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It's a regular day at the Vee Tower, everyone's busy, business flowing with high numbers on profit, only good news and no immediate problem that requires Vox to personally solve. This was good. Pretty good actually, considering how today Vox woke up in a good mood and even a little happy to start another day, something that hasn't happened for over two weeks now.
It felt refreshing to finally be happy about being alive for once.
Vox's morning routine went by smoothly. Some reviewing of contracts for future brand partnership, a meeting with a sponsor that went pretty well, and someone who wanted his opinion on whatever ‘midnight blue’ or ‘royal blue’ would make for a better wall color.
The high of his day was definitely the lunch he shared with both Valentino and Velvette. The three of them laughing from a story Velv was telling about some newly hired model of hers lightning into flames and turning into a fireball cuz her dress caught fire due to a fireplace nearby. Apparently she was standing too close to it.
“And then she started running all over the place, knocking down all the furniture while screaming that she was going to ‘burn to death again’,” speaking enthusiastically, Velvette described the details of her model's fiasco. “Wait, let me send you what I recorded.”
She typed with a smile on her face and soon both Vox and Valentino were laughing while holding their phones.
“She really has a nice voice when she screams like this,” said Valentino with a chuckle, a suggestive smile on his face. “Are you still gonna let her wear one of your creations after she burned this one?”
Velvette shaked her head. “You can have her. Bitch’s way too stupid and clumsy to even wear a dress and a pair of high heels, she would be better at one of your pornos instead. That way, she's not gonna trip over her clothes.”
“She won't be wearing any clothes~” said Val, already thinking on how to fill in the new girl into the script of his afternoon shooting.
Vox was enjoying himself. Talking, laughing with Val and Velvette. That was the best moment of his day. Which is a shame considering that after lunch was finished and Vox made his way back to his office everything started to go wrong.
On his way back, an employee bumped into him when they both turned the corner at the same time, spilling his coffee all over Vox's clothes. His first instinct was to electrocute the bastard till only ashes were left. But, much to the poor scared thing's luck, Vox simply brushed the other off and told them to clean the mess.
The rest of the walk shifted Vox's mood from happy to feeling like dying was a better option than simply changing his clothes, a task that would take him three minutes to accomplish.
“What the fuck…” muttered Vox as the door of his office closes behind him with a soft click. Now standing in the middle of the room, Vox felt lost, brain foggy and movements hard to make.
Still, he made the effort to change his coffee-stained clothes and sit back in his chair in front of his desk, which was full of endless stacks of paper ready to be read, signed, or simply thrown away. It was going to be a long afternoon, followed by a very long night. Vox should ask his assistant for a cup of coffee.
Hours and hours passed, the sky got darker over time, but Vox paid no attention to the view outside, he had work to do.
The more time passed, the more caffeine Vox pumped into his bloodstream and the more work he finished, the more Vox lost track of both time and his sanity.
He was so tired, feeling completely exhausted physically, mentally and emotionally. All he wanted was to finish all of the work on his desk. If he managed to write just this one last document and send it, he would be finished for the day (even if tomorrow would inevitably bring more of what today was).
Typing the last few words of the document, Vox checked everything twice to make sure all the information needed was included and that said information was correct. It was all in place so Vox saved and downloaded the document. That's it. All he needs to do is to send an email with the archive containing the document and he will be done.
Except, when Vox tried to attach the archive in the email, it didn't work. For some reason it wasn't attaching, the screen would just display an endless loading screen, rolling and rolling no matter how long Vox waited or how many times he tried attaching the damn document to the fucking email he needed to send in order to finish his day. “Why is it not working?”
It's hard to say how many minutes Vox stayed, trying to make sense of why something so simple was not working, why he couldn't do this one simple task. Did he do something wrong? Is it not right? Why are you not working?
Tiredness started leaving, making room for anger and frustration inside of Vox. His alertness over the problem in front of him he, apparently, was too incompetent to solve, making him frustrated with himself for being so horrible at his job he couldn't even send a simple email without crashing the fuck out.
Eventually Vox snapped and pushed his blue screens, shoving them away to the far end of his desk, except they stayed there, still displaying his failed attempt to do his job.
Running a hand up and down his face, Vox started to consider giving up on this task. If he wanted he could just pass it to any of his employees to finish his work for him.
