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Angel’s day had gone well. Sure his hips hurt, and his knees were rubbed raw, his joints had the kind of ache that settled deep, fuzzy and persistent. Inflicted and not earned. However, he couldn’t help but overpower their protest as he strutted up the hill to the gaudy hotel doors. In hell you counted your blessings and took them in your stride. His shift didn’t start ‘till mid afternoon, and now, just after 11pm, he was already home. Well, nearly. He was currently in the home stretch. Valentino hadn’t hit him or tried to humiliate him more than the other co-workers on set. He didn’t even have to speak to Travis today, besides that brief stint by the coffee machine. Angel left work as quickly as he was able, before Val had a chance of mind. Before his wishful thinking could be weaponised and backfire.
Today, Hell had been tolerable.
Angel held on tight to the greasy, brown paper bag in his lower set of hands. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast which meant this particular lukewarm goodie-bag was currently worth more to him than his golden tooth. Well, unless you count the two cigarettes he’s smoked outside the studio entrance before going for the said cheap coffee that he choked down afterwards. The initial heat had faded but the strong smell of its contents were seeping through the paper, soaking into his fur. Grease, salt, sinfully fried and disgustingly lathered in cheap condiments. A Nostalgic nightmare of days gone by, before health inspectors and cleanliness ratings. Enough to make a sane persons stomach lurch, or a sinful substance abuser’s sing. He could almost hear Vaggie telling his how disgusting it smells already. True bliss.
Angel couldn’t wait to push through the doors into the comforting and familiar lobby, where he fully intended to mix up his nighttime routine and rituals with a certain pussy-cat. The clicks of his heels from the asphalt muted as he stepped through the doors and onto the new, Lucifer made carpet. The lobby was quiet. A lot quieter than Angel expected. Not in a bad way. The lights were low, most of the bar’s turned off entirely. The warm glow of the bars shelves backlighting its sole inhabitant in amber. Angel smiled and bee-lined to his target.
Husk has bar snacks. Nuts, salted pretzels and chips. Fruit for the drinks and garnishes. They have shared many a bowl during their late night talks and group movie nights. A couple weeks ago Angel was reminiscing about the food he misses from Earth. The homemade pasta and the fresh bakeries. Ripe tomatoes that stained your fingers. Summer strawberries. During said conversation it was revealed that Husk’s diet at the hotel solely consisted of the bar snacks menu. Anything consumable at his mini prison and that alone. It was sometimes easy to forget that Angels paradise was his friend’s birdcage. Now, today of all days, Angel had a greased up paper bag plopped down to his lap from the heavens….ish. One prayer has been answered and it is food that reminds him of the joints he would eat on the street corners by his mortal home. The ones Molly would meet him at. The very place so good Vox orders from. Valentino changed his mind on his order today, dropping the food straight into Angel’s lap after Vox left the studio. A comment about how he “doesn’t want to get fat and spoil a perfect figure”. Valentino isn’t a saint, and any prayers he answered would come with a backhanded comment and an uneasy feeling. But Angel was on his way out the studio and wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Now here he is. Husk is exactly where he expected him to be. Behind the counter, cards laid out in a gripping game of solitaire. Well, you would think so with the intense glare he is giving the set-up.
“Evening toots,” Angel drawled, hopping up on his usual barstool. Husk doesn’t make eye-contact, but his ear twitches in Angel’s direction to indicate he is listening. “My sift finished on time, which is early. Miss me?”
A gruff snort left the cat before he finally looked up “Every damn second”. He couldn’t have sounded more sarcastic and bored if he tried.
Angel’s genuine smile crept onto his face. How does this arse make insults so endearing? He carefully sets the soggy bag on the pristine countertop.
“You close already?”
“Yup.” He popped the P. “The whole mundane routine, locked the register, lights, cleaning.” He pauses again to really look at the spiders face, “you’re weirdly cheerful.”
“Hey, I’m allowed to have a happy day in hell.” Husk raised one of his bushy eyebrows, but being a big cat just made him look sweet in Angels eyes. “How was yours?”
Husk shrugged. “Same as always, fat nuggets ate most my snack.”
“Awwhhhh, is the kitty cat hangry?” He pouts.
“Stop.” Husk warned.
Angel stopped the teasing. He crossed the boundary set. The line for when the cat related jokes got too far and determined to work on respecting other’s boundaries. Husk always respected his.
