"Oh, you're serious? Come now, Vox. I knew you could be pathetic at times, but I didn't realize you were so weak!"

"You need me to join your team. And here I thought you were actually approaching my level. But asking for assistance? A partnership? I am quite dissappointed in you."

"Friends? There are no friends in Hell, Vincent, I thought that was something you understood! How embarrassing."

The humiliation burns in Vox's face. It feels like his glass of drink is a ways away from shattering in his hand. It'd taken so long to built up the courage to even dare propose a partnership to Alastor and it's gone as horrible as he'd thought. Alastor, laughing in his face.

Alastor, mocking and insulting him. The one person in Hell Vox actually likes, actually dared to love—

"Enough!"

The seat clatters beneath him as he stands up haphazardly, and Vox's fingers find themselves digging into the lapels of Alastor's pristine coat, leaving the fabric crumpled. He tugs him closer. The air in the bar feels oppressive, suddenly, all too tight in his chest. Has it always been like that?

Shoulders shaking, the frustration rolls off Vox in waves. The light of his screen is bright. He can see the reflection of his right eye in Alastor's own wide ones, he can see the swirling red and black spirals that always get Vox what he wants, the way Alastor's match soon enough.

It's an accident. At first, anyways. It hasn't been very long since he even realized he could hypnotize other sinners with his literal eye. Hard to control, that. Vox hadn't even told Alastor yet and now, now look what's happened.

"You're going to stop laughing, sit down, and. And," Vox hesitates, then. Alastor's shoulders are all rigid beneath his touch, the same spirals in his eyes. Vox's tongue suddenly feels too thick for his mouth.

Unfortunately for both of them, hesitation isn't enough.

"—and you're going to gladly take my offer, alright?!"

The grip Vox has on Alastor lessens as the other overlord staggers back, drawn taut like a string about to break. He properly lets go to help him sit back down slowly, cautiously. The concern washes over him and flushes away the anger.

"Al?" He tries, and it clicks.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Vox didn't mean to. He really, really didn't mean to. Alastor would fucking kill him for this if he found out Vox had used his hypnosis on him. Especially for something like this.

Maybe it didn't work? There's a chance, right? As much as Vox wanted Alastor by his side, as partners, as more, using hypnosis to do it wasn't how he wanted this to play out.

But if it did work—if it really worked, then who would blame Vox for taking advantage of it?

Vox settles an uncertain hand on Alastor's shoulder and swallows down the dread that bubbles up in his throat. "Hey, Alastor, are you okay?"