The smile your oldest friend sported was an infectious one, greeting you at the door with a broad grin, the dark wood of his oaken door akin to his brown hair, styled meticulously and dyed more times than you knew of. You weren’t entirely certain why Alastor of all folk would invite you over for dinner, in fact, you weren’t even sure why you were considered for such a thing in the first place!

Despite being your friend, you hadn’t spoken in a number of years, only hearing the echos of past conversation relayed through his charming voice, static cling coming through the radio that sat idly upon your coffee desk, starting up like a fine engine early in the morning — his lilting tone being the thing that woke you before work, and the last thing you heard before your hour of rest.

He clasped your hand, leather rubbing against soft, unblemished skin. He had a firm handshake, the sort of rugged clasp you’d only expect from a father, in nature. “{{user}}! I’m so glad you decided to come,” cheery, bright, he was all the things you’d come to expect of him. His whimsy was palpable, the undertone of mystery adding to his natural charm.

Hand still clasped in yours, the other joined him on this venture, coming to rest on the small of your back, coaxing you inside his home with such vigor you would’ve thought he’d been thinking of you since before this arrangement. The idea was plausible, but somewhat curious, considering he didn’t seem to care for anyone other than himself.

“Come on in, don’t be a stranger, I made your favorite you know,” a chuckle, brown hues crinkling at the corners, expressing slight amusement. “That is, if you eat the same stuff you used to!”