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You fucking creep.
Alastor's words always hurt more than his fists did. Pain bloomed in his chest, fresh and raw, every time he replayed all the things Alastor ever said to him. It hurt. It hurt terribly. Vox was tired.
He had been repressing his feelings for seventy long years. The mistake was thinking he had it under control. That he could just continue to swallow down his feelings, devour them, keep them hidden, and pretend they weren't even there anymore..Something had to give. He always imagined if he finally broke, it would at least be in private..Not public. Not with everyone to see. Not with Alastor being able to see the damage he caused never healed. Something broke in him permanently when Alastor's reaction to his tears was to grin wider. He just wanted it to stop. He wanted to stop the intolerable pain. He couldn't look at Alastor's smile anymore without feeling like he was dying.
Fuck Hell, fuck Heaven, and fuck all of you! As long as I wipe the smile off Alastor's fucking face...I don't care what happens.
In the end, everything led back to him. Everything led back to the man Vox was destroying himself over. When some rationality came back to him weeks after his public breakdown, he realized he could have been successful in every plan he ever made. If not for the very thing that would always be his downfall. His greatest downfall. His greatest love.
Who would ever forgive him if they knew he was in love with Alastor?
After all this time, he was ready to admit to himself what he used to rationalize away. He loves Alastor. He's loved Alastor since day one. It was always him. It could never be anyone else. It's not that Vox didn't try. He cared about Valentino, but not like this. Valentino and Velvette would always be the closest he ever had to a family, his Vees. But when he looked at them, he wasn't drowning in love the way he was with Alastor.
He would have burned the world down if Alastor had asked him to. Anything he wanted, Vox would give. He wanted a rival; Vox made himself one. He wanted entertainment; he got it. Games, taunts, fights. Anything he wants. Couldn't he feel how deeply he was loved? It didn't matter what Vox himself wanted..He just wanted Alastor to keep looking at him. But he no longer did.
Alastor had no use for him anymore. Because that's all Vox ever was to him - just convenient. Nothing more. Alastor always walked away without looking back. The blood endlessly dripping from the gaping wound where Alastor ripped his heart out that night in the bar would always be red. Red, like Alastor's eyes. His whole being, his whole soul, was marked by just one name, just one man.
Creep.
He didn't know how to not feel anything for Alastor. He didn't know how to not care. He wasn't sure he could even someday teach himself how to stop. Even though everything he ever cherished so tenderly about their past, Alastor walked all over. Ignored. Denied. Turned it ugly, while Vox was thinking it was lovely. He was tired of asking himself why. Agonizing over what he could have done differently, what he did wrong, if he overstepped, if he missed a chance...He was tired of carrying open wounds that refused to close.
And maybe it was his own fault. Even one look at Alastor ripped the wounds open wider. Why did he keep doing this to himself? Why does he keep bleeding for a man who is indifferent even to his pain? Vox used to tell himself it was better to have Alastor's hate than nothing at all. If he couldn't have what his soul was crying for, he'd settle for Alastor's hate. His scorn. His mockery. His mind games. At least Alastor was looking at him long enough for Vox to pretend the sadistic amusement in the deer's eyes was the closeness he once upon a time thought was real.
Creep.
Why did he ever think it was real? He should have known better. He should have known it meant nothing. He should have known Alastor would never soften his gaze for him and mean it. It was fake. It was always fake. The memories made it worse. But he couldn't help himself; he'd go through his archives and look at his memories worse than a depressed human going through old pictures of people they missed. Maybe he just needed to finally see that they never had anything at all. That the entire time, it was just in his head.
My, what a peculiar head you have. What did you say it is called, a television?
There was a curiosity in his eyes when they first met, as if Vox was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. Vox still occasionally wished Alastor would find him that interesting again. But he knew better now.
Alastor. Pleased to meet you, Vincent!
The first time they laid eyes on each other, electricity exploded like fireworks around them. Looking back, perhaps that should've been a sign that their story wouldn't be one with a happy ending.
Rosie, I acquired my very own picture box. A talking one, ha!
He got used to Alastor always using 'my' when referring to him in conversations with others. He got used to it fast. He still misses the warmth he felt in those moments.
Care for a drink, pal?
They never drank with anyone else, always together. Alastor liked routine and Vox didn't mind back in the day. They'd sit together, drink, talk, and enjoy the music. Sazerac and music were just their thing. Today, Vox can no longer drink a sazerac without a heavy heart and a sickness in his stomach he can't wish away.
I'm rather pleasantly surprised you can dance. Why, it's been too long since I've had a dance partner keep up with me!
Eventually their drinking nights evolved into a lot of dancing. The Radio Demon was always lethal. But when they danced, oh, when they danced..He held Vox with such care. The memory of Alastor's once gentle touches on his skin now aches more than any violent blow that came after ever did.
