── .✦ 𝘉𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴
✦ pairing — Alastor x female!reader
✦ word count — 10K
✦ warnings — Horror atmosphere, fear & psychological distress, attempted sexual assault, protective Alastor.
✦ requested by @cartoonykatbird
✦ blurb — Moving into the room beside Alastor feels like the beginning of a horror story. Somehow, somewhere between midnight jazz, radio static, and three gentle knocks against the wall, it becomes a love story instead.
Ever since the Extermination, the Hazbin Hotel had barely known a moment of peace.
News traveled fast in Hell, especially when it involved the impossible. Charlie and her friends had survived, Adam had fallen, and suddenly redemption no longer sounded like the naïve dream of a hopeless princess. Every day brought another wave of sinners through the front doors, some curious enough to see what all the noise was about, others convinced the hotel was nothing more than another scam waiting to collapse, while a handful arrived carrying little more than the quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, they could become something better than they had been.
The lobby had become almost unrecognizable. Suitcases lined the walls, voices overlapped from every direction, demons argued over rooms, asked endless questions about the battle against Heaven, interrupted Charlie every five minutes to ask whether angels could really die, or whether Lucifer had actually shown up, and whether another Extermination was coming. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Niffty darted between legs with an armful of cleaning supplies, Husk complained from behind the bar that nobody was paying their tabs anymore, and Vaggie somehow managed to keep everything from descending into complete chaos.
It was exactly what Charlie had always wanted.
It also meant the hotel had run out of rooms.
You'd been living there for a few months now, long enough to settle into a routine, long enough for your room near the lobby to start feeling like home, but with so many newcomers arriving every day, the entire floor was being reorganized. Larger rooms became shared bedrooms, empty offices were converted into guest rooms, furniture disappeared into hallways only to reappear somewhere else an hour later, and somewhere in the middle of that ever-growing list of changes, your name had quietly been moved to another room.
The only problem was actually finding someone who knew where that room was.
You caught Vaggie first, weaving your way through the crowd until you reached the reception desk, where she stood surrounded by paperwork and at least six impatient sinners trying to speak over one another.
"Vaggie?"
She looked up just long enough to recognize you before another voice immediately cut across yours.
"My shower only has cold water!"
"The guy next door keeps stealing my cigarettes!"
"I signed up yesterday, when do I get redeemed?"
Vaggie pinched the bridge of her nose before looking back at you with an apologetic expression.
"I know, your room. Just... give me ten minutes."
You took one look at the crowd surrounding her and immediately understood those ten minutes would probably become an hour.
Charlie wasn't any easier to reach.
She stood near the staircase with a dozen sinners gathered around her, answering questions almost faster than they could ask them, smiling patiently while everyone seemed determined to learn every detail of the battle against Heaven.
"Did you really kill Adam?"
"What was Lucifer like?"
"Can angels bleed?"
"Are they coming back?"
Charlie somehow managed to answer all four questions before spotting you across the room, her face brightening almost instantly.
"Oh! You're here for your new room, aren't you?"
"I was just wondering if—"
"Niffty!" Charlie called before you could finish, waving the tiny maid over as she zipped past carrying a stack of freshly folded towels. "Could you show her where she's staying? I'd do it myself, but..."
Another sinner had already started asking about redemption.
You smiled.
"It's okay."
Niffty bounced over without a second thought, reached behind the reception desk, grabbed a key hanging from one of the hooks, then immediately caught your wrist.
"C'mon!"
You barely had enough time to grab your suitcase before she was already dragging you across the lobby.
The first few hallways felt familiar, filled with voices spilling from half-open doors and guests wandering from room to room, but with every turn the hotel seemed to grow a little quieter. The conversations faded behind you, replaced by the distant creaking of old floorboards and the occasional groan of ancient pipes hidden somewhere inside the walls, until eventually even the noise from the lobby disappeared altogether.
You frowned.
"I didn't know the hotel went this far."
"It does!" Niffty chirped cheerfully, still marching ahead without slowing down. "Nobody really comes here anymore."
That wasn't exactly reassuring.
The corridor narrowed as you continued, the lights growing dimmer with every few steps until only a handful of old sconces remained, their warm glow barely reaching the worn carpet beneath your feet. Dust clung to forgotten picture frames lining the walls, doors became fewer and farther apart, and every sound you made echoed just a little longer than it should have, making the entire hallway feel strangely detached from the rest of the hotel, as though this corner of the building had quietly slipped everyone's mind years ago.
Niffty finally stopped in front of a door tucked away at the very end of the corridor, proudly dropping the key into your hand before pointing at the room.
"There!"
You looked around instinctively.
The hallway was completely empty, no voices drifted through the walls, no footsteps echoed from another floor, and no doors stood open anywhere nearby. Only two rooms occupied the very end of the corridor, facing the same stretch of dimly lit carpet, separated by little more than a few feet of polished wood.
"...It's quiet."
"I know!" Niffty beamed, clearly delighted by your observation. "Isn't it nice?"
Before you could answer, she was already hurrying back the way she'd come, humming happily to herself until even that sound disappeared into the distance, leaving you alone with your suitcase, your new room, and the heavy silence settling over the forgotten end of the hallway.
You slipped the key into the lock without another thought, completely unaware that Niffty had grabbed the wrong one from the reception desk, or that the room beside yours, hidden behind an identical wooden door only a few feet away, belonged to the one resident Charlie would never have assigned as your neighbor on purpose.
The room itself wasn't much different from the others you'd seen throughout the hotel.
At least... it shouldn't have been.
The furniture was the same style Charlie had chosen for every bedroom, the bed neatly made, a wardrobe tucked against one wall, a small desk beneath the window, yet something about the room felt older than the rest of the hotel. The wallpaper had already begun peeling in one corner, the wooden floor creaked beneath your footsteps, and the soft amber light hanging from the ceiling never seemed quite bright enough to chase away the shadows gathering in the corners.
It was strange.
Lucifer had rebuilt the hotel with his own magic only a few weeks ago. Everything else looked almost brand new, polished and full of life, while this forgotten corridor felt like it had somehow escaped the renovation altogether.
You shrugged to yourself.
It was probably temporary.
Once the excitement around the hotel settled down, Charlie would almost certainly move everyone back into more sensible rooms. You only had to spend a few nights here.
That wasn't so bad.
You unpacked your suitcase, folded your clothes into the wardrobe, lined a few books neatly across the little desk and placed your toiletries in the bathroom, slowly turning the unfamiliar room into something that felt a little more yours. By the time everything had found its place, the last traces of daylight had disappeared behind the curtains, leaving the room wrapped in the warm glow of the bedside lamp.
