Chapter Text
The glow of the low-burning embers of the dying fire cast long shadows through the hotel lobby. The brass handle of the front door glinted, and the hinges of the door squealed as it opened. Angel sighed as he crossed over the threshold of his home, another strenuous day of work behind him.
He glanced at the bar on the way to the staircase. The wood was polished, and all of the glasses were dried and stacked neatly on the back counter.
All except one.
A smile tugged at the corner of Angel’s mouth. He hurried over to the counter to examine it- a martini glass, filled and waiting, just for him. A note sat underneath it.
Leave the glass. -H
Angel downed the drink, the gin mixing with gratitude and relief and a slew of other warm feelings in his stomach. Angel had been quick to notice the extra things Husk seemed to go out of his way to do for him, all the little ways he accommodated Angel’s chaotic existence. It started when Husk would replace Angel’s drink without asking. Occasionally making himself too much dinner and demanding Angel be the one to eat it. To 'put some meat on your scrawny ass,' as he put it.
Angel placed the empty glass back on the counter. Underneath it, he left a note of his own that read:
Join me next time.
That ‘next time' came just a few days later, after a grueling shoot. There was never any guarantee that Angel would make it home from work in one piece, as Valentino had a penchant for both creativity and violence. The man excelled, as artists often do, in combining his many talents. Today, Val had outdone himself. Angel wondered what he had done wrong to incite the wrath of the moth demon, as he had hired either a complete rookie or total sadist to set up all the rigging for the shoot. The positions they did kept high amounts of stress on one or more parts of Angel's body. There was a point later in the shoot where they used only a single cable, tied improperly, to suspend Angel. The uneven distribution of his weight forced the rope to cut into his body. Just bad form, all around.
Limping back to the hotel, Angel cursed his boss. He cradled his lower chest with his upper arms, the sharp pain in his ribs indicating that they were either cracked or broken. There was a cut under his right eye, and the swollen area around it forced his smaller eyes shut. The skin on his neck and arms was raw from rope burn. Angel could usually handle himself on the walk home, but on on nights when he was injured, it was harder to defend himself properly. He walked as straight as he could, not to draw the attention of any would-be robbers looking for an easy target. Relief flooded through him once he made it through the hotel doors and bolted the door shut behind him. He let out a sigh and leaned back on it for a moment to rest.
"It's about time you got home."
Angel jumped in surprise at the voice, then winced in pain at the movement. Anyone in their right mind would be asleep right now, he thought to himself. He came around the corner to see Husk, sitting behind the counter. The bar lights were on, creating a small island of light in the hotel lobby. Husk looked up from a book, a pair of half-moon glasses perched on his nose. Angel was so pleasantly surprised to see Husk waiting up for him that his face lit up in a smile. The cat gave Angel a once-over and wrinkled his nose.
"You look like shit."
Angel made a face of mock indignation.
"You need new glasses, kitty-cat. I look divine ."
Husk snapped his book shut.
"Cut that shit out, or you can make your own drink."
Angel couldn't help but push the old cat a bit.
"Aww, I coulda' sworn you liked it when I called ya-"
Husk glowered. Angel held up his lower hands in defeat.
"Alright, don't get your tail in a twist. Can I get a drink, Mista' Kind-Batenda-Who-Stayed-Up-Late-Fa-Little-Ol-Me?"
Out came the mixer and glass. Angel limped to the counter and sat gingerly on his barstool. He tried to slump onto the counter to rest his head, but was stopped by the pain. He settled as comfortably as he could and watched as Husk poured out a measure of gin.
" Ain't ya gonna ask?" Angel asked, a flirtatious smile plastered on his face.
Husk kept his eyes on his work. On his face was the same, indifferent expression he always had behind the bar. Ice rattled and splashed inside the shaker. His voice was bland when he spoke.
"Do you want me to?"
Angel's memories of that day’s work flickered through Angel’s mind. Everything he had endured under Val burned through it like a film reel caught on fire.
No.
