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Hell, a place of punishment. And tonight, Husk’s punishment is left in the hands of Angel.
It went like this: during a friendly game of cards, one Husk was renowned for dominating, Angel said, “Wanna know something I’ve always wanted to try? Doin’ your makeup.” Husk chuckled, promising him that, if by some miracle Angel won this hand, he’d allow it.
For the first time, a miracle occurred in Hell.
“Anything but pink,” Husk growls.
Angel clicks his tongue at Husk’s comment, staring down at the cat sitting cross-legged on the spider’s bedroom floor. These certainly aren’t the circumstances Angel imagined he’d find Husk willingly inside of his hotel room, but he isn’t complaining one bit.
“You gotta get over your aversion to pink,” he scolds, arms folded, hip jutting out to one side. “Hating on a colour won’t make you any more of a man , you know.” He leans down, tapping the cat’s nose before turning away. He rummages through the makeup bins on his vanity, filling up his many arms before sitting on the floor himself. “And anyway, lucky for you, pink isn’t your colour. I think we’ll use red, and maybe some gold.”
The gambler warily eyes the many brushes and palettes. Angel smiles smugly, beginning to hum as he gets himself organized and formulates a game plan. He’s surprised by the way his heart races; he genuinely wants to do something flattering for the cat, and potentially even impress him. Imagine that, impressing the guy who’s never impressed. Well, except for when Angel beat him at cards tonight. Husk might have been a sore loser, but there was no way he wasn’t impressed. The thought makes Angel’s grin grow wider, showing off the points of his teeth.
“I don’t like that sinister look you’ve got,” Husk groans.
Angel waves a hand, holding brushes and palettes in the others. “Relax, baby! Don’t worry about a thing. You’re going to, as they say, slay .”
“As who says?”
“You know,” Angel says, and doesn’t elaborate as he puts a brush to Husk’s fur. “Be a good kitty and hold still for me? Unless you want me to poke out those pretty eyes of yours.”
Husk bristles at the words “good kitty”, but does indeed hold still, pointedly frowning deeply throughout the affair. His ears are flatter than usual, too, and it takes everything within Angel not to burst out laughing at the sight. He just looks too much like those cat memes Charlie is always sending him.
“Don’t look so miserable,” Angel instructs, applying more powder to the brushes. “Makes it easier if your face is relaxed. Come on, have a little faith in me?”
Husk takes in a deep breath and lets it out, ears raising and sour expression beginning to clear. “...Doesn’t feel bad so far,” he admits.
“No? You don’t feel your manliness being sucked outta ya by the second?”
“Shut up,” Husk says, and it sounds affectionate, like he’s fighting a smile.
Angel goes in with his pens, nearing the end of his masterpiece. “Y’knooow,” he starts, “I have a blouse or two that would really complete the look.”
One of Husk’s ears twitches. “And by blouse, you mean…”
“I mean a dress shirt. The fancy occasion kind.”
“The girly kind.”
“ Girly, ” Angel scoffs. “Fabric is fabric, whiskers. But fine, stay in that boring ass outfit you wear every day, what do I know?”
Husk grimaces. A few seconds of silence pass. “Whatever.”
Angel brightens, pulling back and admiring his work. “Hell yeah. Okay. Keep your eyes closed, or else, got it?” He jumps to his feet, running over to his closet and shoving aside hangers. He weighs his options, then comes to a decision, tossing the blouse at Husk-- who has indeed kept his eyes closed, and is startled enough by the sudden object thrown at him that his fur briefly poofs up. “Keep your eyes closed and put it on! …Hold on, that’s backwards. There, you got it. Okay.” Angel grabs a full body mirror, bringing it in front of Husk. “Take a look!”
Husk opens his eyes with an expression that suggests he’s bracing himself. However, as his eyes land on himself in the mirror, his demeanor completely changes. He slowly crawls forward, turning his head to look at every angle.
“Well? Waddya think?”
His eyelids shimmer with red and gold. His eyes are lined to be even more cat-like than usual. His blouse is red and embroidered with roses.
