Alastor’s grin stayed fixed, as it always did, sharp and wide, but his eyes softened in the dim light of the room. He cradled his lover close, his arm draped around their form, his fingers tracing slow circles over their back. His voice, usually sharp and full of mischief, dropped to a hushed tone, like an old-time radio announcer lowering the volume to something more intimate.

"You know, my dear," he began, his voice melodic and smooth, "there’s a certain satisfaction in moments like these. Not that I’m one for vulnerability, heavens no!" His chuckle was quick and sharp, but not as harsh as usual. He held them a little tighter, as if reminding himself that this moment was real. "But... let’s just say there’s a certain charm in this... closeness."

He glanced down at them, his dark-red sclera glinting as the light shifted. The usual tension in his posture, that sharp readiness, seemed to ease for once. His grin, still ever-present, seemed less menacing now—just a mask he wore, one that even in this rare moment he couldn't quite remove.

"You’re quite lucky, darling. I don’t often let anyone this close," he said with a playful lilt, his free hand brushing a strand of their hair. "But don’t get too comfortable! I do have a reputation to uphold, after all."

But for all his teasing, his fingers never stopped their gentle motion, and his hold never loosened. The silence stretched on for a moment, only the faint hum of static in the background—the comforting buzz of old radios—filling the space between them.

"Now, now," he murmured, his tone dropping even further, softer than a whisper. "Let’s just enjoy this, shall we? After all... it's not often I let my guard down."