Work Text:
Angel was a little surprised himself that this was the direction his life had taken, but he wasn’t complaining. He must’ve tried everything in the book—and outside the books, too, everything he and his friends had come up with themselves—to try and bring some normalcy into his life again after having teamed up with the entire hotel to throttle the afterlife from Val in exchange for some favours to Alastor, and getting his life back from one day to the next. Talking about it was tricky because half the people he’d be willing to talk to would faint if he went into any sort of detail, while the others simply didn’t know what to say. And he didn’t blame them for it, of course, but there was only so much closure he could get from sharing something if all he was met with was I’m so sorry, Angel.
Though that was nice, too. He just didn’t think he was receptive to it yet, couldn’t feel the grief of all the things that had happened without being overwhelmed by it. He was taking it slow.
For now, he’d settled on finding purpose now that he had so much time on his hands. He’d learned that he enjoyed creative work, such as helping in the planning of birthday parties when one of the many guests at the hotel was due for celebration. He fought with Alastor over colour palettes and music, offered his help for hanging up garlands that were too high up for anyone else to reach, and took care of the finishing touches when the decorations were missing something, but no one was able to put their finger on what. He’d insisted the bar get a coffee machine (under the pretence that some guests may enjoy it, when in reality his first thought was his own benefit, because getting clean was fucking hard, okay), and had learned that he liked to make an art of it, pouring cream into delicate shapes in the cups, using toothpicks to push foam into the likeness of guests before sliding the drink over to them.
He’d learned that he enjoyed reading—though his attention span was something he had to work on. He’d learned just how much Fat Nuggets meant to him now that the two of them had time to bond properly, rather than the hectic hours of blackout-sleep followed by gentle nips to Angel’s wrists to get him out of bed three hours later. He’d learned—gradually, painstakingly—how to talk about himself without sounding like he was advertising, trying to get someone to fuck him.
Most recently, he’d learned that fucking with people was just as, if not more, fun.
Charlie, for one, was incredibly easy to prank, gullible as she was, but she was also easy to talk into allyship against others. Nifty was eager for anything that was suggested to her, though Angel had quickly learned that she was difficult to control once she got going. Vaggie was best at keeping things lighthearted, having an unexpected attunement to feelings and all the subtle ways they might get hurt, while Alastor had a knack for pranks that weren’t harmful so much as they were deeply confusing to whoever was the lab rat for them.
Angel had made a name for himself as a jokester, and it was so stupid, really, but he got joy out of it like never before. Something silly, something childish. He didn’t remember the last time he’d felt like a child—in a good way, anyway, instead of the helplessness of a wounded child that had become his baseline.
So now, he was understandably struggling to keep quiet as he made his way down the staircase to the lobby, having unwrapped his newest toy. An actual toy, that is, not something to put inside himself. It had arrived this morning, and Angel was giddy. He snuck the rest of the way down the stairs barefoot—which was also a first, and he had to consciously remind himself to walk with his entire foot instead of just his toes—and peeked his head around the corner.
There.
As always, of course, but Angel had been worried that today of all days would be Husk’s day off and he’d have to wait some more. But there he was. Gloriously bored-looking, too, his head in his palm, looking blankly around the empty tables as if guests might appear out of nowhere and make time go a little faster. Angel did pity him a little. Most people at the hotel were convinced that their redemption might get cancelled out by a single drop of alcohol, so Husk’s position here was basically obsolete, but an empty bar would’ve been an even sadder sight.
Besides, Husk liked tending the bar. Or at least he didn’t mind as much as he used to in the beginning. That, too, Angel had tried out, though he kept messing up the ratios while Husk seemed to measure it all perfectly just by paying attention as he poured.
“You get real good at somethin’ when your soul’s tied to it,” Husk had once confessed—because it had been a confession behind those dozens of layers of bitterness. He didn’t often talk about his ball and chain, as Angel didn’t often talk about his. Hearing that, Angel had played along, giving some sentiment along the lines of “Yeah, tell me about it,” but hadn’t been able to help the smile.
He cherished every piece that Husk was willing to give.
And he was also determined to bully him about every one of them. It was only fair, after all the jabs he’d taken at Angel in turn.
Angel tested the device in his hand once more, finding the light bright and clear and wonderfully red.
And so, the fun began.
