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The first place he went was to Rosie. He knew he could trust her and frankly, she was the only person that he could stand right now. It was surreal being back after seven years- he needed some time to regroup and relax a little, and what better place to do it than at his favourite person’s table over a pleasant cup of tea?
“Dear, I think you should keep it!” Rosie crooned, “it looks wonderful on you!”
Alastor grimaced at her. It really felt like she had sunk her claws into this one thing and would simply not let it go. She had said something to that effect at least three times already, despite the fact that Alastor saw it as only a temporary inconvenience, and had of course told her as much.
“If I agree, will you let me talk about anything else of substance today?” he asked, dejected.
“Of course not! This is the best thing that’s happened to me in a while!” she said excitedly, “I miss having my hair long sometimes… you’re going to let me style it too! Oh I truly cannot wait for this.”
She sounded far too happy about this whole thing in Alastor’s opinion. The long hair was not even properly intentional, but rather a byproduct of the long absence in which he was a bit preoccupied with more important things than how exactly his hair looked. He did not hate it though. Maybe the slight bit of change would even be good for him; as much as it pains him to parrot the TV demon’s rhetoric, he must admit that he has gone to lengths to not change his appearance one bit since arriving in hell, and perhaps the new look would be welcome.
“Alright, alright, maybe I can live with it. And yes, you will help me style it as I have absolutely no idea what to do with it.” he replied. So far, he had put it into a low ponytail or let it hang loose, which were not the most fancy or the most out-the-way options, but it was all he could think to do with the fiery red locks, still dark at the bottom, that now fell down almost to his waist. He had seen plenty of ladies stroll around with long intricate braids and updos, which he thought he might fancy, but they sure looked like a lot of time and effort went into creating them. Perhaps sticking to simpler styles would be preferable. Would you look at that, perhaps this long hair business might actually turn out to be quite entertaining!
“Why don’t you let me braid it? That would suit you well.” Rosie said, already standing from her place at that table.
“...Sure. I suppose that wouldn’t hurt.” Alastor replied, far less enthusiastic. He was still not fully on board, but he did in fact suppose it would not hurt. At least not too much.
As they moved over to the sofa, Alastor realised that he had inadvertently put himself in a situation where he would have to let someone touch him. Extensively. With his back turned. But it was Rosie, someone who he did trust and did feel comfortable with, and it wasn’t like she had never touched him before, so this really should not be any different. It wasn’t any different.
He steeled himself and sat down on the ashy plum sofa, angled sideways to allow Rosie to get comfortable behind him after going to retrieve what he assumed to be hair ties. When she sat down, he instinctively tensed his shoulders in preparation for the touch- just because he agreed to it did not mean that he had to enjoy it.
Rosie, as observant as ever, noticed the slight change in posture.
“Alastor, darling, you know you don't have to do any of this if you don’t want to. I can go grab a pair of scissors and we can get you back to how it was. I can tell that you’re uncomfortable.” she said, dropping the upbeat tone in favour of sounding more concerned.
He really did love her, Alastor thought to himself.
“That won’t be necessary. I have decided I will give this long hair business a try. And it’s not that I am uncomfortable, but you know how I am with things like this. Please, do go on with whatever it is that you are doing back there.” he said, not looking behind him.
“Whatever you say, love, I promise I’ll be careful with it.”
And she was. He found himself actually enjoying the gentle, rhythmic sensation of Rosie’s hands in his hair, working her magic as she gathered it into a neat, loose braid. He actually noticed that he had leaned into the touch, rather than wanting to bolt and hating it completely as he had predicted would happen. What a surprisingly pleasant experience. Rosie seemed to be enjoying herself too, as Alastor’s ears picked up a familiar tune she was humming as she worked.
“All done!” A pleased chirp sounded behind him and he felt Rosie get up from the sofa. “Turn around and have a look.”
