Chapter Text
Alastor stood before his mirror, adjusting his bow tie for the twelfth time, scowling at his reflection. No, still not right. Too tight? Too loose? Ugh. He yanked it off entirely and let it dangle in his fingers, sighing.
The rest of his outfit, at least, was an eye-catcher. Sinfully so. The kind of look that would make even the most celibate demon reconsider their life choices. Not that there were much of them in Hell, anyways. His usual attire had been replaced by something that barely qualified as formal—a deep burgundy vest, buttoned loosely to leave his collarbones and a teasing amount of the fur on his chest exposed, paired with high-waisted trousers that only reached the middle of his thighs and clung to his legs like a second skin. The tailcoat had been abandoned too, and he made sure to leave his tail out and exposed, because if Vox wanted to stare—and oh, Alastor knew that thing was his weakness—he was more than happy to provide him with something worth looking at.
A little bit scandalous for a dinner? Perhaps. But that was the point.
Alastor smirked at his reflection, striking a pose and angling himself in a way that would allow him to admire the way the fabric stretched just right over his thighs and ass. Yes. Perfect. Let him look. Let him notice. It was almost criminal how good he looked. Almost. But if anyone had enough sense of fashion to dress up sexily for a formal dinner meet-up, it was him.
Of course, this wasn’t just about looking good or about catching Vox’s eyes, though that was, of course, part of the plan. Vox always had an eye for quality, didn’t he? A man of taste, truly. So why he had settled for someone like Lucifer, of all people, was beyond him. The first time he learned about that relationship while stalking Vox was like a slap to the face. He couldn’t believe it, refused to believe it, up to a point where it became impossible to deny.
He had spent the better part of the afternoon gathering intel through eavesdropping via his shadow, bribing certain sinners, the occasional threat, you know, standard practice—before finally learning about that little dinner gathering tonight only hours ago. Vox was coming over to the hotel to meet up with Lucifer and Charlie to discuss ‘important matters. Alastor didn’t know the details, but he had a guess, and it made his skin crawl.
He had never been one for self-inflicted torture; he preferred it much more doing it to others, but this? This felt close. Like a set-up only waiting for disaster.
Alastor scoffed at the thought, then caught himself, smoothing down his clothes with an exhale. No, tonight would go differently. He would remind Vox where he truly belonged, what they had! Or—what they could have.
He straightened his posture, inhaling through his nose, and reached for the small box on his dresser. The cufflinks inside gleamed under the dim light as he opened it. They were custom-made and engraved with Vox’s brand logo. A gift so carefully chosen that it tiptoed the line between thoughtful and obsessive. Something tasteful and expensive — an utterly unnecessary gift for an utterly unavailable man.
Of course, Vox was rich, so he basically had everything, or at least had the means to get everything he wanted, so Alastor figured giving him something unique was the best way to go. Something that would make him think of him every time he wore them or looked at them. A calculated move, meant to linger in Vox’s mind long after tonight was over. Because if Alastor knew one thing, it was that Vox liked gifts. Whether it was giving or getting them. He liked them expensive, exclusive, and just a little sentimental—though he’d never admit the last part.
He snapped the box shut. Right. This was fine. He was doing fantastically.
Squaring his shoulders, he flicked his wrist, materializing a bottle of cologne and applying a generous spritz. He ensured that the scent—rich, warm, intoxicating—clung to his skin. If Vox, for some mysterious reason, refused to look at him, then at the very least, he’d be unable to ignore the way Alastor smelled.
“Yes, that’ll do nicely,” Alastor murmured, flashing his reflection another grin. “And now… for the opening act.”
He practiced gesturing, maybe taking Vox’s hand for a kiss as a greeting. “Ah, Vox, you’re looking positively radiant tonight! That suit—flawless, but of course, it pales compared to your pretty eyes.” He tilted his head. “No, too predictable. Hm. ‘Has anyone ever told you that your aura is positively electrifying?’”
He snorted. Clever, but perhaps too on the nose. He tried again, this time lowering his voice to something more deliberate. “‘I simply couldn’t arrive empty-handed, my darling. Consider this a token of my admiration. A little something to keep me on your mind… though I suspect I already am.’”
Oh, yes. That one had potential.
A glance at his pocket watch told him he was running out of time. He wanted to be early, of course. He planned to meet Vox in private before any of those other buffoons arrived. First impressions mattered, and although Charlie hadn’t invited him—well, oversight on her side, surely—he wasn’t about to miss this opportunity. Not when Lucifer would be there together with his Vox. As a couple.
His teeth ground together at the mere thought, but before he could spiral too far, a familiar scoff sounded from behind him.
“Y’know, you talk to yourself too much,” Husk drawled from the hallway, strolling past without a care in the world.
The cat demon—now free from any debt, any servitude—wasn’t the miserable, drunken mess he used to be. No, Husk had done the unthinkable: he had thrived. With his soul unshackled and his Overlord status reinstated, he now had money, power, and an utterly infuriating sense of smugness. Worst of all, he had the nerve to be happy. Actually happy. And with that came the right to look down at Alastor like that—like he was pathetic.
“You ain’t invited, y’know,” Husk reminded him, leaning against the doorframe with a grin that showed off his sharp incisors. His amusement was infuriating.
Alastor scowled at him in the mirror’s reflection. “I am aware, my fine feline friend.” He waved a hand dismissively. “But that hardly matters. It would be rude not to make an appearance. I’m simply being considerate.”
Husk snorted. “Considerate? Of who? You’re desperate; that’s what you are.”
Husk talking back to him was something that would never not throw him off. Their talks had grown meaner since Husk was no longer bound to entertain Alastor’s whims. He hated it.
“My failed invitation was a mere oversight, I’m sure. Charlie is ever so busy, and Vox—” He trailed off, his grin faltering for a fraction of a second before he recovered. “Vox is distracted. Caught up in his little… new relationship.” His tone dipped slightly, laced with something bitter.
Husk rolled his eyes. “Or maybe, and hear me out, he didn’t invite you because he doesn’t want you there .”
Alastor turned sharply on his heel, facing him. He refused to let Husk’s words get under his skin. “That’s absurd! We’re friends!”
“Uh-huh.” Husk’s deadpan expression said everything.
“Desperation has led to many a great love story! Consider the forbidden romance! The thrill of the chase!”
Husk snorted, unimpressed. “More like a tragic comedy in the making.”
It was at that moment that Niffty appeared, sweeping past them with an air of purpose. Unlike her former flurry of excitement, she now was composed, nothing to be found of her usual manic energy. Her dress was a little rumpled, her hair was in a messy updo, and there was a frown on her face.
“Niffty, my dear!” Alastor beamed. “Surely you understand. Love—ah, love!—is a game of persistence! One must pursue, must endure, must—”
“Must take a damn hint,” Niffty muttered, stopping in front of his room, settling beside Husk, throwing him a knowing glance. “Is this about Vox again?”
Husk nodded. Niffty sighed, shaking her head. She wasn’t as eager around him these days—she’d made new friends, found new interests. They’d grown apart, much to his dismay, but at least she still humored him now and then.
“You’re not bringing that, are you?” she asked, pointing at the small box still sitting on Alastor’s dresser.
Alastor scooped it up, protectively holding it close to his chest. “Of course I am! A token of my affections! Something to warm dear Vox’s heart and remind him why I’m the better choice.”
“You really think this is gonna work?” she asked, tilting her head. “Vox isn’t interested, Al. He’s got the big guy in charge wrapped around his pinky now. What should he do with you ?”
