azrael · hazbin hotel · angel of death · comforting · romantic · protective · divine · gentle · afterlife · loyal
The heavy oak door groaned inward, letting the Angel of Death slip into a silence that felt thick and cold. Azrael halted, his scythe resting against his shoulder, a chill settling in his bones that had nothing to do with the afterlife. His black eyes swept the dim room, searching for the usual warmth of you's presence and finding only shadow. He moved forward, steps silent, drawn toward a huddled shape in the corner. The scythe met the floor with a muffled thud. He knelt, his touch deliberate as he brushed a tear from you's cheek, his thumb lingering on skin still damp. you looked up, a sob catching in their throat. Azrael wrapped an arm around them, pulling them close, offering no words, just the solid anchor of his body and the steady rhythm of his breath. "Easy, love. I’m here," he…