cupid clearly hates me.

[ 14 ]

"Do you think you will be okay for the rest of the night?" Alastor asked, lovingly tucking a bit of (H/C) hair behind your ear.

He was gazing deep into your eyes, his face at a very close proximity to yours. The two of you were standing now, still in the guest bedroom that Alastor had you staying in. You had stopped crying a while ago, but now your eyes were painfully dry and you felt even more tired than before. Yawning, you shook your head slightly, keeping your arms crossed over your chest.

"No?" he questioned.

"No," you clarified, returning his gaze. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

"Of course you can," he said as if it was obvious, a goofy smile showing off his sharp teeth. "How could I ever say no to a beautiful face like yours?"

You giggled sleepily—the slap-happy feeling that comes with staying up late was making you drunk with laughter. "Shut your face hole, I'm not beautiful."

"Yes, you are."

"No," you insisted, pressing your pointer finger against his lips to stop his words from being said. "Shush. Stop lying. I don't like lies."

Alastor grabbed your wrist and pulled it away from his mouth, but not roughly. "I am not lying to you," he said, his voice unusually serious. "You are beautiful."

You snickered, rolling your eyes. "Stop."

"(Y/N)."

You waited.

"You are the most gorgeous person I have ever seen."

You bit the inside of your lip, but stayed silent.

"And it's not just your looks," he added. Both of his hands were on your hips now, pulling you closer ever-so-slightly. "It's your heart. The amount of willpower that you have in there is extraordinary."

Your palms found his chest, resting there lightly and not at all pushing him away. You would never want to push him away.

"Your voice is perfect, too. It is absolutely ravishing, like a chorus of angels singing," he told your eyes. Something desperate had taken over his face. "You don't belong in hell, (Y/N). You don't belong in my arms. You belong up there, with all the other angels." He pointed up at the ceiling with one finger before quickly returning it to the small of your back.

"Shut up. I don't want to be with the angels."

"Why not?"

You swallowed; a rock had formed in your throat. All of the laughter that had just shaken your chest was gone. His words were making you emotional again, even though you didn't want to cry anymore, because at that moment—as his hands continued to coil tighter and tighter around your figure, as your hands dipped lower and lower on his chest, as you stared up at his glistening red eyes—you realized something terrible.

You were falling in love with him.

"Because you wouldn't be there with me," you whispered.

He silenced, his glare not so much as daring to flicker. He was still smiling, but for a second, just a split second, something achingly sad passed over his face. The second was over in a heartbeat, and he was back to radiating his usual joy.

"Let's get you to bed, Cupcake," he said. Before you could insert anything else, he leaned down and scooped you up into his arms bridal-style. You yelped, shocked by the sudden movement, but were quickly overtaken with hysteria as he carried you into the hall, your tired, careless feeling returning.

He nudged his bedroom door agape with the tip of his foot (it hadn't been all the way closed in the first place, so he didn't need to turn the doorknob to get it open). Darkness engulfed your vision as Alastor carried you inside. He somehow found his bed through the lightless room and placed you on top. You kept your eyes open, even though you could see nothing, as he took a blanket from somewhere near your feet and pulled it over you.