Chapter Text
Val isn’t looking at him.
Vox supposes that’s to be expected, though his own mind is still reeling from what happened in the past fucking week. Likely, he still hasn’t fully processed what had happened, and how he could go from the most powerful sinner in Hell to a tablet being held in Valentino’s hands.
Which, oh, the fucking bone he has to pick with the moth demon. He could have taken Val on too, very easily in fact.
But no. Val just HAD to kiss him right in the middle of his (admittedly undignified) rant, shocking the TV for just long enough for Val to rip his head from his shoulders.
When they’d gotten back to the Vee Tower, he’d tried to turn up the charm. Ask them to simply bring him to his office, where he can recover a new body. One of the upsides of being a demon partially made from a machine was that he could always be sure to have spare parts. And even if he didn’t, he could regenerate his limbs and body from his head if need be.
But that would take a long, tedious time, and Vox isn’t exactly looking to wait.
“Vel, honey, if you could just…”
“Hey, Val, babe, could you maybe bring me over-”
“Guys, come on. So I went a little overboard-”
His asks fall on deaf ears as he’s placed on the bed in Val’s room and left to his own devices. Which… is fine. Great even.
Fantastic.
Really, he’s sure they’re both overreacting. Sure, his actions may have been a little uncalled for, and maybe trying to blow up everyone and himself hadn’t been the greatest decision he’s ever made, but it was just a one-time thing.
How many times had he lifted the company from ruin? How many times had he covered for the two of them when they were off doing some dumb shit? He was the fucking face of the company. He was the goddamn leader of the Vees, and up till that one tiny little mishap he’d been pretty fucking good at it.
It couldn’t just be over.
“Okay, motherfucker. Here’s what’s going to happen,” Velvette walks in, Val trailing next to her, “you fucked us over. Big time. So until you can fix your fucking act, or at least until your reputation becomes somewhat fixable, Val and I will be running the company.”
At that, Vox can’t help the incredulous laughter that bubbles from his lips. To his own slight chagrin, the laughter doesn’t stop. It keeps going and going and going, with no end in sight.
Why would it? He doesn’t have lungs.
Even Val and Velvette look a little disturbed when he finally forces himself to calm down, tears of laughter streaking his screen.
“Hah! Oh, oh fuck that’s fucking priceless. Good one Vel. You almost got me there.” If he had hands, he would wipe the tears from his face, “Okay, but seriously. Get me back to my office, will you?”
Neither Velvette or Valentino move.
Vox forces out another laugh, trying to push back the nervousness that is slowly growing inside his mechanical brain.
“Alright you guys. I get it. You got back at me, hahaha. Now get me to my office.” He feels his eye spiral, though it’s not much use as Velvette and Val simply look at him, unimpressed.
It hits him.
“Wait. Are you two… serious?”
“Well obviously, dumbass,” Velvette scoffs, “do you have any fucking idea how much damage your cunt-ass cost us? Hell, it will take a bloody fucking miracle and at least a week of nonstop work for us to be able to spin this into something that doesn’t take us down. And all because you had to be a selfish, egotistical, manipulative, greedy maniac!”
“Wow, don’t go too hard on me. You may break yourself,” Vox snarks back.
Val steps in front of Velvette, glaring.
“Cut the shit, asshole,” red eyes glare into Vox’s own, “you were the most powerful sinner in Hell for… what, like five minutes? In those five minutes you not only destroyed a third of our territory, killed a bunch of fuckers we literally built our brand around pretending to care about, and almost set off a bomb that would have killed everyone including your-fucking-self!”
There’s a flash of something behind those eyes, but before Vox can identify it, Val quickly covers it up.
“It can’t be that bad,” Vox tries to force himself to be nonchalant, doing his best to avoid the oncoming dread of losing the thing he works so hard to obtain.
Because he has to be still loved, right? After all he’s done, the progress he’s made? There has to be some people who still worship him, right? Sinners are gullible, stupid. Vox made himself their light. So what if the light shone too brightly, maybe burned a couple more sinners than it should have?
That doesn’t mean Vox lost everything he worked for, right?
