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Vox would put himself between Velvette and an angelic weapon. He would throw himself between Valentino and the shadows. The clip show kept going, even as Velvette had drifted off. Val ran his fingers through her hair, as she wore a wig with smooth strands with not a single kink.
Vox remained quiet. He wasn’t watching. Val had placed his head on the couch with them, but Vox had tilted himself away. Not like he could miss the audio. The audio of the Vox who Val knew better than himself.
Not a Vox who would kill him, Velvette, and himself.
Vox, who had taken blows for Val in the past. Taken blows from Val in the past (though those were not the same severity as the strikes from people who wanted them dead). Vox, his best friend of decades, his first friend of his entire existence.
Vox, the one who…
Val felt a trickle against his thigh, where Velvette’s head rested. She could barely cry, her eyes not usually able to overflow with tears, but apparently it was easier in her sleep.
Val’s rage built. The real Vox was an arm’s length away.
Val pulled him in. Vox would watch.