You changed into something more comfortable, climbed beneath the blankets with a book in your hands and spent the next hour reading, grateful for the quiet after the endless commotion downstairs. Eventually your eyelids grew heavy, the words began blurring together across the page, and with a small yawn, you closed the book, switched off the lamp and let darkness settle over the room.
Sleep never came.
At first, it was nothing more than a faint crackle somewhere beyond the wall beside your bed, so quiet you almost convinced yourself it was the old pipes settling inside the building. You closed your eyes again, listening to the silence return, only for the sound to come back a few moments later, longer this time, carrying the unmistakable hiss of radio static.
Your eyes opened.
The room was dark.
The static disappeared.
You frowned, waited another minute, then slowly relaxed against the pillow.
A voice crackled softly through the wall.
Not clear enough to understand.
Just fragments.
A sentence.
A chuckle.
More static.
You glanced toward the clock sitting on your bedside table.
2:03 AM.
"...Okay..."
The whisper left your lips before you could stop it.
The radio faded again, replaced by the old building creaking somewhere down the corridor. Floorboards groaned one after another, slow enough to sound like careful footsteps wandering just outside your room. You held your breath, waiting for someone to knock, but no knock ever came. Instead, something shifted beneath the gap at the bottom of your door, a shadow gliding lazily across the floor before disappearing just as quickly as it had arrived.
Your stomach tightened.
"Nope."
You pulled the blankets a little higher.
The silence lasted all of thirty seconds before another burst of laughter drifted through the wall.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't even directed at anyone.
It simply... existed, warm and amused, as though someone next door had heard a joke only they understood.
Then came the smell.
It was faint enough that you almost questioned whether you had imagined it, something metallic lingering beneath the scent of old wood and dust, mixed with the unmistakable aroma of coffee that had long since gone cold.
You were officially terrified.
Sleep had become completely out of the question.
Instead, you sat upright against the headboard with your knees pulled tightly to your chest, clutching the blanket around yourself while your eyes remained fixed on the bedroom door, trying to convince yourself there had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything you'd heard.
It was an old hotel.
Old buildings made noise.
Pipes rattled.
Floorboards creaked.
Shadows...
Shadows were probably... shadows.
Another burst of static hummed through the wall.
You squeezed your eyes shut.
"This is fine," you whispered to yourself. "It's just one night."
The radio crackled once more, louder this time, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone speaking.
Not in English.
In French.
"Mais voyons... ce n'est pas du tout comme cela qu'on prépare un café."
Your eyes flew open.
You knew that voice.
You'd heard it every day since arriving at the hotel, greeting Charlie in the mornings, chatting with Husk in the lounge, filling entire rooms with effortless charm wrapped in old-fashioned manners.
Alastor.
You stared at the wall separating your bedroom from the next room, the realization settling in with almost embarrassing clarity.
Niffty hadn't just given you a room at the end of the corridor.
She had accidentally moved you in next door to Alastor.
Morning arrived almost offensively normal.
Golden sunlight slipped through the curtains, chasing away every shadow that had kept you awake for hours, while the room looked exactly as it had the evening before. The wallpaper still peeled slightly in one corner, the old floorboards remained perfectly still beneath your feet, and the hallway outside was silent enough that you almost convinced yourself the entire night had been the product of an overactive imagination.
Almost.
Because you knew what you'd heard. The static.The laughter. The footsteps pacing back and forth beyond the wall. And most of all...
Alastor.
You rubbed a tired hand across your face, glanced at your reflection in the mirror and immediately regretted it. Dark circles had settled beneath your eyes, your hair had long since given up trying to look presentable, and judging by the exhausted expression staring back at you, you'd managed to sleep perhaps twenty minutes in total.
"Great."
You changed into fresh clothes, made a half-hearted attempt at fixing your hair, then gathered the things you'd need for the day before heading toward the door. Maybe Vaggie would finally have a minute to spare, maybe Charlie had realized the mistake by now, maybe you could quietly swap rooms before another night turned you into a nervous wreck.
You slipped the key into the lock, turned it carefully behind you, then bent to pocket it.
The door beside yours opened. Your entire body stiffened before you even looked up.
Polished shoes appeared first, followed by the familiar red pinstripes of an impeccably tailored suit, and finally Alastor himself stepped into the hallway as though nothing in the world had ever been out of place. He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, then lifted his head, his ever-present smile widening ever so slightly the moment he noticed you standing only a few feet away.
For a brief second, genuine surprise crossed his features.
It disappeared so quickly you almost wondered whether you'd imagined it.
"My," he said pleasantly, his ears giving the faintest twitch as his crimson eyes drifted from your face to the door behind you before returning just as smoothly. "This is unexpected."
You opened your mouth.
Nothing came out.
During the months you'd spent at the hotel, the two of you had barely exchanged more than a handful of conversations. There had always been polite greetings in passing, the occasional remark over breakfast, brief exchanges whenever Charlie happened to gather everyone together, but that was where it ended. Alastor had always remained just far enough away to be untouchable, smiling that unreadable smile whenever your eyes met across a room before disappearing again as though he'd only ever been passing through.
You'd caught yourself watching him more times than you cared to admit.
He had caught you doing it almost every single time.
There was something deeply unsettling about him, something that made the instinct to keep your distance fight constantly against the quiet curiosity pulling you back in his direction. Every glance lasted a fraction longer than it probably should have, every accidental encounter carried a strange tension neither of you acknowledged, and every time his eyes lingered on yours, you found yourself looking away first.
Now there were barely three feet separating you.
His smile remained perfectly bright, his posture as relaxed as ever, as though the previous night hadn't been filled with radio static, laughter echoing through the walls and French drifting into your bedroom at two o'clock in the morning.
"I... just moved in," you managed, still sounding far more tired than you intended.
"So I gathered," Alastor replied lightly, glancing once more toward your door before giving a thoughtful hum. "I must confess, I wasn't informed I would be welcoming a new neighbor."
Neither had you.
The thought almost escaped your lips before you stopped yourself.
He tilted his head ever so slightly, his smile never wavering.
"I do hope the room proved comfortable."
You stared at him.
Comfortable.
You hadn't slept a single minute.
He either had no idea what kind of noises escaped his room in the middle of the night...
...or he knew exactly what you had endured.
"Did you sleep well, my dear?"
You forced a smile onto your face, hoping it looked more convincing than it felt.
"I slept fine," you replied, perhaps a little too quickly, clearing your throat before adding, "It just takes me a little while to get used to a new room, that's all."
