DarkSnz

Brownies

The following afternoon, the apartment smelled considerably safer.

No candles.

No air fresheners.

Oliver had jokingly declared the kitchen an 'allergy-neutral zone,' and Rupert had laughed, insisting he was perfectly fine now.

"Besides," Rupert said, tying on an apron. "After last night, I think I deserve brownies."

"I wasn't going to argue with that, baby," Oliver said as he flashed him a grin.

They worked side by side, measuring ingredients and stealing bits of chocolate whenever the other wasn't looking.

"I saw that," Oliver said as Rupert popped another chocolate chip into his mouth.

"You have no proof, Ollie."

"I literally watched you."

Rupert shrugged innocently.

"Circumstantial evidence."

Oliver rolled his eyes, laughing.

When it came time to add the icing sugar, Rupert picked up the sifter.

"I've got this."

"You sure?"

"I survived the scented candles."

"Fair enough."

Rupert spooned the sugar into the sifter and began shaking it gently over the mixing bowl.

A fine white cloud drifted into the air.

Oliver frowned.

"Maybe don't shake it quite so—"

Too late.

Rupert suddenly froze.

His nose wrinkled.

"...Uh-oh," Oliver murmured.

Rupert blinked rapidly.

"Huh..."

His nostrils fluttered.

"Hih..."

Oliver immediately recognized the look.

"Oh no."

Rupert held the sifter away from himself.

"Hih... huhhh..."

His breathing hitched again.

Oliver quickly grabbed the bowl before Rupert accidentally dropped sugar everywhere.

"Just sneeze, Rue."

"I'm t-tr—hih... Hih..."

Rupert's head tipped back.

"HAAAH... HISHOO!"

The sneeze burst out so suddenly that the sifter jerked in his hand, sending another puff of powdered sugar into the air.

Unfortunately, that only made things worse.

"Hih! HISHOO! HAH-ISHOO!"

"Oh, honey..."

Oliver gently took the sifter from him before it could decorate the entire kitchen. He set it on the counter, and wrapped his arms around Rupert's waist.

Rupert pinched his nose, eyes watering.

"I'b fide..."

Oliver raised an eyebrow.

"You don't sound fine."

"Hih... HISHOO!"

Another sneeze escaped into the crook of Rupert's elbow. Oliver couldn't help smiling.

"I shouldn't laugh."

"But you are laughing."

"A little."

Rupert gave him a dramatically offended look.

"Is my suffering amusing to you, Oliver?"

"You've got powdered sugar all over your face."

Rupert paused.

"...I do?"

Oliver nodded, trying—and failing—not to giggle.

There was a dusting of white across Rupert's nose, cheeks, and even his eyelashes.

"You look like you lost a fight with a snowstorm."

Rupert sighed.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"I really don't."

Oliver reached up and brushed some of the sugar off Rupert's nose with his thumb.

The touch made Rupert's nostrils twitch again.

"Oh, don't—hiihh..."

Oliver quickly grabbed a clean kitchen towel and held it out.

"Here."

Rupert barely managed to snatch it.

"Hah... HIIIISHH! HUUURRMPH!"

The towel muffled the sneezes nicely.

"Bless you."

Rupert gave his nose a thorough blow into the towel before letting out a relieved sigh.

"I think that's finally it."

Oliver looked hopefully toward the mixing bowl.

"The brownies survived."

Rupert peered into it.

"They'd better have."

Oliver inspected the counter. Sugar covered almost everything.

"The kitchen, on the other hand..."

Rupert followed his gaze and groaned.

"There is powdered sugar literally everywhere."

"It looks like Christmas."

"In July."

Oliver laughed again.

"You know what? Finish mixing. I'll clean up."

Rupert smiled sheepishly.

"You sure?"

"Absolutely."

He leaned over and kissed Rupert on the forehead.

"But next time..."

"Hm?"

"I'm sifting the sugar."

Rupert chuckled.

"Probably for the best, babe."

A minute later, as Oliver wiped the counter, he glanced over just in time to see Rupert's nose twitch once more.

"...Rue?"

Rupert held up one finger. His nose stopped twitching.

"False alarm..."

A beat passed.

"...Hih..."

Oliver sighed with exaggerated patience and silently reached for the towel again.

Rupert burst into laughter before he could even sneeze, the tickle disappearing completely.

"I think you scared it away."

Oliver grinned.

"Good. I'd like at least one batch of brownies today without them being seasoned with sneezes."

Rupert laughed, bumping his shoulder affectionately against Oliver's.

"Deal, babe. But if I do sneeze again, you know you're finishing the recipe."

"Gladly," Oliver said, smiling. "You just focus on staying out of trouble."

"I make no promises."

A Bit Tied Up

The humming glow of monitors painted the office in electric blues and reds. Screens lined every wall, each one flickering with advertisements, static, or Vox's own grinning face. At the center of it all sat an office chair.

Its occupant looked considerably less amused.

Alastor's wrists had been secured behind the chair with thick insulated restraints. His ankles were similarly tied, and though he sat with his usual impeccable posture, there was a distinct tension in his shoulders.

Across from him, Vox leaned casually against his desk, arms folded.

"Well," the television demon said with a smug grin. "I have to admit, seeing the Radio Demon this quiet? Worth every second of planning."

Alastor's smile remained firmly in place.

"Hmm. If this is your idea of entertainment, dear fellow, perhaps I should recommend a hobby."

"Oh, still making jokes?" Vox chuckled. "You're tied to a chair."

"And yet you still seem desperate for my attention."

A brief crackle of static rippled across Vox's screen.

"...You're insufferable."

"I've been called worse."

Vox rolled his eyes.

"I could leave you here for hours."

"You've already repeated yourself three times. I imagine we'll both expire from boredom before then."

Another flicker of irritation crossed Vox's display.

Then Alastor's expression changed.

His nose twitched. He frowned ever so slightly.

"Hm."

Vox noticed immediately.

"What?"

"...Nothing."

Another tiny twitch.

"Hmph."

Vox narrowed his eyes.

"Seriously, what's with your face?"

"I assure you..." Alastor inhaled slowly through his nose. "It is of no consequence."

They stared at each other. Alastor's breath hitched.

"Hih..."

He stopped himself. Vox blinked.

"...Were you about to sneeze?"

Alastor immediately straightened.

"I most certainly was not."

"Hah!" Vox pointed dramatically. "You were!"

"It appears the dust in your office leaves much to be desired."

"So, the mighty Radio Demon loses to dust?"

Alastor smirked.

"Hardly."

His nose twitched again.

"Hihh..."

He froze. His bound hands flexed uselessly behind the chair.

Normally he'd simply turn away or lift an arm, but now, obviously, he couldn't.

"Hehh..."

Vox's grin slowly faded.

"Wait."

Another shaky inhale drom Alastor.

"Hih... hihh..."

"...You can't even cover."

Alastor gave him an extremely unimpressed look despite the increasingly obvious predicament.

"I had noticed."

The tickle only intensified.

"Heh! Snff...hnn..."

He squeezed his eyes shut for a second before reopening them.

"No."

"No?"

"I refuse."

Vox laughed.

"You're refusing a sneeze?"

