least relax his nerves. There wasn't much else to do, having all and any sharp object taken away from him at the mere mention of suivice. His nerves were already going crazy but to see Alexander in his room, in the one place he thought he could be alone in safe, immediately made him drop his foam coffee in horror, his hand trembling.

"Get out of here..." he whispered slowly, his cheeks growing redder by the second. "Get the fuck out of here, Alex! I d-don't want to see your face anywhere near me, understand?! I want nothing to do with you!" He snapped, his breath heavy in anger as he shakily held his head, his anxiety clearly going wild.
 
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"...When you've finished yelling, at least come and sit down and we can discuss our fuck-ups, hm? I admit mine are probably more serious than yours, but you were supposed to love me and yet you called the police and I was arrested. That's not really love now, is it? Just stop being dramatic and come and sit down to talk like adults," he sighed, his lips pursed at the waste of perfectly good coffee-- though, admittedly, it was probably cheap and nasty, and nothing like the fancy coffee he had back home. He hadn't even been back at his apartment yet, such was his eagerness and desperation to see Timmy. The fact he just got yelled at was a little irritating, though understandably.

"I just want to talk and get things cleared up. I... assume we're over, and that sucks because I loved you, but it's... understandable. I want to discuss you dropping the claims against me. They released me but they'll question you about your story and I want you to say that you made it up. I'll make sure you don't get in trouble for that and I'll pay you for your trouble if you want. I just can't have this looming over my head, you know? I want to go to work and just... move on from this little bump in the road."
 
"Yeah, I loved you too until you kidnapped me and got Sandra involved when she didn't need to!" He replied quickly before rubbing his eyes to hide his tears in embarrassment. "You... don't deserve to have a fucking career after this, Alexander. I thought you loved me b-but the people you love don't kidnap you and beat them up, do they?! Huh?!"

Despite the other's request, he instead kept as far away as possible, keeping close to the door in genuine fear. With his arms folding across his chest warily, he chose to stare down at his feet to avoid any eye contact with his former lover, his cheeks reddening.

"Why the fuck should I say I made it up? I'll be a joke, I'll look crazy and I'm not fucking crazy, Alex. You need to face your fucking consequences, understood?!" He squeaked, his knuckles turning white. "I-I... I don't deserve this. You're a serial killer and I'm left here looking a fucking idiot."
 
"...I'm not a serial killer, I-- I've explained that what I do doesn't feel like murder, but you clearly don't see my viewpoint. And in regard of being crazy-- you have checked yourself into this facility. I assume the police and others will think you're crazy based on this alone, even if it's simply for you to come to terms with this all. I... could say I joked about the murders and you assumed I was being truthful? They can't arrest me over a joke, and you won't look crazy for reporting me, will you?" He suggested calmly, managing to keep his cool in direct contrast to the panicking and angry cop opposite him. In typical Alexander fashion, the designer had rested a leg across the other and taken out a nail file to at least tidy up his nails. He hadn't had a manicure in days and, quite honestly, that irritated him more than the whole arrest had.

"I just want to get on with my business. If I promise not to bludgeon someone's head in, will you believe me and just move on? I'm rather... fed up with this whole thing, darling. I just want it to end and move on, hm?"
 
"What about me and Sandra's injuries? You cracked her head open, Alex, don't you remember? Or all the bruises I'm still recovering from?" He countered as he began to bite on his lip, dread seeping in. Daring to step a tad closer, his eyes scanned Alexander's face warily.

"You could have stopped - you did stop. Why... couldn't you have just said you weren't a serial killer when I admitted I was a cop? I was ready to drop the case and you decide to just fuck our relationship up? That's... I just don't understand. To get Sandra involved, too? She didn't deserve what you did to her, Alex."
 
"Accidentally, darling. It was an accident. The woman is a very adept assistant and a wonderful friend. I wouldn't have hurt her intentionally-- but I also couldn't just let her wander to the police. I panicked, I made a split-second decision and it was clearly a daft one. Now, I'm ready to simply stop and leave you alone, I am-- assuming you want to trust me and just drop this. I'm sure you don't want the trouble of cameras flashing in your face constantly if you pursue this," he pointed out, knowing just how uncomfortable the other got when they used to head out to dinner together - he didn't think the world's media on his doorstep would be something he particularly craved.

