Dave wakes up to morning light filtering through the curtains. It takes him a moment to remember where he is. The room smells of tobacco and something else—something he recognizes all too easily: Heinz's scent, soaked into the clothes, the skin, the bones.
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair.
This isn't the first time he's woken up in someone else's bed. But there's something about this morning that feels… fucking different. It's not just the lingering warmth in the sheets or the echo of pleasure still humming through his body. It's the sense that he crossed a line—one that, until now, only existed in his mind.
Heinz isn't beside him.
Of course not.
Dave sits on the edge of the bed, pulls on his pants with slow, deliberate movements, and takes in the room. It's tidy, but not clinically so. Books are stacked on the nightstand. A mug with remnants of cold coffee sits nearby. A leather jacket hangs over a chair. Little clues about Heinz's life. Normal things. Almost too normal for someone like him.
Something feels off.
Half-buttoning his shirt, Dave pads barefoot into the hallway. The house is bigger than he expected, filled with old furniture and dim lighting that gives it the atmosphere of a place suspended in time. His fingers brush the wooden railing as he walks.
It's not that he trusts Heinz.
Or—obviously—he doesn't trust Heinz.
But after last night, after the way Heinz touched him, whispered things that felt so fucking real… part of him wants to believe he can let his guard down. Just this once.
Until he opens a random door.
And finds it.
The room is small, with a desk covered in papers. Photographs line the wall, along with newspaper clippings and scrawled notes in red ink. This isn't the chaos of a careless man. It's the chaos of someone obsessed.
And in the center of it all—him.
Or rather, that Dave.
In the photos, his other self is smiling, drinking, laughing with Heinz during what looks like wild nights out. In another, he has a cigarette between his lips, his arm slung over Heinz's shoulders like they're inseparable. Notes with his name are scattered across the desk:
— "Still acting weird"
— "It's not him"
— "Something doesn't add up"
— "Keep watching"
The words hit him in the chest like a punch.
So Heinz doesn't believe him.
Doesn't matter that he kissed him. That he touched him. That they shared a bed. Heinz still thinks something is wrong with him.
The irony cuts deep.
Because he doesn't trust Heinz either.
But that hadn't stopped him from wanting him.
His jaw tightens as his eyes land on the last note, scribbled in a hurried hand:
— "If it's not him… then what is it?"
A bitter laugh rises in his throat.
"Good question. I'd love to know that myself."
The sound of footsteps yanks him out of his thoughts.
Heinz stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, calm as ever. He's wearing only loose pants, his hair disheveled like the night hadn't let him rest either.
"If you're going to snoop, the least you could've done is wait for me to make coffee."
Dave holds one of the notes between his fingers, turning it slowly.
"Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt your top-secret research on what the hell I am."
Heinz doesn't flinch.
"Did you find what you were looking for?"
Dave lets out a short, incredulous laugh.
"Do you realize how fucked up this is? We spent the night together, Heinz. And the whole time, you were investigating me?"
Heinz shrugs.
"You'd be surprised how much multitasking I'm capable of."
"Great. Because I was also analyzing things while your tongue was down my throat."
Heinz smiles—but it doesn't reach his eyes.
Heat flares up Dave's spine. Not just anger. Something worse. Disappointment.
"This was part of the plan? Advanced interrogation tactics? Were you trying to extract info between kisses?"
Heinz takes a step closer, crossing the room with that infuriating calm that drives Dave mad.
"Don't act so wounded, Dave. You don't trust me either."
And that's the worst part. Because it's true.
Because yes, of course he doesn't trust Heinz. But seeing that same distrust mirrored back at him hits harder than he expected.
Because so far, out of everyone who's looked at him with suspicion, Heinz was the only one who looked at him like he *knew* exactly what he wanted to do with him. And Dave wanted to believe that meant something.
Turns out—it didn't.
"Nothing to say?" Heinz goads him, with that mocking smile that never quite softens his eyes.
Dave stares at him. His jaw clenches. His mind spins.
He could scream. Demand answers.
But all he really wants right now is to understand when the hell he got so goddamn vulnerable.
Heinz raises a brow.
"Why does it bother you so much?"
And that's the worst part.
Heinz knows exactly which button to press.
Dave licks his teeth and lets out a low chuckle.
"It doesn't."
"No?"
"No. I just want to know if you're planning to keep fucking with me with this whole mystery routine, or if you're actually going to tell me the truth for once."
Heinz watches him in silence. Then, with exasperating composure, steps closer—close enough for Dave to feel the heat radiating off him.
"And what if I don't?"
Dave hates him. Hates that even now, with all the evidence screaming not to trust him, his body still responds to Heinz's presence.
He grits his teeth.
"Then I'll find it out myself."
Heinz smiles—that slow, calculated smile that makes Dave want to either punch him or kiss him until he shuts the fuck up.
"I'd like to see that."
Dave brushes past him with a slight shove, fists clenched, leaving the room.
"Don't fuck with me, Heinz."
And he walks away.
Because if he stays one more second, he's not sure what the hell he'll do.