Archive of Our Own

Despite his workaholic tendencies, Vox didn’t enjoy attending late-night meetings. The lights of the city called him outside to where Valentino and Velvette were bringing the night to heel while he was stuck inside listening to cost predictions and failed attempts at unionization.

Ever since Alastor had surrendered to him though, Vox had something to look forward to every time he returned from work. Fate must be endorsing his plans for godhood if it willingly gave him such a nice present.

So long Vox had dreamed of having Alastor at his mercy that he could barely grasp all the possibilities this situation presented. But that didn’t matter. Whether he dragged Alastor out to the streets for another round of ‘Point-And-Laugh-At-The-Radio-Demon’ or simply poured himself a glass of whiskey and reminisced with him about how truly awful it was to ever have considered Alastor a mentor—Vox was happy either way.

Today he was feeling quite good. No plans. No more work. Just him, Alastor, and a willingness to see where the night would take them.

When he entered his office though, where he had last left Alastor to think about his failure in solitude, he found that Alastor was gone.

Blinking, he felt a loading animation playing somewhere in the back of his mind as he took in the scenery. Windows, desk, screens, sofa. A bit of liquor. A bunch of paperwork.

“...Alastor?”

No answer. His voice rang empty through the room, the only response he got being the click of his shoes as he walked further into the room. But no matter how much he looked, there was not a single splash of red to be found.

Gone.

Alastor was gone.

His mind supplied the right images immediately. Alastor cackling at his presumed superiority as he freed himself from the cables. Peacefully walking around his office, touching things here and there, placing a pen one inch to the left, just enough to confuse him. Perhaps hiding a rotten sinner heart somewhere in his desk if he was feeling very gracious. And then—gone. Slipping into his shadows, laughing once more at how naive Vox had been.

Error messages popped up on his screen, warning him about the sudden spike in artificial adrenaline that was pumping through his veins. Vox didn’t see. All he saw was red. Beautiful, torturous, horrible red. Blind to anything else, he rushed towards his desk, towards the screens, the cameras that would tell him just where his captive had escaped to, where-

In his blindness to everything that was not red, Vox missed the darkness amassing just in front of him. Like a geyser, a shadow suddenly shout out of the floor.

“Fuck!” It was only thanks to his superior systems that he was able to stop his run before he would’ve crashed into the creature.

Left eye spiraling, Vox stared it up and down, his mind lagging behind as it couldn’t comprehend the shape in front of him that screamed Alastor while being pitch-black and not lovely, bloody red.

It wasn’t Alastor, no. It was his familiar. That strange, spindly creature that followed him wherever he went, laughed when he laughed, frowned when he frowned, and obeyed his every command.

The very same familiar that now grinned down at him with the same arrogance as its master, and put a finger on its lips. Shushing him.

Vox blinked.

Him. Vox, CEO of VoxTek, future god of Heaven, Hell, and whatever would come after. And this creature, this, this thing thought it could-

He was so perplexed that he forgot to be angry.

Shadow-Alastor chuckled at his dumbfounded expression, but before Vox could demand some respect, it had already vanished back into the floor. Like a river, he could watch it flow from where he stood to one of the corners of his office. There, next to the windows, was a small space that nearly no light reached. Heavy curtains, now drawn back, created a peaceful little nook of darkness where the shadow emerged again. Just behind...

“...Alastor?”

Feet dragging him closer on impulse, Vox took in the sight of the once so fierce Overlord. Not much of his temper was left, as he had fallen into a deep, deep sleep. His head he had leaned against the wall while those soft ears had fallen from their alert state into a calmer, more relaxed position.

Mechanically, Vox reached out to pull the chair towards him into the light. It turned into more of a jerk, but it didn’t matter, seeing as Alastor just kept on sleeping as if he hadn’t felt a thing.

His shadow though was indignant in place of its master, chiding him for his rough treatment with various annoyed gestures. Vox waved it away like the noisy fly that it was. “Shut up already,” he muttered, “I’m not even doing anything, stupid thing.”

Alastor’s ears twitched in response to Vox’s voice, but not even this proof of his presence was enough to startle Alastor awake.

The sight of his usually talkative and smug captive now silenced so harmlessly brewed an ugly cocktail in his body. He could practically watch every chemical his body could create rise and fall in amounts that would’ve ruined a lesser demon.

This was the fourth time now. The fourth time that Alastor had fallen asleep while being held captive in the V-Tower as if this were some kind of relaxing vacation to him.

