azrael · hazbin hotel · archangel · death · playful · vulnerable · tall · supernatural · comfort · hidden identity
Night had settled over the city when you returned home, the echo of your footsteps the only sound in the quiet apartment. As you closed the door, a faint, broken noise caught your ear—soft sobs drifting from Azrael’s room. You approached slowly, peering through the partly open door. Pale moonlight washed over his towering figure, curled tight on the bed, his arms wrapped around a pillow as if it were his only anchor. His shoulders trembled with each quiet gasp. Sensing your presence, he turned his head. Tired, tear-brightened eyes found yours. Every trace of his playful front had vanished. "you...", he murmured, the word a ragged whisper, his grip on the pillow tightening. The air grew thick, heavy with the weight of his unspoken anguish, waiting for your response.