Maks woke up feeling like his skull was splitting in half. He tried to open his eyes, but regretted it instantly. Jesus, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a nasty hangover. Why was he hungover?

It wouldn't have been so bad if only his head hurt, but his back and neck weren't in a very good shape either; his whole body was uncomfortably bent. What was even worse was that something was stuck between his ribs. He blinked painfully. Oh, it was Aleks' foot. Or his heel, to be more exact. Aleks' fucking heel was stuck between his ribs, and the rest of Aleks laid sprawled out on the entire couch, pushing Maks to the edge. He wanted to complain loudly, but only a long moan passed his lips.

"Why are you being so loud?" Aleks mumbled drowsily. Maks wanted to glare at him because he'd barely made a sound, but it seemed like too much effort.

"You're poking me in the ribs," he informed him tersely, but his voice was too hoarse to sound reproachful. Aleks was silent for a long moment, and Maks was convinced that he wasn't going to react at all.

"It's not my fault you're sleeping on my couch," he muttered eventually. He didn't seem to intend to move now or ever.

Maks frowned. "I'm sorry, your couch?" he echoed incredulously.

"Yeah?" Aleks sounded like, between the two of them, Maks was the unreasonable one.

Maks felt like not budging for a moment, but gave up quickly. Arguing with him was pointless, and he was too tired anyway. He tried to sit up and squeezed his eyes shut when his head started to spin. "Could you move your ass a little bit?" he asked with fake politeness. "Or am I asking too much?" He grabbed Aleks' legs and forced them off the couch.

"You're asking a lot." Aleks sighed, straightening up reluctantly. "And you reek."

"And you smell of fucking roses," Maks snapped.

"Yeah?" Aleks perked up, pretending that he didn't sense the irony.

Maks rolled his eyes. "What happened last night?" he asked weakly.

"You've got plastered. That's what happened," Aleks informed him matter-of-factly. It was almost like he disapproved, and who the hell did he think he was to be giving him a lecture?

Okay, Maks knew for himself that it probably hadn't been the smartest thing he'd done lately.

"Why would I do that?" he wondered, astonished.

"It's the effect I have on people. They meet me and then drink to forget," Aleks joked, then did a double take when he realized how sad it actually was. After a few minutes of silent pondering, he got up unsteadily.

"Great." Maks did the opposite; he winced again and laid back down. "Why aren't you dying?" he asked with resentment.

Aleks blinked in surprise. "Sorry?" It sounded more like a question than an apology. "But I wasn't the one determined to try as many kinds of alcohol as that place had."

"I just did some shots," Maks objected.

"Yeah, which are strong and made of different stuff." He sounded like he was speaking to a child.

"But you drank as much as I did," Maks protested, covering his face with his hands. "Bring me coffee," he demanded.

"No, I didn't. At the end, I was skipping every other round, but you were too out of it to notice," he claimed smugly, approaching the coffee machine carefully and then giving Maks an apologetic glance. He rolled his eyes, dragging himself off the couch. He really needed to teach Aleks how to use it if they were going to keep... What was it exactly they were doing? If they were going to keep hanging out? He wasn't sure how accurate that term was.

"Why didn't you tell me to stop?" he whined, not ready to give up yet.

"What am I, your babysitter?" Aleks pulled a face. He sounded pretty blasé about it. "I wanted to see how much you could take. I would rescue you if you had alcohol poisoning or something, you know."

"Gee, thanks," Maks said gruffly, turning the coffee machine on. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"See, I'm such a kind-hearted soul," he said with false humility.

"You've already mentioned that," Maks recalled, feeling his mood deteriorating. He'd almost managed to forget about the circumstances that had brought him and Aleks together. For a moment, they had been nothing more than two friends who had gotten drunk the night before and were now suffering from a heavy hangover, but that moment had just passed. "You keep saying that. Are you really?" '...a kind-hearted soul?' he finished in his mind. Some shadow crossed Aleks' face, but it disappeared quickly, and he regained his previous serene expression.

"Do I look like a liar?" he asked innocently, fluttering his eyelashes.

