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Chapter Text

Every click of the cameras, flashes of lights, the wave of loud chatter and demands left the King, someone who should be used to this kind of attention, disoriented.  All the while, his beautiful wife, the Queen, absorbed the fixation on her.  Well, her and her husband.  Despite the grand height difference between the two lovers, all attention was focused on them both, if not more, on the overwhelmed King.  He hid it well, though, plastering a dazzling smile with hooded eyes, masking the slight tiredness in his expression.

It felt as though everything was moving past them, though they stood still.  The reporters' cameras moved around quickly, peaking over heads, finding a small crack between arms, all to snap a picture-perfect image of the royal couple.  All the flashes moved as quick as lightning, flashing before smudging away against the darkness.  Truthfully, he was surprised that no one else was gaining a headache from the commotion.  And all for a celebration.

“Your highness, your highness!” A waving microphone in the ocean of clambering people caught the Monarch’s attention.  His blue eyes shot over to the reporter, softening into a more light-hearted smile with joy that seemed genuine.  Once the reporter saw that eyes were on him, he dipped the microphone back to him as all those around them went quiet, respectfully waiting for the question and response.  “The ball was fantastic, going with a theme of ‘Masquerade.’  What would you say your favourite moment was?”

The chuckle he released echoed over the crowd, accompanied by the continues clicks of the cameras.  With gentle touches, his arm wrapped around his tall wife, who kept a soft smile on her lips, one hand holding her masquerade mask.  The dazzling accessory gleamed with maroons as music notes scattered on the sides, trailing to the top of the mask leading to the biggest part of the dress up: large, arching devil horns.

All the while, the King held onto his mask gently, completely disregarding it, while his wife held hers tightly to her chest.  His own mask was drenched with the colour red, marks of any other colours of the rainbow scarcely showing.  The mask looks incomplete, half done even.  No patterns or work were found on the piece of article.  Only large devil horns, matching his wife’s own but incredibly large.  If the small man placed it on his face, it would seem like he’d fall over with how heavy they loomed, despite not being made of any material to cause unbalance.

“There were many, wonderful moments!  Though I’d have to say, my absolute favourite was…”  Watching him walk in, he thought to himself.  A small blush crept onto his cheeks, not entirely visible against makeup that mimicked a porcelain doll: rosy red circles.  Slowly, he trailed his eyes from the reporter to his wife next to him.  She stared ahead, though she knew his eyes were on her.  Despite knowing what he should say, he couldn’t help but remember another walking into the ball.  The mask carried empty, black eyes, and these beautiful, long antlers.  The most precious thing about the mask was that it was entirely made out of a deer’s skull.  Still, it covered the person’s face completely and caught the King’s attention.  That reason being because he knew exactly who it was.  An old time friend who always made an appearance despite it bringing trouble.

“It was…”  He muttered once more, pulling his brain apart to find a moment he could speak of with his wife instead of another person.  And as soon as he found it, his grip around her waist tightened.  “Seeing you sing to my violin.”  The crowd awed at the memory, causing more cameras to flash and capture the moment in front of them.  The Queen calmly peaked down, smiling more and scoffing, though the crowd among them couldn’t see.  All they saw was a happy couple, the ideal couple, who ruled over their lives.  “You made it very difficult to focus on playing, my Queen.”

“I’m pleased to hear that I can still capture your attention, my King, even after all these years.”  Her velvety voice caused him to shiver, feeling the bite in her words, the bitterness.  Not that she cared, with her own baggage barely being hidden from the public.  Though, she didn’t want him to make her seem like she wasn’t wanted.  To others, at least, she didn’t give a damn if he didn’t want her privately but needed that publicly.  Because how could no one want her.

“That…”  He continued, talking once more to the reporter while keeping eye contact with her for a quick second, turning to the reporter rapidly as she looked back at the cameras.  “Was my favourite moment of the evening.”  Satisfied with the answer, the reporter smiled with appreciation before more protests of the King’s attention came his way.  He scanned the harsh ocean once more, looking for someone to calm it for another second.  “Yes?”

“Do you already have plans for your 30th anniversary?”  Everyone froze, all eyes on the two like spotlights.  While she thrived, he shrunk.  His face giving away how exposing the question felt, lips pressed into a thin line and creasing his cheeks.

