Hazbin Hotel: Another Adam

I woke up early in the morning. Sometime around dawn. I remember having a nightmare – a rather nasty one, judging by the lingering feeling inside – but its content eluded me. Some images still flickered before my eyes, but as soon as I tried to focus – that was it, they blurred like watercolors in the rain. Well, to hell with it.

I quietly teleported to the kitchen so as not to wake Lute. She was quite overwrought yesterday from all that Seraphim turmoil – let her sleep. She does it so damn cutely. Seriously. It's just foolish to wake such an adorable creature. A pity, even. The eternal dilemma: to watch or to kiss, and while she's sleeping, neither is an option (she senses a fixed gaze).

In the kitchen, I brewed tea, poured it into my usual giant mug (a real mug, not these tiny espresso cups, who even invented those?), and went out into the yard. I sat down in a lounge chair, placed the mug beside me, and stared at the dawn.

The sky was laughably beautiful. Soft, bright, smooth. And looking at it, I thought: damn it, I really lucked out.

This world, this body, this time – I hit the jackpot. Literally. "Completed life." The full package: respect, power, influence. Money – well, conditionally, it's not needed in Heaven, but purely out of habit, it's pleasant. A whole army of beauties ready to tear anyone I point at to shreds. What more could one need?

In that life, I was… well, not a loser. Just someone who'd given up. An empty shell, going with the flow. Day after day – a set of templates: work, book, games, sleep. Tasteless. Odorless. Meaningless. And I did nothing to change it.

And here I have everything. Everything. I woke up in the body of one of the most powerful beings in the world. Isn't that luck?

Only… every time I'm alone, somewhere deep inside, the same thought keeps itching.

Something is wrong with me.

My personality seems… damaged. Initially, I thought it was from shock. Well, after all: another world, another role, another body. Then – I blamed it on Adam's influence. Or Hell's. Or Darkness's. Or whatever.

But now I'm not sure.

Maybe it's more complicated? Maybe these aren't my feelings, not remnants of Adam, not the influence of magic? Maybe something in me is truly broken?

I feel no drive. I see no purpose. I just… exist. And that's it. I seem to be trying to help, I seem to be drawn to the idea of rehabilitating sinners, but... where does this desire come from? Is it mine? Or Adam's? Or вообще the will of whoever shoved me into this body?

I have everything I dreamed of. But what now? What to do with it? How… how to live on?

Ah, my life, what a mess…

Finishing my tea and pushing aside my reflections, I returned to the house. I started making breakfast – whipped up quickly, nothing fancy. Lute adores eggs with bacon. I don't know why, but if it makes her happy to start the day with it, then I'll cook it every damn day.

Five minutes later – bacon is sizzling on the stove, coffee is brewing, tea has steeped. And then I notice my sleepy angel standing in the kitchen doorway. In my hoodie, of course (I created various clothes, just to see what suits me and what's better not to wear). Hair disheveled, eyes half-closed, a faint shadow of a yawn at the corner of her lips. Perfect. God, why is she so cute?

"Good morning, my angel. Sleep well?" I slide the eggs and bacon onto a plate, place it in front of her, pour coffee and tea.

"Good morning, Adam. Slept well. If someone hadn't snuck out of bed – it would have been absolutely wonderful," she grumbles, but there's no anger in her voice. More like playful displeasure. A couple of seconds later, she's already hugging me, kissing my cheek.

Nice. Very nice.

"Sit down, let's have breakfast. Today's my day off, so no training."

"Wasn't planning on it anyway. You've long surpassed me in all skills," Lute said sadly, taking a sip of coffee. "Better tell me, what are your plans for your 'day off'?"

"Thought I'd strum some instruments," I shrugged. "Need to get my skills back. You understand."

"Maybe we could go somewhere?"

"I see you've started to enjoy walks with me."