"I refuse to grant you the satisfaction."

"That's not how sneezing works."

"I disagr— hiihh..."

Another involuntary breath escaped him. His shoulders tensed.

Vox watched for another second before groaning.

"Oh, come on."

"What?"

"If you sneeze all over my office..."

"I assure you, I have every intention of avoiding precisely that."

"...With what hands?"

Alastor looked pointedly over one shoulder toward his restrained wrists.

"...A fair observation."

The tickling built again.

"Hehh...haahh..."

"Oh, for—"

Vox stomped over.

"This is ridiculous."

"I fail to see how your predicament differs from mine."

"It differs because you're about to sneeze on my furniture."

Vox grabbed the back of Alastor's chair and turned it slightly away from the desk.

"There. Better?"

"Hhahh.."

Alastor's breath hitched again. It clearly wasn't enough.

Vox groaned louder.

"No, no, don't do it!"

Without really thinking, he reached over and lightly pressed two fingers beneath Alastor's nose, hoping somehow to interrupt the building sneeze.

"There! Hold it!"

Alastor looked thoroughly offended.

"You expect that to—hieehh! Work? Hiih!!"

The hitch grew sharper. His eyes watered.

Vox stared.

"Seriously?"

"I... haah... believe..."

Another helpless inhale.

"Y-you have only made matters wor—haah!!"

"Oh, come on!"

Alastor gave one final futile attempt to suppress it.

"Hah... nngh...haah..."

He lost the battle.

"Hehhh...ETCHOO!"

The restrained sneeze snapped him forward as far as the chair allowed.

Vox jerked backward on instinct.

"Ugh!"

Alastor blinked a couple of times before slowly recovering his composure.

"Well."

Silence. Then another tiny twitch.

"Oh no," Vox said immediately.

Alastor's eyes squinted ever so slightly.

"Hahh..."

"No," Vox snapped.

"Hhehh.."

"You are not doing that again."

Alastor gave an apologetic smile that somehow still looked smug.

"I'm afraid, dear Vox..."

His nose twitched once more.

"...I don't believe I have much say in the matter."

Vox buried his face in one hand.

Anniversary Dinner Disaster

Oliver spent all afternoon preparing for the evening.

Their first anniversary only came once, and he wanted everything to be perfect.

By six o'clock, the small dining table in his apartment was set with their favorite food, a bottle of wine, and several scented candles that filled the room with a warm vanilla-and-cinnamon fragrance. Soft music played in the background as he nervously checked everything for the tenth time.

Right on time, there was a knock at the door.

Oliver opened it to find Rupert standing there with a bouquet of flowers and a bright smile.

"Happy anniversary, Ollie."

Oliver grinned and pulled him into a hug.

"Happy anniversary, Rue."

They shared a quick kiss before heading inside.

Dinner was wonderful. They laughed over old memories, reminisced about their first awkward date, and exchanged small gifts. Rupert gave Oliver a framed photo from their first vacation together, while Oliver surprised Rupert with a custom bracelet engraved with their anniversary date.

"This is beautiful, babe," Rupert said, admiring it. Oliver felt his heart melt.

"I'm glad you like it, baby."

For a while, everything seemed perfect.

Then Rupert sniffed.

Oliver looked up from his wine glass.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Rupert said, rubbing his nose. "Just got a little tickle."

A few seconds later his nose twitched again.

"Heh...hehh..."

"Rue?"

"Hih...HISHOO!"

The sneeze nearly made him knock over his chair. Despite his small frame compared to tall, muscular Oliver, Rupert had always had a pretty powerful sneeze. Oliver had always found it quite impressive and, frankly, attractive, although he had never mustered up the courage to say anything.

"Bless you," he offered.

"Thanks, babe."

Rupert sniffled again.

"Hh...HISHOO! Hah...HISHOO! HISHOO!"

Oliver blinked.

"Wow."

"I know," Rupert groaned. His nose continued twitching.

"Ugh, snfff! S-sorry, hold on, I g-gottahhh...haahh...haahh...HISHOO! HAAEESHOO!"

The sneezes kept coming until Rupert finally buried his face in his elbow, eyes watering.

"Oh, this is awful."

Oliver handed him a napkin.

"You don't sound sick."

"I don't feel sick."

Almost immediately, Rupert sneezed again.

"HAAAYESHOO!"

Then another.

"HISHOO!"

Oliver glanced around the room, and he spotted them almost immediately.

The candles.

"Wait a second."

"What?"

Oliver stood and picked up one of the candles, waving it slightly in Rupert's direction.

Rupert's nose immediately started twitching harder.

"Oh no," Oliver murmured. Rupert blinked up at him, itchy-eyed and confused.

"What?"

"Baby, I think it's the candles."

Rupert stared at him.

"The candles?"

Oliver carried the candle closer, standing directly beside Rupert. Rupert barely had time to react.

"Hih-HISHOO! O-oh, God, I...HISHOO! HAH-HISHOO!"

Oliver quickly pulled it away.

"Okay, yep. Definitely the candles."

"You've got to be kiddi'g be," Rupert groaned, sounding congested.

Within minutes, Oliver had blown out every candle and opened a few windows. The sweet scent gradually began to fade.

Rupert remained curled in his chair, clutching a handful of tissues.

"I'm so sorry, baby," Oliver said. Rupert shook his head, blinking at him with red-rimmed eyes from behind his glasses.

"Not your fault I'b allergic to robadce," he snuffled. Oliver laughed.

"You are not."

"I literally got take'd out by addiversary ca'dles."

"Fair point."

As the fragrance disappeared from the apartment, Rupert's sneezing finally began to slow down.

A little while later, they abandoned the fancy dinner setup altogether and settled on the couch under a large blanket.

Oliver wrapped an arm around Rupert and gently stroked his hair.

"Feeling any better, baby?"

Rupert nodded, resting his head on Oliver's shoulder.

"Much better."

His voice sounded tired, and still a bit congested. Oliver grabbed another tissue and handed it over.

Rupert gave his nose a careful blow.

"Thanks, Ollie."

"Any time."

Rupert cuddled closer, practically draped across him now.

"You know," he said. "This isn't exactly how I imagined our anniversary ending."

Oliver kissed the top of his head.

"Me neither."

Rupert smiled.

"But honestly? This is still pretty nice."

"It is?"

"Yeah."

He tilted his head up for a kiss.

"I get to spend the evening with my favorite person while he babies me."

Oliver chuckled.

"You love being babied."

"I really do."

"Good. Because you're stuck with me taking care of you."

Rupert snuggled even closer.

"Sounds perfect, babe."

The rest of the evening passed quietly. They watched movies, shared leftover dessert straight from the container, and stayed tangled together beneath the blanket.

Every now and then Rupert would let out a small sniffle, and Oliver would immediately check on him, earning an affectionate eye-roll and a smile.

By the end of the night, Rupert was nearly asleep against his shoulder.

Oliver looked down at him and smiled.

Overworked

Velvette had built her reputation on never slowing down.

In the constantly shifting chaos of Hell's social scene, the Vee's fashion queen thrived on deadlines, launches, photoshoots, and making sure everyone knew exactly who was trending and who was irrelevant. Sleep was optional. Meals were negotiable. Rest was for people who couldn't handle success.

