You feel a smile touch your lips despite yourself, and you turn your head back into the couch cushion to hide it. “It’s not nearly exciting as what you get from Angel—”

“Thank fuckin’ Christ,” Husk interrupts with a snort. He clears his throat awkwardly in the next moment, telling himself that that particular reaction was due to him being tired of hearing about crazy, occasionally violent sex and not because the idea of hearing about you fucking someone else made his gut twist uncomfortably in a way he didn’t like to think about. “I jus’ mean… there’s only so many stories you can hear about all the ways a sex swing can malfunction before ya wanna take a bullet to the frontal lobe.”

You snort, still not raising your head. “And now I’m suddenly glad I’ve never tried one.”

Husk closes his eyes for a moment against the sudden image that statement conjures in his mind. Pictures of you suspended, legs spread invitingly, level with his…

He quickly banishes the thought with a hasty mouthful of bourbon, letting the liquid linger in his throat long enough to burn. He coughs slightly before speaking, his voice rough. “So, you got my ear. An’ my curiosity. Might as well use it.”

You push yourself up, turning to sit properly on the couch. You give him a dry, teasing look, and he forces his eyes not to dip down to your chest when he notices you aren’t wearing a bra under the tank top you have on. Instead, he keeps his gaze trained determinedly on your face, and he instead takes in the deep circles under your eyes. “You know what they say about cats and curiosity, Husk.”

“Can it,” he retorts, and you let a soft giggle slip past your lips despite yourself. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. “C’mon, kid. Out with it.”

You heave a sigh.

“I can’t sleep,” you admit. “I’ve tried everything.”

“That’s it?”

You feel a self-deprecating smile touch your lips. Your whole face feels fuzzy, and even though your eyelids droop, you know they won’t stay closed long. “I’ve barely slept in three days. Like, two… maybe three hours, tops. And if I have to face one more morning of Charlie’s insane brand of positivity like this, I might pitch myself off the roof tomorrow.”

“That bad, huh?” Husk says, and you nod. Your bottom lip curls in a pout, and the bartender, bites the inside of his cheek at the sight of it. He finishes his drink, and without it, he feels awkward standing there in front of you. Without anything else to do, he sets the glass on the coffee table and takes a seat beside you. He leaves about a foot between the two of you, and Christ, is he aware of it. “I probably got a whiskey back there that’d knock you out for a few hours. Though the hangover might kill ya.”

You scoff a laugh, letting your head fall back against the top of the sofa. You stare up at the ceiling as you try in vain to suppress a yawn. “The sad thing is, I’m actually tempted.”

“Christ, things are fuckin’ dire,” he drawls. Husk hesitates for a long moment, his sympathy for you warring with every other part of him that was screaming ‘no’. But there was that fucking pout again, and something in that cold stone of a heart of his had him talking before he even realised he’d opened his mouth. “C’mere.”

Your eyes snap open, and you look at him, confused. “What?”

Husk’s jaw ticks, and he fights back the urge to rub a paw over his face. “I—” he sighs heavily. “It’s fuckin’ stupid… somethin’ about cats are supposed to help ya sleep. It’s bullshit, and I ain’t—”

“You’d do that for me?”

Husk stops short at the soft words, the surprise in your question. You almost sound… touched. He swallows, then nods. His wings stretch slightly before resettling behind him, and he lifts an arm awkwardly in invitation.

You dither for a moment, uncertain, before you shift, scooting yourself closer to his side. Husk wraps his arm tentatively around your shoulders and you sink into his side, resting your head on his shoulder. Husk’s posture is stiff at that first contact, but he feels you sigh as you sink into his soft fur, and he forces himself to relax. He exhales, long and slow, and you shift, tucking your cheek against his chest. You raise a hand cautiously, tentatively wrapping an arm around him, your hand resting on his stomach. You feel him twitch under the touch, and you move to withdraw your touch, an apology blooming on your lips.

“No,” Husk says softly, his paw catching your hand before you can pull it away. His hand eclipses yours, and he leads it back to the soft fur of his stomach. “’s okay… whole point is that you’re comfortable.”

“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be,” you mutter.

Husk clears his throat as he feels your fingers curl in the fur there. Your nails just barely graze his stomach, and he closes his eyes at the touch, trying to ignore the heat it sends swirling through his belly, up into his chest, the back of his neck. “’m fine.”

As if to prove his point, a soft, rumbling purr sounds in his chest, just below your ear, and Husk swallows back a blush. You raise your head, eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you—”

“Don’t,” Husk says, embarrassed. “For the sake of the one fuckin’ crumb of pride I got left…”

You giggle, resting your head on his chest again. Your fingers start that slow rub of his fur again, and the purring grows louder. You close your eyes, and Husk tightens his arm around you slightly. “’kay.”

There’s a long, quiet stretch between the two of you, where you’re lulled by the beat of his heart and the rumbling in his chest. Husk lets his own eyes close, turns his head to rest his chin against the crown of your head. You’re so warm against him, and your fingers continue their slow caress against his stomach. He can feel them pause, then start again; it’s as though the further you drift from consciousness you keep restarting, as though you want to be touching him this way. You shift slightly against him, burying your face deeper into his chest.

“…Is this helpin’?” he murmurs, so quietly. “Or am I makin’ a fool of myself for nothin’?”

You don’t answer, your breathing deep and even as you finally sleep.

"Bit of both, then."