"This is your house?"

"It is."

Your eyes widened with amazement, trained on the ravishingly adorned mansion. The exterior had been built with chestnut stained wood, providing a nice change from the usual brick of the other buildings in the city. Trails of ivy snaked up the sides of the house in long green tendrils, adding to the natural feeling of the home.

The house was nestled in a little nook in the forest, a distance away from the city, and the distant, cottage-like aura of the place suited Alastor well. He seemed like the kind of guy who enjoyed his quiet time.

Alastor looked like he knew that you were impressed. He placed his palm on the small of your back and ushered you forward gently. "Let's get you settled in, shall we?"

You entered the home through the grandiose double doors out front and were welcomed by a spacious room that contained couches, a chess table, a sleek black piano and matching violin, a bookshelf, and a coffee table. It was connected to the dining room/kitchen, and you could see the smooth, coffee colored counter tops from where you stood. The air smelled of fake cinnamon and blood, and when you scrunched your nose up at the scent, Alastor chuckled—nervously, it seemed.

"The guest bedroom is upstairs," he said quickly as he gestured towards the stairs that were in the center of the room, dividing the living room into two seperate parts. "Would you like me to show you there before I make dinner?"

"Yes, please do." Although the place was capacious, you didn't want to get lost and stumble upon something private.

Alastor led you up the staircase and right down an intricate hallway. As you were walking, he pointed to one tall, plain door. A yellow ceiling lamp above you cast an eerie glow down on it as you followed where his finger was pointing. "Do not go in there."

"Uhh, okay."

You made a mental note to go in there later.

The two of you eventually reached the guest bedroom. Alastor opened the door for you and let you walk inside first.

It was decorated differently from the rest of the house, for it had less furnature, and the walls were painted a more pastel brown. The air was still and unmoving, and it smelled like dust and mothballs, giving you the impression that nobody had entered the room in a long time. There was a queen bed in the center, covered in ornate black sheets, and beside it, a nightstand with a lacy black lamp and similarly colored clock. There was also a small, empty desk in the corner and a doorless, also empty closet.

"Here we are! Please make yourself at home, my dear. There's a bathroom right through there—" Alastor pointed at a glass door in the bedroom that you hadn't noticed before. "—and if you need anything, feel free to let me know! I'll be in the kitchen when you're ready to eat."

Alastor turned to leave, but you stopped him as he was brushing past you by grabbing his forearm. He looked down at you questioningly, and you grinned, feeling your stomach flip a little bit.

You reached up on your tippie toes and settled a tender kiss on his cheek. That made his face brighten wonderfully.

"I'll be down in a second," you said, proud of yourself for your confidence.

"The sooner the better, my love."

And with that, he left. You closed the bedroom door behind him quietly, then, finally alone, you flopped down on the bed face first and squealed into the pillows.

You were in the Radio Demon's house.

And you had kissed him.

No, he had kissed you.

After you finished emptiying your skittish sounds out into the fluffy pillow, you sat up on the bed to think. After slipping your shoes off, you crossed your legs Indian-style over the sheets. You liked having your feet bare, for it made you feel like you were a child again.

You began to mentally relive the events of the day. Everything you did was with Alastor, just like yesterday. It was kind of sweet to think about. Getting breakfast with him, the woods... the bar... then the woods yet again, the passionate kisses...

Oh god. Just thinking about his soft lips against yours, his tongue swirling through your mouth, made you queasy, but it was a good feeling. It was exciting. You stood up and walked to the bathroom, practically dancing with happiness. After opening the see-through glass door and walking inside, you found yourself in a pristine, modern-looking, mostly white room with beautifully polished flooring and a massive shower.

There was a huge mirror above a sleek marble counter, and looking in it, you saw yourself.

Staring at your reflection, you smoothed down your dress, fixed your (H/C) hair, and checked on your sharp teeth (which were still looking deadly).

You touched your cheek and sighed, still thinking about Alastor, who was probably cooking by now.

Why does his house smell like blood? you thought, blinking your unnaturally purple eyes. What's in that room? Why can't I go in it? I should definitely go in, just to find out. He won't know if I just take a little peek, will he?

Just then, your stomach grumbled. You hadn't eaten since breakfast, and you were hungry. Deciding to join Alastor in the kitchen, you left the guest bedroom and walked down the hall to the stairs, your feet pattering against the wooden floor.

