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Vox may have been alone, but he wasn’t lonely.
It had been a few short months since his failed takeover of Heaven, and despite it all, Vox was doing fine. Better than fine! He was thriving.
For one thing, he had regenerated his body since bitchass Val and Velvette wouldn’t let Vox use one of his spare ones. He felt weaker than normal and would spark incessantly, but at least he had limbs and could move around. Any other discomforts would fade in time. Vox had endured before, and he could endure yet again.
It wasn’t like Vox actually had anywhere to go either. He spent most of his time in the past few months sequestered in his room, only partially by choice. Sometimes, Vox wanted to hide in a dark, dark hole and disappear upon seeing how low his approval rating was. Sometimes, he wanted to go out there and show those miserable sinners just who it was they were badmouthing. But he wasn’t being allowed outside (he had been caught by Velvette trying to sneak out no less than five times), which left him fucking bored.
Worse, Val still wasn’t speaking to him for some damn reason, despite coming into Vox’s room sometimes and just sitting there. Like he was expecting something. It was unfair. Was Vox supposed to read his mind? If Val wanted something, he should’ve just asked for it like an adult. Vox always made sure Val got what he wanted.
Anyway, the most social interaction Vox had on a daily basis was sporadic visits from his fellow Vees or supervised playdates with Shok.wav.
(He almost didn’t go the first time Velvette offered it. He didn’t know why it made him so damn nervous, but he went anyway. Shok.wav swam in happy circles as soon as he saw him, and Vox played fetch with him using the ugliest of Velvette’s models. It was the first time Vox had smiled in days.)
So yeah, Vox was good. He had himself, and that was what mattered. He didn’t need Velvette and Val, but they needed him. Sooner or later, they’d cave, reinstate him as CEO, and it would be like nothing had happened in the first place. Sinners had short attention spans. They’d surely forget about Vox’s little…indiscretions. It would just take some time.
All this was to say that barely anyone had been visiting him lately. It was why he was utterly baffled when, instead of Val’s sexy silhouette of Velvette’s short frame, it was Angel Dust’s lanky body that barged into his room late at night. Vox just barely stopped himself from flinching back from where he was sitting in his torn-up swivel chair.
(He was brooding. Not moping. Brooding. There was a difference).
“Nice digs you got here,” Angel commented casually, looking around the room and letting the door swing shut behind him. “Dark though. Is this your man cave?”
Vox did not have “nice digs,” as Angel put it. He did at a time, before everything. His room may have still had its high ceilings and shiny floors, but now it was a mess of exposed wires and torn up paper, with a single beat up mattress in the corner. Had Vox trashed his office in a rage? Of course he did. Anyone would. His (fucking expensive by the way) collection of vintage liquor had been confiscated by Velvette because he was “clearly spiraling.” Yeah right. He was just drinking because he had nothing else to do. That didn’t make him an alcoholic, no matter what Velvette said. He’d done it before, and he had always been fine. Val could attest to that, even if he never liked it much either.
That lecture had not been fun.
At least Val and Velvette had stopped grinding Vox’s claws down. His benevolent jailers had majorly overreacted to Vox tearing out some of his wires from his chest a few weeks back. He wasn’t trying to kill himself or anything silly like that. It was just that he was bored or something. The whole ordeal was fuzzy in his memory, but Vox knew he must have had a good reason. Velvette chewed him out for thirty minutes after anyway, and Val just stood there crying. It made Vox feel like fucking shit for some reason, so he promised not to do it again. In any case, his claws remaining sharp meant he got to destroy his room as much as he liked. The only rule was that he wasn’t allowed to turn any of that destructive energy on himself. Assholes. It wasn’t like he had anyone else to break to ease his rage, but he agreed anyway. It was better than being even more defanged than he already was.
Fuck. Vox, of all people, was following rules. It was humiliating. As soon as Val was done with his tantrum, Vox was going to dom him so damn hard.
“What are you doing here?” Vox asked blandly, trying not to let his heart rate spike. He was fine. Everything was fine. He wasn’t nervous about letting Angel see him like this. Even in his weakened state, he was still more than Angel could ever be. The disciples never loved Jesus less, even when he was crucified, right? Vox wasn’t as sharp with his Bible stories as he once was.
