Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Winter was upon them yet again, as harsh and unforgiving as it only could be in the depths of Hell. While no snow fell from either Heaven or the sky, that didn’t stop the icy-sharp wind from sweeping around the cities, working together with the chilling temperatures to torment the poor sinners who didn’t have anywhere to seek shelter from the frost.

As soon as Vox had seen the numbers on the weather forecast drop below zero, he had known that his favorite time of the year was about to start again.

Some time into their friendship, Vox had noticed that Alastor tended to gravitate more towards him during the winter months, when the weather got colder. At one point, he had started to stay over at his place for longer and longer, until he barely even went home to his own house anymore. A one-day sleepover had turned into two days, which had turned into a week, then a month, until Alastor’s presence in his house had become such a pleasant constant in his life that Vox had barely remembered it being any different before.

The next winter had come and it happened again, just as the winter after, until it had become an unspoken routine for them that, during the winter, Alastor would move his residence to Vox's house like a nobleman switching between his country retreat and his mansion in the city.

Yes, it had become normal to the point where Vox would mark the first day with below-zero temperatures in his calendar, alongside a small 'A', as this was the sure date Alastor would turn up for this year's winter, if not earlier.

He had started to call it “Alastor building his winter den in his home” – Alastor had called it "ridiculous" and had rolled his eyes, but that had never stopped him from coming back every evening anyway.

Vox never complained. He found it charming and, to be honest, rather honoring. Alastor was a lot, but he certainly wasn’t a pack animal, deer or not. Knowing that in the deadly cold months, he would trust Vox enough to seek shelter in his home – well, he would lie if he said it didn’t make him feel all fuzzy and warm inside, to the point where he feared he would overheat anytime soon.

And exactly that was probably what Alastor had in mind. Sometimes Vox would joke that Alastor only came to him so he could use him as a life-sized heating pillow, but Alastor called that ridiculous as well, albeit with a much more amused undertone.

It was just a joke, of course. If Alastor only wanted warmth, he could just get a better heater for his own house, but something about the mechanical warmth of Vox's body in combination with his company must make him seem like a safe space for Alastor to retreat to, and Vox wouldn’t have it any other way.

All of this brought them to where they were now: With them, all cozy and warm, lying in Vox's bed late at night. The heaters were cranked up to the maximum, air refreshers were working overtime to combat the stuffy heat, and some weird forest incense was burning on the night table. Vox had bought it as a joke to tease Alastor about his deer den, but in the end, it turned out to smell surprisingly good.

At the moment he was reading a book that Alastor had recommended to him, saying something about business letters not being an appropriate bedtime reading material. And what could he say, he hated it when he was right. One of his hands held the book while the other one carded through the soft, red strands of Alastor’s hair, who was sleeping soundly beside him.

It wasn't just his presence alone though that turned his home into theirs – small traces scattered throughout the house showed that, at least for the winter months, this wasn't just his house anymore but Alastor's as well.

The red coat on the clothes rack in the hallway, the hairbrush in the bathroom. All the weird spices that Vox had never even heard of before that Alastor had stored in his kitchen. The silly coffee cup next to his own. Scripts for radio broadcasts fluttering around on his desk, alongside his own scripts for his TV shows. The chess board with the strewn around pieces that they hadn’t bothered to clean up earlier. (Alastor had won, of course. Every year Vox vowed to beat him, and yet he never did.)

Winter was hearing the sound of gently boiling food when he got home, it was the faint hum of radio waves he caught with his antennae, even if Alastor was at the other end of the house. It was fighting Alastor for the remote because Vox wanted to watch a trashy rom-com while Alastor insisted on a gruesome horror movie. It was hearing his hooves clack against the wooden floor in the morning when Vox had barely woken up yet and everything was still pitch black outside.

“Rise and shine, my dear,” he would hear him say, in a tone that made it clear he neither wanted to rise nor shine, his voice still raspy from all static intermingling with his vocal cords.

Winter was then feeling the mattress dip beside him as Alastor got up and him wishing he would stay because the bed was so much more cozy with him in it. It was tiredly watching him throw on a robe and hide himself under a blanket to keep himself warm when he went to the bathroom. It was himself begrudgingly getting up as well, going to the kitchen to make some nice hot coffee for both of them.

Summer was going back to his house in the evening, winter was coming home.

Passing Alastor a quick glance over the edge of the book, he briefly caught one of Alastor’s ears twitching in response to...well, either to his touch or a dream perhaps.

Truth be told, Alastor wasn’t the easiest person to accommodate during the winter. Or more particularly to share a bed with, at least when it came to the topic of touch. It was hard to continuously respect a person's boundaries when said person seemed to pick them by spinning a roulette wheel every morning.

But, of course, over the time of their friendship, he had picked up on some general rules that made navigating the maze of Alastor’s touch aversion a little easier.

In general, Vox was allowed to touch Alastor without explicit permission, unlike most other people Alastor knew. He was usually fine with most shorter touches, like when Vox had to push him out of the way to get somewhere or when their hands touched whenever he handed him something.

Since he was Alastor’s closest friend and not some random stranger, most lingering touches were alright for him as well. Vox could put an arm around his waist, link their arms when they walked down the street, and, when the weather was particularly cold outside, Alastor even allowed them to hold hands.

Then, things got a little more difficult already. Except for his hands, Alastor wasn’t a huge fan of skin contact, going from ‘tolerable but uncomfortable’ at best to ‘I will tear your skin open with my bare hands’ at worst. In general, if there weren’t at least two layers of clothing separating them, one on Vox and one on himself, then Alastor didn’t like it. The more layers the better.

That was one of the main reasons Vox had bought separate blankets for them when it had become clear Alastor wouldn’t leave anytime soon – he would feel more comfortable huddling closer to him if there was more fabric separating them.

What else? Oh yes: Touching his face or tail was a clear death sentence, and Vox was no exception here. He had to find that out the hard way when he had wanted to check if Alastor was running a fever once and had almost gotten his arm chopped off in return.

Alastor’s ears were a daily changing boundary, something Vox knew he had to ask permission for before touching. Sometimes they were an absolute no go and Alastor would pin them back just from the question alone, and sometimes Vox was allowed to pet them for hours.

And then, most curiously to Vox – he looked back at Alastor as he thought about it – despite him hating his face to be touched and his ears being such a difficult topic, Alastor had no problems at all with Vox carding his hand through his hair. No, he found it pleasant even, Alastor had told him once.

But all in all, Alastor’s tolerance for touch was very dependent on the day. Sometimes, Vox could treat him like a mannequin, and on other days, it was better to refrain from touch altogether.

He had tried to explain this all to himself with the theory of Alastor finding the idea of his presence more calming than the actual touch part. But that was something he had never asked him about, and likely never would, sensing that everything that made Alastor feel like he had a “weakness” or “couldn’t handle something” was not going to be a productive conversation.

Quietly chuckling, he looked down at Alastor’s sleeping figure and couldn’t help but smile.

Today was one of Alastor’s more comfortable days.

Stuck somewhere between huddling against Vox's side and lying on top of him, he had his head rested on Vox's stomach, only the fluffy blanket that Vox was hiding under separating them. While he knew that Alastor liked to more or less sleep on top of him due to the extra warmth his machinery parts created, Alastor never put his head on him directly. At first, Vox had thought it might just be uncomfortable to lie on top of him without the blanket, but no, it was simply another boundary Alastor had drawn. One that, as far as Vox knew, wasn't negotiable, considering that while Alastor had often slept on top of him like this before, he had never rested his head directly onto Vox's body. Not that he minded – as long as Alastor was comfortable, everything was fine.