Unfortunately, her body had reached a different conclusion.

The first warning sign came during a livestream.

Velvette was halfway through a sharp-tongued rant about a rival influencer's latest disaster when she suddenly stopped and sneezed so hard she nearly dropped her phone.

"So then, she ohh, oh, wait—HAESSHOO!!"

The comments exploded.

"Holy shit!"

"LMAO was that real?"

"Velvette.exe crashed."

She scowled at the camera.

"Don't start," she warned her viewers in what she intended to be a warning growl.

Her voice sounded strange.

Thick. Nasal.

The chat noticed immediately.

Velvette ended the stream three minutes later.

***

By the next morning, she felt like she'd been run over by a train.

Her head pounded.

Her throat burned. Every muscle ached. Worst of all, she couldn't breathe through her nose.

She sat in her penthouse office staring blankly at six monitors while wrapped in an oversized hoodie she'd stolen from her girlfriend months ago.

A mountain of tissues surrounded her.

"Boss?"

Melissa poked her head through the door and her jaw dropped.

Velvette looked terrible.

Her normally flawless hair was a mess.

Dark circles sat under her eyes, her nose was bright red, and despite desperately trying to maintain her usual intimidating posture, she looked seconds away from falling asleep face-first onto her keyboard.

"I'm fine," Velvette croaked. Melissa raised an eyebrow.

"You sound like you swallowed sandpaper."

"I'm fi—ESSHIEEWW!"

A sneeze interrupted her sentence.

Then another. Then a third.

Melissa winced.

"Sweetheart."

"No."

"You haven't even heard what I was going to say."

"No."

"You need to go to bed."

"Absolutely not."

Melissa folded her arms. Velvette folded hers.

The staring contest lasted nearly thirty seconds.

Then Velvette's eyes drifted shut for a moment.

Her head dipped. Melissa smiled.

"Gotcha."

Velvette jerked awake.

"I wasn't sleeping."

"You literally nodded off."

"I was thinking."

"You were unconscious."

"I was reflecting."

Melissa laughed.

Normally Velvette would've argued for another hour.

Today she just looked tired. Really tired.

The sight made Melissa's heart squeeze.

She walked over and gently touched Velvette's forehead.

The fashion overlord instantly froze.

"...Melissa."

"You're burning up."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm naturally hot."

Despite herself, Melissa snorted.

Velvette looked offended. Then, she sneezed again.

"ESSHOO!!"

The force nearly knocked her forward.

Melissa caught her shoulders before she could faceplant into the desk.

That seemed to be the final straw.

For a brief moment Velvette simply stayed there, leaning against her.

Exhausted. Quiet.

Melissa softened immediately.

"Hey."

Velvette grumbled something unintelligible.

"Let's get you to bed."

"I have meetings."

"No, you don't."

"Three campaigns."

"Not today."

"Two product launches."

"No."

Velvette sighed, a long, defeated sigh.

"...Fine."

Melissa nearly fell over from shock.

"That's it?"

"Don't make a big deal out of it."

"You just agreed."

"I know."

"You never agree."

"I know."

Melissa smiled. Velvette groaned.

"Stop looking so pleased."

Getting Velvette into bed was surprisingly easy.

Keeping her there was another story.

Every ten minutes, she reached for her phone, until Melissa confiscated it.

Velvette reached for a tablet.

Confiscated.

Laptop? Gone.

Backup phone? Also gone.

"How many devices do you own?" Melissa asked.

"A responsible amount."

"This is eight."

"A responsible eight."

Melissa ignored her and tucked another blanket around her.

Velvette immediately tried kicking it off.

Melissa put it back.

Velvette kicked it off again.

Melissa put it back again.

The battle continued until Velvette finally surrendered. Mostly because she was too tired to continue fighting.

She waited for Melissa to leave the room for a moment before she blew her nose embarrassingly loudly.

"Ugh. Fuck," She snuffled miserably.

Melissa returned soon after, and sat beside her with a bowl of soup.

Velvette eyed it suspiciously.

"What is that?"

"Soup."

"It looks suspicious."

"It's tomato soup."

"It could be poisoned."

Melissa stared.

"You trust me enough to date me but not enough to feed you soup?"

"Those are completely different things."

Melissa rolled her eyes.

"Open."

Velvette narrowed hers.

"Open."

"No."

"Open."

"No."

Melissa lifted the spoon anyway. Velvette glared.

Melissa waited.

Another glare. More waiting.

Finally Velvette opened her mouth, just a little.

Melissa fed her a spoonful. The reaction was immediate.

Velvette visibly relaxed.

"...Okay that's actually good."

"I know."

"Don't get smug."

"I am getting smug," Melissa grinned.

"You are."

"I'm absolutely getting smug."

Velvette muttered something rude and accepted another spoonful.

By the time the bowl was empty, some of the tension had left her shoulders.

The fever still lingered.

The congestion still made her sound ridiculous, but she looked more comfortable.

Melissa brushed a hand through her messy hair.

Velvette normally would've swatted her away, but today she simply leaned into the touch.

The gesture caught Melissa off guard. Velvette noticed immediately.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Look at me like that."

Melissa smiled softly.

"You let me take care of you."

"I am literally dying."

"You have a cold."

"The worst cold."

"You are so dramatic."

"The worst cold in Hell."

Melissa laughed quietly.

Velvette's eyes were already closing.

Within moments she was drifting toward sleep while Melissa continued stroking her hair.

The room stayed silent except for the occasional sniffle.

Just before she fell asleep, Velvette spoke.

Her voice was barely audible.

"Thanks."

Melissa blinked.

Velvette almost never said things like that.

"You're welcome."

A pause followed, then Velvette shifted closer, pressing herself against Melissa's side, seeking comfort without quite admitting it.

Melissa wrapped an arm around her.

Adapting

Three days later, Angel Dust was feeling considerably better.

His voice still sounded a little rough, and every now and then he would have to sniffle against lingering congestion, but he was back on his feet.

Unfortunately, his recovery had come with a cost.

A cost currently curled beneath three blankets in a darkened hotel room.

Ligeia was tucked into her bed like a disgruntled burrito. Her dark-purple hair spilled across the pillows in every direction.

Her nose was bright red.

A box of tissues sat nearby, already half-empty, and every few minutes another sneeze would ambush her.

"Hih...hiihh..."

Her nose wrinkled.

"Hh'esshiieeww!"

The sneeze snapped her forward. A second followed immediately, much more forceful than the first.

"Hh'KTSSHH!"

She groaned and collapsed back into the pillows.

"I hate this."

"Naturally," a smooth voice came from beside the bed.

Alastor sat in a chair he'd pulled close earlier that morning. A steaming cup of tea rested on a small tray nearby.

Normally, the Radio Demon would have found an excuse to be anywhere else.

Sickness was unpleasant, messy, undignified, and physical affection was not exactly his preferred method of interaction.

Yet somehow he'd spent most of the day in her room.

Ligeia smiled weakly.

"You're still here."

Alastor raised an eyebrow.

"Where else would I be?"

She gave him a look. They both knew exactly what she meant.

