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Chapter Text

THIRD POV

[Name] had not expected the last week of high school to produce a new best friend. Esther Freeling, the teen that everyone else always murmured and gossiped about being a black magic witch and allegedly caused her elementary school to get invaded by a colorful bunch of fluffy monsters. But hey, those were just rumors… at least she thinks? But hey, [name] didn’t pay no mind to those stinkin’ rumors nor did she care. 

[Name] didn’t really have any solid friends, by choice, choosing to focusing on her schoolwork but not really a study-holic by any means. 

Though the way [name] and Esther had met had been through college day at school, where multiple colleges had set up a table at the courtyard, luring students with their fancy brochures to apply. [Name] had been staring at the table for [collage name] for a while, seemingly zoning out while other teens passed by, picking up brochures or talking to the people behind the table. That’s when Esther came along, sort of ambushing [name] while she was out of it.

“Heeyy,” Esther drawled, leaning in at an angle that suggested she may not have a firm understanding of personal space. She did, she simply ignored it in favor of her current mission. Her mother had insisted she try to socialize with people attending the same college, especially since Heather was leaving the state for college and Esther had been visibly sulking about it for weeks. “You look like you’re trying to telepathically communicate with that brochure. Any luck?” She chuckled softly, seemingly proud and amused by her own joke, as if she used humor as a bridge far more often than she admitted.

[Name] blinked back into awareness as she caught Esther in the corner of her eye. “Wha-huh?” she managed, her voice landing somewhere between tired and mildly disoriented.

Esther lifted one eyebrow. “You know, zoning out like that is how the fae get you. One moment you’re thinking about tuition, the next you’ve sworn fifty years of your life to a glittery woodland monarch.” She gestured broadly at the brochures. “Their deals are even worse than student loans.”

That earned a small, involuntary breath of amusement from [Name]. She straightened a bit, folding her arms across her chest. “Sorry. I was… thinking.”

“Tragic habit,” Esther replied. “Highly overrated. Dangerous in large quantities.” She stepped closer, peering over [Name]’s shoulder at the table. “So. Are you actually considering them? Because if you are, I will warn you: their dining hall claims to use real eggs, but I have doubts.”

“You go here?” [Name] asked, more out of politeness than genuine curiosity.

“I will,” Esther corrected. “Just got my acceptance letter. My mother framed it. My brother pretended not to cry. Our hotel cat celebrated by knocking something off a counter. I took that as approval.” Her attention flicked back to [Name]. “You applying too?”

“I was thinking about it.”

Esther made a disapproving sound. “You think too much. Here.” She plucked a brochure from the table with a flourish and held it out. “Take it. You already look like you belong in the library section.”

[Name] hesitated, then accepted it. “Right. Thanks.”

“I am Esther, by the way,” she announced, planting a hand on her hip. “Esther Freeling. And you?”

[Name] introduced herself, and Esther’s face brightened as though the name confirmed something she had already decided.

“Lovely. We’re friends now,” she concluded. “Unless you want to file paperwork to opt out, but I warn you, my mother runs the hotel and she loves forms.”

[Name] blinked, taken off guard. “That’s… fast.”

“I’m efficient,” Esther said simply. She gave a small shrug. “Besides, you looked lonely. And I was lonely. And we have the same college on our acceptance letters. It seemed wasteful not to do anything about it.”

There was something sincere beneath her flippancy, something that softened the edges of her eccentricity. [Name] found herself nodding, almost despite herself.

“That’s… fair.”

Esther beamed. “Wonderful. Now come on. Either we’re going to talk about financial aid like responsible pre-adults, or we’re going to get smoothies and pretend the world will sort itself out.”

[Name] glanced at the table again, then at the girl who seemed so certain of her place in the room, even if no one else was.

“Smoothies,” she said finally. “Definitely smoothies.”

“Excellent choice,” Esther replied. “The brochures can stew in their own academic despair.”

They walked off together, a curious, unexpected partnership forming between an overworked senior and a girl who spoke like she lived in a slightly different universe. By the time they reached the courtyard gates, they were already exchanging thoughts about dorm carpets, scheduling nightmares, and professors rumored to assign fifty page introductions on the first day.

It was strange, [Name] thought, how easily the conversation unfolded. She had spent years avoiding the idea of friendship out of preference or habit. Yet somehow, with Esther, the silence felt natural, and the talking even more so. [Name] let out a soft but small grin to herself as they walked.

Couple Days After Graduation…

A couple of days after graduation, the house felt unusually still. It was the kind of stillness that did not come from peace but from an expectation placed too firmly in the air. The conversation that morning had been brief and rigid, and now [Name] stood outside with her suitcases arranged beside her like silent witnesses.

She didn’t cry or argue. She simply walked out and closed the door behind her. It was easier to move than to negotiate. She stood there for a long moment, letting the sun heat the back of her neck. The absurdity of the situation pressed in slowly. Eighteen years old and evicted before lunchtime. The thought should have hurt more than it did.

Instead, she reached for her phone.

She scrolled through her contacts, pausing for a moment on Esther’s name. They had grown unexpectedly close during the last stretch of senior year. Not best friends, exactly, but something real and quick to form. Esther had a way of speaking without hesitation, and [Name], who had spent years choosing silence, found the contrast strangely comforting. She had already learned that Esther responded best when someone was direct.

So she typed, “Can you come pick me up,” then added, after a moment of honesty, “Please.”

The typing bubbles appeared almost instantly.

“Is this an emergency,” Esther sent.

[Name] replied, “Yes.”

The bubbles reappeared.

“What kind.”

[Name] hesitated, then typed, “The kind with suitcases.”

There was a brief pause. Then Esther sent a final message.

“I’m on my way.”

Ten minutes later, the Freeling van arrived at the curb with its familiar mechanical rattle. Esther jumped out before the van had fully settled, her hair pulled back and her expression sharp with concern.

“What happened,” she asked. She simply looked at the two suitcases, then at [Name], and pretty much understood what may have just happened.

[Name] gave a small shrug. “House politics.”

Esther’s eyes narrowed. “House politics is when my uncle Nathan tries to schedule a family game night. This looks more like exile.” Esther gave a slight chuckle to lighten the mood a bit.

“It was strongly suggested that I find a different living arrangement,” [Name] said as she held her backpack straps like a boy scout ready for action.

“So basically your parents told you to leave,” Esther translated. She stepped closer. “Do you want to stand here and talk about it or do you want to get in the van.”

[Name] exhaled slowly. “Van.”

“Good choice,” Esther said. She lifted one suitcase and dragged it toward the back of the vehicle. “I’ll ask questions later. Possibly. I might forget. I don’t have a good memory for injustice unless it involves cafeteria food.”

[Name] let out a faint laugh, small but genuine. “Thank you. Really.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Esther said. “You haven’t seen where I live. It’s a hotel with a personality disorder.”

[Name] raised an eyebrow. “That sounds promising.”

“It is something,” Esther replied. She climbed into the driver’s seat. “Seat belt. The van feeds off fear.”

As they pulled away from the curb, [Name] allowed herself to relax against the seat. The street behind her shrank in the rearview mirror. She felt no pull to look back.

Esther watched her from the corner of her eye as the van rumbled along, surprised by how steady [Name] remained. There were no tears, no frantic explanations, not even the brittle quiet of someone trying to hold themselves together. In the three weeks she had known her, Esther had learned that [Name] rarely lingered on misfortune. She absorbed it, acknowledged it, and then simply continued forward as if movement itself were a kind of hope. She was the type of person who believed that things would eventually realign, that tomorrow would be marginally better by virtue of existing.

Esther found it strange and admirable. Most people she met carried their disappointments like heavy luggage, but [Name] set hers down the moment she recognized she could not change them. It was not apathy. It was something quieter and braver, the instinct to keep going even when the path bent sharply in the wrong direction. Esther wondered if [Name] knew how rare that was.

Esther glanced over at her, studying her expression with unusual seriousness. “My mom will help,” she said. “She always helps. She might adopt you. She does that sometimes.”

“I don’t really need to be adopted.” [Name] let out a small smile.

“No one does,” Esther laughed, “but it still happens.”

The corners of [Name]’s mouth lifted. Her humor had softened around the edges since graduation. It came more easily now, especially with Esther.

“Is your hotel going to mind a new guest,” [Name] asked, looking out the window, zoning out a bit.

Esther turned onto a wider road and considered the question. “The Undervale is picky about its light bulbs and its plumbing. But I’ve never seen it object to a person.”

“Well,” [Name] said, “that is reassuring.”

“It should be,” Esther replied. “And if the ghosts bother you, just tell me. I’ll deal with them.”

“You deal with ghosts.”

“Only the dramatic ones,” Esther said. “The rest mind their own business.”

A quiet settled between them then. It was not heavy or uncomfortable. It was simply the natural pause of two people who had already learned how to exist beside one another.

Outside the window, the city shifted gradually, trees and nature eventually became the only thing outside the window to look at and the crooked silhouette of the Undervale slowly made headway. [Name] watched the scenery pass by and found herself thinking that this path, unexpected as it was, felt strangely right.

She didn’t know what waited for her at the hotel, nor who she would meet there. She only knew she was no longer facing the summer alone.

For the moment, that was enough.

Chapter Text

THIRD POV

Esther and [Name] pulled up in front of the Undervale, the car rolling to a stop with a tired little shudder, like even the engine knew it had been a long morning.

The hotel loomed above them, windows glowing here and there with warm, uneven light. A few shapes moved behind the glass on the upper floors, the kind of movement that could have been guests or ghosts or something in between. The place had that weird, heavy presence like it was watching and waiting to see what kind of chaos was walking through its doors this time.

Esther got out of the car first, slamming the door with more force than necessary. She jogged around to the back, yanking the trunk open and grabbing the handle of [Name]’s suitcase.

[Name] steps out of the passenger seat, backpack in hand and walking over towards Esther. “Uh, I can take that, you don’t gotta—”

“Nope. I got it. My pride is on the line,” Esther cut in immediately. “I fear there may be nothing you can do about it.”

She hauled the suitcase up, arms straining more than she wanted to admit. The wheels caught on the edge of the trunk and she had to give it a sharp jerk to free it, grunting as it finally tipped down onto the pavement.

“Jesus,” she wheezed, then tried to play it off with a laugh. “What’d you pack, every bad memory you’ve ever had?”

“Yeah. Those and, like, three shirts,” [Name] deadpanned, her attempt at humoring the situation while sliding her backpack onto one shoulder.

She looked drained, eyes heavy, shoulders slumped but still holding onto that dry, nonchalant tone like it was the last shield she had. The sarcasm came out on autopilot, softer than usual but still there. It wasn’t like she was trying to be gloomy on purpose, but at face value it kinda did until you get to know her more.

Esther dragged the suitcase toward the front doors, the wheels rattling over the uneven ground. [Name] followed a step behind, hands inside her hoodie’s pockets, not sure if she was bracing against the cold or everything else. She was bracing herself for whatever events may be thrown at her. Hell, this being a haunted hotel is the least of her worries, she was mostly concerned whether she was even allowed to stay here or not.

The Undervale’s main doors swung open with a creak, and they stepped into the lobby.

Inside, it was the same chaotic mix of “old hotel” and “this place is absolutely haunted and not hiding it.” The front desk sat near the staircase of the room, papers and keys scattered across it. A large painting hung prominently on the wall over the fireplace that weirdly looked like it belonged in a completely different building, but had somehow become part of the place’s whole vibe. The fireplace burned steadily, its flames eating at the logs as they crackled and crinkled, casting a gentle warmth and comforting noise.

A couple of translucent guests drifted through with one ghost who looked like a hippie from the 70s with a brown vest and a more prominent detail about him was a knife he was carrying. Another ghost who floated along reading a magazine that kept phasing through her hands. The air hummed faintly, like the hotel was always two seconds away from something supernatural happening.

”Wow, when you said haunted hotel I was expecting something out of insidious. This is just straight up comical.” [Name] looked around, seeing some curious ghosts who were phasing through the walls to see who this newcomer might be.

”Pfft, wait until you meet my Uncle Nathan,” Esther chuckled as she shrugged off the other ghosts peeping at them. 

Behind the front desk, Katherine stood hunched over a stack of paperwork, phone wedged between her ear and shoulder. Her hair was swept back in a loose, slightly lopsided updo that screamed “I tried, but then life happened.” Her expression was already halfway to exasperated.

“No, I can’t comp his stay just because the wallpaper bled,” she snapped into the phone. “He signed the form. It’s literally called a ‘Haunted Liability Waiver.’ I don’t know what he thought that meant, a fun little scented candle?”

She heard the doors open and the loud roll and thunk of wheels hitting the lobby floor. Her head snapped up, irritation loaded and ready.

“Oh my God, there you are, where were—”

Her eyes landed on [Name].

Katherine’s words died in her throat and a sort of maternal instinct stepped through.

She took her in quickly: the backpack, the way [Name] hovered just behind Esther like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to be here, the suitcase Esther was dragging in like it was the kind of suitcase you bring when you’re not going home tonight.

Katherine silently lowered the phone from her ear and hung up mid-rant without a goodbye. Somewhere, a very confused guest got cut off.

Esther dropped the suitcase at the bottom of the stairs with a heavy thud and an equally heavy exhale. “Mom! I know, I’m sorry I ran out without telling you anything, it’s just—well—[Name]—”

She was already flailing for words, hands moving as fast as her brain, clearly ready to invent something on the spot if she had to.

Katherine lifted one hand, palm out, stopping her.

“It’s okay,” she said, voice softening. “It’s okay… you don’t have to tell me everything here in the lobby, okay?” Katherine’s eyes landed on [Name] who shifted uncomfortably and avoided eye contact nervously. Her eyes flicked around at the lingering ghosts who were very obviously listening while pretending not to. One spectral woman actually leaned on an invisible railing to get a better view.

“How about we go to my office and we can talk more there?” Katherine added, giving [Name] a small, reassuring smile.

[Name] shifted her weight, fingers tightening around the strap of her backpack. “If this is, like, a ‘you’re trespassing, please leave the haunted premises’ talk, I’m gonna be really embarrassed,” she muttered.

Katherine let out a small snort. “If I was going to kick you out, I wouldn’t let Esther drag your suitcase all the way in first. I’m not that cruel. Or stupid.”

From halfway down the stairs, Ben appeared with a cereal bowl in hand, hovering awkwardly on the step. “Uh… hey,” he said, blinking at [Name]. “Nice to see you again? Under… you know… extremely normal circumstances.”

“Yeah, super casual,” [Name] said. “Just me and my luggage trauma.”

Esther shot Ben a look. “We’ll fill you in later.”

Katherine came around the front of the desk and gestured for them to follow. “Come on,” she said. “Office. Before someone decides to have a poltergeist meltdown in the middle of this conversation.”

They walked across the lobby, with Esther following behind and past the painting and a side table that had a vase on it slowly rotating in the air like it was thinking about whether or not to throw itself. Katherine gave it a warning stare and the vase drifted back down.

“Behave,” she muttered at it.

One of the ghosts snickered.

They reached Katherine’s office and she pushed the door open with her hip. The room was cluttered, a big desk covered in paperwork, a laptop with a screen saver bouncing around, coffee mugs in various stages of abandonment. A couple more old paintings hung on the walls, and there were binders stacked everywhere, labeled with things like “GUEST COMPLAINTS” and “MAINTENANCE.”

“Okay,” Katherine said, exhaling as she slid behind her desk. “Sit. Please. You don’t have to stand there like I’m about to interrogate you under a swinging lightbulb.”

[Name] sat carefully in the nearest chair. Esther dropped into the other, spinning it halfway around before Katherine shot her a look. Esther slowed the spin but didn’t stop completely. For a beat, the room went quiet. The hotel noise was distant here with muffled footsteps and faint ghostly mumbling through the walls.

