Chapter Text
Ike is a menace. Vox doesn’t use that word lightly. Even that crazy wildcat that almost clawed his face off before Vox threw it into the containment facility was described as a cute little pet—a description that made his entire team submit requests to the military hospital for a psych reassessment in the hopes that maybe whatever issue Vox had was fixable.
But Ike is… monstrous. He’s a maelstrom, violent and destructive right at his center. Within a handful of days, he’s whipped the Akuma squad into a bunch of quailing, obedient little children waiting for their mother to give them permission to run down to the sparring arena to let off some steam.
He doesn’t let Vox off either. He sits Vox down—and Vox goes, because who is he to reject a pretty face—and sets paperwork in front of Vox and starts a fucking timer.
Two hours, the man had said, smiling genially at Vox with absolutely no compassion behind those eyes. You have three hundred documents to sign.
Vox remembers protesting. He remembers standing up and trying to jump out the window. It was a ten floor drop to the ground, but he wouldn’t have actually fallen that far. Vox has staged a timely exit from his office window often enough to know that there’s a ledge on the seventh and third floors that he can catch to break his fall.
And Ike’s lips ticked up. That smile, crooking higher on his mouth, and the next words out of his mouth made Vox question his entire reality.
The ledges on the seventh and third floor have been removed, Ike told him. I put in a personal request.
Vox distinctly recalls being amazed. It’s a surreal experience, having someone know you so well it’s like they tore your heart out and read your fate from how the entrails splayed out on the sacrificial table. Not even Selen has figured out how he manages to get down from the tenth floor in a matter of seconds without breaking all his limbs.
After that, though, he doesn’t remember much. Three hundred documents is enough to force him into an out-of-body experience. His war victories are a severe headache and a cramped wrist.
“Well done,” a voice says above him. Vox is still sitting in his chair, muscles lax and loose as he tilts his head so far back it looks like he died from overwork. The black silk sleep mask is fitted tightly over his eyes to block out all light, so he can’t see the face of the intruder at his desk.
He can, however, track the ticking of their heart. The pace of their footsteps.
“Eveland,” he grouses, refusing to move from his position. “You’ve done something many Sentinels wish they could do.”
“What is it?” Ike asks, voice tinged with clear amusement. There’s the sound of clicking, fingers tapping away quickly at a screen, and Vox imagines it in his mind’s eye. Ike standing before him, hip leaning against the edge of his desk. A tablet in the crook of his elbow, and those fishnet gloves skid across the translucent screen as Ike does whatever he needs to do to send off Vox’s paperwork. The sun pours in through the window behind Vox, shards of light dusting Ike’s hair to cast it in a golden glow.
Vox gives in to temptation. He pushes a thumb under his sleep mask and lifts it just a sliver, enough to eye Ike and see if his vision bears any similarity to reality.
It doesn’t. Because in this reality, Ike is looking at him, eyes glittering in the afternoon sunlight, and Vox swallows tightly.
It’s a heady feeling. To have the attention of a beautiful man so heavily concentrated on you.
“You’ve killed me,” he says lowly, stripping the sleep mask off. “Not even the parasites shipside could do that to me.”
“What an honor, Akuma,” Ike replies, smiling briefly before he goes back to the tablet. “You performed excellently. Three hundred documents, signed and stamped in a little under one and a half hours. I’ll be adjusting the time in the future.”
“In the—what? Am I being punished for being efficient?!” Vox asks in alarm, sitting upright. He felt like a madman, signing those documents over and over again—at some points, the words started swimming before his eyes. Vox stopped reading what exactly he was signing, and just started trusting Ike.
It helped that Ike highlighted every page that needed his signature. Vox just started looking for stark yellow and blindly signing his name.
“These are documents you should have submitted months ago. If you didn’t have this heavy of a backlog, you wouldn’t have to sit here and suffer like this.” Seeing Vox’s devastated expression, Ike hides a grin. “Yes, I can tell you were suffering. You looked at the window exactly twenty-four times.”
“If someone didn’t get rid of my escape route, I would be in a much better mood,” Vox lies. If Ike didn’t get rid of his escape route, he would be gone. Somewhere in a cafe, sipping an espresso martini as he people-watches and listens in on saucy conversations. Hey, if he’s cursed with excellent senses, he may as well make full use of them.
It’s not like he spreads around the tea he becomes privy to. At most, he shares them with the team just for a good laugh. Once, he overheard this son accuse his mother of cheating on his father since his DNA didn’t match with his father’s. And that was how the mother had to break it to the son that he wasn’t biologically hers either, since they had picked him up off the roadside on a neighboring planet.
Really, it was dramatic stuff.