Maks obediently looked closer. Huh, until now he'd thought his eyes were kind of hazel, but now in broad daylight they seemed more greenish. He nodded slowly because, given last night's events, he knew for a fact that he was a liar.

Aleks faltered. "You think I would lie to you?" He sounded almost hurt.

"Yeah, I kind of do," Maks muttered frankly, thinking of everything that Aleks had told him and not told him about the night they'd met.

Aleks blinked. "You're probably right," he relented, averting his gaze.

Maks felt like the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees. He couldn't figure him out, like he slipped away from every definition Maks could think of. On the one hand, they were kind of friends or at least acquaintances, and they bantered all the time, but on the other, there was some distance between them, some immutable wariness. Most of the time, it was Aleks who inflicted this dynamic, but Maks wasn't feeling much more secure either. It was like he wasn't able to wind down with Aleks around. He heard a throat being cleared loudly.

"Good, so we've got that covered," Aleks summed up casually, as if his constant hoaxing was of no importance, then opened the fridge. "Can I eat it?" he asked, raising both the yogurt and his eyebrows inquiringly.

For some reason, it cracked Maks up. He shook his head, trying to keep from laughing. "You may," he said graciously. The temperature went back up.

"Thanks," Aleks sputtered with his mouth full. "So what's the deal with you and Ewelina?" he asked randomly, apparently not being able to stay silent for longer than a few minutes.

Maks glanced at him quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"Just that. What it's about. Are you together because you want to be or out of habit? And did you propose cause you're madly in love with her or because, over time, it'd been getting harder to find any reason not to?" he asked casually, looking at him attentively.

Maks blinked. Fuck. That was... disturbingly accurate. So of course he went on the offensive, because who the hell questioned strangers on such personal matters? "What kind of question is that?" he huffed. "If I proposed, then I had to have a reason."

"Mm, I don't know," Aleks mused with deliberation.

"I don't give a shit, whether you know or not. It's me that's supposed to know, not you."

"Sorry." Aleks raised his hands in surrender. "None of my business. Got it. You're just an odd couple, that's all. She's picking on you all the time, and you keep avoiding her—"

"It's not that I..." Maks broke off, fighting the need to explain himself. "...we've just been together for a very long time, and sometimes we—"

"It's okay. You don't have to answer. I've been just wondering," Aleks assured.

"So don't wonder about things that have nothing to do with you," Maks grunted, still a little ruffled.

"Oh, you're telling me not to wonder about things that have nothing to do with me?" he repeated mockingly.

"So what is it supposed to be, a payback?" Maks asked incredulously. "I haven't said a word about it since we got up, and besides, it's completely different than judging my relationship—"

"Yeah, I noticed." Aleks smiled. "Sorry, it just piqued my curiosity. Cause you two are a little weird. I was actually going to write about you. I like other people's love stories."

Maks needed a moment to make a connection. "Oh my god, you were serious about writing poetry?" he asked with dread. "Do you know how clichéd that is?"

"I write lyrics," Aleks informed him, unperturbed. "And then I match a beat to it."

"So you're rapping?" he concluded after staring at him for a long moment, trying to grasp what he'd said. He wasn't sure why it was so surprising—in some twisted way, it even fit him.

"Call it what you want."

"That's what it's called," Maks exclaimed, not believing that he was ready to argue even about things that were undeniable. "I mean, you seem to call it poetry," he added pointedly.

"Because it is poetry," Aleks insisted tersely, only now starting to look offended. "These days? There is nothing more poetic than rap. What else is it if not sung poetry?"

Maks already opened his mouth to disagree but realized that he had no case because he knew literally nothing about rap. He didn't even know any rappers; he'd barely heard of one or two. He looked at Aleks expectantly, but he was checking his phone.

"I don't know," he gave up, but was still skeptical. "Can I listen?" he asked, struggling to keep his burning curiosity hidden.

Aleks bit his lip. "Next time, okay? I should actually get going," he said distractedly, looking up from the phone pensively. "Seriously, Maks, are you going to brush your teeth anytime soon? It's not that I'm complaining, but ew."