Angel shook his head to clear his thoughts, which Husk seemed to take for an answer. The barcat set a martini glass on the counter and poured. When he finished, Husk gave a little flourish with his hand to signal to Angel that it was ready to take.
"What should we drink to?" Angel asked, as Husk pulled a large bottle of spirits from a shelf under the counter.
Husk's eyes darted to Angel's swollen cheek. He uncapped his bottle and held it out to Angel.
"To the end of shitty days,” he said, raising the bottle.
"May they never again start," Angel added.
They brought their drinks together, and drank.
Several martinis later, Angel was feeling a bit better. It was nice to shoot the shit and laugh at nothing with Husk. The pain in Angel's ribs lessened just enough for him to lean one arm against the counter. Angel groaned, trying to relax despite the discomfort all over. Husk raised a questioning eyebrow. The warmth Angel had been feeling until that moment dissolved, and Angel felt defensive. He didn’t come home to get judged .
"What? I've been through worse."
Husk gave an exasperated sigh.
"I know, I know. But you don't gotta act tough about it, either. It's not normal."
Angel took a deep breath. Part of him wanted to open up more. What harm could it do? He thought to himself.
The rest of him, however, resisted the urge to show vulnerability. Not because Husk had a reason to take advantage of it, but because Angel endured his life on the edge of a knife held by the first man he had ever trusted. It’d be stupid to make the same mistake twice.
"What's it to you if I get a little roughed up at work? You know what I do. I don't need you actin' like..."
"Like what?" Husk challenged. His voice was sharper than Angel had expected it to be. He stared the old cat down- Husk's brow was furrowed, and his jaw set. They were dangerously close to something; Angel held his tongue.
"Nothin'."
It was always so hard to get a read on Husk. His expression hardly ever showed what he was really thinking. In that moment, however, Angel thought he saw a look of hurt flicker across his face. T hen, Husk was walking out from behind the counter.
Angel's stomach dropped as the cat walked away, without a word, out of the lobby.
What the fuck was that? Coward just up and leaves? Angel thought, outraged. He felt vindicated in choosing to keep his mouth shut. More disappointed than he would ever admit, Angel finished his drink in one swig, and stood up.
He had just taken his first step towards the staircase when he heard Husk returning.
"What, you forget to wipe somethin’?" Angel snarked at him.
Husk walked briskly across the lobby, carrying a small white box in his hands. He gave Angel a look of annoyance, ignoring his comment.
" What are you doing?" Angel asked, as Husk moved past him to set the box on the counter.
Husk opened it, revealing a small medicine kit. Several rolls of bandages, packets of gauze, and a few bottles of medicine lay inside.
"I was getting this," he said. Husk removed one of the bottles and used a pair of tweezers to pick up a cotton swab. Angel bit his lip, embarrassed with himself for assuming that Husk had abandoned him. He felt the warmth from earlier return to his chest.
"Now, will you sit back down so I can take a look? Your eyes look pretty bad."
Angel sat quietly, and Husk dabbed iodine onto his cheek. His movements were unexpectedly gentle. Though his ribs pained him, Angel subconsciously leaned forward into Husk's touch. Despite the sting of the medicine, each light, demulcent tap of the cotton swab on Angel's cut felt to him like a stream of cool water soothing a burn. He felt a knot forming in his throat. He tried clearing it to suppress the knot. Concerned, Husk pulled the cotton swab back.
"Sting too much?" the cat asked.
"No, it's not that," Angel said, his voice tight. "It's just funny. First you was leavin' me drinks and food, and now you're here, fixin' me up. And for nothin'."
Husk took another bandage from the box.
“Mmm,” Husk hummed. He didn’t say anything more.
Over Angel's right eyes, Husk secured a gauze patch. Over the next half hour, Husk disinfected, wrapped, or iced each of the wounds on Angel's body. Every movement, every gentle touch soothed more than the wounds on his skin. Eventually, Angel felt the tension leave his body. Husk was doing this for him because he wanted to.
Angel’s eyes watered. And if the cat noticed him sniffle a few times as he packed the supplies away, he didn't let on.