Deciding to get up and stretch his legs, Vox got up and made his way to the door. Not the main door that leads to the hallway, but to the only other door of his office, this one giving access to a bedroom.
Yes, Vox has a bedroom integrated into his office, call him a workaholic or whatever you want to.
The room's nice. Vox had it be builded when the convenience of having a bedroom attached to his office seemed like a good idea in his head. And he was right. It was much easier to just walk a few feet than take the elevator or waste energy teleporting. The secrecy of its location was also very useful. The only one who had all time access to his office was him, so even if Val and Velv would come over for meetings, they never had any reason to want to visit the other room. To make a point, Vox and Val never fucked in that room. Vox never liked the idea of having sex in his office, so by extension the room was also out of the question.
Entering the bedroom and locking the door, Vox made his way to the large king-sized bed placed next to a wall and collapsed onto it with all the heavy exhaustion that had builded so tall over the last twelve hours.
Vox slept like a baby. A baby consumed by tiredness and exhaustion nobody should be experiencing, even if that somebody was a soul in hell, but a baby none the last.
Now, normally it would take Vox a while to fall asleep, but today sleep came easily.
It was not worth it.
Waking up even more tired than when he went to bed, Vox opened his eyes to little light coming from the curtain-covered window. Still weak, the start of dawn, he thought.
Vox sat up, feeling cold despite wearing his full suit. The blanket was underneath him, covering the mattress but not his body.
So cold and lonely. That's how Vox felt at that moment. The feeling of feeling nothing and too much at the same time was consuming his thoughts and making everything a mess inside his brain. He needs a way out, to make these feelings and thoughts stop, or to at least shift his focus on something else, something easier to process and that it takes little to take in.
What better way to numb psychological pain than to resort to physical pain? That's the smart idea, right? Haha, fun.
With the conviction that he's going to be spending the next hours cutting himself while spacing out in between cuts, Vox started undressing.
First he got rid of his bowtie together with his hat. Then he removed his suit, blazer, shirt and finally his trousers. All of them now found their way into a pile on the floor. The only pieces of clothing still on were his boxers and a pair of socks.
Running his fingers through old scars, Vox thought about how it has been a while since the last time he made a cut. It's not like he counts, but the lack of bandages sticked to his skin was a detail to be counted for.
Time to make new ones, he thought. Vox keeps his sharp objects inside of one of the drawers from his wardrobe.
He opens the drawer and takes out one of the box cutters before walking back to the bed. This time he pushes the blanket to the side before sitting in it, dragging himself to the middle.
Once sitting in a comfortable position, Vox started with his forearms. Left and right, Vox made small cuts and large cuts, some of them light while others were deeper. He even made one that circled his entire forearm, end meeting start in a crooked but full circle. Other ones were short, but received more pressure, reaching deeper into his flesh.
The intensity of everything happening ended up kicking Vox's body into some type of ‘fight or flight’ mode. Heart beating fast with adrenaline, body feeling hot from it. Vox could hear his heartbeat ringing inside his ears, pulsing with the intensity of each cut, each gasp of pain and every twist his face makes while wincing from the self-inflicted pain.
It barely registers in his brain that the space in both his forearms are full of cuts that drip red before his hand holding the box cutter shifts to his thigh and starts working there. They receive the same treatment of his forearms, lines of fresh being torn open, giving space for bright red blood to pierce through what was opened in the soft skin.
The pain is grounding, it shifts his thoughts from something worse he could do, to something less final, it pulls Vox's consciousness to the present, to what's happening right now, to what's in front of him, to what can still be worked with, instead of finishing it all.
It's horrible, he shouldn't be doing this. This is one of the worst ways of coping with depression, but he can't seek other methods, not when he's so used to this particular one. It's familiar and feels safe, as weird as it is when what he's essentially doing it's nothing more than harm to himself, to his body that did nothing wrong besides having a bad owner.
Just as Vox was halfway through making his thighs as sliced as his forearms, a noise caught his attention, freezing his movements to a halt. A few seconds later another noise, a bit louder and closer. They sound like steps, except there should be no one here. Two knocks from the other side of the door makes him jump when he hears it.
Who the hell is here? How are they inside his office? That thing is locked, no one should be inside of it right now, knocking on the door that separates his office and the bedroom he's currently in.