Katherine folded her hands and looked at [Name], her expression shifting fully from “stressed manager” to “concerned mom who’s seen some shit.”

“So,” she said gently. “I’m guessing this isn’t just a fun sleepover situation.”

[Name] blew out a slow breath, gaze dropping to her knees. “Yeah. No,” she said. “Kinda more of a ‘you’re an adult now and can handle your own stuff’ situation.”

Esther’s shoulders tensed. “They seriously kicked you out?” she burst. “Like, actually?”

“Esther,” Katherine murmured, not to shut her down completely, but to keep her from exploding.

[Name] shrugged, that nonchalant thing creeping back in like muscle memory. “It wasn’t like a whole argument, they’ve been telling me this since I started high school, so when it finally happened I just, you know, accepted fate.” [Name] shrugged, but not in a way of trying to brush this off. “But I’m not sad or depressed, I swear, I don’t think I was meant to stay there. Might be other things waiting for me somewhere else.” She gave a hopeful thumbs up towards Katherine who furrowed her brows and gave a slight grin.

Though Katherine’s jaw tightened. For a split second, something sharp flashed behind her eyes anger on [Name]’s behalf, the kind that made her look like she would absolutely drive over to someone’s house and knock on their door with a ghost backup squad.

”Well, that’s certainly a good way at looking at things. I’m sure there are great things that lie ahead of you.” Katherine gave a genuine, almost proud smile, tilting her head slightly as if she was seeing her in a new light.

[Name]  gave a crooked, tired half-smile. “Ten out of ten, would not recommend.”

She took a breath, let it out slowly. “I’m really sorry,” she said. “You didn’t deserve that. And I’m not gonna pretend I can fix your parents for you.” She made a face. “If I could fix people like that, this place would be a self-help retreat and I’d charge triple.”

The joke landed just enough to make [Name] huff a tiny laugh.

“But,” Katherine went on, voice steady, “what I can do is this, you can stay here. We have rooms. We have food. We have… questionable plumbing, but it works. You’re not on the street. You’re not alone.”

[Name] blinked, surprised by how quickly she said it. “Just like that?”

“This is literally a hotel,” Katherine said. “Providing shelter is kind of the whole bit.”

Esther leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “And you’re my friend,” she added, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re not a stray cat I dragged in. I mean, you kinda are, but, like, in a good way.”

“Wow,” [Name] said dryly. “So honored.”

Katherine smiled, softer this time. “We’ll put you in a room on one of the less… murdery floors,” she said. “You’ll help out around here, we’ll figure out school stuff, and other needs you might have, we’ll deal with it then. Okay?”

Something in [Name]’s chest loosened just a little. Not gone, but not crushing her as hard.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Okay. That… actually sounds kind of good.”

Somewhere above them, something heavy thumped across the ceiling, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a demonic growl and someone yelling, “Do not eat that!”

Esther glanced up. “So, uh,” she said, wincing. “Tiny heads-up… I do have an adopted demonic brother that you’re probably gonna end up room-adjacent to.”

[Name] looked at the ceiling, then back at her. “Cool,” she said. “Got kicked out of my house and upgraded to living  next a demon. Love that for me.”

Esther grinned. “Honestly? You’re gonna fit in here perfectly.”

Chapter Text

THIRD POV

The hallway to room twelve was a little too long for how short it actually was.

Old patterned wallpaper ran down both sides, the colors washed out into a vague sort of beige that might’ve once been flowers. The carpet was mostly flat, except for random spots that tried to trip you just to keep things interesting. The wall sconces hummed and flickered every now and then, not enough to be scary, just enough to be like, ‘Yeah, this building definitely has opinions.’

Katherine walked ahead with an easy, steady pace, a ring of keys resting against her palm. Esther trailed behind her, dragging [Name]’s suitcase, which thumped over every tiny imperfection in the floor like it was protesting the move.

“So this is the second floor,” Esther said, slightly out of breath. “It’s like the first floor, but higher. And more haunted.”

“Very strong sales pitch,” [Name] said.

Her tone was casual, almost bored, but there was no edge in it. She looked more like someone who’d had a long day than someone whose life had just been flipped. One hand was shoved into the pocket of her hoodie, shoulders loose, expression relaxed in that deliberate way that said she’d decided she wasn’t going to stress about it anymore.

Katherine stopped in front of a door with a slightly crooked brass “12” on it. She turned to face [Name], and some of the usual managerial edge smoothed out of her expression.

“All right,” she said. “Here we are.”

She slid the key into the lock and turned it. The door gave a small, tired click and swung inward. Katherine stepped aside and held the key out.

“You can stay in this room for as long as you need,” she said. “We’re about to have spaghetti night in a few hours for dinner. You’re welcome to join us. If you’d rather have it quiet and settle in, I can send a plate up. Either option is okay.”

“Thougghh, it would be a good opportunity for you to meet my uncle Nathan and get to talk to Ben, unless he’s still in the garden tending to his tomatoes, the yeah.” Esther chimed in as if trying to close a deal on this sales pitch of making it to spaghetti night. “Oh, and you might meet Abbadon, the yelling you heard earlier. Unless we meet him before dinner but still, family dinner for the win, eh?”

[Name] took the key, rolling the metal against her fingers for a second. It was scratched and bent a little at the top, but solid. Practical. [Name] gave a small snort at Esther attempt to really persuade her to come down.

“As long as nobody’s throwing me out, I’m pretty flexible,” she said. “And spaghetti sounds better than sitting alone staring at a wall. So yeah, I’ll be there.” [Name] gave a half lidded grin.

Something like approval flickered through Katherine’s eyes. “Good,” she said. “We’ll start around seven. Esther will make sure you don’t get her lost.”

“I only got us lost twice today when making turns on the way here,” Esther said proudly. “That’s an improvement.”

“That is not the standard I’m aiming for,” Katherine sighed, but the corner of her mouth lifted.

She stepped into the room first to hit the light switch.

The overhead light flickered once, then steadied into a warm glow. The room was simple but not miserable. A single bed against the left wall, dressed in a clean white duvet and a stack of mismatched pillows, an empty wardrobe with a mirrored door opposite to it, a narrow wooden desk under the window with a chair tucked neatly underneath. The wood was scuffed in places but well cared for, in that “this has survived a lot” kind of way.

The window was cracked open, letting in a slice of cool air. The thin white curtains caught the breeze and lifted, billowing lazily into the room before floating back again. The light from outside turned them almost translucent, so they looked like they were breathing.

[Name] stepped over the threshold and let her eyes move around the room, taking in details without much visible reaction. “Not bad,” she said. “Better than the couch at my parents’ place.”

Esther rolled the suitcase inside and let it thunk against the wall. “I told you,” she said. “We’re semi-legit.”

“This room has been empty for a little while,” Katherine said. “If you find anything strange, it’s probably just leftover energy and not an active problem. Still, if anything bothers you, you come to me. Or Esther. Or… well.” She hesitated for a second. “You’ll meet the others.”

“Strange like… creaky floorboards,” [Name] asked, “or strange like ‘don’t open the closet or you’ll get possessed’?”

“We do not use the word ‘possessed’ in the building,” Katherine said firmly. “It gets the walls excited.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind,” [Name] said, amused.

Katherine’s gaze softened. “I know today has been a lot,” she said. “You’re handling it very calmly, but if you ever decide you need to be not-calm for a bit, that is allowed, too.”

[Name] gave a half-smile, tipping her head. “I’ve had years of warning,” she said. “This wasn’t exactly a surprise move. They’ve been threatening it since, like, freshman year. At some point you just sort of go, ‘All right, then. Guess that’s how it’s gonna be.’” She rolled one shoulder. “Honestly, I’m more curious than anything. New place, new people. Could be worse.”

Katherine’s brows knit, but in a thoughtful way. “You remind me of Esther,” she said. “More than she’ll admit.” She straightened. “All right. I’ll stop blocking the doorway. Spaghetti in a few hours. If you change your mind about joining us, send Esther down.”

“Got it,” [Name] said.

Katherine gave her a small nod and stepped back into the hall. The latch clicked softly as the door pulled almost shut behind her.

The room settled around them with that particular quiet of a place that had been empty too long and was now adjusting to having someone in it again.

Esther flopped into the chair by the door, flinging one leg over the arm. The chair creaked in complaint but held. “So,” she said. “How do we feel about your new room? One star? Five stars? Haunted Airbnb?”

[Name] dropped down on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped and bounced once. “Solid four,” she said. “Would’ve been five, but the wallpaper’s emotionally confusing.”

“Wow,” Esther said. “Rude to the wallpaper, but fair.”

[Name] leaned back on her hands, letting her shoulders relax. The breeze from the window brushed over her face, bringing in a faint hint of outside city air that felt weirdly refreshing after a day inside cars and lobbies and tense halls. She watched the curtains float for a second, then nodded. “I like the window,” she said. “Feels… I don’t know. Open. Not prison-y.”

“Good,” Esther said. “You’re also on the side that doesn’t face the alley dumpsters, so that’s a bonus.”

“Is the other side cursed?” [Name] asked.

“Only on Thursdays,” Esther said. “Come on, unpack a little. If you don’t, you’re gonna end up living out of your suitcase until we find a ghost sleeping in your socks.”

[Name] laughed under her breath and pulled the suitcase closer, unzipping it. Clothes were stuffed inside in rough stacks, the result of quick packing and not much planning. She pulled out a folded hoodie and set it on the bed.

“You really okay about all this?” Esther asked after a moment. The question was casual, but her eyes were watching carefully. “Like, your parents. House. Everything.”

[Name] shrugged again, but it wasn’t a “drop the subject” shrug. It was more like she was flipping through the memory and setting it down. “They made it sound like this huge dramatic thing,” she said. “You know—‘you’re not welcome in this house if you don’t do A, B, C.’ After a while, it just starts to sound like background noise. So when they finally meant it, I was like… figures.” She glanced around the room. “Honestly? Feels like the universe just sped up something that was already gonna happen. I’m not mad about it.”

Esther stared at her for a second, then let out a low whistle. “You’re taking this better than half our guests take running out of hot water,” she said.

“Well, I’ve never expected much from that house,” [Name] said. “This place is already an upgrade. There’s spaghetti. And nobody’s yelled at me yet.”

“You just met Abaddon’s floor,” Esther said. “Give it time.”

“Is he the yelling?” [Name] asked, amused. “From earlier?”

“Yeah,” Esther said, leaning her head back against the wall. “That was him. You’ll probably meet him soon. He lurks everywhere, but he lurks down here a lot.”

“‘Lurks’ is wild vocabulary,” [Name] said. “You say that about him like it’s normal.”

“It is here,” Esther said. “He’s like… our resident disaster. Demonic edition.”

[Name] raised her brows just a little. “You keep throwing around ‘demonic’ very casually,” she said. “Is that metaphorical, or…?”

“No, he’s literally a demon,” Esther said. “You’ll see. It’s kind of his whole thing.”

“Okay,” [Name] said. “A house demon, a haunted hotel, and free pasta. Sure. Why not.”

Esther grinned. “You’re fun,” she said. “I’m glad you’re not running for the hills.”

“Nowhere to run to,” [Name] said lightly. “Besides, this is more interesting.”

She slid off the bed, opened the wardrobe, and squinted at the mirrored door for a second. Her reflection stared back at her, hair slightly frizzy from the day, face calm, eyes alert. Not broken. Just… here.

“Mirror rule,” Esther said from the chair. “If anything besides your own face shows up, you tell me.”

“Got it,” [Name] said. “If anything weird happens, call Esther.”

“And maybe Mon,” Esther said. “She has access to holy water and a very solid flip-flop. She’ll spray Abbadon sometimes when he brings dead animal corpses in the lobby.”

[Name] snorted, starting to hang a few shirts. They chatted about small things: school, stupid classmates, the fact that the Undervale’s laundry room sounded like it was definitely haunted by at least three socks and someone’s old washing machine ghost. The hotel filled in the background with its own quiet sounds. A door down the hall closed. The pipes rattled once in the walls and then settled. Somewhere farther away, something clanged in the kitchen.

Then, cutting through it all, came a familiar noise from above—loud, annoyed shouting that sounded less like someone in pain and more like someone being deeply offended by reality.

“Is that him again?” [Name] asked.

“Yep,” Esther said. “Abaddon. Probably found out someone misfiled a sigil or left salt in the wrong pattern. He’s dramatic.”

“Good to know the upstairs comes with sound effects,” [Name] said.

“You get used to it,” Esther replied. “He complains, I complain about him complaining, Mom threatens to make a chore chart. Circle of life.”

[Name] was halfway through folding a pair of jeans when the noise changed. The yelling had stopped some time ago, but she hadn’t really registered exactly when. What she did notice was the soft shift in the air near the door, like someone had stepped into the frame and brought their own temperature with them.

The door, which Katherine had left mostly closed, eased inward a few inches.

A figure appeared in the gap.

He didn’t slam the door open or burst in. He just… existed there all at once, leaning slightly against the doorframe as if it had been a long day for him, too. His fingers rested above his head on the wood, long and pale, knuckles faintly marked with old, thin lines that might have been scars.

His blue hoodie, too big, hung off his frame. He wore brown pilgrim-y trousers and long socks with shoes that also looked like they were from the 1700s. His body stayed slightly hunched, shoulders forward, spine curved in. Even with that, [Name] could tell he was taller than he let on. If he straightened, he’d be noticeably taller than her. Maybe taller than Esther, too.

His hair was dark, long and messy, falling around his face like it did whatever it wanted. His jaw was sharp, lips set in a flat, unimpressed line.

And his eyes—

They were grey-ish blue hue, framed by eye bags so pronounced they might as well have been painted on, but somehow it didn’t make him look weak. Just… ancient. Like he’d spent a lifetime watching things and refusing to sleep through any of it. His gaze was sharp, focused, taking in the room in one smooth pass.

He straightened just enough to do something dramatic with his posture and lifted his chin.

“I am Abaddon,” he announced, voice rich and clear, carrying a weird sort of weight even in this small room. “High Prince of the Dark Realm, bearer of—”

“Oh good, you’re here,” Esther said, sitting up straighter. “This is my demonic adopted brother, Abaddon.”

The speech cut off like someone had physically sliced it.

Abaddon turned his head to Esther with the slow precision of someone deciding whether or not to smite. His expression did not change much, but the air around him seemed to pause.

“You interrupted my title,” he said.

“And yet the world continues to spin,” Esther replied. “You don’t need to roll the entire scroll every time you walk into a room. She’s not a cultist.”

Abaddon blinked once, like he was recalibrating, then looked at [Name].

The spotlight of his attention moved, settling on her.

She met his gaze, calm. Her shoulders stayed relaxed. She balanced a folded pair of jeans in her hands like she was in the middle of folding laundry in her own room, not standing in front of a demon with a dramatic intro.

“So that’s you,” she said. “The ceiling yeller.”

Esther choked on a laugh.

Abaddon’s eye twitched. “I was expressing justified frustration at improper ritual handling,” he said. “Yelling is a crude interpretation.”

“Sounded like yelling,” [Name] said. “Some notes of outrage, a little “how dare you touch the candles” vibe.”

He stared at her for a heartbeat. “They drew a summoning circle with the wrong chalk,” he said, as if that explained anything. “And put a scented candle at the southern point.”

Esther winced. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “That was bad.”

“You cannot use vanilla sugar cookie to anchor a southern point,” Abaddon continued, clearly still offended. “Do you know what that does to the energy flow?”

[Name] considered him. “No,” she said. “But I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

“It makes everything sticky and unfocused,” he said, completely serious. “And it attracts the wrong kind of entity.”

“Demons with sweet tooths?” she asked.

“Aromatherapists,” he replied flatly.

