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It almost feels just like any other evening. No one would suspect they’re having some inappropriately joyful doomsday party, with all the laughter, smiling, and cheerful talk. Well, of course it’s supposed to be a motivational We're all gonna survive this-party, so there's that. Everyone but Husk is doing an excellent job at keeping up appearances.
He grumbles under his breath while he polishes glasses, and wipes the counter up to the point where Cherri calls him out for cleaning something that already gleams like some rich ass's luxury car. Husk flips her off, and still—his blasted hands keep at the needless task almost compulsively.
Serves him right. This nagging guilt is his own damn fault, so he can’t even complain to anyone but himself.
His attention keeps drifting back to where Angel and Cherri lean against a table, drinks in hand, laughing. Angel picks that exact moment to glance over, and damn, that bright grin when he notices Husk watching doesn’t help. Husk raises an empty glass and points at it.
‘nother one? he mouths. Angel nods and gives him a single-handed thumbs-up while his other sets of hands keep flying through the air, probably illustrating some crazy-ass story Husk doesn’t want to hear the juicy details of. Most likely. Definitely.
Oh, who fucking cares.
Irritated with himself, Husk turns away and starts preparing the sickening sweet drink that, for some unfathomable reason, is Angel’s favorite. Kinda pathetic, this ploy to get Angel and Cherri back to the bar, but Husk can’t bring himself to give a shit. Not today.
The hell is he supposed to do anyway—let them go thirsty?
While he pours syrup and booze into the glass, he tries to ignore the sound of Angel's laughter that seems to stand out against the chatter and clinking glasses all around. It's distracting in how it gives the guilt in his chest a painful twitch.
He owes Angel an answer.
Would be a helluva lot easier if Angel's words didn’t replay in his mind like a broken record.
You would be fucking lucky to get a chance to fuck me.
Well, no shit. Someone tell him something new. The words hadn’t even bothered him at the time. Why would they? Angel had been all attitude and no restraint, leaning in too close and pushing at boundaries Husk had forgotten existed because no one had bothered to come near them in a long time. And hooking up with a fake, pushy asshole certainly hadn’t been his idea of being lucky. Deal him a good hand any day. Then you're talking.
But now, the words have made a fucking home in his mind, complete with interior decoration and everything. These days, being close to Angel does feel like luck. However that happened. He certainly didn’t plan on it. Plans weren’t for him since the day Alastor put that chain around his neck. Or he let Alastor put it there.
Whatever.
Husk adds a pink straw to Angel’s drink. He doesn’t even know what he'd be getting into, really. When Angel offered to figure things out together, they certainly weren’t talking about kissing hands anymore. But about what, then? Touching? Fucking? Putting their cards on the table and admitting they're … not indifferent to each other?
Damn high stakes. Call or fold. Husk has never been a coward in the past, always up for the next game, the next challenge, even to self-destructive extremes. And now he doesn’t even have the balls to give Angel an answer because he knows how it feels to gamble away everything.
And Angel isn't something he's willing to lose.
“Pour me another one, Kitty,” Cherri says, slamming her empty glass on the counter. Husk blinks and looks up, raising an eyebrow.
“Try askin’ like a normal person,” he mutters, sliding Angel’s drink across the counter as he appears next to her.
“It’s Cherri Bomb for a reason,” she says, tapping on her glass impatiently. “Not gonna waste my last hours on normal.”
“Then ya might have to spend your last hours thirsty,” Husk replies, shrugging.
“Speaking of last hours,” Angel butts in, reaching over the counter and grabbing a bottle of cherry vodka. With a triumphant side-eye at Husk, Cherri takes it from him.
“If you could choose, Whiskers,” Angel purrs, propping an elbow on the counter and resting his chin in his hand, “what would you be doing tonight on your last day of existence?” Angel leans in a little closer, and Husk struggles not to draw back. “Serving drinks to a pretty guy like me, hoping to get lucky one last time?”
Damn, why does Husk want to laugh instead of rolling his eyes, as anyone with a clear mind should?
“What happened to not dying tomorrow?” Husk asks, ignoring Angel’s question. “Ya giving up?”
Angel shrugs. “Don’t ya think the actual risk that we might kick the bucket adds some much needed spice to the question?”
“Already had as much spice as anyone could want,” Husk grumbles. “Had to think of somethin’ when I was still alive.”
Angel forgets to look seductive. He straightens up and glances at Cherri before his gaze is drawn back to Husk. “Wait, what? Really?”
“Yeah,” Husk says. “Owed the wrong kinda people a lot of money. The threats were beginning to sound more and more believable, ya know?”
“So ya thought ya were done for?”
“Yeah. Turns out it wasn’t my last day, but it sure as hell felt like it at the time.”