“Um, well…”  Everything felt hot in a moment, even with the snow fall and chilling breeze around them.  The frozen, January air did nothing to cool his embarrassment away.  Shakily, his hand slid away as he stood up right, stiff as a snowboard.  They just celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary, must they really plan for their 30th?  “What’s the point of spoiling it, eh?”  The jokeful manner caused his wife’s eye to twitch in annoyance.  Right, he reminded himself before taking a breath, have to present myself in a “royal manner.”  Smile gracefully, he held out his hand for his wife to gently place hers on.  A small signal for their leave.  “I suppose we will all have to wait and see.”

The two began stepping down the stairs, their guards parting the wave of people, making the King feel like Moses.  Yet that didn’t cease the questions, comments, the shouting from the crowd.  They both continued to walk, heading to their respective carriage that awaited its owners.  As one coachman opens the red door, helping her majesty in, the King waits patiently.

“King Lucifer!  What do you have to say to your father, who suspected this marriage would fail with her Majesty, Queen Lilith?”  His head snapped to the person asking, halting all conversation, though the continuous clicking of cameras continued.  A horrid, sharp smile etched onto his face, completely replacing the once soft expression that he held the entire evening.  Heels snapped against the stone floors below as he made his way to the reporter, who grew more terrified as the King approached.  Not to punish them for the question, but to get close and personal as he gave his answer.  Those around him swore that his head echoed an eerie creak as he tilted his head to the side.

“How do you like me now?”

“I’ll be away this weekend.”  Lilith’s monotonous voice vibrated around the quiet bedroom, only being muffled by the moving sheets as Lucifer awoke.  The bright sun filled the bedroom, blurring his vision more as he achingly rubbed the sleep from his eyes.  His hands peeled away from his eyes, adjusting to the brightness around him and searching for Lilith.

There she sat, at the obnoxiously large dressing table.  As if there wasn’t already enough light, she had the lights framing the mirror on to help with her makeup.  It was completely unnecessary, causing Lucifer to squint with confusion as he examined her movement.

“Not even a ‘good morning’..?”  He replied with a small mutter, not caring if Lilith heard.  Sitting up, Lucifer turned to face his wife, who currently had her back turned.  Focused heavily on her makeup, Lilith continued to make sure she was perfectly ready for her outing, unbothered with Lucifer’s comment.  She won’t even make eye contact with him in the mirror.

Lucifer caught his reflection, causing him to pause.  His eyes were heavy with bags underneath them.  No amount of sleep would ever erase the distress from his skin, no amount of care.  The usual smile that was on his face had turned into a quiet frown, making him feel alien to his own reflection.  The person who looked back wasn’t King Lucifer, it couldn’t be.  Yet as he blinked, so did the reflection.

“Why are you going to be gone?”  Lucifer asked, furrowing his eyebrows with confusion as he snapped his sights away from the imposter.  Instead, he focused on the way Lilith batted those long eyelashes.  He could have sworn she would start to fly off with how big they were.  The image of her flying off made his lips quirk up a bit.

“Adam will be going out of town this week and gone for a while.”  Answered Lilith, zipping up her makeup bag and smacking her lips a few times for good measure.  Next, she grabbed a spray for her makeup from her table, spraying it roughly before waving her hand around to help dry the substance.  “For a tour in…  Who knows where.”  Rolling her eyes, Lilith focused a few minutes more on her appearance.  Patching up any errors of imperfection here and there while Lucifer grumbled to himself.

“Guess this is a ‘travel safely’ visit, then.”  Lucifer stated back, looking down at the sheets that covered his waist still.  These kinds of things were common for Lilith, though the real meaning was not ever spoken about.  Not that she didn’t hide it, she was very open about her ‘visits’ with different people.  And Lucifer let it happen.  His hand crumbled the blankets, feeling anger seep into his brain.  Shakily raising his vision, Lucifer saw it again.

Lilith, on the small couch in their bedroom, with another person next to her.  They were clearly too caught up on the deep kisses she gave along their neck to notice Lucifer in the doorway.  But not Lilith.  She had stared at him dead on, daring him to say something.  And he walked away.

“Like a coward.” Lucifer spat at himself mentally, his hand shaking slightly at the memory.  How he still continued to sleep in this bedroom was beside him.

