Chapter Text
[Good evening listeners! Welcome back to the airwaves - It’s a cloudy, misty night here in New York - just the sort to keep those windows fastened tight and the fireplace burning warm!]
Vox groans as his stiff body sinks into the plush couch as the familiar crackle of the radio static fills the quiet room, letting it wash over him, tuning out everything else. He presses his arm against his eyes, feeling relief in the pressure, savoring the moment of peace.
Goddammit why were all his employees so fucking useless.
He’d spent the entire day running around the studio like a headless chicken, darting from one crisis to another, like some underpaid salesman tasked with fixing problems he’d had no hand in creating. It wasn’t his fault they were idiots, so why was it always his job to clean up the mess?
[Well, well, dear listeners, you’re in for a real treat tonight!] The radio host's smooth voice broke through his thoughts. [We have a very special guest joining us - a true delight and one of a kind. So, without further ado, let’s give a warm welcome to the one and only... Charlie Morningstar!]
Vox’s ears perk at the name, a flicker of interest sparking in his mind. Charlie Morningstar? Daughter of one of the CEO's of the big corporations he was up against. The girl was practically royalty in their world, and yet, here she was, appearing on a small local station at this time of night. The idea surprised him. What on earth was she doing in a place like this?
[This is so exciting! It’s a pleasure to be here!] A bright feminine voice answered.
The only time he truly got to himself was late at night. He used to spend those hours at the bar, sipping on expensive cocktails, flashing easy smiles at pretty girls who were all too eager for an invitation back to his place. But lately, he’d found himself steering clear of the bar scene. Maybe he was getting old, or maybe the thrill had simply dulled. Instead, he’d become drawn to the quiet crackle of the radio.
[The pleasure is truly all mine.] The young show host responds smoothly. [Tonight…]
Vox leans back as he tunes out the rest of the conversation, simply lost in thought.
Everyday was the same grueling routine. At exactly six AM, his alarm clock would blair through the silence, jarring him awake with a sound that grated on his nerves before throwing it off his bedside table to shut it off. He’d then drag himself to the bathroom and freshen up where he’d splash his face with cold water and slather on enough gel to subdue his stubborn bedhead using so much it looked like it was super glued to his scalp. Once he was presentable for the cameras, he'd head to his office where the first offense of the day awaited him: a cup of dreadful black coffee, courtesy of his useless assistant. Why he kept her around was a mystery, considering she couldn't even manage a simple coffee order.
It’s a black coffee. How could you even fuck that up?
His irritated train of thought was broken by the shrill ringing of his landline that began echoing through his home. He groans, knowing exactly who was on the other end. Reluctantly, he peels himself from the couch and trudges his way over, picking up the receiver.
“Vincent speaking.” he answered, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of patience.
[Sir! Glad you’re still awake. We urgently need you back in the studio.]
“Now?” Vox glances at the clock. The short hand hovered just shy away from twelve. “Do you know what time it is?”
The other side of the line pauses for a moment followed by a nervous breath. [Please sir. Valentino is…] The sound of a loud crash and some frantic yelling erupted in the background.
“Are there seriously no other fuckers around who can handle him?” snapped, his fist clenching as he fought the urge to punch the wall. Last time he did that, he spent a fortune getting it repaired. “Or are you all just useless?” he spats.
The line went silent.
Vox grits his teeth, already regretting what he was about to say. “Fine, I'll be there in twenty. Just get that fucker under control until I arrive.” He doesn’t give them the time to respond before slamming the receiver down, ending the call.
So much for a peaceful evening. He thought to himself before grabbing his coat off the hanger and rushing out the door with his keys.
By the time he reached the studio, it wasn’t much better.
He stepped under the glaring studio lights, he squinted against the harsh brightness. You'd think that being constantly under the bright lights would mean you would get used to it, but they still hurt his eyes when he entered the studio.
“What the hell is it this time Valentino?” Vox mumbled, a deep scowl etched into his face as he watched his coworker hurl a chair at one of his interns. “Hey, can you keep the damage down this time? Replacing these cameras ain't cheap.”
Valentino barely registered his words, instead proceeded to shatter another glass lens with a swift punch. The studio looked more like a warzone than a living room set.
“I thought I told you fuckers to get him under control.” Vox growled to the assistant standing beside him, said assistant wincing at his words.
