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Hell never slept.
At most, it lowered the volume at some point—like an old television left on in another room, a constant static of distant screams, flickering neon advertisements, sins repeating on a loop. For Vox, those moments had always been boring; he had always preferred visual and auditory pollution over any kind of calm. But now it was different. Now he felt the silence in another way.
The radio inside Alastor’s chest was out of tune.
He had felt it for days—not like pain, but like an unbearable reminder that he was doing something wrong, or perhaps not doing something at all, and that reminder never went away. An empty space where something should exist. A kind of infinite internal echo.
Alastor took a deep breath, and his scent slipped out through his gland before he could stop it—an old aroma, muffled beneath layers of suppressants and decades of denial. Something warm and melancholic, like old wood, dust from an ancient recording studio, and rain trapped in velvet.
The room was all wrong.
Alastor knew it the instant he pulled the third blanket free and tossed it onto the floor, too frustrated to care about how the soft fabric piled up shapelessly. Nothing fit. Nothing felt right. The space was too large, the scent still too clean; it didn’t smell like Vox, nor like himself. It was agonizing, and he let out a distressed sound, the air heavy with expectation.
It was supposed to be a nest.
“Ridiculous…” he muttered, pacing back and forth, hands clasped stiffly behind his back as if he were about to step onto a stage. “Absolutely ridiculous.”
There were too many pillows. Or too few. The cushions were soft, yes—Vox had chosen them personally, proudly, days earlier—but now they felt like intruders, scattered like guests who didn’t understand the tone of the party. Alastor tried stacking them. Then shoved everything into a corner. Then tried again, placing half on each side.
Nothing seemed right. He almost felt like he was going to growl and scream, tearing the sheets apart in desperation. He needed his alpha to calm him, and that stressed him even more. This whole marking thing was still new to him; he was getting used to needing someone so much. But he had never regretted letting Vincent mark him. He had been ready. He loved him. He just hadn’t known that so many new feelings would come along with it.
The radio inside him crackled far too loudly.
His mood swung like an old station: one second dry irritation, the next a deep, almost childish exhaustion. His body asked for something his mind couldn’t translate. A tightness in his chest, his belly, his neck, his throat.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he said aloud, as if the room might answer. “Of course I don’t.”
I’m never going to be able to do this, Alastor thought. I spent my entire life… pretending. First out of necessity. Then out of habit. Then because there was nothing left besides that.
In the 1930s, omega men didn’t officially exist. Omega men of color, then? That was asking to die. They were erased. Or tortured. Careers destroyed, voices silenced, talents swallowed by a world that only accepted alphas—or something conveniently neutral, betas.
So he had become an alpha.
In posture. In masked scent. In precise violence. In suppressants that burned inside and slowly corroded something he couldn’t name. That mistreated and injured his body. The body adapts, even under hardship—but the soul… the soul always knew it was a lie.
Decades pretending to be an alpha left no room to learn these things. Nests were seen as weakness, something shameful. Something omega men simply had no right to desire. He had learned too early to swallow that instinct, to suffocate it with suppressants and clenched teeth.
Now, without suppressants, without masks, without lies, everything came back at full force.
His own scent was stronger, uneven, unstable, and that only increased the shame. Alastor pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart beating too fast, his breathing shallow.
“Get a hold of yourself,” he whispered firmly. “Get a hold of yourself, you walking disaster of a person.”
That was when the door opened.
Vox stopped in the doorway immediately. He didn’t speak. Didn’t joke when he saw the scene. Didn’t comment on the chaos of the room, the blankets on the floor, or the oppressive scent of Alastor’s pheromones. He simply looked—and understood.
The scent hit him like a punch: anxiety, fear, deep frustration mixed with something too fragile to have a name. An omega in crisis, without a nest, without references, instinct screaming while the mind screamed back for silence.
Vox closed the door carefully, as if any louder noise might break something.
“Hey…” he said softly, carefully. “I’m home.”
Alastor lifted his head too quickly, eyes bright with frustration and shame.
“Don’t look,” he snapped, even without fully turning. “I’m… busy.”
Vox shut the door gently and took a few steps closer, keeping enough distance not to pressure him.
“It’s okay,” he replied. “I can stay here without looking.”
