Wine and Gun

And, a part of his sanity told him that Albarino would really be blocking the bathroom door trying to provoke another serial killer's conscience to condemn this kind of thing. In fact, until now, he can hardly imagine anything that Albarino can't imagine.

Or as the old saying goes: After those discussions about love on the couch in their rented apartment in Albariño, Herstal knew he was going to make a lot of concessions in the future. Some concessions were harmless, like this bathroom spat, and others would cost him his life.

When he thinks about this kind of problem, he feels tired, not annoyed. This feeling is similar to the dog owner who finds the dog tore the sofa after returning home. He knows that this is also the kind of silent concession that ends up on him. Another form of expression.

——So he turned sideways and let the smiling Albarino in.

Hestal leaned his head wearily against the edge of the bathtub, and felt the faint pain from the sun again. The headache caused by cervical spondylosis had been with him for many years, and it was like a nightmare that could never be shaken off. Now his nose was lingering with the wet, fishy smell of the dried blood being washed away, and the fresh smell of the shampoo he bought. He closed his eyes slightly and felt a slight dizziness at the moment of the headache.

Then the sound of the water stopped, and a shadow shrouded him. When Herstal opened his eyes, he saw Albarino standing outside the bathtub, still smiling. The man looked wet, his skin was red from the heat, and he didn't even bother to wrap a towel around himself.

Albarino asked, "Can I come in?"

He succeeded in making it sound like a dirty joke.

Hestal was too lazy to stare at him, and he asked angrily, "Can't you get out of the guest room?"

"I think we still have a lot of questions to talk about about what happened today," Albarino replied dàngdàng dàngdàng, although apparently his genius brain came up with the idea that they could all talk in the bathtub. Before Herstal could tell the truth, Albarino stepped into one foot, and his toes rubbed against the side of Herstal's thigh, causing a series of water noises.

He continued gently: "Please move forward, I want to be behind you."

——Now Herstal is quite sure that these words together must be a dirty joke.

He tutted out of his nose, but still moved out of the position the other party wanted. Because no matter what he said, Albarino would not listen to him, so he might as well save the energy of arguing: how this is like a hapless middle-aged man who has given up struggling with his failed marriage, he thought so laughing at himself.

Albarino slid into the water behind him—Herstal was a centimeter or two shorter than him, not so short that a spoon hug would not be comical. But Albarino didn't seem to care. He stretched out his hand and pulled Herstal over until the opponent's back touched his chest. Herstal could still feel when his skin touched the scars. A rough touch, and that touch sadly still sparks a spark or two.

"My connivance with you will lead to catastrophic consequences," Hestal murmured, with a heavy sigh at the end of his words, and leaned on the other side as if giving up.

"Obviously, we are all aware of this." Albarino replied slowly, not knowing that the crime scene borrowed today is not enough to corroborate this topic.

Then Albarino's fingers climbed up on his shoulder, and without warning, rubbed a particularly stiff and sore muscle on Herstal's shoulder. Herstal took a slight breath, almost Unconsciously, he raised his neck.

"You should also know," Albarino said softly, not letting go of his hand, and he seemed to know exactly where Herstal was uncomfortable, "I have always been a very considerate lover."

——There is no doubt about this, any man or woman who has maintained an intimate relationship with him can attest to it; it is difficult not to like him, even after the relationship with him has come to an end, which is why Albarino is very rich. Charm.

"I see," replied Herstal, his eyelids closed heavily, the wet ends of his hair pressing against Albarino's collarbone, "that's the horror of disaster."

The cabin was inhumanly neat and brightly lit, and Herstal looked around the room as he threw the heavy corpse on the ground and saw some fairly specialized saws, a pulley system hanging from the roof and refrigerators and the like.

Ordinary people should have started to feel creepy at some point in this thing, they are like in a low-cost thriller, since the director does not have enough budget to do anything to stab people's mouthparts into people's skulls and suck brains monsters, it can only construct a fantasy hut of a perverted murderer.

Herstal looked at the whole room deliberately - of course he would show that expression, because he usually chose a scene he saw fit to kill the victim, and then left the dead there and walked away, from then on. He won't go back after that, and he won't give himself a room full of equipment.

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