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Ever have one of those days where nothing is going right? Angel types out to Cherri with one finger, the other three hands balancing far too many bags. Charlie has offered to carry them at least twice, and since she paid for at least half of the items, he's starting to consider letting her, but a nagging guilt stops him. He’s not about to take advantage of that too.
The text sends with so many typing errors it's hard to decipher - he forgot he turned off his autocorrect the other night when it kept capitalizing his keysmashes and making it look like he was far too enthusiastic. Cherri’s response is perfect whether she understood him or not: a simple U good?
Angel is not ‘good’ in any sense of the word, but it took two full minutes to type out the first sentence and his patience is wearing thin. He’d have much better luck with a voice message, but it's not like he's alone.
“Angel?” Vaggi calls, impatiently tapping her foot. She's got her arms folded, a scowl that seems to be reserved for the spider on her face. “Are you with us?”
No, he's just standing out here like a coathanger for fun, Angel almost says, but the enthusiasm for the argument that would follow falls flat. He pockets his phone, flips her off, and then follows.
Angel is tired. They've been on a shopping trip for the entire day so far, and it shows no sign of stopping. The first four hours were fun, and he loved the smoothies from this one place Charlie guided them to, but now the excitement is wearing off. Fast.
At least he had some. He side-eyes Husk, watching him drag the single bag of items he’s gotten against the pavement as he takes long gulps from his third bottle of whiskey of the trip. Charlie gave up on trying to convince him to try water halfway through the first. To his credit, he doesn’t look any less sober now. Or any less miserable.
“You’re gonna break that.” Angel warns, gesturing to the bag, the way it’s hanging on by a thread, ready to split at the touch of a blunt stone.
Husk, as always, does not take the constructive criticism well. “You wanna carry it?”
“Do I look like I can take any more?”
“Is this about your bags or your mental health?”
Angel doesn't dignify him with a response. In his opinion, his mental health is hardly the issue right now. No, it's the aching in his feet, and the imprints on his fingers left by the bag handles, and the undoubtedly full feeling of his bladder. He's had to pee since precisely thirty seconds after they left the smoothie place, which coincidentally was the last time he saw a public bathroom that didn’t resemble a crack den or a biohazard display.
That smoothie place had a perfect bathroom too - single rooms, with thick walls and doors that let out no sound from inside. Vaggi had used one while she had the chance, and though he stood opposite, he heard nothing. Not that he was listening. Judging by the lack of a scowl on her face when she left, it was clean in there too.
Surely they won’t be out here much longer. With the chaos of hell’s society it's not as though stores have regular closing times, but they've been at this for hours by now. Everyone barring Husk is carrying at least two full bags. Angel isn’t sure anything else exists that they'd want to buy.
He's never bought this much on a shopping trip before. Or stolen. Usually his paycheck leaves the funds for a week’s worth of drugs and a coffee or two if he’s been working extra. But Charlie’s generosity knows no bounds, and she's managed to memorise the expression Angel tries to hide when he really wants something. He's trying not to feel guilty about it.
“Are we done yet?” He asks instead when they pause to look at a poster. Both Vaggi and Charlie glance at him, one irritated and the other cautious.
“Do we want to be?” Charlie asks, looking between Angel and the direction they’ve been heading. She seems disheartened. “There are a few more cool-looking stores up here, but if we're all tired out-”
“We're not.” Vaggi interrupts firmly. “Are we, Angel?”
Angel is tired out and beginning to fidget, but he shakes his head and gives the two a toothy grin. “Nah, I got a little left in me. Just curious.”
Big mistake. The ‘few more’ stores are never-ending. By the time they’ve circled the first, Angel is beginning to chew his bottom lip. By the time they've entered the second, he can’t think of anything other than his bladder. By the time Charlie suggests a third, he can’t bear to stop pacing. Angel manages to tone it down to shifting his weight from foot to foot, his handful of bags held cautiously in front of him to hide behind. It isn’t enough.