“Bored, I guess. I got finished with a ten hour shoot. I should go to sleep but I’m, like, fuckin’ wired,” Angel said. His posture was still pulled inward, all pathetic and defeated. It made Vox sick. “Just wanna’ talk to someone who ain’t Val.”
Vox bit back a frustrated scowl. At least Val wanted to talk to Angel. Vox couldn’t say the same for himself. Damnit. Angel really didn’t get how lucky he was, how damn easy it was to belong to Val instead of having to manage him. For as mad as Angel could make Val, Val had never locked him away in a room to be forgotten.
“Velvette shouldn’t be doing anything right now,” Vox said. Without his cameras, he couldn’t be totally sure, but he had her schedule more or less memorized. Angel could go bother her, and they could girl out about whatever celebrity gossip was in the papers. Angel wasn’t technically a woman, but he may as well have been, dressing like that and playing all stupid for Val. Disgusting.
Angel huffed, “I said talk, not be treated like a fuckin’ mannequin.”
An irritated burst of electricity shot through Vox. Angel Dust had some nerve talking about Velvette like that. That fucking hussy was lucky Velvette deigned to dress him. Her attention was a gift, and he didn’t even give a damn. Could Angel be any more spoiled? Any more oblivious? If Vox had been at full power, he would have broadcast that little comment straight to Velvette. Or better yet, Val. He never took well to anyone insulting his Babydoll.
Oh well. Vox would have to use his words to put Angel in his place instead. If Angel wanted to play games, Vox was more than willing to oblige.
“Your aversion is understandable enough, I suppose. You wouldn’t have the best memories of the last time she played dress-up with you.” Vox grinned, waiting for that perfect moment when Angel’s face fell. “That is, if you have memories at all. My powers can make things ever so hazy, can’t they, Angel Dust?”
But Angel didn’t seem off put by the comment in the least. He just shrugged, like Vox had commented on the weather.
“They do. But I didn’t want to talk to her. I wanted to talk to you. You seem…not busy,” Angel noted, gesturing vaguely at Vox.
Not busy? That whore. Vox was busy. Vox was super busy. Sure, he wasn’t allowed to be involved in the business directly (fuck you, Velvette), and he had all his accounts frozen, and… Vox had plenty to do. In fact, he had already gotten access back to a few camera feeds for his good behavior. Then again, they were all in Val’s room, and Val wasn’t there right now, meaning there wasn’t much for Vox to watch.
How long had it been since Vox didn’t know where Val was at any given moment? He could’ve been out fucking some ugly loser or kicking puppies, and Vox wouldn’t know. The thought made anxiety pool in his stomach. Because it would be bad for their brand. Obviously. Why else would he care?
“So you came to me?” Vox repeated, trying to establish control. Because he was, as always, in control, even if it didn’t feel like it. “I’m surprised, given the last time we spoke.”
Ah, yes, the last time Angel’s tiny little mind was his own and Vox was actually allowed around him. What a memory that was. Angel Dust’s face, cut open and bleeding from a strike that carried years of resentment behind it. The way he quivered and shook from the electric shocks that had wracked his body. He had been so, so scared. Eyes wide open as his free will slipped away, no matter how hard he tried to close them. What a rush it had been to feel as Angel gave in, unable to fight anymore.
Good times.
Vox could’ve killed Angel right there. He would’ve if he thought he could have gotten away with it. It may have been nice to break the Princess’ spirit just a bit more, but that was inconsequential in the long run. Now, Angel bleeding beneath him, dead and ready to be forgotten? That would’ve been beautiful, a memory worth holding onto forever. Val would’ve thrown a fit, though. What a shame.
Angel tensed at his words, and Vox reveled in the obvious fear in his eyes. Angel Dust was so weak. Breakable. The little whore always managed to heal up, though. Val had made that abundantly clear. You had to be able to take a beating if you were going to be Val’s favorite. If only Vox could wrap his hands around that fragile neck now and squeeze—
“Yeah, well, I guess that’s how bored I am,” Angel said, taking a seat in a beat-up chair across from Vox. His voice was impressively steady, but Vox could see the way his many hands shook. He was still scared of Vox, even in his present state.
The thought was a pleasant jolt to his system. Vox wondered what Angel would have done if he could see the violent fantasies playing on loop in Vox’s brain. Would he try to fight? Would he run and hide? Or would he just accept the inevitability of his demise?