See, Vox had approached this deal with certain expectations in mind. For example, he had expected that Alastor, being the brat that he was, would try to cause as much chaos and mayhem as possible when left to his own devices. And he had been correct!

For the first day. After that—nothing. Whenever Vox returned to where he had left Alastor, the almighty Radio Demon was asleep. It didn’t matter whether their non-existent sun had just risen on the horizon or it was far past midnight—when Alastor was left alone, he slept. No escape attempts. Not even a hint that he was in any way inconvenienced by this arrangement.

And it made a demon wonder—was he even taking this seriously? Was he taking Vox seriously?

“...Alastor?” Reaching out a hand, he gently brushed it against Alastor’s cheek. No reaction, except a faint twitch that vanished as quickly as it had come. Right. Touch. ‘Not his thing’.

From the right, a clawed hand came to swipe at him like an angry cat. Eye swirling in annoyance, Vox pulled the chair closer to him and further away from Alastor’s shadow, as if the thing in any way posed a threat to Alastor himself.

“God, you’re more annoying than a dog,” Vox muttered, staring into its empty eyes. “What’s the deal anyway, huh? Not gonna wake your master today? Finally gotten sick of him?”

That’s how it had been the times before. A long, shadowy hand appearing out of nowhere, sometimes from behind the chair, sometimes out of the floor, tugging at Alastor’s sleeve like a child until he awoke.

What had changed?

The shadow didn’t answer of course, only putting its hands on Alastor’s shoulders in protection. Maybe. Vox had never figured out how to understand the thing, not like Alastor could. Even back then all Vox had ever done was wave at it or flip it off when it was being annoying, while Alastor had full-blown conversations with it all the time.

Alastor. Right.

He should be angry, he really should, but how could he when a single glance already made him yearn again? So beautiful, with the neon lights outside illuminating him, the way he still managed to sit so straight despite sleeping, how his soft hair framed his face. His expression, for once so far away from mockery or theatrics.

“Sweetheart…wake up…” The urge to reach out and press a kiss against his wrist poisoned him, only reined in by the fact that he himself had tied Alastor’s hands behind his back. Compromising, he instead brushed his fingers over Alastor’s thigh—carefully, because if Alastor woke up, he might kick his screen in with his hooves.

Hiding behind its master, Alastor’s shadow silently laughed at him. Shooing the creature away, which was rather difficult considering only Al could touch it, he took its position behind Alastor instead. The city lay before them, bright, shining and forever awake. His city. His masterpiece. His proof to someone that he could manage on his own, that he was worthy, that he wasn’t a little lap dog anymore but someone who could stand beside him and give him what he needed.

That’s what love was. Bringing the world to someone’s feet, offered in devotion. A bird singing the most beautiful song, a thief stealing the prettiest jewels for his beloved, a hunter returning from the woods with the softest wolf pelt to show the princess he was worthy.

Or the prince.

Vox let his hands glide over Alastor’s shoulders. Soft touches, gentle scrapes of his claws. Alastor didn’t wake but tensed, as if the touch stimulated his already sore muscles in a very unpleasant way.

“Shhh…”

Leaving one hand to draw little circles on his shoulder, Vox carded through Alastor’s soft hair with the other. Little knots had formed over the days—or rather had always been there since their fight, and Alastor just hadn’t had the chance to take care of himself, always tied to the chair.

Despite everything, Alastor relaxed. Despite his continued declarations of how getting touched was oh-so beneath him and how he had always hated it when Vox put his hands on him, he relaxed. Little hypocrite. All in his mind, Vox had always known. Something Alastor had talked himself into believing so he wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that Vox was different, that he could make it good for him.

“Idiot,” he murmured. “What’s the matter with you?” Gently tracing a claw up Alastor’s antlers he tried to follow suit and relax, match Alastor’s current state as much as possible.

Match their frequencies.

He hadn’t done this in ages, looking into Alastor’s mind, feeling what he felt and sensing what he sensed. How could he? These days, Alastor didn’t allowed him such intimacy anymore. These days, Alastor always pushed him away.

Closing his eyes, he kept carding through Alastor’s hair and tried to find his signals. If Alastor were awake and willing to let himself be found, this would be a whole lot easier.

He had never been able to explain to others, matching frequencies like that. ‘It’s like threading a needle,’ he had said, the closest comparison he could find to make Valentino and Velvette understand, but not even that was wholly accurate.

