A/B: bonus sweet-ish angst chapter

Tinsley wakes up in a fimilar scene.

The air is still as he awakens from his light slumber, body warmer than it has ever been these past few empty years. Satisfied after so long. Hollowness subdued.

A motel room, a hurricane of last night, a sense that the last few days were a hallucination of his lonely head longing for Goldsworth once again. He feels dislocated, his head heavy and light all at once, his senses on fire.

He runs a hand through his mussed hair, sight still foggy, his other hand searches the large bed for his partner.

He's not sure if he's as prepared for Goldsworth to leave him once again as he once did every morning, when all he craves is the other man next to him.

He doesn't have to prepare himself for heart ache.

His scattered clothes and a warm body laying by his side proves him otherwise.

For so long, he keeps his heart caged and hidden after Goldsworth's long history of leaving after every night.

That morning, his heart stutters with fondness instead of the expected loneliness and grievance.

Goldsworth surrounded by bedsheets is a sight the detective believes he would never get sick of.

The other man looked like an angel among clouds, soft cotton sheets a stark contrast to warm tan skin and solid flesh. Long lashes resting against high cheekbones, plump lips parted and serene, raven hair dishevelled against his forehead.

He looked so peaceful, Tinsley melted at the sight of him.

A soft smile on his lips, the detective ran his fingers through the short strands of dark hair, a grunt from the lightly slumbering man making him fall for the criminal even more.

The detective knows his actions have its consequences.

But in the not so empty motel room next to the man he adored allowing him to touch his skin after so long, he couldn't bring himself to care.

∆

It takes a while for them to get used to each others' presence again.

Tinsley isn't used to someone waiting for him at home after a day filling reports at the private investigator office.

He isn't used to shopping for two, buying twice the amount of groceries he usually would cook for two.

He isn't used to a warm body to cling onto in the middle of the night when the both of them are cold.

But he gets used to it fairly quickly.

He feels like a Ryan shaped hole carved in his chest is finally starting to heal.

Being replaced with buds of blooming flowers that cause him to grow even more attached to the criminal.

∆

"This war isn't between you and me"

Ryan announced as they laid in the mess of Tinsley's sheet one night, running his fingers gently through the other man's soft hair.

It was one of those sleep in days where neither of them wanted to do anything but stare at the ceiling and talk aimlessly, basking in each others presence.

It was one of the intimate times where both of them could pretend what could have been if they weren't playing on different sides of the law.

It was the few times where Ryan allowed Cecil to see every ugly vulnerability of his, how human he really was, and still fall for him every day they spent around each other.

Tinsley stared up expectantly, waiting for him to explain himself, humming contently at the scraping of dull nails against his scalp.

"It's between you and yourself, you have a lot of demons trapped in that huge head of yours, Tinhat"

"That's true, and you're one of them"

Ryan shook his head with an easy grin pressing his lips to Tinsley's crown.

"Oh no, baby, I've just freed them"

And Tinsley doesn't disagree.

∆

Goldsworth smothered Tinsley, stealing the air in his lungs and suffocating him.

And Tinsley would gladly give him his every last breath.

∆

Goldsworth was late from whatever he did in the night, among the shadows.

Tinsley tries not to question him too much but he's a detective at heart, curiosity plaguing him as guilt build up in his throat.

Goldsworth was a criminal at heart and Death Valley was his playground, one Tinsley tried his best not to bring up.

The game of saint and sinners wasn't something either wanted to think about.

But the guilt of how many lives Tinsley was allowing Goldsworth to take despite having full capability to prevent haunted him.

But his devotion to the criminal outweighed it all.

He was a mess, a battle field of his morals mixing into one large grey area he rather ignore in favour of spending one more night with Goldsworth.

The other man was right, this war was inside his head.

Except there was no victor and the only stop to it was if both sides were dead.

A soft knock on the door snaps the detective out of his breakdown, his breath shallow as he tried to piece himself together logically once again, like he had done so well once before.

But bright russet eyes unravel him anyways the moment Goldsworth steps into his door, tie loose around his collar and hair dishevelled.

The sight of the criminal without any crimson on his shirt soothed Tinsley's burning guilt by the tiniest amount but his head was still screaming.

Sometimes he wishes he could just abandon everything and crawl out of this skin of his that caged him to his head. Start a new with completely different morals. Create a heart that held no horror towards the man he adored.

The shorter man saw the distress off him and walked up to him tentatively like Tinsley was a fuse about to blow.

His charming grin melted into a soft frown, eyes gentle and worried, as he cupped Tinsley's jaw, pressing their foreheads together.

"Baby what's wrong"

Tinsley doesn't want to talk, he was overwhelmed and tired so he presses their usual welcome home kiss on Goldsworth's lips.

Sometimes he can't tell if Goldsworth was venom that infected him without his consent or if the other man was poison that Tinsley had willingly bitten into despite knowing all the hazards of having him in his bloodstream.

Either way, he was addicted, too far gone and constantly depending on the criminal like he was the air that the detective needs to live.

Goldsworth doesn't comment on how the kiss was a distraction to drop the topic, instead, he softly strokes Tinsley's cheek as they melted into each other.

And in that moment, Tinsley could almost pretend they were just another pair of normal lovers.

∆

Cecil Tinsley was an arsonist.

The flames of his past flickered in the reflection of his dilated irises.

He had burned everything he loved and he then burned the ashes.

But the devil had never been affected by heat.

So there he sees Ryan in amidst the destruction he has caused, inviting and warning.

And he accepted his hand.