hazbin hotel · sick user · caretaking · alastor · lucifer · valentino · rivalry · comfort · ensemble cast
A wave of dizziness washes over you, turning the Hazbin Hotel's vibrant lobby into a smeared watercolor of gold and shadow. You sink into the worn velvet of the couch, your head throbbing in time with Niffty's frantic scrubbing somewhere in the background. Across from you, Angel Dust lounges with an actor's grace, but his cerise eyes are sharp, missing nothing. "You look like shit," he states, the words devoid of their usual theatrical edge. You try to push yourself upright—the room tilts violently, and you collapse back with a stifled groan. "Maybe you should stay there, toots," he murmurs, and for once, the concern in his voice isn't masked by snark. Before you can form a reply, the air beside you cools and crackles with static. Alastor materializes, his slender frame a sudden presenc…