Esther burst out laughing. “Okay, that one’s new,” she said. “I’m stealing that.”

[Name] bit back a grin. “So,” she said, “you’re the demon in residence.”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I reside. I do not haunt. The building does most of the haunting itself.”

“That’s efficient of it,” [Name] said. “Outsourcing labor.”

His gaze flicked over her outfit, the open suitcase, the key resting on the nightstand. “You are the new guest,” he said. “The one they decided to keep.”

“That’s one way to phrase ‘kicked out and relocated,’ yeah,” she said. “You guys really like talking about me like I’m an adoption application.”

“The comparison is not inaccurate,” Abaddon said. “You arrived with minimal belongings, a need for shelter, and a history of loud parental disapproval. Katherine approved your presence. That is essentially an adoption.”

[Name] lifted her brows. “You make it sound like a case file,” she said. “Do you just… narrate people in your head like that?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“She’s not wrong,” Esther muttered.

Abaddon stepped a little farther into the room, still staying near the door. His posture remained slightly curved, making him less physically imposing than he could have been. “You are taking this very well,” he said. “Most newcomers display panic. Or tears. Some attempt bargaining.”

“Over what?” [Name] asked. “Room size?”

“Over their fate,” he said. “Ghosts. Curses. The existence of hell.”

“Ah,” she said. “Well. I had my little existential crisis in, like, junior year. I’m good now.”

“You are… good,” he repeated, like he was testing the concept.

“Yeah,” she said. “I mean, could be worse. I have a bed, a window, and apparently spaghetti. And a demon neighbor. That’s new.” [Name] gave a thumbs up with half lidded grin.

Esther pointed at [Name] like she’d won something. “See?” she said to Abaddon. “Told you she’d be fine.”

Abaddon tilted his head slightly. “You are not frightened,” he said. It wasn’t a boast, it sounded almost like a question he was asking the air.

[Name] thought about it. “I mean, you’re a six-foot something guy standing in my doorway talking about ritual candle etiquette,” she said. “But you’re also wearing shoes that I’m going to assume is from the 1700s and arguing about scented wax. That kind of cancels things out.”

Esther clapped once. “She got you there,” she said.

Abaddon glanced down at his socks, as if seeing them for the first time, then back up. “Bare feet on this floor would be impractical and these shoes have been bestowed upon me by the matriarch since my vessel has outgrown his other ones,” he said. “The wood splinters.”

“That’s the only reason?” [Name] asked.

“Yes,” he said.

She nodded thoughtfully. “Solid reasoning, actually.”

There was a brief pause, not awkward, just… waiting.

“So,” she said. “Since we’re apparently across the hall from each other now, any neighbor rules I should know about? Like quiet hours, ritual schedules, things I shouldn’t touch in the hallway so I don’t explode?”

Esther got comfortable again, clearly anticipating this.

Abaddon took this question very seriously. He braced one shoulder a bit more firmly against the doorframe. “Do not open my door if you see symbols glowing on it,” he said. “If you hear chanting coming from inside, it is either me or something I am dealing with. In both cases, you should not enter.”

“And if I hear screaming?” she asked.

“It depends on the pitch,” he said.

She squinted. “Explain.”

“If it is my voice, you may knock,” he said. “If it is something else’s voice, go get Katherine.”

Esther laughed so hard the chair squeaked. “This is why we don’t need safety brochures,” she said. “We have him.”

[Name] nodded, businesslike. “Okay. No glowing symbols, no chanting, questionable screaming. Anything else?”

He considered. “Do not touch the black box on my bookshelf,” he added. “If it appears in your room, call me immediately.”

“You keep saying things that sound like jokes but absolutely aren’t,” she said.

“Nothing I have said is a joke,” he replied.

“That’s what worries me,” she said.

Esther pointed between them with both hands. “This dynamic?” she said. “I like this dynamic.”

“They are behaving strangely,” Abaddon muttered, half to himself.

[Name] tilted her head. “Strange how?”

He looked right at her. “You are not behaving like the building wants you to,” he said. “Usually it pushes people toward panic. Or melodrama. You are… leveling it out.”

“That’s my secret,” she said. “I refuse to give haunted architecture the satisfaction.”

Esther laughed again, warm and delighted. “You might scare the hotel,” she said. “I approve.”

Abaddon’s expression shifted minutely, a flicker of something that looked almost like respect sliding through it. “Defiance is useful here,” he said. “Just do not let it make you reckless.”

“I don’t really do reckless,” [Name] said. “I do ‘mildly stupid with a plan’.”

“That is just reckless with extra steps,” he said.

She smiled. “Then I guess you’re stuck with it.”

He watched her for a moment longer, then pushed off the doorframe. “Spaghetti night will be downstairs,” he said. “The dining room. Follow Esther or follow the smell.”

“Does demon royalty attend spaghetti night?” she asked.

“Sometimes,” he said. “It depends on whether the sauce is worth my time.”

“He says that and then shows up every time,” Esther told [Name]. “He pretends he’s above carbs, but he absolutely isn’t.”

“I do not require carbohydrates,” Abaddon said. “I enjoy garlic.”

“Same thing in this household,” Esther said.

[Name] glanced between them, amused. “I’ll come down,” she said. “Free food is free food.”

“Good,” Abaddon said simply.

He turned toward the hall, then paused, hand on the doorframe again. “If you need anything before then,” he said, glancing back at her, “I am across the hall. Knock. Or say my name. I will probably hear it.”

“Because you’ve got demon hearing,” she said.

“Because this building carries sound very well,” he said. A beat. “And also yes. Demon hearing.”

She gave him a small salute with the folded jeans. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He nodded once, formally, like he was concluding a meeting, then stepped into the hallway. The door drifted almost closed behind him, stopping just short of the latch.

As his footsteps faded, Esther spun the chair sideways and braced her elbows on her knees. “So,” she said. “First impressions?”

“Of the demon?” [Name] asked.

“Yeah.”

She thought about it. “Very dramatic,” she said. “Very serious. Talks like he’s in a comic book half the time and then randomly goes, ‘I enjoy garlic.’”

“That’s basically him in a sentence,” Esther said, pleased. “He’s… weird, but in a useful way. If you get to know him more, which I’m pretty sure you will, he’s pretty sweet… in his ow demonic way?”

[Name] smirked. “Honestly,” she said, “I like him. He’s interesting. And he didn’t threaten to eat my soul even once, which feels like a win.”

“See?” Esther said. “You’re already better at this than half our guests.”

The curtains shifted again in the breeze. The bed creaked a little when [Name] sat back down, tossing the jeans aside for now. The room felt more anchored somehow, still new, still strange, but grounded by the fact that it now had a key on the nightstand, clothes in the wardrobe, and a demon across the hall who complained about scented candles.

She tipped her head back, looking at the slightly cracked ceiling. “Well,” she said. “Guess I live here now.”

“Yup,” Esther said. “Welcome to the Undervale. Population: us, some ghosts, a demon prince, and now you.”

“Nice,” [Name] said. “Hope it doesn’t get boring.” Somewhere down the hall, a light flickered, as if the building had just realized it had no chance of that.

This’ll definitely be an interesting summer.

Chapter Text

THIRD POV

Spaghetti night snuck up on [Name] faster than she expected. One minute she was half-heartedly rearranging her hoodie stack for the fifth time and folding her three pairs of bottoms, the next there was a sharp knock on her door three quick raps, a pause, then one more for unnecessary flourish.

“C’mon, room twelve!” Esther called. “Pasta time before Ben hoards all the bread and Uncle Nathan starts giving speeches.”

[Name] opened the door, leaning against it with one shoulder. “You’re really selling this as a high-stakes event.”

“It is,” Esther said. “You haven’t seen Ben around garlic bread. It’s primal.”

They headed down together. The stairwell was the same as earlier, narrow and creaky, the railing smooth under their hands. Who knows how many people, and or ghosts, have walked down these very stairs. As they went, the warm smell of tomatoes, garlic, and something buttery rose up to meet them, settling in the air like a promise.

The “dining room” was basically the hotel’s kitchen with ambition. A long wooden table sat on the side of the room, surrounded by mismatched chairs. Cabinets lined the walls, some older than the building probably should’ve allowed, and a pot of sauce simmered on the stove, steam curling up to fog the window over the sink.

Katherine was at the counter, sleeves pushed up, moving between the stove and the table with practiced efficiency. Ben was already seated, hunched over his phone, elbows braced on the table, his light brown hair semi-neat. A basket of garlic bread sat just out of his reach, like Katherine had done it on purpose.

And then there was the man at the end of the table.

He looked… normal. That was the weirdest part.

Light skin, light green eyes, brown hair, darker than Ben’s or Esther’s, swooped over his forehead like it had been attacked with too much gel years ago and never recovered. A thick brown mustache dominated the lower half of his face. He wore a blue sweater over a collared shirt, sleeves neatly down to his wrists. If [Name] had seen him at a regular hotel front desk, she would’ve pegged him as “overly earnest manager who apologizes for the elevator” and moved on.

He was sitting on the chair at the end of the table, chatting with Katherine and then, mid-sentence, he casually leaned a little too far back and his shoulder went straight through the back of the chair.

He didn’t seem bothered. He just rocked himself forward again, like phasing into plaster was a normal way to stand.

Esther raised a hand. “Hey, Uncle Nathan!”

He looked up, brightening immediately. “There she is,” he said, eyes locking onto [Name]. He stepped around the chair, feet landing on the floor like a solid person, and strode over with the energy of someone who’d been waiting for this moment all day.

“You must be [Name],” he said. “Finally. I was starting to think Esther made you up to get out of chores.”

“I would never,” Esther said. “I’m way too lazy to commit to a long-term lie.”

[Name] gave him a once-over, then a casual nod. “So you’re the famous ghost uncle,” she said. “You look very alive for a dead guy.”

“Aww, thank you,” Nathan said, genuinely pleased. “I moisturize and ignore the afterlife paperwork.” He jerked a thumb at Katherine. “I used to run this place. Then I kicked the bucket, and now my little sister gets to handle all the fun legal responsibilities.”

Katherine shot him a look from the stove. “You left me this hotel in your will and a note that said ‘You’ll figure it out,’” she said. “Fun is not the word I would use.”

“It built character,” Nathan said. “And eye twitching. But mostly character.”

Ben looked up from his phone briefly, gave [Name] a small, awkward wave, and then pretended to be very invested in an invisible notification.

“Come sit,” Nathan said, steering [Name] toward a chair with exaggerated host energy. “Tonight’s menu is spaghetti, garlic bread, a salad that Katherine keeps trying to make us eat, and one (1) demon with a superiority complex.”

“He is not part of the menu,” Katherine said automatically.

“We’ll see,” Nathan said energetically swinging his arm.

[Name] took a seat on the side of the table near the middle, where she had a good view of the kitchen and the doorway. Esther plopped down across from her. Ben stayed on [Name]’s left, still guarding the bread basket like it was a dragon hoard.

Katherine brought over a huge bowl piled high with spaghetti and set it in the center of the table. Sauce followed, deep red with flecks of herbs, then the salad, then the garlic bread. The table looked like a chaotic family dinner, not some creepy ritual, which [Name] decided was a good sign.

“All right,” Katherine said, dropping into a chair near the head of the table. “Everyone’s here except the demon. Of course.”

“He likes to make an entrance,” Nathan said. “You can practically hear the internal theme music.”

As if on cue, the overhead light flickered once.

Then the doorway darkened.

It wasn’t dramatic wind or swirling shadows. It was subtler than that. The air just… shifted. Like someone had dropped a different atmosphere in from a higher floor. The kitchen hum quieted, the clink of cutlery paused.

Abaddon strode in.

He wore the same blue hoodie and strange brown trousers as earlier, shoes that looked like they’d been stolen from a time museum. His posture was the familiar hunched curve, shoulders rounded inward, hands shoved into the pocket of the hoodie. His long, dark hair fell in messy waves around his face. His grey-blue eyes flicked over everyone at the table with a quick, assessing sweep.

He halted just inside the room, lifted his chin slightly, and let out a slow breath, as if he were about to address a crowd of terrified mortals instead of one medium-sized family and a pot of spaghetti.

“Behold,” Abaddon said, voice smooth and deep. “I have descended from the upper floor, through the stale air and cursed vents, to witness this mortal feast of boiled wheat and crushed nightshade—”

“Hey, bud,” Nathan said. “Your seat’s getting cold.”

The speech shattered mid-sentence.

Abaddon turned his head toward Nathan with the air of someone who’d just had an ancient ritual interrupted by a car horn. “Do not call me—”

“Bud, yeah, I know,” Nathan said, unfazed. “Come on. Before Ben eats your share of the bread. Again.”

“I would never!” Ben said, already reaching toward the basket on the counter.

“You bit him last time,” Nathan reminded him.

“That was self-defense,” Ben said.

[Name] watched all of this happen, chin propped on one hand. Abaddon’s big scary entrance had lasted maybe three seconds before being hijacked by a guy with a mustache and a sweater. Abaddon stepped the rest of the way into the room, looming slightly just because he couldn’t help it. For a second, it looked like he might head for the far end of the table, where there was a clear, ominous “I glower from here” spot.

Instead, he turned and walked directly to the empty chair next to [Name] that Ben was previously sitting in.

Ben froze halfway out of his seat. “Hey,” he said. “That’s my spot.”

“You did not sit in it fast enough,” Abaddon said, already pulling the chair out. “In the laws of conquest, hesitation is defeat.”

“This is dinner, not a battlefield,” Ben muttered as he set the bread basket on the table and ended up sitting next to Esther.

Abaddon sat anyway, folding himself into the chair with that strange mix of grace and tension. From this close, [Name] could see the way his eye bags made him look like he’d lost an argument with sleep for several millennia. He smelled faintly of old books, smoke, and something metallic that didn’t belong in kitchens.

“Good evening, new resident,” he said to [Name], tone formal. “I see that you have heeded the call of carbohydrates.”

“It was either this or stare at the ceiling,” she said. “Spaghetti won.”

“A reasonable choice,” he said.

Katherine passed the spaghetti bowl toward them. “Abaddon, do not insult the food this time,” she warned. “It has been a long day.”

“I do not insult food,” Abaddon said, offended. “I simply describe it accurately.”

“He called my lasagna ‘a structural failure’ once,” Nathan told [Name]. “In front of a full house.”

“It disintegrated under its own hubris,” Abaddon said. “I was being kind.”

[Name] snorted, ladling spaghetti onto her plate. “You rate food like it’s a kingdom,” she said. “Be honest. You’ve given a tomato a one-star review before.”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation.

Esther almost dropped her fork. “Wait, when?”

“In the garden,” Abaddon said. “One of Ben’s prized tomatoes was… disappointing. I expressed this.”

“He stared at it for five minutes and then told it it had ‘failed its lineage,’” Ben said flatly. “I’m still not over it.” Ben muttered as he circled his fork to get a grip on the spaghetti.

“You have no lineage,” Abaddon said. “It was the tomato’s burden alone.”

Nathan leaned toward [Name]. “This is what I mean by ‘superiority complex,’” he stage-whispered.

Katherine started passing out sauce and salad. “Everyone eat before this becomes a philosophical debate about produce,” she said.

Plates filled. Garlic bread circulated. For a few minutes, the only sounds were clinking forks, quiet chewing, and Nathan humming something that might have been an old jingle from a commercial no one else remembered.

“So, [Name],” Nathan said after a while, dabbing his mouth like he was at some fancy restaurant instead of a slightly haunted kitchen. “How are we treating you so far? Aside from the wallpaper.”

[Name] twirled spaghetti around her fork. “Not bad,” she said. “I got a room, a window, some ominous house rules. No one’s yelled at me yet. Definitely beating my last place.”

“We can yell if you feel nostalgic,” Nathan offered.

“I’ll pass,” [Name] said.