“I’m sure,” Ike notes mildly, scribbling something elegantly on the tablet in his hand. “You’re free for the rest of the day, Akuma.”
Vox blinks. “No more paperwork?”
“No more paperwork. As I said, do a good job on this and you’ll be rewarded.” Ike glances at him, raising an eyebrow. Vox swears he sees the Guide’s lips slant upwards. “I know how to reward good behavior.”
“Christ,” Vox mutters, fingers tightening around his arm rests. Does the man always speak like that? With that lilt to his voice, bright and teasing, like he knows something Vox doesn’t? Like he keeps a secret between his lips, on the tip of his tongue, and he won’t give it to Vox even if Vox goes digging around in that sweet mouth?
“Are you busy with anything later today?” He blurts out, the words spilling before he can hold them back. Embarrassment curls in his gut at how blatant he is, but when Ike looks up to catch his gaze, Vox rolls his shoulders back and tilts his chin up. He wears false bravado like a favorite cloak. Confidence is the easiest way to impress someone, after all.
It doesn’t work on Ike. “I have some requisition papers to settle. There’s also the issue of Tatsuki’s Guide—I’ve taken the liberty of arranging for her to take the introductory battle-ready course held at the Center. She needs to get back to me on her earliest available dates for the next week before I can arrange for the usual medical check-ups, Guide testing and measurement taking.”
Vox doesn’t stare. He doesn’t. He does, however, open and close his mouth uselessly for a few seconds before pulling himself together. “The forms?” He asks weakly, although he can already guess what Ike will say.
“Prepared and sent to her for review.” Ike shrugs, lifting one shoulder and letting it fall back down carelessly. “I’ve spoken to her—she’s serious about joining the Akuma squad. I’ve also let her know to approach me if she has any questions about any of the clauses in the forms I’ve sent.”
“And the places for signatures are highlighted in yellow?”
“Of course. I’ve found that yellow is one of the best colors to get the attention of an inattentive reader.” Ike gives Vox a pointed look.
Vox lets the jab go, like water rolling off a duck’s back. “You’re a godsend,” he says instead, with immense feeling. What were the odds? Getting a gorgeous person in the team who coincidentally is a fucking genius when it comes to paperwork. Vox isn’t inefficient, but it would have taken him a few weeks to get Finana all sorted out.
Ike settled her entrance into the team in a matter of days.
Across the table, Ike clutches the tablet a little tighter. “Hm,” he murmurs, eyeing Vox speculatively. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Akuma.”
Before Vox can stop him, Ike sweeps out of his office like he owns the place.
Vox collapses back into his chair, running a hand through his hair. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, wheezing as he buries his face in his palms.
==
“I think I’m in love,” he declares with utter seriousness to the unwilling listeners at the canteen table.
“Pass the fries,” Reimu tells Enna, not even pretending to entertain Vox.
“Get your own damn fries,” Enna complains, dumping at least half the basket onto her plate before passing it over to Reimu. “And give me some of your shepard’s pie.”
Reimu sniffs haughtily as she cuts out a quarter of her pie to dump on Enna’s plate.
“Come on,” Vox says to the air, stabbing a broccoli with his fork. “Is no one interested in my burgeoning love story?”
“Eveland hasn’t shown a single lick of interest in you since the day he joined the team,” Enna points out, diving into her shepherd’s pie. “Oh damn, this shit is good! Did they switch up the chef? It wasn’t this good last time.”
Vox sits upright. “I can change his mind,” he insists. “I’m convincing. I’m charming. I’m a catch.”
“You’re off your rocker,” Reimu tells him, fighting off Enna when the latter tries to steal more of her shepard’s pie. “What do you think makes you attractive to him? What’s your selling point?”
“Ooh, this is like that dating profile we kept telling you to make! Okay, you’ve got my full attention, chief. Tell me about your, uh, what did they call it? Your finest attributes.”
“I’m five foot ten,” Vox says. “I’m rich. I’m a General. I’m handsome.”
“At least you didn’t try to pretend to be six foot one.” Reimu nods approvingly. “But that doesn’t make you stand out. There are at least seven Generals on this planet. And all of them are rich and handsome.”
Enna makes a noise of disgust. “You think Elijah’s handsome?”
“Oh fuck, I forgot he was a General. Ew. Okay, six of the seven Generals are handsome.”
“Six out of seven.” Enna leans over, knocking her shoulder into Vox’s. “Pretty bad odds there, chief.”
“Six out of five billion people on this planet,” Vox corrects her. “That just means I am in the top six candidates. I’m excellent.”
Reimu tuts disapprovingly. “Your ego will be the death of you. Have you ever tried to chase anyone in your life?”