As you were walking, you saw the door again. The one you weren't supposed to go in because it contained something Alastor did not want you to see. You hesitated at the door, placing your hand on the doorknob, holding your breath as you stared down at the handle. You were ready to turn it...

But then you didn't.

Feelings of doubt raked down your spine as you felt your fingers sliding off of the metal doorknob. It was rude to invade people's privacy, especially when they specifically told you not to, yet there you were, trying to dive into his secrets at the first mention of them. What would he think about this, after he so kindly invited you into his house?

You walked away from the door, slightly disappointed at your willingness to do the right thing, but knowing that Alastor would have appreciated it.

As you walked carefully down the lavish staircase, your feet making little raps against the wooden steps, you noticed that the odd smell from earlier was gone. In place of it, the piquant, wholesome smell of tomatoes, starch and basil stirred through the air, making your stomach growl again.

At the bottom of the staircase, you turned to your left and walked through the magnificently decorated living room to the corner of the house that contained the kitchen. In place of the spot where a door would have been was a massive opening; the appetizing smell only got stronger as you walked through it.

Alastor was standing by an oven with his back to you, a wooden spoon that had been dipped in something red poised in his hand. "There you are," he said without turning around. How he knew that you were there was a mystery—your footsteps were barely audible, and he hadn't actually seen you coming. When he did swivel around to face you, there was a smile on his face, and his eyes were adorably crunched up with happiness. "I made you spaghetti! I hope that's alright with you."

"That sounds perfect," you assured him, walking around the island—which was covered in the dirty dishes he had used—to get to the oven, forgetting all about his weird spatial awareness. You peered around him to examine the sauce, which was cooking in a pot separate from the noodles. "Spaghetti is one of my favorites."

"Well, good. I wasn't sure what to make for you," he replied. "I don't eat... normal things... like you."

You frowned, stumped by his words. "What do you mean, normal things?" you asked as he stuck the spoon back into the pot of sauce, giving it a stir. "What do you eat that isn't normal?"

"I have a very picky diet," Alastor went on, stepping back so he could lean on the island counter while you remained by the oven.

Your eyebrows raised, conscious of the opportunity to learn more about the peculiar demon. "How so?"

He hesitated. "I mostly eat venison."

"Venison? As in... deer meat?"

"Precisely."

You resisted the urge to make a face. "Umm. Wouldn't that make you a cannibal?"

"It does make me a cannibal, but I don't really like that word much. It is just another pointless label."

What the fuck, you thought, staring at him, suddenly seeing him through a new lens. He was a cannibal? You thought that was disgusting. Of course, he was only part deer, but still! Was that why he hadn't ordered anything but orange juice at breakfast that morning? Because he only ate venison?

He noticed how your face cringed with disgust and sighed, as if he was regretting the decision to tell you anything at all. You did not want him to regret it, though, but rather, wanted him to tell you more. Of course, you didn't necessarily support cannibalism, but you wanted to know everything you could about Alastor. Being grossed out by his eating habits probably wasn't the best way to get him to open up to you.

"I'm sorry," you started, forcing the apologetic tone into your voice. "It's just, uh, surprising. I've never met a cannibal before."

"Well, you've also never met a serial killer before, have you?" he inquired dully, stepping away from the counter's edge so he could come closer to you. His height forced him to look down at you, his one eye appearing narrow through his monocle. "When you heard about that fact, it did not stop you from kissing me. Does this new information change your opinion of me? Does the fact that I eat my own kind disgust you more than the fact that I kill people for my own pleasure?"

You felt your heart rate quicken. The way he was talking... it kind of scared you how he was putting things into perspective. Did his cannibalism disgust you more than his murderous habits? Were either of these two things something you should be conserved about?

Probably, you thought, but you quickly pushed the word away.

"No, I guess not." You looked up at him, his bright, insane eyes, his formal posture, his pale skin.

Why did you like him so much? He was a terrible person.

Well. Cupid clearly hated you.

Alastor modded curtly, as if he was satisfied by your response. "Fantastic," he said. A thick chunk of red hair floated down from atop his head to fall over his face. "Maybe after you eat, you would like to join me for a game of chess?"

He just changed the subject, as if you had only been talking about something as simple and unimportant as the weather.

You felt your mouth go dry, but you smiled and forced a strained laugh. "Sure," you said, but even though the smell of boiling pasta was still present in the warm kitchen, your appetite was gone.