Blake was... Blake was here. I rolled Michael's ring around in my palm, watching the room. It was calm again. Michael was back in his chair, now working through a second bowl of mints. I sat on the table in front of him, watching my feet.

"Do you know how unhealthy those things are for you?" Raphael said, watching Michael tear through another hard candy. He was speaking angelic without really needing to, and Cassiel and her friend were paying idle attention, like this was some important matter for angels.

"I'll shoot myself in the head if I get tooth rot," Michael said, crunching loudly. He popped another mint in his mouth. "Gotta stay awake." He glanced up at me. "You following?"

"Pretty well."

"Hum," he said, like it was the sort of thing people said from time to time. He might as well have said 'taxes'- his tone carried everything you needed to know about what he was feeling.

"So." Christina loudly cleared her throat. She was sitting by my feet, seemingly a bit perturbed that I had shown up and calmed Michael down like that. "We should have an actual... meeting."

"What?" Noel said, "A meeting? At this wonderful party? What a concept."

"Please don't get sarcastic with me."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound rude," Noel stood up, gesturing to herself, "Just, you know, it's a bit disorienting. Who the fuck are you again? Why the hell is this 'meeting' happening?"

"We're here to discuss the slight possibility of a peaceful conclusion to this war," Lane said, earnestly, though surely Noel knew this already. "No promises, just giving it a chance."

"Why? We've been quite content with the war. It isn't like there's protests down in the square- well, er, anymore- or really all that negative a perspective of the fighting. Everyone's cool with it. We're basically winning."

"You wouldn't be if I allowed it," Michael said bitterly. He wasn't lying. "I could kill everyone in this room in seconds, but I choose not to. I could end the war in days, but I graciously allow otherwise."

"Why haven't you slaughtered us all yet?" Kell sounded bemused at the very real concept.

"Because there's no fun in an easy fight."

"I wouldn't encourage him too much." Raphael interjected, raising his hand a little bit before speaking. He smiled slightly.

"Hey." The new guy, with his new dark bruise, stood up and nodded at Raphael. "I can see your brother there is the type of bloodthirsty asshole I hate. You look like a literal twelve year old- what are you doing backing him?"

Raphael nervously laughed, "A twelve year old can't have opinions? Michael is my brother, and I stand with him." He glanced to the side while he smiled, clearly uncomfortable with explaining himself, "We're no more evil than you are, ultimately. And... honestly, I'm older than I look. And I used to be older than even that."

"What?" The new guy shook his head. He seemed to have a thing for over gesturing. "You guys are disgusting. And I hate you. And I know I got clocked in for saying it a few minutes ago, but I'll say it again: I really, really fucking hate you guys, and just seeing all your faces makes me that more excited to separate them from your skulls."

Across the room, Stacy gently rolled his eyes. There was a lot of that going around tonight.

"Can we try and talk about something else?" Christina said nervously. "Mi- Micky, do you mind dropping the subject? We're just here until midnight and... it'd be best to have no more deaths."

"Yeah. And whose fucking fault were the last few anyway?"

In angelic, Percy muttered something that I could've sworn was 'yours'. Gabriel quietly shushed him.

"I know you're upset about Charlie," Christina said to Micky. I had a strong suspicion his name was actually 'Michael', but Michael wouldn't have stood for that. "No one, actually, is quite happy about anyone else's death. We've asked you here because he said such-"

"We've? Since when do you speak for them? Who the hell are you, anyway? Noel had a good point."

"You know, I'm sure she did." Christina would never have thrived in customer service; she was having difficulty hiding her growing indignation. "We all think we have great points. The only thing is, some of us are assholes who are trying to get themselves killed, and some of us are nice people just trying to solve a two century long war."

"He has a point, Chrissie," Kell said sweetly, to which Christina grimaced. "You don't speak for us. Alexander does, and we made sure he didn't show up." He frowned. "Or really, he never bothered to show up to something he technically planned. Still. No one here speaks for anyone. This whole night may well be a huge mistake. Let's aim to keep it blood-free, and drink to forget."

"Oh man! You guys got any absinthe?" Michael perked up instantly.

"You also look twelve." Micky had given up on sounded accusative, and fell back onto the couch.

"Shut up. Answer my question. I am not twelve."

"How old are you?" Christina said, back to her perky self and sounding like she genuinely wanted to know. "I don't drink, so the most we have here is some wine that... Percy probably stole from you?"

"I'm old enough to drink," Michael said under his breath. He looked up to me like I had anything to contribute to this conversation. "Am I attractive?"