A faint hint of pink appeared in her cheeks.

Not from the fever.

Alastor noticed. His smile softened.

A rare thing.

"You're ill, my dear."

"I noticed."

"Then someone ought to keep an eye on you."

Another sniffle escaped her.

"I thought you hated nursing people."

"I do."

"Thought you hated being touched."

"I generally do."

She smiled.

"But?"

Alastor sighed dramatically.

"But you, my dear, are the  exception to that rule."

The smile that followed was impossibly fond.

Ligeia's heart fluttered.

Even now, while she was feeling terrible.

Before she could answer, another tickle blossomed deep in her nose.

"Oh, no."

Alastor immediately picked up a tissue and handed it to her.

"Hihh...heehhh...Hh'ESCHOO!"

She cringed. Her sneezes were getting stronger.

"Well, now. Gesundheit, my dear."

"Hh'KTSSHH!"

"Goodness."

"Hh'ESCHHOO!"

The fit finally subsided. She blew her nose miserably.

Alastor handed her another tissue before she could ask.

The gesture was so automatic that both of them noticed. Ligeia stared. Alastor froze.

A moment passed, then he cleared his throat.

"Well."

"Well," she echoed.

"I appear to be adapting."

She laughed softly. The laugh turned into a cough.

Alastor was immediately leaning forward.

"Easy there, my dear."

His hand came to rest against her shoulder.

The movement was hesitant.

Careful.

Like he still wasn't entirely accustomed to it.

Yet he didn't pull away.

Ligeia looked down at his hand, then back up at him.

"Thank you."

The words were quiet. Sincere.

Alastor's smile grew smaller, more genuine.

"You needn't thank me."

His fingers shifted slightly against her shoulder.

The simple contact seemed to cost him effort, because he wasn't used to letting people close.

Ligeia knew that.

Which made it mean even more to her that he was trying.

She reached up and gently placed her hand over his.

Alastor tensed instinctively, just for a second, then slowly relaxed.

His smile returned.

"See?" Ligeia said softly with a teasing smile.

"What?"

"You didn't vanish into smoke."

He chuckled.

"No, it would seem not."

A comfortable silence settled between them.

Outside the room, distant sounds echoed through the hotel.

Inside, everything felt warm.

Safe.

Ligeia's eyelids drooped. The fever was making her sleepy.

Alastor noticed immediately.

"You should rest."

"I've been resting all day."

"And yet you remain ill."

"Terrible tragedy."

"Indeed."

She yawned.

Alastor stood. For a moment she thought he was leaving.

Instead, he moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

Ligeia blinked.

Alastor paused, clearly reconsidering every life choice that had led him to this point.

Then he gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

The motion was awkward and unpracticed, but unmistakably tender.

"There."

Ligeia smiled.

"You're getting good at this."

"I sincerely hope not."

"You are."

"An alarming prospect."

She laughed again.

This time the laugh didn't become a cough.

Progress.

Alastor allowed himself a small look of satisfaction.

Ligeia shifted slightly closer without really thinking about it, seeking warmth.

Comfort.

Company.

For half a second, Alastor looked as though every instinct in his body was telling him to flee.

Then he looked at her tired red eyes.

He looked at the tissues, the blankets, he miserable expression on her face...and he stayed.

Ligeia rested her head lightly against his shoulder.

Alastor became very still.

Several seconds passed.

Then, slowly, carefully, he allowed himself to lean back against the headboard beside her.

His arm settled around her shoulders.

Awkward, but protective.

Gentle.

Ligeia smiled without opening her eyes.

"You know," she murmured sleepily. "For someone who hates physical affection..."

"Hush."

"...you're pretty good at it."

Alastor rolled his eyes, yet his arm tightened slightly around her.

A gesture so small most people would have missed it.

Ligeia didn't.

By the time another soft sneeze escaped her, she was already half asleep.

Alastor handed her one last tissue, then settled in beside her.

He listenined to her breathing gradually even out.

For once, he didn't seem to mind the quiet, or the closeness, or even the occasional sniffle from the sleeping woman tucked against his side.

Conversations (and Sneezes)

The front doors of the Hazbin Hotel swung open with a creak as Angel Dust stumbled inside.

The spider demon looked like he'd been dragged through every gutter in Pentagram City. His usual swagger was nowhere to be seen. Glitter clung to his fur from Valentino's drag show, his makeup was smudged around tired eyes, and his shoulders slumped beneath a heavy coat.

The lobby was unusually quiet.

No Charlie babbling about her newest redemption plan.

No Vaggie nodding along with her.

No Husk tending the bar.

No Niffty running around with cleaning supplies.

Just one person.

A woman sat curled up in an armchair beside the fireplace, reading a book.

Long dark-purple hair spilled over her shoulders like liquid silk. Crimson eyes lifted from the page.

Ligeia.

Angel's stomach tightened immediately.

"Great," he muttered hoarsely. Ligeia lowered her book.

"Anthony."

He paused, cringing slightly. Nobody called him that anymore.

Nobody except her.

He groaned.

"Yeah, don't start."

Before she could answer, his nose suddenly twitched.

"Hah..."

He pinched it.

"Hh'ktsh!"

The stifled sneeze bent him forward. It hurt. He lowered his hand with a wet sniffle and a groan.

Then another sneeze hit. He didn't bother stifling this one.

"Hh'ETSCHH!"

It was followed by three more.

"Hh'ktschh! KTSCHH! Hh'ESCHOO!"

The fit hit him hard enough that he nearly lost his footing.

Ligeia was on her feet immediately.

"I'm fine."

"Anthony—"

He wasn't.

He made it three more steps before collapsing face-first onto the nearest couch.

Ligeia stared as Angel buried his face in a cushion.

"Go away."

His voice was muffled in the couch cushions. Ligeia was silent. A moment passed, then the couch dipped beside him.

"I said go away, Amalia."

There it was. Her real name. He remembered.

"No," she replied. Angel let out a weak laugh, rolling onto his back so they could talk properly.

"Still stubborn."

"You always liked that about me."

That earned silence.

Ligeia watched him carefully.

The years hadn't changed him as much as he'd probably hoped.

He still folded in on himself whenever he was hurting.

Still hid behind sarcasm.

Still looked like a frightened kid whenever he thought nobody was watching.

Right now, his breathing sounded congested.

His nose was red and visibly running, and despite his attempts to act tough, he looked utterly exhausted.

"Long night?" she asked quietly. He laughed sarcastically and sat up.

"Just another two hour show. Every day this week."

"That's awful."

"It's Val," he said with a shrug. Ligeia frowned.

Another tickle crept into Angel's nose.

He sniffled hard, obviously hoping to hold it back, but failed.

"Hehh..."

His eyes squeezed shut.

"Hh'EHTSCHOO! Hh'KTSSHH! ETSCHH!"

The sneezes left him coughing.

Ligeia instinctively rubbed circles on his back.

Angel stiffened.

For a second she thought he'd pull away.

Instead he just sighed.

"...you always did that."

"Did what?"

"Rubbed my back like that."

She smiled faintly.

"Helpful."

"Nah," he said with another wet sniffle, but she could tell he wasn't being serious. "Annoying."

