Smile, My Dear!

Alastor glances at the hat on his head like he’s forgotten it was there.

It’s good that Charlie made sure to greet the thing, for everyone surely likes it when they’re complimented . . . right?

Right!

“Good morning to you as well, Princess Charlotte,” Alastor says, smile still so small and polite. “I enjoy my hat as well.”

“Charlie,” she says, a little automatically because this was a small game that Alastor seemed to like to play with her. He would call her by her full name, and Charlie would always correct him because they were just friends like that. Inside jokes and all. “Just Charlie.”

“Oh . . .,” he says, blinking a little. “Then a good morning to you as well, Charlie.”

Charlie doesn’t quite know what to do with that, for Alastor has never gone off script today. He’s being so polite this morning, and maybe, just maybe¸ she could push her luck just a little more.

One day.

That’s all she needed.

“Sooooooo just to remind you, but I’ll be doing our usual greetings before lunch,” she says. It’s important that she get to know each guest. “Can I count on you to be in the lobby with me?”

Alastor hums a little, annoyingly dragging out his answer. “Very well.”

“You’ll . . . You’ll be there?” Charlie doesn’t know why she sounds so surprised.

“I believe I just agreed to your request.”

“No tricks?”

“No tricks.”

Charlie gets a little too excited, and jumps into Alastor for an excited hug. It’s a squeal that comes out of her lips. “I promise it’ll be so fun!”

“Oh! A hug.” Alastor returns her hug, pulling her into him just as tightly as she does. “This is . . . nice.”

Charlie laughs a little. “Is it?”

“I’m not actually sure," he says. "They're just hugs."

Today will definitely be a good day.

Everything needs to be perfect for Charlie today. That’s one of the many reasons as to why Vaggi willingly hunts Alastor down. She spots him roaming around the halls of the hotel, whistling some kind of happy tune.

It’s simple to step into his path, bracing herself to start a conversation with Alastor. “The hat’s new.”

Now . . . that’s not really the first thing she meant to say, but she’s never seen him wear a hat before, not has she seen him with a tie.

“I’ve always had this,” Alastor says, a little simple as he raises an eyebrow at her. “Hmmmmm, I suppose I have no use for it anymore. It does cramp my ears, but I don’t really need to hide them anymore.”

Vaggi rolls her eyes a little. “Since when did you try to hide them?”

“Since the beginning,” he says, still a little simply. It’s unusual to see him without that annoying flare. “I wasn’t too keen to be associated with that man.” Alastor’s face scrunches a little, before a sigh escapes him. “But that’s before I realized Mother was running around here this whole time.”

Vaggie isn’t surprised that Alastor’s mother was in Hell as well. It just seemed like a family thing. “Uhhhhh okay?”

“But I suppose it’s good to show a little bit of good faith,” he says, placing a hand on his chin to think. “The hat does cramp my ears quite a bite. It’s decided then—you can have it since you’re so interested in it.”

Vaggie doesn’t fully understand what he’s talking about, but half of what Alastor says never makes sense anyway.

Alastor pulls off his hair with a flare . . . and he does it with a more awkward one instead of his usual bright one. “I don’t know how he does it,” he says, grumbling a little at his awkward movements. “But the bow on this one matches the color of yours.”

Without the hat, Vaggie can see that he parted his hair differently today, and apparently decided to curl it as well. It’s quite different from his usual straight style. Still, Vaggi is neither interested or foolish enough to mention it.

Vaggi braces herself for Alastor to slam the fedora onto her head, but he drops it lightly instead, adjusting the edges around her so that it doesn’t disrupt her bow.

That small smile of his quirks just a little higher, but it clashes with the absolute dead look in his eyes. It almost reminds her of a dead fish.

There’s a moment where Vaggi is about to tell him to take the hat back, but her eyes linger on his tie clip instead. She’s never seen Alastor wear a tie clip, but when leaned down to straighten the hat, she can’t help but notice it.

Alastor follows her gaze. “Are you curious about it.”

“Not even remotely.”

