What happened next, well, what happened next, is about two weeks later, a man with a block of green tattooed on his face showed up, a stranger in the city, and was promptly arrested.

Two weeks. Yeah. 'What happened those two weeks?' Well, I spent most of those fifteen days wondering that myself. I didn't move much. There was a communal bathroom on the bottom floor of my apartment building, so I'd trek down there anytime I needed to go. There were showers in the Bathhouse, so every few days, I'd make that journey too.

One of my favorite things to do was lay in bed with a blanket half over me, and clutch a pillow close. Then, vision half obscured by the mountains of my sheets, I'd blank out for an hour or two. Sometimes imagine better things.

(Like a house and a girl who loved me, and a big large garden, and many children, who I loved, and who loved me in return. And the sun on my skin, long days in the summer so hot I'd get a dusting of pale freckles again. And we'd be drinking pink lemonade, whatever the hell that is. And it'd be better, because it was pink, and just a bit too sweet.)

So after blanking out, I'd sometimes move, and if it'd been a day or two, eat a meal. If I ate something too strong, I'd usually throw it up not long after. Then I'd get out my laptop and rewatch AD or The Office or WILTY something stupid like that. Maybe jack off. I was crying for the first few days, and then that stopped, which was good.

At first, not feeling anything was like a boon, an extra layer of skin, but it didn't actually change anything. I was numb and deader with each hour, but that didn't make me better, didn't get me to move. I stopped feeling, and even if that was supposedly better than wallowing, it felt like it might've been worse.

Might've. I couldn't know for sure.

About three days in, Christina came to check on me and Doppel, and I didn't let her into my apartment.

"How is it?" She asked, holding two binders on the crook of her arm.

I was leaning against the doorway. "In the shower."

"Well, I don't suppose you've learned anything new? I hope you didn't try anything dangerous, but if you did find something out, we are all pretty curious..." She knew I was off, I think, but that was three days in and I was still pretty good at hiding it. "What are you up to today?"

"Going to draw," I said dismissively, my hand on the door handle. She took the cue to leave, and I went to the couch and smelled my old clothes. Strong, sweaty, gross. Better than a body.

I didn't have anything to draw with besides my tablet, and couldn't be bothered to plug that in.

A week in, Kell texted me over Dacebook:

Kell: Did you kill the doppelgänger?

So to that I sent a pretty clear message:

[Seen at 3:28am]

Interestingly enough, the next day he texted me again,

Kell: My mouth 8s an other. I feel veey 8n it and not bt 8 am

But yeah, as weird at that was, that was about it in terms of anyone checking in on me. Christina sent me things over the internet, she tagged me in a few posts on Dumblr (which, in my dull emotional state, was failing to make me laugh goddamnit) and sent a few texts. But usually I was the one who started the conversation, and I found out that, yeah. If I didn't make an effort to talk to people, no one would speak with me at all.

Ieeeian and Cersiph would say 'hey' when I went to the Baths to shower, and once, ten days in, I stumbled across my friends.

Irem, Grave, Variel, Alasir, and Lazusael (fucking Lazusael!) were in one of the many little baths in the main room of the Bathhouse, near enough to the entrance that I caught sight of them leaving the shower one afternoon. It was normal for angels to do things in fives, part of one of those old traditions I'd instilled them with. When I wasn't around, it was good luck to still keep the group at five people.

Cool, but I didn't exactly like seeing them either. You know, doing their things, talking to people, having lives.

"Hey, Michael!" Variel chirped, like the suck-up he was. "How have you been? Living, vis?" Of course, he meant 'living' in a sort of angelic slang way. Anima, it had become. Experiencing a lot of things, keeping busy, being generally alive.

"No," I said, without inflection, tossing aside my wet towel and stepping into the hot bath without prompt. Lazusael shifted over to make room, but didn't leave.

"Did you ever," Irem paused, sort of crinkling his eyes like it was a new method of winking, "Figure out that man?"

