Chapter Text
“Thank you for coming today, gentlemen,” Vox said in his best presenter’s voice to the assembled demons around the table.
A bunch of old fogies in drab suits with more wrinkles than all the ball sacks in Pentagram City, but their wallets were the beating heart of Voxtek, so he gave them his best grin. He clapped his hands, rubbing his palms together before gesturing to the projection against the whiteboard.
“I know you all have busy schedules-“ That I had to juggle this fucking meeting around 300 fucking times. “-but I’m excited to go over the new sales data from this month.” He pressed the clicker, the slide on the presentation shifting to a graph displaying the upward trajectory of their business ventures. “We’re up by 1.5% in Envy.” Another click. Another graph. “And we’re increasing sales with older demographics, proving even an old hellhound can learn new tricks!”
He chuckled at his own joke, though his audience merely blinked sluggishly at him. One blew his nose into a hanky. Vox’s eye twitched but he soldiered on, turning back towards the projection.
“Right. Ahem. We’re projecting an even bigger turnout than our last launch with our new line of smart watches-“
The door blew open, slamming against the wall and drowning out Vox’s words. He, along with the rest of the Voxtek board of directors, startled, peering round to see what had just blown into the boardroom. A lone figure stood poised in the doorway, arm still outstretched from throwing the door open.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Vox muttered into his hand, dragging his palm down his screen.
“Apologies, gentlemen!” Alastor declared, sauntering into the room with a pleased grin on his face. All heads turned to follow him, bar Vox, who just glared at his smarmy profile. “I hope I’m not too late.”
His usual attire had been replaced with a snappy black suit, black dress shirt, and black neck tie—black, black, black, all the way down. It just served to make his red hair and ruby eyes stand out, beckoning Vox closer like the bulb of an angler fish, or the cape of a matador. Either way, he was sure to get either swallowed whole or gored on some thorns, both of which weren’t on his agenda for the day.
“Alastor,” Vox bit out between his forced grin. “We just started.”
Alastor paused mid-stride, his briefcase dangling from his grasp loosely. “Oh.” He sounded almost disappointed. “Well, perhaps I’d better go out and wait a few more minutes.”
He swung round on his heel and took a few long steps towards the door before Vox managed to scramble out from behind the table and over to his side. Catching Alastor by the sleeve, he pushed out a fake peel of laughter to the watching investors then swung Alastor around by the arm to hiss into his ear.
“What’re you doing?”
“Well, I was trying to be fashionably late,” Alastor explained with a roll of his eyes as though this were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s very on trend for us widows to be fashionably late, you know. But right on time is neither fashionable nor late.”
Vox’s blood boiled so hot he worried it’d rise up his body like a thermometer and burst right out of his monitor. “For the last time, we’re divorced. You’re not a widower!”
“Oh, Vox,” Alastor sighed wistfully, brushing aside the small black veil he had pinned to his hair, behind his antlers, “you remind me so much of my dearly departed ex-husband.” He blinked and fanned a hand about his face, drying imaginary tears. “Sometimes I swear I can still hear his voice.”
He swept his way over to the table, leaving Vox to sputter in rage and squeeze the air, imagining it was Alastor’s throat. He swore to fuck, one of these days he was gonna-
“Come along, Vox!” Alastor called out in a sing-song tone. “We’re waiting for you to dazzle us with your charts.”
Vox closed his eyes and sucked in a deep, calming breath. Just as he had done so many times before, forced to go live on the air after Val had decided Vox’s furniture were the causes of all his woes and so summarily destroyed them, he pasted on a smile and turned back around.