As Vox stays frozen, thinking what should he do and who could it be that wanted to see him so bad they couldn't wait outside and are instead bothering him, the person on the other side knocks again, this time three ‘knocks’ sequentially.
“Sir? Are you in there?” a quiet voice speaks, Vox almost doesn't hear it from how quiet it is, only recognizing its owner due to the familiarity of the tone, one he's used to hearing on a daily basis.
It's his assistant, it's Ethan who's at the other side of the door. Somehow it's not that bad that is his assistant who is here, that eel follows every order that Vox gives, all of his ‘dos’ and ‘don'ts’. So it's fine, just gotta tell him to leave and Ethan will follow the order.
“Uhm, Mr. Vox? You're in there, right? Your office was unlocked when I entered, but your desk was empty, so I figured you would be inside your room,” Ethan explained in a calm voice. A bit of uncertainty in it, but it's fair, considering how Ethan might as well be talking to an empty room and not his boss.
Vox sighed, the tension on his body deflating together with the motion, before deciding to reply. He's so worn out right now he could cry. “What is it that you want?” Vox asked, trying to sound more composed than he was.
“Ah, you're in there, great. I need your signature on a couple of papers, quick work,” relief colored his voice as he began pulling papers from the pile he was probably carrying.
Resting the bloody box cutter on the mattress, Vox dropped both his arms to his side. “Leave it on my desk and get out.”
There's a beat of silence as Ethan stops sifting through the paperwork he's carrying. “I'm sorry sir, but I need them signed now”, he said, voice gaining a bit of a serious tone.
The change in tone catches Vox by surprise. Whatever paperwork Ethan is working on must be important for him to stay even after being told to leave.
“I'm not going to sign anything right now, so do as I say and get out. Don't come back until tomorrow and tell anyone else who wants to see me to do the same. I don't want to be bothered today. If anything needs to be rescheduled, you know what to do.” At this point Vox was angry. Now that the adrenaline had passed, the pain took over completely, his arms and legs throbbing. The wet sensation of the blood dripping making Vox feel nasty and dirty.
Ethan hesitated before speaking again, but his voice remained firm. “I can do that, yes. However I'm afraid the client won't be satisfied with their partnership contract being delayed a third time. …If you don't mind,” Ethan suggested. “I could bring the papers to you. You just sign them real quick and I go away, clean up your schedule for the day.”
Just like that, silence filled the room once again. Ethan had made his offer, a way to solve both their problems. He needed some papers to be signed, and Vox wanted to be left unbothered for the rest of the day. His assistant had suggested a solution, he would enter the room and hand the papers to Vox on his bed, no need for him to get up or anything else. Just grab the pen Ethan would hand him together with the documents and move his hand in the mechanical motion of his signature.
And that's it. He would be done. Vox would be left unbothered just like he asked. No work, no people bothering him with paperwork, no one that would check on him for the rest of the day. That's what he asked, right? That's what he wanted.
For some reason the thought of being left alone just like he had asked turned sour just like the expression on his face right now. What the hell, of course Vox wanted to be left alone while like this. What was he thinking, letting someone see him like this? He doesn't need pretty little obedient eel assistants to barge into his office bedroom and look at him all bloody and… What kind of expression would Ethan make? Would he be disgusted? Or maybe he would look at Vox with pity in his eyes? No, this is Hell, there's far worse things to see in these red landscapes. He wouldn't pity a wounded sinner, even if said sinner was his boss. He would be disgusted, certainly. Ethan would look at Vox’s face, his broken expression, then his eyes would travel to his arms, his fucking bloody and torn open arms, and then the legs would be next, all the blood soaking the bed sheets. All of it while keeping an expression of pure disgust, revulsion, aversion, and repulsion towards his injuries, towards the blood, towards… him.
…
He can't possibly let Ethan see him like this, in this pathetic state he himself was the cause of. Yet, he couldn't exactly turn the other down after a deal was proposed. Vox had the authority, he could still tell Ethan to leave and come back tomorrow. He would go away, turn to the client with unfinished work and hand him the contract unsigned, having to explain to the probably now angry client that his boss was talking a day off, even though he was here, and that he didn't want to sign the papers.
That would be funny, Ethan desperate trying to calm things down while the other party would probably be chewing the poor assistant out despite all of it not being his fault.
