Pretending everything was alright had always been Clover's first instinct in moments like these.

Usually, she reveled in distracting herself with mundane activities if it meant she could ignore a problem for a little longer, give herself time to come to a clear conclusion, or allow the issue to fade into unimportance entirely. It wasn't the healthiest habit, as her breakdown over the smallest sign of fatherly affection from an unsuspecting Husker had shown, but it felt easier than wallowing. Now that Alastor could no longer provide a welcome distraction from her troubles due to his abrupt departure from the hotel and his continued absence as the week progressed, Clover was faced with finding other outlets to distract herself with.

Sunday had gone by in a blur of wasted time, Clover becoming permanently glued to Husker's side after waking up tucked beneath the blankets of her own bed the next morning. Her head had ached as she pulled herself upright, and her attempt to start the day failed when her arms wrapped around her knees as another wave of self-pity washed over her. She'd finally gotten herself into the lobby by mid-morning and found a cup of coffee waiting for her at the bar. Its plastic cup and sealed straw had sparked a quiet half-question in the form of a raised brow to Husker, who answered gruffly that "that lizard asshole you call a boss" had shown up in the early hours of the morning with that and a bag of spare pastries from the prior day only to disappear into Charlie's office soon after.

Gossip traveled fast in hell, apparently.

The rest of her day had been spent idly helping clean up the mess in the library, helping to hold boards while Husker nailed and replacing the broken bulbs of the light fixtures. None of them dared to touch the radio whose splinted horns of mahogany wood had begun to wilt and whose power still managed to flicker off and on as the day went on, providing a warped background melody to their work. None except Clover, who settled her back against it the next evening for some much-needed solace as dinner time came and went. She'd only slept because of the heavy dose of alcohol that she'd taken on an empty stomach at the bar, listening to Husker and Angel talk idly about some of the finer points of making a good martini while she nursed her third shot of whiskey.

Monday she'd dressed for work in darkness, lazily shoving her legs into the first pair of proper pants she fished from the folded laundry Niffty had left on her reading chair and pairing it with whatever t-shirt happened to be hanging out of her dresser drawer. The red sweater stayed in its place on her pillow, where she could make sure the scent of Alastor's home could linger without the threat of other aromatics stealing him away. When she'd entered the lobby, Husker was awake and nursing a cup of coffee, and it became obvious that the torch of escorting her safely to work had been passed.

It seemed she would just have to bother Husker with her questions.

"What are we afraid of now? I'm guessing Vox is still alive, but-"

"Al can explain it better than me, but yeah, the bastard's not offline for good. It'll be a minute until we gotta' worry about him again, but the otha' two…" Husk sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets as they dragged their feet down the dirty street. "Well, you've met 'em. So you know what I mean."

"Unfortunately."

Husker was not the conversationalist she was used to, so the rest of their walk was spent in silence. When they arrived at the cafe and Clover had moved to pull her keys from her pocket, the door swung open with an unexpecting chime to reveal Cyrus waiting for her. There were no questions as to why he'd decided to open with her that morning, but as this changing of hands continued on into the week, it became clear that they'd all decided to err on the side of caution for her. It should have irritated her, she should have wanted time alone, but for once she was thankful for the unexpected charity these sinners offered her, even if none of them were the demon whose company she craved.

Through it all, she couldn't find it in herself to place blame on any of them but herself.

Friday she arrived later than usual alongside Angel Dust to find Cyrus leaning against the window outside, a scattering of cigarette butts at his feet and the smell of marijuana hanging in the air. Without a word the joint was passed in her direction and Clover gladly took it, breathing in far more than her lungs could have reasonably handled before passing it back with a wheezing appreciation. Cyrus hissed a laugh, shaking his head at her before turning to offer the joint to Angel with a sly smile.

"You wanna drink legs? We're open, won't charge you a thing."