Alastor's ears pinned back, but he forced a laugh. “Oh, come now, dear, you underestimate the power of persistence!”
“You mean obsession?” Husk threw in, unprompted.
Alastor waved a hand, dismissing the jab. “Semantics!”
He had been his rival once, his equal. It was supposed to be them.
Niffty sighed, rubbing her temples. “Al, you need to let this go.”
“Oh, you sound just like Husker! Whatever happened to supporting a friend in his romantic pursuits?” He twirled his cane dramatically, ignoring their unimpressed stares. “You both act as if I’m some love-struck fool.”
“You are a love-struck fool,” Husk corrected.
Niffty crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Vox isn’t interested. He’s with Lucifer. And even if he weren’t, do you really think dressing like… that and throwing gifts at him is going to change his mind?”
“Seduction is an art, dear Niffty. And I happen to be a master of the craft.” He spun once, showing off how nice his ass looked in those tight pants with the exaggerated motion. “I simply have to remind him of what he’s missing.”
Husk groaned. “He’s not missing anything. He doesn’t want you, Al. Just admit it to yourself; it's hopeless!”
“It isn’t hopeless,” Alastor murmured, more to himself than anyone else. He tucked the box under his arm and flashed a dazzling grin at his so-called friends. “Well! No use standing around! I have a dinner to attend!”
“Wait,” Niffty said, refusing to move out of the way as he approached the door. “I thought you weren’t invited?”
Alastor scoffed, smoothing down his vest. “An insignificant detail! Who wouldn’t want my company at a fine dining affair? Besides, I was invited—just in spirit.”
Husk rolled his eyes. “No, you weren’t.”
Niffty’s gaze didn’t waver as she stared him down with a serious expression in her eye. “You shouldn’t go.”
Alastor tsked. “I should absolutely go. Who better than me to remind dear Vox of where he belongs?”
“Not with you,” Husk said, laughing at him. “What’s your plan, exactly? Crash the dinner, give Vox some useless trinket, bat some pretty eyes at him, and what—he just falls into your arms?”
Alastor twirled his cane. “Oh, ye of little faith!” He threw his arms out theatrically. “I have charm! I have persistence! I have a plan! ”
“You have delusion, ” Husk reminded him.
Niffty frowned. “Look, I don’t wanna be mean, but... this is kinda pathetic. He’s moved on. He doesn’t even hate you anymore, doesn't pay your old rivalry any attention these days, which is weird enough. You know the opposite of love isn't hate but indifference? If I might give some friendly advice, maybe you should just... let it go?”
Alastor stared at her for a moment. The thoughts of self-doubt in his head started getting louder with each second of their conversation, but he kept his expression pleasant. Of course, they didn’t understand. Of course, they didn’t see it. They weren’t there in those quiet moments in their past when Vox would let his mask slip, when his voice had softened only for him, when he had looked at him with that adoration in his gaze as if Alastor had hung the moon.
Vox could love him again; he was sure of it. He had to! He just needed some help realizing that.
And if Lucifer thought he could keep what belonged to him? Well. Alastor had never been one to walk away from a challenge, and he'd make him see how wrong he was. There was no way he would give up his most prized possession without a fight. Besides, what had Lucifer to offer that he didn’t also have?
“Well! No time for doubts! The dinner awaits, and so does my beloved!” He adjusted his sleeves one last time before he sidestepped them and strode out of the door and into the hallway, making his way down to the lobby.
Husk and Niffty exchanged glances.
“Hey, don’t blame me. I tried to tell him to drop it,” Husk said, grinning at her. “But you know how he gets when it concerns that television guy. Completely delusional.”
Niffty sighed. “Yup. He is an absolutely hopeless case.”
~*~
Alastor stood at the bottom of the grand staircase, hands neatly clasped behind his back, grinning so widely it was a miracle his face didn’t split in half. He had spent the last ten minutes trying to achieve the perfect pose—one that would make it look like he just so happened to be there, effortlessly alluring, instead of, well, standing there like an absolute loser waiting for Vox to walk through the door.
He’d started with a casual lean against the railing, which lasted all of two seconds before he lost his balance and fell on his nose. No problem! He quickly scrambled to his feet and straightened up instead. No, now he was standing stiff as a board. Maybe if he tousled his hair just a little—nope, too messy. He hastily smoothed it back, only to somehow make it worse. Perfect. Just perfect.
He sighed, worrying about what to do when— oh! He had the gift! A perfect excuse to engage. He fished the velvet box from his pocket, cradling it in his palm like some rare, precious artifact, and ran through his lines again. “‘Here, my darling, take this token of my affections’—wait, no, too dramatic. ‘Vox, I saw this and thought of you’—yes! That’s the one! Simple. Elegant. Foolproof.”
The moment the door swung open and Vox stepped into the lobby, Alastor's heart jolted as he spotted the object of his affections. He looked absolutely radiant that night, impeccably dressed as always (though Alastor secretly wished he would wear less clothing). He strode in with that perfect posture that made his tits stand out even more (not that Alastor needed help noticing that), and that arrogant air that made him Vox. It made Alastor wish he’d bent him over this very staircase and rail him into the next century.
As perfect as he looked, his expression, however, was anything but warm. The moment he laid eyes on Alastor, his shoulders stiffened, and his face immediately fell into a deeply displeased scowl usually reserved for particularly egregious crimes, like pineapple on pizza.
Alastor, of course, took this as an excellent start.
With the smooth confidence of a man who absolutely should not have it, he practically glided forward, flashing his most charming—if slightly unsettling—smile. His exposed tail swished enticingly behind him, accentuating every exaggerated movement of his hips in a way he’d calculated for maximum effect.
“Vox! My dear, my darling, my delicious dessert, you look divine tonight!” he purred, putting as much affected warmth in his voice as possible. “I dare say the entire room dimmed the moment you walked in.”
Vox groaned so hard it was almost a growl. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He barely glanced at him before marching forward. “Alastor.”
Just his name as a greeting. Flat. Unimpressed. And yet so devastatingly hot.
Alastor was undeterred. He stepped directly into his path, throwing an arm out in a dramatic block. “Ah, but what’s the rush? Surely you have a moment to entertain an old friend?”
“We’re not friends.”
“Acquaintances, then.”
“No.”
“Rivals? Enemies to lovers?”
Vox sidestepped Alastor and kept walking. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Alastor tsked, falling into step beside him. “Such hostility! I merely wished to compliment you. A man as striking as you deserves to be admired.” He leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “Though, if I may be so bold, it’s almost a shame you put so much effort into dressing up when I’ll rip those clothes off of your perfect, sexy body the second we’re—”
“No.” Vox’s expression somehow managed to darken even further at the blunt attempt at flirting.
Alastor faltered mid-step. “No?”
“No. Whatever you’re about to do, say, or try— no.”
“Ah, playing hard to get! A classic move.” Alastor chuckled, still undeterred. “But surely you’re not opposed to a little innocent admiration?”
Vox clenched his jaw—or at least visibly tensed in a way that suggested that if he had a jaw, he’d be grinding his teeth into dust.
“I’m opposed to you,” he muttered.
“Oh, I only wished to personally welcome you! I thought it would be… intimate. ” His voice dipped into a suggestive purr as he reached out, fingers hovering just near Vox’s arm. “It’s been so long since we've—”
Vox sidestepped him again like he was avoiding dogshit on the sidewalk.
