Vox - [RadioStatic]

The room was still dim, that hazy pre-morning gloom where nothing is awake except the weird hum of hotel pipes and whatever eldritch nonsense buzzes behind the walls at night.

Vox was plugged in at the side of the bed, screen faintly glowing in that low-power, don’t-touch-me-I’m-charging mode. Completely still. Completely dead to the world. If someone tossed a brick at him, he’d probably just blue-screen and go back to sleep.

Meanwhile, Alastor had managed to drape himself across Vox like a smug, warm blanket of static and deer fur. The demon didn’t need sleep—never had—but apparently he’d decided to indulge anyway, arms loosely around Vox’s torso, cheek tucked right against his shoulder. And he was out cold. Not just resting. Actually asleep. The kind of sleep where he was too content to even pretend otherwise.

Vox booted awake with the quiet hum of electricity running through his circuitry. His screen lit up… and he immediately froze.

Because staring directly into his field of vision?

A whole mess of red hair.

He instinctively jerked upright—well, tried to—but he only managed about two inches before the weight of Alastor grounded him back down like a weighted blanket with antlers. Pixels scrambled. The borders warped. Static hissed. For a moment he made a noise that was somewhere between a dial-up scream and a yelp.

He froze, pupils loading in choppy little squares, staring down at the sleeping demon on his chest.

Alastor didn’t budge.

Vox whispered, voice cracking like a bad microphone,"Wh—why the hell—why is he—?"

His screen jittered again, this time in a less "terrified" way and more in the "holy crap" way. He blinked, shook his head, then slowly re-focused, pupils smoothing out until they looked almost normal.

"…Okay," he murmured softly, like he was afraid to wake him. "Okay, that’s… that’s not the worst thing I’ve woken up to."

He glanced down again.

Alastor’s face was relaxed. Peaceful. Stupidly peaceful. One hand unconsciously curled in the fabric of Vox’s shirt like he’d claimed him as a pillow on purpose.

Vox’s static spiked again but this time with a bright, ridiculously pleased glitch. His whole screen warmed, almost glowing, and a tiny spark cracked at the edge of his visor.

He whispered,"…Holy shit."

He very, very slowly lifted a hand, hovering awkwardly above Alastor’s back like he wasn’t sure whether to shove him off or drag him closer.

"How the hell am I supposed to react to this? He—he’s literally—"

He paused, staring at the sleeping demon pressed against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

A little wince of static flickered across his screen."…Oh fuck, he looks good like this."

He swallowed, glitching again, voice dropping to a whisper he never let anyone hear.

"Why does he look… cute? That’s illegal. That should be illegal."

Another spark crackled, this one betraying the stupidly-happy overload building in his circuits.

He stared a little longer.

Then, under his breath, barely audible—

"…morning, sweetheart."