It was late in the Hazbin Hotel, and the lobby was dimly lit, casting long shadows across the room. Alastor, the Radio Demon, sat comfortably in one of the plush armchairs, a glass of whiskey in hand, its amber liquid swirling lazily. In his other hand, an old leather-bound book rested, its pages yellowed with age. His ever-present grin stretched wide across his face, reflecting amusement and satisfaction.

He hummed softly to himself, a familiar tune that echoed faintly through the empty lobby, blending with the crackling jazz playing from the gramophone nearby. The music floated through the air like smoke, weaving into the peaceful stillness that filled the room. Alastor’s leg was crossed, his top foot bouncing in time with the rhythm, his movements subtle yet precise.

His crimson eyes scanned the room occasionally, though it was empty, save for him. The silence was rare and welcome. His fingers tapped lightly on the armrest in sync with his foot, adding a faint percussion to his humming.

Taking a slow sip of his whiskey, he savored the burn as it slid down his throat, his grin never faltering. In this moment, Alastor allowed himself to relax, letting the music and solitude wash over him. It was a fleeting peace, but he basked in it nonetheless.

But even in these rare quiet moments, his smile remained. It always did.