“Well we tried-”
“Well you didn’t try hard enough!” Vox sighs disappointedly before directing his attention to the shit storm infront of him. “Get the fuck out of here before I decide to do it myself.” He frowns.
“Yes sir.”
The assistant quickly backed away, not wanting to be part of the chaos. The other staff members had already cleared out, having learned the hard way that getting between Valentino and his tantrums was a recipe for disaster.
Just another fucking day with Val…
He took a deep breath as he mentally prepared for the bullshit he would have to endure. “Valentino!” he called out, his voice strained, his patience wearing thin. At this rate, he was sure every frown line etched into his face could be directly traced back to his so called coworker.
Valentino whipped around, chest heaving in rage standing over the remnants of the broken chair he'd flung moments earlier. “Fucking finally.” he snarled, voice laced with venom. “Can you believe what that piece of shit did? The ungrateful whore!”
Vox raised an eyebrow, barely fazed. “Uh-huh. Which whore are we talking about this time?”
“Fucking Angel Dust . Who the hell else would I be talking about? That fucking slut walked out on me! Me! I fucking made him.” Valentino spat, punctuating his words by slamming a fist onto the desk, its surface already littered with broken glass and splinters.
Vox let out a weary sigh, rubbing his temples. “I went home for ten minutes before I get called back because you decided to go on a little tamper tantrum?!” His voice dripped with fatigue.
“Oh please!” Valentino scoffed, throwing his hands up. ”I have full rights for my actions. You didn’t see what that ungrateful, good for nothing whore tried to pull-”
Vox felt like he was staring right at one.
“I’m going to fucking kill everyone that dares to cross me I swear to god-”
“ VAL ” Vox grips onto Valentinos shoulder with more strength than necessary, his nails digging deep into his skin. “Think about it. Our brand is perfection , and what do you think chasing whores around town will do to our image?”
Valentino blinked, tilting his head in sudden, dim realization. “Uh, fuck it up?”
“ Right !” A large but tired grin plastered to his face. ”Do you want people thinking you can’t control your employees?”
Valentino pauses for a moment before shaking his head. “Uh , no.”
“ Exactly !” Vox snaps his fingers. “And hey, he's still under contract so you should…”
Vox couldn’t help but feel like he was one of those fill in the blank sentences you would get in elementary school to help you write a shitty essay that didn’t even matter in the first place.
“Not kill him?” Valentino slumped disappointingly.
“ Great idea !” Vox released his iron grip, giving him a hearty pat on the back with a grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Now that's why I pay you the big bucks. Now…” he cast a deadpan look around the wrecked studio, the scene resembling more of a crime scene than a workplace, “let’s get this place cleaned up and get our story straight. I’d hate for anyone to hear about your little… episode tonight.”
Valentino slumps, leaning against what used to be a table, but now was a table with a crack running down the center. “Can’t you just get one of your little minions to do it? Isn’t that what we pay them for?”
“What I pay them for.” Vox corrected, rolling his eyes. “Now get to fucking work or else I’ll cut your spending.”
Valentino’s eyes widened in shock, his mouth dropping open. "You wouldn’t dare!" he sputtered, looking as though Vox had just slapped him across the face.
“Oh you’d better believe I would. I don’t care who does it, just get it done.” Vox gave him one last pointed look before turning and striding out, leaving behind a trashed set and a pissed Valentino. He silently prayed he wouldn’t do anything more stupid as he walked away. He doubted it.
He’s not paid enough for this.
He trudged down the quiet hallway toward his office, the sharp click of his shoes echoing off the walls. Most of the building had gone silent for the night, but the thin lines of light spilling from beneath closed doors hinted at the few employees that would probably be here all night. Poor them , he thought, though he knew he wasn’t any better.
Sliding into his office, he dropped his bag onto the floor and grabbed a pen, quickly scratching out a familiar list on a yellow sticky note. New chairs, a replacement camera lens, two broken lights... maybe a new door frame this time. His fingers moved quickly, having written these items too many times before. Another expense thanks to Valentino. He considered for the hundredth time if it might be cheaper to fire him, but the man was just as ingrained in the studio’s name as Vox himself. Trouble can be profitable. That was the thought that kept Valentino on the payroll.
