Chapter Text
When they eventually reached the studio, Alice barely managed to park before Alastor stepped out, circled the car, and yanked open her door.
Before she could react, he grabbed her wrist—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to let her know she wasn't going anywhere.
Alice's breath hitched as he pulled her inside the studio, his grip never loosening.
The door shut behind them with a soft click.
He let go of her.
For a breath.
Then he looked at her—not angry, not panicked, just… amused. Almost.
“So,” he said lightly, as though asking about the weather, “you took my car and followed me?”
Alice’s voice barely functioned.
“I—I wasn’t— I just—”
He laughed.
Short. Sharp.
Empty.
“Don’t lie to me, darling.”
Her stomach twisted. He wasn’t raising his voice—that made it worse.
She opened her mouth to try again, but froze when he reached the counter.
A knife.
A long, polished kitchen knife that caught the light in a thin silver line.
He ran a thumb along the flat of the blade, as though appreciating its craftsmanship.
“You know…” he began, stepping toward her—slow, unhurried, predatory. “I was really starting to actually like you.”
The words were soft.
Almost regretful.
Alice’s blood ran cold.
“But you just had to ruin it.”
The knife gleamed.
Her back hit the wall.
She hadn't even realized she was moving.
“Alastor,” she breathed, her voice cracking, “please… please don’t. I won’t tell, I swear.”
He tilted his head at her, almost pitying.
“Come on Alice, You must know I’m not that foolish,” he said gently. “Secrets, my dear, are delicate things. They only stay safe if the keeper never has the chance to use them.”
Tears blurred her vision.
Her chest felt too tight to breathe.
“I won’t tell anyone,” she whispered. “I swear. I swear on—on my life, I won’t—”
“Ive heard that before, Miss Alice. But you must admit, words are pretty cheap” he replied, smiling.
He kept walking toward her, slow enough for her terror to bloom fully, bright and sharp.
He looked like he was enjoying the fear.
She slid down the wall to the floor, shaking so hard she could barely lift her hands to show she was unarmed. She sobbed, choking on the sound.
“PLEASE,” she managed, voice breaking in half.
Alastor stopped just in front of her.
He crouched down so they were eye-level.
His smile was soft. Tender, almost.
“Oh, Alice…” he sighed. “I do so hate seeing you cry.”
His fingers brushed her cheek—gentle enough that she shuddered.
Then he raised the knife with the other hand.
“Don’t worry, Miss Alice,” he murmured, voice smooth and gentlemanly.
“For you, I’ll make it painless. You won’t feel a thing.”
He raised the knife higher—
“I ALREADY KNEW!” Alice choked out.
Everything stopped.
The blade hovered.
Alastor’s face emptied—no smile, no irritation, just… blank.
“…Pardon?”
Soft. Too soft.
Alice’s voice shook. “I already knew. Weeks ago.”
His grip slipped on the knife—barely, but enough to see.
“How,” he asked, tone still careful, but thinner now. Stretched tight.
“Exactly… how did you know.”
Alice swallowed hard. “I followed you. One night. I thought maybe you were—cheating on me, or something.”
Her words shook. “But all I saw was you playing the piano. I was going to leave, but then I saw you dragging a body. I saw you carve that smile.”
Silence—thick and swampy.
“You never said anything,” he murmured.
“No, didn’t.” she whispered.
His jaw twitched. The charm in his voice wavered, a crack running through it.
“Then why didn’t you run?”
He stepped closer.
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
As Alastor got angrier, his vowels softened—rounded, back to his roots.
“Why didn’t you leave the city, hm?”
Alice’s breath hitched. “Because… I didn’t think you’d hurt me.”
Something in him snapped.
“Oh, don’t ya stand there tellin’ me that, I know your lyin.”
The accent seeped in, thick as river water.
“You think I’m some couyon, cher? Some dumb fool you can feed fairytales an’ sunshine to?!”