“Or stupid,” Vox countered, because what was Angel if not an idiot?
“Or stupid,” Angel agreed. It wasn’t sarcastic or even particularly bitter. He said it as if it were a fact. Weird.
“I didn’t know you could be self-aware.”
Angel was a perfect picture of terrified nonchalance. “And I didn’t know you could stand bein’ in a room with me. First time for everything, I guess.”
Vox didn’t know what to say to that.
So he didn’t say anything at all, letting the room settle into silence. It wasn’t comfortable. Of course not. But it was calm in a way the two of them rarely were. Usually, Vox would be needling Angel until the slut left, and Angel would be working ceaselessly to get under his skin. But these weren’t usual times. They would be soon, Vox was sure of it, but not yet.
Maybe Vox just needed someone to talk to. Even if it was a floozy whose head he wanted on a spike. Val was still ignoring him, and Velvette only ever spoke to him to make fun of him. Attention was attention, right? Gods paid attention to even the most pathetic among their numbers.
Angel broke the quiet by digging around in his pocket, as if looking for something. Maybe he had an angelic pistol, and he had just been trying to hype himself up to put Vox out of his misery. What a relief that would be. Anything had to be better than existing so pitifully.
Ugh, scratch that. Death was one thing, but death by Angel Dust’s hands was a level of humiliation Vox couldn’t bear. Then again, Val would be furious at Angel for pulling a stunt like that. Thinking about what Val would do to him, how he would break that slut down to nothing before ending it all with a bullet to the brain, it almost made such an embarrassing death worth it. Almost.
Angel grinned excitedly, pulling a box of cigarettes out from God knows where, “Yes! Come to daddy.”
“Addict,” Vox mumbled, more to himself than anything. The way Angel’s dead, glossy eyes lit up at the sight of a cancer stick was pathetic. Vox smoked in life and death, but he didn't need it. He could’ve quit whenever he wanted. Not that there was any reason to now. It wasn’t like his body could be hurt by nicotine. He mostly smoked with Val anyway. Otherwise, he preferred to drink to take the edge off. He always had.
Honestly, Vox had always thought smoking was a filthy habit. In fact, he could hardly stand doing it himself. The only thing he hated more was seeing all the people who couldn’t go for more than an hour without a smoke break. It was embarrassing to be so utterly dependent on something. Having vices was one thing, but being unable to function without them was just sad. How could you have control over others if you couldn’t even control yourself?
Vox was always in control. Every aspect of himself was carefully cultivated and put together at all times. Shaking from drug withdrawals didn’t help that image.
Vox altered his perspective after meeting Val.
Val smoked like a damn chimney. It was part of his brand, but goddamn it was grating. Or, it would’ve been if it weren’t so damn intoxicating. Val’s powers didn’t work on Vox (count that as one more reason he was better than Val’s whores), but that didn’t make him any less appealing. Val’s smoke didn’t feel like just another gross addiction. Val wasn’t junkie trash like Angel was. Smoking was just…who he was. Val was pissy when he didn’t get to smoke, yeah, but it wasn’t like Angel’s dependencies. It was difficult to describe the difference, but Vox knew it was there.
Smelling that sickly sweet smoke in the air didn’t irritate Vox like it should have. Instead, it would settle over him like a blanket, and he would find himself covered in the pure Val of it all. It felt like a hug. Like the most soul consuming kiss he’d ever had.
“Fuck,” Angel groaned, leaning his head back. His high pitched whining brought Vox back to the present. “My lighter’s with Val. Gimme a hand here?”
Vox's claws dug deep marks into the metal of his side table. He wished it were Angel’s face. His lighter was with Val. Of fucking course. Because Angel couldn’t do anything on his own. God forbid their number one star actually do something for himself for once. Poor Angel Dust was just too itty bitty and weak to hold a big, heavy lighter.
Vox didn’t understand how anyone could enjoy being so helpless. He spoiled Val, but at the end of the day, Val didn’t need it. Well, he did, but in a psychological way, not a physical way. Val couldn’t exist without Vox, but he could handle himself for the most part. But then there was Angel Dust, a glorified pet who was only worth the money he made them. Why Val was so damn obsessed with someone so weak, Vox would never understand.
