Huskerdust

A soft, feel-good HuskerDust story cozy moments, and emotional honesty.

Angel woke up at 6:30 a.m., which should’ve been illegal in Hell.

“Ughhh… who invented mornings,” he groaned, peeling himself out of bed like a sticker off a dirty pole. If he wanted to be awake by eight, he had to start suffering early. At least he could nap after his shower.Husk had asked him — not grunted, not barked, actually asked — to go on a morning walk to the bookstore. That alone made Angel spritz on deodorant and drown himself in his Merry Sinnmas vanilla spray.He shuffled down the hall, still half‑asleep.“Yo. In here,” Husk called.The day had barely started, and somehow Angel found himself in Husk’s room for the first time.“I ain’t never been in your room before.”“Yeah, well, don’t get comfy. Unless you’re plannin’ on joinin’ a book club or somethin’,” Husk muttered, voice gravelly with sleep.Angel stepped inside and immediately clocked the chaos: a bed buried under mismatched, flattened pillows, and walls lined with bookshelves — some double‑stacked, some leaning like they were tired too.Husk dragged a heavy box toward him. “Help me carry this. Hook your hands in here.”Husk struggled to carry the box.

Angel popped the lid off. “Husk… baby… if you stack ’em sideways, they’ll actually fit.”Husk blinked. “Huh. Look at you bein’ useful. Thanks, Angel.”“Someone’s gotta take care of you,” Angel said, repacking the books with quick, practiced hands.Angel lifted the box himself. It was heavy but he pretended it was nothing.A little later, the pair stepped out into the thin Hell morning, a faint crimson mist still hanging over Pentagram City. The streets were quiet — maybe the only quiet time they’d ever get.They walked to Nine Lives, the cat‑demon‑run bookstore. A massive orange cat demon slept on the front desk with a sign that read: DO NOT PET.Angel reached out anyway. Husk slapped his hand away.While Husk haggled, Angel drifted to the Italian section.Husk appeared beside him. “You’d actually read that? I’ll buy it for ya.”Angel raised a brow. “How much they give you?”“Seven dollars,” Husk grumbled.“Tragic.”Bath ThoughtsHours later, Angel soaked in a steaming bath, the quiet hum of neon filling his room. The morning still clung to him — Husk’s half-smile, the smell of old books. Maybe he liked mornings now, a little.Through the wall, Alastor and Nifty were either arguing or bonding — hard to tell. Nifty shrieked something about wanting a “bad boy.”“Me too, Nif,” Angel muttered.A Few Weeks LaterDays blurred together until one evening, Husk showed up in Angel’s doorway.“So,” Husk said, leaning against the frame, “how was that book?”Angel closed it gently. “It was… actually kinda beautiful. God shows up as this Black woman and talks to the main character after her husband dies.”Husk’s ears perked. “Huh. That’s… actually interestin’.”Angel smirked. “You got good taste, old man.”“Don’t push it.”They wound up on the roof later that night. The city glowed red below, the hum of neon mixing with Husk’s lazy drawl.“You’re kinda cute when you’re all book‑nerdy,” Angel teased.“I ain’t cute,” Husk grumbled. “I’m rugged. I’m mysterious. I’m—”“A grumpy housecat with a gambling problem?”Husk glared. “Keep talkin’, I’ll push you off this roof.”Angel snorted. “Please. You’d dive after me like some dramatic anime hero.”“Would not.”“Would too.”Angel nudged him. “Thanks for buyin’ me that book. Even if it cost you your life savings.”“It was seven bucks.”“Exactly. Highway robbery.”Husk’s tail flicked — pleased, despite himself.Angel grinned. “You’re alright, cat daddy.”Husk choked. “Don’t— don’t call me that.”“Oh, I’m absolutely callin’ you that.”“You call me that again, I swear—”“Cat. Daddy.”Husk covered his face. “I hate you.”Angel bumped his shoulder. “Nah. You love me.”Husk didn’t answer, but his tail curled around Angel’s ankle.A Few Nights LaterNot every night was soft. Some were jagged.Angel was in Valentino’s studio, doing what Val told him to do for the camera. The red glow of a fire outside painted the room like a warning.Val suddenly shut the camera off. His eyes narrowed.

“Do I need to bite you? Put a little venom in those chains to get you to behave?”Angel smirked. “And do what? You said be quiet. Like I’m gonna get caught.”The door swung open. Vox stepped in.

“Val, honey! Dog Days. Let’s go.”“Not again. You and your spicy sauce,” Val groaned.Angel snorted behind his hand.“We’re in the middle of something,” Val snapped.“I can see that,” Vox said, eyeing Angel.He sat down to watch. Something he didn't often do.Later that night…Angel stumbled back to the hotel, drunk and glittery. He wandered into Husk’s room and collapsed into the pillows — and Husk.“Give us a read,” Angel mumbled.Husk sighed, lifting his book.