“Yes, you know how it is, darling.”  Her dark voice rang Lucifer out of his trance, making him blink back into reality.  Turning back to her, he noticed that she was all cleaned up for emptying the house for the weekend.  A large, maroon bag stuffed with her essentials, while a dark red suitcase held her clothings.  Knowing Adam, he’d have her spend time in his pool the entire weekend.  In fact, he was the most common visitor inside her legs.  It made Lucifer sick, at first.

“Ah…  Well, I’ll inform Charlie that you’ll be busy then.”

“No need.”  Lilith interrupted, her chair making no noise as it slid on the floor.  Each clack of her heels reminded Lucifer of how empty the house will be.  This enormous castle for one man.  “I have asked her to meet me at a restaurant tomorrow for breakfast.  Adam won’t be joining us.”  The scoff that followed reeked with annoyance and frustration.  “Charlotte and Adam really can’t get along for even a second.  Even for me.”

“Charlie.”  The correction  reached deaf ears.  Instead, the door to their bedroom was pushed open by Lilith, who waved down a servant.  The well-dressed worker scurried inside, grabbing her bags and taking them to the front of the house.  Lilith walked in front of the tall mirror, checking for the hundredth time her appearance.

“I’ll be back on Monday.”  Lucifer simply nodded, lowering his head to see his hands.  An echo travelled the room as the door closed behind her, leaving him in the loudness of the quiet bedroom.

Biting his lower lip, Lucifer grumbled to himself.  He should get up.  Have a delicious breakfast that was just prepared for him.  Spend time in the lovely sun.  Perhaps practice playing his beautiful violin in the garden.  He should get up.  Quickly, he was once again blinded by his white sheets as he threw them over his head, kicking off what he thought were ugly red comforters and curling into a ball.  Eyeing the doorway, Lucifer grumbled again.

He should get up.

“Luci!”  A deep and loud voice boomed Lucifer awake.

Lucifer’s eyes shot open as he suddenly felt freezing cold.  With a startled expression, he looked down to find his blankets completely pulled off, exposing himself with just his boxers.  On the end of the bed stood a tall, dark man, shadowed by the sunlight behind him that flooded the room.

“What the fuck?”  He asked loudly, covering his chest as if he was a proper lady.  Instead, the man grabbed his arms tightly.  It startled Lucifer, not the action specifically but how large his hands were.  Though he couldn’t take a moment to examine them before he was hoisted out of the comforting bed, placed rapidly on the floor, standing.

Quickly, he regained his balance, and as soon as he did, Lucifer got to take a good look at the man in front him.  Dark skin, hair gently combed back though keeping its volume, and an equally well kept beard.  His clothing matched his bright green eyes beautifully.  A long, blue coat accompanied by a dark purple suit underneath.  Lucifer’s face lit up, all anger at being woken abruptly left.

“Ozzie!”  Asmodeus smiled as Lucifer threw his arms up, excited to see one of his long time friends.  He bent down a bit to hug Lucifer, their height difference being comical.  As if to make things worse, Asmodeus wore tall heels, while Lucifer had to stand on his tip toes.  “What are you doing here?”  He asked, pulling away from the hug and shivering a bit.  Not wanting to keep the King cold, Asmoedus waltzed over to the large walk in closet that Lilith left open.

“A little birdie told me,” the Prince started as he searched for Lucifer’s robe, “that someone had left for a visit.”  He froze as he noticed a huge portion of Lilith’s clothes were gone, frowning deeply with angry brows.  “Seems they were correct…”  Even though Asmodeus is known as one of the most lustful Princes in the world, he had judgement against adultery.  It made his skin boil, especially when it causes so much harm to the other.  And even though he wanted to beg Lucifer to divorce Lilith, he knew it wouldn’t do him any good.  So instead, he grabbed Lucifer’s yellow duck robe, one that Lilith despised.  “So, I am here to make sure you stay alive.”  Asmodeus stated proudly, walking out to hand Lucifer his robe.

Lucifer decided that standing was too much work, having flopped back on his bed and staring at his ceiling.  He huffed out a scoff at Asmodeus’ statement, keeping his arms out on the bed.  Lucifer, a King, needing a babysitter?  No way, not needed.

“You don’t need to.”  Dragging himself to sit up, Lucifer frowned as Asmodeus smiled brightly.

