“The more there is of mine, the less there is of yours.”

Seconds, minutes, hours. Time becomes fluid, difficult to grasp, just flowing on like the tides. Despite being surrounded by a sea of noisy party goers, Vegas and the bottle of whiskey in front of him seemingly exist in their own bubble of quiet, the amber liquid getting less and less. Vegas knows he’s well on his way to being drunk, but he’s not there quite yet. His therapist, his real one that is, told him to feel his feelings, and not to try to numb them with alcohol. Oops. He’s been drinking too much lately, bingeing too often, so he can forget everything for a while. Oh look, another shining red flag. He should probably call her and make an appointment to continue his therapy.

And because he’s been drinking too much, his alcohol tolerance is regrettably high, and even a few glasses of whiskey are just giving him a pleasant buzz, calming his mind but not knocking him out. The memories of the embarrassing incident from earlier on are turning fuzzy; Vegas is getting mellow around the edges, not giving a fuck about anything anymore.

The amber liquid in the liquor bottle gradually decreases. Vegas sees his surroundings as if he were looking through the blur filter of a photo editing app. Everything has turned soft and smooth, the dizzying array of colours around him have lost their brilliance, and the thumping music seems muted as well. Even the liquor tastes like water at this point. Vegas can’t even feel the burn in his throat anymore.

He knows that Yok is worried about him, he can see her repeated, concerned glances in his direction, but thankfully she has so far left him alone. Everyone leaves him alone. Even the clownfish candidates seem to sense that this sea anemone isn’t taking any new tenants, that it’s still pining for the fish that swam away to explore the rest of the ocean. Vegas wants to detach himself from the reef, he wants to drift with the currents on the off chance that they’ll take him to the same coral sea that his clownfish now calls home.

He should probably go home soon, but he doesn’t feel drunk enough yet. A few more glasses will do the trick. He’s looking forward to oblivion. Vegas’ motor skills are giving him trouble; he needs to concentrate hard to make his hand move exactly the way he wants. The bottle feels too large and too heavy. His vision goes in and out of fuzziness, but he manages to pour himself another drink without spilling too much. Is the bottle empty? Vegas holds it against the light, squinting his eyes. No, there’s still enough for one more glass.

Talking about glasses, where did his glass go? Vegas blinks. He could have sworn it was right before him, but that space is empty now. Puzzled, Vegas leans back and almost loses his balance; for a few seconds it looks as if he’ll tumble off the chair, but then someone behind him steadies him just in time.

Right, where was he? The glass is gone, guess he’ll just have to drink directly from the bottle then. But when he reaches for the flask, someone is faster, moving it away and out of his reach.

“That’s enough now,” the person behind him says softly.

Soft and smooth as silk. Vegas wants to wrap that voice around him like a blanket, bury his face into it like he did with the Care Bear shirt, and inhale deeply.

Click.

The puzzle piece snaps back into place.

A shiver runs down Vegas’ spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. His heart is singing. The clownfish has returned to its sea anemone. It’s his brain that has trouble catching up and connecting the dots, since it’s lost in a booze-induced haze. Vegas stares stupidly at the hand holding his liquor bottle, a hand that isn’t his, and his brows furrow in confusion.

And then suddenly it all makes sense. He knows that hand, knows it very well, would recognise it anywhere because of the small crescent scar at the base of the thumb. No need to turn around for confirmation. Well fuck. The first thing he feels is betrayal. His eyes find Yok, who is watching him warily from a distance, and he glares accusingly at her. “I can’t believe you called my ex…”

Yok’s eyes widen in surprise. Her gaze flicks back and forth between Vegas and the person behind him, and then she apparently decides it might be better to put some distance between her and them. With a last, apologetic smile, she turns around and hurries away towards other customers. Vegas glares at her retreating back. Traitor.

Then another thought skips through his muddled brain. “You shouldn’t be here,” he mumbles in confusion. He didn’t get any alerts. No advanced warning. Impossible. He must be hallucinating.

“Where else should I be?” Pete’s silky voice asks him, curiously.

“Across the ocean, at another reef,” Vegas answers truthfully, and can hear a chuckle behind him. His heart constricts painfully.

“You’re here, so of course I’m here as well,” Pete corrects him gently, with a hint of laughter in his voice. “That’s the thing about superglue, Vegas. It’s nearly impossible to undo.”

Bloody hell. Vegas really wants another drink while trying to wrap his befuddled mind around these fresh developments. He needs to have a word with Porsche. He needs to have a word with Macau. The whole world is conspiring against him.

“I haven’t finished drinking,” he angrily informs the clownfish holding his liquor hostage, and reaches for the bottle again.

But the bottle is moved even further out of his reach.

“You’ve had more than enough to drink. Let me keep you safe. I’ll take you home.”

A hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and Vegas can feel the heat seeping through the fabric of his shirt. The cocoon of mellow softness around him begins to thaw.

Angrily, he shakes the heat source off. He likes the mellowness; it keeps him safe and disconnected from his feelings. “Fuck off, don’t touch me!”

“Vegas…” Pete sounds resigned, but the hand doesn’t return. “You really had too much to drink. Please, let me take care of you.”

“Fuck off,” Vegas repeats forcefully. Cut off from his booze, he sees no point in staying at the busy nightclub; he might as well leave, but most certainly not with the clownfish, who isn’t even supposed to be here! If only he could think straight! Vegas feels suddenly very crowded and manages to get off the chair without losing his balance, but it’s a close call. He can feel him hovering close by, why does he always feel him and just him, even if he’s surrounded by a huge crowd? It’s maddening.

Vegas is more drunk than he thought, his motor skills are pretty messed up. He feels himself swaying, bumping against him because he is too damn close. He jerks away angrily.

“Don’t touch me!” he hisses, and starts weaving his way through the noisy crowd towards the exit.

So many people. So much noise. Every sensation is flooding his struggling brain unfiltered, the floor feels uneven beneath his feet and Vegas finds himself stumbling repeatedly. The only reason he doesn’t fall flat is that he is pushing people out of Vegas’ way, repeatedly grabbing and steadying Vegas when he sways uncontrollably. He always releases his hold on Vegas immediately, as soon as Vegas hisses angrily. And so they slowly make their way out of the club.

The fresh air hits Vegas like a cold washcloth in the face. He groans softly and pauses, taking a deep breath. Everything is spinning around him, his whole life is taking one wild spin after another, it seems.

“…Vegas…” the traitorous clownfish behind him says, a whole world of subtext in that single word, waiting to be uncovered. Danger, Will Robinson, danger. Vegas wants to keep spinning, spin around, straight into the arms waiting to catch him, and listen to another round of sweet whispered lies. So tempting. Fuck. No, Vegas isn’t interested in what the clownfish has to say, he just wants to flee, find a cab and go home—without the damn fish.

“Fuck off,” he slurs rebelliously and staggers past the late night crowd of partygoers hanging out around the Hum Bar entrance. Surely there must be a taxi somewhere. Out of the corner of his eye he catches a glance of the clownfish. Not so white and orange tonight. Shockingly enough, the jerk is wearing plain dark trousers and a white t-shirt. Oh, right, Vegas threw away all his clothes, that’s why there are no abominable shirts. And damn, how did he even get here? Wasn’t he supposed to be far, far away? He needs to have a talk with Porsche, their early warning system failed miserably.

Swaying uncontrollably to the side, Vegas’ shoulder bumps hard against the side of a building and he winces. If only the world would stop spinning for a moment.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop being so damn stubborn.” Pete’s had enough and firmly takes hold of Vegas’ upper arm, dragging him away from the street and into the alleyway leading to the staff parking area.

“Let go!” Vegas protests, outraged. But Pete has an iron hold on Vegas. He keeps him from tripping over his own feet, mercilessly pulling him along towards the parked cars. And he definitely doesn’t let go.

“I refuse to allow you to hurt yourself,” Pete informs him grimly. “Shelve you anger. I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

They’ve reached the cars, one of them a rental that Vegas assumes must belong to Pete.

