"But what drives me crazy is he just can't seem to take a hint," I tell Willow, pacing back and forth in front of her. The way the storage facility is laid out is quite a contrast. About 70% of it is shelving and tool benches, among other miscellaneous work stations and both a walk-in freezer and fridge. Almost all of this space is occupied by body parts and organs, and the facility itself is temperature controlled.

The storage facility shut down decades ago, and is quite run down. It's owned by some rich guy who died and left it to his kids, who I'm pretty sure don't even know it exists. Either that or they don't care.

Anyway, I'm the only one with a key—as soon as I found the place, while he was still alive, I quite literally broke into his house and stole every copy, which was one. This is because, if someone were to just stumble across this place and enter the basement, they'd immediately know everything. I tend to perform my entire process down here, but sometimes—usually if I want to have fun with the killing or something—I'll take one of the actual rentable storage rooms. I also stole those keys.

However, the other 30% of the basement is occupied by Willow's belongings. She has her beanbags chairs, which she probably sleeps on more than her actual bed, and a crazy technology setup that doesn't even make sense to me. When something's broken, I replace it, and that's about the only time I mess with anything over there.

At the moment, Willow is lying on her beanbag chair upside down, her dark violet hair pooling on the artificially carpeted ground below her (it's quite literally just a ton of rugs spread out on top of each other) and her new headphones are resting on her stomach. She goes on her phone every once in a while, but for the most part has given me her full attention during my Decari tirade.

"What hints have you given him?" She questions, and I can hear music playing from the headphones, out into the empty air. It's slightly distracting and bothersome, primarily because she's not actually listening to it. The headphones aren't even on her head.

"I don't know, I mean... I've been pretty awkward every time we've talked." I tell her, scratching my head and frowning, my pace not even stuttering. "He makes me really nervous, and I suck at hiding it. I also never initiate any conversations, he's always the one coming to me. He wants me to help him find the fuckinng Doctor Of—why on earth did I say yes? I need to move."

"You can't move, that's suspicious." Willow tells me dismissively, raising an eyebrow, which looks weird since she's upside down. "You let him in your house, though?"

For some reason, the question has me instantly on the defensive, stopping in my tracks and looking down at Willow in exasperation. Why did she even have to bring that up? "I didn't know what the normal thing to do was. At least he got my dogfood for me, but I forgot about the newspapers. How did I forget about the newspapers?"

Willow hums, and I realize she'd gone on her phone at some point. For a moment I wonder if she even heard me, but then she responds. "Yeah, that's really unlike you. Why does he make you so nervous? You've been around cops before."

I just frown, really not wanting to answer that for whatever reason. I run a hand through my already messed up hair, which falls into my eyes when I'm done, and try to figure out how I should even answer that. I settle on just telling her the truth.

"Well he's the lead investigator of my case, and really hot, and kind of intimidating." I list off the top of my head, eyebrows furrowed in thought. "We're already in a routine. I see him every day. He found the newspapers after being in my house once. I don't know how to stop this."

I'd previously been sort of zoned out as I talked, but when I finish and catch sight of the look on willows face, I take pause. She looks beyond amused, giving me this annoyingly knowing look. This doesn't help my confused frustration at all, only adding to it since I now have a new source. "What?"

"Do you not know what it's like to be attracted to someone?"

I can't help it, staring at the girl like she's lost her mind. "I had to figure out I was gay somehow, Willow."

"Okay," she raises her hands in mock surrender, before letting them go limp on the floor. I squint at her. "Well it's pretty obvious that's what's going on."

I sigh, just standing in one place while both feeling and looking lost. Willow is scrolling on her phone, probably through some tech article. It is quite literally her entire life. She probably talks to computers more than she does people.

"What should I do?"

"I mean, definitely don't pursue it. He'd find out eventually—if that's not a dealbreaker, I don't know what is."

She's right, I'm well aware of that. He and I would be a bad idea, though I doubt he'd be interested in the first place. Obviously I've had crushes in the past, but never anything strong enough to acknowledge. I'm way too socially inept to be attempting any sort of intimacy or romantic relationship with another person.

I'd fuck it up, every time. Also, Willow's right. I only have so many excuses lined up for where I go late at night, and eventually the secrecy would take its toll on a relationship. That or the person would find out, and then it's over anyway. I'd probably have to kill them, just to keep the secret. I don't want to do that.

"Avoiding him isn't an option either, though. Not anymore." I told her about the fact I'm gonna be regularly helping Dex in solving my own goddamn case when I first got here—it's practically what I lead with. This is already a shitshow, and I've only known the guy a week.

"Well, when I've had to get over crushes in the past, I'd just try to focus on the cons." Willow advises, which doesn't clear anything up. I go back to pacing, wondering if this situation has the potential to make me go grey. It probably does, from the beginning I've just taken one wrong step after another.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if you're gonna have to spend time with him, but you don't want to catch feelings, look for his bad qualities. Everyone has them."

"I'm not going to catch feelings," I tell her absentmindedly. I'm an adult.

