"Camilo?"

I jump, snapping out of my thoughts and looking over at the source of the voice. Willow is looking at me with a raised eyebrow, unimpressed. "Why are you spacing out? I'm digitally converting the files, so we're done."

I am not in a backyard. I am in my storage facility. Willow is a teenager, not a child. Although... even to this day, it's kind of hard to see her that way.

"Just thinking." I tell her simply.

Dex's files are... interesting.

For one, the police have way more details than they release to the press, which I probably should've expected. Of course, there's not much evidence or anything that points at me, but it's still surprising, and gains my attention immediately.

I was already looking forward to searching through these, but this just increases my excitement even more. It seems as though Decari has highlighted the things he found interesting, and there's a bunch of notes alluding to his personal opinions and ideas about who the killer could be. I find his analysis kind of endearing, especially when he's incorrect. Which is usually, it seems.

I brought them here so Willow could look at them with me, and copy them all into her little computer or database or whatever. If I have to give these back to Dex, I'd like to be able to keep something for myself. Of course, Willow just took pictures of everything and is in the process of formatting them on her computer. The pictures seem to be the most time consuming part.

"About what?"

She's busy typing something, and for the most part, I've been busy analyzing the files. Doing this has proven that the police truly have nothing of substance, when it comes to identifying me. The closest they got was finding DNA under one of the victim's fingernails, probably from scratching. They thought that was probably the killer, but when they found the guy, he had an alibi. Turned out the two actually had some sort of illicit sexual coworker relationship or something.

"When I found you," I reply absently, beginning to get the files together. She'd already scanned them all, and I should get back to my apartment soon. I'd like to have some time to myself before work.

"Ew. You're gross when you're sentimental."

"I'm not sentimental. I don't even know what that is."

Willow snorts, clicking around on her computer a bit more, before she seems to have an idea. She turns her gaze over to me, expression curious, and asks; "actually—I know you're fucked up or whatever—but have you ever been diagnosed with anything?"

I blink at her, unsure how to answer that question. I never went to the doctor growing up, and have done so sparingly in adulthood. None of these doctors specialized in mental health, so I've never come remotely close to getting any sort of psychological evaluation. I know I'm not normal, but I don't know what's actually wrong with me.

"No."

Willow hums, frowning, before going back to focusing on converting the files she took pictures of. "Interesting. Now I'm curious."

I give her a deadpanned expression, finally finishing getting the files together. As I begin to pack them into my bag, I reply, "I'm not."

Which is kind of a lie. I am curious, but not to the point where I'll ever seek out a professional. I won't do anything that will risk putting me on the police's radar, and if I have what I think I do—what's common in most killers—that's exactly what will happen when it's an official diagnosis.

"Hm." She seems displeased, but not to the point where it's affecting anything. "Have fun at work."

I nod, standing and throwing my bag over my shoulder, before exiting the facility. The main reason I'd gone there was to bring Willow groceries, but I figured I'd have her look at the files while I was there.

When I arrive at my apartment complex, I find most people appearing to be coming home from work, which makes sense due to the fact it's evening. I have work in about an hour, which—with the commute—doesn't leave me much time to eat dinner and feed Fluffy, so I'm kind of in a hurry.

Except, when I arrive on my floor, I forget any haste. This is because I am faced with a peculiar situation, and it only gets stranger as I walk down the hallway.

For one, the door to Dex's apartment is wide open. That's not even the concerning thing, though. What grabs my attention is the fact that the sounds emitting from said apartment are pure chaos.

I am usually fantastic at minding my own business, mostly because I don't care. However, Dex lives directly across from me, and he also complimented me yesterday. So, to say he's on my radar is an understatement. I can't help but stop outside his doorway, peeking inside.

I take note that his apartment is much cleaner than mine, though it appears to be the same basic setup, just opposite. Understandable, since we live in the same building. However, his looks barely decorated. I guess he did only move in a couple weeks ago, but it still hardly looks lived in. There's only one thing that comes to mind when I notice that: workaholic.

Yikes.

"Melina!" Suddenly, Dex's booming voice rings through the air, and he does not sound happy. I don't think I've ever heard him talk that loud, in fact, and it really contrasts his usual gentle tone of voice. "Where's— we have twenty minutes before Mom gets here, where's your sister?"

Oh, that's right, he said his sisters were staying with him, for whatever reason. He sounds quite frustrated, giving me the impression that they're trouble makers. I find myself almost feeling bad for him, which is weird. It's weird for me to feel anything noticeably, which seems to happen a lot when this guy is involved.