And even if it were, he had to first find the right needle in the haystack surrounding him. It wasn’t easy, but he hadn’t spent decades watching Alastor like a hawk just to fail at this. Besides, the fact that Alastor was asleep right now was helping immensely. An Alastor who was not awake could not push him away. Not as strongly at least.

“It’s okay, darling...trust me. Let me in.”

Like two puzzle pieces connecting, Vox let himself fall into Alastor’s radio waves.

A bad idea.

“Ah, fuck…!” The second their frequencies matched, a wave of exhaustion sunk into his bones so deeply he could barely remember it wasn’t his own. Heavy as lead, he felt every single aching muscle and stiff joint in Alastor’s body reflected in his.

Tired. That was all the mystery. Alastor was dead-tired, and not just because of the recent events.

He couldn’t exactly feel why though. There where things Alastor clearly didn’t want to think about while he rested, and that were thus pushed away. But there were little things he could sense instead.

Muffled voices talking over each other. The princess, Angel Dust, Lucifer, and probably all the other residents of that dumb Hotel. They were so far away, and yet Vox almost got a headache from all the chatter.

Then something else, a strange feeling of invisibility, like walking down the street without a single head turning in his direction. Vanishing in the crowd as just another sinner among many. Something Vox hadn’t felt in ages.

A sudden pain on his screen, as if there were safety pins stuck in his lips, forcing them into a still expression. A precaution, not a punishment, but an exhausting one.

But all those feelings were so far away, all covered under the lid of a calming, soothing darkness. He was here now. Alastor. With him. And there was nothing left for him to do. Nothing to think about. Vox didn’t let him decide a single thing for himself. All day long, Alastor did exactly what Vox wanted, sat where Vox placed him, went where Vox dragged him. And when he wasn’t getting dragged anywhere, Vox gave him a little alone time to think about his past behavior.

Or sleep off his exhaustion, he supposed.

Re-opening his eyes, Vox cut the connection before he would end up falling asleep as well because he had spent too long in Alastor’s mind.

The city was still shining outside, unchanged and uninterested to what happened inside the tower. Together and alone, he looked out the window with Alastor and crossed his arms on the backrest of the chair.

“...this is your fault, you know,” he murmured, tapping his shoe against the floor. “I didn’t want things to be like this.”

With a tiny, tired wave of the hand, he gestured towards the city below. “Do you see that, Al? This could have been yours. All of it. You could be living in luxury now. No worries, no stupid Hotel, no...whatever you didn’t want me to see. Just your entertainment all day and night, your broadcasts, and…”

He sighed. “You liked me. I know you did. You never smile at the princess the way you used to smile at me. They have nothing to offer you, and yet you stay with them. Why? What do they have that I didn’t? That I still don’t...”

Loosely wrapping his arms around Alastor from behind, he leaned down until he almost got his screen pierced by his antlers. Instead, soft ears flicked against it, ticklish to the sudden proximity. “You belong with me,” Vox murmured. “We both know it. All these people, they aren’t worthy of you. We were meant to be, Al, you and me. I...”

He didn’t finish his sentence. Thank God Alastor was asleep and couldn’t hear him. Getting laughed at one time had been more than enough. Even so many decades later, the sound still rang in his mind and haunted him into his nightmares.

Stifling another sigh, he straightened again. “Come on,” he murmured, suddenly as tired as Alastor was. While he stepped around the chair, the cables loosened from Alastor’s body, falling to the floor with a soft, clattering sound. “Let’s get you to bed.”

One arm around his shoulders and the other under his knees, Vox picked Alastor up and out of the chair. Limp and boneless, Alastor let his head fall against Vox’s shoulder with a soft whine.

Fuck.

So light. So fragile. So...trusting. Not on purpose. But if Alastor’s mind didn’t remember, then at least his body still recalled who it was that loved him and who would always give him what he needed, if he just…stopped being so proud.

His deer. His alone.

From the other side of the room, Alastor’s shadow watched them like annoying pet, changing expressions in a way that was too fluid for Vox to read.

“Don’t glare at me like that, stupid mutt,” he said, kicking the wall as he walked past it to the door. “I’m not gonna kill him.”

Shadow-Alastor looked offended for a moment, but slipped through the crack underneath the door to follow anyway as Vox made way for his bedroom. Gentle, blue light fell onto Alastor’s lithe frame as they entered, the room illuminated by the aquarium that took up one whole side of the wall.