“Are those heavy?” Husk asks, raising a brow. Angel scowls in lieu of a response, which isn’t too out of character anyway.
“Ooh, let’s check out this one next!” Charlie decides when they're finally out of the second store. Angel stares at the windows ahead, spotting nothing but candles, and decides it is absolutely not worth the strain on his bladder.
“Nope. Nuh-uh, I’m tapping out.” Angel declares, shaking his head and stepping back. “Can we continue this another day?”
“You are staying with us,” Vaggi hisses, grabbing one of his bags - the one in the middle, so that he can’t just let go of it - and tugging him along with them. Needless to say, Angel has entered the candle store against his will.
The spider is very much unwilling. He stands just past the doorway, expression furious and movements never ceasing. What the heck is her problem?! If she was tired, they’d have left an hour ago, but just because Angel has a track record of - more than once or twice - trying to skip out on activities, he gets to be pushed around and have his decisions made for-
“Angel?” A delicate voice pipes up from next to him. Charlie stares up, expression full of concern. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it? You can tell me!”
Maybe it’s the irritation at not being allowed to leave, or maybe it’s the fact that his bladder feels like it’s in real danger, but Angel finds himself confiding. “I need to piss.”
“Oh!” And she’s blushing. Probably expected him to be tired or have a headache or something. “Uhm. Okay- is there a bathroom in here?”
If there was, Angel would have already finished in it by now. He’s past being in a position to turn down anything that hasn’t been cleaned in a while. Even so he finds himself feeling self conscious, a tinge regretful that he mentioned it instead of forcefully walking off, and so he lets her circle the store, pausing at any doors in hope of seeing a bathroom sign.
She does not. Charlie returns to him before he knows it, and Angel doesn’t quite have the chance to tone down his desperate little steps. Not that he’s sure he could. Fuck, he hasn’t had to go this bad since they were driving back from a trip and got caught in traffic.
“I don’t see one here, can you hol- oh no, you cannot.” Charlie’s voice dips as she takes in the sight of him, her eyes widening. “Alright- just try to hang on, I'll see what I can do!”
Angel scowls, about to hiss at her for treating him like a child, when he quickly realises that’s the least of his issues. Charlie darts off, and to his horror, she’s heading for the counter.
“Hey there, I was just wondering if you had a bathroom my friend could use?”
“Employees only.” Hisses a tall, shark-like sinner, who looks less than pleased to be here.
“Right- it’s just, he really needs it-”
Angel finds himself wishing it was possible for sinners to die outside of the exterminations. He darts over, tugging her back by her hand.
“Charlie, stop. It’s fine, I can hold it. Let’s just go.” The second he’s out of those doors he is going straight back to the hotel, not a word uttered to anyone, and he is staying in his room for a long time.
Except he isn’t. The second the group have left the store, now with far too many glances in Angel’s direction, Charlie claps her hands together.
“Okay, new plan, we are finding a bathroom!” She looks back to Angel. “Do you think you’ll be okay? I’m sure we can find something in one of these stores…”
“I’m fine, stop talking about it!” Angel hisses, blushing so bright his face matches his boots. “Let’s just- I’ll go back to the hotel, it’s fine-”
“You’re not going back just for that!” Charlie protests, still under the belief that he wants to be here. “I’ll find something, trust me!”
He has no choice. As Charlie searches three different stores, giving the humiliating spiel of ‘my friend is desperate’, Angel begins to wonder if just pissing his pants in front of them all would be any less embarrassing. Definitely not.
“You’re better off duckin’ into an alley,” Husk points out as he sees Charlie return from the fourth store with the same dejected expression.
“I ain’t that low.” Angel hisses, rolling his eyes. He resists the urge to put a hand between his legs.
“It’s hell, you expect a five star bathroom on every corner?”
“I doubt it’s very redeeming to be seen with your dick in hand on a street corner-”
“Angel, we’re not gonna find anything.” Charlie interrupts. She looks guiltily at the way his hand twitches, as though it’s her fault he needs to go. “You're better off just…” Her voice drops to a sheepish kind of whisper. “Going back there.”
