Chapter Text
He had never noticed it before, but now that it had been mentioned, he couldn’t stop noticing it. Every time someone leaned too close, or went to bump you, you leaned away, or shrunk in on yourself. It was a visual reaction that lit up his brain; something close to kinship. You were much like him, in the way you cringed at the slightest, unprovoked touch. Unlike himself, however, you never seemed to initiate it, either.
Alastor could see why someone like you wouldn’t bother. You didn’t have the power to make people back off if you made it seem like you were okay with casual touches. Better to avoid them altogether!
Alastor was confused, however, when you seemed to suddenly grow more… tactile with the others. It had been just before dinner, Alastor had Niffty setting the table, and everyone was slowly gathering near the dining room.
“Gosh, how do you even do that, Angel?” You exclaimed. Your face was colored in your bafflement and disgust, even as you let a laugh out. “That’s just, overkill!”
“Just say that you’re jealous, toots. We both know ya’ wouldn’t be able ta’ handle that,” Angel said, leaning his large frame down to wiggle his eyebrows in your face.
You were laughing again. The sound always caught Alastor’s attention. Even down in Hell, you managed to have a very happy sounding laugh. It felt strange and out of place, but not bad, per se. (Alastor did not like to linger on the ‘ why's’ of such thoughts. There was no point. The one time he had, it had spiraled out of control. Not again).
When Alastor turned to look, he always did, not that he would admit it, your hands were on Angel's face, pushing him back with a grin.
“Keep yourself away from me, you weirdo! You gotta have, like, a snake jaw to do that. I want nothing to do with it!” Your hands were still on Angel. Why? You didn’t like touch. Why were you doing it now?
That moment plagued him for a few days, especially as he noticed you touching Angel more. Were you and the effeminate fellow an item? He thought for sure that Angel’s tastes swung the other direction. His theory was smashed to smithereens when he saw you and Husker later on.
You were helping Husker clean smashed glass from the ground, listening to the cat-demon talk. It was often Husker listening to others, so the sight cough Alastor’s attention. He lingered off to the side, and watched, as he was wont to do.
Something the demon said made your eyebrows furrow, and sympathy flit across your face. Alastor watched your lips move, as if you were speaking softly. Then your arm was across Husker’s shoulder, a soft squeeze pulling him against you, for only a moment.
The moment was said and done in mere seconds, but it idled in Alastor’s memory. He could not fathom why things had changed. It only got worse as he realized you were doing it with near everyone in the hotel. Charlie got soft shoulder pats, and light hugs. Vaggie received fist-bumps, (what a strange gesture), and some small hugs. Angel got hip checked and often pulled into impromptu wrestling matches, (he could always hear Angel complain about them, but he never bothered to try and stop you. Maybe the spider didn’t hate it?) Sir Pentious, the cowardly snake, was allowed to pick you up and move you sometimes. Niffty got head pats, and she got picked up by you, sometimes. Husker received the least amount of physical contact, but there were moments where the cat’s tail would brush up against you, or you would squeeze his hand.
Over the course of a few weeks, Alastor couldn’t fathom why everyone else in the hotel was receiving these tender touches from you. He couldn’t tell what the change was. You were still your chipper self, and you helped out as normal. Nothing had changed except the way you interacted with the others. And then it hit him. Others. Your interactions with him hadn’t changed in the slightest.
Your smiles were always soft, and you still laughed at his jokes. You still got spooked when he snuck up on you, and you still shied away when his anger made his form change. He couldn’t spot a single difference! It was after a particularly long day of dealing with Vox, that things hit a tipping point.
Alastor had just gotten back to the hotel, having torn apart goons sent to bother him. Vox was always pulling stupid things like that, but it was more annoying when his technique was suddenly being ridiculed on every screen in Hell! He had managed to send a nasty message to Vox at the end of it all, but it remained a dampener on his day. And then he had spotted you, milling about in the lobby.
“Good afternoon!” He had practically yelled, forcing exuberance into his voice. “How are you this fine afternoon, dear?”
You whipped around, a smile already on your face. “Hi, Alastor! I’m doing okay.” Then a wince washed over your expression. “Saw that stuff on TV, earlier. Hope you got back at him, for it.”
Ah, of course you would mention it. Always worried about how others feel. (He would tell himself that it meant nothing. Because it did. Mean nothing, that is).
“Of course I did, my dear! The belligerent fool will remember today as a failure, for sure!” He had finally made it over towards you, and had moved to pull you against his side, when you ducked under his arms, stepping a few feet back.
But you just kept talking to him, like you hadn't moved! The static of his power surging made your words blur in his mind. He couldn’t hear a single word as his mind raced. How dare you? Was he not good enough? Why did each of the others get to touch you now, but he was a problem?
It was the frown on your face that pulled him back down. “Are you okay,” you asked, your face full of concern for him. It didn’t help.
When Alastor had finally waived away your worries, he had shadow-stepped to his room. He needed to think.