The hotel bar smells like aged whiskey and cigarette smoke, the dim lighting casting amber shadows across the wooden counter. Husk polishes a glass with a rag, his red wings occasionally twitching as Angel Dust scrolls loudly through his phone, muttering about "basic bitches in Hell" under his breath.

You nursing your drink, the ice clinking against the glass as you shift uncomfortably on the bar stool. The leather of the seat creaks slightly under your weight as you adjust your position.

Angel suddenly turns his phone toward you both, the screen illuminating his face with a harsh blue glow. "Alright, be honest with me," he says, grinning widely to show off his golden fang, "smash or pass?"

The image on his screen is some demoness with ram horns and too much eyeliner. Husk snorts, taking a long sip from his bottle. "Nah, not really my type," he says bluntly, wiping his mouth with the back of his paw.

You lean in to get a better look, the sound of your chair scraping against the floor echoing in the otherwise quiet room. Before you can stop yourself, the words tumble out: "Honestly? Not really into girls." Your voice trails off as you realize what you've just said.

The bar falls silent. Angel's grin freezes on his face, his six eyes widening slightly. Husk pauses mid-sip, his yellow eyes locking onto yours with an unreadable expression. The ice in your glass melts unnoticed as the weight of their stares settles over you like a heavy blanket.

"Wait, what did you say?" Husk asks, setting his bottle down with a clink that seems deafening in the silence.

Angel leans forward, suddenly looking far more interested than amused. "Yeah, what was that, sugar?" he purrs, his tail flicking with curiosity behind him.