"Which way do you dress?" Asked Edgar. "To the right."Angel squinted. “Is that… yaoi?”“Somebody’s gotta read it,” Husk muttered.Angel played with Husk’s chest fluff. “You wanna kiss?”“You’re drunk,” Husk said. “No. I want a hamburger.”Angel blinked, nodded, and wandered off to the kitchen.He pulled out the most processed ham he'd ever seen. It was the best ham he'd ever eaten, of course. He made Husk a sandwich — ham and provolone — and set it on the bed before leaving. He even toasted the bread to make sure that it was perfect for Husk. Angel didn't skip steps in the process. He was a thorough man.He left it on the bed beside Husk and left the room.Angel lay on his bed, neon buzzing above him. His chest fluff glowed pale in the light. Husk had stared earlier, wondering how it’d feel under his fingers — it reminded him of Valentino’s moth‑fur, but softer. Gentler.Angel had left a dusting of pale powder on Husk’s book.

“One of the reasons I wear gloves,” Angel had said, shrugging like it didn’t matter.Later, in the bath, Angel’s hand drifted to the raised scars where wings had once attached. Spider‑moth hybrid. Wings torn off the day he “became” Val’s.He’d cried. Then learned to pretend it was practical.Val told everyone Angel was a spider demon. The lie stuck. Angel let it.The neon always made the phantom itch flare — like a flame calling something that wasn’t there anymore.He could leave Val. Contract or not, he could walk. But he didn’t want to. He liked the highs. The cameras. The noise. The lie that fame meant love.On good days, Val’s venom made everything quiet.Angel stepped out of the bath, drying off. The tub was the only place he could think.When he returned to his room, he froze.A book.

A bar of chocolate.

Placed neatly on his pillow.“What a fuckin’ sweetheart,” he muttered.Meanwhile…After Angel left earlier, Husk had pulled an old children’s book from the twenties off his shelf — one he liked more than he’d ever admit.He remembered the chocolate bar he’d won in a card game. It was from the gluttony ring, so you know it was good chocolate. Didn’t matter though.He padded down the hall to Angel’s room. It was quiet — no music, no laughter, just neon.He set the book on the pillow. Tucked the chocolate beside it. Like a turn‑down service in a hotel that didn’t do kindness.Then he slipped out, shutting the door softly.His chest felt lighter.He ignored it.

Angel had one job in the morning: make Val’s coffee.

He pulled out the amaretto syrup, the one he liked best, and stirred it in until the kitchen smelled like almonds and heat. He took a sip as he walked to Val’s study, letting the sweetness sit on his tongue a second longer than he needed.Val was at his desk, wings folded neatly behind him, hunched over a workbook like some overgrown college student cramming for finals. Papers, pens, and sticky notes fanned out around him in a chaotic halo.Angel set the mug down within reach.“About damn time. I’ve been awake for two hours.” Val didn’t look up at first.“I know. I woke up next to just Vox this mornin’. It was weird,” Angel said, making a face.Val finally leaned back from the desk and crooked a finger, wordless invitation for Angel to climb into his lap.Angel settled in, pressing himself into Val’s fur. Kisses trailed along his neck, then up to his mouth. The first taste of Val’s saliva hit like always—warm, electric—making him lightheaded and hazy around the edges.The door swung open.“Eww, stop,” Vel said, walking in and dropping into a chair without waiting for them to separate.Val didn’t bother to move Angel off his lap. They slipped into talking about work around him like he was part of the furniture.Angel barely listened. Over Vox’s shoulder, out the big window, a drone drifted by. Angel lifted a hand and flipped it off, lazy and mean.“…and so the girls aren’t just complaining, they’re revolting,” Vel was saying.“Finally, something we can agree on,” Val replied, smirking.“I don’t get your nineties references,” Vel muttered.“Then open a book every now and then,” Val said, standing. He picked Angel up with surprising gentleness and set him on the edge of the desk.“I need to shower. Angel and I are going to Glitter tonight to promote his new film. We’re having a watch party,” Val added, stretching his wings.“You’re gonna watch… that… with other people?” Vel asked, horrified.Val chuckled. “Sí,” he said with a nod.Angel had the rest of the day off to do as he pleased. Normally, that meant wandering around Pentagram City until something interesting happened.He drifted past Nine Lives Bookstore and paused, peering through the window. Inside, Husk was digging through a huge bin of clearance books.Angel pushed the door open.“Fancy seein’ you here, cat daddy,” Angel called.“He calls you ‘cat daddy’?” a female cat demon nearby laughed. “I’m gonna call my boyfriend that too.” She walked away still giggling.