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“Wa-wait—do it again!”
Vox turned to the radio demon and snorted in amusement. He tapped the excess ash off the end of this cigarette into the ashtray before taking another puff. Another ghostly wisp of smoke drifted lazily to the ceiling of the old, dimly lit bar, dancing gently along as gracefully in the orange light as the slow jazz emanating from the record player in the back. It’s potent scent lingered in the air just as Alastor’s eager, unblinking gaze continued to stick to Vox’s screen. A subtle smirk appeared projected onto his glass face.
“Psh, do what thing?” Vox questioned, placing his clawed fingers on the rim of his glass. Alastor’s red eyes squinted when his smile curled to his cheeks. He rested his hand against head, intertwining his fingers with the cherry-red strands of his hair as he leaned further over the bar top. Vox swallowed at this. He, much like his friend, was always calculating. It was that special ability to spot the small things that got him so far in life. Vox played with life like a game of chess— he analyzed every detail, every opportunity to make a move to place himself at an advantage. He could frame, charm, or exploit to his heart’s content to get what he wanted.
Alastor was happy right now. Truly happy. Vox could tell by his smile lines, the way Alastor’s ears relaxed, drooping ever so slightly, but not all the way back. The way he could see the faint age around his eyes when he grinned. A gentle flutter pattered in the middle of the TV demon’s chest. He could take this moment to strike, to make that move he’d been beating around while he had the chance. And yet, he thought, he could enjoy this moment just a little bit longer. It was already a rarity for Alastor to be up for drinking enough to soften up this much. Might as well take what he could, Vox concluded. At least for now. Who knew what could happen if he overstepped? Even like this, reading Alastor was as clear as river water after a hurricane. He tapped a finger against the side of his drink.
Maybe it still wasn’t the right time.
Alastor waved a sluggish hand in Vox’s general direction, peering indirectly past his head. “You knowwww,” he replied, a hiccup interrupting his train of thought. “You know, that— that, thing!” He twirled a finger at his own face now to articulate. “That thing that you do.. you do with your… your picture box.”
“Which thing?” Vox teased, rolling his eyes. “Talking? Eating?”
“Do.. —*hic!*— Do Zestial. The voice.”
Vox finally hummed in understanding, before altering his screen projection to mirror the ancient overlord’s. He made some crude joke, mocking Zestial’s proper tone and language in a perfectly mimicked impression, even sipping his Manhattan daintily like a cup of tea. Alastor erupted into a fit of wheezing laughter, bowing his forehead against the counter. Eventually, the radio demon calmed back down, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye as he took a last sip from his now finished sazerac.
“Ahh…” Alastor sighed, turning once again to face the TV demon. “Why are you so fffffunnyyyy?”
Vox made a quick gesture to the bartender for another round, then turned back to Alastor. Perhaps this should be the last round, he thought. Alastor was beginning to look a little disheveled, head swaying like a boat crossing rocking waves amidst a blustering storm. Vox knew that Alastor was a lightweight (the demon was practically skin and bones,) but Alastor was hardly ever like this. He knew his limits, usually tapping at cocktail number two or three to ride a buzz meanwhile Vox went a little bit further. This was Alastor’s sixth.
Alastor continued without waiting for Vox’s response. “I mean, like, you look ridiculous enough to begin with… your big square head…”
Vox huffed. “Gee, thanks.”
“… But you’re just so funny! Why are you like that? Just—Just, nnnaturally?”
Vox paused for a moment, glancing at his drink in hand, then back to his friend. “Uh, I don’t know,” he admitted with a small chuckle. “Nothing like the old ‘Whittman charm!’ I mean, I was a late night host when I was alive, so I guess for that I had to be a little comedic to keep the viewers engaged. Gotta really sell a personality with a bit of razzamatazz to keep the ratings up, you know?”
Alastor nodded slowly. “Mhmmm..” He hummed, now leaning in Vox’s direction, chin propped up resting on his palm. A warmth bloomed behind the glass of Vox’s screen, illuminated in a faint pale blue glow.
“To… To be honest,” Vox stammered, averting his gaze back to his half-finished drink, reminding himself of how quickly Alastor had been downing his drinks, being paces far ahead of him. “I… didn’t have much confidence as a kid. Took me a while to really develop that showmanship. It never really came all that naturally to me. I just eventually grew into it, I suppose. You always gotta be camera-ready.”
Vox waited for a moment— waiting for Alastor to make some snarky comment about how pathetic he could be like he typically would at a moment like this; how insecure and whiney the rising overlord really was underneath his dazzling facade. Instead, Alastor remained silent, listening intently as the smooth jazz playing came to a sudden stop with an ambient crackle filling its place, before continuing to roll gently in the background once again when the record had been flipped. A tiny spark flickered between Vox’s antennas, picking up the relaxed waves Alastor was subconsciously emitting amidst his interest, as if subtly telling Vox to “go on.”
