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Vox smelt of burnt, crispy paper.
It was the first thing Alastor had noticed when he had nestled his furry head into his shoulder, breathing him in on instinct. The scent was nice; not exactly pleasant, but familiar. He closed his eyes and hummed happily. As a demon who never let his guard down under any circumstances, who usually ensured he must always be at least twenty steps ahead, finally being able to relax was as though an enormous tension had been wrung out of his body. A small part of it made him feel nostalgic for a time where hugs felt normal, and not something that made him feel trapped.
His arms were curled around Vox’s back, and Vox’s arms were around his. His entire body was leaning against his shoulder as Vox held them up. Vox’s blue screen on his boxy head, with a glowy “blush” that ran across his face, was emitting a nice bask of warmth on Alastor’s cheek. Their breaths smelt of whisky and Vox’s eyes were closed joyfully.
For a moment, they simply enjoyed their comfortable silence together. Even though Alastor loved talking, more than anything, it was sometimes nice to not always have to be ready; to not have to constantly think of the next smart, conniving remark. Especially now that his head had a warm, buzzing feeling, making his thoughts harder to reach.
Vox had never been the same as Alastor in that regard. He never had a fondness for calm silence.
“Alastor…” Vox hummed gently. His low voice vertebrated against their bodies and it made Alastor’s body shiver, his ears twitching slightly.
“Yes my dear fellow?” Alastor asked, his eyes still closed.
“You know you’re my best friend, right?”
Alastor smiled. Of course he knew; their friendship had lasted for several decades now. Far longer than Alastor had ever expected, and far longer than most people ever lasted with the likes of him. Not just anyone could call themselves the best friend of the scary, menacing Radio Demon. Being able to have a deep friendship with someone, no less a sinner in Hell of all places, made something warm unexpectedly bloom in Alastor’s chest. Their friendship was different, it was special, it was precious. It was his.
“Yes, yes I know dear. Why, I rarely ever have friendships that last this long! Most simply have ‘bitten the bullet’ before it ever ‘deepened’ further, ahahaha!” Alastor giggled softly, eyes still closed.
Vox chuckled. “Ha, you’re so drunk that your jokes aren’t even making sense anymore.”
There was another beat of silence where they stayed in the embrace. It was strange how easy it was to trust him. Alastor felt Vox’s hands rub his back, and it was a nice comforting gesture. Alastor welcomed it and nuzzled against his neck further.
That was when Alastor felt the first warning sign of something that was clearly, glaringly wrong.
Vox’s hands went from his back to his behind. Alastor stiffened, his eyes opening immediately and his ears flicking up in surprise.
“...Vincent, I would like to remind you to be careful of where you put your hands-”
Vox suddenly squeezed, and it was like every soft, sappy emotion Alastor may have been feeling in the past few minutes had evaporated in thin air almost immediately. Alastor barred his teeth in anger, violently shoved Vox away from him, and summoned his perfectly intact staff in hand.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Alastor shrieked. Vox, to Alastor’s bewilderment, started to laugh.
“What’s wrong? Aren’t we best friends?” Vox asked, a giant cruel smile on his face. His boxy head had transformed into the more modern flat screen head in mere seconds.
“Best friends don’t fondle each other you- you absolute cretin!” Alastor cried.
“Don’t be such a bluenose Alastor! What’s a little touching between friends?”
Alastor had never been so frustratingly angry in his entire life. His eyes started to glow and he had grown taller, his antlers stretching out of his head and his teeth grinding against each other.
How could he!
Alastor punched Vox and Vox had just narrowingly missed it, and they were now in a full on brawl. As they fought furiously, Vox with that stupid cackle still ringing in the space between them, Alastor was so angry that he ignored the mess of emotions swirling in his head.
How could Alastor have been so foolish?
After some struggle, Alastor finally pinned Vox to the ground, staring down at him with rage pouring out of his shiny, yellow teeth, still barred into a giant forced smile.
Vox smiled. Alastor’s eyes narrowed. His voice became distorted.
“I hate you Vox. Out of the thousands of humans and sinners I have killed; rapists, serial killers, wife beaters, slave owners; the most horrible of the horrid you can ever bet on meeting in your entire lifetime and beyond, I will never feel this burning hatred for anyone but you.”
Vox blinked at him, before he threw his head back and let out a long, harrowing laugh, and Alastor had never wanted to strangle him with his own hands more.
“Silly, little, Alastor.” Vox laughed. “Did you really think you could scare me?”
Alastor snarled. How dare he patronize him! Vox should be cowering in fear, yet he continued to laugh. Alastor held his staff in his hand, holding it high above his head with both arms.
“I hate you Vox! I hate you!”
Even now, his arms were shaking from the sheer wrath. Alastor’s eyes shone with unshed tears.
“Well then why don’t you kill me already? Get on with it then.” Vox said, a smirk playing on his nonexistent lips.
Alastor gripped the staff in his hands tightly.
“I was foolish to ever trust you. I will never make that mistake again.”
That was the last thing Alastor said before he slammed his staff straight into Vox’s tv head, shattering the screen and completely breaking it apart.
Alastor woke up with a gasp, sitting up straight and clutching his forehead with his hand. He clenched his eyes shut as he muttered “fuck…”, taking deep ragged breaths to calm his maddening heartbeat. He glanced at the still broken staff (badly stitched together with glowing green thread) that lay abandoned on the floor.
As he placed his hand against his chest, blood suddenly pooled onto his hand and he swore a second time, forcing himself off his bed to walk to his dresser. He conjured a bottle of alcohol- what specific type it was, Alastor wasn’t focused enough to think too deeply on it. He immediately poured himself a glass and started to drink. After a long sip he sighed. It wasn’t enough to distract from the irritating bouts of pain.
Alastor unbuttoned his shirt and looked at the scar on his chest. While it hadn’t reopened, he knew that the stupid green thread wasn’t exactly keeping it together either. He had probably thrashed in his bed during his… nightmare, and the movement had caused his wound to bleed a bit. Alastor grimaced as he used a paper towel in his drawer to wipe off the blood. He’d have to change into a different shirt now.
While the blood was cleaned up, he still felt the sense of everlasting holy pain that lingered in his chest, spreading over the rest of his body. He rummaged through a different drawer and took out his favorite pack of cigarettes and lighter. It was usually a last resort, something he only did in private to maintain his reputation. The Radio Demon shouldn't need to resort to such petty drugs just to cope with a little pain, not like the other lowly sinners of hell.
As he continued to smoke and drink, putting out the cig in an ash tray after placing down his glass, he rubbed his forehead and sighed.
Alastor hated having past regrets.