“Vox,” Velvette’s voice is condescendingly patient, “you are arguably the most hated sinner in Hell, at the moment.”
Even though he does not have a heart, Vox still feels the same kind of anxiety pool in his nonexistent gut. The kind that insinuates that there is only more dread to come.
Pulling out her phone, Velvette pulls out the ratings chart.
If Vox were still alive, he’d think this would be the moment he passed away from a heart attack.
A liar, manipulator, egocentric dumb bitch. All words that could describe Velvette and Valentino to the ‘T’.
But the numbers?
Numbers can’t lie. Numbers are facts. Numbers are undeniable.
And it’s the numbers that are lower than Vox has ever seen. Probably because there are none.
0%.
That’s how much of the population of Hell loves him.
0%.
The number shines out against the pale blue background of Velvette’s glowing phone, standing out like an ugly red mark that taunts Vox with it’s nothingness.
“Oh.” That’s all Vox can force out.
…but! But how old is that number, anyway? Who knows, perhaps it was from two hours ago when he made some choices that could have been better! Maybe those numbers are outdated!
After all, numbers change every second of every day. Same as the news and old fashion trends. Surely some sinners must have forgotten all about what Vox did and now are back to loving and supporting him, right?
Right??
“Refresh your phone,” he demands, hoping he doesn’t come off as desperate as he feels.
Velvette gives him a look that’s disturbingly close to sympathy an does so.
0%. Still.
So. That’s it.
Nobody loves him. Nor does anybody worship him.
He’s nothing.
Velvette says something, the sentence of Val taking over vaguely registering in his ear, but not enough to be louder than the sound of static caused by the giant zero burned into his memory.
Perhaps it’s something on his face, but both Val and Velvette take that as their cue to take their exit, leaving Vox stranded in the sharp fragments of his shattered ego.
oOo
Val comes back to the room, later that night.
Words aren’t said, and for that, Vox is almost grateful. Not like he has much to say himself, anyway, as he’s still reeling from that giant 0 that invades his every thought and feeling.
He’s a zero. For the first time in his entire afterlife, there’s nobody who adores him. Nobody who cares for him. Nobody who worships him.
From his peripherals, he sees Val get in closer.
Vox thinks that Val may try to pick a fight, or may try to do something along the lines of ‘if you suck me off then I might forgive you faster’, and he’s already getting ready to tell Val how he’s not in the mood, when the other demon speaks up.
“I’m still mad at you.”
For some reason, that sentence has something in Vox snap.
“Oh, well boo-fucking-hoo.” Anger seeps its way into Vox’s tone as he glitches in and out, “baby, I’m a demon in hell. The fuck did you expect? I had it all under FUCKING control but you and Velvette just HAD to interfere and ruin MY FUCKING MOMENT-”
A pillow collides with his face.
“Shut the fuck up or there will be way more than just a pillow colliding with your screen, cabron,” Val growls. Still, he lies down on the other side of the bed, back facing Vox.
“Wow, getting a little lonely, Val?” Vox asks, mockingly, “how pathetic do you need to be, coming to me for love, honey?”
Though he can only see Val from his peripherals, he can see the moth demon tense.
Good.
Let him be angry. Let him fight. Maybe then, Vox could find a more logical reason for the anger to still be burning in his soul.
To his surprise, Val continues to pretend to ignore him, never once turning to face Vox, but also never once getting up to leave. Which… is fine.
Sure, it’s odd. The moth demon typically couldn’t afford to keep a calm act, even if he wanted. Val was an actor, but he can’t suppress his own emotions.
Why would he need to when Vox was always there, more than willing to talk him through his destructive tantrums?
So Vox keeps talking. He hits spots that he knows hurt, he hurls insults, threats, anything and everything that could make the moth demon react. Eventually, without even looking at him, Val stands up and calmly walks out the door. Not even throwing something in Vox’s face.
Which… this is good! Great even. Vox loves not having stuff thrown at him. Yeah.
He ignores the voice in his head telling him that Val only throws shit at things he thinks is worth throwing shit at.
But that’s not fucking true. Val would beat up a paper cup if it pissed him off enough. It’s not like him not reacting to Vox means that Vox is suddenly worth less to him than a paper cup, right?