“Of course!” he laughed, eyes only narrowing a fraction as they passed over Alastor, now sat primly at the opposite end of the table, briefcase laid out before him. Vox cleared his throat and raised the clicker. “As I was saying, our projected numbers for the next launch are looking very promising. We should see-“
“You don’t mind if I eat, do you, gentlemen?” Alastor interrupted to ask the room. He swivelled his head back and forth as the suits around him all shrugged and gave their assent with nods and muttered agreement. Vox seethed as Alastor snapped his briefcase open, reached inside and broke the laws of physics by pulling out a severed head. “Thank you,” Alastor gushed amidst the series of startled yelps from the other board members and a weary sigh from Vox. “I’d hate to miss my lunch. I’m on a diet, you see.”
The incubus head sat there, eyeballs missing from the sockets and tongue hanging out of its open mouth, and Vox hated that his first thought was why did he have to be hot? What was Alastor doing, hanging out in places where handsome incubi could approach him and flirt with him? Get close enough to him to have their heads cut off and stuffed in a magical briefcase?
The mental image of other men flirting with Alastor pissed him off, then he got more pissed off at getting pissed off, and the cycle continued until he was practically blowing steam out of his vents.
“If we could all just return our focus to the front,” Vox barked, coughing into his fist. “We have a lot to get through. Our projected numbers are-“
He pressed down on the clicker, changing slides, then jolted at the series of startled cries that went up through the room. He glanced over his shoulder at the projection and let out a similar horrified shout.
“Oh, my,” Alastor said mildly, lowering his mouth to gnaw on the incubus’ head. He sounded not bothered in the slightest by the saucy nude of Val projected onto the whiteboard in signature Voxtek hi-def.
“WOAH! OKAY!” Vox yelled, jamming the button on the clicker, flicking through the rest of his slides at rapid speed, though he worried the image of Val splayed out across his leopard-print sheets and grinning at the camera as he let it all hang out wouldn’t be leaving the minds of any of these stuffy assholes anytime soon. “I—ha ha!—have no idea how that got in there!”
Alastor spoke behind his hand to the white-faced old demon at his side. “I’m sure Valentino has said similar things.”
“You know what?” Vox thundered, the clicker shattering in his grip. “Let’s just cut this meeting short today, okay?”
Vox waved off the last director as he piled into the limo waiting on the curb. “Hah, great to see you again, Norman! Good luck with the mistress.”
The limo pulled away with a screech of tyres and a plume of exhaust. The moment it rounded the street corner and was out of sight, Vox’s smile dropped and he groaned, long and deep.
What a disaster.
“I think that went well,” Alastor said chipperly by his side.
Vox glared at him, stepping away from the curb and into the cool, airconditioned lobby of Vee Tower. Around him, employees bustled past in the ever-present chaos that was his joint headquarters with Velvette and Valentino. Many trudged along to the assembly lines of his factories, others prancing up to Val’s set in fluffy robes and high heels, while some strutted along to be fitted by Velvette in her studio. All parted around Vox and Alastor, giving them a wide berth.
It was probably for the best. That way, if Vox blew up out of frustration, he wouldn’t take out a few demons on his payroll.
“Why’re you still here?” Vox snapped. “You haven’t given me enough shit today?”
“I don’t think I’ve reached my threshold, no,” Alastor replied, examining his nails. He grinned when Vox balled up his fists and growled in response, sliding those ruby eyes over to glance sidelong at him. “You can hardly blame me. You’re just so darling when you get all worked up like this.” He laughed into his hand then blew a kiss at Vox, bringing him up short. “Until next time!”
Vox blinked and Alastor was gone. He swerved about, whirling on the spot and nearly upending a lackey rushing past carrying a stack of paperwork. She yelped and hurried to right the teetering tower as Vox caught a glimpse of red and black through the window. He watched Alastor, suddenly on the other side of the street, whistling a carefree tune as he strolled down the busy sidewalk, tapping the butt of his cane against the cracked cement as he went.
Vox watched him with a strange cocktail of emotions brewing in his stomach.
Darling. Alastor had called him darling.
It was a stupid thing to get fixated on, especially when it came to Alastor, who threw out terms of endearment like they were chump change. Still, Vox couldn’t help but catch each careless nickname and cradle them close to his chest. It reminded him for the millionth time of the moment some months ago when Alastor had hauled him in by the shirtfront and kissed him. Even now, Vox thought he could still feel his mouth tingling.