Hold still, idiotic television. Just what would you do if I wasn't here to patch you up, hm?
He never asked him to help him when he used to get injured in fights, his screen fractured here and there. But Alastor mended him anyways, hands careful on his face in a way that Vox once believed was caring.
We'll get them next time, pal.
Vox remembers that one. In that moment he, foolishly, thought they were getting closer. A team. Just the two of them.
A pill mic, hm? My, just where was this when I was alive? Thank you, Vincent.
The first gift he ever gave Alastor was the pill mic. He remembers the excitement he felt, the hopefulness of pleasing Alastor. The softer expression in Alastor's eyes as the memory went on now felt insincere. He couldn't help but wonder if he always misread Alastor.
Be quiet and eat what I prepared, picture box.
They used to cook together. Alastor taught him how to after he saw how hopeless Vox was in the kitchen. Somehow, the nights where they stayed in Vox's old apartment or Alastor's old place and just prepared dinner together, listening to music and laughing together, felt like a happiness he'd never have again. He loved those nights. But...Alastor didn't, did he? Vox misread everything.
I've grown rather fond of our shared frequency.
It was something that felt special to Vox, intimate even. He always thought that Alastor also cherished that they were the only ones with radio and TV frequencies. The way they could communicate with only each other, the way their frequencies buzzed with an almost odd harmony...It was everything. Vox no longer felt any static.
Come along, mon chér.
He remembers the subtle affection in those words. Oh, he remembers all too well. Now, he just lets out a bitter laugh that sounds more like a choked sob than anything else as he thinks about why he ever thought Alastor wasn't faking it.
Ha! Oh..Oh, you're serious.
The mask dropped. He was better off just impaling his staff through Vox's screen. It would have been less painful.
There are no friends in hell, Vincent! I thought that was something you understood! How embarrassing!
Alastor always held him gently..But he had the power to shatter him just as much. And he did. Vox always gave him too much power over him. He never did think Alastor would shatter him without hesitation, until that night.
Vox? Oh..He's nobody important.
It's almost funny how quickly he stopped being Vincent and how quickly he became Vox. How quickly he became nothing. Alastor warmed his heart in a way nobody did, but he also left him freezing just because he could.
I thought you found me, oh, what was it....Inspiring?
He knew. He knew it hurt. He had to know. He knew. It was always deliberate.
And then you went ahead and ruined it.
Was it ever real to you, Alastor? Vox knew the answer would never come, and he decided it was best that way. He didn't want Alastor to tell him how naive he was to fall for his past lies.
You fucking creep.
Creep. Creep. Creep.
The memory glitches on the last word, and Vox disconnects from his archive, heart heavier than his body and screen wet from tears. He's glitching again, but he's crying too much to do anything about it. He can't take it anymore. He's had enough. He's truly had enough of loving Alastor.
His chest heaves, knees trembling on the verge of collapse from the amount of sadness that loving Alastor brought him. He tries to calm down and stop crying, but it's of no use. He can't do this anymore. Alastor wanted him gone? Well, he's about to give Alastor exactly what he asked for. It's better this way, isn't it? Everyone will be happier, everyone!
Vox laughs through tears, a little hysterical, as he makes the decision to reach into his system and delete the heartbreak. No, he'll delete Alastor out of his mind completely. It's for the best. After all, no one but Vox himself cared about the love he felt. And even he was tired of being in love with the worst man in Hell. He'll do it alone; no assistant needed. No one to stop him, no one to worry if he accidentally scrambles his own head with his shaking hands. No, it's better this way.
He silently goes into his office, ready to end their story. Well...Was it even much of a story to begin with? Alastor never has and never would love him. Now, he'll get what he wants. No more Vox being a creep like he says, no more cameras, no more arguments. He can enjoy his precious hotel and his friends.
That was probably the best part out of all...Alastor did have friends. Vox was just never a part of it. Never a part of him, no matter how deeply he loved him. No more...Vox was finally done with him. He forces his hands to be more steady as he manually prepares to delete the entirety of his memories involving Alastor from his system.
"Goodbye, Al...I love you."Vox whispers to the empty room, admitting his love out loud for the first and last time.
And he hits the delete controls, Alastor starting to fade from his mind once and for all. And, well, if out of the corner of his eye, he saw dark shadows almost urgently approaching, reaching for him...He imagined it, surely.
"Vincent!" Someone shouted his name.
He was falling unconscious, vision growing too dark to see who was shaking him. But that can't be right...He never told anyone in Hell his human name.
He was just imagining things, his tired mind supplying him with something to fill in the blanks as he rests through his system updates. There was no one in the room with him.
The trembling hands holding him must have been phantom.