Right??
The fury grows, and he continues to yell. Not because it makes him feel particularly better, but because it’s his only outlet. It’s all he can do.
oOo
He thinks of the plan a lot. It must be days, perhaps even weeks, later, but at some point, the anger subsides. It’s still very much there, but at least the temptation of screaming his head off before killing everybody and then himself is lessened.
But his regeneration process is slow, and the first thing Val and Velvette did after that first night was take out every electronic device in the room. So even when Vox did regain his strength, he still would not be able to zap out.
On top of that, from what he hears, Val and Vel use most of the day hours to try and recover the brand in the best way they can, leaving Vox alone with his own thoughts more often than not.
Are Val and Vel’s attempts a success? Vox has no idea, nor does he really have an interest in knowing, for once.
Whether it’s due to apathy or the fear of the small chance that they may be thriving without him, Vox really does not have a clue.
Fuck, if only he had kept a closer eye on Val and Vel, before they left. They could have been so much more fucking useful if they just stayed put like they were supposed to.
If only he attacked Alastor during his stupid little victory rant. If only he were stronger for only a moment. If only he caught Velvette before she was able to land a hit.
If only he grabbed Val before the idiot could rip his head off.
If only, if only, if only.
Vox has prided himself in always having a plan, always having a way out. He could imagine hundreds of scenarios, and plan to each one accordingly.
But in this case, he hadn’t. Everything just seemed so perfect, he couldn’t imagine a scenario where things couldn’t go more than one way.
The plan worked, the weapon worked, he had more support than ever before, he had more power than ever before.
Then fucking Alastor just had to ruin everything. He just had to get in Vox’s face and make Vox feel like a gullible idiot.
“Pathetic amateur,” he’d called Vox, “fucking creep. Absolute idiot.”
The words hurt more than Vox would have liked.
Fuck, who is he kidding? That shit fucking stung; even as it was happening, Vox felt his pride be chipped away piece by piece as Alastor threw each taunting word at him, the smug grin only amplifying Vox’s humiliation.
Perhaps, what made everything worse, is that Alastor was right.
Vox is pathetic. He had all the power he could have ever hoped for, had the upper hand in every way imaginable, and Alastor still managed to beat him in a fucking rolling chair.
To top it all off, Vox genuinely believed that, for a moment, Alastor may have started to respect the man he had become. That Vox wasn’t the pitiful nobody who asked him to team up; he was actually worth the recognition. Not just that little fan who followed him around all those decades ago, singing his praises like a goddammed imbecile.
Only for Alastor to laugh in his face, once again.
Not once had Alastor ever shown any respect for Vox. Any slight, mild praise he may have given was just an act to get Vox where the Radio Demon wanted. The delighted taunts, covered in a layer of palatable contempt, forced Vox to face the hard truth right then and there on that stage.
Alastor never stopped looking down on him.
And Vox played right into his hand. Like the pathetic, moronic, idiotic, amateur Alastor had thought him to be.
“You’re nothing if not predictable,” Alastor mused, red eyes piercing right into Vox’s soul. As if he could see the hurt little thing under the expensive clothes and sharp claws.
Vox prides himself in being in control. Keeping a level head and a clear mind is the best way to success. It’s how he was able to climb and get away with dozens of murders. But there, in that moment, Vox could not come up with a single logical thought. The anger and pain that had been so deeply rooted for as long as he could remember sped to the forefront of his mind. Every coherent thought went out the window, and he just needed to see Alastor humbled. He just needed the fucking pain to stop, just for a brief moment.
And even then, Alastor had not stopped smiling.
Vox’s pain did not bring the Radio Demon any shame, nor regret.
He just kept smiling.
A sound makes its way to Vox’s mind, and it’s only then that Vox realizes he has tears streaming down his dislodged head.
“Oh, amor.” Val’s familiar voice stuns him, and he looks up to see the moth demon staring at him with a pitiful look. Somehow, that just makes everything so much worse.
Despite what happened that first night, Val had come back the next night. And the night after that.