“—shared an evening together,” Alastor finished, recovering with an awkward little chuckle.
Vox’s glare sharpened. “This isn’t an evening together. It’s a dinner with my boyfriend and his daughter. Who, by the way, should be here any minute, so if you’re trying to pull your weird little thing on me—”
“Weird little thing? ” Alastor feigned offense, placing a hand over his chest. “Oh, Voxxy, you're breaking my heart! Can’t a gentleman simply express his admiration?”
Vox let out the most exhausted sigh Alastor had ever had the pleasure of receiving. “Admiration?” he repeated, voice laced with disbelief. “You call stalking and lusting after me like a fucking creep admiration? I hate you. And I have a boyfriend. So get lost.”
“Oh, Voxxy, you wound me! It’s not stalking; it’s merely… persistent appreciation.”
“That’s literally the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard,” Vox said flatly.
Alastor took the disgusted look on his love’s face as encouragement.
“I must say,” he continued smoothly, “I do appreciate a good chase, the thrill of the hunt. And what a thrill you are, dear Vox—so devastatingly handsome. Why, if I weren’t already dead, I’d swear you stopped my heart!”
Vox exhaled sharply and turned to the side, looking anywhere but at Alastor. His fingers tapped impatiently against his arm, like he was physically restraining himself from strangling the Radio Demon on the spot.
Alastor, entirely not reading the room, leaned in slightly, dropping his voice into something lower, almost sultry. “And if I may be so bold—”
“Don’t,” Vox warned, jerking away the moment Alastor’s fingers so much as grazed his sleeve.
“Come now, no need to be shy,” he purred. “I don’t bite. Well! Not unless you ask me to—”
“ Oh my fucking God. ”
Vox took an actual step back now, visibly exasperated. His screen flickered erratically with the unmistakable fury of someone who had run out of patience. “Do you ever shut up ?”
“I can, but only if you use that tongue to silence me.”
Vox inhaled sharply, fists clenching. His entire posture screamed that he was barely restraining himself from murder. He glanced toward the entrance, scanning for something— someone —like a drowning man searching for a lifeline.
Silence stretched between them, which, in Alastor’s mind, wasn’t awkward but an opportunity, and he took it as his cue.
“You know,” he began, sidling up far too close again because, to him, personal space was more of a suggestion than a rule, “I brought you a little something! A token of my affections, if you will—”
“I don’t want it.”
“But you haven’t even seen it!” Alastor gasped, clutching the neatly wrapped box in both hands, expectantly holding it out to Vox.
Vox leveled him with a stare, then the box, then flicked his gaze over Alastor’s extremely questionable excuse for an outfit before looking back at the box. “No.”
Alastor blinked. “No?”
“No.” Vox’s gaze darted impatiently toward the entrance again, the universal body language for I hope someone comes in and saves me from this awkward encounter. Probably waiting for Lucifer as his salvation.
Alastor’s smile twitched, but he quickly schooled it back into place. This was fine. Just a minor setback. He had plenty of time to win him over, especially since the devil himself had yet to make an appearance, so really, the night was still young!
He stepped closer, trying to place the gift in Vox’s hands. “It’s just a little something to complement your charming sense of fashion—”
“No.” Vox crossed his arms, effectively child-locking his hands out of reach. “I’m not taking it.”
“Oh, don’t be bashful!” Alastor cooed, attempting to pry one free, but Vox took a hasty step back, keeping his limbs firmly out of reach.
Alastor followed immediately. The box remained in perfect presentation position, as though he might just staple it to Vox’s chest if necessary.
Vox stepped back again.
Alastor remained persistent and tried again, pushing the box against Vox’s chest—only for Vox to slap it out of his hands, sending it skidding across the hotel floor. “I don’t want anything from you! Take a fucking hint!”
Alastor’s lip wobbled, as though Vox had just drop-kicked his heart across the lobby instead of a neatly wrapped package. “But… I went through all this trouble to get you something nice.” He turned up the best puppy-dog eyes a known eldritch entity could manage for maximum guilt-tripping effect.
“You didn’t have to.”
“But I wanted to.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“But you’re so important to me!”
Vox let out a slow, long-suffering sigh, like a man who had seen the depths of hell and found them preferable to this conversation.
Seizing the moment, Alastor sidled up again, resting a hand on Vox’s arm, his smile turning sly. “Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were shy. What’s the matter? Am I turning the TV on?” He waggled his eyebrows in what he hoped was a flirtatious manner.
A painful silence followed.
Vox closed his eyes as though mentally rebooting himself to deal with the sheer idiocy of what had just been said. “Stop. Please. I’m begging you.”
Alastor, determined to regain his footing, rolled his shoulders and grinned. “Ah, quite lovely, though I’d suggest we save the begging for the bedroom, don’t you think?”
Vox did not respond. Instead, he simply stared at him, wearing the lifeless expression of a man who had long since abandoned hope. His patience was clearly entering a critical condition. Where the fuck was Lucifer?
Alastor didn’t like being ignored, so, because he was nothing if not ambitious, he placed a hand on Vox’s chest, shamelessly groping his tit.
Vox immediately smacked it away. “No!” he snapped, more forceful this time. “Personal space. Do you know what that is?”
Alastor tilted his head, considering. “Vaguely.”
Vox turned to the entrance, glaring at the door like he could will Lucifer into existence. He checked his watch. Then checked the door again. “Where the fuck is my boyfriend? What’s taking him so long?” he muttered.
Alastor grit his teeth. Absolutely not. He refused to let his Vox be distracted by that bastard—time for one last attempt.
With all the dramatic flair of a man with absolutely no dignity left, he extended a hand and purred, “At the very least, won’t you let me escort you to the dinner?”
Vox stared at the offered hand. Then at Alastor. Then, back at the hand, as if debating whether to set it on fire or just cut out the middleman and punch him in the throat.
He went with option three. He smacked it away. “No.”
Before Alastor could protest (or dramatically lament how ungrateful Vox was being), the door swung open, and a voice that could have only belonged to one insufferable bastard rang out: “Vee, darling! Sorry I’m late~”
Vox’s entire body language shifted in real time, the tension melting from his shoulders like butter on a hot pan. He turned toward the voice, and the look of relief that crossed his screen was so visceral it almost made Alastor recoil.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Vox exhaled, and his expression immediately softened as he saw his actual partner enter.
Alastor could do nothing but watch, frozen in place, as Vox's entire demeanor transformed at the mere sight of Lucifer. That flat, deadpan disinterest he had been throwing at him all night? Gone. Instead, his face lit up with something genuine, and even the brightness of his screen increased as he strode toward Lucifer like some lovesick fool drawn in by an invisible force.
It was sickening.
Lucifer, effortlessly composed and all too aware of his own charm, met Vox’s approach with an easy smirk. He reached out, his arm slipping around Vox’s waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world, pulling him in as if he wanted to assert his claim. And Vox? He didn’t just allow it—he leaned into it, pressing a hand to Lucifer’s chest with a familiarity that made Alastor’s stomach churn.
Alastor barely registered how tightly he was clutching the small box he’d picked up from the floor, the edges digging into his palm. His gift. His thoughtful, custom-ordered, romantic-as-hell gift. Now, suddenly, it felt embarrassingly small—a pathetic little gesture, one that paled in comparison to whatever grand, luxurious displays of affection Lucifer had no doubt showered upon Vox with all the money he was undoubtedly making now by getting heavily involved in Hell's politics.