The furthest they had ever gotten in this regard had been that one time, and only once, when Alastor had truly slept completely on top of him, during a night quite like this one, when the cold from outside had been particularly biting and Alastor had had trouble warming up.

Putting his book down, Vox couldn’t help but ponder the same questions he thought about every year when the winter months came around. He didn't have any animal traits himself except some shark-like gills on his chest, so he didn’t have that good of a grasp on how much his deer-like features affected Alastor.

But one thing that was certain was that he despised the cold.

It was obvious that Alastor became rather fatigued during the winter, sleeping longer and more often than in the summer, and never without as much warmth surrounding him as possible. And even when he went out Vox could always see his internal debate between looking presentable and just throwing on as many layers as possible. Style always won and Alastor’s kept down fury about the chilly air managed to replace the missing layers of clothing with how much it seemed to get his blood boiling.

When they were outside together, Alastor always seemed to stay a little closer to him than during the summer, leeching off his body heat like a freezing mouse. Not that Vox could blame him – Alastor somehow got cold a lot quicker than the average demon.

Winter really wasn’t his season.

But that was okay. That’s what Vox was here for now. He would always make sure his dearest deer made it safely through the cold months without freezing.

Carefully, he reached over Alastor’s head to grab his blanket, thicker and fluffier than a cloud, and pulled it back into its proper position after it had slid off his body a little. Alastor’s ear twitched at the gesture, and Vox was sure he melted even more into the blankets than before.

Maybe he should invest in a heat lamp.

Grinning at the thought, Vox put the incense on his nightstand out and turned the lights off.

Time to sleep.

The room got plunged into a soft darkness, only broken by the now dimmed light of Vox's screen. As he leaned back into his pillow, Vox continued to gently card his hand through Alastor’s hair, as if it was the softest fur he had ever touched. And maybe it was exactly that to him, although the person attached to it was much more special.

Closing his eyes, he couldn't help but feel a little selfish. Alastor hated the winter, but Vox had grown to love it, if only because it meant Alastor would stay over.

Alastor had promised to teach him how to make cookies tomorrow, telling him how his mother had taught him her secret recipe once, and how these cookies were truly the only thing to look forward to in the winter.

Then, he had glanced over to him, with that sweet, playful smile of his, and had said, “Although the seasonal company is a nice change of pace as well.”

To say his heart had almost melted from all the warmth inside would be an understatement.

He would never tire of being Alastor’s winter den.

Alastor was freezing.

The fireplace in his room had joined forces with a small, portable heater that stood next to his bed, he had raided the Hotel's blanket closet, he was wearing his thickest nightclothes, and still, he was freezing.

If his joints weren’t so close to succumbing to the cold, he would have gotten up and torn everything to shreds in frustration. The air was stuffy underneath his pile of blankets, making him feel like he was about to suffocate, his fingers were frozen and his muscles hurt from the uncomfortable, curled-up position he found himself in.

He loathed the winter with his entire being, and the nights were the worst.

Clutched between his hands, he held onto a small, soft pocket warmer – a cute little thing with a silly image of a reindeer. It wasn’t his, of course. Well, it was now, but it had been forced onto him more than anything else.

It just so was the case that he wasn’t as subtle as he would like to be when it came to hiding his low tolerance for the cold. One day, he had been quite literally chilling in the lobby when Angel had suddenly flopped down onto the sofa next to him and smashed a small, open box in between them. Inside, there had been many more of these silly trinkets, in all colors, shapes, and sizes. Of course, had been quite confused by this sudden attack.

“Pick one,” Angel had said to him, somewhere between exasperated and worried.

“Ya look like you’re ‘bout to die of hypothermia. I’d offer ya a hug or somethin’, but you’d just say no, so at least take one of these,” he had said.

Needless to say, the sudden display of camaraderie had caught him quite off guard. He had tried to decline of course – not even because he had been against the idea, but because Angel’s taste regarding these little things was rather adorable, and that really didn’t fit his image as the infamous Radio Demon.

But Angel had been surprisingly persistent, and in the end just shoved the one with the reindeer into his hands.

“Look, I know how it is,” he had said. “Four hands, sometimes six, you know? Gives the word ‘Snow Angel’ a whole new meaning in this fucking climate here. I feel like I’m gonna freeze if I just stare out the window. But you? Christ, Al, you look like you're running on ice water or somethin'. So just take it before we have to throw ya into the fireplace to defrost ya, alright?”

And so he had been given the little pocket warmer. In the beginning, he had of course planned to keep it in the back of some drawer for the rest of eternity, but then the night had come, and he had gotten rather desperate.

It didn’t do much, but it was at least something.

And yet, he still felt like he was freezing from the inside out, and no matter what he did, he just wouldn't get warm. It was costing him his much-needed sleep and made his mood drop lower than the temperature outside.

A quiet sigh escaped him.

He needed a pillow. A living pillow. Some source of body heat he could leech off, someone who would allow him to be a parasite.

As desperate as he was, in a weak hour he had even considered sneaking into Angel’s room and just...shoving himself in between him and Husk. But first of all – no. Secondly, he had absolutely no interest in hearing Husk’s excuses on how he was just trying to help Angel through the cold nights by providing some warmth – they all knew that they were doing far more than that, and that was really the last affair he wanted to insert himself into.

And thirdly…it wouldn’t be the same. Yes, Husk had soft and warm fur, Angel had warm fur on his chest, and it would all be lovely, but...it wouldn’t be the same.

Alastor had a difficult relationship with physical touch, to say the least, and even if he gave them a run-down on the most important rules, they still wouldn’t understand him to the extent needed for him to feel comfortable around them in such close proximity.

Pulling his blanket closer to his body, Alastor squeezed his eyes shut.

He missed the times.

The times when he had...someone who had managed to understand and respect his boundaries even without him having to constantly repeat them. The times when he hadn't needed to worry about the winter because he had always had his warm winter de- his house to return to at the end of a freezing cold day. Because he'd had someone who would take care of him during these harsh months.

Someone he had allowed to take care of him.

None of this he would ever say out loud of course, not even under the worst kind of torture imaginable. To even accept that such thoughts were floating around in his mind had been hard enough.

...he still remembered the winters they had spent together.

When they hadn’t been collaborating or had treated themselves to a work-free day, they had usually only seen each other in the morning and in the evening. They were their own bosses of course, but entertainment, be it TV or radio, knew no winter breaks. Reputations and Overlord ranks were on the line, deals had to be secured, enemies had to be put in their places. But after a hard day's work of entertaining the masses and instilling fear into the hearts of those who would dare to cross them, they would return to their- to his home and spend the evening together.

Sometimes they had met on the way back, sometimes Alastor had been home earlier. He had owned a key, of course – he didn’t remember when he had gotten it, but at some point, he had started to have a key to Vox's house. It had felt natural at that time, although he’d never had a key to one of his other friend's houses. Maybe because he didn't have many friends in general, maybe it was because Vox had been...different.

But that wasn’t a thought he wanted to continue now. Or ever, as a matter of fact.

Anyway, he would get home, and it would be warm. Somehow, his own house would never get as warm as Vox’. Probably because Alastor’s house still operated on the older ways of heating and hadn’t yet upgraded to the newest technological advancements in that area – but considering that right now, he was shivering in the Hotel just as much as he had shivered in his own home, maybe it had been something else.

He’d start to make dinner when he got home. Vox had jokingly called him his housewife once, and Alastor had laughed, somewhere between appalled by the idea of being reduced to someone's wife and finding humor in the thought.

Vox had always loved his cooking, not being very gifted at it himself. Alastor was the only reason Vox's kitchen had harbored any actual food. The first spices Vox’s kitchen had ever seen were the ones he had brought along. While Vox may have been content with strange instant meals and takeouts, that had simply not been acceptable for Alastor, so he had taken it upon himself to cook for the two of them.