Alice flinched—but didn’t look away.
“I’m telling the truth.”
His eyes flashed.
The knife trembled.
“Non. Non. Don’t lie to me, I know your liyin.”
The mask was gone now.
“Secrets don’t keep unless someone’s in the GROUND.”
Alice pressed back, breath breaking. “I’m not lying!”
He stepped so close she could feel his breath.
“What kinda game you playin’ wit’ me, Alice?!”
“I’m not playing anything!” she cried.
That did it.
He lunged, dropping to a knee, gripping her shoulder and shoving her against the wall.
The knife hovered by her jaw.
His voice was raw now—untamed.
“WHY WOULD YOU STAY?!”
His words rattled the room.
“You saw what I am. You saw what I DO. So WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?!”
And without thinking—without breathing—Alice shouted back:
“BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU!”
Silence exploded.
Alastor froze, hand slackening.
He stared.
Not angry now. Not smiling.
Just… stunned.
His fingers uncurled.
The knife dropped.
CLANG.
The sound echoed off the studio walls.
He stood slowly—like he was surfacing from deep water—and backed away.
His breath was unsteady.
His face unreadable.
He looked at her like she had just spoken a language no sane person should know.
Alice still sat on the floor, her back against the wall, her body still trembling from the shock of it all. Her breath came in shaky gasps, and the tears wouldn't stop no matter how much she tried to will them away. Her hands felt numb, her fingers gripping the fabric of her dress so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Alastor stood over her, silent, watching.
Then, without a word, he slowly lowered himself onto the floor beside her.
Alice flinched at first, but when he made no sudden moves, she forced herself to breathe. The room was unbearably quiet, save for the occasional drip of rain against the window and her own uneven breathing.
She swallowed hard. "Tonight..." Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "It was raining." She wiped at her face, though more tears followed immediately. "I—I was just going to borrow your car. Mimzy and I were going to the club." Her hands tightened into fists on her lap. "The streets were packed on the way back, so I took a back road. And then... I saw you."
Alastor didn't speak.
The silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken, something Alice couldn't name.
Her heartbeat was still erratic, but the trembling in her hands had begun to ease.
Alice lifted her head—slowly—pushing herself to meet his gaze.
The silence between them stretched… and stretched…
Until Alastor finally spoke.
“The reason I go out every night,” he began, voice low and oddly distant,
“because I’m killing.”
A humorless smile ghosted across his lips.
“Not because I’m seeing another woman.”
Alice blinked.
Of all the revelations—all the danger—that was the one he chose to clarify.
She swallowed, nodding. “I know.”
Alastor exhaled, shoulders dropping just a fraction. His fingers tapped once—light, restless—against the floorboards.
“The reason I’ve been distant,” he murmured, “is because I… wanted you to leave me.”
Alice’s face twisted with confusion. “Why?”
He didn’t answer at first.
His gaze drifted toward the floor, jaw tightening and loosening—like he was peeling open something he’d kept locked down tight.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer than she had ever heard it.
“…Because you’re way too good for me.”
Alice’s breath caught.
He huffed out a short, brittle laugh—nothing warm in it.
“Cher, you see good in every damn thing. In everyone. You’re pure. Untouched by the world. And me?”
His accent began to slip again, vowels rounding, consonants loosening.
“I ain’t never been that. I ain’t never had that.”
He shook his head slowly.
“I thought—if you ever found out what I really am—you’d run. And that kiss…”
His voice faltered, just a little.
“Usuallly I don’t care but, I did not want to ruin you, Alice.”
Alice’s hands relaxed at her sides. Something in her chest tightened—not in fear, but in understanding.
She drew a breath—slow, even.
“You’re right,” she whispered.
His head snapped up—sharp, guarded.
Alice wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, steady now.
“I do see good in things. In people.”
Her voice didn’t shake this time.
“And that includes you.”
Alastor stared at her.
Really stared.
