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Killer was perched as dramatically as he could manage on the edge of Nightmare's desk. There was always an empty spot for him; at first because he kept pushing everything out of the way, later because Nightmare had started to keep the area clear without even noticing. Killer had noticed, though. There was something about the small bite-shaped piece he'd taken out of someone else's life that was hard to miss.
He leaned even more precariously over the desk, planting a hand directly in between Nightmare's keyboard and monitor. He tilted his head with longing, puppy dog eyes glittering mournfully. It was a routine they did often, although maybe not for something as serious as this. He'd tried the serious route, alright? He'd tried to sit down and have a normal conversation, as frustrating as it was to talk to a guy who wouldn't recognise romantic interest unless it was signed and notarised. All he'd gotten out of that mess was a handful of obvious lies. Now they were gonna do it his way, no matter how uncomfortable it was to balance like this.
Nightmare didn't even look up at him. "No."
"Aw, c'mon!" he complained, immediately dropping the act. He wasn't known for his patience.
"Do not act surprised. We have already had this discussion, and my answer has been the same every time."
Killer quickly regained his footing, placing the back of his hand to his forehead and swooning dangerously. "So y'hate us? 'N me specifically?"
Nightmare sighed exasperatedly, finally giving up on typing. "It is not an issue of interest— don't look at me like that." Killer blinked innocently, the smirk mysteriously vanishing. "It would be unprofessional, and practically unethical. I can't in good conscience—"
"Ethics didn't used to—" Killer snapped, before catching himself. He really wasn't known for his patience, and he was a lot more disappointed than either of them were willing to admit. "Listen, we can handle ourselves."
"No."
Killer groaned, pulling the arm back and turning away to sulk. "You're the worst."
"I only have your best interests in mind."
"No, you've got your best interests in mind!" he spat. He regretted it immediately, but Nightmare didn't deny it. Now it was his turn to look mournful, the kind of bone-deep sadness that he never faked and Killer couldn't bear to watch.
"Maybe." he admitted, and Killer wanted to grab him and yell 'No! Not at all!'. Instead, he fiddled with the edge of his sleeve. "I cannot deny," (Yes you can! Please!) "That I am scared of losing what I have built. I cannot predict how public opinion would turn if something like this got out."
I can't stand you when you lie like that, Killer thought, but instead he said, "I know."
It was a game they had started to play. Nightmare offered up his truest self, the real answer, and Killer slapped it away in search of one that would make sense to him. It was so difficult to hate him when he was being like this. Maybe that's why he had fallen in love with him instead. Eww.
They lapsed back into silence, Nightmare once again tapping away at his emails or scheduling or whatever nerd shit he did at this time of day. Once Killer had cooled off, he moved onto the next item on the agenda. "So," he started, immediately setting off every alarm in Nightmare's head at once, "You've got that formal thingy tonight, right?"
Nightmare sighed again, sounding less like a frustrated boss and more like a dying man. Killer knew it wasn't directed at him (this time). While he was extremely good at what he did, Nightmare hated some elements of the job far more than others. Namely, making inane small talk in a stuffy room full of people who either wanted something out of him or viewed him as lesser. Or both, at the same time!
"Yes, I do. Are you planning on going out?" he asked, wearily.
"Was thinkin' maybe I could come with?" Nightmare lit up at that, and Killer grinned triumphantly. If there was someone in the world who hated small talk more than him, it was Killer, so he'd stopped bothering to drag him along. When he did show up— well, they were a sight to behold.
"Are you sure?"
He shrugged. "Got nothin' better to do." That was a lie, and they both knew it. Luckily, Nightmare was too thrilled at the idea to question him.
"I'd be honored to have you, then," he said, sporting one of his rare smiles.
Killer pushed off the desk, doing a twirl that was embarrassingly over-the-top, even for him. Okay, maybe he was a little excited.
"Seeya at eight!"
"Seven."
"Seven!"
Cross wasn't the most awkward member of the band, not by a long shot. They'd been to a thousand formals and galas and whatever the hell events rich people came up with next, and he was fairly good at blending in. Project just the right mood, and people passed over you without sorting you into the 'antisocial' box in their heads. They knew how to stay quiet, polite, and out of the way.
But next to those two, they looked like they'd been raised by socially anxious wolves.
It was a blurringly fast, intricate dance. The pair coordinated wordlessly, shifting strategy and focus like they were two halves of the same whole. Sometimes, Killer played distraction, using his well-known persona of an unruly wildcard that Nightmare could barely keep up with. There was nothing more enticing than an opportunity to make a jab at someone you were jealous of; people found themselves bragging about info they hadn't even told their partners. More than once Cross had seen Nightmare admonish him for some inappropriate comment that he had obviously cued him into, and no one seemed to notice. The dual act of the hapless manager and reckless star was too enchanting, like a car crash you couldn't look away from. They were dressed for the part, too. Nightmare had a rather unassuming black suit, with only a pair of coattails to hint he would rather be wearing something else. Killer had been successfully wrangled into appropriate formal wear, but his influences were still easily recognisable. A bright red blouse, a long black suit jacket that almost seemed like a dress from certain angles, matching gloves. And, of course, a red target pin on his lapel. That one had taken quite some convincing to tone down, and Killer still dragged his feet occasionally. His arguments that a huge, bright red target was a normal addition to any formal outfit fell on deaf ears.
Even Cross was falling for their tricks. He'd never heard either of those conversations, and he had no idea how much of the story was true. They'd just overheard the two repeat it so many times it had started to feel true, as if they'd really been there.
Some people were paying a little more attention than him, though. Whenever someone caught on to the act, they switched. Nightmare started laying obvious traps, ones no one in their right mind would fall for. They were parried effortlessly, turned back around on him. Once they started to smell blood, once he looked like Nightmare was backed as far into a corner as he could go, it was already too late. Some half-forgotten response to one of Killer's awful jokes had already sealed their fate.