As he did just that, Alastor came face to face with a reflection of himself in an oval hand held mirror that Rosie had thrust in front of him. He studied the reflection and turned to the side to see what he could of the braid. All the red hair had been gathered into even sections, woven together precisely and creating a very appealing cascade down his back, with the end tied with a thin black ribbon also done with an expert hand to be perfectly symmetrical and straight. He hummed, deciding that he actually liked it quite a lot. It didn’t clash with the image of his suit, and he found that it was quite satisfying to watch it sway as he shook his head side to side curiously.
“I love it, Rosie, truly. You did a wondrous job.” he said, looking up to meet her smiling face.
“That is marvellous! Now, you need to be off or you’ll miss your slot at the tailor. I will see you again soon, and do not immediately ruin my hard work the second you step out the door.” Rosie replied warmly.
Of course, it took them another while of chit chat before actually parting ways, but soon Alastor found himself waving goodbye to Rosie before turning to walk through the streets of the Cannibal Town, content with the feeling of his hair swaying as he walked. He was headed to his favourite tailor, and was already vaguely making plans for lunch after. This was shaping up to be quite a lovely day.
It was not a lovely day at all.
Alastor could not fathom a worse possible thing that could have happened to him. And yet, this is the cruel joke that fate had decided to play on him today, of all days.
It happened as he was pleasantly walking down the sidewalk, hoping for a quick trip before he could return home and have a slow, relaxing day for the first time in a long time. And then, tragically, he turned a corner and was faced with a screen more agitating than the rest of those in the vicinity: Vox.
Vox was taking a happy afternoon walk through an arbitrary sector of his territory, enjoying a calm moment in his busy life. And the next moment his world was turned upside down.
As he turned a corner, he came face to face with the demon that had set up a permanent residence in the back of his mind for the past seven years. He thinks he short circuits right there and then.
Too many questions passed though his mind to keep up with, and he found himself frozen on the street with no idea where to go from there. What are you meant to do if you run into your rival-slash-crush on a random street corner? Seven years after you had last seen each other? Is there a manual for that? Where can he get it? Would it be appropriate to kiss him right now? Alastor is back! What? Trying to contemplate any of that was giving Vox a major headache.
So, to avoid this mental mess, Vox did the one thing he could think of in the moment: be aggressive about it.
“Alastor! You're here! Like, actually here, again? How? Why? What? I’m going to beat you so hard you’ll go back to whatever hole you made the mistake of leaving!” he shouted, jumping up out of his shocked state. He vaguely registered the fact that Alastor had not moved an inch, and looked more worn out than he remembered. Well, he had committed to this now, having raised an electrified claw and poised himself ready to attack.
“Alright, alright. Let's make it quick though, I have places to be.” Alastor grimaced, adjusting his stance and taking a firmer grip of his staff.
So, Vox pounced in his direction, aiming to strike at Alastor’s throat and knowing full well that he couldn't live with himself if he hit his target properly.
Alastor swivelled just in time to avoid the claw, sending Vox flying past him. Vox swiftly adjusted his balance and turned to his returned rival again- and caught something swaying as Alastor also turned to face him.
“HOLY SHIT IS THAT A BRAID? Since when do you have long hair??” Vox exclaimed, immediately thrown out of whatever he was about to do and apparently completely forgetting that he had just been about to try his very best to rip Alastor’s throat out. He jumped towards Alastor again, with completely different intentions than when he had a second ago but no less aggressively.
Apparently, he had caught Alastor off guard, because he was moments away from simply grabbing the thing to inspect it to his liking when Alastor seemed to jolt awake and grab his wrists. But, when Vox met his eyes, the violent, dangerous glint that he was expecting was missing, instead replaced by a dark tiredness.
“Calm yourself, Vox. Please, I do not know what has come over you.” Alastor said, “Why don’t we revisit this when you feel better, and less like you are about to explode from apparently trying to think too many things at once.”
Okay, now that he had actually cooled a little bit and fully registered the scenario, Vox was starting to get a little worried. Looking closer, Alastor did look far less lively than he had ever seen him; his smile was not so wide, his eyes not so bright as Vox would have expected with the rush of adrenaline he must have got from the would-be fight, and his posture was rigid as he gripped tightly onto Vox’s wrists, the staff discarded on the ground nearby. Something was clearly wrong, and while Vox did admit to being an asshole, he was not such an asshole that he didn’t care for his enemies’ well being at all.
