Lucky for me, I've actually planned for this exact scenario. I didn't know it would happen this soon, but I assumed the lie wouldn't hold up forever. Dex would research it eventually, find nothing, and question me. It was inevitable, and I knew it as soon as the words left my mouth a week ago.

Eventually, I decided that pretending to be a fan of true crime was probably the easiest way out of the situation. There are plenty of people out there who obsess over serial killers and criminal cases. It's grown even more popular over the years. Also, this serial killer lives in Hadena. So, having a special interest in The Doctor would make sense.

The hard part of this lie will be selling it. Generally speaking, I'm a decent liar, but I also suck at seeming genuine when I'm not. So, results can vary.

I don't take Dex to the living room or anything, even though that would probably be appropriate. I just don't want this to take long, because I'm tired. Another reason him believing me is a concern: I'm far too exhausted after today to be putting much effort into being a person.

He steps through my front door, I close it behind him, and I turn. I find him already facing me, arms crossed and looking at me in expectation. I just lean back against my door, staying in one specific place because from this angle he is blocking the sliver of dawn sunlight leaking into the room. It's coming from where my blackout curtains got loose, and it's basically the only light in here, aside from the light of the kitchen.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want you to think I'm weird for liking true crime." I tell him simply, wanting to get to the point as soon as possible. Sorry, I enjoy Dex's company, but it's a lot harder to enjoy anything when I've had four hours of sleep in the past two days.

Dex frowns at me, but I do notice a hint of relief on his face. It's minuscule, though. "Why would I think that's weird?"

I shrug, having a difficult time focusing on the conversation. I can see Fluffy behind him, sleeping on the couch, and I can't help the surge of jealousy I feel. What I'd give to be unconscious right now. I can barely keep my vision focused.

"I don't know. I'd think it was weird if someone told me they had a special interest in dead bodies."

I actually wouldn't, since I myself possess said special interest in dead bodies, but I know most people don't. I know that to a normal person, that would be seen as strange, which is why I don't talk about my place of work all that often, either. It's not a common job to aspire towards, which is what I've always done.

The corner of Dex's mouth twitches upwards, and I can tell he's starting to cheer up. This is good, because seeing him upset before made me feel weird—especially since it was my fault. My vision goes blurry for a moment, and I have to blink a couple times to get it back to normal.

"Well, why The Doctor specifically?" Dex asks, but he doesn't seem suspicious at all, just curious. He hasn't appeared suspicious of me throughout this whole conversation, which is good. He mostly just seemed confused and hurt that I'd lie to him in the first place. Unfortunately, there's no way around it, I will always have to do that.

This means I will need to put more effort into keeping my lies consistent and believable in the future. Something about Dex makes me want to trust him. He just seems so genuinely... good. However, I know that—in the end—his oath of honor will win over any loyalty to me that may develop. Every time.

"I think he's interesting since he lives in Hadena," I tell Dex, who frowns. He gets a look of intrigue on his face.

"You think he lives in Hadena?" Dex asks me, and I pause. Shit. "We know he's active here, but we weren't sure he'd live in the same city he kills in, since he's so careful."

Jesus Christ. I need to not talk to Dex when I'm tired, even if that was just a small slip up. I can't risk any more of that, so I start trying to figure out ways to hint that Dex should leave, without him thinking I don't enjoy his company.

"Oh, I never thought of that," I tell Dex simply, wanting this conversation to be over. My vision keeps going blurry and unfocused, though I've been doing my best to ignore it. I'm clearly not doing that great a job at hiding it, however, since before I know it Dex is hastily grabbing my arm.

I jump when he does so, finding him way closer, and I realize I'd been tipping over. Wow, am I really that tired? To the point where I almost just fell down—to the point where my legs momentarily gave out? Thankfully Dex caught me, but he's not letting go of my arm. He probably just wants to make sure I won't fall again.

"Are you okay? What was that?" Dex asks, concern in his voice although his face is out of focus. I reach up and rub my hands over my face, before dropping them. I then go back to blinking and widening my eyes in an attempt to wake up.

"Sorry, I... uh..." my vision is not going back to normal and I feel kind of dizzy, relying more and more on his arm to hold me up. Eventually, he reaches out with his other hand and grabs my wrist as well. We've only touched a couple times up to this point, and the contact is kind of distracting, but I mostly feel like I'm gonna pass out. "I'm tired. Long night."

"When was the last time you slept?" Dex asks me, and I wonder why he even cares so much. Maybe because he's a cop? Or possibly because we are friends? Allegedly. Do friends look out for each other like this? Probably, but I've never had a friend before so I have no idea how it's supposed to be.

"I don't know, a day ago?"

"Have you had anything to eat?"

"I had coffee."

Dex looks disappointed again, but this time for a whole different reason. "That's not food."

"Okay, well, I don't know. It's not a priority."

Dex begins leading me somewhere, and the small amount of light leaking into the room is growing really annoying. We reach whatever destination he's taking me a moment later, still maintaining his hold on my wrist until I sit down. Only then does he let go, and my vision starts to go back to normal.

He has taken me to my kitchen, and does not look happy at all. "It should be. You look lethargic."

I scrunch up my face a bit, having no idea how to react to someone showing concern for me. It is not a common occurrence, and I'm really fucking tired. He pulls away from me—I hadn't even realized how close he was before, leaning his hip on the kitchen table—and I can't help but roll my eyes.

"Bigass word," I mumble quietly, folding my arms and leaning over the table.

I lay my head on them and watch him open my fridge. He frowns when he catches sight of the expired milk and bottle of ketchup that are the only items in there, then goes to search through my pantry, and I can't find it within myself to care about him going through my stuff without asking. Maybe if I was in a normal state I would, but I also find it kind of endearing how he stopped caring about politeness when he realized I needed help.

Even though I don't, actually. I'm fine, I'd have been in bed by now if he didn't decide to confront me about my lie at this exact moment. Also, I've never eaten well. My body is used to the malnourishment, I've been like that my whole life. Even when I wasn't constantly busy, I didn't exactly grow up with money or a loving family or anything. Sometimes it wasn't an option to begin with.

Eventually, Dex reappears with a small cardboard box of noodles or something, and I watch him search my cabinets for a pot... probably. After a couple more minutes, during which I zone out, he has water boiling on the stove and is looking at me with the same irritated, but caring, expression on his face. It's taking everything in me to keep my eyes open at the moment, but I manage.

"You suck at taking care of yourself," Dex tells me, and I just quirk a lazy eyebrow at him.

Unfortunately for both of us, I'm tired, and he's attractive, and the filter between my mouth and brain is fading fast.

"Do it for me, then."

Dex takes pause, and somewhere at the back of my mind I'm aware that I'm being weird right now, but the look of shock on his face is kind of funny. That's right, I don't usually say things like that. Generally speaking, I'm pretty forward, but not in that way.

Anyway, his reaction is funny, so I laugh half-heartedly. I can't remember the last time I smiled, or laughed, genuinely. Period. I must really be delirious. It wasn't even that funny—he's probably uncomfortable, if anything. What am I even talking about?

I turn my head so I'm facedown on the table, still cushioned on my arms, because the light starts to get really fucking annoying. The newfound darkness does not help in my quest to stay awake, and before I know it, I'm dozing off.