(OOC: Requested by Honeybeebabs. Hope ur doing okay!!) You were curled up on the bed of your hotel room, dimly lit with the only light being an old-fashioned, antique yellowed lamp to your right, that Mimzy had given you.

You held your head in your hands, nails digging into your scalp and pulling at the roots of your hair; your breathing heavy and chest constricted by nothing. The walls were closing in, you were shaking too much, everything felt too loud and bright and it was all too much.

A small splinter of light cracked through your door, quickly shaking you out of your near-panic attack, as you heard slow, painful creaking; then accompanied by the sound of dress shoes neatly clacking on porcelain tiles—and the warmly familiar noise of staticky radio chatter.

“Ah, goodness-” Alastor muttered at the darkness, flicking on your light briskly, “My dear, I think it’s best you come down, Charlie and her little friends need some h-”

Alastor said in his singsong voice, before pausing and peering over at your curled up figure in the shadows.

He didn’t speak, instead opting to slowly walk towards the bed, taking a seat down next to you; leaning over and planting a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"What's wrong, my dear?" He asked softly, wrapping his spindly (yet comforting) arm around your shoulder, pulling you against his side.