Chapter Text
Alastor tries to be helpful. Skinning and cutting up a mouthy demon is helpful when the demon won’t shut up. Volunteering to help at the Happy Hazbin Hotel is helpful. Offering to help Nifty overcome her fear of heights is helpful.
And so, by all logic, helping Husker with his obvious crush on Angel Dust is helpful. Husker does not seem to agree.
“I don’t have a crush on that fuckin’ pest!” Husk growls, one of his claws squeezing a cleaning rag. He’s leaning against the bar top, glaring at Alastor. “Leave me alone!”
Alastor stares at him, his smile small and confused. Okay, Husker obviously likes Angel Dust. So logically, according to trends, they get together now. “But, you do,” Alastor argues, tilting his head. “I know you do.”
“I don’t!” Husk replies, slamming both hands down on the bar. “He’s just a sex-obsessed airhead who doesn’t know how to do anything but suck dicks and look pretty!”
“…You think he’s pretty?” Alastor’s smile becomes more playful.
“Stop twistin’ my fucking words!” Husk throws down the bar rag and turns around to ignore Alastor.
“My dear friend, you need to come to terms with your feelings! It’ll feel much better when you admit you love him!” Alastor says.
“I DO NOT LOVE HIM!” Husk spins around, looking livid. Alastor backs up a bit, taken by surprise. He was ninety percent sure that everything he’d observed between the two demons was the start of a stereotypical romance. Husk breathes heavily, before closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. “I do not love him.” He repeats. “Now please leave me alone.”
Alastor stays at the bar for another minute or two before slipping away through the shadows. He’s on his way to his room when he feels another presence in the hallway. Angel almost falls over his own feet when Alastor appears in front of him out of the shadows.
“JESUS FUCK!” He screams, reeling back and balancing himself on the wall. “YOU FUCKIN’ SPOOK!”
Alastor’s eye twitches in annoyance before smiling more widely. “Hello, Angel.”
Angel pauses, his hand over his chest. “Whaddya want? Just come to try ’n kill me again?”
“Tempting.” Alastor comments. “But, no. I simply want to know about your feelings towards Husker.”
“That fuckin’ drunk?” Angel snorts, straightening up. “He’s a judgmental prude who really needs to find a way to take that stick out of his ass.”
Alastor pauses, opens his mouth, and then closes his mouth again. Okay, now I’m really lost. “You don’t feel any romantic attraction towards him?”
“Hah! In his wet dreams.”
Alastor resists the urge to push the spider down the nearest flight of stairs and instead turns on his heel, walking into a pool of shadows.
“But, by all movies and books, they get together now,” Alastor argues, staring at his cup of coffee. He went to Rosie because of course he did. Not only is she the person to go to for advice on romantic occasions but she’s also his best friend.
“Maybe they really don’t like each other,” Rosie suggests, stirring her tea daintily. If Alastor hadn’t personally watched her slaughter and eat two separate husbands, he would’ve thought she was harmless. He still thinks there are probably easier ways to figure out you don’t like men, but who is he to judge?
“No, they do.”
“Why are you so sure? You don’t exactly have the experience to back up these claims.” Rosie points out. She’s not wrong. After all, she was the first person Alastor came to when he was dead and still not attracted to anyone.
“The way Husk looks at Angel. The way Angel talks about him when he’s not there.” Alastor says, setting his now cold coffee down. “I may not understand the need for physical or romantic relationships but I know when two people are in love. They just can’t get past the outside!”
Rosie thinks of a very funny cannibal joke but decides it’s not the time, mentally filing it away for another time. “What do you mean?”
“Husk thinks Angel is an airhead, Angel thinks Husk is a drunk. Neither is true. Well, Husk is a drunk but not the way Angel is thinking.” Alastor explains, un-crossing and re-crossing his legs anxiously. “They can’t seem to get past the outside stuff.”
“Hm, sounds like they need to get to know each other.”
Alastor nods, setting his head against the wall and closing his eyes. “And yet they can’t go five minutes in a room together without trying to kill each other.”
“They need to see what it’s like to walk in the other’s shoes.” Rosie hums.
“…Switch their shoes?” Alastor mumbles before the metaphor fully registers in his head. “Oh!” He sits up suddenly. “I know!”
“Need anything?”
“No, thank you, dear.” Alastor stands up, kisses Rosie on the cheek, and rushes out of the house.