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“val?” is the first thing vox says after almost a day of their mutual silence.
he watches his half-naked back, the antennas that twitch as soon as he speaks up. but valentino is silent. he sits on the couch, and there are already two empty packs of cigarettes on the table next to him. all because of the nerves.
“val,” vox tries again in a tired, quiet voice. “i love you.”
valentino's shoulders fall just to immediately rise in tension, his wings fluttering unkindly.
“go fuck yourself,” he says through gritted teeth, stubbornly refusing to turn around.
"it's true," vox says, hurt by his own honesty. but the indifference, even if feigned, hurts even more, "please. look at me."
“go. fuck. yourself.” valentino doesn't even let him finish. he might be hurt too. along with velvette. but vox didn’t seem to care.
"valentino," vox tries to move, but the body, still not fully attached to the head, does not respond to the brain's commands, "what do you want from me? i told you…"
“i don't care about what you told me!” he wraps his arms around himself, his head dropping, almost completely disappearing from vox's view, “you’re a bastard, vox. one of the goddamn kind. i don't want to listen to you, to see you, i'd rather you were dead.”
and all of this is true and a lie at the same time.
vox falls silent, looking at the back of his head with pain in his eyes. he really wants to get up, reach out, hug, kiss, fall into his arms, and squeeze him until the ribs crack.
"if that were true, you wouldn't be sitting here right now."
valentino jumps up from his seat, picks up an empty pack, and throws it at vox’s screen.
“shut up! how do i mute you again? you bastard, i'm going to tear off all your limbs, not just the head!”
vox falls silent, not so much out of obedience to the order, but out of surprise. he sees his face for the first time that day, and for the first time in years, he sees tears on it. not tears of pleasure during a good fuck, not tears of laughter at a bad joke, but tears of genuine, deep-seated resentment.
“val... i’m really, really...”
“you’re sorry, yes, i've heard that. i've heard it a hundred times already. but you can't just do something shitty and then say you're sorry, and suddenly everything's fine again! no, vox, i don't forgive you, i’m not looking at you, i’m not listening to your worthless apologies, i don't even want to know you. you can go die in a ditch for all i care!”
he cries without shame or hiding, allowing his anger to pour from his body with salty water. he has never been able to hide his emotions, and he has never learned to do so. valentino has always been like this. his anger, joy, pain, sadness, jubilation and excitement were always all evident on his face, always on display, because everyone needs to know and respect him, and not god forbids the other way around.
vox loved it. his frankness. his openness. his trust. the way he was always ready to give himself to him, and not just in the bedroom. to show everything, to open up old scars, knowing that once the pus was released, he could sleep peacefully in vox's arms and trust him to stitch the wounds together.
only wounds haven't been added for a long time. until today. or rather, until the day vox allowed himself to forget that he depends on valentino as much as valentino depends on him.
"i need you," he says, his ability to think before he speaks gone, torn away along with his head.
“tell me something i don’t already know! i’ve fucking figured, mr. fuck-the-whole-hell-and-us-along-with-it. if it weren't for me, you'd-”
a sob clenches his throat, valentino lets it out in a scream, carelessly tearing his vocal cords. his knees weaken, he holds himself against the wall with one hand, three others cover his face, moisture flows down his wrists.
vox looks at him like a hapless photographer looking at an erupting volcano that he wanted to photograph, only to realize that he wouldn't have time to leave before the rocks and magma started flying. utter and absolute helplessness.
with another roar, valentino pushes his body towards the door.
“val!” vox tries to stop him in the only way he can, “stop. stop, i said! where are you going?”
valentino stands at the door, hesitant to take the final step. thoughts race through his mind, one drowning out the other, his heart beats, for a change, drawing blood to his face instead of his dick. no. to leave would be to let vox get away with this. and he doesn't deserve that.
“and you know what?” he turns around abruptly, his lush wings making a circle on the floor around his skinny legs, “the most fucked-up thing is that you've forgotten how it fucking works,” those same legs barely bend, but he still approaches the bed, leaning over the vox, his sharp finger digging into his bare chest, “i don't give a shit! i don't give a shit who you're fucking, who you're shoving your tongue into, who you're jerking off to on your cameras, or even who you're killing yourself over. i don't give a fuck! i'm used to it. but you've forgotten that at the end of the day, it’s me you’re coming back to. it's me who's always here for you. you need me, vox, but you only remember that when it's convenient for you.”
vox wants to protest, to say that it's not true, that he always remembers about him, just can't always show it, and he wants to say that he cares, that he does appreciate him. but the words die before they can be spoken, and when valentino looms over him, he realizes that there's nothing he can do but to obediently agree.
"yes," his voice trembles slightly, and vox looks at him with fear. it's not fear for himself, but fear that valentino will come to the only conclusion that would be fair to him. "i couldn't do this without you. i know."
“well of course you do! now you do! he knows! congratulations? what do you want from me now?”
he wants a lot. too much, as it turns out.
domination. adoration. success. alastor's death. control.
to not be a dick to those who were ready to support him.
but now, in this very moment, he wants more than anything for his body to finally start listening to him. to reach out, to squeeze his hand on valentino’s wrist, which, is so painfully close.
"for you to stay," he exhales, unable to come up with a more truthful response.
valentino inhales noisily as he straightens up.
