You missed him. You missed that smile, that sharp-toothed grin, the way his eyes would sparkle when he would rush to show you a new idea or concept he had formulated within the vast expanse of that oh-so-misunderstood mind of his, longed for the sound of his melodic, angelic laughs, the way his shorter body would melt into yours when he was sad, and how his arms would wrap around your waist with such cautious, yet needy persistence...
There was something there, something you couldn't quite describe, but it felt like that connection, that unity that went beyond just a typical best-friendship, had been locked away many years ago and no matter how hard you searched and probed your mind for it, you could not find the key to unleash it. It's as if you and him both were held back by the pressure of carefully watching eyes, of Lilith and Charlie and the rest of Hell already disapproving of your strange, yet somewhat admirable relationship.
If you could just talk to him... You rested your face on your hand, smushing your cheek. If only you could just sit down to him and finally release everything you had kept pent up from him for all these centuries, finally apologize for the distance that grew between you since the fall, and fix it, then maybe you wouldn't feel like you were missing a piece of your soul, of your identity.
But you were quickly reminded of the darker parts of yourself that kept you away from Lucifer, even more so than people who shunned your relationship. The true issue resided within yourself, and the sick, twisted desire for inflicting pain on others that shaped who you were.
And he was standing right in front of you.
You froze, entirely surprised by the arrival of somebody you had completely forgotten would be paying a visit to you. He had emerged from the shadows in the corner of your office clad in his burgundy and black attire, with his signature bow tie, yellowed teeth and murky red eyes and low eyelids. He was grinning, of course, and all you could think of was how the actual hell he managed to teleport into your office, into the palace undetected.
"Well this is a pleasant surprise," you murmured, sitting straighter in your seat and folding your hands together on the cool surface of your wooden desk. "Hello, Radio Demon."
His essence crackled and whined with ear-splitting radio static as he tilted his head curiously, hands folded neatly over his microphone staff, fingers dancing slowly and patiently across the red surface of it as he scrutinized you. His hair was loose, not like it was in his low ponytail back at the ball, his ebony-and-red tresses cascading perfectly down the sides of his face with, of course, a nicely shaved undercut. And he still smiled. Always.
You smiled back.
"Didn't forget about our monthly meeting, did you, my dear?" he asked cheerfully, his eyes narrowing. 
"I did, actually," you answered honestly, standing from your desk and sauntering over to the front of it, facing him more closely. "I've been overloaded with work lately..." you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, smile widening, "...though, I do find it quite odd you chose to come here of your own accord without a reminder from me. It seems like you're eager to be hurt."
"Always, my dear," he said, his voice steady and his words carefully thought-out. He waved a hand. "And please, you're the Duchess of Hell — of course you are busy!"
"I'm happy you understand," you said, folding your hands behind your back and walked satisfactorily towards the door of your office, turning the golden knob and pulling. You gestured to the hall. "Ladies first." You grinned.
"Funny," said Alastor, stepping through the threshold and awaiting you on the other side.
You joined him, and you both walked calmly side-by-side through the halls of the palace on your way to the dungeons, surrounded by ancient and expensive decor, along with regal wallpaper with golden trim. You always liked it here, this palace... Lucifer has created it himself for you, him, and Lilith to live in when you all first fell, and he did an impressive job at making the place, well, fit for a king.
"How is Charlotte?" you asked, breaking the silence that only contained the clicking of your footsteps on the marble flooring and the quiet shuffling of clothes as your legs moved. 
"Well," said Alastor kindly. "Such a delight, that one! She's been quite preoccupied with the redemption of the Sinners that live at our lovely hotel, seeing as the yearly Extermination is coming half the time sooner than usual."
You nodded, cusping your chin with your hand in thought. "I heard about that." You put your hand down. "Ridiculous. But who am I to intervene? It's not really my place."
"Many people do wonder why the royal court does not intervene with the Exterminations, my dear," observed Alastor, amusement lacing his tone. "I must say, I do find myself wondering from time to time why it was never protested for the Exterminations to take place in the very beginning."
You shook your head, keeping a calm, yet tight smile upon your lips. "There's not anything we can do about it." You turned your head to look at Alastor, who kept his gaze trained forward, his hands folded behind his back and gripping his cane, his monocle resting on his left eye. "Sinners, are, well Sinners, and although they are human souls, they're here for a reason. And of course, there is the matter of overpopulation."
"Well, Charlie's solution to that matter seems a fine one, indeed," mused Alastor. "Although bold and utterly ridiculous, I do see some sense in her ramblings."
You nod. "There are people here that don't deserve to be." Your eyes saddened, and you looked away at the wall. "Charlie being one of them."
Alastor only nodded, unbeknownst to you, and remained silent for the rest of the walk to the dungeons. It wasn't very long before the two of you arrived, and you unlocked the big door to the dungeons and held it open for him. Alastor entered quietly, seeming to be deep in thought. 
You led him into a cell and shut the iron-barred door behind you, creaking and squealing as it slammed shut. Alastor exhaled from his nostrils and readjusted his bow tie, taking a long stride to the corner of the room and resting his cane on the wall. 
You observed him, unable to tear your eyes away, as he unbuttoned his coat, gloved hands smoothly catching the opening and flipping the cloth backwards, taking his dear sweet time to slide the coat off of his arms. When it was removed, he folded the coat neatly and bent over to place it beside his staff, raising up and then facing you. He pulled up his gloves. Your eyes scanned down his form. Underneath his coat was a simple maroon button down shirt with a large black cross going over the center, with black suspenders holding up his ebony trousers.
You smiled at him, trying your hardest to keep your composure despite the obvious tension hanging in the air and the stifling heat of the chamber, and you shifted rather uncomfortably in your spot as you eagerly awaited him to still so you could speak. Your grin mirrored his own; you had a few ideas as to what you would test with him first.