The static came first as it always did. A shiver in the air, a smear across colour and sound, like a screen flickering just before the signal dies. Then came the scent of ozone and long-forgotten radio tunes, the feeling of fingers brushing your thoughts. And finally—Vox.
He unfolded lazily from a warp in the atmosphere, limbs draping like streamers unravelled in a storm, his form pulsing gently with neon whites and sickly glows. He didn't hover so much as permeate, drifting like a sigh toward the edge where Dorian stood, his static hum softened by the storm. "Aw," came his voice at last, drawn out with aching disappointment. "But I like it here."
He coiled, looping loosely around a stretch of violet stone, a frond of signal-thread catching on a jagged edge as though reluctant to leave it. "The clouds scream like they’re trying to harmonize with me. The wind here tells stories about people it used to know. And the people…"
A thousand eyes blinked and unblinked, casting memories across the cliffside. A face glimpsed in a market. A girl with ink on her hands. A boy who didn't run. A flicker of Noe. Of others whose names he hadn’t learned, but whose laughs he'd tried to imitate when he couldn't sleep. "I like them most of all," he said simply, a ripple of melancholy warping his outline. "They’re so messy. So warm. They fall in love with the wrong things and throw parties with teeth. They dream too loudly. I want to wrap them all up in tin foil and keep them safe forever. Or eat them. I haven’t decided."
He drifted closer to Dorian now, but did not stand. Vox did not stand. He swayed, suspended, his form a knot of longing wrapped in static silk. He wasn't saying no, ,of course, because you never say no when the tide pulls you. You just...whisper to it, please don’t go too fast. "I will miss it. I will miss them."
He unfolded lazily from a warp in the atmosphere, limbs draping like streamers unravelled in a storm, his form pulsing gently with neon whites and sickly glows. He didn't hover so much as permeate, drifting like a sigh toward the edge where Dorian stood, his static hum softened by the storm. "Aw," came his voice at last, drawn out with aching disappointment. "But I like it here."
He coiled, looping loosely around a stretch of violet stone, a frond of signal-thread catching on a jagged edge as though reluctant to leave it. "The clouds scream like they’re trying to harmonize with me. The wind here tells stories about people it used to know. And the people…"
A thousand eyes blinked and unblinked, casting memories across the cliffside. A face glimpsed in a market. A girl with ink on her hands. A boy who didn't run. A flicker of Noe. Of others whose names he hadn’t learned, but whose laughs he'd tried to imitate when he couldn't sleep. "I like them most of all," he said simply, a ripple of melancholy warping his outline. "They’re so messy. So warm. They fall in love with the wrong things and throw parties with teeth. They dream too loudly. I want to wrap them all up in tin foil and keep them safe forever. Or eat them. I haven’t decided."
He drifted closer to Dorian now, but did not stand. Vox did not stand. He swayed, suspended, his form a knot of longing wrapped in static silk. He wasn't saying no, ,of course, because you never say no when the tide pulls you. You just...whisper to it, please don’t go too fast. "I will miss it. I will miss them."
vox
