Infernal Rivalry - The Clash Of Vox And Alastor

Chapter 49: Let's Talk

(Alastor's POV)

Sitting on a bench in the park, I anxiously tap my foot, waiting for Vox to arrive. My emotions are a tumultuous mix of anger, hurt, and longing. It's been months since we last spoke, and the wounds from our fallout are still raw. Despite my anger, there's a small part of me that yearns for reconciliation, for closure. But as each minute ticks by, doubt creeps in, and I wonder if this meeting will only reopen old wounds. As Vox approaches, I observe him carefully, noticing the changes in his appearance. His screen has been upgraded, sleeker than before, a stark departure from the Boxxy TV head I once knew. A surge of resentment rises within me at the sight of his obsession with image, a reminder of the distance that has grown between us. Yet, beneath my resentment lies a twinge of nostalgia for the simpler times when we were just two broken souls finding solace in each other's company. As Vox draws nearer, I notice the nervous energy emanating from him, evident in the way he carries himself. His movements betray a sense of apprehension, suggesting that he's uneasy about our impending meeting. Despite my own simmering anger, I can't help but feel a small pang of sympathy for him, knowing that this conversation holds weight for both of us.

His movements are hesitant, and there's an air of apprehension about him. As he takes a seat, I observe the distance he maintains between us, a physical manifestation of the emotional gap that has grown between us. His nervousness is palpable, evident in the way he fidgets and avoids meeting my gaze directly. Despite my own conflicting emotions, I offer a faint nod of acknowledgment. "Vox" I greet him, my voice measured and devoid of any warmth. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting around as if searching for an escape route. I wait for him to speak, but the silence between us hangs heavy, filled with unspoken words and unresolved tension. Finally, he clears his throat and meets my gaze, his voice tinged with uncertainty as he begins to speak. He responds with a simple "hello" his voice betraying a hint of nervousness. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he asks, "You wanted to talk?" His words are measured, and I can sense the apprehension in his tone, mirroring my own reluctance to broach the subject that hangs between us like a heavy cloud. Despite my inner turmoil, I manage to nod, signaling that yes, I did indeed want to talk.

I take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts before speaking. "Yeah, I did" I reply, my voice steadier than I feel inside. "Look, Vox, I know things have been... complicated between us". I struggle to find the right words, feeling the weight of our unresolved issues pressing down on me. "But I think it's time we address them. I can't keep avoiding it". His expression softens slightly, a glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes. "I'm glad you feel that way" he says, his voice tinged with relief. "I've missed our friendship, Alastor. I've missed... you". Despite my reservations, I can't deny the sincerity in his words, and a part of me longs to believe him. But there's still a knot of uncertainty gnawing at my gut, a reminder of the hurt and confusion that linger between us.

I take a moment to gather my thoughts, feeling the weight of our fractured relationship pressing down on me. "I miss the friend I thought you were" I begin, my voice soft but firm. "But things have changed, Vox. We've both changed. The trust we had, the bond we shared—it's been shattered. And I don't know if we can ever fully repair it". He listens quietly, his expression pained. "I miss you, Alastor" he says softly, his eyes searching mine for some glimmer of reconciliation. I can feel the tug of his words on my heartstrings, the longing for what once was. But I can't ignore the hurt, the betrayal that still lingers beneath the surface. "I miss who you were" I admit, my voice catching slightly. "But it's not enough. Not anymore". His eyes widen in disbelief, hurt evident in his features. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what comes next. "I mean that I can't keep holding onto someone that's already gone," I reply, my tone tinged with resignation. "We've both made mistakes, Vox. But we can't go back. Not to what we were, missing someone doesn't erase the pain they've caused".