Maks jerked, embarrassed, but glared for good measure and passed him on his way to the bathroom.

He barely glanced at himself, knowing that there'd been times when he'd looked much better. His hair was sticking out in all directions because it was so awful that when he didn't comb it, it made him look like a mop. His headache was visible on his face and in his frown lines, and his eyes were bloodshot and unfocused. He was brushing his teeth vacantly in a steady motion and watching in a mirror as Aleks walked in, came to the sink next to him, squeezed a bit of toothpaste on his fingertip, filled his mouth with water, gurgled loudly and spit it out, and then left casually. Maks smiled to himself involuntarily because there was something weirdly domestic and intimate about the whole thing.

And then he cursed himself when he suddenly remembered that it was Aleks and they weren't friends; he'd said so himself. He wasn't a friend, and what was even that all about? It wasn't like Maks wanted a friend anyway, so why was the provisory teeth brushing making him fucking smile all of a sudden?

Don't get attached, he admonished himself somberly. He might as well get locked up tomorrow.

It only took getting out of the bathroom for his inner alarms to start blaring. Aleks was just heading to the hall, still with his phone out and holding something that looked like a plain disposable bag.

"What's that?" Maks asked quickly, standing at the door and baring his path.

"Nothing," Aleks mumbled, barely glancing at him and looking for a way to get past him.

"You didn't have it with you last night."

"How do you know?" Aleks asked without missing a beat.

Maks frowned. "Where did it come from?" He was playing out every possible scenario in his head. Was it a gun? No, too small. Drugs? Shit, was it wrong that he was always thinking the worst of Aleks? No, he decided he had every reason for it, and it was only fair.

"Just leave it alone." Aleks finally pushed past him and went to the hall. Maks followed him.

"It was in my apartment," he stated, suddenly understanding and eyeing the wrapped bundle suspiciously, as if it could explode any second. "What is it?" he demanded.

Aleks rolled his eyes. "You don't wanna know."

"I don't..." Maks echoed unconsciously and then shook his head. "Yes, I do want to know. Did you leave it here? Why would you leave it here?"

"You're making a big deal out of nothing." Aleks tried to placate him, putting his sneakers on and heading to the front door. "Let it go."

"No fucking way." Maks leaned against it, crossing his arms. "Show me what it is."

"Fucking hell," Aleks sighed, looking around helplessly. "Okay, so I left it here, but I'm taking it back now, so you can chill the fuck out," he started peacefully, but Maks had no patience for his bullshit right now, so he just snatched the bag from his hands while he was busy sweet-talking him. "Jesus, Maks," he huffed in exasperation, but apparently gave up because he stayed still, letting Maks pull a heavy leather wallet out of the bag. He was observing with a tad of uneasiness as Maks opened it and checked the ID card. Aleks' phone started to vibrate.

"Piotr Rogalski?" Maks read, looking up quizzically. Aleks could see the exact moment when he grasped who the ID he was holding belonged to. "What the fuck..." he broke off, not even trying to formulate it as a question.

Aleks nodded in resignation. "No one would find it here, and I couldn't take it with me—" he started plaintively.

"Why?" Maks cut him off bluntly.

"Because I had to talk to the police," Aleks explained casually, putting on an air of innocence. There was something about it that, along with his chilly smile, made Maks shudder. "Wasn't that what you wanted?" he sneered, reaching out his hand. Maks slowly put the ID back in the wallet and the wallet back in the bag. Aleks yanked it, looking at him deprecatingly. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it, okay?" His voice got a little bit warmer, and he shot him the last long glance before disappearing behind the door. He ran down the stairs, left the building, and headed to the parking lot, looking up instinctively. Just as he thought, Maks was on the balcony, but he retreated under the wall when he realized he'd been spotted. Aleks snorted, because Maks would have made a really lousy spy, and waved playfully before opening the passenger door of a red Ford Escort.

"What the fuck's with this gated community?" growled the guy behind the wheel, stretching his neck to see the balcony where Maks had been standing only a minute ago. "I thought you got addresses screwed up. And what are you waving like a twit for? Who's this dude? Your new sugar daddy?" he taunted.