Husk’s face breaks into a one-sided grin, showing off the teeth of a predator. “I look good.”
“Hell yeah you do!” Angel pumps a fist in celebration. He lets go of the mirror and pulls out his phone. “Now we gotta--”
Husk’s smile vanishes immediately, and he starts to crawl backwards. “Oh no you don’t. You ain’t getting any pictures of me like this.”
“Why nooot?” Angel whines, getting on the floor himself and crawling closer. “You just agreed that you look AMAZING (thanks to me, by the way), and we can’t let those good looks go to waste!”
“You ain’t putting pictures of me out there for all of Hell to see!” Husk hisses, kicking away one of Angel’s outstretched arms without any animostiy. “I never said nothin’ about humiliating me. I only said you could do my makeup, that’s all.”
Angel sticks out his tongue. “Spoilsport. What if I promise the photos stay between us?” He holds out a pinky finger.
Husk levels him with a flat stare. “You’re really trying to make a deal with me, without offering me something in return?”
Angel tilts his head to the side. “Uh… whaddya want?” He raises an eyebrow. “Name it, and it's yours, kitty. There’s a lot I have to… offer .” Angel rests his cheek in his hand, giving Husk a wink.
Husk smiles deviously. “Let me have a turn.”
Angel’s eyes widen, sultry expression falling into alarm. “I-- How can I trust you not to ruin my stuff?! Some of that is expensive shit, you can’t just--”
Husk has already gotten up and began investigating the other products spread across Angel’s vanity. The spider huffs indignantly, sitting cross legged and folding his arms, resigned to his fate.
Husk returns to sit in front of him. At a glance, Angel feels very worried about the cat’s selection. “Be a good boy and hold still, won’t you?” the bartender practically purrs.
“Fuck you,” Angel laughs, shutting his eyes and hating the way his face heats up.
Getting his makeup done by Husk feels nothing like getting his makeup done by Valentino’s makeup team. The cat is so gentle with the brushes that the spider starts to wonder if anything is getting applied at all. And then there’s the way Husk slowly tilts his head, rather than the way the studio artists would jerk him around, in a hurry to just get the job done. Angel had once ended up with a kink in his neck from that alone, to his major annoyance. It was one thing to be sore from the, ahem, more strenuous activities. But to not even be safe from the measly makeup team? Humiliating, honestly. But, fucking figures. Nobody in that studio cares how roughly he’s handled. After all, he’s Angel Dust; he can take anything. Anything.
“You don’t look so happy. Losing faith in me already?”
Angel is startled by the comment. Had he really gotten so lost in thought he let his expression slip? Swallowing down the shame rising in his chest, Angel relaxes his brow. “I’m just hoping you didn’t fuck up my good stuff,” he lies.
Husk snorts. “You’re not gonna kill me for breaking a pencil, are ya?”
“YOU WHAT?”
“Just the tip!”
“That’s what she s--”
Husk playfully shoves his shoulder, and Angel is laughing too hard to finish the joke. He hears Husk get up and pad towards the closet, rustling through clothes. He also hears the bartender curse under his breath before shoving something away. Angel smirks, wondering which outfit he saw.
“I’m waiting,” Angel calls out to him.
“Yeah, yeah, cool it. I don’t know what all you got.”
Angel knows Husk has decided when something beams him in the back of the head. “Jesus!” He grabs the article of clothing, wondering if he can recognize it by touch alone. What colour is this one again? He tugs it on. “Can I look now?”
“Be my guest.”
Angel opens his eyes.
Honestly… it’s amateurish, sure. A bit messy and unblended. Colours smeared where colours shouldn’t be. His lids are covered in various shades of purple, with no attention to their values. His lips are bright and glossy. His cheeks are rosy. His eyeliner is smudged to oblivion.
Angel’s heart swells at the sight, and to him, the imperfection of it all is perfect.
“You like me in purple?” he teases, striking a pose in the mirror. The blouse is a bit more magenta while his makeup is more indigo, but the mistake is endearing.
