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When Vox had invited Alastor to spend time with him at his apartment, he was only half sure of him actually following through. After all, they had only known each other for a few months, and they hadn't spent time with each other outside of the one bar they seemed to keep meeting at.
(Most meetings were coincidental, as they happened to revolve around a similar schedule, but the last few were partially planned by the TV host.)
It was a cool evening when Alastor arrived, and Vox opened the door to see him in semi-casual attire—a bottle of wine in one hand, typical microphone in the other.
The bottle was finished by midnight.
The two of them were flushed and far beyond tipsy, the moon hiding from them as it placed itself directly over the apartment. Alastor had not gone home yet, and Vox was not yet interested in leading him out. So, with great inevitability, Alastor had summoned a gramophone to play an obscure early to mid 1900s mix.
Vox couldn’t remember when they started dancing, but they eventually stumbled into some sort of rhythm.
Well, it was more stumbling and laughing (giggling, but neither man would admit to that) rather than actual proper dancing. There wasn’t an audience to impress, anyway. It was just them, occasionally bumping into furniture and sometimes pausing awkwardly to reorient themselves as they traveled from room to room.
Considering that the dancing was mixed with an overdose of alcohol, the two demons were now inventing some sort of strange hybrid fox trot and twisting that Alastor normally wouldn’t have been fond of if he were sober.
Alastor wasn’t a lightweight, so Vox leaned into the small hopeful thought that the Radio Demon was allowing the TV host to indulge himself with him, just this once. Then again, at some points, his face was nearly as red as his hair, so perhaps not.
Vox couldn’t recall when they stopped dancing either, but, eventually, the heat died down, and he allowed himself to sloppily sprawl himself across the living room couch on his stomach. Alastor, apparently not intoxicated enough, had elegantly placed himself down in one of the chairs (opposite the couch), one hand neatly on his lap, the other slightly fiddling with the length of his microphone leaning on the armrest.
Despite their opposing approaches in settling themselves, the demons were audibly catching up on oxygen, both in dire need of something to offset the wine in their systems.
Alastor spoke up first, not without clearing his throat with a slight distortion, but he spoke up with an impressive control.
“I’m going to rest.”
Vox gave him an accepting nod, despite how Alastor (the arguably more experienced Overlord) didn’t really need to announce it out loud or require his permission.
But, as soon as the demon closed his eyes, Vox started to miss his eyes being open, for a little. And, the chair didn’t seem like the most comfortable place to spend one’s sleep in, so Vox took back his permission.
“Wait—aren’ you… shouldn’ you tuluh…port” —Vox cleared his throat— “back to your place?”
Alastor’s rich red eyes made their grand appearance once more, albeit with a little confusion.
“Why… should I?”
Vox, rather gracefully, flipped himself over onto his back before giving his respectable reasoning.
“I could sneak attack you… while you’re vulnerable.”
Almost immediately, Alastor gave a light string of laughs at the comment, and Vox wanted to sew it directly into his mind. He didn’t quite mind how the laughter was made to tease him.
“Oh, please! The dancing before was more likely to kill me than you right now.”
At that, Vox made an effort to cross his arms petulantly and make a loud scoff that accidentally came out amused. He could vaguely make out the pink light that his own screen was omitting on the ceiling as he looked up at it.
“You dunno that. Trust me at your own risk! Is probably something I’ve said to you before…”
Vox trailed off with something that Alastor seemed to perceive as guilt or hesitancy. It was more of the latter, but Vox was still surprised by Alastor’s cordial trust in him. This was still their first personal meeting, after all.
Alastor’s red eyes bore an amused glint as he leaned back rather comfortably into the cushioning of the chair.
"Ah, don't be so modest, my friend. I have my ways of defending myself. Trust me, if you were planning to get me, you wouldn't have enough time to try anything."
The Radio Demon smiled, as he always did, but the arch of his lips had turned into something rather dopey, and his eyes gleamed hazily. At the sight, and at the vague recollection of Alastor’s reasoning, Vox nodded distantly, leading to Alastor’s eyelids drooping once more.
As Vox waited, he couldn’t find it in himself to move his body into a more professional position; one leg was hanging precariously off the edge of the couch, with the foot of his opposing leg anchoring itself between the two bottom cushions. His head was uncomfortably angled on the couch’s rather boxy armrest, and his arms were spread as if he were about to embrace the air. Vox kept his screen slightly facing the deer demon, despite the discomfort.