Oh, but for as worthless as he was, Angel could be vindictive, couldn’t he? Angel was enjoying this. Rubbing his newfound domestic bliss with Val in Vox’s fucking face like it was nothing. Like that was supposed to bother him. Please. Val’s good mood would dissipate, and so would this honeymoon phase, and then he’d go back to Vox like he always did. Vox would see how smug that spider bastard was then.
Vox wouldn’t let that Jezebel have the satisfaction of seeing how affected he was. He kept his voice impassive and bored, “With what?”
“The cigarette?” Angel looked at Vox like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Can you light it?”
Vox rolled his eyes, “Do I look like a lighter?”
Angel’s face was a convincing mask of confusion as he looked Vox up and down. “Kinda. You do it all the time for Val.”
Obviously. Val needed him. Lighting Val’s cigarettes was a small gesture, but yet another thing showing Val how utterly indispensable Vox was. Besides, it made Val happy, and Vox was in the business of keeping up Val’s good moods.
(Even as it became expected, Val never ceased to look at him with a kind of pure adoration that left Vox weak in the knees.)
Angel hadn’t earned that courtesy. He didn’t deserve the consideration. No one but Val did. Angel deserved to be fucked in a dark alleyway and have five dollars thrown at him after. Val deserved, well, everything.
“And you’re not him, are you?” Vox countered, voice cold.
“Um, no? Duh,” Angel said. “Ain’t Val supposed to be the one with shit eyes?”
Irrationally, Vox immediately felt angry on Val’s behalf. Who did Angel think he was, making fun of him like that? Vox did it, but Vox did it with affection, or when Val deserved the scorn. Never like this. Never behind his back.
The words slipped out before Vox could stop them, “Don’t talk about him that way.”
“Touchy,” Angel said blandly. “Feelin’ protective?"
“What? No.”
“Course not.” Angel’s grin was utterly smug, and Vox could see that stupid gold tooth sticking out, so much like Val’s.
Vox would be stupid to deny they shared similarities. Val could be so vain. Of course, his favorite plaything reminded him of himself. But where Val was strong, Angel was weak. Where Angel had his fleeting comments of compassion, Val was ruthless to a fault. Maybe it was those small differences that disgusted Vox so deeply, the way Angel was a warped caricature of the man Vox loved.
Loved to be around, that is. Because they were friends. Well, not friends. Business partners. Fuck, were they even that anymore? Vox had been cut out of the business, and that was one half of the whole business partner thing, wasn’t it? Vox would be back, obviously. Val wouldn’t be able to cope without him for long. He needed him like the moon needed the sun. Without Vox, Val was dark and dull. Val would realize that soon enough, and everything would go back to normal. God, Vox couldn’t wait.
But where did that leave them now? Val may not have been talking to him, but he was certainly still thinking of him, right? Vox had been working on monopolizing Val for decades. Surely Val felt the lack of attention, the lack of monitoring? Val must have missed it, despite his little vow of silence. That must have been why Vox was given some of his cameras back. Velvette said it was because Vox kept having “manic episodes” and “trying to kill himself” and “he needed something to do something to keep himself sane,” but Vox knew an excuse when he heard one. Val was still his little attention whore, huh? The thought was comforting.
Angel snapped his fingers in front of Vox’s screen, looking at Vox strangely. “Uh, anyone home?”
Vox slapped Angel’s hand away and delighted in his flinch. “I was trying to block you out. It seems I failed.”
“Uh, rude. I was talkin’ to you.”
“So?”
“So, when someone’s talkin’ to you, you should listen. Your Ma never teach you manners?”
“Why would I listen to you?” Vox asked pointedly, looking Angel up and down. “What could you say that could possibly be worth hearing?”
Angel Dust gave a long suffering sigh. “You are such an asshole. That’s it. I’m just skippin’ to the point. Are you okay?”
Vox blinked once. Twice. The fuck?
“Are you seriously trying to have a heart to heart with me? Me?” Vox laughed incredulously. What was Angel Dust doing? Was this a prank? Vox didn’t sense any cameras, but there must have been some hidden in the room.
“No—fuck. Just,” Angel ran a hand over his face, groaning, “You brought this on yourself. I know ya did. You got a big head and tried to off everyone cuz’ your crush ain’t like back. That’s crazy. You’re crazy.”