He grunted in embarrassment at his own pathetic self. Here he was, getting all hung up on Alastor again. That ship had sailed long ago. So what if it turned out they’d actually been married for fifteen years? They’d gotten a speedy divorce, hadn’t they? Only those in their immediate circles even knew about it so there was no reason to keep harping on about it in his own mind.
That was done. Dusted. Toast.
Never mind that they now worked together—and Vox used the term in the most generous form possible, for Alastor’s brief appearances at the bimonthly Voxtek board of directors’ meetings could hardly be called work. He swanned in whenever he felt like it, generally made a scene, then departed just as quickly, leaving Vox stewing in his wake.
This whole situation was bad enough as it was, he didn’t need to go making it worse by deciding to indulge in any misguided daydreams about Alastor’s pretty red eyes.
Which he wasn’t. Definitely not.
“So, how’d your fuck fest meeting go?”
Vox barely turned his head towards Val, laid out on the couch in their communal living space, smoking a cigarillo. He just sighed again as he shucked his suit jacket and dropped it onto the floor. The whirring of machinery and gust of wind zipping by his back let him know that Kitty had picked it up.
“Terribly,” Vox answered as he all but collapsed onto the couch, Val lifting his legs to allow him to faceplant into the cushions before lowering them again across Vox’s shoulders. Vox’s voice floated out of the speakers in the back of his monitor as he muttered, “No thanks to one of your nudes showing up in my presentation.”
Val’s squawking laughter had Vox’s hackles rising. He braced his hands against the cushions and pushed his head up, making Val’s legs slip to the floor.
“It’s not funny!” Vox yelled over Val’s cackling. “You probably gave half those geezers heart attacks with your cock.”
“Eh.” Val shrugged, getting his giggles under control. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Besides,” he added with a devilish glint in his eye, “I had to give you something to help let out all that repressed energy with your little problem hanging around in the room.”
“Ugh.” Vox shoved at Val’s hip, hoisting himself into a sitting position. “No. We’re not doing this again. For the millionth time, it’s not like that.”
Val scoffed and rolled his eyes, tapping some ash out directly onto the carpet. Vox made a mental note to charge the new rug to his account.
“Only because you’re too pussy to do anything about it,” Val said, seemingly impervious to the warping glare Vox was aiming his way. “You can’t fool me, Voxy. Or did you forget who was there to pick up the pieces of your shitty, little heart last time? I saw through you then and I see through you now, amorcito.”
He blew out a plume of pink smoke in the shape of a heart. Vox waved it away, unimpressed, levelling a steely look at Val’s smug face.
“You can’t see three feet in front of you,” Vox snapped.
“That’s not true,” Val sniped in return, glaring in Vox’s general direction.
Vox sighed, the fight dripping from his tight shoulders as he stood up. He swiped Val’s half-finished drink from the coffee table, ignoring his, “Hey!” of protest as he dragged his feet over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. He stared out over the sprawl that was Pentagram City. So many demons packed into such a tight space, the pentagram expanding every day as more and more sinners tumbled into Hell. All that action and excitement, yet Vox’s gaze kept getting dragged over to one particular building, just as it had since a certain someone had returned to town.
The Hazbin Hotel was visible even from the other side of the city. It stood atop a hill at the northern point, no longer a rickety, patchwork structure, but tall and wide, lit up with a thousand bulbs. It had gone through quite the transformation since Charlie Morningstar and her band of merry fuckheads had taken a stand against Heaven’s forces. Vox’s live broadcast of the battle had raked in quite the viewership and it had opened up new avenues of business when it came to tackling the exterminations. All in all, an enjoyable and productive event.
Had he not been busy having a heart attack watching Alastor nearly get sliced in half by Adam, he might’ve had a more pleasant evening.
