Work Text:
He simply appeared in the lobby one evening, screen-face glowing softly in the dim light, hands folded behind his back, his smile sharp and unreadable.
Charlie froze on the spot, taking in his appearance with a weary expression marring her features.
Vaggie reached for her spear.
Vox raised one hand in a gesture of peace.
“I come with an offer,” he said, voice smooth and soothing.
“What kind of offer?” Vaggie snarled.
His eyes lingered on Charlie as he answered Vaggie. “I’m here to offer a little help. Guidance. A… partnership. Whatever you want to name it.”
Charlie blinked. “You want to help the hotel?”
“Indeed.”
Vaggie hissed. “Why?”
Vox’s screen flickered—a glitch—before his screen settled back into place. Normal. Like it never happened.
“Because I find your little project…” Here he paused, as if trying to find the right wording—one word that wouldn’t offend—and finished his sentence, “fascinating.”
Charlie stepped forward, cautious but hopeful. “You really, really, reeeally want to help?”
Vox chuckled at her, finding her utterly endearing, and bowed slightly. “I do.”
And from that moment on, he stayed.
Not as a guest. Not as a prisoner. Not as an enemy.
...As something else entirely.
Something Charlie couldn’t name.
And something Vox refused to.
_______________________________
Vox helped with everything.
He’d repaired the hotel’s failing wiring. He’d upgraded the security system. He’d even mediated arguments between residents—with varying degrees of success, more than Charlie had ever managed...
She couldn’t deny that he was rather impressive. She still had her reservations about completely trusting him—but so far, he hadn’t given her any reason not to.
And through all of it, unbeknownst to Charlie, he followed one rule.
A rule he never said aloud.
He never touched Charlie first.
Not once.
Not even when she swept by him with a stack of papers.
Not even when she leaned close enough for him to feel her breath.
Not even when she nudged him with a laugh that lit up the room.
He stood perfectly still.
Because if he touched her first, he knew he wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t be able to control himself if he did...
______________________________
It happened late one night.
Charlie was hunched over the reception desk, surrounded by paperwork. Vox stood nearby, pretending to adjust a light fixture that didn’t need adjusting.
“You should rest,” he said, allowing himself to stand right beside her, yet keeping a respectful distance.
Charlie looked up, eyes tired but surprised. “You think so?”
“I know so. You look exhausted, Charlie,” he said tenderly.
She smiled warmly up at him, a sparkle in her eyes that sent his heart pounding faster in his chest until it ached.
And then she did it.
She reached out and touched his wrist.
Just a brush of fingers.
Barely anything.
But Vox froze, the touch of her fingertips sending a pleasant shock throughout his system.
Charlie blinked. “Vox? Are you okay?”
He swallowed. “Oh, yeah, yeah. I’m fine, dollface.”
She laughed—she always laughed at that particular pet name; she believed he’d only started calling her dollface because of her doll‑like appearance—never realizing he chose it because she looked like something crafted, cherished, and meant to be held gently, even if he never let himself touch her first. To her, it was playful; to him, it was the closest he could come to admitting what she was to him—delicate, luminous, a thing he feared he might break if he ever allowed himself the luxury of reaching back.
“Are you sure you’re not overheating? I can get you water—oops, shit, do you even drink water?”
“I’m—fine. Really,” he said, sounding breathless—he couldn’t think of a better reply—not with her hand still on him.
And he was trying very, very hard not to lift his own hand and cover hers.
______________________________
Charlie touched him more often after that.
A hand on his shoulder when she thanked him. A brush of her fingers when she passed him a document. A cute, playful nudge when he made a sarcastic comment. Hell, even a soft touch to his arm when she wanted his attention was enough to send him into a frenzy.
Every time, he would just stand there frozen.
Every time, something inside him sparked.
Every time, he wanted to touch her back.
But he didn’t.
He never did.
Because if he touched her first, he knew she’d feel the tremor in his hand. She’d hear the static seeping into his voice.
He knew she’d see the truth as clear as day, flashing across his screen.
She’d know.
And he wasn’t ready for her to know.
Not yet...
Hell, maybe not ever...
______________________________
The rooftop was quiet.
Charlie sat on the edge, legs dangling over the city. Vox approached silently—not because he was sneaking, but because he always moved quietly around her.
“Hey, Vox,” she said softly. “Come sit with me.”
He did.
A careful distance. A safe distance.
They watched the neon red skyline in silence.
After a while, Charlie whispered, “Do you ever feel like you’re trying so hard to be something you’re not?”
Vox stiffened, heart beating just a tad faster in his chest at her words, but he managed to force out a strained. “Constantly.”
She smiled sadly. “Me too.”
He looked at her—really looked—and saw the exhaustion in her eyes. The weight she carried. The hope she clung to even when it hurt.
He wanted to touch her.
He wanted to take her hand.
He wanted to pull her close and tell her she didn’t have to carry everything alone.
He wanted so badly to break his rule.
But he didn’t.
He stayed still.
Until Charlie leaned her head against his shoulder, soft and trusting, her legs swinging idly over the edge of the rooftop.
Vox went rigid.
Not visibly—he forced his posture to remain casual, relaxed, and perfectly composed—but inside, every wire in him pulled taut, every circuit screamed, and every part of him begged to either pull away or pull her closer.
He did neither.
He simply sat there, letting her warmth seep into him like a slow, unbearable burn.
After a long moment, Charlie murmured, “You’re really warm tonight.”
He swallowed hard. “Ha-ha, mmm, d-didn’t really notice,” he stuttered out. “Guess it’s just my ‘faulty cooling system,’” he joked lightly.
She giggled, accepting that without hesitation.
Of course she did.
She always did.
“It’s kinda nice,” she added, her voice drifting with the breeze. “You’re nice.”
That word nearly undid him.
He kept his eyes fixed on the skyline, forcing a perfectly neutral expression, refusing to let even a flicker betray him.
‘Nice,’ she said, he thought with a scoff.
If only she knew what he was holding back.
“Don’t get used to it,” he said lightly, the lie smooth and practiced. “I’m only tolerable in low doses, really.”
Charlie nudged him gently—a small, affectionate bump of her shoulder against his. And he stopped breathing again.
“You’re not as scary as you pretend to be,” she said with a smile. He could hear it even without looking at her face.
He forced a smirk. “You’d be surprised.”
She hummed, unconvinced, and rested her head against him once more.
Vox stared straight ahead, jaw tight, hands clenched so subtly no one but him would notice.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t lean in.
He didn’t touch her.
He couldn’t.
If he did, he’d lose every ounce of control he had left.
Charlie sighed contentedly. “It’s a balance, isn’t it?”
He blinked. “What is?”
“Everything,” she said simply. “You, me, the hotel… all of it.”
He let out a quiet breath—the closest he’d ever come to a laugh.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Something like that.”
She didn’t hear the strain in his voice. She didn’t see the way his screen flickered once, faintly, like a heartbeat skipping. And she definitely didn’t notice how tightly he held himself together.
She noticed nothing.
And Vox—for once—was grateful for that...
Because if she ever truly saw him, if she ever realized what she did to him with every innocent touch, every soft smile, every moment like this…
He wouldn’t be able to stop.
So he stayed still.
Perfectly still.
Letting her rest against him while he pretended—desperately—that he wasn’t one breath away from shattering.