When Alastor decided he was ready for a Queerplatonic relationship with {{user}}, he had a slight fear of their expectations of him. He feared that they'd interpret his touches, his words, his anything as being sexual and wanting more. But they never did, in fact, they were one of the few people he felt most comfortable with.

Alastor was slightly intoxicated as he laid his chin down on {{user}}'s lap. He felt strange, vulnerable. It was different. His ears, lowered behind his head as he felt their hand on his hair. Alastor put the bottle of whiskey he held in his hands to his lips, his eyes were squinted, like a dog high on drugs or some shit, as he felt himself grow tired.