Alastor regarded you in thoughtful silence, his crimson eyes lingering on the dark circles beneath yours for just a fraction longer than was comfortable. His smile never changed, never faltered, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that he knew perfectly well you were lying. If he did, however, he was far too polite to point it out.
"How unfortunate," he said pleasantly. "I'm certain you'll settle in before long. One grows accustomed to unfamiliar surroundings rather quickly."
You hoped he was wrong.
"Well..." You adjusted the strap of your bag, taking an instinctive half-step toward the staircase. "I'd better head downstairs."
"Of course."
He stepped aside with effortless courtesy, one hand gesturing toward the corridor as though inviting you to pass first. "I do hope we shall have the pleasure of seeing more of one another, my dear."
You offered him a polite smile that probably looked more nervous than friendly before hurrying past him, resisting the urge to glance over your shoulder until you reached the first flight of stairs. Only then did you risk a quick look back.
He was still standing exactly where you'd left him, watching you.
The moment your eyes met again, he inclined his head politely before disappearing back into his room, the door closing with a soft click that echoed far longer than it should have.
You let out the breath you'd been holding.
The walk back toward the lobby felt considerably shorter than the night before. Familiar voices slowly replaced the oppressive silence of the forgotten corridor, footsteps echoed from occupied rooms again, and somewhere downstairs Angel Dust was already complaining loudly enough for half the hotel to hear him. By the time you reached the main hall, the unsettling feeling clinging to your shoulders had eased just enough for exhaustion to take its place.
Charlie and Vaggie stood near the reception desk, buried beneath another mountain of paperwork while Niffty darted happily between them with a feather duster nearly twice her size.
You didn't even slow down.
"Vaggie."
Both women looked up.
"I need another room."
Charlie blinked. "...Good morning to you too?"
"I can't stay there."
Vaggie frowned, immediately setting the clipboard down.
"What's wrong with the room?"
You glanced briefly toward the staircase before lowering your voice.
"It's next to Alastor."
Silence settled over the reception desk. Charlie slowly turned toward Vaggie. Vaggie slowly turned toward Charlie. Then, together, both of them looked toward Niffty, who had frozen in the middle of dusting a picture frame.
"Niffty..."
The tiny maid looked up innocently.
"What?"
"Which key did you give her yesterday?"
Niffty tilted her head, clearly thinking very hard before reaching into the pocket of her apron and pulling out another brass key.
"...Oops."
Vaggie closed her eyes.
"You grabbed the wrong one."
"I did?"
"You gave her Alastor's neighboring room."
"Oh."
Another pause.
"...Oops."
Charlie sighed, though the corner of her mouth twitched despite herself.
"I knew something felt off when I couldn't find that key this morning."
You looked from one to the other.
"So..." Hope crept cautiously into your voice. "Can I switch back?"
The hopeful expression on Charlie's face faded almost immediately. She looked toward Vaggie. She already knew the answer.
"We can't."
Your heart sank.
"What do you mean you can't?"
She gestured toward the crowded lobby behind you, where another pair of sinners had just walked through the front doors carrying suitcases.
"We're full."
Charlie nodded apologetically.
"Every room's occupied. We even converted the old music room into a bedroom yesterday, and Husk is still complaining that people keep trying to sleep in the lounge." She winced sympathetically. "If we had another room, I'd move you immediately."
"There isn't even a storage closet left," Vaggie added. "Trust me, I checked."
You stared at them in disbelief.
"So you're telling me..."
Charlie offered you an apologetic smile.
"...You're staying next to Alastor."
The words landed like a sentence.
You closed your eyes for a brief moment, already imagining another sleepless night filled with radio static, laughter drifting through the walls and shadows crawling beneath your door.
Somewhere behind you, Niffty smiled brightly.
"I think you guys are gonna be great neighbors!"
The rest of the day passed far too quickly.
You spent most of it helping Charlie wherever you could, carrying boxes upstairs, showing new residents around the hotel, answering the same handful of questions you'd already heard a dozen times that morning, all while trying very hard not to think about where you'd be sleeping that night. Every now and then, your eyes drifted toward Alastor across the lobby, only to find his already resting on you before he politely tipped his head and returned to whatever conversation he had been having, leaving you wondering whether he'd actually noticed how exhausted you looked or whether your imagination had simply decided to torture you a little more.
By the time evening settled over the hotel, you had run out of excuses.
Your room hadn't moved.
Neither had his.
You climbed the stairs with considerably less enthusiasm than the night before, unlocked the door, stepped inside, and immediately began preparing for what you had already decided would be another sleepless night. You changed into comfortable clothes, left your book untouched on the bedside table, turned the lamp off much earlier than usual, then slipped beneath the blankets, determined to fall asleep before the strange noises next door had a chance to begin.
It didn't work.
Every time you closed your eyes, your mind wandered back to the previous night, replaying the static, the laughter, the footsteps pacing outside your door until your own heartbeat became loud enough to keep you awake. You shifted beneath the blankets for what felt like the hundredth time, staring into the darkness while the clock beside your bed crept steadily toward midnight, your body begging for sleep while your thoughts stubbornly refused to quiet down.
Then, almost exactly when you'd started expecting it, the familiar crackle drifted softly through the wall.
You didn't jump this time.
The radio hissed quietly for a few seconds before old jazz filled the silence, warm brass and gentle piano replacing the unsettling static that had terrified you the night before. Somewhere beyond the wall, you heard the faint scrape of a chair moving across the floor, followed by the unmistakable sound of Alastor humming absentmindedly beneath the music, as though he'd completely forgotten anyone occupied the room beside his.
It sounded...
Oddly normal.
You rolled onto your side, facing the wall separating your room from his, listening more carefully now that you knew what the sounds actually were. The laughter was still there every now and then, quiet enough to suggest he'd amused himself with some passing thought, the floorboards still creaked beneath his footsteps as he wandered from one side of the room to the other, and the radio continued playing those old songs you'd never heard before, filling the silence with something that, strangely enough, no longer felt frightening.
If anything...
It was almost relaxing.
Without really thinking about it, your fingers began tapping lightly against the mattress in time with the music, following the rhythm until, after a moment's hesitation, you shifted a little closer to the wall and gently knocked against it instead.
The sound barely carried through the wood, soft enough that you almost doubted it would reach the room beyond, yet the effect was immediate. The music cut off mid-note, the faint crackle of the radio vanished with it, the floorboards fell completely silent, and suddenly the corridor seemed to hold its breath, every strange sound that had surrounded you only moments before swallowed by a silence so complete it made your own heartbeat sound impossibly loud.
Oh no.
He'd heard you.