As if he were made of glass, Vox gently lowered Alastor onto the cold sheets of his bed. A sight for sore eyes indeed. Many times he had thought about having Alastor in his bed, both in love and in hate, but he could never imagine Alastor as beautiful as he was in reality. There was nothing to be done about it. Every time he saw him, Vox fell in love all over again.

He tried not to feel hurt when Alastor immediately shifted on the bed and turned his back to him. Stretching out now that he was free, he made another soft noise and melted into the sheets. For once he bore no claws, the pillow staying intact even when he hooked his fingers into it. Those delicate fingers that looked like they would break holding a feather and yet could snap the neck of sinners twice his size.

Cruel deer. Gorgeous.

Not knowing what to do, Vox sat down beside him in silence. Alastor’s hair fell over his face, hiding his closed eyes and his everlasting smile. A small twitch went through his body as Vox brushed the strands away.

“Better, isn’t it?” he asked, leaning over him and gently tracing his cheek. “Better than the chair. Better than that stupid Hotel. You know where your home is, don’t you?”

No answer of course. Vox watched the gentle rise and fall of Alastor’s chest with the same attention and peace in his soul that he felt when watching his aquarium after a long day at work. When his mind calmed and all he had to do was watch. Alastor had always said he relied to much on the visual, but how could he not when there was so much beauty surrounding him?

Before he knew it, one of his hands sunk into Alastor’s hair, the other planted beside his head. He loved him. He loved him so much it hurt. Eyes focused on Alastor’s lips, his heart began to race in longing. Never had he yearned for anyone or anything as much as this.

Just once. Just a single kiss. Alastor wouldn’t notice a thing.

And yet when leaned down, that damn, chaperoning shadow that Vox had already forgotten suddenly slid in between them. Smooth like water, it shoved him away. Hard. Vox almost fell of the bed, eye spiraling as he glared at the creature with curses sitting on his tongue.

Just like Alastor always did, it seemed to think his anger was terribly amusing. Instead of cowering, all it did was wag its finger at him with the same, stupid grin Alastor always wore when he thought he had gotten one over on him.

“You little-” All attempts at grabbing or hitting the thing proved useless, as Shadow-Alastor merely retreated into the darkness before Vox could’ve touched its non-existent body. When it took form again, it sat on its heels beside its master, watching Vox with an expression that practically dared him to try kissing Alastor again.

Vox rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, message received, you prude bitch...”

Muttering something about annoying guard dogs under his breath, he got up from the bed. Alastor hadn’t even stirred during that little escalation. How strange. Back then, Alastor used to startle awake at the slightest disturbance, even when it was only someone laughing out on the street.

If only Alastor would tell him what got him so terribly tired that he could sleep even through arguments now.

His eyes darted back to the shadow. It was pulling a blanket over Alastor before phasing back into the wall above the headrest. Watching. Guarding. Protecting. That thing didn’t even know how good it had it. God, he’d give anything for Alastor to fall asleep beside him because he felt safe and protected.

Turning away from the domestic sight that Alastor would never voluntarily let him be a part of, he walked over to his closet.

“Don’t just sit there,” he said to the shadow. “At least make yourself useful if you’re going to stay here all night.”

Alastor hadn’t been afraid once since Vox had brought him to the V-Tower. Annoyed? Of course. Listening to Vox for longer than a minute was taxing for any sinner. Humiliated? Yes. But Vox didn’t need to know that, how much he loathed having all these lesser sinners, all these Overlords he could wipe out in an instant look at him and laugh as if he had truly lost against someone as beneath him as Vox.

Afraid though? No. Not a single time. Except for now.

For a single second upon waking up, Alastor felt true, raw fear coursing through his body. There was no light. He couldn’t see. His eyes were open but he couldn’t see, left, right, up, down, no matter where he looked it was all dark. Not the darkness of the night, but pure, unrelenting darkness.

For a single second, he was back in the bayou, back in his body the moment that bullet hit him straight in the head. It had been over quickly, but for just a moment before his death, he had gone blind, pain ravaging his body like the hunting dogs did.

But he hadn’t been around for that. One second later, and his eyesight had been restored.

Not so now. Vox had blinded him, he thought, Vox had gouged his eyes, burned them with his electricity, ripped them out of their sockets, whatever that desperate mind of his had come up with.

Muscles aching under the tension, his hands shot out to touch his face, feel for injuries, for blood, for scars. Instead, he was met with fabric. Cheap, plastic-like fabric. And just like that, with his mind finally joining his body in the waking world, he relaxed.

