Chapter Text
When Husk had said he lost the ability to love years ago, he had meant it.
That fact wasn't easy to forget, in any case, it was easier to play off, say it as an unimportant piece of trivia about his life without the need of dwelling too much into it, like a labeled box that you could carry and throw around carelessly without needing to open it to see what was the name actually referring to, that way detaching yourself from the emotional implications of it.
As it stood, sometimes that kind of boxes could still open on their own and spill their contents and force you to relive them in order to put the mess back together and being able to ignore it again for the next few decades.
Fuck.
The winged cat grumbled, rubbing his eyes tiredly with one of his paws and moving caressly the bottle of buzz he had been nursing for a few minutes now, today had been a slow day, not many sinners coming in looking to sign up, and just a few drunks lunging around to bother him with the request for more drinks, it was already pretty late, too, which gave him even more opportunity to be alone with his thoughts, memories and the sight of Alastor.
Pompous little bastard, Husk barely tolerated him in the best of his days, outright hated him in the worsts of them. Having to see him daily was a complete torture.
He took another swing of his drink to drown the mocking bitterness created by the falsehoods that he was feeding himself, but unable to find anything else to do, he ended up returning to the biggest stimuli in the room. Sometimes, not usually, he forgot just how easily Alastor managed to catch the attention of everyone around him, keeping the masses at the edge of their seat, out of admiration or fear, specially when he intended to do it, like right now, humoring the princess and the rest of her inner circle. Ultimately, it wasn't even one of the best performances he had seen being made by the Radio Demon, with him putting just enough effort to keep the easily impressed heiress gasping and giggling in mindless joy.
Alastor was playing his game like an expert, Husk could spot it with simplicity, 'cause he had seen it countless of times before. This particular game, though, was of the harmless kind, with the deer demon just trying to seek out the acknowledgement of a crowd, Husk had been on the receiving end of it more than just a few times. Because Alastor thrived on unshared attention, specially if it came from demons he considered important.
Husk had been very important, for a while, at least.
He could still remember that, mainly do to the fact that he wasn't stupid enough to deny it had happened, the scattered ghosts of past moments of tenderness and sweet feelings were just too real and present to do such a thing. At least during moments like this one, with his heart beating at the tempo of aches of mourning.
Haunted by the memories of warm intimacy, close companionship and stolen kisses, whispers of shared secrets, teasing quips and half-hearted jokes.
Meaningful I love you's .
The beauty and comfort of ruby eyes that looked at him like he was one of the most precious things in the world.
Husk still could remember, vividly, the way Alastor had held him through his bad nights, reassuring and safe and lovely, telling him stories of his childhood and youth to take his mind off the horrors that it insisted on plaguing him with. More hurtful still, he could remember the moment he had fallen in love as well, and everything he had given of himself thanks to it.
How natural it had been, how perfect it had felt.
He could also remember with the same detail the moment Alastor had stopped returning his affection, the growing lack of care in his touch, the losing familiarity and comfort, the turning point of their relationship when, careless and disinterested, Alastor had treated him as someone unimportant once again.
The last time he told him he loved him.
The bastard didn't even had the guts to tell him they were done for, but Husk was smart enough to figure it out.
And if Husk was more harsh, cruel and blunt after it, well, who would care enough to call him out? Certainly not him.
He was better like this, honestly, uncaring and apathetic.
Shit.
The cat demon snarled, pressing the back of his hands and hiding the hitch of his breath with a sneer, his fucking eyes continued fucking stinging and he was sick of it.
Of this.
Of his inability to manage falling out of love.