"Huh now?" Variel asked. "What's this?"

"Is this about The Dead One?" Lazusael enquired. Angelic tradition demanded you not use the names of dead angels, which led to a lot of strange dubbings. Lazusael had technically referred to Nichael as 'the dead teal winged follower-soldier, missing and infernally tied'. A real mouthful.

"He's been dead for ten years," I said, even if there was probably video footage of the Doppel running around as Nichael.

"I told him where you lived," Graves said.

"A ghost," I replied. "Cpholiel Spoon was right. Hell is haunted, and sometimes ghosts find their ways into the city."

"You're lying," Graves said. Being a fallen angel, he was the only one who'd ever call me out on it. "What was he doing back in the city? Where did he go?"

"I could show you his bones," I said, standing up, picking my towel off the floor. It was wet from laying in a puddle, but I wrapped it around my waist anyways, shivering as the cool water ran down my legs. "They're stark yellow, clean and damp and very much not being used."

"Michael..." Irem said, sighing, and I guess it would have been a good idea to stay, but I didn't.

There's a clear, sopping miserable pattern in play here, a bunch of little dots that spell, plainly, 'ANGST'. Maybe misery, or a solid pity party instead, but I was sad, I was awful, and I hated myself quite a lot. And I get that that's not fun to hear about, but it's what I was, so fuck off.

There weren't many insects in Hell, kept away by lack of greenery, but it was beginning to feel like every fly in the city of Pride had found a way into my apartment. They buzzed and swarmed, drinking my sweat, and reminding me of what I could smell: rot, iron, and bleach. The shower door was closed and covered in a mass of flies like charcoal smudges.

Harder to ignore with every day, but at least today- the 23rd, my laptop told me- I'd woken up at one pm to a new message from Christina.

Chrissie: Yoooooooooooo

Chrissie: we caught the green demon (gremon) you mentioned!! Well not caught he just kinda walked into hell and security caught him, then he mentioned he was looking for a shapeshifter. security was like.... 'uh', but then we (technically Kelsey) swooped in and took him

Chrissie: I guess we're all set to throw him in jail/put him on work detail/kill him? (trespassing, not doing his job as a demon, etc) So your pal will be okay.

Chrissie: Except, no, we're still hoping to kill the doppelganger. Just now we know we can do it right.

You: is he really green

Chrissie: It's a weird tattoo. When I saw him, I sort of nodded and said, yeah, that's about right.

Chrissie: Can you bring the double to Casper (main room) ASAP? I'll order pizza if it makes things easier for you. We want to wrap this up.

You: is gremon there

Chrissie: Yea I think? He's probably in the building somewhere while we figure what to do with him .

You: why do you have a thing 4 kell btw

Chrissie: >:?

Chrissie: Irrelevant and untrue! Do you want me to come over? I'll walk you two over.

Chrissie: Don't really know why you are so obsessed w this.

You: you're kinda in love w him + somehow find him attractive + have you ever slept w him

Chrissie: Really inappropriate questions and I'm not going to answer them. Kell's my direct superior and good friend. I can tell something is upsetting you, but I'd like it if you tell me what it is instead of

Chrissie: this.

You: well I want to know

Chrissie: ok I'm just- I'm walking over now

You: like what is wrong w me do u think

You: i don't think i've been in like a real romantic relationship before btw anyways but you'd think one of them would've loved me by accident

You: like what is directly the thing i KEEP DOING WRONG

You: love is all I've ever wanted but then I think about it and I'm so scared bc it's the kind of thing you just do and idk?? if I do have it. feel it. I was wild for Cass but idk what that was, and then I cheated on her 4 Vici, and then I never I loved Vici bc I.... didn't know if I did

You: So like, I don't know! I don't know

You: I get we're like, cool with new things now, that we can have people and they're asexual or aromantic or agender etc etc but I don't want!! I don't WANT to unable to feel romantic feelings because all my life that's what I know is what I want from love so if I don't have it if I can't feel it what I am doing and what is there instead???