“You’ve come quite a long way, then,” Cherri remarks. “From owing money to owing your soul.”
Husk pulls a face. “Yeah. I ain't gonna learn shit, am I?”
Angel shrugs. “Isn’t that all of us?” He points at himself. “Still a hopeless drug addict.” He moves on to Cherri. “Still a freakin’ pyromaniac.”
“Hell yeah,” Cherri confirms proudly, taking a sip from the vodka bottle
“The thing is, you've already had problems in life,” Angel continues, unusually matter-of-fact. “You land in what’s supposed to be the shittiest place ever to exist. And then ya expect to get better?” Angel scoffs. “Please. Not much of a therapeutic network in Hell, either.”
Husk and Cherri exchange a glance, eyebrows raised, before they look back at Angel with the same incredulous expression.
Angel lifts his hands in mock defense. “Don’t look at me like that. I had a therapy session with Charlie earlier this week. It’s what she told me.”
Cherri snorts a laugh. “Ya sure you’re the one getting therapy in these sessions?” she asks. Husk lets out a huff.
Angel flips Cherri off and takes a pointed sip from his drink. “I think the princess got a point.”
“She does,” Husk agrees. “But bein’ right ain't gonna change anything if people don’t wanna hear what ya gotta say.”
“Oh, aren’t you just in the right mood for a doomsday party,” Cherri teases. “But enough with the depressing bullshit already. I wanna hear Pussycat’s story about his almost-last day on earth.”
“Yeah,” Angel agrees. “What did ya do, Whiskers?”
“Sneaked into a magic show,” Husk says. “Most elaborate and expensive one there was in Vegas at the time. Loved that kinda thing since I was a kid.”
“Aw, look at him getting all sentimental,” Cherri mocks him. “Hoped magic could help you out of your shitty situation?”
“Maybe,” Husk admits, shrugging. “Or at least see something impressive on my last day.”
“You can do magic, right?” Angel asks.
“I can do tricks,” Husk clarifies.
“Can you teach me? Something with cards?” He leans towards Husk, something sharper than his usual teasing glinting in his eyes.
“You wanna learn card tricks? Now?”
Angel shrugs. “Ain't got anything else planned tonight, have I? Apart from waiting for our demise. And with the way you handle your cards, you could even call it combat training.”
Husk hums. “Fair. Can't teach you those specific tricks, though. That’s Overlord shit.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Angel waves him off. “Quit boasting and get started.”
Husk briefly considers the unspoken rule not to spill tricks to outsiders, but he figures no one in hell gives a damn. He certainly doesn’t. So he pulls a deck of cards from his pocket, still keeping them far too close at hand after all they cost him.
“Lemme show ya first,” he suggests. “Then I'll walk ya through it.”
He hands Angel the deck.
“Go ahead. Shuffle.”
Angel takes his job very seriously, trying three different shuffling styles at once, making Cherri burst out laughing whenever he drops the cards at a particularly daring move. Husk rolls his eyes as he takes the deck back. He starts dealing from the bottom, one card at a time.
“Tell me when to stop,” Husk prompts.
Angel narrows his eyes in mock suspicion. “You’re up to something, I can tell.”
“No shit. It’s called a trick for a reason.”
“Stop.”
“What?”
“Stop.”
“Oh.” Husk pauses a little too late.
He feels Cherri’s gaze lingering on him. “Somethin’ distracting ya, Kitty?”
Husk clenches his teeth, but refuses to answer. Damn, he never misses his cue. He tilts the deck in his hand just enough for Angel to see the bottommost card.
“See that? Good. Remember it.” Husk puts the cards away and focuses on Angel. “I'm gonna read your mind now. No dirty thoughts.”
“Aww, Husk, don’t give me ideas.”
“As if ya needed prompting. Think of the card you saw. I'm gonna tell you which one it was.”
“You gotta keep your hands where I can see them,” Angel demands. “I know ya gonna distract me somehow.”
Husk shrugs, props his elbows on the counter, folds his hands under his chin, and looks at Angel.
“Focus,” Husk says, and regrets it immediately, when Angel’s gaze settles on his face. Too intense. Too close.
Husk holds it anyway. Good thing the trick’s done already, so it doesn’t matter that his own focus goes down the drain.
He closes his eyes for show and lets a second pass.
“...Seven of hearts,” he says.
For a moment, there is silence. And then—
“What the fuck?”
Husk cracks open an eye. Angel stares at him.
“How? I didn’t let you out of my sight once.”
Husk laughs at Angel’s indignation and gathers the cards into a neat pile. “C'mon. I'll show ya.”
