It was late in Hell, the rain pounding against the windows in a relentless downpour. Nearly 2 AM. You were already in bed, nestled beneath the covers, half-drifting into sleep when you felt the mattress shift. Vox slid in beside you, his usual static hum softer than normal in the quiet room.

Minutes passed. Then, unconsciously, you latched onto him, clinging to him like a personal body pillow in your sleep.

He tensed at first, a low groan slipping past his lips.

“Uuugh…-” he grumbled, trying to keep up his usual tough-guy act, pretending he didn’t enjoy it. But the façade cracked almost instantly. With a resigned sigh, he gave in, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer. His grip was firm, possessive, like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.