Serugiuli

11:59 p.m.

Just one more minute.

Alastor can wait one more minute without making a ruckus, lest he accidentally wakes you up. It’s important that he stay silent. Your soft breaths fill the darkness of the bedroom as you’re sound asleep next to him.

Only the light from the moon illuminates the space, but it’s enough to see the softness in your expression as you burrow deeper into the pillow, blanket curled around you.

12:00 a.m.

That smile of his widens immediately.

Alastor stiffens his entire body, and promptly decides to roll around like some kid until he’s pressing his entire weight on you. The words are at the tip of his tongue—

“Happy birthday!” You press a kiss on his cheek, and then another, and then another, and then . . . well, another. “That’s what you were going to say, right?”

Alastor slumps on top of you, rolling his eyes all the way to the side. “You’re awake.”

“Of course, I am,” you say, laughing at him a little. “You do this every year. It’s nothing new. I get woken up but your heavy body. Get off me already.”

“It’s important that I’m the first one to greet you.”

“Important to who exactly?”

“Important to me.” Alastor opens his arms wider, enveloping you with his entire body. It reminds him of those koala things at the zoo. “You ruined my surprise.”

“You ruined your own surprise.”

“Happy birthday, anyway,” Alastor says. “You’re one year closer to being an old lady.”

You push him away after that.

Pentagram City, XXXX. One year after Alastor’s disappearances.

11:57 p.m.

You curl the blanket around yourself, trying to ignore the silence of the room.

11:58 p.m.

There’s a part of you that’s cursing Alastor right now, angry at everything and anyone, but most of all, angry at him.

You tell yourself there’s no point in the anger. He’s not here either way.

11:5.8 p.m.

 It doesn’t work.

The evidence of his absence is just too much.

12:00 a.m.

“Happy birthday.”

Pentagram City, XXXX. Three years after Alastor’s disappearances.

11:57 p.m.

11:58 p.m.

11:59 p.m.

12:00 a.m.

12:01 a.m

Hazbin Hotel, XXXX. Eight years after Alastor's dissaperance.

11:57 p.m.

Alastor glares at the time as if the heat in his gaze could speed up time already. He’s missed seven of your birthdays, seven of this little ritual between you and him. How many more rituals has Alastor missed out on just because he foolishly died before he could fulfill his end of the deal?

It’s important that Alastor doesn’t miss it for the eighth time.

This had to be perfect.

11:58 p.m.

It’s difficult to tell if you were awake or not, but Alastor doesn’t dare to make a sound or any harsh movement just in case you actually were asleep.

Alastor is many things, and a coward just so happens to be one of them. There were things he’s yet to talk to you about, things that you definitely needed to know, things that he needs to explain but hasn’t yet found the courage to do so.

. . . It’s difficult to explain the reason for his absence.

How lucky he is that you agreed to take him back, not only that but to move you into this ridiculous hotel when he’s built a perfectly good home with you.

11:59 p.m.

“Are you going to roll on top of me?” Your voice comes out soft, muffled further by the blanket around you. “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

Alastor glances at the clock, then back at you. “I know.”

“You missed the year before that, and the year before that as well,” you say. “You missed quite a lot.”

“I know,” he says, a little weaker this time. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“. . . That’s not something you can make up for.” You turn to face him, searching for this hand until you take it. “I’m scared you’ve forgotten about it.”

Alastor squeezes your hand. “I could never.”

12:00 a.m.

It’s still the same.

Alastor rolls on top of you like some mischievous child.

You shriek and try to push him away.

And those two words get uttered.

“Happy birthday.”