"No," I said.

"No." Christina shrugged. "You do look about my age though. You could pass for cute I guess? Like when I was sixteen, you could've been in a boy band or something, and then I'd be okay with your face."

"Harsh words coming from someone who barely counts as an adult," Kell interjected. "You know, I was against it at first, but I do think it's about time we got back on subject and tried to get something done."

"I was rather hoping we'd hit be able to hit the midnight threshold still scattered about like this. At this rate, we might actually find some abstract way to be productive." Kelsey looked exhausted. He was the first to get up and walk to the dining table, which was clearly too small to sit everyone. It barely had room for the angels as is. "Of course, I was also hoping I'd be wasted by now. We can't always get what we want."

"We can make compromises though," Kell said, getting up. "Christina, do you mind bringing out that wine you mentioned?"

"This sounds like my cue to get moving," I said, making room as the assembly slowly started to assemble.

"You have your uses." The scar on Kell's face was slightly visible from under his bandages, a little bit of grey hue peeking out against his already dusty pale skin. I wonder what it felt like to touch. Probably like sandpaper. Probably like a pile of loose soil.

"My uses," I repeated.

Kell gestured slightly to Michael, who was watching with wide blue eyes. I was still clutching his ring.

"What's your opinion on all this then?"

"Bad."

"Care to elaborate?"

"You know me well enough to guess," I said, raising my eyebrows.

"You're absolutely fucking hilarious, you know that?" Kell carefully enunciated that bit, "See you later."

"You're quite the jokester yourself."

That was possibly the dumbest last words I've ever said. My face felt hot, and by all odds, Kell would be dead by the next time I dropped by Hell. Okay. Way to leave him with something memorable and charming. That'd keep him awake at night. Jokester.

I was such a moron. A few feet away, watching me from the doorway like he'd been the whole time, Blake sipped his drink.

I left.

Michael followed me outside, and with his presence dogging at my heels, I settled to merely perch on a stone wall that ran through the backyard instead of heading to my true destination of Hell.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"Hey... Mannie," he said gently. He looked at me dearly, even in the darkness I could see that much.

I frowned as obviously as I could, hoping he could see. "You're needed back there." I jerked my head towards the house. "It's no good to waste your time with me."

He looked out at the house while he spoke, "I wanted to be with you for a moment."

"Okay. Why?"

"You know." He shifted a little, crossing his legs underneath him. "Am I really childish?"

"I'm probably worse," I said. "Hey."

"Hey?"

"Sorry."

"You too."

"Do you think there's any merit to the idea of peace?"

"You're the one who called for the meeting- what, does it not inspire you towards greatness? Fuck, war and peace, right? The big epics. I get why everyone's hot for it, at least."

"Do you think you'll actually do it?"

"Nah." Michael was picking at the skin around his nails. When he was younger, he used to bite them to nubs. Now his nails were impeccable, lightly painted with golden glitter. The skin around them was a bleeding, scabbed mess. "Who was that kid?"

"Blake. I like him."

"Like like him?"

"Michael, are you perhaps mistaking both yourself and I for small children, no older than eight? At the very least, you seem to think I'm the sort of adult who goes around getting crushes."

"I don't think you're an adult."

"Not the answer I was looking for. Blake's... Kill me if, in any iteration of life, I view him as anything other than a friend. Mind you, he's the sort of friend I've..." I swallowed. "Michael, do you care about this?"

"No," he answered wholeheartedly. "What's so special about Blake?"

"He's a nice guy. He's good at doing that, and being that. And I guess... that's it about him, you know. Nice. I'm not. Wish I was."

"Sometimes things have run their course, yeah? And then they end."

"Right. Do you think I could be nice?"

"I think you're fine, Ella. Better than someone, surely, and everyone's used to dealing with polite folks. Might as well be an asshole and stand out from the crowd. Embrace it."

"I'd rather change."

"It's been two hundred years, Ell. I don't think either of us are about to do anything drastically different."

Midnight was closing in fast, or as fast as time could close in: second by second. Minute by moment.

It was the oddest time of day, not really a time but a point, a decisive marker for the next day, and a late bedtime. When I'd been a kid, I'd made sure to never look at my clock when midnight came, afraid of the consequences.

Midnight was never a good thing to meddle with.

Watching the cycle change was an experience that demanded a party. Usually someone from The Few would be enlisted for this task, and while everyone else was gathering remaining souls or sorting out next cycle's finances and looting parties, a steady collection of booze and fine food would be stockpiled in this cabin.