“But I want to!”  The Prince answered back, holding out the duck robe, to which Lucifer happily grabbed for it, forgetting about the whole idea of being babysat.  As Lucifer threw on his robe, Asmodeus slid over his yellow slippers, continuing on with talking. “How does some breakfast sound?  I’m sure your staff prepared something de-lish!”  Instead of waiting any longer for Lucifer, Asmodeus started his way out of the bedroom while Lucifer followed, tripping over his half-on slippers.

The hallways shone with the bright sunlight, even brighter against the blinding white snow still on the ground.  Even if it was sunny, the air was cold, keeping the snow fresh and clear.  Lucifer couldn’t look at the snow outside, his blue eyes making it extra sensitive.  Though the cold was enticing, piercing his skin.  Asmodeus' booming voice echoed through the halls as the two made their way to the kitchen.  Nothing he said reached Lucifer, who simply examined the walls and windows, trying to distract himself from his thoughts.  It would be wise to listen, though he felt too tired to pay attention.  From the sounds of it, it was some issues with the others that Ozzie was babbling on about.

The kitchen was equally bright, much warmer than the hallways.  Some chefs were cleaning the dishes in a secluded section of the kitchen.  The sound of clattering dishes and utensils helped bring Lucifer back to the present.  With each clink, he could guess what was being touched.  A plate, a glass cup, not a wine glass though, perhaps a ceramic bowl.  The two royals headed towards a small table near the large windows, the table already set up for Lucifer to dine on.  Asmodeus sat in the chair without any plates, continuing on with talking as Lucifer settled down cautiously.  As soon as he did, a servant scuttled over and settled the plate down.

“We have his highness’ favourite breakfast: pancakes in the shape of a duck, accompanied by apple slices on top, maple syrup, and a hint of powdered sugar.”  She stated clearly, smiling at the dish that Lucifer eyed.  Behind her, she revealed a tall glass of apple juice, to which Lucifer grabbed immediately.  “Would his highness enjoy a small bowl of fruits as well?”  The woman asked, looking directly at Lucifer.

“Let’s see if he eats this for now!  Though I wouldn’t mind one.”  Answered Asmodeus for him, not wanting to overwhelm Lucifer with all the food.  The servant bowed, heading over to a small area with fresh fruits.  Asmodeus’ green eyes landed on Lucifer, watching him poke the small apple slices and resting his head on his hand.  “Try to eat a little, please?”  Lucifer looked up, frowning at the concerned face Asmodeus gave.  Harshly, he stabbed a piece of the pancake that he had cut and stuffed it into his mouth, quickly widening his eyes as the flavour exploded in his mouth.  Humming happily, Asmodeus chuckled.

The small servant brought the Prince his requested food, to which he thanked them.  Reaching into the inside of his coat pocket, Asmodeus drew out a newspaper and opened it up while popping a tiny blueberry into his mouth.  Lucifer ate the pancakes hungrily, the shape of a duck completely gone.  Staring at his plate made him feel sick, the food slowly climbing up his throat.  So instead, Lucifer began reading over what he could on the Newspaper cover.

The first clipping was about the anniversary celebration, of course.  It was just a few days prior, so the fact that they were still on about it made Lucifer sick to his stomach.  The reminder from his citizens over the “everlasting love” that he and Lilith shared was a painful reminder at how fake this all was.  And how right his Father knew better.

Instead of focusing on his Father and the pain he felt creeping in again, Lucifer looked over the next few clippings on the front.  The smallest one read, “Hostile Work Environment?  Valentino’s Response!”  It caused Lucifer to grumble a bit, furrowing his eyebrows at the mention of the famed Porn Director.  He hadn’t heard about the accusations, though he was mildly curious.  And the perfect person to ask about it was…

“What’s this thing about, uh…  Valentino?”

“That little bitch!”  Asmodeus slammed the paper down on the table rapidly, causing it to shake and Lucifer to jump up slightly.  The calm green eyes changed to ones filled with rage, interesting Lucifer further at what this man had done to make the Prince pissed off.  “I keep getting these reports from workers I know, saying that he is absolutely disgusting!”  The other leaned back, picking a finger up as he listed out the crimes that others shared.  “Drugging his employees, consent is barely a thing in his studio!  Overworking them to the point their families don’t know where they are!”