Crush? Trust Angel Dust of all people who distill down 70 years of history to something so juvenile. It wasn’t that simple. It never had been. What Vox had felt for Alastor, what he had wanted, well, it didn’t matter anymore. Not really. What was done was done. He was better off without that red prick. Happier too. So much happier.
And now Angel was talking like he knew a damn thing about what he and Alastor had. Well fuck that.
“Are you gloating? Is that it?” Vox growled. “Because you need to tread lightly. I may not be at full strength, but I could still fucking ruin you.”
“I’m not gloating!” Angel snapped, always so quick to anger over nothing. “Fucking let me finish. I’m just sayin,’ despite everything…no one deserves to be thrown away. Not by people who are supposed ta love ya. So, I just wanna know if you’re okay, I guess. Because I can’t imagine sitting in this dark room all day has done you any good.”
“I…I wasn’t thrown away,” Vox said slowly. This was just a temporary setback. He wasn’t disposable. He wasn’t Angel Dust.
“They kept ya, that’s true,” Angel Dust said, tone revoltingly gentle. “But they’ve been shutting ya out. It’s obvious. And you’re a prick, but Charlie’s stupid feelings shit must’ve worked on me cuz’ I’m worried about you. I should hate you, and part of me does. You ruined the best thing I ever had in my life. But when I see you like this…I dunno, it feels like maybe we could find common ground. How can I hate someone who’s so down on their luck already, y’know? After everything, it feels pointless. Fighting with you feels pointless. So how about it? A truce would make things easier for both of us, right? You quit tryin’ to antagonize me, and I visit you sometimes. Sounds pretty generous to me.”
Angel extended a hand to punctuate his little speech.
Vox narrowed his eyes, looking for the catch, the trap. Angel was stupid, but he wasn’t that stupid. He couldn’t have actually thought Vox would ever say yes. Likewise, Vox was desperate, but he wasn’t that desperate. He wasn’t going to talk to someone he hated just because he had no one else.
But then, did he hate Angel Dust? He used to. He knew that for sure. He hated him for being weak, for taking Valentino’s attention when he so clearly had no idea what to do with it. But after all these years, after everything that had happened in the past few months, did he even have that hatred in him anymore?
Vox wanted to disappear. What could such a strong feeling of hatred do for him in the face of that goal?
Maybe it wasn’t the worst idea ever. They weren't friends, and they never would be, but unfortunately, they knew each other rather well. Years living in the same building will do that. They could just talk sometimes. And Vox wouldn’t be alone. That didn’t sound so bad. Maybe—
“Calm down, will ya? I can see your brain workin,’” Angel snorted lightly, perfectly affable, “I ain’t got any weapons on me, if that’s what you’re worried about. Val took ‘em all.”
Val.
All of a sudden, Vox couldn’t hear Angel Dust, couldn’t hear anything. So that was Angel’s goal in this little power play. It made too much sense. Angel saw that the one person Vox cared about more than anyone else had abandoned him, and was trying to use that. If Vox said yes, Angel was going to report back to Val, and then they’d both laugh over what a pathetic fucking loser Vox was. He could see it now, Angel on Val’s arm, Val looking at him like he mattered. The way he was supposed to look at Vox.
To think he almost fell for it.
Vox felt an uncomfortable static build up in the back of his throat. Something truly frightening must have shown on his face, because Angel’s expression tightened, even as he left that damn hand outstretched.
“You’re dumber than I thought,” Vox spat, delighting in the way Angel flinched, his extended hand faltering. “We are nothing alike. I’m not some dumb hooker, desperate for attention to prove he isn’t as washed up as everyone knows he is. I’m an Overlord. This is temporary. Val and Velvette will come to their senses soon, and I’ll be back and charge as if nothing happened. And where will you be? Probably in one of my studios, getting fucked to make me money because that’s all you’re good for.”
“I…”
Vox stood up. His legs were shaky, and his circuits were sparking, but he needed the power of the height advantage. Angry tears began to burn his eyes. “You come in here, acting like you want to be best fwiends with the guy who tortured you half to death? Like we’re kindred spirits? Why? Just because we’ve both fucked Val? Or, haha, I guess been fucked by Val, in your case. You must think I’m stupid. Newsflash, Angel Dust, you’re a toy to him. I’m his partner. I’m the one who will be by his side for eternity, not you. You’re just a convenient hole with more fortitude than sense. But me? He needs me. If you had any brainpower left, you’d let him break you and toss you aside like every other slut before you. Because if you don’t, one day, he’ll get tired of you. And…and I’ll get to watch as he snuffs out whatever spark you have left.”