He set the list aside, adding a note for his assistant to deal with it in the morning. No way was he wasting time tracking down broken glass or crushed furniture. Not like I’m getting paid to clean up after him, he thought grimly.
He glanced at the stack of paperwork piled high on his desk.
Might as well, He was here anyway.
With a sigh, he settled into his seat and began flipping through reports, endorsement contracts, complaints, and meeting summaries. You’d think being the face of the studio would mean glitz and glamor, but it just means more forms, more signatures, and endless review sessions.
The clock struck two, its soft chime slicing through his drowsy haze. He hadn’t meant to stay this late, and now his eyes were nearly burning from the strain. With a long sigh, he gathered the scattered papers into a pile, tapped them into a neat stack, and pushed them aside for tomorrow.
Finally, he flicked off the lights and trudged out, letting the door click shut behind him as he made his way through the dim hallway to his car. His footsteps echoed softly in the stillness, the distant hum of city traffic a reminder that New York never truly slept. By the time he slid into the driver’s seat, he was practically a ghost, barely keeping his eyes open.
Vox slumped into the driver’s seat, jammed his key into the ignition, and twisted. Instead of it turning on, the engine sputtered with a series of odd grinding noises before falling completely silent. He twisted the key again, harder this time, but the only response was a series of clicks.
With an exasperated groan, he pounded his fist against the dashboard. “Come on, you piece of junk,” he muttered, as if his words could will the car to life. When nothing changed, he dropped his head against the steering wheel, letting the cool leather press into his forehead. “ Fuck my life… ”
He just wanted to go home.
Finally, with a long, defeated sigh, he resigned himself to the only other option.
Fine. He’ll take the damn bus.
Maybe he should have listened to the forecast a bit more, but he sure was surprised when he began walking and the dark cloud overhead finally broke as raindrops began to fall one by one spotting the ground and tapping against his shoulders. He muttered a few curses under his breath, quickening his pace to reach the bus stop, the cold drizzle quickly turning into a downpour.
By the time he arrived at the bus station, he was soaked through.
“ Great ,” he muttered, hugging his coat closer. He leaned against the cold metal bench, shivering as the rain soaked through his clothes. He should have just stayed home, he thought bitterly, eyes fixed on the empty street stretching before him.
The sound of footsteps echoed through the empty street, growing louder as they approached the bus stop. Vox shifted slightly, glancing over as a figure appeared beside him, ducking under the awning to escape the rain. The man was younger, shorter, with a neat appearance. He was dressed in polished shoes and a tailored coat. Rain glistened off his dark skin and dampened the edges of his sleek, combed hair. His glasses caught the glow of the streetlamp above, casting faint reflections as he stared down the street.
The rumbling of an approaching bus broke the quiet. Vox glanced down as the bus pulled up, but the other man didn’t make a move, waiting instead for Vox to board first.
Moments later, the man followed, choosing the seat across from him. They were now face to face, each on opposite sides of the aisle. Vox settled in, stealing glances as the bus rattled to life. He noticed the way the man’s expression remained unreadable, almost serene, despite the storm outside and the dim, flickering lights of the bus.
Silence hung between them, punctuated only by the gentle hum of the engine and the steady rhythm of rain against the windows.
The stranger’s gaze flickered up, sharp and observant behind his glasses.
“Why aren’t you sitting in the back of the bus?” Vox asked, his voice low but edged with a hint of intrigue, maybe even irritation.
The man raised an eyebrow, his tone calm as he responded, “The seats are open, aren’t they? Normally, nobody’s on this bus at this hour, so nobody minds. I’d hoped you wouldn’t either.”
Vox let out a weary sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’m too tired to give a damn.”
The man tilted his head slightly, an amused but almost wary glint in his eye. “You’re saying that, but you still brought it up. Seems like it was enough of a… bother for you to mention.” He shifted, starting to rise, his movements measured and quiet, as though he were used to slipping out of places.
Without thinking, Vox’s hand lifted in a brief motion to stop him. “Look, you don’t have to move. I don’t- I don’t care.” He heard the words fall out of his mouth, an unfamiliar softness slipping into his tone.
The man paused, the faintest crease appearing on his brow before he settled back down. His shoulders relaxed, and he gave Vox a nod, his expression neutral but with a flicker of acknowledgment in his gaze. “Well, then. Thank you… for tolerating me.”
