Lovers Once More - Radiostatic

Reunited

The bar was nearly empty now, save for Vox slumped over the counter, a mess of glitching static and swirling alcohol. He was lost in his thoughts, hardly noticing as the door creaked open, and a tall, sharply dressed figure stepped inside. Alastor's vintage shoes clicked softly against the grimy floor as he made his way over, his usual unsettling grin firmly in place.

"Vox!" Alastor announced, his voice as crisp and smooth as a radio broadcast from the 1920s. "Now this is a sight. I never expected to find you in such... disrepair."

Vox didn't bother looking up. "Alastor, you're the last person I want to see right now." His words slurred with alcohol, the sharpness of his usual voice dulled by bitterness.

Unfazed, Alastor slid onto the barstool beside him, looking at the nearly empty row of glasses lined up in front of Vox. "Good heavens! Have you left any liquor for the other poor souls, or are you intent on single-handedly drinking this establishment dry?" His tone was as light and playful as ever, though his eyes sparkled with something sharper—something perceptive.

Vox sneered, the flickering light from his screen casting jagged shadows across his face. "I said, piss off," he growled, his digital voice glitching as he pushed the last glass away.

"Now, now," Alastor replied smoothly, ignoring the hostile glare Vox shot his way. "Velvette tells me you've had something of a rough night." He chuckled softly, adjusting his tie. "Seems like you could use someone who's not afraid of your charming little temper tantrum."

Vox scowled, his screens flashing with irritation. "Tantrum? Is that what you think this is?" He let out a bitter laugh. "You don't know anything about what I'm going through, Alastor. You never did."

"Oh, please," Alastor said, waving off the comment with a casual flick of his hand. "I've watched you spiral for years, Vox. Always the proud, high-tech enigma—yet tethered to someone who made you miserable. Valentino may have dressed you up like his prize, but he never respected you, and you know it." His grin widened as he leaned in closer. "Don't tell me you're still planning to let him pull your strings?"

Vox's screen buzzed with static, his form flickering violently as anger flared inside him. "Like you have any right to lecture me on relationships," he spat. "You're so high and mighty, but you've never been through half of what I've dealt with."

Alastor's smile didn't waver, though his eyes glinted dangerously. "Ah, but I know the cost of pride and power, Vox. And I know what it feels like to be a puppet." His voice softened, taking on a rare, almost genuine edge. "Valentino treats you like you're nothing more than a tool for his gain. And you're letting him."

Vox clenched his fists, his entire body glitching as his anger boiled over. "You don't get it, Alastor. I don't need you swooping in to 'rescue' me, like some damn hero."

Alastor chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I'm hardly a hero, Vox. But I am someone who sees through the nonsense you've convinced yourself of. You don't have to keep playing this role for Valentino or anyone else." He leaned back, watching Vox with an intense, unwavering gaze. "You're better than that."

The words hung in the air, slipping through the cracks in Vox's armor. He stared at Alastor, a mix of resentment and... something else flickering in his digital eyes. "Why do you even care?" he muttered, voice dropping as the anger gave way to a strained, vulnerable tone he hadn't meant to reveal.

Alastor's smile softened, just enough to catch Vox off guard. "Because, for whatever reason, I always believed there was more to you than a glorified television set." He tilted his head, studying Vox carefully. "And because... I know what it's like to lose yourself in someone else's game. It's time you take control back."

For a moment, the two of them sat in silence, the noise of the bar fading away as Vox looked at Alastor, the pixelated lines of his face flickering between anger and doubt. He wanted to lash out, to tell Alastor to mind his own business—but something about the Radio Demon's words hit him in a way he wasn't prepared for.

Finally, Vox let out a long sigh, his form settling as the glitching eased. "You really think it's that easy?" he muttered, staring into his empty glass. "That I can just walk away, and everything will be... better?"

Alastor leaned forward, his smile returning to its usual mischievous glint. "Nothing worth having comes easy, Vox. But I do believe you're capable of much more than being Valentino's puppet." He gave Vox a small nod, his tone both gentle and firm. "And maybe it's time you believed that too."

Vox looked down, his mind whirring as he processed Alastor's words. For the first time in a long time, the anger ebbed, replaced by something quieter, something he almost didn't recognize.

"Maybe," he murmured, a hint of vulnerability slipping through his static-laden voice.

Alastor's smile widened, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "There's a start." He stood up, straightening his suit with a flourish. "Come along, Vox. Let's get you out of this dismal bar. A fresh start deserves a better backdrop than this dump, don't you think?"

Vox let out a reluctant laugh, shaking his head as he pushed himself up. "You're lucky I'm too drunk to argue."

"Luck has nothing to do with it, dear," Alastor said, his voice light and mocking as he gestured toward the door. "Now, shall we?"

With one last, resigned look at the empty glasses on the counter, Vox followed Alastor out of the bar, his mind clearer than it had been in ages. For once, he felt a spark of something unfamiliar: hope.