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Gray skies cried through soft pitter-patters of rain, droplets knocking onto the windows in quiet whispers that it almost played a tune.
Ike forms a small smile upon his lips, humming a few beats in delight by the sound accompanying him—legs tucked warmly under the blanket, back supported by newly changed pillows, and warm tea within arm's reach. It was the perfect scenario to enjoy a good book. He flips to the next page, appreciating the sound of paper as it moves along the control of his fingers.
Just as he continued on the next few words, three knocks came through the door. "Vox?" He asks. It was quiet for a while, no response coming from the other side. One would be skeptical of the mute reply, but Ike recognized the pattern in which the demon knocks. "You can come in, you know." He says.
It was immediately noticeable how Vox was unusually quiet in the slow manner he opened the door, bovine in his movements, as a soft creak resounded from the door’s hinges. He closes it behind him, dragging his feet to walk to the bed, then crawling under the blanket like a sluggish lump of cloth before finding purchase by the novelist's side. Ike had sensed that something bothered the lord's mind.
"Vox?" He calls, careful in his tone. His hands soothe the demon's cheek, running a delicate thumb onto his skin. He had placed his book onto the bedside table, facing the pages down to pick up later, attention now completely shifted to his gloomy lover. "Is something the matter?"
Vox was quiet at first, thoughts scrambled and clashed in his brain as he traced the wrinkles that appear on Ike's forehead when his expression forms that of a concern. Emerald eyes grew in worry whilst reading the demon, his gaze obviously switching from one gold-color eye to the next in hopes to figure out the answer there. Vox eventually moves, pushing himself to sit up. He cups one of his palms over the hand that stayed on his cheek, warm and safe in its touch. He sighs into it.
"Ike," He says the other’s name first, stalling. The novelist waits in anticipation, lips pursed, expressing that he was ready to listen—he always is. "Does it ever bother you that..." Vox trails off for a moment, hesitating. He heaves out a sigh. "Did you ever think about how I... would, you know, outlive you."
Vox feared what kind of expression would form onto the novelist's face as he reached the last word of his question. He expected shock, maybe confusion, but worst of all would be offense—for a demon like him, death was but another topic to discuss over afternoon tea. But for humans whose life is so scarce, death was an abrupt end to everything they’ve ever known.
But alas, Ike simply looks at him with those kind, gentle eyes. The demon had lived many years, and encountered many people, and yet none of those were enough to master the art of reading the novelist sometimes. It wasn’t a look of pity, nor guilt, his features were unmoving for his eyes spoke his soul. "Come here," Ike whispers.
Confusion took over the demon momentarily, wondrous of the sudden command instead of an immediate answer. Nonetheless, he follows, until the end of the world he would follow Ike.
He crawls in front of the novelist, stretching out his legs to give leverage for the man to scoot on his thighs. They settle in a comfortable position where Vox folded his calves inwards, creating a cushion for Ike to sit on as the novelist kept his place secure with his own legs wrapped around the demon’s hips. Ike brushes a few strands of hair away from Vox’s face, respecting the bangs that fell over his left eye. His hands settle to cup his jaws, bringing his carrying his face closer to peck the tip of his nose. The act almost sends a shiver onto Vox’s skin—no matter how many times he had been held by the novelist, every touch from him felt like the sunrise, new and welcoming but all so familiar, like it was falling in love with him over and over again.
The last time Vox had allowed himself to get close to a human was when he still had his clan. In all those times he watched seasons change, he feared more than anything to love only to grieve another loss—to get close to life only to be cursed by the gift of his immortality.
Ike took him like a storm without warning, stirring chaos in his heart that no longer beats to go against everything he knew to try again. His very presence rumbled the demon helpless that he ached more to have the novelist by his side than to bid an eternal goodbye.
But Ike also held him like the calm of the sea, gentle in his touches as the waves would soothed the shore.
He basked in this warmth; blood needn’t pump through the demon’s veins, skin left almost ice-cold and pale, a grim reminder he was in resemblance to a walking corpse. So he allowed himself to drown under the touch of Ike Eveland who was everything he wasn’t—alive, breathing life into him once again.
“I already knew what was in it for me when I accepted your confession.” Ike tells him, honest in his words. “I did know it was inevitable, unfortunate as it is. But that’s something I’ve long accepted.” He manages to smile, reassuring in his gaze. He guides Vox’s forehead to lean with his, the tips of their noses just inches apart. “Please do not feel guilt for the long life you’ll live as I am thankful for it. In your extensive timeline, you could have been anywhere else at any time in the world, loving someone else before our paths would cross. But time allowed us to meet.”
“And in this short time life has given me, I’d like to fill every minute of it with you.”
The room turned quiet except for the sounds of faint rain drizzling beyond glass panes, mixing into the soft patterns in which they breathe, breaths brushing along each other’s skin. Vox purses his lips together.
He did not deserve him, Vox thought. He did not deserve Ike Eveland. To have someone so willing to face death just for him who was cursed to watch it take, take, and take.
This was not the first time he’s seen loyalty of this kind, brave and daring in its nature. He’s seen it in his first people—the family he had found home in. He remembers the way they marched to meet their gruesome fates against blades too powerful it bestowed them death too early.
Nothing could ever describe the grief when he knew what loss was for the very first time—the grief he learned to recover from because of Ike.
Vox takes in the view of him, big hands coming to push aside loose strands of his hair. He takes a better look at him.