As fast as the thought of Ethan being harassed by some random patreon came, it went as if it never crossed Vox's mind. Instead, Vox was now thinking maybe he should sign the papers before sending Ethan back to work. It was the logical thing to do, wasn't it? He would do this for that. Simple transitional interaction, little quid pro quo, nothing more.
Fighting the pain that stabbed like needles with his every move, Vox managed to get up and walk towards the door, slow and as still as he could, so the pain would stab less.
“Slide the papers down the door,” ordered Vox with an intonation that indicated this was as far as he was willing to give, leaving no room for further negotiating.
“Right, sure. That also works.” Doing as told, Ethan passed four papers through the door. “What about the pen? Do you have one in the room with you, Mr. Vox?”
Does Vox have a pen in his room? No, he doesn't. Why would he have stationary in his room when his office was literally right next door?
“No, I don't have a pen with me.” Fuck this. He was going to have to open the fucking door just so that his assistant could pass him a pen. Could this get any more ridiculous? “I’m gonna open the door just enough for you to pass it to me, don't even think about doing anything funny.”
Vox unlocked the door using his electricity to disable the electronic lock and, as he said he would, opened the door with enough space for a pen, but not enough for a hand to pass through.
A couple seconds later, a branded VoxTek pen appeared through the gap between the door and the doorframe. Vox took it with fast movements, shutting the door close right away, which locked automatically.
Ethan remained quiet during the entire interaction. If he thought something about Vox's odd behavior this morning, he kept his opinions to himself.
Stepping a bit farther from the door, Vox crouched down and picked up the papers, taking care not to stain the papers with blood.
Again, he doesn't have a desk in the room, the bedroom was really just a bedroom. So the only viable option was to lean the papers against the wall one by one and sign them like this anyway.
He did it just like this, and it worked for the first three papers, he didn't get any blood on them. The fourth one however proved to be more challenging. By the time he got to it, the pen was already smudged with blood and Vox had given up on trying to keep it clean. Ethan would have to deal with the blood stained pen together with the other blood stained objects in the room.
What Vox didn't expect was to get blood on the last paper as he finished signing it.
On a quick movement to check if that's all, (you never know if the back of the paper also requires your signature), Vox flipped this last paper and guess what? He managed to get the paper to touch his forearm in the gesture, painting it red.
Vox was fast to notice and quickly pushed the paper away from his arm, except it was too late. The document now had small spots of red all over its surface, over the printed words and over his signature.
“Now that's just awesome,” muttered Vox under his breath.
When crouching down a second time proved to be way too much work for his legs to handle, Vox decided that he was going to return the papers together with the pen. He gave the door two knocks.
“I’m finished here.” Without waiting for a reply, Vox unlocked and opened the door just enough for the papers and pen, which he delivered in one hand, the other reminded on the door handle, determined to shut it close at any given moment.
Ethan, once again, remained silent. He took the documents and pen, Vox closed the door.
Complementing the silence with more silence, Vox continued in front of the door for a few more minutes before heading back to the bed. He sat at the edgy and stared at the nothing, taking in the texture of the wall as if it suddenly turned interesting.
It hurts. Of course it does. The way the blood spills out of open flesh, staining his bed. How it pulses together with his heartbeat, spamming and contracting in one single motion, repeating itself over and over again.
However, even if Vox were to deliberately move his limbs to make it hurt more, there was something else that hurted. He didn't want to admit it, but his insides were also hurting. His guts twisted slightly with discomfort from the previous interaction with his assistant. Not from it happening, but with how it ended, with the fact that it ended so quickly. It felt unsatisfied, as if something was missing from it.
Vox doesn't know what he expected from all of it, he doesn't want to think about it, doesn't dare to. Doesn't dare to put a name to what he's feeling, to how shattered he's feeling because… because what? What was it that he wanted? For Ethan to notice just how broken he is right now? For him to notice the cuts and… and do something?
That's stupid.
Cutting through the silence was the sound of Ethan's voice, he hadn't left.
“Sir, what's going on?” he sounds… concerned? No, that can't be. Why would anyone be concerned for Vox? He's one of the most strong and powerful overlords Hell has ever seen, no one should be expressing such concern towards him. “There is something going on with you today, isn't it?”
