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Burnt wood. Fake cinammon. Laundry detergent.

His blankets smelled like him, that was for damn sure.

You had been rolling around in Alastor's bed, thinking about nothing but the conversation you and him had just finished, for about ten minutes. You couldn't stop thinking about it to save your life.

He had tried to explain himself. He had told you about his past... which was something you never thought he would do, especially considering the fact that he was so defensive about his mom when you asked him about her that one time at dinner.

You sighed and stared up at the ceiling. If you blinked too much, or even just took too deep of a breath, you knew you would burst into tears. That's how on-edge you felt.

Before you could even think about running off to give Alastor a proper apology, you had to script out everything that you were going to say. It would help you feel less... nervous.

So you decided to take a hot shower. In Alastor's bathroom.

That way, you would have some extra time to think.

And you could smell his shampoo. In a non-creepy way.

Alastor's POV, present tense

It's actually a good thing that she's back in hell.

I always had a feeling that she was pure of heart; ever since the first day I met her, I knew it was true. Then there was Rosie, Adam and Eve, Lucifer and Lilith to reinforce my suspiscions.

But maybe I was wrong.

Maybe we all were wrong about her.

Maybe people like her can change. Maybe good people can become bad, and bad people can become good.

Maybe there is no defining line between good and bad. It's possible that we're all just... people.

Who really knows?

I glance down at the chess pieces sitting before me, motionless as ever. They all look so small and feeble, and I suppose they are, given the fact that they're inanimate.

One flick of my finger and they would all go tumbling, no matter what color they are. Light or dark, one nudge and any one of those pieces could go clattering to the floor.

No matter what side they're on, they always fall at some point.

I let my eyes unfocus as I start to zone out, whic is something that I don't do very often because I like to stay alert of my surroundings. Suddenly, my memory begins to backtrack like a broken record, and I'm reliving the day when I recieved Charlie's note.

It was the day I had first taken (Y/N) to my house. Charlie had left a little envelope containing the note and a rose on my front porch.

The note has been hanging on the billboard in my office to this day.

Sometimes, I wonder if (Y/N) saw it when she snuck in there.

'𐤋𐤄𐤕𐤇𐤄𐤓𐤂𐤏'

"Let her go."

I tried to.

Second person POV, past tense

"It's okay."

You wrapped the towel tighter around your dripping-wet figure, staring into the mirror that was foggy with steam. Your eyes looked strangely more purple than usual, shinning in the moist air with vivaciously unnatural pigment.

Your teeth looked sharper than ever, too. You didn't know how you felt about that.

"It's okay," you whispered again.

And it was okay. It was going to be okay, because you knew exactly what you were going to say to him and how you were going to say it.

The only problem left was... you had no idea how he was going to react.

You quickly got dressed, then wrapped a fresh towel up in your hair, squeezed, and took it back off.

Once you were all dry and freshened up, the steam had already mostly dripped off of the mirror. Your eyes found themselves in the reflextion again, a weary sigh slipping past your lips.

Rubbing your hands together nervously, you shut your eyes tight and told yourself over and over to keep it together and hold in the emotions. It was going to be fine. You were going to apologize and make things right.

Things would go back to normal.

Or, at least, as normal as they could be.

He was sitting at the chess table when you found him.

His eyes were transfixed on the chess figures, each one sitting in their assigned seats like little obediant children. One of his fingers rested on the board, and when you came into the living room, he gently tapped on it twice.

It was extremely unnerving. The second you saw the way his eyes were lidded, and his smile was lopsided—yet still menacing, somehow—you felt your blood run cold.

Had you really offended him?

You were scared to face the answer.

"Mi amore." He looked up at you. Three words: cheshire fucking cat. "Would you care to join me for a game of chess?"

You blinked.

The whole script was layed out in your head, so why couldn't you speak? Why did you find yourself paralized under the harsh, red glare of Alastor's eyes? Why was your heart being sliced by a searing-hot knife of disarray?

Just then, you realized how silent the room had grown. Alastor was staring at you expectantly, one of his eyebrows lilted upwards.

His left eye was still damaged from the monocle incident.

"Yeah, I'll play," you complied.

You sat down on the other side of the table, which just so happened to be the white side. You stared at the pieces for a moment, then glanced up at Alastor, who was smiling kindly.

"White goes first," he reminded you.

You pressed your lips together and moved a pawn forward one space.

"Alastor..." you began, folding your thumbs in your lap. "I need to apologize to you."

He blinked down at his pawns. Two of his fingers were slowly twirling one of them around as he thought for a moment. "That would be... appreciated."

He set the pawn down, then leaned back in his seat and looked you in the eyes.

"I shouldn't have been so rude earlier." You rested your chin on one of your palms, keeping your elbow on the edge of the table to hold it up. You used your other hand to move another pawn forward. "What you did wasn't right, but I should have forgiven you rather than being a pissy bitch. I care about you, and..."

You trailed off, the words that you had scripted in the shower failing to make it past your lips. You could still smell the remains of Alastor's bed sheets in your nose, and the wiff of shampoo you got. For some reason, your brain wanted to focus on those smells rather than the conversation that was happening right before you.

"I understand, dear. I forgive you, but I hope you know that it was heartbreaking to hear you so angry at me," he said. "And, just so you know, I didn't mean what I said."

"What did you say?"

"That it would have been better if you stayed up there." He smiled. "I didn't mean it. Hah, I don't know how I would have even managed without you."

You felt yourself smiling, a bit of heat rushing to your cheeks, despite the underlying pain in his tone.

This was hurting him, too.

"So... you really did it to try and save me?"

Alastor nodded before reaching down to move another pawn.

"And... you didn't think get the idea to do so until Lilith pretended to be you?"

Another nod.

"Huh."

"What are you thinking?"

You rose your eyebrows, taking a moment to digest his question.

What were you thinking about?

"Everything," you told him. Your voice was small—just like you were, in the grand scheme of things. "Nothing. I don't know."

Alastor didn't reply, not for a long time. For several minutes after the conversation had ended, the two of you just focused on your chess game. Every once in a while, you would look outside, and observe the way the sky seemed to move, even though it was absolutely still. At one point, you caught Alastor staring at you, but rather than laughing it off like you normally would, you just looked away.

Eventually, Alastor won the game.

"Damn," you breathed, raking your fingers through the roots of your hair. "You win. Again."

"What can I say? I'm a phenominal thinker."

"I would beg to differ."

Alastor chuckled. "Ahh, you're too much for me, Cupcake. Come, let's make some hot chocolate. I think it will help both of us relax and, hopefully... warm up our hearts."

You liked the sound of that.

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