“When I get better? Why don’t we revisit this when you get better. You… don’t seem yourself. Are you, uh, are you doing… alright?” Vox said weakly. This was definitely something he would have done for any other rival, not just Alastor. Definitely. It was definitely not that he cared for the other demon, despite all that Alastor had done to him. Mhm, yep, totally normal for Vox, to not exploit his greatest enemies’ weakness and instead ask if he is okay. Why are you even questioning him?
At the question, Alastor’s ear twitched, but he maintained his grip on Vox.
“Hmm, I fear you are right. I am not up to my usual standards at the moment. Perhaps it would be better to put our little scuffle on the shelf, as I previously mentioned, and return to it when we both feel more in the mood?” Alastor tried. He seemingly wanted to get out of the situation as quickly as possible without embarrassing his pride by saying Vox was the one that didn't feel well enough to fight. Typical.
Looking at Alastor again, Vox noticed something more. The longer they were standing there, the more Alastor seemed to lean into his grip on Vox’s wrists. Any extra adrenaline from the unexpected encounter had drained away from both of them, leaving the radio demon looking even worse for wear than when Vox had first noticed him, and vox was getting more and more worried. For tactical reasons, of course.
“Hey, listen. This is fun and all but I’m starting to get kinda genuinely worried here. Not in a rude way. You just… really don’t look good. Well no, you do look good. But not… You look like you're not doing okay! Is what I’m trying to say! And I’m also trying to say that because you don’t look okay I am potentially getting worried about you not being okay and I am going to offer you go, come to, my… flat?” Vox let out, short of breath. Terrible. Worst sentence ever concocted. He was never going to recover, but now he had to see it through.
“...Come with me? I don’t really want to leave you like this and find you dead from exhaustion or something tomorrow. You really do look tired.” Vox finished, only slightly more eloquently than his last attempt.
The answer he initially received was silence. Vox was panicking so hard he was finding it incredibly difficult to stay still and not zap away into the nearest camera and never show his face again. But, Alastor hadn’t let go of Vox’s wrists. In fact, his grip had softened somewhere during Vox’s nervous offer, and he was looking at Vox quizzically, head tilted slightly to one side in the way that Vox adored, and hated that he thought it was cute. In the moment of pause, Vox’s eyes were again drawn to the braid hanging down from Alastor’s head. A braid. Vox would do absolutely anything to get to touch it; hair had become sort of a thing for him, considering he did not actually have any. Especially Alastor's hair. He would be lying if he said that the concerned invitation was entirely and only out of worry- he was praying that Alastor would agree, so that, if he played his cards right, he would get that opportunity before scaring Alastor away completely. Fuck’s sake, what was wrong with him? Thinking about touching his rival and how hot he was, instead of where said rival had been for the past seven fucking years? He needed to get his priorities straight, but that was the furthest thing from his mind right now.
It felt like infinity before Alastor opened his mouth to reply.
“That would be… not a terrible thought.” Alastor spoke. Vox thought he heard nervousness in that voice, but put it aside in favour of freaking out internally more than he already was.
“A little rest has never hurt. Provided, of course, the patron does not use this as a ploy to try to kill me- that would be foolish, though, and fruitless.” Alastor continued, unaware of the other demon’s predicament.
Still, Alastor was holding Vox’s wrists and seemingly not planning to let go. Vox had never felt so ecstatic or so terrified in his life, death, or anything in between.
Alastor does not know why he agreed to this. He had found himself sat on the sofa at Vox’s home, with a mug of bitter tea sat almost finished on the table beside it and Vox sat beside him, very obviously nervous but trying to be nonchalant about it.
He cannot blame the decision to agree to Vox’s invitation entirely on tiredness, although he did have to admit (only to himself, he would not in any dimension prove Vox right that explicitly) to being incredibly exhausted. Maybe the comfortable place and indeed a little rest would actually be good? There was definitely more behind the decision, but he was not prepared or willing to deal with that right now.