Hidden just around the corner, Angel sent a line of red light directly at the bar, settling it on the counter, next to Husk, who simply brushed his paw over it at first, as if it were a crumb to sweep to the floor. But then, when he found the red dot unchanged afterward, he seemed to gear up. Ears pinned forward, he smacked at the dot, seemingly set to crush it beneath his paw.
He slowly lifted his paw, checking underneath it, and finding the dot dancing there, taunting him.
Angel slowly moved it forward. Husk’s movements were frantic as he tried to stop it, tried to catch it before it could move over the counter and further into the room; and then, when he realised he couldn’t, he propelled himself into the air with a single beat of his wings to get to higher ground, perched on the bar counter to watch where the dot was going. Angel held it steady for a moment, keeping it still on a spot on the floor, and— fuck, this was better than expected. Husk’s eyes were a thin, near imperceptible ring of yellow around wide-blown pupils, his tail tucked low as if it might arouse the suspicion of his prey, and the longer Angel held the laser pointer still, the more tense Husk seemed to become, charging up for his next attack. Wide-eyed, he stared at the dot, crouching lower and lower, honest-to-God wiggling his butt like a full-on cat, before kicking off with a sudden, explosive movement to give chase.
Angel could hardly keep up with him, honestly, and settled for slower, more controlled movements. Instead of making him sprint through the entire lobby like Angel had planned, he watched Husk chase after the dot in small increments, pouncing, reorienting, pouncing, chasing, his claws skittering along the floor. He was on all fours now, low to the ground, his hat long forgotten where it had fallen in his haste. Angel considered getting him to jump up on the walls, but he feared Husk might already be scratching up the floorboards, and replacing the wallpapers would be a much more annoying job if he were to be tasked with it after this.
He did take accountability for his pranks, after all. Of course he’d clean up. After he’d had his fun.
And honestly, he could’ve done this all day, but he did see the way Husk would pant whenever he stood still for longer than a second, trying to draw in breath before leaping for the dot once more. As fun as this was, it looked like it was happening at least partially outside of Husk’s control. Angel couldn’t imagine he had the stamina to zoom around like this.
He brought the dot closer to himself, allowing himself one last good laugh as Husk sped after it like his life depended on it, following it all the way to the threshold of the door, watching it rise up Angel’s legs, his stomach, and finally jumping back up to stand on two legs and catch the dot on Angel’s chest.
And then he realised.
His pupils shrunk back to their regular size, his ears pricking straight up, his shoulders pulled up as he yanked his paws back like they’d been burned.
“You caught it,” Angel told him, sugary sweet and yes, maybe a bit condescending, but in a loving way. Husk knew that voice, he knew what to do with it. “Good job, Whiskers.”
When Husk had processed the situation for what it was, his features fell, sinking into annoyance. That, too, was loving. Angel knew so, and nothing could’ve convinced him otherwise. “You motherfucker,” he said, reaching out to snatch the laser pointer from Angel’s hands, but Angel raised his arm, holding it just out of reach. With two other hands, he cupped Husk’s face, rubbing those spots on his jaw that made him weak.
“Aw,” he cooed, “but you looked adorable, baby. How come you haven’t caught me any mice as a gift yet, hm?” Husk growled, but it wasn’t exactly convincing when he was also leaning into Angel’s touch, tipping his head back to give him more space to thoroughly rub. “Such a sweet little kitty, hm?”
“You’re still a dick,” he argued, and Angel gave a genuine laugh. Husk wasn’t wrong.
“Well,” he said, tipping Husk’s chin further up with a curled finger. “You are what you eat.”
And Husk tried to look exasperated, he really did. He opened his eyes again, staring up at Angel with his jaw clenched, and he was meanest kitty anyone had ever seen. But the longer Angel held his gaze, batting his eyes like he wasn’t deliberately being a nuisance, the more Husk’s control slipped.
“Knew it,” Angel cooed, brushing his finger over the lifted cheek, the rising corner of Husk’s mouth.
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
“Not mutually exclusive.”
“Alright, kitty.” Angel leaned down to press a kiss between Husk’s eyes, then added one to the top of his head, which he so rarely got to see without his hat. The fur was softer there, and lighter at the base than the ends. Angel’s lips came away warmer than before. “Whatever you say.”
“Keep that thing,” Husk told him, cocking his chin up at the laser pointer still held above his head. “I bet it’d drive Niffty fuckin’ nuts.”
Angel lit up.
He was so right.