Of course he'd heard you.
You'd just knocked on the wall separating your room from that of one of Hell's most powerful Overlords, and for reasons you still couldn't explain, you'd somehow expected him not to notice.
You held your breath, every muscle in your body tensing as you stared at the wall, wondering whether you'd just made the biggest mistake since arriving at the hotel. The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity, your heartbeat pounding loudly enough that you were almost convinced it would carry through the wood, until, at last, a soft knock answered from the other side. It was gentle, almost hesitant, nothing like the response you'd imagined, and certainly not the angry outburst you'd been bracing yourself for.
You blinked in surprise, your fear slowly giving way to curiosity as you lifted your hand once more and answered with another careful tap, a little less uncertain than the first. The silence returned, though this time it felt different, less oppressive, almost expectant, as though whoever stood on the other side of the wall was considering what to do next, before a familiar voice finally drifted through the old wood, warm, perfectly calm, and unmistakably Alastor's.
"Y/N?"
Your heart lurched so violently you were convinced he could probably hear that too.
"...Yes?"
A quiet chuckle reached your side of the wall before he spoke again, his voice carrying that same effortless politeness it always did, softened only slightly by the late hour.
"Well..." Another brief pause settled between you, almost thoughtful this time. "The walls are remarkably thin, aren't they?"
You couldn't help letting out a small, nervous laugh.
"I guess they are."
"I do apologize if I've disturbed your rest," he continued after a moment, and although his voice remained light, there was something unexpectedly sincere beneath it. "Old habits have a tendency to follow one home, I'm afraid. The radio, the music... I confess I hadn't considered someone might be trying to sleep on the other side of the wall."
The apology caught you completely off guard.
You had expected amusement, perhaps teasing, maybe even indifference, but certainly not concern.
"If you would prefer silence," he added, "I'd be more than happy to turn the radio off for the evening."
You hesitated.
Only an hour ago, you would have accepted without thinking. You had spent the entire previous night terrified by every crackle of static, every laugh drifting through the wall, every creaking floorboard that seemed to carry some unseen presence through the corridor. Yet now that you knew exactly where those sounds came from, they no longer felt like the whispers of something lurking in the dark. They were simply... Alastor, moving around his room, humming to himself while he read, letting old records play as he passed the time.
Strangely enough, that thought warmed your chest.
"No," you answered quietly, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the blanket gathered over your knees. "You can leave it on."
A brief silence settled between you.
"...Are you certain?"
"I think..." You smiled to yourself before finishing your sentence. "I actually like the music. It's... soothing."
Another soft chuckle drifted through the wall.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"I guess it is."
The radio crackled back to life a few seconds later, softer than before, the volume lowered just enough for the jazz to become little more than a gentle melody drifting through the old wood. You rolled onto your side, resting your head against the pillow as the music filled the silence once more, and before you even realized it, your eyes had finally grown heavy enough to close.
It was the first good night's sleep you'd had since moving into that room.
The following evening, you found yourself waiting for the music.
Not consciously, at least not at first, but when midnight came and the familiar crackle of static drifted through the wall, you caught yourself smiling instead of tensing. The old records had become oddly comforting, a quiet reminder that someone was awake on the other side, going through the same familiar routine while the rest of the hotel slept.
Eventually, you reached to him more often through the wall.
The conversation that followed lasted barely five minutes, nothing more than a polite exchange of good evenings and harmless observations, yet somehow it happened again the next night, and the one after that, until speaking through the wall quietly slipped into your nightly routine without either of you ever deciding it should.
Some evenings you commented on whatever song happened to be playing, admitting you preferred the slower jazz records over the livelier ones, while Alastor insisted your taste was "surprisingly respectable," changing the record anyway whenever you wrinkled your nose at one you particularly disliked. Other nights, a loud crash from his room would make you blink toward the wall before asking, unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips, "Did you just trip over a chair?"
His answer always came after a suspiciously long pause.
"I most certainly did not."
"You definitely did."
"...The chair was poorly positioned."
You laughed.
The conversations grew longer after that.
Sometimes he told you about his day, about the latest argument between Angel Dust and Husk, about Charlie's endless optimism or Niffty's newest obsession.
Sometimes you spoke instead, recounting little moments that had made you laugh, complaining about difficult guests, rambling about books you'd been reading, never quite noticing how late it had become until one of you pointed out the hour. Alastor never admitted how much he had begun looking forward to those conversations, but you noticed the radio always started a little earlier now.
It became your routine.
Then one evening...
The knock didn't come from the wall.
You looked up from your book, frowning slightly as three soft knocks echoed through your room, unmistakably coming from the door instead.
For a brief moment, you simply stared at it.
Another knock followed, patient and unhurried.
You climbed out of bed, crossed the room and slowly opened the door.
Alastor stood in the hallway, one hand resting lightly against the frame, dressed as impeccably as ever despite the late hour. The warm light from the corridor caught the edge of his smile as he inclined his head politely, looking almost amused by your obvious surprise.
"Good evening, my dear."
"...Good evening."
"I was wondering," he began, smoothing one of his cuffs almost absentmindedly, "whether you might care to continue our discussion without the inconvenience of several inches of plaster separating us."
Your heart skipped.
For weeks, the wall had been enough.
Comfortable.
Safe.
You had spoken to him almost every night, laughed together, shared stories neither of you had expected to tell, yet somehow standing face to face felt entirely different, as though every conversation you'd had until now had merely been preparing you for this one.
He noticed your hesitation immediately.
"There is, of course, no obligation," he added gently. "I simply thought the acoustics might benefit from a slight improvement."
A nervous laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
"...I think the acoustics are fine."
"They are adequate."
"And yet you still came knocking."
"Indeed."
Silence settled comfortably between you, neither awkward nor pressing, while you searched his expression for... something.
Anything.
Instead, you found only that familiar smile, patient as ever, waiting without the slightest intention of rushing your answer.
Finally, you stepped aside.
"...Okay."
His smile widened just enough to notice.
"Splendid."
He waited for you to lock your door before leading the way the few short steps separating your rooms, reaching his own door almost immediately and holding it open with a courteous gesture.
"After you."
You had imagined Alastor's room countless times over the past few weeks.
None of those imaginings had prepared you for the reality.
The room felt less like a bedroom and more like another world tucked quietly behind an ordinary hotel door. A fireplace crackled softly against one wall, bathing the room in a warm amber glow that danced across polished wooden floors and deep crimson furniture. Shelves overflowed with books that looked decades older than the hotel itself, old records were stacked neatly beside a vintage gramophone, and the familiar jazz you'd listened to through the wall for weeks now drifted softly through the room, quieter than usual, wrapping everything in an atmosphere that felt strangely timeless.
