Chapter Text
Quiet fell upon the room.
The door gently shut, leaving an awfully loud click to echo. You hardly winced at the sound. Between that and the way Vox examined your body, you felt as if your heart's beating could be heard throughout the Pride Ring. He looked, not resisting to stare three more times. You saw his eyes fixate on your chest for a little too long.
Should you start the conversation?
The instinctive reaction was to let Vox begin, knowing that he will probably do that anyway. You are sure he has thousands of questions flowing through his large mind, asking why you didn't tell him you were returning, why you were here so late, and why you looked as dehydrated and drained as you felt.
You, too, had many questions to ask, starting with why he came into your office with paperwork, a mug, and a shark stuffed animal. Did he not have his offices to go to?
"What are you doing here?"
"I just asked you that."
Your eyes shift from his glance towards his heaving abdomen. He was nervous, just as you were. His immediate response and grip on the plushie only proved this further. Your legs shook underneath the exhaustion that was your body. You should've known better than testing your luck by pulling an all-nighter so soon.
"Maybe, we should sit down."
For once, Vox did not have a quick reply. He looked at you with hesitance before tightening his hold on the suffocating stuffed animal and nodding. You accepted the small gesture, but not without another wave of worry consuming your thoughts. It is now the moment of truth, and here you were, feeling as if about to faint. You haven't eaten, you were tired, all the hard work of placing you back in a state that was ready to work quickly vanished from exaggerating your energy levels. It would not be as bad if your physical reactions were not so draining. This lack of control only further induced the energy used for simple tasks, which, in turn, sent rushes of ache through your abdomen.
You stumbled, leading the overlord towards your desk and taking a seat as he pulls a chair from the corner.
First, you do your ritual of intertwining fingers, closing and opening them. Even doing such felt tiring. Your breaths remained heavy as you let out a few sighs of grounding. Shaky, as always, but you were glad it was not from intense emotions, although, the hunger ravaging your frame did not feel much better.
Then, your eyes connect with Vox's. Immediately, he avoids your stare. You know you deserve that.
"I am sorry," you choke out, gripping onto your knees, "for leaving. I should have told you I was taking a leave of absence."
No words could describe how mortified you are to be stuttering. Never, even as a child, have you been known for repeating words and cutting yourself off for the sake of it. To be acting like this as an adult, ugh, it is just horrifying. Even worse, Vox did not retort to his witty answers, nor was he angry, he just sat there, watching your pitiful attempts of an apology.
You despised whenever he gave you a blank stare. You hated it when you hated him, and you hated it now in whatever state the relationship was in.
"I also should have told you I was returning. I apologize."
"Is that it?"
His words were rigid as well, thrown into the air, leaving you wondering whether it was said with annoyance, frustration, distain, or simple curiosity. What was he thinking? And why were no clues given on how to move forward regarding the tone of this interaction? Heat rose throughout your body, as well as the urge to tell him that not being able to read his face was infuriating. You were about to go through with it, until the realization that you could not risk getting angry set in. Many times, you have hurt Vox due to your negative emotions; you refuse to add more to that list.
You leaned back, pushing through the heaviness of your chest to continue your next statement. "No, but do you have anything you would like to add? I know I have," a pause interrupted the two words, "treated you terribly in the last few weeks."
"You did not treat me terribly; get that out of your head."
"Yes, I did," you insist, ignoring how quickly he opposed, "I unnecessarily insulted you on many occasions. I should not have judged, especially with how kind you were."
Vox's eyes widen, before turning away with a strange expression on his screen. "I was not that kind."
"You were, and I owe you an apology and more for putting up with me at my worst. You did not deserve what I said, nor how I have treated you."
"I appreciate the apologies, but you are making a big deal out of nothing-"
"No, no, this is deserved. Thank you."
Whether uncomfortable by your openness, odd shift in personality, or the lack of reciprocating the investment in the conversation, Vox's reaction was confusing. His face remained still, often turning to the side and clearing his throat before repeating the act. You watched, a bit unsettled by the repetition, but allowed him to form a response at his own pace.
"I should thank you for your note," he finally began, after nearly a minute of dry coughs, "it was thoughtful and well-written. It's clear you put your heart into it."
Now it was your time to turn away. Warmth flooded to your face to the point you felt a series of fidgeting devouring your arms and legs. You allowed your legs to bounce but left your hands frozen on your thighs. He really complimented you. You. The same person who made him so angry a few weeks ago.
For days, you ignored his praise in favor of your attempts of humbleness. You ignored his praise of your talents, cleanliness, personality, and alleged charm, but today, it felt like all the feelings you tried to suppress exposed themselves in the most revealing and overwhelming ways. You did not try to control the reactions, but you did try to manage them so they wouldn't become too extravagant during a serious conversation.
Learn to work with your flaws, not destroy them.
"Thank you, I did, and I meant every word."