Vox took another drag of his cigarette, followed by a shrug. “My father… he was actually a major source of inspiration to me. He was a radio host, too, y’know! He’d do these dramatic readings of stories and was just so… charismatic with it. One of the thing’s he’d do to make me laugh whenever I saw him as a kid was do these funny, exaggerated voices, and I’d laugh so hard ’til I couldn’t breathe. He certainly knew how to draw in a crowd at parties… he was a very popular man. I remember nobody would believe me when I told them I was his son. I mean, I’d certainly draw attention, but… never for the right reasons. I was always told something was wrong with me. That I was… too angry, o-or too cold. That I needed help.” Vox gave a sad sigh, swallowing the last of his drink before continuing. “I never knew what was really wrong with me, except that I just wanted to be… liked, I guess. After a while I supposed I’d become somewhat of an albatross to those around me, so I took from what I knew. I learned how to be funny, to cater to what others really liked or expected of me. And I guess it just kinda… stuck, and I was able to build a career and a devout following from it.”
Alastor mindlessly stared into the new sazarac resting in front of him now, which was already a quarter empty. Vox’s internal fans whirred as his body began to burn with shame, immediately wishing to gulp back down the words he’d just vomited all over himself, painting himself as the pathetic picture Alastor had teasingly expressed he was before. Of course he’d bored Alastor with his woeful reminiscing. Fantastic.
But then, Alastor finally spoke, eyes still fixed on the amber liquid in his glass. “What about your mother? What was she like?”
Vox blinked in surprise before clearing his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated.
“… She… well, she… she was not a very kind woman. I…” Vox trailed off, scratching the back of his wired neck. “I don’t like talking about her much. Besides, I think I’ve been running my mouth a little too long, anyways.”
Alastor quietly nodded, sipping his drink. Suddenly, his ears perked. “That’s quite alright…” Alastor muttered. “I know… a little too— *hic!*— well how… how some memories can be.”
Something in Alastor’s signal shifted. Something lower, sadder. Vox’s expression softened. He leaned in about half an inch closer. Something in his stomach began to twist again in that certain way that Vox despised, yet at the same time couldn’t get enough of. Vox let his signal roll in tune with Alastor’s, closing the gap in their space, as if to also say “go on.” He’d expected Alastor to recoil or lean away, but instead, he leaned in as well. The back of the radio demon’s hand brushed gingerly against Vox’s, still wrapped loosely around his drink.
Vox had always viewed Alastor as perfect. Poised, proper, fierce; all the things Vox tried to be yet still believed he had not yet achieved besides his accomplishments both in life and in death. And yet, despite the darkness of the room and the distracting bustle of the other customers and the music dancing along in the background, all Vox could focus on was how, for the first time, Alastor was imperfect. He was still human, as Vincent still was beneath his persona of a god. And that made him all the more beautiful.
“Today, actually, would have been my mother’s birthday.” Alastor said, voice barely audible. “She was… truly a— *hic!*— a remarkable woman. Strong. Very strong… she’d nnnever let anybody lay a finger on those she cared about. Even…even if that was at her… her own expense.” Alastor’s signal wavered for a brief moment with a fuzz of static before smoothing itself out again. Vox struggled to make out the slurry consisting of muffled noise of memory combined with the soft melodies of music. Alastor faced Vox again with his brows slightly furrowed, expression painted in a way Vox had never seen before. Something so complicated, so confused. Something distant; wistful and comforted by nostalgia yet so burdened with loss. Alastor tilted his head back, puffing his own cigarette.
“Sometimes, I’m still not even sure how she managed to do it, taking all those risks. But… I remember there was a song she used to sing to me… I’d come home all bruised and dirty and she’d sit me down on her lap… and then we-we’d cook together and suddenly nothing else mattered. I thought… if ssshe could handle everything— *hic!*— everything this cruel world threw at her, then maybe… I could too. There were times where I supposed I… overstepped, as a result. And— *hic!*— I did things that I…”
Alastor stopped, as if his throat closed up involuntarily. Vox pursed his “lips” into a thin line.
“You…” Vox suggested, “… regretted?”
“Yes,” Alastor responded, flat. “That.”
Alastor’s glass was empty now. He peered over to the bartender, and just as he started to raise his hand to flag him down for another round, Vox cautiously grabbed it, bringing it back down to the bar top in protest, heart feeling as though it could burst into flame at any moment before being swiftly doused in water and put out when he caught a glimpse of dampness in Alastor’s eyes.
“I think you’ve had enough, Al,” said the TV demon. “Let’s just get the tab and go, okay? It’s on me.”
