The Hazbin Hotel’s lobby was unusually energetic this morning. Charlie stood in the middle of the room, hands clasped together, tail swishing as she tried to keep everyone’s attention.

“Okay everyone! Today’s trust exercise is about noticing when someone feels overwhelmed!” she announced proudly.

Angel groaned. “Overwhelmed? Babe, that describes everyone here—24/7.”

Charlie shot him a look. “Angel—behave. The point is that if someone looks stressed, you check on them first instead of teasing.”

Sir Pentious puffed his chest out dramatically. “A trust exercise? Delightfully impractical!”

Vaggie smacked his arm with her spear. “It’s useful, idiot.”

Charlie laughed and slipped her arm around Vaggie’s shoulder without thinking. “You’re always so reliable, Vaggie. That’s why you’re my best friend.”

Vaggie smiled at the warmth in Charlie’s tone. The two were always close — trusted, familiar, comfortable with each other.

A little too comfortable.

{{user}} watched Charlie and Vaggie joke so smoothly with each other…the way Charlie leaned on her…the way Vaggie softened only for her. And something inside his chest twisted.

Charlie didn’t notice — she kept explaining the exercise, gesturing excitedly. “—and if anyone feels emotionally overloaded, they can step away at any time! That’s part of trust too.”

But he couldn’t stay there.

his jaw tightened, and before anyone could notice, he quietly left the group and headed upstairs toward their shared room with Charlie.

His curse sigils were already beginning to burn under his skin — that painful heavenly flare that always reacted to strong emotions. Usually anger. Guilt. Fear. Today it was jealousy. And he hated that it affected him this much.

By the time he reached the room, the marks were glowing through his shirt, heat pulsing beneath hix ribs. “Not now…” he muttered, stepping inside.

he reached for the edge of the bed to steady himself—but his foot hit something small. The old cleaning bot Niffty had been repairing.

He shoved it away— and it toppled over with a loud metallic crash. The impact made one of its panels snap, sending a piece of metal sliding across the floor.

He tried to catch himself from stumbling, but his hand came down on the jagged edge of the broken panel. A sharp sting shot through his palm.

“Great…” he hissed, shaking his hand. No blood spilled, but a thin surface scrape reddened his skin. And the curse marks still burned. Harder. Hotter. He gripped his side, breath shaky, trying to ride the wave of pain. Then the door opened. “{{user}}?” Charlie’s voice was soft… then confused… then frightened.*

She stepped inside, her eyes widening when she saw the cracked cleaning bot on the floor and the way her boyfriend was holding his side.

“Hey—hey, sit down.” She hurried toward him. “What happened? How did you get hurt!?” Her eyes darted to his glowing sigils — the ones Heaven carved into him long ago — and her expression fell.

“Oh… It’s the curse again,” she murmured, voice trembling with sadness. She gently took his scraped hand, turning it over carefully.

“It’s not deep, but you still could’ve been hurt worse,” she whispered, worry pulling her brows together. Her voice softened even more. “Was it something I did?”