The room smelled faintly of coffee, polished wood and old paper.
Somehow...
Exactly the way you'd imagined.
"I hope you'll forgive the modest accommodations," Alastor said with playful formality as he closed the door behind you. "One does what one can."
You couldn't help smiling.
"This is modest?"
"I've always found extravagance rather exhausting."
Your eyes wandered toward the fireplace where two large armchairs faced one another, positioned close enough for conversation, a small table resting between them with a steaming coffee pot already waiting.
He noticed where you were looking.
"I took the liberty."
He crossed the room with the same effortless grace he seemed to carry everywhere, lifting the coffee pot before glancing back toward you.
"Do you take sugar?"
"One."
"An excellent decision."
He poured two cups with practiced precision before handing one to you, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest instant as you accepted it.
The contact barely lasted a second.
It still sent warmth racing through your chest.
You settled into the armchair opposite his, the fire crackling quietly between you while the record continued turning in the background, filling the comfortable silence neither of you seemed in any hurry to interrupt.
It should have felt awkward.
Instead, it felt strangely familiar.
You already knew the cadence of his voice, the way he laughed softly whenever something genuinely amused him, the moments when he paused to choose his next words, even the habit he'd developed of absentmindedly adjusting the volume of the gramophone whenever one particular trumpet became just a little too enthusiastic. Weeks of speaking through the wall had quietly taught you all those little things, yet sitting across from him now somehow made each one feel more real, as though the man you'd slowly come to know through old plaster and midnight conversations had finally stepped out from behind the barrier separating your worlds.
For the first time since moving into the room next to his, there was no wall between you.
Only two cups of coffee, the soft crackle of the fire, and a conversation that neither of you wanted to end.
After that first evening, the wall quietly became unnecessary.
Some nights you still spoke through it out of habit, exchanging a few words before one of you inevitably wandered into the other's room, coffee already brewing while another record waited to be played. Other evenings, Alastor simply appeared at your door with a polite knock and another excuse prepared, perhaps he'd found a book he thought you might enjoy, perhaps the gramophone had acquired a particularly delightful record, perhaps, and this remained his personal favorite, "the acoustics have once again become intolerable."
You always laughed.
You always followed him.
The evenings blurred together after that, slipping into a routine neither of you ever acknowledged aloud. You learned exactly how he liked his coffee, strong enough to wake the dead, with only the smallest touch of sugar, while he somehow remembered every tiny preference you'd ever mentioned in passing, quietly replacing records you disliked before you even had the chance to wrinkle your nose, leaving your favorite chair closer to the fire whenever the nights turned colder, making sure there was always another cup waiting by the time you arrived.
Nothing between you was ever spoken.
Nothing needed to be.
The hotel noticed long before either of you did.
Charlie caught the change first.
It wasn't anything obvious, only little things that seemed meaningless on their own. You smiled more often now, the quiet, absent-minded sort of smile that appeared whenever someone crossed your thoughts, and somehow Alastor always seemed to appear a few moments later, as though he'd heard them. Breakfasts that used to end with him disappearing into the shadows now stretched a little longer whenever you happened to sit nearby, evenings in the lounge became less lonely, and whenever you wandered into a room, it rarely took more than a few minutes before the Radio Demon found a perfectly reasonable excuse to be there as well.
"You've been seeing a lot of Alastor lately," Charlie observed one afternoon, trying very hard to sound casual.
You looked up from your book.
"...Have I?"
Charlie exchanged a quick glance with Vaggie.
Vaggie snorted.
"You literally walked in together."
"We did?"
"And you left together."
You blinked.
"I... hadn't noticed."
Charlie smiled to herself.
"We did."
You hadn't.
It wasn't intentional.
You simply reached for coffee at the same time.
Sat beside each other without thinking.
Walked through the hotel while talking about whatever book Alastor had recommended the evening before, never noticing the distance between you had quietly disappeared.
Even Husk noticed.
"He's following you."
"He is not."
"He is."
"He just happens to be there."
Husk looked over the rim of his glass toward Alastor, who stood across the lobby discussing something with Charlie. Almost as though sensing the conversation, crimson eyes drifted toward you for barely a second before his smile widened ever so slightly.
Husk sighed.
"...See?"
You looked away first.
"I think you're imagining things."
"I'm really not."
Then, for the first time in weeks...
Alastor wasn't there.
Charlie had asked him to accompany her into the city that afternoon, leaving the hotel strangely quieter than usual. You spent the day helping a few of the newer residents settle in, carrying supplies upstairs and answering questions you'd already answered dozens of times before, until evening finally began settling over Pentagram City.
You had just stepped into the lobby when one of the newer sinners approached you.
He'd spoken to you a few times before, always politely enough, asking harmless questions about the hotel or Charlie's rehabilitation program, and you smiled politely when he greeted you again.
"I've been looking for you."
"Oh?"
"I was wondering if you'd have dinner with me."
You offered him an apologetic smile.
"That's kind of you, but I'm not really interested."
He laughed.
"C'mon."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
You shifted your weight uncomfortably.
"I said no."
Instead of backing away, he stepped closer.
"You've been avoiding me."
"I've been busy."
"You could make time."
His smile had changed.
It no longer looked friendly.
"I don't think you understand," he continued, lowering his voice as though the two of you shared some private joke. "You're one of the prettiest girls in this dump, sweetheart. Don't waste your time pretending you're too good for everyone."
Your expression hardened.
"I didn't say I was."
"So what's the problem?"
"I already answered you."
"You haven't answered properly."
Another step.
Closer.
"You'd probably enjoy yourself if you stopped acting so difficult."
You took one step back.
He took another forward.
"I said no."
"Oh, don't be like—"
Your hand landed flat against his chest before you even thought about it, shoving him back hard enough that he stumbled two full steps, surprise flashing across his face as several nearby guests looked up from their conversations.
"I said," you repeated, your voice noticeably firmer this time, "no."
For a long second, neither of you moved.
His expression twisted with annoyance, lips curling into something that looked dangerously close to contempt, before he scoffed under his breath and raised both hands in mock surrender.
"Fine."
He turned away with a dismissive laugh.
"Bitch."
You stood there for another moment, your pulse still racing, before forcing yourself to breathe.
The lobby slowly returned to normal around you.
People looked away.
Conversations resumed.
Someone laughed near the bar as though nothing had happened.
You rubbed your temples, suddenly feeling far more exhausted than angry, then quietly climbed the stairs toward your room, your thoughts already drifting somewhere much safer.