Alastor still appeared dazed, smile tighter than before. Static and feedback popped and buzzed in his frequency. “I-I wish— wish I could tell… tell her how sssorry I am. And—And if only I could see her again… Who knows where she is now… I haven’t—*hic!*— haven’t found her down here, at least not yet…” he spilled. Alastor’s voice cracked as one word after the other passively dripped from his slippery, drunken tongue. Vox squirmed with unease. It wasn’t the subject matter that bothered him, but rather how vulnerable Alastor had become. It seemed unnatural, uncomfortable. It felt.. wrong. Invasive, as if Alastor had stripped naked right in front of him.
And yet, the closeness. The intimacy of it all. It was something the TV demon had desired for as long as he’d known his unexpected friend, but was so afraid of at the same time. It was still in Vox’s interest to tread lightly to keep Alastor open, but decided he’d rather not pry. He was so, so close. Closer to Alastor beyond what he’d ever imagined. He wouldn’t dare ruin it now by letting Alastor dig into a darker place that Vox didn’t feel as though he had the right to explore.
He’d never wished to exploit Alastor, simply because Alastor was not just any other sinner. That was a hard line he set long ago. The reason, and whatever feeling this was that carved a hole in his gut whenever he thought about it, he was unsure. Perhaps it was plain cowardice— that would make the most sense. No sinner ever dared cross paths with him, and those who did survived as mere cautionary tales. But Vox didn’t experience fear for Alastor the same way others did. It came out as something deeper, something a little beyond surface level respect that honestly, Vox could feign for any other overlord or sinner at the drop of a hat to get what he wanted. Something from a music box locked and buried so far away at the bottom of his heart, waiting to be opened and someday play its beautiful song to the outside world. Maybe it was for the best the true reason remained a mystery to Vox. Frankly, he didn’t want to know.
Vox scooted out of his stool, placing himself behind Alastor and rested a warm hand between his shoulders. “Can you stand?” Vox asked. “Or do you need some help?”
“I—“ Alastor stammered, cut off by a burp. “I, fuck, I’m fine!” The radio demon unsteadily slid off of his seat, nearly stumbling to the ground if it weren't for Vox catching him under his arm. Alastor summoned his staff, which then gradually slipped out of his loose grip, leaving Vox to catch it for him.
“Ah— alright, okay, theeeere you go. Yeah, no, I don’t think so. You’re not gonna be able to make it home like this. Let me walk you back.”
“I caaaan… walk…” Alastor attempted to argue, but then said nothing else, instead responding with a low grumble, and Vox took that as a reluctant sign of agreement.
✧─── · ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧
The walk back was torturous.
Well, torturous may have been an exaggeration. At the very least it felt like hours, because for what felt like for the first time, Alastor was the one getting on Vox’s nerves. It wasn’t like the occasional irritation Vox would feel whenever his friend made a snide comment at his expense, or teased him for his peculiar appearance and fumbles publicly in front of other overlords. Alastor was just acting like an utter fool incapable of walking straight or shutting up.
Vox had lost count of the amount of times Alastor tripped over his own foot, or stepped on Vox’s, or repeatedly asked “how far” and “are we there yet?”, only for Vox to reply with numerous “almost there”s. Most of Alastor’s loopy mumbling was nonsensical, occasionally broken by him groggily exclaiming he needed to either pee or throw up, to which Vox politely suggested to not to give into any of those urges until the two made it back to his condo safely.
Vox decided half way through the walk that it would be best to turn down the path towards his own home rather than walking another mile and up a hill to Alastor’s radio tower. That didn’t even account for the spooky, rickety old ladder Vox would have to piggyback Alastor up, or the fact that he really, really was not comfortable leaving Alastor alone in such a lethargic, vulnerable state. Right now, he just needed a bed. It wasn’t like Alastor would care at the moment, or even know the difference. That was something that could wait until morning for discussion. Besides, if Alastor’s… needs were indeed as urgent as he made them seem, the dizzied, sort of sickly gaze that he’d developed since the two left the bar appeared to be enough of an indicator that he wouldn’t be able to make it back to his own tower at this rate. The very least Vox could do was protect Alastor’s dignity.
Was this how Alastor saw Vox? Just some bumbling idiot who muttered incoherent words all the time? It would explain a lot, the TV demon concluded. At the same time, it was almost… endearing, in a way.
Cute.
