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Husk didn’t usually walk anywhere—he trudged, shuffled, dragged his feet like the floor owed him money.
Tonight, though?
He was quiet.
Not grumpy. Not muttering. Not even sighing.
Just… quiet.
He slipped out of the hotel bar after closing, flicking off the lights one by one. The neon sign hummed its low, constant buzz, bathing the empty room in red and pink glow. Husk adjusted his vest, wings twitching once before laying flat against his back. The air smelled faintly of spilled rum and cigarette smoke.
He grabbed himself a bottle for the road—not his strongest, just something warm, something with a bite that wouldn’t knock him flat. With a grunt, he shut the door behind him and stepped into the hallway.
He needed air. Needed quiet. Needed—
“Hey, old man.”
Husk froze.
He did not turn around.
The footsteps approached anyway—light, tapping, heels clicking on the tile.
Then Angel Dust slid into view, leaning lazily against the wall, eyes half-lidded with that trademark smirk.
“Well ain’t this a coincidence?” Angel drawled. “Husky, sweetheart, where you sneakin’ off to at this hour?”
Husk scrunched his nose. “Nowhere.”
“Cute. Real convincing.”
Angel crossed his arms, tail flicking behind him. He had that look—that I’m bored and you look interesting enough to bother look. Husk hated that he knew it this well.
“I’m gettin’ fresh air,” Husk muttered at last. “If that’s a crime, arrest me.”
Angel grinned. “Only if you ask nicely.”
Husk groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please. Just let me have ten minutes without—”
“Without moi? Rude.”
Husk turned to leave.
Angel followed.
They walked down the hallway together, the silence between them thick but not hostile. Not exactly comfortable either. Something in-between—like two animals circling one another but too tired to fight.
Outside, the Hell night air was cool. Crisp. The noise of Pentagram City was distant tonight, just a low rumble in the background.
Husk sat on the steps, wings hunching around him like a shrug.
Angel didn’t ask permission. He just plopped beside him, knees close enough to brush.
Husk sighed. “Do you gotta sit right there?”
“No,” Angel said, smiling softly. “But I want to.”
Husk turned his head just slightly—just enough to see Angel staring out into the night instead of at him. Legs stretched out, arms loose, the soft wind ruffling the fur on his cheeks.
Angel looked… tired.
Husk looked away.
“You always follow people like this?” he grumbled.
“Only the fun ones,” Angel said.
Husk snorted. “I ain’t fun.”
“Maybe not,” Angel said lightly, “but you’re warm.”
Husk blinked.
He felt his wings twitch.
“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”
Angel shrugged. “Means sittin’ next to you feels nice. I dunno. You’re quiet. And you don’t ask for shit.”
“…Most call that boring.”
“Most people suck.”
Husk didn’t respond to that. He just uncorked his bottle, took a slow sip, and let the burn settle into his chest.
Angel nudged him with his shoulder. “You gonna share?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
Angel leaned in closer, big eyes widening dramatically. “Huskyyy.”
Husk held the bottle tighter. “…Fine. One sip.”
Angel beamed—soft, real, not one of the flashy grins he used on crowds—and took the bottle gently from Husk’s hand.
He sipped. Winced. “God. Tastes like battery acid.”
Husk huffed a laugh. “Exactly.”
Angel handed it back, their fingers brushing—deliberate from Angel, accidental from Husk.
Husk didn’t pull away.
After a long moment, Angel murmured, “Y’know… you don’t gotta be alone all the time.”
Husk stiffened.
Angel wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at the sky—red clouds drifting lazily, reflecting in his soft pink eyes.
“I ain’t tryin’ to fix you or nothin’,” Angel continued. “I just… like bein’ around you. Even when you’re grumpy.”
Husk swallowed. His throat felt tight, too tight for comfort.
He didn’t do this.
He didn’t do feelings.
Not for anyone.
Not anymore.
“Angel,” he muttered, voice low, “I’m not… good company.”
Angel’s voice softened. “Yeah. But you’re honest company.”
Husk looked over—and found Angel closer than he expected. Their knees touched now. Angel’s expression was gentle, open, a little shy around the edges.
Shy. Angel Dust.
Husk didn’t know what to do with that.
“…You hungry?” Angel asked suddenly.
Husk blinked. “What?”
“You look hungry. Or, like… emotionally hungry. Which is worse. C’mon. I’ll make you somethin’.”
Husk frowned. “You can cook?”
“A little.” Angel grinned. “Better than Alastor, anyway.”
“Yeah well, that ain’t hard.”
Angel gave him his hand—white fur, pink stripes, claws painted a glossy black.
“Come on, old man. Let me take care of you a little.”
Husk stared at the hand. His heart thumped once—loud and uncomfortable.
He took it.
Angel’s grin softened around the edges, warming into something sincere as he tugged Husk gently inside.