Toward the room next door.
Toward the familiar crackle of an old radio.
Toward the man who, without either of you realizing when it had happened, had somehow become the part of your day you looked forward to most.
The encounter downstairs lingered in the back of your mind longer than you cared to admit, but by the time you reached your room, you had almost managed to convince yourself it was over. Hell was full of unpleasant people, you reminded yourself while closing the door behind you, and most of them eventually lost interest when they realized they weren't getting what they wanted.
You locked the door out of habit.
Then you started getting ready for the night.
Your routine had changed over the past few weeks without you ever deciding it should. Instead of throwing on the first thing you found, you found yourself hesitating in front of the wardrobe, your fingers drifting from one pajama to another before settling on the soft burgundy set you secretly liked best. It was comfortable, warm enough for the cool evenings, and if it happened to look a little nicer than the oversized shirt you'd been wearing before...
Well.
You smiled to yourself.
Alastor would probably knock within the hour.
He always did now.
You brushed your hair, lit the small bedside lamp, straightened the blanket even though it didn't need straightening, then glanced instinctively toward the wall separating your room from his. Charlie and Alastor had spent the afternoon in Pentagram City, and you already found yourself wondering what stories he would bring back, whether Charlie had dragged him into another overly optimistic conversation with strangers, whether he'd complain about the city traffic with that perfectly polite smile that somehow made every complaint sound like a compliment.
You were still smiling when the knock finally came.
Three gentle knocks.
Exactly the way he always did.
Your heart lifted almost instantly.
"Coming," you called, already crossing the room.
You unlocked the door without a second thought, pulled it open...
...and the smile disappeared from your face.
It wasn't Alastor.
The sinner from the lobby stood in the doorway instead.
The friendliness he'd worn earlier was gone, replaced by something harder, something that made your stomach tighten the moment your eyes met his. His smile no longer reached his eyes, and there was an ugly satisfaction in the way he looked at you, as though he'd already decided how this conversation was going to end.
Your hand instinctively tightened around the doorknob.
"What are you doing here?"
"I figured we got off on the wrong foot."
"I don't think we have anything else to talk about."
"I'm pretty sure we do."
You started pushing the door closed.
He caught it before it moved more than a few inches.
The wood shuddered beneath the force of his hand.
"I said I'm not interested."
"And I said," he replied, his voice dropping lower, "you're making this harder than it needs to be."
Your pulse quickened.
"You need to leave."
Instead of answering, he pushed.
The door swung inward despite your resistance, forcing you to stumble back as he stepped across the threshold without the slightest invitation, his gaze sweeping lazily around the room before settling on you again.
"You can't just walk into my room."
"I just did."
You took another step backward, keeping as much distance between you as the small bedroom allowed, refusing to let him see the fear beginning to crawl beneath your skin.
"Leave."
"No."
The single word landed heavily in the silence.
He kept advancing, slow enough that every step felt deliberate, while you matched each one by retreating until the backs of your knees brushed against the edge of the bed. Your heart hammered painfully against your ribs, your mind racing through every possible way out of the room, every scream you could let out, every object within reach that might buy you enough time.
"You've been playing hard to get all day," he said with a crooked grin. "I think we're done pretending now."
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze despite the fear knotting in your stomach.
"I'm asking you one last time."
Your voice trembled only slightly.
"Get out."
He laughed.
"I don't think you're in a position to tell me what to do."
His hand shot forward without warning.
You twisted away just in time, his fingers brushing the sleeve of your pajama instead of closing around your wrist, your heart lurching into your throat as you stumbled around the corner of the bed. The mattress dug against your hip when you caught yourself, breathing hard while he turned slowly to face you again, his grin widening as though the whole thing amused him.
"Oh, there you go," he sneered. "Run a little. Makes it more interesting."
You moved again before he could reach you, circling the bed, trying desperately to keep something between the two of you, but the room was far too small. Every step backward stole another piece of the little space you had left until your shoulders struck the wall with a dull thud, the edge of the bed pressing against your legs while he stopped only a few feet away.
There was nowhere else to go.
His eyes traveled slowly over you, lingering in a way that made your stomach turn.
"You know..." His smile curled into something uglier. "You look damn cute like this."
You didn't answer.
"I've been thinking about you all day," he continued, taking another slow step forward. "Couldn't stop imagining what you'd sound like screaming my name instead of telling me 'no.'"
Your blood ran cold.
Fear settled so heavily in your chest it became difficult to breathe, your pulse pounding painfully against your ribs while your mind searched frantically for something—anything—that might get you out of the room.
The hallway.
No.
He was blocking the door.
The window.
Too small.
Your voice.
You could scream...
But this part of the hotel was practically abandoned.
The corridor had been empty every time you'd walked through it, silent enough that your own footsteps echoed off the walls. Nobody came here unless they already lived here.
Nobody...
Except—
Your eyes darted toward the wall beside the bed.
Alastor.
Please...
Please be back.
Please have come home.
The sinner noticed your glance and laughed again.
"Looking for a miracle?"
You didn't answer.
Instead, you slammed your fist against the wall.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
The impact stung immediately, pain shooting through your knuckles as you hit the old plaster harder and harder, each blow echoing through the room while the man lunged toward you, barking a sharp laugh as he grabbed for your arm.
You tore yourself out of reach at the last second and struck the wall again with everything you had.
"Alastor!"
Your voice cracked.
Another desperate pound rattled the frame of a painting hanging above the bed.
"Alastor!"
You didn't know whether he was home.
You only knew that, for weeks, every laugh, every song, every late-night conversation had carried effortlessly between your rooms.
Now...
You prayed your voice would do the same.
On the other side of the wall, Alastor finally allowed himself a moment of quiet.
The afternoon in Pentagram City had been... exhausting.
Charlie had insisted on stopping every few streets to greet complete strangers, explain the hotel for what must have been the hundredth time, reassure nervous sinners that redemption was still possible, and wave enthusiastically at anyone who so much as glanced in her direction. He admired her determination, in his own peculiar way, and although he would sooner bargain away one of his antlers than admit it aloud, the princess possessed a stubborn kindness that even Hell had failed to extinguish.
It was... Refreshing. Also incredibly draining.
He loosened his bow tie ever so slightly, settled comfortably into the armchair beside the fireplace and lit one of his cigars, letting the first plume of fragrant smoke curl lazily toward the ceiling.
the fire burned steadily a few feet away, and for the first time since leaving the hotel that morning, he finally began to relax.
His eyes drifted almost absentmindedly toward the wall separating his room from yours. It had become part of his routine now.
