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Hell slept strangely at night.
Not entirely, never fully — the neon always glowed somewhere, someone always screamed somewhere — but the Hazbin Hotel kept a quieter pocket of stillness when the moon hung low and red through the cracked windows.
It was past midnight when Alastor stepped out of his room.
Not because he needed anything.
Not because he had plans.
Just… because he wanted to walk.
His cane tapped softly against the hallway floor, the radio static around him low and warm like background dust on vinyl.
Then he heard it.
A groan.
A very mortal, very pathetic groan.
Alastor paused. Tilted his head.
Another groan.
Followed by, “…fuck me sideways… my brain’s tryin’ to leave my skull…”
Ah.
Husk.
Alastor followed the sound like a moth chasing heat until he found him slumped in the dark doorway of the bar — wings drooping, feathers puffed unevenly, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded and pained.
One ear twitched. He didn’t look up.
“Go away,” Husk grumbled. “I’m dying.”
Alastor smiled softly. “You’re hungover.”
“I said I’m dying.”
Husk pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead, claws digging in lightly. His tail sagged against the floor like it weighed a hundred pounds. His breathing was uneven — not dramatic, just miserable.
Alastor stepped closer.
Husk flinched like the footsteps physically hurt.
“Jesus— warn me next time.”
“I did step loudly on purpose,” Alastor offered. “You’re simply too far gone to notice.”
Husk blinked blearily. “If you don’t stop talkin’ like a radio from the 1930s, I’m gonna puke.”
Alastor chuckled — quiet, warm, non-teasing.
“That bad, hmm?”
Husk made a small, broken noise and hid his face in his claws. “Everything’s loud. Everything’s spinning. And everything tastes like an ashtray.”
Alastor crouched down next to him, lowering himself with surprising gentleness.
“Husk.”
“Don’t—” Husk swallowed hard. “Don’t say my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you care.”
Alastor raised a brow. “But I do.”
Husk’s breath hitched.
Not dramatically.
Not romantically.
Just humanly.
He squeezed his eyes shut and muttered, “I didn’t want you to see me like this…”
Alastor tilted his head. “Oh? And how did you wish to be seen?”
Husk sighed, his voice cracking as he mumbled, “Not— pathetic.”
He leaned sideways, swaying. Alastor immediately reached out and steadied him with a hand on his shoulder.
Husk froze.
“…Don’t do that,” he whispered.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Be nice,” Husk muttered, wings drooping further. “You’re never nice to me.”
“You’re mistaken,” Alastor said gently. “I’m perfectly cordial.”
“No, you’re—” Husk bit his lip, wincing at his own spinning head. “—you’re charming. And infuriating. And smug. And—” he hiccuped, winced, pressed his palms to his temple, “—and I like you, okay?!”
Silence.
The static around Alastor cut out sharply.
Husk’s eyes widened as realization finally stabbed through the liquor haze.
“Oh shit,” he whispered. “Oh— shit. Forget I said that. I’m drunk. I’m dying. I didn’t mean—”
“Husk.”
“Nope— nope! Not havin’ this conversation— I’m gonna go lie face-down in a gutter—”
“Husk.”
A warm hand cupped his jaw, guiding him gently but firmly to look up.
Alastor wasn’t smirking.
Not smiling.
Not teasing.
His expression was soft — almost reverent — with a glow in his eyes that felt dangerously sincere.
“You like me,” Alastor said quietly, “in what way, exactly?”
Husk swallowed hard, feathers bristling in embarrassment. He tried to pull back but Alastor’s touch held steady — not trapping, not forcing, just keeping him present.
“…Romantic,” Husk muttered, barely audible. “There. Happy? I ruined the night. I ruined everything. You can laugh now—”
“I’m not laughing.”
“That’s worse.”
“Husk,” Alastor murmured, thumb brushing softly along the corner of Husk’s jaw. “I am… flattered.”
Husk blinked, confused. “What?”
“And,” Alastor continued, “I am not opposed to the sentiment.”
Husk’s heart stopped.
“…Wh— what?”
Alastor chuckled softly — not his sinister laugh, but the warm, human one nobody ever heard unless they were very, very lucky.
“You see,” he said, letting his thumb trail down to Husk’s cheek, “you’re cynical. Sharp. Dry. And utterly exhausted by everyone else’s nonsense.”
“Gee,” Husk croaked, “thanks.”
“I mean it endearingly.”
Husk stared, breath uneven. “Why… are you being nice to me?”
“Because,” Alastor said, leaning just a fraction closer, “you’ve said something honest. Something vulnerable. And I find honesty… refreshing.”
Husk’s ears flattened, embarrassed beyond belief. “You’re not— disgusted?”
“Hardly.”
“You’re not weirded out?”
“No.”
“You’re not— you’re not just humoring me?”
At that, Alastor’s expression softened further — impossibly gentle. He placed a hand carefully against Husk’s back, feeling the tremble beneath feathers.
“I don’t humor people I care about,” he said softly.
Husk’s breath caught.
“You… care?” he whispered.
“For you?” Alastor tilted his head, smiling a smile meant for no one else on earth. “More than you realize.”
Husk shut his eyes, overwhelmed, wings shivering.
Alastor shifted even closer until their foreheads almost touched.