Angel narrows his eyes. “I ain’t taking a piss in a damn alle-”
It's as though his body sends a shockwave built specifically to prove him wrong. Angel goes from just about managing to hold on confidently to doubled over, hand clamping the spot between his thighs and breath catching in his throat. He needs to pee, now.
The pornstar says nothing. He hardly even hears what Charlie says next, heart pounding in his ears as he makes a very undignified shuffle towards the alley he just swore off. It's empty of people, but it's also empty of objects to hide behind. There’s no way he’s going to be able to do this, and yet his body is giving him no other option. He can’t hold it. Angel stops opposite the wall of a building, hesitant as he takes himself from his underwear. Okay, just take a deep breath-
Husk is standing in the entrance to the alley. His back is turned, but he’s too stiff in stature, as though he’s anticipating. Listening.
Angel’s hand shakes. He glances the other way, trying to spot the end so that he can at least hide in a corner, but the alley connects to another street. He’s standing right in the middle, and stepping any further to the left would put him at risk of being caught by a stranger.
“Husk,” He begins, willing his voice not to tremble. “Back the fuck up.”
“Charlie sent me to guard.”
“I do not care. Get back out there.”
“What, you shy or something?” Husk turns around, and though Angel isn’t exactly worried about his body being on show it makes his chest tighten. “Not like I'm in the splash zone, you’re good but not that much.”
“That’s not what this is about!” Angel snaps, pulling his clothes back into place. His bladder protests bitterly but it's nothing against the humiliation in the pit of his stomach. “Just forget it. I’m fine, I’m going home!”
“Angel?” Charlie, concerned, asks when he storms past Husk and out of the alley.
Angel gives her no response, continuing to walk. Somehow, perhaps from the adrenaline, he manages to walk perfectly steady and fast until he’s out of sight of the group. At which point he doubles up, slipping behind a parked car to whimper and squeeze his eyes shut.
It’s no use. He won’t be able to go here. He won’t be able to go anywhere but his own bathroom in the hotel, connected to his empty room where no one can overhear. He’s been the same since- since-
Angel has no option but to make his way back to the hotel, fast. The adrenaline has worn off by the time he continues his journey, and he’s forced to miserably shuffle, but he perseveres.
It isn’t enough. He wasn’t sure it would be, but what’s cruel about it is by the time his bladder forces itself to empty, he’s in the hall on the way to his room. So close.
He doesn’t think of damage control. Angel leans against the wall, breathing coming out in sharp gasps as liquid trails down his thighs, drips into his boots and against the carpet. It’s uncomfortable, and he can’t even focus on the relief as a silver lining because it isn't fair. Thirty more seconds, and he could have made it. If they just allowed him to leave when he wanted to, he would have made it. Not that they didn’t try to help.
Angel doesn’t feel better about it until long after he’s frantically polished the puddle from the carpet. Until the others have gotten back. Until days later. And at the end of an exhausting week, the situation rears its head once again.
He’s made it to the end of what should be his last shift of the week - no promises, because Val’s schedule and wants aren't exactly set in stone - and Angel can honestly say he feels as dead as his sinner form would suggest. His head is spinning, his stomach has been aching since he woke up, and he’s thrown up twice just during the walk home. It’s all he can do to stumble in through the doorway and take a much needed seat at the bar.
He doesn’t intend to drink, though he might take down some ginger ale or something if he really has to. He just needs to rest here long enough to catch his breath.
Husk doesn’t even let him get that far. One glance, and he’s sliding a glass of plain water over to him. “Here, sip it slow so you don't puke again. I’m not cleaning that.”
“How’d you guess?” Angel asks hoarsely. He spills the water just trying.
Husk doesn’t help him lift it, but he does place a pink straw in the glass. “Well if the paler face didn’t give it away, the stain on your shirt would’ve.”
Fuck. Angel can’t even think about that right now. He sips his water, trying not to whimper. Husk’s eyes never leave him, and despite his earlier point he’s braced ready to pick up the trash can.