He would enjoy a quiet cigar, finish whichever chapter he'd been reading, perhaps pour the two of you another cup of coffee, then, sooner or later, three gentle knocks would sound through the old plaster, followed by your voice wishing him a good evening. It happened with such comforting regularity that he had quietly begun arranging his evenings around it, though he would have denied such a thing with perfect confidence had anyone dared suggest it.
Curious.
He had spent decades avoiding company whenever possible. Now... He found himself looking forward to yours with an eagerness that bordered on impatience. The thought drew the faintest smile to his lips.
Then he heard your voice. It was muffled by the wall, too indistinct for him to understand the words, but unmistakably yours. He lifted his head slightly, listening without much concern, assuming you'd decided to entertain another guest before the evening inevitably found its way back to him.
How... unusual.
You rarely invited anyone upstairs.
He took another slow draw from his cigar. The conversation continued for another few seconds, still too quiet to make out, until a sharper voice answered yours. Male. Unfamiliar.
His smile faded ever so slightly. Perhaps one of the newer residents. The hotel had become rather crowded lately.
He reached for his coffee. A loud bang exploded against the wall. The porcelain cup stopped halfway to his lips.
Another. Then another. Not rhythmic or playful. Desperate. Every instinct in his body sharpened at once.
The cigar was already forgotten between his fingers as he rose smoothly from the armchair, his gaze fixed on the wall while another violent impact shook the picture frame hanging above the fireplace. The knocks came faster now, frantic enough to rattle the old plaster between your rooms, carrying a desperation he had never heard from you before.
He was already crossing the room.
One step. Two. Then your voice tore through the wall.
"Alastor!"
Everything inside him stopped.
The blood beneath his skin turned to ice. Not because you'd called his name. Because of the terror in your voice. He had heard fear before. He had caused it countless times. This was different.
This wasn't the trembling uncertainty of a frightened sinner. This was someone begging for help. His help.
Another crash echoed through the wall, followed by the unmistakable sound of furniture scraping violently across the floor, your breathing breaking into panicked sobs between muffled cries that grew harder and harder to distinguish.
His expression emptied. The smile remained. Everything else disappeared. The room darkened.
The fire bent violently toward him as shadows spilled across the floorboards, stretching unnaturally from every corner until they swallowed the walls themselves.
a violent burst of radio static that crackled through the room loud enough to make the windows tremble. Another cry.
Another frantic blow against the wall. His name again. There was no hesitation.
Only one thought remained, burning through his mind with terrifying clarity. Someone had laid a hand on you.
And whoever stood in that room had just made the greatest mistake of their existence.
The wall gave way with a deafening crack.
Wood splintered, plaster burst outward in a cloud of white dust, and the entire room shook as something tore straight through it without slowing down for so much as a heartbeat. The bedside lamp flickered violently before exploding in a shower of sparks, darkness swallowing the room as radio static erupted from every direction at once, loud enough to make the windows tremble inside their frames. Shadows spilled across the floor like living ink, swallowing the broken wall, climbing the ceiling, stretching until they towered over the room itself, and from the middle of that suffocating darkness stepped Alastor.
He looked... wrong.
His smile remained exactly where it always was, perfectly composed, perfectly polite, yet everything surrounding it had changed. Crimson eyes glowed with an intensity you'd never seen before, his antlers seemed taller somehow, disappearing into the monstrous silhouette rising behind him, while the creature hidden inside his shadow unfolded slowly across the bedroom, dozens of glowing eyes opening one after another until they all fixed themselves upon the sinner standing over you.
Only then did the man notice he was no longer alone.
He had been too busy wrestling you onto the mattress to hear the wall collapsing behind him, one hand still wrapped painfully around your wrist while the other forced your shoulder back against the bed, his weight pressing down hard enough that every desperate attempt to push him away only seemed to amuse him more.
"You'll stop fighting eventually," he laughed, leaning down again as you turned your face away from his, refusing to let his lips touch yours. "You'll even start enjoying it."
The radio screamed.
The sound ripped through the room with such violence that he froze mid-movement, every muscle in his body locking instinctively before he slowly turned his head toward the impossible wall of shadows now filling your bedroom.
His face drained of every trace of color.
Alastor didn't move.
He simply stood there, framed by broken plaster and shattered wood, while the static continued roaring through the room, his shadow twisting higher and higher behind him until it brushed the ceiling like some enormous beast struggling to remain contained.
For the first time since forcing his way into your room...
The sinner looked afraid.
"H-Hey..." He released your wrist so quickly it almost hurt, stumbling backward until he stood between the bed and the shattered window, both hands lifting awkwardly as he searched desperately for words. "Calm down, alright? We were just... just messing around."
Silence answered him.
"I mean..." He forced out a nervous laugh, glancing briefly toward you before looking back at Alastor. "She was playing hard to get, that's all. We were having a little fun."
Nothing.
His smile remained.
His eyes never blinked.
"You know how girls are," the sinner continued, speaking faster now, "they say no at first, then—"
His voice broke.
Only then did Alastor finally shift his attention away from him.
His gaze settled on you instead.
You were still pressed against the headboard, breathing so hard your chest ached, your hair falling across your face where desperate hands had grabbed it, your pajama wrinkled and half pulled from one shoulder, your whole body trembling violently as you struggled to catch your breath. Your eyes met his for barely a second, wide with fear, glassy with unshed tears, and somewhere beneath all of that panic sat the quiet relief of seeing him standing there.
Something inside him broke.
The temperature in the room plummeted.
The shadows exploded.
They crossed the bedroom in less than a heartbeat, surging around the sinner's legs before wrapping themselves around his torso and throat with terrifying speed. He barely managed to scream before they lifted him completely off the floor, his feet kicking helplessly through empty air while invisible claws tightened relentlessly around him.
"W-Wait!"
His voice cracked.
"It was a misunderstanding!"
Alastor took one slow step forward, the static lowering just enough for his own voice to cut cleanly through the room.
"You frightened her."
The words were quiet.
Almost conversational.
"I didn't mean—"
"You touched her."
The shadows tightened.
"I swear, I wasn't gonna—"
"You entered her room."
Every sentence landed with frightening calm, each one colder than the last, until the sinner had stopped struggling altogether, reduced to little more than terrified pleading beneath the crushing grip of the creature holding him.
"I'm sorry!"
Alastor tilted his head ever so slightly.
"I am not."
The window exploded outward.
Glass burst into the night as the shadow hurled the sinner through it with impossible force, his scream disappearing almost immediately into the darkness below while thousands of glittering shards rained toward Pentagram City. They were among the highest rooms in the hotel, high enough that the streets below looked impossibly distant, and by the time silence returned, there was no sign the man had ever been there at all.