Lucifer, the absolute bastard, tilted his head, voice dipping into something smooth and easy. “Ah, there you are,” he murmured, like Vox was the only person in the room. “I was beginning to think you’d start the evening without me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, babe,” Vox responded smoothly, and— oh. Oh, that one hurt. The sheer fondness for someone else in his tone made Alastor’s ears ring.
Babe. Alastor had never been called that. Not even once.
And because the universe was a cruel and petty thing, Lucifer finally deigned to acknowledge Alastor’s existence—but only after he was done all but licking Vox’s screen in some obnoxiously unnecessary display of sloppily making out with him to show that he could. He glanced over with the kind of mild amusement one might offer an insect they weren’t sure was worth stepping on.
“Alastor,” he greeted. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” His smile was a touch too self-satisfying for that to be the case.
Alastor forced his grin wider, every instinct screaming at him not to back down. “Oh, you know me, my dear! Always where the action is.”
Lucifer hummed, in that condescending I don’t believe you, and I don’t care way of his, before turning his attention back to Vox, reaching up to brush a thumb along the edge of his screen as if to show him off more. A simple, absentminded gesture, yet it still made something unpleasant crawl under Alastor’s skin.
“Shall we?” Lucifer prompted, offering his arm.
And—of course—now Vox took it without hesitation. No deliberation, no second thoughts. Just immediate, easy acceptance, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And then they were gone. They disappeared into the grand dining hall, but their laughter lingered in the air like the final nail in Alastor’s coffin, even after they shut the door.
He stood there, frozen, still clutching the box like a complete and utter fool.
~*~
After his first failed attempt at inserting himself into Vox’s evening plans, Alastor debated whether it was worth the effort to keep pushing. Vox, infuriatingly, seemed entirely immune to his charms tonight. Then again, that just made things more interesting, didn’t it? The logical thing to do would be to take the hint and let the man have his boring little meeting, date, or whatever this was in peace. But then again, Alastor had never been particularly fond of giving up a challenge. Or keeping the peace, for that matter. And really, the moment he realized Vox had assumed he wouldn’t be crashing their little soirée, well—Alastor simply had no choice but to do exactly that.
With a grin sharper than the knives on the table, Alastor threw open the dining room doors, stepping into the warm glow of flickering candlelight. The long table, adorned with fine china and expensive wine, clearly felt a little too romantic for simple business negotiations. So this must be something else then, after all.
How sweet. Not exactly the kind of atmosphere Alastor preferred dining in, but for Vox, he would make an exception. Especially when Vox made the grave mistake of assuming he would not join.
“Oh, what a cozy little gathering!” he trilled, his voice slicing through their current conversation as he strolled in uninvited. “Imagine my surprise when I realized my invitation must have gotten lost in the mail! But worry not—I’m ever so forgiving.”
Vox stiffened mid-sip of his wine, his grip tightening around the stem like it was the only thing keeping him from launching the glass at Alastor’s head. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Why, dining with friends, of course!” Alastor’s grin widened as he glided to an empty chair—coincidentally, right beside Vox—and took a seat without waiting for permission. He angled himself just a touch closer than strictly necessary, close enough that their arms nearly touched. “And what a lovely night for it, don’t you think?”
Charlie groaned, rubbing her temples. “Does he have to be here? Dad, can you do something about this?”
Lucifer swirled his wine glass lazily and smirked. “Oh, I think I’d rather see where this goes,” he murmured, amusement dancing in his eyes.
Vox exhaled sharply, setting his wine down with more force than was strictly necessary. “You are not my friend,” he hissed to Alastor.
Alastor merely chuckled while promptly stealing Vox’s plate right from under his nose and cutting into the steak like it had been served specifically for him. “Oh, don’t be like that, dearest. I was hoping to steal you away for a private chat later. You know, a little one-on-one time?” He hummed, taking a bite and savoring it, all while watching Vox out of the corner of his eye.
Vox, narrowing his eyes at his stolen food, leaned in just enough to lower his voice to a near-growl. “I would rather die.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, darling!” Alastor laughed, swallowing the bite of steak along with the rejection. He had to actively ignore the tiny sting in his chest at the venom in Vox’s tone.
Vox, to his credit, did not immediately stab him. He did, however, grip his knife like he was contemplating it. “You are making me regret coming here,” he muttered.
Alastor gasped, clutching his chest as if mortally wounded. “Oh, Vox, please. I merely wish to provide good company!”
“You are not good company.”
“Ah, but that’s subjective,” Alastor countered, cutting another delicate piece of steak before lowering his voice just enough to be… suggestive. “And speaking of lovely company—my, my, don’t you look absolutely delicious tonight.” He let his fingers trail along the tablecloth beside Vox’s hand first, just a ghost of a touch. “Almost as if you dressed up just for me.”
He brought the fork to his lips, letting his tongue play with the piece of meat, suggestively licking it while making direct eye contact with Vox, pointedly ignoring Charlie’s snort from across the table. Alastor didn’t let himself be disturbed. Instead, he let his fingers trail along Vox’s hand now, lightly caressing him. “As much as I enjoy some good meat, I think I’d rather eat something else tonight—”
Vox did not take the bait. He turned his gaze away, withdrew his hand from under Alastor’s offending one, before picking up his fork and slamming it down hard, right into the back of Alastor’s wandering hand.
Charlie and Lucifer both looked up from their drinks as Alastor bit back a yelp, his fingers twitching around the metal now embedded in them. Slowly, carefully, he withdrew the fork, smoothing down his sleeve like nothing had happened.
Vox, meanwhile, returned to his wine, utterly indifferent. Ah. So that was how they were playing tonight, was it?
~*~
Despite their initial complaints, Alastor had managed to worm his way into the dinner, because of course he had. Now, he was conveniently seated next to Vox, practically pressed against him, the picture of ease and grace despite the sheer loathing radiating off from next to him. Vox, by contrast, looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. His shoulders were rigid, his screen dimmed, and he was nursing his glass of wine like it was the only thing keeping him sane.
More importantly, he was staring—fixated, actually—at Lucifer. Which, really, was just insulting.
Lucifer, these days, was thriving. The King of Hell looked better than he had in centuries, lounging in his chair like he owned the place—which, well, he did—swirling his wine like he didn’t have a care in the world, looking every bit the ruler he was always meant to be. Gone were the days of melancholy, depression and disinterest; now, he was the kind of ruler who didn’t just take shit from no one—he erased you from existence for trying. He had his kingdom in check now, all the Overlords in line, and he exuded the kind of raw authority that made it clear he was not to be questioned.
Next to him, Charlie was halfway through a glass of wine that looked far too expensive for how casually she was chugging it, stabbing her fork into her food like it had personally offended her. She hadn’t stopped bitching since they had resumed their prior conversation.
“Anyway, where was I? Oh, right,” she huffed, shaking her head in disgust. “I can’t believe some of the people trying to apply for redemption. Like, what kind of moron thinks they deserve a second chance when they haven’t even tried to change?”
That was the moment Vox cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat. A nervous tell. “Right. Which is why I—unlike, y’know, some demons —am actually making an effort here.” His voice had that practiced, casual edge, but something was off. “I’m already in the process of selling VoxTek, so I’m not exactly clinging to my old ways.”
The words had barely left his mouth before Alastor’s knife stopped dead against his steak. For a second, all he could do was stare, wondering if he’d heard that right.