Husk walks him through the trick. Shows him how to hold the deck, how to hide the movement, how to make a simple sleight of hand look like mind-reading.
“You serious?” Angel frowns. “That's it?”
Husk hums. “Simple, but it worked well enough on you. Wanna learn it?”
“You bet your ass I wanna learn it.”
“Sorry, one of the few things I ain't gonna take bets on.”
Angel laughs and leans in close. “Make an exception for me?” he purrs, and shoots Husk a look intense enough to rival a bottle of whiskey in how light-headed it makes Husk feel.
“No,” Husk says decisively, his focus narrowed on shuffling the cards to escape the expression on Angel's face. “But I'm gonna show you anyway.”
A few minutes later, Angel's face is scrunched up in concentration as he follows Husk's instructions, trying again and again.
“Not like this,” Husk says. “I can see what’cha doing. You wanna hold your hand a little more…” Husk reaches for Angel’s wrist, adjusting the angle, “like this.”
Angel stills at the contact. Husk notices and almost pulls back. For a moment, they stay like that, just looking at each other.
“Ya might wanna get a room,” Cherri says.
A smirk appears on Angel’s face, but it lacks the usual bite.
“Looking for excuses to get handsy?” he asks Husk.
“Shut up and move your pinky down a bit—yeah, that’s it.” Husk lets go of Angel’s wrist. “And now start dealing from the bottom, one by one.”
The grin on Angel's face widens into something suggestive. “I love dealing from the bottom.”
Husk groans. “Just deal the damn cards already.”
Angel looks like he’s struggling to hold back a remark, but thankfully, he shuts up and does as he’s told.
It doesn’t take long until Angel gets the hang of it. Much faster than Husk did when he first learned it. Grinning and proud like he’d just secured world peace or something, Angel heads over to Charlie and Vaggie to show them the trick.
Husk notices that Cherri eyes him from the side, pointedly taking a sip from the vodka bottle.
“What?” Husk asks with a harsh undertone that gives away far too much.
Cherri shrugs. “Nothin’. Just asking myself if you’re gonna screw this up or what?” She nods in Angel’s direction.
Probably. Like everything else in his life and afterlife. Husk grabs a bottle of whiskey and takes a sip.
“Not planning to,” he finally answers without looking at her.
Cherri snorts. “Yeah, right. That's why you keep him waiting.”
“I kept him waiting so I wouldn’t screw it up,” Husk explains, defensiveness creeping into his voice. Cherri raises her eyebrow.
“Oho, past tense. So ya talked to him?”
“I'm gonna.”
“Fucking finally. Thought ya were gonna keep dancing around each other. It’s painful to watch, really.” Cherri gets up from the barstool and leans over to clink her bottle against Husk's. “Have a nice extermination day.” And with that, she leaves the bar and saunters over to one of the tables.
Husk has the feeling he really shouldn’t fuck this up if he doesn’t want to end up in a not-so-mysterious explosion.
His gaze settles on Angel’s empty glass, and he starts preparing another drink. He barely has time to take a breath when Angel returns to the bar, grinning from ear to ear.
“Nailed it,” he proclaims proudly.
Husk hums appreciatively. “You’re talented.”
“Surprised? I'm very good with my hands.” Angel throws him a look. “Maybe someday you'll let yourself enjoy it again.” He says it with an unusual earnestness that drags the unresolved tension between them back onto the metaphorical table. Husk feels himself go tense while he finishes preparing Angel’s drink.
The silence between them lingers for a moment, but finally Angel flashes a grin that lacks a little of its usual confidence.
“Visiting a fancy magic show last time, huh? What a downgrade, being stuck here with us.”
“Mhm,” Husk says, placing one of those ridiculous little umbrellas in the glass because he knows Angel loves to fidget with them.
He takes a deep breath and pushes the glass towards Angel. “There are worse things than serving drinks to a pretty guy like you.” He can’t help but smile a little at the expression of utter surprise on Angel's face.
“Whiskers, are you flirting with me?”
Husk shrugs. “Just stating facts.”
“Mhm,” Angel hums knowingly, leaning in. “Keep them coming. I'll listen to a whole-ass presentation on the topic.”
“Alright.” Husk clears his throat awkwardly. “Fact—ya asked me something.” Angel straightens up in his seat. “Couple weeks ago.”
“One month ago,” Angel corrects. “Ya know, when I said you don’t need to answer right away, that’s not what I meant. Ya can't leave a guy hanging like this.”
“Impatience one of your vices?” Husk says, but it lacks any real bite. He knows Angel’s right after all.
“Funny. Thought it'd be a compliment when you make me impatient.”
Husk doesn’t comment on that. “I thought about what you said.”