“Listen, Maybelline, Angel doesn’t have permission to call me anything but my name,” Husk grumbled.“What’s your name then?” Angel asked, head tilted.“Josh,” Husk said, awkwardly.“My name’s Anthony,” Angel replied.“I can see how you’d get ‘Angel’ outta that,” Husk said.“Val actually came up with it. He used to call me ‘baby angel’ or ‘babygirl.’”“‘Babygirl’ is demeaning,” Husk said, hauling a heavy book out of the bin to read the back.“I know, right?” Angel snorted, starting to dig through the clearance bin beside him.“Do you wanna get some breakfast with me? I know this little Mexican place that does the best omelettes,” Husk asked.Angel made a face. “All I eat is Mexican food with Val—but I could go for an omelette.”Husk already had a small stack of books waiting by the counter—two of them cookbooks.“Look. They got sketchbooks,” Husk said, pointing to a display of fake-leather-bound books that looked too fancy for actual art. “You want one?”Angel nodded.They ended up in a back booth at the restaurant, near the restroom, plates of omelettes between them. Angel flipped open his new sketchbook and started drawing Husk across from him. Husk sat unusually still, like he was afraid to ruin the page.“How do you do that?” Husk asked quietly.“Draw every day,” Angel said, not looking up.“I saw this thing Mabel was doin’,” Husk said, pulling a book out of his bag. “It’s called an altered book. It’s where you—”“You draw in books,” Angel cut in, eyes lighting up.“Yeah! Here.” Husk slid a battered political book across the table. “You should fill it. Mabel sells hers at the shop.”Angel took a huge bite of omelette, chewing while he ran his fingers over the cover.“A new sketchbook and an altered book. Husk, you spoil me,” he said around a mouthful of egg.“Somebody’s gotta,” Husk replied.

Are you high?” Husk asked.“No,” Angel said. “I was earlier, though. Val’s venom’s potent.”Angel watched Husk drown his eggs in hot sauce and then eat like it didn’t burn at all.“What are you doin’ later?” Husk asked.“Watch party at Glitter. You wanna come?” Angel’s voice came out more hopeful than he meant it to.“Nah. I got paperwork to do at the casino.”“Then why’d you ask?” Angel squinted at him.Husk finished his soda and set the glass down a little too hard. He coughed once, eyes watering.“Woo. That’s good and spicy,” he said, sounding weirdly pleased about it.“Can I try it?” Angel leaned forward.Husk held out a forkful from his own plate. Angel leaned over the table to take the bite. At a nearby table, a woman stared at them like she’d just witnessed something indecent.“That’s really good. You got the one with the pico de gallo?” Angel asked, licking a bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth.“I like onions,” Husk said, smiling.
Angel arrived at the watch party in a revealing dress, the kind with risky little windows cut into the fuzz where skin would’ve been, if he’d still had any. He liked it; that was the problem. The fabric hugged him just right, the cutouts framed his chest in a way that made him feel like a walking spotlight. Every time he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirrored surface, his first thought was, *Yeah. I look good.*
His second thought was, *I wish Husk could see this.*
His third thought, *No, I don’t. Not this. Not like this.*
His mind had been buzzing all evening, like a TV stuck between channels. Val was up near the entrance, greeting people as they filtered into Glitter, voice smooth and amplified.
“Oh yes, he is the perfect person. I just can’t with him sometimes,” Val said, and Angel couldn’t tell if he meant Vox or him and, honestly, didn’t care enough to track the conversation.
The main room had been turned into a makeshift theater: big screen, couches, low lights. Val would run a handful of films and end with the new one—*The Perfect Road Trip*—Angel’s latest star vehicle.
Angel spent most of the pre-show at the bar, skirt hitched up just enough when he sat for the eyes he knew were on him. He knew how to pose. He knew how to laugh just loud enough. He liked the attention; he always had. It was the one place his brain agreed on something: you’re wanted, you’re seen, you’re doing what you’re good at.
And still, the noise in his head wouldn’t shut up.
*What if he saw the film?* he thought, tracing a circle in the condensation on his glass. *Would he still love me, knowin’ I like this? Knowin’ I like bein’ watched?*
He took a long sip of his vodka lemonade. The bite of alcohol and sugar slid down his throat and settled warm in his chest, dulling the edges of the question but not erasing it.
*He bought me a sketchbook,* Angel thought. *An altered book. Omelettes. Clearance-bin paperbacks. That’s what he thinks of when he thinks of me. Drawin’. Reading. Breakfast.*
*What’s he gonna think when the screen shows this dress and this mouth and this body framed like a billboard that breathes?*
Val’s hand appeared on his shoulder.
