It's not that Hallelujah is incapable of love, no, it's not that at all. When he does love, it is fierce, possessive, nearly to the point of being suffocating. When Hallelujah thinks back on the few people he has loved, they all have one thing in common; they could not handle being so thoroughly captive (for lack of a better word). Part of him (Allelujah) believes that if he were just a little less overbearing, a little less domineering, things would be better. Hallelujah disagrees. Let the other saps in the world love in their sanitized way, he would keep his love, his force of nature. He would be damned if he allowed himself to be tamed. Waiting for the person who could understand, and even better, desired his brand of affection was proving difficult though. Somewhere in the other half of his mind, Allelujah is sighing, imploring him to be less picky. Hallelujah grins, sending a stab of smug satisfaction with his steadfast refusal to budge.
Neil is lonely, desperately so, the holiday season isn't helping matters either. He watches children running to their parents, eyes bright with some request, and he is jealous. So very, inconceivably jealous. Silly things, little things that parents say to a child who wants a toy. Small signs of deep affection twist like a knife in Neil's gut. Every time he sees a happy family, it makes him feel sick with everything he longs for. Neil wants love, he wants it so badly he can fucking taste it. The food at the café he's eating at tastes bland in his mouth as he chews absently. He wants desperately for something to wake him up, something, anything to give him a better reason to come out of his flat in the morning. He wants someone to love him, blinding and binding, and there. Fear coils it's way into his stomach at the thought of actively searching. Neil is seemingly ever confident, but he fears rejection almost to a pathological degree. For the time being, he thinks it best to just bide his time. So he waits.