Angel keeps the water down, though he feels no better for it. He aches to go to bed, but he isn’t sure he’s got the strength to climb the stairs right now.
“You’re not contagious, right? We both know Alastor is taking full advantage if he finds out I'm sick.”
“And you think Val won’t?” Angel scowls, swirling his glass of water as though it’s something far more exciting. He wouldn’t put it past that bastard to give him an extra shift just to capitalise on his inability to keep anything in his stomach for longer than five minutes. “No, it ain’t contagious. Probably ate something weird, I've been super busy this week…”
Husk is quiet for a long while. Once Angel has finished his water, he tosses the glass in the sink to be dealt with later and steps out of the bar. “C’mon, might as well put you in bed so the germs don’t spread if it is.”
It’s a mercy Angel is low enough to take right now. He lets himself be lifted to his feet by Husk, pauses to wait out the dizziness, and the two make a slow journey up to his room.
Thankfully, they encounter no one on the way. Soon enough Angel is in bed, covers reduced to a simple fleece blanket because anything else makes his skin feel as though it’s being poked by a thousand sewing needles. Husk steps out to get some medicine - which is a good job, because Angel would have to go find Charlie in order to get access to the locked cabinet - and-
And Angel is waking in a cold sweat, head pounding and stomach churning. It’s dark and Angel hardly remembers he’s dead at first, let alone what day it is, but these are an afterthought in comparison to the realisation that he needs to get into the bathroom immediately.
He makes it just in time to retch over the bowl, middle set of hands gripping it while the top two pull his hair back and his shirt out of the way. Not that that matters, because he forgot to change it earlier.
“Easy,” A warm voice soothes, and he feels the familiar weight of Husk’s paw on his back. “Breathe- it’ll feel worse if ya don’t.”
Angel follows the instruction. The nausea fades to an unsatisfying level, and he leans against the wall next to the toilet, winded.
“How are you feeling? Other than the obvious.”
“Like I’m dying a second time. Is that possible?”
“No. Guessing the pills wore off?”
“I took pills?” Angel manages to reach a hand up half-heartedly, falling just short of the flush, which Husk presses for him.
“Yeah, you were so out-of-it I don’t think you were awake more than half a minute.”
That makes sense, because of all the things Angel is starting to remember from the shitty day he’s still enduring, that is not one of them.
“Ugh. This better not be contagious.” Angel groans, pulling himself to his feet. “I think this could wipe someone like Niff’ out for good.”
“Again, we can’t die.” Husk replies, pouring out a capful of mouthwash from the sink to feed him. Angel spits it back into the cap when he’s done, which earns him a look, but he is so above caring.
“I’m gonna pass out.” He isn’t. It’s very rare that he actually does, thanks to an afterlife spent pushing his body to its absolute limit.
“Back to bed, then.” Husk is already ushering him over, and Angel does not protest. He lays under the blankets this time, because he feels like he’s been locked in a freezer.
It isn’t until he’s back in bed that he realises if the need to throw up didn’t wake him, his bladder soon would have. Angel is a little surprised he didn’t leak at all with how hard he was throwing up, but if there’s one thing he can pride himself on, it’s the control of his bodily functions.… Most of the time. He ends up cradling the trash can for the next few hours.
Husk doesn’t leave his side for longer than a minute throughout the ordeal, and that’s only to rinse out the trash can for another round. He doesn’t tire, fetching him water and pills and tissues, chatting to him to distract from the nausea. At first it’s a blessing to not go through this alone, but by the time the sun is rising, it feels much more like a curse. He waits for Husk to step out and retrieve something, grab a phone charger since Angel’s isn’t compatible, maybe even be summoned by Alastor at this point.
“You need somethin’?” Husk interrupts his current anecdote to ask. His gaze is on the hand that’s discreetly between Angel’s legs - not discreetly enough, apparently.
“Nah.” Angel lifts the hand, begging himself not to blush. “Continue the story, I’m invested.”
“You can listen while you piss, Y'know. We’re both guys here.”
