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The morning in the V&A tower had a strange, almost unreal quality to it, as if the entire building chose every day to pretend it was just another skyscraper and not the beating heart of one of the most influential structures in modern Hell. Light filtered through the tall glass windows with a soft reddish tint, muted by the advertising filtration systems Vox had insisted on installing years earlier, claiming he had no need of Heaven’s light to illuminate the interior.
His electricity was enough.
Alastor sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee he had no intention of letting go cold and a newspaper open in front of him that he wasn’t truly reading. His posture was impeccable, yet relaxed. Across the room, Vox watched him in silence, leaning against the counter with an expression that shifted between satisfaction and restrained irritation, as if every one of the other’s gestures was both habit and provocation.
For a few minutes, neither of them spoke.
Then Vox approached and absentmindedly adjusted the edge of his shirt collar, a gesture so automatic it became almost painfully intimate when seen from the outside. Alastor didn’t resist; he merely tilted his head slightly, letting the contact linger a moment longer than necessary.
«I thought you liked seeing me disheveled,» he murmured, eyes still down.
«Of course I do,» Vox replied, with a tone that carried a light inflection that didn’t belong to board meetings or official V&A broadcasts. «But I know you don’t, Mr. Perfection.»
Alastor only smiled faintly. The silence that followed wasn’t empty; it was full of things left unsaid long enough to become habit.
Then someone interrupted it with a knock.
Three measured knocks, polite, familiar, belonging to that corner of the building.
«Come in, Ethan.»
The door opened cautiously, and Vox’s assistant entered with the nervous precision of someone who had learned to survive by carefully observing the desires of his superiors. He carried a folder full of updated papers and data, his gaze briefly scanning the room before settling on Vox.
Alastor had already vanished.
The shadows near the bookshelf thickened for an instant, then swallowed him without a sound, leaving only the still-warm coffee cup on the table as the sole proof of what had just disappeared. A natural, instinctive reaction, as if his presence had learned on its own not to take up space when it wasn’t necessary.
Vox noticed anyway. As always.
And always, that small absence irritated him more than he would ever admit in any official context.
«Schedule,» Ethan said, opening the folder. «Ten o’clock broadcast department meeting. Eleven-thirty campaign review with Velvette. Afternoon call with Valentino for content distribution. Evening public event in the Commercial District. Both CEOs required.»
Vox nodded without really looking at him. His attention was elsewhere, inevitably drawn to the exact spot where he knew Alastor had vanished.
Every time it was the same scene.
And every time Vox wondered how much longer he would have to pretend it was sustainable.
«Perfect,» he said at last, in a tone that sounded more professional than necessary. «Can you have Mimzy inform Alastor?»
He said it even though he knew Alastor was there, and had heard everything. But he still chose to throw in the jab.
«I… of course.»
Ethan hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to add something, then wisely decided against it. He said his goodbyes and left, closing the door with the same caution he had entered with.
Silence returned immediately, heavier than before.
Alastor reappeared beside the table as if he had never left, taking his coffee cup with absolute ease. No explanation, no comment. Only the perfect continuity of someone who had never been gone at all.
Vox stared at him for a long moment.
«You know this will stop working one day,» he said finally.
Alastor barely lifted his gaze from the newspaper.
«Which part of it?»
«This,» Vox replied, and for a fraction of a second his voice lost its usual certainty. «Pretending nothing exists. Pretending I don’t—»
He stopped. Not because he didn’t know what to say, but because he knew exactly where that sentence would lead.
Alastor set the newspaper down on the table with measured calm, as if he were deciding the very rhythm of the conversation.
«There is no pretense,» he said simply.
And Vox laughed, but without amusement.
«Right. Of course. We’re just two co-CEOs who happen to share breakfast, a home, and every single thought they can’t afford to say out loud.»
The silence grew tighter.
Alastor tilted his head slightly.
«You’re becoming melodramatic.»
«I’m becoming realistic.»
Another beat.
Then Alastor stood, crossed the space between them, and with a suddenly light gesture adjusted his tie knot. A small, almost ridiculous action, yet deliberate enough to break the tension without truly erasing it.
«I prefer you when you complain more elegantly,» he murmured.
Vox stayed still for a moment, then huffed.
«I hate you.»
«No,» Alastor replied, already returning to the table. «You don’t.»
And that was the worst part.
Because Vox didn’t argue.
Satisfied, Alastor sat back down and resumed reading the newspaper. Vox continued to stare at him, caught between affection and chronic frustration, while the world outside the tower kept moving as if there was nothing unusual about two such beings pretending they did not belong to each other.
Alastor was the one who broke the silence again, turning a page with deliberate slowness.
«Interesting.»
«What?» Vox asked, though he didn’t truly care about the newspaper.
Alastor didn’t answer immediately. He kept reading, then placed a finger on a column of text.
«It seems the political structure of Infernal Districts is undergoing a rather… creative reorganization.»
Vox leaned in slightly, just enough to read the first lines.
-
Vox finished reading the article and looked up.
«It amuses me how everyone pretends to be surprised,» he commented, walking over to the coat rack and grabbing his jacket. «Pentagram City has been turned into a pressure cooker for centuries. It was inevitable that someone would eventually decide to shift the problem elsewhere.»
But Alastor didn’t respond.
He kept staring at the page.
Not the entire article. Just one sentence.
A single, damned sentence.
In the Ring of Gluttony, meanwhile, protests are multiplying against the proposed relocation of entire communities historically based in Pentagram City, including Cannibal Town.
Shit.
SHIT.
His ear twitched.
What did it mean?
Why hadn’t Rosie told him anything?
And more importantly… how real was that possibility?
Because if Cannibal Town was actually relocated, then the problem wouldn’t just concern Rosie or the other residents of the district.
It concerned him.
Very much so.
Alastor slowly lifted his gaze.
Vox was already heading toward the door, unaware of everything.
Unaware of the deal.
Unaware of the chain that, though invisible, still existed.
Unaware of how Cannibal Town had become an integral part of his existence over the years.
And, above all, unaware of certain “dietary habits” from his past that, according to the new classification criteria drafted by the infernal court, could make him a perfectly eligible candidate for the Ring of Gluttony.
Magnificent.
Absolutely magnificent.
«Then I’ll see you tonight in the Commercial District,» Vox said, pausing at the threshold. «Don’t forget to have your assistant inform you.»
Alastor’s smile widened, but his fingers tightened slightly on the newspaper before he let it fall back onto the table.
«I’m sure Mimzy will forget to tell me.»
Then he dematerialized and reappeared in front of him.
«But fortunately, I already know.»
He leaned in to leave a kiss at the edge of Vox’s screen, already stepping back when he realized he had made a rather gross miscalculation.
Because Vox’s arm immediately wrapped around his waist.
«Vincent,» he said, looking him straight in his mismatched eyes, hoping his real name would sound like a reprimand.
«Alastor,» the other replied, gifting him the most insolent smile.