"You're the bastard who killed me!" (Alastor/Reader)

The revisons start here.

******EDITED******

Alastor had seen (Y/N) at least three separate times in the span of four days. Three. And all she did was give him angry, confusing looks and run away...

All Alastor had done for the last few days was go to the rusty spoon and get drunk while talking to Husk.

"Husk, I think I should just quit. Quit it all and get one of the angel weapons" he muttered, face melting into the stained wood counter of the bar. Husk just shook his head and poured al another drink on request. "Alastor, I know this is Hell and all, but don't you think getting shitfaced every day isn't the answer to your problems?" the demon told him, sliding the drink forward. "All she does when she sees me is go to talk, then decide against it and give me a guilty look."

The dreaded radio demon grabbed it with shaking hands, the fresh sheen of tears bright in his eyes once more. "Husk, you're like my new best friend. You get me. I couldn't ask for more" he sniffed, pushing away from the bar in a fit of drunken sorrow. Husk called after him, but it was only but background noise.

Stumbling into the street, he revisited a familiar place. The park. Leaning up against a rotting tree, he kicked at the reddish ground while sloppily whistling a tuneless song.

Pushing away the monicol that irritated his eye, he sighed, his posture slackening. Slipping into the apathetic 'you've been drunk for too long' state was never fun. Everything came back in one huge strike, jarring him.

Groaning, he slid to the dirty ground. This was it. His legacy.

Shaking off the fog that had thickly settled on his brain, he took off his coat and went over to the swings, absently grabbing the chains and sitting down.

"It's been four days." he whispered, looking down.

His hair was a mess, his clothes wrinkled and unkempt. His eyes puffy, nose red, hands cold and numb.

four days of not eating or sleeping can really damage a person, huh?

It was as if his hangover was hitting him now, in the form of body-wide pain.

Maybe a nap would help.

this tree is awfully comfortable.

Faint whispering, black figures, and small cries were fading away as he slipped into the powerful grip of sleep.

...

Someone was hitting his face, and harshly too.

Damn it, did this mean he would have to wake up? Who was hitting him? Why did his back hurt like hell, as well as the whole of his body?

"stop" he muttered, but the parts on his cheek and pull of his ears persisted.

ears...

who the fuck is touching my ears?

"Wake—" the voice went.

He made no attempt at opening his eyes, only a swipe at his attacker.

"Alastor, come on." the mysterious demon whined, somewhere between exasperated and angry. Fearful and rushed.

Blinking away the sleep that dragged at his eyelids, his vision slowly focused in on a figure standing above him with folded arms.

"(Y/N)?" he murmured, mind finally clocking in. "(Y/N)?" he repeated, standing up quickly—too quickly. Losing balance, he fell back against the tree and held his head.