Vox was breathing heavily, and Angel stared at him in shock.
A few moments later, Angel burst out laughing, grabbing at his sides as if in pain. “Ha! Holy fuck! Oh my God! That’s what this is about?”
“Pardon?”
Angel was still giggling to himself like he hadn’t heard a word. He took a deep breath, struggling to speak between snorts, “I knew you hated me, but I always thought you musta’ had a halfway okay reason. You couldn’t just hate me cuz’ a Val. There was no way you were so fucking petty. I musta done somethin’ to offend you. But nope! You’re just a fucking mess.”
“Watch who you’re talking to, boy,” Vox snarled.
“Ooh, I’m so scared,” Angel drawled, looking utterly victorious even as his eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “You’re sad, Vox. I can’t believe I was ever scared of you! I never did a damn thing to you, and you still spent years hatin’ me just because I take Val’s attention. Hatin’ me for somethin’ I don’t even want.”
Something he didn’t want? Big talk from someone who made himself such a damn spectacle all the time, acting the way he did, making himself a perfect little doll for Val on the daily.
“Oh, don’t act all innocent. He didn’t force you to sign your soul away,” Vox pointed out, a cold fury seeping into his bones. If there was any testament to how badly Angel wanted Val, it was that.
“I loved him!” Angel cried, weak and pitiful as he shot out of his seat. Vox forced down his instinct to take a step back. “I thought he loved me, too. But he doesn’t. I know that now. Why do you think I left in the first place?”
“But you came back, didn’t you?” Vox pointed out. Angel always came back. It was something Angel always just loved to gloss over when he played the victim. “You can act like it was to protect your precious friends, but we both know better, don’t we, sweetheart? You came back because you missed him. You needed this.”
Angel couldn’t be alone. Of course not. As tough as he pretended to be, he needed someone stronger than him to show him what to do. He needed the kind of control only men like Valentino and Vox could provide.
Angel was lucky. He didn’t have to think. All he had to do was obey. Vox could do nothing but think. Every damn day, it was nothing but thoughts, some good, most bad. Vox wasn’t brainless like Angel. Vox could never be free of his own mind.
Angel’s ugly mug contorted into a snarl, “You shut the fuck up.”
It was obvious he was getting pissed, so, naturally, Vox continued, “You needed a big, strong man to put you in your place. Without a firm hand, you’ve got no clue what to do with yourself, do you? Because you were made for this. You were born to be someone’s toy. Without Val, you’re nothing. ‘A bag of meat with some mildly entertaining holes’ were his exact words, I believe.”
“Stop it—“
“Is that why you got so attached to that ex-overlord?” Vox said the words casually, and Angel’s face fell. Jackpot. “He’s powerful, even if he’s on Alastor’s leash. I’ll give him that. That must’ve got your rocks off for a bit. He was pretty nice to you, though, wasn’t he? But of course he was. He was under someone’s thumb, just like you. A fellow loser, huh, baby? But he wasn’t harsh enough, was he? He could never scratch the little itch in your fucked up brain telling you to sit still, do what you’re told, obey.”
Vox wasn’t like that. Vox was in charge. It didn’t matter what Alastor thought, or how fucking stupid Vox had been in the past. He was better now. He didn’t need anyone; he never had. Val was…Val wasn’t an equal.
Angel was just a loser desperately seeking attention from anyone who would give it. He sought out Husk because he couldn’t do anything on his own. Love? Yeah right. He just wanted to pull himself out of the muck by relying on someone stronger than he was. He needed assistance from anyone who would provide it. That hotel must’ve been a dream come true for him, fleeting as it was. Poor little Angel Dust, searching for friendship where there wasn’t any. It was almost sad how he kept setting himself up for disappointment. And what did that leave him with? Val. Always Val.
But not Vox. No. Val was his. It was different. Val cared about him. He had to. Because if he didn't, what the hell was all of this for? What were their decades of partnership, or their soft touches, or.
Angel took a half step forward, “Shut. Up. Last warning, motherfucker.”