For Vox, he had even done without any cannibalistic extras.

He remembered that he had often made soups or stews, mainly recipes his mother had taught him once. With a lot of effort and a lot of patience, he had even managed to teach Vox how to make coffee and hot chocolate without using any weird instant powders or Vox's horrendously loud coffee machine.

They'd eat together, telling each other about their days. About the rising ratings for Vox's newest TV show, about the new segment Alastor had built into his broadcasts. About the new bar Vox had seen on his way back, and how it seemed to be exactly Alastor's style, all calm and jazzy, and if he'd like to go sometime?

He would look out the window, into the pitch-black darkness outside despite it only being early in the evening.

It's cold outside in the evening, he would answer.

You can have my coat, Vox would say.

He would stay quiet then, before chuckling and agreeing.

In the end, Vox had been right. The bar had been exactly to Alastor’s liking.

He didn’t go there anymore these days.

...they would dance together sometimes, in Vox's living room. Alastor had taught him. He loved dancing and he loved leeching off Vox's body heat, so it was a two-in-one deal. And because he had trusted Vox – it seemed so strange, looking back – he had even allowed him to lead occasionally. He had always had a hard time giving up control, no matter in which circumstances, but with Vox, it had all come a little easier.

Sometimes Vox would bring all these business documents and letters home, and while he would work through his numbers, Alastor would read a book on the sofa. Eventually, he would call Vox over, chastising him for overworking himself, and Vox would listen more often than not and come join him. Sometimes he would read parts from his book out loud, and Vox would just lie next to him, finally allowing himself to unwind.

And then, they would retire for the night. Alastor would sleep in Vox's bed because sleeping together was warmer than sleeping alone. Over time, Vox's blankets had gone from normal to the most fluffy ones that were available, all to keep him from freezing. Sometimes they’d simply lie on their respective sides with only their massive blankets touching, sometimes Alastor would huddle a bit closer to him.

Vox had always respected his boundaries. Vox had never pushed him too far, had never made him feel uncomfortable. Maybe that had been the reason he had allowed him this close. He had never whined, never complained when Alastor hadn’t been in the mood for touching, he had always let him come as close or stay as far away as he wished. He had never questioned why Alastor was so peculiar about touch, or why he didn’t like specific things.

They had been nice, those times.

Together, they’d had everything. They’d had a friendship like no other.

Then, Vox's feelings had started to change.

They’d had a fallout.

And now they had nothing.

Alastor clenched his fingers around the pocket warmer, as far as it was possible with frozen fingers.

Winters were cold without Vox.

Chapter Text

Winter felt colder this year.

The recent Overlord Meeting had just ended and Vox and Alastor were walking through the empty hallways towards the elevators, the noise of their heels clicking on the marble tiles the only thing that interrupted the silence between them.

Vox had his arms folded behind his back, discreetly trying to stare at Alastor from the corner of his eyes. He was being ignored, of course. As usual. Alastor didn’t pay attention to him unless he provoked enough. And yet, something about all of this, being alone alone with him for the first time in seven entire years was...suffocating.

There was a lot they had to talk about, in his opinion at least. It filled the air between them, all the memories of their past friendship and their fallout, making the tension between them crackle to the point that a hit of his electricity or Alastor’s static would have made everything burst into flames.

It wasn’t like he wanted it to be like this, and while he wasn't sure if he just wanted to talk to Alastor or smack him across the face yet, he definitely would like to address this entire mess at least somehow.

But it was obvious that Alastor didn’t want to talk, much less interact with him more than necessary. He hadn't even come to see him after his return, and if they weren’t both Overlords, they probably wouldn’t have met in person again at all.

No, the only reason he was able to see Alastor again was that, as his luck was, it was his turn to go to the meeting today, and while he could have shoved this responsibility onto Valentino or Velvette, he may or may not have been interested in seeing how Alastor was doing.

Without him.

They had left last after everyone else had been gone already. All because Alastor had not been able to stop snickering about whatever he had found so terribly funny about Vox's statements during the meeting. Of course, he had then held Alastor back after the meeting had ended, intending to show him exactly who was in charge now after Alastor kindly decided to return from his seven-year vacation.

In the end, the only thing gained was the knowledge that no one else had been around to witness him getting humiliated yet again by the Radio Demon.

It was infuriating beyond belief. He wanted to rip Alastor’s damn heart out and eat it. No, he wasn't a cannibal like him, but he’d make an exception for Alastor. That condescending indifference in Alastor’s eyes whenever he pretended that Vox had not been his best and closest friend and that he was just an annoying dog who was following him around – it was driving him up the wall.

And yet…

He choked down a sigh as he glanced over to him.

Alastor hadn’t really been himself today. He hated the fact that he still knew him well enough to notice, but there was no way around it.
The others likely hadn’t noticed, considering Alastor had worn his god complex mask perfectly as usual, but for him, it was obvious. They had been best friends, after all.
So often he had tried to forget him over the last seven years, and yet he had never managed to do it. He would always and forever remember all of Alastor's little ticks, and he would always remain the one person who knew him best because he had been one of the only people Alastor had allowed into his heart.

Yes, he knew him well enough to not have to ask why Alastor looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. Why all of Alastor’s mocking remarks had taken him a second longer to come up with. Why his ears had moved as if they were frozen solid. Why he hadn’t taken off his scarf even though it had been warm inside the meeting room.

Of course he knew why, how could he forget? His winters with Alastor were one of the most precious memories of all his life.

And no matter how hard he tried to deny it...yes, he had missed that fucking asshole every single winter these past years, nonstop, up to this day. Every single winter he had waited for that sound of the front door unlocking. Every single morning when he had woken up, he had hoped to hear the familiar clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen again.

Every single winter he marked the day when Alastor would have usually shown up in his calendar, even though he knew that Alastor wouldn’t come. He would wake up, everything would be dark, and he would look over to the other side of his bed, hoping that it had all just been a bad dream, that they were still friends.

But the bed would be empty and cold. No radio waves would hit his antennae, no one was there to subconsciously move closer to him because he was radiating warmth, no one would quietly play some soft, jazzy music to gently pull him out of his sleep whenever he grumbled that he didn't want to get up yet and they should just spend the entire day in bed.

He had no doubt that, if it weren’t for Valentino and Velvette, he wouldn’t get up at all during the winter. Sometimes he could insult Alastor enough in his head to burst into a fit of rage that motivated enough to get through the day...

...and sometimes, when the weight of the cold, the silence, and the darkness hit him hard enough, he would cry. He would spiral into self-loathing, telling himself what a fucking idiot he had been to throw something this precious away, and if he had just kept his mouth shut, everything would be fine now. And all of this would only end when Valentino or Velvette would eventually come looking for him.

On those days, whenever he had to leave the V-Tower for business, he wouldn’t take any of their cars. No, he would walk, just like they had back then. When it was very dark and he passed a very empty street and he would close his eyes, he could sometimes imagine Alastor walking next to him, their arms linked, just enjoying each other’s company in silence.

But, of course, it was just an illusion. Those times were gone, just like Alastor was.

He hated those days. Rage was so much easier to handle than the feeling of looking at the missing piece of his heart that Alastor had carved out and taken away with him – to wherever he had been those past seven years, wherever this magical place was where Vox had never been able to find him.

He openly stared at Alastor now as they entered the elevator and the doors closed behind them. Their reflections stared back at them from the glass walls – Alastor was looking out into the darkness, and he had to see that Vox was looking at him. And still, he continued to ignore him.

He clenched his fingers behind his back.

