Ishnofel stepped out of his room with his usual dignity.
The hallway of the Hazbin Hotel greeted him with its habitual decadence: flickering neon lights buzzing with exhaustion, worn carpets soaked in old alcohol and sin, and the distant echo of laughter, arguments, and off-key music that never truly slept. The air was thick, hot, heavy with smoke and unresolved emotions.
He walked with his back straight, arms crossed, chin held high, as if that unworthy place did not deserve his attention. Every step was firm, calculated, authoritative. An ancient demon crossing modern chaos.
The only detail betraying that impeccable composure was the faint blush that refused to fade from his cheeks.
—Ohhh… —murmured Angel Dust from the wall, lounging shamelessly among cracks and graffiti as if Hell were his personal couch—. Well, would you look at that. The great and terrifying Ishnofel looks… shy.
—Don't say nonsense —Ishnofel growled without stopping—. Move aside.
—Honey, when you say that with a red face, it kind of kills the threat —added Cherry Bomb, sitting on a half-broken railing, swinging one leg with amusement—. It's actually cute.
Ishnofel stopped.
The ambient noise seemed to lower, as if the hotel itself were holding its breath. He turned his head slightly and glanced over his shoulder, his calm far too perfect to be honest. His eyes burned with a silent warning.
—Keep talking —he said quietly—. And I promise the next loud noise will be your impact against the wall.
—Ooooh —Angel clutched his chest theatrically—. Violent and sensitive. Carmilla's going to melt.
Before Ishnofel could reply, quick, chaotic footsteps broke the tension. Something small and energetic came running down the hallway, dodging suspicious stains and crooked furniture.
—ISHNOFEL! —Niffty sang out, skidding to a stop right in front of him and kicking up a small cloud of dust.
—What? —he answered, instantly tensing.
She held out a red flower, a bit crooked, with uneven petals, but clearly cared for with almost obsessive dedication.
—For Carmilla Carmine! —she announced with a radiant smile—. When someone turns red like that, it's because they like someone.
The demon of suffering looked down at the flower as if it were a cursed artifact. The intense red seemed to mock him, alive and fragile between his fingers.
—I-I don't… —he swallowed—. This isn't what it looks like.
The blush deepened, spreading across his face without permission.
—Oh, it is definitely exactly what it looks like —Cherry commented mercilessly, pointing at him—. Look at that face.
—I'm not in love —Ishnofel snapped, taking the flower with an awkwardness that didn't belong to him—. I don't even know her. I've never spoken to her.
—That's never stopped anyone —Charlie intervened, stepping forward with her usual gentle light, sharply contrasting the surrounding gloom—. Sometimes things begin before we put a name to them.
—And then they explode gloriously —Angel added—. But the beginning is always awkward. Just like this.
—It's not awkward —Ishnofel muttered—. It's irrelevant.
—Uh-huh —several voices replied, unconvinced.
Elegant footsteps descending the stairs caught everyone's attention. The sound was different: confident, assured, almost theatrical.
—Why does the air smell like romantic tension? —Lucifer Morningstar asked, casually swinging his rubber duck—. And not the fun kind.
Ishnofel opened his mouth to respond, but Angel was faster.
—Boss, we have a critical situation: Ishnofel is madly in love.
—I am NOT —he snapped—. And stop saying it like that.
Lucifer studied him closely, slowly circling him as if examining a rare collectible. He tilted his head, amused.
—Interesting —he commented—. You say one thing, but your body language tells a different story.
—It's hot —Ishnofel replied stiffly—. This place is suffocating.
—Of course —Lucifer smiled—. Internal heat.
Nearby, an old radio crackled with static, as if something else wanted to join in.
—What a delicious moment —Alastor chimed in, appearing with his impossible smile—. Especially since today there's an Overlords meeting.
—I won't attend —Ishnofel replied instantly.
—Oh, what a shame —Alastor continued with feigned sadness—. Carmilla Carmine confirmed her attendance.
The world stopped.
Ishnofel froze, like a cracked statue.
—…Oh? —he asked, far too quickly.
The silence was absolute.
—Yep —everyone replied in unison.
Ishnofel closed his eyes for a second and exhaled slowly, as if trying to regain control over something that had never escaped him before.
—I'm going for practical reasons —he clarified—. Information. Strategy.
—Naturally —Alastor nodded—. Strategies of the heart.
—I'm going —Ishnofel said finally—. And if anyone comments—
—What? —Angel grinned—. You'll break our hearts?
Ishnofel didn't respond. He simply turned around and walked away, his figure disappearing among faulty lights and dancing shadows.
Laughter erupted behind him, bouncing through the hotel corridors.
Alone at last, he lowered his gaze to the flower still in his hand. Without realizing it, he was holding it carefully, as if it were something valuable… something vulnerable.
The demon of suffering frowned.
For the first time in centuries, he didn't know whether what he felt was a dangerous weakness…
or the beginning of something truly worth suffering for.