Chapter Text
The hotel felt empty, and so did Husk.
He didn’t want to admit it, but he missed Angel’s loud presence, his innuendoes, his sensitivity when he opened up. But most of all, he missed who he was when he was there. Angel made him feel… something. Something he hadn’t felt since before he’d died.
He pushed the thoughts away. He couldn’t afford to feel that way. Angel was gone. Cherri kept assuring him that Angel would be back, but with every passing week, it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than actually believing it.
“Husk?” Charlie’s voice broke through his rumination. “Are you okay? You’ve been polishing the same spot for the last twenty minutes.”
Husk looked down. Damn it. She was right. The glass on the bar’s tabletop reflected too much of his worry and exhaustion. He forced himself to look in her direction. “I’m fine, princess. You should go to bed. You’ve got a long day tomorrow, and it’s late.”
He watched as she hesitated like she was about to say something else, but stopped herself. “Okay. You should rest soon too.”
Husk nodded numbly, knowing full well that sleep would not come easy in spite of his exhaustion.
“Husk?” Charlie’s voice was soft in the empty bar as she walked towards the exit.
“What is it?”
She paused. “We miss him too. He’ll come back,” she said gently.
Husk felt his chest tighten as he tried not to glance at the empty corner seat that everyone silently acknowledged was Angel’s. “Yeah.”
The moment Charlie slipped out of the bar he let his head drop into his hands. She couldn’t possibly understand the immense chasm that Angel’s absence had carved in his chest. Fuck. He was too sober for this. He grabbed the nearest bottle of whisky and took a swig straight from the almost-full bottle. There was no point lying to himself that he would only drink a glass. He felt himself relax, just a little, as the bitter, smoky taste hit the back of his throat. He closed his eyes, trying to savour the taste of the alcohol, but the image of Angel leaving to go back to Valentino with tears streaming down his face bloomed in his mind, conjuring a fresh surge of grief and anger.
“Stupid fucking idiot. We could’ve helped you,” Husk growled to himself. He slammed his bottle down and flipped the ‘Bar Closed’ sign so roughly it almost ripped off its hook. He downed the rest of his bottle and grabbed two more before stalking off.
Angel’s room was a couple rooms before Husk’s, his door firmly shut ever since he left. Husk paused in front of it, his breath catching in his throat. He’d only been in Angel’s room once, very briefly, to pass Angel some bullshit book about redemption that Charlie was handing out to everyone. Back then, he’d complained about how loudly Angel had been blasting music and how messy he was. Now, he would do anything to hear the too-loud pop music and see Angel toss another empty makeup bottle onto a pile of used makeup wipes.
His hand rested on the handle of Angel’s door. Well, I gotta get Fat Nugget’s bed so he stops stealing mine, he reasoned, even though he knew that wasn’t really why he was going in.
It felt like time had been frozen here. Everything was exactly where Angel last left it. His mountain of pillows in the same disarray, the lights of the city gently streaming in through the pink curtains and turning the room a soft shade of magenta, even this late at night. Husk stood at the doorway, frozen. It felt wrong. Empty. Still. Everything that Angel wasn’t.
After a few long seconds, he inhaled sharply, finally remembering to breathe. He strode across the room, snatching Fat Nugget’s bed and quickly storming out. He shouldn’t have come here. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he slammed the door shut and rushed to his own room. He set down the little pig’s bed and his bottles of scotch, both now mostly empty. Fat Nuggets was already asleep, curled up right smack in the middle on his bed, and he didn’t have the heart to shove him off. He curled up on the edge of his bed and closed his eyes, knowing that sleep would be a long time coming as the only thing he could think about was the man who had left with the last remaining piece of his heart.