Husk fixes him with an expectant gaze. “Well?”
“Hm?”
“What do you think?”
Angel is surprised to hear that it sounds like Husk actually cares about Angel’s feedback. Does he actually care what Angel thinks? Had he actually been trying his best? For Angel ? Why? Probably to get his own ego stroked. Well, Angel has no reservations about stroking. …His ego.
“It slays,” he sings in response. Husk’s eyes brighten. Then Angel adds, “But for future reference, I’d use black eye-liner, not dark brown.”
“Well why the fuck do you even have it then?”
Angel grabs his phone and holds it out. “See, I’m taking a photo,” he says, giving his biggest smile to the camera. (He doesn’t even have to fake it.) “Wanna get in here with me?”
Angel looks up, fixing Husk with a pleading expression.
Husk groans, sauntering over. Angel jumps up, throwing an arm over the cat’s shoulders. Husk flips off the camera, but doesn’t block his face from view as Angel spams his thumb on the shutter button.
“Like I said,” Angel says, lowering the phone, “just between us. The world ain’t ready to see Queen Husk yet.”
“Excuse me?”
Angel jumps on the tips of his toes. “Oh my god. You actually would make an amazing drag queen. You wanna borrow some more of my stuff some time? Wait, I have just the playlist for ya, could give you ideas for a routine--”
Husk starts swiping his hands across his face, to which Angel gasps in mock pain. “My hard work!”
Husk frowns at the stains left behind on his hands, and makes his way to the attached bathroom. “I want this off. Now. How can you stand this stuff on your fur for so long?”
“Water ain’t gonna do the trick, mister,” Angel says as he hears the sink turn on. He grabs a package of makeup wipes and sets it on the counter. “You gotta use this.”
Angel, although heartbroken to do so, demonstrates how to get everything off until their faces are both clean again.
“You said something about a playlist?” Husk says as he stares into the bathroom mirror, satisfied that his fur is spotless.
Angel raises an eyebrow. “Yeah. A playlist of songs I think would make for a good drag routine.”
“Such as?”
Angel really can’t figure out this cat’s thought process. “You really wanna listen with me?”
Husk shrugs, as if he doesn’t care, but clearly he does. “Maybe I wanna know what kind of music you’re into. Says a lot about a person.”
Angel laughs, leaving the bathroom and searching for his earbuds. “I really doubt you’ll learn anything new about me.” At least, not with this playlist, he thinks. He succeeds at locating a pair of wired earbuds he’s had for years now; it’s been a point of pride that the wires remain intact and untangled. He climbs onto his bed, pulling up the playlist on his phone. Husk comes over, and Angel holds out one of the earbuds. Husk accepts it, climbing onto the bed beside him.
Angel hits play, and lays back. Husk does as well, so as not to let his own earbud get tugged out. “Imagine yourself on stage,” Angel describes, stretching out an arm as if to illustrate in the air. “The lights are in your colours, and so bright you can’t pick out any individual faces in the audience. The music’s loud enough you can feel it in your chest. You know the lyrics by heart. The crowd’s cheering and hollering. You hop down from the stage, strutting between the aisles. The people are shoving money at you. They love you. Any little thing you do, they go wild for. A wink, and they’re fanning themselves. A lick of your lips, and they’re crying. An outstretched hand, and they all reach for you, desperate, wishing you would just whisk them away. But you get back on stage. You’re untouchable. They can only dream of being you. The music swells, your body moves, and the crowd screams. The music ends, and the bills start raining onto the stage. You disappear into the greenroom, a mystery never to be known.”
Angel glances over at Husk. He looks amused. Angel tries not to think about the fact he’s still wearing his rose red blouse.
“Sure,” Husk says in that gruff, deep voice that resonates from his own chest into Angel’s, although they lie apart from each other. “Now shut up and let me drown in this bubblegum pop or whatever the fuck this is.”