“Safe? My ass… you’re the last person qualified to talk about my safety!” Vegas finally manages to shrug free of the hold and glares defiantly at Pete while trying not to sway too much.

“I know!” At first it looks as if Pete is about to throw a temper tantrum. His dark eyes sparkle with ire, but then he makes an effort to hold it all in. “Vegas…” he starts again, his voice so beseeching that Vegas doesn’t know how to protect himself against it. “You have every right to be angry with me. I get it, all right? Just let me take you home first, you’re so drunk I can’t leave you on your own here, it’s not safe. Please… please allow me take care of you right now.”

That’s rich, coming from the man who shot him. Vegas can’t help but snort with contempt. “No. Go away. I didn’t ask you to come back. Fuck off, we broke up. I’ve moved on, so leave me the hell alone.”

Pete seems to be struggling with some anger issues of his own right now, the way he’s turning pale and narrowing his eyes while he listens to Vegas’ reply.

“I am not leaving again,” he insists heatedly. “I left when you told me to leave, and I hated every second of it. I’ve had enough of it, being away from you is driving me insane. So get your shit together, and accept the fact that I’m here to stay!”

Vegas staggers a few steps forward and shoves Pete hard against the car behind him. “The hell I will! I’m no longer interested in you and your damn mind games. Read my lips: Not interested! No longer attracted to you! Just leave me alone!”

Pete opens his mouth. Vegas expects him to yell, but instead he has the nerve to actually count audibly to ten to calm himself before he replies tensely, “We both know that’s bullshit, but I didn’t come here to argue with you. You’re drunk and need to go home. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

Vegas shoves him again. He hates how reasonable Pete sounds and acts. He hates it. He doesn’t want reasonable Pete because it is difficult staying angry with him this way. He wants angry Pete, snarky and infuriating Pete. And so he shoves him one more time, hard, trying to trigger an explosion.

But Pete grits his teeth and endures silently. “Are you done yet? Can you please get in the car now so I can drive you home?”

Vegas looks at him. He can feel himself coming apart at the seams. He shoves Pete one more time, because violence is so much better than confronting all the other emotions bubbling up within him. Pete winces when his back hits the car, but instead of lashing out he continues to face Vegas calmly. “Do you feel better now? Can we go home?”

Home. His apartment hasn’t felt like home since Pete left.

“I threw away every single item of your clothing,” Vegas informs him desperately. “Everything that belonged to you I threw away, because I moved on.” And since Pete is merely arching an eyebrow at him, Vegas continues on his quest to antagonise him. “Earlier this evening I had a guy jerking me off in the storage area behind the bar where I fucked you. Felt really good. I am so damn over you, you have no idea, so fuck off.”

Pete’s eyelid twitches upon hearing that, Vegas can see how he clenches his jaw and curls his hands into fists. Yes! Yell at me! Hit me! Vegas needs violence, because the hurt on Pete’s face makes his stomach drop. And it gets worse, because not even that confession triggers a violent outburst.

“I suppose I deserved that…” Pete says quietly in a pained voice. “I may not like it, but I deserved it. Can we please go home now?”

Bloody hell! The world keeps spinning madly, Vegas shakes his head to clear it, then grabs Pete’s boring white t-shirt, digs his fingers into the fabric, and shakes him. Get angry, please get angry. Anything is better than this pain in Pete’s eyes.

“You’re not listening! I don’t want you anymore! Whatever there was between us is over and done with!”

Pete sighs as he’s being manhandled, and the gentleness filling his eyes is killing Vegas. “You may not want me anymore, but I want you very much. I’m so damn in love with you, I will just make you fall in love with me again.”

Nonono. Everything is derailing fast. Vegas is floundering. He stares at Pete and feels a towering wave of complicated emotions building up within him. It scares him. If only he’d had less to drink, then he’d be able to think of a way to gain the upper hand. Right now he seems to be on the losing side of this argument. Can this even be called an argument?

“I’m no longer attracted to you,” he insists forcefully. “The spark’s gone, snuffed out. Want me to prove it to you?” And not waiting for an answer, he yanks Pete in, pressing his closed lips to his mouth. See? Nothing there. All dead. Might as well be kissing a fish…

… Whoosh…

… Ignition…

Well, so much for that. Kissing a fish? How about an electric eel? The static shock of the lip contact makes Vegas’ toes curl, and seems to fry every single of his remaining braincells. All coherent thoughts disappear. Vegas.exe is temporarily offline, sorry.

Pete gasps, pleasantly surprised, but Vegas is already pressing him against the car, grabbing him by the hair, desperately deepening the kiss. More more more! It’s been months, he needs his fix badly. He’s already drunk, but kissing Pete is increasing his intoxication tenfold. More more more! Can’t get enough of this, need more! He sucks, licks and bites, giving Pete and himself hardly a chance to breathe between the frantic kissing.

Performance issues? Think again. That must have been a bad dream, because Vegas is instantly hard. Good Lord, Pete smells so good, he’s missed this so much, he is vibrating out of his skin with need.

A few valiant brain cells come back online and stage an intervention. Nonono. What is he doing? He really has no self-control, it’s disgusting. This is the guy who shot him after all.

Whatever! Objection overruled! Vegas’ hands are already under Pete’s t-shit, he’s getting high on skin contact. Vegas is high as a kite, high on Pete, he wants him so damn much, body and soul. Pete shudders and gasps breathlessly, and for a moment Vegas has the feeling that something is amiss. Whatever! They have a car, they have a backseat, he wants Pete right here and now.

“Vegas…” Pete is panting, trying to catch his breath while keeping Vegas from opening the car door. “Stop it. You’ve got to stop.”

Stop? No, he doesn’t want to stop, he hasn’t even started yet. Vegas breath catches and he just shuts Pete up by french-kissing him wildly. The kiss is glorious, mind-blowing—and he really shouldn’t be doing this because Pete is a serial killer—but he tastes so damn good.

Pete shivers violently when Vegas pinches his nipples and yet he once again tries to disengage, grabbing hold of Vegas’ hands. “Don’t. You need to stop, you don’t really want to do this.”

What is Pete even talking about? Vegas very much wants to do this, and a lot more—no self-control at all, throwing all his grievances aside just to get laid, he is such a pathetic looser—he wants Pete naked in the car underneath him.

“What’s you problem?” He takes a forced break from kissing, trying to catch his breath, he’s feeling dizzy. “Is it because I’m drunk? Never mind that, it’s okay, I’m not that drunk, I know what I am doing.”

Pete’s lower lip is bleeding, Vegas must have bitten it too hard. But before Vegas can lean in to lick the wound, Pete shakes his head and presses his hand against Vegas’ chest, keeping him at a distance. “You don’t want this, just stop.”

Vegas takes a shuddering breath. His body is buzzing with desire, this must be what it’s like to be under the influence of an aphrodisiac. Pete tends to have that effect on him. He can feel his breathing turning more erratic. He really wants Pete badly. Vegas swallows convulsively and inhales sharply again.

“What do you want? Consent? Is this enthusiastic enough consent to you?” Vegas grabs Pete’s hand and presses it against his raging erection.

With a startled hiss, Pete yanks his hand back. His eyes are impossibly dark. He looks truly tormented, and Vegas can’t understand what his problem is.

“Damn it, please stop Vegas. I know you think you want this, but you’re not in the right frame of mind for taking it any further. Let’s just stop and go home, okay?”

“What are you even talking about?! I want to fuck you, why are you making this so complicated! I really want this!” Vegas shouts in Pete’s face amidst short gasping breaths, surprising himself with that outburst.

“If you want this so much, then why are you crying?” Pete counters quietly, shocking Vegas into silence.