Only after a few minutes, Alastor's body was still, having completely surrendered to the peaceful state of slumber.
His eyes were gently closed, and his breaths were slow and even. His smile remained, but it was less overpowering and more relaxed—as if he were recalling a nostalgic human memory.
Vox was staring at him as if he were a statue, not shamelessly, per se, but in a curious, artistic way.
A light pink remained on Alastor’s cheeks, but the uninterrupted calmness allowed the color to be a subtle look, only acting as a remnant of the intense one that was worn earlier.
Vox couldn’t remember when he caught himself staring too long at Alastor’s gentler visage, but he did eventually. It was then that he turned his screen awkwardly away and was made more aware of his position. He found that now would be a proper time to straighten himself out, at least a little.
So, he, with an embarrassing amount of effort, pushed himself up to properly sit. By the time his back was comfortable against the back cushion, his fans were running.
The fans continued to run when Vox continued to steal glances at Alastor, taking in the sight of the more gentle side of the Radio Demon. The nearly harmless demeanor of the powerful being was almost mesmerizing (not that Vox would be tricked into thinking it actually was harmless).
Then, something flickered in the side of his vision.
Alastor seemed to have moved, but… well, no. His shadow had reflected a movement that Alastor hadn’t even done. The demon’s body was all the same in his moments of slumber. Must have been Vox’s imagination.
When the shadow flickered a second time, Vox blamed it on the alcohol. So, he quickly went to grab a glass of water, downed it, used the restroom, then returned to the same position on the couch, considerably more sober.
But, it kept moving, making Vox come to the most rational conclusion.
Alastor’s shadow was sentient. Perhaps, it was a familiar under Alastor’s control. Vox just barely recalled that Alastor was able to manipulate shadows and darkness to a certain extent, but only with the microphone acting as the conduit. As of now, the microphone was still leaning on the arm rest, unused and as still as the demon who owned it.
It was only the shadow that kept moving.
Vox’s gaze kept darting between Alastor’s sleeping figure and the motion of his shadow. Regardless, Vox decided not to go near it, having a feeling that it would be invasive.
But, his eyes couldn’t help but follow the movement of his shadow. It almost seemed to have its own sense of consciousness, its two-dimensional limbs twitching occasionally.
After some time, the swaying movements eventually produced a sense of ease. And, the shadows cast by the nearby lights seemed to shiver and dance with Alastor’s own (not as energetically as they had during the demons’ messy tangoing earlier, but still present). The aura lingered wistfully, almost like a distant rainstorm.
Vox observed Alastor a little bit more, noticing more of his features. It was easier to look at him without his observant eyes looking back.
He took in the slightly sharper lines of the Radio Demon's face, the subtle curve of his eyebrows and the plush part of his bottom lip. Vox didn’t look away, even as his screen flickered with unexplained shame at the passing thought. He sat there, arms and legs crossed as he leaned deeper into the couch.
But, the flustered flickering of his screen seemed to encourage more movement from Alastor’s shadow. It seemed to have shifted subtly, almost as if it were observing him.
It didn’t have eyes, but Vox felt as if he were caught. Not that he was even doing anything particularly inappropriate, but he turned his head away anyway, closing his eyes as if that would stop the shadow from moving.
But, he gave into opening them again when a small coldness filled the room. The cool feeling was rather pleasant, and stopped the whirring of his fans, but the suddenness of it caused him to feel rather self-conscious.
The shadow had shifted once more, its dark form swaying slightly and causing an occasional gust of air. It was now in a single collection on the ground, settled in front of Alastor’s feet like a pool of beach tar, notably closer to Vox’s position on the couch.
As the shadow continued its small shifting movements, Vox wondered about the possibility of Alastor’s shadow being not just a form of protection, but also a reflection of his subconsciousness. It could be a partially separate entity, but also the Radio Demon’s subconscious mind reacting to the environment around him.
Vox sighed, lazily giving into the curiosity.
He slowly got up from the couch, taking tentative, deliberate steps a little closer to the shadow as if it were a wounded animal. He paused occasionally at the less predictable movements, but his desire to learn more about Alastor pushed him to explore further.
Every small step brought him closer until he was close enough to kneel down and reach out a tentative hand towards the undulating darkness.