Angel arches an eyebrow and tries to look unimpressed, but Husk catches him clasping his lower pair of hands together, like he sometimes does when things get overwhelming. “Yeah?” he drawls, “Keep going.”
“You asked if I care to figure this…,” he motions between them, “...out. And…,” Husk swallows. All or nothing. “I do care.”
There are a lot of conflicting emotions flickering over Angel's face—confusion, surprise, disbelief. It settles on anger.
“You're not telling me this today of all days because you think you're gonna end up double dead tomorrow, are you?” Angel's mouth is a thin line. He crosses his arms and looks away from Husk. “Because that would be the shittiest timing I've ever heard of.”
Husk huffs. Right. That’s one way to put it. But the reason is the opposite. Now he only needs to spit it out.
Easier said than done.
“I’m telling you,” he begins haltingly, “so you know I’ve got somethin’ I wanna fight for.” Husk swallows. “Somethin’ more substantial than the next bottle of whiskey.”
Angel stares at him, and a soft smile flickers over his face, but it turns into a shit-eating grin faster than Husk would like it to.
“Substantial, yeah?” Angel's hand trails down his chest fluff while he keeps his eyes on Husk's face. “Wouldn’t mind if you convinced yourself how substantial I really am.”
Husk sighs. “I'm serious, Angel.”
“I am, too. Wouldn’t mind. Would welcome it, even.”
“So that’s what you want it to be, then? Fucking?”
“Dunno.” Angel shrugs. “I mean, yeah, sure, I’d like that. But it’s not…” Angel frowns. “Look, I like touching you. And you touching me. I like it when you hang out with me at the bar and listen to me bitch and moan about my job.”
A smile sneaks onto Husk’s face when Angel rambles on. “Or about prices for crack. Only for Cherri's sake, of course, because, ya know, trying to get clean and all that shit. Wouldn’t mind learning some more of these cheap card tricks, either. Or …”
Angel shoots Husk a glance and pauses, suddenly appearing self-conscious. A little quieter, he continues, “Would be nice to do this stuff whenever I feel like it.” He takes a deep breath. “Told you, sex isn’t the only thing I’m good at.”
“I know,” Husk says.
“I can give perfect hugs. Ask Cherri.”
“You don't have to sell me on anything, ya know?”
“Feels like it sometimes.”
Husk's stomach drops. “No, Angel, that’s not…”
“I know. I didn’t mean it like that,” Angel interrupts quickly. He smiles and says softly, “That’s just the kinda loser you are.”
“Ya mean the kinda loser who’s bad at this feeling stuff? Yeah.”
Angel laughs. "Aww, Husky, we can work on that." And without any hint of teasing in his voice, he adds, "I know I'd like to.”
Husk stays silent for a moment, thinking about what Angel has said.
“So …” he starts slowly, "It'd be a ‘let’s see where this is going’ kinda thing?”
“Yeah? I guess it would.”
Husk hesitates for a final moment before he says it. “Okay.”
Angel looks genuinely surprised. “Okay?”
“Your hearing works perfectly fine,” Husk grumbles.
The surprise gives way to a bright smile. Angel sets down his drink and rounds the counter until he stands before Husk.
“This is bartender territory,” Husk protests weakly.
“Good thing bartenders turn out to be my territory,” Angel says. He's close. So close that Husk can’t even think of a good comeback because his mind is … elsewhere.
“If ya don’t tell me off, I'm gonna assume all of this is starting right now,” Angel mutters. “Including the touching part.”
Husk stays silent. He doesn't know if his voice would cooperate anyway. And there’s nothing to contradict, really.
After a few moments, Angel crosses the small distance between them, and his arms close around Husk's body. Without any awkward adjusting needed, they avoid squishing his wings as if Angel had planned it for quite some time and thought about how to manage it.
“Uhh…” Husk says. Angel’s chest fluff tickles his nose. A sweet smell trying to resemble fruit, but failing because of how artificial it is, gives him a slight headache. The warmth and closeness need some getting used to, but he slowly relaxes into Angel's touch.
“Don’t ya dare complain,” Angel mutters, his mouth close to Husk’s ear, the warm puff of breath tingling his skin.
“Wasn’t going to.” Reluctantly, Husk lifts his hands and puts them on Angel's back, patting awkwardly. Damn, he might as well be cuddling a stick. A very fluffy, warm stick.
He certainly could get used to that.
Husk doesn’t know how long they stay like this, but when they separate, something tightens in his throat when he looks at Angel’s face.
“Angel?” he says, and sounds more emotional than he intends to. “Watch out for yourself tomorrow.”
Angel smiles his most self-assured smile. “Don’t I always, baby.” After a short hesitation, he whispers, “You too, Husk.”