a song of death.

[ 7 ]

Sometimes, the timespan of one minute can streatch so thin that it feels like it lasts for an hour, or two, or seventeen hundered.

Sometimes, your shoulders aren't strong enough to bear the weight of your thoughts, and they go crashing down into your heart, at break-neck speed, and everything in your body shatters.

Sometimes, you can't do anything about it, either. You just have to sit there and let the feeling wash over you like a tidal wave. Sometimes, you make it out alive, and other times, you drown.

You felt like you were drowning then, as you stared at Nate. There was a guilty, forlorn look in his eyes, but he also looked rewarded, like he had just found the greatest treasure in the world.

After that minute that felt like an hour of unbroken eyecontact between you and your ex-boyfriend, who was now in hell—which meant that he was dead—you swivelled away from the window and ran upstairs.

You didn't wait to hear if the door opened behind you, and if it had, you didn't care to know who it was that had opened it. You simply bolted down the hall and burst into Alastor's bedroom, closing and locking the door behind you before flopping onto the bed and coiling yourself up in a cacoon of blankets.

Nate was here. He was really here.

There were so many questions you wanted to ask him. How did he die? How were your parents? Had he spoken to them after you died? What was your funeral like? Did he know the fate of your murderer, the crazy man who's children you crushed under your car? Why was he with Vaggie? What did he think of Alastor? Why was he in hell?

But, at the same time, you wanted to stay as far away from Nate as possible. Deep down, you just wanted him to disappear and go back up to the real world—for multiple reasons.

First of all, you didn't want him to be dead. He was a good man, and although his family was cruel, he had friends who loved him.

Secondly, you didn't want him to interfere with your new life, as selfish as that was. You had it good with Alastor; you loved him more than you had ever loved Nate. It might have been a mean thing to think, but it was the truth, and, sometimes, the truth was mean.

You didn't want to face the truth now, which was that Nate was alive (well, dead, but... alive in hell) and that he was here, in your life. The hurt, confused look on Alastor's face flashed before your eyes, and suddenly you realized that he must have recognized Nate's name. You had told Alastor about your ex- the first time you went to Victor's, when you were telling him about your real life.

Sighing into the sheets, you clutched at a nearby pillow and hugged it as tight as possible before screaming into its cotton.

☆

☆ Alastor's POV, present tense

It's a new kind of emotion.

A widely known fact about me: I'm not good at portraying my emotions.

A not-so widely known fact, but probably a fact that many assume to be true: I'm not good at identifying the emotions that I do feel, whether it be fear, anger, love, or jealously.

When I saw Vaggie with that strange boy standing outside of my door, the first thing I thought was, This demon wants to kill (Y/N). Then I thought, No, he just wants by business. He needs someone else killed.

It was not long before I learned that neither of those thoughts were true in the slightest. The three of us went outside, and I said, "It's truly lovely to see you here Vaggie," which was obviously a lie, "and I see that you've brought a friend! The name's Alastor Radio, it's a pleasure," I greeted the boy, clutching his fiery hand between both of my own and shaking it. He seemed confused that it hadn't burnt my hands, but it had, I just didn't show it through a clenched smile.