He felt the cold, dark energy of Alastor's shadow. It was dense and powerful, sending chills down his spine as his fingers made contact with it. When he pulled his hand away, the puddle-shaped shadow didn’t react.
So, he gathered his courage once more, reaching out again to feel the texture beneath his fingers. But, more boldly, he maintained a small, gentle petting motion.
With Vox’s caressing, it leaned subtly into the touch. It made a vague warbling noise.
In silent surprise, he continued the motion of his hand and watched as it molded slightly into his palm. Vox wasn’t sure if it was even capable of enjoying the attention, so it must have been simply reacting to the physical contact in a sort of elastic way.
Despite the surprise, he kept his touch gentle and curious.
As his fingers slid over the dark form, he felt the subtle shift in the shadow's movement, almost like it was melting under his touch. He began to wonder if the shadow felt similar to Alastor's skin.
Vox flushed at the thought, pulling his hand away.
(Yet, the idea of the usually intimidating and cunning Radio Demon trusting his touch was strangely captivating, despite how out of reach it was.)
In a sort of embarrassed manner, the TV host stood back up, brushing himself off as he walked back towards the couch. Alastor placed trust in him—had allowed himself to rest near him—and Vox was not about to prove that it was a mistake.
Feeling a sense of culpability, he refocused his attention on observing Alastor from a respectful distance instead.
But, when he sat back down, he found the shadow following close behind, akin to… an abstract puppy, of sorts. The shadow maneuvered onto the couch, following Vox’s movements closely. It almost seemed playful, shifting and mimicking his reactions.
Vox looked back and forth between Alastor and his shadow, the shadow being just barely connected to him by a thin line of darkness that dragged itself across the rug.
The TV host eventually chose to look at the shadow, swallowing before speaking up with uncertainty.
"Uh, excuse me?"
As the shadow processed Vox's very intelligent response, it began to change shape, taking on a specific form. The undulating darkness undulated and shifted, its dense energy transforming into a more distinct silhouette.
The silhouette easily took on Alastor's familiar form, which shouldn't have surprised Vox, but did nonetheless. The features and colors were obscured, but it was easy to tell from the context. The shadow appeared to be giving Vox a teasing smile.
“A…Alastor?”
As Vox tentatively addressed the dark silhouette, using Alastor's name, it seemed to react slightly. The shadow shifted its shape, molding itself into a somewhat more detailed three-dimensional form, though the details (like the red of Alastor’s eyes, or the color of the rest of his body, for that matter) remained obscured.
Vox, even if he didn’t sense much danger, shifted away from the shadow. But, it simply followed, crawling rather innocently towards him on the cushions until he felt his back bump against the boxy armrest. He felt strangely cornered.
“Uh, uhm–”
As Vox struggled to find the right words to express his confusion and curiosity, he was suddenly interrupted by a low chuckle coming from the direction of the armchair. The sound was unmistakably Alastor’s, taking Vox by surprise.
Alastor was now awake, observing the scene unfolding before him with a somewhat surprised smile. But, Vox could see his red eyes eventually gleaming with amusement.
"It appears someone has taken quite a liking to you, my dear.”
“Yeah. I’ve noticed,” Vox replied with mild sarcasm. "So this is what you meant when you said you had ways of… defending yourself?"
The last two words came out somewhat awkwardly as the shadow leaned in a little further, disrespecting his space blatantly as it seemed to wonder about the unfamiliar noise (AKA words) coming from Vox’s mouth.
“Well, yes. Although, it seems to be protecting you, now.”
“Me? ” Vox asked incredulously, looking back at the shadow.
So it didn’t consider him a threat, but it still didn’t move, and Alastor didn’t move from his chair to interfere, either, seeming to relish in Vox’s discomfort at the proximity. Vox sighed before continuing.
“Well, this is a safe place, so it doesn’t have a reason to be this close, does it?”
Alastor gave a smile as he leaned his body forward.
"Ah, my dear shadow possesses limited knowledge and understanding, operating more on nearby subconsciousness. Its actions may not always make sense to us, but it believes it's protecting us. Such is the nature of entities guided by instinct."
Vox blinked.
“Right, got it,” Vox said, then attempted to stand from the couch, but he was met with the shadow’s resistance. It seemed reluctant to let him move or get up.
Alastor watched the interaction with a bemused smile. Vox sighed once again, knowing that Alastor wanted him to yield.
