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Chapter 11

The morning sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow in Husk's house. Angel was sprawled out shirtless on the couch, his body relaxed in sleep, but Husk's eyes were drawn to the dark marks scattered across Angel's abdomen—cigarette burns, each one a small, painful reminder of his past. Husk sighed, his expression hardening slightly as he remembered overhearing Angel's conversation before the fight that ended in a punch to Angel's stomach. An ex-boyfriend had done this to him.

Husk felt a strange mix of anger and sympathy welling up inside. He hadn't expected to care this much, but seeing Angel like this—vulnerable, marked, and scarred—was different from the confident and sassy front Angel usually put up. Husk walked over to the couch, nudging Angel gently with his foot.

"Hey, Dust," Husk grumbled. "Breakfast is ready."

Angel stirred, blinking groggily as he slowly woke up. He stretched, his muscles tensing before he groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Husk, what time is it?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

Husk shrugged. "Late enough. Get your ass up. I made food."

Angel grinned sleepily. "You? Cook? Now that's a surprise," he teased, standing up and stretching again before following Husk into the kitchen.

At the table, Angel started digging into the food immediately, clearly impressed. "Damn, Husk. This is actually really good," he said between bites, his tone light and playful. "Didn't know you could cook like this. You sure you didn't steal this from a restaurant or something?"

Husk rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I ain't bad at everything, you know."

As Angel continued to eat, Husk's gaze drifted again to the scars on his body. He set down his coffee mug and, after a beat of hesitation, spoke. "So... those marks on your stomach," Husk began, his voice carefully casual, though his eyes were serious. "Are they all from cigarettes?"

Angel's chewing slowed as he glanced down at his own body, a flicker of discomfort passing through his expression. He swallowed his food and, after a moment, nodded. "Yeah," he said quietly, shrugging as if trying to brush it off. "Ex-boyfriend. Real piece of shit."

Husk frowned, his heart sinking a bit at how casually Angel spoke about it. "That why you think your body's dirty?" he asked, recalling the way Angel had talked about himself in the past.

Angel paused, the usual cocky mask slipping for a second as he considered Husk's words. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand over the scars. "Kinda hard not to think that when you look like a fucking ashtray," he muttered, his voice quieter now, as though the bravado had drained out of him.

Husk felt a flash of anger, but not at Angel—at whoever had made him feel like this. He leaned forward, his tone uncharacteristically soft. "No, brat. Your body's not dirty. It's beautiful."

Angel looked up, his eyes widening in surprise at Husk's words. For a moment, he didn't know what to say, taken off guard by the sincerity in Husk's voice. "You... you think so?" he asked, his tone more vulnerable than usual.

Husk nodded, his expression firm. "Yeah. I do. Those scars don't change that." He didn't push any further, letting his words sink in as Angel looked at him, clearly affected.

For the first time in a long while, Angel didn't have a snarky comeback. Instead, he just smiled softly, his usual walls crumbling, if only for a moment. "Thanks, Husk," he said quietly, returning to his food but with a little more lightness in his expression.

Husk just nodded, sipping his coffee. He wasn't good at these kinds of moments, but maybe, just maybe, he'd managed to get through to Angel in a way that mattered.

In the sterile confines of the clinic, the air was thick with tension. Husk, focused and steady, hovered over a mobster lying on the table, preparing to extract a bullet lodged in the man's knee. His small tweezers were poised, ready to remove the foreign object, but the mobster's constant groaning and cries made it harder to concentrate.

"Hold still, damn it," Husk muttered, his patience wearing thin as the man squirmed in pain. He glanced at Angel, who was standing nearby, looking equally irritated.

Angel rolled his eyes and bent down toward the mobster, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, shut the hell up, will ya? It's just a bullet," he snapped. "You want Husk to get it out or leave it there so you can keep whining all day?"

The mobster whimpered in response but tried to bite down on his lip, doing his best to stay still under Angel's withering glare. Angel shook his head in disbelief. "Can't believe this guy," he muttered under his breath, crossing his arms as he watched Husk work.

Meanwhile, Lucifer leaned casually against the clinic doorframe, his eyes locked on Angel. His lips curled into a sly smile as he admired the way Angel handled the situation—his sharp tongue, his confidence. Lucifer couldn't resist the opportunity to toy with him.

"Angel," Lucifer purred, his voice low and dripping with innuendo. "I have to say, seeing you like this... all in control, so commanding. It's a real turn-on. How about we slip away for a little... private time?" His gaze was predatory, full of flirtation as he leaned closer, brushing a finger along Angel's arm.

Angel barely spared Lucifer a glance, his eyes still on Husk and the mobster. "Really, Luce? Now? In the middle of all this?" Angel retorted, clearly annoyed but used to Lucifer's advances. He swatted Lucifer's hand away without much thought.

Lucifer chuckled, undeterred by Angel's rejection. "What can I say? You're irresistible, Angel," he teased, his tone light but suggestive. "I'm just trying to offer a little... distraction from all this gore."

Angel shot him a sharp look, his patience clearly thinning. "Yeah, well, if you haven't noticed, we're kinda busy here," he said dryly, gesturing to the mobster on the table.

Husk, now halfway through removing the bullet, shot a glare at Lucifer. "Can you not? We're in the middle of a damn surgery," he growled, his hands steady as he carefully worked to remove the bullet. The mobster's whimpers continued, but Husk remained focused, ignoring the chaos around him.

Lucifer smirked, clearly enjoying the reactions he was getting. "Alright, alright," he said with mock innocence, holding his hands up as if to surrender. "I'll wait my turn. But don't keep me waiting too long, Angel."

Angel groaned in frustration, rubbing his temples. "Yeah, sure, whatever you say," he muttered, more focused on helping Husk finish up than dealing with Lucifer's usual antics.

Finally, with a small metallic clink, Husk pulled the bullet free, dropping it into a tray. "There. All done," he said, stepping back and wiping his hands on a cloth. He glanced at Angel. "Thanks for shutting him up."

Angel smirked, giving a mock salute. "Anytime, doc. Anytime." He cast one last irritated glance at Lucifer, who simply winked at him, clearly unfazed.

As the mobster limped out of the clinic, Angel sighed heavily, muttering to himself, "This job just keeps getting weirder."