When Vox didn't answer back, Ethan continued speaking. “The smell hit me the first time you opened the door, metallic and coppery. And the blood on the papers and pen you returned to me, it's yours, isn't it?” A pause, then. “It's everything okay? Are you all right?”
The question hit Vox like a physical blow, stinging deep into his guts. He wanted to reply back, saying that it's nothing, that Ethan's concern it's misplaced and should be dismissed since nothing much is happening.
Vox opened his mouth and then closed it again. He scoffed, giving a lifeless laugh. What could he say? What does he even want to say? Nothing that he says by now will make things better. If he lies to Ethan, in a point where he already suspects things, it's not gonna sound convincing. It's just gonna make Vox sound desperate to change the direction of the conversation. Except he also can't tell the truth. There's no way. No way in Hell he's gonna let someone see him cutting himself. That's the obvious choice, right? Even if it sounds fake, he should lie. Or maybe get angry and scream at his assistant to stop bothering him, that would also work.
“……” God, he needs to say something. Why's he so frozen over nothing? That's stupid, he is being stupid.
Against Vox's expectations, he hears what he thinks is the sound of the door being unlocked and open.
After two seconds to confirm the sounds were real, Vox slowly raised his head, eyes landing on the doorframe and the sinner there standing.
Ethan was there. He was standing in the space where before was a locked door, his VoxTek employee card in hand, a unique one, made to match Ethan's rank within the company hierarchy. Granting him access to places no other employee would have, at times others weren't allowed. His intrusion in any space at the time he desired would never be questioned, and now he was making full use of this privilege by entering Vox's office bedroom unannounced.
Vox made eye contact with Ethan for a single second before the latter's eyes traveled to Vox's body, taking in every cut, all the flesh torn open at odd angles, all the blood dripping from it and the mess that the bed had turned into.
After looking him all over and assessing the situation, his eyes landed once again on his face, trying to find something in it that could maybe explain the situation. Explain the reason for such a scenario.
He wouldn't admit it, but at this time Vox felt a bit glad that someone found him, as uncomfortable as the whole situation was.
He should have tensed at being under Ethan's observing glance, except he didn't. In fact Vox relaxed under it, a feeling of ‘it’s finally over’ taking over. Weird sensation, ok. Vox doesn't know why he considers Ethan that much, he's just his personal assistant and loyal worker at VoxTek, he should be a blur among all other VoxTek employees, nothing more, nothing important or worth noticing.
“Why didn't you tell me sooner?…”, he whispers softly, head lowering while moving to the other side of the room in the direction of the drawers.
Approaching them and opening one of the compartments, Ethan took a first aid kit from there, from another he took a roll of paper towel. All items he knew were there because Vox had asked for them to be restocked before, and had asked Ethan specifically to do so.
Then he made his way to the bed where Vox was sitting still, simply watching the other do his thing. He still hadn't said anything.
“Ethan you don't have to–” Vox made a motion to move away while waving his hand to brush the other off. What he didn't expect was for his assistant to grab his hand and pull it closer to him as he started dabbing a sheet of paper towel over the cuts.
“No complaining while you're like this, sir.” Changing the sheets for new ones as the previous one got completely soaked, Ethan continued to dry the blood off Vox's arms and legs.
Vox thought he would find it weird, he wanted it to be. He was ready to make a comment and joke about how the eel demon must be all ‘head over heels’ for him since he was grabbing his ankles and touching his thighs, only to get embarrassed at the thought of wanting to joke around when the other was being so serious due to the whole situation.
He took in Ethan's concentrated look, how he focused on the injuries to assess the damage, how he would dab the paper towel multiple times to make sure all the blood spilling out was collected. Vox also made sure to notice just how softly Ethan was with the dabbing, never applying too much pressure, and how he would peel the paper slowly when it got stuck on his flesh.
When all the blood was out of the way, Ethan disposed of all the red and white paper towels and opened the first aid kit.
“Why are you doing this? It's not part of your responsibilities.”
That's what Vox said, yes, but regardless he still extended his arm and let the other treat his injuries.
“I’m simply doing as I please. Not because someone ordered me to, but because I want to. And just in case you try to, I'm not following your orders for now,” his tone was firm, radiating sincerity, it showed just how dedicated he was to aid Vox in this delicate situation of his.