Katherine shot Nathan a brief look. He lifted his hands in surrender.

“Just so you know,” Nathan said, more gently, “you’re not a charity case here. You pull your weight, you’re part of the house. Simple as that.”

“That’s what I told her,” Esther said. “Minus the sentimental uncle voice.”

[Name] shrugged, relaxed. “I already told Katherine I’m cool pulling desk duty or whatever,” she said. “I don’t want to sit around being mysterious in the corner. That’s his job.”

She jerked her head toward Abaddon.

Abaddon paused mid-bite, fork hovering in front of his mouth. “I am not ‘desk duty,’” he said. “I sit under the desk.”

“I said ‘mysterious in the corner,’” [Name] corrected. “Completely different position.”

“She’s right,” Nathan said. “Desk duty requires customer service.”

Abaddon slowly set the fork down. “I am not mysterious,” he added, as if that was the worst part.

“You’re a ten-thousand-year-old demon in period-piece shoes who lives in a haunted hotel,” Esther said. “You are the definition of mysterious.”

“These shoes are practical,” Abaddon said. “The matriarch bestowed them upon me.”

“That’s Mom,” Ben translated quietly to [Name], nodding toward Katherine.

Katherine sighed. “He grew out of his last pair,” she said. “I bought those at a thrift shop. He refuses to take them off.”

“They have history,” Abaddon said.

“They have holes,” Katherine said.

“They breathe,” he replied.

[Name] covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smile. The whole dynamic felt bizarrely normal, like she’d walked into a sitcom halfway through season two where everyone knew each other’s beats.

“So,” Nathan said, pointing his fork at [Name] now. “Tell us about you. Any weird hobbies? Any special skills? Are you secretly a runaway vampire?”,

[Name] took a sip of water. “I wish,” she said. “That’d make the college applications more interesting. Uh… I like [insert hobby/interest] . I’m decent at organizing stuff. I can make boxed mac and cheese without burning the pot. And I haven’t been arrested yet.”

“Good baseline,” Nathan said. “We’ll get you some crimes later.”

“Please don’t,” Katherine said.

Abaddon rested his elbow on the table, chin on his hand, watching her more openly now. “You are very calm for someone experiencing sudden displacement,” he observed. “Most mortals arrive here trailing emotional debris like smoke.”

“Yeah, well,” she said. “I got all my panicking out years ago. Now it’s just ‘roll with the plot twist.’”

“Plot twist,” he repeated. “You view your life as… narrative.”

“Everyone does,” she said. “They just don’t admit it.”

He seemed to file that away, eyes narrowing slightly like she’d said something important and hadn’t realized it.

Dinner rolled on. Nathan told dramatic stories about “the old days” of the hotel, most of which sounded at least fifty percent exaggerated. Esther kept jumping in to correct details. Ben fact-checked him from his phone. Katherine occasionally threatened to confiscate everyone’s dessert privileges if they didn’t stop arguing about which ghost had thrown a toaster in 2009.

Through it all, Abaddon oscillated between ominous and oddly literal.

When Ben complained about a guest leaving a bad review, Abaddon said, “In one of my kingdoms, writing such words would earn you a century in the bone pits,” in a calm voice that made everyone pause and then Nathan reached over him and put a ghostly hand over his shoulder and said, “Yeah, yeah, bone pits, got it, bud.”

“Stop calling me that,” Abaddon muttered.

“You love it,” Nathan said.

“I do not,” Abaddon said.

[Name] leaned closer just enough to be heard over the noise. “You kind of do,” she said softly.

He glanced at her. “I absolutely do not,” he said.

“Sure,” she said.

He went back to his spaghetti, but his jaw was a little less tight.

By the time the plates were mostly empty and the garlic bread reduced to crumbs and memory, [Name] felt that heavy, pleasant fullness that came from good food and too much conversation. She sat back, letting the sounds of the Freelings’ bickering wash over her like background music.

For a weird haunted hotel, it felt… comfortable.

Katherine started stacking plates. “All right,” she said. “I’ll handle the worst of the dishes. Esther, Ben, help. Nathan, no phasing through the sink this time.”

“It was one time,” Nathan said.

“You made the drain scream,” she replied.

“That’s just good plumbing,” Nathan said.

Ben stood up from his seat, gathering plates. Esther dragged herself up with a dramatic sigh. “If I disappear,” she told [Name], “tell my story. Make it fun.”

“I’ll lie a little to make you sound cool,” [Name] said.

“You’re the best,” Esther said, heading for the sink.

Nathan gave [Name] a quick, warm smile as he passed. “If you ever need a midnight snack or want to complain about the living, I haunt the lobby,” he said. Then he stepped right through one of the chairs instead of walking around it, as casually as someone cutting a corner.

[Name] watched him go, then realized she and Abaddon were still at the table, the noise of dishes and running water starting up behind them.

“You are quiet,” Abaddon said after a moment.

“I’m digesting,” she said. “And processing the fact that Nathan just walked through a chair like that’s normal.”

“That is normal for him,” Abaddon said. “He is a ghost that has no respect for structural boundaries.”

“I noticed,” she said.

They sat there for a few more seconds, comfortable enough silence settling between them with Abbadon continueing to eye her down without remorse.Then [Name] pushed her chair back. “All right,” she said. “I should head up before Esther comes back and tries to sign me up for dish duty.”

Abaddon stood as well, almost automatically, chair scraping softly against the tile. “I will accompany you,” he said.

“Is that a demon thing,” she asked, “or a weird chaperone thing?”

“I wish to ensure the house does not attempt anything,” he said.

“Like what? Trip me with the carpet?” she said.

“Yes,” he said simply.

She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again. The hotel had a personality. She’d felt that since she’d walked in. Having someone on speaking terms with it trailing behind her wasn’t the worst idea.

“Fine,” she said. “Come on, then.”

They moved toward the stairs. As they crossed the lobby, [Name] glanced back once. Katherine was at the sink, sleeves still rolled up, Esther and Ben bickering over who was worse at rinsing, Nathan balancing a plate on one hand and miming a stand-up routine to absolutely no audience.

She smiled to herself, then turned away and followed the creaking stairs up.

The hallway on the second floor was quieter now, lights humming quietly overhead. [Name] walked at an easy pace, hands in her hoodie pocket. Esther caught up to them halfway down, drying her hands on a dish towel.

“There you are,” she said. “I was going to come drag you if you tried to hide in the linen closet.”

“I wouldn’t disrespect the linen like that,” [Name] said.

Esther grinned. “So,” she said, falling in beside her, “first official Freeling family dinner. Thoughts? Reviews? Rank us.”

[Name] considered it. “Ten out of ten,” she said. “Five stars. Would dine again. Food was good, ghosts were weird, demon wouldn’t shut up about tomatoes.”

Abaddon made a faint offended sound behind them.

“That’s the full experience,” Esther said. “You got the deluxe package. Just wait till you see brunch around here.”

They reached [Name]’s door. Esther stopped and leaned back against the wall across from it, folding her arms.

“Well,” she said, nodding toward Abaddon, who was hovering a few steps back like a very dramatic shadow. “I am going to let you two enjoy your weird hallway energy. I have to go pretend to do homework.” She pointed two fingers at [Name]. “If you need anything, I’m right over there. If he says anything ominous”—she jerked her thumb at Abaddon—“just tell him to write it in his diary.”

“I do not have a diary,” Abaddon said.

“You absolutely do,” Esther said. “You call it a ‘grimoire’ but you write in it like a journal.”

“That is slander,” Abaddon said.

Esther winked at [Name]. “Good luck,” she said. “Night, dude. Night, Abaddon.”

“Good night, Esther.” Abaddon said, like he was delivering a curse instead of a basic goodbye.

“Yeah, that,” Esther added, and disappeared into her room. The door shut with a soft click, leaving the hallway humming and weirdly quiet.

[Name] turned back to her own door and slid the key into the lock, but didn’t turn it yet. She let her hand rest on the knob and twisted at the waist to face Abaddon fully.

He was still there.

He hadn’t moved much from where he’d been hovering, slouched, hands planted on both sides of himself, his hair sticking out of place, eyes fixed on her like she’d done something personally confusing. Without Nathan’s running commentary, he felt a lot more like “actual demon” and a little less like “Esther’s weird upstairs friend.”

She raised her brows. “What do you want,” she asked, “respectfully.”

The “respectfully” made his eye twitch.

He straightened a little, shoulders rolling back just enough to make his silhouette longer, sharper, like he was remembering he was supposed to be intimidating.

“I go where the shadows call me,” Abaddon said, voice dropping into that smooth, stagey tone he used when he wanted to sound important. “Darkness gathers… secrets whisper… and I, as heir to the abyss, walk the lonely corridors of—”

“Uh-huh,” [Name] cut in. “Or you’re loitering.”

He stopped mid-sentence, jaw clenching. “Demons do not loiter,” he said. “We brood.”

“Okay, so you’re brooding in front of my door,” she said. “Why?”

He stared at her for a second like he was offended she’d asked for a reason.

“I am monitoring a situation,” he finally declared.

“What situation?” she asked.

“You,” he said, as if that should’ve been obvious.

She blinked. “Me?”

“Yes,” Abaddon said. “You arrived, your parents cast you out, you were dragged into this… establishment” his lip curled slightly on the word “met a ghost, a demon, and an entire family of chaos, and yet you did not scream, faint, or attempt to throw holy water at me.” He tilted his head. “This is not standard.”

“You guys really love saying I’m not normal,” [Name] said. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

“That depends,” he said. “If you start chanting in Latin, I will set you on fire.”

“Noted,” she said. “No Latin. So what, you came up here to see if I’d break down or start scribbling sigils on the carpet?”

“That, and to prevent Esther from blaming me if you do something catastrophically stupid unsupervised,” he said bluntly. “Katherine will yell. Nathan will sigh. It is tedious.”

“So this is damage control,” [Name] said. “For you.”

“Yes,” he said without shame. “Your choices now affect how much I will have to listen to them later. Therefore I am… observing.”

She huffed a small laugh. “You make it sound like I’m a science experiment.”

“You are not,” he said. “Mortals are painfully predictable. You, however, are…” He searched for the word, fingers flexing slightly against his hoodie pocket. “Off-script.”

“In what way?” she asked.

“You got kicked out,” Abaddon said, ticking things off on his fingers. “You arrived here with all your worldly belongings in a suitcase. You learned this place is haunted, met a demon, heard Nathan call me ‘bud’ in front of you—which is a crime—and your response was…” He paused, mimicking her earlier tone almost perfectly. “‘Cool. Free pasta.’”

She made a face. “You do impressions now?”

“I do not,” he said. “That was a precise recollection.”

“Sure,” she said, amused. “So you’re… curious. That’s what this is.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to deny it, then shut it again. His eyes narrowed.

“I am… keeping an eye on a variable,” he said carefully. “You are either going to settle in and become part of the background noise, or you are going to set something on metaphorical fire. I wish to know which, before it happens. For entertainment purposes.”

“Entertainment,” she echoed.

“Yes,” he insisted. “The Freeling household grows repetitive. Ben broods, Esther summons, Nathan talks, Katherine sighs. Then you arrive and mock my shoes.”

“They’re funny shoes,” she said. “I stand by that.”

“They are historical,” he said. “And comfortable.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. “So you’re camping outside my door because you’re bored.”

“I am the Prince of the Dark Realm,” he snapped. “I do not get bored.”

She just looked at him.

He exhaled slowly. “…Often,” he added. “I do not get bored often.”

“Right,” she said, fighting a smile. “So what happens if I decide to go off-script? Do you smite me? Write a strongly-worded grimoire entry?”

He lifted his chin. “If you dabble in idiocy, I will mock you relentlessly,” he said. “And then possibly rescue you, depending on how amusing the situation is.”

“Glad to know I might make the cut,” she said.

“You already have,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

She heard it anyway.

“Wow,” [Name] said. “Promoted to ‘interesting mortal’ in one day. Do I get a badge?”

“No,” Abaddon said. “You get my attention.”

She tilted her head. “Is that supposed to be scary?”

“Yes,” he said immediately.

“It’s really not,” she said.

He stared at her, visibly offended by that. “I have reduced kingdoms to ash,” he reminded her. “I have ended dynasties. I—”

“Live across the hall and argued with a tomato,” she said.

Silence.

He pressed his lips together. “You are infuriating,” he said.

“I’ve been told that,” she said, unbothered. “Look, if it makes you feel better, you’re not the scariest thing in my life right now. You’re just the weirdest.”

“That is not better,” he said.

“It kind of is,” she said. “Anyway, are we done with today’s performance, or do you have more eldritch commentary?”

He hesitated, then shifted back into something just a tiny bit less dramatic. “If something in your room feels wrong,” he said, tone flatter now, “do not deal with it alone. Call for Esther. Or Katherine. Or Nathan. Or…” He glanced away like the words annoyed him on the way out. “Or me. Say my name. Loudly. I will hear it.”

“Because of demon hearing?” she asked.

“Because the walls are thin and this cursed building refuses to fix its acoustics,” he said. A beat. “And also demon hearing.”

She nodded once. “Got it. If my lamp starts floating, I’ll yell for the dramatic gremlin across the hall.”

“I am not a gremlin,” he said.

“You are absolutely a gremlin,” she replied.

He looked skyward like he was asking some invisible force for patience. “Go inside,” he said. “Before you say something that makes me reconsider my truce with this family.”

“We have a truce?” she asked.

“For now,” he said.

She turned the key, pushed the door open, then glanced back at him over her shoulder, half-lidded and faintly amused. “Night, Abaddon,” she said. “Try not to brood yourself into the carpet.”

“I do not brood,” he said again, but it came out more like a reflex than a threat.

She slipped into the room and closed the door with a soft click.

Abaddon stood there for another few seconds, staring at the wood, jaw set. There was no noble duty tugging at him, no grand cosmic purpose.

Just the faint, undeniable fact that, for the first time in a while, something in this building had surprised him.

He absolutely hated that.

…And, maybe, a little bit, he didn’t.

He shoved that thought away, yanked his hood up like a curtain, and stalked down the hallway toward his own room, muttering under his breath about “insufferable mortals” and already planning how he was going to describe “annoyingly unshaken new girl in room twelve” in his definitely-not-a-diary.

Chapter Text

THIRD POV

[Name] woke to a sharp, familiar knocking pattern on her door. Three quick knocks, a pause just long enough to be dramatic, then one more for flair.

“Room twelve, wake up! Desk duty time!” Esther’s voice came through the door, way too cheerful for someone who lived in a place called the Undervale.

[Name] blinked at the ceiling for a few seconds, reality catching up to her. This was not her old bedroom. The ceiling here had hairline cracks that curled like little rivers, and the faint hum of something magical buzzed softly through the walls. The air held the faint scent of old wood, coffee from somewhere downstairs, and maybe a tiny hint of ghost.

She rolled out of bed and shuffled across the wooden floor, the planks making their tiny complaining creaks under her weight. Outside the window the Undervale was a strange muted twilight, as if daytime never fully committed to showing up.

“Hang on,” she called, voice still rough with sleep.

She grabbed the first hoodie she saw draped over the chair, tugged it on, then pulled on her usual bottoms and socks, followed by her shoes. Nothing about the outfit said front desk professional, but honestly, everything about this hotel said that the rules were made up and the vibe mattered more.

She opened the door.

Esther stood there with her tablet tucked under one arm, her orange hair slightly messy like she had been up late editing again. She gave [Name] an exaggerated once over.

“Look at you,” Esther said. “Alive, upright, semi clothed. Perfect. You are totally ready to deal with screaming guests.”

“I literally just opened my eyes,” [Name] said. “Please lower your expectations.”

They started down the hallway together. The corridor was narrow with faded patterned wallpaper, lined with framed portraits that followed them with their eyes. Some of the frames were crooked. That made the staring worse.

