After the unpredictable chaos his life had become, Cyrus was finally settling into a routine.

His mornings were filled with new lessons, the skills of which he learned fueled by the souls he took in nearly each evening. New York had a surplus of monsters, and it didn't take much to lure them out. He winded down from every high with careful meditation, then the next day the cycle repeated. Nothing connected the men he cut down; they all left no trace of their sinister extracurricular activities, and for the time being there wasn't much worry of being caught. Whatever Acheron did with the bodies, they were never seen again.

Cyrus's training excelled. Every day brought a new success: honing in on more prayers and keeping a stable connection, purposefully affecting the physical world. With the excess soul energy through his system, these tasks didn't take much out of him, and Cyrus was constantly floating on cloud 9. With all the control he was able to exercise, it still didn't seem to apply when his emotions got in the way. This was particularly demonstrated one night when Tuesday caught him by surprise.

The kills all blended together; each one began to feel the same as the last. The one exception came several weeks into the routine. Tuesday had played her part as decoy, still showing no sign of remorse at her actions or desire to quit. The problem arose, however, when she didn't immediately leave the scene when Cyrus had his target under his knife.

Experiencing a sense of deja vu, he snapped at her to go, but Tuesday remained: arms crossed, expression blank.

The man struggled in Cyrus's arms and slipped free for one second, Cyrus's shock allowing the would-be victim to get a jab in with his elbow. Cyrus stumbled back a few steps, but in the time it took for the man to turn around to face him, the hand holding the knife slashed forward. The geyser of blood that spewed from the wound splattered over Cyrus's face, but he paid it no mind.

As the man gasped and gurgled at Cyrus's feet, the latter turned an incredulous glare to Tuesday.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," Cyrus snapped, "I just didn't take you for a voyeur!"

"I don't get what you're so upset about," she retorted, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. The man's movements began to slow, the hands that had wildly clutched at his own throat going limp. Neither of them spared him a second glance. "Afraid I'll change my mind?"

The frustration reached a boiling point then. Before Cyrus could calm his mind and think of a response, the jet-black sky was suddenly pouring down an ice- cold rain that struck the pavement with fury. As the shaking subdued in Cyrus's clenched fists, so did the storm, and the rain tapered off as quickly as it had arrived. It watered the blood off the pavement and slicked Cyrus's hair down his face, dripping in his eyes. Tuesday was shaking, either from the sudden cold or the unnaturalness of the downpour--but neither of them voiced the suspicion Cyrus had caused it.

"Did you forget there's blood on my hands too?" she finally said, teeth chattering. Neither of them spoke again for the rest of the night, but the incident was quickly put out of mind. Tuesday never tried to watch him kill again, and the weather never threw another tantrum.

For the most part, after delivering a man to death's door, Tuesday went home; some nights, however, she seemed too reluctant to let the night end and followed Cyrus back to his house. It reminded him of a stray dog in a way, but he didn't object. On one of these nights, Tuesday had fallen asleep as they sat in silence. Cyrus continued his meditation, though his eyes flitted open to look at her every now and then. In sleep, she resembled the old Tuesday, and he could almost remember a time she didn't wear her darkness so openly.

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When she awoke, she caught him staring and blushed. "Sorry," Tuesday murmured, smoothing down her hair and rubbing her eyes. "I haven't been sleeping well. I just--" She glanced up at Cyrus and shook her head quickly, looking down again. "Never mind, it's silly."

The two of them were quiet for several moments before Tuesday gained the courage to say, albeit in a whisper, "Sometimes I think he's haunting me."

She didn't need to say the name; it was clear from the tremors in her voice. With confidence, Cyrus replied, "The human soul is recycled, it doesn't stick behind." If such a thing as ghosts existed, which he couldn't readily dismiss with all the weird shit he'd seen, they weren't human and never were.

Tuesday stared at him, lips pressed in a tight line. "Strange emphasis you have there on that 'human' thing." When Cyrus made no move to respond, she leaned forward, eyes getting wider. "What exactly can you do? Besides, you know--" She waved her right hand, where the remainder of a thin pale scar was barely noticeable.

Reluctantly, barely above a whisper, Cyrus told her everything he'd learned. The entire time, he stayed tense, waiting for any piece of information to finally be the last straw that sent her fleeing. Tuesday bit her lip, avoiding his eyes when he finished, but she didn't seem afraid.

"What?" asked Cyrus tentatively.

Tuesday shrugged, laughing quietly. "I'm just feeling a little insignificant, is all."

It was the most Cyrus had ever spoken in one sitting, but he felt compelled to reply. The first day she'd shown up on his doorstep, brighter than the sun itself, flashed through his head, as well as every moment he'd spent with her after. "You've got your own power."

"Oh yeah?" she challenged, tone playful but her expression tense. "Such as?"

"Charisma. The kind that leaders have." It had certainly worked on Cyrus.

"You mean the kind Ted Bundy had," Tuesday retorted. Her eyes raised to the ceiling, and she sighed, laying down. She raised her healed hand above her face, idly twisting it through the air. "You ever just wanna feel normal again?" she asked, voice quavering.

Cyrus joined her on the floor, staring up at nothing. The question seemed to have zapped some of his energy, and exhaustion tugged his eyes closed. He was still very much awake, though, when Tuesday spoke again.

"Maybe we can have a little normalcy." She propped herself up one elbow, excitement lighting up in her eyes and driving away the storm. Her next words came fast, tripping over each other. "My school's Sadie's dance is in a few days, and yeah, I didn't give that much thought at first, but it could be a nice distraction. A way to feel...human."

Cyrus felt heat instantly rush to his face. If there was a hell, high school dances were a hot contender, and he couldn't imagine Tuesday going to one. Not this new Tuesday at least, but Cyrus got the feeling this was about more than a dance to her.

Seeing the look on his face, Tuesday's voice dropped to a whisper. "C'mon, Cy...maybe it'll be fun."

He snorted at that, unable to contain his amusement, though it was short-lived. Cyrus covered his eyes with one hand, stifling a groan. It took a moment for him to choose his response, and another to gather the courage to voice it. Cyrus's speciality was in the strange and tackling such a mundane issue took a certain measure of self control. "I can never feel for you the way you want me to."

Cyrus kept his eyes shut, so he couldn't see how she reacted. Her voice, on the other hand, hinted at no emotion whatsoever. "But you feel something." Tuesday let the words hang in the air for a moment, let them fester there, before continuing, "That's enough for me."

He finally let his hand drop, daring a glance at Tuesday's face. Nothing broke through her stoic mask.

"Well?" Tuesday prompted. "It's rude to keep a girl waiting, you know."

Cyrus allowed a little smile at that. Something must have possessed him then, because the idea didn't seem so terrible.

He could use a dose of normal.

Seeing the resignation on his face, Tuesday laughed and threw a light punch at his arm. "Do you have something to wear?"

Cyrus glanced down at his jeans and tee in confusion.

Tuesday exhaled, shaking her head and rising to her feet. "Something else, you dork," she said, voice as light and cheerful as it had been in weeks. She gestured to the closet and raised her eyebrows.

Thinking of the only things taking up space in there--a few more identical, plain shirts and slacks--Cyrus simply shook his head.

Whatever entered her eyes then, Cyrus knew he wouldn't like what it meant.

"Guess we need to go shopping," Tuesday sighed, but nothing in her voice said she was upset about it in the slightest.