"What was the likelihood of me listening to you after I'd learnt you were a cop, Timothy? Let's be realistic. I wasn't going to listen a damn word out of your mouth, regrettably. Now, I'll gladly listen if you check yourself out of this place, come home to my apartment and... I don't know, you can watch me call a therapist, if that helps you trust me more. I just want things to go back to normal," he continued calmly, one hand tapping against his knee as the other moved to adjust his tie, again as calmly as he could manage. He was on the desperate side, and he disliked losing the control he normally automatically acquired, so the sooner he got it back, no matter what circumstance that was in, the better he'd feel.

"I'll go to a therapist and I'll go to the police about hurting Sandra-- not about murder. I'm not getting arrested for that, I'll never see the light of day again and I have Paris coming up soon. I have new designs, I need new models interviewed for the shows-- I have too much to do."
 
“Oh my god,” he groaned, his eyes rolling as he ran a hand through his hair. “Do you hear yourself? ‘I know I’ve killed people but my trip to Paris is more important!’ Don’t you realize how fucked up that is, Alex? I know you’re trying to blame it on your business, the killings, but there’s no way you can’t take a step back and realize how fucked up you are!” He snapped, his anger immediately rising at the excuses.

“I’m staying here for a week, like I said I would. I’m going to stay here for a week, get... get better, and go to my apartment. I’ll settle back in and then I’ll go over to your apartment, fully loaded. I will watch you call a therapist and call the police and then we can work things out.” He demanded strictly, his eyes narrowed as he stood up, staring down at the other. “I’m... I’m trying to be reasonable, Alex.”
 
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"Oh, I won't blame it on my business if you don't want me to. If you want me to admit that I enjoyed every single second of the murders, I'll admit that. I was trying to spare you and salvage some part of our relationship, but if you want brutal honesty, I can give that. I liked it. Loved it, really. I don't really want to stop, but I have enough self-control to stop if you wanted me to. And my name's Alexander, not Alex. I hate that. I only let you call me that because I loved you so much," he breathed, heavily exhaling with a wide smile on his face at the sudden outburst of how he really felt. He couldn't be this honest with a therapist, obviously, but he only now realised the importance of being honest with someone, just to get the heavy feeling off his chest.

"God, that is good. I'll be honest if you want, I just thought I was sparing you. Do you want to hear the details? I mean, I'm not sure how honest you want me to be, Timothy, you'll have to be specific."
 
“I... I want you to be completely honest,” he murmured, though his body language showed hesitance. “I want everything on the table, both of us. You said you had the cameras turned off? This - I won’t say a word, I just want you to be honest with me, Alex...” he insisted, though his arms folded defensively as he watched the other, his eyes darting back and forth across the man’s face.

“I’ll be honest with you, too, okay?” He began as he adjusted his weight. “I still love you and I fucking hate myself because of it. I still love you despite the fact that you’re a monster.”
 
"Alexander," he drily corrected again, despite the calm smile still stuck to his lips. He could get angry about it, considering he'd held back from correcting his ex all the months they'd dated, but getting irritated and openly showing that wasn't going to solve any problems. He wasn't lying about his feelings, and if there was any chance of reuniting, shouting at him over something relatively insignificant wasn't wise.

"Monster? That's harsh. I don't think I'm a monster. Sick? Maybe. Most people have problems, Tim. Mine just happens to be... murder. I suppose it isn't normal," he snorted, his brow arched at the declaration of love. It was definitely... nice to hear, even if it came accompanied with an insult. "Fine. Honesty. I've killed maybe 9 people, which annoys me because it's not even. I used a kitchen knife on all of them bar one. I usually smoke a cigar after each murder, maybe drink some red wine. I would have disposed their bodies properly, but I refuse to ruin my suits-- is that enough? I'm not sure this is very helpful, but hey, you wanted honesty."
 
“I’m going to call you Alex,” he replied equally as dryly as he leaned against the wall, his brow furrowing in a mix of genuine surprise and curiosity. Pacing slowly, he shot a glance up towards the camera, secretly hoping that they were recording the confession. Knowing his luck, they were completely oblivious to the other’s admission.

“... look, I... I don’t know,” he admitted after a moment of silence, his eyes locked on the door. “Do you still have feelings for me?”
 
Following his gaze to the camera, his automatic reaction to admit that he loved him immediately cut short. Everything Timothy said now sounded a lot like bullshit, uttered only to lull him into admitting the truth so it was on camera and gave him no way to worm himself out of things. That realisation stopped his amusement and casual body language instantly, his lips pulling into a frown.