Vox opens his mouth. Surely at some point in his twenty-three years of life, he’s tried to woo someone. It’s not like he hasn’t flirted with people before; Vox flirts as easily as he breathes. It just comes naturally to him, like the words had always been in his mouth, just rolling around and waiting to be used.
Ike’s different, though. More often than not, Vox finds himself at a complete loss for words when it comes to the Guide.
But when Vox really sits down and thinks about it, he’s never had to chase anyone. They kind of just… fell into his lap. Without protest.
“My god,” Enna complains, shaking her head as she steals some of Vox’s pasta. “Mister I never had to work for anything in my life wants to chase after a Guide now, huh?”
“Hey!” Vox protests, but that’s all the protest he gives for two reasons. First, Enna’s right. He kind of did have a fairly smooth-sailing life right to the top. His only trip-up—arguably karma in force to ensure he wouldn’t be too perfect—is his broken mind that turns on himself and on anyone who even tries to help.
Second, Ike slides into the seat across him with a steak and crisscut fries.
“Good afternoon,” Ike says, ever the picture of elegance and poise. He starts cutting his steak into little bite-sized portions and brings one up to his mouth. His spine is straight and his shoulders are relaxed; it looks like he’s fine dining in a ballroom with the leaders of the State instead of eating at a military canteen.
“It’s a great afternoon,” Vox replies, leaning forward. “How’s your food?”
Ike pauses just long enough to peer at Vox. “It’s passable. I’ve had better steak, but it’s a canteen, not a five star restaurant. I’ve tempered my expectations.”
“I’ll take you out to a five star restaurant,” Vox says immediately. “I’m a pretty good cook myself. I’ll cook for you. If you come to my apartment for Friday team dinners, I’ll cook for you.”
Across the table, Reimu stares, gobsmacked at his behaviour. Enna leans over to whisper in her ear, quiet enough that Ike can’t hear, but Vox hears it in crystal clarity. “Since when did we have Friday team dinners?”
Vox elbows her sharply in the gut without any remorse. “How about it?” He asks, offering a smile that has been known to make Guides weak in the knees.
“I’ll think about it.” Ike brings another piece of steak to his mouth. “I wasn’t aware of such a team tradition, so I have plans this Friday evening. I’ll try to attend next week’s team dinner.”
“What plans?” Enna asks, and Vox vows to buy her that new console she’s been bugging him about for weeks on end.
Ike hesitates. He worries at his lower lip, teeth running lightly across the skin. “I have to go back to the Center. I have some… things to settle there. Personal matters.”
“Got it. What about drinks on Saturday? On Vox’s tab?” Reimu winks at Ike. “He even lets us shack up at his place once we’re done. His place is huge. There are at least three bathrooms in there. All outfitted with ceiling showers and jacuzzi baths.”
This makes Ike stop and think. He slides his gaze over to Vox, looking like he’s really considering it. “Are there really jacuzzi baths?”
Vox doesn’t know. He’s never used the baths. Showers are a bit of a hit or miss for him—sometimes the steam and the heat get too much, overwhelming his senses, and he has to exit the bathroom in under five minutes or he’ll risk a drop. He’s invested in a whole swathe of ‘scentless’ gels, but he’s never managed to find soap that doesn’t irritate his nose. His current one is just the least offensive of the lot, but he’s slowly getting tired of it as well.
“I think so?” He says honestly, looking at Reimu and Enna. “I don’t really take baths.”
Enna gasps. “You’ve never even used your own jacuzzi bath?!”
“Sitting in water for long periods of time is not really appealing to me,” Vox replies, attempting to defend himself. “I just take a shower. It’s faster.”
“There are definitely jacuzzi baths,” Reimu tells Ike. “I am being so serious right now. That’s half the reason we hang out at his place. The other reason is that his beds are out of this world level of soft.”
Reimu and Enna are making him sound like he swims in decadence, or something. Like Vox lives and breathes expensive purchases, like he splurges on comfort so much that he loses track of what he even has in his household. The truth is that he asked an interior designer to go ham, gave them an unlimited budget because his money has to be used for something at some point, and it just so happened that the interior designer was related to one of the doctors in his building.
So the interior designer knew exactly what they were doing with the blackout curtains, soundproof rooms, thick walls and cloud-soft beds.
“You make a very convincing pitch,” Ike laughs, shaking his head. “I suppose I have to see this famed jacuzzi bath and soft bed for myself.”
Vox lights up. Enna and Reimu are excellent wingwomen. He has half a mind to promote them, but they’ll likely revolt because of the increased paperwork.
“So, this Saturday?”
Ike’s gaze shifts to Vox. He smiles faintly, eyes curving behind his glasses as he looks at Vox. “This Saturday,” he agrees.