The glass mirrored Vox’s own exasperated expression back at him. He was being stupid. There was no point getting worked up over Alastor, who was only now a fixture in Vox’s life purely to fuck with him. There was no way in Hell—or anywhere else, for that matter—that Alastor was agonising over this shit, so Vox was better off cutting his losses and forgetting about any memories of dancing in Atlantis City.
God knew Alastor wasn’t hung up on him, after all.
“Niffty,” Alastor murmured, pursing his lips in thought, “I need your advice on something.”
He was laid out on his stomach on Niffty’s bed—the structure of which he’d had to elongate using magic to accommodate his length—legs crossed behind him at the ankles while Niffty sat on his back and fiddled with his hair. Her tiny hands combed through his locks, twisting the strands into complex braids. She was just about the only person he trusted to come anywhere near his hair, his scalp being a little on the sensitive side. He blamed his cervine ears and the delicate fur nestled inside, of which the slightest disturbance to would alert him to any possible danger. Such as a comb.
“Yeah?” Niffty’s squeaky voice piped up behind him. “What about?”
“It’s Vox,” Alastor confessed with a long sigh.
“Oh? Do you wanna kill him?” Niffty giggled, sounding excited by the prospect.
But Alastor waved her words away with a grumble. “No, no. Nothing like that. Quite the opposite, really.”
Niffty popped her head into Alastor’s field of view, blinking her one big eye down at him. Cocking her head to the side, she asked, “What d’you mean?”
What did he mean? Alastor had been trying to puzzle that little question out himself for some time.
A nagging feeling had been gnawing at the back of his skull for months now, and if he tried to pinpoint it back to one moment, it would be when he’d bid Vox farewell after their (unbeknownst to them) overdue divorce. Slipping back inside the hotel, leaving Vox to blink after him on the front porch, Alastor had felt less like he was abandoning Vox and more like he was making a retreat.
But a retreat from what? Something troublesome, that was for sure.
All Alastor knew was that he rather liked his bi-monthly meetings with Vox. He would find himself counting down the two weeks until their next appointment, his mood picking up in anticipation of concocting creative ways to incite Vox to make more of those hilarious, adorable expressions. Almost as though he…enjoyed being around Vox. It was a sensation Alastor hadn’t been acquainted with for about fifteen years, before everything had become rather complicated and their once-happy friendship had wilted into something undeniably sad.
And Alastor was not a man who tolerated sad. Melancholy? Perhaps. Wistful? On the odd occasion. But never sad. Sad was only one step away from pathetic, which looked alright on some people (like Vox) but not on Alastor.
“I mean-“ Alastor spoke slowly, trying to piece his thoughts together as he vocalised them. “He’s proven himself to be rather more entertaining than I expected. I’m starting to remember why I even bothered with him in the first place.”
“’Cause he’s so stabbable!” Niffty supplied, brandishing her needle.
It gleamed under the fluorescent lights as Alastor tipped his head, conceding this point.
“Yes, but it’s more than that. He’s…nice.”
“Nice?” Niffty echoed, scrunching her face up.
“Yes. Nice.” Alastor steepled his fingers together beneath his chin, allowing Niffty to disappear back behind his head and tug at his hair. “And pleasant. And delightful. And captivating. I’m rather enjoying playing this little game of ours. My only worry is that he’ll tire of it too soon, then I’m not sure what I’ll do.”
“Stab him?” Niffty suggested.
“Maybe,” Alastor sighed. “But there are only so many times you can stab a man before he grows bored of you.”
The very thought of which had Alastor’s blood thrumming with alarm. It was all too easy to imagine Vox getting distracted by amorous attention, whether from his skank of a business partner, Valentino, or some other random demon, intent to climb the social ladder by latching onto a powerful overlord. He, himself, had been made to deal with such leeches. However, while he trusted in his own power to resist such manipulations, he did not have as much faith in Vox.