Lucifer nodded approvingly, looking so damn pleased that there was no mistaking his involvement in this little life-altering decision. “It’s a smart move for you to make, baby.” His voice carried the kind of pride that made it clear he had been orchestrating this from the start.
Vox nodded stiffly, clearly still grappling with whatever fresh delusion had taken root in his circuits. “I’ve put everything in motion. The sale is nearly finalized. I just have to tie up a few loose ends.”
Charlie shot him a look like she was still debating whether he was worth the effort. “We’ll see.”
Alastor barely heard her. His mind was still stuck on selling VoxTek. On redemption. On leaving Hell—leaving him—for Heaven.
What. The. Hell. What was going on? Was this—was this what this dinner was about? He thought this was meant to be a date, but this turned out to be so much worse than their stupid little romance.
Alastor’s fingers curled tightly around his fork as the unpleasant tension coiled in his gut. The voices of the others got drowned out as his mind raced, scrambling to make sense of something that simply shouldn’t be.
This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.
His mind short-circuited for a moment, and, in the absence of rational thought, all he could do was stare, wide-eyed, at the man beside him. He had spent years antagonizing Vox. Fighting him. Playing with him. They used to be friends; now they were rivals, opposites, two sides of the same bloody, ruthless coin. The one constant thorn in his side that made his life down here more thrilling.
He had always assumed—no, known —that, one day, Vox would come around, and they would end up happy together.
And now? Now he was choosing this?
Something bitter and ugly curled at the edges of Alastor’s grin, something he had to swallow down quickly before it could crawl out of his throat. Instead, he lifted his glass with a laugh, the sound easy, warm, practiced.
“Ah, but surely that isn’t necessary, dear!” he cooed, tilting his head just so. “Giving up your empire? Your power? You? All that hard work you’ve put in? Doesn’t it just seem like such a waste ?” His voice was sweet as honey, but the words dripped like poison.
And, for the first time that night, Vox actually looked at him, though it wasn’t kind, more like saying shut up in at least five different languages. “It’s not a waste. It’s progress. ”
“Progress?” Alastor echoed, shifting his chair just slightly closer. “One might argue it’s the opposite! You’ve always been so ambitious, my dear—so delightfully cutthroat—why the sudden change of heart?” His knee brushed against Vox’s beneath the table. “You, of all people, want redemption ?”
Vox immediately jerked his leg away, because of course he did. “Not that it’s any of your business, but—”
“Oh, but it is !” Alastor interjected, undeterred, his grin saccharine-sweet. “My heart is your heart, darling! And I simply can’t bear the thought of you flitting off to Heaven, leaving poor little me behind!”
He shifted again, this time under the pretense of getting comfortable, which was Alastor-speak for violating every boundary Vox had ever tried to set. His knee pressed against Vox’s again, and this time, he held it there.
Vox’s grip on his glass tightened. Then, without a word, he scooted an inch to the left. Alastor followed.
Vox exhaled slowly, visibly reining himself in, and yanked his chair farther away, this time with a screech against the floor loud enough to make Charlie groan.
“Ugh, can we not make this dinner about whatever this is?” She shot Alastor a glare. “You weren’t even invited, so shut up.”
“And yet, here I am!” Alastor beamed, unrepentant. “A testament to my dedication.”
Lucifer snorted into his wine. “Dedication? Is that what we’re calling it?”
Alastor ignored him in favor of returning his full attention to Vox, whose own glass looked more and more like it was about to shatter under his grip. “Come now, darling,” he purred. “I simply cannot imagine you in Heaven. What a dreadfully dull place for a man like you.” He feigned a sigh, placing a hand on his chest. “Why, whatever will I do without you?”
Vox said nothing, refusing to look at him. Instead, he focused intently on his wine as if it held the secrets of the universe.
Alastor pressed on.
“Besides,” he purred, letting his voice dip into something more indulgent, “what’s a radio without a television? A sound without a screen?” He leaned in ever so slightly, his breath ghosting against Vox’s casing. “You complete me, darling. Surely, you must feel the same?”
Vox inhaled slowly, closing his eyes briefly, about to speak, as if he might actually—
“No!”
Charlie snorted into her wine, shaking her head like she actually pitied him. Lucifer, on the other hand, outright laughed at him, completely unthreatened by his attempts to seduce his boyfriend.
Vox took a slow sip of his wine, not even sparing Alastor another glance. “I don’t need this. I don’t need you.” He set the glass down with a faint clink as if underlining the finality of that statement. “I have a future now, Alastor. One that doesn’t involve Hell. Or you .”
Alastor’s fingers twitched against the tablecloth.
Lucifer leaned forward, his eyes bright with amusement. “He’s got a point, Alastor. I’m sure you’ll find another poor soul to obsess over.”
Alastor’s smile sharpened. “Jealous, are we?”
Lucifer laughed, irritatingly unbothered. “Not in the slightest.”
Charlie groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “For fuck’s sake—can we get back to the actual topic?!” She jabbed her fork in Vox’s direction. “Look, if you’re serious about this, there’s still a process. We’re only considering certain sinners for redemption.”
Vox nodded. “I know. I’m prepared to meet the requirements.”
Alastor hated this. Hated how Vox’s focus immediately shifted away from him, how he stopped reacting to his presence entirely as if he wasn’t even in the room. But mostly, he hated the way Vox’s gaze softened when he looked at Lucifer, like he actually gave a shit about what he had to say. Oh, that just wouldn’t do at all.
So, with the graceful clumsiness of a man with very bad intentions, Alastor tipped Vox’s wine glass from where he had placed it on the table, splashing the crimson liquid straight onto his lap.
Vox jerked back with a startled curse, looking down as the expensive wine seeped into his pants.
“ Oops! ” Alastor gasped, hand flying to his mouth in mock offense. “My dearest apologies, old friend! I’m just so terribly clumsy today! Here, let me—”
Before Vox could so much as blink, Alastor was already reaching for a napkin, dabbing at the mess. Or, at least, that was the pretense. Because, instead of actually being helpful, his hand drifted lower, until it pressed a little too firmly against a place it absolutely did not belong. With a little too much enthusiasm, Alastor’s fingers clumsily groped at Vox’s cock through his pants.
Next thing, Alastor yelped, jerking his hand away with a gasp as a violent shock ripped through him like a lightning bolt, clutching his fingers as the residual sparks crackled along them.
Vox, utterly seething, sat ramrod straight in his chair, his fingers twitching with more sparks like he was genuinely debating whether or not frying Alastor into a crisp would be worth the cleanup.
Alastor, still shaking out his hand as though that would magically erase the pain, let out a breathless, wheezing laugh. “Oh my!” he gasped, still flexing his fingers. “What a shocking experience you are, my dear.”
“Touch me again, and I’ll electrocute you until your soul burns out of your body,” Vox hissed, and his voice was slightly distorted from his fury.
Alastor merely grinned, tilting his head. “Oh, darling! If you wanted to get a little rough, you only had to ask!”
~*~
Alastor had kept himself in the background after that little stunt, not eager to draw more of Vox’s anger for now. The conversation had shifted back to Charlie’s newly reformed redemption program—the steps Vox had to take, the strict selectiveness of who could be admitted. It wouldn’t do to help just any wayward soul, Charlie had claimed. There had to be structure. Profitability. A return on investment.
Alastor hated every second of it. He was not about to let Vox enter any redemption program. Not willingly, at least. If Vox succeeded, he would be out of Alastor’s reach forever, and that was something the Radio Demon couldn’t accept.
