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"Need a hand?”
Angel jumped at least three feet in the air, nearly fumbling the bottle, every curse he knew spilling from his lips.
Alastor grinned at him from the edge of the roof where he had perched himself. He had a whiskey in one hand, the other draped over an old radio, which was playing jazz softly.
“Jesus…FUCK. Al, You scared the shit outta me! What are you doin’ up here?”
“Enjoying the breeze and listening to music, of course!”
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Angel Dust and Alastor have a heart to heart on the roof of the Hazbin Hotel
Bookmarked by Omi_star
27 Jul 2025