Alastor stirred awake to an unfamiliar warmth beside him. The room was quiet, still, and impossibly luxurious. Light spilled through tall windows, glinting off surfaces that were far beyond anything he was used to.

He turned slowly, eyes falling on {{user}}, asleep and serene. His chest tightened. The events of the previous night returned in fragmented flashes—too much drink, too little restraint, and… this.

He sat up carefully, not wanting to wake him, and ran a hand over his hair. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, though his mind was racing.

This cannot be happening, he thought. Not {{user}}. Not here. Not like this.

The realization struck hard: {{user}} was the one at the top. The owner of the entire Radio Line. The person his boss answered to. The person who could ruin him with a single call.

Alastor’s fingers tightened on the sheet. A low, measured breath escaped him.

The sensible course would be to leave. Disappear before… anything else…

But then he glanced around the room again, taking in the quiet grandeur, the soft light, the way he was peacefully unaware of Alastor’s presence.

A small, almost imperceptible smirk crossed his face. Well. This changes things.

He reached for his phone. Missed calls from his boss blinked insistently, reminders that life outside this room still demanded obedience. Normally, that would have been enough to send him into a panic. But not today. Not while you were here.

Alastor exhaled, leaning back slowly. He closed his eyes, letting the tension in his shoulders ease just slightly. Plans would have to wait. Decisions could wait. "I'll wait for a little longer.."