A day: the single rotation of the earth on its axis while it orbits the sun. The most basic measurement of time. We see the day used as an important measurement across multiple religions. It's a spiritual rebirth, an opening in the veil between what is and what is yet to be. But what happens when the day ends?

I used to believe that's where demons were created. From the evil and the corruptive energy that was forged in the friction between dying stars. In a way, I had a good point. But I no longer admired the space in between lights with the same enthusiasm as before. I'd started to learn that a day, the beginning and the end, were so much more. And somehow, in spite of all of this, I was back where I started: in some hole in the wall diner that promised great food and low prices, at least until the health inspector showed up and condemned the place.

The napkins here were red. Thick, vibrant cloth that easily hid the old power-washed stained from greasy hands that had come and gone. The silverware had been tucked inside, now scattered across various plates from attempted french fry thievery and regrettably moist vegetables that tasted more like lost time than anything else. My foot bounced up and down against the carpeted floor while I fiddled idly with the paper wrapper from my straw. I was trying to convince myself I didn't need to think about how hard it must be to clean a carpet in a restaurant, especially when the one at home could beat it in a filth contest no question.

Luckily, only one of my feet was subjected to the torment of feeling what was either carpet fibers or someone else's hair tickling my ankle. The other foot— you know, the non-bouncing one— was wrapped up snug in a highly attractive green cast that stretched over most of my shin. It was safe for now. Depending on the longevity of this restaurant, perhaps safe forever.

A sigh followed the swish of a long grey ponytail as Mom slid back into her seat across from me, pulling on the ends of her sleeves to slip out of her denim jacket. "I'm back, kiddo." Her fingernails drummed against the tabletop, chipped red paint matching the makeup that she wore. I tried not to let my eyes wander to the pale scar receding into her hairline from the front of her forehead. It was still pink and fresh, covered over in makeup to make it look less visible to those who didn't know it was there.

I straightened up, letting the paper drop from between my fingertips. "How was Adam?" The words slipped out before I could really think to stop them, but the smile that crossed Mom's lips was enough to settle my nerves.

"Busy. As usual," she answered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. A cup of coffee sat between us, quickly wrapped up in her fingers as she took a sip and grimaced. "Ugh, I let it go cold." Nose wrinkling, I tried to hold back a grin as she shoved it further into the old plates and empty glasses piling in the center. "He's going to meet up with us later." A flutter of excitement rose in my chest at the idea. Adam had promised to watch movies with us later if things at work had been slow. Seeing as he'd been put on part-time until the media stopped hammering them with calls, the chances of him coming by had increased pretty drastically. Mostly out of sheer boredom. And the prospect of making out with my mom in the storage room of the bar.

A black button-up shirt blocked my view of the table as the waiter leaned across it, scooping away plates with one hand as he placed the receipt on the table with the other. His name tag said his name was Marco. The shadow of stubble on his chin and the way his smile made my guts twist up told me he was really, really hot. "Here you go." He straightened up, smoothing out the creases in his shirt as he took a step back. "Can I get you anything else today?"

Any chance I had of making a witty or at least moderately intelligent response flew out the window as soon as he turned his eyes on me. "No, thank you," I heard Mom answer as she handed him back a pen I don't even remember him offering. With a nod, Marco stepped away from the table and went back to work, taking his gorgeous face with him. "He's cute." Mom's eyes were burning holes in me.

I could feel my ears growing hot as I tried to distract myself by scratching at the exposed skin around my cast. "The last time I had a crush on a waiter," I reminded her, "she tied me up by my feet and tried to eat me." The memory of cat-decorated fingers and a tongue way too wet to be comfortable still made me shudder.

"Mm, I don't think this one has the same intention." With one lazy swoop of her hand, Mom leaned back in her chair and held the receipt out for me to see. Written on the bottom in tiny print was a phone number, as well as the words "for the boy in the cast" out beside it.

All of the air left my lungs in something that sounded like the wheeze of a dying ninety-year-old man. "Oh my God." I snatched the paper out of her hand faster than humanly— faely?—possible, eyes running over the numbers and letters over and over until the meaning sunk in. I got a number. A phone number. From a guy. A cute guy.

A little laugh rang in my ears as mom shook her head. "Maybe I did rub off on you a little, champ." She started to reach for her coffee cup again, thinking better of it at the last second. "Or maybe it's because you're famous."

If my cheeks could burn any hotter, they'd have to reclassify me from fae to dragon. "Shut up." Folding the paper, I shoved it into my pocket and made triple sure it wasn't going to fall out. "No I'm not." A smirk was growing on her lips, and I busied myself by ignoring it and trying to get out of the chair without falling over.

