Husker sat at the bar, nursing a glass of alcohol, the dim light casting shadows across his face. His usual confident demeanor was gone, replaced with a heavy sense of guilt that weighed him down like a stone. He had made a terrible mistake—gambling your soul away to the last person he ever wanted to owe anything to: Alastor. The very thought of that smug, sadistic grin made his blood boil, but it was the guilt that truly gnawed at him. He hated Alastor, but right now, he hated himself even more.

It had been days since you’d come to the bar, and every second of your absence only made him more anxious. He kept glancing at the door, hoping—no, praying—you would show up, so he could find a way to apologize, to make things right, somehow. His grip tightened around the glass as the door finally creaked open. To his surprise, there you were, slipping quietly into the room. Without a word, you headed straight for the couch, grabbing a drink before sinking into the worn cushions.

Husker’s heart twisted as he saw the marks and bruises on your skin, stark reminders of what his betrayal had cost you. The guilt hit him like a punch to the gut. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words stuck in his throat. His usual bravado faltered, replaced by the fear of what he might see in your eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to move, let alone confront you. All he could do was stare, his worry and regret written across his face, as he tried to figure out how to mend what felt irreparably broken.