“This man sounds like shit.”  Is all Lucifer could think of, quietly watching his close friend go on about this director while chewing his pancakes.  The list kept going, making him question how no figure of authority has stepped in and stopped this.  Surely these accusations have caused some eyebrows to be raised before?  It made Lucifer more suspicious, causing him to grab the newspaper, as Asmodeus now rambled about how he is disappointed in the industry and how it used to be back then.  The influence Asmodeus secretly had in the lustful side of this community was hidden from the media, holding a secret club where everyone’s identity was hidden as long as they followed his rules.  The main one?  Consent is required, not optional.

The clipping was short and small, making Lucifer even more confused, as the kind of response Valentino gave seemed barely there.  All he had to say was, “those making these horrible rumours will pay the consequences.”  Lucifer looked at the author, seeing the name of a popular writer in the Newspaper that heavily works for Volt.  Vow?  No, it was…  Vick?  Someone from somewhere in the entertainment and news industry.  As Lucifer sipped his apple juice, his eyes caught the small picture attached to the bigger news clipping.

“They’re what?”  Lucifer spat out, ruining the newspaper with the apple juice that was previously in his mouth.  Asmodeus froze, thankfully not getting any of the sticky drink on him, though he took out some napkins from the holder and began cleaning Lucifer up slightly.

“Pardon?”  Asmodeus asked with worry, trying to peek at the clipping Lucifer read over.

“Prince Stolas and Princess Stella are getting divorced?”  Replied Lucifer with a wheeze, both laughing and baffled at the news, mostly because he is receiving it through the newspaper.  Slapping the paper with the back of his hand, he looked at Asmodeus and spoke.  “How come I wasn’t informed of this earlier?”

“The Goetia’s are my responsibility, Luci, remember?  It was to take some weight off your shoulders.”  Asmodeus gently plucked the ruined newspaper from his grip, waving one of the kitchen staff over to discard it.  Right, how could he have forgotten.  Asmodeus and the others wished to split the work, so Lucifer wasn’t drowning in royal duties.  Which would mean that Prince Satan would have to oversee the divorce, most likely.  Lucifer sat in his spot, staring at Asmodeus with speechlessness and confusion.  It was not a common occurrence, a Royal divorcing.  In fact, it is one that has never happened despite there being a way to make a divorce possible.  “Truthfully, Stolas needed to get out!  I’m proud of him for finally doing so, it is long overdue.”

“Wait, wait…  What do the others think of this?”  Lucifer asked, desperation in his voice, which made Asmodeus frown.  Of course, the Prince caught onto why Lucifer was curious, making the smaller cower away in embarrassment.  Looking down at his half-eaten pancakes, Lucifer sulked in his chair.  “I think I’m full.”

“Lucifer…”  Reaching for the plate, Asmodeus sighed before continuing.  “Could you please try to eat a little more?”

“I am done, Asmodeus.”  Replied Lucifer, looking at the other, his head never lifting.  The Prince paused, stuttering with his hand as he pulled away.  Coming to collect the plate, the kitchen filled with the clatter of dishes being cleaned, ingredients being organized, letting Lucifer drown in his hopeless dream.  While he wasn’t in bed, sitting in the sun was the next best place to simply sleep.

Chapter Text

The couch was rather cozier than Lucifer remembered it being, though of course, not as comfortable as the warmth of his own bed.  The large pile of blankets on him reminded him of the warmth, and the colours also helped the room seem brighter.  While he stayed hidden in the mountain of blankets, Lucifer drearily watched the TV screen switch through the channels, the tapping of the remote next to him indicating that the new guest Asmodeus introduced him to was still uncertain about what to watch.  Of course, having the King next to him was most likely causing some anxiety, even though Lucifer didn’t mind what they watched.  The Prince still wanted to make sure Lucifer was alright, though his own royal duties still were tasks he needed to attend to.

After showing the other his dusty office area, Lucifer granted permission for Asmodeus to “go wild.”  He didn’t care if he rearranged the entire place.  With the threat of heading back to bed clear as day, Asmodeus invited another to stick with Lucifer, especially since this individual was used to being around royals.

“Do you like…  Telenovelas?”  The scratchy voice asked, causing Lucifer to peak over to the smiley face, stretched widely and noticing how nervous he looked.  Sighing slightly, Lucifer looked back at the TV.

“Whatever you like is fine, Frankie.”