For the most part, Val does not even bother looking at him as he climbs in bed next to Vox, back facing the other demon. Sometimes, Vox will catch Val glancing at him with a look that is not too far from sadness. Only for the Film Overlord to catch his eye, and turn back around with a petulant huff.
Words are rarely exchanged between the two, these days. Not since Vox had given up on his anger-fueled tirade, and stopped throwing insults and threats every chance he got.
Val, for the most part, has kept up his statement of ‘I’m not talking to you,’ and refused to acknowledge Vox when awake.
Still, Vox didn’t miss how Val’s mostly-healed wing would drape over the area Vox’s body would be. Nor did he miss how sometimes, when he woke up before the moth demon, Val would have his head tucked under Vox’s chin like he had hundreds of times in the past.
Though he could never admit it, it felt nice having that small semblance of familiarity in the confusing, humiliating chaos that was his current life.
Of course, Vox always pretended to be asleep by the time Val woke up.
This time, however, there are no stolen glances. There are no stares that are hidden in the dark of the night, nor is there any underline resentment in those red eyes Vox had become so familiar with.
No, this time, there is only pure pity.
And Vox fucking hates it.
“I thought you weren’t talking to me,” is the choked-out response, “Fuck off, will you?”
Val doesn’t.
“Vox-”
“I’m serious, Val,” he snaps back, feeling his antenna crackle with electricity, “Fuck off.”
“Baby-” the words are said with such obvious concern, and Vox just can’t fucking take it-
“FUCK OFF.”
Val takes a step back, obvious surprise written on his face. Which, the back of Vox’s mind thinks, is logical. Vox rarely ever raised his voice at Val in such a way, mostly because he knew how fucking impossible he would become if Vox did.
Surprisingly, the look in Val’s eyes makes something stir in Vox’s chest, and he forces himself to look away.
Normally, he’d have been scrambling to make it up to Val. Not only for damage control, but also because Val made significantly more money and was much easier to handle when he wasn’t upset.
But what’s the point in it anymore?
It’s not like it’s his responsibility to keep Val in line anymore. It’s not his duty to keep the motherfucker happy. After all, Val is now in charge of Vox’s company. Being loved, celebrated, all that shit VOX worked so hard to build.
Still, the image of Val’s stunned face, lined with hurt, burns into the back of Vox’s brain as that ugly feeling he’s not familiar with, along with that sense of uselessness, rises once again.
Fuck, Alastor was right. He’s so fucking pathetic.
Pathetic, useless, and unloved. Just as he always was.
Hah. How could that not just be the saddest shit ever?
Thin arms wrap around him, and Vox blinks as the side of the screen is pressed against Val’s solid chest, and the arms tighten around him.
“Shut the fuck up,” Val says, though Vox hasn’t said anything, “if you think I’m gonna fuck off after everything you did, you’ve got another thing coming. Stupid puta.”
Though he wants to, Vox doesn’t exactly have the body to shake Val off. Sure, he could probably electrocute Val off of him. But, that may just excite Val more than anything.
Besides… Vox thinks that perhaps he could live with the illusion that there’s somebody who cares, at least for a little. So, sighing, he allows Val to hold him close.
oOo
The next few weeks, are for the most part, brutal.
The only upside is how slowly but surely Vox’s limbs start to regenerate from his dismembered head. At this point, he’s grown back his arms, and part of his torso. Though now that he’s more mobile, he finds himself unwilling to get up from the bed, lest he wants somebody to see him in his pitiful state.
Val still leaves early, and comes back late.
Most of the time, Vox spends his days staring up at the ceiling. Dissociating from the world and his own body, fighting back his own memories that make him want to scream. Fighting back thoughts of Alastor that get more painful with every differing notion.
Truthfully, it probably would have been much better for everyone if he had just died. At least then nobody would be alive to hate him or be disappointed with him. At least then, he wouldn’t have to feel this pain or live with the mortification that threatens to crush his newly formed lungs.
At least then, Alastor wouldn’t be in this wrenched hole, still smiling and smug after besting Vox so easily.