Crying? Who is crying? His breath hitches again. What is Pete talking about? Vegas is fine, just fine. He’s a bit dizzy because he’s drunk, that’s all. His vision blurs for a moment. Confused, he rubs his eyes, finding them wet. His cheeks are wet too. Crying? Really? He gasps convulsively again, no wait, he’s sniffling…? And then Vegas unravels…

He tries to take a deep breath to hold it all in, but instead a choked sob escapes, the first of many. Everything wells all up all at once. Vegas scrunches up his face, but no matter how many times he wipes them away, the tears are flowing freely now. He hiccups between sobs, his nose is running too, it’s disgusting, but stopping it is beyond his control. Vegas looks at the blurred image of Pete before him and it all bursts out.

“… You shot me…” And now that he has started, he can’t seem to stop. “… You shot me…”

Pete’s eyes widen in alarm, this sudden meltdown is taking him by surprise.

“You shot me…” Vegas hiccups. “I told you that I love you, and you just looked at me and shot me…” So many tears. He thought he had processed the trauma, but it seems he was wrong. “Why?… Why did you shoot me? I love you so much and you shot me… Why? How could you do this to me?…”

He pauses to wipe his nose on his sleeve—not that it helps much.

“Why me?… What have I done to deserve this? Why are you doing all this to me?… I don’t understand… How could you do this to me?… What did I do to you to deserve this?… I love you and you tried to kill me…” Blindly, he hits his chest because his heart aches so badly. “Why me?… You knew… You knew exactly why I didn’t want to fall for you… and you pursued me anyway. And then you shot me… Oh God… I just don’t understand…”

Arms wrap around him tightly; Pete has stepped forward and is now hugging the sobbing Vegas hard.

“I’m sorry, I’m so damn sorry,” he mumbles into Vegas’ ear, over and over again. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

“…Is this revenge for something?… Did I arrest someone you know?… Is this because of my family?… What did I do to deserve to be treated like this?…”

The hug is nice, but can’t console Vegas right now. He rests his head against Pete’s shoulder, his tears and snot soaking into Pete’s t-shirt.

“I was so damn happy… and it was all a lie… You lied about everything… even about falling in love with me… it was all a damn lie and it hurts so much…”

“Tell me how to fix this, Vegas.” Holding him tightly, Pete sounds desperate, totally out of his depth. “I don’t know what to do. I just want to make your pain stop. Seeing you like this makes me upset. I don’t understand what you want me to do! Tell me how to fix it, I can’t stand seeing you fall apart like this.”

But Vegas has no clue how to fix this situation. He is drunk and unbelievably sad because falling in love with the wrong person has turned his life into a total mess. “… And why does it have to be you?… Why do you have to be the killer?… All these people… you killed all these people… and I’m a cop… you kill people and I shouldn’t love you… but I still do…”

“Don’t cry, Vegas, please don’t cry,” Pete murmurs, and awkwardly rubs Vegas’ back. “I love you too. If you tell me how, I will make things right again. You just need to teach me. All of this is so new to me, I don’t know what I am supposed to do to help you deal with everything.”

“…How am I supposed to ever trust you again?…” Vegas asks him between hiccups and sniffles. “…You keep lying to me… I don’t know what the truth is anymore… You’re just as bad as my family… everyone is using me as a pawn…”

Pete is nuzzling his hair. Vegas can sense how anxious he is. Like a coiled spring, all his muscles are tense and hard, and at the same time he’s still desperately trying to soothe Vegas.

“I swear, no more games. You’re too important to me. Just give me another chance, Vegas. Trust me just a tiny little bit, I beg you.”

Vegas slips his arms around Pete’s waist and sobs quietly against his shoulder. Of course he will give him another chance—Vegas is so self-destructive that he would cheerfully run into a burning building together with this man. Trust is another matter though; he doesn’t know when or if he will ever trust Pete again. But love is love, he might as well break the norm some more by loving a serial killer. God knows he tried not to, but he has failed miserably.

Thankfully the staff parking area is deserted; people are not venturing back here. They use the front of the alleyway on their way back and forth to the Hum Bar. Pete and Vegas have the privacy they need back here, which is good because it takes a while before Vegas begins to calm down again. “Do you feel a bit better now?” Pete asks him softly, wiping the tear stains and snot away from Vegas’ face with a tissue. “Let me take you home, you must be exhausted.”

Yes, Vegas feels exhausted. But at the same time, this outburst was long overdue, and with it, a great heavy load seems to have disappeared from his shoulders. He sways slightly while Pete cleans him up and gives him a nod.

“Home sounds good.” And then he has to ask again, just to reassure himself. “Like superglue?”

The psychopathic killer he’s so desperately in love with gives him a charming, dimpled smile and nods. “Like superglue, I promise.”

----------------------------------------

Home is where the heart is. Vegas wakes up and it’s still dark outside. For a moment, he feels disoriented. Still stuck in the safe house? Was everything a dream? He’s lying on his side, snuggled against a source of heat he seems to be entangled with, and it’s so cozy that he doesn’t want to move.

Vegas has a strong sense of deja vú. He has a flashback to another night, of Pete sitting here in bed with him in the dark, reading quietly while keeping an eye on him. Or was that a dream too? Well, this right here is definitely not a dream, he can feel someone stroking his hair gently… Pete… Pete is back. Everything is once again how it is supposed to be, and Vegas feels at peace for the first time in a very long time.

“Have we done this before?” he asks, his voice heavy with sleep.

“Did I wake you? I’m sorry. Go back to sleep, Vegas.” The man he is curled up against stops stroking his hair and Vegas can hear the smile in his voice.

How did he get here again? Oh, yes, now he remembers. Pete brought him home, helped him change, and then put him to bed. He must have fallen asleep instantly. Vegas yawns and stretches, briefly contemplates going back to sleep and decides against it. “I don’t think I can fall asleep again. Why don’t you get me some coffee? And then we should talk.”

Pete tenses, Vegas can feel his muscles going taunt.

“I think we should wait with that. You still have a lot of alcohol in your bloodstream, we should wait until you are entirely sober.”

So reasonable and casual, but Vegas hears the alarm in his voice.

“Let’s just get this over with.” Reluctantly, Vegas disentangles his arms and legs. He really doesn’t want to let go but he doesn’t just need coffee, he needs a bathroom visit as well. Now that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness, he can vaguely see Pete’s worried face.

“Cheer up, Sunshine, I’m not going to kick you out again.”

But that doesn’t seem to reassure Pete at all. “No, you will probably throw me out of the window this time…” he mutters gloomily. “Seriously… do we need to do this now?” He pauses and gives Vegas a hesitant glance. “I don’t know how to feel about this, I think I’m worried. And I don’t like feeling like this.”

“One more reason to have this talk now. Then we can both stop worrying about unpleasant emotions. Now go and get me a large cup of coffee.” Trying to sound upbeat and encouraging, Vegas rolls to the side and gets up, heading for the bathroom.

They really need to talk, but Vegas is nearly as unenthusiastic as Pete about it. They need to talk, and yet he dreads it. So many questions that need answers, and so many answers he’s going to hate. This is going to be difficult.

And damn, he has a headache. Before leaving the bathroom again Vegas swallows some painkillers and drinks water, taking the opportunity to splash his face with cold water. True, he isn’t entirely sober. Hopefully the coffee will keep him alert. And so he goes back to the bedroom, and after a brief moment of hesitation, goes to sit on the floor, waiting for Pete. The bed is too soft. Also, he doesn’t want to get distracted, and Pete in a bed is always very distracting.

“Not the bed?” Pete looks surprised when he enters the bedroom with two large, steaming coffee mugs in his hands.

The night is slowly giving way to dawn. In the twilight Vegas gets a better look at him and once again his heart happily skips a beat. Honestly, no one should be allowed to look this good so early in the morning. Pete with his hair all ruffled, and that inexplicable air of danger surrounding him despite his innocent demeanour, is enough to make Vegas want to eat him alive.

Vegas has to clear his throat, which has suddenly gone dry. “The floor is better for this.” He pats the space beside him. “Sit down.”

Soon they are both seated, quietly sipping their coffee. Vegas sneaks a peek at Pete who is managing pretty well to hide his nervousness, but he can see how white Pete’s knuckles are holding on to the coffee mug. Okay, this isn’t going to work if he has to look at Pete, and so Vegas shuffles around until he is back to back with him. Much better. He leans against Pete, spine against spine, and sighs.