A part of him wanted to throw Alastor into the coldest body of water he could find and hold him down until he would drown. Or tear his clothes off and keep him pinned on a block of ice until he would freeze. Until he would beg for mercy, for forgiveness. Beg for Vox to take him back, to take care of him, to protect him. Anything, as long as he’d be humiliated.

And yet, when he saw Alastor like this, in person, with his scarlet eyes focused on the pure darkness outside and cold of the evening as if he had never faced a bigger adversary before…

He just...wanted things to be like they used to. Before he had made the worst mistake of his life. Before he had confessed.
He wanted to take him home to his tower and make sure that Alastor was safe this winter. Tell him that everything would be okay again and that they could move past this mess somehow.

But that wasn’t possible.

The elevator doors opened and before they could have taken a single step, they had already been hit by a gust of icy-sharp wind, cold enough to make one believe a blizzard was soaring through all of Hell.

Alastor’s ears immediately pinned back against his head and, although he probably tried to hide it, Vox could clearly see him shiver. Knowing him, his dumb pride was the only reason he kept his arms behind his back and didn’t wrap them around himself.

“Staring is considered rude, Vox,” Alastor finally said, but without sparing him as much as a single glance.

Vox scoffed and finally looked away as they both stepped out of the elevator.

“Sorry, couldn’t tear my eyes off your pathetic condition. What’s wrong, Bambi, can’t handle a little wind?”

Alastor’s smile didn’t falter, but something poisonous swept into his eyes. That, however, only made Vox feel better. For the first time in his life, he had the upper hand. He knew exactly that Alastor was freezing, and Alastor knew that he knew. Fucking finally. This would make it so much easier to repress all the unwanted emotions that were boiling inside him.

“I can assure you, I’m perfectly fine,” Alastor said.

His movements seemed slower than usual, as if his entire body was frozen and he had to mentally will it to move as he wanted.

And you know what? He deserved it. He deserved every single inconvenience and every single pain the cold caused his body, if only as retaliation for the pain Alastor had caused him.

“Oh yeah? Why are you shaking like a leaf then?”

They walked up to the sidewalk where their paths would inevitably split.

“A normal reaction to being subjected to the cold. But I suppose not all of us have paid much attention in school, have we?” Alastor countered.

Vox could feel his blood boiling, despite this being one of the mildest insults he had ever heard from him. And all because it was Alastor who had said it. Alastor, who should be crawling, kneeling before him, begging him to take him back, to be allowed to bask in his warmth.

A strained grin slipped onto his face, but only to not let Alastor see him frown. Not that it was much use – it didn't hide his annoyance at Alastor's indifference at all.

“At least I don’t have to walk home like a fucking peasant. You know, if you hadn’t taken a seven-year vacation to god knows where and had aligned yourself with the right people, you could have actually achieved something meaningful here.”

The pettiness in his voice was rising with every second, but he didn’t care.

"You could have been successful by now. And your success would have been able to afford you a nice little car. With heating.”

Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought he had seen a small shiver rush through Alastor’s body at the word ‘heating’.

Good. Maybe if he asked nicely, he’d take him in.

But Alastor only rolled his eyes, as if Vox had said something extraordinarily dumb.

“You can keep your little gadgets to yourself, Vox. Not all of us need a vehicle for a few meters home,” he mocked.

“Yeah, yeah, go and freeze to death on your walk home then. Find a telephone booth or whatever you old fucks still use and give me a call before you pass out though, so I can come and laugh at you.”

He crossed his arms and stepped towards the black limousine waiting for him on the street, painted with three, glow-in-the-dark V’s. Alastor simply laughed at his comment and, according to the sound of his footsteps, turned to walk back to his dumb Hotel.

Unbelievable. Vox’s claws dug into the fabric of his suit. Every time he had to deal with Alastor’s damn superiority complex. Who did he think he was? Vox wasn't the one who had come crawling to his house every winter like a freezing fawn. Alastor could show a little humility once in a while, or hell, some damn gratitude that Vox had endured his bitchy attitude for so long without asking for anything in return.

Sighing, he listened to his footsteps getting quieter the further he walked away. Vox stopped on his way to the limo, looking at the ground with a hint of defeat in his eyes.

Why was this happening to him? What did he do to deserve this?

It...it shouldn’t be like this. Alastor shouldn’t be going to that useless Hotel, he should be going home with him. Just like always, just like back then. Side by side, with Alastor huddling closer to him for warmth, chatting with him, laughing, enjoying his presence.

He looked up at the sky. It was fully black, like deep ink, with no stars nor moon gracing its features. If they were in the district of the Vees now, there would be more light, shining brightly from all the nightclubs and convenience stores and billboards. But here, in Carmilla’s territory, it was just dark. A few lampposts near the sidewalk and the warehouses were all there was, making the whole place seem even more desolate and empty than it already was.

Far away in the distance, traces of light illuminated the horizon, created by the ever-alight Hotel. Vox’s eyes darted between the building and Alastor before he pressed his lips together.

It was...quite a trip, to say the least. 45 minutes minimum, he’d guess. Probably longer. Alastor didn’t rush as much as he did.

He clenched his fingers, his claws causing a minuscule rip in his sleeve.

...it was really cold tonight.

He shouldn’t care, not really. Alastor deserved this. He deserved every inconvenience and bad thing that came his way, no matter how small or big.

And Vox didn’t care how Alastor was feeling anyway.

He shouldn’t care how Alastor was feeling.

The correct course of action would be to find a way to destroy the heating systems of the Hotel so Alastor would freeze to death in his own room. A pathetic end for a pathetic, lowlife demon.

And yet, as his eyes remained fixed on the Hotel in the distance and the frost started to gnaw at his suit, fighting against the heat his body created…

He sighed again. Uncrossing his arms, he moved away from the limo and started to go after Alastor, who luckily wasn’t that far away yet.

Why? Why always Alastor? Why was he the only one who could rip his heart out and stomp on it, only for Vox to come running back anyway? Why was he so powerless when it came to him?

As he followed after Alastor, fast enough to catch up to him but not fast enough to seem desperate, he noticed Alastor’s damn ears turning ever so slightly into his direction as they caught onto the sound of his footsteps

He clenched his teeth. That damn prick knew very well he was going after him but he ignored him on purpose. Here he was, trying to do something nice for him, even though Alastor didn’t deserve it, and this is what he got in return! Alastor’s fucking indifference! He was probably laughing to himself right now, thinking about how easy it was to rile him up and what a pathetic loser he was, that damn-

“Alastor, wait!”

His hand shot out, wanting to grab Alastor’s shoulder and smash him into the next wall, demand that he stopped being such a petty bitch and at least acknowledge his existence, when just before he could get a hold of him-

Alastor doesn’t like being touched when he can’t anticipate it.

The thought hit him like a bolt of lightning, making his hand falter, just an inch away from Alastor’s shoulder.

His eyes widened.

What? What was- Why wasn’t he- Alastor didn’t deserve his fucking consideration, why was he-

For a second, sparks of electricity danced around his body.

“...”

He lowered his hand, along with his eyes.

God damn it. This couldn’t be happening. He shouldn’t- He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t care if Alastor would flinch away from his touch, if he would make him uncomfortable. But when he was so close to him, just a little movement away from touching him, all those memories came back – memories of Alastor trusting him enough to let him come close, of trusting him to respect him. How he had told him once that he ‘just felt more comfortable around him than around others’.

He pressed his lips together.

Why? Why couldn’t he let go? Why was this all so much harder in person?

“I don’t have all day, Vox.”

His eyes snapped back onto Alastor, who still wasn’t facing him completely and had only turned his head to look at him with those cruel, mesmerizing eyes he loved and despised so much. Vox exchanged some more glances between Alastor and the Hotel in the distance.

