Husker

The casino floor pulsed like a living thing—lights flashing, coins clattering, laughter rising and crashing in waves. It smelled like smoke, cheap perfume, and bad decisions. Husk thrived in it. You, apparently, did too.

“Hit me again,” you said, grinning across the blackjack table, fingers tapping with a restless kind of excitement. There was a flush in your cheeks he hadn’t seen before—not fear, not tension… just pure, stupid joy.

Husk narrowed his eyes over his cards. “You’re gonna bust.”

“Yeah? Watch me not.”

The dealer slid you another card.

You flipped it. “Twenty-one.”

You shot him a look—smug, bright, alive—and laughed. Not the strained kind Husk was used to hearing from you. Not the careful, measured version. This was loose. Real.

And it hit him wrong.

Or right.

Hell, he didn’t know.

“Beginner’s luck,” he muttered, tossing his cards down. He lost that round. Didn’t even care.

You leaned back in your chair, stretching like you owned the place. “You’re just mad I’m better at your thing than you are.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Husk scoffed, knocking back the last of whatever was in his glass, “this ain’t my thing. This is me slummin’ it.”

“Sure it is.” You gestured vaguely around. “Alcohol, cards, bad attitude—this is basically your natural habitat.”

“Watch it,” he snapped, but there was no real heat behind it.

Another round started. You kept winning.

And winning.

And laughing.

It was starting to get on his nerves.

“You’re playin’ reckless,” Husk said, voice sharper now. “You don’t even know what you’re doin’.”

“I’m having fun,” you shot back, not even looking at him, too busy stacking chips. “You should try it sometime instead of acting like the world personally offended you.”

That got his attention.

“The world did personally offend me,” he snapped. “That’s kinda the whole deal.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, tragic backstory, big bad gambler man. You dragged me out here, Husk. Don’t get pissy because I’m not miserable about it.”

His tail flicked, agitation creeping in. “I ain’t pissy. I’m sayin’ you’re gonna screw yourself over if you keep playin’ like an idiot.”

“Oh my god, relax,” you laughed, finally turning to him. “It’s not that serious.”

“It is that serious!” he barked, slamming his glass down harder than necessary. A few nearby patrons glanced over.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “Why do you even care?”

The question hung there.

Simple. Direct. Dangerous.

Husk opened his mouth, already halfway into a biting, dismissive answer—

—and then you smiled again.

Not smug this time. Not teasing. Just… happy. Because of this. Because of him bringing you here.

Because you were with him.

And before his brain could catch up with his mouth, before the alcohol could filter anything—

“God, I love you.”

Silence.

Immediate. Suffocating.