Instead, he focused on not falling asleep where he sat, which was made slightly easier by the unrelenting force of Vox’s eyes laser-focused on him. He could tell that the other demon wanted to ask something- probably a lot of things- and he was waiting until the questioning inevitably started, trying to put together comprehensive answers to things that he knew would be of interest- a task that was not easy in his current state. So far though, Vox had only sat there nervously wringing his hands, unusually quiet where Alastor had expected immediate interrogation and constant chatter.
Finally, Vox seemed to work up the courage to speak.
“So… long time no see, eh? You.. grew out your hair. It looks good, great, even, yeah, I uh, like it.” Vox stuttered. Not what Alastor was expecting, he had not prepared an answer for that. It wasn't even a question, and he could not see why this was the thing that Vox would choose to start with.
“...Thank you. I had some… slightly more urgent matters to attend to than maintaining the neater cut.” Alastor replied, warily. He was sure this was going somewhere, just not yet sure where.
“Keeping it tied like that must hurt your head though, right?” Vox continued, failing miserably at an uncaring tone, “Wouldn’t it be nicer if someone… took it out? You’d not get a headache, and it would be more comfortable. Yes, you should definitely let someone do that.”
Interesting. Not a terrible suggestion either. He hadn’t braided his hair before, and, while absolutely stunning, Rosie’s work was a tad too tight to be entirely comfortable for someone not used to it. That's two not terrible suggestions from Vox in one night: a new record! Alastor does in fact catch on to the incredibly un-obvious implication that Vox should be the ‘someone’, and somehow that does not bother him as much as he thinks it reasonably should. Alas, today was not the day to dwell on that. He was sure he would regret the decision he was about to make, but that is a problem for future Alastor because right then he did not particularly have the energy to care.
“That, my friend, is the least bad idea you have had in a while. It is not the most comfortable arrangement. So, would you be a dear and help take it out?” Alastor said.
He would not admit it, but he had no idea how to take out a braid properly without completely tangling everything, and doing so without seeing it was a challenge he was not currently willing to undertake. Fuck’s sake, what was wrong with him? Maybe he was finally losing his mind, letting Vox, who was supposed to be his sworn rival, touch his hair? It was not so uncomfortable that he absolutely had to get someone to help him take it out, and he very easily could have not taken the bait and declined. In fact, he could very easily get up and leave and never speak of this again. While objectively the correct thing to do, that did not present as an appealing choice. Very curious. He shelved the thought as something to come back to later.
Beside him, Vox felt about to explode.
“I would be more than happy to do that! Definitely!” Vox leaped at the offer with suspicious enthusiasm, then apparently realised that fact and made it worse in his attempt to fix it, “I mean, yeah, man, no problem, that would be uh, totally cool. For me. To do. Yes.”
Alastor almost felt bad for him. Almost. This was certainly somewhat entertaining.
So, Alastor turned to the side to allow Vox to sit behind him, just like he had done previously that day with Rosie. He remembered how nervous he had been about being touched then, by someone he considers his best friend and whom he trusted completely, so why he was less nervous now was completely beyond him.
But, just like that, he sat still as Vox settled in behind him and began to very gently undo the braid with anxious claws.
Vox could not believe his luck. He had not expected in the slightest that the radio demon would give in that easily, but here he was, granted the astounding privilege of being trusted with Alastors hair while his back was turned. He was trying so hard to be gentle with it while also trying to not jump out of his skin- he knew very well how sensitive Alastor was about touch and he would die if he let this opportunity slip from his hands because of his own inability to be normal about it. The fast heartbeat and shaky breath were not contributing to the ‘be normal about it’ task, and the fact that Alastor was letting him do this at all was beyond him and also certainly not helping.
He worked up the courage to actually take hold of the braid, pluck off the ribbon, start to run his claws through the strands, and, oh, that was the most beautiful feeling in the world.