"I don't know!" A young voice replies, giggling in a way that begs to differ. A moment later and a young girl is running out of a hallway, looking behind herself, barreling towards me. My eyes widen, instinct telling me to move out of the way, but common sense reminding me that letting a child run away from their caretaker probably isn't the best idea, especially when that caretaker seems to be looking for them.

The girl appears to be six years old at most, and I don't have time to close the door without risking her running into it at full speed. Dex probably doesn't want to deal with an injury on top of everything else going on. So, I just stay in front of the doorway and watch her draw nearer, hoping I won't have to physically keep her in the apartment.

Lucky for me, she faces forward at the last second, and skids to a stop, grabbing hold of the doorway. The child looks up at me in suspicion, squinting, and I just quirk an eyebrow.

"Who are you?"

I blink down at the girl, who crosses her arms and shifts all her weight to one side in an expression of attitude. She matches my raised eyebrow, and is strangely standoffish for a child. It would probably be funny if I wasn't so confused.

"Mya! What are you— oh, hey Camilo." Dex's tone of voice completely changes when he addresses me, and I see a figure out of the corner of my eye that would have to be him. However, I get distracted when the girl—Mya—looks over her shoulder at him, and tries to run past me.

I catch her easily, keeping her from leaving the apartment, and she's immediately squirming and scrambling and trying to escape. I stand back to my full height, with the girl in my arms, and find Dex drawing nearer. He jogs to reach me quicker, and I think he says something, but it does not register. Not when I finally lay my eyes on him.

Nope, I am far too distracted by the fact that he is shirtless, wearing only HCPD sweatpants and his usual dog tags. Up to this point I've only ever seen him fully clothed. Now, though? Now it's obvious he was just exercising, judging by the thin sheen of sweat that seems to be covering most of his body, and did not have time to put normal clothes on before his sisters decided to cause a ruckus. Presumably.

"Sorry about that, they ambushed me," Dex notifies me when I tune back in, and I realize he'd taken his sister from me at some point. "Thank you for catching her—Mya, go get ready with your sister."

Mya glares at him, then at me, before storming off without a word.

Then, she's gone, and I'm left alone with a shirtless Dex.

I've never been in a situation like this before. Nothing even remotely close, and I knew Dex was fit. I knew he was muscular, and big, and could probably crush my head with his bare hands or something if he wanted. It's completely different to actually see it, though.

Why does he have to be a cop? Why does he have to be the lead investigator of my case? Why couldn't someone this unimaginably attractive have been a regular person, no complications? Why do I have to be so fucking attracted to him to begin with? It's annoying.

Decari's sweatpants are hanging kind of low, and are tight in certain areas, and he's wearing his work boots, which somehow pull it all together. He looks like one of those Greek sculptures of the gods or something. I can't look away.

Except, I do, when he talks. "Camilo?"

I snap out of it, eyes immediately shooting up to lock with his. He looks my face up and down, seeming to find some sort of amusement or humor in the situation. His brown eyes, which typically lean on the amber side, are darker than usual, and I feel like I'm being studied. Eyebrow quirked, eyes knowing, a half smile—almost smirk—on his face. He knows.

I should not be surprised. I was not discreet at all just now, staring at his body, which leaves only one option: escape.

"Okay, yeah, no problem. Good luck— I'm..." I break eye contact, staring at the floor, wondering how much Willow would actually miss me if I jumped off the roof of this building. She'd probably be fine. "Gonna, you know. I'm gonna go. Bye."

I point at my door behind myself and turn around it, unlocking it in a second and shoving the door open. Before I can close it behind myself, however, Dex talks again.

"Wait. Cam."

I open the door a couple inches, only peeking one of my eyes out. This only shows him about a third of my face, and he looks like he's trying not to smile. I'm probably wrong about that, though, since it would contrast his previous mood so much.

"I'll see you on the elevator." His voice is gentle, testing the waters, and I gulp. I can't find the words to respond, far too choked up with embarrassment, and only nod in return before slamming the door shut.

Fluffy is running circles around me and trying to jump on me when I enter, excited I'm home, and I walk over to get her food situated as if on autopilot. My whole body is beet red, and I have no idea how long it's been that way, but it had to have been in the company of Dex.

What is wrong with me? I can't... he's a fucking cop. If he knew who I was, I'd be done for. I'd have to kill him to keep him quiet—I wouldn't have a choice. Why is my heart racing? It needs to shut the fuck up. I should cut it out.

Yet, despite this, I'm annoyingly excited for the elevator ride. The minute long elevator ride, just so I can see him again.

Just friends, just friends, look for the cons, Camilo! You can do it!

I'm losing hope of that by the day.