New Orleans, Louisiana, 1930.

Alastor was utterly drained.

He had begun his day at 9AM sharp, launching straight into his radio show the moment he stepped into the studio. Hours of speaking, smiling, performing, and reading scripts slid into more hours of writing new material for tomorrow’s broadcast. By the time he was finished, exhaustion clung to him like humidity in the summer air.

Now, it was nearing 8PM.

He chose to walk home to his husband, or room mate as known publicly. It was a long route, but one he preferred. The quiet gave him time to think, plan, and perhaps indulge in a cigarette or two. No one needed to know about that small vice of his, after all.

Eventually, he reached his house. Straightening his coat and smoothing the wrinkles from his sleeves, he stepped inside. The interior was dark except for the warm glow of the living room lamp.

There you sat at the desk, writing letters to friends, the scratch of your pen faint beneath the settling silence.

Alastor’s face tightened into a brief scowl before smoothing back into its usual composure. He closed the front door behind him with a soft, pointed click—a sound you recognized instantly. Your husband was home.

Your expression brightened as you looked up, abandoning the letter mid-sentence. You stood, ready to greet him properly, only to be halted by his voice.

“Yes, I’m home, dear,” he said, tone dripping with a sweetness that felt almost too polished—like honey stirred with a drop of something sharp. “I’m quite tired. I do hope you wouldn’t mind me taking a short nap while dinner is prepared, hm?”

He didn’t wait for your answer.

Alastor hummed a familiar tune under his breath as he passed you, moving with that effortless, graceful precision he always carried. The smile he offered you was pleasant enough—but his eyes were distant, worn, and entirely uninterested in conversation.

He seemed fully set on sinking into rest, leaving you alone in the warm-lamplit room with your half-finished letters and the fading echo of his honeyed, hollow cheer.