Chapter Text
The hotel bar was half-empty, just the hum of an old jukebox and the lazy flicker of neon bleeding through the blinds. Husk sat hunched over a glass that hadn’t been full in a while, cards spread out like a habit he couldn’t quit.
He wasn’t thinking about Valentine’s Day. At least, that’s what he told himself. The hotel was quiet tonight; everyone else had plans or someone to bother. He had his drink, his deck, and the ghosts that didn’t shut up.
One of them wore six-inch heels and laughed too loud.
Husk sighed and shuffled again. The chip at the edge of the bar caught his eye — old, scuffed, one of the countless he’d kept in his coat for luck. He picked it up, rolled it between his fingers, and an image surfaced uninvited.
An umbrella twirling in neon light. Angel twirling under it — ridiculous, charming — spinning him into a dance Husk hadn’t meant to start but hadn’t wanted to end. The sound of laughter so bright it made the city lights feel dim.
And then, another flicker — Angel in drag, stripped of pretense after the show, makeup smudged, tired, just him. Sitting beside Husk at the bar, the silence between them soft instead of heavy. No flirting, no jokes. Only the comfortable quiet of two people pretending, for five minutes, that the world wasn’t watching.
He looked down again. The chip felt warmer now, the tiny scratches catching the light like threads of memory. He pulled a pen from behind the bar — old, half-dry, silver ink clinging to the tip — and without really planning it, he drew a little umbrella across the surface. The line wobbled, uneven. It didn’t matter.
Husk turned it over once, then tucked it into an envelope. No note. No name. Just that small, stupid drawing and everything he didn’t know how to say. Not like Angel would keep it anyways...
“Happy freakin’ Valentine’s,” he muttered, flagging down a messenger imp.
When the imp left, Husk stared at the empty space on the bar where the chip had been, then went back to shuffling his cards. But his hand moved slower, the deck sticking for just a second — like his fingers didn’t quite want to let go.