Lovers Once More - Radiostatic

Hangover

Alastor stepped out of the bathroom, still toweling off his hair, and made his way into the hotel lobby. The morning quiet held a soft, almost lazy atmosphere, one he rarely stopped to enjoy. As he walked into the kitchen, he halted, catching sight of Vox hunched over a cup of coffee at the counter, his gaze focused somewhere far off. The demon looked unusually vulnerable, his normally sharp lines softened by exhaustion, his usual smug expression replaced by something almost... human.

Alastor's eyes lingered for a moment too long, taking in every detail: the way Vox's screen occasionally flickered as he squinted into his coffee, the dark rings under his eyes hinting at a night of unrest, and the way he absently traced the edge of his cup with a finger. Alastor felt a strange warmth settle in his chest, an unfamiliar, almost lovesick softness creeping into his expression.

Then, Vox's gaze shifted, catching him in the act. Vox raised an eyebrow, his screen sparking to life with a hint of his usual sass. "You done building a dam in there, or did you forget how showers work?" he drawled, smirking as he took another sip of coffee.

Alastor blinked, immediately snapping out of his trance. He rolled his eyes, brushing it off with a haughty chuckle. "Oh, you know, just making sure every drop was properly utilized," he replied, tossing the towel over his shoulder as he took a seat beside him. "Besides, *someone* has to take a bit of care around here."

Vox snorted, tilting his head as he gave Alastor a once-over. "I'd say it's about time. Not sure the rest of Hell is ready for your 'bedhead chic' look."

Alastor smirked, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot. "Well, it seems someone's claws are sharp this morning." He sipped his drink, savoring the rich bitterness as he turned his gaze back to Vox. "How's the hangover treating you? Or should I even ask?"

Vox groaned, rubbing his temple. "Let's just say my circuits are fried. Next time I decide to drown my problems, remind me not to drink half the bar." He let out a quiet sigh, his eyes flickering with embarrassment as he kept his gaze firmly on his coffee. "And... thanks for, you know, getting me back here."

Alastor raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Why, Vox, I didn't think you were capable of gratitude." He chuckled, his tone gentler than usual. "But you're welcome. Can't have you passing out in the middle of the street—Hell would be lost without your... *charm.*"

Vox rolled his eyes, muttering, "Yeah, yeah. Don't start writing a thank-you speech for me or anything." But a faint smile tugged at the corners of his screen as he looked at Alastor.

For a moment, they sat in silence, sipping their coffee, the weight of the previous night still lingering in the air. Alastor glanced at Vox out of the corner of his eye, the question he'd been wrestling with in the shower still hanging between them. Part of him wanted to bring it up, to know if Vox's confession had been genuine or just a drunken slip. But seeing Vox like this—exposed, coffee in hand, his guard down—Alastor decided, just for now, to let it lie.

The quiet hum of the hotel kitchen was oddly soothing, a rare moment of stillness that felt almost sacred in a place like this. Alastor took another sip of his coffee, enjoying the way the bitter warmth chased away the lingering doubts and curiosities that had filled his morning.

But Vox, true to form, shattered the silence with a sudden laugh. He raised his cup toward Alastor, a smirk playing across his screen. "So, what's got you looking like you just stumbled out of a romance novel, huh?" he teased, narrowing his eyes. "Don't tell me you're *actually* sentimental about all that... nonsense from last night."

Alastor's smile barely faltered, but his eyes sharpened as he set his coffee down, regarding Vox with his trademark intensity. "Sentimental? Now, that's a word I don't hear in reference to myself often," he replied smoothly, tilting his head as he leaned back against the counter. "Though I might ask the same of you, considering your... heartfelt declarations."

Vox visibly stiffened, his smirk flickering for a second before he forced it back. "Right. That." He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Look, I was drunk and probably said a bunch of stupid things I didn't mean. So, let's just forget it and move on, yeah?"

Alastor's expression softened just slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "If that's what you want, darling," he said, his tone almost gentle. "Though I can't promise I'll *actually* forget it. That was quite the confession, after all."

Vox looked away, one hand absently tracing circles on his coffee cup. "Confession, *pfft,*" he muttered, though he didn't deny it. "And you? You didn't actually... think I meant it, did you?"

Alastor chuckled softly, raising an eyebrow as he considered his response. "I might be many things, Vox, but a fool I am not." He leaned in just a touch, his voice dropping to a murmur. "But perhaps it's not entirely foolish to wonder if there's a glimmer of truth in every drunken confession."

Vox glanced back at him, his screen glitching faintly as he searched Alastor's face for some hint of what he might really be thinking. His usual bravado faltered, replaced by a hesitation Alastor hadn't seen in years. "I..." he began, his voice unsteady, before he stopped himself, shaking his head. "Forget it. It was just... a mistake."

Alastor studied him for a long moment, a trace of disappointment flickering in his eyes, but he masked it quickly with a wry grin. "As you wish. We can leave it at that."

Vox relaxed visibly, taking a long drink of his coffee. The tension that had built up between them seemed to dissipate, leaving a lingering quiet that felt almost comfortable. But even as Vox returned to his usual smirk and Alastor his easy charm, the truth of the night before lingered, unspoken but undeniable.

After a few minutes, Vox straightened up, stretching his arms over his head with a feigned yawn. "Well," he said, throwing Alastor a lazy grin. "As much as I enjoy these sentimental little chats, I have a reputation to maintain. And if I sit here any longer, people might start thinking we're, you know..." he gestured between them, "*close.*"

Alastor chuckled, the mirth reaching his eyes. "Perish the thought," he replied, tipping his cup to Vox in mock salutation. "Wouldn't want anyone to think I've gone soft, now would we?"

They exchanged one last glance, an understanding passing between them that needed no words. With that, Vox slid off his stool, casting a final smirk over his shoulder as he swaggered out of the kitchen. Alastor watched him go, a subtle smile on his lips, the memory of the previous night etched somewhere deep, lingering like an echo.