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It had been some time since Husk had seen Angel. Good riddance, in his opinion. He didn’t want to acknowledge the thoughts that plagued him of what Angel would be going through at Valentino’s hands, now unrestrained by Angel’s diminished resolve. Husk could only rid the thoughts by convincing himself that Valentino would surely be less… abrasive following Angel’s unconditional loyalty. It was none of Husk’s fucking business, anyway.
At least now he didn’t have a pink, spindly brat sitting across from him, showing him photos of… blobfish? Husk had better things to do with his unlimited time in hell—like drink. Which he’d been doing a lot of lately, while skirting the looks he was given by Hazbin Hotel members.
In any case, he was getting the feeling that his days at the hotel were numbered. Alastor had been acting differently recently—cracks had been forming on the mask he’d put on to get on Charlie’s good side, and his true, evil identity had begun to bleed through. And his stupid staff got fixed—the trickster demon always seemed to come out on top. Husk couldn’t help but intuit that he might soon be forced to act against those at the hotel, and for his own emotional self-preservation, he should put as much distance between himself and the hotel as possible.
That’s why he was going to successfully forget Angel Dust (and other half-lived friendships) using the familiar, comforting feeling of a bottle wrapped in his hands and liquid pouring down his throat. The reason he landed himself at the doorstep of a familiar drag abode was definitely for the drinks that were better than he could find anywhere else in this god-forsaken place. If Angel Dust happened to perform there in the past, then that was simply a coincidence.
As proof of the fact that Husk was there for the drinks and not the pink demon, Angel Dust hadn’t performed at that drag bar ever since he had racked up with Valentino for good, and Husk still went. Husk ignored the pit in his stomach that felt way too much like loneliness and worry with another swig. As he placed down the glass with a clink on the table in front of him, the melodic sounds of a piano sounded.
Husk swivelled so fast his chair barked against the floor, heart thudding. His shock narrowed into suspicion in a single blink. Despite his cat-like body gifting him with superior eyesight in his afterlife (unlike a certain moth abomination), he wanted to hope his vision was wrong. But it wasn’t wrong—the performer of the night was brown-furred, squarish, and definitely wasn’t Angel Dust.
His knuckles turned white around his glass, and he knocked back the last of his drink swiftly. He clunked it back onto the table and watched the remnants tear down the side of his glass before slouching to a stand and shuffling towards the exit.
It was only from the corners of his eyes that he caught a flash of pink, and his head spun, desperate for more.
And there he was. The pink, spindly brat who seemed to parade around Husk's thoughts. Angel was talking jovially with someone who looked to be an employee at the establishment. Husk saw the lack of crinkles at the side of his eye and the way that his smile stretched a little too far across his face to be real.
Cataloguing people’s tells had become the previous gambling overlord’s trick of the trade. Even though it could get a little annoying when his brain would instinctively interpret micro-expressions, it had served him faithfully enough times that he was grateful for the skill.
And he was especially grateful now. To any other eye Angel looked happy. Husk had enough confidence in his ability to know that was not the case.
Husk observed for a moment longer, noticing everything he could about Angel before he shook himself out of it – the confident façade of his upright posture, the slight blue tinge underneath patches of fur that hinted at bruising, the way that his bottom left arm hung slack as if hurt.
Husk was the furthest thing from a hero, but retribution itched the corners of his consciousness—temptations of blood, gore, and a motif of moth wings torn to shreds and their owner nowhere to be found.
Maybe that’s what carried his body over to the pink demon instead of the exit.
Now, to be crystal clear, Husk had not gone to the drag bar with the hope of seeing Angel again. He wasn’t even sure what impulse had struck him to even approach the leggy demon who clearly wanted nothing to do with him.
“Angel,” Husk barked the name before he could stop himself.
Angel startled, and guilt snagged at Husk mid-breath. Angel's companion seemed to quickly excuse himself and scurry away to a back door.
Angel’s eyes caught Husk’s, and a host of emotions flittered across the pink demon's face faster than anyone other than Husk could have seen—slack-jawed shock, to a mouth-wobbling sadness, to Angel’s signature cool-boy façade. Husk could feel the softness in Angel’s eyes through his smirk. Nice try, Legs. Husk could see right through him.
Husk stopped only when he was a breath away from Angel, mouth curled into a snarl, eyes locked firmly onto his counterpart’s. Husk’s manlet height positioned him directly at eye level with Angel’s chest fluff, which he refused to flit even the quickest look at.