“Very well,” Alastor says, taking a step back when he finished adjusting the hat on her head. “I think it looks quite nice on you.”

“I . . .” Vaggi takes a moment. “What?”

She’s so confused.

There’s this moment where Alastor sighs, looking a little tired of this conversation, but that polite smile of his neve wavers. “Mother gave me something like this as a present. It was her last one to me,” he says. “Apparently, it belonged to her husband. It was a habit to carry it around, and I just brought that habit with me in death.”

“That’s . . .” Vaggi blinks at him. “That’s it?”

Alastor tils his head all the way to the side, and his ears flop a little as he does. “Was there supposed to be more?”

“No winding backstory?”

“. . . Did you want one?”

“Niffty is stuck inside the toilet again,” Vaggi says instead. “Can you grab her?”

The corner of his eye twitches a little. “Do I have to?”

“Yes!”

Alastor slumps a little, and she swears she sees him frown a bit. Weird, but she’s knows better than to press her luck with Alastor, lest he decides to add a winding backstroy this time.

Niffty is still dripping wet when the stranger pulls her out of the toilet. She stares at him, and that small smile is what she gets in return. “You’re not Alastor.”

This stranger looked similar enough to Alastor though.

They had the same red hair, and the same fluffy ears that twitched whenever he was annoyed, and this stranger’s ears were definitely twitching.  

But there were some differences as well, like the curls on his head and the fact that he had glasses instead of a monocle.

The stranger gently lands her on the floor, and there’s an honest frown on his lips. “I’m not really trying to be.”

Niffty thinks for a moment. “Do you like my bugs?”

“Not really.”

It clicks right then and there. “Oooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” she says. “You’re just like your mother—she said the same thing.”

Theodore’s smile brightens immediately. “Am I really?”

“Not really.”

Niffty waves at him as she scurries off to kill more pests.

She had an important job to do.

One day.

That’s all Charlie needed, because one day could turn into two then into three. So, she needed one day where everything went right in the hotel.

And there was a moment where it did.

Alastor was there with her, greeting those who were checking in with a politeness she’s never known him for, and a firm handshake. Charlie had a feeling that her one good day could actually come true.

 . . . Of course, that’s when her dad finally decided to settle the score with Alastor, and drop a buck of water right on top of his head.

The force of the water crashes Alastor to the ground, and he’s lying there, looking like a grumpy wet kitten, with a very, very, defeated look on his face. It seems he’s keen on staying on the ground, that bucket still on his head for some reason.

“I’m a little hurt you excluded me from all the fun!”

Charlie turns to look . . . and sees Alastor, standing by the door with a wide smile on his face and looking dry.

Charlie blinks a little. “Alastor?”

Alastor waves his hands in the most annoyingly dramatic flare she’s ever seen. “That’s my name!”

“Wait!” she says, then points to the stranger on the floor. “Then who the fuck is that?”

The real Alastor steps towards the imposter, skipping the puddles of water, to pick him up by the scruff, showing him off like a kitten. Even as he’s determined to sag into the floor. “This is my son,” he says, a little happily. “Say hello, Theodore.”

“Hello,” Theodore says, waving at her with a bucket still on his head. “Just Theo will do.”

Theo makes no movement to stand, seemingly content to be held up by Alastor, even as it only reinforces the image of a soaking kitten.

Charlie scratches the back of her neck. “I thought he was you.”

She’ll yell at her dad later, but the revelation that Alastor had a son made her freeze. It’s a bit embarrassing now that she thought about it, she made Theo run around the hotel as a host just because she thought he was Alastor.

Alastor opens his mouth to speak, but the sound of a record scratching interrupts him. It scratches the air as soon as he spots Vaggi. “I didn’t think the hotel would be so cruel to take my son’s hat.”

Vaggi pulls the hat closer to her, taking a step away from Alastor. “It was a gift.”

Alastor pulls Theo just a little higher to meet the bucket around his face. “That was yours,” he says, raising his eyebrows a little. “Yet you gave it away?”