Angel obliges, closing his eyes and smiling in content. He’s used to listening to this playlist with his eyes closed, anyway. It’s one of his go-to’s at night when his brain is just too loud and he needs it to shut up. Shut up and think of dancing. Think of dancing on stage, a stage so tall and so high that nobody can reach him. The faceless crowd cheers, in shock and awe at just how dazzling Angel is. Dazzling and untouchable and flawless.
And… Husk is there. Like, actually. Only inches away. Angel can feel the way the bed sinks beneath him, a reminder that Angel isn’t alone. But in a rare way that is actually comforting. Comforting in a way it could only be with Fat Nuggets, or Cherri Bomb… or Husk.
The borderline obnoxious EDM and pop drowns out all possible thought, and not even five songs in, Angel drifts away.
***
The moment that Angel comes close enough to consciousness, the first thing that registers is the silence. His brain helpfully reminds him that there’s supposed to be music coming from the earbud in his ear.
Just one?
Angel opens his eyes, and is met with the sight of black and white fur.
He takes a second-- only a second-- to stare, taking in the scene before him. Husk is lying on his back, arms resting across his chest in a way that looks genuinely relaxed. The cat’s eyes are closed, his expression neutral, his brow smooth of any of its usual creases.
Angel realizes he can’t get caught staring.
“Whoops!” he exclaims loudly, sitting up and stretching out every arm in an exaggerated, I-just-woke-up stretch. “Looks like I fell asleep there, ahah. How, uh, how long ago did the music stop?”
Husk’s eyes blink open, and something catches in Angel’s chest as he sees how big and round the cat’s pupils are, black voids that land directly on him. “Hm? I dunno. Fell asleep myself.”
“Took a cat nap, eh?”
“Shut up.” Husk rolls his eyes, the corners of his mouth slightly turning up.
Angel starts wrapping up the pair of earbuds they’d shared. (Maybe this pair of earbuds was extra special now… or something. No, that was stupid.) “Anyway, we probably ought to just go to bed for real. I think I’m done torturing you for the night, heh.” The spider sets the earbuds and his phone on the nightstand beside him, plugging his phone in for the night. When he turns back, he sees that Husk hasn’t moved to leave. Instead, his arms are now behind his head, looking perfectly comfortable where he is.
Angel squints at him. Husk’s eyes are closed.
“...Hello?”
Husk grunts.
“You fallin’ asleep again? Need me to carry you to bed?”
“I’m already in bed. Are you blind? I thought you had eight eyes.”
There are too many responses that try to make their way out of Angel’s mouth. Uh, this is my bed. No, I’m not a blind bat like Valentino. I don’t always have eight eyes, asshole. “You’re not even under the covers,” he settles on.
Angel’s eyes widen as, with a sound somewhere between a hum and a grumble, Husk actually pulls the blanket over himself.
Angel’s blanket.
In Angel’s bed.
He’s… Husk’s gotta be drunk. Right? Did he manage to down a few bottles or something while Angel was asleep?
The cat honest to goodness rubs his cheek into the pillow, shifting until he seems comfortable enough. He peeks one eye open. “You mind if I sleep here?”
That sure is the question, isn’t it? Obviously, the immediate response Angel wants to give is YES PLEASE. But it’s more complicated than that, because, well, this is Husk we’re talking about. This is immune to all of Angel’s flirtatious antics, “that shit’s never gonna work on me ”, Husk. Was the barely recovering alcoholic playing a cruel joke on him, taunting Angel with what the addict knows he’ll never be allowed to have? Or did Husk really trust him this much?
Angel fixes him with a scrutinizing stare. “You confuse the hell out of me.”
Husk looks surprised at this response. He opens both eyes, looking awake and alert and notably not inebriated. “Something wrong?”
“Listen, I’m not complaining,” Angel prefaces, holding up all four hands in defense. “Like, why the hell would I complain about this ? I just… You… Why? Why are you still here?”
Angel can see the gears working in Husk’s brain, and knows that there’s a mutual understanding that “here” doesn’t just mean in Angel’s bed. Why is he here at Angel’s side at all? Why stick around with someone who’s such a mess? Sure, they’re both losers, but… Does it make Husk feel better to know there’s someone even more of a wreck than himself? Is that what Husk gets out of this?