"I must say," your heart races at his beginning, "I don't know why. Most do not praise me for being dramatic. They like to say it's such a terrible trait that holds me back."
"I would rather call it passion than dramatic," you smile as his eyes soften, watching your hand reach across the desk. You were not fully aware of this action, he could tell. Because of that, his reaction was slow, especially compared to yours. Once he meets your hand, a spark flows through your veins and the urge to reject overtakes. Vox tenses as well. Neither hands move from being held. "If it were not for your passion, technology would not be as popular as it is, nor would your business."
"Still not everyone likes it."
You shrug. "I don't, but that doesn't take away from your success or talent. You're different, Vox, far more than anyone I have ever met. Don't settle because of others' opinions."
A mixture of a fake and authentically uneasy laugh follows your speech. Vox's hand also grips tighter onto yours, before slowly releasing to, what you assume, is in hopes of not overstepping boundaries. Your smile softens as you attempt to mimic the firmness of his touch, partly from the embarrassment of your sermon. Replaying the words in your head, you press a nail into his finger. Why are you so dramatic?
"Is that in a good or bad manner?"
"Both," you grin, still dying internally, "I have never met anyone like you."
"You're certainly different from the rest of Hell as well."
You debate whether to test your luck to see what specific traits come to mind when referring to how you vary from the rest of the Pride Ring. Of course, many have said it was your dedication to working that made you stand apart. Most of Hell has given up or is doing the bare minimum to get by; you work so anyone who wants a future can have the space to do so without judgement.
But is that all Vox sees you as? Just a secretary whose flaws are badly hidden?
What does he think of you when you are not provoking him?
While you have said most through the letter, there was still quite a few words you could describe him as. You have noticed the small cracks in his persona before. From how he brutally critiques himself to those who he calls 'allies' often abuse him; you can see his ego is not real, otherwise he would fight back more. Although you wish he would be more open about not being the most self-assured, you must admit, you liked the slow discovery of who he was outside his company.
It was a difficult puzzle; one that may never be completed. It will always evolve with Vox's growth as a person, and the pieces may change shape, depending on how change much took place. The puzzle may even get larger with more added onto it. You hated saying or rather feeling this, but you did look forward to that part of the overlord and you enjoyed how he kept you on your toes. You loved discovering him by your own observations.
"I assume you copied my contracts not out of spite?"
A puzzled reaction is no less of what was expected, given how random the context of how the subject was brought up, but it does not last long before guilt takes over. "Yes. I didn't think it would be serious if I took inspiration."
"Inspiration does not mean plagiarism," you squeeze his hand, "I appreciate you admiring it, but I have worked hard to create my own style of business. I do not want others to take that away."
He nods. "I understand."
The silence that overtook the room did not add much to the previous overlap of feelings. There was not one way the moment felt; there was comfort, warmth, connection, and wholesomeness, while still being awkward, tense, confusing, and distant at the same time. Your hand being held in Vox's represented this.
You did not like the way it felt. You did not like how you decided to mindlessly hold his hand rather than stick to your own, but it did serve its purpose. Significantly calmer, sometimes you felt small charges travel from his skin into your veins, adding a blue glow to your hand. The feeling would spread throughout your body; your energy levels remaining steady as you continued to look at the overlord's preoccupied face.
"What are you thinking about?"
Vox turns, facing you with a look of uncertainty.
"I meant to ask that time."
You could have sworn a laugh came before his grin and a shake of the head. "Just wondering why you are the way you are."
"Meaning?"
"Kind. You are unnaturally kind for someone who arrived 70 years old, and before you try to deny," he interrupts your process of looking down, "you are. No one down here apologizes, let alone admits they're wrong."
"You act as if I am the only one. You have admitted you were wrong as well."
"Yes," he nods, "but only because of you."
"I find that hard to believe, considering I spark more of your anger than joy."
"You do both, alongside inspiration to work harder and become better. I have told you before that your ambition is something this company was in desperate need of. Business has never been more organized and productive. That's how I knew you were back."
Vox smiles at your eyes perking up with curiosity. "Did you really think I wouldn't tell the difference between my star secretary and Baxter's work? Besides the handwriting quality, I can tell when you've been at work compared to the norm."
"Is that why you came into my office so late? Did you know I would be here?"
"No," he admits, "I thought you went home a while ago."
"I can tell," you laugh, pointing out his stuffed animal. Vox immediately clings onto the shark plushie, quickly turning away. At first, you believed it was in defense to the comment over his toy, so an apology would be fitting to show that you were not judging his stress-reliever. However, he was not entirely embarrassed by his coping mechanism. He was embarrassed of his reaction to it.
A red line, similar to a heart monitor, spread across his screen. You watched as it pumped with his spiked heartbeat as he kept turning away.
"It came with the stupid TV."
You smiled, holding back a laugh. "It's cute."