“I don’t need to go.” He can’t keep the scorn from his tone, which Angel feels guilty about because Husk has been nothing but nice to him since this ordeal began.
Husk doesn't believe him, that much is made clear by the raised eyebrow and the way his gaze keeps straying to Angel’s lap. His concern should be reassuring, it isn’t often Angel sees someone care about him in that way, but in his sick, tired and desperate state, it’s nothing but annoying.
“Husk.”
“What?”
“Quit staring at my damn lap. I said I was fine.”
Husk sucks in a breath. “You’re two sharp coughs from needin’ new bedsheets. The bathroom is right there, I don’t get why you ain't admitting it.”
Admitting it, as though he’s allowed the comfort of denial. Angel knows exactly what he needs and how urgent it is. He wants to carry on as they are, being cared for and entertained. Husk’s presence is making what would be an unbearable experience just a little easier to get through.
But Angel knows all too well that something this good is sure to turn sour.
“You need to get out.”
“Huh?” Husk looks confused, and Angel looks away so he doesn’t have to see that expression turn to hurt.
“Get out. I’m… Tired, or whatever.” Justifying it isn’t easy when Angel can feel a couple of drips threatening to seep into the bedsheets. He squirms profusely, the hand in between his legs pinching and holding on tight.
Husk does not miss this. “Damn, it’s bad, isn't it? Do you need help to get to the-”
“Get. Out.” He knows how this ends. Better to push away and be judged for that than the truth. But he’s caught even so.
“Angel.” Husk’s voice drops to a gentle tone. A different kind of nausea laps at his stomach. “Is that what this is about? Do you need to be alone? I ain’t gonna judge-”
“That’s what they said too.” He surprises himself admitting it. Angel’s voice is thick with tears, and he can’t even face Husk, let alone look at him. It’s what those clients said. It’s what Val said too. And he knows how that turned out. “Get the hell out of my room!”
Silence. Husk stares for another five seconds, that awful mix of hurt confusion on his face, and then he turns around and leaves without a word.
Angel doesn’t see him when he’s using the bathroom, or when the relief mixes with regret and he finds himself sobbing in a ball on the floor. He throws up again with no one to hold the trash can and diminished supplies to clean it.
It’s a long and cold night. Angel tries to tell himself it’s better than the alternative.
They don’t speak of it. Angel gets better, Husk goes down with what he had which is just his luck, and Angel returns the favor of nursing him back to health. By the end of the month it's as though nothing happened.
Well. It could be. Angel finds himself wondering if Husk thinks about it as often as he does, if he caused irreversible damage to their growing bond by pushing away. He hopes not. He isn’t used to things going well for him but Husk is the first good thing to happen to him in months. He cares; doesn’t just pretend to to get under his skin.
Maybe to keep that, Angel is going to have to work on a few things himself. Especially something he knows hurt him. It’s uncomfortable, but it means a lot.
Angel has a shy bladder. If someone is nearby when he’s trying to pee, he becomes unable to do it - no matter how much reassurance he’s offered. It feels like an impossible problem, one that has been going on so long that Angel has made an unconscious habit of checking public bathrooms are empty, or listening out when someone else goes to determine whether or not the room is soundproof.
It's not the same on camera. A performance makes it easy, as though it’s not really him. Val has had him work on bodily fluid shoots before, and those aren’t too difficult. Which is ironic, because that's where the problem sprung up in the first place.
Husk doesn't ask about it, the same way Angel doesn’t ask about his odd habits as he discovers them. It isn’t until a group road trip that that changes.
Hell has always had notoriously bad traffic, the pride ring especially. Something about unsupervised sinners, impatience and hardly any traffic laws. Admittedly, Angel should have thought of that before he took down a large iced tea within the first hour of the drive, but he doesn’t let himself be known for rationality over pleasure. He wanted that damn tea, no matter how many comments Vaggie made about “I don’t wanna see what you’re like when you’re caffeinated” and “You realise we have designated stops, right, we can’t pull over every ten minutes for you to piss”.
