Alastor

Alastor sat slumped against the wall, the cold surface pressing against his back as he began to stir. Slowly, the morning light seeped through the thin curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. His eyes fluttered open, their once sharp glint now dulled with exhaustion. His throat felt like sandpaper, dry and scratchy, as he swallowed with difficulty, wincing at the discomfort it brought.

His head lifted slowly, almost lolling to the side, feeling unbearably heavy, as if burdened by dozens of weights or submerged underwater. An irritating headache thrummed against his skull. Just what on earth? As his vision gradually started to focus, he took in his surroundings.

It was a simple bedroom—nothing out of the ordinary, but tastefully arranged. A cozy bed with a neatly made duvet sat against one wall, and right beside it was wooden nightstand that held a lamp. A modest dresser stood across from him, its surface quite barren. How interesting… The walls were painted in a soft, muted color, soothing to say the least, yet doing little to alleviate the irritating headache that persisted, making it hard to concentrate.

And for God's sake, his head was killing him. Each pulse was a reminder of the confusion and disorientation that clouded his mind. He despised it, wishing he could simply remember. But with his mind a blur, he struggled to piece together the fragments of his memory, trying to recall how he had ended up here. It was extremely irritating. Just what in the world had happened?

As he attempted to press his fingers to his temples to soothe the throbbing headache, the unmistakable sound of metal cut through the air. His wrists were bound. Wait, what?! Alastor's eyes snapped open, now fully alert. The gravity of his situation hit him like a splash of cold water—why couldn’t he remember anything? Why was he chained to the wall? Panic surged through him as he struggled, yanking at the metal cuffs that clinked and rattled with each desperate movement.

The cuffs wouldn't budge, no matter how hard he tried. Since when did he—? His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, and his eyes instantly darted to the door as it creaked open. It was you. An eager look shone in your eyes, and a sincere smile played on your lips, yet beneath that warm expression, there was an unmistakable hint of obsession. His gaze dropped to the tray of food in your hands.

"W-what?" Alastor stammered, utterly bewildered. How could a person like you—no, why would you…?

And then it hit him. Ah, now he remembered.

---

After a taxing day at the radio station, he wanted to unwind, and what better place than Mimzy’s? A charming club that offered quality hooch and music, and the opportunity to reunite with his dear friends. And really, what harm was there in catching up with a good friend now and then?

However, what he didn’t anticipate was you strolling into the establishment with an intriguing air that immediately piqued his curiosity. There was an aura about you that he couldn’t quite resist—something that compelled him to unravel what it was, to dissect and understand what made you tick. And to his surprise, you possessed a remarkable moxie that set you apart from the others. And there was almost an undeniable allure to you, it was something he couldn’t quite put a finger on which had kept drawing him closer.

In hindsight, he realized how foolish he had been to let his guard down on you, specifically. You effortlessly dismantled the defenses he had meticulously placed, revealing vulnerabilities he had long concealed, with all disarming ease that left him reeling. Which he really should've been cautious about.

Yet, you were well-mannered, a trait he could certainly appreciate, but you always seemed a bit too eager to encroach upon his personal space. It was odd—normally, he would have felt repulsed by such forwardness, but with you, it was different. Despite his discomfort, he found himself strangely comforted by it instead. And as much as he disliked admitting it, he didn’t entirely mind the proximity. It was perplexing, to say the least. An unorthodox situation indeed.

You proved to be delightful company, a captivating conversationalist who effortlessly held his attention. He found himself drawn to the sound of your voice, almost as if he could drift off to sleep listening to it... How peculiar. Why was he suddenly feeling out of sorts? His body seemed to betray him, a wave of dizziness washing over him.

As he heard you call his name, Alastor waved off your concern, feeling too disoriented to fully grasp the situation. Unbeknownst to him, a gleeful smile spread across your face as he succumbed to the effects, assuming it was simply the liquor at play, despite his usual tolerance. So what exactly was going on?

And wait, where were you taking him? Why were his eyelids growing heavy? When did everything suddenly turn dark?

---

Alastor should have known better. Your seemingly kind demeanor masked ulterior motives, and now he found himself in a situation he couldn't comprehend. How had you managed to spike his drink? Since when? And how had he failed to notice, especially considering you were under his watch the whole time? It baffled him.

He craved answers, yet he also grappled with the uncertainty of why you were holding him captive in this unknown location. Kidnapping him, fully aware of his status as a popular radio host, seemed incredibly audacious. Surely, people would notice his absence. How could you be so foolish? Then again, you had somehow managed to imprison him against his will, a feat he would have deemed impossible.

"What was the reason for all this, dear?" Alastor's voice was slightly hoarse as he addressed you. Despite his predicament, curiosity compelled him to inquire, though he struggled to conceal the irritation in his tone.