For a moment, they sat there in silence, the air thick with unspoken tension.
Vox shifted in his seat, giving the man a sideways glance. “I feel like I’ve heard your voice before.”
The man’s eyes brightened behind his glasses, and a faint smile appeared. “Really?”
“You do anything with the media?”
The man adjusted his coat, a proud gleam in his eye. “As a matter of fact, I do. I'm the voice behind a nightly radio broadcast.”
Vox’s eyebrows lifted. “Channel 01.01?”
“Why yes indeed!” the man responded, nodding enthusiastically. “Are you perhaps a listener?”
Vox shrugged, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Time to time…”
He couldn’t say that he listened to it every night to unwind. That's weird.
He studied the man for a moment, taking in his slight frame, his calm but intense demeanor, and the way he sat poised even in the discomfort of a bus bench. The revelation surprised him. He hadn’t pictured the voice behind the nightly broadcasts as belonging to a man like this. Small. Short. Lanky. A colored man, at that.
The man looked Vox over in turn, amusement flitting across his face. “And you’re the man from the picture box, if I’m not mistaken?”
Vox let out a low chuckle. “That’s one way to put it. Guess you’d be surprised to find a CEO on a bus like this, especially on a night like this without an umbrella, huh?”
The man chuckled softly, adjusting the glasses on his nose. “I’ll admit, it’s not exactly what I expected. You of all people, choosing the humble bus ride in this weather… quite a rarity.” He leaned back, his posture somehow both relaxed and dignified. “But then, life always does have a way of catching us off guard, doesn’t it?”
Vox nodded, not quite sure how to respond. For once, he wasn’t in control of the conversation, and he found himself oddly intrigued by this stranger who didn’t seem to give a damn about who he was. It was nothing like the fan girls who’d swoon over his handsome face or the buyers who’d throw money at him just to get close to his name.
It was refreshing.
Vox raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued as he studied the man across from him. The bus rattled along its route, the soft hum of the engine filling the brief silence between them.
"And what should I call you, then? You never reveal your name on air,” Vox pressed, keeping his tone casual but unable to mask his intrigue.
The man smiled faintly, his gaze lowering as if choosing his words carefully. “I prefer to keep my anonymity. My listeners tune in for the stories, the music, not for who's behind the mic.” He paused, adjusting his glasses thoughtfully. “And besides, you know as well as I do... most wouldn’t like the thought of a colored man speaking into the microphone.”
Vox nodded slowly. He’d dealt with plenty of obstacles in the entertainment industry. Power plays, politics, and backstabbing were all part of the game. But his challenges had always come with a safety net from being born into a world of wealth and connections. He knew he could slip up and still land on his feet. Mistakes for him meant disappointment or losing a deal. For this man, a single misstep could mean losing everything, his life even.
And as the rain drummed on the windows, Vox couldn’t help but respect that in a way he rarely felt for anyone.
“Well,” Vox replied, leaning back as the bus jolted. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
Vox’s bus stop finally loomed ahead, the sign flickering dimly in the rain soaked night. He glanced down the road, noting that the stops after this one led into less than ideal neighborhoods. A sense of unease lingered in the back of his mind, but he pushed it aside for now.
He stood up, smoothing out the creases in his coat, and glanced over at the man across from him. "I still didn’t get your name," Vox said, his voice casual but carrying an undercurrent of curiosity.
Alastor’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, and then a smile crept onto his lips. There was something warm in the way he spoke, something genuine that Vox wasn’t quite used to. "Alastor," he replied, the words rolling off his tongue with a hint of pride.
"Nice to meet you," Vox said, offering a nod as he made his way to the door. "Have a good night, Alastor."
"You as well," Alastor returned, his voice still carrying that calm, almost melodic tone.
Vox stepped off the bus, the cool night air hitting him like a wave as he made his way down the street. His apartment was just a short walk away, and he barely noticed the dampness clinging to his clothes as he entered the building.
Once inside, he shuffled toward his room, his body heavy with exhaustion, the events of the night already fading into the background. With a sigh, he collapsed onto the bed, still fully clothed and soaked from the rain. It didn’t matter. Sleep was all he needed, and within seconds, he was lost to it, the weight of the night’s conversation slipping into the depths of his unconscious mind.
Alastor huh?