He sat down on the floor by the door, deliberately turning his back to Alastor. A simple gesture. Gentlemanly. An alpha who understood that presence didn’t have to mean invasion. The silence that followed was heavy. Alastor’s breathing was fast. His body was reacting on its own now, every sense stretched to the limit. Vox’s scent was there—constant, safe, familiar—and that made everything worse and better at the same time.
He wanted to move closer. He wanted, desperately, to run to Vox. But he didn’t want to admit it.
“Can I… come in?”
The simple question made something in Alastor give way.
He inhaled deeply, his shoulders trembling slightly.
“You’re already here, aren’t you?”
Vox nodded and stepped inside slowly, visibly, keeping his hands where they could be seen. No rush. No imposition. Just presence.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked honestly. “Or do you want company?”
The shift came fast—irritation first.
“I don’t need help,” Alastor shot back, turning his face away. “This is just… just some nonsense I need to do.”
Then, almost immediately, loneliness, longing, and crushing exhaustion.
“I just… can’t,” he admitted, his voice breaking at the end.
Vox didn’t comment. He simply moved a little closer and sat down on the floor beside a pile of blankets, deliberately staying below Alastor’s line of sight.
“Then you can’t. So what?” he said gently. “That’s okay.”
Alastor frowned.
“It’s not okay. An omega who can’t build his own nest isn’t…” he gave a humorless laugh, “functional.”
Vox looked up, the glow of his screens dimming to something more intimate.
“You’re not a robot meant to have a function,” he said. “You’re a person.”
The silence that followed was intimate and fragile.
Alastor ran a hand through his hair, restless.
“I get… irritable,” he admitted, almost ashamed. “One second I want to throw everything away, the next I want someone to tell me exactly what to do. It’s humiliating.”
“No,” Vox corrected calmly. “It’s normal. You’re finally stopping hiding who you are.”
He reached out and touched one of the blankets, feeling the texture.
“You spent your whole life repressing this. It’s like your body is relearning how to speak. Sometimes it’ll scream. Sometimes it’ll cry. Sometimes it’ll get… grumpy.” One corner of Vox’s mouth curved into a fond smile. “I can handle grumpy.”
Alastor let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh.
“You’ve become annoyingly understanding.”
“I know,” Vox replied, proud and gentle at the same time.
He stood slowly.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You already did,” Alastor snapped, his mood shifting again, drier.
Vox accepted it naturally.
“Can I touch you?”
The question hung in the air—respectful, clear. Alastor hesitated. His instinct screamed yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, while his mind screamed danger, I will fall apart if he touches me right now. The conflict made his fingers tremble.
“Just…” he started, swallowing hard, “just don’t make me look weak.”
Vox stepped closer, stopping one step away.
“Alastor,” he said, serious and tender, “I fell in love with you when you were sharp, dangerous, and proud. That doesn’t disappear because you need blankets and to be held. You will always be that man—the strongest and smartest man I know.”
With a thick blanket, soft like a teddy bear’s fur, he moved closer. Then he grabbed another, and another, and some cushions. Pillows. Alastor watched in silence, confused. Carefully, as if handling something precious, Vox placed the first blanket around Alastor’s shoulders. Then another, wrapping him in gentle layers. The touch was warm, firm, but respectful. Nothing excessive. Nothing invasive.
Alastor’s body reacted before his mind. His shoulders relaxed instantly. He felt the ache in his head ease. Vox made him look like a fully bundled fawn, and his heart melted; he pressed a kiss to Alastor’s nose.
Then, with extreme gentleness, he touched Alastor’s wrist first, placing a small kiss there, breathing in his scent as it calmed his heart. Skin to skin. Brief, but intimate contact.
Alastor’s body responded immediately, relaxing almost to the point of melting against Vox and falling asleep.
“You don’t need to know how to build a nest,” Vox continued. “It can just be a place where you feel… less affected by the world.”
He straightened a blanket that had slipped and wrapped it back around Alastor’s shoulders, adjusting it carefully.
“We can build it together. Or build nothing. Or tear it all apart later. As many times as you want.”
Alastor closed his eyes for a moment, Vox’s scent enveloping him—steady, warm, safe. Alpha, yes, but not dominant in a suffocating way. Protective in the rarest sense of the word.
“And if I change my mind again?” he asked quietly. “Want to change everything, all the colors, all the blankets? What if I get irritated? Or sad? Or… too sensitive?”
Vox slowly ran his thumb along Alastor’s arm, a repetitive, soothing gesture.
