Chapter Text
Angel lounges in the velvet-drenched luxury of his and Val’s shared suite.
His rollers half-falling from his hair, robe twisted loosely around his shoulders. The TV hums quietly in the background while someone drones on about Hell’s latest controversy—or maybe it’s a soap opera Val put on to keep him entertained.
Angel couldn’t care less either way.
His attention is glued to the glow of his phone, thumb flicking lazily as he doomscrolls from one app to another. Posts blur together—selfies, gossip, scandal, fan edits, hate comments, compliments, more noise than anything meaningful.
It’s the same loop every night.
He can practically hear his brother’s voice in the back of his head telling him to get off the damn phone and do something useful with his time. The thought alone makes Angel roll his eyes.
In retrospect, he probably should listen.
But he’d rather drop dead twice than admit his older brother was right about anything.
The realization that he’s even thinking about his family makes his stomach twist.
Every thought about them lands wrong—either a dull, sentimental ache or a spike of bitterness sharp enough to make him cringe. He refuses to sit with either feeling for long.
Nope. Not doing that tonight.
If he keeps thinking about his family, he might end up doing something Val wouldn’t approve of.
…or maybe something Val wouldn’t mind at all.
As long as Angel cleaned himself up before the cameras of course
Angel sighs and opens his messages instead.
The list isn’t exactly inspiring.
A handful of strangers he vaguely remembers giving his number to—some he slept with, some he probably didn’t. A few stalkers. A couple overeager fans. Tiffany Titfucker, which honestly isn’t the worst option if he’s bored enough. They’re only rivals professionally. Outside that, they get along fine.
His thumb scrolls past.
Charlie and Vaggie’s numbers appear next.
Both blocked.
Angel lingers for half a second before the thought of unblocking them crosses his mind. He can’t risk some stray phone call happening at the wrong time and someone nosy picking up. Maybe it’s paranoid, but paranoia has kept him alive this long.
Next is Cherri.
He pauses longer this time.
Nah.
He’s dumped enough of his bullshit on her already. She deserves a night without Angel’s problems crawling all over it. She’s probably having fun at the hotel anyway.
Skip.
And then there’s Husk.
Angel slows.
He debates skipping him too. He’s already called a few times this past month, and before that. Maybe he should give the guy a break.
His thumb starts to move
Until he notices something.
Husk’s status flickers.
Online.
Offline.
Online.
Offline.
Online.
Offline.
Angel’s grin spreads slowly.
His fingers hover over the keyboard, idle and teasing. The thought sparks in his mind like a live wire.
He likes being wanted.
Likes knowing Husk is there, even if he’d never admit that part out loud.
Not everyone needs to know his business.
Angel hums softly under his breath, half-expecting Husk to somehow hear it through the ether. He leans deeper into the couch, robe slipping down to his elbows, revealing the pink heart-shaped mark on his chest.
The velvet cushions press against his back.
All he can think about right now is Husk.
Or was that his boredom talking
Anyway, he decides to shoot him a message.
"You up?"
Send.
Husk’s status flips online almost instantly.
Angel watches the typing bubble appear.
Disappear. Appear again. Disappear.
“Oh my god,” Angel mutters to himself, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
Angel can picture Husk on the other end, staring at the phone with that familiar irritated focus, claws stalling over the keyboard.
Either he’s trying to choose his words carefully around Angel.
Or he’s trying way too hard to sound like he doesn't care. Like he wasn't lurking around Angel's contact 2 minutes.
Both possibilities mean the same thing.
Husk’s thinking about him.
“I can’t believe you’re still hung up on me,” Angel murmurs under his breath.
The phone buzzes.
"Yeah."
Angel lets out a quiet, delighted breath.
He doesn’t bother typing another message. Instead he taps the call button and lifts the phone to his ear.
It rings once.
Then again.
A quiet click answers on the other end.
Angel waits a beat before speaking, just long enough to savor the moment.