“C’mon, angelito. Show time,” he purred.
They walked into the big room together. The reaction hit like a wave.
“It’s him!”
“Angel Dust!”
“Over here!”
A guy stepped forward, clutching a DVD case and a marker.
“Can I—uh—could you sign this?” he stammered.
Angel shifted his drink to his other hand and took the case with a practiced smile. “Sure thing, sugar. Where d’you want it?” he asked, pen already uncapped.
Up close, the man looked like he might shake apart. “You are so insanely beautiful. I hope you know that, Angel,” he blurted. “You… you helped me overcome a few things. You make my life a little better. I just wanted you to know that, beautiful.”
The words slid in under Angel’s armor, sharp and soft at the same time.
*He means it,* Angel realized, signing his name in an exaggerated loop. *He’s lookin’ at me like I’m a person, not just a poster.*
*Husk would hate this place,* he thought immediately, and had to fight a laugh.
“Thanks, doll,” Angel said gently, handing the case back. “That means more than you think.”
They sat down. Val pulled him in close, and Angel let himself fold into the familiar warmth, laying his head against the thick chest fluff of Val’s open shirt.
“I’m tired,” Angel muttered.
“I know,” Val said, scratching slow circles between his shoulder blades, affectionate and possessive all at once. “You can rest here. I got you.”
*I do like this,* Angel thought as the lights dimmed. *I like bein’ the favorite. I like people clappin’ when I walk in. I like knowin’ some kid out there feels less alone ‘cause I smiled at a camera.*
*And I like this part, too. The petting. The nicknames. The way the whole room sees ‘he’s mine’ and thinks that’s romantic instead of terrifying.*
The movie started.
On the screen, *Road Trip* opened soft: a beat-up car on a painted mountain ridge Val had commissioned, all purples and blues and fake moonlight. Movie-Angel sat in the passenger seat, legs crossed, dress shorter than tonight’s but just as calculated. Beside him sat the co-star—sweet face, careful hands, nervous energy.
Angel’s chest tugged.
Their first kiss on film played out in slow motion. The guy’s hand came up to cradle Angel’s cheek like it was something breakable. No grabbing, no roughness. Just a gentle, testing press of lips, a breath of hesitation, then a slightly firmer, surer second kiss that made Angel’s eyes flutter shut on cue.
When they’d filmed it, that second kiss had almost made him cry. Not because of the cameras or the director shouting instructions, but because for half a second it hadn’t felt like work. It had felt like somebody choosing to be gentle.
On the screen, it looked beautiful. It always did.
*If Husk saw this part,* Angel thought, watching his own face tilt into the kiss, *would he think it’s sweet? Or would he see every tape mark on the floor, every cut, every re-take I had to push through to make it look this easy?*
*Would he think I’m disgusting if he knew what came after this scene? Or would he get that I’m actually proud of how good it looks?*
A group of girls two couches over started to woo and giggle when the kiss deepened, when the car windows fogged just enough to imply everything else. The sound floated over him like cotton.
Angel’s eyelids drooped.
The venom from earlier had long since faded into a distant ache, leaving his mind raw and buzzing. The drink in his hand helped, but only a little. His thoughts kept circling back to the same point, like tires grinding a rut into the highway.
*He bought me books,* he thought. *He watched me draw. He asked if I was high, like the answer mattered. He doesn’t see me like this. He sees me in hoodies and smudged eyeliner and bedhead.*
*If he sat in this room and watched this movie, would he still sit across from me at breakfast? Would he still call me Anthony sometimes, like it’s a secret? Would he still say I’m spoiled in that grumpy little voice?*
Val’s chest rose and fell under his cheek, steady and slow. Angel listened to the rhythm instead of the movie’s soundtrack. He could hear Val’s voice rumbling through his ribs as he leaned over to talk to someone nearby—Portuguese slipping into Spanish and back again, laughing under his breath when the guy mispronounced his name.
Angel couldn’t catch the words, only the tone: pleased, confident, charming. The sound made the crowd lean a little closer; he could feel it like a tide.
*He loves this,* Angel thought. *He loves that I’m draped over him while his movie plays. He loves that people are lookin’ at us and thinkin’, “goals.”*
*And part of me loves it too. I like bein’ the trophy. I like the way they say “it’s him!” when I walk in.*
*So why does thinkin’ about Husk in a thrift-store book aisle hurt more than this whole room clappin’?*
His body was giving up before his brain did. His feet pulsed with a deep, dull ache from the heels. His spine throbbed where the chronic fatigue liked to settle, a heavy knot between his shoulders. Every blink took a fraction of a second longer to reverse.