The loyalty in which Ike offered to him was different; it was still brave, and still daring, but not of a warrior’s. There was something much different—something that cares for him, comforts him, loves him.
In all those years of solitude, wandering aimless in his purpose, Ike gave him more than a home—he gave him a place in this world, the reason for his very existence. He can only fear a grief greater than the moon losing its sun if he were to be gone from his life.
Vox brings Ike into an engulfing embrace, swallowing his frame within the capacity of his arms. He was much smaller in size, slim unlike the demon who had more muscle built into him. He almost felt fragile under his touch, like he could break and disappear in a quick blink of an eye if Vox didn’t hold onto him tighter. Ike felt the way Vox’s arms tensed around him, pressing their chests closer together.
Ike allows his arms to wrap around the demon as well, palms patting him on the back.
Vox reveled in the way Ike made him feel grounded, reassured. He finds himself to be at a loss for words, unable to gather within the limits of the universe in ways to express the wondrous ways Ike makes him feel better .
“I love you,” he mutters to his world.
Amidst the silence, Ike’s heartbeat sings louder in his chest. He does not return the greeting of affection instantly, but Vox knows his love has been answered in the way Ike’s life resounds through his ears.
“I love you, too,” he still says, nonetheless. And as always, Vox delights himself in the fact he is one of the few people in this world that only gets to hear those words from him.
The demon giggles at the way Ike fails to hide his embarrassment, ears flushed red and warm. “I haven’t heard a heartbeat that loud in so long.”
“Oh, shush, that–that’s just because it’s so quiet!” Ike attempts to escape Vox’s lap only to fail by the strong arms that kept him secure in place. Curse this strong demon.
“No, no,” Vox presses his nose into Ike’s cheek, planting a chaste kiss. “I think it’s a lovely sound. Can’t I have a closer listen?”
Ike feins an irritated look—furrowed eyebrows and a pout. Vox mouths “Please?” silently, eyes pleading in request which was effective for its purpose. The novelist gave in.
He scoots backwards until he feels himself hit the pillows he set to cushion the headboard of the bed. He sinks into the plush material, shifting himself for a more comfortable position for him and Vox. When he settled, he opened his arms towards the demon, patting on the area where his chest was, and Vox descended his head to press his ear onto where Ike’s heart would be.
He closes his eyes, all his senses now focused on his hearing. He waits momentarily, determined to pick up a sound through the cotton fabric pajamas the novelist wore.
Thump. The first heartbeat. Thump. Then came the second. Thump. The third beat resounded faster this time. Soon, every beat pieced together into the beautiful sound of Ike’s proof of life—beautiful and precious it almost moved his heart that no longer beats in his body.
Ike had his hands rub the demon’s back in soothing circles. He feels how his breathing steadies amidst his listening, the rise and fall of his lungs becoming one with the movement of his own thumping heart. A soft smile escapes the novelist, and Vox felt how his heart had sped up again.
“What a beautiful sound,” Vox sighs, sinking into the arms of Ike. “I’m almost jealous.”
“You can have it once I die then.” Ike jested.
“Ike, I can’t believe I’m the one saying this, but that sounds so unrealistic.” Vox dismayed.
The novelist shrugs, raising his eyebrows though he knows Vox can’t see his movement. “I mean, who knows?” His voice raised in pitch. “The future might have something invented by that time already which could let you transfer my heart.”
Vox hums in disapproval. “That’s a horrible idea.”
“Well, I mean,” Ike almost stutters. “It could be a good idea too.”
Vox peels his ears off from Ike’s chest, golden eyes locked gazes with green pairs. “What’s the point of a beating heart if it won’t beat for you?”
Ike’s eyebrows furrowed once again, this time his face heated in red. He was brought speechless, his rib cages threatening to break at how much his heart had been pounding against in it the short while Vox has been in this room. “Oh, you and your words…” He grumbles, shying away behind his hands.
“I could say the same to you,” Vox takes Ike’s hand into his, lowering it to meet an embarrassed novelist. “Don’t hide from me, darling.” He brings their faces together, momentarily pausing in the scant space between them before capturing Ike in an innocent kiss.
Ike’s lips were soft against his, the faint taste of tea still stamped onto its curvature. The kiss was sweet and slow, caring in its method. It wasn’t like any of the kisses Vox usually initiated—rough, fervent—but it amounted to no less than those exchanges. It was one of his many ways he spoke love to Ike; from the passionate nights they shared when Vox told him in the many ways he burns for him, craving to be reignited by his warmth with how their bodies tugged and pulled at each other, to serene afternoons such as this where they moved in ebbs and flows, steady, rhythmically.
Vox drowned in the way Ike would make him high with his flavor, his hands soothing along his nape as they shared their kiss. Without meaning to, Vox had already opened up to the novelist in the ways he would feel good—how he likes it best, the trickle of skin tracing along his shoulders, hand roaming on his chest before it finds purchase under his ears, entangling in his hair. He finds himself absolutely helpless.
They part slowly, almost unable to let go yet, open mouthed kisses just to have one last taste of each other. It takes them a few moments to catch their breaths, giggling at the ways their shoulders heaved.
“Shall I go get us something to eat?” Vox nuzzles into Ike’s shoulder, drawing circles where his collar bones meet at that center.
Ike hums in thought. “Hmm, maybe later. I feel tired.”
“Of course, of course.” Vox lifts his head up briefly to reach a kiss on Ike’s cheek. This earns a smile from the novelist.
“Stay with me?”
“Always.”