"...I'll even move on from you, I'm sure you want that. I'll date someone else and I'll be on my best behaviour," he promised, resting a hand over his heart. "I just... I'm tired of this already. I want to go home and sleep. I'm sure you want to rest easy knowing I'm not going out and killing people, hm? I can promise that if you just... drop this."
 
"You're a liar." He replied flatly shaking his head. Nonetheless, the cop did decide to warily take a seat on the bed, that at least being a sign that he was willing to talk, if only for a little. Fiddling nervously with the loose fitting clothes he was given by the staff, Tim bit his lip hard.

"You killed people, don't you feel at least a little bad for that? I-I... I can't keep living knowing you got away with murder, Alex. You need to pay for what you did and... I don't know what I'll have to do but I will see justice to those people," he whispered, just enough for the other to hear and not the surveillance.
 
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"...Would justice mean prison or can I check myself into a place like this? Admittedly, I'd rather do the latter. I'd get sympathy for checking in here, and you seemed eager for this option a few days ago, didn't you? Said I needed help. I'd... be glad to do this option for a few months if it'd help-- obviously not this place. I'll go somewhere private in L.A," he shrugged casually, even if he'd begun to tap his hand against his knee - one of his habits when he got nervous to try and distract himself from that particular emotion.

"I'm desperate, really. Do you want to hear that? That I'm desperate and... reliant on you for a fucking favour?"
 
"Why should I let this go? If I let you get away with this, I-I'll be a joke. I might lose my job, be a mistake to my father, I-I..." he whispered, just the thought causing Tim's eyes to water. "You will singlehandedly ruin my career for something I didn't even fucking do wrong while you get to live your life casually, with a million dollar business under your belt. You don't get punished when you're the person who did something wrong."

As he spoke, he tugged his knees to his chest with an exhale. The whole purpose of signing him in to therapy was to calm him down but he now realized that was a stupid mistake.
 
"So I'm supposed to sacrifice my whole life for you? After you're the one who... who told the police and really kicked this whole thing off. We could have just... forgotten about it. I wasn't going to hurt anyone else. You chose to drive off as I slept, after I promised we'd get back to normal. This isn't on me, I refuse to take blame after I'd promised not to hurt anyone and you seemed happy with that," he pointed out grumpily, growing increasingly desperate the moment he realised that his ideal plan wasn't quite going to work itself out, and he didn't like it. He was used to things going his way, how he'd planned them.

He hadn't planned for any of this, so his anxiety was at its highest, causing him to start nibbling at his nails - something he'd hate himself for when he was calmer and saw the state he'd left them in.

"I... I can't go to prison, I don't want to. They have nothing on me. I'm not going to give them the evidence for them, that's... no. How about I... I admit to hurting Sandra? You won't look like a dramatist, you'll have reason to believe I'm violent and... and I can get out of that easily enough. Is that... is that alright? I'll go to therapy and do whatever else you want, just not prison."
 
There was something about seeing Alexander so desperate that both freaked him out and excited him. Timothy's entire life was spent out of the spotlight. Sure, Ben was a fuck-up who hurt his father, but he got attention for it. Timothy was almost invisible to the other officers until recently, so to be in charge of Alexander's destiny was almost too much power to handle. Watching the man nibble at his nails, he moved to grab the other's hands, grimacing at the sight.

"I'll talk to Sandra about it," he replied, his tone much more confident as he stared at the other, his eyes firm. "Admit to beating her up and... that will be it, but you need to give me something in return. I'm not going to let you go just so you can keep going and pretending that you never have to face consequences for your actions."
 
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"And what is it you want? Money? That's what most people would ask for from a millionaire who's made their life hell, isn't it? I'll be admitting that I beat a woman up, even if it was fucking accidental. Isn't that enough for you?" He grunted, despite knowing deep down that he'd get out of it rather easily. He had contacts in high places that owed him a favour or two - covering up what he'd done to Sandra wouldn't be too difficult.

"Oh hurry up, Tim. I want to go home and sleep and... and smoke a cigar. What do you want?" He continued, pulling his hand out of his the moment they touched. He had arrived in the hope of salvaging something, but as the conversation continued, he had come to the conclusion that nothing was really there. There were feelings on his side, definitely, but pursuing Timothy for the months it would potentially take to win him around was time he couldn't spare-- and didn't really want to spare, either.
 
"I've got to think about it," he decided to reply ominously as he leaned back, his frown slowly growing into a grin. "If it was up to me, I'd beat you up and force you to the middle of nowhere, get some friend of mine to threaten you to keep you around. I can't do that, though, I don't have enough money under my belt."