"No, it's definitely not."
"What happened to I meant everything I say?"
"It went on a break; just as you did."
"Vox," you say, placing your other hand on top of his, "you may not believe me, but it is cute. I will not say anything about it, and if it means that much to you, I will also forget that you have the ability, but I hope you know my reactions are not out of spite or judgement."
Silence.
The longer no response is given, the more your mind travels to the other side.
Maybe you did push too far. Maybe you did cross his boundaries and shouldn't have tried to comfort him over something so stupid.
You remove your hand, leaving the one that was being held tightly by Vox.
You shouldn't have done that. No. That was dumb.
"You're special, Y/N," the voice draws you back in, "you know that, right?"
Vox stares at you. You stare at him. His eyes are confident, yet it is subtle against yours that have been affected from the nervousness of the last minute.
"Not really."
"You should, and you should remember it whenever you doubt yourself."
"How-"
"I can tell when the thoughts overwhelm you. Isn't that why you left? Because life got to the point where you couldn't do anything anymore?"
Do you hide your emotions that badly?
A slight nod gives every ounce of confirmation needed. You turn to the floor as the memories of being bedridden by your own laziness set in. Two weeks. Two weeks spent in isolation, shame, depression, and anxiety. All because you couldn't handle a little stress. You couldn't just listen to Rosie and become better. You had to be weak. You had to be sensitive. You had to be emotional.
"I left too."
Your head lifts slightly.
"I guess we have the same way of coping." Vox laughs, one of force and distance. You feel his finger trace lines against your skin. Back and forth, a rhythm technique. He was trying to ground his thoughts as well.
Should you say something?
Maybe. It sounded like he needed comfort, but you weren't in a state where you could be emotionally available for others. If you were to overthink it or not consider your words carefully, you could cause more distress. But he was overwhelmed too.
How does Rosie always know what to say?! And how does she find these types of things simple?
As you prepared to open your mouth, ready for anything you say being regrettable, thankfully, Vox interrupted the process.
"Your letter helped me. It gave me something to appreciate. Live for, you know?" He shrugged, "it's stupid, but it gave me hope, I guess. That the way I cope with things isn't as weird as everyone makes it seem. That, I'm not alone."
Your eyes widen.
"Forget about it. Just forget about it; it's stupid."
Vox jumps from his seat, quickly grabbing his things and walking towards the door. You stand, trying to stop the door from opening.
"It's not-"
"It is. I'm sorry for projecting."
"Vox, even I have admitted that you know me better than I know myself. You know me. How, I don't know, but you do. Now that you are acting on those thoughts, you want to doubt?"
"I'd rather doubt than make a fool out of myself."
"Who said I'm judging you? Vox, I am one of the least people who should judge, after all I put you through! You said that I underestimate myself when you do it too! It's agitating! You are fine expressing yourself here."
Another batch of quiet cuts through your words. You watch as Vox shakes under the grip your hand has on his wrist, continuing to look towards the door and squeezing his shark. At the back of your throat, you felt another speech forming in your head. One where you would tell him that he's fine as he is and that he doesn't have to be worried about embarrassing himself in front of you. On paper, that would be the instinctive action.
However, your body said otherwise.
When Rosie gives you a set of her lectures about accepting yourself for who you are, that does not give you any sense of relief. No, as much as she wants it to, you both know you are far too stubborn and hardheaded for that. Talking about your issues is not how you cope; it is through action that you find comfort. By how holding each other's hand helped you both to talk for the last few minutes, you know Vox is the same way.
Your hand slips into his, intertwining fingers until your touch is sealed. You feel the overlord's eyes slowly turning towards the action and you happily accept that he is processing your attempt of affection.
"I will not force you to talk about something you don't want to, nor will I force meaningless words onto you. I believe we are both tired from feeling." You notice the tiny nod in response. "If you are not ready to go by yourself, you are more than welcome to stay and work with me. I like your presence, and it'll help me stay awake."
A bigger nod follows your words, but not without a turn away, more than likely shame from his vulnerability. You softly smile, leading the overlord behind your desk.
"I forgot to deliver the blueberry muffin and coffee with your note this morning, so, if you are hungry, it's ready for you."
"I think you need it more than me."
You turn around, denying his whisper. "It was for you."
"Well, you can have it," he repeats, louder, "you need it; I do not."
"I cannot accept it."
"You should."
Vox sits down, placing his stuffie on the desk to wrap his arms around its body. You hold back a smile at the sight, preparing the rest of your documents for organizing. There weren't many left, but it was enough to know that you wouldn't be done until dawn. You take a deep breath. At least you have a partner for moral support.
Your eyes turn towards the overlord. His screen laid flat against the shark's body, his arms still and breathing slowed. For the last time that night, you held back a smile, moving your shawl further on your shoulder and beginning to write.
"For what it is worth, you're special too."