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The first petal he found was hidden under their shared, sweat-soaked bedsheets.
It had been in the morning, after Vox left early for work as always. The sun wrapped the room with its golden warmth, not letting a single bit of darkness worm its way out. Valentino was still laying in bed, face pressed against a pillow, awake but not awake enough to return to the living world.
It was then, in that softly spoken moment, when he saw a hint of red peeking out of the blanket on Vox’s side of the bed. Forgotten, misplaced, tucked away. A beautiful rose petal.
Valentino wasn’t sure what it was at first, but looking back, it should’ve been obvious. It was obvious—he just never thought it’d happen to him.
Why was he always the second choice? Why wasn’t he good enough? Why was he always a replacement, a lesser version of the person Vox truly wanted but could never have?
Valentino huffed and threw the petal away. It was not worth his effort. None of Vox was, either.
The next time was harder to forget.
A whole bout shoved into the bathroom trashcan, this time covered in blood. Rose petals, vividly red. Clearly put there to not be found—to be lost forever to time, but Valentino had found them anyway, somehow.
He knew what it was, now, but he chose to live in ignorance. If he didn’t feel like telling him himself, then he wouldn’t pry. Vox could wallow in his misery and pain alone.
Why was he never good enough? They had amazing sex together, long nights that stretched until dawn, before Vox eventually had to leave. What was it about that deer that made him so much better? Valentino gave Vox everything, and Vox gave him everything in return. Wasn’t that enough?
Valentino yelled in frustration and punched the mirror, feeling the glass shatter and cut against his skin.
They were at dinner. Vox was quieter than usual—normally he’d be laughing and talking his head off about the company and whoever pissed him off today, but instead he kept to himself, only opening his mouth to shovel food.
“Vox.” Valentino pointedly stared at him, wanting to have some acknowledgement.
Vox looked up and nodded half-heartedly, not saying a word.
“Vox.” He pressed.
“What, Val?” Vox mumbled.
“Won’t you ask how my day was?”
“...How was your day, Val?” Vox said weakly, eyes intent on his food instead of meeting his gaze.
“Good. How was yours?” Valentino said curtly.
“Good.” Vox spoke it so softly Val could barely hear.
During a company meeting, Vox buckled over, coughing into his arm.
“Are you okay?” Valentino asked, rushing over to help.
“Yes.” Vox choked out, avoiding his eye, before disappearing into a crackle of pure electricity.
They weren’t having sex anymore.
Vox was not initiating affection, and he would always make up excuses for why he wouldn’t come with Valentino to bed. Always work, always busy.
It made Valentino so frustrated. Why wasn’t Vox having sex with him if that was all Valentino was good for? Why was he locked in his man-hole probably crying about Alastor? Why didn’t he want him? He had a fucking fifteen out of ten willing to do practically anything with him in bed, and he still wanted that deer. It didn’t make sense.
Val found himself storming into Vox’s room, practically vibrating with rage. “What the fuck, Vox?”
Vox turned around from being hunched over his desk. Blood trickled down his mouth in tiny red pixels. “Val?”
“What is wrong with you?”
Vox didn’t say anything for a while, before looking up, face exhausted. “I’m good. Don’t worry about me, Val.”
Val huffed. “So there’s no reason for why we aren’t having sex anymore?”
“Sex is unnecessary.”
“So I’m nothing to you?”
“No. You’re a useful business partne—”
“FUCKING hell, Vox. Stop with this shit. Why can’t you acknowledge ‘us’? We’ve literally had sex for decades now, why is this so difficult for you?”
The room filled with empty silence. Vox’s monitor flickered, and he started coughing, but he stopped himself.
Finally, Vox met his gaze, eyes tired. “...Do you love me, Val?” He said the words quietly, like each syllable carved another hole in his throat.
It was a test. Everything was a test.
Valentino crossed his arms. “You don’t want me to.”
Vox’s face flashed into bright white light, before it settled back into an unreadable expression, indecipherable to Valentino.
Silence. Long, long silence, before he finally opened his mouth in response. “What do you want?” Work voice, not his real voice.
“Why are you avoiding me?” Valentino snapped. “Do you fucking hate me?”
“I’m busy.” Vox said dismissively.
Something snapped in Valentino. He couldn’t take this anymore.
“Is this about that fucking deer?” He screamed, grabbing the nearest thing he could reach—a bottle of half-filled wine from a shelf— and threw it at Vox.
The bottle shattered against his screen in a loud crack, creating a beautiful constellation of fractures on a cyan backdrop.
Valentino expected something. He expected Vox to stand up and hit him back. Electrocute him, burn him. Utilize his stronger power, let out all of his anger onto Valentino. Let the anger dissolve into drive, and then into arousal.
But instead, Vox sat there, not saying or doing anything. His screen flickered static and the lights briefly went out, before Vox turned around, back to his desk and back to his piles of paper.
“Please leave.” Vox said quietly.
He could do that. He could leave. Valentino could and would leave whenever he fucking wanted to, because if Vox wanted to be an absolute bitch then he could do it by himself.
Valentino stormed out, heart wrenching. Within minutes he found himself in Angel Dust’s room, as always. It was quick and easy—screaming, yelling, punching, a hand to the spider’s throat. Hearing the other cry calmed him down a bit, but it wasn’t fucking enough. Why wasn’t he enough?
At least he felt some sort of relief, seeing that little red dot flashing on the nearest camera. Vox was always watching, even now. He could always count on that—even in the very end, Vox wouldn’t ever stop.
There was no hiding it now. Vox had the disease. It was fucking obvious.
He couldn’t speak for long before coughing and gasping for breath. Valentino would find red petals everywhere. Vox was no longer able to throw them in the trash; there were too many to do so.