Getting to his feet, he slowly stretched his arms, his confidence overflowing now. Setting his hand on his hips, he let his eyes drift to the window, exhaling. "I'll ask Sandra."
 
Alexander could find the arrogance and confidence irritating, and he maybe wouldn't be blamed for feeling that way. He was growing increasingly more desperate and only seemed to receive smugness in return. However, the designer didn't find it irritating, not in the slightest. In fact, despite his desperate situation, he eased back against his chair with a slow smile of his own.

"I don't think I've ever been so attracted to you as I am right now. I like this side of you, you know. The confident, almost arrogant side. If you acted like this more often, I don't think we'd be in this position. I'd barely have kept my hands off you if you were like this in our relationship," he flirted easily, albeit whilst checking his phone to limit how serious the flirtation genuinely was. He already knew things were over, but he was a naturally flirtatious person - especially when his ex was really rather attractive to him right now. "Why don't I pay Sandra a visit? Because you won't be getting out of here anytime soon if you've just checked in, and I'm not a patient man."
 
"You're not going anywhere near Sandra. This is between you and me, understood?" He replied flatly, his eyed still locked on the other intensely. "You also can't blame me for anything you did. Saying that if I turned you on more, you'd be less likely to kill someone? That's absurd. If you even step into the same room as her, I will have you locked up."

Crossing his arms, it was funny, the fact that out of all times in his life, he never seemed more like a conventional cop. Letting his lips pull into a faint smile, he nervously shook his leg.
 
"See, I don't think you can stop me doing that when you're in this place. You've just checked in, I assume? I don't think you can just rush off after being here a few hours, love. There's really nothing you can do if I want to go and see the woman who's worked for me since she was a teenager," he pointed out smugly. He had no intention to really see Sandra and deal with her anger and outrage, but he did want to take back some control in the situation - or, at the very least, provoke his ex into battling him for it.

He did find him ridiculously attractive right now, so if he had to act like an asshole to provoke that side of Timmy into existence, he was glad to do it.

"Does that annoy you? That I can do what I want and you can't do a thing about it?" He purred, finally easing himself up from the uncomfortable plastic chair to loom physically over his ex-boyfriend, grinning down at him. "I mean, it must be annoying, mustn't it?"
 
"Oh, everything about you is annoying," he replied casually as he stared up at the other, his eyes firm. "Sure, I can't stop you from talking to Sandra but I can do everything in my power to stop her from talking to you. I have protection, she has protection. All you can do is show up and hope for the best. I've changed the locks and everything, too."

Despite being somewhat uncomfortable from the other's height, he remained in the bed rather than attempt to counter his pose... especially since he was still shorter than Alexander. Tapping his finger against the plastic edge of the bed, he eventually let out a laugh.

"Fuck you, honestly," he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. "I don't know what it was about that manipulative shit that made me fall in love with you but it worked, I guess."
 
"...Don't say that. I didn't fucking... I didn't manipulate you into falling in love with me. I'm talented, sweetheart, but I'm not that talented. I fell for you and you fell for me, it was genuine and-- whatever. Be childish and throw out hurtful accusations, but I loved you," he reminded quietly, his attempt at regaining control immediately failing once that accusation was thrown out into the conversation. At that, his whole demeanour did change. He had obviously shown sensitivities and vulnerabilities in the duration of his relationship with Timothy, but he didn't want to show that in this situation-- and yet his shoulders fell and his cocky smirk dropped almost instantly nonetheless.

"...I'm not... a horrible person. I didn't do what I did because I enjoyed hurting people, I just thought it was... helping. Albeit selfishly helping me and my business, but still. I can stop, I can easily stop. I was happy to do that, and you still shopped me to the fucking p-police."
 
"I called the police because you kidnapped me and Sandra, for starters," he replied, though his tone did soften. He fucking hated Alexander more than anyone right now but that didn't mean he still cared about him a little. He was happy to try and convince Alex to turn himself in, or check into somewhere like he was now. It was when he threatened Sandra that he really became pissed. "You didn't listen to me. If you just listened to me, none of this would happen."

Letting out a heavy sigh, he watched Alex's face carefully. Setting his head on his hand, he did try to offer a smile to at least offer some sort of comfort, even when he knew his brother or father would just beat Alex to a pulp if they knew.
 
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