“It's that so.” A pause, then. “For what purpose do you wanna do this? What would you gain from it?” Unable to accept Ethan's act of kindness as it was, Vox resoluted on trying to find a logical reason, something that would turn this entire interaction with the eel assistant merely transactional.
Needless to say, he would never find one. He already knows this. He had known Ethan for almost three decades, it would be difficult to miss just how much of a ‘good soul’ Ethan was. Sometimes Vox would question why Ethan was in Hell anyway. Shouldn't this kind, loyal and cutesy little guy be enjoying an endless summer vacation up in Heaven?
“Nothing, like I said, I'm doing this because I want to. Although, I would like to know why you are harming yourself this time around.” Finishing both his arms, Ethan moved to his legs next.
“… ‘this time’?” The TV demon slowly turned to face the eel demon.
“Hmm? Ah, yes. I already knew,” replied Ethan casually as if Vox's unhealthy coping mechanism were an issue they discussed normally with one another, which was not true.
Never ever have the media overlord let others see him in this pathetic state of a sorry man that he turned into from time to time. He also never told anyone, no one suspected a thing, they had no reason to. Sure, Velvette had to know since she was the one responsible for dressing him up for special events, important meetings, marketing ads and other bullshit she worked on that required taking Vox's measurements. She had seen Vox's scars when they were not yet fully healed, and had complained about the bandages getting in the way of the fabric she was handling on his body. Valentino was also aware of the cutting, seeking Vox for sexual pleasure and romantic encounters; it would be impossible to hide it from the moth demon. The only way of hiding from his business partners would be to not show skin until all the cuts healed completely, leaving no scarring behind, (all thanks to Hell's brilliant system of no permanent death or injury for sinners unless it's caused in an angelic way) which was impossible considering how frequently Vox would cut himself, especially recently he was making sure that there was always something on his skin, be it wounds or healing flesh, anything to remind him of his fucking depression. So one could only imagine the surprise in Vox's eyes when Ethan revealed he had also made aware of his habits, only this time due to a disregard on his part that asking his assistant to frequently restock first aid kits and get rid of bloody bandages wasn't going to raise suspicion. That's why he had tasked Ethan specifically for this, he knows his loyalty and competence, he only maybe thought that the other would just ignore whatever weirdness he found in Vox's office bedroom. Apparently he did not.
“So, will you tell me, sir?” Ethan made eye contact for the short moment he asked the question.
“Uh… no,” said Vox. “Of course not. Why would I tell you anything when there’s nothing to tell?” Was the eel demon stupid or what? Who in their right minds simply goes around telling people about their unpleasant experiences like this?
“What do you mean, sir?” asked Ethan.
Vox sighed lightly before granting his assistant an explanation that he didn't need to, but felt obligated to for some reason.
“There is no reason for it. I mostly do it out of habit. I started long before I died, the reasons behind it became meaningless long ago. There is no ‘why’ to any of this, I just… do it sometimes.” Maybe there were some elements missing in this explanation, such as Vox's depression or the constant burnout caused by his insane workload, but Ethan doesn't need to know the finer details. Most likely he already figured this out as well.
By the time Ethan finished patching up Vox's thighs, the latter's mood had slightly improved. It was good to not have blood all over his limbs, the feeling of the bandages tied up just right was kind of reassuring, like the comfort of wearing a favorite pajama set.
Ethan stepped back, gathering all the tools from the first aid kit and placing everything inside the box before shutting it close and placing it on the nightstand. Then he made his way back to Vox's bed and, unexpectedly, sat down beside him. The blood had stained some parts of the bedsheets, which were avoided by the eel demon, leaving some space between them, but still placing them close.
“If there is no reason for doing it, then surely there is also no reason not to do it, isn't it, sir?” There was a certain serenity in his voice, in a way it was soothing, though Vox couldn't pinpoint exactly what made Ethan's voice comforting.
Can't believe Ethan's trying to help him like this. Like a friend or whatever, as if he could make things better for Vox. … Could he, though? Would this be possible? What can he possibly add to his down to make it even or turn it positive?
“I suppose you're not wrong,” Vox said flatly, trying to not give away how much he longed for the day someone would comfort him in one of his lows. How he would always imagine this kind of scenario whenever he felt down, never really picturing anyone in specific, but now that he has this scenario happening in front of him, being played by Ethan, he can't really imagine anyone else doing this part as good as the eel assistant.
