📻♥️

It’s funny how absolutely everything became too much. The house was too silent, too cold, too . . . too much of him when half of it should be you.

Alastor forgets to remember anything.

The proud smile of Mimzy isn’t relevant to him, neither is the floral scent from the kitchen, and somewhere deep in his mind, Alastor knows your scent wasn’t like this, never like this.

Perhaps, that’s why there’s a plat shattering next to Mimzy’s head, the impact from the wall sending those tiny pieces all over the kitchen floor.

Alastor’s fingers twitch as he reaches for his crooked bowtie, but he adjusts the lapels o his coat instead, leaving that small crook alone. “Oh dear, I might have had too much to drink today,” he says, a proud smile on his lips. “Perhaps it’s time for you to leave.”

“I know when I’m not wanted.” Mimzy frowns at him, but doesn’t argue further. “Wasting away here won’t do you any favors . . . She’d call you pathetic for doing such a thing.”

Alastor almost smiles at that. Instead, he says, “Goodbye, Mimzy.”

It’s a little simple to stay inside the kitchen, frozen in place far longer than he’d like to admit.

But the clock’s ticking eventually reaches his ear, and it’s far too automatic to pick the pieces with his hands, the possibility of being nicked far away from his mind.

How cruel of fate for his hand to remain unblemished.

Perhaps, if you were her, Alastor could have been a bit more careless. It would drive you up the wall, and there would be that tiny, little frown on your lips as you scold him about the dangers of such things.

. . . But you’re not here, and this is Alastor being careful.

“You abhor me.” Alastor spills out the words to none in particular, only because there wasn’t anyone to hear them anyway. “Every fiber of my being loathes your presence.”

There’s a crooked frame on his— no, not his.

There’s a crooked frame on their wall.

It’s only a simple frame that holds an embroidered artwork. That simple thing was one of the first you’ve ever gifted to him, and it’s funny to see his name on a simple piece of cloth. Alastor adjusts the frame, and wipes away the dust on all the other frames on their kitchen wall.

Alastor catches his reflection against the glass. “You are haunting my every step, dearest,” he says, pressing a hand to the dark circles underneath his eyes. There’s even a faint stubble he’s neglected to shave away. It’s you whose always shaved it for him. “It was never supposed to be like this.”

It’s simple to linger around the walls like some kind of ghost.

Surely, if you would see him now, there would be that amused smile on your lips as you watch him. How absolutely cruel of you to force him into mourning.

Alastor was never meant to have this life—a wife, a home, a person to exist with forever and ever. This type of life was something he never wanted, something he never needed.

Looking at him now, one would have never guessed it.

There are two rings around his finger, and Alastor traces the cold metal as he trudges up the steps and into his . . . their bedroom. Everything still feels too wrong.

This weight on his chest pulls on him, and his mind begs him to find an anchor before he drowns.

That weight shouldn’t exist, not when everything was where it belongs. Your coat still hangs over the chair. Even the mug Alastor kept telling you to bring down to the kitchen was still on the vanity.

Alastor kicks off his shoes, and climbs into your side of the bed, inhaling the scent from the pillows, even if there was nothing there.

Everything was still the same. Well . . . that isn’t exactly true.

Alastor reaches between the pillows and pulls a glass jar closer to him. The bubbles snake around your heart. It’s simple to dream of a world where your fingers still card through his hair.

How absolutely pathetic of him.

There’s a scream that catches your attention.

Screams in Hell are a very common thing, but this one sounded different, for this one sounded painful. It’s simple to tilt your head all the way to the side with that wide smile of yours.

How absolutely intriguing.

A simple walk turned into a fruit you could almost taste—there’s just too much opportunity to be found in the streets.

It’s automatic to go deeper into the alley until you fine a nice Sinner torn to shreds, breathing but still very much in pain. There’s something about her body that makes you pause . . . that makes you a little curious.

There’s this moment where you use the very tip of your shoe to tilt her head towards you. “Hello,” you say, a small smile on your lips. “Isn’t it quite a helltastic day? You look like you could use some assistance, and I’m willing to provide it . . . For a price, of course.”