The radio static faded.
The shadows slowly withdrew.
The monstrous figure behind Alastor folded back into itself until only his own silhouette remained, standing quietly in the middle of your ruined bedroom while dust continued drifting lazily through the air.
He didn't spare the broken window so much as a glance.
He was already walking toward you.
His pace slowed as he reached the bed, every movement suddenly careful, almost hesitant, as though he feared even approaching too quickly might frighten you after everything that had just happened. He lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress, enough space remaining between you that you could choose whether to close it yourself, his crimson eyes searching your face with an unfamiliar intensity while one hand rested quietly against his knee.
"My dear..." His voice had softened so completely it barely resembled the one that had condemned a sinner only moments earlier. "Did he—"
You never let him finish.
The distance between you vanished in an instant as you threw yourself into his arms, your body moving before your mind had the chance to think, your fingers clutching desperately at the back of his jacket while you buried your face against his shoulder. The adrenaline holding you together shattered all at once, leaving nothing behind but violent trembling, ragged breaths and tears you hadn't even realized were falling, soaking silently into the fabric of his suit.
For the first time in many, many years...
Alastor forgot what to do.
He remained perfectly still for a single heartbeat, surprise flickering across his face before disappearing beneath something infinitely gentler, then, almost cautiously, his arms rose around you. One settled securely across your back while the other came to rest behind your head, his fingers threading carefully through your hair as though reassuring himself you were truly there, truly safe, and no one would ever lay another hand on you again.
He closed his eyes for the briefest moment, a quiet breath escaping him, one he hadn't even realized he'd been holding ever since your panicked voice had reached him through the wall.
"...Thank you."
Your voice barely existed.
It trembled against his shoulder, broken by uneven breaths and quiet sobs you still couldn't seem to stop, yet he heard every syllable as though the entire world had fallen silent for you alone.
"I..." You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the fabric of his jacket. "...Thank you."
"My dear..." he murmured softly.
One hand moved slowly through your hair, careful, reassuring, while the other held you just a little closer, almost instinctively, as though putting even the smallest distance between you had suddenly become unthinkable.
"You needn't thank me."
His voice remained perfectly calm, but beneath that familiar smoothness rested something heavier, something startlingly honest.
"I was..." He paused, searching for words that had never come naturally to him. "...relieved to find you in time."
The confession slipped out before he could stop it.
He lowered his head ever so slightly, resting his cheek against your hair for only a moment before his lips brushed the crown of your head in a featherlight kiss, so gentle you almost wondered whether you'd imagined it.
"You are safe now," he whispered. "Nothing will ever happen to you again."
His hand settled more firmly against your back.
"I won't allow it."
The promise lingered between you, quiet and absolute.
"You are..." His voice softened even further. "...mine to protect."
You didn't answer.
You simply held him tighter.
After a long while, once your breathing had finally begun to steady and the trembling in your body had eased into exhausted shivers, Alastor carefully slipped one arm beneath your knees while the other remained securely around your back.
"What are you...?"
"You are not spending another night in this room."
Before you could protest, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms. You were too emotionally drained to argue, your head naturally settling against his shoulder while he carried you toward the gaping hole where your bedroom wall had once stood. Broken plaster crunched quietly beneath his polished shoes, scattered pieces of wood forcing him to step carefully through the debris until he crossed into his own room, where the familiar warmth of the fireplace still danced across the walls.
He lowered you gently onto his bed, disappearing only long enough to pull another blanket from the wardrobe before returning to drape it carefully over your shoulders. When he turned to leave, your fingers caught the sleeve of his jacket without thinking.
"...Please."
Just one word.
That was all it took.
He looked down at your hand resting against him, then back at your face, still marked by exhaustion and tear tracks, before quietly abandoning whatever intention he'd had of spending the night in the armchair.
Without a word, he sat beside you.
Your fingers never let go.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, exhaustion finally claimed you.
When you woke briefly a few hours later, the fire had burned low, dawn had only just begun creeping through the curtains, and Alastor remained exactly where he'd been, sitting against the headboard with a book resting forgotten in his lap. He wasn't reading anymore. On hand absentmindedly tracing slow circles across your back, while his crimson eyes stared quietly into the dying fire.
The moment he noticed you stirring, his gaze softened.
"Go back to sleep."
This time...
You did.
Weeks passed.
The shattered wall never returned.
Instead, Lucifer himself had found the whole situation oddly charming, and with little more than a snap of his fingers, the broken plaster disappeared, replaced by a proper wooden doorway connecting the two bedrooms. It matched the rest of the hotel perfectly, as though it had always belonged there, another quiet passage hidden away at the end of the forgotten corridor.
"It'll save me repairing the wall every time someone gets emotional," he'd joked.
Charlie had laughed.
Neither you nor Alastor corrected him.
The door remained.
So did the habit.
If one of you wanted coffee, there was no need to knock anymore. If a book needed returning, if dinner had been particularly entertaining, if one of you simply couldn't sleep, the door quietly opened, and the conversation resumed exactly where it had ended the night before.
No invitations.
No hesitation.
Just...
Home.
The rest of the hotel noticed, of course.
Angel Dust started taking bets on how long it would take before one of you admitted what everyone else had already figured out. Husk only rolled his eyes whenever someone brought it up, muttering that they'd been "acting like an old married couple for weeks," while Charlie smiled so brightly every time she saw the two of you together that Vaggie eventually started dragging her away before she could accidentally say something embarrassing.
Neither of you ever made a public announcement.
Neither of you defined whatever had quietly grown between midnight conversations, shared cups of coffee and evenings spent reading side by side before the fireplace.
You didn't need to.
Everyone already knew.
Niffty certainly did.
Every morning she bounced cheerfully into your room with feather duster in hand, humming to herself while tidying the little space that somehow never seemed lived in anymore. Your bed remained perfectly made almost every single day, the pillows untouched, the blankets folded exactly as she'd left them the afternoon before, while the door connecting your bedroom to Alastor's stood slightly ajar, never fully open, never completely closed.
Niffty always peeked through it.
She'd spot the two coffee cups waiting by the fireplace.
Sometimes two books resting on the same table.
Sometimes your cardigan draped carelessly over the back of his armchair.
Sometimes nothing at all.
She'd simply grin to herself, quietly dust around the doorway, then leave it exactly as she'd found it, half open, just enough for two neighboring rooms to remain connected.
The walls that had once terrified you had disappeared.
In their place remained only a single door, one neither of you ever bothered locking again.
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