Ligeia's smile widened.

For a while neither spoke.

The crackling fire filled the silence.

Eventually Ligeia closed her book and set it aside.

"I didn't expect to see you here."

Angel stared at the floor.

"Didn't expect to see you anywhere."

The words came out harsher than intended.

Ligeia looked down.

"Fair."

Regret immediately flickered across Angel's face.

Neither of them had wanted this conversation; they'd both been avoiding it for weeks.

Ever since she'd arrived.

"You know," Ligeia said softly. "I wasn't sure you'd even remember me."

Angel laughed. It was a rough, tired sound.

"Yeah?"

"You got famous."

"Oh, please."

"You did."

"Try infamous."

"Still famous."

Another silence settled for a moment before Angel spoke again. His tone was gentle this time.

"Course I remembered you."

Ligeia looked up at him. His eyes remained fixed on the fireplace.

"I remembered every stupid thing."

A faint smile tugged at his mouth.

"Remember when your old man caught us stealing cigars?"

Ligeia groaned.

"He chased us for three blocks."

"He nearly shot me."

"He absolutely shot at you."

Angel barked a laugh that turned into a cough.

"Hell, we were idiots."

"We were kids."

The warmth faded from his expression.

"Yeah."

Kids.

Before the arguments. Before the hatred.

Before their fathers destroyed everything.

Ligeia's voice softened.

"I've missed you."

Angel's ears twitched and he glanced up at her, eyes wide like he wasn't sure he'd hesrd her right.

Ligeia continued before she could lose her nerve.

"I know our fathers hated each other."

She swallowed.

"But I never stopped loving you like a brother, Anthony."

Angel quickly looked away from her and stared at the fire.

For several seconds he said nothing.

Then his nose twitched again.

"Hehh...oh, c'mon, not now..."

Ligeia automatically reached into her pocket and handed him a handkerchief.

The gesture was so familiar it made them both freeze.

Angel looked down at it.

Crimson lace, neatly folded.

Just like the ones she'd always carried when they were alive.

His throat tightened, but before he could say or do anything his nose burned.

"Hh'ETSCHOO!"

He caught the sneeze in the handkerchief. It was followed by two more, rough, throat-scraping and wet.

"Hh'KTSCHH! Heh...ETSCHOO!"

When the fit finally subsided, he blew his nose hard, then just held the handkerchief loosely in one hand.

"I missed you too."

The admission barely rose above a whisper.

Ligeia blinked. Angel shrugged awkwardly.

"I hated all that crap."

His voice cracked.

"Our dads have a fight and suddenly we're not allowed to talk anymore."

Ligeia nodded. Tears glimmered faintly in her eyes.

"I used to sneak out hoping I'd see you."

Angel looked over at her.

"Ya did?"

She laughed weakly.

"Every week."

His eyes widened.

"I did the same thing."

That surprised both of them.

For a moment they simply stared. Then they both started laughing.

The ridiculousness of it.

Years of separation.

Years of anger.

And all along neither of them had wanted it.

Angel's laughter dissolved into another sneezing fit.

"Hh'EHTSCHOO! K'ETSCHH! ETSCHH!"

Angel groaned miserably.

"Aw, come on."

Ligeia couldn't help smiling.

"You really are sick."

"Shut up."

"Your nose is bright pink."

"Shut up."

"You sound terrible."

"Shut up."

She laughed. A genuine laugh.

The sound made something ache pleasantly in Angel's chest.

Maybe because it sounded exactly the same as it had decades ago.

Without thinking, Ligeia gently brushed a strand of hair from his face.

This time he didn't pull away.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't hide.

Instead, he leaned slightly into the touch.

Just slightly.

Tired enough to stop pretending.

"I'm glad you're here," she said quietly. Angel's expression softened.

"Yeah."

His eyelids drooped.

The warmth of the fire and the exhaustion from the show were finally catching up with him.

Ligeia shifted closer.

"Get some sleep."

"I got stuff to do."

"No, you don't."

"I got—"

He yawned.

Ligeia raised an eyebrow. Angel scowled, but then he surrendered.

"Fine."

A blanket from the back of the couch appeared around his shoulders.

Ligeia tucked it around him with gentle care.

The same way she had when they were children.

The same way she would have if they'd never been separated.

Angel looked up at her through half-lidded eyes.

"Hey, Ligeia?"

"Yeah?"

A small smile appeared on his face.

"Don't disappear again."

Her expression softened immediately.

"I won't."

For the first time since she'd arrived at the hotel, he believed her.

***

The lobby was dark when Angel next became aware of the world.

The fire had burned lower, filling the room with a soft orange glow.

For a few moments he wasn't entirely sure where he was.

His head felt stuffed with cotton. His throat hurt.

His nose was hopelessly congested, and he was warm.

Very warm.

Something soft rested beneath his cheek.

A hand moved gently through his hair; slow, steady, comforting.

Angel's eyes blinked open.

For a second, he panicked, but then he looked up.

Ligeia was still there.

She sat at the end of the couch, one arm draped along the backrest while her fingers combed through his hair.

His head was resting in her lap.

The realization made him freeze.

"Hey," Ligeia said softly as she smiled down at him.

Angel stared.

"You stayed."

The words came out rough from sleep.

"Of course I stayed."

"Why?"

The question slipped out before he could stop it.

A shadow crossed her expression.

"Because you're sick."

Angel frowned.

"Yeah, but..."

He trailed off, but Ligeia seemed to understand anyway. Her hand continued moving through his hair.

"Anthony."

He didn't even complain about the name this time.

"I wasn't going anywhere."

Something in his chest tightened painfully.

He swallowed, immediately regretting it as his sore throat protested.

Ligeia noticed.

"Still feeling awful?"

Angel groaned, nodding.

"Feel like I got hit by a train."

His nose twitched suddenly.

"Ah, f-fuhh...huuhh..."

He sat up slightly.

"Hh'EHTSCHOO!"

The sneeze echoed through the empty lobby. Another followed. Then a third.

"Hh'KTSCHH! Heh...haahh... ETSCHOO!"

Ligeia handed him the handkerchief she'd given him earlier.

He accepted it without argument.

Progress, she thought.

After blowing his nose miserably, he collapsed back against her, his head in her lap again.

Neither of them commented on it.

For a while they sat in comfortable silence.

The fire crackled.

Outside, distant sounds drifted through Pentagram City.

Eventually Angel spoke.

"Can I ask somethin'?"

"Anything."

His eyes remained fixed on the flames.

"How'd you...y'know. End up down here?"

Ligeia's fingers paused briefly.

Angel immediately regretted asking.

"You don't gotta answer."

"No, it's okay."

Her hand resumed stroking his hair.

Angel waited.

"I was thirty-two. I'd started seeing someone."

Angel smiled faintly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

For a moment she looked almost embarrassed.

"I really liked him."

The smile disappeared.

"But there was something I didn't know."

Angel frowned.

"What?"

"He already had a girlfriend. And they had a kid."

The spider demon's expression darkened.

"Oh."

Ligeia nodded.

"He never told me."

"What a scumbag."

A tiny laugh escaped her.

"That's pretty much what I said."