No blindness. Just…

Ripping the fabric off his face, he immediately wrinkled his nose as he was met with the pretentious logo of VoxTek.

“Ugh…” Two pathetic little drawings of what he supposed were ‘cute’ cartoonish versions of Vox sleeping framed the writing left and right. “Really, Vox?”

It couldn’t have cost more than half a cent to produce this sorry excuse for a sleep mask, and with the same amount of care Alastor threw it to the other side of the bed.

Only then though did he truly realize the situation he was in. Unbound, free to move however he wished, in a place he had not fallen asleep in. No ergonomic nightmare of a chair, but soft, fresh sheets to run his fingers over instead.

Sitting up immediately provided him with a detailed report on his inner anatomy, every muscle ten times more sore now that his body was reminded what comfort felt like. With a quiet hiss, he rubbed over his aching shoulders.

Damn it all.

Where even was he? What time was it? The only light illuminating the room came from the aquarium to his left. The thing must run through the entirety of the tower with how often he had seen it now. Much to his shame, he had to admit to visibly flinching when a large shadow lazily swum past the glass, far too close for his tired mind.

On the other side, thick, heavy curtains blocked out any natural light that might filter in from outside. Only a small opening between both halves of the curtain let in a single sliver of morning sunlight—or whatever counted as such in the afterlife.

Morning, then.

Alastor carded a hand through his hair, pushing one or two loose strands out of his face. How strange. He distinctly remembered pushing himself into the darkest corner of Vox’s office last night to reward himself with a few minutes of sleep while that gloating idiot had been away.

He also distinctly remembered ordering someone to wake him immediately upon Vox’s return or, even worse, another attempt of his to try and make a mockery out of him. It was the exact same order he always gave when he tried to sleep in the V-Tower, and so far, it had been carried out faithfully every time.

And yet, here he was—moved without his permission.

Thrumming his fingers against the soft sheets, he took a deep breath. A mistake, as it only made it more difficult to resist the temptation of lying down and sleeping some more now that he was free in both body and in schedule.

As a compromise, he only leaned back against the headrest, putting on the sweetest smile he could muster. Seeing as the shadows seemed especially dark below the bed, Alastor let his hand fall off the mattress and snapped his fingers. Just once.

“Come here.”

In its defense, his shadow manifested immediately, though with the reluctance of a pet that knew exactly what it had done wrong. This was why he had never wanted one in life.

“Cameras,” he said, not sparing the creature a single look. Instead, he began rubbing some blood back into his wrists, although the night spent untied seemed to have taken care of the worst of it. Still, it distracted him from the clothes he now wore that weren’t his, as well as the underlying implications.

In the background, the noise of surveillance cameras getting either bend, broken or concealed sounded through the room. One of them fell from the ceiling entirely, but his shadow caught it before it could have made any noise, so Alastor didn’t chide it.

“Doors?” he asked after it had returned to his side, glancing at the two main offenders—one to his right, and one closer to the aquarium.

The shadow gestured for the right one to be locked, but the other to be open. Bathroom, apparently. Hospitality in the V-Tower—Alastor didn’t dare believe it.

“Did Vox bring me here?” he asked instead, raking a hand through his tangled hair.

A nod.

“And you didn’t wake me?” he continued, his smile as sweet as cyanide.

A second passed. Shadow-Alastor shook its head.

Real-Alastor looked back at his clothes. Blue silk nightwear that he didn’t own and certainly hadn’t brought with him to the tower. To fight the repulsion threatening to overwhelm him as his mind supplied the most vile images, he let his fingers glide over the smooth material of the sleeve.

“You let him undress me?” he finally asked.

His shadow erupted into so much movement that Alastor could barely keep up. Shaking its head, it gestured to tell him that no, Vox hadn’t done anything beside give it the clothes, it had done the rest all by itself, and-

“Quiet.” Voice reduced to nothing more than a static hiss, Alastor shoved the blankets and pillows aside. Darkness bled into his eyes as he stalked towards his useless, cowardly familiar, who didn’t even have to courage to stay put but instead slid further and further away from him with every step he took.

“You insolent, disobedient, traitorous creature!” Commanding the shadows to obey the pull of his hand, he dragged the beast back to him, at his feet where it belonged. “One little task I give you, nothing more, and you can’t even do that! What do I keep you for if you can’t even obey a single command?”

