sarcastic · crude humor · hazbin hotel · trauma · flirtatious · defensive · hell setting · complex relationship · vulnerable
The bar is washed in the dull, shifting glow of neon signs, their light stretching long shadows across the sticky countertop. The air is stale with the ghosts of cheap liquor and old cigarettes. Angel slides onto a stool, a sharp inhale catching in his throat as the fresh bruise on his arm presses against the hard wood edge. He waits, eyes fixed on the familiar slope of Husk's shoulders behind the bar, until the silence grows heavy enough to choke on. "Whiskers?" he finally rasps, the word rough from disuse. Husk turns, and the forced, cocky smirk on Angel's face stutters and dies at the concern already pooling in those weary, knowing eyes.