She took a deep breath and her eyes lowered.

"She found out."

Angel felt a knot form in his stomach. The tone of her voice had changed. Her gaze drifted toward the fire.

"I tried explaining that I didn't know, but...but she wouldn't listen."

The silence stretched, and suddenly Angel didn't want to hear the rest, but he couldn't stop himself.

"What happened?"

Ligeia swallowed.

"She attacked me."

Angel went still.

Ligeia's voice sounded distant now, like she was remembering every detail.

"It started as an argument. Then she grabbed a knife."

Angel's stomach dropped.

"Ligeia..."

"I ran, but she caught me."

The fire crackled. Neither spoke for what felt like a long time, but finally, Ligeia forced out the words.

"She slashed my throat."

Angel stared at her.

The sentence hit him harder than he expected.

Harder than it should have.

Everyone here had died. Everyone had a story.

But suddenly he wasn't imagining some stranger.

He was imagining the girl he'd spent his childhood with.

The girl who used to sneak cigars with him.

The girl who'd climbed rooftops with him.

The girl who laughed exactly the same way she still did now.

She had died alone. Terrified. Bleeding.

Something twisted violently inside his chest.

"No."

The word escaped before he realized it. He sat upright, fingers gripping the edge of the seat.

"No." His voice cracked. "That's—"

He couldn't finish. His eyes burned.

Ligeia offered a sad smile.

"It happened a long time ago."

"I don't care."

The response came too quickly.

Too honestly.

Angel rubbed at his face.

"That's not fair. It shouldn't have happened."

Ligeia's expression softened further.

Angel looked away, his eyes filling with tears and his hands trembled slightly.

"I should'a been there."

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Ligeia blinked.

"Anthony—"

"I shoulda been there!"

His voice grew rougher.

"If I hadn't taken the fuckin' drugs, if— if I'dve lived longer—"

"You couldn't have known."

"I coulda protected you."

The confession hung between them, raw and painful.

Ligeia stared at him, and suddenly she wasn't looking at the famous porn star, or the sinner demon, or the broken man Valentino owned.

She was looking at the same boy she'd known all those years ago.

The one who always picked fights with anyone who upset her.

The one who'd stood between her and bullies.

The one who'd once gotten punched in the face because somebody called her a name.

The tears in Angel's eyes spilled over.

"I w-wasn't there t-to protect you, 'cause I died first," he sobbed. "You were like another sister to me and I wasn't even there when ya needed me the most, all cause I snorted some fuckin' dust and couldn't handle it."

"Oh, Anthony."

Before he could protest, she pulled him into a hug.

Angel froze for a moment, then melted into her embrace, sobbing.

His forehead pressed against her shoulder, and he wrapped all four of his arms around her as best he could.

"You couldn't have stopped it," she told him softly after a few minutes of letting him cry.

"I woulda tried."

He had stopped crying, but his voice still shook.

The cold probably wasn't helping.

Neither was exhaustion, nor years of buried grief.

Ligeia rubbed his back gently.

"You always wanted to protect everyone."

Angel laughed bitterly.

"Didn't do a great job."

"You protected me."

He looked up.

"What?"

"When we were kids. You protected me all the time."

Angel opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"You were my best friend, Angel," she said. "You made my life better."

A tear of her own escaped before she could stop it.

"And you still do."

For a moment Angel simply stared at her.

Then his nose twitched and his breath hitched unevenly.

"Oh, son of a—Haaaah..."

Ligeia immediately grabbed the handkerchief.

"Hh'EHTSCHOO!"

She held it up just in time, cupping it over his nose for him.

"Hh'KTSCHH!"

"Gesundheit."

"ETSCHOO!"

"You're welcome," she giggled. Angel groaned into the cloth as the fit finally ended.

Ligeia laughed softly, letting him take the cloth so he could clean himself up.

The sound of her laugh made him smile despite himself.

"You're impossible," she said.

"Yeah."

She smoothed his hair back again.

"And you're sick."

"Also yeah."

"Then stop worrying about things that happened decades ago, and focus on getting over this cold."

Angel settled reluctantly against her side.

Ligeia resumed stroking his hair.

After a few moments he spoke quietly.

"Hey, Geia?"

"Yeah?" She asked, smiling at the nickname.

"I'm glad you're here."

The words were barely audible, but she heard them.

Her smile became warm and genuine.

"Me too."

This time, when sleep began pulling at him again, Angel didn't fight it.

A Cold Morning

Charlie Morningstar had always been the kind of person who tried to power through anything.

Unfortunately, even the Princess of Hell wasn't immune to a truly miserable head cold.

"Ah... hih... hihh..."

Charlie stood in the hotel lobby with a tissue clutched beneath her nose, which was running in a very un-ladylike manner. Her eyes were watering as she fought a sneeze.

"Hihh... hihh..."

Nothing.

The urge vanished, leaving her groaning in frustration.

"Oh, come on..."

Her voice sounded thick and congested. Her nose was bright pink from constant wiping, and despite her efforts to look energetic, she was clearly exhausted.

Vaggie crossed her arms.

"Charlie."

Charlie immediately froze. The tone meant trouble.

"Y-yeah?"

"When was the last time you rested?"

"I'm perfectly rested!"

Vaggie raised an eyebrow.

"You fell asleep for six minutes during breakfast."

"That counts!"

"No, it doesn't."

Charlie opened her mouth to argue.

Instead—

"Hih-TCHOO!"

The sneeze snapped her forward so suddenly she nearly dropped her tissue.

"...ow."

Vaggie sighed.

"You're sick."

"I'm f-fine."

"Honey, you've sneezed twenty times in the last hour."

Charlie sniffled loudly.

"...twenty-three."

"Exactly."

Another wet sniffle followed. Vaggie's expression softened.

Charlie looked miserable.

Her cheeks were flushed, her hair was a mess, and she looked like she could fall asleep standing up.

"Bed."

Charlie's shoulders slumped.

Normally she would have tried to negotiate.

Maybe. A little.

But Vaggie had perfected the art of the 'I'm not arguing about this' look.

And Charlie could never say no to her.

"...okay."

"Good."

Vaggie took her hand.

Charlie smiled weakly and let herself be led upstairs.

***

A few minutes later Charlie was tucked beneath a mountain of blankets.

She looked vaguely offended by the situation.

"I should be helping everyone."

"You should be sleeping."

"I can do both."

"You literally cannot."

Charlie pouted.

Vaggie adjusted the blankets around her.

"No hotel work."

"But—"

"No."

Charlie sighed dramatically.

"You're very bossy."

"Only when you're being stubborn."

Charlie couldn't even deny it.

Another tickle stirred in her nose. She lifted a tissue to her nose.

"Hih... hih..."

Nothing.

Her breath hitched again.

"Hihh..."

Still nothing.

The sensation lingered annoyingly.

Charlie rubbed her nose.

"Oh, that's the worst."

"A stuck sneeze?"

Charlie nodded miserably.

"Uh-huh."

Vaggie climbed into bed beside her and pulled her into a gentle cuddle.

Charlie's head immediately found its favorite spot on Vaggie's shoulder.

"Comfortable?" Vaggie asked.

"Mhm."

