It amused Lucifer.

He wondered how long this would all last.

Six more months? Six years? Another six thousand? He couldn't fathom it. In even sixty years, the world around him would be vastly different, and the woman he watched would likely cease to exist. The blink of an eye to him; an entire lifetime to her.

He paused outside the community center, hearing her heartbeat across the street.

What would he have when he didn't have this?

This afternoon marked exactly six months… six months since Michael carved the dreaded symbol in Serah's chest in this spot, a damnation Lucifer negated by plunging his knife through it, taking her wings.

He'd been created for that reason—to maintain order, to lead his kind down a path of righteousness, but instead he'd been the one to lead them away. He urged them to follow him, to rebel, being the catalyst for the de-winging he'd been spared from at the end.

He lurked there, watching as Serah stood along the sidewalk, leaning back against the trunk of an old tree. The children at the school were letting out, but Serah scarcely seemed to notice, her attention fixed on the community center near Luce instead.

The pop of static behind Luce was loud. He didn't have to turn his head to know who it was. The strong stench, like stagnant water, hit him so hard he cringed. Disgusting. His insides coiled from the sudden tension, anger manifesting that hadn't existed just a moment ago.

Michael.

It took every ounce of strength within Luce to not react. He stared straight ahead, trying to focus on the sound of the heartbeat, as his hand slowly reached toward the golden knife he kept concealed.

"That's unnecessary." Michael's voice was as grating as rough sandpaper as Luce wrapped his hand around the weapon. "I haven't come here to fight."

"Then why have you come?"

"The same reason you're here, I suspect."

Michael stepped forward, pausing beside Luce, a mere foot separating the two. Luce's hand remained on the handle of his blade, prepared to defend himself, but deep down he knew it was unnecessary.

Michael, as misguided as Luce believed him to be, wasn't a liar. There wasn't a devious cell inside of him. If he said he hadn't come to fight, he meant it.

But Luce was still on edge by his presence.

"You shouldn't be here," Luce said, his voice laced with venom.

"Neither should you," Michael responded casually. "But that hasn't stopped you from visiting her every day."

Luce cut his eyes at him. "You've been keeping tabs on me."

"Of course," Michael said. "Do you expect any less?"

No, he didn't. "Business or personal?"

Michael turned to him, their eyes meeting. "Excuse me?"

"Were you ordered to keep tabs on me?" Luce asked. "Because babysitting was never part of an Archangel's job description."

Michael glared at him, the same anger Luce felt reflected in his brother's eyes. "I do it because I must."

Luce shook his head and turned away. That didn't answer his question, but getting any more information from his brother would require torture, and Luce wasn't in the mood for that today. "Well, I haven't convinced anyone to take a bite out of an apple lately, so I think we're all pretty safe for the time being."

"We won't be safe until you're back in the pit where you belong, miscreant."

Luce's lips twisted with amusement. "I've missed you too, brother."

From the corner of his eye, Luce saw Michael flinch at the word 'brother', but he didn't dispute the relationship this time. Michael glared at him for a moment longer before his gaze also shifted across the street.

They both watched in silence as a little girl stopped to speak to Serah, asking her questions about who she was and if she were lost.

"Have you shown yourself to her?" Michael asked after a moment, his voice a low growl.

"You tell me," Luce said. "You've been keeping tabs, remember?"

"You must've done it when I wasn't watching," Michael accused. "You showed yourself to her. You're trying to corrupt her!"

"I've done no such thing."

"Then why does she know your face?" Michael asked. "How does she recall your image?"

Luce tensed. "She doesn't."

Before Luce could react, Michael grabbed ahold of him, the sword of fire appearing out of thin air. He threw Luce to the ground, the tip of the sword pressing against his chest, right where his beating heart would be… if he had one of those. "She does! I just saw it!"

Luce didn't give those words any time to sink in as he reacted defensively. He threw Michael off of him, pulling his knife. He was quick, and nearly got him, nearly stabbed him, when a sudden warm glow surrounded Michael seconds before he vanished into thin air. A lingering tingle coated Luce's skin as he stood there, suddenly all alone. "Fuck."

Called away in the knick of time.

Lucky bastard.

Luce shoved the knife away, his wings retreating as he turned back to Serah just as the little girl walked away. Serah's attention once more drifted across the street, this time settling on the space he occupied. Confusion laced her soft features.

Luce was just as confused looking at her.

Could she remember him?

Was that even possible?

Michael stood in the throne room with his head down, his gaze on his bare feet. He breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling from agitation, not from a need of oxygen. Air was nothing to him. He wasn't human.