"I'm worth more than a cup'a espresso, nice try," Angel replied, taking more than his share of the remaining half of the joint before handing it back. "It's past my bedtime anyway, if I start mixin' my ups and downs I won't get any sleep before work tonight."

"I don't remember sayin' I wanted anything from ya'."

Cyrus pushed off from the window with a sigh, stretching his claws towards the sky before rolling his shoulders with a loud cracking of his spine. The door opened with a hollow clinking of the bell as Cyrus moved to hold it open, nodding his head into the dimly lit interior as he placed the joint between his lips.

"C'mon doll, I'll make you a drink for a change, s-s-seems like it's gonna be a slow mornin'."

With a soft "See you later" and a wave to Angel Dust, Clover took a deep breath to prepare for the oncoming workday and followed Cyrus into the cafe. The lights were kept low in favor of allowing the slowly rising sun to cast its warm glow across the tile floor as Cyrus ducked under the bar hatch and threw his trusted rag over his shoulder. Looking around the cafe, Clover found little of the opening tasks left for her. The floors were clean as she wandered across them, the chairs and tables were all in their rightful places, and even the bookshelves seemed to have been freshly dusted. Clover was drawn to her safe, rightful place behind the bar eventually, and used her time to idly reorganize the tea station while Cyrus finished off the final touches of her morning coffee. He left the mug beside the espresso machine to help the delivery demon with the morning's pastries get through the door, and Clover settled herself against the counter to keep out of their way.

Glasses fogged from the steam of the coffee that warmed her fingers and obscured her vision momentarily, casting a hazy hue as the condensation caught the red sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains Cyrus pulled across the windows. She smiled at the fact that Cyrus had made her a warm drink to follow the changing seasons of Earth, the demon usually sighing at her iced-only orders despite them already being well into Autumn and their syrups expanding to include more fall-forward flavors. Warm spices filled her lungs and stung the open wounds on her heart as she sipped, but she stomached it the best she could, not willing to waste Cyrus's hard work with her bad mood.

Cyrus was crouched into the pastry case, the remainder of the joint smoking in the ashtray beside the cash register while he busied himself with stocking it for the day. It was almost comical to watch him collapse his tall form into the small glass display case to painstakingly arrange a tray of muffins, his tail curling around his feet so it wouldn't knock into anything and the ridges along his spine straining against the fabric of his sweater. Despite her attempts to keep her amusement to herself, her snickering earned a slanted side eye from Cyrus. The task was passed on to her with a hiss so he could go about his morning money-managing, and Clover was as thankful for the distraction as she was access to the slowly dying joint that was nudged in her direction.

It was only a few minutes later that a sound among the rustling of bills drew her attention, Clover's ears turning towards the quiet humming that began to fill the quiet morning air. Her heart leaped at the sound, and her eyes expectantly turned towards the door to find it empty.

Instead, she found the noise to be coming from Cyrus, and the longer she listened, the more familiar his soft, slow-hummed hymn became. In the sunlight, Cyrus's sandy hair took on strawberry shade, and he'd caught his tongue between his teeth as he concentrated on sorting the bills into the lockbox, the dark blue appendage flicking slightly from the vibrations of his distracted humming. This was another near-perfect moment she wished she could capture, as selfish as she felt thinking things like that.

It all felt incredibly nostalgic, and she wondered where her sense of kinship with the lizard demon had come from as she too began to hum along to his tune. Yellow eyes looked briefly up from his work, fingers frozen in the middle of counting a stack of bills as he paused to listen before he joined in confidently once again.

"Just a few more weary days and then, I'll fly away," The lyrics fell easily from her lips, the words a distant but clear memory that had unexpectedly risen back to the surface of her mind. "To a land where joy shall never end, I'll fly away…"

Her voice felt empty beside the one in her head, vacant of the clear, bell-like quality it should have contained. Clover's voice shook too often, its register too low to properly express the hope she knew the lyrics should have conveyed.