Esther walked backward for a few steps, talking with her hands. “First day on desk duty is a big deal, by the way. My mom does not let just anyone stand behind that front desk. You are officially part of the terrifying first impression.”

“Oh, great,” [Name] said. “No pressure.”

They turned toward the main staircase. The banister was polished dark wood, smooth from years of hands dragging along it. As they descended, [Name] could see more of the lobby come into view. The reception desk stood in the center like command central, long and solid with carved panels. The sign that said Haunted Hotel hung at the front, as if announcing its intention to traumatize visitors.

To the left, the staircase curved down into the main level, carpet runner in deep red softening their steps. To the right, partially blocked from view, [Name] could see the start of the sitting area. Overstuffed chairs, a couch that looked like it had swallowed several people over the centuries, small tables scattered with magazines, and beyond that the flicker of light from the fireplace. Warm, golden light spilled across the floorboards and mixed with the cooler ceiling lights overhead.

The air smelled like wood polish, dust, old paper, and something sweet that might have been Katherine’s coffee creamer.

“So,” Esther continued, bouncing down the steps. “Desk duty tip number one. If someone starts rambling about being cursed, pretend you understand and nod a lot. That usually works.”

“Usually?” [Name] asked.

“Tip number two. If you see Stabby Paul, do not freak out.”

They reached the lobby floor and Esther hopped off the last step with a little skip. She pointed dramatically at the front desk. Katherine stood behind it, leaning slightly on the counter, her yellow jacket with sleeves rolled up and a mug of coffee in front of her. Her expression brightened when she saw them.

“There’s my new front desk assistant,” Katherine said.

[Name] walked around the end of the desk and came to stand behind it. There was no chair here, just a standing space with enough room to shift her weight from foot to foot. The countertop stretched in front of her, smooth from years of elbows and paperwork. On her side of the desk there were neatly stacked forms, an old fashioned bell, a computer that had clearly seen things, and a small box with a label that read Lost and Probably Cursed.

Esther leaned on the counter from the guest side. “I brought her. She is still in one piece. Please do not assign her to Stabby Paul duty yet. Ease her in.”

Katherine smiled faintly. “I will keep that in mind.”

She turned to [Name]. “Alright. First, welcome officially to front desk duty. This is the heart of the operation. Or at least the place where people come to complain about their haunting experience not living up to their expectations.”

[Name] nodded, trying to absorb everything and also not stare too obviously at the countless details. The carved wooden columns, the old brass lamp at one end of the desk, the pattern on the rugs, the quiet tick of a clock somewhere above the fireplace.

Katherine tapped the bell. “Ring this if you need me if I’m not here. It works for me, not for Abbadon. He hears it and pretends he doesn’t.”

From the corner of her eye, [Name] caught movement on the stairs. Something heavy shifting.

Katherine picked up the guest log. “You sign people in here. Ghosts usually drift their signature across or just imprint it. If somebody says they were promised a complimentary exorcism with their stay, they’re lying.”

Esther snorted. “Except for that one week Mom tried coupon codes.”

“That was a mistake,” Katherine said.

Esther pushed off the counter. “I should go. I promised Ben I would edit the footage of Abbadon existing ominously on the balcony. The lighting was really good yesterday.”

She pointed two fingers at [Name] in a mock salute. “Have fun. Try not to die. If you do die, please make it content worthy.”

Then she spun around and headed toward the doors leading deeper into the hotel, humming some tune under her breath.

The lobby grew a little quieter.

Katherine continued her rundown. She showed [Name] where spare keys were kept in numbered cubbies behind the desk, where complaint forms were stored, where the emergency flashlight was in case of spontaneous reality blackout. [Name] nodded along, hands lightly brushing each item to fix their location in her memory.

“As for staff,” Katherine said. “You already know Esther. Ben helps out when he’s not doing a million side projects. Nathan floats in and out for commentary. He’ll probably drop in just to talk your ear off. If you see Stabby Paul, just tell him to stop stabbing the furniture.”

[Name] raised an eyebrow. “He listens to that?”

“Not at all,” Katherine said. “But it makes me feel better.”

They shared a small crooked smile, then both of them stiffened at the exact same moment.

[Name] felt it. A sharp, almost physical sensation between her shoulder blades, like someone had focused a spotlight made of attention directly at her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

Slowly, she turned her head toward the staircase.

Abbadon sat halfway up the stairs, one elbow on a step behind him, long legs stretched out in a way that should have looked casual and somehow did not. He still wore his oversized blue hoodie. His long dark hair fell over part of his face, framing his sharp features. His eyes, however, were not casual at all. They were fixed entirely on her. The air around him seemed slightly heavier, as if the space itself resented him a little.

He held a book in his hands. It was upside down.

Katherine sighed, exasperation rising faster than fear. “Abbadon. Stop glaring at my new desk assistant. You’re not helping the retention rate.”

He didn’t look at Katherine. His gaze did not move from [Name]. When he spoke, his voice carried easily across the lobby, cool and precise.

“Your daughter informed me that the new resident would begin front desk duties today. I am here to ensure that all operations proceed without incident.”

[Name] blinked at him. Up close his words always felt too sharp, like they had been carved out of stone and then set on fire. It would probably be intimidating if she was not already getting used to demons just existing in the corner of her vision.

Katherine narrowed her eyes. “You have never cared about the operations of this hotel. You care about bone pits, vents, and lurking.”

“I care when necessary,” Abbadon replied.

His fingers tightened slightly on the spine of the upside down book. From this angle, [Name] could clearly see that the title was printed the wrong way up in relation to his grip. He either didn’t know or didn’t care.

Katherine rubbed her forehead. “You are holding that book upside down.”

“I am aware,” Abbadon said.

There was a beat of silence.

“Okay,” [Name] said under her breath. “Sure. That tracks.”

Katherine gave [Name] a small look, somewhere between apology and amusement. “Ignore him. He is going through a very long terrifying fundamental demon phase.”

“I can hear you,” Abbadon said.

“Good,” Katherine answered. “Then hear this. Do not give her a reason to leave. She just got here. I like her.”

[Name] lifted one shoulder. “Honestly, this is already more job security than I have ever had.”

Katherine snorted softly. She set the guest log down and gestured around them. “Alright. I need to take advantage of you being here. There are errands I haven’t  been able to run because I’m chained to this desk. You have the basics. If you need me, ring the bell or shout very loudly.”

She stepped out from behind the counter and headed toward the side hallway, mug in hand.

On the stairs, Abbadon did not move. His eyes followed Katherine for a moment, then slid back to [Name] with deliberate focus. He shifted faintly, tilting the book higher, pretending to read.

[Name] watched him for a second.

“You are really committing to the whole mysterious observer thing,” she called up to him.

Abbadon replied without hesitation. “I am simply positioned where I can monitor all points of access to the lobby.”

“Right,” [Name] said. “Totally normal thing to do. On the stairs. With a book you are not actually reading.”

He did not answer. His expression did not change. There was the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he was suppressing something, but it vanished almost instantly.

She sighed and turned back to the desk. Fine. If a giant ancient demon wanted to sit on the stairs and silently stare holes in the back of her head, that was apparently just her life now.

For a few minutes the lobby settled into a steady quiet. [Name] familiarized herself with the computer system, clicked through tabs of guest reservations, scrolled past names she did not recognize and some that already felt familiar. Every so often she could feel that intense gaze on her again and tried very hard to focus on the glowing screen instead of the staircase.

The front door creaked.

A guest descended from the second floor hallway, stomping aggressively down each step as if trying to make the staircase feel bad. He was middle aged, still wearing last night’s suit jacket, and his hair stood up like he had either slept badly or been electrocuted. A faint shadow of a rope mark showed around his neck, the skin there pale and slightly bruised.

He marched straight to the front desk and slapped both hands onto the counter.

“I want to check out,” he snapped. “Immediately.”

[Name] straightened. She planted her feet evenly on the floor to steady herself. No chair, no option to sit, just her and the desk and this angry formerly hanged person.

“Good morning,” she said, keeping her tone even. “What seems to be the problem with your stay?”

“The problem,” he said, voice rising, “is that I was promised a terrifying yet comfortable haunted experience, not to wake up hanging from the ceiling fan. Do you have any idea how disorienting that is?!?!”

[Name] opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I mean. I can imagine.”

He leaned closer, eyes wild. “My neck still hurts. I tried to walk through the hallway and some guy with shoes from three centuries ago pointed at me and apologized that my suicide attempt didn’t succeed!! There were whispers. There was dripping. I signed up for ambiance, not this nonsense. I demand a refund and immediate removal from the premises!” 

She held up both hands a little, palms out. “Alright. I can talk to management. We can arrange something for your bill. No need to yell.”

The guest slammed his palm down again. Papers rustled. The logbook jumped slightly.

“Do not tell me not to yell,” he shouted. “I was literally hanged!! I could have died!!”

“You look like you’re already dead,” [Name] said before she could stop herself.

His mouth opened and closed. The truth of that settled badly on his face and somehow made him angrier. He leaned even farther over the counter.

“Listen here,” he hissed. “Either you check me out right now, or I swear I will haunt this lobby personally until this whole place is shut down.”

Something shifted behind her.

The temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. The hairs on [Name]’s arms rose even under her hoodie. There had not been any sound of footsteps, no warning, but she felt it immediately. A presence at her back, large and solid, casting a shadow that swallowed the light around her.

Abbadon had moved.

One moment he had been on the stairs. The next, he was behind her, close enough that she could feel the faint heat of his chest against her back. He had straightened his posture completely. She realized now that all the times he seemed roughly her height, he had been hunched. Now he stood at his full height, towering over her and the desk.

She felt small in comparison, anchored only by the firm edge of the counter in front of her.

The guest’s rant faltered as his eyes shifted upward. His expression went from furious to confused to terrified in seconds.

Abbadon placed one hand lightly on the edge of the desk. His fingers were pale, long, and steady. His voice when he spoke was calm, but the calm of deep water that could rush into a storm at any moment.

“You will lower your voice,” he said. “You will cease making threats against this establishment. You will allow the front desk attendant to perform her duties without interference.”

The guest swallowed hard. His eyes darted between [Name] and Abbadon like he had just realized he had wandered onto a very different kind of battlefield.

“I was hanged,” the man repeated, but it came out small now.

Abbadon tilted his head slightly. His eyes were cold and ancient, but there was something almost curious in the way he looked at the man, as if comparing him to a thousand similar complaints throughout countless centuries.

“You are in a haunted hotel located far from the rest of town,” Abbadon said. “You requested an experience. You received one. Your discomfort does not constitute a breach of contract.”

[Name] pressed her lips together to avoid laughing at that. She felt his chest move behind her as he spoke, each word resonating through her spine.

The guest opened his mouth again, but whatever argument he had planned died under Abbadon’s unblinking stare. The demon did not move, did not threaten, did not raise his voice. He simply existed in that moment as something entirely wrong and powerful, and the human part of the guest seemed to recognize his place instantly.

“I would like to check out,” the man said again, but now his tone was subdued. “Quietly. Please.”

[Name] cleared her throat. “We can definitely arrange that. If you could just sign here, I will process your departure.”

She slid the logbook toward him with one hand, the other keeping her balance because Abbadon was still standing very close. The man’s hand shook as he picked up the pen. He scribbled his name so hard the pen snagged the paper.

“Your bill will be adjusted,” [Name] added. “And we will make a note that hanging related experiences are not to your preference.”

The man gave a jerky nod, still glancing uneasily at Abbadon. “Yes. That. Thank you.”

She handed him a key card to the exit level and gave the standard farewell phrase Katherine had taught her. “Thank you for staying at the Undervale. Safe travels.”

He clutched the card like it was a lifeline. “I am never coming back.”

“We will treasure the loss,” Abbadon said.

The guest made a strangled noise and hurried away, practically speed walking toward the front doors that quickly led out. His footsteps faded quickly, leaving silence behind.

[Name] let out a breath she had not realized she had been holding. Her shoulders lowered a little. She turned her head slightly, just enough to glance back at Abbadon from the corner of her eye.

He was still there, standing very straight, book now tucked under one arm. From this distance she could see the tiny details. The faint glimmer of red that sometimes flickered deep in his eyes. The precise lines of his jaw.

“Thanks,” she said. “For scaring him off. That was intense.”

“That was not my intention,” Abbadon replied. “I merely clarified the terms of his stay.”

“Right,” she said. “You clarified him straight out of the hotel.”

He did not respond immediately. For a moment he seemed almost uncertain of what to do with his hands. They hung at his sides, then he adjusted the book under his arm again, then rested one hand lightly against the desk, fingers close to her elbow without touching.

She turned fully around now, leaning back against the counter so she faced him. She had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes.

“Okay,” she said. “You can go back to your stair lurking now. Crisis averted, reputation saved, all that.”

Abbadon looked down at her. Something in his expression softened by a fraction, then smoothed out again as if he had caught himself.

“I will remain,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow. “You really do not have to. I am pretty sure I can handle an angry guest number two if they show up.”

“It is necessary for me to stay here,” Abbadon answered. “To ensure the safety of the lobby and the continued operation of this desk. The hotel’s reputation has been placed in a precarious position. I cannot allow further incidents.”

His tone was perfectly serious, perfectly formal. If she did not know better, she might have thought he truly cared about the hotel’s Tripadvisor ranking.

She crossed her arms, amused. “So you suddenly care about customer satisfaction now.”

“I care about preventing avoidable chaos,” he corrected.

“You care about being exactly two steps behind me all day,” she said. “Which is honestly kind of weird, I thought it was all bone pits for you.”

He looked away, gaze shifting toward the fireplace as if the bricks there had become very interesting. “Your assessment is inaccurate.”

“Sure,” she replied. “Totally inaccurate. You just coincidentally teleported behind me and glared a man into submission.”

Abbadon fell silent. The jaw muscle near his ear tightened slightly. He looked back at her and there was the faintest flash of something in his eyes. Possessiveness. But why? Then it vanished again under that ancient, indifferent mask.

“If more guests arrive,” he said slowly, “you will require support.”

“I require you to stop looming,” she said.

“That is not possible,” he answered. “This is my natural state.”

She laughed, the tension finally sliding in out of her shoulders. She pushed off the desk and turned back around to face the lobby again, hands resting lightly on the countertop.

“Fine,” she said. “Do what you want. Just know that if you make the next guest cry, I am filing an official complaint with management.”

“Management is afraid of me,” Abbadon said. “Your complaint will be ineffective.”

She smiled to herself. “We’ll see.”

Behind her, she could feel him settle. Not back on the stairs, not away in some dark corner, but exactly where he was, a constant presence at her back. It should have been unnerving. Maybe it was, a little. But as the lobby lights hummed softly and the fireplace crackled in the sitting area off to the right, as the quiet stretched between one strange moment and the next, [Name] realized something.

For the first time that morning, she didn’t feel like she was doing this alone.

Chapter Text

THIRD POV

By the time [Name] finished desk duty, her legs were tired, her brain felt like a forgotten sock, and she had absolutely earned a nap. Unfortunately, naps weren’t part of Katherine’s schedule, so instead she leaned back against the counter, flexed her fingers, and sighed.

“That wasn’t so bad,” she said to no one in particular.

“It could have been worse,” Katherine said, still flipping through reservation notes. “The lobby has seen many disasters. Today was only medium.”

Abbadon, standing behind [Name] with the stiff posture of someone pretending not to exist, muttered, “It would have been catastrophic without my vigilance.”

Katherine didn’t look up. “You sat on the stairs holding a book upside down.”

“It was reconnaissance.”

“It was upside down,” Katherine repeated.

Abbadon refused to dignify that with a response.

[Name] bit back a smile.