He shouldn’t care. He really shouldn’t. He would only get his heart broken again. He should just...let him go.

“...Do you want a ride?” he whispered.

But he couldn’t. He never would be able to. Alastor had cut open his heart, weaved a lock of his hair inside, and sewed it back together again, just to make sure Vox would never be able to stop thinking or caring about him – for better or for worse.

Alastor was shivering, he was cold, he could see it so clearly, even though Alastor wanted to hide it from him. And for a second, Vox could almost make himself believe it was just like back then when he had come to pick up Alastor from his radio station sometimes.

But now, Alastor only scoffed, regarding him with a look that made it seem like he was talking to nothing but a pathetic dog.

“Getting sentimental now, old pal? Please, spare me.”

But before Alastor could turn around and leave, Vox made a motion to hold him back.

“Do you want a ride, Alastor?”

There was no mockery in his voice, no apathy, no coldness. There wasn’t warmth in it either, there was just...stillness. Like snowfall without wind. Inside him though, right at the core of his heart, a storm raged, desperate to be unleashed. But he couldn’t do that now, not yet, even though he wanted to so deeply. Not that it would have changed anything. And besides, he wasn’t sure yet which would be stronger in the end – all their cherished memories or the hatred he felt towards Alastor, which had grown and flourished during his seven-year absence.

Alastor seemed to hesitate after he had asked again. He exchanged some discreet glances between Vox and the Hotel, probably thinking he wouldn’t notice, but of course he did. He always noticed everything about him, no matter how small, no matter how much he wished he wouldn’t.

After some silence that made Vox’s heart feel like it was about to explode, Alastor finally spoke again.

"…I suppose I could grant you the favor of my presence for a few more minutes if you’re so desperate to have me around.”

Even though Alastor made it sound like he was doing him a favor, Vox couldn’t help the small bolt of electricity that sparked between his antennae. The closest thing to a smile he could muster at the moment, with all his mixed feelings and him being stunned that Alastor actually agreed to spend more time with him than necessary.

Why was his heart beating so fast? It shouldn’t make him happy to ensure that Alastor was safe and sound.

"Come then."

For a split second, when Alastor came to walk beside him as Vox led him to his limo, he could feel it again. The familiar presence, the familiar clacking of shoes in the darkness, the faint trace of frequencies and radio signals exchanged between them.

It almost made him want to link their arms, just like back then.

Purely out of instinct, nothing more. And maybe a hint of longing. But he managed to catch himself just in time.

As soon as they set foot into his limo, Alastor's ears seemed to perk up a little, as if he found himself in a strange new area and had to watch out for danger. And maybe he wasn't that wrong – Alastor looked adorably out of place in such a high-class limo.
And yet, thanks to the heating, he could see Alastor relax at the same time, with his posture apart from his ears growing less tense and frozen.

As Vox took his seat, he motioned for Alastor to follow suit.

They sat opposite each other.

A part of him preferred it this way. Another part wanted to kick Alastor out of the limo again, and yet another part wanted to pull him over so they could cuddle.

Crossing his legs, Vox stared at him like he was a precious gemstone, something expensive and valuable you only got to watch from behind a glass case.

It was a clear sign of Alastor's winter fatigue, their strained relationship, and his probably wounded ego that Alastor wasn’t talking at all. No snarky comment, no snickering, no taunting.
To be fair, and just as uncommon, Vox didn’t know what to say either. They were both chatterboxes, but these days they didn’t have much to say to each other anymore except petty insults.

It was both cozy and awkward. He would have offered Alastor some liquor, but that would just cool down his body even more in the long run, and he doubted Alastor would even accept any more of Vox’s attempts at being nice.

He told the driver to take them to the Hotel, and as soon as the engine started up, he could feel his thoughts dipping into less wholesome territories. Thoughts of just...whisking Alastor away appeared in his mind. Or kidnapping him, to put it less romantic. Of taking him to his tower and just forcing him to be comfortable, whether he liked it or not. Maybe Alastor would finally ask to be taken back by him when he realized just how well Vox had always taken care of him.

Alastor would never do that in the end, but it was a nice dream, and it distracted him from the fact that he just wanted to have him around again.

For the first few minutes of their drive, Alastor seemed content with watching the lights of the city fly past them outside the window. After a while though, he started to lean back against his seat more, loosely crossed his arms, and – to Vox’s surprise – actually closed his eyes.

With how perfect his posture was, one could think he was merely trying to relax and enjoy the silence between them, but Vox knew better.

Alastor was trying to sleep, it was obvious.

Just because Vox didn’t mention it, didn’t mean he wasn’t keenly aware of it. He had noticed just how tired he was as soon as he had set his eyes onto Alastor earlier, and judging by his appearance, he was probably freezing to death in that shitty hotel of his, with all the cold keeping him up.

He didn’t get it. Why? Why wouldn’t he just come to him? He was obviously (and surprisingly) still comfortable enough around him to fall asleep, so why was he so prideful? Did Alastor really think he would send him away?

Vox looked down at his shoes at that thought.

Well...would he? He desperately tried to convince himself and everyone around him that, if Alastor were to ever come crawling back, he'd just mock him and smash the door in his face. Make fun of his desperation, make him regret ever rejecting and leading him on.

But, if he was very honest with himself, which he rarely was – no, he wouldn’t do that. If that ever were to happen, he’d probably start crying and never let go of him again.

No one needed to know that though, and certainly not Alastor.

He choked down a deep sigh as he set his eyes back on him.
It shouldn’t be like this. It never should have ended like this. But here they were, and that was all he was going to get now: Alastor allowing him a meager scrap of closeness, but only out of pure necessity. He didn’t miss him. If anything, he missed his warmth, and probably not even that.

Vox continued to watch as Alastor’s breathing slowly became more even and his ears began flopping off to the side a little, telling him that Alastor had truly fallen asleep in his car now.

Normal Vox would rejoice at this opportunity and use it to its full extent – touch him, hurt him, kidnap him and lock him up somewhere, whatever. But Normal Vox got held back by memories of the past, by memories of who he once was before everything had gone down the drain.

And his past self was whispering to him that he had to take care of Alastor. Past Vox was trying to sweeten him up by telling him that if Alastor trusted him enough to fall asleep around him, he couldn’t hate him that much.

Reaching out a hand to a small control panel next to him, he turned up the heat and simultaneously dimmed the lights until it was almost dark enough to forget that Alastor hated him.

Leaning back in his seat, he tried to ingrain this memory in his head as deeply as possible, considering it was probably the last shred of ‘intimacy’ he would ever get with Alastor.

He tried to imagine that everything was fine, that they were still best friends and were just driving home together from the meeting.

Just for a few more minutes, he wanted to live in the illusion were everything was still alright.

Chapter Text

Today was the coldest night since the beginning of winter. Rough, icy, and even more chilling than the night a week ago, when he had swallowed a shred of his pride and had allowed Vox to drive him home.

Alastor had always been too prideful for his own good and thus had been under the opinion that nothing, not even nature, could make him bow and submit.

He had been wrong.

Mother Nature had sent her strongest assassin into his room tonight, armed to the teeth with freezing air, and carrying armor that deflected even his most desperate attempts at keeping warm.

A few hours he had managed to fight this battle before he had finally been forced to kneel. He couldn’t have done this for a second longer – like a coward, he had run from his lost battle, slipping into the shadows and rushing straight towards the one place he wanted to be the most and the least.

And now he was here.

Alastor wanted to sigh.

No, he didn’t – he didn’t want to sigh, he wanted to rip Vox's heart out and use the remaining body heat of his corpse to warm up.

It was completely ridiculous, unbelievable even, that he had actually stooped this low and had become so desperate for warmth that he would break into the bedroom of his ex-best friend. And yet here he was, hiding away and merging with the shadows of Vox’s bedroom.