Another memory painted her vision gold as the clear tone of a tenor joined her; A memory of a dry breeze on a Sunday evening, cool cloth on sunburnt skin, the taste of fresh bread and wine at the end of a hard day's work.

Raising her eyes to watch Cyrus pause his work and run a hand through his hair as he softly sang along, she knew this memory was not hers.

"When I die, Hallelu-" Cyrus hissed through his teeth, coughing as if the word had caught in his throat, before he continued. "By and by, I'll fly …away."

The silence that fell over them was almost uncomfortable, too intimate to be shared between friends, but Clover refused to be the one to break it. Cyrus sank into himself, dropping the remaining cash into the box and flicking the lock closed with a sigh. His claws fidgeted against the countertop, tapping decidedly before he raised his head to look at her.

"I didn't think anyone knew that s-s-song anymore."

Clover blinked at him for a moment, feeling a bit like prey as his eyes narrowed and followed her hand as she stalled by taking a hit of the joint before speaking.

"My mom used to sing it," She sighed, watching the way the smoke curled in the sunlight before she set it back into the ashtray and slowly slid it toward him. Her next question was asked slowly, Clover watching as his tail began to flick behind him. "How did you learn it?"

He was quiet for a long moment before Cyrus decided to answer, much of that time spent staring at Clover over the top of the pastry case before he pushed the ashtray sharply away from him.

"...A girl I used to know. Preacher's daughter."

A flicker of something besides the normally prickly reptile she'd grown so used to sparked her interest, and Clover's mouth quickly got away from her as her curiosity began to brew.

"You've been here a long time, longer than Alastor, haven't you?"

"How'd you figure that out?"

"I just…knew."

It was true, she'd known it for a while now, long enough to accidentally slip it into conversation with Alastor during their little drinking game before it had all gone wrong again. Another puff helped to stop her from dwelling too long on that diversion from the conversation, the joint burnt so low it singed her fingers as she lifted it to her lips. Cyrus watched her with a furrowed brow and she could swear she heard the gears turning in his head, clicking and grinding through the haze of marijuana before he snapped his slack jaw shut with a hiss.

"Don't do that Cloves, I don't like it. I want nothin' to do with the past, and if you can't help it, then I don't wanna hear about it." He lifted the lock box from the counter abruptly, the coins inside clanking together as he hurried it toward the back room. "I mean it."

He left her alone for a while, but she could hear him bumping around in his office. The tell-tale sound of a lighter flicking followed by the smell of cigarette smoke spoke loudly enough for him, so Clover refocused on finishing her job of refilling the pastry case. Her coffee was now cold, and Clover couldn't bring herself to attempt to suffer through the rest of it for politeness's sake despite her guilt of being so careless, so she dumped it down the sink and began to make herself another beverage. The hard beating of her heart deterred her from anything heavily caffeinated, so instead, she made herself an iced black tea, mixing it carefully with the sticky orange of their pumpkin syrup and topping it off with cream as the first customer of the day entered the cafe, the ringing of the bell calling Cyrus out from where he'd stayed hiding.

Once the small imp had been laden with his four-drink order and bid them an overly-polite farewell, Clover turned to Cyrus. He hadn't immediately run off into the back room once they'd finished serving, so she was confident that their conversation could continue in the once-again-empty cafe.

"Cyrus, can I ask you something?" He hummed a grumbling affirmative as he clicked on the fan beside the front register, so she continued. "Sometimes I can't tell if you like having me around or just tolerate me."

A wheezing laugh filled the air around him with cigarette smoke as Cyrus doubled over, and Clover was thankful that he'd turned the fan on to save her from his secondhand smog. She was at least thankful that she'd not entirely ruined his good mood, but the longer he laughed, the more irritated her nerves became. Finally, he stood up with a small bounce, his hair falling into his face as he turned to knock the ashes off his cigarette before looking at her with a fond roll of his eyes.