Katherine smacked the reservation book closed. “Alright. Shift over. You did well. No major injuries, only one existential crisis, the screaming was minimal. We’ll call it a win.”

“Great,” [Name] said. “Love that for me.”

“Oh, and before you vanish into whatever hobbies you have, I need you to grab something.” Katherine pointed toward the hallway beside the sitting room. “We’re out of bathroom cleaning supplies on the second floor. You’ll have to get more from the basement storage room.”

She said “basement storage room” like it wasn’t ominous at all. Because in this hotel, the basement wasn’t creepy so much as… mildly inconvenient and always dusty.

“Bring up the disinfectant wipes, scrubbing solution, gloves, sponges, and the non-haunted mop. It has a label.” Katherine paused. “Very important. The non-haunted one.”

“Noted,” [Name] said.

Before she could step away, Nathan drifted out from behind the wall by the front desk like it was a curtain he was tired of respecting. He gave her a proud grin.

“There she is,” he said. “First shift done. And you didn’t run, cry, bleed, or throw a chair. That’s top-tier performance.”

“Thanks,” [Name] said. “I only feel mildly traumatized.”

“Perfect. That means you fit right in.” Nathan leaned in and stage-whispered, “Wait until you’ve been here a week and the ghosts start recognizing your shoes. That’s when things get personal.”

She blinked. “Good to know.”

Behind her, Abbadon made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a scoff.

Nathan turned toward him immediately.

“Oh?” Nathan said, eyebrows rising. “Look who’s still here.”

Abbadon straightened dramatically, hands sliding into the pockets of his hoodie like a prince preparing to defend his honor. “I remained to ensure the lobby remained secure.”

Nathan slowly nodded. “Uh-huh.”

Abbadon’s jaw ticked.

Nathan stepped closer, arms crossed. “You’ve lived here for centuries and you’ve never cared about lobby security. And now suddenly, the moment she arrives…” He made a slow, exaggerated thinking face. “Bud… are you… caring?”

Abbadon didn’t twitch.

He didn’t breathe.

He didn’t even blink.

“No,” he said sharply. “I am categorically uninterested in her well-being.”

Nathan’s face screamed ‘He’s lying and he knows we know he’s lying’.

He leaned closer to Abbadon, squinting. “Mhm. Sure, bud. So you’re not going to walk her to the basement.”

“I will accompany her,” Abbadon said instantly.

Nathan’s eyebrows shot up.

Abbadon realized.

Abbadon panicked internally.

“I mean,” he corrected grandly, clearing his throat, “I shall accompany her only because the basement contains… hazards.”

“There it is,” Nathan murmured. “Good save, bud.”

“It was not a save. It was factual.”

“Mhm.”

Nathan gave [Name] a solemn pat on the shoulder. His hand phased through her hair a little, messing it up in a ghostly static way. “Good luck down there. If he starts monologuing, throw something.”

Abbadon glared at him. “I do not monologue.”

Nathan pointed at him. “That sentence was the beginning of a monologue.”

Abbadon opened his mouth, paused, then closed it again like someone had caught him ready to recite opening lines of a dark prophecy.

Satisfied, Nathan stepped backward through the wall while waving cheerfully. “Don’t die! Or do! I’ll see you either way!”

He vanished.

[Name] blinked at the spot he once occupied. “He just does that.”

“Yes,” Abbadon said. “It is irritating.”

“Is he haunting you too?”

Abbadon stiffened. “He claims to be my guardian.”

“Are you?”

“No,” Abbadon said too fast.

“Right.”

Abbadon scowled.

She walked toward the hall leading to the sitting room, and Abbadon fell into step beside her immediately, cloakless but somehow carrying cloak energy.

“Let me guess,” she said. “You’re walking me down there because the mop might attack me.”

He huffed. “The mop is harmless. I am going because you may trip on the stairs.”

“I can walk.”

“You tripped going up the stairs yesterday.”

“I skipped a step because Esther yelled ‘Boo,’” she said. “Sabotage.”

“Regardless,” Abbadon said, “I must ensure you do not perish.”

“You really suck at this whole ‘I don’t care’ act.”

“I excel at it,” he snapped.

“You’re currently escorting me to get bleach.”

He inhaled sharply like she’d stabbed him with a metaphor.

“I am escorting you,” he said dramatically, “into the pits of the underworld.”

“The basement,” she said. “You mean the basement.”

“What awaits below could be considered underworld-adjacent.”

“It has folding chairs and a broom closet.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line. “You have not seen what lurks behind the third shelf.”

“Dust?”

He didn’t answer.

They passed the sitting room, then stepped through the staff door. Beyond it, the narrow stairwell spiraled down with dim lights overhead. Not spooky. Not oppressive.

Just… the kind of stairwell where you get mildly annoyed because you know you’re going to have to carry heavy stuff back up.

They descended.

The basement wasn’t cold or cursed or atmospheric. It smelled like old metal shelving, lemon cleaner, and the faint whiff of burnt popcorn someone had microwaved incorrectly in 1999. Lights buzzed overhead. A fan clacked rhythmically in the corner. A forgotten staff jacket hung on a hook, slightly dusty.

It was aggressively normal.

Which made the dramatic demon at her side even more ridiculous.

[Name] walked through the open doorway into the supply room, scanning tall metal shelves stacked with detergents, brooms, empty buckets, and towers of toilet paper.

“Okay,” she said. “Cleaning supplies. How hard can this be?”

Something clattered deep in the room.

She paused.

Abbadon tensed behind her in a way that was almost theatrical. “Do not be alarmed.”

“What was that?”

“A mundane occurrence.”

“That sounded like a skeleton falling.”

“A mundane skeleton.”

She turned slightly. “Why would there be a skeleton?”

He froze for half a second.

“…I have no explanation at this time.”

She gave him a suspicious look and continued. The shelves were disorganized in a “Katherine has better things to do” kind of way. [Name] found gloves, sponges, floor cleaner, and a sealed box labeled NON-HAUNTED MOP.

She balanced everything in her arms.

“You can use your hands,” she said.

“I prefer to observe.”

“Yeah, figured.”

As she turned, she caught a glimpse of something in her peripheral vision.

A door.

A narrow one. Wedged behind an old shelf, barely visible. It was cracked open just an inch.

“Is that part of supplies?” she asked.

Abbadon made a low noise. “No.”

“What is it?”

“A storage alcove,” he said quickly.

She tilted her head. “Why did your voice get weird?”

“My voice is normal.”

“That was definitely your guilty voice.”

“I do not feel guilt.”

“So what’s in there?”

“Nothing.”

She began walking toward it.

Abbadon stepped in front of her so abruptly she almost hit his chest. “You do not need to enter that space.”

“Why not?”

“It is forbidden.”

“To who?”

“To mortals.”

“So just me.”

“Yes.”

“Well now I want to see it.”

“No.”

She sidestepped.

He sidestepped too.

She feinted left.

He moved like an overdramatic basketball player.

Finally, she ducked under his arm.

Abbadon spun but didn’t touch her, reaching out like he wasn’t sure if he should stop her or do a dramatic pose instead.

“[Name],” he said in a warning tone.

She pushed the door open.

It creaked like a bad Halloween prop.

And inside…

Was the most chaotic, dramatic, ridiculous demon nest she’d ever seen.

A hoard.

Not treasure.

Not art.

Just… random objects arranged like Abbadon was a crow in a fever dream.

Bones of various sizes were lined up in strangely neat circles. Not threatening. More like “demon art project.” Buttons, earrings, shiny coins, bottle caps, pens, abandoned forks, a tiny ceramic duck, and at least one glittery hair clip were arranged in piles.

In the center sat a skull.

Someone had drawn decorative runes on it.

Badly.

“Oh my gosh,” [Name] whispered. “You’re insane.”

Abbadon appeared in the doorway like he was expecting to be stabbed. “You were not supposed to see this.”

“That’s… a bone nest.”

“It is a trove.”

“You made a demonic mood board.”

“It is a catalog of victories.”

She pointed at the glittery hair clip. “And this?”

Abbadon’s expression shifted minutely. “I confiscated it.”

“From who?”

“Katherine.”

“You stole from Katherine.”

“It was shiny.”

She picked up a mismatched button. “And this?”

“A tailor once threw it at me in a village,” Abbadon said, straightening proudly. “I burned his hut down.”

She blinked. “You what?”

“It was an appropriate response.”

“Sure.”

“He insulted my cloak.”

“You don’t wear cloaks.”

“I was wearing one in spirit.”

She put the button down before she could get dumber by association. She crouched and picked up a fork. “This doesn’t even belong here.”

“It is a weapon.”

“It’s a salad fork.”

“It is sharp.”

She held up the tiny ceramic duck. “Explain this.”

Abbadon looked personally offended. “Do not touch the duck. It is sacred.”

“To who?”

“To me.”

She gently put the duck back.

[Name] looked over at the shiny objects which turned out to be earrings. “And these?” She held it up to see the engraved details on the earring.

”Those are the offerings the matriarch leaves lying around unguarded.” Abbadon said proudly.

”So you stole them?” She turned her head towards Abbadon with the earring still in hand.

”Again, she left them unguarded.”

”Again, that’s theft.” [Name] let out a small sigh, putting back the earring.

“Why do you even have all this?” she asked, gesturing around.

Abbadon shifted, suddenly looking less like a demonic terror and more like a cat caught collecting jewelry behind the fridge.

“These objects,” he said slowly, “are… markers.”

“Of what?”

“I… prefer not to forget certain things.” His gaze flicked past her. “Much fades. Mortals die. Kingdoms crumble. Battles end. Yet these… remain.”

She froze, the tone unexpected. “So you keep… memories?”

“No,” he said stubbornly. “They are trophies.”

She gently moved one bone aside to sit cross-legged in the middle of the nest.

Abbadon inhaled sharply. “You cannot sit there.”

“Why? Is it cursed?”

“It is arranged with… intention.”

“Well now it’s arranged with me,” she said. “Deal with it.”

He looked horrified.

A demon. Horrified.

It was glorious.

She picked up a cluster of shiny objects that had been tossed together. “Your hoard is a mess. You should organize it.”

“It is organized.”

“It’s chaos.”

“It reflects my essence.”

“Exactly.”

She began sorting. Keys here. Bottle caps there. Jewelry in a neat pile. Pens in a cup she found on the floor. Abbadon watched her like she was rewiring his brain.

“You are altering the structure.”

“I’m improving it.”

“You are disrupting the emotional order.”

“You have emotional order?”

He didn’t answer.

He just watched.

Silent.

Focused.

Like she was doing something he didn’t understand but couldn’t look away from.

After a moment she looked over her shoulder. “Relax. I’m not judging you.”

“You should,” he said.

“Why?”

“This is unbecoming of a demon of my stature.”

“Well,” she said, “you’re not that scary.”

His mouth fell open. “I have ended civilizations.”

“You stole Katherine’s hair clip.”

“I have devoured kings.”

“You collect buttons.”

“I—”

She held up a sparkly earring. “Abaddon. This is pink.”

He looked personally attacked.

She gently placed it in the ‘shiny things’ pile, then stood, brushing dust off her legs.

“Alright. Now it looks less like a gremlin pantry.”

“I am not a gremlin.”

“You’re definitely a gremlin.”

He put a hand dramatically to his chest. “You wound me.”

“You’ll be fine.”

He stared at her for a long moment. Eyes softened just barely, brows still furrowed.

“You will keep this secret,” he said quietly.

“Obviously,” she said. “I’m not going to humiliate you.”

“It is not humiliation,” he said defensively. “It is… privacy.”

“Whatever you say.”

He didn’t respond.

But he didn’t look away either.

They grabbed the actual supplies, leaving the bone-hoard door mostly closed.

They made it halfway back up the lobby stairs when they ran into Katherine.

“Katherine,” [Name] said. “Got your stuff.”

Katherine looked up from behind the desk. “Oh good. Supplies. That took forever. Did something happen?”

“No,” [Name] said instantly.

“Yes,” Abbadon said at the same time.

Katherine narrowed her eyes. “Which one of you do I believe?”

[Name] grabbed the supplies from Abbadon’s arms before he could say anything else. “Nothing happened.”

Katherine sighed. “I don’t get paid enough to unpack that.”

Later, as [Name] headed toward the hallway to stash the supplies, she felt him follow at her shoulder.

“You know,” she said. “If you’re going to insist that you don’t care, you’re doing a terrible job.”

Abbadon lifted his chin. “I accompany you only to ensure you do not endanger yourself with sponges.”

She snorted. “Right.”

He hesitated.

Then added, quieter:

“And because you did not mock the nest.”

She glanced at him.

A small smile tugged at her mouth.

“Yeah,” she said. “Well… it was kinda cute.”

Abbadon stopped walking entirely.

“Cute,” he repeated, like she’d stabbed him through the soul.

“Yes.”

“That hoard is not cute. It is a manifestation of my dark history.”

“You drew runes on a skull with what looks like a Sharpie.”

Abbadon sputtered.

She kept walking.

He followed.

Always.

And for the first time, he didn’t bother pretending it wasn’t on purpose.

Esther burst into the hallway later that evening like she’d just discovered a new species of cryptid and needed to report it to the scientific community immediately.

“Room twelve!” she whisper-yelled, pounding on [Name]’s door with three sharp knocks, a pause, and then one extra hit for drama.

[Name] opened the door in her hoodie, holding a cup of microwaved noodles.

“What,” she asked.

Esther shoved her tablet into her hands with the force of a doctor delivering bad news and good gossip at the same time.

“You need to see this,” she said.

On the screen was a paused YouTube video titled:

“Demon in the Background of Haunted Hotel Vlog?? REAL???”

The thumbnail was a blurry freeze-frame of Abbadon on the second-floor balcony, looking down with his hair blowing dramatically and his eyes glowing faintly red.

The man was simply existing.

But he existed in a very “You’re about to die in Act Two” way.

[Name] blinked. “When did you film him?”

“Yesterday,” Esther said proudly. “He was brooding and the lighting was perfect.”

[Name] hit play.

The video started with that typical breathy influencer voice:

“Hey guys, welcome back to my ghost-hunting channel where we hunt for ghosts, spirits, demons, and occasionally my self-respect—”

The host flipped the camera around to show the hotel lobby.

And in the background.

Up on the railing.

Abbadon.

Standing like a medieval oil painting that wanted you dead.

The comment section was already a battlefield.

User666: That thing behind you… the eyes… did anyone else see that move??

WatcherOfTheAbyss: Dear God he’s real

PentacleDaddy: My grandma told me about a demon that looks EXACTLY like that

TrueBeliever34: That is ABADDON THE DESTROYER FROM REVELATION I AM SO SERIOUS

HolyHosts123: IT’S HIM IT’S HIM IT’S HIM

LIGHTBEARER_CULT_OFFICIAL:

We have seen the signs.

We come soon to exorcise the demon.

Prepare yourselves.

[Name] froze. “Oh.”

Esther’s face was too calm. “Mhm.”

They scrolled.

LIGHTBEARER_CULT_OFFICIAL2:

He has risen.

We will come to purge the darkness.

ChurchMom47: is he single?

Esther pointed. “See? Internet can go any direction.”

[Name] raised an eyebrow. “Does… does Abbadon know about this?”

Esther shrugged. “Probably not. He doesn’t understand the internet. He thinks Instagram is a type of curse.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

They kept scrolling.

HolyHosts123: WE COME SOON.

The phrasing gave [Name] a chill.

Not a supernatural one.

More like the kind you get when you realize strangers on the internet have too much free time and a dangerous amount of enthusiasm.

“Does Katherine know?” [Name] asked.

“Nope,” Esther said. “She’s dealing with the dishwasher overflow. Again.”

“What about Nathan?”

“Oh, he knows,” Esther said. “He saw the comments and said, ‘Well this’ll be fun.’ Then he walked through the fridge.”

