I wake up in a lot of discomfort, the next morning. Joseph decided that I should sleep on an armchair instead of tying me to the bed or at the very least, the couch. It's sort of hurtful, considering I tried to be so nice to him. Then again, I did that because I was a man falling in love who didn't quite know it yet until it fucking hit me. So I suppose we've got different perspectives on a matter like this.

Anyway. It's not too much trouble to escape it. Takes a couple of dislocations but I soon manage to free my hands and then everything is off of me. Pain is something I'm used to. I got addicted to it in my younger days, getting into fights whenever I could so pleasure always comes attached. I don't know whether it's because it makes me suffer as I deserve or because of the adrenaline. Either way, I feel quite upbeat once I'm free, popping my joints back in place and ready to work.

I only hope the sound of my bones being shifted about didn't disturb your sleep, beloved.

Beloved.

That's what I'll call him. Darling will always fit. I won't throw it away. But I rather like the sound of this. It holds more meaning. I can't resist walking up to his sleeping form. He has the pure, innocent look of an angel when he's completely at rest. All his exes must have thought this, been fooled by this but I have the luck and honour of being one of the few alive who know Joe is something much more sinister. Such vulnerability in this state. I could kill you without ever waking you - without you ever knowing - just as you are right now. Keep this expression on your face permanently.

I prefer to take a mental picture, instead. I like you much better breathing. My eyes rake over his face, then I leave the ghost of a kiss on his forehead, afraid to wake him.

Work feels strange to return to. I apologise for being late. I'm the last to arrive which is baffling for my employees as it's always the opposite. How many minutes did I spend staring at my Joseph's pretty curls and pretty pink lips? No matter. It wasn't time wasted, it never is with him.

A few joke that I must have been with some girl last night and I brush away the urge to kill them all. My murderous desires are something I've worked on my whole life. Eventually, I learnt to develop them to "hunt" as dear old maggot-eaten Roald would say. Only for the worst of prey. These ones are merely idiots. Honestly, I know women are capable of similar cruelty and savagery but they - like me - are much better at hiding those parts of them. Just like many men choose to hide their vulnerability because it also goes against who they are "meant" to be. The human world is so full of pretend, infinite potential wasted and consumed by the jaws of "society". It sickens me. This place just sickens me.

After all the work I've put into everything. After all the planning. Putting myself out there. Making the world see me. Having so much power and control, finally... I feel swarmed with the urge to throw these documents out of the window, into the streets and go have another deep conversation with Joseph Goldberg. I feel a familiar spiralling sensation, the one I'm filled with every time I find myself adoring him too much. It dizzies me. I am unbalanced for a moment, lost in the memory of his smile and his laughter and his hands against my throat and his lips against mine...

With a sharp intake of breath, I buckle down, switch off my longing to the very best of my ability and disappear into my work.

When I return, he's drunk. Alcohol overwhelms my senses as soon as I pull open the doors. It's sort of amusing, yet worrying. I wonder what went through his mind when he woke and saw me gone.

"Rhys...? Oh... I'm not dreaming again, am I? I can smell you. You're here. You... Came back. Why did you leave?" His eyes are unfocused but I find myself touching his hand, just to assure him I'm real. A sigh of relief leaves him, along with all the tension clinging to him. He holds on, still. I thought he would be more upset, not... Worried? Anxious? Is this a ploy to ease me up before you change your tune? A trap of sorts? Even as I wait for the other shoe to drop, I take the bottle out of his other hand and answer the question.

"Good evening, beloved. I'm sorry. I had to work. You must understand."

"How... How did you...?"

"Oh. It was nothing." I feel myself flush, much to my annoyance. The intense look in his eyes, it's hard to pretend I can't feel it. Quite strange of you but alcohol does have a wide array of effects. "A magician never reveals his secrets. But you understand that I of course learnt to get out of ropes as well as how to get people into them?"

"Brilliant. As always. Will you come, now? Lay down in bed with me? Please?"