"Maybe if you weren't s-s-so blinded by your crush on the Radio Demon you woulda' noticed I've been flirtin' with ya' s-s-since you stomped back in here and asked for a job."

"...What?"

For a moment, Clover was convinced he was joking. His voice was lazy, flat despite the small smile that tugged at his lips. It wasn't until he took another long drag from his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs for a second too long while he ran a hand through his hair that she truly believed him, and she rushed to alleviate his awkwardness.

"Cyrus-" Her stomach dropped, Clover stumbling over her words as a fresh wave of nerves slurred her speech. The cool breeze of the fan did little to keep the burning heat of embarrassment that spread across her skin. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I-"

He stopped her with a sarcastic snort, leaving the cigarette behind in the ashtray in favor of crossing his arms over his chest.

"The fuck are you apologizing for? It's no big deal, ya' don't owe me anything just 'cause I think you're cute." Cyrus's eyes narrowed in amusement, his tongue flicking between his teeth as he teased. "Does me havin' feelings for you change how you feel about him?"

"No."

Clover didn't have to think twice about her answer, even among all the confusion that had begun to plague her blossoming romance. That realization lifted a weight from her shoulders and unraveled a knot in her chest, and for the first time in days, she was able to think of Alastor without feeling her stomach twist. Cyrus watched her in interest, yellow eyes flicking over her thoughtfully before he pushed off from the countertop and moved towards her.

"Didn't think so. I knew there wasn't a chance in hell after that first time you served him. As s-s-soon as that asshole walked through the door, it was like nothin' else in the place mattered to you anymore." Cyrus lifted her drink from its place hidden behind the espresso machine, holding it high above her head when she reached for it. "Besides, I gave that up when I hired ya'. Sleeping with the s-s-staff isn't really a good standard to set, ya' know?"

Clover huffed as he sucked down at least half her drink, licking his lips as he thought over the flavor of it briefly before he returned it to its rightful place.

"You can be a really good person when you're not being an ass, did you know that?" She sighed, nudging her now nearly empty drink aside as she moved to make herself another.

Cyrus shook his head at her with a heavy sigh, squeezing square hips past hers in order to fetch another cup and set it beside the one she'd gotten for herself.

"You're really not helpin' the whole 'having feelings for a taken woman' thing there, Cloves."

He flicked her ear as he said it, and Clover felt her already warm skin growing hotter at the implications. Sneakers met the floor with a sharp squeak as she stomped, ducking away from his teasing as she turned to him with a scowl.

"Cyrus, Alastor and I aren't-"

A rough hand flopped her ears down into her face before she could finish, and Cyrus took advantage of her sputtering to interrupt her.

"Oh, lay off it! You're his-s-s." Cyrus hissed when she went to argue again, sharp fangs flashing beneath his smug smile as he leaned down into her eye line. "Everyone knows you're his, including him, the smug bastard. It's not my fault you two are just too s-s-stupid to do anything about it."

Slit pupils looked over her face, narrowing as he took in the dark circles she knew had formed around her eyes from one too many restless nights. He seemed to be thinking through his next question, his tongue flicking between his teeth again with a flutter of breath that tickled her nose. She felt it twitch but didn't dare make any moves as his smile dropped, the ridges of his brow drooping lower as he abandoned her personal space with a straightening of his spine and shoved his hands back into his pockets.

"...You two fighting after-?"

She blinked at him for a moment, the question oddly sincere against his current mood.

"No. We're just-"

What could she say? Surely not that she'd kissed the Radio Demon and now he was avoiding her like the plague upon his quiet life that she was. Cyrus knew about the destruction of the Voxtech head office in the center of the technological district, everyone did; Alastor's way of approaching the issue had been far less than subtle, and even though Clover had scarcely checked the social media sphere of hell since due to her lingering technology induced panic, she heard the talk of those around her. Everyone wanted to know why the Radio Demon had so suddenly decided to face off against Vox after decades of avoiding his so-called rival, and it was only a matter of time before Vox gained enough strength to make his next move. But Clover had more pressing questions and no answers, so she had little pity for the gossiping public of Pentagram City.