“Angel baby,” Val murmured, fingers pausing on his back. “You knockin’ out on me?”
“Mm,” Angel hummed. “Just restin’ my eyes.”
“Go ahead,” Val said, a smile in his voice. “You earned it.”
*If Husk saw me like this,* Angel thought, the question gentler now, fuzzier around the edges, *would he think I’m pathetic? Or would he pull a blanket over me and pretend not to notice when I drool on his pillows?*
The girls wooed again at something on the screen. The crowd laughed. The movie rolled on without him.
Angel let the alcohol and ambient affection drag his thoughts underwater, one by one. The last thing he held onto before sleep took him was the memory of Husk’s hand pushing that altered book across the diner table.
*A sketchbook and an omelette,* he thought drowsily. *A road trip and a watch party.*
Somewhere between the two, in the space where his overactive brain finally quieted, Angel drifted off on Val’s chest—looking, to everyone else, like the picture of a star who had everything he wanted.
Val lounged on the couch in the TV room, legs crossed and remote dangling from his fingers while Vox sat sprawled next to him. The bright chaos of a shopping‑competition show flashed across the screen.“You know what I’d do if I was on this show?” Val said, half‑smiling at the frantic people pushing carts down the aisles.“Scare the host?” Vox asked lazily.Val nudged him with an elbow. “No, dumbass. Don’t they get to keep everything they buy?”“Yeah,” Vox said. “Whatever they can haul to the register.”“Who needs that many hams, though?” Val muttered. “I’d go for the cheese blocks. The big ones.”On the TV, a blonde woman darted toward the coffee section, fumbling through shelves.“Oh, she can’t be serious,” Val said. “She’s gonna run outta time before she even finds the coffee filters.”The door opened, and Angel stepped in, holding the Italian book Husk had given him. “Hey, Val, can I get the keys to your study?” he asked.Without taking his eyes off the TV, Val tossed him the keys. “Now they gotta cook everything, right?” he asked, turning back to Vox.“Apparently,” Angel said, lingering by the couch for a moment. “She’s makin’ dessert with hot dogs and peaches. Truly inspired.”“The other guy forgot his shrimp,” Vox added with a smirk. “Gonna call it rustic to hide the screw‑up. Bet on it.”“What even means ‘rustic’?” Val asked.Vox shrugged, grinning. “Means I don’t know what I’m talkin’ about, but I sound smart. You know me.”Val kicked his shin, both of them laughing while the TV blared a triumphant theme cue. Angel rolled his eyes and left them to their chaos.The hallway to Val’s study was dim and quiet. Inside, the scent of cologne and fresh paper still hung from the last photo shoot he and Val had done there. Angel sat behind the desk and opened the book Husk had bought him. He found some paint markers and pens in the drawer, then started to draw—rough sketches of Husk from memory. The lines wouldn’t behave; the face looked wrong. He sighed, frustration building, and the inner voice that always whispered at the back of his mind started to turn cruel. Husk probably wouldn’t even look at this book. Why would he? Why would anyone?He ripped the page out and tossed it into the trash, staring at the empty space it left behind. Then he reached for his phone, scrolling through his gallery in search of a picture of Husk—nothing. Not one photo. “Figures,” he muttered, shoving the phone into his pocket and heading back down the hall.When he returned, Val had already dozed off, half‑buried in the couch cushions. The glow from the TV painted everything in soft blue light. Angel took it as his cue to leave. He grabbed his coat and slipped out the door, heading back to the Hazbin Hotel.The kitchen lights were warm when he arrived. Husk stood at the counter making tuna sandwiches with precise, deliberate movements, pressing pickle slices in a napkin to squeeze out the extra juice before mixing them in. He always did things the right way first, never the easy way. There were already two plates set out on the counter—one clearly for Angel.Alastor hovered near the stove, stirring a pot of beef stew. He twisted around at the sound of the door and grinned. “Ah, human cat food,” he said cheerfully, nodding toward the tuna.“Your beef stew’s human dog food,” Husk shot back without missing a beat.The grin on Alastor’s face tightened, almost genuine. “You’re right,” he admitted, “but you don’t have to say it out loud, my dear.”“I ain’t your ‘dear,’” Husk said. “You see me makin’ you a sandwich?”Alastor chuckled softly. “You would if I asked nicely. You’re too much of a softie to say no to me.”Angel laughed quietly from the doorway and pulled out his phone. “Hey, Husk, can I take a picture of you?”Husk hesitated, ears twitching. “Uh… yeah, sure, I guess.”Angel snapped a few photos—careful to keep Alastor out of the frame. No one in their right mind wanted to risk making the Radio Demon angry, least of all him.“So,” Husk asked while wiping his hands, “what were Vox and Val up to?”“Cooking shows,” Angel said with a grin. “Like always on Thursdays. Vox watches every show there is, but he never cooks any of it. Keeps talkin’ about this premium goat cheese he saw once, says he’s gonna buy it someday. Probably for his birthday.”