Vox smiled to himself. God, Alastor would rip out his guts for daring to think such an absurd thing about him. It almost made Vox feel just a little bit guilty. But Alastor didn’t seem to mind much, as his signal had lulled now to a faint, relaxed mix of static fuzz and pleasant rhythmic tones. The deer swayed and rocked just as sloppily as he had been but he was happier once again, and that was all that mattered to Vox in the moment. That, and getting Alastor to sleep. The radio demon’s soft cheek slowly pressed into Vox’s shoulder as they walked. Vox observed quietly the delicate flutter of Alastor’s eyelashes as his colored eyelids fought to stay open. He had started humming some song— or at least one part of it, over and over again— leisurely to himself, blissfully unaware of the rapid thumping occurring beneath Vox’s grey sweater vest and the anxious popping of electricity above his head. The hues of their surroundings shifted at they crossed districts; the warm street lamps of Uptown illuminated Alastor’s complexion in a beautiful, almost sun-kissed golden haze, before evolving to the brilliant, cooler glow of blues and purples glimmering from the neon signs of the entertainment district, Vox’s own territory he’d claimed not too long ago.
Blue looked nice on Alastor.
Vox hastily opened the door when they finally arrived to his quaint townhouse, stepping out of the way to allow Alastor to stumble inside. Vox grimaced, a bit ashamed. His home wasn’t as grand as you’d expect a media overlord’s to be. Certainly not as menacing and decrepit as Alastor’s radio tower. Vox preferred prioritizing putting his earnings towards bigger, bolder projects and innovations. While not luxurious, it was what Vox would call a pretty comfortable, cozy little home. But now, with Alastor having stepped foot inside, everything suddenly made Vox look a fool as if flipped upside down. If he’d expected Alastor’s first ever visit, he would have tidied up a little more. Maybe he would have snagged a box of Alastor’s favorite snacks from Cannibal Town (Pinky fingers. Utterly nauseating, but Alastor loved them,) or prepared some drinks for the two to share (though right now, that last option sounded the least appealing.) At the very least, he would have worn something maybe a little less casual, perhaps sprayed his nicest cologne or lit a candle. And— oh god, his humiliating collection of shark-themed memorabilia cluttered across a dusty bookshelf against the corner of his living room, paired with the obnoxiously large TV smack in the center of his floor (which Vox understood all too well how much Alastor hated with a burning passion.) It all looked ridiculous!
But Alastor, despite Vox’s worries, didn’t seem to mind at all. Or, if he did, he hadn’t said a word about it. The radio demon simply stood in the middle of the carpet and—
Well, perhaps Alastor did have some repulsed thoughts about the place. Vox winced, rushing over to Alastor with one shoe (he’d been taking his shoes off, while Alastor hadn’t bothered to remove his yet) before he dry-heaved again. He grazed one hand over Alastor’s back while the other cupped under his chin, hurriedly guiding him over to the bathroom amidst mumbled curses where the drunk overlord then wasted no time dropping to his knees in front of the toilet. Vox’s hand moved soothing strokes as the other now pulled Alastor’s hair back for him. He scratched softy at the roots, waiting for that final cough. Vox would stay by Alastor’s side, this close, like this forever if he had the choice. He’d just hadn’t wished it was at the cost of Alastor’s misery. Or at the risk of a carpet ruined by puke. Vox sighed with relief when Alastor’s horrid retching came to a stop.
“There… you’re alright. Everything’s okay. I got you, Al.”
Alastor remained silent besides his tired, ragged breaths. He lifted his hand to reach the handle to flush, then inertly raised his head towards Vox without saying a word, communicating through nothing but slow, lazy blinks.
He looked horrible. And exhausted. So very exhausted.
“Do you… feel any better?” Vox asked, backing off of his friend to give some space. “Can I get you something to drink? Uh— water, I mean? Mouthwash?”
Vox waited for Alastor to respond, which felt like an eternity. Eventually, he nodded, wiping a string of spit from his lip with his knuckles.
“That would be good.”
Vox gave a quick hum of acknowledgment, but as he stood to go fetch a glass, the radio demon made a strange noise.
A bleat. Like a helpless baby deer.
Holy shit.
Vox’s head swiveled his head over his shoulder, catching Alastor rocking back and forth like a frustrated toddler trying to kick off his shoes. Vox continued to stare in awe for a couple more seconds, taking in the bizarre and unintentionally adorable sight in front of him. He couldn’t help but fail to stifle a giggle behind his fist. An annoyed buzz of radio feedback screeched from Alastor when he fell over onto the cold tile.
“You need some help there, Al?”
Vox nealt down to assist with Alastor’s laces, but the deer demon gave a weak kick in return, baring his teeth in a way that, in the moment, hardly came off as threatening. “Don’t! Fucking… f..ugh…” he slurred. Vox rolled his eyes, instructing Alastor to raise his foot for him. Alastor moaned again, but begrudgingly obliged, letting Vox carefully untie Alastor’s shoelaces and slide them off his—
Hooves?!
Vox couldn’t believe his eyes. First the bleat, now Alastor had little hooves? A warm blue blush creeped across Vox’s screen. How was he just now discovering this? Who knew how downright darling Alastor really was? What else did he have? A tail, next? That wasn’t perverted, was it? Just pure curiosity.
