The blood crusted to the front of Angelus' white t-shirt and the zinging pain throbbing in his nose told him all he needed to know about last night. The memories were hazy if they even existed at all. He tried to piece things together.

The living room was in shambles. Beer cans, some empty and others half-full and pouring their contents out onto the carpet, were strewn about the floor—the stale air stank of old cigarettes and weed smoke.

Angelus sat on the edge of the threadbare sofa, his head tucked between his knees, trying not to throw up. A migraine throbbed through the cotton in his head.

"Who won?" he asked.

"Certainly not you," said Alistair with a laugh. The other man was still reclined in the armchair he had fallen asleep in last night. A scraggly wool blanket barely covered his lap. His long legs propped up on the coffee table. "Timmy decked you pretty hard."

"Did I deserve it?"

"I suppose that's subjective." Alistair rubbed his emerald eyes and tossed the thin throw blanket at Angel who merely groaned when the fabric hit him.

"What did I do?" He forced himself to sit up and pushed his long black hair out of his face.

"You wanted to fight," said Alistair, shrugging. "Timmy was the only one to take you up on it."

"Nyx is gonna kill me," Angel groaned.

"Forget Nyx, isn't your dad supposed to be coming over today?"

"Shit! What time is it?" Angel gasped.

Alistair looked at his empty wrist. "Time to get a watch." He stood up and stretched, exaggerated and cat-like. "Well, I think I better mosey on out. It was nice knowing you."

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Home. I have to get a head start on your eulogy."

"Stop fooling around. Help me clean this place up."

"Whoa, why should I?"

"You helped me make this mess." Angel peeled himself off the couch. The room swirled for a minute before he regained his equilibrium. "C'mon."

Angel dragged his exhausted body into the kitchen with Alistair trailing behind him. It hadn't seemed that messy last night but now, the sink was full of filthy dishes. Pizza boxes sagging from grease and stuffed with old crusts were stacked on the island, buried beneath solo cups and half finished pints. An overturned bong on the table poured stagnant water across the surface. He rummaged under the cabinet for a garbage bag.

Alistair helped him clean, shoving garbage into the bag while Angel scrubbed at the counters. The dim light from the kitchen window played off of Alistair's sandy blond hair and made his earrings sparkle.

"I may as well crawl into that bag," said Angel.

"You're such a drama Queen, Grub," Alistair laughed. "It won't be so bad."

"Julian is gonna kill me, then Nyx will pick my bones clean after he's done," Angel grumbled. For a gut-dropping second, panic seized him. "What else did I get up to?"

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"Nothing, that's all there is to report."

"Thank fuck," Angel sighed. "She'd never forgive me. Not after last time." He dug into the stubborn stain harder.

"Maybe you should take a little break? Have a quiet night in?" Alistair suggested. "We haven't played video games in awhile."

"Yeah, you're right," Angel sighed. "Maybe that's what we'll do next weekend."

Alistair tied up the garbage bag and set it beside the back door.

"Just something to consider."

It took the two boys the remainder of the afternoon to get the house looking presentable again. Angel admired the freshly clean living room. It almost looked better than before he destroyed it. The mottled brown carpet would never be beautiful but at least the dark patches did a good job of hiding stains. There was no salvaging the lumpy sofa and armchair after years of abuse but at least he managed to clear up the crumbs and straighten up the coffee table.

As much as he enjoyed creating chaos, his heightened senses could not tolerate the aftermath for long. The curse of his keen vision allowed him to become overwhelmed by clutter. The scent of rotten food could haunt him for days.

After Alistair left for home, Angel showered and went to his bedroom to change. The room was hardly large enough to contain his double-bed even minus the bedframe. The narrow dresser squashed against the opposite wall. Polaroids clipped to a string spanned the length of the wall depicting photos of himself with Alistair or Nyx and sometimes both. Their sister Cassie was never in them, usually preferring to stick behind the camera, often sneaking up on them for less than flattering candid shots. As much as he'd protest in the moment, he kept them all.

Before pulling on a fresh set of clothes, Angel checked himself for bruises, but it seemed the pop to the nose was all the damage he'd sustained. The spattering of scars from scrapes long past were reminders he'd had much worse. At first glance, the two longest markings on his back appeared to be still healing wounds where the skin came together only to barely touch at the edges. The thin slits extended from the top of his shoulders to just under the point of his shoulder blade. Hidden wings twitched, rippling his tan skin from below the surface like trapped animals.

He tugged on a clean shirt and jeans in time to hear the front door open and slam close again.

"Hey Grub! Where are ya?" Julian called from the living-room. "I got some fish and chips."

By the time Angel ran downstairs, his father was already unpacking the food from the grease stained paper bag, arranging the Styrofoam containers on the small dining table. The smell made Angel's mouth water and he realized he hadn't eaten since supper the night before.

Julian was shorter than Angel, but broader, more sturdy. His wavy dark hair was kept neat and tidy around his ears. Amber eyes evaluated Angel from beneath scraggly black brows, already scowling.

"You have a good birthday party?" Julian asked, plunking down in one of the chairs.

Angel joined him at the table, opening up his own container of food. The beer battered Haddock pulled apart easily with the poke of his fork.

"I heard you had a lot of fun," said Julian.

"Already?" Angel couldn't look up and ate his food more as a distraction than hunger.

"It's not a big island. Timmy was bragging about it the minute he started his shift at the market."

Angel's eyes widened. "So Nyx knows?"

"You bet." Julian took a bite of one of his fries. "When do you think you're going to settle down? She's a good girl you know. She's put up with your shit long enough."

"Hey, whose side are you on?"

"I'm on yours, believe it or not." Julian leaned back in his chair. "Why is it always so dark in here?" He snapped his fingers and the lights flicked on. "I worked hard setting the electricity up in this place, you might as well use it instead of living like some kind of goblin."

"It's too bright," Angel muttered, poking at his fish.

"I'm serious Angel," said Julian. "You gotta get your shit together. You can't keep getting in fights. You're gonna get killed one of these days. There's a ton of jobs on the mainland you could go do instead."

"And be under Ivy's thumb? I don't think so. I have a job here thank you very much."

"You drink every penny you get. It's time to be responsible. If your mother could see you now -"

"Well, she can't," Angel snapped. He tightened his grip on his fork.

Julian narrowed his eyes. Electricity crackled in his aura. "Thank fuck for small favors. She'd be so disappointed."

"How would I know? You won't tell me anything about her. We could have so many things in common. We would have got along great, and you'd be the disappointment. Ever think of that?"

"You're too much like her, and that's exactly your problem. There's just no talking to you." Julian groaned in exasperation and got up. "Look, I gotta go to work." He walked toward the back door, nudging the tied garbage bag out of the way with the toe of his boot. "Happy birthday Kid." He slammed the door shut behind himself.