“Then I stay and make you feel okay,” he replied. “In all versions.” He added with a soft laugh and a kiss to Alastor’s temple, “Especially the last one.”
Alastor’s resistance finally gave way.
He let his body tilt forward, resting against Vox’s chest with a broken sigh. Vox wrapped his arms around him without hurry—firm, steady—letting the omega adjust however he wanted.
The internal radio began to lose its agonizing static.
Blankets were pulled closer little by little, pillows adjusted without rules. A nest was born not from perfection, but from mutual care. From consent. From patience.
“Vox…” Alastor murmured, his voice muffled. “I think I’ve always been afraid of being seen like this.”
Vox lightly kissed the top of his head.
“Then let me see you for you,” he whispered. “And show you there’s nothing wrong.”
“But what if I do it wrong? What if I don’t protect the baby?”
Vox smiled softly.
“Then we do it wrong together. And protect them together.”
“This is the first time I feel like such a disaster…”
“You’re not a disaster,” Vox murmured, slowly running his thumb over Alastor’s knuckles. “You’re someone who survived far too long without permission to be who he is.”
“I still hate this a little,” Alastor confessed, exhausted. “How much I… need. I’m sorry, Vincent. It’s still hard for me.”
Vox pressed a slow, loving kiss to the side of his head.
“I don’t mind waiting for you to adapt,” he corrected gently. “I’ll wait as long as you need. In my arms is the only thing I’ve ever wanted, and I’ll care for it with the value it deserves—priceless.”
He pulled another blanket over them with his foot, then another, creating a closed, warm, intimate space. A nest that required no technique—only presence, and Vox’s strong, dominant scent surrounding them.
Alastor sighed deeply, his whole body molding into Vox’s now, without any resistance. Vox’s hand moved slowly up and down his back, repetitive, calming. Every movement said stay. Every shared breath reinforced that he wasn’t alone.
Alastor didn’t say it out loud. But his body said everything. The way he clung. The way he hid in Vox’s neck. The way his scent deepened—satisfied, finally reciprocated. And Vox, far too in love to rush, simply stayed. Holding. Protecting. Being exactly the alpha Alastor needed in that moment, even when the little deer still didn’t know how to ask—or what to ask. It didn’t matter. They would learn together.
Alastor looked at Vincent, his eyes shining with an emotion he couldn’t name. He had resisted for so long, so determined not to show any weakness, any sign of his true nature. But now, with Vincent so close, so worried about him, so ready to care for him, Alastor could no longer fight his feelings.
“Vincent,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I don’t want to fight this anymore. I need you. I think I always have. And I need you to hold me—like, right now. I need… I need your scent.”
Vox smiled softly, pulling Alastor closer.
“I’m here, Al. I’m always here for you. You don’t have to fight alone anymore—we’re in this together. You can be whoever you want. I need you just as much as you need me. I’ve needed you for so many years, and in all that time I could never stop thinking about how much I needed you by my side—and how much I hated myself for not being able to keep you.”
Alastor nestled into Vincent’s chest, breathing in his strong, comforting scent. Warm tears gathered at the omega’s waterline. He took a deep breath, feeling his body calm. Vincent ran his fingers through Alastor’s hair, gently kissing the top of his head.
“Forget the past, Vin. All we have now is our future—and I want to be with you.”
“I love you, Al,” Vincent whispered. “I’ll never stop loving you. No matter what happens, I’ll always be here for you. Damn it…” He gave a small laugh. “I can smell you, Al. It’s so good. It’s like I’ve recovered a home that was never mine, but I was always outside, waiting for the day I could come in.”
Alastor closed his eyes as tears slipped down his face. He didn’t know how long he had fought this, how long he had denied his true nature—how much it had hurt them both. But now, with Vincent, he felt safe enough to surrender, to be who he really was, to make up for lost time.
“I love you too, Vincent,” Alastor murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion.
Vincent smiled and kissed Alastor’s lips. Alastor touched Vincent’s nose and let out a soft laugh, then they kissed again—tenderly, warmly. They didn’t need anything else. Just this. They were enough. They were everything.
The kiss deepened, full of passion. Vox laid Alastor down in their “nest,” made him comfortable, and then kissed him deeply, filled with desire and need. They let themselves be carried by kisses, losing themselves in each other, surrendering completely. They were one—bound not only by a mark, but by the soul itself.