#sashybash

How does he sleep like that? It can’t possibly be comfortable.

You know it’s not his fault, really. It’s a combination of overwork and alcohol that causes Husk to constantly pass out standing up, his head resting on the bar. Surely he’d be in his bed if he had the choice.

You wish you could do something. You’ve tried on multiple occasions to rouse him from his sleep, but he never budges when he’s this far gone. You can’t move him, either; he’s just dead weight like this. Any attempt would only leave him on the floor, which would obviously be even worse. 

Instead, all you can do is keep him company when he’s passed out. You’re sure he doesn’t notice your presence; he’s never brought it up while awake, anyway. Still, it makes you feel better to not leave him alone for the whole night.

Tonight is like so many other nights. While most of the hotel’s residents have long since gone to bed, you’re sitting up at the bar with an unconscious Husk. You’ve always been a bit of a night owl, so it doesn’t bother you to not be in your own bed.

Despite the dire circumstances that led to his falling unconscious again, Husk seems surprisingly peaceful. He at least had time to fold his arms on the bar and rest his chin on them, rather than face-planting onto the bar with his neck bent at a horribly uncomfortable angle. His wings are folded in and relaxed, and his tail is hanging low and gently swishing, the feathers lightly brushing against the floor. His hat fell off when he passed out, so you picked it up, dusted it off, and placed it on the bar for him to retrieve when he woke up.

You rarely see him without his hat, so you often forget what he looks like without it. Hair-like fur is bunched in the middle of his head, sticking out in wild directions. Does he ever brush it? Perhaps he doesn’t feel the need to when it’s always under the hat anyway.

It looks so soft… you wonder what it’d be like to comb your fingers through it.

Husk stirs slightly in his sleep, but he’s not anymore conscious. He only grumbles and shivers before slumping against the bar again, his eyes never opening.

Come to think of it, it’s an awfully cold night tonight, and for reasons you don’t quite understand, the poor man never wears a shirt…

There’s a blanket laying on the lobby’s couch, so you step away just long enough to retrieve it. It’s an off-white fleece, and incredibly soft; of course someone like Charlie wouldn’t cheap out on her guests’ comfort. You bring it back to Husk and drape it over his back. It doesn’t cover him much at first due to his wings, but he reflexively pulls them in until the blanket settles over his shoulders.

You return to your stool and resume your nightly watch over him. Is it just you, or does he look more relaxed now? You could swear his eyebrows are less furrowed, and his mouth isn’t turned down quite so much.

Most tellingly, if you listen closely, you can hear the faintest hint of a purr rumbling from his throat.

It’s not the first time you’ve thought of how handsome he was, and the removal of his hat is only strengthening your opinion. He may be a grouchy old man who’s dealt with too much bullshit in his life to ever let his guard down again, but that only intensifies his care for the other residents, tough as that care may be. You know he means well, and only wants to spare you and the others from screwing up your own lives as badly as he did.

Yet, a softer side does shine through the near-perpetual anger sometimes. A side that’s been learning when you don’t need your mistakes rubbed in your face. When he simply lets you speak or remain silent after a hard day, giving you a soft look and encouragement while realizing it isn’t yet the time for advice… that’s the Husk you want to know more about, and the Husk you currently see sleeping in front of you.

God, the fur on his hair looks so nice… you can’t help yourself anymore. You run your fingers over it, just once, lightly enough to not wake him (as if he can be awoken from this state). It’s even softer than you imagined, feeling just like cat fur instead of human hair. You give his head a few more strokes, thinking about how nice he’d look if he’d brushed it, maybe slicked it back…

You could swear he’s purring more loudly now.

You’ve already started sating your curiosity, so you may as well keep going. Still keeping your touches light, you stroke your way behind his ear, then to his cheek. Your fingers sink into the fluff as you gently scratch the skin underneath.

He leans his head into your hand and nuzzles.

You pull your hand back in shock, not expecting his response. Have you woken him after all?

His frown deepens as he settles his chin back into his arms, and his tail gives a frustrated lash. His eyes still aren’t opening, and his purring goes quiet.

He’s stopped moving for a while, so you take a chance and scratch his cheek again. He responds in the same way, leaning into your hand and purring louder than ever. Since he seems to be enjoying it, you place your other hand on his other cheek and scratch him there, too. After a few scratches, you cup his cheeks in your palms and scratch behind his ears.

He’s purring like crazy now, tilting his head slightly to make sure your fingers are rubbing just the right spots. His tail raises into the air and waves, and his claws flex against the wooden bartop.

“Husk…” you whisper.

He whispers your name back and slightly opens his eyes. You immediately pull your hands back as if his face was suddenly scalding hot.

“Where am I…?” he murmurs groggily before his eyes close again. “My knees fuckin’ hurt…”

“You should go to bed,” you tell him, pointedly ignoring what you’d just been doing to him. “The bar was supposed to close hours ago.”

“Ugh… finally…” His mouth opens wide in a feline yawn, and then he stands up. The blanket starts to slip from his shoulders, but he catches it and wraps it more tightly around him. “This yours?”

“I got it from the couch,” you say. “You can keep it.”

“Good. It’s fuckin’ cold… no wonder everything fuckin’ hurts…” He yawns again as he walks out from behind the bar. “I need a day off… was havin’ a good dream… hate wakin’ up from good dreams…” He doesn’t acknowledge you further as he shuffles off to bed, grousing to himself the entire time.