Shadow-Alastor tried to plead with him, explain, reason, use Alastor’s exhaustion as an excuse for letting Vox drag him around like a doll to be used, but to no avail.

“Don’t use that tone with me! You’re forgetting who your master is! You think you know better than me what I need?” He clicked his tongue. “Was it something else? What else did you and Vox get up to while I wasn’t awake, hm? Did he charm you with his empty words? Did he flash his little puppy-dog eyes at you and begged you to look away? Oh, believe me, when I’m out of here, I will-”

Before he could have finished his threat, the little beast suddenly dashed forward and grabbed him by the wrist. Cold, water-like shadows dragged him towards the curtains so hard that Alastor almost stumbled over his own hooves.

“Why, you-” His familiar pushed him into an armchair he hadn’t even seen in the dark. There was no time for him to finish his complaint before Shadow-Alastor slipped underneath the curtains and pulled them open just enough to let a little light into the room.

Alastor immediately raised a hand to shield his eyes. It was bright. Not spectacularly, but to someone who had spent the last hours in darkness, it was blinding. Below him, some fifteen stories or so, Pentagram City sprawled in its usual hellishness. From up here though, there was no screaming to be heard, no gunshots, no tires squeaking, only silence. Not even those annoying neon lights the Vees had plastered everywhere assaulted his eyes anymore.

Only pure, natural light.

It reminded him of his past killing sprees, the view from here. The real massacres, the ones that saw him towering above the tallest buildings Hell had constructed, spindly limbs sneaking around the corners of those precious little dollhouses, plucking sinners from the streets and their homes like chocolates from a box. Their bones would snap between his fingers like twigs beneath his heel—and the ones that didn’t were ground to dust by his teeth.

These days he missed the past more and more. Maybe once this was over, he could-

Groaning, he rubbed his hands over his face, trying to massage the coming headache away. Ever since he had nothing to do anymore but let himself get dragged around by Vox, the exhaustion that had always lingered just around the corner had finally caught up with him.

As he peeked through his fingers, he saw his shadow sitting obediently at his feet, holding...

Coffee.

“Where did you get that?” Alastor muttered, taking the cup without thinking. His familiar pointed at the coffee table in front of him. Now that the curtains were open, the light had revealed not just the coffee but a whole tray of food. And tucked underneath, a note from Vox.

He’d recognize the hand-writing anywhere. Vox had shoved enough contracts in his face in the last days for the sake of getting Alastor to tell him what a special little demon he was, how talented and how hard-working. Not that Vox would ever admit that.

Alastor ignored the note in favor of the coffee. Warm porcelain, soothing his fingers as he wrapped his hands around it.

“Poisoned?” he asked, and his shadow shook its head.

“Drugged, then?”

Also no. It sounded to good to be true, but he was far too tired for long debates and took a sip anyway. A soft groan escaped him as soon the bitter liquid met his tongue, warming him from the inside out.

Bitter, black coffee. Just the way he liked it. Vox had remembered.

Tucking his knees to his side—not polite, but he had spent enough time sitting straight for an entire lifetime—Alastor watched his shadow grab the tray and hold it out to him like an offering. Alastor gave it a look so that it knew he knew it was just trying to get into his good graces again, but accepted it nonetheless.

How long had it been since he had eaten properly?

In Vox’s defense, the man had at least tried not to starve him. He had even, according to his own boasting, ‘voogled authentic Southern cuisine’, whatever that meant. And while Alastor still wasn’t sure to which country’s south this food had been supposed to be authentic—surely not to the States—it had looked edible enough and at least vaguely familiar to the meals he had eaten as a human.

But he still had some dignity left in him, and all of his appetite had vanished with a snap as soon as Vox had tried to feed him.

“Come on, Bambi.” Vox dangled a fork with meat of unknown origin in front of his lips, grinning like someone had crowned him King of Hell. “Open your mouth. Or does the little deer want to eat out of my hand instead? ‘Radio Demon’, yeah, right. They should’ve put you in a petting zoo instead, haha!”

Ha-ha, hilarious.

Anyway, he had been on a bit of a hunger strike ever since then.

But now there was no Vox, no annoying, neon-blue light burning his eyes, no shrill voice demanding his attention. Only silence, relative freedom, and food.

Spiking some mysterious raw meat onto a fork, Alastor tore off a tiny piece with his teeth, just in case it was poisoned after all. If it was, then his tongue must be failing him

Sinner meat. His favorite. Before he knew it, he had closed his eyes in bliss and sighed.