“Rough night, kitty?” he asks.
There’s a brief pause before Husk answers.
“Could be worse.”
Angel smiles faintly. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s usually true.”
Angel lets out a soft laugh while he shifts on the couch and stretches his legs out in front of him.
“So what’re you doing? Still hiding behind the bar?”
“Drinking coffee.”
Angel lets out a chuckle that may or may not be judgemental. “Seriously, Husk? Coffee at this hour? You really know how to party.”
“Probably better than whatever you’re doing.”
Angel glances around the quiet suite before leaning back again, eyes drifting toward the dark window.
“Oh yeah,” he says lightly. “Real exciting night over here.”
“Uh-huh.”
Angel hums.
“Y’know how it is. Fancy tower, fancy room, whole lotta nothing to do unless somebody wants something from you.”
Husk is quiet for a moment.
“Right.”
Angel smiles to himself at the careful tone.
“What?” he says. “Don’t sound so concerned.”
“Wasn’t.”
“Sure you weren’t.”
He lets out another laugh, bright and easy.
“So what’s been going on at the hotel?” Angel asks. “I've heard it's getting more popular these days?”
“Unfortunately.”
"Pfft, figures." Angel groans.
“That’s the point of a business.”
Angel snorts softly. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get all technical on me.”
A quiet snicker slips through the phone before Husk can stop it.
The sound settles somewhere warm in Angel’s chest before he has time to think about it.
“See?” Angel says. “You’re havin’ way more fun than me.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
Angel tilts his head against the couch.
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because if you were actually bored,” Husk says slowly, “you wouldn’t be calling me.”
The bluntness of it catches Angel off guard.
For a second he almost feels flustered.
Then the feeling twists sideways into irritation instead.
“Ouch. Kitten thinks he knows me.”
“I do know you.”
Angel rolls his eyes and idly twirls a stray strand of hair around one finger and pulls it, staring up at the ceiling.
“Well tonight’s disappointingly tame,” he says taking charge of the conversation. “The Bossman’s busy with… whatever dramatic bullshit he gets up to.”
Husk doesn’t respond immediately.
Angel can probably guess why. Valentino, sore subject.
“Uh-huh,” Husk says at last.
Angel smiles.
“So I’m stuck entertainin’ myself.”
“Sounds rough.”
“Tragic, really.”
They keep talking after that, though the conversation drifts into safer territory.
Small things. Things that don't really matter.
Husk complains about the residents being difficult tonight. Someone broke a glass. Someone else tried to sneak alcohol from behind the bar.
Angel hums along in response, tossing in the occasional comment just to keep the conversation moving.
The conversation moves unevenly between them after that, the way it often does.
A few words here and there, separated by long stretches of quiet.
After a while Husk glances toward the clock on the wall.
The time makes him frown slightly.
Angel probably has other things waiting for him.
He straightens slightly and shifts the phone against his ear.
“Well,” he says, keeping his tone light, “I should probably let you get back to entertaining yourself.”
Angel doesn't answer immediately.
Then he says, “Yeah.”
Husk smiles faintly.
“Night, Angel”
“Night, Husk.”
Angel ends the call first.
He always makes sure he does.
The room settles into silence again once the line disconnects. Angel lowers the phone and looks at the dark screen for a moment before tossing it onto the ottoman in front of him.
He leans back and stares toward the ceiling, listening to the distant noise of the city outside.
The call had not meant anything. It was just a way to pass the time, the same way the messages usually were.
Still, the quiet in the room feels a little heavier now that the call—such as it was—is over.
Angel closes his eyes and lets his head rest against the back of the couch.
He knows himself well enough to recognize the pattern already starting to form.
A message.
A call.
Leaving first before the conversation can stretch too far, too deep, too uncomfortably comfortable for his liking.
But if he's being honest with himself, he'll probably do the same thing again.
Tomorrow or a week from now
It's all up to Angel.