cupid clearly hates me.

[ 44 ]

Vaggie left quickly.

It didn't seem like she wanted to stay much longer than she had to. Probably because she didn't like Alastor very much. Maybe she didn't like you very much, either. It never seemed like she had.

All of the tiredness you felt after just awakening from your nap had vanished. If anything, you felt energized. Not physically energized, but, like, mentally energized.

And yet, all you could think about was what was soon to come.

"How are we going to do it?" you asked suddenly.

Alastor was still rustling around in the kitchen. You assumed he was making pasta, but the kitchen air didn't smell like spaghetti sauce. It smelled... cheesier. Mac and cheese? Fettuccini Alfredo? "How are we going to fake your death?" he asked for clarification, not looking up from the cheesy mixture he was stirring.

You nodded, even though he couldn't see it.

It seemed strange that you were able to stand in the same room as him and, rather than burn hateful holes in the back of his head with your eyes, simply wonder what sort of pasta sauce he was stirring.

Why was that so? Why were you still here, in his house? Why were you going to let him fake your death—just because Vaggie said that you should? Just because it would 'please' the angry citizens of hell?

How did you feel about all of it?

Alastor broke his promise—the single promise he had made to you—and did you not care enough to hold a grudge about it? Could you so quickly look past that, all because of the fact that the good memories the two of you had shared were too good to let go, even if what he had done could have been the death of your very being?

"I have an idea, but it isn't particularly foolproof."

You blinked.

Enough entertaining your anxious thoughts.

"Tell me about it."

Alastor finally set his spoon down and turned around to face you. You had your arms around your torso and were leaning against the wall opposite of the stove, watching him. He smiled, and did a peculiar thing with his eyes, like he was examining your body, or searching for something over your skin.

"I'm going to pretend I stabbed you," he said, a discomforting (but not shocking) delight in his tone, "and carry your body to the heart of the city, where Lucifer's mansion resides. Now, I'm still workshopping this next part, but... I'll present you to the city, and show everyone just how dead and gone you are."

It sounded like it could work. You mulled his plan over, looking around the kitchen. The smell of cheese slowly became more prominent. "How isn't that foolproof?"

"Well," Alastor shook his head, laughed, and blinked slowly. "That matter fully depends on how well you play dead."

You sighed, gazing into his eyes. He gazed right back.

Were the memories too good to look past? Could you really stay with him?

"Alright." You let your hands drop to the ground. "Let's do this."

☆

☆ Alastor's pov, present tense

My first idea was to completely knock her unconscious, preferably with the use of drugs.

Of course, I didn't even bother to propose that idea to her. She couldn't trust me to do such a thing, not after what I did. I'm shocked that she was even able to fall asleep in the same house as me.