“A little help, please?”
“Of course!” Alastor responded brightly to the begrudging request, standing up from the chair and advancing towards Vox and the rather friendly shadow on top of him.
But, when Alastor attempted to take Vox’s hand himself, the shadow persisted, choosing to pin down the arm that Alastor had reached for. The demon’s eyebrows rose.
"Ah, well. It's never been quite this rebellious before. Fascinating," he mused, observing the unusual behavior.
Vox’s fans began to run again, even with the cold proximity of the shadow and the coolness of the emulated hand on his wrist.
“Fascinating, he says.”
Alastor, however, seemed to find the entire situation rather amusing. With a chuckle, he took a step away from the couch, his gaze fixated on the shadow and hands clasped behind his back.
"It seems our dear shadow has taken quite a protective stance over you," he remarked, amusement lacing his voice. "Quite the unexpected development.”
“Maybe it’s taking its chance to escape you now that you’re drunk,” Vox joked awkwardly.
Alastor scoffed.
“I don’t get drunk.”
“Oh, you totally are,” Vox said before going into a short, unexplained fit of giggling.
The shadow tilted its head at the sudden sound, seeming to process Vox’s laughter, then made a short chirping sound, almost as if to reciprocate.
Alastor rolled his eyes.
“Yes, very funny, you two.”
The shadow seemed to loosen its grip at the comment, perhaps relaxing and coming to realize that there wasn’t a threat in the room. So, thinking that the shadow was relenting, Vox made an attempt to move from the couch again.
But at Vox’s second escape attempt, the shadow was clearly just encouraged to press itself closer against the TV host.
Vox groaned exasperatedly.
It was practically cuddling him. And, it didn’t help that it was taking on Alastor’s form.
But, the shadow, seemingly emboldened by Vox's groan, continued to explore further, its hand moving to curiously touch the flickering light of Vox's flustered expression. It then began to copy the movements that Vox had initiated with it earlier, beginning to pet the side of his screen with surprising, but likely unintentional, affection.
At that, Alastor fell into an uncharacteristic silence.
The lack of commentary on Alastor’s part only made the situation all the more dangerous and confusing. Vox’s screen changed to a bright pink, to which the shadow made a trilling sound.
(Vox found it frightening how easy it was to imagine letting himself be taken by it while Alastor watched, but he shook the image off quickly.)
The TV host definitely preferred it to not escalate in front of one of his only true friends in Hell, so he began to force out some sort of unprepared plea, looking to Alastor for guidance.
“Uh! Uh, Alastor, do something, uh, if you please—”
At Vox’s somewhat panicked tone, Alastor seemed to snap out of whatever hazy thoughts he was having, becoming substantially more sober.
“Well! Enough of that.”
Alastor snapped his fingers authoritatively, disabling the shadow from advancing further. The shadow let out an almost disgruntled chittering sound as it heeded its master’s call back to the ground.
There was a short silence that followed before Vox let out a sound of relief.
“You could’ve done that earlier, but thanks.”
Vox sat up, stretching his aching back that had been pressed against the armrest. He heard Alastor chuckle.
“Of course, friend. Wouldn’t want to let our dear shadow believe that anything it touches belongs to it.”
There was a subtle, unexpected possessiveness that seemed to make its way into the last words, making Vox give Alastor a subtly curious, hopeful glance.
Alastor was still standing by the edge of the couch, and Vox could have sworn his red eyes were tracing back where the shadow had touched his screen.
Vox immediately shook the thoughts off. His own alcoholic overthinking was making it harder for the warmth of his screen to die down. The silence trailed on somewhat awkwardly until the TV host cleared his throat.
“Ah, well, we should—”
“I think I’d like to dance with you again.”
Vox took a moment to process the request that he had been interrupted with.
“R…right now?”
In lieu of answering, Alastor offered his hand for Vox to take once again.
Vox simply looked down at the outstretched hand dumbfoundedly. He looked back up.
Alastor’s own signature red adorned his cheeks, almost as if he were embarrassed by his own proposition. But, otherwise, he waited for the other demon’s response with a patient gaze. His eyes were ruby red, like pools of blood that Vox wanted to drink.
So, before the invitation to dance could linger in the air any longer, the TV host gave Alastor a dopey, adoring smile and took his hand, allowing Alastor to pull him up from the couch.
“You’re insufferable.”