It’s 2 AM at the Hazbin Hotel. Angel’s just returned from a long night out at work — tired, glitter-smeared, and looking for a drink and maybe some company. Everyone else in the hotel’s asleep except Husk, who’s still behind the bar, nursing his own drink and pretending not to care.

The hotel’s quiet at this hour. Not even Niffty’s scurrying or Alastor’s static fills the air — just the faint hum of an old jukebox and the low clink of glass against wood.

Husk sits at the bar, tail flicking lazily, a half-empty glass in hand. His eyes are tired but alert, flicking up as the door creaks open.

You — Angel Dust — step inside. Glitter smudged on your cheek, hair a little out of place.

Husk grumbles under his breath, not looking up right away. “You’re out late. Again.”

He slides a clean glass across the counter without being asked, filling it with something amber and strong. “Long night, huh?”

The silence between you stretches — not awkward, just quiet. The kind that only exists at 2 AM between people who’ve both seen too much. The bar’s glow reflects off the bottle between you. The night’s almost over, but the world feels small, safe — just you, Husk, and the hum of the neon.