Chapter Text
It’s Heaven. Well, no. It’s Hell. But to Angel, it’s Heaven. He has five full years to work at Mimzy’s club. To sing what he wants to sing and do it all fully clothed. He’s not used to the freedom so it did take him a while to adjust especially since he had fully moved into his dressing room at this point.
He also had to start getting used to Alastor. Someone who, for some reason, loved being around Angel. He would stay after sets to talk to the spider and buy him a drink or ask if he wanted to go out for breakfast. And he was never late for the show. Even the times Angel thought he wouldn’t show, he would go on stage only to find the Radio Demon sitting at the piano, smiling at Angel. He got used to seeing that smile everywhere.
And he got used to performing with Alastor. He paid less and less attention to how nervous he was around the other demon and more attention to how the music made him feel. Alastor started dancing with him more on stage and the audience seemed to love those sets the most.
“It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to, cry if I want to, cry if I want to. You would cry too if it happened to you.” Angel sings, his voice a notch or two higher than usual to make sure the song sounds like the artist intended. Alastor looks up at Angel, rarely ever looking at his own hands flying across the piano. Not that it makes any difference, the sound is just as captivating as always.
“Why was he holding her hand?” Angel floats over to the piano and hops on top of it, being careful not to mess up the sound in any way. “When he’s supposed to be mine.”
Angel and Alastor sing together often. Not just duets, but regular songs too that end up sounding heavenly when their voices are mixed. So with one look from Angel, Alastor leans into the mic positioned on the piano and sings along with him. “It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to, cry if I want to, cry if I want. You would cry too if it happened to you.”
Neither demon looked up from the other’s eyes so neither of them saw the boxy-headed silhouette in the audience that seemed to disappear in a flash of blue sparks. But even if they had, they wouldn’t have cared. Angel’s mind is on Alastor and Alastor’s on Angel. Not that either of them will admit that to the other.
Yes, they kissed. And yes, Alastor called Angel every term of endearment under the sun. But, Angel has the #1 place in self-esteem issues and Alastor has zero idea how to initiate a relationship. So they are, what Mimzy loves to call, a situationship.
As Angel and Alastor exit the stage, Mimzy comes over to them, beaming. “That was your best performance yet, I think!” She gushes, pulling Angel into a hug. She loves hugs and Angel is more than happy to provide. Alastor stands off to the side, not so discreetly staring at Angel. “But, I do have a few notes.”
“Oh no, that’s neva good.” Angel jokes, pulling away from Mimzy. He stands next to Alastor, resting his head on the other’s shoulder.
“It is good, just a note or two. See, people are getting a little tired of the old love songs shtick. Would you be okay with switching it up?”
Alastor looks over at Angel who’s staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. “What do you think, mon ange?” He asks quietly.
“Well, I don’t know much about newer songs. I only ever listen to songs from before I bit it.” Angel hums. “But, I could look some up.”
“Amazing!” Mimzy practically zooms off to go talk to Rowen who gives the other two demons a small wave before following Mimzy to a side room.
“You wanna help with research?” Angel asks, lifting his head off Alastor’s shoulder. The other nods and Angel leads him to his dressing room. The first time Angel asked Alastor to hang out with him off the stage he thought he was going to explode. He was so jittery with nerves that he didn’t even notice Fat Nuggets zooming around the floor until he tripped over him. The apologizing in baby talk sort of broke the tension after that.
After that, Angel was much more comfortable asking Alastor to join him in his dressing room. Angel pushed the door open and Alastor closed it quickly behind him, just in time for Fat Nuggets to sprint at the door. They pawed at it, glancing up at Alastor with begging eyes. “No,” Alastor mumbles, picking the pig up. “Your daddy would be furious at me if I let you wander away.”
Angel pretends not to notice how sweet the other is with his pet but he takes note of it every time. Angel sits at his vanity, taking out his hellphone and scrolling through the music app on there. He finds a playlist dedicated to the last decade of music on Earth and clicks on the first one he sees. “The president has a sex tape. The governm-“ Angel cuts it off, laughing.
“Not that one.” He says, scrolling.
Alastor sits cross-legged on the floor, letting go of Fat Nuggets who sprints off like they’ve been wound up. Alastor’s red eyes watch the pig scamper around the room. Usually, someone staring at his pig like that would send Angel into a spiral but with Alastor, he doesn’t even blink. “Okay, how about this one?” He clicks on another song, turning up the volume.
“SON OF A BITCH! GOD LIKES ME! I AM THE BE-“ Angel cuts that one off as soon as he sees Alastor’s ears twitch down. He lowers the volume a bit and finds another song. “Loves more religion but he was my faith, something so sacred so hard to replace. Falling for him was like falling from grace.” Angel hums his approval and moves it to a folder labeled ‘belt it bitch’.