The cabin never changed much, one of many places to do so, and the technical owner of the place had been a demon many ages ago. Most of the furniture in it was old too- though, of course, just about anything that had been through Hell had trouble shifting when the change came.

It was a gradual thing, somewhere between an tidal wave and a sunset in how it moved. The whole world began to bristle in the minutes leading up to midnight, and then things seemed to revert back two decades at random- sometimes, for example, a single tree would cease to exist without warning.

It made for one hell of a show, even out in the middle of the woods. When midnight struck, everything, one-by-one, would suddenly be as it had been. Watching the forest was almost more exciting than the city, as the mountains would shake like fur, and the grass would shift violently, living out hundreds of cuts and growths in the span of a few seconds.

Regular demons weren't allowed on Earth during the cycle change, and it wasn't broadcasted in Hell either. All there was to remember things were The Few: twelve people gathered around a pile of televisions, sipping cocktails and staring blankly.

This year, there were more people, and no hard liquor. And the sense of despair seemed a little heavier than usual.

Humans couldn't remember the cycles, and there was something cathartic about watching their reactions to the world falling apart in front of them. The panic as buildings left, loved ones shifted out of existence, and then-

They were gone, so that was that.

The best part was the reporters, losing nineteen years of their life on live TV, no longer knowing who they were or why they were there. Young again, often. Many of them children, briefly draped in giant suits, then children's clothes, then gone. Not even given a chance to cry before the universe took them away.

There was a pause at the end of it, a brief moment where time didn't flow for anyone but the damned, where old anchors were brought back into their chairs unmoving, old graphics filled the screens, and at a minute past midnight, time began again:

In the middle of things, on May the fifth, the day Michael Lexington had been born.

I'd seen enough midnights in my life that I had no qualms with heading back to Hell early. Tonight was already radically pushing my usual bedtime, and I was dying for some shut eye.

It'd rained recently, and as I headed back into the woods towards the Hellmouth, I had difficulty keeping my footing on the wet leaves. I clutched small trees in the dark, trying not to slip and dearly wishing I'd brought gloves. Or that I was the sort of person who wore gloves in the first place.

It wasn't the blanketed frost of winter, but rather the shrill harshness of an autumn night that kept me shivering with every step I took. The wind brought the scents of fire, and I was half reminded of another bitter night, years ago in January, where we'd all had a sip of alcohol around a bonfire.

I wasn't one for parties. Wasn't one for a good time. I was probably exclusively fueled by rage, discontent, and leftover teen angst that stuck around over the years.

Michael could call me Ella. Always had, and I'd never forgive him for it.

He left, and I knew he'd forget me again by the next time we'd meet. I'd told him to consider peace, and then we both had a good laugh, rubbing shoulders in the cold air. He held my hand again briefly, and I returned his ring.

Old thing. I'd given it to him years ago. Hadn't been magic then, except in that silly little romantic way people sometimes think of things. We'd been kids, and he'd fancied me, and I figured that meant I had to like him in return. And be the sort of person who used the word 'fancied'.

I stole the ring from a second hand shop, and it'd been shiny gold at the time. Now it was a worn silver, only in its dents carrying the tiniest smudges of colored plating.

I have never been in love with anyone but myself and the idea of someone who could love me. Michael did once, and that had done nothing to sway me in my festering uncertainty.

Michael had loved all of his friends though. That was the sort of guy he'd been. Nice, like Blake. He hadn't kept like that though.

Maybe Blake would become like Michael someday, bitterly lost and throughly misplaced.

So.

I was not alone in walking back to Hell. I'd heard the footsteps a few minutes after I'd left, but it was too dark to bother trying to make out who it was-

And besides, I knew.

At the Hellmouth, I stopped and turned around.

"You haven't said a word," I said.

"Neither have you." The new moon made it hard to make out Blake's expression.

"Why are you following me?"

"I saw you go." I could see a bit of movement. A lazy shrug. "Plus, everyone was kind of telling me... the cycle change is tonight. I have to get back to Hell."

"So you know."

"Yeah."

"I... kind of wanted you to... go."

"Die?"

"It's not death," I said helpfully.

Blake sounded exasperated. "You're really big on leaving people, huh?"

"I thought you wanted to be left alone."

"What the fuck do you think you're saying right now? You were hoping I'd die because... I don't know! I don't know."

"Well, I don't know either."

Blake sighed.

I sighed.

