Work Text:
HUSKER POV:
I knew it was gonna be a shitty night the moment Angel Dust flounced into the bar still glittering like he’d snorted a disco ball.
Not the usual flirty glitter.
The Valentino kind.
The kind that sticks to your skin and makes your shoulders tense just seeing it.
He hopped up onto the counter — on it, not near it, on the damn wood I just polished — swinging his legs like a kid who didn’t know he was six-and-a-half feet tall.
“Hey, Husky,” he said, voice saccharine in the way that always meant trouble. “Guess who got volunteered for another all-nighter?”
I grunted. That’s my default setting. Grunt, glare, poker face. It usually sends him off to pester someone else. But tonight I felt the irritation crawling under my feathers.
“Val makin’ you stay late again?” I muttered.
“Is that concern I hear?” he teased.
“No,” I lied with the kind of conviction only a tired old cat demon can manage.
He smirked — that smirk — and leaned forward, chin in hand. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
Sometimes he forgets I used to be an Overlord.
Sometimes I forget too.
He kept pushing. Poking. Teasing. Until—
“You never say nothin’, Husk. I’m out there bustin’ my ass and you don’t even— I dunno, care?”
I froze. Not because he was wrong, but because he was too damn close to being right.
So I snapped back.
“You’re not the only one with shit to do, Angel. Alastor’s been sendin’ me on his little errands too. I got my own messes to clean up.”
“Oh, so now you’re too busy for basic conversation?”
“This again?” I groaned. “You think everything’s about you.”
That hit him. I knew it the moment his eyes fell down and away from me, even though he tried to hide it behind a scoff.
“Whatever. I’ll stop wasting your time then.” Him having conversation with me? Talking to him wasting my time? Not any of the other bullshit, really?!
And that — that stupid sentence — lit my fuse.
“Great. Saves me the trouble.” I didn’t mean it.
We went back and forth, claws out, barbs sharp, voices and hackles rising. But even then… even mad…
I never said a damn thing I knew would actually wound him. I wouldn’t. Not on purpose, not after all that other shit he puts up with that I fuckin HATE.
He didn’t either. Even if he did, it probably wouldn’t matter to me, anything he’d tell me would probably have been true to me at some point in my past. I ain’t good.
That’s the thing about Angel Dust: he bites, but he doesn’t aim for the throat. Not with me. At least. The only thing that maims me is his utter disregard for himself. Like it’s nothing but normal, how he thinks he should always have it. It fuckin Pisses me off. And sometimes he has the gull to try to persuade me, that bullshit like that is some bandwagon I need to hop on that I’m out of the loop on. But he doesn’t deserve that shit, and no matter how no good or worthy of good things I can be I will NOT feed that.
Eventually he stormed out, muttering something obscene about ungrateful cats.
I watched him go with a scowl plastered on my face and something hot and awful twisting in my gut.
Good, I told myself. Let him cool off.
Except…
Except it didn’t feel good at all.
And it felt even worse the next morning when Alastor dumped a thick heavily sealed envelope on my bar with a too-wide smile.
“A small favor, my dear Husk,” he chimed.
A hit job. Dirty work. The kind he liked to pretend he wasn’t behind.
I couldn’t refuse. Not really.
So I was packing up, pissed off at the universe, when I heard soft footsteps behind me.
Angel.
Half done-up, bags under his eyes, glitter washed off but still in the corners like ghosts remaining.
He didn’t look at me when he said, “I’m heading in early. Valentino’s on a tear.”
We were still mad.
Still hurt.
Still stupid.
But something old and instinctual rose in me when I saw him reach for the door.
“Wait.”
He paused.
And before I could stop myself, I was shoving a lunch container into his hands. Packed neat, tied tight, still warm.
He blinked. “You made me food?” The bastard had the audacity of looking confused. The fuck was he doing going into an all-nighter with nothing to eat. You can’t fucking run on anger and steam no matter how used to a toxic work environment and no aftercare you are determined to deem as “normal”.
“No,” I snapped. “It just magically appeared in my hands.”
He tried not to smile. Failed. “You’re such a grump.” Him smiling at me making me want to squeeze his dumbstruck cheeks in frustration at his lack of self awareness.
“Take it,” I barked. “Before I change my mind.”
He did. And as he walked away, he said—soft, almost shy—
“Get back safe, Husky.”
I pretended I didn’t hear it.
But I did.
And what’s even worse.
I heard it all damn day.
And when the job got messy…
When the alley turned dark and the bullets ricocheted too close…
When I realized I wouldn’t be back by nightfall…
I found myself thinking one thing, over and over:
Shit. Angel’s gonna worry. It made a lump form in my throat and a stone sink in my stomach, could’ve sworn that the only stone that I had was my heart. My cold dead stone heart wasn’t so cold and wasn’t even very dead to my dismay.
I didn’t want him to worry about me.
But hell help me, I wanted him to care.
♠️♥️🥃
ANGEL DUST POV:
I hate waiting.
I hate the quiet.
I hate the thinking.
And tonight I was stuck doing all three at once.
Husker still wasn’t back.
Alastor just smiled sickeningly delighted when I asked.
Charlie’s group dinner ended hours ago. Cherri was out today too.
The bar was closed and empty except for the neon hum out the back window and of course the ache in my chest.
We were supposed to be mad at each other.
I was supposed to be annoyed, pissed even.