“Whiskers,” Angel taunted. It didn’t help Husk’s resolve that the demon seemed to push his chest out further and cozy up to Husk more.
“Where the hell have you been?” Husk growled, standing strong in his position.
“Missed me, have you, Kitty?” Angel asked coyly. The twinkling of off-beat piano keys and the smell of piss and alcohol faded further into the background, and Husk narrowed into the sensation of Angel running a finger up one of his crossed arms. He smothered a shiver that threatened his spine as mint strawberry curled into his senses. Angel. Of course it was Angel.
“Cut the bullshit,” Husk said through gritted teeth, swatting Angel’s hand away. “It’s been a month, and you’ve had everyone worried. No word, no nothing. You haven’t even come to get your crap—hell, your pig, for fuck’s sake.”
Angel paused at that, hand faltering in the air from where Husk had swatted at it. “Fat Nuggets?” he asked in a quiet breath.
Husk barrelled on, “You haven’t even replied to Cherri. All you need to do is send a simple ‘I’m fine!’ But no, you could have been dead for all I—any of us knew. You haven’t even shown up here for a month, as far as I’m aware. And your damn pig keeps eating my bar and my nuts, all while you’re too concerned with your own misery to give a damn about any of your friends. That, may I add, rescued you from that waste of space, moth man that you ran right back to.”
As Husk paraded on, building his points with emphatic arm gestures, it wasn’t lost on him that a slow curve of a smile had twisted its way onto Angel’s face, his golden tooth peeking through.
“Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Husk ended his rant by planting his hands on his hips, chest heaving from where it had grown puffed out in aggravation, a juxtaposition from his usually slumped hunchback. Angel, of course, had that crooked little smile and was leaning back with his arms loosely wrapped around his skinny torso.
“You’re taking care of Nuggs?” Angel asked.
Husk felt his throat close. “We’re all taking care of the pig, Spider.”
Angel’s smile only grew. “Sure thing, Husky.” And then, after a pause. “Hey, I’m sorry.” The statement weighed heavily between the two of them. Husk felt the temptation to buckle into forgiveness but compromised by taking his hands from his hips to crossing them over his chest, a stern imitation of Angel’s own posture.
Husk tsked. “Don’t give me any of that bullshit. Talking like you’re never coming back.”
Angel’s mouth set into a sad, thin line. “I can’t be trusted. I can’t know anything—you don’t know what they made me do, what they made me tell. I’m not a good person, and the whole redemption thing… It’s not for me.”
Husk grumbled, aghast. “I heard it all before. Vox is powerless now, Legs. They can’t make you tattle anything anymore, unless you want to.” Husk sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “Look,” he said, looking up towards the ceiling and letting his eyes fall back on Angel’s vulnerable frame. “You can hide away all you want. But I know you want this, and you got a decent shot at it. You’re the best thing I—hell’s seen since Pentious’ redemption arc, and anything the Vee’s made you do was out of your control. Hell—Pentious knowingly ratted on the hotel at one point and still made it through the pearly gates. Tattling clearly ain’t that bad of a sin. And everyone wants you back at the hotel.”
Angel’s shoulders slumped, his head following. Without his eyes to read, Husk was struggling to decode it for the life of him—reassured? Pressured? He couldn’t tell.
“What do you say?” Husk muttered, voice losing its gravel as he held out a hand. “Come back with me?” His damn heartbeat was loud enough to choke him, warmth rising under his fur.
His blood boiled over as Angel placed his two left hands in Husk’s. Angel leaned even closer, his mouth pausing a breath away from Husk’s cheek. “Thank you, Husky,” Angel breathed loud enough only for their ears. An electric shiver shook Husk to his bones, and he dared not breathe as Angel moved closer and left the gentlest of kisses on the corner of Husk’s lips. “For everything.”
As Angel shifted back, his hair shadowed his face. He dropped his hands from Husk’s. Husk desperately pinned his gaze to Angel, trying to understand—was that a goodbye? Was he coming with Husk?
Then, as Angel leaned down to gather some boxes that Husk had been too distracted to notice, the cat demon’s heart plummeted to the floor. It was becoming clear that Angel was resigned, not conflicted over his bulletproof choice to stay with the Vees.
“What are those?” Husk asked, his voice low.
Angel sighed. “My stuff. I’m not working here anymore, so I gotta clear out.”
