cupid clearly hates me.

[ 23 ]

That night, you were too scared to sleep alone—the fear that Lucifer and his army were coming for you stuck in your brain like peanut butter might stick to the top of your mouth.

Luckily, Alastor was happy to keep you company through the night, but even as you fell asleep with your arms hugged around his body and his around yours, you never stopped fearing that Lucifer himself would burst into the room, grab you by the heels, and drag you away, ready to throw you up to heaven.

☆

"I think I should just sleep in your bedroom every night."

Alastor chuckled, the movement of his chest making the mattress below you shake. "I couldn't agree more! I always sleep better with you in my arms. Which, come to think of it, has only happened twice."

"Well, you know I'm more than willing to change that." You leaned in and pecked a kiss right on top of Alastor's little—and unfathomably adorable—nose.

Although Alastor's bed could comfortably fit seven people, the both of you were only taking up a tiny sliver of space. You were lying on your sides, facing each other, squeezed together so close that not even the holy spirit could find room between you. A thick white quilt covered your intwined bodies (not that there was anything that needed to be censored underneath that blanket), and with your combined body heat and restricted quarters, it was getting quite warm.

It got even warmer when Alastor hummed—like he was considering something—and kissed you right back. But where you had kissed the tip of his nose, he had kissed your lips, and he had done so roughly.

Alastor's arms were wrapped around your waist, and his grip tightened as you deepened the kiss. Your heart fluttered in your chest and rambunctious butterflies erupted in your stomach—which, although it was a cliché phrase, felt more than true. You shoved yourself into the kiss, soaking up the taste of his mouth, breathing in his woody, musky scent, feeling his fluffy hair underneath your groping hands for what quite possibly could be the last time.

And then you leaned back, breaking your make out session.

"Is something wrong?" Alastor asked, smiling, like always.

"No," you said, smiling right back at him. "I just wanted to look at your eyes for a second."

Alastor laughed. "Why, you can look at my eyes all you want, my dear. But I must admit, they aren't all that magnificent."

"Oh stop. They are the perfect amount of magnificent." And they were. Bright and glowing and red—the beautiful, viciously enticing eyes of a true demon, something that you would never be.

His eyes were so gorgeously unique that, sometimes, it felt like you might never look away. You stared at him then and you wondered if you could just get lost in those eyes; if you could literally be absorbed into his sparkling gaze and remain there for all of eternity—

A blood curling caw resounded through the room, breaking you from your Alastor-obsessed thoughts. You gasped.

Alastor didn't seem at all surprised by the bird's cry. He was wearing a thoughtful expression as he sat up. You noticed, so you followed suit.

"Was that... a crow?" you asked quietly, but Alastor didn't answer. Instead, he walked around to your side of the bed, which took quite a few more seconds than it should have—given the fact that his bed was so much bigger than a normal bed—and approached the window, which was open. He placed his hand on the glass, looking out. You followed his gaze outside.

"I don't remember opening this," Alastor said.

He looked over at you.

You shrugged. "I didn't open it."

He turned towards the window once again. "Interesting," he mumbled before sliding it shut.

But even as Alastor started walking back to the bed, you were still looking out of the window. You were right, the cry had come from a crow. The bird was perched atop a brown tree branch—which, in all honesty, was nothing more than a crusty, peeling strip of wood feebly clawing at the air in hope of finding life. The crow's feathers were greasy, gleaming like dark silk underneath the red morning skylight. You stared at it, and it stared back at you, its head cocked sideways as if it was urging you to throw a rock at it or something.

"Señorita? What has your attention?"

You blinked, and the bird was gone. Vanished.

You opened your mouth to answer Alastor's question, then paused. It took you a minute to realize that he had called you 'señorita'.

Turning to face Alastor, who was on the bed again and looking up at the ceiling, you grinned. "I'm sorry, what did you just call me?"

Alastor flashed you a charming smile. "Señorita," he purred.

"Well, that's definitely a new nickname. What does it even mean?"

"It means miss in Spanish."

"Since when do you speak Spanish?"

"Since right now."

You laughed again and playfully smacked his leg. All thoughts of the crow had left your brain by then. Like earlier, your thoughts were consumed by nothing but Alastor. "You can't just suddenly know a language, you goofball."

"Hey. I'm the Radio Demon. You don't know what I'm capable of. Maybe I can suddenly learn an entire language."

You crossed your arms and leaned back on the mattress. "Okay, I'm willing to test that theory."

Alastor's grin widened.

You thought for a moment, then said, "Say, 'I could eat ten-thousand pancakes' in French."

"Je pourrais manger dix mille crêpes."

You bit your lip. "Hmm. Well, how do I even know if that's right?"

Alastor had his hands folded behind his head, with his elbows sticking outwards, but he still shrugged. His body was pressed against the bed, and like his laughter had done earlier, his movements shifted the sheets beneath him and made the mattress curve downward slightly under his muscular shoulders. "I don't know, amica mea. I guess you'll just have to trust me when I say that it was right, all the way through—"

"Wait, wait. Amee-ka may-a? What does that mean?"

"My love, but in Latin." His grin was so bright it surely could have blinded you if you looked at if for too long.

"Ugh! Stop with the languages!" you shouted, but you were grinning too. And then you were laughing, because Alastor suddenly reached over and grabbed you, attacking you with cuddles.

You didn't even spare an extra thought for the bird that had surprised you, nor did you for the mysteriously open window it had squawked through.