He was supposed to be grumpy, furious on a provocation from me stamping out his stoic master masks.
But instead all I could think about was how he still shoved that stupid lunch into my hands like he wasn’t mad at me at all. Like he just couldn’t help himself. Like taking care of me wasn’t a choice — it was instinct.
And damn it…
I liked that instinct. And I think I like him the most, even when he’s pissed. I’m still supposed to be pissed at him. But I’m just deflating and defeated thinking. And Thinking:
So, I replayed our fight over and over, cringing at every sharp word I’d thrown.
He never crossed the line. Not once.
He never went for the places that actually hurt. He never really hurt me in any way. Fucker was tender even in his rage towards me. Not that it was rage as I’d called it.
He never tried to make me feel small.
He just… argued.
With me.
Not at me.
There’s a difference. A big and very real difference.
By midnight I was pacing. By one, I was curled up in his usual booth. By two, I had chewed through every nail on my top two hands.
I kept checking my phone even though I knew Husk didn’t text.
“Where are you, old man…” I whispered. The pit in my stomach was buzzing.
And the longer he was gone, the more it heavily hit:
I freaking missed him.
His voice. His sarcasm. His stupid ridiculously big and very soft sexy wings brushing against me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. The way he always noticed when I hadn’t eaten. The way he grumbled but still held the door open for me.
The way he was never rough with me unless I asked for it.
The things he did for love — even if he’d rather die than say the word.
I pressed my face into his big black jacket that he’d left slung over the booth, inhaling the scent of my cigarettes that always mingled with his cigars and whiskey and that warm, comforting scent that was just… Husk.
“Come on,” I whispered into the fabric. “Please.”
Maybe it was pathetic.
Maybe it was soft.
Maybe I was both.
But I didn’t care.
I just wanted him safe.
Back home.
Back where he always sat so I could pretend I didn’t watch him.
Where he belonged. Here with me, even if I was making him ‘put up’ with my shit.
🕷️🥀💋🩶
HUSKER POV:
The door creaked haunting the floor when I finally shoved it open.
I was bloody.
Tired.
Half limping.
Definitely not a pretty sight for sore eyes or otherwise.
But the first thing I saw was Angel curled up in my usual booth with my worn out jacket clutched in all four arms.
The moment he saw me, his entire face shattered into relief — pure, unfiltered, helpless relief — before he could think to hide it.
And damn, if that didn’t hit me harder than any bullet I’d taken.
“You’re late,” he said, voice trembling even though he tried to cover it with some of his classic attitude that he wouldn’t let me live down if he knew I cherished it.
“Sorry,” I rasped. “Got held up.” My voice deep as I was beat by now.
He stomped over, grabbed my shirt, and shook me.
“Don’t do that! You asshole! I was— I thought— you can’t just—”
Then he stopped. Looked me over, his eyes almost red and already watered in the edges. He saw the bruises. The thick cut on my arm. The limp.
And his anger melted into worry so soft it made my chest hurt.
“You’re hurt,” he whispered. Baby sounded devastated, he shouldn’t have, not over me.
“Just a scratch,” I muttered.
“It’s never ‘just’ anything with you, Husky.”
Something swelled in me then — pride, disbelief, affection so deep it scared the hell outta me.
“You were worried,” I said, unable to keep the smugness out of my voice. The fondness.
He blushed. Actually blushed. Pink creeping up his cheeks like embarrassment could physically hurt him.
“Shut up.” Never.
“You were,” I pressed, stepping closer even though every muscle ached. “Angel Dust was worried about little old me.”
“Husk—” shhh, no, nope. Not now I’m done with this mad stuff. Too tired for it.
“And now you’re all flustered.” Pink shifted crimson. My favorite on him.
“I swear to god if you start purring—” bastard don’t think I won’t, it’s just that easy with you. I wanna keep him close and too distracted to think of anything else otherwise.
But I didn’t let him finish. I leaned in, close enough our breaths mingled, close enough to see the panic and want warring behind his eyes.
“You cute when you’re mad,” I murmured. I was teasing him again.
He made a noise I’d never heard before.
Something between a gasp and a squeak.
And for once — for once — I was the one who got to watch him turn that sweet red tint, that beautiful warmth on his face.
He shoved my shoulder weakly. “Don’t— don’t look at me like that.” I can’t look away from his face when it’s like that. And besides no matter how pissed we are I don’t wanna.
I smirked. “Like what?”
“Like you— like you care or some shit.” This again.
I huffed a tired laugh. “Angel, I made you lunch even when I wanted to strangle you. What the hell do you think that means?” I can say it in as many ways needed to not say it.
He stared at me.
Then slowly, slowly, he stepped forward and pressed his forehead to mine.
“You’re a pain in my ass,” he whispered.
“Right back at you.”
“And I’m still mad.”
“Good,” I said softly. “Means you’ll stick around.” I caressed his cheeks in my palms gently.
He exhaled shakily. “Promise me you’ll tell me next time. When Alastor sends you out. Or at least— I dunno. Something. I can’t just sit here not knowing if—”
“I promise,” I said before he could finish. Because I meant it. Because it was time.
He swallowed hard. “Good.”
And then he wrapped all four arms around me so tight I felt something in my chest unlock.
I held him back around his slender frame.
Gentle.
Careful.
Steady where he was shaky.
Because he was home.
And I wanted him to stay that way.
END!