Vox, who was ultimately just as susceptible to desires of the heart and body as any other common soul. It had been a sticking point in their past friendship: Vox’s inability to think with his big head, the smaller often winning out when a fork in the road presented itself. Back then it had just been frustrating but now it was shaping up to be a genuine problem.
Alastor had decided he wasn’t ready for Vox to decide they were done, so now he needed to find a way to keep a hold of him.
“Too bad you’re not married anymore,” Niffty said, breaking Alastor out of his reverie.
Alastor glanced at her sharply over his shoulder, nearly impaling his eyeball on the barrette Niffty was threading through his hair.
“What did you say?” Alastor demanded.
Niffty blinked, glancing up from the braid she was crafting behind his ear. “That you’re not married to the loser box? Heh, if you were, he’d be stuck with you! No escape!”
She chittered a laugh, drumming her fingertips together, oblivious to the thunderbolt her words had struck Alastor with.
He realised with a start that she was right. Marriage. Of course. It was the oldest trick in the book! And he’d gone and thrown it all away by divorcing Vox months ago. Oh, it was perfectly easy to ignore an ex-husband, but a husband…Well.
“Done!” Niffty announced, shoving a hand mirror into Alastor’s face.
He accepted it, turning his head this way and that to examine his reflection. His hair was a smattering of braids, hair ties and butterfly clips of every colour. Niffty had even thrown in an over-sized bow behind his ears, the same bright pink as the ribbon she’d tied around his antlers. All in all, it looked as though an overly enthusiastic unicorn had thrown up on his head.
“Ah,” Alastor said, poking at a fishtail braid Niffty had threaded through with a spool of glittery purple yarn. “Terrible as always, dear.”
“Thanks!” Niffty replied cheerily and Alastor gave her an affectionate pat on the head, making her giggle.
He checked his pocket watch and found that it was getting towards dinner time. Reviewing his knowledge of Vox’s weekly comings and goings, he thought it likely that the man in question was tucked away in his office.
Grinning to himself, Alastor began to plan.
With a jaunty whistle and a spring in his step, Alastor made his way down the stairs, twirling his cane as he did. His good cheer must have attracted the attention of the others in the lobby as he heard Vaggie’s voice pipe up from the parlour.
“Alastor? Where are you going?”
Alastor spun on his heel without breaking his stride, pacing backwards to shoot a couple of finger guns at Vaggie’s suspicious face. “Nunya!”
Vaggie’s frown deepened. “Nunya?”
“Nunya business!” Alastor finished, some canned laughter playing from the head of his cane.
Vaggie scowled while Angel, sitting in the adjacent armchair, paused scrolling on his phone to snort.
“Can’t believe you fell for that one,” he chortled.
There was a rustling of fabric, followed by a grunt from Angel, and Alastor imagined Vaggie lobbing a cushion at his head with blinding speed and accuracy.
Alastor paused in the doorway, straightening up his bowtie. “Wish me luck today, chums.”
“Why?” Vaggie demanded at the same time Charlie called out, “Good luck!”
Alastor swept out the door without answering either of them, fixing his sights on the abominable tower visible on the other side of the city.
Vox groaned at his many screens, each one showing him more shit he didn’t want to see. He’d perhaps been exaggerating Voxtek’s recent successes during the board meeting that day, fluffing the numbers up to something agreeable, instead of the reality. Which was, well, shit. Their sales were not going up in Envy. In fact, they were sinking to the bottom of the ocean along with all the whaling ships that littered the sea floor. Old hellhounds were more likely to buy a mouldy piece of rope than they were a Voxtek smartwatch.
It seemed the public were just…bored of the brand. Vox could only influence with his hypnosis so much before it gave him a migraine.
He blamed the fucking hotel. Ever since their big battle with Adam and the exorcists, that shitty rehab centre had been getting all the press. His drones had informed him that some sinners were even checking in.
What was Hell coming to?
Val and Velvette were useless, content to go about their business as usual and leave all the ‘boring shit’ to Vox. Boring shit like their fucking livelihoods.