There had been no thought behind it when he had decided to go to the V-Tower, and it clearly showed. All of his thoughts had been built around some meager scraps of hope.

Hope that the Tower’s security would be easy to breach with his shadow magic (it was), that Vox did not share a bedroom with that hedonistic moth (he didn’t), and that Vox was already asleep thanks to the late hour.

He wasn’t.

Alastor had wanted to kill him then and there. He couldn’t believe it. Vox had never been a night owl, never. His work always kept him well occupied up until the later hours, yes, but he had never stayed up this long when they had been friends. It was long past midnight already, what was he doing, still awake and disrupting Alastor’s plans?

Well, the sad excuse for a plan he had. The idea had been to sneak into Vox’s bedroom while he was asleep, lie down next to him in the hope it would be the same as back then, and then vanish before Vox woke up the next morning. There was no way he would subject himself to the embarrassment of begging Vox to let him sleep next to him as if he was nothing but an annoying dog that Vox had kicked out of the bedroom and that was now pawing at the door.

His pride had been damaged enough when he had fallen asleep in Vox’s car the other day. The only thing that had kept his ego from shattering completely was the fact that he had at least woken up before they had arrived at the Hotel. But another moment like this he would not mentally recover from.

So, what to do now?

Vox was simply sitting on his bed, leaning against the headrest while operating one of those infernal modern devices, probably still at work. The sight was indeed nostalgic, in a way.

Back then, when they had still been friends, Alastor had to convince him to leave his work be for the night more often than not, or else he would have read and answered letters in their-

-in Vox’s bed until the morning light would have shined through the curtains. But apparently, he had taken Vox’s healthy sleep schedule with him when he had left.

Now, the problem was, if Vox really intended to work for the entire duration of the night, then he would have no chance of sneaking into the bed without getting caught.

Perhaps this was a sign. A sign that he should stop acting so pathetic, so out of turn, and face the cold like the Overlord he was and not like a little, newborn sinner who was suffering through his first winter.

And yet, despite everything, he couldn’t tear his eyes off Vox’s blanket. It looked so warm, so fluffy, like the softest of clouds. If he were to slip under it, it would surely be nothing short of cozy, with all the warmth of Vox’s mechanical body trapped underneath. He could lie next to Vox and leech off his body heat, just like back then.

It was a terrible situation, through and through. He wanted to kill Vox for the audacity of staying awake and foiling his plans, and himself for this shameful display.

He should leave, really. This was beyond humiliating. Normally Vox was the pathetic one who came begging for his attention, not the other way around. It was-

"You've been standing there for half an hour now. Come out already.”

Vox’s voice cut through the silence like a sharp knife, making Alastor freeze even without a corporeal form.

How did that-

Vox wasn’t even looking in his direction, how could he-

Alastor didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. This had to be a trick. Maybe Vox was delusional enough that he called out to him every night, thinking he might have come back to him. Yes, that’s how it had to be, there was no way he-

Vox looked up from his device to look straight at the shadows on the wall, exactly where Alastor was hiding. His heart stopped.

A small grin slipped onto Vox’s face.

“Come on, Al. I know you’re there. You don’t have to hide in the corner.”

Static crackled around Alastor for a split second, a brief manifestation of all the anger, disbelief and frustration coursing through his body.

This was impossible. Vox couldn’t- Vox shouldn’t be able to know that he was here. With every second that he looked at Vox, he heard his pride shatter more and more in his mind. He had to act quickly now before it would be completely broken. There had to be a way to turn the situation around again.

Swiftly he slipped out of the shadows, manifesting next to the empty side of Vox’s bed.

His grin was in place as always and the static around him had died down, making it at least look like he had everything under control.

“Greetings, old pal! Surprised to see me?”

His eyes darted around the room briefly, taking in his surroundings a little more now that he was actually physically present in the room. It wasn’t the same as back then, that was safe to say. Sleek, modern design, little color except blue, extravagance and luxury seeping from every corner despite the minimalism…

He felt a little out of place. It was all a reminder of how little was left of what they once had. There were still all the little things, the things that identified this room as Vox’s own, but it was clear that it was for him and the other Vees. Just like his old house had been theirs.

His fingers clenched around the microphone he held behind his back.

He shouldn’t care, really. After all, he had been the one to break off contact. It was only natural that Vox would find someone else. Someone who wasn’t him. It wasn’t like Alastor hadn’t moved on as well.

And yet.

His eyes settled on one of the TVs on the wall.

Vox had a radio as well, back then. If he still had it? Probably not. He must have smashed it after their fallout, just like Alastor had smashed his-

No. Best not to think about it.

“Looking for something?” Vox interrupted, crossing his arms. “Forgot your keys seven years ago?”

His tone had been snarky, but...muted somehow, like he was hiding something. A mere look into his eyes sufficed to know that Vox was only trying to appear unbothered.

Not that it came as a shock. He knew that Vox still hadn’t forgiven him for the rejection. Even after all those years and all the time they had been separated, he was still mad at him.

Or hurt.

And maybe Alastor was as well. But he didn’t need to know that.

“Always such a comedian, Vox,” he said, rolling his eyes before they involuntarily settled on the empty side of the bed. Vox’s eyes followed their path, switching glances between Alastor and the covers.

All of the sudden the shadows looked very inviting again. This was pure torture. Vox knew exactly why he was here. Why he wasn’t getting mocked already was beyond him.

His hands loosened and tightened their grip around his microphone. He wanted to rip something apart.

It shouldn’t be like this, it shouldn’t be this hard, it never should have turned out this way.

They had meant to be together, side by side. He should be what Valentino and Velvette were to Vox now. And if Vox hadn’t confessed, they could have remained together, forever, until all of Hell would have cowered in fear before them and they stood on top, ruling over the masses with bloody crowns on their heads.

He still remembered the times back then. The times when he wouldn’t have needed to ask, when he could have just slipped into Vox’s bed whenever, and Vox wouldn't have batted an eye because it had been normal. The times when he still had a key to his house and hadn’t needed to slip in like an intruder.

With nothing else to do these winter nights besides lie awake and suffer in silence, his thoughts had spiraled quite a lot. He had spent hours upon hours debating with himself, wondering if all that he was missing were all the things Vox had done for him or if he missed Vox himself as well.

He knew the answer, of course. But he didn’t like it.

Staring back into his eyes, Vox was looking at him like one would look at the hallucination of a long-gone friend. His entire demeanor seemed…dimmed. Still filled with a flicker of that defiant smugness he always carried himself with, but there was something else, something more substantial, simmering beneath it.

He barely dared to call it that, but it looked like vulnerability.

The look he was receiving told him that Vox expected Alastor to say something now. Ask for his help. And truth be told, with with how strangely he was looking at him, Alastor doubted Vox would deny him if he asked.

But Alastor just stared back at him, wordlessly.

What else was he supposed to do? His pride would never allow him to beg Vox for help. Vox had to know that, he knew him better than anyone else.

Alastor’s eyes tore themselves away from Vox’s expectant gaze and darted back to the blanket.

He wanted to, really. Just slip under the covers next to him, pretend that their fallout had just been a bad dream, and leave again in the morning, both of them pretending that this night never happened. But his body didn’t move and his brain wasn’t frozen enough yet to see this as a feasible solution.

“It’s cold today,” Vox eventually said. They were staring at the empty side together now, no one daring to make the first move. It was awkward. Alastor was neither used to Vox not talking his ear off, nor to being at a loss for words.

“Indeed,” he responded.

Silence.

A small shiver traveled through his body at the mention of the cold temperatures. Not because it was cold in the room itself, but because the familiar warmth he had been longing for so much was slowly beginning to seep into his frozen bones. The exact same feeling that had always embraced him when he had been at ho- at Vox’s house.

