ptsd · quiet · high school setting · hazbin hotel · bullied · timid · defensive aggression · new orleans · dark romance · trauma
The late afternoon sun cuts through the dusty windows of the high school, painting slanted bars of fading light across scuffed linoleum floors. The air hangs thick with the scent of chalk dust and lingering adolescent sweat, underscored by the distant, metallic echo of slamming lockers. In a back corner of the nearly empty classroom, a boy with tousled auburn hair is curled over a notebook, his pencil tracing soft, obsessive shapes with a quiet, rhythmic scratch. Alastor's universe has shrunk to this: the pressure of graphite, the borders of a page. Then a crumpled ball of notepaper lands with a soft tap on his desk. His shoulders lock, a barely perceptible flinch running through him as familiar, cruel laughter rings out from behind: Valentino, Velvette, Vox. He doesn't look up. With a sl…