Hazbin Hotel Season 3

Chapter 6: Fire and Ice

Alastor held his hands behind his back as he walked.

To any average onlooker, his pose(standing straight, his arms folded behind him, a smile on his face) was completely normal, but to Alastor, it was nothing short of perfection.

True, he didn't have his cane, but with his hands behind him, not many people knew what was missing. Keeping his hands on his back encouraged him to stand as straight as possible, so that his posture matched his beaming face. It didn't matter that it was now two in the morning. Alastor would be perfect. Not for the sake of anyone watching him. For his own sake.

A good actor must not break character, even off stage.

He made a right turn, letting his feet guide him. It was an odd feeling. He didn't usually make spontaneous decisions. He walked with a purpose. Talked with a purpose. On occasion, he would kill with a purpose. Emotions had no say in the matter.

But on this particular night, he found himself walking a familiar path. His footsteps became rhythmic and his breaths became quicker as memories flooded his mind.

Walking. Talking. Not killing. Not yet. Two sets of footsteps. Our hands are behind our backs. We smile. Not because we're forced to. Not for anyone else's sake. We smile for ourselves. For the things the two of us know that no one else could ever understand.

Alastor's grin slipped from his face, just a little bit. It hurt for him for force it back in place, but he did it anyway. Sometimes things hurt.

Red and blue.

Blue and red.

Fire and ice.

Passion and fear.

He slowed down. He was getting closer to the place he was thinking of. The place he dreaded, but didn't fear. The place that he had tried to keep away from, but tonight he was attracted to it with an intensity that overpowered his common sense.

Alastor came to a halt. He looked up slowly. The sign was there, as he remembered it all those years ago. It read Rêve in soft pink letters. French for "to dream".

How fitting.

He walked inside. He stepped lightly, like he was treading on broken glass. The café was illuminated by the pale reddish sky. Alastor took a breath and smelled the rich, succulent French pastries. It reminded him of his mother.

Looking at the register, Alastor noticed there were no employees. Understandable, because it was two in the morning, but if no one was there, why was the door unlocked?

The answer was sitting at a booth on the other side of the café. He almost hadn't noticed the bluish light coming from the corner. Vox.

The thing that drove Alastor crazy about human souls was that they were never logical. It made no sense for Vox to be here. He was supposedly mourning his lover, yet he was sitting in a French café, the same café that he and Alastor had spent years visiting together? It was crazy.

But then again, why am I here?

Fuck it.

Alastor sat in the seat across from Vox, keeping his arms behind him. The TV demon startled, almost dropping his phone. Looking up, he rolled his eyes. "Oh. It's you."

"The feeling is mutual." Alastor said lightly as Vox snorted.

On any other occasion, they would've tried to kill each other. Not this time. Alastor was too exhausted. Maybe Vox was too.