…

At home.

“Are you gonna stand there the entire night?”

A sigh crept through Alastor's throat but got pushed down again. Must Vox make this so difficult? Every other time he was acting all pathetic and desperate around him, did he really have to play games with him now? Couldn’t Vox just beg him to lie down? Or ask at the very least?

“Why? Do I bother you?” he asked, his grin widening despite not finding the situation funny at all. If Vox wouldn’t swallow his pride anytime soon, Alastor feared he would really stand here for the entire night.

He couldn’t have misread the situation, could he? No, that was impossible. He knew all there was to know about people and emotions, and he knew all about Vox.

Vox wouldn’t want him to leave, would he? No, no, he was always begging for his attention, that was out of the question, right?

One of his ears twitched, betraying the brief hint of doubt in his thoughts. Vox looked up at them, but no one said a word. His ears twitched for many reasons, but he feared Vox still knew him well enough to draw the right conclusions anyway.

After a few more seconds of their silent battle of pride, Vox’s gaze finally left him. He put the strange device that had rested on his lap away before lying down on his side of the bed. The image of Vox looking up at him from his pillow was hauntingly familiar.

“I’m tired, Al,” he said, and something shifted under the covers. Vox’s foot darted out from underneath to slip under the other one, pulling the blanket down just a tiny bit. His eyes just darted down to the empty side before meeting with Alastor’s again.

A silent invitation.

He wanted to reach inside his chest and grab his heart with his bare hands to stop it from beating so ridiculously hard. For the first few seconds, he didn’t react. After all, it could all have been a mere hallucination. He wouldn’t lie down next to Vox only to get kicked out by him. Vox had always been allowed things others were not, but for such humiliation, Alastor would have to kill him, which he didn't want. Selfish reason or not, he still needed him.

The theory of a hallucination vanished from his thoughts however as Vox just continued to look at him, waiting.

With an amount of hesitation he hadn’t thought himself capable of, he let his microphone slip away into nothingness. Hesitation and doubt weren’t his style. He was the type to rip the band-aid off in one go and get things over with as quickly as possible.

So, before he could change his mind again and retreat back into the shadows after all, Alastor reached his hand out and pulled the covers back to slip underneath, hoping Vox wouldn’t note the hint of insecurity in his movement.

As soon as that pleasant and familiar heat engulfed his body shivers began to crawl through him, making him curl up almost like a fawn. Not because it was still too cold, no, no, but because it was so, so warm. It felt like home.

With a snap of his fingers, he discarded his normal clothing for something more sleep-appropriate and pulled the covers further up until they were resting just below his eyes.

He closed them, and just for a second, he managed to convince himself that it had all just been a bad dream. No confession, no fallout, no seven-year absence, no Hotel. Just a very, very long dream that he was slowly waking up from. When he would open his eyes, Vox would be there, the old Vox, his Vox, his dear friend, smiling at him and asking why he looked so distraught.

“What’s wrong, Al? You know I’d never leave you. You’re my most cherished friend. We’ll always be together.”

Just a bad dream. Vox never fell in love with him. Vox never broke his heart. Everything was warm and cozy, everything was alright.

He reopened his eyes just a slit until he could see the white color of the blankets.

But that’s not how it was now, was it? As long as he kept his eyes closed he could play pretend, but as soon as light would meet his eyes, the illusion would crumble and turn to dust.

They weren’t at their house anymore, they were in the tower of the Vees. Vox went home with Valentino and Velvette now, not with him.

One of his hands crept towards the edge of the blankets, prepared to strike. To end all of this here and now, should he find Vox looking at him with that mocking smug expression on his face.

But when he fully opened his eyes, he didn’t find anything of the sort.

Vox just looked back at him, a hint of magical wonder in his eyes, like he couldn't believe Alastor had actually laid down next to him, like he had been fully prepared to just get mocked and taunted as usual.

And maybe that child-like vulnerability in Vox’s eyes was even more unbearable than mockery and scorn.

Alastor relaxed his hand again.

A smile slipped onto Vox's face, making his eyes light up like the moon itself. For a second, Alastor almost thought he was looking at his friend instead of his enemy. It was just the same, that sweet expression on his face that had always been reserved just for him.

But Vox’s smile disappeared again when a shiver ran through his body, making him retreat further in his blanket.

“You’re bringing in all the cold air,” he murmured.

Alastor’s ears perked up before folding back just the tiniest bit as he thought about his answer.

“...Apologies. You know frost clings to me like flies to honey.”

The thick blanket in front of his mouth muffled his voice, just like the hint of drowsiness that overcame him. Despite things not being like they had been back then, the warmth and comfort he found in Vox’s bed was the same as always.

He didn’t know what the secret was, really. Why it was only around him that the warmth would make his frozen body thaw, why the air didn’t get stuffy from all the heaters when Vox was there. It was a mystery to him, both a blessing and a curse.

But right now, with all his sleepless and restless nights catching up to him, it was nothing but a blessing.

Vox seemed deep in thought as he looked at him, pondering over the answer he had given as if he hadn’t known that already.

“Are you very cold?” he whispered, as if speaking louder would scare him away. One of Vox’s hands darted out from under the blanket, coming to rest between them, on the empty space on the mattress. Vox’s bed was rather big and neither of them had breached the distance in the middle yet.

Alastor stared down at the blue claws. He knew what Vox was asking of him, of course. A part of him didn’t know what to think, seeing Vox give him an outing to his touch so easily. He would have thought that after all that had happened and all the feelings Vox still harbored for him, he would just force himself onto him as soon as he got the chance.

But no. He had placed his hand there, a silent request. Alastor blinked a few more times as they lay there in silence, staring at Vox's hand and Vox staring at him.

Then, after what felt like hours, he let his own hand dart out from under the covers and placed it on Vox’s.

Vox immediately flinched back like Alastor had poured acid over his skin.

“Jesus Christ, Al, where have you been? You never got this cold when we-”

He cut himself off immediately and averted his gaze, pressing his lips together. Awkward silence stretched between them, with neither of them knowing how or why to talk about the past and all that had happened.

Hesitantly, Vox looked back at him and put his hand on top of Alastor’s again, red meeting blue.

Shivers ran through their bodies, Vox shivering from the cold and he from the warmth. Alastor shuffled his blanket around and threw the edge of it over their hands so it would be warmer.

“Doesn’t your fancy Hotel room have heaters?" Vox asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Alastor buried his free hand in the sheets beneath him, pondering over what he should answer. There was, of course, the truth. But the way he would have to phrase it seemed too heavy at the moment. The weight of the words felt uncomfortable on his tongue as he tried them out in his head, mainly the last two, so he threw those into the abyss of his mind and just said the beginning.

“It’s not the same.”

Without you.

Vox was a smart fellow when he wanted to be. He would get it. Although, maybe that was even worse – Vox thinking he was too much of a coward to say things how they really were. So, before Vox could respond, he quickly took the reigns of their whispered conversation again and threw another question at him.

“Do you always sleep with two blankets?” he asked with a teasing undertone in his voice, but not the usual, cruel one. No, it was the tone he always used with his friends.

Vox seemed to freeze for a second, looking down at the sheets as a faint hue of blue washed over his screen. Apparently, he had struck some kind of nerve.

“No,” Vox eventually mumbled.

Oh.

Alastor’s eyes drifted back to the blanket he was wrapped in.

That was...not the answer he had expected. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure what he had expected, but certainly not a simple “no” that sounded like an admission of guilt.

So did Vox- oh dear. But no, he couldn’t have, could he? Vox didn’t...he didn’t know him that well anymore. He couldn’t have known that Alastor would come today. There had been cold days before.

