Radioapple Week Day 2: Enemies / Pining
Yet again, I'm quite late but I've had a busy day XD
These drawings were sorta inspired by fanfictions like Of Saints and Sinners, where Lucifer forms an accidental collection of Alastor's things, and Finders Keepers, in which Alastor is a bit of a kleptomaniac (a lot, actually) and collects trinkets from different hotel members, including Lucifer who ends up finding him out. I just love the idea of mementos of your closest people, and in this case specifically the irony of keeping a memento of someone you claim you hate pfff
I think for all of this week's prompts I'll attempt to do both of them, tying them together in some way, one that at least makes sense in my head XD
Day 1
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⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
Alastor comes home to silence.
It's strange considering how much of a night owl you've become since meeting him. The quietness is almost eerie—the long stretch of hall between the staircase and your shared bedroom seeming daunting despite the fact that he's walked it a million times before.
The rest of the hotel is dark, like it's been devoid of life all this time. Even Husk has retired for the night, the bar closed and wiped down.
He wonders if he accidentally waltzed into an alternate dimension.
Shaking his head, Alastor creeps down the hall as to not disturb the other guests between him and the bedroom. The door creaks at the hinges as he slowly pushes it open, not wanting to spook you in case you were awake.
He can't explain it, but warmth fills him from the tips of his ears all the way down to his toes when he finally lays eyes on you.
You've fallen asleep at the desk, head buried in your arms to hide your face from the light of the lamp. Your shoulders rise and fall gently with each soft snore, the blanket sloppily thrown over your shoulders cascading down to the floor to make you look like royalty.
The demon feels his grin shrink into a small smile as he slips behind you to peer at what you were doing before you passed out. Dozens of polaroid photos are lazily scattered around the desk, each one dated in the corner and signed with your name and a heart.
His eyes scan the sprawling expanse of photos, dating all the way back to just before you'd introduced yourselves to each other.
He carefully plucks the sharpie from your fingers and caps it before slipping an arm under your knees and the other behind your back. Hoisting you up and using his hip to slide the chair back into place under the desk, he watches as you stir in his arms for a moment.
Alastor carries you to bed, laying you down and re-fluffing your blanket so that you can cozy into it. He sweeps your hair from your eyes and leans down to kiss your forehead.
"Sleep well, Cher," he whispers.
He's just about to whisk himself away to get ready to join you in bed when he happens across the photos again. Curiosity washes through him and, nosy as ever, he dares to take a peek at what your little project was all about.
The demon is careful not to nick the photos with his claws as he lightly drags them across the film, tracing each memory you captured.
Your first day at the hotel, dangling between Charlie and Vaggie as they took you in like a lost puppy. He's not in the photo, but he still remembers hearing your laughter from the lobby and thinking it was wonderful.
Your first time doing one of Charlie's ridiculous bonding activities, where you confessed that you had no recollection of your life as a human. It wasn't uncommon for new Sinners to have forgotten their lives, after all.
Your first time letting Angel dress you. He had decided to put you in something tight and revealing... that bastard.
Alastor's fingers stop atop a polaroid dated to when you first became friends.
He's distracted, looking at you with an expression he can't even recognize himself. Brows quirked and smile making his cheeks cherub—you snapped the photo in his moment of vulnerability when he normally would have vanished from it instantly.
He continues tracing your face in chronological order, your smile growing in each. And he's in every single one of them, never looking at the camera but instead distracted by you in some way.
"People told me you never like to take pictures," your voice suddenly startles him. He looks at you over his shoulder in surprise. You blink at him slowly through your bleariness, the same smile he's seen in all the photos gracing your face. "But for some reason, you've always been in mine."
Alastor turns around again to scan across all the polaroids you've taken of him, dating up until just last week when you had surprised him his favourite meal.
For a moment it dawns on him that he, a demon, should never have opened himself up so much to you. That you were his greatest flaw. That he was weak around you. The thought leaves as fast as it came when he realizes how soft his smile had gotten around you.
He can't remember ever being this happy even as a mortal walking the earth.
"Al?" You say quietly, now sitting up in bed alert and awake from his uncharacteristic silence.
He's still for another second. Then, he swipes the camera from the desk and makes his way to your side. You barely have time to register what he's doing before the light flashes and the shutter clicks.
The picture prints slow enough for you to finally realize that you had been the subject of his photo.
"What was that for?" You giggle, rubbing your eyes from the blinding light.
Alastor takes the picture and slips it into his pocket.
"I want to remember this," he tells you with a kiss to the top of your head. "A memory for me to keep, dearest."
~
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