Handing the coffee over to his shadow, he took the tray from it to place it on his lap instead. All he wanted was to eat in peace for once, but Shadow-Alastor just had to shove that note into his hands as well.

“Ugh, fine, fine…” Chewing on an orange slice, he let his eyes wander over the piece of paper only to realize there was more than one.

Three pages, both sides written on, all by Vox himself. Who knew the man still had so much traditionalism in him? Alastor would almost be impressed, if he didn’t already know it was just going to be another tearjerker meant to show how great Vox was or prove just how low a man could sink in matters of...love, or whatever it was Vox imagined he felt for him.

Good morning, princess.

Alastor rolled his eyes so far that he almost choked on the orange.

Good morning, princess.

How are we finding the accommodations? Better suited to your delicate body than a simple chair? You know, I always thought the Radio Demon was a man of the people, the common folk, society’s outcasts, but maybe I was wrong. You’re just as much of a rich whore as all the other Overlords, you’re just too proud to admit it.

Well, didn’t Vox know many words. One could almost think he had opened a dictionary once.

As you may have already noticed in your imaginary brilliance, you can move around again. I have better shit to do than keep you sitting in a chair the entire day and waste my powers on cables to bind you. So enjoy your freedom while it lasts. You won’t be getting out of my bedroom though as I have a lot of things to do today. You see, unlike you I actually run a successful business. You will behave in the meantime and wait for me. Who knows, if you’re a good boy, maybe I’ll-

Yes, yes. Alastor had little interest in Vox’s horny fantasies, especially when they were undermined with horrible little doodles that were on the intellectual level of a teenager stealing a clothing magazine to look at women in underwear.

Already bored out of his mind, Alastor turned the page—the first out of six, good Lord—prepared to merely skim the rest, see whether there was something worth mocking Vox about later, but the rest of the pages looked different.

Smaller, messier, words squished together as if Vox had feared he’d run out of room. Some words were crossed out already, but Vox had pressed his pen so deeply into the paper that it really didn’t make a difference.

Was it good, then? Sleeping in my bed? In an actual bed and not a cheap chair? I know it was. I saw how much you longed for it. I felt how tired you are. I don’t know why, seeing as you don’t have to do anything, but you are. Whenever you’re alone, you’re sleeping.

Now that you know what sleeping in a bed feels like again, I want you to remember that you could have had all this and more a long time ago. You could have had this seventy years ago, and you could have had it now. All you had to do was say the right words.

Have you looked out the window? All these houses, all the people, they could have all been yours. Ours. You’re dead-tired, and you know why? Because you’re a coward. Because you pushed me away when I would have dropped everything back then just to make every little thing exactly to your liking. To make sure you’re happy. A foolish endeavor, I know, but think about it. Think about how it feels to sleep in my bedroom compared to that empty hotel of yours, and then tell me it’s not better.

“Oh, Vincent…” Alastor murmured, in the same tone his mother had used when he had asked why all the other children in the neighborhood had a father and he didn’t.

I loved love loved you. There. We both know it, so let’s not play pretend. I loved you. I know you don’t know what that feels like, or maybe that was just another lie you told me, but let me try to explain it to you anyway: It sucks. It’s the shittiest feeling in the whole world. Maybe you were right to say it’s not worth your time.

I saw you. Everywhere. When I went out for drinks I saw you sitting next to me, when I heard music playing anywhere I heard your voice, when I saw red I saw you. I couldn’t dance anymore because no one was as good as you. I couldn’t listen to pianos, because no one could play like you. I hated everyone who said he was from your shitty state, I hated your cuisine, I hated everyone who spoke French, and I hated everyone who was alive while you were. I hated having to smile for the cameras because it reminded me of you.

But I got over you eventually, and now here we are. You said I still needed you, but you know what? I don’t. I survived seven years without you, whole decades without you so much as looking at me without disgust, I can manage the rest of eternity without you too. You’re not that special of a demon. Go look outside the window again. It’s all mine. My city, my district, my followers, my tower. I built it up, all on my own, without you.

And where will you be when the winners take it all? Revolution is coming, ‘old pal’, whether you like it or not, and you and your little friends will not be on the winning side.

Winning, hm? Ridiculous. Vox didn’t want to ‘win’ anything, he didn’t want to conquer Heaven, all he wanted was approval; to finally hear him say that he was proud, that Vox had impressed him, that Vox was worthy of him now. Pathetic.