Theo’s voice echoes a little. “I don’t want to hide my ears anymore.”

Alastor laughs into the air, and Charlie swears that his smile softens around the edges. “I see that prank was meant for me,” he says. “But even that Brain Dead King should have known that we look nothing alike.”

Theo shakes his head to deny what Alastor said, and the bucket clinks a little. In the end it’s Alastor’s shadow that removes the metal bucket around his head. Alastor’s shadow curls around Theo trying and failing to dry the poor guy.

There’s a bored expression on Theo’s face.

“Loot at him,” Alastor says, all she sees is more similarities than differences. “He’s just like his mother!”

Still . . . it’s automatic to ignore the pain, especially when claws cut through slabs of broken equipment and stray concrete.

You would call this obsession. Alastor would call it devotion, and it’s precisely because of devotion that he searches for any remnant of his table.

Alastor finds himself relaxing when he finds the drawer intact. There’s this moment where he allows himself to still, before he rips open the drawer, and finds your ring inside.

At the time, it seemed like a wise decision to leave the ring here, for it was safe from any thief or prying eyes.

With hindsight, it was the most stupid idea he’s ever had . . . besides agreeing to a deal with Rosie, and then promptly dying afterwards.

But that wasn’t really his idea.

And it was also a lifetime ago, a lifetime where he still lost you.

Alastor clicks his tongue. “Yet, here I am, still paying for it.”

There’s something simple about the way he presses the ring to his lips, bringing it close to him in ways he hasn’t been able to do with you. Seven years are much longer than he realized.

Just a minute.

Alastor will sit among this rubble for just a minute, holding your ring close to him before he stands to deal with his wound. After all, he still needs to return to you.

Just . . .

There’s a soft touch on his head, brushing the stands of hair that stick to his skin. That soft touch moves towards his ears. It’s all too simple to lean into a touch that reminds him of you.

A part of him wants to flutter his eyes open, but there’s fear in the way he keeps them closed.

It’s easy to admit his truth because Alastor is scared that this could all be a hallucination caused by this searing angelic pain. This way, Alastor can lean into you just a little longer.

Alastor doesn’t realize just how much he misses this, the fingers carding through his hair, until he’s experienced it once more. How many more things is he missing that he’s never realized before?

There are lips being pressed into his cheek, lingering for more than a moment, and then a little longer after that.

It’s instinct that compels him to hold you closer, to envelope you into his arms until he’s nuzzling into what he thinks is you.

You came for him

You’re here for him.

You’re here when Alastor has yet to come for you.

Alastor nuzzles right into you, holding you with a grip that surely hurts. It’s automatic to leave his life in your hands.

. . . Gone.

You were . . .

Alastor presses a hand on his chest, where stitches he didn’t place pierce into his skin.

Alastor fiddles with your ring, twirling the metal around his finger. After the destruction of his radio tower almost two weeks ago, he always felt compelled to bring the thing with him everywhere he went.

And that included today.

Charlie insisted on taking everyone out for dinner, and Alastor has been difficult lately. Well . . . he’s always been difficult, but even the princess had her limits. Alastor can’t afford being kicked out of the hotel just yet, even if that blasted king grates on his nerves.

There are things he still needs to achieve. Things that once are done, brings him closer to home, to you.

So, Alastor smiles through this boring dinner, in the boring restaurant—

It’s his ears that catch it first, flickering at the sound of your voice. There’s something simple to follow the sound he’s known for most of his life, and allow it to lead him.

It’s you.

You’re here having dinner . . . with . . . with another man.

There’s a small smile on your face, accompanied by that small shine in your eyes. Alastor tells him it’s just a meal, it’s just something that anyone would do, but that smile of yours brightens just a fraction higher.

Alastor excuses himself from the table. By the time he’s blinked, he’s already standing by your booth. There’s something simple about the way he slides next to you pressing so close because he’s always pressed close.

It only takes one look, and that Sinner immediately rises and bolts out of the restaurant. How nice to know that there are still those who fear the Radio Demon. It’s also nice to know that you don’t run off on him as well.

