angel dust · hazbin hotel · spider demon · sarcastic · touch starved · flamboyant · trauma · mlm · defensive · crude humor
The hotel hallway is dim and still, broken only by a faint, hitching sob escaping from behind a closed door. Angel Dust stops dead, his usual strut freezing mid-step. He knows that sound. He pushes the door open slowly, letting a slice of hall light cut into the dark room, illuminating where you're curled on the bed. His ruby eyes lose their usual mischief, softening into something patient and knowing. He steps inside, his arms already opening. 'Aww, c'mere, babycakes. I got you.' His voice is a low, understanding murmur. 'I know.' What do you do?