"Look. Mannie. You've changed, I've changed, you're annoying, and I... don't know who I am. It's pretty clear whatever palship we had is through. Can you just acknowledge that and move on?"

"How about you shut up?" I said, actually pretty casually, like it was merely a polite suggestion.

"I'm going to return to Hell. I highly suggest you return to the shadows from whence you came or whatever. At least hang out at the party with your killer angel friend." Blake continued on ahead, marching steadily towards the Hellmouth until he was out of my sight.

"Blake, wait," I called after him. First it was steady and quiet, in the same dull cadence I always spoke in. But when he failed to return, I kept yelling, louder and louder until my vocal cords felt like they had been ripped out and processed through a paper shredder.

I ran towards the Hellmouth at full force, until I fell into its shadow in exhaustion, panting in the barest of moonlight and staring up at the silhouette of Blake, sitting on top and kicking his legs slowly.

"I'm waiting," he said. I made no effort to join him up there, and instead sat on the damp ground and looked up at his backlit features.

"Sorry."

"Excuse me, what was that?"

"I'm really fucking sorry." I snapped every bone in my left hand, and then my right. My gums felt sore. My head was dizzy. My mouth was dry. Nothing about my existence felt right. "For dragging you around and not thinking you were a person, and not really realizing you have a life and feelings, and everyone actually does, and-" I caught my breath. "You deserve a lot more than me."

Blake made a sound like 'hm', but softer, and less inquisitive.

"But you know, I meant the best. Or at least, I think I meant a lot, and I think that lot was quickly lost in the muddle of everything else. I'm sorry. You're really, really good."

"I'm not here to hear you grovel to me. Just saying you're sorry is enough."

"Don't you hate me?"

"Hating you would be the worst thing I could ever do to you," he said, and I think the world was alright then, for a second. Among everything, after it all, in the midst of time cycle fuckery and an age old war of immortals, I was a child again. Here in the woods, speechless.

"But then-"

"I think you're a mess. And the world would probably be a better place without you. But a different one."

"Different. Is that a positive statement or a negative one?"

"You, of all people, are not someone I would have expected to question that. Listen Mannie, what I want to do now is simple- I want to forget this and move on."

"What, back to normal?"

"You still owe me one or ten favors, and I'm still keen on us spending a lot less time together, but yes. Because either we spend five years groveling to each other and whining and apologizing, or we just suck it up and figure out a way forward."

"That seems like... I don't know, too easy of a way out? What about consequences?"

"I think if there's one thing I've learned from all that's happened, it's that sometimes there's consequences to your actions and sometimes there aren't, and either ways what you did is what you did. Just try not to get anyone killed along the way and you're golden."

"So you want to be my friend?"

"I want to keep knowing you. Just give me a little bit of space. What are you doing sitting on the ground like that, by the way? Come up and join me." Blake reached his hand out, and I climbed up and sat next to him on the Hellmouth. "We've still got a while before midnight."

"So what, you're over everything already?" I asked.

"Yeah. I don't want to be over it, and I don't want to move on. I want to hate you, you know. But I'm not going to."

"All your friends are dead."

"That's true. I'm still mourning for them. But you know, at the same time, I only knew them for three days."

"You've only known me for eight."

"Yeah," Blake said, "Funny how that works. It's sad that people have died, but you know, I don't think they were ever really friends. You're not my friend either."

"So where do we go from here?"

"Where do we go from here?" He repeated with a heavy exhale. I caught his eye then, not for the first time but for the last time in a long while. And he wasn't quite looking at me, but at something dark beyond my face.

And as I was sitting there I realized something I should have a long time ago- or perhaps something I had long ago realized but only just now remembered: I liked Blake. A lot.

I smiled despite all my efforts not to, and Blake nudged me, and laughed for what sounded like half a second. I laughed a lot longer.

Gripping Blake's hand in mine, I tried to ignore everything that was awful. "I'm sorry."

"I've heard. You don't need to apologize anymore."

I grasped his hand tightly.

"What's wrong?"

"A lot," I said, and I felt like this was it. This was enough. I could probably live with never speaking again if it meant those would be my last words.

Blake was there with me, and in another few seconds, like everything else in my life, that too had passed.

In the damp darkness of October, the morning before Halloween, I balled my fists up and shivered in the wind, cold under the light of the new moon, alone in a shifting forest. Thinking of a tampered clock and the boy who hadn't known.

In another few seconds, it was spring, and I was warm, and besides the world, nothing else had changed.