You would say that the quietness in the air was unusual—and it was, considering that there was usually an ambient bustling noise emitting from the city that wafted over the woods like the pungent smell of freshly cooked food—but you were steadily adapting to the silence that was always with you when you sat in Alastor's house, or when you walked through the thicket of trees with him. It was becoming familiar, and nearly comforting, to hear absolutely nothing while standing by his side.

At the moment, neither of you were making conversation. You savored the silence, drinking it up like it was an icy glass of water at two o'clock in the morning. Alastor led you along a non-existent path through the woods, his left hand entwined with yours in a hold that stood as a symbol of unconditional positive regard.

When you looked up at him—and he back at you—you consciously noticed that he was grinning.

"Hey, Alastor?"

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"Why are you always smiling?"

"Because you're never fully dressed without a smile." His grin widened, but something else about his expression changed that made you think deeper about his response. It was his eyes; they had thinned a bit, as if he was trying to remember something.

"Right, but what made you realize that?" you questioned further. "Like, where along your timeline did you start constantly smiling?"

Alastor sighed. You thought that maybe he had predicted the arrival of this specific conversation. "I smile because of my mom," he confessed, his eyes taking on a shimmer similar to one that could be found in a guilty puppy's pleading gaze.

"Why her?"

"She told me that you're never fully dressed without a smile." He paused. "Before she died, of course."

You remembered how Alastor had dodged the topic of his mother last time it was brought up in conversation. The moment was clear to you, a crystalized memory frozen in your mind. The two of you had been sitting at his dinner table, and his voice had softened and his eyes had sparkled, and he had said, "That is another story for another time, my dear."

Maybe now would be the time he finally told you that story.

"What happened to her?" You squeezed his hand tighter, securing your grip on him as if he could run away at any moment, like a frightened deer in the middle of a deep forest.

"She died when I was quite young. Young enough to not fully understand, but old enough to have the mental scar of lost love remain on my heart for years to come." He stared ahead at the trees before him. "She was ruthlessly murdered by an old-friend-turned-psychopath."

"Oh no."

"Yes, that's how it went. Not only was she murdered, but she was kidnapped and tortured before her miserable life was finally put to an end."

His story was steadily turning more and more grave, and at first, you didn't quite know how to react. You cringed and looked down at the forest floor, which appeared darker than it had only moments ago. "Shit, Alastor, I'm sorry—"

"Shall we go visit Charlie and her chipper group of friends at the Hazbin Hotel? I think that would be nice."

You were stuck for a moment, the remaining half of your sentence still sitting in the back of your throat like a held breath.

You swallowed the words down, knowing full well that Alastor didn't need nor want to hear your pity. "Sure, let's do that."

☆

"Alastor! (Y/N)! It's so nice to see you both again!"

You were busy examining a framed photo of Charlie and the rest of the astoundingly attractive Magne family when Charlie's bouncy voice rang through the lobby and shook you out of your observations. She was wearing a red suit jacket, complete with black, high waisted pants and a matching bow tie, her luscious blonde hair flowing as she practically skipped up to the two of you.

"Hm, did either of you see Vaggie when you were coming in? I could have sworn that I told her to go turn on the television," Charlie muttered with a thoughtful expression.

You and Alastor exchanged a glance. Neither of you had seen her.

You remembered who she was. She was the demon with the curvy nose, stark white hair, and eccentric fashion sense. She was the one who told you to stay away from Alastor. She was the one who told you that he was known as the Radio Demon, because of his power and his past.

Charlie shrugged, wordlessly saying 'oh well', then grabbed a small grey object that looked like a remote off of the receptionist desk in the center of the room. A flatscreened TV hanging on one of the walls flickered to life in response to her hasty press of a button on the previously mentioned remote. Some news show was on, and although you didn't bother to watch it long enough to see what the two figures behind the screen were talking about, Alastor seemed all too keen to watch. "Ooh, the picture show! How lovely of you to have a television in your lobby. I have never been more proud, my Charlie dear." Alastor grinned in Charlie's direction, then turned away to watch the... picture show.

Charlie shook her head and giggled, and you watched her the whole time. When she turned to face you, you realized—possibly not for the first time—just how peachy pink her cheeks were.

Charlie leaned closer to you. "Do you love him?" she whispered.

That caught you by surprise. Not only did her words make you freeze, but so did the knowing look in her yellow-hued eyes.

"What? I... no. Well, I mean, maybe? I don't really know."

Charlie nodded (somehow it was also done so knowingly).

"How do you like hell so far?"

You shrugged and looked down at your shoes. "It's different. From my old life, I mean."

"That's what most people say when they first get down here. You'll get used to it, though."

"What about you?" You looked up at Charlie again. "How do you like hell?"

"Honestly?" Charlie rolled her eyes. "I hate it. But, I've never had a life outside of hell because, you know, I was born down here, so I really can't compare my life to anything else. From my perspective, life just sucks, in general. The only life I've ever known was in hell."

"Oh. Well, uh, why do you hate it so much?"

Charlie looked you dead in the eyes as she spoke. "The exterminations. The drugs. The evil."

"Oh."

As if directed to on a cue, Alastor spoke up. "My love, you might want to see what they are talking about on the picture show." His voice was so quiet that you barely heard him over the TV, but it was his ominous undertone that caught your attention.

Alastor was staring up at the television. It still displayed the news show—which was actually quite similar to FOX news—with a blonde, long-necked woman sitting in front of a desk. Her hands were folded over the surface, and her shoulders were pulled back, not only shoving her boobs out of her tight red shirt, but also giving her an air of condescending intelligence. Seeing her wide white smile pull her sticky, gloss-covered lips backwards, and her pale red eyes staring right into the camera as if she was trying to make eye contact with every single viewer out there, sent a shiver down your spine.

Seated beside the woman was a similarly creepy man, wearing a grey gas mask and a lighter grey suit. A tuff of blonde hair fell over his forehead in a soft heap, perfectly combed as all news anchor's hair should be. You couldn't see his expression from behind the mask, and you weren't sure that you wanted to.

The woman began talking with heavily supercilious intonation, her sliced eyebrows rising and falling with each word. "...after that. Turf wars, Purebloods and national genocides aside, we are all aware of the annual exterminations that are ripping our society apart. This year's mass killing is coming in less than one week!"

"That's right folks!" the man said. "The angels are coming, so grab your weapons and prepare for bloodshed... unless you want to sit inside and stay safe like a little bitch!"

The woman narrowed her eyes at the camera. "The only little bitch here is you, Tom," she drawled. "In other news, Lucifer is continuing his search for Purebloods. If you live under a fucking rock and don't know what a Pureblood is, they are the little rats who pretend to be demons, but actually belong in heaven! If I had to say anything about the matter, I'd let all of the Purebloods watching this know that it is their fault that overpopulation is such an issue down here. Lucifer will find you, and he will end you!"

"Okay, well, that's all for today folks!" The man wearing the gas mask, which you now identified as Tom, continued. "Next time, we'll be discussing the use of sex dungeons and how they are positively affecting the lives of hell's citizens. Until next time, you have been watching 666 news."

The screen went black. Charlie was holding the remote.