She snarls at you, her teeth baring out as she does. “I know who you are,” she says. “Sinners can’t die. So, I’ve got no use for you.”

“Ah yes . . . Sinners can’t die, that is part of the punishment.” You move your foot over her open wound, pressing down right on it. You move your foot over to her open wound, pressing down right on it.  “Now, now—there’s no need to scream.”

Her entire face crumples into a grimace. “Fuck you.”

It’s a little impressive that her spunky attitude remains, even as you dig your foot just a little deeper into her. “Try not to pass out,” you say, a little lightly. “It could take months for your body to stitch itself up, and by then it might not even heal correctly. You’ll be deformed for the rest of your eternity, but I can help you, if you help me.”

She breaths through her nose. “It hurts.”

“I can imagine.” You lift your foot from her body. There’s something simple about the way you wipe her blood off your shoe with her own clothes “Think about it, my dear. For the itty, bitty, price of your soul, you gain me as your health care provider.”

The Sinner laughs a little, and such a movement jostles her. “Just like that?”

“Not quite, but that’s the most important part,” you say, spreading your arms a little. “I usually offer different tiers of health care, but since I’m asking for your soul, I’m providing you with the highest level of care.”

“Tell me.”

“I provided all kinds of health care when I can, but every once in a while, you allow me to go inside and explore.” You show her the brightest smile you could muster. “It’ll be painless with the right drugs, and I’ll even compensate you.”

The Sinner glares at you, before the pain from her wound eases her gaze. She offers out a hand towards you, and the deal is sealed.

Again.

Alastor presses his fingers against the wooden floor, even as the skin has gone raw. It’s blood that drips off his hands and into the wood, and at the point Alastor doesn’t know who it belongd to anymore.

Just one night with you.

Just one conversation.

Just one assurance that you’re waiting for him down there.

Alastor has always been self aware enough to know where he’s going after he passes away, and now he just needs to know you’re already there.

It doesn’t work.

Again.

Alastor will undergo as many rituals as it takes.

Today’s newspaper held the most interesting headline. It’s quite the same that you flip past the first page, and start at the gossip column. There’s been much speculation about you, but none ever appears on the radio. Never on the radio.

It’s a hand that snakes around your waist, and that is the reason why murmurs of you never appear on the radio. Alastor pulls you closer towards him, peeking over your shoulder.

The brush of his skin buzzes you with static, but it quickly dies off. It’s understandable that Alastor couldn’t fully control that part of him yet. After all, it’s only been a year since he died . . . much sooner than you expected if you were to be honest

“What are you reading?” Alastor hooks a chin over your shoulder, needing to bend just to reach it. He’s much taller in this body. “It’s rare to see you browsing the gossip column.”

You press a quick kiss on his cheek. “They’re wondering why I’ve been quiet.”

“You could continue.”

There’s this moment where you stop, taking a second to think about his words. “My work was more of a necessity than a desire,” you say, and it’s the truth that slips out. “It was something I never really wanted for myself.”

“And now I’m stuck doing all the heavy lifting while you get to profit from it.” Alastor rolls his eyes all the way to the side.

“Exactly.”

Alastor pries the newspaper from your hands, and turns you to face him with a spin. It’s a hearty laugh that spills out of his mouth, and out of the radio as well. There’s this moment where Alastor waves a hand, and it’s music that spills into the room.

That smile on his face widens as he dances you along to the music.

. . . Gone.

Alastor was . . .

It’s impossible to complete the sentence.

There’s something simple about the way you tap on the microphone, checking to see if it was working. There’s something even simpler about how you adjust the microphone over the Sinner’s mouth.

It would be a shame to miss out on such prime entertainment.

It’s Alastor who had complete control over the radio waves, but through this radio tower, you could still broadcast to those who listened. There’s a part of you that hopes Alastor was listening as well, for there were things you needed him to hear.

You tug on the Sinner’s straps, ensuring his limbs wouldn’t accidentally slip out. “I’m only going to ask you one more time,” you say, tracing the dull edge of your knife. “Where is the Radio Demon?”