Fuck, Alastor really was a mess of a man. Of a demon, and overlord.
A complicated, beautiful mess.
“Nghnnn… what are you—*hic!* looking at? FFFFucking… creepy… b—ox…”
Vox frowned, snapped out of his adoring trance. Creepy box. That was a new one.
He apologized and turned back towards the door. Alastor sat up with a grunt, looking down at his wrinkled coat. “I feel gross,” was all he said. Vox leaned against the doorframe, taking Alastor’s jacket off the floor after he’d shrugged it off.
“You can use my shower, if you want,” Vox offered. He hadn’t minded until Alastor pointed it out himself, but Alastor reeked of whiskey, sweat and cigarettes. Vox secretly hoped Alastor would accept the gesture. “You stay in here to change,” he added, scratching the frame of his head. “Leave your clothes outside the door and can wash them for you. I’ll bring you a fresh towel and something more comfortable to sleep in.”
✧─── · ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧
Waiting outside the door for Alastor to finish cleaning up certainly felt strange. He held a folded graphic t-shirt and a pair of clean boxer shorts in his hands alongside a towel draped over his forearm. Vox had spent a good minute or two digging through his drawers for something that wasn’t two sizes two big, but eventually gave up. The TV demon swallowed thickly when the situation the two were in really began to settle in.
Alastor. In his house. In his shower.
Alastor, wet, completely nude, hooves and all right behind the door—
A flustered burst of sparks between his antennas abruptly cut short any further wandering thoughts. Vox’s stance stiffened at the burning heat that had make its way towards his lower abdomen, lingering there like burbling, hot oil in a pot. God, those hideous, disgusting thoughts. What the hell was the matter with him? Thinking of his friend that way… his male friend, no less. Friends shouldn’t think of friends that way! It was weird, freakish, and something that startled Vox to his core. That mysterious music box inside him began to look more like a locked, beaten up old door, behind it a dark void where a a ferocious monster resided, clawing and roaring to get out and wreck everything in its path… everything good. Everything Vox had worked so hard to keep. That trust. This very moment. It would all be gone.
Vox looked at Alastor’s staff propped against the wall beside the door. It stared back, half-lidded and full of what Vox took as some sort of judgement. He closed his eyes, burying his glass face into the bundle of clothes in dismay. He could brush these thoughts off as simply intrusive, just as he had when they’d suddenly reappear when he laid alone in his bed at night, or when he’d graze Alastor accidentally in the slightest, most unnoticeable fashion that would make his stomach twist into knots and make his cooling vents work overtime. They didn’t mean anything. They didn’t define him.
And they never would.
Vox froze when the sound of running water suddenly came to a stop with the squeak of the faucet. A realization dawned on him.
Alastor hadn’t… heard any those thoughts, had he? They’d been sharing signals all night, Vox keeping track of Alastor’s mood periodically through it. He didn’t let something so obscene slip into the radio waves. Did he?
Vox hesitated for a moment before knocking. “Hey, Alastor?” Vox called. “You done in there?”
A small “mhm” prompted Vox to crack open the door, only to find Alastor nowhere to be found. He walked up to the shower curtain. “I brought you some clothes,” Vox said. “ Sorry if they’re a little baggy. I had nothing in your size.” When Alastor wrinkled his nose at the boxers, Vox clarified that they were clean.
Alastor swept open the curtain, taking the TV demon aback at the surprising lack of modesty he exhibited. Nothing below the upper torso, of course, but when Vox caught a glimpse of the damp tuft of fur on Alastor’s wet chest, he just about thought he would die twice. His hair was a lot curlier too, hanging down in front of his red eyes and framing his face in loose, dripping ringlets. Was Alastor’s hair naturally like that? Did he straighten it every day? Vox never thought he’d learn so much about Alastor’s unique body in one night. Definitely not like this. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to learn more. Vox didn’t dare step any closer, brain wracked with all sorts of confusing emotions now. He held out the clothes and the towel in a neat stack. Alastor took it with a shy “thanks.”
“I-I’ll give you some privacy,” Vox stammered. “Just— um, I’ll be in the living room. Just—“ He gulped again, feeling as though his stomach was on fire. Alastor had already closed the curtain with a swish! He folded his shaky hand under his armpits as he crossed the room towards the door once more. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Vox had changed into pajamas himself now, making the effort to distract himself with some television binging. He tapped his claw anxiously against his thigh. Alastor sure was taking a while. Vox hoped he wasn’t vomiting again, or worse, snuck out. Vox titled his head back over the arm of his sofa, massaging the corner of his square head.