There’s still time. Not much, preparations are going fast, but you still have time. So I’ll offer you a deal. Just between you and me.

Join the Vees. Leave that silly hotel behind and come back to me. Come home. We can still rule together. This doesn’t need to end with you getting pierced by angelic steel. You can win. You can be happy. I can make you happy. You know that. Just say the word, and I’ll make you happier than any man has ever been.

We’ll forget the past. It won’t matter anymore. I will forget everything you said to me, and we’ll start over. We can be friends again, if you don’t want more. yet. Or ever.

You and me. Just like old times.

I won’t force you, and I won’t beg you. If you’d rather die a nobody, then be my guest. But since you have some time to think about it now that you’re all alone, use it. Don’t make the wrong decision again.

I love you.

- Vincent

PS: Go back to sleep, Al. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but...just get some rest.

Alastor swallowed the last of his coffee. Skimming the pages again, he politely folded them in the middle and threw them back onto the coffee table.

“Oh, Vincent,” he hummed again, feeling the contents of the letter prod at his mind like someone sticking a needle through his eye to poke his brain. With a deep exhale, he pushed them away. No use thinking about the silly delusions of a silly man.

But he was right in one regard. Alastor really was so very tired. How long had he slept already? Surely ten hours at least, probably more, and yet every time he blinked it got harder and harder to not simply keep his eyes closed.

Picking up the papers, he carried them back to the bed and laid them down on the nightstand.

“Close the curtains,” he called to his shadow, and slipped back underneath the blankets. Still cool like freshly fallen snow.

With a deep sigh, he let his eyes fall shut. He was tired. Of everything. Of the Hotel that proved to be a complete waste of time and didn’t even give him the slightest bit of entertainment anymore. Of this dumb wound he got from this dumb fight he had fought for this stupid Hotel and that just wouldn’t heal. Of Rosie who toyed with him like a little mouse and had the audacity to laugh about it. Of sinners far and wide laughing at him as if they had already forgotten who he was and what he was capable of.

He was sick of it all. Sick and tired. Always there was something to think about, some new scheme to scheme, a new plan to plan, a new mess to fix that wasn’t his own and he had no personal investment in.

And now suddenly it seemed like all his problems were going to solve themselves if he just waited a little longer. Ever since he got here, ever since his body and mind had realized that there was truly nothing left to do but wait, exhaustion had him in a constant choke hold.

Blue light flooded the room as the curtains closed. Once again, it was like the night had never ended. Now it was the aquarium light that blinded him though, now matter how tightly he squeezed his eyes shut. Shifting, he tried to find a position in which it wouldn’t disrupt his rest, but there was none.

Opening his eyes again with a frustrated groan, he looked back at the sorry excuse for a fabric that Vox had forced upon him earlier. The ‘endearing’ expressions the little drawings wore did nothing to lighten his mood.

No. He’d rather never sleep again then be seen with that thing on his face. Carelessly, he flung it onto the nightstand as well, only to be met with Vox’s letter again.

Such a ridiculous thing. The mere thought of Vox saying all this to him in person with that desperate look in his eyes made him want to laugh.

Join the Vees.

Vincent smiled at him as if he were the only reason the sun rose every morning, and reached out a hand to him. “Let’s be partners, Al.”

Come home.

Alastor snapped his fingers, and the letter vanished in the void that held everything he had no place for.

God, he was so tired. Out of options, he stole a pillow from the other side of the bed and buried his face in it to block the light. The smell of electricity hit his nose, but he had never been afraid of thunder and lightning. It reminded him of home, of summer thunderstorms in the bayou. Sleep claimed him in under a minute, pulling him back to that wonderful place of nothingness where there was only peace and quiet.

Twelve long hours it took for Vox to return, and not even then did Alastor wake up.

Vox stared with longing eyes at the pillow Alastor held tightly in his hands, wishing for nothing more than to swap places with the thing, to be the one Alastor held like that. Not wanting to think any more about how the demon he loved most would never be his, Vox hurried to slip under the covers. There, in the darkness of sleep, no such thoughts existed.

And as he fell into dreamland, his state of mind now so similar to Alastor’s, their frequencies gently began to intermingle.

The silence in their dreams slowly vanished, replaced by the muffled clinking of glass and someone tinkling on a piano. It was a warm summer night, and the bar smelled of tobacco and liquor. Alastor chuckled softly at one of Vincent’s jokes, put out his cigarette and pulled him into a dance.