[RadioStatic] Calculated Risk

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Vox and Alastor had a sort of standing appointment for drinks every Friday night. Usually, they'd start at one of a handful of bars they'd determined their favorites—mostly quiet speakeasy-type joints—and, if Vox was lucky, they'd eventually make their way back to his apartment to finish the night with a couple more hours of private chatting about the more creative sides of their work or even just sharing a new record one of them had found.

The reason Vox considered himself lucky on those nights was that they almost always included a little more affection from his favorite person in all of Hell. And sure, that wasn't saying a whole lot when it came to Alastor, considering he rarely allowed as much as a handshake or a touch to his shoulder. Most of the time. But whether it was just the extra alcohol from their nightcap or maybe some unique bit of relaxation that came with not being in public, their evenings at Vox's place found the Radio Demon leaning into Vox's personal space for a conspiratorial whisper, resting against his shoulder to sing along with their music, even occasionally stealing his glass for a drink and then teasing him when his face got all staticky. Regardless of the form it came in, any physical contact Alastor chose to give was more than welcome.

And sure, some part of the TV demon did feel the slightest bit guilty for how much he enjoyed all that. After all, Al had made it clear he didn't do romance or anything related, so there was no point getting his hopes up. But as much as he tried to brush it off, although he knew better than to ever act on it, there was no denying Vox had already fallen for his friend. Hard. So...what harm was there in appreciating the moments where he got the kind of affection he craved at all times? As long as it was Alastor's choice, surely it wasn't a problem.

On this particular night, he wasn't sure whether he'd end up getting those extra couple hours or not. He never wanted to outright ask for them, afraid of seeming desperate or making Al feel put-upon somehow, so he always just waited for Alastor to bring it up instead. And tonight, he hadn't yet. It was nearing 11 o'clock, about the time they'd usually start winding things down, and Vox tried his best not to watch too closely as Alastor brought his glass to his lips again.

"She's a handful, I'll admit," the Radio Demon was saying of one of his newly-acquired contractees, a manic little bug calling herself Niffty, "but she certainly does keep me guessing, which is a nice change."

"Almost sounds like you're getting a little soft, Al," Vox teased, leaning forward against their table in a stark contrast to Alastor's straight posture. "Next you're gonna be takin' the kid out for ice cream and letting her braid your hair."

The buck rolled his eyes, but his smile was still calm and unbothered. "Well, don't count on all that. It's just refreshing spending time with someone so unapologetically genuine, I suppose. Promise me one thing, my friend"—Alastor reached across the table to rest his hand on one of Vox's, making him tense up all over—"that when you do become an overlord, you won't fall into the same boring routine of playacting and keeping up appearances most of them do. I'd hate to see that colorful personality of yours lost to the drudgery of their ridiculous one-upmanship."

"C'mon, you know me better than that. Aren't you the one always telling me how flashy my work is?" the TV answered, draining the last bit of his own old fashioned. "I don't think I could be less 'colorful' if I tried."

"And thank goodness for it, frankly." For a second, as he very occasionally did after a few drinks, Alastor seemed to get a little distant. His smile faded just the slightest bit, and his eyes lingered on Vox's hand, just long enough for the TV to notice and get concerned. Before he could ask if something was up, however, Alastor's Shadow familiar slithered onto the wall nearby and said something to Al in its usual wordless, hissing voice. And just like that, the Radio Demon recovered from whatever had distracted him to push to his feet with his usual confident grin. Not for the first time, Vox felt the slightest pang of jealousy over Nwar's uncanny ability to read him and know exactly what he needed to hear. Must be nice, having that kind of privileged access to whatever went on in his head.