If he was Alastor, he pondered, and if he’d been able to get even a mere glimpse into what was going on inside his mind. Those dirty, nasty thoughts… he’d sneak out too. He’d leave, never to speak to him again. Vox threw a decorative pillow over his face and groaned.
What was he doing?
Was he some sort of freaky masochist too for putting himself into a situation like this?
Would Alastor even remember any of this come sunrise? Vox didn’t know if he wanted him to or not.
“Why is it so big?”
Vox jolted up, greeted by Alastor, standing in front of him in his own giant clothes. They made Alastor look somehow even skinnier than he already was. Smaller, too. Not in a bad way, but in the sense of how you’d describe a flower gently swaying in the breeze. Alastor looked just like that. Delicate. “W-What’s big?” Vox croaked, gathering himself.
Alastor raised an eyebrow, pointing to the television. “That,” he stated, rubbing his eyes. “It’s sssuch an eyesore. Kinda… kinda looks like you a bit.”
Vox looked on unamused. “That’s because my head is a TV, Al. That’s a television, one of the newest models Voxtek’s been producing. That’s why it’s so big.”
Alastor’s face twisted into something of a mix between bewilderment and intrigue. “Well, it’s really stupid looking. Ugh… it’s so loud too… Kinda like you, Vincent!”
Vincent? Alastor hardly ever called Vox by his true name.
“Hey, okay, I get it! You hate modern technology! I’m loud and annoying! Guilty as charged!” Vox shot back, perhaps a little too harshly then he’d intended, because Alastor stopped. Vox opened his mouth to apologize, but before he could manage too, Alastor started to laugh once again.
“Ahhh, oh, Vox…” Alastor sighed, wistful. “You know I’m just teasing.”
Now that was something Alastor would never admit sober.
Alastor propped his elbows up against the sofa cushion, gazing at Vox’s screen muddled with static. “It’s nothing personallll! You’re just so… fffascinating… to me.” Alastor scratched Vox’s knee with his sharp finger, making the TV demon jerk it slightly.
“Mm— Mhm?” Vox hummed, throat tight. His heart nearly burst out of his ribcage when Alastor rested his head against him once more, this time where he’d been scratching on his leg.
“I don’t think I could ever begin to understand you, Vox.”
“If… if we’re both being honest here…” Vox murmured, folding his hands between his knees. “I don’t think I could, either.”
Vox fought the urge to rest a hand against Alastor’s head, letting him lean into the touch. His gaze drifted down to his lips, now curved into a mellow grin. Now Vox felt as though we was going to be sick as well. He cleared his throat and sat back upright unannounced, reaching over to find the remote on the coffee table besides them to turn the TV off.
“Ahah, you’re really fuckin’ drunk, Al. I think you should get some sleep sooner rather than later. That hangover is gonna be rough. You can take my bed, I’ll sleep out here.”
Vox returned Alastor’s now warm, fragrant clothes to him, draping them over the back of his plush desk chair across from the bed. He sat a glass of cold water on the bedside table as well followed by a sigh.
This had easily been one of the weirdest nights of Vox’s afterlife.
Alastor had crashed out above the sheets before Vox had even turned of the lamp. He laid curled up, almost cat-like, hugging tightly one of the many pillows under his head while one rested comfortably between his bare legs. Vox dimmed his screen, finally tugging the lamp cord and shrouding the bedroom in darkness like a thick, cool blanket. Vox observed silently for a few moments, listening to nothing but the shallow, hushed inhales and exhales through Alastor’s nose, watching every time his fuzzy ear twitched, hearing the way his signal calmed into a barely audible white noise as if he’d just signed off his broadcast. Then, with a halfhearted smile, Vox turned away.
“Goodnight, Alastor,” was all he said. What more could he say? After tonight, any and all words could never convey whatever he was experiencing, let alone ever convey them to someone like the radio demon.
But just as the door was about to creak shut, a small voice called back to him.
“Nnghhh… Voxxx…”
Vox stumbled back to the bed, checking for anything that could be disturbing his friend, whose expression was scrunched with discomfort. He tossed and turned, letting out frustrated whines.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothingnnnhn will stop spinninggnnhh…ugh…” Alastor moaned, drowsy. “Will you… you keep me company? JJJusttt so I do—on’t throw up again?”
The pace of Vox’s heart quickened again. Alastor sat up groggily, hair a tangled mess. “I want you to lay next to me. So I don’t throw up,” he reasserted.
Getting into that bed felt like something straight out of a dream that Vox never wanted to wake up from. Despite this, he kept his distance under the covers, unwilling to overstep any boundaries he believed that he’d crossed one too many times in one night. Even if Alastor now didn’t mind, Alastor tomorrow just might broadcast Vox’s screams for all of the pentagram to tune into if he’d learned or remembered even half of what occurred tonight.