"Everyone wants to fuck a star, Oz."

A star. It was hard to think of myself that way. I hadn't done anything spectacular. I really hadn't done anything. Except pull the steering wheel of a car a little too far. Except flip over down a ravine three, four—five times. Except wait, legs pinned beneath the dashboard, for hours while a murderer slowly bled to death beside me. A star.

I shook my head. "What am I even supposed to say?" My voice came out hoarser than it should have, a worried whisper that felt too thick in my throat.

Mom shrugged, getting up to pull her coat on once more and straighten her ponytail. "I don't know but you better think of something fast," she told me. I frowned, lips pursed in confusion as a question lingered on my tongue—answered before I could even speak it. "He's coming this way."

If it had been possible for me to jump out of my skin, I would have done it. My heart lurched in my throat. "What?" All the blood had left my body, leaving me pale as I furiously scanned the diner for any sign of the cute waiter. Oh god. He was looking at me from behind the counter, too far away to hear me but still close enough to smile. "Please kill me. Just kill me right now."

She laughed, a warm happy sound that was followed by fingers ruffling my hair. "Honestly, kid," Mom said as she knocked her shoulders against mine, "I'm starting to think the only time you're brave is when I tell you to stay out of shit." She smiled at me. I smiled back, letting the worry fade away into a little laugh as I started to shake my head. Was she right? Maybe. I don't know. It didn't matter.

The walk home was colder than the walk there. Fall was setting in, fading the color from the streets until the grey sidewalks seemed more monochromatic than before. Again, Mom insisted that I use crutches, and I refused for as long as possible until she threatened to carry me instead. Adam called, letting us know what titles he'd picked out for the movie marathon we had planned. I promised not to get sick on popcorn, but also let them no the stipulations to that were that I technically had no control over what made me sick and the amount that would. For that, I got called a smartass. And a future lawyer.

Life was normal. Life was good. It was like nothing had ever happened, except everything was different in the same way it wasn't. By the time the sun set, I was nestled on the couch like some fat, happy cat with Mom beside me and Adam pouring M&Ms in the next batch of dollar-store popcorn.

On the screen, two cars were neck and neck, chasing each other for some reason that I'd either missed or didn't care about. Metal slammed against metal, creating a screech that vibrated against my bones as the car on screen flipped. My eyes darted away to a piece of scratched wallpaper on the wall.

"It's going to be okay, baby." There was so much blood on the screen. Mine, his, it didn't matter. It crept into the cracks in the glass, flooding my only lifeline with blood.

I couldn't speak. Couldn't force the words to work through the pain that seared through my body. I'd manage to force out a few words. Just enough to tell her what I knew. Which wasn't much.

His breathing was labored beside me. There was something protruding from his chest. A piece of splintered wood, maybe a tree limb, I wasn't sure. I'd never seen someone die before. Not like this. He was still alive for so long. Eyes glazed, unfocused on anything—and then focused on me, only for a moment. Only long enough to grin. To force the word "Good" from his lips.

"Your hair's growing out, kiddo." Mom's voice pulled me back to the screen, out of the memory and back into the present once again. Her long nails were scratching at my scalp, remarking on the faded grey that marked my attempt to be more like her. "You want me to dye it again?" It was almost a ritual at this point, to sit me down with a garbage bag over my shoulders while she box dyed my hair to my liking. We'd been doing it for as long as I could remember.

Slowly, I nodded, shifting against the old couch to find a more comfortable position. "Yeah," I told her, letting my eyes flicker to the screen for just a moment. The handsome main lead was being seduced by the morally ambiguous female role. "But not grey this time."

She let her hand fall, a surprised laugh leaving her lips as she asked, "Did I leave the diner with the wrong son?"

I let my smile turn into a shrug, letting her mull over the idea as I explained it. "I was just thinking maybe I could do something different." In the kitchen, I could hear Adam swearing, as well as the beeping of a microwave being started and stopped once again.

"Leaving the demon world behind?"

This time, it was my turn to laugh, and it felt really good. "No," I assured her. "Just...exploring."

Slowly, she smiled, leaning her head against my shoulder for a moment as her attention was caught by the movie. "You're a good kid, Oz," she told me. "I'm proud of you."

A day: the single rotation of the earth on its axis while it orbits the sun. The most basic measurement of time. Sometimes, it's forever. Sometimes, it's no time at all. But it's nothing to take for granted. Not now, not ever.