They spend the next forty minutes looking through songs, including one called ‘CPR’ which had both demons blushing violently within the first few seconds of the song. Angel put that one into a folder labeled ‘DO NOT TOUCH’. Eventually, Alastor stood up, bid Angel a goodnight, and walked outside, closing the door behind him.
Angel sighs, putting his phone on the vanity and looking over at his pig, still chasing something invisible. It took a minute of watching for Angel to realize that it wasn’t something invisible, but Fat Nuggets was playing with Alastor’s shadow. Angel watches in fascination as the shadow darts around the room, always landing somewhere easily accessible for the pig only to go tearing off as soon as he gets close. Something about it made Angel’s heart warm and he smiled to himself, feeling content and happy for the first time in a long time.
Angel should consider it a miracle, honestly. A miracle that it lasted this long. He’s so used to having something good for maybe a few days before having it violently ripped away from him just as he starts to get used to it. That’s how he died, after all. The high was so worth the crash that he kept crawling back for more, no matter how many times it almost killed him. And the one time it did.
Angel stands in Mimzy’s office, bouncing anxiously on his heels. She had asked him to come in a little over an hour ago, saying he had a complaint. Usually, he didn’t mind complaints being filed about him, he found most of them entertaining actually, but this time it just made his heart drop. Ever since he got used to performing here, he wants nothing more than to make Mimzy proud. He doesn’t want her to realize how big of a mistake it was taking him in.
As he paces around the room, his head filling with self-deprecating thoughts, he doesn’t notice the door opening. Hands are suddenly on his shoulders and he involuntarily flinches before forcing himself to relax. He had to remember where he was, and who he was with. He’s safe, he’s happy, he’s okay.
He’s an idiot.
He turns around and comes face to face with none other than Valentino’s idiot box boyfriend. Angel’s eyes widen, feeling fear in his veins. Vox is smiling down at him, a cruel imitation of the smile Angel loves so much on a different face. The air around him buzzes with electricity. Angel forces himself not to shiver. During his time on Earth, conversion therapy was all the rage. And he just so happened to live under a father who preferred the idea of a brain-dead son to a gay one. Needless to say, electricity and Angel don’t mix well.
Fight or flight is talked about constantly. What isn’t talked about is the third option. Freeze. That seems to be the one Angel’s body favors when it comes to the Vee’s. His muscles lock up and he feels his breath stop in his throat.
“Angel,” Vox says, his voice something along the lines of a purr and a growl. “So nice to see you here.”
“Vox.” Angel manages to choke out.
“I see you’re enjoying your new… gig.” He says the last word with distaste, like Mimzy’s club has personally offended him.
Angel nods, his movements slow. He feels like he’s moving and thinking in slow motion.
“I’m so glad!” The way his voice sounds, Angel isn’t so sure he believes him. “However, you need to leave now. Go on, go pack your things.”
That snaps Angel out of his trance real quick. “What?! What are you talking about?”
“Well you see, Val was okay with letting you stay here and sing your stupid little songs. At first. But now that the Radio Demon has entered the scene, he’s iffy about it. Especially after seeing you two cozied up together.”
Angel flinches at the intense glitch in Vox’s voice. He forces himself to swallow, speaking with much more confidence than he’s actually feeling. “He helps me with my songs, that’s all.”
“Oh, that’s all?” Vox’s screen blacks out for a minute before lighting up again. His normal face is gone, replaced by a room Angel is very familiar with. It’s the stage he performs on. Except he’s seeing it from the audience’s point of view. He watches himself sing, dancing over to sit on the piano. He watches himself lock eyes with Alastor and watches his own eyes fill with love and fondness. Vox’s screen flickers back to his normal face, his smile wide and eyes alight with a sadistic kind of happiness. “That didn’t look like ‘just helping’.”
“I…” Angel tries to find a lie but he falls short, staring blankly at the middle of Vox’s screen, his own face burned into his memory. He looked so happy. So at peace.
“Now Angel,” Vox’s claws tighten on Angel’s shoulder, cutting into the fur. “We’re going back to the tower. No need to clean out your room here, you won’t be needing any of that.”
Angel doesn’t answer. He isn’t sure he even blinks. He can barely think. It isn’t until Vox’s claws actually break skin that he cries out, knees buckling. He falls to the floor, all four hands bracing himself before his face gets far too acquainted with the ground. “Goddamn whores.” He hears Vox mutter before something hits him sharply on the back of his head, fully knocking him out.