The Sinner struggles against his restraints instead of answering.

How absolutely irritating.

The ‘on air’ sign brightens with life, and Alastor’s radio show never lacked new voices, even in his absence.

The Hazbin Hotel’s doors shouldn’t be as daunting as they are. It’s just a fucking door.

It’s only a flimsy piece of wood that separates you from Alastor, and opening it could give your everything you’ve ever wanted these past seven years, or everything you’ve ever despised. There were questions you needed to ask, and answers you needed to hear.

There’s something simple about the way your fist closes around the handle, letting a moment pass to calm the trembling in your fingers.

You find the courage to step inside, because it’s still you who wears the ring that matches Alastor’s.

. . . Now this is a little inconvenient.

There’s a spear being pointed at you, and you take it as the warning it is.

Charlie Morningstar squeaks a little, turning towards the owner of the spear. “Vaggie!” she says. “She could be a guest.”

Vaggie takes another step closer, only stopping when your back hits the door. “Why are you here?”

“Me?” You raise your hands, still smiling that polite smile. “I’m quite harmless.”

Charlie presses a hand on Vaggie’s shoulder, and there’s a kind smile on her lips. “Let’s just hear her out.”

“There are rumors that she’ll be a new Overlord.” Vaggie tilts her spear towards you. “I know what you’ve done, what you’ve broadcasted. I’m not interested in learning what made you come out of hiding seven years ago, but you’ve been taking advantage of Sinners, and profiting off the extermination!”

“It’s just business.” You roll your eyes all the way to the side. “There’s nothing inherently evil about providing health care. They needed something from me, and I needed something from them. It’s a mutual understanding.”

There’s something quite inconvenient about this whole thing, and it just wasn’t about the spear being pointed at you. All you wanted was to see Alastor. How many more hoops must you go through to get even a second of his time?

Charlie brushes a thumb across Vaggie’s shoulder. “For me?”

Vaggie lowers—

Shadows burst from underneath you.

Alastor slithers out from your shadow, stepping between you and that spear. There’s a straining smile on his face when he presses a finger on the dull part of Vaggie’s spear, and pushes it away.

The faintest buzz of radio static prickles your skin . . . and . . . and it’s really him.

“There’s no need for such violence,” Alastor says, and it’s the first time you’ve heard his voice in such a long time. It leaves you a little stunned, a little buzzes that it’s actually him who stands before you. “Since I’m the host of this fine establishment, it’s only right that I greet our new guest!”

Host?

It’s simple to look around the hotel. The interior was tacky, but not in the way that reminded you of Alastor . . . Still, he was in these walls.

You see Husk by a bar that obviously doesn’t belong to the space, for it was carved out and dropped by Alastor himself. Niffty scurries around, chasing after some roaches with a needle. No one pays her any attention.

You assume it’s because she’s been here long enough for them to get used to such things.

It hits you all at once—Alastor didn’t come for you.

Alastor steps into your face, leaning lower to meet your gaze. The others have already scattered, leaving you alone with just him. It’s everything you’ve wanted these past seven years.

There’s so much you want to ask, so much you want to feel.

The back of your fingers brush against his cheek. You barely feel the way Alastor leans into your touch. “I . . . I understand.”

Alastor didn’t have room for you in his life now, and this was the evidence.

No.

The evidence was already there when he left without you all those years ago. Now you’re just the fool that’s only realizing it now.

There’s this moment where your eyes tangle with one another. It would be simple to pretend that all way right again, but that was not your reality anymore. In the end, it’s you who turns away first, quietly slipping out the door.

It’s stupid . . . but you wait a full minute . . . and then another full minute . . . until one turns into five. Only then do you drop your ring, and walk away.

There’s a part of you that wonders if it was as difficult for Alastor as well to walk away.

Alastor should chase after you, explain everything he’s done, and everything he still needs to do. But theory has always been easier than practice.

It takes a moment, but Alastor finally finds the courage to open the door, to chase after you if only to extend this time just a little longer.

All his finds is a forgotten ring.