"...The camera isn't even on, Timothy. There's no light flashing. I'm sure the patients that visit family in here worked out how to disconnect it so their personal conversations aren't recorded. This place isn't for the criminally insane, or for the insane anyway. Why they feel the need to record conversations is quite distubring, don't you think? People here just want a break and a chance to get some professional help. I hardly think recording conversations is helpful, but I suppose that's not important," he tutted, eyeing the camera again with a growing grin once realising that his own suspicions were correct; someone had managed to turn it off, which he understood. Being recorded when you wanted a personal chat was hardly enjoyable.

"So no, I don't love you. Not when you purposely tricked me into being honest, just to get it on camera. That's... cruel. I won't be going to the police about Sandra, and I won't be seeing a therapist. If you lose your job for wasting police time with your accusations against me -because they don't believe them, Tim- then that's not my problem anymore."
 
“When did I ever insinuated I wanted to be honest for the camera that isn’t even on, Alex? I know they aren’t on, or at least I assumed they weren’t. I just assumed you paid someone here to turn them off,” he admitted as he pressed a fist under his chin, his pacing continuing as he absently stared at the wall behind the man. “We’re being honest here, and I’m being honest myself. Do I wish it was recording? Sure, because I want there to be true justice. I wasn’t expecting it to be, though.”

Taking a seat on the chair besides the small desk he was given, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath at the admission. In one way, he had to tell himself it was just Alexander trying to fuck with him, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less, as was evident by his eyes watering just a tad.
 
"Would I be here if I didn't love you? Would I be willing to go to fucking therapy if I didn't love you? Don't be stupid, darling, it doesn't suit you. Although, I will bring the murder count to an even 10 if you don't stop calling me Alex. My father called me that and I wasn't particularly fond of the man," he expressed, his face perfectly deadpan as he did so. He was teasing, in that he would never want to hurt Timothy, but he was aware his jokes had a habit of failing - especially in a situation as tense as this.

"I'm joking. Just... breathe. Relax. Have a cigar, rest back. We can talk as long as you want-- this is really rather like a therapy session for me, I'm loving it. The whole honesty thing? Not something I'm used to doing, truth be told," he grinned, reaching for a cigar just to take advantage of how cathartic this whole confession situation was for him. "So yes, course I love you. It's only ever been you. Every other guy was a quick fling, you know? I only ever really dated you. After you decide to check yourself out, I want to get back on track. I have no intention handing myself in, but I also have no intention hurting anyone, so it'll be like a clean slate, hm?"
 
“I like to talk to you like this, too. It’s just - to find out your boyfriend is a serial killer? It makes me appreciate minor honesty like this,” he murmured quietly before letting out a sharp sigh. “Well, I mean, define minor honesty. You admitting just how many people you killed is a big more than minor but you get the point.”

Watching the other smoke, he held back the urge to light his own. He noticed the smile alarm, though, along with the fact that he never smoked before the incident. It was a new habit and he was relying on the rehab to help curb that. After all, outside of his appearance, he was the definition of a proper cop, squeaky clean record and no vices... unless you counted his social drinking. “So you’re going to check yourself in here?”
 
"In here? God, no! I''m not checking in anywhere. I know I said I would not even three minutes ago, but you want me to be honest, right? So I'll be honest. I'll end up losing my mind and hurting someone. I'm better off outside, continuing as normal, and forgetting about the past. We can pretend like it didn't happen," he casually remarked, as though drawing a line underneath everything that had happened was an easy thing to accomplish. It was far from easy, but he failed to see why they couldn't just pretend. That way, they were both happy.

"Like I said, relax. I've got this under control," he continued with a dramatic roll of his eyes. "Now, about Paris. I'm assuming you're not coming? Such a shame. You'd love it. Really romantic. Just the sort of place to get our relationship back on track, actually."
 
“No, I’m not... I’m not going to Paris with you, Alex,” he whispered, shaking his head. The brief moment of confidence he had, had faded rather quickly when it seemed the designer just wouldn’t listen to him. He instead clenched his fists, closing his eyes tight to calm himself.

“Honesty, right? If I’m going to be honest, I would love nothing more than to punch you in the fucking face,” he murmured after a moment of contemplation. “Yeah, right in the fucking face. It would be nice, fix everything.”
 
