Ben picked up the call on the fifth ring, finally able to get his hands dry. He'd been cleaning his fists and now they were just red, purple, black, and sore. It was better than broken, though.

"Hey," he greeted, balancing the phone between his cheek and shoulder, "what's up?"

"We need to talk about Ewan," said Ezra, sounding more serious than normal, "are you in a good spot?"

There was a pause as Ben pondered. He'd been trying to shove Ewan's existence to the back of his mind, but clearly, that wouldn't do. He decided to comply. "Sur-"

"Well, I've been researching Christianity all day," began the boy, "because how else am I supposed to cope with the fact that G-O-D really does exist? And you know, no one thinks this is how it works. They think, 'oh, if you're good, you go to Heaven, if you're bad, you go to Hell,' but who would've thought that they use the Seven Deadly Sins?" - Ben slowly sat on the bed, making sure to listen closely to everything the other was saying,  "- And who would've thought there were Eight? Well, the internet thinks that. I think that's really nice, you know, someone thought of that, but how sad that the missing Sin is Despair. I don't think -" He cut himself off, suddenly going quiet, and Ben sat up in concern.

"Ezra?" he asked.

"I was rambling," grumbled the other boy.

Ben chuckled breathily. "Go on."

"I just... I'm a Christian, you know, but... what if I die bad? What if I go to Hell because I've done so much sinning?"

"I think you're fine," Ben said. "I really think you're fine."

"But am I? I mean, what if I think I'm doing fine and... and I'm not? And what if all the good I'm doing doesn't amount to anything? Am I even doing good? What's the-"

"Ezra," Ben said softly. "You're doing great."

"And are you worried about you?" asked Ezra. He still sounded paranoid as ever. "You know, how... your dad wasn't religious... because 'the world is shit' and all that. Like, are you worried?"

"No," Ben replied. He really wasn't. Now wasn't the time to be worrying about death - he had to worry about Ewan, about the kids at school, the liars. Surviving, even, was something he had to worry about.

"And I'm not sure who Ewan is - I know it doesn't matter - well, it does, it does matter because he's now... all in our lives, but I also know it's, like, rude to invade his privacy. It isn't like I did anything bad, really, though, because I didn't find anything." Ezra huffed, seemingly exhausted after all the talking. "Unless he told you something else about himself that I could look up?"

Ben shook his head, laying back on his bed and gazing helplessly at the ceiling. "Nope."

"So there's nothing on him," grumbled Ezra. A beat, and then, "That's frustrating."

"Not everyone is on the internet," added Ben. "I can just ask him if you're so worried."

There was silence on the other end for a second, followed by, "I guess I'm just worried about you, is all." Ezra huffed again and shifting was heard. "But you don't really seem phased about any of this."

Ben shrugged. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"No," Ezra said, "about the fact that Heaven and Hell exist. Religion has been confirmed - every specific about religion has been denied. No one knows about Enchantments, Ben, and no one knows about - a-about cigarettes in Hell, you know? No one knows that demons smoke cigarettes. It's crazy - it's wild. It's really interesting, though. I mean, do you realize how amazing this is?"

"How amazing it is," Ben mused, "that we have an eighteen-hundred-year-old demon stuck in an eighteen-year-olds body, waiting for us to somehow get him back to Hell by doing something neither of us is good at?"

"You're good at doing good, Ben. You just don't know how to show it." The call went quiet for a second and then Ezra continued in a softer, almost absent tone, "But no, I meant how we know about what happens after we die. We're... the only ones that know."

Ben went quiet, letting the phone rest on his shoulder as he just stared at the ceiling. "No," he said eventually, "I definitely could've gone without knowing that."

Silence echoed on the other end, too. Then Ezra huffed. "He's probably going through such a tough time right now, though," he began, voice now tinged with pity, "because he's been in Hell for centuries, and just now he's been... poofed out of there for you. I..."

And Ben didn't mean to zone out. He didn't mean to lean up ever so slightly and look at the number beside the door. The number that got smaller and smaller each hour until eventually, it was at such a low number that he wondered what the difference between it and zero was.

38.

It was 38 hours, which was one day and change.

Which meant tomorrow it would be less than one day.

And then she'd be gone.

He longed to be with Tiana right now. Wanted nothing more than to just sit in the attic room with her and talk and talk about the stupid things that wouldn't matter in the next few days. 

Because she was forgetting. Forgot the time, forgot where things were, forgot what events had been scheduled for that day, until she even forgot her own name... and then she forgot everything. And it was only then that his father came out of his room, looking disgruntled, groggy, angry, and he looked around until he found the broken robot in the attic. And he dragged her to the dark room - where all of Tiana's old bodies went once they were 'useless.' And he left her broken body there to rot and decay and rust. 