I try to recall if I've noticed anything bad about Decari, aside from the obvious fact that he's a police officer. Well, I haven't seen him eat. Maybe he chews with his mouth open? Maybe he has really bad political views? Those are possibilities. He could be homophobic. Maybe his hygiene sucks or something? No, I clocked the fact that he smells amazing as soon as we were in an enclosed area—the pantry—whether I realized it or not. He'd probably just gotten off work, too.

So, nothing is looking promising as of right now. Whatever, clearly I will be seeing him regularly whether I want to or not. There's no way I'm getting away from him after he found out we have something in common: interest in The Doctor. He's made it quite clear how serious about the investigation he is, and he'll likely take any help he can get. Especially since he thinks I'll be of even more aid due to my anatomical knowledge. I don't even know how that would help. He definitely can't know how extensive it is—what I know about the human body is incriminating in itself.

"Not a bad idea, though," I finish, thinking. Willow grabs a hold of the beanbag chair and flips herself so she's right-side-up, face appearing to light up when she catches sight of her laptop.

"Oh! I meant to tell you, I found a lady who did jail time for child abuse, but they couldn't pin her baby's death on her. I don't know, I guess they didn't have enough evidence. I figured she might be good for next time, since she's already out. Doesn't seem to be in contact with any family, either, and I don't think she's been able to get a job since she got out."

This basically turns the conversation on its head, and I'd forgotten how easily Willow gets distracted, and also how prideful of her work she tends to be. Obviously I'm totally on board with whoever Willow can find, as long as they don't seem like someone who would be all that missed. That's why it's even more of a plus when they have a criminal record—the police don't make it nearly as big of a deal, if the crimes are extensive enough.

"Okay, I'll come back tomorrow. I need to get some sleep before work." I reply, and that's kind of an understatement. The amount of sleep I'd need to be able to catch up to a healthy amount is simply impossible for me. However, I've been up all night—because of course I was, I had work and a murder to carry out—and then I had the whole pantry ordeal with Dex only an hour ago. I'm ready for some sleep.

"Okay. Bye." Willow replies simply, walking over to her computer and taking a seat. I'm already on my way out when she continues. "Walk safe."

I acknowledge her with a wave and exit the building.

-

Hey Cam, it's Dex. When you have some time let me know, I'd like to get together to talk about the investigation ASAP.

I stare down at the message from an unknown number, genuinely contemplating the consequences I'd face if I just didn't respond. Except, it already says that I read it, and I highly doubt he'd buy the excuse of me not seeing it to begin with. It's not like I'd be able to avoid him for long, anyway.

I'm actually off tonight. Do I really want to spend my night off with Dex, though? Well, he probably needs to work. That's right! We work the same shift, what are the odds that he also has today off? Slim to none. Not to mention just the act of me telling him—of making an effort at putting time into the investigation—would help with suspicion.

It's been a few days since the dogfood shelf ordeal, and I've kind of been waiting for him to text me. I'm actually surprised he didn't do it sooner, but maybe the fact I haven't seen him on the elevator as of late has something to do with it. The last time I saw him was in my house, giving him my phone number. I wonder how long I could keep that the case.

I'm off tonight, does that work?

I send my reply immediately after typing it, positive I'd overthink if I didn't. I hope that he doesn't see it, no matter how unlikely that is. As I wait—sitting on my couch, eyes unmoving from my phone screen—I notice something I hadn't before, in his message. A nickname. Cam.

Well, he did say we'd have to fix my lack of nickname, but I don't know about that one. Why do I need a nickname, anyway? What's wrong with Camilo?

Whatever, it might've just been unintentional. If he does it again I'll notify him that doesn't work for me—of all the shortened versions of my name he could come up with, why would he chooses the most basic one? If he actually has any hope of something he comes up with sticking, he'll have to try harder.

I jolt when my phone vibrates, signaling that he has responded to me. I look down and find that, by some miracle, the previously noted slim to none chance was incorrect.

Sure. I'll come over at 11?

That's kind of late for my taste, but not late enough for me to actually care all that much. I am basically nocturnal, after all. I'll probably be up all night anyway, I pretty much always am. Still... I hope this doesn't take long.

Okay.

I have no idea how to express false enthusiasm over text message. I don't think it matters, anyway. Dex has been incapable of reading the room since we met, why would he be able to take subtle hints over text all of a sudden?

After I send the message, I put my phone down, and try to figure out what to do for the next several hours. I don't want to just sit around and wait for his arrival. So, I decide to tidy up, which turns into a pretty in-depth cleaning of my apartment. I don't find anything else he could stumble across that would be potentially incriminating, but I still hide anything with the slightest chance of him asking questions.

I don't realize how long this takes me, surrounded by comic books in my bedroom as I try to figure out which ones I can keep out there and which ones I should keep in here—basically, which ones could spark a conversation. All I know is that I'm not finished by the time Dex is knocking at my door, and I don't hear it either. The only thing that gets my attention is Fluffy barking like the house just caught on fire.

So, I get up, and prepare myself for yet another Decari interaction.

(Subconsciously, I'm preparing myself to focus on the cons.)