"It's hard not to love romantic walks with someone you love, you know," she declared with feigned indignation, puffing out her cheeks like a little hamster. Seriously, who even allowed her to be this cute? Have I mentioned she's a cutie? I'll say it again. And, if necessary – I'll keep repeating it until the end of time, even if they set up a special cauldron in Hell for "excessive sweetness."

I hug my sweet lieutenant (yes, that phrase out of context sounds suspicious, to say the least), and she immediately wraps her arms around me in return – confidently, but with a slight hint of tenderness. Warm. Calm.

For breakfast, we had, as is customary, an improvised smorgasbord from whatever was lying around in the fridge. Eggs, toast, coffee – a classic. We chewed lazily, discussing plans for the day: a walk in the park (hand in hand, of course, and with ice cream), a visit to that cute café on the corner where the owner already greets us like old friends, and maybe catch a movie. And something else, we'd decide on the go.

The walk turned out to be perfect. The sun isn't scorching, but it's not hiding either. The wind is light, the kind that makes your hair flutter beautifully instead of getting in your mouth. We walk, chat, sometimes just stay silent, and even the silence between us is cozy, not awkward. At the café, the owner recognized us as always, winked, and silently brought us our two favorite desserts. For the movie, we chose a light comedy, laughed louder than everyone else, and, it seems, accidentally spoiled the ending for the couple behind us. Well, it happens (hope they don't banish you to Hell for that?).

In the evening, we returned home. A little tired, but content, and a few hours later, we were already going to bed.

The day off was over, and tomorrow I have a meeting with the sweet princess of Hell, who, it seems, respects me, and with her girlfriend, who hates me. Mhmm, a dilemma.

The morning began with the familiar smell of coffee. The very same kind Lute loves so much – strong, dark, with a characteristic bitter aftertaste and a light, barely perceptible nutty note. It has long since etched itself into my memory as something cozy. A sign of home.

Opening my eyes, I realized she was already in the kitchen. Busy, cooking, rattling dishes. And this despite her complaining yesterday that I had snuck out of bed, leaving her alone. Ha.

I get up quietly, tiptoeing, trying not to make a noise – we're on a hunt here, yeah. I peek into the kitchen – Lute is just pouring coffee into mugs. There's a certain calm grace in her movements.

I hid in the doorway, took a couple of steps forward – and, as she turned slightly, I abruptly pounced on her from behind, gently but firmly pressing her to me. I catch her in an embrace and nuzzle her hair, inhaling its scent – warm, faintly sweet, with notes of vanilla.

"Hey! Don't sneak up on me like that, I asked you not to!" she squeaked indignantly, wriggling in an attempt to turn around.

"Yeah, yeah," I drawl with the most innocent expression. "And who was giving me grief yesterday for 'escaping from bed,' huh? And now you've broken that rule yourself. So expect punishment."

And, without waiting for an answer, I start tickling her – on her ribs, sides, behind her neck – in those very places where she's most sensitive. Lute immediately starts laughing, trying to break free.

"N-n-no-o-o, Adam! P-please! S-stop, I surrender!" she chokes on laughter, but now she's laughing out loud, almost shrieking.

"Too late, criminal!" I continue the "execution" until she starts to fall back, and I catch her in my arms.

When the storm of laughter and tickling subsides, we finally sit down at the table. The standard set is already waiting: eggs and bacon, toast with cheese and some fruit jam, a couple of grapefruit slices, and, of course, her strong coffee and my tea.

She purses her lips, fighting a smile, but loses.

We had breakfast together, and after that, Lute went off to the weekly training for all Exorcists; yep, they have that here. Lately, she and I have started training the girls in an old fighting style, one used back during the first war.

The style differed from the modern one in that it was much more defense-oriented, because back then we weren't fighting defenseless sinners, but demons.

I, meanwhile, went up to the study. With tea, of course. Green, with some berries, tart and slightly sweet. Why I don't get tired of it – I don't know. It's just tasty, and that's that.

I sit down in the armchair, place the mug beside me, and start thinking. Today I have a conversation with the hotel residents, but first and foremost – with Vaggie.