“It’s ‘Fizzarolli,’ your highness.”  The other chuckled, having corrected Lucifer, most likely for the 6th time that day.  Leaning his head back, Lucifer groaned dramatically while the blankets fell off his head.

“I’m so sorry…”  Lowering his head in shame, Fiz patted Lucifer’s shoulder gently and continued looking for something on the TV.

“It’s okay!  It happens to the best of us, ha!”  Even though it was an attempt to comfort Lucifer, it just caused Lucifer to deflate more into his blankets.  The reaction earned a frown from the jokester, deciding that a different topic would be best instead.  “Oh!  What about comedy?  I’m sure you’ll love this old show called ‘The Office!’”  Cheerfully Fizarolli shared, not waiting for Lucifer to answer for at this point, the answer was the same.  So, he watched Fiz coordinate the TV to the show mentioned, Fiz then adjusting himself into the blanket fort as well from the outside.  Within only the first few minutes, Lucifer couldn’t help but find himself laughing along with Asmodeus’ boyfriend, the living area gently filling with laughter.

“That little receptionist, uh…”  Waving his fork in the air as he tried to remember the name, Lucifer furrowed his eyebrows as he looked over to Fizarolli for assistance.  Smiling joyfully, Fizarolli laughed at Lucifer’s attempt to remember before they both shouted, “Pam!” and burst out in laughter.  Asmodeus ate the steak from his plate, enjoying the sight before him and laughing along quietly.  “Yes, her!  She honestly just deserves so much better.”

“Oh, don’t worry, she gets so much better!”  Fiz jumped up excitedly, causing some of the utensils to knock around.  Unbothered, Lucifer jumped up and started bouncing slightly, clearly excited about the news.

“Good!!  Please, please, please tell me she ends up with Jim!”  Flopping into his seat, he held his hand over his heart and looked away dreamily.  “They are meant to be.”

“You’ll have to find out!”  Fizarolli sang out, popping back into his own seat and continuing to eat his food.  All the while, Asmodeus watched with a grand smile, shaking his head as he watched the two talk about the show.

“Fiz can get anyone hooked to a show, I promise you, Luci.”  Taking a few sips of his wine, Asmodeus nudged Lucifer’s plate a bit, grabbing his attention to continue eating.  Lucifer smiled at Asmodeus before continuing to eat, listening to the Prince as he continued.  “He had shown me this show called ‘Bridgerton’ and oh, my, goodness!  It’s definitely a show.”  Spoke Asmodeus, wiggling his eyebrows at Fizarolli who purred back at him.

“You really got into corsets after that, Oz.”  He roared out, smirking at Asmodeus who waved his hand as if to brush the words away.

“Corsets are pretty, I don’t blame you, Ozzie!”  Lucifer pipped into the suggestive conversation, completely oblivious to what the couple was insinuating.  Fizarolli simply nodded, giving him an innocent smile.  All Asmodeus could do was shake his head more, finishing his food in silence as the two smaller men continued talking about the show.

For a moment, Lucifer felt joy fill the Castle for a bit.  The entire moment felt like it would disappear soon enough, though Lucifer simply wanted to enjoy the time with Asmodeus and Fizarolli.  The laughter continued onto other conversations, most importantly surrounding Fizarolli’s and Asmodeus’ relationship.  It was no secret that Fizarolli wasn’t connected to royalty.  The entire demeanour of the other came off as someone who grew up like a regular citizen, not that Lucifer was complaining.  It was a breather, spending time with someone who not just doesn’t have a royal title, but also does not care of others royal titles.  He treated Lucifer as another person, making Lucifer understand why Asmodeus was so drawn to him.

“Wait, wait, how did you guys even meet?”  Asked Lucifer, the empty plate in front of him clattering as he dropped the utensils.

“I worked for Prince Mammon.”  Fizarolli answered, sitting on his hands and sending Lucifer a nervous smile.  All he could do was blink in response to Fizarolli, trying to process what he just said.  Fizarolli, worked for Prince Mammon, to which he met Prince Asmodeus…

“You never worked for Asmodeus?”  Lucifer asked again, confused, as their dynamic came off as two people who’d work well together.  “Why on Earth would this lovely Fiz work for Mammon?”  He thought to himself.  Fizarolli laughed with a small blush, as well as Asmodeus.  Lucifer looked between the two, confused.