Velvette visits him too, usually to bring him food or sometimes small bits of entertainment. Vox thinks perhaps he should hate her. After all, she is the one who helped Val stop him and assisted with the humiliating downfall of both his plan and himself.
But she’s Vel. And similarly to Val, Vox can’t bring himself to hate her.
Besides, unlike Val, Vox is pretty sure she is actively looking for a good excuse to wack him upside the head at his first poor excuse.
At the same time, Vox can’t find it in him to truly be interested in what she has to say or do. If he had it his own way, he thinks he could have gone days, even weeks without eating or even moving. Truthfully, he finds he doesn’t have much of an interest in anything these days. He knows Val is concerned for him, though the moth demon puts on a valiant attempt not to show it. Still, it doesn’t stop Val from holding Vox close to him every night.
Despite knowing he should, especially after everything that’s happened, Vox can’t bring himself to hold Val back. Not when he’s still so conflicted about the entire thing, his attitude towards thinking of it a mix between anger, humiliation, and hurt.
Which. Come to think of it, why are either of them still here? To brag? To subtly rejoice in his misery?
“..ox? Vox? VOX!” Velvette flicks him in the face, hard enough for Vox to actually let out a small yelp.
“The fuck?”
“Okay, so you are still in there.” Velvette hums, “now, as I was saying. That barista’s turtleneck was so three season’s ago. I almost wanted to tell her to kill herself for wearing such a hideous-”
“What are you doing here, Velvette?” he interrupts.
“The fuck are you talking abo- I’m literally always here. Fucking prick.”
“No, I mean-ugh,” Vox massages his screen, “why are you here? I get it, I look pathetic. And you and Val are doing fan-fucking-tastic without me. So what the fuck are you even getting out of me just sitting here?”
Velvette looks at him for a moment, as if trying to figure him out.
Vox is just about to get uncomfortable when she busts out laughing.
“Oh, holy shit. You’re serious?” Velvette cackles, “holy fuck, come now Vox, this is sad even for you.”
Typically, the words would, at worst, make Vox mildly annoyed. Now, they pack a bigger punch as he feels himself close up, wrapping his arms around his half-formed body in a pitiful form of self-defense.
“I think you should lea-”
“Hold up,” Velvette holds up a hand to his face, wiping away the excess tears of laughter, “okay, I’m good now. Look, you fucking twat. I will only say this once, so you better listen.”
She takes a breath, seeming to steel herself before looking Vox straight in the eye.
“Between my massive workload -which is your fault by the way- and my barely competent workers, you and Val are pretty much the only people who aren’t making me want to impale myself on the next holy weapon I see. And Val is busy at the moment, so you’re the best bloody option.”
“I thought you-?”
“Bup-bup-bup,” she flicks him again, “I’m not done talking. And no, dumbass. We are not good. We are not okay, and I am still pissed as fuck at you for all the shit you’ve pulled. But,” a sigh and a small hand is placed on his shoulder, “your groveling can come later, when you’re less of a pitiful fuck. You’re clearly going through shit, which is arguably deserved, but now is obviously not the time to bite your head off.”
A harsh but genuine huff of laugher escapes Vox’s digital mouth.
“I mean you kind of already did that.”
“Shut up,” Velvette uses the hand on his shoulder to humorously push him back, getting a small chuckle out of both of them. “Don’t get me wrong, I still have a shit ton of choice words for you when the time comes, but for now…” she crosses her arms and shrugs.
“I can let it rest. It’s not like Val and I are going anywhere, anyway.”
The words make Vox’s chest feel funny.
“Besides,” Velvette continues, “I’ve honestly been preparing for one of you two fuckers to betray the group for decades now. Things suck right now, sure. But they’re wayyy better than what I was preparing for.”
That has Vox pausing.
“Preparing?”
“The ‘escape plan’ in our contract? Remember that, Vee?”
Oh. Oh shit.
Vox does remember.
It was a specific clause in the Vee’s final contract that allowed each member to keep a certain amount of private assets as well as general secrets that could only be utilized if one of the Vees turned against the others.
Vox and Velvette had spent three hours negotiating the terms and conditions, while Val tuned out most of the conversation in favor of sketching or napping. By the time Vox and Velvette had come to an agreement, Val had forgotten what the discussion was even about and was just ready to sign the damn thing.