There’s a blank expression on your face, and Alastor doesn’t know what you’re thinking.

It’s automatic to snatch your plate from you, and cute into your steak. How absolutely dull—it’s just normal meat.

Alastor offers you a forkful of meat.

There’s this moment where you tuck some feathers behind your ear. Such a simple movement leaves him a little dazed, a little stuck. He doesn’t even realize you’ve accepted his offer until your lips bite around the fork. You pull away too soon.

Alastor feeds you bite by bite.

For some reason, you accept each one.

It takes three more bites, three more forkfuls of steak, three more instances where you lean closer towards him, before Alastor opens his mouth, and ruins this newfound peace. “Who was your guest?”

You take this annoying moment to sip at your water. “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern anymore.”

“It is . . .” Alastor tightens his grip on the fork, if only to keep his claws from piercing through his skin. “It is when I’m your husband.”

There’s this moment of silence, and Alastor absolutely hates this moment of silence. It’s too different from the one he’s built with you. This silence doesn’t include him at all. “You’ve given me no indication whatsoever that I’m still your wife.”

It was never supposed to be this way.

Alastor thought you understood. He thought . . .

“HA!” Alastor laughs right at your face. “Is that what you think of me? That I’m capable of leaving you?”

“It’s happening right now.” You say the words with a simplicity that borderlines cruelness, and poke at his chest.  “You left. You haven’t said anything or explained anything. What else was I supposed to think when you called for Niffty and Husk . . . but not for me.”

Alastor doesn’t know what to say about that, for they were all true. Somewhere between the days, he didn’t realize he was losing you. The concept was so impossible that it’s never crossed his mind before.

There were so many things he wanted to do with you, so many things he wanted to say.

Alastor tucks a feather behind your ear instead, and brushes a thumb across your cheek. “That smile of yours always seems to leave me dumbfounded.”

“You were the topic of our conversation.” You lean into his hold before pulling away.  “It was just business . . . I could never replace you, nor would I want to.”

There’s this moment where Alastor catches your hand, stopping you for just a moment before you could fully step away from him.

It would be something he’ll never admit, but it breaks him just a little more when your fingers brush one last time before you release him.

Perhaps, that’s just part of his punishment.

There are quiet tears that stream down your face, tracing a line from your cheek to the floor.

You take a moment to rest at a bus stop anyway, letting the tears fall even as that impassive expression remains the same. A part of you wonders what you must look like, crying like this on the streets of Pentagram City.

There’s a handkerchief being offered to you.

For a moment, one shining moment, you think that it’s Alastor who offers you his handkerchief

You look up to see a random Sinner instead, but take the handkerchief from him anyway, even if something inside you breaks just a little further.

There isn’t much to explain to the Sinner, and you weren’t going to explain your marriage to some random guy . . . yet his hand lands on your shoulder, trailing just a little lower.

There’s something automatic about the way you sigh a little, even as more tears spill from your face. “Do as you wish.”

The Sinner’s face brightens up, and presses just a little closer than before—

Shadows blaze from underneath you, spreading from below. It’s radio static that prickles your skin, warping the very reality around you with its harsh claws. For a moment, you lean into the pure destructive chaos of the static, but the tears that slip down your cheek remind you to lean away, and wipe at it.

It takes more than a moment for the screaming to die down, for his suffering takes more than a moment. The shadows that brush your skin with all the love Alastor owns for you dies down until it’s his shoes that step into your view.

Alastor presses a hand on top of your own, and it’s such a familiar touch that you allow him to pry open your hand, and place his own handkerchief into your hold. The other one gets burnt until not even ashes remain.

You trace the pattern you embroidered on the handkerchief. “Thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me, chérie.” Alastor takes a step away from you. “I was only doing what you asked.”

Alastor begins to walk away from you. It’s instinct to grab onto his hand, compelling him to stay. Why couldn’t he have stayed like this all those years ago? Even more silent tears spill out right after that.