With a disgusted scoff, Vox pushed away from his desk, sliding back a few feet on his wheely chair. A cursory glance through the cameras informed him that Velvette was doing her nightly hair routine while Val was laid out on her carpet, painting his nails. Vox briefly considered joining them before deciding they’d pissed him off and so he dismissed the thought.
He unplugged from the motherboard and his vision swam back to his singular screen. Blinking a few times to get the world back into focus, he stood up and made his way along the walkway, back to the door. He rubbed at the kink in his neck as he left his office and paced through the empty living room, the remains of Val’s cigarillo piled up in the ashtray on the coffee table.
Vox contemplated having a bath, though he felt the ache in his neck and shoulders wouldn’t be satisfied with a simple dip. He was contemplating a deep tissue massage as the door to his bedroom slipped open and he stepped inside.
His internal alarms started blaring before his eyes registered the intruder on his bed. A yelp burst from his throat as he staggered back, his shoulder thumping against the wall. He dismissed the pop-ups flashing across his screen, suggesting lockdown measures or S.W.A.T teams in his area, blinking at the figure pushing themselves up onto their elbows on the mattress.
“Oh, there’s no need to be so dramatic,” Alastor said with a roll of his eyes. “You act as though work colleagues can’t pay each other professional visits.”
Vox finally wrested control of himself back into shape and snapped, “There’s nothing professional about breaking into someone’s room! How’d you even get in here?”
“Velvette gave me a card,” Alastor replied carelessly, making Vox briefly freeze for a second before his systems booted back up.
“What? You can’t just-!”
“Any-hoo,” Alastor went on, swinging his feet to the floor and standing, “I didn’t come here for idle chit-chat. As I said, this is a business call, not a social one.”
He paced about the room, inspecting Vox’s sleek furniture, the fake plants adorning his dresser, the fish tank fixed into the corner, all with a studious eye. Vox watched him, hackles raised, readying himself for Alastor to do something like set his carpet on fire.
“A business call?” Vox asked, keeping his gaze fixed on the wall as Alastor strolled behind him. “For what?”
“A proposal,” came Alastor’s reply.
“What kind of proposal?” Vox bit out, a headache beginning to form behind his screen.
He turned around and blinked in surprise at finding Alastor suddenly down on one knee, grinning up at him. His mind came to a screeching halt when Alastor grabbed one of his hands and fished a small black box out of his pocket.
“A proposal,” Alastor repeated, flicking open the box to display a golden ring adorned with an obnoxiously huge diamond. It, along with Alastor’s beaming smile, blinded Vox. “Whattaya say?”
Vox couldn’t say anything. His tongue felt huge and swollen in his mouth, preventing any attempt at speech. There was also the problem that his internal software was having an issue or ten thousand trying to process what Alastor had said, what he was holding in his hand. Vox had to knock a fist against the side of his monitor to get his brain back up and running, pulling his hand from Alastor’s grasp.
“Are you kidding me?” he stammered, blinking rapidly—but no. The sight of Alastor kneeling before him and brandishing a ring remained, refusing to show itself as a mirage or figment of his imagination.
Alastor’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “That’s not one of the standard answers. Typically, you would respond with a yes or no. Of course, those are in situations where the one proposing to you isn’t yours truly, in which case, the only acceptable answer is of course!”
“This is some kind of joke, right?” Vox demanded, clutching at the flat edges of his head. “Some weird, dumb joke?”
“I would never joke about unholy matrimony!” Alastor gasped, hand flying to his chest. He managed to look offended for exactly two seconds before his mouth spilt open in a grin and he lowered his eyelids. “Except when it’s funny. But I can assure you, this isn’t one of those times. I am entirely serious.”