It was like holding the smoothest silk, a fiery cascade of blood abruptly cutting to harsh black at the ends creating the most stunning contrast of shades. And when the light hit it just right, that deep black turned to a softer dark brunette beneath the rays while the red only burned brighter with embers of reflection swimming through the sea of blood. Long waterfalls ran between Vox’s hands like painted perfection, a sensation he wanted to sear into his mind forever to reply again and again when he inevitably had to step away. But that was not now. Now, he could relish that texture forever, feel it like an artist’s brush leaving deep impressions on his skin and lose himself in the moment. He worked his way up the braid, delicately undoing each section and running his claws through the hair with utmost care and precision to make sure not a single piece was out of place. No sane person would have done anything less if they knew the extent of what they had, in Vox’s humble, definitely not biased opinion.
Alastor sat stock still in front of him, not quite tense but not relaxed either, simply just unmoving where Vox could not see his face. All that Vox wanted was for Alastor to melt into his touch, to enjoy the moment as much as Vox was and see that he really did care, so, so deeply for the other demon. Electric claws glided further still up the braid, reaching the point where Vox slowed his ministrations to stretch the moment as far as he could, resorting to gently running his hands through the hair at the base of Alastor’s skull.
Something shifts in the air, and Vox feels the body in front of him lean into his hands, humming so softly that it would not have been heard if not for the deafening silence heighted by Vox’s own anxiety. This is what he imagines heaven feels like. No, scratch that, this is what he knows heaven feels like. There has never been anything eliciting such joy, such pleasure and deep satisfaction than that tender movement- to feel that this is at least somewhat mutual, that the most perfect demon in Hell is allowing, no, inviting this is on the very verge of what Vox can handle before he completely overheats. He hopes, so hard, that this is not the end; that this beauty extends to the realm of the future where he can drink it in again and again and again and not fear its fleeting nature.
This most beautiful feeling was not just the physical, but ran so much deeper than that. Vox felt trusted as he never had before, allowed to handle something so private and hidden that he was sure no other had felt it in such raw form. He was not just thinking of his hair, but Alastor himself. Alastor, who was stiff and cold and hidden, who recoiled at the notion of being touched, who never averted his piercing gaze, who was perfect as the glowing sparks of raging fire, hot and sharp and dangerous and powerful and beautiful . That Alastor, who was currently leaning back as Vox ran his claws through long blazing hair, his eyes lidded and ears relaxed in a visage of glimmering comfort. Vox could not fathom how he had gotten here, allowed to be at the right place and the right time and given the utter privilege of such deep, overwhelming trust.
Hands shaking and screen flushed pink to oblivion, Vox would not have dreamed of being anywhere else in the world.
This was nice. Very nice. Concerningly so. Alastor did not know what he had expected, or why he even agreed to this in the first place, actually. He certainly had not expected to have such a pleasant time from such a simple act as someone essentially playing with his hair. Perhaps that had to do with the ‘someone’ being Vox, but that is irrelevant.
Now, Alastor isn’t stupid. He had noticed that he enjoyed it when Rosie was braiding his hair earlier- it was nice, it was the good sort of intimate, and it was relaxing. He knew, therefore, that he would inevitably enjoy what Vox was doing, at least physically, but he hadn’t exactly thought that he would enjoy it emotionally as much as he was. He was feeling considerably less exhausted than he had that morning; still tired, but in a pleasant way now, settled comfortably on the sofa and leaning into the rhythmic movement of Vox’s claws behind him as his eyelids closed in quiet delight.
He distantly thought about the missed tailor appointment and abandoned lunchtime plans, but could not find the will to be even annoyed by those prospects with a hypnotising warmth spreading through his scalp. And he was not the only one having a pleasant time. Alastor could sense Vox’s nervousness, but if the TV demon’s stuttering breath and the poorly concealed hums were any indication, he was enjoying this just as much (if not far more) as Alastor was.
Perhaps, this was a beginning of something. Perhaps this could be revisited somewhere, if time was kind to them. Alastor would not mind that, he thinks, lost in the daze of melting consciousness as he feels himself doze off slightly. He doesn't fight it. He knows he cannot stay, knows there will be questions, anger, disappointments, blood and tears. But now there is none of those things, and maybe, if he stays a little longer, the mirage will not shatter and slice his heart just yet.