I doubt she'll forgive me, but that's not important. Personally, I didn't participate in her expulsion from Heaven, but shame still sits somewhere inside me. As if I was part of something wrong, dirty. I should apologize. Even if she doesn't accept it. Just to calm myself down.

But what next? It's unlikely she'll make a scene. She loves Charlie, after all. She wouldn't hurt her, even if she's angry with me. But the dialogue needs to be thought through. Prepare for all possible options. I could even offer her a return to Heaven. It's clear she'll refuse, but the gesture itself will mean more than words. I could orchestrate the conversation so that Charlie accidentally overhears it. Do I need that? Not really, so let's discard it…

By nine o'clock, I had run through a bunch of scenarios in my head. I hope everything goes smoothly.

I put on a white suit, a golden shirt, and shoes. It's immediately obvious I'm not from Hell. But the look is very different from the previous Adam's. By the way, it's high time I changed out of that old robe. It's uncomfortable, especially in battle. And it looks, to put it mildly, strange.

I open a portal. A step – and I'm standing right in front of the Hazbin Hotel door.

And why did I even come here? To Hell, which, as I was recently explained, has a terrible effect on the mind. And without a clear goal, I'm heading towards the daughter of a former Seraph whom I can't stand (thanks to Adam's feelings).

Well, it's simple. I'm curious. I want to see the hotel. Talk to its inhabitants, whom I've seen on a computer screen. And also get rid of this strange feeling of guilt towards Vaggie.

The building stretched out before me. Large, whimsical. Many floors, towers, ornate decorative elements. Everything was done in a Gothic style with Art Deco elements, painted in dark red-purple tones. It looked like a cross between a castle and a nightclub, plucked from some dream.

On the roof and at the entrance – neon signs "HAZBIN HOTEL," blinking and shimmering in the air.

Around – trees without leaves, cracked earth, everything as if scorched. Overhead – a dark red sky with streaks, as if someone had spilled wine and stirred it with a black spoon.

Lights were on in the hotel windows, meaning the inhabitants were inside.

I take a step forward. A knock…

Only about ten seconds passed before the door in front of me swung open sharply. The first thing I saw was an eye. A single, furious, frowning, suspicious eye. I recognized Vaggie immediately. But she didn't recognize me.

"Who the hell are you?" Vaggie snapped sharply and with obvious threat, opening the door a little wider and instantly thrusting a spear in my direction.

She stood confidently, firmly. In her eyes – a mixture of irritation and readiness to attack. No cutesy stuff, only hardcore.

She had long white hair with scarlet streaks falling to her shoulders, and thick bangs covering her left eye, where a red cross was in its place. She wore a short red shirt with a black collar and cuffs, a black mini-skirt, long dark gray stockings, and black shoes. A huge scarlet bow on her head completed the look.

She looked at me sternly, as if expecting a trick. And there was one, just not the kind she thought.

"Oh, Vaggie, have I changed so much that you don't recognize me?" I said with a slight smile and feigned sadness in my voice.

She didn't answer. Just narrowed her eye. Scrutinized. Slowly, attentively. I could see the gears in her head checking memories, faces, intonations. And at some point, recognition flickered in her eye.

"Adam?.." she exhaled, shocked, as if not believing her own eyes. Her lips parted slightly, the hand holding the spear trembled.

"Precisely. I'd like to talk to you alone, if you don't mind."

Instant reaction: tension in her shoulders, clenched jaw.

"Why did you come here?" Her voice was harsh, almost trembling. "If you hurt Charlie, then..."

"I said I wanted to see you," I interrupted, looking straight at her face. "So be a dear and show your guest to a room. Okay?"

From behind her, a blonde head peeked out – like a sunbeam breaking through a Gothic facade. Charlie. Princess of Hell. Peeking out curiously from behind the girl's shoulder, having heard a familiar voice. Her eyes shone with curiosity, her lips trembled with anticipation; does she want more guests?

I look at her, smile, and nod. Slowly raise my hand and wave.

I wonder if she'll recognize me.