Clover cleared her throat of its constriction and muttered the best answer she could think of.

"In a weird place right now, I think."

"Well, if he fucks this up, you know where to find me." Cyrus grinned, reaching out to pinch her pout-puffed cheek between his claws before he moved past her with an affectionate bump of his hip against hers. "Now, get to work, and holler if you need me."

The cafe grew busier as the morning progressed. Clover tried her best not to think too far into her conversation with Cyrus as the day went on, and she was relieved when a swell of customers diverted their attention equally to their work. She didn't quite know how to feel about how easily Cyrus fell back into acting as if nothing had happened at all, as easy as it made it for her to move on from it herself. He seemed more relaxed now, but she couldn't pinpoint whether it was due to the second joint he freely smoked in between swells of service or from some sort of weight that had lifted after his admission. It was becoming incredibly clear that Cyrus defaulted to holding everything in, similar to the way she simply tried to move past negative emotions and hoped they didn't catch up with her, as unhealthy as either coping mechanism was.

When Cyrus disappeared into the backroom to address more management duties, she was almost thankful for the alone time. Almost because it became incredibly busy in his absence, and by the time Clover was due to leave, she was exhausted. Her arms were splattered with syrup, she'd narrowly avoided staining her pants with a run-away Americano, and she was one foul-mouthed customer away from understanding Cyrus's aggressive approach to the service industry. Luckily the lizard reappeared before she'd reached that breaking point, shooing her aside with a wave of his claws and an order to make herself something nice to take home. She ended up waiting just outside the front door with something nice indeed, Clover sipping on the thick mixture of strong espresso and sweetened milk to pass the time until whoever had been tasked with escorting her home for the day appeared from down the sparsely scattered streets.

The sun burned down on her from the center of the pentagram sky, an impatient bead of sweat rolling down her back as the midday heat began to seep into her more cool-climate-appropriate clothing. Clover became antsy, a spike of concern raising the rhythm of her pulse as the hour grew later. A shiver ran down her spine as a cool breeze blew past her, turning the perspiration that coated her neck and spine to ice. Her head turned towards the source, Clover's brow furrowing when she found nothing but the almost empty street leading towards the Cannibal Colony, its single occupant wandering in the opposite direction.

"Waiting for someone?"

Clover nearly dropped her drink as she jumped, fumbling to keep hold of it and clutching it to her chest as she stumbled away from where the phantom voice had come from.

"Don't do that!"

Alastor's shadow wavered mere inches from her shoulder, leaning over her with bared teal teeth. Its smile widened at her shrill demand, and shadowed shoulders shook as it began to laugh. It was then, as she stared at the giggling likeness of her friend, that she realized what prospects its appearance possibly foreshadowed.

"Wait- Is Al at the hotel?" Clover didn't know why she felt the need to whisper her questions, but something about the slow lean forward as the shadow listened awakened the butterflies that had grown dormant inside her stomach. "Is he okay?"

"He is…Troubled."

"Why?"

It only tilted its head at her, its form wavering slightly as it seemed to think through what it should say next, the dark tufts at the top of its head twitching slightly as if to flick away an unwanted agitation. With a jerking motion that fluttered the edges of whatever made up the bulk of the phantom, the Shadow suddenly extended his hand to her.

"Come."

Clover blinked at the black palm in front of her, unsure of how her nervous aversion to touch would deal with contact with the being, before she shifted her drink from the crook of her elbow and slid her hand into its own. She tried her best not to shudder at its temperature, and instead allowed it to lead as it wished. It was an odd feeling, to hold hands with what was effectively a mass of darkened energy, but she wouldn't call it unpleasant. There was substance behind the shimmering fog that curled around her fingers, but no way to describe the weight of it as it pressed into her palm. The Shadow nearly knocked her off her feet as it tugged her forward, impossibly strong despite its thin stature, and it sniggered as she stumbled into it before they began to walk home at a more appropriate pace for her shorter stature.