"Not yet," Aleks emphasized, looking smug. The guy scowled. "But I'm working on it," he added, resting his feet unceremoniously on the upholstery. "Why? Do you get a kick out of my sex life now?"

"Jesus, Aleks, you want me to barf?" the guy muttered.

"Besides, you could show a little gratitude," Aleks went on, unfazed by an insult.

"Gratitude?" he echoed disbelievingly. "What am I supposed to be grateful for? That you're getting into shit I've told you a thousand times not to get into, or for playing around with cops?"

"Both," Aleks said without missing a beat. "If it all goes well, they won't even connect it with you—"

"And if it goes to shit, you will pay the piper for perjury."

"No, I won't. Then it will turn out that I was wrong, but I did my best to tell them everything I could possibly know. Who would prosecute me for that?" He smiled serenely, but a faint trace of a smirk gave him away.

"I still don't fucking like it," his companion maintained.

"I've got something for you," Aleks deflected, opening the bag.

The guy fixed it with a suspicious glare. "What's this?"

Aleks brushed him off. He knew Kostek was sniffing out conspiracies everywhere he went. "It's a wallet," he revealed.

"I can see it's a fucking wallet," Kostek snarled impatiently. "Who does it belong to?"

"Who do you think?" Aleks tossed the wallet between the seats. "Do whatever you want with it."

"When did you manage to nick his fucking wallet?" he asked, amazed. "I was there the whole time!"

Aleks shrugged with false modesty. "It's a gift."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Kostek muttered, shaking his head. "You were supposed to be super smart and become a lawyer or a doctor or fucking both; at least all of your teachers said so when you were a kid. I thought you'd be the first person in this family to actually make something of yourself. And you have a gift for fucking pickpocketing."

"It's not like he's going to need it anymore," Aleks shrugged defensively.

"Anything interesting in there?" Kostek forced himself to ask after a few beats.

"Everything you could possibly need," Aleks bragged. "You're welcome. And yet another satisfied customer."

Kostek cracked up. "Dork," he murmured fondly before sobering down. "I hope you know what you're doing," he breathed.

They drove in silence for a little while, and finally Kostek came to a stop at one of the blocks of flats. "Okay, get out," he instructed, then added tiredly, "And for fuck's sake, Aleks, stay away from this shit. Go straight home, check on Ma, and just lay low for a bit. Lay low, so don't go downtown and get shitfaced, drawing as much attention as humanly possible."

"Sorry, it's a date night. If he pisses me off, I'll have to get shitfaced."

"Jesus, another one?" Kostek asked, a little grossed out.

"No," Aleks said curtly, opening the door.

"Still Wincent?" Kostek kept guessing, then rolled his eyes. "If you're still fucking Wincent, then what do you need this new loser for?" he asked, pointing carelessly in the direction they'd come from.

Aleks just smiled uncannily. "You're just jealous that I get laid more than you."

"Yeah, and you're just a moron who thinks everything is a fucking game for brats like you to score celebrity points," he snapped. "So if you need to go to the other side, then keep your head down and pretend you're not even there, you hear me?" He clicked his tongue warningly. "And Christ, Aleks, stop fucking blabbering about these things. I really don't wanna picture some perv banging my little brother. I have fucking boundaries," he said, squeezing his eyes to get rid of the mental image.

Aleks blinked, like he not only didn't know the meaning of the word 'boundaries', but had never even heard it before. "Why does it have to be a perv? You think I have such bad taste?" he asked, a little offended, but got over it quickly and stepped out of the car.

"Be good," Kostek added with emphasis, but Aleks had already shut the door, so he just sighed and drove away.

