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"Are you coming, pal?"
Vox blinks, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He's...standing on a sidewalk. He can't tell what part of the city he's in, but it's a nice day with the right amount of sun and clouds. A rare mix in Hell.
"Picture box?"
In front of him is a snarling mess of colors and shapes. Glitchy, pixeling reds and shadowy, snaking blacks. An external, bright smile. Alastor. Horribly distorted due to the cameras that function as his eyes.
There's something wrong with this. He knows that, feels it stick in his non-existent throat. There's something wrong. He just...he can't remember, the information slipping away every time he tries to grab it.
Alastor's standing right there, smiling expectantly. Vox can make out just enough of his silhouette to tell that he's sticking his elbow out, a silent indication for Vox to take his arm.
Not knowing what else to do, not seeing why he shouldn't, Vox steps forward and does so.
They walk down the sidewalk together in that old timey way Alastor enjoys and that Vox tolerates. He's put up a fuss about it in the past but, and he would never admit this, he actually really doesn't mind it. Not just because it's one of the few forms of touch the Radio Demon allows, but because when they touch Vox can see a little bit of Alastor. Not much, normally just a few pixels, but something. A bit of red clothing when Vox touches his shoulder, a hint of grey when their arms "accidently" bump. Like the distortion flees from his touch. Like Vox is helping Alastor, clearing the mess away, letting him be seen, and one day Al will- will---
His chest aches.
"So," Alastor starts. Vox looks at him, at the black blob and bright smile that makes up Al's face in his vision. Some days, he fantasizes about running his hands over that face, feeling the contours and curves, seeing his real eyes through the pixels. His fingers twitch.
"So," the other man repeats, "I've decided to forgive you."
Vox blinks. "Forgive me?"
"For that little stunt you pulled earlier, of course. The partnership." Alastor snarls the word like it's filthy, disgusting, upset that it even crossed his lips.
Vox freezes. The HAHAHA Oh that’s- oh you're SERIOUS?! Come now, Vox! partnership.
That's what's wrong. That's what-- oh shit he should not be here right now he-- Alastor hates him---
"Oh calm down." Alastor says, annoyed. "I just said I forgive you. Really, Vincent, so emotional."
He struggles to compose himself, to regain some sense of control. "You-- you're not upset?"
Alastor hums. "Upset is a rather strong word, isn't it? I admit, I was a bit disappointed. And the proposal was absolutely pathetic. But, I suppose your patheticness is what drew me to you in the first place. And it seems pointless to punish a creature for acting exactly as you already knew it would. Like beating a dog for barking."
Vox unlinks his arm from Alastor's, stepping away. "Do you-" He stops himself. Do you regret what you said? Is what he wants to ask. You say you forgive me, but are you sorry? Did you mean what you said about friends- about our friendship? He wants to beg, wants to scream, wants to sob: Did you ever care about me?
But he doesn't need to.
He already knows the answer.
"I can't do this." His voice cracks. He might be crying, he can't tell.
"What's the matter? Isn't this what you wanted?" Something dangerous creeps into Alastor's tone. Something sharp and angry.
"I- No-- Yes- but---"
"I forgave you, I'm willing to move on, to put your depravity behind us. Is that somehow not enough for you?" The shadows grow. The sun disappears behind the clouds.
"Not like this!" He snaps.
Alastor sighs, sounding world-weary. "Honestly, you're such a mess. I try to be the bigger man, out of the kindness of my heart, and this is how you react?”
Shadows wrap around the metal frame that makes up his neck, yanking him down onto his knees. Vox struggles, thrashes, zaps. It does nothing.
"What do you want me to say, Vincent? That I love you too?" His tone takes on a sickeningly sweet flavor, obviously false in every possible way.
"You-" His voice glitches, stuttering over itself. A burst of static escapes his speakers. "You knew?"
"I don't know, Vincent, did I?" The pull strengthens, slamming his face into the ground. He more hears than feels his glass crack. "You know as well as I do." Something slams into his back, pushing him further into the ground. A foot? The staff? He can't tell. "It's a wonder he put up with you as long as he did!" A laugh track plays. Mocking and echoing.
"What--" He tries to push himself up. Fails. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh, Vincent." Alastor leans in close, putting his mouth right up to Vox's audio receivers. His voice sharp and cruel and gleeful. "Do you really think he'd willingly get this close to you ever again?"
Vox bolts up, his fans whirling, his claws tearing into something soft. He's-- He's somewhere different. He blinks, struggling to process.
He's in a bed, cool blue light reflecting from the large aquarium that makes up his wall, Val sleeping next to him. His fans breaking the silence is too much, the static hissing from his speakers too much, everything about him too much. He pushes the palms of his hands against his screen, claws curving and cutting into the plastic.
Val stirs, shifting. "Amorcito?" He mumbles, voice low and sleepy. "What's wrong?"
Vox crumbles.
Valentino sits up in alarm at the sudden, strangled sob. "Voxxy?!"
He leans away from the hands reaching for him. "Go away! Just leave me alone."
He's yanked over, his screen turned so he has to look at Val. "Tu estúpido idiota! Like I'm going to leave you alone after you woke me with your crying. What's wrong?!"
"Nothing! I'm fine!" He kicks and hisses, ignoring the way his voice sputters and shakes.
"You're so obviously not--"
"WHY DON'T YOU HATE ME?!" Vox screams. It's like the words purge him of everything. Every tangled, messy, scared, sad, angry, guilty, begging, bit of emotion leaving him. His body goes limp. "Why don't you hate me." His words sound empty. He feels empty.
Val sighs. "Of course I don't hate you." Val pulls Vox up into his arms, holding him tight. Vox more hears than feels a soft kiss left on the top of his head. "I love you too much."
"I hate me."
"I know, Vox." One of Val's hands rubs his back, gentle in a way the lust overlord never is with anyone else. "That's part of the problem."
"Do you think he ever liked me? Or was I just…a game to him." Vox doesn't need to clarify who he is. They both already know.
"I like you. So does Vel. Can't that be enough?"
Vox laughs, humorless. "I wish it was." He pauses. Feels the too much start to creep up on him again. "Shit, he was right. I really am a broken cup."
"You're not broken, Vox. Not to us." Val leans his head against Vox's, blanketing the two of them in his wings. Holding him like something precious. "Not to me.”