“Of course he did.”

They scrolled again.

DemonSlayerMike:

We need to prepare.

Holy water.

Ritual knives.

Garlic bread.

User42069:

My dude that’s vampires.

DemonSlayerMike:

WE CAN TRY ANYTHING.

[Name] pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay. So… people are planning to show up. Here. Soon.”

Esther nodded like they were discussing casual rain. “Probably. Maybe tonight. Maybe in a few days. You know how cults are. They gotta find parking.”

[Name] stared at her. “This is not normal.”

“It kind of is,” Esther said. “Last year someone tried to exorcise my mom with a Swiffer.”

“…Did it work?”

“No.”

She sighed, closing the tablet.

“Well,” [Name] said. “At least Abbadon won’t care.”

At that exact moment, down the hallway, a distant dramatic shout echoed faintly:

“WHO SUMMONED THE INTERNET AGAIN?!?”

[Name] and Esther exchanged a look.

Esther deadpanned, “He found out.”

“Yup.”

Another distant shout:

“WHAT IS A LIGHTBEARER AND WHY DO THEY THREATEN PURIFICATION?”

Esther nodded solemnly. “He found the comments.”

A third shout, dramatically furious:

“GARLIC BREAD DOES NOTHING TO ME.”

[Name] exhaled. “We should probably… deal with that later?”

Esther patted her arm. “Totally. Anyway.” She handed the tablet back. “Just wanted to warn you that a cult is coming to exorcise your hallway gremlin.”

“He’s not my hallway gremlin.”

Esther smiled blandly. “Mhm.”

They stood there for a moment in silence.

Then from downstairs:

“NATHAN, WHAT IS A ‘DEMONSLAYERMIKE’ AND WHY DOES HE SPELL LIKE THAT?!”

[Name] took a slow sip of her noodles. “We’ll figure it out.”

Esther nodded. “Yup. And honestly? I’m not worried. If anyone tries to stab him with a homemade ritual knife, he’ll just monologue at them until they leave. He said he was born impaled.”

“Beat them to death with vocabulary?”

“Exactly.”

Esther tilted her head thoughtfully. “But, just in case, maybe stay close to him for a bit.”

[Name] blinked. “Why?”

Esther looked her dead in the eyes.

“Because you’re the only one he listens to even a little.”

They both went quiet.

They both pretended they didn’t hear Abbadon yelling about mortals and garlic bread downstairs.

Then they shrugged.

At the same time.

And continued with their night.

Because tomorrow’s problem was tomorrow’s problem.

Chapter Text

Yo peeps its ya boy, author

I am making this announcement because I wanna let everyone know that I have chapters ready to go 

BUT I may not finish by the end of December since I have decided to join the Military, specifically the U.S. Air Force and just signed my contract to serve 8 years yesterday

I may be gone for a couple of years ngl

But my goal is to finish this fanfiction, I already have the ending planned out, the little details, and I had also planned to make an Abbadon/Reader(AFAB) oneshots since I have so many short plot ideas

thanks for reading!!! Will come out with the next chapter soon!!

Chapter Text

THIRD POV

[Name] woke up with the very specific sense that she was being stared at.

Not the normal “someone walked past the door” kind of stare. Not “ghost hovering near the ceiling fan” stare. A fixed, unwavering, “if I had pupils they’d be boring through your skull” stare.

She cracked one eye open.

Abaddon was standing at the foot of her bed.

Just. There.

Perfectly still, hands clasped behind his back, posture straightened like a centuries old oil painting had decided to get up and supervise her REM cycle. Nathan’s old blue sweater hung off his frame, the collar a little stretched, sleeves pulled down enough that the cuffs nearly covered his fingers. His long dark hair was a mess not bedroom mess, more like “the wind tried to fight me and lost” mess.

They stared at each other.

“…”

“…”

He didn’t speak. She didn’t speak. The silence had weight.

[Name] blinked once. “Why are you in my room.”

Abaddon lifted his chin a fraction. “Because I am here.”

“That’s not an answer,” she said.

“I have manifested,” he tried again, with the air of someone who thought that explained everything.

“How did you get in.”

“The door yielded.”

“Was it locked.”

“Yes.”

“So you broke in.”

“I entered,” he corrected. “Locks are a mortal suggestion, not a rule.”

[Name] closed her other eye for a second like she was buffering. “Okay. Great. Why.”

Abaddon shifted like the question physically irritated his bones. His mouth pressed into a line, then flattened, then twitched, like he was wrestling three feelings and losing to all of them.

“I require…” His jaw clenched. “Assistance.”

She dragged herself upright, blanket falling to her lap. “With what.”

He stepped to the side a little, as if adjusting for dramatic lighting that did not exist.

“The internet,” he said, like the word offended him.

She blinked. “…What.”

Abaddon’s brows drew together. “Nathan has attempted to teach me. He has failed. Again.”

“So you came in here at—” she glanced vaguely at the window, “—whatever o’clock because you want… tech support.”

“In essence.” He nodded once, as if that sounded appropriately terrifying. “Yes.”

Her expression stayed flat. “And you need me specifically because…?”

Abaddon actually flinched, like the question had been sharpened.

“I— you— we—” He grimaced. “You did not reveal my… collection.”

The bone nest. The little hidden alcove in the basement with his hoard of weird objects and badly rune-decorated skulls that she’d reorganized instead of screaming about.

He looked off to the side like he would rather fling himself back into the abyss than say the next part.

“You did not mock it,” he continued stiffly. “Or tell Katherine. Or Nathan. Or Esther. Or Cory. You interfered with the arrangement, but you did not… desecrate it.”

“So now you trust me,” she said, completely level.

Abaddon made a strangled sound. “Trust is a strong word.”

“So what word would you use.”

He looked like a man trying to swallow an entire dictionary.

“We are…” His mouth worked around a word he clearly hated. “Acquainted.”

She raised an eyebrow.

He doubled down. “We are… familiar.”

She just kept looking at him.

His eye twitched. “You are… less intolerable than most mortals,” he blurted finally. “It is… marginally more efficient to request your aid than to endure Nathan’s.”

There it was.

“And,” he added, almost grudgingly, “Esther claims you are the only one I ‘listen to even a little.’ This is untrue, but she is insistent, and thus I am… testing the accuracy of this hypothesis.”

“So,” she summarized, “you broke into my room at—” she checked the clock on the nightstand this time, “—eight-thirty in the morning, because you need me to explain the internet, because you sort of trust me, and also because you allegedly listen to me.”

Abaddon lifted his chin. “Yes.”

“Okay,” she said, deadpan. “Cool.”

His shoulders relaxed a millimeter, like he’d been waiting for her to say no and then he’d have to commit a small war crime about it. [Name] slid out of bed and grabbed the nearest hoodie off the back of the chair, tugging it on. She shoved her feet into her shoes, not bothering to look for matching socks. The Undervale did not deserve matching socks.

As she moved toward the door, she glanced back at him. “Next time you could knock, you know.”

Abaddon scoffed, following her. “I do not knock.”

“Why.”

“It implies I may be denied entry.”

“So your ego’s allergic to doors being closed in your face.”

He didn’t dignify that with an answer, which she mentally labeled as “yes.”

The hallway outside was its usual mix of faded wallpaper, old carpet, and the distant background noise of ghosts having opinions through the walls. They walked side by side toward the stairs, the boards creaking softly under their steps.

Downstairs, somebody slammed a door. A ghost muttered something under its breath. The hotel shifted like an animal rolling over in sleep.

As they descended, [Name] shot Abaddon a sidelong look.

“Did you ever sleep,” she asked.

“I do not require sleep,” he said. “I merely… rest my eyes.”

“In front of my bed.”

“I needed to ensure you did not escape.”

She frowned. “Escape where.”

“Elsewhere.”

“Wow,” she said dryly. “Very specific.”

He sniffed. “Mortals are notorious for wandering off into danger the moment you look away.”

“You’re not my babysitter.”

“I am not ‘babysitting’. I am observing. There is a difference.”

“Sure,” she said. “You’re watching me for science.”

“Yes,” he said, completely serious.

She let the conversation die. The lobby came into view.

Katherine was nowhere to be seen. The front desk, however, was not empty.

Nathan stood behind it, half-leaning on the counter like the poster child for “tired older brother who has seen too much.” His mustache looked a little droopier than usual, and his ghostly body was currently solid enough that his mug of coffee sat in his hand instead of falling through.

In front of him, on the desk itself, sat two items which were the hotel computer and the little metal bell from the front desk.

Abaddon immediately tensed.

Nathan’s eye twitched when he saw them. “No,” he said. “No. We are not doing this again. I am not going to be rage baited again.”

“I have brought her,” Abaddon announced with the formality of a herald. “The matter will now be resolved.”

Nathan dragged a hand down his face. “Oh good. You brought the emotional support mortal.”

Abaddon bristled. “She is not—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nathan said. “She’s just the only one you don’t growl at. I know how to read a pattern, man.”

[Name] stepped up to the desk, eyes flicking between the computer, the bell, and Nathan’s tired posture. “What happened.”

Nathan lifted the bell between two fingers like it was a cursed artifact. “Alright. Let me explain what your demon roommate here thinks a mouse is.”

Abaddon squared his shoulders. “The mouse is clearly this.”

He reached over and smacked the bell with his palm.

DING.

Nathan visibly flinched. “Stop that.”

Abaddon tapped it again. DING. “I was told, ‘Click the mouse, Abaddon.’ So I clicked the mouse.”

“That’s not the mouse,” Nathan said through his teeth. “That’s the bell. It’s been the bell every day of your miserable little life here.”

“It responds to impact,” Abaddon argued. “I strike it, there is a sound, and things happen. Mortals appear. Problems are addressed. Your bell is clearly a summoning device. That is the closest analogue to magic I have seen in this hardware.”

[Name] pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “When Nathan says ‘mouse,’ he means this.” She picked up the actual computer mouse and wiggled it.

Abaddon stared at it like it had insulted his ancestors. “That is not a mouse,” he said disdainfully. “It has no fur. No blood. It does not squeal. It does not chew through the moldings.”

“Welcome to technology,” Nathan said. “Modern mice just move cursors now.”

Abaddon looked offended on behalf of all real mice. “Why would you name it after a creature it does not resemble.”

“Because humans are weird,” Nathan said. “You’ve been here for a hundreds of years, you should know that by now.”

Abaddon huffed. “Your designations are flawed.”

Nathan looked at [Name]. “You see what I’m dealing with? I tried to show him how to scroll, and he picked up the bell and started ringing it like he was calling for room service.”

“Room service arrived,” Abaddon pointed out.

“You scared the guest into checking out,” Nathan shot back.

“They were weak.”

[Name] let the back-and-forth wash over her for a second, then reached past Abaddon to wake the computer up. “Okay, explain the actual crisis.”

Nathan sighed, scrubbing at his mustache with his thumb. “Esther showed you that YouTube video, right? The ghost-hunting vlog where Ben accidentally filmed Abaddon on the balcony looking like he’s about to devour a camera crew.”

“And the cult in the comments,” [Name] said. “Yeah.”

“Right,” Nathan said. “Well, Esther sent him the link last night. He discovered that people are talking about him, which is apparently unacceptable, and then he realized there are hundreds of comments, and then he realized he doesn’t actually read modern English all that well because he’s stuck in his ‘I refuse to acknowledge language past Latin’ era.”

“Mortal tongues degrade with each century,” Abaddon intoned. “It is not my fault your letters have become soft.”

“So,” Nathan continued, “he wanted me to read the comments to him, I read some of it but I am busy being dead and running a haunted hotel. Also he tried to ring the bell every time I said ‘click.’ So I told him no. And then he sulked upstairs and, apparently, committed a home invasion.”

“I did not invade,” Abaddon said. “I entered with purpose.”

[Name] sat down at the computer. “So you want me to read the comments.”

Abaddon repositioned himself right beside her, close but not touching, looming like a shadow that had decided to manifest in three dimensions. “Precisely.”

“And then what,” she asked, hand going to the mouse. “What do you think is going to happen after that.”

“I will judge them,” he said simply.

Nathan muttered, “Oh boy.”

The browser was already open. Nathan had the YouTube tab up, paused on the same familiar frame. The thumbnail showed the Undervale lobby from Ben’s shaky camera, slightly grainy but in the upper balcony, framed by the railing and the soft flicker of lamp light, Abaddon stood.

Still.

Watching.

Hair moving in some non-existent breeze. Eyes faintly reflective. Expression somewhere between “bored” and “considering manslaughter.”

Yeah. If she didn’t know him, she’d probably assume he was a bad omen too.

The video title sat at the top in all caps:

“Demon in the Background of Haunted Hotel Vlog?? REAL?!?!”

The view count had climbed since last night.

The comments had exploded.

A little red number told her there were now 1.3K.

“Wow,” [Name] said. “You’re popular.”

Abaddon folded his arms, trying to look unimpressed. He failed. The tension in his shoulders gave him away.

“Play it,” he commanded.

“It’s your life,” she said, hitting spacebar.

Ben’s intro blasted through the speakers:

“Hey guys, welcome back to my ghost-hunting channel, where we hunt for ghosts, demons, and my will to live—”

Abaddon winced. “He is insufferable.”

“Wait,” Nathan said. “It gets worse. He’s always doing a stupid hand gesture. Look.”

On screen, the Ben flashed a double peace sign and whispered, “Smash that like button if you believe in the spirit world.”

Abaddon stared. “…What is he doing with his fingers.”

“Summoning engagement,” Nathan said.

The video cut to the lobby. Handheld camera. Katherine walking past in the background consulting a clipboard. Esther nowhere in sight, thank God. The guy whispered, “Okay, guys, this is allegedly one of the most haunted hotels in New York—”

“Allegedly?” Abaddon repeated. “I will show him allegedly.”

“Wait,” [Name] said. “Here it is.”

The cameraman panned up, following some ambient noise, and there he was: Abaddon, on the balcony, one hand on the banister, hoodie draped over him, hair shadowing his face, eyes catching the light just enough to glow faintly.

The vlogger didn’t notice. He kept talking.

Every commenter had.

The thumbnail zoomed in freeze-frame on that shot: Abaddon, slightly blurred, aura wrong, looking exactly like the kind of thing YouTube demons are supposed to be. Only he was also wearing Nathan’s blue sweater.

Which kind of ruined the menacing aesthetic if you thought about it long enough.

[Name] paused the video again.

Abaddon stared at himself. His face didn’t change, but the set of his jaw shifted, like the knowledge that thousands of strangers had seen that image sat uncomfortably on his shoulders.

“Turn off the sound,” he said. “I cannot bear to hear him breathe anymore.”

She muted the tab and scrolled down.

The comment section was chaos.

Line after line of text, emojis, all caps declarations, timestamps, arguments about whether he was CGI.

Abaddon leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Read them,” he ordered.

“You sure,” she asked.

“I do not repeat myself,” he said.

“Okay,” she said. “You asked for it.”

The first comment at the top, with several hundred likes, read:

HolyHosts123:

guys the thing at 3:27 – look at the EYES. they FLASH. this is NOT human

She said it out loud.

Abaddon sniffed. “Obviously.”

“Yeah, that one’s a compliment, honestly,” Nathan said.

The next:

WatcherOfTheAbyss:

ngl my grandma told me stories about a demon that looks JUST like that thing on the balcony this is freaking me out

“That one too,” Abaddon said. “She is an observant elder.”

“You’re getting grandma reviews,” [Name] said.

His brows drew together, unsure if that pleased or offended him.

She moved on.

LIGHTBEARER_CULT_OFFICIAL:

We have seen the sign.

The Serpent has revealed himself.

We come soon to purify the vessel.

Abaddon’s lips curled. “Them again.”