•~💥~•

Maks went back to losing his head and was slowly getting used to it being his default mode. He'd been so close to actually forgetting about it. So close. And now everything had gone to hell even more, because up until now he hadn't been absolutely sure that Aleks was mixed up in this whole thing. There had been lots of indications, sure, but it could have still turned out to be some huge cosmic coincidence. But now it couldn't anymore because Aleks was in possession of something that belonged to the victim. He had his fucking wallet and had left it in Maks' apartment. If the police had come, if they'd made a search or something... It didn't matter that it'd been very unlikely, because Maks had never in his life been in a situation that warranted dealing with the police, but still. If it'd happened, they would have found a dead guy's wallet. Fuck, he was in over his head.

He could come up with just one explanation of how one got ahold of the victim's wallet, but Maks wasn't ready to accept it. Just no. He had already decided that Aleks hadn't done it, and every time he thought he might have, he felt like every fiber of his being was revolting. He couldn't be so wrong about someone, right? So he chose to believe that Aleks was innocent, and that's why he didn't go to the police to turn him in—well, also because he didn't want to end up the same as this Piotr guy. But not snitching on him and actually befriending him were two different things. He knew he shouldn't, but he kept coming back like a moth to a flame and didn't even know why—was it the rush that was luring him in or was it just about Aleks? Because he had to admit that Aleks had his charm, even if most of the time he was driving him nuts. He was funny, bold, sassy, quick-witted, and a little quirky. All things considered, he was a decent person to be around, and Maks kind of liked talking to him. Even if he was also a bit shady. Okay, very shady.

Inside his head, Maks was leading his own investigation as well as he could without witnesses, evidence, or anything crucial, but at least it let him sort through what he already knew. His main investigation goal wasn't really about who had done it; that was a secondary issue. He just wanted to determine what Aleks' role had been in this whole mess. First, there was a wallet, and he didn't think it was very common for a murder witness to randomly rip off the victim's wallet. It didn't make much sense. Besides, there were lots of side aspects, such as... potential trauma? After all, something like that had to be traumatic, but Aleks hadn't seemed very traumatized. Which could either mean that he was inherently pragmatic or that it hadn't been his first time. Also, assuming that Aleks wasn't the killer, the killer had had to be there somewhere. If Aleks had been trying to get away from him, he wouldn't have taken the wallet, right? Unless he and the killer had been on the same side.

Which led to the second issue, namely that Aleks had said he'd talked to the police. Why would he have done that? If he'd told them who had killed, the world would have already heard about it. So he could have given them some clue or, quite the contrary, misled them in order to protect the actual killer. Why? That one, Maks didn't know. He only knew that if there was something Aleks was good at, it was blowing smoke up people's asses.

There was literally no chance that he could just guess what had happened that night, so unless Aleks himself told him, and he didn't seem very keen to do that, it was all fucking pointless. Maks could keep pretending that it wasn't real and hoping that no one would ever connect him to it—well, according to Aleks, he wasn't involved at all, which was probably right, and Maks was overreacting as always. He could also stay in the game, keep hanging out with Aleks, and hope that the day he got put in handcuffs would never come. Or he could just forget about it, cut all ties, push Aleks to the bottom of his mind, and never, ever bring him up. The mere thought was depressing, because he was really the most interesting thing that had ever happened to him. He was the only interesting thing that had happened.

He hadn't heard from him for the whole day. Where was he? What had he done with the wallet? What if they had found the wallet and locked him up in some shabby, dark cell? He wouldn't have even been able to style his hair in a place like that. Besides, Aleks was so unruly, brazen, and contrary, and he wasn't very substantial either; he would have never survived in prison. What could he have done against all these bloodthirsty gorillas? Rap them to death?

Maks rubbed his eyes, letting out a short, hysterical laugh. His thoughts were getting ridiculous, but the most ridiculous thing was that here he was obsessively contemplating some weird guy's messed-up life situation instead of thinking about things that should actually matter to him. Like his wedding. Or his job interview. Or...

Shit, it was close to four a.m., and he had a job interview at eleven. For a moment, he was tempted to just ditch it, stay here, and keep trying to solve the puzzle named Aleks, but he knew himself well enough to predict how that would go. He would shut himself out and focus fully on this one quest as an excuse to tune out everything else. That wasn't healthy; besides, what was more likely—that he'd end up as a financial adviser or a private detective?

One-nil for the interview, then.