"...What should I call you?" She asked, unable to handle the silence that had followed them for blocks any longer. "If you're going to keep showing up, I think I should at least know your name."

That alligator hiss that rattled her skull was the only answer it gave as it let go of her hand, twisting its foggy form around her as it floated at her side.

She wasn't going to give up that easily.

"I just call you 'Shadow' in my head, is that okay? But I feel mean just calling you 'It', so what about that? Are you a 'he', like Alastor? Or maybe 'they'?"

The Shadow paused, lingering behind her as they stopped briefly at the curb to assess the oncoming traffic. The movement was painfully familiar even when done by a shadowed version of the man she'd made stop in his tracks so many times before, and a small swell of misplaced pride turned her worry-bitten lips into a smile. Her inward gloating didn't last long, the small amount of air that had puffed out her chest releasing in a shaking exhale as cool fingers curled around her throat and a thumb pressed her chin backward, tilting her head back to look up at the shadow as it leaned over her.

"Maybe one day, you will see for yourself."

A curious burning blossomed in the pit of her stomach at the touch, and Clover's mind began to race to reconcile with her reaction. Her curiosity had always extended to Alastor's shadow, but did her attraction as well? Now wasn't the time to analyze that slow slip into that unknown but tempting territory; There were too many emotions swirling inside her, and she wasn't sure if she had room for another until at least one of the many questions she had were resolved.

"You're flirting with me?" She whispered, ignoring the warmth spreading across her skin and the odd contrast to the cold as the Shadow's nose brushed against hers. "In public too, that's…new."

In the second it took her to blink, it unraveled itself from her, shifting like the glimmer of heat on the horizon before it shrank into the ground. The shadow darted between her feet, twisting around her ankles before it reformed in front of her with an echoed giggle.

"Run along, little doe."

The rest of the trip to the hotel was spent in a silence that grew more meaningful the longer it continued. It felt wrong, wicked even, to walk alongside something that took Alastor's shape but didn't mimic his tone. Clover supposed this is what people felt when seeing something that was most certainly not what it appeared to be, remembering the many tales of animals or others that were seen in the dark of night in the areas she grew up in.

She tried very hard not to find the similarities between those stories and Alastor himself.

Her assumption that Alastor's shadow was simply an extension of his own self had been proven wrong long ago, but the more differences that appeared between them, the more curious the shadowed mimic became. Maybe someday, she'd be able to ask those questions and get the correct answers, if things ever went back to the way they had been before. Clover could only hope, as hard as that was in hell.

Clover's attention was quickly diverted from the Shadow when they entered the lobby. Husker was at his normal station sprawled across the bartop, long limbs tucked under his chin as he slept, but that wasn't what caught her ear as she quietly shut the door behind her. The softest hiss of a goodbye drifted past her ear as she watched the shadow race its way across the entry rug and disappear down one of the hotel's many branching hallways, but Clover couldn't bring herself to follow, not right away. Her bag was placed neatly on the kitchen counter, the spare pastries she'd snuck away from the cafe taking their place arranged beneath the heavy glass cover that had become home to her daily exports, and her coffee was placed in the fridge for later consumption. More so, Clover took this time to breathe, the rush of anticipation to see Alastor again suddenly shattering into unsure insecurity.

Her hopes that it would dissipate with a few simple breaths were in vain as she stood stuck staring at the kitchen table. This was ridiculous, she knew it was, but she couldn't ignore the heaviness that had settled over the hotel. There was no fear of whatever Alastor was planning for her, she didn't think she could bring herself to ever hold such an emotion for a man she'd seen so clearly. But fear of herself? Well, that was another thing entirely.

With a decided sigh, Clover turned away from the safety of the kitchen and finally followed after her friend's shadowed messenger, allowing the soft sound of a piano to guide her.