You: can you be fucking aplatonic bc do I have friends either. I am desperately mad for you but is that just lust is anything there romantic or like

You: so dude. man. buddy, my bro.

You: Why Would You Never Date Me

Chrissie: :(

Chrissie: (I'm omw) Michael, you're a sweet guy and one day you WILL have a lot of the things you want. You'll probably never be completely stable, and that's normal. You'll probably never be fine, but that happens. But you will have a happy relationship, and a kid, and a nice clean place to live too!

Chrissie: 1) You're charismatic! You're a good speaker with tons of confidence! People really like that 2) You're not ugly 3) You're a hopeless romantic, which can be cute 4) You're not alone in feeling anything you're feeling 5) You're insanely talented with art, music, singing... very creative 6) You're really good with kids

Chrissie: I don't want to date you because you're not right for me. I need someone very stable, who'll keep me sane. You're a good friend because you can get me hyper, worked up, make me laugh, but end of the day I need someone to balance me out, not compliment. People are diff and you'll find someone right at some point.

Chrissie: Think of how shit you used to be, just a few years ago. You're better! Well, not quite. You're getting there, and it's ok.

You: I've murdered someone

Chrissie: Basically everyone in Hell has killed before. ┐('～'；)┌

Chrissie: Don't sweat it. Breath, 1 2 3 4, I'm pretty close to your place

You: I killed doppel

Chrissie: W

You: they're in my bathroom

[Seen at 1:25pm]

Christina slammed opened my front door. I was on the couch and could nearly see the walls shake.

"It's not a big deal," she said, though her tone of voice suggested otherwise. The moment she took half a step in, she gagged, and rushed out into the hall. Then she came back, the hood of her red hoodie covering her nose and mouth. "Okay, I can smell it. How long ago was this?"

"Two weeks or so," I said. "I've gotten used to the smell."

"How do you-" She pointed at the door, swatting a fly as she did so.

"Haven't really been showering."

"Well, I mean, it's probably been tough on you, doing this..." She trailed off, her eyes narrow, staring at the bathroom door. I was thankful she'd come. The trepidation in her voice carried her thoughts stronger than her texts did.

"I don't believe you," I said, twirling the loose blade-ring on my finger. I was half falling off the couch, my legs on the arm, one hand dangling on the floor. "About what you said. I'm two hundred years old. No one's going to ever really love me."

"Well, not if you complain about it," Chrissie sighed, "C'Mon. You can stay at my place, and we'll hire someone to deal with the mess."

"I'm not moving."

"Have you been doing anything these last two weeks? Have you... left you're home at all?"

I continued to spin the ring on my finger, staring her down. I could feel the bags under my eyes.

"Michael, come on. Let's get you help," She took my hand and tried to pull me up, and while I sat up, I refused to move any further.

"Would you ever have sex with me?"

"Not when you haven't showered! God, Michael, you look terrible. Have you been eating?"

"Yes." No.

She continued trying to get me to move, her nose wrinkled from the smell. I was stronger her, an angel and a male, and I had a brief thought cycle that flashed like a siren across my mind: haveher-don't-takeher-don't-fuckher-don'tyoufuckingdare. On/off, my eyes heavy. Intrusive thoughts came easier when times like this happened, so instead of burning the only bridge I had in my life, I thought of something else:

I was pissed at Chrissie, madder at myself still, angst and sad and a crusted and crumpled sad sack of emotion, every disgusting error in the universe, aged to perfection. It was like vomit, oozing out of my mind like moldy sauce, and so I looked her in the eyes, trying to get me to my feet, trying to tell me I was okay, and I remembered that sometimes death helped me feel better.

Usually it didn't, but at least I'd wake with a full stomach.

I slit my throat, and heard her shriek.