“Your fanclub,” Nathan said. “They follow anything with the word ‘demon’ in it. I’m pretty sure they tried to recruit my dentist.”

[Name] continued:

LIGHTBEARER_CULT_OFFICIAL2:

IT IS HIM. THE DESTROYER. THE TRUE ABADDON.

BROTHERS/SISTERS PREPARE.

“Brothers and sisters,” Nathan mimicked under his breath. “You people couldn’t organize a potluck.”

Abaddon’s eyes flashed faint red. “If they step on this property with so much as a plastic rosary, I will turn them inside out.”

“I mean,” Nathan said mildly, “I’ve been in, like, twelve cults, and honestly? These guys are mid-tier at best. Their website looks like a PowerPoint.”

“You joined them?” [Name] asked.

“Briefly,” Nathan said. “They had good snacks. Left when they started making everyone wear matching cloaks.”

Abaddon scoffed. “Cloaks are respectable.”

“Yeah, but they were polyester,” Nathan said. “Have some standards.”

[Name] scrolled down.

“Alright,” she said. “Now we’re out of the cult subsection and into the general chaos.”

User666:

3:27 THAT’S A DEMON IF I’VE EVER SEEN ONE

“Accurate,” Abaddon said.

GhostGirlxo:

why he kinda hot tho 💀

[Name] read it without changing her tone. “Someone said, ‘why he kinda hot tho,’ skull emoji.”

Abaddon went very, very still.

Nathan choked on absolutely nothing. “Oh my God,” he said, delighted. “It started.”

“Kinda… hot,” Abaddon repeated, as if the words personally insulted the foundations of Hell. “I am not… hot. I am infernal. There is a difference.”

“That’s literally what hot means here,” Nathan said.

Abaddon whirled on him. “I am not your slang. I am a cataclysm.”

“Cataclysm but make it cute,” Nathan muttered.

Abaddon turned back to [Name], looking… off balance. “Read another.”

She obliged.

ChurchMom47:

just here to say i raised my kids right but i would ABSOLUTELY risk it for balcony demon man

Abaddon stared. “Risk what.”

“Her soul,” Nathan suggested. “Her marriage.”

“Her lumbar spine,” [Name] added.

“I do not want any of those things,” Abaddon snapped.

“You do want spines,” Nathan said. “You said you used to rearrange them.”

“That was work,” Abaddon said. “This is… unlicensed adoration.”

[Name] scrolled.

garlicbreadfiend:

he looks like he’d roast you in latin then vanish

“That one’s accurate,” she said.

“That one may remain,” Abaddon allowed.

The next:

DemonSlayerMike:

WE NEED TO GO THERE. HOLY WATER. RITUAL KNIVES. GARLIC BREAD.

User42069:

bro that’s vampires

DemonSlayerMike:

I DON’T CARE WE BRING EVERYTHING

Abaddon pinched the bridge of his nose like he’d developed a migraine. “If this ‘Mike’ sets foot in my vicinity, I will show him the proper use of a knife.”

“He spells like a concussion,” Nathan said. “You’ll be fine.”

[Name] kept going.

There were more cult posts. More “omg I saw him move at 3:28 rewind!!” timestamps. A few skeptics arguing about CGI.

Then the thirst section intensified.

stargirl_444:

is he… single 👀

She read that one out loud and then kept scrolling.

Abaddon didn’t immediately react.

Then he did.

“Single,” he repeated, voice dropping. “Why are they inquiring into my… status.”

“Because they’re nosy,” Nathan said. “And down bad.”

“They do not know me,” Abaddon said, sounding genuinely affronted. “They have seen seven seconds of my existence.”

“Welcome to the internet,” Nathan said.

[Name] found the next one before he could spiral.

pentacleprincess:

single?? and ready to mingle?? asking for science

She read it.

Abaddon looked like someone had dropped him off a conceptual cliff.

“‘Ready to mingle,’” he echoed, disgusted. “What does that even mean. I do not mingle. I descend.”

“It means they want to date you,” she said.

He froze.

The faintest flicker of red lit behind his eyes.

“Date,” he repeated.

“Yeah.”

“As in… romantic entanglements,” he said slowly, like the phrase itself tasted wrong.

“Basically.”

“I do not entangle,” he insisted. “I ensnare.”

“Same thing, different vibe,” Nathan said.

Abaddon looked extremely personally attacked.

“Read another,” he demanded.

She did.

chaoticneutral:

ngl he looks like he’d ruin my life and i’d say thank u

Abaddon sputtered. “I DO ruin lives. But gratitude is not part of the arrangement!”

“That’s the point,” Nathan said.

“Be quiet,” Abaddon shot back.

Another:

bpdbarbie:

i could fix him

reply – depressedlesbian:

no you couldn’t but i support your delusion

“I do not need fixing,” Abaddon growled. “I am functioning precisely as intended.”

“Sure,” Nathan said. “Totally mentally well. No issues.”

[Name] kept scrolling.

She hit the one that made her pause for half a second not in expression, just mentally.

sunflower_sin:

he’s kinda cute ngl

She read it out with the same matter-of-fact cadence.

Abaddon stopped breathing.

“Cute,” he said faintly.

“That’s what it says,” she replied.

“Cute,” he repeated, louder. “As in… small. Harmless. Adorable.”

“Or just attractive in a non-terrifying way,” Nathan said.

“I am terrifying,” Abaddon snapped. “That is literally my function. I am not an… ornament for mortals to project their affections upon.”

Nathan looked at him. Looked at the sweater. Looked at the hair. “Buddy, look in a mirror. You’re very project-on-able.”

Abaddon pointed a finger at him. “You are on thin ice.”

“You live in a haunted hotel,” Nathan said. “All the ice is thin.”

Abaddon turned back to [Name], gripping the edge of the desk. “Continue. I have not yet heard the worst of it. I can feel it.”

hellfiregf:

okay but the eye bags. the HAIR. the hoodie. you just KNOW he smells like smoke and old books

reply – goblinslut:

stop describing my type

Abaddon frowned. “I do smell like smoke and old books.”

“Yeah,” Nathan said. “That’s why these girlies are lining up to risk eternal damnation for you.”

Abaddon ignored him. “Eye bags are a sign of deep wisdom and endless vigilance. Not a fashion choice.”

“The internet doesn’t care,” Nathan said.

Another comment:

blasphemy_baby:

i just KNOW he would stand in the corner of my room at 3am and judge me. i need him

[Name] deadpanned, “They’re not wrong.”

Abaddon made an indignant noise. “I do not loiter in bedrooms.”

She looked at him.

He looked away.

“I was supervising your awakening in case you attempted something reckless,” he said.

Nathan laughed. “Yeah, like drinking water or going to the bathroom.”

Abaddon glared. “Stop talking.”

[Name] scrolled again.

thirstangel:

be honest does he have like… a demon girlfriend or is he free this saturday

reply – authorofmyown:

babe he’s literally a biblical plague calm down

“You are not free this Saturday,” Nathan said. “You’re helping me unclog the haunted sink.”

Abaddon ignored him entirely. He looked at [Name] instead, eyes narrow. “Explain this fixation on my… availability.”

“You said it yourself,” she said. “They don’t know you. All they see is ‘mysterious hot demon guy on balcony.’ Brains go brrrr.”

Nathan pointed at her. “That’s exactly how I would’ve phrased it.”

Abaddon inhaled slowly, like he was trying to ground himself and finding no earth.

“…Read the rest,” he said, softer.

She didn’t read every comment — there were too many. But she skimmed and picked the ones that seemed to twist the knife.

sinnerprincess:

someone tag me when we get his instagram handle

reply – ghosthuntersimp:

bro he definitely doesn’t know what a phone is

“I know what a phone is,” Abaddon muttered. “It is the thing that rings.”

“Yeah,” Nathan said. “You keep trying to answer the microwave.”

Another:

latinlover:

bet he speaks in dead languages and calls you ‘mortal’ in bed

Abaddon grabbed the side of the monitor like he was about to wrench it off the desk. “Why— why are they discussing my… hypothetical… bed behavior?”

Nathan hit the deck, laughing so hard his whole form flickered. “Oh my GOD, I love the internet.”

[Name] kept her voice calm. “Because they’re bored.”

“They need hobbies,” Abaddon snapped.

“Your existence is their hobby now,” Nathan wheezed.

[Name] scrolled to a calmer one:

academic_cryptid:

this is lowkey the most convincing ‘demon caught on tape’ thing i’ve seen in like 5 years

Abaddon straightened a little. “…Good.”

“See?” Nathan said. “You’re still scary and weirdly attractive. Both can be true.”

Abaddon’s gaze flicked to [Name] again, almost sharp. “And you,” he said. “Do you agree with their delusions.”

Her expression stayed exactly the same. “About what.”

“That I am… ‘cute.’” He said the word like it burned his tongue.

She considered him for a second. Not lingering. Not obvious. Just a quiet once over messy hair, too-big sweater sleeves, shadowed eyes, the faint permanent frown.

“You look like you,” she said finally. “The internet’s gonna think things regardless.”

“That is not an answer,” he pressed.

“I don’t give Yelp reviews on people,” she said.

Nathan, still half-laughing, wiped at his eyes. “Translate: she thinks you’re cute and she’s not feeding your ego.”

Abaddon glared at him so hard the lights flickered. “You will cease interpreting her words for me.”

“Then stop being illiterate,” Nathan shot back. “Modern English isn’t that hard.”

Abaddon stiffened. “I am not illiterate. I simply refuse to degrade myself with your lowercase idiocy.”

[Name] flicked the scroll wheel. “If you’re so opposed to it, why do you care what the comments say.”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

For a second, something honest slid into his expression. Not just offense. Something quieter. A little uncertain.

“Because they should… fear me,” he said, but there was less conviction in it. “They should tremble. Not argue in the margins about whether they would… ‘risk it.’”

“People are complicated,” she said. “You can terrify them and they’ll still want to make out with you. That’s kind of… the internet’s whole thing.”

Nathan nodded sagely. “She’s right. I’ve seen people thirst over tax fraud.”

Abaddon rubbed his temple. “This world is diseased.”

“Yup,” Nathan said. “Welcome to 2025.”

For a while, none of them spoke.

The lobby hummed softly. Somewhere in the sitting room, a chair creaked on its own. A ghost laughed faintly from upstairs.

On the screen, Ben’s frozen frame sat between the wall of comments and the pause bar mouth half open mid-sentence, completely unaware that the real show was happening above him on the balcony.

Abaddon stared at himself.

At the way the camera caught him mid-glower. At the faint red flash in his eyes if you looked close. At how Nathan’s sweater somehow did not diminish his presence as much as it should have.

“Do they truly…” he began, then stalled.

“Truly what,” [Name] asked.

“View me this way,” he said quietly. “As… entertainment. A curiosity. An object of…” He grimaced. “…desire.”

“Yes,” Nathan and [Name] said at the same time, in very different tones.

Nathan sounded delighted.

[Name] sounded neutral.

Abaddon shut his eyes for a second.

When he opened them again, some of the wild offense had faded. Not gone. That would never happen. But tempered, a little, by something else reluctant acceptance, maybe. Or just the dawning realization that he could not reach through the screen and throttle everyone.

He drew himself up, shoulders rolling back, posture sharpening into its usual princely lines.

“Very well,” he said. “If I cannot stop them from speaking, I will ensure what they say is… accurate.”

Nathan squinted. “That sounds like the start of a bad idea.”

[Name] tapped the mouse. “Define accurate.”

Abaddon turned to her like he was about to deliver a mission briefing. “They wish to call me ‘destroyer’, correct. They wish to call me ‘terrifying’, correct. They wish to whisper of my power, acceptable. But this fixation on cuteness, ‘husband material’, and… ‘demon boyfriend’—” he spat the last words like slurs, “—is unacceptable.”

“So what are you gonna do,” Nathan asked. “Release a press statement.”

Abaddon looked at the keyboard like it had just become a weapon. “Can I respond.”

“You want to reply to YouTube comments,” [Name] asked.

“Yes.”

“No,” Nathan said immediately. “Absolutely not. We’re not letting the Destroyer of the Abyss log into Google.”

Abaddon frowned. “You do not trust me.”

“You once burned down a hut because a guy insulted your cloak,” Nathan said. “No, I do not trust you in the comments section.”

“The cloak was dignified,” Abaddon said. “His opinion was incorrect.”

[Name] leaned her elbows on the desk. “It’ll make it worse,” she told him. “If you respond, they’ll obsess more. You’ll just feed the chaos.”

Abaddon hesitated.

He listened.

Then he exhaled sharply and stepped back from the computer. “Fine. I will not engage in your… discourse.”

Nathan looked between them, eyebrows raised. “Huh.”

“What,” Abaddon snapped.

“You actually backed down when she said so,” Nathan said. “Interesting.”

Abaddon scowled. “Do not start.”

Nathan smirked. “Just saying. Esther was right. You do listen to her, at least a little.”

He turned half-transparent and phased back through the wall toward the sitting room, calling, “I’m telling Katherine you’re emotionally compromised~” over his shoulder.

“Do not,” Abaddon snarled after him, but Nathan was already gone.

The bell on the counter sat between them, innocent and shiny.

Abaddon stared at it.

Gently, [Name] placed a finger on top of it to keep him from smacking it again. “I am begging you,” she said. “Learn where the mouse is. For everyone’s sake.”

“I know where the mouse is now,” he muttered. “It is the small cursed stone that moves the arrow.”

“That’s… close enough.”

He looked at the screen once more. At the blurred, low-quality version of himself that strangers were arguing about. At the text he couldn’t read without her.

“You will… inform me,” he said suddenly. “If the cult’s posts escalate. Or if they say anything about coming here soon.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I got you.”

His eyes met hers, searching for something mockery, maybe. Or ridicule. Or pity.

He didn’t find it.

Just her usual calm.

“Very well,” he said. He took a step back, then paused. “And if more of these…” He gestured vaguely at the screen like it physically pained him. “…thirst comments appear, you will not show them to me.”

“Why.”

“Because I prefer not to know,” he declared. “Ignorance is blissful in this regard.”

“Sure,” she said. “Whatever you say.”

He hesitated.

Then added, quietly, “Unless they are… particularly egregious. Or amusing.”

“So you do want to know.”

“I want to choose my own torment,” he said.

She gave the smallest huff. “Drama queen.”

“I am a prince,” he corrected.

She clicked the tab closed. The screen went back to the reservation system.

The lobby felt oddly quieter without the video staring back at them.

Abaddon lingered a moment longer, hands sliding into the pockets of Nathan’s brown pants that he wore. “You have fulfilled your function,” he said, formal again. “You may resume your mortal tasks.”

“Wow,” she said. “Thanks for the permission.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, something sharp, probably, and then stopped, thinking better of it.

Instead he said, “If any more… developments arise regarding this internet situation, you will inform me.”

“Sure,” she said. “Prince Wi-Fi.”

He squinted. “What.”

“Nothing. Go brood or whatever.”

He studied her face one last time, as if committing her expression (or lack thereof) to memory, then turned on his heel and walked toward the stairs, shoulders straight, head high, every part of his body language screaming I am not bothered by any of this.

He reached the first step.

“Abaddon,” she called casually.

He paused. Looked back over his shoulder.

“They were right about one thing,” she said, tone easy, eyes as unreadable as always. “You do look better on balconies than in grainy thumbnails.”

For half a heartbeat, something flared across his face, surprise, pride, a smear of embarrassment. Then it vanished under his usual unimpressed stare.

“I always look better,” he said, regaining his composure. “Than anything.”

“Sure,” she said. “Go conquer some LED lights.”

He made an offended sound in his throat and stalked up the stairs. Internally though, he did not mind the compliment he had received from her, unlike the degenerates he viewed on the digital screen, he… tolerated it, is what he said to himself.

But he wouldn’t mind hearing another.