“fuck it. fuck you, your overblown ambitions, your obsessions. i'm tired, vox. i was fine here, you know. without heavens. with you.”
he was happy before. when his responsibilities ended on making schedules for his shoots, and the vox could take care of the rest. when he could rely on him. when he knew that no matter how hard the day was, at end of it his lover would happily wrap himself in his wings like a blanket and fall asleep on his shoulder. when it was not painful to love him.
valentino hates pain. and loves the one who gave him too much of it.
vox is scared. simple and clear. almost liberating. one single feeling, without impurities.
"what should i do?" he whispers desperately, the screen filled with static.
valentino freezes for a moment. his entire being rebels, wanting to turn around and leave, to hide in his room, to get through his anger in the usual way, smashing dishes against the walls and firing bullets into them.
but he doesn't leave.
he slowly sinks to the edge of the bed, hiding his face in his hands. everything is open and exposed. fury gives way to fatigue.
“nothing. nada. you've already done fucking enough. now lie down and regenerate.”
vox looks at his profile. his bare, shivering shoulders, his hunched back, and his dress that hasn't been changed since yesterday.
“you think you could... give me a minute? just... let me spaek, and then do whatevet you want.”
his head sinks lower, as if valentino is being slowly let down by the strings that keep his body more or less upright. it's as if he's weakening with every word vox utters.
“half a minute. and if i hear one more attempt of apology, i'm leaving. go.”
he looks up at the ceiling wearily, wasting precious time trying to think of a speech.
“i... i bit off more than i could chew. i see that now. the worst part is that the plan had its potential. you know that. i wanted more. i've always wanted more. that's just the way i am," he finally opens his mouth, allowing the thoughts to flow freely, "i've let you down. both you and vel. i wanted what's best for us. but in the end, i almost lost everything. and i would have, if it weren't for you. you don’t want an apology? well fine. you don't believe me when i say i'm sorry. i wouldn't believe me either. but i swear to you, val, i understand how lucky i am to have you. i've always understood. for a moment i’ve forgotten, you can see how it turned out.”
he stops abruptly. valentino, who has already gotten into the words, raises his head, arching an eyebrow in questioning expression. and then he starts laughing, noticing the running stopwatch app on vox's screen, with the red numbers indicating his thirty seconds are up.
“un estúpido demonio…”
vox is laughing too. yes, he's definitely an idiot. it's only at that moment that he realizes how much he's missed his laughter. even this kind of laughter. bitter, mocking.
"you don't have to forgive me," vox looks at him directly, "if it makes you feel better — be angry. you're beautiful in your anger."
"go to you-know-fucking-where with this shit."
"baby, i'd love to, but i kind of physically can't go anywhere right now."
valentino laughs louder, jumps up, grabs a pillow, and hits vox in the face with it.
“hey! you can’t attack defenceless person! it’s low, even for you!”
"i can if he deserves it," he stops, still smiling. he's an idiot too. he can't be mad for long. not at vox.
"he does," the vox agrees easily, "he deserves everything. and even worse."
valentino sighs heavily, collapsing on the bed next to him. vox looks longingly at the body he can't embrace.
"look what your stunt has cost me," with this his wounded wing is shown to him. the holes have already started to heal, but the ugly black edges are still there.
“you’re a fucking bastard, tino. is there anything that doesn’t suit you?”
“wrong answer.”
“you said you don't want an apology! what else can i say?”
“i don't know!” valentino throws his hands up in the air. closes his eyes and shakes his head, knowing in advance that he shouldn't say this, "something that will give me a reason to hug you?"
vox's throat constricts. he doesn't breathe as he processes what he's heard. once again, all he can think of is a single, insignificant word.
"please?"
and that's enough. valentino looks at him for a long time, carefully. what's the point of lying to himself? he moves closer, four arms wrap around the immobilized body, a holey wing lies on top, hot breath burns along the wounded neck.
vox sinks into this feeling, allowing himself to dissolve into the lightness that valentino brings him. as he has always done, time and time again.
"i'm tired, vox.”
“fucking bet. it was a long few days.”
"that's not what i'm talking about," valentino clicks his tongue. "i'm tired of being your backup singer. i'm tired of not being a priority. how many decades has this been going on? even i have my limits."
vox swallows hard. he didn't expect this conversation to happen. not today. it seems like they haven't even dealt with the problems of this week, and now he's being confronted with such a massive issue.
"i'll... i'll try to fix it."
"bullshit," valentino smiles knowingly, shaking his head. "you're not going to fix anything. been there, done that. but," he raises himself on his elbows, looking down at vox, "i'm just as bad. i could have done something about it myself. but you know, it's better late than never."
vox raises an eyebrow, not fully understanding what valentino is getting at. fortunately, he quickly clarifies.
“i'm going to make you make me a priority. do you hear me? you won't have a choice. i don't care about your exes, your ambitions, or your even desires for that matter. i'm your everything now. whether you like it or not.”
vox opens his mouth to say something, but the words just won't come out. valentino looks insanely hot in his seriousness. it's both arousing and intimidating.
“and... how are you planning on achieving that?”
valentino shrugs, lying back down on top of vox’s body.
"i'll figure something out," his voice drops to a gentle whisper, "semantics, voxxie."