“Husk,” he murmured, “if you’re willing… we may continue this conversation when you’re sober.”
Husk swallowed again, voice thin. “…Yeah. Yeah, I’d… like that.”
“Wonderful,” Alastor said warmly.
Then, with infinite gentleness, he slipped an arm around Husk’s shoulders to help him stand.
“Now,” he added lightly, “let’s get you water before you unintentionally confess to Charlie next.”
Husk groaned, leaning against him for balance. “Kill me.”
“Tsk. Far too dramatic.”
“Alastor?”
“Yes?”
“…Do you really care?”
Alastor tightened his hold around him, pulling him closer as they walked.
“Yes,” he said, simple and unadorned. “I do.”
And Husk didn’t say another word — he just let himself lean into Alastor’s warmth, head resting lightly against the Radio Demon’s shoulder as they disappeared down the quiet hallway together.
(A/N: Can't believe I wrote the Radio Demon kissing Husk lmao <3 Love it though.)
Here ya go!!
Husk woke up with his face pressed against something warm.
Warm… and humming.
He blinked.
Then blinked harder.
His vision slowly focused on a dark red waistcoat, a white undershirt, and the unmistakable smell of static and faint old cologne.
His breath hitched.
“...No.
Oh fuck no.
I didn’t— please tell me I didn’t—”
“You most certainly did.”
Husk jolted upright.
Alastor was seated right beside him on the edge of the bed, posture perfect, one leg crossed over the other, hands resting calmly atop his cane.
Smiling.
Not mockingly.
Not triumphantly.
Just… softly.
Husk groaned and buried his face in his claws. “Oh god, I confessed to you while drunk.”
“Yes,” Alastor chimed. “Quite romantically, I might add.”
“Stop talkin’.”
“You asked if I cared.”
“Stop.”
“And I said yes.”
Husk froze.
Very slowly, he lowered his hands, peering at Alastor through narrowed eyes.
“…Did you mean it?”
Alastor did not hesitate.
“Yes.”
Husk’s heart dropped into his stomach and landed somewhere between a flutter and a panic attack.
“I— you— we—” he sputtered.
Alastor chuckled quietly, leaning forward just slightly — enough that Husk instinctively leaned back until the headboard stopped him.
“No need to flee,” Alastor said softly. “You’re sober now. We may continue where we left off.”
Husk swallowed hard.
“You’re… not joking?”
“I don’t joke about matters of the heart,” Alastor murmured.
The room stilled.
Husk’s wings twitched, feathers fluffing nervously.
“…What do you want?” Husk asked, voice rough, honest.
Alastor’s smile warmed.
“You.”
Husk felt his breath leave his lungs.
Completely.
Alastor lifted a hand, slow and deliberate, giving Husk every chance to pull away.
He didn’t.
Claws brushed Husk’s cheek — gentle, reverent.
Husk leaned into it before he could stop himself, eyes fluttering shut.
“…You’re too good at this,” he muttered.
“Oh, trust me,” Alastor murmured, “I’m out of practice.”
Husk snorted.
“That’s a lie.”
“I assure you it isn’t.”
Husk opened his eyes — and Alastor was closer.
Not dramatically.
Not suddenly.
Just close enough that Husk could see the faint static sparks around his pupils, the gentle tension in his jaw, the soft concern hidden under centuries of composure.
“Husk,” Alastor said, voice almost a whisper. “May I?”
“…May you what?”
Alastor’s thumb stroked his cheekbone in answer.
Husk’s breath trembled.
“…Y–Yeah. Yeah, you can.”
Alastor moved slowly — painfully, deliciously slow — giving Husk every millisecond to change his mind.
Husk didn’t.
And then Alastor kissed him.
Not chaste.
Not timid.
But deep.
Hungry.
A slow, consuming pull that stole every last ounce of air Husk had left. One hand cupped Husk’s jaw; the other slid behind his head, fingers threading into messy dark fur and holding him steady as the kiss deepened.
Husk’s wings flared out, trembling.
He made a low sound — half growl, half need — and grabbed the front of Alastor’s coat, dragging him closer, kissing him back with every bit of pent-up longing he’d been too stubborn to name.
Alastor’s breath stuttered — an honest, startled break in composure — and Husk felt the smile against his lips before the kiss turned hotter, deeper, sliding into something that made the room feel too small to hold them.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, Husk stared at him like he was seeing the Radio Demon for the first time.
“…Holy shit,” he whispered.
Alastor’s voice was low, warm, nearly trembling with contained emotion.
“My sentiments exactly.”
Husk huffed a shaky laugh. “We’re… really doin’ this?”
“If you’ll have me,” Alastor said.
Husk reached up, hooked a claw under Alastor’s tie, and tugged him down until their foreheads touched.
“I already told you,” Husk murmured, voice rough but sure.
“I like you.”
Alastor closed his eyes, leaning in with a quiet exhale that felt like relief.
“And I,” he whispered, “like you very much.”
Husk kissed him again — slow, softer this time — and Alastor melted into it, fingers curling gently at Husk’s jawline.
When they parted, Husk muttered:
“…If you tell anyone about this, I’m gonna crawl into a ditch and die.”
Alastor smirked.
“Oh? And deprive me of a second kiss?”
Husk smacked his arm.
Then kissed him again anyway.