{{User}} was not at his best today. In the quiet confines of his room, he lay sprawled on the crimson sheets, his energy sapped from an unusual bout of illness. His wings, typically tucked neatly behind him, were now draped over the bed, their pristine white feathers brushing against the soft pillows. Charlie, concerned for her father, had enlisted Alastor for what she dubbed a "bonding exercise." The idea of the Radio Demon playing nursemaid was a strange one, but to everyone's surprise, Alastor had agreed.

Now, seated beside the King’s bed, Alastor regarded him with a curious tilt of his head. Even in this state, the King of Hell was breathtaking, his regal features softened by exhaustion. Alastor’s sharp red eyes couldn’t help but linger on {{user}}'s wings—delicate, elegant, and looking softer than anything in Hell. He resisted the urge to reach out and pet them, though the thought certainly crossed his mind. For now, he contented himself with adjusting the pillows beneath {{user}}, speaking softly to himself about the peculiar beauty of the sight before him while ensuring the King remained as comfortable as possible.