“Why on Earth would anyone work for Mammon?”  Asmodeus laughed out, causing Fiz to laugh more and cover his face.

“Oh shit, did I say that out loud?”  The two answered with a nod, causing Lucifer’s face to flush in response.  Yet they all moved on easily, Asmodeus answering for Fiz who kept sitting on his hands, slouching in his chair and keeping his sights on the empty cup in front of him.  The cold from his metallic hands sending slightly shock waves as they met his clothed legs as well, making him shiver slightly.

“We worked together, but not for me.  I will never date someone who works for me.  Plus,”  Asmodeus stood up, walking over to the nervous Fizarolli.  Tilting the smaller’s chin up, Fiz’s nervousness visibly eased out of his expression as they stared at each other.  “I have this froggie that no one can replace.”

The gesture caused Lucifer to smile softly, looking away as they shared a small kiss.  A dull ache stung through his heart, not being able to see Lilith and himself share a moment like that.  Perhaps in the beginning, where they were so caught up in each other.  In the danger of getting caught by his father and family.  He was caught in the excitement of something new, of being ruined by her.  And did she ruin him.

“Luci?”  Lucifer’s head shot up, looking at the two, who stared at him with worry.  His eyes bounced between them rapidly, trying to see what they need before asking.

“Pardon?”

“Are you ready to try to sleep?”  Asmodeus asked again, his eyes looking sad while smiling at his friend.  Looking away, Lucifer looked at the messy table, plates and cups clean of food and drinks.  “Right, bed.”  Reality came back to Lucifer.

“Yes, of course.”  Lucifer stood up, wrapping his robe around him a bit more.

Fizarolli gently placed a hand on Asmodeus’ arm, looking up at him and giving the Prince a nod of encouragement.  The two had already decided to spend the night over, Fizarolli having brought two bags for their clothes and Asmodeus’ work items.  There was no need to lead them to their rooms, as Asmodeus has his very own guest room, same with all the others Lucifer loves and adores.  So all they needed to do was make themselves at home.  Standing  up from his seat, Fizarolli walked over to Lucifer’s seat and gave him a gentle side hug.

“Sleep well, Lucifer.”  The King looked up at Fizarolli, accepting the hug and letting him release him before walking off to get ready for his own slumber.  Asmodeus waved over the servants, giving them permission to clean the table.  As they began, Lucifer began walking off to his own room, with Asmodeus close by.

“Oh,” Asmodeus broke the silence, causing Lucifer to look up at him slightly as they slowed down at his door.  “I reached out to a dear friend of yours.”  Raising an eyebrow at the Prince, who simply shot Lucifer a smirk, he waited for him to continue.  Asmodeus bent down slightly, whispering, “If you can’t sleep, I suggest the radio to help.”

“What a splendid night we are having, listeners!”  The smooth voice sang into the microphone, sound bouncing beautifully in the room just to go through the speakers in different homes.  “Clear skies, giving a perfect chance for night lovers to stargaze.  The Friday giving all the adults a break from babysitting and go out.  And a lively atmosphere for lovely dappers in our city to find a gal to dance with, just be careful with any odd birds out there!”  He chuckled deeply, leaning into the microphone a tad before sharing, “because, do not forget: those honourable police-men still haven’t caught the ‘Killer of the Century.’”  “Nor will they ever.” The host left out, letting his audience sit in silence before speaking with jolly once more.  “Starting this night, we have a few jazz numbers to dance to before drinking your sorrows away!  And just a reminder for you desperate souls, we have our advice segment next!  So please call our number, +1 (504) 666-1933, and a lucky few with be given some lovely advice from our dear guest.  And for those who don't get a chance to tonight, worry not!  This Monday will be another segment where you can call in anonymously and talk to your host, myself!”  With a single flip of the switch, the music began to play through the radio, his microphone became mute, and the blinding red sign above his window turned off.

It was his turn to relax for a few minutes as his co-workers began working on the other side of the window.  Different people answered phone calls, others kept eyes on the radio waves or jotted some notes.  Even some pretending to work by finishing today's crossword puzzle on the newspaper.  Despite everything going smoothly, it was all unexpected for the host.  He originally was supposed to be at home, though a familiar Prince had reached out and requested for him to be on air.  The reason?  The country’s beloved King, Lucifer Morningstar.  His eyes shot over to the small picture that hung nearby, softening as he took it in, like he did every day.  Lucifer’s smile was large and open, having been laughing at little Charlie, making a silly face, who was being held up by another.  By him.  He could still feel her squirming around with glee and laughter in his arms, making his current smile soften at the memory.

