They were still alive when Husk and Alastor met, back in the year 1912, when they were still just young kids. Alastor was only twelve years old, Hank was fifteen, and there was an obvious problem from the very start. Despite always smiling, Alastor was covered in bruised of various shades of purple, neither of their parents seemed to take any kind of notice or really seemed to care. Hank concluded this was because of the color of Alastor's skin, a dark honey color that was very much eye catching, and Hank was infatuated from the start. As the two kept meeting, they became close as time went on, Alastor being a rather happy-go-luck guy despite the obvious abuse he was suffering at home, and Husk always being the one he could rely on in the few instances Alastor would break down.

That day Alastor's father killed his mother, and he killed his father, was the worst day for the both of them. Alastor was sent to an orphanage since none of his remaining relatives would or could take him, Husk was convinced he would never see his best friend again. Hank hugged his best friend tightly as they both cried, they weren't ready to say goodbye, not so soon, but they didn't have a choice. Hank spent his life after that working for his parents casino, despite him being way too young to gamble himself for the first few years, but his parents didn't give two shits about what he did. Through those long and tedious years, Hank never made any new friends, maybe a gambling buddy here-or-there, but never a real friend like Alastor. He tried to, really he did, but every time it felt like this big lump would form in his throat, like he was betraying Alastor and trying to replace him. It made him feel nauseous, almost like the thought of Alastor not being in his life made him physically sick.

   Then one day, he heard that melodic voice again, for the first time in so long the sound of his favorite kind of music reached his deafened ears. The radio seemed to bring Hank a new light as he heard the man he knew from so long ago speaking again, Hank could have cried at that moment, euphoria washing over him, as finally...he had a chance. He dropped everything, not caring about the drunk bastards shouting at him to come back, he had to get to the radio station, before Alastor left and it was too late. Alastor had just got out the door, that same wide smile plastered across his tan cheeks, Hank skids to a stop, panting heavily to catch his breath, the two men's eyes lock together and that light that was gone suddenly sparks in their eyes again. "Al?" Hank asked softly, reaching out a hand to his only real friend. Alastor didn't really change that much, he got taller of course, but he was still a thin smiling stick of a man.

  As soon as Al saw Hank, he was running as he hugged his childhood friend, a hardy laugh forced through his mouth as he held back the urge to sob. Alastor hated being touched, so Husk felt no greater honor then being able to say he could touch the radio host. The two took the time to catch up, see how the other was doing since their separation, pick up where they left off in a way. Their friendship seemed to make everything better, Alastor starting to visit Husk at the casino he worked the bar for, though he rarely drank and never gambled, that just wasn't his kind of entertainment. The two would talk and laugh much like old times, it was like several years hadn't passed since they'd been apart, it was like they were never apart at all. That wasn't completely good though, as Alastor was still a victim of racial prejudice, Hank often having to step in and protect the stick of a man. Alastor often treating his wounds and telling him he could take care of himself, but that didn't stop Hank from protecting him. Hank had no idea just how well Alastor could take care of himself.

   It was just another day for Hank, he cut through an alleyway on his way home from the casino, having moved out years ago. His eyes widen in horror at the sight before him, Alastor stood before him, drenched in crimson blood, knife in hand and a corpse laying beside him. Hank almost threw up at the sight, he looked directly at Alastor, searching for an explanation, but what he found was devastating. The lanky man staring directly at him, his even reflecting a feeling Hank was much to familiar seeing in those eyes, fear. In that instant Hank didn't see the man that just murdered a man, he saw the scared child he once knew. Hank felt guilt constricting him, blaming himself for not being able to help him, to prevent Alastor from turning into the monster his father made him into. Hank hugs the bloody form of his friend close to his chest, his hand lightly petting crimson stained brown hair as he tries to comfort his friend. Alastor was shocked and surprised, but slowly his composure dropped as tears started to drop, staining Hank's white undershirt with the wet droplets.

   Hank was well aware Alastor was a serial killer and cannibal, but he never bothered to try and stop him, Alastor could cope how he wanted to as long as he didn't get caught. They did however have a none spoken agreement that Alastor wouldn't kill or eat his kills in front of Hank, something the burly man was very thankful for. Hank had become very aware of his growing feelings for the radio host, but the era wasn't ready for two men to be a couple, and he doubted Alastor liked him like that anyways, so his feelings would remain a secret. Then, in the year 1933, Alastor was found out, the chase was on as the police brought their dogs to chase the serial killer down, in the end, it all boiled down to a single shot to the forehead. Upon hearing about Alastor's death, Hank fell into a depression. He started drinking more, gambling more, anything that would take away the pain, until even that started to do nothing.

   When the Vietnam War broke out, Hank didn't hesitate to enlist, he'd drank and gambled away all that was left of his life, what reason did he have left to live? As he shook in the heavy army vehicle, his mind drifted back to Alastor, he would have been much better then Hank ever could be. Alastor was unassuming, easy to underestimate with his thin and fragile frame, but he was a skilled hunter and wouldn't hesitate to kill a man. Husk thinks back to how Alastor's eyes would light up after a successful hunt, how he held a gun with such fanes, Hank clutches his heart as he thinks about the man he loved and lost. No, not loved, Hank never stopped loving Alastor, he didn't know if he ever would. The sound of gunshots deafened him as he headed to the battlefield, clutching Alastor's hunting rifle close. Hank was more then prepared to die and join Alastor in hell, but as if Alastor's spirit possessed him through the rifle, Hank aimed with skill unlike his own, and he survived the war. Maybe he survived that war, but he didn't live long after that.

   He spent awhile in hell, just getting drunk off his ass and looking for his only love. It seemed the radio was the red string that connected the two, as he heard the melodic melody of Alastor's voice again. Husk didn't hesitate as he spread his wings, looking for anything resembling a radio station. Instead, he found a cabin in the middle of the woods, surrounded by a swamp that resembled Alastor's old home. Husk nervously knocks on the door, hoping, that his hunch was right. His breath caught in his throat as the door opened, a tall and lanky man dressed in red with deer like features opening the door. "Well hello there my fine fellow! How may I help you this fine evening?" Alastor asked in his usual animated way. That smile, that voice, it couldn't be...but it was. "A...Al?" Husk asked speaking softly, his paws reaching up to cup Alastor's cheeks. Alastor's eyes widen in alarm before looking deeply into Husk sunken eyes, "Hank?" his voice asked softly in return. Husk nods, returning the deer demons gaze as the two subconscious lean in, there eyes slowly close shut, and their lips finally meet into a loving kiss. Though it took them decades to finally be together, they'd say it was well worth the wait.