Chapter Text
Alastor:
Alastor was sitting at their usual bar, ordering his usual drink. A Sazerac, it reminded him of himself on earth, the place he came from and made him feel reminiscent of the time he spent there, well spent if you ask him. The adrenaline from his murders, the satisfaction he felt after although the aftermath was always a nuisance. He was waiting for Vincent, his dear sweet Vincent however he'd take that to his grave. They were acquaintances who enjoyed each other's company, nothing more and nothing less.
Vox's timing was usually impeccable as he was always early or just on time. However, today he had been quite a bit late, hadn't he? Just as Alastor was about to contact him through the radio waves, he heard the bell of the bar's entrance ring. He saw his Vincent, but there was something different about him. Something unusual. Alastor couldn't quite place his mind on what that was but he was delighted to see him.
"H-hey Al!" Vox stuttered. Alastor had always found his stuttering adorable and didn't understand why Vox was always so frustrated with it. He thought it was cute.
Wait..cute? The great radio demon didn't do cute. Had a bit too much to drink today due to Vox's late coming he thought to himself. Yes that was it.
"Hello dear! Quite a busy schedule you must've had today to be this late tonight!" He said softly, which triggered Vox to start sputtering.
"Oh y-yeah! Very busy day at VoxTech today. Got 5 more souls today and the paperwork was hectic. Some fucker tried to fight with me about regaining his soul right after he signed the contract! What a loser!" Vox continued to ramble, talking about his day.
Alastor listened calmly and quite intently if he does say so himself. He loved listening to Vincent talk about random stuff. He loved his voice. He would have made such a good radio host if he weren't hung up on those silly moving picture thingies. Alastor watched Vox's eyes, both having a red pupil but the irises, now those were a sight to look at. One was blue and the other black. It was pretty, he thought. He remembered Vincent telling him that he had heterochromia in his human form, one a dashing emerald green and the other a cool ocean blue. He would've killed to see them in person. Literally and metaphorically.
Wait, what was he thinking. Surely it was admiration. He always loved looking at other people's eyes, sometimes gauging his victims eyes if they were particularly pretty. Yes, that was it. It was simply adoration for this other man's eyes. If it were anything more, then- He didn't dare finish that thought.
Instead of fighting himself in his mind, shifted his focus back to his darling Vincent, so eager to tell him all about his day. His exaggerated gesticulations and expressions made his stories somewhat tolerable to listen to. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about burning someone made Alastor's stomach flip. Hang on, his stomach did what? He's never felt this way before. Interesting. He didn't hate the feeling completely, just made him feel weak and pathetic. What do you call this? Admiration? Inspiration? No, not inspiration. He inspired others not the other way around. Asking Vincent was surely not on the table at the moment.
He pushed it down even though he could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks and nose. Surely it was the alcohol. It had to be. He's already had a few too much. Wait, why did Vincent stop talking? Did he ask him a question? He looks distressed. Was he alright? Think Alastor, think, what was he talking about?