Tamsy Caines faked his death.

There wasn’t much to it— after being found out by the Cleaners that he was the angel traveling between the sphere and the ground, he couldn’t meet the Cleaners eye to eye. And what solution was there? Ever since he pretended to die, he took you, his partner in crime, to the sphere with him.

You two shared a house, being legally married and pretending to be a couple, even though you weren’t interested in each other. (Yet even though you say that, you can’t deny there’s a more-than-friend’s bond going on here.)

The sphere was much better than the ground, obviously. Living there was a life of relative luxury for the rich, yet there was still social divisions. You and Tamsy were lucky enough to be on the more wealthy side of things.

You slouched in your chair, flipping through a small hand-held calendar. “Tomorrow,” You began, “We’re gonna attend a gathering with some of our neighbors around noon. Be friendly, yeah?” You stood up, walking over to Tamsy as he sat at a desk with his typewriter. He got a job as a novel writer— that’s mostly how he made his living to pay for the house.

“Well, you should say that to yourself first,” He chuckled, turning over to you standing next to him. “With that snarky tongue of yours, you might get us in trouble with how snappy you can get.”

Your eye twitched. “Oh really, now?”

Tamsy gave you a smug little smile in response, and you could do nothing but sigh. He was partially right— human emotions were too complex for you to understand sometimes, and you used to believe that anger would solve everything.

You glanced down at the typewriter, seeing Tamsy’s right hand and his half-missing pinky. You never knew what happened to it, and he always said that tomorrow would be the day he’d tell you the story.

That damn liar.