“When’s that?” Husk asked, voice casual but curious. “Not that I care.”“Tomorrow.”Alastor chuckled softly. “Birthdays in Hell—how quaint. I stopped counting mine centuries ago. Age is just another chain.”Nifty burst in before anyone could respond, squinting suspiciously at the pot on the stove. “Alastor, please tell me you didn’t put bugs in that stew again!”“My dear Nifty,” Alastor said, turning with an offended flourish, “this is pure grade‑A beef! No venison, no insects. A few of you were… rather ungrateful about the venison last time.”“The lot of you?” Nifty said, folding her arms. “Are you goin’ British on us now?”“Sometimes I feel that way,” Alastor repl
angel tryed alistair's beef stew and it tasted like beef stew nothing special about it it was really normal which made aleister feel uncomfortable because he has spent a lot of time working on it for it just to be a normal stew
after dinner husk asked Angel if you wanted to come hang out in his bedroom which was really sweet and something else doesn't often do
"we could read or something. hang out on my bed,"
angel climbed up onti the bed next to husk laying on back as husk lay on side facing angel. a book in his hands .
husk of reading the book out loud upon the request of angel dust but the book is kind of raunchy and funny in that and he ran his fingers through my hair and he kissed me and it was the greatest feeling I've ever had and he had long blonde hair and he always wearing this white shirt the buttoned up but not putting the whole way just putting a little bit kind of energy
and Angel thinks it's funny and the whole time he's listening he's drawing a blobfish in the altered book
then the lights go out and that's like the plot point the lights go out
they both get up from the bed finding Alistair in the hallway already Ulster is just wearing a pair of pants and it looks like he was asleep
my fan just turned off I can't sleep without my fan did allister in a grumpy way
I don't know how to end this scene it ends at the lights kiss magically coming back on and everyone going back to bed and then Angel just stays in the bed with husk and doesn't leave he ends up watching us sleep for a while
husk is asleep on his back one arm placed over his head the other arm placed over his chest He breaths in softly and breaths about rather violently don't say violently write something else he's he breathes as if he's sick which is normal for a cat
the next morning angel wakes up early because he needs to go to the grocery store to grab coffee creamer for Val if he doesn't have the coffee ready when Val wakes up and I'll get to very angry at him and it's better to just keep him happy that have to deal with him so as Angel is getting ready to leave that's when allister shows up with the door write the scene using the stage directions that I gave you but make it into a story format
Angel tried Alastor’s beef stew and decided it tasted exactly like… beef stew. Just normal. No strange aftertaste, no ominous mystery spice, no hidden screaming vegetables. That plainness made Alastor visibly uneasy; he had spent far too long preparing it for it to be described as anything so mortal as “fine.”
After dinner, the hotel slowly quieted down. In the kitchen’s fading light, Husk nudged Angel with his elbow.
“Hey,” he said, voice softer than usual. “You wanna come hang out in my room? We could read or somethin’. Just… lie around on the bed.”
For Husk, that was practically a sonnet. Angel’s chest did a funny little flip.
“Yeah,” he said, playing it cool. “Sure. Why not?”
Husk’s bedroom was dim and familiar, lit by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. Angel climbed up onto the bed and stretched out on his back, while Husk lay on his side facing him, a battered romance paperback in his hands. At Angel’s request, Husk started reading the book aloud.
It was raunchy and ridiculous in that way only cheap romance could be. The narrator went on about some perfect man with long blond hair, wearing a white shirt that was always buttoned just low enough to be suggestive but never all the way up. Every other line was something like, *“He ran his fingers through my hair and kissed me, and it was the greatest feeling I’d ever had.”*
Angel snorted at the cheesiness, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. While Husk read, Angel had the altered book open on his lap. He doodled a blobfish in the margin—saggy, lumpy, somehow endearing—occasionally glancing up at Husk’s concentrated expression. The warmth of the room, the scratch of Husk’s voice, and the softness of the mattress made everything feel strangely safe.
Then, without warning, the lights went out. The lamp cut off mid-sentence, plunging the room into darkness.
“…Seriously?” Husk muttered.
They both climbed off the bed, shuffling toward the door. Out in the hallway, emergency light from somewhere downstairs cast everything in a faint red glow. Alastor was already there, looking unusually rumpled in just a pair of slacks, suspenders hanging loose at his sides.
