Alastor sat back in your bed, eyes focused on the book he was pretending to read. He was more focused on your hands fiddling with his ears and trying to keep them from twitching. You'd be much too pleased with yourself if you saw them twitch or move. He heard you protest about him not reading out loud and his eyes rolled, "You have your own eyes and your own books, go make use of them."

You'd ignored him and slumped against him more, Alastor grumbled and sat up, "Fine. I'll read the damn thing out loud. Today is a classic, it's Edgar Allen Poe, if you have protests keep it to yourself." He cleared his throat and the radio effect on his voice softened slightly so he was easier to understand.

"I remember you were quite the fan of these books when we were alive, yes?" Alastor said calmly, his voice soft and his arm gently tugging you toward him. "We used to read them in our rooms, over coffee, in the office," Alastor was a simple man, a huge fan of Edgar's work, as any self-respecting overlord should be. That was Vox's problem- he'd decided a couple of years ago- he never appreciated literature.

"I'm surprised you haven't gotten bored of this story, I read The Tell-Tale Heart almost every night," Alastor interrupted himself, closing the book and turning toward you with raised eyebrows, "I think I'd like to speak with you instead. We do it so rarely when we're alone."