A/N: Prompt by Bifoxter:
So I was thinkin jealous Husk. Like Rosie or Mimzy or some other just take up al's time and he can't give husker attention cuz he's busy

This chapter happens a month or two before Afterlife ch13 (Peripheral vision).

I'm slightly cheating here, cause I'm pretty sure the prompter would have wanted jealousy during their romantic relationship, not before it. But I don't see Husk being very jealous when he finally has Al where he wants him (and Al is paranoid about Husk being unhappy and isn't likely to let this kind of a situation happen again) so this fits better.

It was getting un-fucking-bearable.

Husk watched the lobby from his position behind the bar, eyes pretending to scan the entirety of its clientèle when in actuality he only had his eyes on one person in particular.

Alastor, obviously.

A new person had checked in this morning, and Alastor had glued himself to the person's side as soon as she had finished signing the papers. Husk had barely caught the pen as it went flying from Alastor literally grabbing the civet-looking creature and forcing a tour of the hotel on her, with nothing more than a "I'll take it from here!" given to Husk.

The sad, absolutely pathetic thing was that those five words were the most interaction between the two of them in almost a week, discounting the morning hugs. He had been feeling increasingly lonely and neglected even longer than that, too – about two months, he wagered. Husk was so desperate for Alastor's attention at this point that he wasn't sure whether to cling to those words like a lifeline or to feel even worse off than before because of how inadequate they felt.

He had the very unfair, thoroughly fucking stupid and childish and unnecessarily violent need to insert himself between Alastor and the civet woman and tear her to shreds with his own claws right in front of Alastor.

He was well aware that none of this was her fault. He knew taking his own pathetic pining out on her would be one of the most moronic decisions in the history of all things moronic. He knew it wouldn't solve anything. It would likely make things worse for him, even. Just think about the damage such a random and pointless act of violence would do to his psyche and self-worth. No thank you. He wasn't like that. He didn't fucking care if other people did shit like that, but he only ever got violent when it was warranted, not just for shits and giggles.

It would be the height of stupidity.

But he really, really fucking wanted to do it.

Just.

Right here, right now. Jump on the bar counter and pounce like the giant cat he was, over everyone's heads, right between Alastor and her, and then rip her into tiny fucking pieces. Make it a good blood bath. Make an entire fucking show of it.

Alastor would notice the hell out of him; he was into that shit.

But no.

Husk was the fucking worst, but not that kind of a scum. Never had been and never would be, no matter that he had ended up in Hell and everything and thus had every excuse for it.

Husk forced his eyes away from his best friend – fuck you, you, and you in particular, he liked swimming, Denial was fucking amazing this time of the year, shut the hell up – and grabbed a bottle of ale from the fridge. He extremely deliberately and carefully poured the contents into a glass tankard, put the bottle away into the stupid fucking glass recycling bin Charlie insisted on having around, and then took a slow, measured drink.

Denial or not, he had to admit that this situation was getting out of hand, slowly but surely. He needed to talk to Alastor. He couldn't go on like this, no matter how busy Alastor was at all times. That was honestly the root fucking cause of the problem: Alastor never had the time to talk. There wouldn't be a natural opportunity where Husk could casually bring up how lonely he was and how neglected he felt and how much he hated everyone else in the hotel now. It just wasn't going to fucking happen.

He needed to make it happen himself.

Husk put the tankard down under the counter and stood up. He was going to do it; just walk the fuck up to Alastor and insert himself into the conversation with the civet bitch. Maybe he'd even be courteous enough to not give into his urge to shove her the hell out of Alastor's proximity – and possibly the closest window for good measure – and instead he'd simply participate in the conversation. Or ask Alastor to talk to him later. It wasn't that fucking difficult. He knew it wasn't.

He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and-

Charlie walked into the room and made a beeline for Alastor.

Fuck damn it.

His wings and spirit sagged as Charlie effortlessly added herself into the group, and soon enough she had the civet woman hanging from her elbow as Alastor and her dragged the little bitch to who knows where, both radiating excitement.

As Alastor's coattails disappeared through the doorway, Husk slumped back onto his seat, resisting the urge to lay a paw over his aching heart.

This was just needlessly fucking cruel now.

Silently he reached under the counter and retrieved his ale.

Fuck everyone and everything.