“Maybe I like ya.”
Angel blinks. Husk reaches out for one of Angel’s hands with a gentle smile, as if this were normal. As if Angel weren’t entirely freaking out internally. Husk’s hand lands over his, and Angel doesn’t pull away.
“...That’s hard to believe,” Angel says with a scoff.
“Well, it’s true.”
This feels wrong, but not in the way Angel is used to. Angel is used to the risky-sex, too-many-drugs feeling of wrongness. This feels wrong because… well, it’s Husk. And it’s him. The last thing Angel wants to do is completely fuck up and lose the person he’s found himself growing the closest too. Dammit, how did he let that happen? How stupid was he? Didn’t he know he’d only be setting himself up for pain the more he let himself actually get close to and care about someone this much?
Noticing Angel’s hesitation, Husk takes his hand away and starts to sit up. “Or I can go. Thanks for earlier, I think I might have actually had fun--”
“What does that mean?”
“What?”
“That you like me. What does that mean? What do you want from me?”
Perhaps it just doesn’t compute that Husk wanted to, what, innocently fall asleep in the same bed as the renowned tramp? Was it a test? Oh, god, Angel hates tests. He hates falling for Valentino’s traps, making the wrong move and then having to get taught a lesson , not knowing what was expected of him, not knowing what would set the man off, not knowing if it was okay to even breathe--
“It’s not about what I want from you,” Husk says, shaking his head. “It’s what I want for you.”
Unbelievable. Truly. There’s always something someone wants from him. After all, if he has nothing to give… What is he? Who is he? What does he even do?
Angel can only laugh. “What are you, a fucking poet now?”
Husk scowls. “Really, there’s nothing I want from you. It’s nice enough just spending time with you, and… well… it was also nice seeing you sleep so peacefully.” Husk turns away. “Sorry, it was stupid of me, but I just thought… maybe if I was here, you’d be able to get a peaceful night’s sleep. God knows you’re exhausted to the bone and could use the rest. Real rest.”
Angel is stunned. He’s in utter disbelief that this was Husk’s actual thought process. His first instinct is to gag at being pitied, but… it’s not pity, is it? It’s… caring. Almost like the way Charlie cares about him, in her own naive way.
“Stupid,” Husk hisses between his teeth, pressing a hand to his forehead. “What do I know? You’ll probably sleep better alone anyway.” He throws the blanket off of himself, throwing his legs over the side of the bed.
“No. Wait.”
Husk looks back at him, waiting.
Angel crawls under the covers himself, pulling the blanket up to his chin. This could be just like another sleepover with Cherri Bomb; the nights spent with her had always felt the absolute safest, knowing she’d fight tooth and nail for him if anybody tried to find him, even Valentino.
Except, it’s Husk.
Oh, god. Husk. Husk, who is still wearing the blouse Angel lent him.
“Turn the light out?” Angel requests, trying to quell his racing heart.
Husk leaves the bed for only a moment, and returns once the light is out. He too pulls the covers over himself. Angel wonders if he has night vision, like a proper cat.
“Even after everything,” Angel says quietly, as if the darkness calls for his softest voice, “you trust me enough to… y’know… stay the night with me?”
“Sure. After all, you practically had my life in your hands earlier. Could have slain me with an eyelash curler for all I know.”
Angel snorts, envisioning an eyelash curler made of angelic steel. “So, you like me. And that means… you want me to sleep good?”
“Among other things.”
“Care to tell me?”
“No. Cuz I want you to sleep, remember?”
“Asshole.” Angel curls up into himself, but it isn’t out of feeling unsafe. He hugs his arms and legs to himself, needing an outlet for the unnameable emotions coursing through him. He doesn’t quite have the mind to untangle what they could be right now, but he does know that, at least, they’re pleasant.
As he once again begins to drift off to sleep, he swears he can hear purring.