If they hadn't gotten into this industry, Cross thought they would've made great serial killers. Or spies. Or lawyers. It was frankly more than a little terrifying to watch.
He noticed something else, too. As the time went on, Nightmare relaxed more and more into the routine, a process that was helped along by a few drinks. In between conversations, Killer was leaning in closer and closer. At some point he had wrapped himself around the other's arm, a motion he did all the time with the band but Nightmare had never allowed.
Layers and layers of mind games. Cross wondered how he kept track of them all.
"Havin' fun?" Killer teased, as they retreated from the worst of the crowds. Nightmare hummed noncommittally, but there was the hint of a smile on his face. The night was working like a charm, peeling his shell away piece by piece. The long game aside, it was fun just to see him this open. "What, not enough of a show for ya?"
He finally cracked, breaking into a full smile. "Not at all. You've been wonderful."
Killer flushed a soft pink. He'd been fishing for the compliment, but it still managed to catch him by surprise. It wasn't fair that Nightmare could actually shut up ever, so any affection he did show was a one-hit K.O.. He leaned away to try and get his breath back, but he'd already dug his own grave. Nightmare pulled him back in, running a gentle hand over the side of his face, tracing the black streaks. The moment felt so fragile he didn't even want to breathe, just in case it shattered.
And, finally, the spell didn't break. When Nightmare lowered his hand, he didn't look like he'd regretted it.
He looked like he'd made up his mind.
"Have you had your fun?"
Killer pretended to consider it. "Yeah, probably. We should give these poor souls a break."
Nightmare honest-to-god laughed at that one, a quiet exhalation that he wished he had been recording. "Of course."
"'N criss-cross?"
"He'll see us leave."
Cross did see them leave, arm in arm, exchanging hushed words and holding each other at an entirely unprofessional distance. He would never admit it to Killer, but he was rooting for him; they all knew they could never get Nightmare to crack. Dust didn't have the confidence, Cross didn't have the nerve, and Horror would fold immediately if he thought he was pressuring him.
Killer, on the other hand, wouldn't let anything go once he had his claws in it. And, well, he really wanted this. They all did, but no one as desperately as him. The guy seemed to pine industrially, weapons-grade longing coming off him at all times. After a while, it just made certain… situations a little awkward. There were only so many times you could watch someone have an extremely tense interaction with his boss, then have him pin you to the wall five minutes later. Cross wasn't complaining, but the pattern was glaringly obvious.
He followed from a distance, not wanting to get up close and personal with the two lovebirds. (Not yet, anyways. Man, it was weird finding out that was a thing.) They assumed that they had given them enough space, and they weren't paying much attention when they turned the corner into the hallway.
He turned immediately back around.
Nightmare woke up from the kind of sleep that leaves creases on your skin, the kind he hadn't had in years. He either woke to the beeping of an alarm at the crack of dawn, or in a pool of sweat. It was nice. It was not going to be that nice for much longer.
He didn't so much bolt upright as curl over, gripping his chest like a man stabbed. Glancing to his right only confirmed his suspicions.
"You— you bastard!" he exclaimed, "You knew exactly what you were doing!"
Killer shifted sleepily, turning his head just enough to reveal two heavily lidded eyes and some very smudged makeup. "Hmn?" he responded, but even his dazed expression wasn't enough to calm Nightmare.
"It hadn't even been a minute since I refused!"
"I'unno what ya mean." he mumbled, blearily.
Nightmare collapsed back onto the bed, fury dissipating like water on hot coals. Even if the tiredness was an act, it was very difficult to be mad at. "You know, this doesn't necessarily change anything," he pointed out, bitterly. "We could just go right back to the way things were."
That woke him up. Maybe it was the early morning, or the vulnerable setting, but Killer looked more honestly panicked than he'd ever seen him. He propped himself up immediately on unsteady hands, revealing a case of bedhead so bad it could've tanked his career. "Night, you can't, not— please." He genuinely looked like he might cry.
Nightmare sighed, rubbing some of the sleep out of his good eye. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. As… frustrated as I may be with the circumstances of the change, I did make a decision."
Apology accepted, Killer snapped right back to his usual self. He placed a hand dramatically on his chest, tilting his head to the side. "Aw, ya really know how t'make a guy feel wanted!" he teased, and Nightmare rolled his eyes.
He stared up at the ceiling, absentmindedly tracing one of twin scars with his thumb. It was so quiet you could just about hear the whirring of his mind. "I am unwilling," he admitted, so quiet Killer almost had to lean in to hear it, "To let this world take even more from me."
Oh. Okay then. They were doing honesty, now. Killer could do that.
No, he couldn't. Fuck, deflection it is, then!
He leaned conspiratorially on one elbow, the perfect picture of someone about to say something really stupid. "So, who's next?" he asked, completely casually.
Nightmare spluttered. "I don't think— that's— I can't exactly plan this sort of thing!" he protested.
"Sure ya can," Killer insisted, playfully. "Pick."
"You're insufferable."
The room was still once again. He wondered if Nightmare was thinking about the idea, or just stewing in his own indignation. Or something else? He had a strange expression on his face.
"Are you sure they…?" he trailed off, unsure.
This idiot, I swear. "Oh, shut the fuck up. Cross could gimme a run for my money at this point. Yes, they all worship the ground you walk on," he mocked. "Happy?"
"You don't have to be so dramatic about it."
"'M not. Honestly, I don't get what they see in ya."
Nightmare smirked. That was a golden opportunity if he'd ever seen one. "Really? It didn't seem that way last—" The pillow hit him square in the face with a thwap.
"Oh, now you know what a joke is?!"