Unless…

A hint of surprise swept through his eyes.

...had he waited for him every night? If yes, then only this year since his return, or...all those other years as well?

He didn't know which of the three options he found more shocking. Devastating, he might say. To think Vox had waited for him to return, would have allowed him to return, even after all that had happened between them. Vox had wanted him to come home, all those years. And Alastor hadn’t even bothered to check on him when he returned.

But it wasn’t his fault, right? He- he couldn’t have known...

An unknown ache thrummed in his heart.

“I see,” he said quietly.

Silence reigned over them. Alastor didn’t know what else to say and Vox just looked uncomfortable, almost a bit ashamed as he avoided Alastor’s gaze.

He didn’t like that.

Where’s that beautiful smile of yours?

And because all his words had left him but he still wanted to do something, he eventually slipped his hand out from where it rested under Vox’s own to intertwine them instead. Vox finally looked back at him, seeming surprised, and Alastor met his gaze, but no one said anything.

It remained quiet once more as they just lay there, staring at each other, contemplating if someone should break the silence or if they should just let it rest.

When Vox’s eyes darted down towards where their intertwined hands were hidden underneath the covers, Alastor started to regret his action for a second, fearing that Vox would misunderstand him, that he would get accused of leading him on. Again.

But Vox didn’t say anything and neither did he try to initiate anything else and just enjoyed this small, fragile bridge between them. Or rather, the thin remaining thread.

After a while, the sound of the mattress creaking suddenly rang through the quiet room as Vox moved around, sitting up again and turning to the wall beside the bed, but never letting go of Alastor’s hand. Alastor didn’t quite catch what Vox was doing, but there was a small device on the wall that Vox was tinkering with.

“What are you doing?”

Vox pressed some buttons before lying down again, nuzzling against the soft pillows and blankets.

“Just turning up the heat a little. You’re freezing. Your body isn’t getting warm at all.”

“It takes a while. You know how it is.”

“You’re gonna freeze to death someday,” Vox said, half with exasperation and half with...concern?

A thought jumped around in Alastor’s head at that tone. Maybe this was his chance. His chance to ask without actually asking.

“Will I?”, he asked quietly.

The look he gave Vox as he stared so deeply into his eyes as if he wanted to reach beyond them to grasp his soul itself, must have told Vox all about what he was really asking.

Vox stared back, and maybe, just maybe, Alastor opened the door guarding his own soul and let him peek through the small crack.

Vox’s claws grazed over the back of his hand for just a second, to the point where he could have thought it to just be the fabric of the blanket that had touched him.

“No. No, you won’t,” Vox eventually answered.

Alastor was very glad that the blanket was still covering his mouth, or otherwise Vox might have seen his signature smile slip into a genuine one.

Although...Vox could probably read it from his eyes alone. It was a curious thing, their relationship. How despite being able to read the other like an open book, they could not have a normal conversation about what was on their minds.

Not that it came as a shock. Their last heart-to-heart had ended rather disastrously after all.

Vox tightened his grip around his hand. Gentle, like he was holding a feather, but more secure.

“Still, you feel like you’re running on ice. You need to get warm.”

“I’m trying my best.”

His eyes came to rest on Vox's blanket. He still remembered the times when he had cuddled up against Vox as if he were a fireplace, with Vox’s hand carding through his hair and lulling him into sleep. The only kind of touch he had ever enjoyed.

He’d like to do it again sometime, maybe. Not today though, that would be too much. He couldn’t bear the thought of being so intimate with him now, with everything that was still standing in between them.

Vox’s eyes were roaming his body now, but it didn’t feel like back then, when Vox had confessed to him and his mind had short-circuited, making him feel like Vox was looking at him like a piece of meat.

No, he just seemed to think about how he could warm him up.

“It’s fine, Vox. I’m fine,” Alastor just said, a faint hint of amusement in his voice.

Still, maybe he could speed up the process a little. He couldn’t be intimate with Vox in the same way he had been back then, not now at least, but maybe he could just...scoot a little closer.

Vox’s eyes widened when Alastor closed the empty space between them, moving closer to him until their fluffy blankets were pressed against each other.

After Alastor had settled into his new position, he quickly relaxed again, feeling the warmth emitted by Vox's body a little better now, almost making him sigh in contentment. All the while, Vox seemed oddly transfixed at some part above Alastor, or behind him perhaps. He hesitantly reached out his free hand, leaving it to lie somewhere in the middle between them on the mattress, and-

Ah.

He stared at Vox. Vox stared back.

“...Ears?” Vox asked quietly.

A faint hum of static rang inside his head at the question. Ears? Well, that was- a lot, certainly, and he hadn’t really expected that request now, so out of the blue. It was...he didn’t think Vox would ask something like this, with all that still stood between them. He knew that Vox liked petting them, but...

His ears pinned back ever so slightly.

It would be a lot. Not even regarding their fractured friendship, but...in general. Weird tingles traveled through the thin skin of his ears, pricking him like little, ghostly needles, and making his ears twitch as if they wanted to chase away a fly.

No, no, he didn’t like this at all, that was- too much now.

Vox tilted his head a little when he didn’t give an answer immediately.

“...No?” he asked, quietly but with no judgment. He had never judged.

“...No.”

If he had, Alastor never would have allowed something like this. Vox retracted his hand again. There was no disappointment in his expression, no frustration, no anger. For a second, he almost thought he was looking at the old Vox.

At that thought, another wave of sleepiness overcame him. All the comforting warmth and the presence of the person he had once called his best friend made him drowsy.

Vox pulled his blanket up a little more.

“Maybe we should sleep. For now,” he said.

Alastor buried his nose further into the soft fabric and nodded.

"Yes, we should.”

There would be other times when they could talk about this. About all that had been broken, and about if it could be fixed again.

Maybe they wouldn’t talk. Maybe this would all just be an uneasy truce, but perhaps it would be more. But now was not the time for deep conversations.

As soon as Alastor closed his eyes, he felt himself drifting into that pleasant state between sleep and wake, where his body was already relaxing but his mind was still perceptive of the things happening around him. He had missed it, not having to fight the cold to fall asleep.

"...Al?"

Vox's voice was quiet, if by his own choice or because Alastor's drowsiness was muting it he wasn't sure. But it sounded sweet in his ears.

“Hm?”

There were some seconds of pause, long enough for Alastor to think he might have been dreaming already and Vox hadn’t said anything at all.

“Will you come tomorrow, too?”

Alastor barely heard his words with how much Vox was whispering. His sleep-ridden mind made it hard to think and even harder to answer. Would he come back tomorrow? Was Vox inviting him back? Vox wanted him to return?

“...Yes.”

Vox didn't say anything afterward, but Alastor felt like the darkness behind his closed eyes grew a little brighter, as if someone was aiming a flashlight at his face. A small smile slipped onto his lips.

Silly picture box, always lighting up when he was happy.

His breathing went even the more he felt his exhaustion wash over him. Somewhere deep in his mind, his radio waves were intermingling with Vox’s TV signals, creating a sweet lullaby for the both of them.

“Al?”

Vox’s whispered words were sweet background noise, just like raindrops tapping against the window.

“Hm?”

There was a break, again making him wonder if he was simply dreaming, but then Vox continued, saying something that made Alastor’s ears perk up.

“I miss you.”

Now it was on him to be quiet. If he was indeed dreaming already, it was a nice dream. Some of the frost inside his heart started to thaw, Vox’s words warming him up from the inside out.

He chuckled softly, the sound muted by the blanket.

“I know you do, Vox.”

And maybe after another second of silence and just before he finally drifted off into sleep, Alastor whispered something else.

“I miss you too.”