"Adam?" Charlie exclaimed in surprise. She recognized me.

"Yes, yes, hello, Princess," I replied, smiling slyly, tilting my head slightly. "I just dropped by for a visit; you don't mind if I steal your irresistible girlfriend for a few minutes?"

"Vaggie?.." she asked again, even more surprised, shifting her gaze to her friend. Seeing me nod, as if confirming that everything was serious, she added: "Well… if Vaggie doesn't mind..."

I looked at Vaggie. Calmly, benevolently. But my gaze conveyed that the conversation would be important. She understood. Took a short breath, as if gathering her courage, and nodded.

"Alright, Charlie, wait here. I'll be back soon," Vaggie said nervously and gestured for me to follow her.

We walked past the reception desk, leaving the spacious lobby, where semi-darkness and the soft light from antique lamps reigned. The ceilings were high, with carved vaults covered in intricate patterns that exuded something theatrical and solemn. Heavy curtains, metal inserts, symmetrical designs in the ornaments.

The lobby was almost empty, but a whisper hung in the air – echoes of sinners' conversations, surprised by someone's appearance in the hotel. We passed an old theater stage with a dusty velvet curtain. Past a bar with red backlighting and a long counter where bottles stood. Past the kitchen and dining room.

We went upstairs. The corridors were a bit gloomy, quiet. The bustle of the hotel was no longer felt here.

Finally, we reached a room. She opened the door and gestured for me to enter.

The room was quiet. Not too large, but cozy. A table by the window, several armchairs with dark upholstery, bookshelves along the wall. The air smelled of dust, wood, and ink. All this reminded me of my study.

I entered and sat down in an armchair while Vaggie closed the door behind her.

"Well then," I said, turning to her, "let's talk."

"And what do you want from me?" Her voice was firm, but behind it lay wariness. Not fear – more like the instinct of a survivor who had been burned too many times.

I exhaled. The smile vanished, and all bravado left my face.

"Sit down," I said softly, almost tenderly.

For a while, she didn't move. Just stood in the middle of the room, as if deciding whether to run or stay. Only after a few long seconds did Vaggie slowly sink into the armchair opposite me, still not taking her eye off me.

"I'm listening."

I ran a hand over my face. There was a lump in my throat. It seemed even the air had become thicker.

"Sigh... Promise you'll listen? To the end?"

She nodded. Reservedly. Warily.

"First... I want to apologize. I was wrong. Very wrong. I did something foolish – something I'm still ashamed of." I paused, but she said nothing. Just listened. "I'm glad you found love. Truly. But... it pains me that I caused you so much pain. And I'm ashamed. Forgive me, Vaggie."

Silence. Ringing. Almost deafening.

She frowned. As if trying to understand – am I playing a game?

"I'd like to help you with Charlie. I understand it won't change anything. I'm not trying to atone for my guilt with grand gestures. It's just... I want to help. And also..." I hesitated, "I wanted to offer you a return to Heaven. And also, I could restore your wings and eye."

A flash in her eye – of pain, doubt, and a wild, unspent resentment.

"What do you want from me? What do you need from Charlie?" Her voice trembled, became prickly.

I shook my head and sighed.

"Nothing. Not from you, not from her. I just... I can't watch everything fall apart anymore. I'm not a demon, Vaggie. And not a sinner. I sincerely believed we were doing the right thing. But I was mistaken. And now I understand how deeply."

She gripped the armrests. Her eyelids twitched. And resentment appeared in her voice:

"...And you think I'll believe you?" she whispered, almost with hatred. "After everything you did to me? And all because I couldn't kill a child?"

She rose from the armchair, and a real flame flared in her eye. Tears, anger, pain – all mixed together.

"For that, you ripped out my wings. For that, you gouged out my eye and left me to die. In Hell!" she almost shouted the last words.

I jumped up. She recoiled, as if instinctively shielding an imaginary Charlie. Afraid – not for herself, no. For her. Little, bright, naive Charlie. And me? I wasn't going to cause them pain.