“Why did you do that?” Pete wonders quietly, and adds, with a hint of insecurity, “You can’t stand looking at me?”

“I need to be able to think, and looking at you when you’re a delightful mess is interfering with that ability to think,” Vegas replies drily and takes a sip of his coffee.

He falls silent because he doesn’t know where and how to start. Hopefully he won’t have another meltdown. This is not going to be an easy talk.

“No more lies, all right?”

“… Vegas…?” Pete asks him hesitantly in a small voice.

And just like that, Vegas knows where to start.

“I don’t even know your real name,” he points out quietly. “I think I have a right to know that, don’t you?”

Again, he feels Pete’s muscles tense up all over. He can sense even his most minute movement, every single breath, since they are leaning against each other.

The silence stretches and Vegas is starting to think that getting answers out of this man will be nearly impossible, but then Pete speaks up.

“I wish I could tell you, but I don’t know my birth name either,” he elaborates further, sensing Vegas’ startled surprise. “I’ve had so many names, I simply don’t remember. Every time I was handed off to another adult I got a new name, depending on what con they were running. Sometimes I changed names a few times per week. I’ve tried to remember, but every time I think that this is it, this must be my real name, I eventually discover an even earlier memory, and yet another name.”

“Oh…” Vegas is slightly stunned hearing this. And truth to be told, he’s also surprised that Pete is actually telling him all this. Doubt raises its ugly head. Maybe this is just another one of his lies.

“I think I must have been very young when I was separated from my parents,” Pete continues thoughtfully. “I have no memories of calling anyone ‘Mom’ or ‘Dad’. I had a lot of ‘Uncles’ and ‘Aunties’, but I doubt we were actually related. It’s a mess of different faces and voices, I can’t make sense of it. So if you don’t mind too much, I would like to keep my current name since I’ve gotten very attached to the way you call me ‘Pete’.”

Vegas can’t imagine calling him by any other name either. He nods. “Fine with me.”

They’ve barely started scraping on the surface of Pete’s background, and already Vegas feels shocked. His own family is far from perfect, but at least he has a family. To be constantly moved around like this as a small child… no wonder Pete is all messed up.

“Since you want to keep this name, I assume the real owner of the name is… deceased?” This is a more neutral way to phrase it than outright accusing Pete of killing him.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Vegas can feel how Pete takes a deep breath. It doesn’t escape him that this whole situation is absurd; he is a cop and here he is chatting amiably with his serial killer boyfriend.

“I promised you no more lies. Do you really want me to answer this question truthfully, Vegas?” Pete asks him warily.

“Yes please.” He needs to know what he is getting into, now that he has decided that he can’t live without this madman. The whole, damn ugly truth. Vegas wants it all.

“All right. Yes, I killed him back in the USA, when he was still studying there. It was a clean shot to the head, he didn’t have to suffer.” He might as well be discussing the weather; Pete’s voice is entirely emotionless and unconcerned.

Vegas can’t help it—he shudders slightly and immediately notices how Pete reacts with even more tension. They’re so damn attuned to each other that Vegas knows in which direction Pete’s thoughts must be going.

“Listen up, Sunshine, it’s not that this is news to me, so stop fretting. The second I found out about your stolen identity, I knew deep down that the real Pete must be dead. It’s just difficult to hear it out loud. I’m still a cop, I need a moment to take it in. But I’m not about to run out of this room and out of your life. Superglue, remember?”

“Superglue,” Pete repeats quietly, but still appears very unsettled about this conversation.

“So you killed him. Why?” Vegas is genuinely curious about that. He’s trying to understand Pete’s motivation, the way he thinks.

Pete clears his throat. “Vegas… Do you really want to know all this? I find it very difficult, talking to you about everything so openly. You won’t like what I have to say, and then you’ll get upset with me all over again. I feel… I don’t know, I can’t explain it… this is making me anxious… I don’t like this.”

“I’m not going to run away,” Vegas insists.

“But I don’t think you can deal with the whole truth, Vegas. You think you’ll be fine, but you feel way too strongly about being a cop. Hearing everything will put a lot of emotional pressure on you. Don’t you think it would be better if you just continue pretending that I’m a harmless psychologist?”

God knows Vegas would like to do that very much. But just as his therapist said, he can’t run away from this his whole life. Being in denial hasn’t worked so well for him in the past.

“Why did you kill the real Pete?” he asks again.

Pete swallows hard. “Very well. I killed him because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. I ran into him at the university cafeteria, we made small talk and he was enthusiastically talking about going home to Thailand for a visit, and how happy he was about almost done with his psychology degree. It made me want to go back to Thailand too. I suddenly felt homesick. For that I would need a new identity, and that new identity was sitting right in front of me. Besides, being a psychologist sounded like fun. A challenge. I remember being very bored at that time. And so I killed him.” Pete shrugs, as if this isn’t a huge matter at all.

Holy shit.

“I see.” Vegas thinks he manages to sound normal, even though he’s feeling very cold inside. He automatically takes a sip of his coffee and notices that it’s only lukewarm. “Was that the first time you killed and stole someones identity?” Then he immediately stops and corrects himself. “Don’t answer that, I’m not ready for a deep dive into that rabbit hole yet. Let’s stick to the stuff I know for now. So you returned to Thailand and went into private practice. Why on earth would you then change jobs and start working for the police?”

Again, Pete shrugs. “I get bored easily. Working as a therapist was fun, you wouldn’t believe the sort of people you get to meet. All of them are incredibly easy to manipulate. I read a few books until I got reasonably good at faking it. It was enjoyable for a while. If I hadn’t met Tawan I would probably have changed jobs sooner. He provided some much needed entertainment and helped me tie up some loose ends for this identity. But then it got boring again, he was so damn clingy.”

Vegas listens silently, feeling all cold and numb. He has trouble wrapping his mind around it; this is the love of his life talking casually about killing and manipulating people. Pete, his little ray of sunshine. Well, he’s more like a ray of death it seems. Crap. Pete was right, he’s finding this very difficult to listen to. “Go on…”

“I needed a challenge. It was either changing identities again or upping the ante. When I saw that the police was hiring, I jumped at the chance. I think I pulled it off pretty well, didn’t I? No one suspected a thing. Once I faked the credentials and changed the entries in the databases, it was stupidly easy.” Pete cannot help but chuckle softly; Vegas feels his shoulders shaking with mirth.

“Bloody hell,” Vegas says quietly, and Pete immediately goes still again, on guard. “Let me remind you that these are real people you are ‘playing’ with. My colleagues to be exact. Who have often been through a shitload of trauma before they are sent to the department’s psychologist. You really think being their fake therapist is funny?!”

There is a moment of silence. Pete’s subsequent answer sends a chill down Vegas’ spine.

“Honestly? All that trauma, all these emotions… Funny? No… It’s thrilling. With just a few, well-chosen words I can either relieve their pain, or I can break them. The power I’m wielding… It’s such a fucking thrill.”

Vegas has to swallow hard. He’s looking into the Abyss, and he doesn’t like what he sees. “Do I even want to know why you decided to be my therapist?” he asks hoarsely. He already knows the answer is going to hurt like hell.

“I saw your file, and I knew you would break beautifully,” Pete whispers quietly, almost reverently.

Damn, yes that hurts. “You bastard,” Vegas mumbles under his breath. The betrayal is like a dagger to his barely healed heart; this is exactly why he didn’t want to look at Pete while talking. This is the man he loves, and he has a very ugly, cruel side. “Turns out you were right, you really broke me. At times I thought I would never be able to pick up all the pieces again.”

“And yet here you are. You’re a lot more resilient than you think you are. Besides, the rules changed mid-game, Vegas. You changed the game and made everything complicated. You made me feel so many things I never felt before, and as a result everything that should have been easy and smooth turned into a chaotic mess,” Pete explains.

Not for the first time Vegas laments his boyfriend’s lack of empathy in certain matters.