"Were you... Okay on your own?" I ask slowly, cautious as I follow him into his bedroom with the warmth of his hand still over my own. Being invited in sends a wave of pure thrill up my spine. My body is too excited for words and buzzing happily at the thought of being reunited while I, on the other hand, am trying to keep my bloody wits sharp in case he decides to stab me for my little disappearing act. Joe has felt betrayed many times before me... I hope he can trust my affection for him enough to be calm but hope is never certainty. I need to know.

"I was terrified. I kept thinking of... All the possible worst-case scenarios. I kept playing them all in my head. I hoped you'd just gone to buy us coffee or breakfast or something but then you didn't come back home."

...home.

God, darling, when you talk like this... You have no idea what you do to me.

He flops onto the bed. I notice the loss of contact immediately, inching closer when he gestures for me to. Finally, I let myself lie next to him and watch him struggle to find the words to say in his inebriated state, wondering if he can sense how fond I am of this loose-tongued, touchy side of him.

"I went around London a bit to all the places you might've been. I even asked your Oxford buddies, all the ones you haven't murdered yet but no one had seen or heard from you! Flipped through news channels to see if I'd been outed to the world as a murderer or if you were back on your campaign or... Then... The hours began to stretch me thin. And I finally gave up. Guess I didn't try hard enough if you were just in your office."

He tries to smile but then gives up on that as well, staring at the ceiling. I want to touch him but I know he might have his guard up. I won't push too hard, not now when I've clearly hurt you. "I... I'm sorry to put you through that much pain, beloved. I know you must have been anxious about your fate after I escaped your masterful bondage... Attempt."

He rolls his eyes, laughing softly. I swoon at the sound alone but there's something more broken to it. Something underneath. Please, please, please tell me. You can bare your soul to me, as I can to you. Who are we to keep secrets when the universe brought us together and made us the kind of people that could actually understand each other? Who are we to turn that away and make silence lord and master over either of us when we have this chance?

"I was worried. That... You wouldn't come back...? I want you to follow me forever, I can't lose you, I- Rhys... Please don't leave me."

"...oh." His voice is shaky, overtaken with so much emotion, so much passion that I can hear it - as much as I try to block it out. Surely, he can't mean that. But then why is... Why is he crying? I lower my gaze, trying to force myself to control my expressions. He touches my chin and I can't help but look at him, wonder if he can see every emotion I feel for him in the pools of my eyes, dream of a reality where he joins our lips together again as they were always meant to be in this very moment.

Beautiful. Close, much too close. And scared of losing me. He's perfect. You're absolutely perfect for me, Joseph Goldberg. How could anyone have let you go? Even in death, I'd have waited for you. Neither heaven, hell or the glorious void that lays in the absence of both could have kept me from watching you as I always have. I want to worship every piece of you; mind body and soul.

"You called me beloved. Again."

"Because you are, Joseph."

He's quiet. I wait for him to respond, ignoring the way my heart thumps softly in my chest, anticipating. Suddenly, he grips my collar. I grin, always happy to face Joe Goldberg unending arsenal of surprises. Let's see. Make me fall in love with you, kiss me, drug me, kill me, spare me, kidnap me. I wonder what comes now.

"Could you... Say it again?"

"Of course, Joseph. Beloved... Beloved... You're my beloved. Mine alone."

He leans closer. My breathing stills, stunted, dreading and eager for the magic that swirls through my stomach whenever our lips touch. Then - quite suddenly - he seems to gain control of himself. Much too soon, I muse bitterly as he turns away from me, just as we were about to... Much too fucking soon. I try to hold his gaze, try to tell him it's all alright with my eyes but he won't even look at me. He slams the door to the bedroom, leaving me there to curse and groan and wish he'd taken just one more second to come to his senses.

If we'd only kissed... I've tasted those lips, before. Neither of us would have been able to pull away any time soon. Why can't you understand that it's okay? That you're allowed to want this? To want me. Instead, I am left alone once again with only the memory of you as company.

Goodnight, beloved. I'll see you in my dreams.