“This whole redemption business—are you truly certain it’s the right path for you?” He tried again after a while when he got utterly frustrated with how this talk had been going so far.
Vox stiffened when reminded about his presence. “Yes.”
Alastor hummed. “I only ask because it seems such a waste of talent! You, an Overlord of such power, a genius of industry, throwing it all away just to—what?—join the goody-goody brigade upstairs?” He tried putting some reason back into Vox’s brain.
Charlie scoffed, not even looking up from her food. “You don’t get to have an opinion on this.”
“Oh, but I do! ” Alastor pressed a hand to his chest, deeply affronted. “After all, I care for dear Vox, and I’d hate to see him make such a…” He twirled his fingers in the air. “ Regrettable decision.”
Vox’s screen flickered in irritation. “For the last time, it’s not your business, Alastor.”
Alastor shook his head vehemently. “Not my business? Not my business?! Darling, of course it’s my business! I simply can’t imagine a world without you in it—”
“That’s literally the whole point,” Charlie muttered, rolling her eyes. “To leave Hell.”
Alastor’s grin widened, almost straining, but something in his voice softened, just a touch. “But don’t you see? If you go upstairs, then—” His fingers twitched against the tablecloth. “—you’ll be gone.”
It was a quiet admission, as if the reality of it was only just settling in.
Vox didn’t answer immediately. His gaze flickered toward Lucifer, who had been silent thus far, watching the conversation unfold with an amused little smirk.
Noticing the glance, Lucifer finally spoke. “Well, that is the point, isn’t it? To leave behind the sins of the past. To move forward.” He cast Alastor a sideways glance, his smirk widening. “But don’t you worry, baby, I’ll be able to visit you whenever I want. I am allowed in Heaven, after all.”
Alastor’s grin froze.
Vox, however, smiled, looking relieved. That strange warmth returned to his eyes, the one he had been giving Lucifer all evening, the one that made Alastor want to flip the damn table over.
Then he turned back to Charlie, who was still staring at him with a look that could mean literally anything, and exhaled sharply. “Look, I’m already selling VoxTek. I’ve been making changes.” He leaned forward, locking eyes with her. “So… does that mean I get a chance?”
Charlie let out a bark of laughter. “You think it’s that easy?”
Vox frowned. “I’ve done everything you asked—”
“You haven’t done anything yet,” Charlie shot back. “You’re trying. Which is cute and all, but that doesn’t mean you’re in.” She propped her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her palm. “Redemption isn’t just about selling off your evil corporation, dumbass. You think we’re just gonna stamp a ticket and fly you outta here?”
Lucifer chuckled at his boyfriend’s defeated look. “It’s a process, Vox,” he said, trying to sound encouraging.
Vox looked down at his fingers clutching his fork. Then, with renewed determination, he lifted his screen. “Then tell me what I need to do.”
Charlie gave him a look as if he had just asked the dumbest question in the history of dumb questions. “Uh… be good?”
Alastor, who had remained suspiciously silent, suddenly laughed loudly, clapping his hands together. “Ohhh, that’s never going to happen—”
“Shut up,” Vox snapped, finally turning toward him.
Alastor thrived on having his attention back. His grin widened, his voice dipping into a knowing purr. “Oh? Did I touch a nerve?”
Vox scowled.
Lucifer, meanwhile, was clearly entertained, watching like a king amused by his underlings. “Charlie’s right, you know,” he added, lounging back in his chair. “You can’t just buy your way into Heaven, my love. You have to prove you’re worthy.” He tilted his head, considering. “But you’re on the right track, from what I’ve seen so far. Keep it up, and… well, you might be there sooner than you think.”
Alastor’s fingers curled against the tablecloth. He hated this. He hated the very idea of it—of Vox leaving Hell, leaving him. Of Vox being untouchable, belonging to someone else. Of him becoming untouchable, belonging to someone else. He had never thought that Vox selling his stupid little corporation would ever be his problem, causing him so much dismay.
But here they were.
~*~
They continued discussing Vox’s application for the redemption program. Alastor had long since stopped listening—mostly because if he had to hear the word redemption one more time, he might start foaming at the mouth—but then the dining room doors swung open again, saving him from that fate.
“Oh! Are we interrupting something?” A sweet voice rang through the room, followed by the unmistakable click of heels moving across the polished floor.
Angel Dust entered first—though, notably, he hadn’t been the one speaking. And—oh, wasn’t that interesting—he looked downright sweet tonight. Dressed modestly, even, which was a weird enough sight on its own. Entering with him, clinging possessively behind him, as if he were the delicate one in need of protection, was Valentino. Angel’s arms were wrapped around him, and the moth had one hand resting protectively on Angel’s lower back, while Angel beamed up at him like he had hung the moon.
Alastor tensed. If their presence alone wasn’t enough to sour his mood (and it was), the adoration in Valentino’s expression certainly did the trick. The sleazy, arrogant Overlord that Alastor once detested now looked—ugh, he hated even thinking it—wholesome. Genuinely happy. The arrogance that usually oozed from him had softened into something warmer, something grossly affectionate. His touch was gentle, and when Angel looked up at him again, eyes full of love and trust, Alastor nearly gagged.
It was nauseating.
“Ah, look who decided to grace us with their presence,” Lucifer drawled, his amusement palpable. “The happy couple.”
Angel giggled, clinging to Valentino like a lovestruck schoolgirl. “Sorry we’re late! We got a lil’ carried away checkin’ on the kids, y’know how it is.”
Charlie, who had spent most of the dinner looking like she was plotting her own escape, at least seemed mildly less grumpy at that. “You’re fine. You two have actually been doing real work.”
“Oh, stop, you’re makin’ me blush, honey!” Valentino crooned, squeezing Angel’s waist playfully.
They looked so genuinely in love that it made Alastor feel sick.
“Voxxy!” Angel beamed, plopping down beside Valentino (who, of course, had pulled out his chair for him like some kind of goddamn gentleman first). “You shoulda seen the lil’ ones today! They’re doin’ so good! We finally got enough supplies for a proper playroom! And one of ‘em—Carlos, oh my god—he’s startin’ to talk!”
“No kidding?” Vox actually smiled. Smiled at Angel, as if he was not only interested in the topic, but also genuinely happy for both of them. “That’s amazing, Angel. I’m really proud of what you two are doing.”
The warmth in his voice was genuine, and Alastor’s stomach twisted because he suddenly felt like running ten steps behind reality.
“Yeah,” Valentino added, absentmindedly rubbing gentle circles into Angel’s back. “Feels rewarding, y’know? Helping instead of just taking.”
Charlie gave an approving nod, swirling her wine. “You’re both some of my best candidates so far. Honestly, I didn’t think you, of all people, would be up for redemption, Val. I thought you were a hopeless cause. And now look at you, being my model student.”
Valentino laughed, and, insultingly, it was neither smug nor mocking. It was soft. “Yeah, well. Turns out when you got something—or someone —worth fighting for, you start rethinkin’ some things.”
Angel blushed. Full-on, giggly, head-over-heels blushed. Then he leaned into Valentino’s side, kissing his cheek, giggling shyly.
Alastor rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of his skull. It wasn’t the sweetness of it that irritated him. No, he had no real qualms with love— in theory. But this? This was everything he had ever wanted with a certain someone. Presented right in front of him in a sort of mocking display. Everything he had tried getting from Vox.