“Seriously, are you even listening to what you’re saying, Pete? You’re blaming me for messing up your plan because of your unexpected feelings for me? Look in the mirror, you were the one who started everything. You went after me, not the other way around. None of this is my fault.” The nerve… Vegas needs to calm down; getting angry right now will not get them anywhere. “So once I was assigned to you for my therapy sessions, you looked at my file and decided to have a bit of fun?” Damn, it’s difficult to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“Actually, I read through all the personal files in my first week on the job. Incidentally, yours is quite large. I had a feeling you would be perfect entertainment, especially when I saw your family name. So I did a bit of research into your background, followed you around for a while. And that was all long before you had that little violent outburst that nearly killed your victim. Beautifully done, by the way. I saw the photos of the guy you beat to a pulp, and I knew you would be special.”

“Christ…” Vegas takes a deep breath, because turning around to smash his fists into Pete’s face would be detrimental to their conversation. “So you stalked me even before our first meeting. Fucking great…”

“Vegas Theerapanyakul. Mafia heir turned cop, the black sheep of his family, with a whole bag of issues. You were practically begging to unravel.” He can feel Pete shrug again. “You know it’s true, don’t blame me for saying it. I just wasn’t prepared to be so attracted to you. That really threw me off, but I figured it was just a temporary glitch.”

Vegas remembers that meeting very well. So he was a glitch, huh? Must not hit him, really must not hit him…

“Your buttons are very easy to identify and push, Vegas. It was such a delight triggering you again and again. Why do you think I was wearing all these hideous shirts? Or decorating the office? You should have seen your face, it was really priceless…” And again, these memories make Pete chuckle softly. “What a damn shame I wasn’t around to see your reaction to that first crime scene I gifted you. I should have installed a webcam to stream it all.”

A gifted crime scene… a webcam… Good grief. The asshole is totally unapologetic. Vegas blames himself for getting Pete started. Now he has to listen to all of this in horrified silence. Then something else occurs to him. “You murdered him exactly as you played it out during that little role playing session of ours, didn’t you? You stalked me, saw me talking to Beam and then you decided to kill him…”

“I don’t like you having one-night-stands. I think that’s when everything really started to glitch. You went and fucked him and I shouldn’t have cared, but I did. I don’t like other people playing with my toys.”

Vegas slams his palm on the floor. “I’m not a damn toy!”

Pete tsks. “Back then you were one, Vegas. And yes, I killed him just like we role played it. That session only made the glitch worse by the way… When you stormed out of the room I nearly went after you. You have no idea how confusing this was—I really didn’t understand why I had to be so attracted to you, since it was messing with the game.”

The game… It had all just been a fucking game to Pete—Vegas is fuming, but then again, he suspected this already. “It was you who picked me up when I was high, wasn’t it? After that bar fight? I vaguely seem to remember you being there, but I always thought that was just a dream.” That damn bar fight… and also… Vegas groans. “The nail gun incident was you as well.”

“Of course. It’s one thing for you to go on an idiotic, drug-induced self-harming spree, but no one else has the right to damage what is mine. Those fucking idiots deserved what they got,” Pete tells him sharply. “And I was so pissed off with you as well. You made everything go wrong. It got progressively worse and worse after you carted me home from the Hum Bar that night.”

No way… “You were faking being drunk?!” Okay, this really pisses Vegas off. “Do you even know what you put me through that evening?! And you weren’t even really drunk?!”

“I was drunk enough, just not as much as I made you believe. It was all part of the game, Vegas, but I underestimated your effect on me. You think if I had let you fuck me back then everything would have turned out differently?” Pete muses thoughtfully, seemingly completely unaware of how angry Vegas is right now.

Vegas wants to wring his neck. That night… good grief… the willpower it took not to give in and have his way with drunken Pete… He was already falling for Pete that night, and to hear him talk so casually and totally unaffected about it truly hurts.

“You’re such an asshole,” Vegas says quietly. “Are you even aware of what you are doing right now? You’re telling me that while I was falling in love with you, everything that happened back then was just a fucking game to you, and that you were faking it all, just playing the role of the sweet little psychologist. I think you should stop for a moment and consider how this is making me feel.”

Pete takes a little startled breath and goes very still. “I’m sorry…?” he says hesitantly, sounding very unsure of himself for once. “I messed up again, didn’t I?”

“You sure did, Sunshine,” Vegas informs him grimly.

“I’m sorry,” Pete repeats hastily, and Vegas can feel the nervous tension in his body. “I’ll try to do better. This isn’t exactly easy for me, I’m still learning how you want me to react.”

“I don’t want you to fake it, I want you to experience genuine compassion; I want real empathy from you for what I have been going through.” This is probably too much to ask for, but Vegas needs to voice this request nevertheless.

“… I…” Pete swallows hard. “I don’t know what you mean… What I’m trying to say is that of course I know what you want from me… it’s simply that there’s such a mess inside me, I’m having trouble identifying all these emotions, I’m just not accustomed to this. I never used to feel anything like this before I met you, it’s confusing as hell.”

Vegas’ heart aches for both of them. Yes, just as he expected, this relationship is not going to be a walk in the park.

“I’ll give you a brownie point for trying to make me understand, Pete. We’ll figure this out together, okay?” All of this is giving him a fresh headache, but he has so many more questions that need answers. “Why on earth did you kill that Main family bodyguard?”

“Oh, him?” Once again, Pete shrugs his shoulders. “I was curious about your extended family and then got sloppy. He wasn’t even supposed to be there. He was supposed to be on vacation, but that idiot was hanging around your younger cousin anyway. I swear, your family and their bodyguards… are they all romantically involved or pining after one another? It’s worse than a soap opera! Anyway… He caught me snooping around, so I improvised and snatched him.”

Alarm echoes through Vegas. He does not want Pete anywhere near his family. He makes a mental note to set up some rules regarding this later.

“He was a hard nut to crack,” Pete informs him cheerfully, talking with more enthusiasm now. “In the end I was glad I picked him; he was a challenge but so worth it. Acting all tough in the beginning but that changed pretty quickly once I started peeling the skin off. Must be a bodyguard thing, this resilience to pain. He suffered beautifully, hanging on far longer than I anticipated…”

Vegas is hit by a visual flashback to the sea of red flowers, the flayed remains tied to the concrete pillar and the smell of burned meat heavy in the air, and suddenly he can’t breathe. His heart starts beating frantically. …Oh God… Oh God…

“Vegas?” Pete stops talking. He seems to sense that something is wrong.

Breathe in. Hold breath. Breathe out. Hold breath. Vegas is trying his best to get himself back under control before this turns into a fully fledged panic attack. Oh God… Oh God… That horrible crime scene… and it was Pete who did all that… Oh God… Oh God…

“…Stop…” Vegas wheezes, every breath is an effort right now, but he’s making progress, he will not be falling apart. “Stop… you’re freaking me out…”

Now it’s Pete’s turn to be alarmed. “Vegas? Are you okay?” He reaches behind him, gets hold of Vegas’ hand, and squeezes it tightly. “Should we stop this talk? Do you need help?”

Vegas shakes his head and concentrates on his breathing exercises. Holding Pete’s hand helps, it grounds him. Absurd really, after all it was Pete who triggered this anxiety attack. Those damn flowers. Vegas is never going to get over that crime scene, never. He inhales and exhales, just concentrating on that for a while, pushing everything else aside until the panic has died down again.

“I’m sorry…” Pete sounds equally confused and upset. “You said I should be honest, but look what me talking about all this is doing to you… You should have just told me to shut up earlier if you can’t handle it.”

“But we need to talk about this,” Vegas insists tiredly. Having an almost-panic-attack is exhausting, he feels like shit now. “And you get upset when I react in a negative way. I don’t know how to communicate my distress without freaking you out. You make me feel as if you’re taking it way too personal, as if I’m not allowed to react negatively.” Before his inner eye, Vegas can almost see his therapist looking up from her knitting and nodding approvingly. See, he actually learned something useful during his therapy sessions.