Angel stretches his arms above his head outside the car at a spot on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, four hours after they were meant to be at their destination, and wonders how Vaggie’s designated stops are working out for her now. He’s achy thanks to Charlie's insistence that seatbelts aren’t optional, and his snacks ran out hours ago. It feels like that entire cup of sweet tea is sitting in his bladder, and Angel can hardly wait any longer for relief.
Literally. The princess has been trying to find a rest stop and get everyone to hold it until then, herself included despite her squirms. But Angel knows his body, especially in light of his recent close calls, and he knows it is not willing to wait the 5 mile detour assuming they can actually get back onto the road with that buildup of traffic.
“Nope, toots, I’m sorry. I really gotta.” He says eventually, feigning regret as if he's ashamed at what he's about to resort to. In reality, that ship sailed back when Vaggie made an example of him when she caught him squirm. The last thing he wants is to add fuel to the fire by pissing his pants too.
“Angel!” Charlie calls out, irritated as she sees him turn towards the treeline. “No- just hang on! Those woods look dangerous.”
“Those woods are in the middle of nowhere, we haven't seen a building for miles.” Angel rolls his eyes. “Ain’t gonna be a soul in there. I’ll be super quick.”
“Okay, well, uhm.” Charlie glances around their group, reaching. “Husk! Husk, you drink a lot, you must need to pee by now, right?”
“...” Husk blinks. He looks stunned, and it’s funny enough that Angel would be wheezing if he wasn’t at risk of soaking his skirt.
“Go with Angel!” Charlie prompts, picking up his wrist and gently tugging him to Angel’s side. Angel blushes and mentally curses - the only reason he was so unbothered about them knowing how badly he has to take a leak is because he knew he’d have a chance to do it alone. “Don’t split up! Safety first!”
And that’s that. Angel makes a now hesitant path into the trees, Husk walking steadily behind. Neither say a word, but Angel can tell by the expression on his face exactly what the feline sinner is thinking of.
“You want me to head over here? Give you privacy?” Husk prompts, tone light as though it isn’t a big deal. Angel supposes it wouldn’t be if not for the secret he’s had revealed over the last few weeks. Still, he tries fruitlessly to cling to his pride.
“Nah, couldn’t care less.” Angel replies as though they're talking about the weather. He stops at a bush, pulling out and aiming. And waiting.
Fuck. He still can’t pee. Husk is right there, and Angel isn’t peeing, and he looks so stupid, so pathetic…
Well, as it turns out Husk is a few feet away with his back to Angel, pissing like a firehose, but if Angel can hear him, he’d be able to hear Angel too.
Predictably, nothing comes out.
“You want me to wait?” Husk asks. “I can head back…”
“Nah.” He’s determined. “Charlie’ll kill us. It’s fine, I just gotta- remind myself you ain’t them. You couldn’t care less.”
He so badly wants to win the fight against his body. Angel was bursting next to the car, and now that he’s been standing here almost five minutes, taking big breaths and thinking about water, he can’t do it. He feels useless- out of control, gross. Just like they said, just like Val reminded him every day.
“I’m heading back.” Husk murmurs in a soft voice after a while. He sounds pitiful, and it makes Angel want to scream. He stays silent, but the former overlord has more to say. “You know you could have asked. I’m never gonna judge you for something you can’t control.”
Neither of them talk about the fact that Angel finally manages to start peeing into the dirt just as Husk starts walking away.
Angel has a shy bladder. Paruesis. He’s been unable to pee around others for longer than he can remember, and yet he remembers the exact cause.
Back when he was first becoming famous, noticed by the lustful population of hell, Val had him experiment with a variety of different kinks, ranging from stuff so light you could hardly distinguish them from the general sex in the film, to strong, violent things that took over the entire show. One of those was bodily fluids, of course. A token in the collection. He hardly remembers the script of the movie so far in the future - something about being a desperate people pleaser who didn’t want to interrupt their partner’s whims for a (much needed) relief break, leading to an inevitable accident right at the key moment.
