cupid clearly hates me.

[ 9 ]

You leaned your head back against the rough tree trunk, staring up—past the multitude of tree branches—at the foggy red sky. It was smooth and featureless, cloudless and tranquil. It filled you with a sense of calm, relaxing you, making the warm tears that were flowing down your face slow.

When Angel was bitching at you back at the bar, you felt your heart melt. Something sad and broken came from it and resided in you like a stone. It burned in your chest, dripping through your veins like hot wax. It was a terrible feeling.

They were just being mean. You were trying to tell yourself that you shouldn't take their comments to heart, but it wasn't just Angel Dust and the guys at the pool table that made you feel like shit. It was that, plus literally everything else that had happened to you. Killing those kids, being murdered, coming to hell... too much.

You deserved this breakdown. A soft sob shook your body, making you shiver against the tree.

"My love?"

It was Alastor.

Although you were very tempted to, you forced yourself not to look at him. Instead, you brought the heel of your hands up to your face and wiped away the salty tears that had formed there.

"Their words didn't mean anything." His voice was getting louder, as if he was coming closer. "They have no idea what they're talking about."

"I know," you mumbled in reply, keeping your gaze adverted. Shifting so you had your thighs pulled up to your chest, you hugged your legs and placed your head in the crevice between your knees.

"Then why are you crying, dear?"

After a minute, you looked up and finally let your eyes follow the sound of his voice. He sounded—and looked—like he was actually confused about why you felt sad.

You just shrugged. It wasn't something you could explain.

Alastor walked over to you, straightened his suit, then sat down in the grass beside you. He remained silent. You did too, looking back at your feet, which were nestling into the grass below you.

Just then, you felt something on your shoulder and shivered. It was Alastor's arm. He was trying to be comforting. You almost giggled at the thought of the constantly-smiling demon trying to console you, then shoved the thought away, and it's place, the nervous feeling of butterflies in your stomach came to be. He was... touching you.

"I can skin them all alive, if you would like me to."

Your head whipped around so you could shoot a look at Alastor, who was much closer to you than you thought. Even though you were giving him a disgusted look, he just smiled. His hand was still resting on your back, still and patient.

"No, Alastor! I do not want you to do that!" you said firmly. "Just stay away from Angel, please."

His voice was quiet, but still contained his usual happy lilt. "Okay, (Y/N)."

His face was really close.

You watched his eyes. They flickered down to your lips, then back up to your eyes—and you noticed.

"If it makes any difference," he started again, keeping his tone gentle, similar to the hand that was now rubbing up and down your back in small ovals, "I don't think you're ugly, and you most certainly are not a wannabe whore."

You almost smiled, but not quite. "How do you know?" you joked feebly.

Alastor took the hand that wasn't on your back and rose it to touch your cheek, which was still wet from crying. He dragged his thumb gently under your eye, wiping at your tears.