But when Vox watched Alastor’s chest rise and fall completely at ease, suddenly none of that mattered. At least for right now.
Might as well make the most of it while it lasted.
Vox extended a trembly hand, reaching for Alastor’s motionless one. He intertwined his claws between his, tenderly caressing his thumb over the side of Alastor’s palm. The TV demon’s heart skipped a beat when, in response, Alastor’s fingers began to curl into his touch. A crackle of an electrical current connected his antennas for a fleeting moment, before his own eyelids grew heavy and he began to drift out of consciousness.
Thank you for trusting me, Vox silently communicated, allowing his words to become muddled in the soft fuzz of static noise. Alastor’s ear flicked once more. He’d received his signal.
✧─── · ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧
The faint glow of the entertainment district’s overwhelming lights seeped their way through the slit in the curtains, stirring Alastor awake. He blinked the sleep out of his sore eyes, extending his long legs to stretch over the side of the bed and—
Wait. This wasn’t his bed?
Were these… shark patterned sheets?
And the room was warmer, more like a traditional bedroom and less like a mattress beneath his recording booth desk. So dreadfully modern, as well…
A picture hanging on the wall caught his attention. It was in black and white, of him and…
Oh. Oh no.
Alastor clutched the bedding tightly, tugging it sharply over his chest as he let a burst of feedback ring in his ears. These weren’t his clothes either. Where were…?!
They rested folded neatly over a polished wooden desk, as if left untouched.
Regardless, he had to get out. Now.
Alastor rose out of the (admittedly more comfortable) bed, only to be met with a pang of nausea and probably the worst headache he’d ever had in his afterlife. He looked into the small mirror propped above the test.
God, he looked awful. And his hair…what the hell happened to his hair?
Alastor hurriedly scrambled out of Vox’s clothes, cheeks burning. What could have possibly happened last night? Vox didn’t… no, he couldn’t have. He wouldn’t, right? The mere idea of sleeping just in the same bed as Vox made Alastor’s stomach churn. He coiled chunks of his hair around his fingers, trying to replay the events of the previous night.
They were at the bar… Alastor was extremely drunk… somehow ended up here… then what?
Before the radio demon could draw some sort of rational conclusion, he was startled by a knock at the door. “‘Morning, Alastor!” that familiar, grating, repulsive, pathetic voice singsonged through the door. “I brought you a little something!”
“Get OUT!” Alastor growled, clumsily stepping into his pant legs. He accidentally snagged his hoof on the fabric, causing him to slip and fall onto his ass. “Ugh! FUCK!”
“You alright?” Vox called, alarmed. “I’m coming in.”
“I heard a crash—“
“How DARE you?!” Alastor seethed, antlers stretching from his head like the haunting branches of a crooked, petrified tree. He stared daggers into Vox’s screen, which was stunned with confusion. “You… WHAT did you do to me?! WHY am I here?! Why aren’t I at home—?!”
Vox found his back pressed against the wall as Alastor stormed towards him in a fit of disorganized rage. The TV demon raised his hands in defense. “Wh-? Alastor, relax! Everything’s fine!” He assured. Alastor planted his arms firmly at his sides, fists balled up as his pupils evolved to radio dials.
“FINE? For all Lucifer knows you could have drugged me! Let me make a fool of myself! Make me do things that I… m-make me…” Alastor trailed off, lowering his gaze to the floor. He shook his head through gritted teeth, regaining his bearings. “I can’t believe this!”
Alastor buried his face in his hands. “How? How could I have been so fucking stupid? To let you take advantage of me like this! Humiliate me!”
Vox’s heart crumbled at this, though his defenses remained up. “‘Take advantage of you?’ Are you serious right now? You were drunk! So drunk that your brain might as well have fallen out of your damn skull!”
“Ah-HA!” Alastor snapped. “So you DID try to poison me! Using alcohol instead of hypnosis because you know it doesn’t work on other overlords! For what? Information? Territory? Souls? Tricking me into some sort of deal? Coaxing me into…u-ugh..! You slimy little—”
“ALASTOR! NO!” Vox barked back. “You really think I would do that? Do you really think that low of me?”
Alastor hesitated, allowing himself to catch his own breath and let Vox plead his case.
“I practically saved your ass from having your image tarnished! There was no way you were going to make it home on your own, and your tower was another mile away! My place was closer, so I figured it would be better for you to crash here. I wasn’t going to let you puke up SIX cocktails in the middle of the street like some sort of shit-faced hobo!”
Alastor pressed his lips together, crossing his arms. “You know I don’t drink that much. I know what my limits are, Vox. I’m not some unexperienced teenager. Who do you take me for? Some gullible idiot?”
