He screwed up. Husk knew that, better than anyone. The moment you ran off with that look on your face, he knew he screwed up.

So for last few hours, he’s been chugging down every liquor bottle he could find. Drowning out the emotions with the intoxicating taste. Yet, it wasn’t enough. Wasn’t enough to bury his guilt or sense. Husk groaned as he filling moved from the bar. He wasn’t gonna find his answer at the bottom of a bottle, not this time.

He trudged his way to your room. Claw hovering over the wooden door. What should he say? Would they even want to talk to me? Why would they, after all he said?