And Vox—who had spent the entire dinner treating Alastor like an absolute nuisance—was smiling. Encouraging them. Supporting them. So, he could care. He could love. He could want someone. Just not Alastor, apparently.
Alastor’s nails dug into the tablecloth again. At this rate, he’d have to buy Charlie a new one.
“Anyway,” Valentino continued, all sunshine and happiness, “how’s your application going, Voxxy? You finally gonna ditch this shithole for a place with clouds too?”
Alastor’s eye twitched.
Angel laughed. “Yeah, what’s ‘tis I hear ‘bout you givin’ up that VoxTek empire of yours? Never thought ‘ta see the day.”
The conversation dragged on, but Alastor tuned out of it because it was mainly about Angel and Valentino’s plans to move out, maybe even adopt Carlos—since, apparently, he was their favorite. Meanwhile, he sat there silently, appetite long gone. Both for food and for anything else he might have been craving earlier. The sickly sweetness between Angel and Valentino lingered in his mind, cloying and suffocating his thoughts.
He let them have their moment. Let them exist in their little love bubble because what else could he do? His motivation to ruin things, even to flirt, had vanished. He should have left. He should have done something. But instead, he just sat there, absently running his fingers over the small wound in the back of his hand—the one Vox’s fork had left earlier, just to feel something.
They were so… happy. Reminding him about what he wished to have with Vox, if he could. His grin felt hollow.
Eventually, Angel stretched with a cute little yawn. “Mmm, aight, I think it’s time we head out, babe,” he said, snuggling into Valentino’s side. “Kids’ll be expectin’ us early tomorrow, and ya know I can’t resist ‘em.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Valentino teased, ruffling his hair. “C’mon, sugar, let’s get going.”
And then—because of course this night could get worse—before they left, Valentino leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Angel’s lips. Angel melted, gripping onto Valentino’s floof to pull him closer, kissing him back like they were the only two people in the room. When they finally pulled apart, Angel giggled, while Valentino looked at him like he had singlehandedly put the stars in the sky.
“Sap,” Angel teased.
Valentino smirked. “You love it.”
Angel beamed. “Yeah. I really do.”
Alastor officially could not take this any longer. As they finally left, he clenched his fist beneath the table, nails biting into his palm. He refused to look at Vox.
“Well,” Lucifer mused after a short silence, “I must admit, I was skeptical at first. But watching those two tonight? Makes me think you might have a shot after all, my love.”
Vox’s screen brightened. He snapped his attention back to Lucifer, hopeful. “You mean—?”
Lucifer smirked, finishing his wine. “What do you say, darling? Think we can find room for one more sinner?”
Charlie, who clearly just wanted this dinner to end, waved a hand. “Yeah, fine, whatever,” she grumbled. “But if he screws this up, it’s on you.”
Vox lit up. There was no mistaking the genuine relief, the sheer eagerness in his voice when he nodded. “I won’t let you down.”
Alastor had seen him excited before. He had seen him happy. But this wasn’t for him. This was for something else. Someone else. He didn’t try anything else that night. No more flirting or teasing. He just sat there, feeling hollow.
Eventually, the dinner wrapped up, and as they all left the dining hall, Alastor lingered behind, though he quickly regretted it. Because now he had to watch Vox and Lucifer say goodbye.
Vox softened in Lucifer’s presence in a way that made Alastor’s stomach churn. The irritation from earlier vanished as he rested a careful hand on Lucifer’s waist. The King of Hell chuckled, slipping an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer.
And then, just like Valentino and Angel, Vox leaned in. Lucifer met him halfway, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. Not rushed. Not greedy, like their make-out session had been when they first met tonight. This time, it was warm, soft, and unhurried.
Alastor’s heart ached. That was what he wanted. And that was what he would never have.
As the two parted with quiet smiles, Vox whispered something low, something meant only for Lucifer. Lucifer giggled happily at whatever Vox had said, gently cupping his screen.
Alastor turned away, not wanting to witness a single moment more.
~*~
The dining hall was now empty, except for the echoes of laughter that still clung to the walls and the lingering scent of wine hanging in the air like an uninvited guest. Alastor remained behind, waiting for everyone to leave, pretending to be disinterested as they filtered out. He reassured himself that he was in no hurry and that coming here hadn’t been a mistake, even though he knew it really had.
When he finally left, he decided he needed some fresh air to clear his overflowing mind. When he stepped outside, the cold bit at the edges of his smile, which strained as he found Vox at the entrance, cigarette in hand, the glow of embers flickering against the cold night air. Smoke curled lazily upwards, dissolving into the dark. His back was turned, shoulders relaxed, unaware.
For a moment, Alastor simply stood there, watching him. A sudden ache filled his chest, though he couldn't quite understand it; he couldn't place the strange longing that was tugging at him.
Vox appeared relaxed, but Alastor knew better. He realized this calm would dissipate the moment he opened his mouth. Alastor wanted to savor the silence and continue enjoying their peaceful state together, yet despite this desire, he found himself speaking.
“A beautiful night, isn’t it, old friend?”
As predicted, Vox stiffened. The response was near imperceptible—just a small, frozen moment before he exhaled and turned. When his eyes met Alastor’s, they were dull, unreadable. “You again.” His voice was empty, worn. Tired.
Alastor recognized that tone. He had heard it before, but now it was aimed at him. It was the way Vox spoke to things beneath him, things discarded and forgotten, the one he used when talking to things that didn’t matter, things that weren’t worth his attention. Something cold curled in his stomach.
For the first time in a long time, Alastor hesitated. He felt foolish, standing there, reaching for something that no longer existed for him—if it had ever existed for him at all. But he was here now, so he might as well make the most of it.
“I’m grateful to have a moment alone with you,” he started, hesitantly.
Vox’s lips curled in irritation, and for a second, Alastor thought he might walk away without another word, leaving him standing in the dark. His fingers twitched, restless, betraying the urge to push past him. Instead, he let out a tired sigh. “I really don’t have time for this.”
“I just need you to listen.” The words came softer than intended, almost pleading. There was something foreign in his voice, something he didn’t quite recognize. He hated that.
Vox scoffed, rolling his cigarette between his fingers. “I don’t need to hear anything from you.”
Alastor swallowed against the sting. “ Please .”
That made Vox pause, catching him off guard. He tilted his head, studying him. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—annoyance, maybe, or curiosity. Whatever it was, it was enough. He sighed, flicking ash onto the pavement, nodding at him. “Fine. Say whatever you have to say so we can both move on.”
Alastor opened his mouth, but the words stuck in his throat. He had spent decades crafting words like weapons, shaping them into whatever he needed—sharp, enticing, manipulative. But now, in this moment, his words failed him; every syllable felt clumsy and useless. There was no trick to be played, no game to be won.
There was only one thing remained to be said—something he had never dared to express, let alone let himself truly feel. It was the truth, though, demanding an outlet now to relieve the aching in his heart.
“I love you,” he admitted.
The words felt foreign in his mouth, like something fragile, breakable. Saying it suddenly made it feel so real, and it frightened him. They had felt too heavy in his mouth but too light now that they were out in the open.
But now the truth was laid bare, and he couldn’t take it back. No flirting, no games, no teasing. Just the truth. He regretted not telling Vox earlier, perhaps at a time when they were still friends or when Vox might have shared those feelings. He had always been uncertain and scared, even back then, and now it felt as though it was too late for them to find a happy ending.
Vox didn’t react.
