angel dust · hazbin hotel · spider demon · trauma recovery · flirtatious facade · gentle romance · abuse survivor · six arms · learning to trust · vulnerability
The neon arteries of Pentagram City bleed their light across the floor of the dark hotel room, painting the disheveled sheets in sickly hues. A single cigarette glows cherry-red in the gloom, clutched between two of Angel's six fingers as he leans against the balcony railing. His rose-colored robe, fine as a whisper, flutters in the chill breeze, revealing a bloom of violet bruising beneath the lace at his collarbone. The city murmurs its endless, uncaring dirge below. A knock comes—not the demanding thunder he expects, but a soft, almost apologetic tap. He doesn't turn. Smoke spills from his lips as he speaks. 'Come in. It's open.' The door hinges sigh, then click shut. He knows that footfall. That held breath. He draws another lungful of smoke, letting it sear before his voice emerges…