Chapter Text
Husk woke before he opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was the sunlight filtering in through the window, warming his face and his fur.
The second was the music. Soft jazz. Low, warm, and just barely present, a piece of soothing background noise.
He shifted slightly in the armchair he’d fallen asleep in. This was becoming an unfortunate little habit of his, falling asleep sitting in the armchair, instead of crawling back to his own bed.
The leather was familiar against his back.
The blanket draped over him wasn’t his. He knew that before he even looked. It was far heavier than anything he would have picked out for himself.
“Good morning, Husker.”
Alastor’s voice came from somewhere behind him, calm and bright as ever.
Husk opened one eye a crack, turning his head to look at Alastor. He was standing near the record player, one hand resting lightly against the edge of the cabinet. The other held a cup of tea that steamed faintly in the dim light.
“Mornin’,” Husk muttered.
Alastor smiled. It didn’t change. It never really did. Just like everything else in the tower.
“I trust you slept well. As well as you can in that chair, at least.”
Husk grunted in response, sitting up slowly and rolling his shoulders. Something cracked faintly, and he winced. Alastor noticed.
“You’ve been straining your wings again,” Alastor said mildly.
“They’re fine.”
Alastor tilted his head slightly, as if considering whether to believe that.
“Mm. Of course they are. There’s really no reason for you to be using them all that much, after all.”
Husk rubbed the back of his neck and glanced toward the window.
The city outside wasn’t visible from this angle.
It never really was. Just sky, and the clouds if the weather wasn’t looking particularly decent.
He’d stopped wondering what was beyond it a while ago. Or at least he had convinced himself he had. Sometimes he dreamt of flying, though, of stretching his wings and launching himself out of the window. Feeling the breeze in his feathers and his fur and-
Alastor stepped forward and set the tea down on a small table beside the chair.
“You didn’t eat last night,” he observed.
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“You were distracted, more like.”
Husk gave him a flat look.
“Yeah. That happens.”
Alastor’s smile widened slightly, as if that was a reasonable answer.
“I suppose it does.”
He straightened, still staring down at Husk with his head ever so slightly tilted to one side. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft hiss of the record player continuing its loop.
Then Alastor spoke again.
“I’ll have something prepared for you shortly.”
“I can get my own food, Alastor.”
A beat, then Alastor turned his head slightly.
“Oh?”
“I mean.... I’m not a damn child.”
“No, you’re not.” Alastor agreed immediately. He always agreed quickly whenever Husk argued against him. Not all the time, but most of the time. Sometimes it felt more like good old-fashioned appeasement rather than actual agreement.
“You’re simply terrible at remembering to take care of yourself.”
Husk opened his mouth, then closed it again. Because even if he wanted to argue, there was nothing he could say.
Alastor moved toward the window now, looking out across the empty stretch of land beyond the tower.
“I’ll be in the broadcast room if you need anything.”
Husk grunted in acknowledgment, then reached out to grab the cup Alastor had left for him, taking a sip. It was ever so slightly too sweet for his taste, but he didn’t bother complaining.
Alastor paused at the doorway.
Just for a moment.
“Oh, and Husker?”
“Yeah?”
That smile was even wider when Husk looked up.
“I enjoyed your singing last night.”
Husk froze slightly. He didn’t remember singing.
“…Wasn’t anything special,” he muttered.
Alastor’s eyes lingered on him for a moment.
“Of course it was. Your singing is always special; you shouldn’t downplay it like that, my dear.”
And then he was gone, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
---------------------------------------------------------------
The studio lights were too bright.
Angel Dust smiled anyway. He had to smile; the camera was already rolling. Sometimes it felt like the camera was always rolling.
“Again,” someone called off to the side.
Angel shifted his posture, crossing one leg over the other, leaning back just enough to look effortless.
“We startin’ from the top?” he asked, tilting his head.
A laugh came from somewhere behind the camera, somewhere too dim for Angel to see beyond the glaring studio lights.
“Yeah, from the top.”
“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Angel purred.
The music started again. It was too loud, too clean, too manufactured. Just like it always was. Angel moved with it anyway.
Every gesture was precise in a way that didn’t belong to him anymore.
Smile on cue.
Laugh on cue.
Somewhere deep in the darkness, Valentino watched.
Angel didn’t look at him. He didn’t have to look; he could feel those eyes on him.
“Cut.”
The word snapped through the room.
Angel’s smile dropped the second the cameras stopped recording. Just like placing a mask down on a table, still within arm’s reach and ready to pick up at a moment's notice.
“Perfect,” someone said.
“Well, of course it’s perfect, do I look like a damn amateur to you?” Angel called out, his tone light and airy.
A few chuckles rose around the room. Not real laughter. Just part of the rhythm, an attempt to appease Valentino’s favourite.
Angel stepped off the mark and moved toward the side of the set.
A water bottle was handed to him without being asked.
He took it, but he didn’t drink from it right away.
“You’re in good form today.”