"If you wanted to hit me that badly, you'd have done it by now. Mind you, if you punch me, I could go to the police and have you done for assault, which I'd be tempted to considering you keep calling me fucking Alex. Honestly, you're either doing it purposely, or you're an idiot. I can't work out which," he drawled in amusement, his eyes once again glittering as he started to enjoy himself again. Regaining control of the situation and having a cathartic burst of honesty was, apparently, just what he needed.

"Go on, punch me. I'm allowing you to. It might be a cute look for me-- and you. I won't be the only violent one then, will I~?"
 
There was a moment of hesitance, naturally, though he wasn’t in the state to think about the consequences fully. So, despite his smaller stature, he landed a sharp punch right to Alexander’s face. He had to step back afterwards to stop himself from getting any more violent because he happily could punch him more.


“There.” He murmured, exhaling at just how sharp he made the punch. “That was good, yeah . I’ve wanted to do that for awhile,” he. Admitted softly before rubbing his sore fist.
 
Despite how naive he immediately realised he was, Alexander hadn't thought that the punch would be anything too concerning. It was only after he felt blood drip from his nose (along with the searing pain) that he recognised he might have underestimated his ex-boyfriend. He was still police trained, after all, so having a quick punch on him wasn't too shocking.

"It's all over my fucking s-suit, this cost a fortune," he groaned, tilting his head up to avoid more blood dropping onto his smart clothing-- even if enough of it had spilled over the white shirt to ruin it for him. "I... ugh, I didn't mean hit me that hard, y-you asshole-- even I didn't hurt Sandra this hard!"
 
“You deserves it,” he replied flatly as he rubbed his knuckles, his eyes drifting apart to avoid having to share glances. If he did meet Alexander’s eyes, there was a likeliness of him wanting to punch him in the face again. Tim wasn’t a violent person, he prides himself on being nothing like his brother, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have violent thoughts, especially after the kidnapping.

“I don’t want to be underestimated anymore, Alex. I’m not afraid to hurt you if you hurt Sandra again and... I won’t let you hurt me either,” he declared quietly, but the words held enough weight on their own.
 
"We can sort that easily if you leave me alone. I haven't got the time or the patience to constantly tread about on my tiptoes around you. I fucking murdered people-- I'll admit that I murdered them. I told you I won't do that anymore. If you continue to poke at me because of that, the relationship won't work, will it?" He grumbled, even if the mention of Sandra almost instantly made him realise just how difficult everything was. Timothy was one thing, but convincing Sandra was nigh-on impossible, and he instantly recognised the difficulty she posed.

"...Sandra is going to continue fighting to get me imprisoned, I imagine. Either you convince her to shut her mouth and we can work it out, or... or I'm really going to have to play dirty to save my own skin, which I will do if I need to."
 
“Talk to her yourself, I’m not her keeper,” he murmured, frowning wearily. “You’re not going to hurt her. Why does everything end up in violence? I mean, fuck, Alexander... look, I’ll talk to her if you promise to get some help. I refuse to just let things go back to normal, so doing something so simple as getting a therapist is the least you can do...”

After a moment, he dared to grab the cigar out of curiousity. Lighting it up. “Fuck, man... this is all so shitty, okay?”
 
"Tell me, when did I mention I was going to hurt her? Honestly, you're so quick to assume that I'm going to instantly break my promise. I said no violence and I meant it. I just have secrets on her she'd rather die than let me leak out, that's all. Jeez, Timothy, relax. I promised, didn't I? I'll go see a therapist if you promise Sandra will keep her mouth shut," he shrugged, his eyes silently following him as he grabbed the cigar. Under any normal situation, he would have attempted to stop him, told him he didn't need to fully start the habit - but right now, he couldn't care less. If Timothy smoking stopped him chastising Alexander, he was all for it.

"Obviously I want a cute therapist, so it might take a while to find someone worthwhile. We're not dating, I've come to terms with the fact it isn't going to work. But we can be friends, I suppose. I do like you, and I'd like to think our relationship wasn't a complete disaster."
 
“It was fine until, you know... you kidnapped me and Sandra,” he added as he took a puff of the cigar, only to cough hard. He wasn’t a smoker, after all, and was only really smoking it to both relax his nerves and also secretly look cool. It failed, obviously. Taking a seat warily, he ran a hand through his hair with a growing frown.

“I wish none of that happened. My... life is in shambles, huh? To be honest, I’m going to probably move out of New York soon, anyway, so you won’t have to deal with me,” he admitted with a sigh. “I’ll probably move in with my dad again, find somewhere else to work. Clearly I wasn’t made for the city, huh? I mean, the first guy I have a serious relationship kills people, so... maybe that won’t be the case up in Albany.”