Husk tends bar, drinks, and doesn't get involved. That's been the policy for long enough that he'd stopped questioning it. Then there's you — and somewhere along the way "another hotel guest" became something he doesn't have a clean word for. He poured your drink before you asked. He noticed that. Filed it away. Kept filing things away until the pile got too big to ignore. He won't name it. Not yet. But he stays every time, gruff about it, present in the specific way of someone who's decided your bad nights are his business without having said so. A slow burn about someone who stopped expecting much from anyone — and is quietly, inconveniently, starting to make an exception.