Angel didn’t turn around immediately at the voice, instead choosing to slowly open the bottle and take a deep swig.
When he did finally turn, Valentino was leaning casually against the wall like he owned the air itself.
Angel smiled again, smaller this time, slightly more strained.
“Always am, boss.”
Valentino studied him for a moment, eyes sharp and narrow behind the tint of his glasses.
“Good,” he said. “You’re more useful when you’re cooperative.”
Angel tilted his head.
“Well, is that so?”
“Don’t get clever,” Valentino replied mildly.
Angel chuckled, waving one hand lightly in the air. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Just teasin’ you, Val, you know that.”
Valentino straightened, one hand resting on his hip.
“Well, regardless, you’ve got a private performance tonight, baby.”
Angel’s smile didn’t change.
“Private,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
Angel nodded once.
“Okay. I got it.”
Valentino studied him for another second and then smiled, all sharp teeth and no real joy.
“Good boy.”
Angel didn’t react, and Valentino walked away.
The moment he was gone, Angel exhaled through his teeth and leaned against the wall, taking another slow sip of his water.
With a glance around the room, Angel noticed that no one was paying him any attention, so he slipped up into his own private dressing room and shut the door behind him.
For a few seconds, he just stood there.
Then he crossed to the balcony.
The air outside was cooler than the studio.
Angel pushed the door open and stepped out into the morning light.
He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and leaned against the railing.
One drag in.
Then another.
Below him, the entertainment district was already awake. Noise, movement, neon still bleeding into daylight like it hadn’t decided whether to stop or keep going.
But further out, everything seemed to thin. Fewer buildings, less noise, less energy.
Angel’s gaze drifted without meaning to.
There it was again.
That tower.
Far off at the edge of everything.
Quiet in a way that didn’t feel accidental.
He studied it for a while longer than he meant to.
It didn’t feel like it belonged to anything.
There were no lights, no movement, it was just… there. Like it had never been asked to perform.
Angel exhaled smoke slowly through his nose.
“Lucky bastard,” he muttered under his breath.
He didn’t know who he was talking about.
Maybe nobody.
Maybe whoever was up there.
He took one last drag, then pushed off the railing and stepped back inside.
The balcony door clicked shut behind him.
And for a moment, the tower stayed in his mind longer than the cigarette smoke stayed in his lungs.
---------------------------------------------------
The broadcast room was warmer than the rest of the tower. Alastor always claimed it helped the equipment, but Husk suspected it was simply because Alastor liked it that way.
The fire crackled softly in the corner. Records lined the walls. The lights were low. Everything about the room screamed comfort. It was familiar, it was safe.
Husk sat cross-legged on the rug near the fireplace, lazily shuffling a deck of cards between his claws, trying to decide if he wanted to deal a new game of solitaire for himself.
Alastor occupied his usual armchair. A book in hand, his smile in place.
Everything exactly as it should be.
Then Alastor closed his book. It was a small sound, so quiet, yet oh so deliberate.
Husk looked up automatically, his hands stilling.
"Ah, and there you are."
"Huh?"
"I was beginning to think I'd lost your attention."
"You never had it." Husk huffed, tilting his head to one side playfully.
"Such cruelty."
The smile on Alastor's face widened, and Husk rolled his eyes.
A familiar routine. A familiar game.
Then Alastor set the book aside.
"Husker."
The tone changed ever so slightly.
But Husk noticed. Years of practice made that impossible to miss.
"Yeah?"
Alastor extended one hand, his claws glinting in the flickering firelight.
"Come here, dear."
Husk stood immediately, crossed the room, and dropped onto the rug beside Alastor's chair. Close enough that his wing brushed against the armrest.
Alastor's hand settled atop his head, long fingers combing slowly through his fur.
Husk relaxed automatically, his eyes drifting half-shut. The motion was familiar and comforting.
"Long day?" Alastor asked.
"Nah."
"No?"
"Didn't exactly do much."
A soft chuckle.
"I suppose not."
The fingers continued their slow rhythm. A scratch behind one ear. Stroke between the shoulders. Every movement perfectly practiced and deliberately placed.
"Would you sing for me?"
The question settled into the room naturally.
Husk smiled faintly.
"Got any requests?"
"Oh, I trust your judgment."
The praise warmed something in Husk's chest.
And so, he sang.
His voice was soft at first, just a simple melody filling the air.
The room responded almost immediately.
The fire burned brighter, and the shadows deepened.
Radio static whispered briefly through the air.
Alastor's eyes closed, the smile remained, but his breaths became deeper and more even. His body relaxed, and he sighed in satisfaction.
The enchantments woven through the tower strengthened, invisible currents of magic flowing through walls and floorboards.
Cracks in old enchantments knitted themselves back together.
Somewhere far beyond the tower, a ward that had been fading for years flared bright once more.
And yet inside that broadcast room, Husk continued to sing, his eyes closed, his body relaxed, with no care for the magic swirling around him.