“Then, you think maybe you could find a different way to unwind?” There was a small smile on Ethan's face as he spoke his suggestion. Something in that smile made Vox's attention spike to the top, making him a bit more alert of the demon in front of him.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” He pointed a finger at Ethan's chest. “I said that you're not wrong, never said you were right. Don't think I'm gonna follow any of your advice just cuz you're speaking nicely to me all smiley and dooly eyes.” Feeling slightly embarrassed, Vox turned his face away before the fine shade of turquoise could paint a line in the middle of his screen. He hated how the other could be so annoyingly adorable sometimes.
“I didn't–” Before he could finish however, Vox interrupts Ethan to continue his attempt in brushing away whatever thoughts were bothering him. Talking so his mind would be busy with coming up with words to speak rather than words to think and mule over.
“Which, by the way, why are you doing this again?”
“I–” He gets cut off again.
“I never asked you to come here to help me. You did anyway and I guess I should say ‘thank you’, but now it's over, you can just go now. Why stick around and play therapist when my situation is none of your concern.”
“Sir! Just stop for a minute and listen to me!” To Vox's surprise Ethan grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him a little. “You're asking lots of questions but you don't give me a single chance to answer!” He sighs heavily, obviously growing exhausted of Vox's dramatic display. “I care about you, okay? That’s what it is.”
A moment of silence for the emotionally constipated TV head.
“You… what?” The surprise in his voice was genuine.
“It’s like I said. I worry for you because I care about you. Nothing more, nothing less. It really is just as simple as that,” Ethan explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“… You're a lost cause,” scoffs the media demon, laughing in between words. “You’re really gonna tell me you care and worry for the very sinner and overlord who owns your soul? Who employs you and treats you like shit every single day of this afterlife? Don't joke with me, I'm not entitled to your attention in that way.” For some reason Vox knows his treats are going to be ignored, the self-deprecation clear in his voice.
“You don't need to be. Who I give my attention to is a decision of my person. I just so happen to give it to you, sir.” They make eye contact and Ethan seems to blush a little bit. “So, returning to the topic of your problem, why don't we try and think of a solution to it?” He fits a small smile and looks at Vox in an almost caring way.
That eel has certainly gotten bold in these last few years hasn't he? Always pushing and hanging around, checking on him and worrying when he overworks himself to the point of exhaustion.
“What’s with that tone of yours? Trying to get yourself fired?” The smile on Vox's face doesn't match his tone or the words being spoken.
He pushes Ethan's hands off his shoulders.
“No, sir. I am very happy with my job here and don't plan on quitting anytime soon. You don't need to worry about that,” he said proudly, as if working for VoxTek was the best thing in Hell, which was certainly true since Vox was the CEO of the company and best boss anyone could ask for.
“I suppose I can try and do things differently next time.” Sure he can give it a try if his assistant really cares that much to the point of approaching one of the Vees and making such a demand.
“Good to hear, sir.” There's happiness in his voice. It makes Vox blush a little.
None of them point that out or try to name the feeling. It's all right, some things don't need to be said out loud if they don't wish to.
As in a good timing, Vox's stomach growled way too loudly in the quiet room.
Ethan covers his mouth, but he wasn't fast enough and his laugh still makes it through. He looks at Vox, but when he doesn't seem to be mad at being laughed at, Ethan allows his laugh to come clear.
When it was that the eel demon stopped fearing him to start making fun of him? Seems like a long time ago.
“What do you want for breakfast, Mr. Vox?” he asked.
“Isn't it your job to know what I order for breakfast?” Playing along, he answers the question with another question.
Ethan nods, more to himself, as if remembering the usual order, than as an answer to Vox.
“Sunny side eggs, crispy bacon, a single pancake topped with butter and fruit jam and a cup of black coffee, two cubes of sugar,” Ethan answers perfectly, the order memorized decades ago.
“If you know what to do, then what are you waiting for? Back to work!” Vox screams the last part, faking anger to get the other moving.
Ethan jumps in place before getting up as fast as physically possible and straightening his posture.
“Yes, sir! Your breakfast will be ready in twenty!” His voice is louder now, recovering the formality of work.
He makes his way to the door and spares Vox a smile before leaving the room.
Vox is an idiot, he can't stop smiling.