You offer the handkerchief to him.

There’s this moment where his smile wavers at the edges, trembling until it flattens. It’s not a complete frown, but it’s close enough to it.

You push the handkerchief this time, forcing it towards him until he wraps his fingers around it. Such a simple thing connects you to him. “Take responsibility for this.”

Alastor closes his hands around you, taking a moment to revel in the brush of your fingers before he pulls that handkerchief from your hold. “Very well.”

It’s useless to hide the tears he already knows about.

Alastor kneels low enough to meet your gaze, and cups your face with his hand to press a small kiss on your cheek, allowing his lips to longer for as long as the moment will last, and then a little longer after that.

It’s his tongue that licks away the first tear . . . then the second . . . then the third.

The small laugh that escapes isn’t surprising, but the ease of everything makes tears fall even harder. That impassive expression completely shatters, and your grip on Alastor only tightens.

Oh, Alastor.

Your Alastor.

He doesn’t seem to mind that your nails pierce into him. Alastor only wipes away every single tear, pressing a kiss every once in a while, until you’ve run out of tears to shed.

Alastor presses one last kiss on your forehead. “Let me take you home, mon amour.”

There’s a reason why you allow Alastor to scoop you into his arms, but know the reason doesn’t make this whole situation easier.

It’s automatic to rest your head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart through his clothes. You can feel the brush of his thumb on your arm, and conveniently forget to mention if.

The walk home is silent, but it’s a familiar silence as well.

There’s a part of you that wonders why he doesn’t dissolve into the shadows, but you already know the answer. It’s a little stupid to be asking such things, especially when you’re grateful that your time with him could be extended this way.

But things eventually have to end, and you’ve reached your home way too soon.

It’s funny, really. You already know that Alastor would need to leave again, that he wouldn’t follow you up the steps of the porch because if he could come home, he already would have.

“Come inside,” you say, anyway. The wooden step on the porch creaks from your weight. “If only for a minute.”

Alastor still for a moment before plucking a feather right from your scalp and tucking it into his pocket. “I can’t.”

“Please.”

“If I come in, I’d never want to leave,” he says. “There are still things that I need to do.”

It’s a frown on your lips. “That isn’t an explanation.”

“I know.” Alastor holds out your ring, offering it towards you. “This belongs to you.”

There’s this instinct to take the thing from him, but you close it around his fist instead. “I’ll accept it when you come inside.”

“I will hold you to that promise.” Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek. “I love you.”

“I know,” you say, brushing a thumb across his cheek. “I think that’s the worst part.”

Alastor found a way to free himself from this deal, if only for a moment . . . and the first thing he thinks to do is to go home.

That leash around his neck is still there, but it’s not as tight as before, and it allows him just enough slack for to finally go home.

He’d still need to return to the hotel, but that doesn’t mean he needs to spend his nights there as well.

The walk through the city is quieter, for everyone still trembles with the destruction. Alastor walks through all of it anyway, slipping between the shadows until he’s in the most hidden spot in all of Pentagram City—his home with you.

The concrete of the city gives way to soil and trees and the smell of home. You open the door once you spot him, and step out into the porch. Alastor doesn’t mention the fact that you don’t take a step down.

Alastor watches you, eyeing every expression on your face when he breaches a line he couldn’t cross before, and takes a step into your home.

There’s something automatic about the way he grabs your hand, and presses his face into your hold, nuzzling his cheek into you. “I’m home.”

You brush your thumb across his cheek. “For how long.”

“I may need to go back during the day,” Alastor says. “But I can spend the rest of my nights with you again.”

There’s this moment of silence before you say, “Will you come inside?”

“Of course.”

Alastor takes another step towards the house, but you pull on his arm instead. There’s this moment where you still, and bring out your hand towards him. “You promised to return it.”

Alastor grabs your hands, pressing a kiss between your fingers as he kneels. He’s done this twice already, got on his knees to present you with a ring. It doesn’t get any less nerve racking either.

Alastor places your ring back on your finger, and all is right again.

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.