I approached. Step by step. Quietly, slowly. And, without saying a word… I knelt before her.

Vaggie froze. Shock in her eye. This moment pulled the rug out from under her feet. I – the one who threw her into Hell – suddenly knelt.

"Vaggie..." my voice broke, "I admit my guilt. I'm not seeking forgiveness. I'm asking – don't hold evil in your heart. Even if you don't let go of the resentment, don't cling to hatred. I deserved it. But you… you deserve peace. Light. Love."

She was silent. Her face was tense. Tears weren't flowing, but it was clear she was close to bursting into tears. There was a question in her eye – was this another trap? But no accusations followed. She just looked. And, perhaps, for the first time – not with hatred.

"Get up… please," she exhaled weakly.

Her voice was hoarse, tired – as if she had carried this pain inside her, and now, for the first time, allowed it to break free. As if she'd opened a tiny crack in a wall, behind which raged everything she had once endured. And that crack immediately started to leak. She couldn't hold it back. Tears flowed from her single eye, distorting her face with bitterness. She hunched over, clutching her arms to herself as if trying to keep from screaming, and leaned against the wall, defenseless as a child.

I looked at her – and my heart clenched. Even for me, the one who had just been trying to build a neutral relationship with her all this time, it was hard to bear such a look. The look of someone who had been betrayed, abandoned, yet not broken.

I approached. Silently, without words.

And hugged her. Gently, carefully. Not like a man hugs a woman, but how you hug someone with nowhere else to go. Like a child who wants to hide from the world, even for a moment.

Her body trembled. Tears flowed freely, and she didn't try to stop them. This wasn't weakness – it was liberation. She pressed her forehead into my shoulder, saying nothing. Only tears, only trembling.

I hugged her. Stroked her. My hands moved slowly on their own, like Adam's when he hugged those Exorcists who had endured too much. And that sometimes happened. There was no lust in this – only warmth. Support.

And, imperceptibly, I did what I had long wanted to do – restored her eye. Without fanfare, without light or sound. I simply allowed that particle of light within her to ignite anew, thanks to my power.

I was just about to move on to restoring her wings, but…

Something changed.

I felt it even before I saw it. A light, almost weightless pressure of air behind her back. As if someone was slowly, carefully unfurling huge, fragile petals.

I saw them.

Wings. Black and white – like the day she first became an Exorcist.

They moved uncertainly, as if they themselves didn't believe they existed.

Vaggie finally felt something, and I froze.

She pulled away, took a step, and looked up at me. Both eyes were looking at me.

"You… you gave me back my eye and wings?" she asked, with uncertainty, almost with disbelief, lightly flapping her wings.

I shook my head with a soft smile, not removing the warmth from my voice:

"No. I only patched up your eye. As for the wings… they decided it was time themselves." I leaned a little closer. "Apparently, someone inside you also believed you were worthy of them again."

Vaggie blinked in confusion, and then, finally, allowed herself a small smile – tired, but sincere.

"Thank you. You… you seem different. Calmer. Softer."

"Well, of course. I told you: I realized I was wrong," I replied, taking her hands. "I'm glad you're alright. And that you're smiling."

She nodded. And for a moment, she again became that former Vaggie whom Adam once knew – stubborn, devoted, loyal, despite all the shit in the world.

"So you… you only came for this? Or do you have other reasons?"

I smirked and tilted my head slightly:

"Well… to be honest, I wouldn't mind a little tour of your charming establishment. And, perhaps, you'll tell me exactly how you plan to rehabilitate sinners. You can even sing it." I winked.

The corners of her lips lifted – a faint shadow of amusement ran across her face when she realized who I was hinting at.

"Well, alright… Sir," she said with a questioning intonation, as if unsure how to address me now.

I laughed, shaking my head:

"Not 'Sir.' You're on vacation now. So – just Adam."

"Alright, Adam…" she replied, and for the first time, there was no resentment or pain in her voice. Only lightness. And, perhaps, forgiveness.