Pete withdraws his hand, and Vegas feels as if there’s an insurmountable chasm between them. Okay, so maybe he isn’t channeling his inner therapist correctly yet.

“I don’t know what parts you expect me to censor, Vegas. If I don’t tell you everything, you’ll accuse me of withholding information. If I tell you everything, you freak out. I don’t understand the signals you’re sending. This right here is exactly what I mean when I talk about glitches. Well, amongst other things. It’s so damn confusing, I’m feeling… something… I just don’t know what it is… all I know is that it’s stressing me out.”

“Well shit, maybe we both need to go to therapy together.” Vegas sighs, because right now he doesn’t have a solution for this specific problem. It was a joke of course, he can hardly introduce Pete to his therapist; that would be the death of her.

“How about we try and find a way to let me know when I need to dial it down? We could implement a traffic light system perhaps?” Pete suggests tentatively.

“Huh?” Vegas is confused. “I have no idea what you’re talking about right now.” The concept sounds vaguely familiar but he cannot recall where he heard about it before.

Pete tries to explain his idea. “Simple colour-coding, Vegas. If I’m unsure about how you’re handling things, I ask you for a colour. ‘Green’ means everything’s fine. ‘Yellow’ means that you are starting to feel uncomfortable, that we’re getting into territory you’re unsure you can handle. And ‘Red’ means ‘Stop, back off immediately!’ This might make communication between us much easier. You won’t have to fumble for words, worrying that you’ll offend me, and I can easily check if you’re okay just by asking for a colour.” And since Vegas is still silent, Pete adds another explanation. “I read about this in one of my psychology books I think, so this is a legit way to handle problems like this. How about we give it a try?”

Sounds perfectly reasonable. And then it suddenly clicks; Vegas remembers where he heard about this before and turns his head, giving Pete an incredulous look. “Psychology books, my ass. That’s a BDSM safe word system.” Pete tenses up immediately and Vegas sighs. “Don’t fret, it doesn’t matter. Fine, I am willing to try anything at this point. I’m all green, and I have another question. Are you ready for it?”

It takes a moment before Vegas feels the tension draining out of Pete again. They’re still sitting back to back. The early morning light filtering into the room through the window is turning everything grey, just as morally grey as Vegas is feeling right now.

“Sure, go ahead.” Pete sighs too. He must be tired, since he’s kept an eye on Vegas the whole night.

“You purposefully antagonised the guy who saw you kill the bodyguard, didn’t you? Freaking him out on purpose and then cornering him until he was so stressed that he accidentally fell off the roof?”

“If you’ve figured it out already, why do you ask me?” Pete replies with no emotion whatsoever in his voice. “Actually, this is a perfect example of what you can achieve by simply pressing the right buttons at the right time. It was so damn easy to make him freak out completely.”

“You’re insane, he nearly shot you!” Vegas can’t help pointing out. “It’s a miracle that none of those bullets hit you!”

“His hands were shaking so badly, I figured that risk was worth taking.” Pete shrugs dismissively. “Everything went according to plan, but then you completely freaked out, overwhelming me with your worry. I really thought I had it all under control, but the way you looked at me in that moment… I don’t know… no one has ever been so worried about me. I think my brain must have stopped functioning for a moment, and then you were already kissing me.”

Their first kiss. Vegas sighs deeply. “You’re ruining all my precious memories, Pete. I really wish you could have figured out your feelings a bit earlier. That kiss was really special to me, and to you it was just a glitch in your masterplan? Man, this really sucks…”

“Sorry…?” Pete at least has the grace to sound genuinely apologetic. “I don’t know, maybe I was falling for you even back then, but I just can’t be sure. You have a tendency to confuse me and make me act totally out of character. Is that part of falling in love? Acting all irrationally? I don’t normally jump off a roof just to prove my point, you know?”

The roof. The roof reminds him of Tem. Another change of topic, this one straight into dangerous territory. Vegas tenses up all over. Looks like they are going to talk about Tem now, and he knows he’ll get upset.

“Speaking of which… What actually happened that night when Tem kidnapped you? I’m pretty sure you manipulated him in some way, but I would like to hear the whole truth for once. And Pete… This is a bright yellow question, so you better choose your words wisely.”

Vegas can feel Pete fidget, shifting his sitting position a little.

“Ah yes… Tem…” He hesitates, and when he continues his voice is carefully controlled, not giving away any emotions. “Tem signed his death warrant the second he kissed you on that roof. The pining I was willing to tolerate—him making a move on you crossed the line. But since you were so attached to him, I figured it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to outright kill him. Then you would surely never forgive me.” Again he pauses, then asks cautiously “Give me a colour?”

Vegas grits his teeth. “Green,” he whispers, and crosses his arms, as if that helps protect him from what he’s hearing. “Go on. And don’t lie this time.”

Pete is leaning slightly away from him. “I knew something was off when he took a leave of absence. I was aware he’d been shadowing me a few times already, right after the incident in the office. But when he disappeared, I was instantly on guard. Then he triggered the alerts I set on various sites when he started to look into my background.” Pete can’t help but snort softly with disdain. “Bloody amateur. He should have known better as a police officer; come to think of it he was a really lousy cop…”

“Yellow,” Vegas warns him sharply, and he can hear Pete’s breath quicken.

When he resumes, Pete sounds subdued, but Vegas thinks he can detect an edge of resentment in his voice.

“Anyway, he triggered the alerts so I was aware that he had found out about my fake identity. I figured he would make a move sooner or later, so I picked an appropriate time and then led him to Pete’s former home. You should have seen his face when he walked into the greenhouse and saw the flowers… wow… he really freaked out. I could follow it all on a webcam, I think I even have it on tape somewhere…” Then he catches himself again, before getting too enthusiastic once more.

Why am I doing this to myself? Vegas doesn’t understand himself. He also tries to see Pete’s side but it’s so totally alien to him, it’s impossible. Setting up cameras to capture someone’s reaction to them finding out that the person they know is a serial killer? Not to mention taking great joy in coming up with truly nightmarish scenarios to kill people? No, he just cannot understand it. Fuck.

“He went straight to my place, calling me down to the parking garage under the pretext that there was a fresh crime scene and that both of you were waiting to take me there by car. I knew it was a lie, so I made sure to have the phone in my pocket, ready to call you, before I went down.” Pete hesitates again. “Truth to be told, it was rather exciting. I was wondering how far he would take it. So when I came down to the car, you were of course nowhere in sight, instead it was just Tem, and boy, he was upset big time. He threw my fake identity in my face right away, accusing me of lying about everything. I knew the connection in the garage is horrible, and that you would only be able to hear parts of the conversation. Of course I didn’t know what parts you would hear, which made it pretty thrilling. When I saw that he was about to pull a gun on me, I took the phone out of my pocket so that you would be able to hear everything better, and then I disconnected the call.”

“… Bloody hell…” Vegas rubs the back of his neck in distress, then runs his hands through his hair. This really is a lot to take in. It hurts. It hurts pretty badly. Everything was planned, with no consideration for his feelings whatsoever. “I nearly lost my mind, I was so damn worried,” he whispers, completely bewildered. “It didn’t cross your mind at all that I would be beside myself with worry after this phone call? Not even once?”

“… I’m sorry…” Pete is apologising a lot today. “You want the whole truth, so no… I didn’t think about that at all. No one has ever worried about me, you see.”

“Fuck you.” Vegas lets out a harsh breath. Pete’s lack of empathy is starting to turn into a real problem. Can that even be fixed? Can someone learn to be more empathic? Is this how it is, being in a relationship with a psychopath? He needs to make an appointment with his therapist as soon as possible, so they can mull over the hardships of dating a serial killer. Yeah, right, not going to happen.

“So Tem abducted you at gunpoint? Why did he take you to that specific location then?”