Vox scoffed, “Tch, yeah, well, whatever was the matter with you last night made you down six fuckin’ sazaracs.” He sighed. “But I’m not here to judge you for that… I just want you do know that, whatever horrible thing you think I did, I didn’t. Okay?”
Alastor considered this for a moment, letting his antlers shrink back down to their typically size and for his eyes to return back to their normal, unbothered state. Still, he continued to eye Vox up and down with his teeth bared.
“Al, please,” Vox begged. “You just gotta believe me on this. You’re just extremely hungover. I would never take advantage of you, for whatever reason and no matter the method. Ever.”
Alastor’s pinned back ears eased up a bit, though remained low with caution. Alastor continued to study the demon in front of him. Vox’s signal. It wasn’t wavering or anxious. It was solid, straightforward. Sincere. He was telling the truth.
“Six cocktails, hm?” he questioned. “… Why would I even…?”
Then he remembered. Oh, right. That.
“Ah,” Alastor muttered, just barely above a whisper. “How… silly of me.”
Silence passed between the two, before Alastor raised his head to speak again, finding a new objection to make. “That still doesn’t explain why my clothes weren’t on me this morning,” he probed.
“What, would you have rather slept in your dirty old ones?” Vox argued. “Frankly, you smelled kinda like shit, so you used my shower. Those clothes are mine. I washed the ones you’re wearing now. You’re welcome.”
Alastor’s expression melted a bit. He plucked a loose thread on his red shirt. Even if his clothes were fresher now, he still looked like a complete wreck: Hair untamed, unbuttoned collar, zipper still down… Alastor could continue the list of everything wrong with his appearance right now.
He didn’t feel like an overlord, nor like the strongest sinner in all of Hell as promised to him nearly three decades ago. Alastor couldn’t recall the last time he had a hangover this bad besides what he’d experienced in his living life. He felt… strangely human. It was grounding, in a way. Whether it felt good or not, Alastor couldn’t quite place right now. His body, for certain, did not feel good at all. At least that was one thing he could make sense of in the moment.
That, and the fact that maybe, just maybe, Vox was unlike any other sinner he’d met before.
“Well, then,” Alastor carried on, interrupted by a long yawn, “now that that’s settled, what exactly did you bring for me, hm? Fresh sinner intestine?”
Vox cringed at the thought of even purchasing something so gross. “Ehhhh, actually,” Vox began to explain, presenting in front of Alastor brown paper bag that’s bottom was drenched in oil. “I couldn’t quite make it all the way to Cannibal Town to fetch that for you, sorry.” Alastor pouted, though remained curiously fixated on what the contents could be, raising an eyebrow. He took the bag from Vox’s grip, pulling out from it what was a small cardboard box that had just as much residue as the bag. Alastor carefully opened it and looked inside.
It was a burger, topped with plasticky cheese, floppy bacon, soggy vegetables, and some sort of weird sauce that oozed a mess out the sides, all between two buns soaked in so much grease they might as well have been two kitchen sponges. “Is this a joke?” Alastor asked.
“Think of it as a hangover cure!” Vox clarified. “You need something to soak up all that leftover alcohol in your system. I don’t think you ate anything last night, either, which is probably why you got hammered so hard the way you did. I mean, it works for me!”
Alastor grimaced. “I’m not eating this.”
Vox breathed, exasperated by the constant back and forth. “I’m not tricking you, Al, c’mon. I got it from the diner across the street. Just try it!”
The radio demon grumbled, trying to figure out how he would be able to even pick up this abomination. “If you really think that I’d eat this greasy, processed slop—“
The agitated growling of Alastor’s empty stomach cut him off. Well… he was pretty hungry, he supposed. It was better than nothing. Alastor brought the burger up to his mouth, squinting suspiciously at Vox before chomping a bite off that was larger than he intended. It was… good. Very good, actually. Alastor didn’t know whether it was blind hunger or if the grotesquely unhealthy food actually tasted surprisingly nice. Whatever the case, Alastor chewed in silence, all the while Vox looked on with a cheesy grin on his face.
“Sooo,” he inquired, “how is it?”
“It’s…” Alastor spoke between swallowing, “… tolerable.”
“See? I told you you’d like it!”
“Shut up,” Alastor snorted, mouth still full of food. A little more crass than Vox had grown to expect from someone as proper and uptight as the radio demon. But right now, he was just Alastor. A human. “Leave me alone. Shoo.”
Vox smiled, feeling that music box in his heart slowly begin to open, allowing its music to play sweetly in the back of his mind. He wouldn’t think too hard about it now, just enjoy the lovely melodies it carried in the moment.
“Do you think you can get yourself home after this?” Vox asked.
Alastor paused to think. The burger was now gone.
“I think,” he said, “I might just… lay back down a little longer, at least until this miserable headache passes. Just don’t expect this to happen too often, old pal.”