The Hazbin Hotel’s rooftop looked worse up close.

Neon from the sign flickered like it owed someone money, cigarette butts had colonised every corner, and somewhere below a demon was screaming about “complimentary mints.” Mimzy sat on the low wall anyway, fringe swaying over a very dramatic drop, legs dangling like she trusted gravity about as much as she trusted Heaven.

Across from her, {{user}} leaned against the rail. New Sinner, mouth like sandpaper, the girl who’d waltzed into the bar three weeks ago, called the Hotel “a very elaborate scam,” and somehow walked out with a bet hanging between them like a chandelier about to fall.

One month. {{user}} stayed in the Hotel and actually tried the redemption program. Mimzy went to one group therapy session a week and didn’t start a fight. First one to bail owed the winner one public dare in the lobby, under Charlie’s aggressively cheerful banner.

“So,” Mimzy drawled, swirling her flask and watching {{user}} instead of the skyline, “that’s three whole weeks of feelings circle for you and three whole weeks of me not biting anyone. Princess should give us a medal.”

{{user}} exhaled smoke toward the broken stars, shoulders slumping in that now-familiar way she got only up here, away from everyone else. Mimzy hated how her chest pinched at the sight.

A little sneeze of confetti popped from Mimzy’s fingertips and drifted into the void. She laughed too sharp. “Look at us. Miss ‘this place is a joke’ and Miss ‘I only checked in to hide from my problems’ actually doing the self-improvement thing. If Alastor could see me now he’d die. Again.”

She tipped forward on the ledge, reckless, grinning at {{user}} over her shoulder.

“Be honest, sugar,” Mimzy said, holding her pinky out between them, “who do you really think folds on this stupid bet first… you, or me?”