“He wanted to know what I had done with the evidence missing from all the other crime scenes, and I told him I had it hidden away somewhere in that building. We had a delightful little conversation during our drive there. Tem had so many triggers it was like a minefield. He would probably also have benefitted from some therapy,” Pete mumbles, and Vegas can’t hold back a mirthless laugh. Of course…

“What about those damn flowers? I nearly had a heart attack when I came across them on the stairs,” he asks bitterly.

Pete at least sounds contrite while answering that question. “Tem had them in the car, I think he picked them up at the greenhouse. I took them along when he dragged me into the office building and dropped them on the way up for you to find.”

“You left them there specifically for me to find…?” Vegas flinches, shrinking away from Pete. How much more of this is he expected to take? “Good grief, how could you do this to me? Pete… seriously…” He is at a loss for words. Such a cruel bastard. A bright red flag. He’s so freaking in love with this asshole, but still has to wonder if there’s a limit to that love as well. Just how much is too much? Just how much will he allow Pete to be able to get away with? Is there a point where all this love will disappear? Where his heart will no longer be able to overrule his reason?

“… Uhm…” Sensing that he needs to tread carefully, Pete hesitates before continuing his story. “Anyway, I knew you’d show up sooner or later. I knew how long it would take to drive from your apartment to that part of the city, after all I had made that trip several times before. All I had to do was to wait and push these buttons, putting him on edge. It was a calculated gamble really, he knew I had called someone, I think he was waiting for an accomplice to show up. He certainly didn’t expect you.”

“It threw me off how worried you were about me when you arrived. I honestly didn’t think you would get this upset, Vegas. I think I had a moment of regret right there, but I really didn’t like how you kept causing me to glitch, and so I just continued with the plan.” Pete pauses again; Vegas can hear him swallow hard.

“Uhm… Vegas… are you sure I should continue? Because I’m pretty sure you’re not going to like hearing the rest of this.”

“Fucking emerald green, Sunshine,” Vegas whispers hoarsely. “Let’s hear it all. Don’t hold back, I deserve to know the truth.”

“As you wish…” Pete takes a deep breath and shoulders on. “Back then I didn’t want you to connect all the dots just yet, and after the scene in the office where you put yourself between me and the gun, I was fairly sure how you’d react in a similar situation. I had already put Tem on edge while we were waiting for your arrival—I knew his biggest trigger was your relationship with me, and so I took a calculated risk and pushed that trigger, knowing that he would lash out and probably shoot me, but not fatally. Which he did.” Pete clears his throat nervously. “I also knew that would cause your stress induced white-noise to kick in, preventing you from hearing Tem spilling the beans. And I was also reasonably sure you’d rather shoot Tem than risk him killing me. And it all played out beautifully, exactly as planned…”

Vegas wants to say something, but no words emerge. He suspected something like this, but hearing Pete calmly narrate his whole plan is breaking Vegas’ heart all over again.

“You monster… The moment you decided that Tem needed to die you also took the decision not to kill him yourself, but to force me do it?” Vegas’ voice breaks at that point. He lowers his head, fighting not to dissolve into tears. “I thought you loved me… How could you do something so cruel to me? You made me kill my best friend!”

Pete has gone very still. And while Vegas is still struggling to regain his composure, Pete tentatively leans back until their spines are touching again, and they can feel each other.

“… I told you…” Pete voice is barely audible. “I knew you would break beautifully—and you did.”

Son of a bitch.

“Red!” Vegas more or less shouts. “Goddamn fucking red!”

Pete freezes in place. Vegas can feel his shallow, rapid breathing; he knows Pete is stressed by his outburst, but so is he.

“I didn’t know…” Pete scrambles, panicky, to explain everything. “I didn’t know I was in love with you, otherwise I would have never done this to you, I swear!”

“Bullshit!” Vegas starts rocking back and forth. He so deeply upset right now he has to keep himself from getting up and walking out on Pete again. “You would have done the exact same thing, because you get off on breaking people. You find it thrilling!”

“Vegas…” Pete’s voice is starting to tremble. “Could you calm down again, please? I don’t understand what you want to hear from me right now… I’m just following your wishes, you said I should be honest about it all… and now it’s all wrong again… I don’t understand what this is that I’m feeling right now, but it is stressing me out…”

He gets it, Vegas really gets it, but right now, this very moment, the only thing that counts it how he feels. He can’t comfort and reassure Pete right now, he just can’t. This is never going to work—that is all he can think about. This is never going to work, they’re too damn different, he was an idiot to believe they would be able to find a common ground. Common ground with a serial killer? Good Lord, he must have been insane. They’re not compatible!

And yet… His heart constricts painfully because he can feel Pete’s growing distress as if it were his own. Vegas wants to run, wants to flee; he wants to protect himself from this insanity but he still feels he can’t be without Pete. At this point they’re so damn entangled with one another that leaving Pete amounts to suicide. It makes no sense, it’s illogical, it’s self-destructive. Despite all the glaring red flags, Vegas doesn’t want to give up on their love, he finds himself reluctant to cut himself loose just yet. For the time being, they’re in it together, for better or worse.

“Sometimes I really don’t understand why I fell in love with someone like you,” he mumbles, feeling miserable.

“You really do believe I’m a monster now, don’t you?” Pete asks him in a small voice, and Vegas can feel how he is withdrawing again, both mentally and physically.

Tiredly, Vegas reaches behind himself, taking hold of Pete’s shirt, keeping him in place. “We’re not done yet. Fuck! You can’t tell me you planned to break me for thrills, and then expect me to be all cheerful about it, Pete! Objectively speaking, you have to be aware that people will be appalled by this kind of behaviour. It is a lot to take in and come to terms with, even with me trying to be very open-minded about it.”

“I am who I am. Can’t you just allow yourself to love me the way I am? Even a monster like me deserves to be loved, right?” Pete asks him imploringly.

“That’s why we are here, having this conversation. I need to get to know the real you.” Vegas grits his teeth, because the real Pete is turning out to be truly terrifying. He stretches out his legs, and accidentally knocks over the coffee mug he’d long forgotten about. Just great, another mess to deal with later on.

“I’m still here. I’ve tried not being in love with you, and it’s not working. I am still here even though I know you’ve killed all these people. I’m still here, despite you manipulating me so cruelly. I’m still here even though you shot me. I’m trying, all right? I’m trying not to see you as a monster, but as a human being I love.”

Pete shrugs his shoulders with growing frustration. His muscles are so tense that it feels as if Vegas is leaning against a hot steel surface. “And I am trying, too. I never talked about all of this to anyone. Ever. You’re the first person to try and get to know me, the real me. This is so damn difficult for me, you have no idea… No one likes the real me… Why the hell do you think I’m hiding my inner self away like this? None of you can cope. You won’t be able to cope either, I can already see the signs.” There is so much desperation and frustration hidden in these words. Pete sounds increasingly upset. “This whole talk was a bad idea. A really bad idea.”

“Then make me understand! Why all these games? Why on earth are you killing all these people? How many are there even? Make me understand, explain it to me.” Vegas can sense that Pete is shaking his head and it irritates him. “No more lies, remember? Explain it to me, give me a reason for all this madness.”

“Drop it, Vegas. You’re truly going to hate me. Let’s just stop and postpone this talk indefinitely.”

“I want a goddamn answer, Pete!” In his frustration, Vegas picks up the coffee mug and hurls it against the wall where it shatters with a loud crack. Just like a gunshot, he thinks, and feels Pete flinch.

“Fine!” Pete hisses, he sounds incredibly stressed, just as stressed as Vegas is feeling right now. They’re both such a mess. “I kill them because I like it! I like killing them! There is nothing quite like it, nothing! It feels incredible, the rush is better than any drug, I fucking love it!”

What is he even supposed to say in answer to this? Vegas is once again at a loss for words. He expected some sad background story, maybe physical and mental abuse, Pete lashing out because of all of his childhood trauma. He expected perhaps some sort of revenge motive, Pete killing people that serve as a placeholder for the person he is really holding a grudge against. He has read so many profiling studies lately, but none of them quite prepared him for this answer.