Later, Vox learned that Val hadn’t even realized there was an “escape plan” subsection in their thirty-page-long contract.
“Did you ever even get around to telling Val about that, babes?” Velvette asks him, though he can tell she already knows the answer.
“I didn’t see a reason to,” Vox shrugs, trying to come off as nonchalant, “It was either he betrays us or not. If he betrayed us, he wouldn’t even need to use the clause.”
“Uh-huh,” Vel says, clearly humoring him, “And if he wasn’t, and it was one of us?” She raises an eyebrow at him.
Which, okay. Ouch.
“Well, obviously I would have taken him with me,” the attempt to brush it off is unimpressive even to himself, “I have enough saved assets and tools to support us both.”
“Right,” Velvette nods, clearly humoring him.
And Vox, so desperately wants to deny it, but he knows he can’t. Not to Velvette.
Because the truth was, the opportunity was just too perfect. If Velvette or Vox betrayed the team, Vox would have a guaranteed way to keep Val with him. Not only that, but Vox hates secrets, especially ones kept from him specifically. He can manage with Velvette, because he knows that she is just as strategic and untrusting as he himself could be.
Val however? Vox knows everything about Val. The moth demon doesn’t keep secrets from him. This is not just due to trust, either, but also because Vox made sure that he could have an eye on Val at all times. Whatever deal, hookup, or job offer Val made to some random sinner, Vox knew about.
The thought of Val even having one thing Vox didn’t know about was enough to send him into a near-sparking frenzy.
Val, despite everything, is Vox’s.
“Hey, you’re the one who wanted it in place anyway. I get that you couldn’t, or can’t fully trust us. But-”
“Stop right there, Vee,” Velvette holds up a hand, “you do realize that the little stunt you pulled was enough to make those saved funds and assets accessible, right?”
Vox feels the liquid in his half-formed veins freeze.
“What?”
“Yep. I went to place some funds in there yesterday, and to my surprise, I had the option to pull some of it out, instead of just putting shit in.”
The air in Vox’s lungs suddenly feels too heavy.
“Oh.”
“Mhm. But guess what, you idiot?”
Vox, despite his growing panic, looks at her questioningly.
“We’re still here, aren’t we?”
An inhale of surprise, and suddenly, his heart doesn’t sound so loud in his non-existent ears. Shocked, he looks up at her. Searching for an answer on why she would do such a thing.
“Yes,” he says slowly, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Gross, don’t look at me like that. It feels weird,” Vel complains, slamming a nearby pillow in his face.
“Ow!”
“Serves your right, cunt.”
“Bitch.”
“Cock sucker.” She snips back.
Vox ignores the hit to his already weakened masculinity.
“I will have you know that I do not touch that shit. Eating ass or pussy on the other hand-”
“Ew!” Velvette gags, “I don’t want to hear it!”
At that, Vox lets out the first genuine laugh in months. After a moment, Velvette laughs along with him.
oOo
Of course, things can’t be light forever. Not long after Velvette leaves, Vox can feel that dark fog start to cloud up his mind as he continues lying on the bed. Though not as black nor unsure as it typically is, it still leaves him struggling.
When Val comes, Vox lets the moth demon take him into his arms without complaint.
For a moment, the two lie in silence.
Finally,
“Val, why are you here?” Vox turns averts his gaze to the ceiling, not having it in him to look at the other.
“Babe?”
“Why are you here?” Vox asks again, “I know you’re mad at me. I get it. But why do you keep coming back?”
“Well, this is my room, for one.”
“Val.” The tone Vox uses is perhaps too sharp, and the media demon quickly backtracks, “I just… I don’t get it.”
There is a moment of silence, and for a second, Vox wonders if Val had just opted to ignore him when the other speaks up.
“I…” Val hesitates, like he does when he doesn’t quite know what to say, “yeah. I’m pretty fucking mad at you. I mean, how could I not be? You treat us like assets instead of partners for weeks, downplay the work both Velvette and I did to hype up your rally, tried to fucking kill us-”
Val’s arms are trembling, and that ugly feeling Vox cant quite name builds up in his chest. He doesn't even realize Val had stopped talking until the silence catches up to him.
