Work Text:
It’s been a long time since we last spoke.
There’s a perfect version of you in my head
and an awful version of you that I resent.
In reality, you were somewhere in between.
I am slowly learning to live without you.
Now isn’t the time, but I hope we can be friends again someday.
They’d been associates for no more than six months when Vox came to a realisation about himself, Alastor, their partnership and what it all meant to him; it took him ten more years to realise why it never worked out.
Sure, he had his fair share of interest in men as he did in women during his time alive, yet they were all meaningless flings he’d found at public bathrooms and would shoo off before the sun could come up.
His wife, the pretty little thing, was some assistant who just so happened to work in the same department as him. Of course, she wasn’t in front of the big screen lights like he had been, yet she played a fairly important role backstage. They got married quickly, had no kids, and lived a life spent more on harbouring secrets than engaging in conversation with each other.
Perhaps that too, the ease with which he got anything that he pleased, ended up shaping him as a person. If he wanted to feel that sweet, shy and tender love that Elvis guy sang about, he could just take his wife out on a date in the local park, as she never rejected his offer after all; yet they stopped doing that completely in the last few years of their marriage. On the other hand, if he wanted to feel like goddamn Alexander the Great as he fucked a guy he met half an hour ago doggystyle, he could also get up to that.
If he were to ponder on it, he never associated gay relationships with love, only with lust; just as he only associated heterosexual relationships with love, never lust. Ironically he ended up chasing exactly what he ran away from in each type of relationship, respectively.
Therefore, it came as a surprise to himself, when he ended up stroking Alastor’s arm during one of their discussions, trying all the while to pass it off as him being suddenly more handsy than he usually was. God damn alcohol, am I right?
And at first, Alastor genuinely, or as genuinely as he could, played along. His eyes drifted to Vox’s hand on his arm, gazed at it for a few seconds until he lifted his eyes to meet Vox’s, waited for a second or two, then gave him his wicked grin.
In the following months, Vox’s advances only grew, as physical contact seemed to be his new medium of expression. At least, when it came to Alastor.
Surprisingly, Alastor never said much to stop him. He made small jokes here and there about the other’s behaviour. Sometimes he would throw in a “Now, now, slow down you nogoodnik.”
At one point, Vox came to the conclusion that courting young maidens in his youth wasn’t that much different from how he approached Alastor now. He seemed to act like the girls next door from his neighbourhood, who never had much of a clue about boys or romance, who were way too focused on studying and worrying about their applications to an Ivy League school.
Vox could never figure out why a grown man such as Alastor acted that way. Why he always indulged his advances to the minimum, deeming a silent toothy smile or a remark such as “Are you that eager to go over our financial losses for this month?” to be enough. There was no way he was strictly heterosexual, after all, just observe the way he acted.
One day, as they were both about to leave their messy office on the outskirts of Pentagram City, Vox decided to fuck it and shot his shot. As Alastor was cleaning out his desk, wearing that full smile he always had, Vox approached him and leaned on the wall nearby. Without dropping his smile, Alastor turned his neck in that uncanny fashion of his and tilted his head slightly, as if asking the other a question.
Vox said nothing, only waiting until the other finished packing up everything. Really, he was trying to pass off as nonchalant as possible, even if there were a thousand nervous thoughts in his head. As Alastor was done, he approached Vox and lifted an eyebrow. In reply to this, Vox simply straightened his posture and slowly cupped Alastor’s face in his hands, before leaning in and kissing him.
At first, Alastor’s eyes moved from left to right, looking at Vox’s hands on his face, yet saying nothing. When he was finally about to say “Vox?”, he was interrupted by said man pressing his lips firmly to his.
The kiss didn’t last long, Alastor remained still through the entire thing either way.
As Vox separated from him, about to tease him about this being his first kiss or what, Alastor looked down quickly, seemingly losing his composure for a few seconds before saying:
“I want to let you know that I am not into that kind of thing, and I think it would be better if we stopped being business associates.” How very straightforward of him.
The lust from previously dissipated almost immediately, Vox’s eyes going wide, spirals in both of them. Was that red drool?
“What, you calling me a fucking faggot or?! By the way you fucking act, you belong in a fucking whore house! Just look at your-fucking-self, Alastor!” Vox’s anger was quick to spiral out of control, as he rambled nearly any hurtful thought that would cross his mind out loud.
Yet, as his tirade went on and on, Alastor simply stood there, smile not dropping an inch. And when he sighed, as if he was about to say something, he dissipated only moments after into a thick murky greyish substance that eventually evaporated.
“Oh yeah, real fucking mature of you, Alastor! … Fuck you too, asshole!!!”
He was gone.
*
The office was sold after a while, and their business alliance ended quietly.
A few more months passed before their paths intertwined again. Vox’s empire had been rising steadily, yet it was no match for Alastor’s tyrannical regime. At least, not yet.
This coincidental meeting just so happened to be in Cannibal Town; further information about how, when, where and why is pretty much pointless. It simply happened.
If you were to pass by this cafe in Cannibal Town, you’d hear a conversation between a wendigo and a transhumanist, the highlight of which being:
“Ah, my old friend, I see you’ve aligned yourself with some new people in terms of business!” Alastor was planning on starting a full offensive. That would come later.
“Hmph! Val actually knows his shit, thank you very much. How about you? Do you still enjoy leading people on? I hear that’s quite the talent in your… industry.” Vox replicated his toothy smile.
“Oh, excuse my manners! I don’t do romance or anything of that nature. I’m sure you don’t have a problem with that though, given Valentino…” Alastor squinted his eyes.
“Wow, what a fucking way of saying you’re a loser.” Alastor could tell Vox was getting pissed.
“And pal, just between you and me, even if I was into that, trust me, I don’t see how anyone could love you , let alone myself . You’re just… fucked up like that, you know, Vox?”
“Oh yeah? Want me to tell you something, Alastor? I’m glad your mom died and you had to go through all that bullshit after her death and I’m glad it made you kill people and eat them or whatever the FUCK you did! Oh and now that I remember it, that thing of yours, that you don’t do love, does it have to do with that man who… hmm…let me think… what was it… raped you?”
He had never seen Alastor’s smile go away that fast. Nearly instantly as he finished his sentence, he was thrown on the ground by Alastor’s demonic bidding. Before he could even fight back, Alastor’s eyes went wide like two clocks and completely pitch black as he started choking him.
*
Because Moneyshot was already bedazzled to hell and back, Valentino asked Vox to search for his other, less used gun, in one of the drawers from their bedroom. Vox knew that the handgun was probably in that one drawer they shared, which held both of their things.
There was a bunch of crap in it and no sign of the handgun. Yet, what Vox did come across, was an old newspaper - one so old, it was around from before Valentino even generated in hell.
He was surprised to find it, given he hadn’t seen an actual newspaper in decades. Curiosity got the best of him as he opened it. A photo fell out.
It showcased Vox and Alastor on a bench, simply chatting. They leaned against one another, both looking into each other’s eyes. It made present-day Vox stop dead in his tracks.
He shoved the photo as quickly as he could back in the drawer.
*
Valentino was already fast asleep, while Vox still lay awake.
I miss that. I miss us.
No, you don’t. Remember how he treated you?
I was shit to him too. Do you think he ever thinks about… me? About us?
Do you think we’re doomed in each universe?