The next day she'd be back. Smiling as if she hadn't died, talking as if she hadn't experienced the same thing over and over again, because she hadn't, and she didn't remember anything. 

They had to meet each other again. 

Ezra had described it as 'her brain being reborn with each replication.' There was no getting around it, no way of making her life longer, no way of making Ben's life easier.

Ben let out a slow sigh and lay back down, returning to watching his fan turn lifelessly around and around.

"Where'd you go?" asked Ezra after a second.

"Tiana," mumbled Ben.

The other line went quiet. Then there was a sigh. "I'm sorry. How many days left?"

"She forgot about my peanut allergy," said Ben, "and she asked me where my father's room was today."

"Two?"

"Barely," muttered Ben.

Ezra gave a sigh that sounded almost like a growl, and the line shuffled. "I don't understand why he won't just get a maid. Save both of you the pain."

Ben just nodded, knowing Ezra couldn't see it. The conversation was dying, and usually, at this point, the two just stayed on the phone and existed. They both knew that, at some point, no conversation was necessary. There was no need to talk about Ben's idiotic life because there was nothing left to talk about - it was happening. It would happen. And it would happen again.

And Ben wasn't good at talking about it. He had only mumbled about it from time to time throughout their life.

The two had grown up together. Ezra had been the only person there for him when his mother died, the only person willing to sympathize, as everyone else was too scared Ben would lash out at the memory of his mother.

He didn't. Usually. Stirling was an exception - he'd used her against him, said he'd tell her. That idea didn't bother him, not really. The idea that he thought he could talk to her, though - the idea that he thought he could exist in the same building as her with an inkling of a bad idea - that was what bothered him.

Mentions of his father are what got him, too. Mentions of the man that couldn't be bothered to tell the truth about the murder of his wife. Mentions of a dishonorable man who'd ended the life of the most precious woman in the world who deserved nothing but love. A man who thought he could get away with it.

He didn't want a maid like had Ezra suggested. He wanted his mom. He wanted- 

Ben gasped breathlessly.

The other end of the line shifted yet again. "What? Are you okay?"

His lungs felt particularly constricted, but not in a painful way. Just in a sense that he longed for something other than air.

"Ewan," he choked out. There was no reason he should be saying the other's name, no reason he should be feeling this awkward pain in his lungs and want someone else, but the name kept repeating in his mind until he couldn't hear his own thoughts.

"What about him?" Ben couldn't talk. "Ben, what about him?"

He licked his lips, searching for words. "I don't know," he gasped. Ben's hands were trembling, and he lifted the phone closer to his ear, trying to breathe right. "E-Ezra, I don't know what's going on."

The other boy was heard jumping from his chair. "Call the police. Or, I'll call the police. Maybe you're having a heart attack. M-Maybe you're having a stroke - do you smell burnt toast? I-I've heard that's a symptom. Ben?"

Ben took in a shaky breath, struggling to get off the bed. He didn't know where he needed to go, but he needed to go somewhere. Subconsciously, he began thinking about where he needed to go. 

Out the door. Get out the door, Ben. Just go. Run.

But he kept himself planted.

"Ben?!"

"I-I'm fine, Ezra, I don't..." He choked. "I don't know what's happening."

He collapsed to his knees, dropping the phone. Ezra called for him through the phone but Ben couldn't think or speak. Everything was getting blurry, his throat got tighter, his mind swarmed with thoughts that he couldn't articulate. 

"Just relax," he seethed.

And then he could breathe again.

Ben took a giant gulp of air before collapsing to his side, panting but feeling like he was in control again. His throat felt free and he could think and see.

Ewan was no longer in his thoughts. No more mindless senses of directions. Just... his solid, steady breathing.

"Ben?" asked Ezra through the phone. "I swear, if you're dying I'm going to-"

"I'm okay," he mumbled, staring at the ceiling from the floor. Swallowing heavily, he said, "I'm okay."

School felt uncomfortable. The idea of it, at least. Ben stood absently in his house, standing in front of his full-length mirror. It was a pretty mirror - he probably spent more time admiring it than really looking at himself. It was outlined by silver roses and their vines, and at the very top was a big rose, the only thing with color - different shades of reds.

He slipped on an oversized, mustard yellow hoodie jacket, struggling to put on sky blue jeans that had some rips here and there. His peers bought clothes like that to look cool, but Ben had 'earned' the rips, so to speak, whether it be by falling down hills or getting into a fight in the woods. Or anywhere, really.