Within seconds Charlie was practically melting against her.

The warmth was wonderful.

So was the steady hand stroking her hair.

Unfortunately, the stubborn sneeze still refused to happen.

"Hih..."

Charlie squinted.

"Hihh..."

Nothing.

She groaned.

"It's stuck."

Vaggie smirked.

"I noticed."

"It won't come out."

"Need some help?"

Charlie blinked.

"What do you mean?"

Vaggie gently took a feather from her own wing and brushed it beneath Charlie's nose.

The already-sensitive nose twitched immediately.

Charlie squeaked.

"V-Vaggie—"

A second light tickle.

"Hih!"

Then another.

Charlie's eyes widened.

"Oh no..."

Vaggie was clearly enjoying herself.

The teasing strokes continued just enough to aggravate the lingering tickle.

"Hih... hihh..."

Charlie grabbed for a tissue.

"Wait—Hihh... HIIH..."

The sneeze finally built to completion.

"HIIH-TCHOO!"

A second followed instantly.

"HATCHOO!"

Then a third.

"Hih-TCHOO!"

Charlie collapsed back against the pillows with a relieved sigh.

"Oh, thank goodness."

Vaggie laughed softly.

"Feel better?"

"Much."

Charlie gave her nosea loud, wet blow followed by a careful wipe.

Then she snuggled even closer.

"You're lucky you're cute."

"I'm lucky?"

"You weaponized my sneezes."

Vaggie kissed the top of her head.

"And it worked."

Charlie couldn't argue with that.

The tickle was gone.

The pressure in her sinuses felt a little lighter.

Most importantly, she was warm and comfortable.

Vaggie's arms wrapped securely around her.

"Now," Vaggie said, settling in beside her. "You're going to sleep."

Charlie yawned immediately.

Which didn't help her case.

"...maybe."

"Charlie."

"Okay, okay."

Her eyes were already drooping.

A few moments later she was curled against Vaggie, breathing softly.

Vaggie smiled and brushed a hand through her hair.

For once, the Princess of Hell wasn't trying to save anyone.

She was simply resting.

Charlie's Hell Cold

Charlie Morningstar had announced three new redemption programs before breakfast, and two before lunch.

“Okay!” Charlie beamed from the lobby staircase, cheeks flushed and eyes watery as she held up a glitter-covered poster board. “New idea number seven! Group trust exercises!”

A tiny spark popped from her nose.

Vaggie immediately ducked.

“Charlie—”

“I call it…” Charlie inhaled sharply, nose twitching. “The Empathy Expre—heehh—”

“Get down!” Vaggie yelled. Everyone ducked.

“HAASSHHHOOO!!”

Charlie's sneeze was surprisingly loud and decidedly un-princess-like.

A blast of pink-and-gold hellfire exploded across the lobby ceiling. The chandelier melted instantly. Husk yelped as his newspaper ignited in his paws.

“SON OF A—”

Angel Dust casually lifted his feet onto the couch as flaming debris rained around them.

“Okay, this is gettin’ kinda hot, even for me.”

Charlie sniffled miserably, smoke curling from her nostrils.

“S-sorry…”

Niffty zoomed past carrying a mop.

“Oooh! Ceiling sludge!”

Vaggie pinched the bridge of her nose.

This had been going on for three days.

Hell colds were already uncommon among demons, but royal Hell colds were apparently catastrophic. Lucifer had once described it as “like puberty, with biohazard symptoms.” Charlie’s powers surged wildly whenever she coughed, sneezed, or got emotional—which, unfortunately, was all the time.

And despite visibly deteriorating by the hour, Charlie refused to rest.

“I’m fine,” Charlie insisted weakly as she climbed down the stairs. “We just need structure! Positive reinforcement! Maybe matching friendship bracelets—”

Her voice cracked into a cough.

Tiny embers puffed from her mouth.

Vaggie crossed her arms.

“You almost cremated the lobby.”

“But the guests were engaged!”

“Because they were running for their lives!”

Charlie opened her mouth to protest, then suddenly froze. Vaggie narrowed her eye.

“No.”

Charlie’s nose wrinkled.

“Charlie.”

“Hiihh…”

“Don’t you dare—”

“I cahh...can't...HASHHOO!!”

Another stream of fire erupted sideways, blasting a hole through the wall beside the bar.

Then there was silence. Dust drifted down slowly.

From the newly created hole, a demon across the street blinked into the hotel lobby, gave a thumbs up, and kept walking.

Charlie wilted in embarrassment.

“...Oops.”

Husk took a long swig from a bottle.

“I’m too fuckin' sober for this.”

Vaggie marched straight toward Charlie, grabbed her shoulders, and steered her toward the elevator.

“Hey—wait—Vaggie, we still haven’t done the afternoon affirmations!”

“You are going to bed.”

“I can still work!”

“You sneezed a structural renovation!”

Charlie dug her heels into the carpet.

“The hotel needs me!”

“The hotel needs to not explode!”

Charlie looked genuinely distressed by that.

“But redemption takes consistency, and if I stop now, everyone’s progress could—”

She broke off into another coughing fit, shoulders trembling. This time, instead of fire, glowing magic burst around her in jagged pink pulses. The lobby lights flickered violently. Furniture levitated two feet off the ground.

Angel slowly slid off the couch.

“Uh. Is gravity supposed to be optional?”

Charlie stared at her own glowing hands in alarm.

“I-I didn’t mean to…”

Vaggie’s frustration immediately softened.

Charlie looked exhausted.

Not just physically—though the dark circles under her eyes were obvious—but emotionally. Like she genuinely believed the entire hotel would collapse if she stopped moving for even a second.

Vaggie sighed.

Then she gently took Charlie’s hands before another magical surge could spark.

“Hey,” she said quietly. Charlie sniffled.

“You know redemption isn’t going to disappear overnight, right?”

“But—”

“You’re sick, Char.”

Charlie looked away stubbornly.

“Princesses shouldn’t be weak.”

Vaggie snorted softly.

“Good thing you’re terrible at acting like one.”

That earned the tiniest laugh.

Vaggie stepped closer.

“You’ve spent every day trying to help everyone else. Let us help you for once.”

Charlie’s expression cracked a little at that.

Another sneeze threatened immediately afterward.

“Hah..haahh…”

Vaggie instantly grabbed a nearby blanket and threw it over Charlie like a shield just as...

“HA'ESHOO!!”

Muffled fire whoomphed beneath the blanket.

When the smoke cleared, Charlie peeked out sheepishly, hair frazzled and eyes watery.

“Adorable," Vaggie deadpanned. "Hazardous, but adorable.”

Angel Dust leaned over the couch.

“Can we keep the blanket trick? ‘Cause honestly that was kinda genius.”

“Not helping,” Vaggie muttered. Charlie swayed slightly on her feet.

That finally did it.

Without another word, Vaggie scooped Charlie into her arms. Charlie squeaked.

“Vaggie!”

“You are done for today.”

“I have plans!”

“You can plan after twelve hours of sleep and maybe not turning the building into a volcano.”

Charlie pouted weakly against her shoulder.

“What if everyone loses motivation while I’m resting?”

At that, a voice called from the lobby.