Valentino found himself begrudgingly falling into a caretaker role. Helping clean, making Vox meals when he drowned himself in work and locked himself in the bathroom.
No affection, though. Not even small pecks on the cheek, or a second and two to hold hands. If Vox didn’t initiate, then Val wouldn’t either.
Yet he found himself longing for what they used to be, even with how shaky it was.
Valentino still didn’t acknowledge it—the petals, the coughing— though, and neither did Vox. Valentino couldn’t do it, not when he knew what it meant.
Instead they chose to sit in the uncomfortable, shared silence. It was easy enough to bare with time, just like anything else.
Vox hadn’t come out of his room for multiple days.
The worry crawled its way in, barely noticeable, before it seized his entire being and he couldn’t do anything, think of anything except for what was happening with Vox.
It was only natural that Valentino shot a bullet into the lock of Vox’s room after the third day. He knew what to expect. How severe, though, he didn’t realize until he saw it with his own eyes.
Vox was slumped in the bathtub, blood pooling everywhere. Bottles of medicine. Red petals covered the floor. His breaths were shallow and rapid. Unconscious.
Valentino still hated him, but that didn’t stop him from taking Vox into his arms and bringing him to the engineers.
He would’ve forgiven him if Vox chose to tell him, but he never did. Vox was always a fucking coward, wasn’t he?
The procedure, Baxter said, was quite simple in concept. A slit to the chest, opening the cavity and inspecting his lungs. Surgically removing the flowers, and it would be fixed.
The only downside was Vox would lose affection to whoever he wanted so dearly— which was actually a positive, in Valentino’s opinion, because Alastor was the one who ruined everything.
Baxter looked at him for approval, and Valentino gave it to him. It didn’t matter that much. He just needed Vox alive for whatever reason, even if they hated each other. Vox wouldn’t die. That’s all that mattered.
This was Alastor’s cause and Vox’s stupidity. Yet he still had to take care of him, even after all this time.
Eventually, when time was starting to blur together and Valentino was far past the precipice of impatience, Vox came out of the room conscious and shirtless, stitching obvious on his chest. The flowers were gone, according to Baxter. He would heal fast due to his overlord status and soul count. It was truly a harmless and easy operation. Vox was saved.
“Voxxy,” Valentino whispered, standing up and grabbing his arm.
Vox looked at him, face indecipherable. “Hello.” He said simply, and left. Not acknowledging Valentino in the slightest.
“How is it?” Valentino asked during lunch.
“Fine.” Vox said in response, voice monotone. “It’s.. it’s working.”
“Yes?” Valentino perked up. “Cariño, really?”
“Y–yes.” Vox coughed dryly, clutching his chest. No petals came out, just a small amount of blood. “I’m good.”
“That’s great to hear,” Val smiled softly, holding Vox’s screen. Vox didn’t react—just blinked up, face torn in exhaustion.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the disease sooner?” Val asked after another sleepless night. The darkness made every thought easier to express.
Vox looked over from his side of the bed, taking a drag of a cigarette. “I didn’t want to scare you. I’m fine now, aren’t I?”
“Fucking hell, Vox.”
Vox just hummed in response.
“You and your stupid pride. Always obsessed with that deer—” Valentino muttered.
“It wasn’t about—” Vox cut himself off.
“What?”
Vox stared at the ceiling, exhaling slowly. “Nevermind.”
“What do you mean ‘it wasn’t about?’ What are you saying?”
“Forget it, Val.”
“What the fuck, Vox?”
“I said, forget it.”
“Vox.” Valentino yelled. “Why don’t you tell me anything? How else— how else— ”
“Go to sleep, Val.”
“How can we be together if you never tell me anything? If you’re always avoiding these things? You had a life threatening disease and you never told me fucking once, why don’t you trust me, Cariño—”
“Val.” Vox said through gritted teeth, his hypnosis activating on instinct. Valentino found, in dismay, that he couldn’t look away from that bright blue. “We’re business partners.”
“What the fuck? We literally just had sex, Vox! Why do you always run from this shit? What about being ‘together’ is so difficult?”
“Valentino. That ship has sailed long ago.”
“What do you mean?”
Vox turned to face him. He paused for a second, before finally saying, “The surgery.”
Valentino frowned. “No, that surgery was about Alastor—”
Vox shook his head. “Valentino. It was about you.”
The world stopped on its axis. The room felt infinitely colder.
“What do you mean?” Valentino whispered, stomach dropping into the floor.
“I loved you, but I never told you because I knew you wouldn’t be able to love me back. And that’s okay. I’m glad the surgery happened. It makes everything a lot easier.” Vox said indifferently.
No, no, fuck —-
Valentino felt tears surge forwards, little pinpricks of betrayal.
“Cariño, what do you mean you love me? I never knew. Why- Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why?” Valentino leaned forward, sobbing into Vox’s chest. Vox just laid there, rigid, holding him but not bringing him closer.
Valentino could feel his chest rising and falling slowly, the freedom of breath. Finally, after a moment, Vox pursed his lips and spoke quietly. “I’m sorry, Val.”
And suddenly Valentino was being pushed away— gently, but pushed away nonetheless. “It’s too late.” He said softly, gesturing at his chest. “I can’t love you anymore. I’m sorry.”
He was alone, again. Like always.
Sunlight drifted in and out lazily, not bothering much. Hell birds chirped and sung and the city buzzed below.
Valentino leaned over himself, coughing. His throat itched, his body shook. He wanted to throw up.
Instead, he only ended up coughing out something soft, daintily resting on his palm. Covered in blood and the afternoon warmth.
One small petal. A beautiful, brilliant blue. Catching the light in all the wrong ways.