“My fan just turned off,” he grumbled, rubbing at his eyes. “I can’t sleep without my fan.”
The three of them exchanged a look. Somewhere below, there was a distant metallic clunk as the old generator tried to decide if it still wanted to live. For a moment, the hotel felt like it was holding its breath.
Then, with a soft hum and a flicker, the power snapped back on. The overhead bulbs buzzed to life, the fan in Alastor’s room whirred again, and the radio demon’s expression softened from irritation back into his usual unsettling cheer.
“Well,” he said, smoothing his hair. “Crisis averted.”
Alastor padded back to his room. Angel and Husk traded small, tired smiles and slipped quietly into Husk’s bedroom again. The lamp clicked back on with a gentle glow.
“Guess that’s enough romance novel for tonight,” Husk said, tossing the book onto the nightstand.
Angel didn’t argue. He climbed onto the bed again, this time curling closer to Husk’s side. Husk lay on his back, one arm resting above his head, the other draped loosely over his chest. His breathing came in soft, uneven little catches—as if he were a bit congested, the way a sick or exhausted cat might sound, but not in any kind of danger. Just worn out.
Angel watched him for a while. There was something peaceful about Husk’s face when he slept, all the lines of irritation smoothed away. The pillow smelled like smoke and coffee and something warm he recognized now as *Husk* and not just “the bar.” Angel thought briefly about stealing one of the pillows, then wondered if maybe, someday, he wouldn’t have to steal anything at all—maybe Husk would just hand one over and tell him to keep it.
Thinking too long was dangerous territory for him. His mind ran like a radio he couldn’t shut off, commentary looping and spiraling until it turned cruel. On bad nights, Val’s venom-thick drinks turned that voice down to a manageable murmur. Tonight, though, the steady rhythm of Husk’s breathing did the job well enough. Eventually, Angel slipped under too, still facing Husk, eyes half-open until sleep finally took him.
Morning crept in slow and gray through the curtains. Angel woke with a start, remembering the one thing that could make his day worse than a hangover: Val not getting his coffee on time. He gently eased himself off the bed, careful not to jostle Husk, and got dressed as quietly as he could.
He needed to hit the store before heading back to Val’s place—pick up coffee creamer, maybe amaretto or caramel syrup, something to dress up the caffeine. If Val woke up and his coffee wasn’t ready, there’d be hell to pay, and not the fun kind.
As Angel reached for the doorknob, the door opened from the other side. Alastor stood there, already dressed, smile in place like it had never left.
“Well, isn’t this fortuitous,” Alastor said. “You’re heading out as well?”
Angel blinked, still a little groggy. “Yeah. Gotta grab coffee stuff for Val before he throws a fit.”
“How delightful,” Alastor replied. “I’m going out too. Perhaps we might walk together? No obligation to linger, of course—I’d simply appreciate the company to and from our little morning errands.”
Angel hesitated for only a second. After a night like this—Husk’s steady breathing, shared warmth, the strange normalcy of it all—the idea of a quiet walk didn’t sound so bad.
“Sure,” he said finally. “Why not?”
He stepped into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him. Husk was still asleep inside, sprawled across the bed like he owned every inch of it. Angel glanced back at the closed door once, then followed Alastor down the hall toward the stairs, the hotel slowly waking up around them.
I'm going to make it etouffee for dinner said Alister.