Angel, an up-and-coming star, excelled. He pushed himself to genuinely lose control, the guilt and anxiety so realistic it gave him chills to look back on. He knows damn well the movie was in demand, still is according to recent comments. And yet, those were his downfall.
“They're calling you disgustingly weak,” Val had snapped, the screen cracking as he threw the phone on the table. The second that week, and it was a Tuesday. “This is your worst rated movie to date- You've never scored below four stars before!”
Angel didn’t know what to say. He fidgeted in his seat, blushing, trying to come up with promises that he'd do better, but the results had thrown him too. He was so sure that had been his best movie yet, and the sudden slap of failure stung.
Such a weak performance, I thought he would last at least a few minutes more, the comments were comprised of. He looks far too pathetic to be a star here. Surprised Val even let this one be posted.
The words stuck with him years later. They’ve been swirling lately with all of his other insecurities, showing himself right when he doesn’t want them to. But Angel is working on those in group and private therapy, and this is no exception.
Charlie’s activities have been getting longer lately. He doesn’t have much else to get up to around here, other than doomscrolling, and she brings snacks and sodas - except that just leads him into a problem he’s really getting sick of.
“Five minute break!” The princess calls out, clapping her hands. It’s like they're conditioned into fleeing when they hear that clap - Alastor disappears into the kitchen, Niffty dives under the couch to find a roach she’s been thinking about the whole afternoon, Husk and Vaggie make a beeline for the bathrooms…
Right where Angel wants to be.
He can’t go up to his room. Charlie has been strict about that lately, which he did bring on himself by skipping out on the activities that way several times, but it doesn't help him now. Fuck, why does the urge get so much worse when you’re this close to being able to get relief from it?
Angel tries to wait until everyone comes back from the bathroom, but he feels dangerously close to leaking and this outfit has to be dry-cleaned, so a shared bathroom experience it is.
He feels anxious the closer he gets. Angel knows exactly who is in that bathroom, and what they’ve already witnessed of him. But he’s been hearing a lot about ‘personal improvement’ lately and it’s inspiring.
Husk is barely getting started at one of the urinals when Angel comes in. What felt like twenty minutes was more like twenty seconds. Still, the cat freezes in place when he spots him.
“You need me to leave?”
“Ugh, please.” Angel rolls his eyes, shaking his head. He makes himself walk closer. “I ain’t gonna order you to leave with your dick in hand. This is my shit to work through, not yours.”
He takes the urinal furthest from Husk, heart pounding in his chest as he aims and waits. It really, really feels like he’s about to be waiting here uncomfortably full until the bathroom empties. But hey, he doesn’t lose anything from trying. Husk isn’t judging. He isn’t like those commenters, the first group of public criticism he got for his work.
He isn’t judging. Whether Angel can’t do a thing here or he makes an odd noise or he gets splashback on himself or he looks pathetic Husk is not judging.
It’s weak at first, a mere few drops that manage to escape despite his fear. Angel almost locks up right there, and it would be painful to do so, but he closes his eyes and focuses. And pees.
It seems to go on forever. Angel doesn’t open his eyes until he’s got a steady stream, and then it’s only to stare in mild amazement. He’s actually doing it.
Husk has moved to the sink, his own relief over with. He’s washing his hands, head down, but there’s a small smile on his face. He knows exactly how much of a win that is - and instead of smirking and judging him, he’s silently supporting him.
“That felt fuckin’ amazing.” Angel murmurs when he’s done, shaking off and then joining Husk at the sink.
“I’ll bet,” the cat replies, chuckling. “She had us working on good deeds for hours, I’m surprised I even remember my favourite brand of whiskey.” He pulls his flask out of his pocket by instinct.
“Don’t get too comfortable, old man.” Angel teases, nudging him lightly enough that the liquid doesn’t spill. “It’ll be another few hours yet.”
They make their way back out to the lounge, laughing as though it’s an inside joke. The real secret, in contrast, isn’t discussed.