The thin boy put his hands in his pockets and exhaled shakily, sitting on his bed. He was exhausted. Rather than sleeping last night, he'd been thinking about one of two things: his supernatural panic attack and the demon in the host of an eighteen-year-old senior in high school.

The senior that was too shy to exist in a room without Charlie, the senior that was overcome with mental illness, the senior that got rides to school from his brother every day because he was too anxious to get his license. 

Ben, though, got to school one of two ways: motorcycling or walking. Today was a motorcycle sort of day.

The ride to school was uneventful up until the moment he pulled into the parking lot and dropped his kickstand, and his eyes fell on Ewan, who was talking with his - or, Stirling's - usual pack. It was good, he supposed, that this was happening. Ewan was fitting in like normal as if he wasn't a demon from Hell.

The only problem, Ben figured, was that the demon didn't know certain things about Stirling. Like his last name, probably, or that half the basketball team called him by it. Or, better yet, that he was on the basketball team.

Or that he didn't come to school dressed in thin, oversized black v-necks and black skinny jeans. Though, granted, it was a nice look on the giant.

"Ben!" called Ewan, his accent perfectly American.

Ben lifted his gaze further after having been drowned in thought. Ewan was standing on the steps of the school, now alone, beckoning the other over with a contemplative look in his eyes. A gaze he never thought he'd find on the boy.

Slowly, the boy walked over to the taller one, ignoring tons of odd glances. Ben and Stirling never interacted and Stirling would surely never even look in his direction. Most were too scared to even glance at him and Stirling, now, had every reason in the world to not even exist in the same country as him. Or, not want to.

The wounds hadn't healed entirely yet, though they did look to be healing faster than they would on a normal person. Other than the stitches, bruised neck, scabs, and black eye, everything looked to be fine. 

"Yes?" Ben mumbled.

"I have several questions," Ewan began with threatening seriousness, "and I need you to be very hone-"

"I thought about you last night," Ben said abruptly. 

The other let out a slow, disheartened breath as he was interrupted. But quite quickly his look turned to one of amusement and a grin licked his lips. "Yes?"

Ben narrowed his eyes. "I had a panic attack. I couldn't breathe and you were all I could think about."

"That's... not at all what I thought you'd say," Ewan muttered. He raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? Absolutely sure? Maybe you were just thinking about me because I'm... I've really got a lovely personality. A lot of the demons said I was... well, they said I have an addictive-"

"You don't," Ben deadpanned. "So just tell me what the Hell happened last night."

"I think what I had to talk to you about was much more important than-"

"Ewan," Ben seethed, grabbing the other by the collar of his shirt and shoving him back against the school's wall. He didn't care what sort of display he was making - he never did. He just needed the demon to speak up about what had happened. "Tell. Me. What happened."

"I-I don't know," Ewan gasped. "Maybe we're connected, you know... mentally..." The demon went silent, taking in a sharp breath, and then he exhaled slowly, "Great Hell, Ben..."

Ben only raised an eyebrow in aggravated curiosity.

"I- you're very close to me, so please don't blame me for noticing this, but you smell... absolutely divine, and trust me when I say I don't use that word lightly. And also your eyes have the nicest little specks of gold in them and they just blend so well with-"

"S-Stop," Ben growled. He stepped back, putting his hands in his pockets. He felt his cheeks heating up and his vision going blurry - the usual embarrassment that made his head spin. It felt nice, always, to be complimented. Especially considering Ben didn't get those often. But now wasn't the time to be gawking over something like that.

Well, maybe it was. His cheeks were still red and his heart felt awkwardly warmed.

Startling them both was a long bell tone, signaling they had five minutes to get to class. Ben shouldered his bag and very slowly took a step back, eyeing Ewan tentatively. He mumbled, "Stirling has homeroom in room 209. Just... j-just find it and don't talk to anyone."

"Do you do that?" asked Ewan, making a face of disbelief. 

"It's hard to talk to people when you don't have friends," Ben growled.

"But Stirling clearly has friends, so why don't I-"

Ben was irritated. He had to get to class and Ewan had to find the class - they didn't have time for this. He grabbed the other's collar, yanking him forward, glaring at him. Trying to tell him with only a gaze to just absolutely shut up and get to class. But the other simply huffed in irritation.

"Ben," hissed Ewan, narrowing his eyes, "you smell delicious."

All Ben could do was open and close his mouth like a fish out of water, and soon he let go of the other's collar, stepping back. 

It took him a second to gather his thoughts, and then he snapped, "Get to class," before turning on his heels and heading to his own class.