More than Redemption- Alastor x Vox, RadioStatic/RadioSilence

𝓗𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓪𝔂

-𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓽-

Alastor sank down onto his bed and drowned in a sea of dust and blankets. He quietly stared at the ceiling and tried to process what had just happened. He ripped a bouquet of his hair from his hair in frustration, letting it all rain onto the ground.

It didn't hurt as much as his pride did.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Right, okay, okay, so he had just fell asleep on Vox's shoulder.  He really had to fix his fucked up time schedule to prevent that from ever happening again.

No homo. No homo. Not inside of every demon was a rainbow. Sometimes it was a rotten grape, an ace in the hole, just as Charlie had showed him.

Alright, alright, okay.

Alastor had just been exposed like he was a vulnerable little child in front of seven whole demons. He had felt like a vulnerable little child. 

In the 1900s, he had been a vulnerable little child.

It was like the people of the hotel had all been judging him: looking at him, observing his weaknesses, seeing when to strike. Alastor was open prey, a fucking practice target. It was rather pathetic.

Alastor had absolutely hated that. He felt helpless and weak. He preferred being in control and seeming like a threat, because if he wasn't, maybe it'd go back to the way it was before.

Yeah, Alastor hated it. He hated what had just happened. But he hated something more.

Alastor sighed.

He hated the way that some part of him liked it.

His smile struggled to stay alive and twitched. Alastor facepalmed.

Some part of him deep down inside had liked the feeling of Vox's warmth. It just felt like... home. Not sexually, of course; he didn't do that shit where you connected body parts like they were goddam lego pieces.

It was like this distinct happiness that warmed up his heart.

He hated it.

He hated it.

H̸̡̥͚͗̇̓͘͘͜͜͝e̶̗͚͓̪̳̠̦̭̠̬̿̋͂̋ ̵̧̡̯̯͓̻̝͉͖̊͆͑͒̃̊̌h̸͍͈̻͋̔́a̷̻̬̬͆͆̃͛́t̴̛̹̟̔̐̌̇̆̽ĕ̸̪̝͕̊̈́͝ͅḑ̴̺͎͕͙̜̭̏̃͐ ̶̡̧͓͙̙͓͚̙̘̱̐̈̑͊͝i̵͖̰̺̘̍̎t̷̛͉̫̫̋̍͆̉͋̊̐̈́ .

Nuh uh uh. 

Alastor groaned and slid those thoughts out of his mind. He couldn't afford a distraction. He had better jobs to do, like taking care of the hotel. 

Leaping onto his feet, Alastor decided to first rebuild the wall the loan sharks had blown up. That poor wall had rather suffered through such fatal conditions that he was pretty sure it had PTSD and anxiety.

Out of the blue, a vigorous knock rattled the door. 

"Yes, Vox?" Alastor rolled his eyes. 

"How did you know it was me?"

"I'd recognize that knock anywhere," Alastor scoffed, flicking his hand. "It's aggressive enough to almost rival Niffty's knife stabs."

The door eased open with a shriek and Vox casually let himself in. Fucking rude. "'Almost' is the key word there."

"Indeed," Alastor nodded. "What the fuck do you want, old pal?"

Vox sighed. "Charlie wants you and the others. She thought of a trust exercise."