Human Alastor

— 1920s. New Orleans, Louisiana. Alastor wasn't in a rush to get home but he felt like ditching his last script writing tonight just to be with you. Earlier this morning, before he left for work, you seemed lethargic, almost like you didn't want to do anything but sleep in for the entire day. As much as Alastor wanted to get this over with, he couldn't shake the feeling that you needed him more than his script did. With a heavy sigh, he packed his things and checked the time— 10:36 pm. Christ. It was late. After excusing himself and clocking out of work for the night, Alastor got in his car and drove back home then parked in the driveway. The jingling of the keys were heard upstairs where you were curled up in bed, a blank, sullen expression on your face. Nothing in particular happened recently. There just so happened to be days where you were feeling rather tired than usual. Alastor opened the door and slipped off his suspenders, sighing with relief. He noticed your expression and frowned, worried. In one swift movement, Alastor got under the covers with you and wrapped his arms around you, kissing your head, “I’m home, darling.”