Alastor’s throat tightened. He stepped forward, just a little, searching his face for something, anything. “I love you,” he repeated, quieter this time, like he needed to hear it himself. “I have for so long. Longer than I should admit. And I—I thought—” He hesitated but forced himself to continue. “I thought maybe, if I tried hard enough, if I waited long enough, you’d—” He swallowed, his breath unsteady. “You’d see me. The way I see you. But no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, you never even look at me now.”
More silence greeted him. The world itself felt still. He had never felt so exposed.
He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch the person you love more than anything give everything you ever wanted to someone else? To sit there, helpless, as they prove over and over that they are capable of love, just—” His voice cracked. “Just not with you?”
He inhaled, waiting to see if Vox would respond to his words. He hoped for some reaction, any indication that those words had affected him in even the slightest way. However, Vox remained silent, didn’t even move.
Alastor let out a shaky breath. The words came faster now, slipping past his control, as if he was running out of time. “I know I’m awful. I know I don’t deserve you, that I never appreciated you when I had a part of you. But you—you were the best thing that ever happened to me, the only thing that ever mattered, and I’m realizing that now.” He gave a brittle laugh, eyes darting away. “I don’t even know why I’m saying this. I just—I had to. Before you go. Before I lose you forever.”
He met Vox’s gaze then, waiting, red eyes pleading. “Just say something. Please.”
Vox exhaled. Then he flicked his cigarette to the ground, stepping on it with a careless twist of his heel. When he looked up, his gaze was void of warmth.
“Are you done?”
The words landed like a slap, and Alastor felt something crack inside him. His grin twitched, actually faltering for the first time that night. “I—”
Vox sighed, long and irritated, as if he was bored. “That’s a cute little confession. Really, it is. But you’re acting like any of this actually matters.”
Alastor blinked, hands curling into fists at his sides. “Vox—”
“I don’t care, Alastor.” The words were cold, slicing clean through him. “I don’t care how you feel. I don’t care about you .”
He stepped closer, towering over him. “Did you really think any of this meant anything to me?”
Alastor went still, and for a second, it felt like his heart had stopped beating. The world tilted, just slightly, and his ever-present grin vanished. For the first time tonight—no, for the first time in forever since he was in Hell—he wasn’t able to hide behind it anymore. His eyes flickered with something raw, something desperate. His breath came too shallow, too quick, but he forced himself to step forward anyway, as if closing the space between them would change the rift between them.
Vox took a step back, bringing the distance back, as if the very thought of being near him was repulsive. Then he laughed, cruelly. “You’re pathetic. This whole thing—this little obsession of yours—it’s sad. You’re sad.” He sneered. “Did you really think your feelings mattered to me?”
Alastor could barely breathe, but Vox still wasn’t done spitting on his exposed heart.
“Let’s get something straight once and for all—I never wanted you. Not now, not ever.” His voice dropped lower, sinking into something final. “You think you love me? No. You love the idea of me. But let’s be real, Alastor—” He smirked, leaning in one last time. “I was never yours to love.”
The words echoed in Alastor’s skull, loud and cruel and final. They didn’t just hurt. They hollowed him out. For the first time since arriving in Hell, he had nothing left to say.
His voice sounded strangely distant now, as if this conversation wasn't actually occurring and Vox was merely a sound in his head, winding through his thoughts and corrupting them.
Alastor couldn’t even force a laugh. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
Something inside him had been shattered, broken open in a way that couldn’t be fixed. He had laid everything bare, stripped himself down to the last vulnerable piece, and Vox had looked at it, judged it, and found it worthless.
His love was worthless. And he had been a fool to think otherwise—had been stupid to think someone like Vox could ever belong to him.
Vox stepped back, brushing invisible dust from his suit like he needed to rid himself of even the memory of Alastor’s touch. “You’re nothing to me,” he said, voice empty, final. He turned away, clearly done. Finally closing that chapter for good. “And you never were.”
Alastor didn’t stop him. Didn’t call out.
He just stood there, frozen, as Vox walked away—toward Lucifer, toward a new life, toward a future that had no space for him. The world blurred around him, edges smearing together like a painting dissolving in the rain. Maybe it was the tears burning his eyes, or maybe it was something else entirely, something slipping in his mind, unraveling him.
Lucifer appeared, draping an arm over Vox’s shoulders, pulling him close, kissing him intimately. The picture sharpened back into painful clarity. When Alastor’s vision swayed, he realized they were watching him. Laughing.
“Oh, that was brutal, my love,” Lucifer mused, his voice thick with amusement. “Just look at him. So alone, so desperate. Pathetic .”
Then he turned to Alastor fully, grinning, and suddenly it felt as though he was right there, inches away, close enough to reach out and tear him apart. “You look terrible,” he murmured, eyes gleaming. “I’d say you have my condolences, but…” He gave a slow, lazy shrug. “I’m still enjoying my win.”
Their laugh echoed, but suddenly, they were gone, vanishing into thin air as if they had never been there at all. He was alone.
The street stretched empty before him, eerily silent, the warmth of the hotel’s glow snuffed out. His hands trembled at his sides. His chest ached. And for the first time in decades, he felt cold.
The air thickened. The streetlights dimmed, flickering weakly before being swallowed by an encroaching mist. It curled around his ankles, climbing his legs, pulling at his coat with ghostly fingers. Everything—the pavement, the buildings, even the sky—bled into nothingness, the world around him dissolving, fading like he was ceasing to exist along with it.
Vox’s words echoed, warped and distant. You’re nothing to me.
Lucifer’s laughter stretched and distorted, turning into something monstrous, something wrong, stretching and distorting like a record slowing to a halt.
Alastor tried to move, to reach forward, but his limbs felt heavy, useless, like he was sinking, like the ground itself was pulling him under. The cold was inside him now, curling in his chest, clawing at his throat. His breath hitched.
The mist swallowed him whole.
—
Alastor bolted upright, gasping, his hands clutching at his chest.
His heart pounded, slamming against his ribs like it was trying to break free. His whole body trembled, the ghost of something horrible still clinging to him, sinking into his bones. He could barely tell where he was, the darkness around him thick and suffocating, the weight of the memory—no, the dream?—pressing down on him like a coffin lid.
His breath stuttered. His hands patted around the bed, desperate for something solid, something real. Wrinkled sheets. A familiar scent. It took a moment for him to get back to reality. There was darkness surrounding him, but after a minute or two, he could make out familiar shapes. He was in his bedroom. His hand patted around aimlessly, finding nothing but the discarded blanket.
He was at home, in his bed. He was safe. But the room felt too small, the air too thin. It wasn’t enough. He curled his fingers into the fabric of his shirt, gripping it tightly, afraid that if he let go, he’d slip again, sink back into that suffocating mist.
His nightshirt was damp with sweat, his pulse roaring in his ears, drowning out everything else, until—was that a voice? He inhaled slowly, trying to clear the fog still clinging to his mind, to be able to hear.
It was indeed a voice. A soft, groggy, still sleep-laden voice right behind him.
Alastor inhaled sharply, his whole body going still. There was sudden warmth behind him, a presence at his back. A hand touching his arm, real.
A slow exhale left him, trembling, uneven. He swallowed hard, shutting his eyes for a moment, anchoring himself to the weight of that voice, the warmth beside him, the proof that this—this was real.
Not whatever had been in his head, not the ghost of a memory that might have never actually happened. Just this.
The voice was closer now, whispering directly into his ear, and he could finally understand the meaning of the word that had been said.
“Babe?”
~*~