“Seriously though Whiskers, have ‘ya eaten?”
“Had a few nuts before the pig ate them- don’t. No dirty jokes”
“I’ll be so well behaved, Boy Scouts honour,” Angel says, making a show of holding a hand up and one to his heart, putting his lower set behind his back to deliberately and blatantly cross his fingers. He shot Husk a cheeky wink.
Husk hesitated for a beat before continuing “And I sampled the new lager shipment”, a smug smirk spreads across his face and he props an elbow onto the edge of the counter and leans forward slightly “Had to make sure it was up to standard.”
“You’re goin’ to run ya’self into an early grave.”
“Got the shirt already”
“Could have fooled me.” Angel reaches around the bag and pokes one of the black spots on Husk’s chest. He draws back and starts to open and rumage through the bag. “Anyway, Thought I’d treat us tonight”
“Angel-“
“Stop, I know a guy.” He winks a second time before pulling out a paper bag of fries and a foil wrapped burger.
“You shouldn’t have.”
“I didn’t, Val did,” He said it casually but could instantly feel how the mention of his boss’ name had dampened his friend’s mood.
“Now I definitely don’t want it.”
“C’mon. Don’t be a buzz kill. Besides, I’m craving it with some company. Reminds me of home.”
Home.
That did it.
That place up top no one dare mention in this infested pit. And Angel just said it so casually and easy. Husk doesn’t have time to unpack all that. He sighed, folding his cards together and sliding them aside with grace and ease. With a motion as effortless as smearing butter on toast, the deck is neatly stacked out the way.
“Fine but I’m not leaving the bar.”
“Didn’t ask ‘ya to.”
He ripped the sides of the fries bag and laid them out on the counter between them without ceremony. Lukewarm but still glorious. He passed Husk the burger with another hand. They ate in companionable silence at first. Angel absently putting fry after fry in his mouth, one at a time, head propped up and resting on one hand. Husk took a huge bite like he hadn’t eaten real food in weeks. Big, unapologetic. He probably hadn’t. The sauce and grease immediately betrayed him. Dripping down his hand and forearm. His cat like instincts clearly overpowered the alcohol inebriation he had worked so hard to build because he instantly noticed, glancing down with a grunt. “Shit.”
Angel opened his mouth to tease but was abruptly stopped as husk shoved the offending burger into his spare set of hands.
Before Angel could say anything about an indirect kiss, Husk dragged his tongue along his own forearm, slow and efficient, catching the grease sauce before it hit his clean bar. He then smoothly sucked his thumb clean, a brief flash of his sharp teeth as he opened wide to do so.
Just as he finished the act his eyes met Angels.
Half a second. Time stood still.
Angel felt heat rush up his neck and down his chest, burning below the fluff. Husk eyes flicked away just as fast, ears flattening slightly, tail giving a few flicks down by the floor.
Husk ducked below the bar and grabbed two bottle from the mini fridge. Alcohol was his go to for avoiding big emotions and hard conversations. Angel cleared his throat and started eating the burger in his hand. A lot more elegantly than any fast food item deserved, more invested in chewing than teasing. Husk opened the bottles with his talons before he reached into the bag and pulled out a box of cold ‘chicken’ wings.
“Well I’ll be damned, Hell chicken.”
“Told ‘ya,” Angel said, voice a little squeakier than usual, “this is the good shit.”
Husk raised his bottle and tilted it towards Angel. “To actual food”
Angel tipped the burger in response “And decent company.”
The conversation slowly returned, easier than before. Husk talked about Vegas in the 50’s. The cheap steak, food that tasted like it was made of gold when drunk enough and you didn’t care about the repercussions the next day. Angel of the diner he mentioned. Hot dog tanks in the 30’s, warped in newspapers.
“I miss that,” Angel admitted quietly to himself “the small stuff.”
Husk hummed. He leaned back, lightening the mood. “Thanks for this.. Didn’t know I missed it.”
The small genuine smile, the one Angel gets when he secretly admires Husk behind his back, creeps onto his face, “Anytime.”
Husk crossed his arms leaning forward, over to Angel “Next time, We can go out. If you think the Vee’s have tase, wait till you see my old haunt. It’ll knock your socks off.”
“Promise Husky?”
“Promise.”
Yeah. Today, Hell had been tolerable.