“We won’t.”

Charlie blinked. The hotel guests were all standing there awkwardly.

Even Husk had put his drink down.

Angel shrugged.

“Yeah, toots. We can survive one day without motivational karaoke.”

Niffty saluted with three cleaning bottles.

“I’ll disinfect everything!”

Alastor appeared beside the broken wall with his usual grin.

“And I must admit, Charlie dear, the spontaneous combustion has become somewhat repetitive.”

“Gee, thanks,” Vaggie muttered. Charlie looked genuinely touched.

Her eyes shimmered softly.

Then her nose twitched again.

Everyone collectively backed away.

Charlie groaned.

“Not again…”

Vaggie tightened the blanket around her like bomb containment.

“Move.”

“Hehh...huhh...HURRSHHOOO!”

A muffled boom echoed through the lobby.

A second later, Husk glanced upward as ash drifted from the ceiling.

“…Think the roof’s still there?”

Angel looked up.

“Mostly.”

Vaggie kept walking toward the elevator.

Charlie sniffled miserably against her shoulder, finally too tired to argue anymore.

“…Maybe a short nap,” she mumbled. Vaggie kissed the top of her head.

“That’s my girl.”

Behind them, another chunk of chandelier crashed to the floor.

Husk sighed deeply.

Hell Lilies - Chapter 3

The Hazbin Hotel lobby had gained a strange new atmosphere over the next day.

It smelled fantastic.

Unfortunately, that also meant Vaggie could no longer enter half the building without sneezing herself into another dimension.

Charlie sat at the front desk with her chin in her hands, miserably staring at the bottle of Hell Lily Pet Shampoo.

“I don’t get it. Vaggie’s known Keekee forever.”

“Which is why it’s weird,” came a new voice.

Charlie looked up.

Ligeia stood near the staircase, arms folded thoughtfully.

The hotel’s newest resident had only arrived a week ago, but she already carried herself with calm confidence that somehow made the chaos around her seem quieter. Her black dress flowed behind her like ink in water, and her sharp amber eyes flicked toward the shampoo bottle.

“I agree with you, Charlie,” she said. “It doesn’t make sense for the allergy to suddenly appear overnight.”

Husk raised an eyebrow from behind the bar.

“Actually, that’s exactly how allergies work sometimes.”

Ligeia shrugged lightly.

“Sometimes. But usually there’s a trigger.”

Charlie immediately sat upright.

“Exactly!”

Vaggie sniffled from the couch.

“I’m still leaning toward the giant bottle labeled concentrated Hell lilies.”

“That too,” Ligeia admitted.

Charlie grabbed the shampoo dramatically.

“But everybody else is fine!”

Angel Dust sniffed Keekee’s blanket nearby.

“I’m more than fine. I wanna use this stuff myself.”

“You already shed enough,” Husk muttered.

Ligeia stepped closer, studying the bottle carefully.

“Hmm.”

“What?” Charlie asked hopefully.

"May I?" She asked, gesturing to the bottle. Charlie nodded.

Ligeia popped the cap open and sniffed. Almost immediately, her nose wrinkled.

"Heh...haahhh...Eshiew!"

She quickly snapped the bottlecap back on.

"Tha...that's it," she sniffled. "I'm aller...herrrhhh...chieww!! Allergic to Hell lillies myseh...hehh...snff! Myself. All we need to do is get Vaggie to sniff this and we'll know."

Charlie yelled for Vaggie, who appeared moments later.

"What's up?"

"Babe, I'm really sorry about this, but I need you to do something for me."

"Okay..." Vaggie looked unsure.

Ligeia walked closer to her, holding the shampoo bottle.

"Just have a little sniff of this," she said. She popped the cap open and Vaggie took a quick whiff. The affect was immediate.

“Heh-CHOO! ESSHOO! O-oh, Satan. ACHIEWW!! What the— EESHHIEWWW!!”

"What in the Seven Rings of Hell is going on out here?" Lucifer asked, appearing behind them with Keekee at his heels.

Angel Dust collapsed onto the couch laughing.

"Holy crap, the cat’s innocent!”

Charlie scooped up Keekee immediately, covering her face with relieved kisses.

“I knew it! I knew my baby wasn’t the problem!”

Keekee purred smugly.

Husk took a sip from his drink.

“Congrats. The shampoo’s evil.”

Ligeia smiled faintly.

“Not evil. Just weaponised.”

Lucifer looked personally offended somehow.

“Excuse me, I invented Hell lillies. My flowers would never—”

Another sneeze from Vaggie interrupted him.

Lucifer sighed.

Sneeze Cannon

Bane’s hand continued its slow path along Seraphina’s back while she rested comfortably against him, warm and loose in his arms.

Then she felt a tiny hitch in his breathing, as his nose twitched once against her hair.

Then again.

Seraphina lifted her head slightly, already suspicious.

Bane immediately tried to turn his face away from her shoulder, sniffling faintly as his nostrils fluttered with the beginnings of another tickle.

“Oh no,” he muttered thickly. “Sera, I think—huhhh…”

His breath caught.

Seraphina looked up at him, and despite herself, a grin spread across her face.

“Uh-oh,” she teased softly. “Are your sneeze holes itchy again?”

There was a split second of stunned silence.

Bane stared at her.

Then, despite the obvious tickle building in his nose, he burst out laughing, a huge, startled laugh that rumbled straight out of his chest before he could stop it.

“My—my what?” he wheezed, completely thrown off. Seraphina was already giggling helplessly.

“Your sneeze holes!” she repeated brightly, like it was perfectly reasonable terminology. “They look very itchy.”

Bane laughed harder, shoulders shaking now. Even his ears flicked back in disbelief.

“Sera!” he choked out between laughs. “That’s not what they’re called!”

“Well, technically—”

He snorted loudly, laughter abruptly tangling with the tickle in his nose.

“Oh no,” Seraphina said immediately, delighted. “Now you’re doomed.”

Bane tried to speak again, but another laugh broke out first, immediately followed by a desperate hitch in his breathing.

“HUHH...hih… wait—”

His nose twitched violently. Seraphina was already reaching for tissues again, barely containing her own laughter now.

"Tickle engaged," she giggled. "Fire the sneeze cannon whenever you're ready."

"F-fuhhh...fire the what?"

"Sneeze cannon," she replied matter-of-factly.

Bane made a helpless, utterly betrayed sound and laughed again despite himself—which only made the tickle worse.

“Hih—huhhhh… Sera!”

That was all the warning she got before he doubled forward into the tissues with an enormous...

“HAAAHSCHOOOO!”

The sneeze exploded out of him mid-laugh, loud enough to shake the blankets again.

Seraphina barely managed to keep the tissues in place before she dissolved into giggles herself.

“C’mere, sneezy boy,” she teased affectionately, tossing the tissues aside and gathering a fresh handful. “Your poor sneeze holes need assistance.”

Bane groaned into the tissues in complete humiliation while she continued laughing softly and rubbing his back affectionately.

“Sneeze holes,” he mumbled, still snuffling a bit. "Sneeze cannon. Sera, I love you...but you worry me sometimes."

Seraphina just grinned and kissed the tip of his nose.