“…Val?”
“…But,” Val breathes, “you also tried to kill yourself. And I don’t like that.”
The words are quiet. Vulnerable. Vox wants to turn his head to look at his business partner, but Val’s thin arms are strong enough to hold him in place.
Still, are Val’s arms usually this uncomfortable? The bony limbs dig uncomfortably into Vox’s sides, and he forces himself to breathe through the harsh truth Val revealed.
“Sometimes, I wish you just let it happen,” Vox admits quietly, “me dying had to be a better outcome than this.”
Val is quiet for a moment. His arms are still trembling, and Vox can hear the anxious flaps of his wings along with the distressed squeaks Val often tries to repress.
“You would have killed me and Vel too,” he says quietly.
A humorless huff escapes from Vox.
“Well, maybe without that part.”
Another distressed squeak, and the shaking intensifies. Vox so badly wants to look over at Val, to get an idea of what he’s thinking, but the other demon’s arms hold him steadily in place.
“You’re so sad these days, cariño,” Val mutters, “I don’t know what to do.”
And fuck, he sounds so fragile. Despite himself, Vox reaches up to hold one of Val’s hands. He distinctly notes how bony it is.
“I know, Val,” he sighs, “it’s just… ugh, fucking Alastor,” he feels himself choke at the prick’s name and quickly forces it down, “ and then… this. It’s just… fuck. It’s too much.”
All of it. The uselessness, the humiliation, the fact that Alastor was right about him-
“You were in love with him, weren’t you?”
The sentence has Vox gritting his teeth as the lump in his throat grows.
“Oh, amor,” Val pulls Vox in closer.
It’s only then that Vox realizes that his own body is trembling, and the tears he tries so hard to hold back come streaming down again as he does his best to silence his sobs.
For once, he’s glad Val has him facing away.
How long they stay like that, Vox doesn’t know. He hopes it’s not as long as it feels. Eventually, what is probably hours later, the fog in Vox’s brain feels lightened and his small cries fade into something a bit more dignified. Not by much, though.
Val’s grip had loosened enough for Vox to finally sit up, and he uses the back of his wrist to wipe away the rest of his tears. Only after his face is dry enough, does he realize that Val’s arms are still resting against his body. Turning up his brightness ever so slightly, he looks over to see that Val has since fallen asleep.
Despite himself, Vox can’t help but take a digital picture with his screen. It’s astounding how Val can be such a natural disaster when awake, but still so peaceful as he sleeps.
It’s kind of adorable, really. It seems Val has even gotten a little slimmer, showing off that perfect-
Vox’s eyes can finally process the demon in front of him. In the light of his screen, Vox can see the shadows of protruding ribs, hipbones, and collarbones.
“Oh,” Vox whispers.
Eyes layered with dark circles flutter open.
“Mm, Vox?”
Instantly, Vox turns down his brightness.
“Hey, baby,” the old term of endearment seems to relieve some of the confusion in those big red eyes.
“Come back to bed,” Val whines quietly, antenna twitching with an agitated squeak.
Vox quietly shushes him, before settling close against Val, adjusting the other demon so that they’re chest to chest. Deep down, Vox ignores how he can see every outline of the bone across Val’s sternum.
Despite his exhaustion, Val smiles before resting his head on the bottom of Vox’s monitor. The position and using Vox’s head as a partial pillow cannot be comfortable, and Vox gently tries to adjust their position, only to get an annoyed grunt in response.
Even after everything, Vox can’t help but chuckle fondly.
“Brat,” he mutters.
Val only hums in response.
“Your brat,” he slurs.
At that, Vox chuckles with genuine fondness.
“Yeah,” he agrees, playing with Val’s healthy antenna like he had so many times before, “mine.”
“Good,” Val’s breaths start to even out once again, “cuz like it or not, you’re stuck with me… dumbass.” The last part is whispered, and Val fully goes limp against his business partner.
And for the first time in Satan-knows-how-long, Vox believes him.