[Charlie's dreams for the hotel sure were working- maybe not with her ridiculous trust falls or singalong songs- those weren't really the secret to making them be better... wanting to continue to be better was just having people give a shit about them. Then being able to give a shit about those people in return. Who knew it was that simple?

But then... there's that shadow hanging over the both of them. No matter how much they improve, the fact remains: they are owned by other people. People who absolutely and categorically would not allow them the joy they're allowing to seep into their lives. Husk knows Alastor likes him miserable - showing just how much happier he's been since he started living here... well, that's just asking for trouble. And Angel? Jesus, he's going through enough already from that psycho moth boss of his. The thought of potentially making it worse is... bad.

So he really shouldn't be leaning into this feeling- indulging in it. But here he is anyway. A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest. ]

Fuckin' adorable that you think I'm classy, Legs. Wishful thinkin' at its finest there.

[His gaze drops to where Angel's hand covers his own, an ear flicking back as he tries to ignore the flutter in his chest at that. He's far too old to be getting fuckin' butterflies at a hand touch and he absolutely shouldn't be letting it continue. And yet, here he is. Doing that.

He lets Angel's hand press it closer, his thumb moving over the edge of the icepack, the claw there gently brushing through the thin layer of fuzz on Angel's back. Stop it. Stop it right now. He clears his throat.]

Good. Drink your drink, I made it special.