“Was that your decision or Moth Man’s?”
Angel seemed to shrink further. “Can you give Nuggs a cuddle for me?” he asked, dodging the question, stepping towards the exit.
Husk’s knuckles turned white, claws pinching his palms. As Angel shuffled further away, he groaned, ran a hand down his face in frustration, and made a determined decision.
Luck, for once, didn't spit in his face. Angel was taking his sweet time getting to the door, and Husk's cat reflexes—and the old magician habit of keeping crap in his pockets—let him snag a pen and a scrap of paper to scribble down a few digits.
“Angel, wait,” he said, leaping forward and gingerly intercepting one of Angel’s free bottom hands. As softly as Husk could manage, he tucked the piece of paper in Angel’s palm and, using his other hand, curled Angel’s fingers over it. “Just… call if you ever need help.”
Angel’s expression was like honey, warm and sweet. It perhaps gave Husk the courage to slowly lean down to the soft, fluffy hand in his. He gave Angel plenty of time to take his hand away. Angel never did. He kissed the warmth of Angel’s skin as gently as he could muster.
Something old stirred in Husk's mind—the echo of a man who'd once carried real confidence. A spark flared through him, warming his limbs, humming in his bloodstream. He hadn't felt this connected to his former self in years. He hadn't loved every part of being an overlord, but he'd forgotten what freedom used to feel like.
And with Angel's hand in his, that soft look aimed only at him—yeah. This was what freedom felt like.
The spell shattered beneath a voice that thundered behind them. “Amorcito, there you are.”
As quickly as Husk could blink, Angel jerked his hand back, spinning to meet Valentino’s gaze. “Val." The word caught in his throat. Then, with practice precision, his face reset. “Daddy! I was just on my way.”
“Angelcakes," Valentino drawled, "you know how I feel when you keep me waiting.”
Angel scurried to the moth man’s side on command. Valentino barely spared Husk a glance as he wrapped his arms and coat around Angel, pulling him close and blocking him entirely from view.
The last Husk saw of Angel that night was a flash of pink slipping behind the moth demon and a final, aching look thrown over Angel's shoulder before he disappeared with his boxes.
And in the silence that followed, the only proof Angel had been there at all was the fading warmth of that spark still clinging to Husk's hands.
Later that night, as Husk lay grovelling in his bed smelling of whiskey, he was jerked awake by a notification coming from his phone.
Send pics, it read.
“What the hell,” Husk grumbled. He had no idea who this was. And he wasn’t the type to message people. End of story. Before he could ignore the number entirely and place his phone down, another alert came through almost instantaneously.
Of Nuggs, you perv. Get ya mind outta the gutter
Oh. Angel. Husk may or may not have stopped breathing.
This number is for emergencies, he replied. There. That will set the record straight. His eyes drifted to the gluttonous pig splayed at the end of his bed, and he wondered how hard it was going to be to figure out how to actually send a photo.
Three dots appeared instantly. Husk, still new to this whole messaging thing, stared at them like they might bite. Another chime. Another message. His stomach did an uneasy flip.
Here, this might help, old man: http://howto$.com/how-to/message/photos
Husk cautiously clicked the link and squinted at the big, obnoxious title: How to Send Photos via Text Message.
Fuck you, Husk wrote back immediately. Good thing Angel’s pet pig wasn’t able to speak. If anyone knew he was sitting here blushing like a teenager, he'd kill them. Still, he did what he was told and attached a photo of the pipsqueak to a message. Hopefully, Angel got it. If he didn’t, then it wasn’t Husk’s problem. The pink demon should just come and see the pig for himself.
Awww, thank you, Husky <3 you know how to treat a lady
Husk didn’t know how to convey his eye roll over text, so he didn’t. He placed his phone next to him with a sigh, lobbing an arm over his eyes. Then, another alert.
Husk grabbed his phone once again.
Seriously tho, thnks. Also, pls dont tell Cherri i messaged. I cant give away that im messaging too much, if u no wat I mean.
Husk fought off a headache and groaned. No problem, he replied.
Even though it was, in fact, a very large problem. Angel shouldn’t even be there in the first place. He should be back at the hotel.
But even bigger of a problem was the way Husk’s heart thundered so loudly he wondered if it was possible to have a heart attack after death.
The pig snorted in its sleep. Husk stared at Angel's text until the letters blurred.
Hell really needed to cut him a break.