The really fucked up thing was that Vox believed him. He’d gotten to know Alastor quite well over the course of their decades-long friendship, and even after that. Divorce really showed you sides to a person you’d never otherwise see. He’d gotten to know his tells, none of which were on display in that moment. Which just made the whole situation all that more bewildering. Alastor playing a cruel joke on him was entirely understandable—expected, really. But honest-to-Lucifer proposing?
Why?
“Why?” Vox said, releasing his head to stare down at Alastor.
“Why not?” Alastor answered glibly, shrugging. When all Vox did was glare at him, Alastor sighed and rose to his feet. “Because it is beneficial to the both of us. It’s as I told you; I have a vested interest in your success now. My name is associated with this company, so I can’t very well have it failing, can I?”
Vox’s insides heated up and he glared. “The company is not-“
“Hush,” Alastor ordered raising his hand, and Vox’s mouth clamped shut of its own accord. “What Voxspeck-“
“Voxtek.”
“-needs is some good publicity. A scandal without all the scandalous parts.”
“And, what? You think us getting married is that good publicity?” Vox couldn’t help but laugh incredulously. “Didn’t exactly go too well for us last time.”
Vox hadn’t touched a drop of booze outside of stealing Val’s drinks since the divorce, months ago. The entire situation had done a number on his nerves, both reliving that one wild night at the casino and then the chapel enough to make him swear off recreational drunkenness, lest he wake up one morning and find that he’d married fucking Travis in a liquor-fuelled state.
“Unlike last time,” Alastor quipped, “this will be a planned, deliberate move. Just think of all the press that two powerful overlords getting married would kick up. Such a thing has never happened before! Why, it’d be the wedding of the century.” When Vox didn’t immediately shoot him down, Alastor kept going, pacing around Vox in a circle, not entirely dissimilar to a vulture circling a dying gazelle. “I’m not suggesting we shack up in a quaint little spot in the suburbs with a white picket fence and a dog. This would be purely a publicity stunt. We have all of Hell’s elites at the ceremony, reap the rewards, remain publicly married for a year or so, then get a quiet divorce.” He chuckled then added, “Again.”
Vox stared at him as he turned Alastor’s words over in his mind. With those stipulations, the plan didn’t sound all that terrible. Celebrities dating and getting hitched to drum up attention and turn all gazes to their various ventures was nothing new, even down in Hell. He recalled a first-time actress having a brief fling with the popstar, Verosika Mayday, who’d made a single for the movie she was staring in. The relationship had ended shortly after the film’s release but it had sold a record-breaking number of tickets.
It was true what Alastor said. Status and intrigue were worth its weight in gold.
Still, a strange tightness was spreading across his chest at the prospect. It made him shift about on the spot in discomfort. He and Alastor being business partners was one thing, but posing to the public as a couple—lying at being in love—was something entirely different. Something he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of.
Alastor watched him deliberate for a minute before humming and seizing up his cane. “You don’t have to give me an answer right away. I understand these things take time to consider. How does twenty-four hours sound?”
Vox jolted at his words, eyes bugging along his screen. “What? You’re giving me a time limit?”
“Well, I can’t wait by the phone forever,” Alastor drawled, twirling his cane. “Let me know by this time tomorrow what your answer is. If you decide against my proposal, we can forget this entire thing happened and continue on as coworkers. If you choose yes, then we’ll be engaged.”
He gave Vox a sly smile as he stepped into his space and pinched the edge of his monitor. Leaning close, he pressed a kiss to Vox’s screen, just to left of his mouth. A spark of static buzzed against the spot Alastor’s lips had touched him and Vox remained rooted to the spot as Alastor stepped back with a low laugh.
“Until tomorrow,” Alastor sang, then promptly melted into a shadow and slipped under Vox’s door.
Vox didn’t move right away. He stood in the centre of his bedroom, breath rattling about in his chest as he tried to get his thoughts into some semblance of an order. The sight of the ring nestled snugly in its box, sitting atop Vox’s dresser didn’t help things.
Vox stared at the sparkling diamond and stated succinctly to nobody at all, “Fuck.”