Vox felt alarm bells going off in the back of his mind, but he promptly ignored them. His vision was blurry with tears, and his breath was coming fast. His mind was hazy, and yet he was seeing everything so damn clearly. It was all making more sense than it had in weeks. “Why? It's true. He’s nothing.”
A quick movement from Angel and then darkness. Pain.
By the time Vox realized Angel had punched him, he was on the ground, dazed. He didn’t get a chance to react before Angel was speaking, towering over him.
“You can say whatever shit you want about me.” Angel was breathing heavily, and though tears began to fall, his voice was steady, “But don’t you ever talk shit about Husk ever again, you hear me?”
But Vox wasn’t listening. All he could focus on was the pain. It was real, grounding.
Vox let out a shuddering breath. “Hit me again.”
Angel’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Hit. Me. Again,” Vox repeated. “Get it all out of your system. Make me hurt. Make me bleed. Go on. Don’t be a fucking coward about it. Tell me, were you this damn flighty when you killed your dad? Or is patricide just a rite of passage in the mafia?”
“Pathetic,” Angel said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re pathetic.”
“You don’t get to speak to me that way,” Vox said, teeth bared. He tried to stand, but collapsed as he began to spark. Everything hurt. Why was it so damn hard to breathe? He wanted to choke out something else, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything. He was a failure. Val had abandoned him. Alastor had humiliated him, rejected him.
He just wanted someone. Did anyone understand?
And then there was Angel Dust.
Angel looked at him with nothing short of pity. Vox wanted to yell at him for it, to lunge at him, but instead he began to glitch.
Why was he looking at him like that?
Angel’s mouth was a grave line. “You had it all, Vox. He treated you like a person. Why’d you go and throw it away for someone who don’t give a damn about you? Why'd you hurt him?”
Vox didn’t know. Because none of this was real? Because he was a fuck up and always would be? His excuses were blurring together. None of them fit anymore.
There were no friends in Hell. He knew that. Then why was he missing Val and Velvette so damn bad?
“Why do you care if he’s hurt?” Vox asked in lieu of response, voice tight. It was a desperate Hail Mary, and they both knew it. “Aren’t you supposed to hate him?”
Angel laughed. “I dunno. I really fucking don’t know.”
They both went quiet. The only sound in the room was Vox’s brief buzzes of electricity. Vox didn’t bother to get up. It didn’t feel worth it. Eventually, Angel turned away from him.
“You two deserve each other,” Angel said tonelessly. “It always comes down to him n’ you, don’t it? We’re all just collateral, getting caught in the crossfire while you destroy each other. Maybe God knew that no matter how powerful you got, you’d still be miserable together. Maybe you’re each other’s punishment.”
Vox didn’t get to reply, not that he knew what he would have said, because with that, Angel left, slamming the door with a loud thud.
For once, Vox was entirely speechless and utterly alone. He had nothing and no one because he was nothing. Alastor was right about him. Everyone was right about him. Winning was everything to him, and he had lost it all.
Fuck, he missed Val.
God, please, Vox begged no one, I need to see him. I need him. I want him so badly. Just a second. I only need to see him for a second.
Vox needed to be reminded that he was here, that Val was here. Even if Val hated him now. It didn’t matter. It was like Angel said, they were each other’s punishment. Vox was okay with that. Hell, Vox would love that because it meant they had to stay together, whether they wanted to or not.
Ping.
Vox felt an alert in the back of his system and conjured a screen, pulling up the feed faster than he ever had. He scrambled, feeling his heart race when he finally saw it. Val had just entered his room. He looked exhausted, and he kicked off his shoes, grumbling as he fell into bed. It was everything Vox could have wanted.
Vox felt a wave of exhaustion, but he forced his eyes to remain wide open. He wouldn’t miss a moment of this.
Val stretched luxuriously before tossing his glasses aside and curling up. Val was almost annoyed. Val knew better than to throw his glasses haphazardly. Vox would have to help him find them now. But then Val made the briefest eye contact with the camera, and Vox felt his heart drop.
Val closed his eyes a moment later, snuggling into an obscenely fluffy pillow. For a delirious, embarrassing moment, Vox could imagine it was him.
Vox held that intangible screen close, reveling in the phantom sensation of Val’s touch, of his kiss.
Eventually, he fell asleep, still clutching that projection like a vice. Not lonely, never lonely.
But alone.