Chapter Text
It was too much. It was always too much with Valentino.
The penthouse shimmered under pink-gold light — petals blanketing the floor, crystal vases lined up like trophies, and chocolates arriving in waves. Every admirer wanted to outshine the last. One bouquet came with a diamond spider brooch. Another with a velvet collar he’d never wear. Gifts piled higher than his patience.
Angel Dust reclined on the velvet chaise, sunglasses pushed up in his hair, smile sharp and hollow. He flipped through a stack of glossy cards, each one dripping with flattery so thick it almost stuck to his fingers. When he reached for the next envelope, something small slipped free and landed with a soft clink at his feet.
A poker chip. Worn, smooth, with a tiny umbrella drawn across it in silver ink.
For a moment, nothing moved. Then the world thinned. The scent of roses replaced by the echo of laughter and neon hum.
He remembered the umbrella spinning between their hands, half a joke, half a dance. Husk grumbling, Angel teasing, the two of them moving together like some clumsy Fred and Ginger act lit by flickering neon. Angel had laughed until his ribs hurt, and Husk — gruff, reluctant Husk — had actually smiled. Then, somewhere between the twirls, the rhythm softened. They’d ended up sitting together beneath that umbrella, neon “rain” spilling across their shoulders while the city buzzed around them, forgotten.
He remembered the casino, his lashes askew, makeup smudged, wig half-pinned. Husk sitting across from him at the casino bar, the world hushed to the clink of ice in a glass. He’d slid Angel a drink without a word, eyes steady, warm in that quiet way that didn’t demand anything. For a while, they’d just sat there — no act, no flash, just breath and low light.
The memories shimmered and slipped away, leaving behind the faintest trace of warmth.
Angel blinked back to the present — roses, gold, candy, noise — and turned the poker chip over in his palm, once, twice. The silver mark caught the light, a small gleam in a world gone overbright.
He tucked it into the pocket of his robe, close to his heart, and sank back against the cushions.
It wasn’t much. But it was real.