“It’s like art.” Pete’s voice has dropped to a whisper. “You create something and it’s so beautiful you want to weep. And you know that you are the artist, that you have created this masterpiece and you are in awe of yourself. And it feels so damn good, so intense. It takes your breath away, makes you feel alive… I love it. I love this feeling. Sometimes it’s all I can think about…”

“You really are a psychopath.” Vegas has found his voice again, unable to keep his shocked disbelief to himself.

And of course Pete notices his shock and reacts with disappointment. “I don’t think I am. I’m more of a high-functioning sociopath,” he corrects Vegas in a small voice, with a hint of rebellion. “Besides, I think nowadays it’s called ‘antisocial personality disorder’.”

Vegas groans and buries his face in his hands. “Whatever!” Word, words, these are just words. His boyfriend is killing people because he likes it, and it’s freaking ‘Vegas the Boyfriend’ out. ‘Vegas the Cop’ is howling in outrage. Somehow, he needs to get these two versions of himself on the same page, and he has no idea how to do this.

“Please don’t hate me, Vegas?” Pete leans back against him, his voice sounding very brittle. “Please don’t hate me… You wanted to know, so I told you… You can’t blame me for this, right? I’m so scared that you won’t be able to handle my dark side, and walk out on me.”

“I don’t hate you. I wish I could because it would make everything so much easier, but I don’t.” Vegas sighs deeply. He feels resigned. “I’m so fucking in love with you that I don’t give a fuck at this point. You kill people? Fine, because I still can’t live without you. You actually like killing people? Whatever. I’ll learn how to deal with that somehow.” Then something else occurs to him. “You think you could perhaps stop killing people?”

Pete draws in a sharp breath. “You want me to stop killing?” The sheer terror in his voice sends a chill through Vegas entire body.

“I take that as a resounding ‘No’.” Think, Vegas think. How can you fix this situation? The mere thought of having to process more crime scenes with Pete’s ‘art’ is scaring the hell out of him.

“Please don’t ask me to stop, Vegas.”

And before Vegas knows what is happening, Pete has turned around. He slings his arms around Vegas, the embrace so tight that it’s right on the edge of being painful.

“I’m begging you, don’t ask me to stop. If you really need me to stop in order for us to be together, I’m willing to give it a try. But honestly, I don’t think I can. I’ll go insane, I really think I’ll go insane.”

“Therapy then.” Vegas is grasping at straws. “Have you tried therapy? Maybe that will help with the urges? It’s like an addiction, right? So maybe we can deal with this just like with an addiction?”

“Why do we even have to deal with this?” Pete dares to object, pressing his face against Vegas’ shoulder. “Why do I need to be fixed? I don’t feel broken. There’s nothing wrong with me, I’m just wired differently.”

The heat of their bodies merges. Vegas relishes the feeling while at the same time despairing quietly. “I think a lot of people would disagree with you on that. I don’t think your affinity for killing is exactly normal, Pete. I knew you had a dark side, I just didn’t know it was more like a bottomless black hole. Not that that changes how I feel about you. It’s just difficult to adapt to that knowledge, okay?”

“I love you, Vegas. I love you just the way you are, violent outbursts and anger issues and all. Why can’t you do the same with me? Love me, love this monster, love even my dark side? Stop trying to change me, just accept me.”

Pete is nuzzling his neck, and it’s very distracting.

“I could go and do it in another city,” he whispers in Vegas’ ear. “Or travel abroad now and then, and do it there. Wouldn’t that make it so much easier for you? It wouldn’t interfere with your job here either.”

Gah! The hug is sending tiny shockwaves through his body; how is he supposed to concentrate like this? Vegas is sure Pete is doing this on purpose. Using his body as a distraction, knowing fully well how Vegas reacts to him. Such a damn manipulator. Don’t do it, don’t give in. But Vegas has been longing for their physical contact, the hugs and embraces, and this is like offering someone lost in the desert a glass of water. Maybe such a compromise wouldn’t be so bad after all? Then he could just pretend that Pete has stopped killing… Vegas leans into Pete and sighs.

“Fine, another city then, no more murders in Bangkok.” Vegas folds—again. He needs to find a way for them to make this relationship work, and since Pete seems unwilling … or unable… to give in, it has to be Vegas who yields once again.

The tension seeps out of Pete, and he softly kisses the side of Vegas’ neck. “Thank you. I know this isn’t easy for you.”

Vegas shudders and closes his eyes. No, this really isn’t easy for him. “We need some rules. You will not go anywhere near my family, promise me. Macau is absolutely taboo. And so is Porsche. Forget your irrational jealousy of him, I can assure you that I have no romantic feelings for Porsche whatsoever. But he is my best friend and I won’t have you dispose of him as you got rid of Tem.”

Pete snorts softly, snuggling as close as possible to Vegas. They are more or less spooning at this point.

“Fine. Since you seem to be so attached to him, he can stay. Of course I would like to meet your brother and the rest of your family at some point, but I guess that can wait.”

No way in hell Vegas is letting Pete anywhere near Macau. Not now, not ever. Does he have trust issues when it comes to Pete? Hell yes.

“Don’t chance it, Pete. I will say this only once, so listen carefully: My family will always come first. Always. If you ever make me choose between you and my family, I will pick them. In order to protect my family I will put a bullet in you, even if it kills me.”

“I got the memo, I won’t go anywhere near them.” Irked, Pete draws his teeth along the side of Vegas’ throat, causing Vegas to shiver with pleasure. Heat is slowly unfurling in his stomach, but this is not the right time and place to indulge themselves; they’re in the middle of an important conversation.

“You need to quit your job too,” Vegas insists. It would be irresponsible of him to let this madman anywhere near his colleagues.

“But I like my job!” Pete protests, ceasing his attempts to distract Vegas with seduction.

“Newsflash Sunshine, you’re not actually a psychologist, this is just a role you’re playing, and you’re probably doing more harm than good. Besides, what if anyone finds out you’re faking it? That you stole someone else identity? You’re absolutely insane to risk that in the first place—it needs to stop right away. Find something else to do. A hobby perhaps. Take up painting? Or pottery?”

“Are you trying to turn me into a stay-at-home housewife, Vegas? Despite what you may think, I did really well as a psychologist whenever I wanted to. Your anger management therapy would have been a smashing success, had I not gotten distracted. No, I think I’m not ready yet to give up working as a psychologist.”

Seems someone is digging in his heels, feeling very stubborn.

“Then go back to university and study psychology and get a real degree! If you’re really as smart as you claim to be it won’t take you such a long time.” Besides, doesn’t that involve mandatory therapy sessions? Vegas still thinks therapy might do Pete good.

“I’ll think about it,” Pete reluctantly agrees after a little while. Then his stomach growls and both of them have to chuckle. “I think it’s time for breakfast.”

So true, the sun is up and Vegas notices that he is hungry, too. “Fine. I need something to eat too, and then I am going back to bed for another nap.”

Pete still has his arms wrapped around Vegas. He rests his head against Vegas’ shoulder and sighs softly. “Are we good?” he asks tentatively. “Am I still your puzzle piece and will you still stick to me like superglue?”

Vegas smiles reluctantly. “Yes, you’re still my missing puzzle piece. You have the right shape, just the wrong colour, but I am willing to overlook that.”

Somehow he manages to turn around without breaking free from Pete’s hug. Their eyes meet, and once again the butterflies erupt in Vegas’ stomach.

“I love you,” he admits quietly. “I love you so damn much, even after hearing everything.” Gently, he tucks a wayward lock of hair behind Pete’s ear and both of them smile at each other. “I’ll stick to you like superglue, until the end of your days, Sunshine.”

Pete looks very relieved. The dimples make an appearance, and his shoulders sag as the remaining tension drains out of his body. “I love you too, Vegas. You are the only person I’ve ever loved, and I don’t think I will ever love anyone else. Forever, all right?”

“Forever,” Vegas nods, resting his forehead against Pete’s. As far as he’s concerned, only death will separate them again. The Abyss has a lovely dimpled smile, and he is head over heels in love with it.