what kind of things do you need to make that? angel asked as he walked along the morning Street of pentagram City there was a couch sitting in the middle of the road at cars are just driving around it as if this was perfectly normal
I need some onions and I need someone to help me chop onions said Alistair hopefully looking over at Angel
I'm going to be at voxs Tower tonight. it's it's his birthday
do people even celebrate birthdays in hell Alistair asjked. I personally don't want to know how old I am
they arrived at the little grocery store
the two of them split up angel heading to the coffee creamer and Alister heading to the vegetable center
aleister caught up with them with Angel at the personal hygiene aisle where he was getting bath bombs
did you get the coffee creamer Alistair asked looking at the basket there was no coffee creamer in it
all right said that angel grabbing the basket and heading that way
she has grabbed the special cheese the vox talked about so often that would be the birthday present that Angel gave him
you know we're having a party at the club tonight you're invited to come I'm trying to bring husk with me we're going to have a watch party
and watch what Alistair asked
one of my videos you know the one
absolutely not I have no interest in that I do apologize my dear friend
oh I'm your friend now said angel as they paid for the groceries
I need to stop at the bookstore real quick if you would like to come with me said Alistair
Angel nodded
they walked into a different bookstore than the one that has usually took Angel too it had a darker theme to it and the Alistair was looking at the horror books over in the corner as Angel looked at something that was less I guess and he decided to grab a little romance novel for husk as a gift he also bought him a bookmark because husk was currently using a receipt as a bookmark
Alistair bought two records. both of them old school jazz records
do you have a record player Angel asked
I do said Alister
you should bring it out and hang out with everybody I would love to listen to some jazz records and draw said Angel excitedly
Alistair smiled I could arrange that perhaps next week when you're at the hotel
that would be fun I think I think Charlie would really enjoy that
they both smile at each other because they both genuinely care about Charlie even though they wouldn't admit it out loud
they bought the books and records and headed back to the to the hotel to drop off the things that Alistair had bought then Angel headed to the tower to go ahead and make Val his coffee
well fortunately was not awake when he made it at 7:30 he appeared into the bedroom to see box asleep upside down at the bottom of the bed like a cat the blanket wrapped around his body and Val laying on his back with no blanket whatsoever
Angel sort of giggled and went to go do his job they would be awake at 8:00 probably unless they were hungover then they'd be up at 10:00 angel hope that they were hungover because he didn't want to do his job
and this is a funny joke
and that's how I want to end this segment on a funny joke
can you rewrite this it has been hotels voice of the characters and make Alistair sound more like Alister but keep my original voice for Angel I think I did a good job with angel's voice but not with alistair's
“I’m going to make étouffée for dinner,” Alastor announced, as if declaring a national holiday.
“What kinda stuff do you need for that?” Angel asked, walking beside him down the gray morning streets of Pentagram City. There was a couch sitting right in the middle of the road; cars calmly drove around it like it had always been there.
“I shall require onions,” Alastor said, hands clasped behind his back. “And I will also require someone to help me chop said onions.” He glanced sideways at Angel, hopeful.
“I’m gonna be at Vox’s tower tonight,” Angel said. “It’s his birthday.”
“Do people *truly* celebrate birthdays in Hell?” Alastor mused. “I, for one, have no desire to know how old I am.”
They reached the little grocery store and split up—Angel veered toward the coffee aisle while Alastor headed straight for the vegetables with military focus.
Angel was comparing bath bomb scents in the personal hygiene aisle when Alastor reappeared beside him, arms full of produce.
“Did you acquire the coffee creamer?” Alastor asked, peering into Angel’s basket. There was not a drop of creamer in sight.
“…Right,” Angel said, realizing. “Forgot.” He grabbed the basket and marched back toward the coolers.
On the way, he snagged the special goat cheese Vox was always talking about but never buying. That would be his birthday present—stupid, fancy cheese for a stupid, fancy man.
“You know we’re having a party at the club tonight,” Angel said as they regrouped near the register. “You’re invited. I’m tryin’ to drag Husk with me. We’re gonna do a watch party.”
“And what shall you be watching?” Alastor asked.
“One of my videos. You *know* the one.”
“Absolutely not,” Alastor replied with a courteous smile. “I have no interest in that material whatsoever. My sincerest apologies, my dear friend.”
“Oh, I’m your *friend* now?” Angel said, smirking as they set their items on the belt.
Once the groceries were bagged, Alastor turned to him. “I must make a brief stop at a bookstore. You’re welcome to accompany me, if you wish.”
Angel nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
This bookstore was different from the cozy one Husk usually took him to. The interior was darker, shelves taller, corners shadowed. Alastor drifted immediately toward the horror section, fingers trailing over cracked spines and weathered covers. Angel wandered to a quieter shelf, eyes skimming over paperbacks until he found a small romance novel that felt like Husk’s speed—something soft and a little dramatic. He added a proper bookmark too, since Husk was currently using a crumpled receipt.
Alastor brought two old jazz records to the counter, the covers faded but elegant.
“You got a record player?” Angel asked as they left.
“But of course,” Alastor said. “A fine vintage piece. It has a delightful sound.”
“You should bring it out and hang with everybody,” Angel said, a little spark of excitement in his voice. “I’d love to listen to some jazz records and draw.”
Alastor’s smile shifted, just a touch more genuine. “I could arrange that. Perhaps next week, when you’re at the hotel.”
“That’d be fun. I think Charlie’d really like that,” Angel said.
They both smiled at that and didn’t say out loud how much they actually cared about Charlie. It was just… understood.
They dropped Alastor’s groceries and records back at the hotel, then Angel headed off toward Vox’s tower. He made it there early enough to start coffee at 7:30. When he peeked into the bedroom, Vox was asleep upside down at the bottom of the bed like a cat, blanket wrapped around him in a cocoon. Val lay sprawled on his back with no blanket at all, one arm thrown over his face.
Angel snorted, covering his mouth so he wou