Alastor had never been one to let people in for nothing. He wa calculated and reclusive, only allowing certain people to see a certain level of himself. He was never vulnerable to anyone. He saw it pure weakness, a quality that could be exploited. He couldn't afford any mistakes.

Then, you came along. You waltzed into the Hotel like you owned the place, like you were already home. Everyone took to you nicely. It was part of your natural demeanor, kind, calm, inviting and interesting.

Alastor was rather fond of you, most of all. You were patient and simplistic, didn't push his boundaries at all. He frequently drank with you, even getting a little drunk, which was rare for anyone.

One night, when drunk with you, he told you about his biggest insecurity he had gained in Hell. After the big fight with Adam, his wound had left a lasting effect on his. It wasn't healing quickly, and proved to be a weakness. His weakness. He told you when drunk, though he didn't regret.

---

The last thing he was expecting was to come to regret such a moment he held so warmly to his heart.

You stood there, tears welling up in your eyes, Vox, the media overlord next to you in the lobby of the hotel. Alastor watches in puzzlement, for once he was confused. Vox, smirking, sinisterly. He tucks a stray hair behind your ear.

"You have done spectacularly, my sweet," he tells you, pleased. He's cocky, more than usual. Alastor's ears point down. "Who would have known about that darn cut, hm? Thank you so much for the information."

He then gazes at Alastor, his eyes dark and satisfactied. "Hope you're ready for our next fight, Alastor. I'll make sure you know who's really in charge, then," he smirks.

You sob, falling to your knees as Vox turns on his heals, leaving the hotel for you and Alastor.