Eyes dark, deep, unreadable.
She shifted closer—cautious, but sure.
Her voice was soft, but clear.
“Alastor, you have given me so much,” she said. “You turned my life upside down. And… I’m glad you did.”
His breath hitched—but he didn’t speak.
Alice continued, eyes glistening but steady.
“You made my life better, Alastor.”
He watched her like a man waiting to see the trap.
To find the lie.
To find the angle.
But there wasn’t one.
There was only her.
And the truth.
His voice was quieter now, no longer sharp or commanding, just... tired. "How?" he asked. "How can you still look at me like that? After knowing what I am?"
Alice swallowed, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her dress. "Because I know there's good in you."
Alastor scoffed, shaking his head again. "You don't understand, darling. I don't just kill. I love it. I crave it." His voice took on a darker edge. "I don't regret it. I don't feel guilt. And I won't stop." He leaned in slightly, his gaze locked onto hers, trying to see if that would finally be enough to scare her off.
But Alice didn't move. She didn't look away.
"I know," she said simply.
Alastor blinked, momentarily caught off guard by her lack of reaction. He expected flinching, stammering, second-guessing. But she sat there, steady and unwavering.
Alice took a breath. "You kill people, Alastor. But you don't kill just anyone. You do have a code. You go after people who are cruel, who hurt others, who ruin lives. That's... something, isn't it?"
Alastor tilted his head slightly, a smile tugging at his lips, though it was more amused than anything else. "Is that what you're telling yourself? That I'm not as bad as I could be?"
Alice hesitated but nodded. "It's the truth, isn't it?"
Alastor chuckled again, this time with genuine amusement, though it faded as quickly as it came. He studied her, his expression unreadable. "So you're not leaving?"
Alice didn't even need to think about it. "No, unless you try to kill me again."
Alastor stared at her for a long moment, his face unreadable.
Alice could see something shifting in his expression, though. Something vulnerable, something uncertain—something she had never seen in him before. He was always so sure of himself, always in control. But now, it was like he didn't quite know what to do with her.
Finally, his voice dropped, quieter than she had ever heard it. "I never thought I'd meet someone who could see me for what I am and still stay." His fingers drummed lightly against his knee, a nervous habit she had never seen from him before. "I never thought I'd meet someone who likes me, even after finding out who I truly am."
Alice smiled softly, her tears finally drying. She reached out hesitantly, placing a hand over his. "Well, now you have."
Alastor stared at their hands—hers small, gentle, resting over his.
His fingers didn’t move.
He didn’t pull away.
He just… looked.
Then, he let out a breath. Not quite a laugh—something quieter, more disbelieving.
“You’re either the bravest person I’ve ever met…”
His voice was low, almost a whisper.
“…or the most foolish.”
Alice gave him a smile—tired, tear-smudged, earnest.
“Maybe both… cher.” She truly couldn’t help herself.
Alastor blinked.
A surprised sound—half laugh, half scoff—caught in his throat.
“Oh, so now you’re makin’ fun of me,” he said, brow arching, voice dipping just slightly toward the bayou again.
“No,” Alice quietly giggled, soft but sure.
“I’m not making fun of you. I like your accent.”
She swallowed, her voice gentling.
“It’s you.”
He looked at her then—really looked.
His gaze ran over her face, searching for mockery, fear, pity—any reason, any excuse, any crack that would prove she didn’t mean it.
But there was none.
Whatever he expected to find—it wasn’t what was there.
Something in his expression loosened.
Not much—just the slightest shift.
But it was enough.
His shoulders uncoiled.
His eyes softened—not warm, not safe—but human.
“…Mon Dieu,” he murmured, almost to himself.
He didn’t let go of her hand.
And he didn’t step away.
For the first time since she met him—
Alastor felt real, not a cocky radio host, not a piano show off.
He just looked like a man.
A dangerous one, a broken one—
but still, a man.
And he was looking at her.