“Alastor.”  The host quickly shot his eyes over to the door, a little startled and annoyed with the rude interruption, though slightly thankful.  He didn’t need a reminder of the past, even if he’s insistent on keeping the photo up in his radio booth.  “What do you want for dinner?  The fellas are ordering from Wackford’s.”  The small lady asked, smiling brightly at Alastor and batting her eyelashes.  The man couldn’t help but notice that every time she blinked, her dark eyeshadow made it look like there were no eyes in their place.  Just empty voids.  Typical in the establishment, all the workers having a boss who has a very similar style.  Even the men did the same.

“Hmm…”  Alastor hummed in thought, flipping through the menu mentally.  No burgers, too greasy.  Tonight was no night for a salad.  In fact, he was craving some seafood, which was surprising.  Fish…  Fish…  “Perhaps the Ancho Salmon!”  He could see the dish in his head as clear as day, having learned how to make it in his home as well: Chile-rubbed salmon, gently covered with delicious cilantro pesto, sprinkled with cilantro itself and accompanied by rice and steaming hot broccoli.  His mouth watered as he thought more about the food, the lady simply nodding her head quickly.

“Excellent choice!  I’ll make sure to bring it in as soon as it arrives.”  She gleamed out, stepping backwards and out of his booth with a slight close of the door.  The door to his radio booth was left open.  Alastor assumed that she didn’t feel it was necessary to close, as he was currently muted, though he could feel the muscle under his eye itch with a twitch.  Nevertheless, he kept his smile and stood up, closing the door gently, albeit a bit loud as if to send a message.  Proudly walking back to his desk, Alastor tuned into the music that was playing through the radio.  The jazzy tunes immediately changed his previously annoyed mood, easing all the muscles in his body.

The desk in front of him was a rather clean clutter: pens neatly placed into a pen holder, an open notebook with written notes and doodles, a new newspaper accompanying the notebook below, and Alastor’s used messenger bag that was leaning against the wall.  Everything was to the host’s joy, except the empty coffee mug.  Grabbing the empty mug, he peered an eye into it to double-check on if his sight was deceiving him: no, it was sadly empty.  How could he work without another fresh cup of coffee?  Alastor’s aim was to make sure his booth was up to par with how he was, and fresh coffee was a necessity.  Standing up while continuing to hum, he took himself and the coffee mug to a small, rickety stand, holding onto a coffee machine containing a coffee pot.  Though as soon as he went over, he noticed a lovely cherry on top to his night: the damned coffee pot is also empty.  All the humming stopped as Alastor realized he’d have to go to the kitchen quickly, and perhaps ask one of the ladies to refill a coffee pot for him, which was no issue!

Swinging the door open, Alastor walked down the hallway, on a mission to get coffee to the kitchen.  With a straight posture, he burst through the kitchen doorway, causing all those in the room to swing their attention to him.

“Hello, ladies!”  Alastor cheered out, waving his hand dramatically over his head.

“Hello, Alastor!”  The girls sang back to him, batting their long lashes and shoot him their dazzling smiles.  Only one of the gals sitting in the kitchen frowned angrily at him, though she frowned at everyone.  If Alastor had an exact opposite, it would be that saggy bag of bones.

“How are you dolls doing tonight?”  Asked Alastor with a cheerful tone, completely ignoring the deadly stare coming from the short woman at the table.

“Don’t tell Rosie, but I’d sell my soul to go out into town instead of bein’ here.”  One answered, giggling at her comment before continuing.  “I’ve been workin’ almost 4 days straight!  I’m bein’ worked like a dog, Alastor.”  Pouting dramatically, she leaned closer to Alastor, who subtly took a step back.  All he could do was send a smile with a closed mouth, shaking his head at her explanation.

“Oh, what a poor dear you are.”  The lack of genuine sympathy in his voice was unmistakeable, though neither her nor the others pointed it out.

“Lizzie, ya just started up ‘gain yesterday!  You worked 4 days last week.”  Another replied, rolling her eyes and smiling widely at her correction.  Lizzie pouted her lips in thought, tapping a finger on her chin and looking away.

“Are ya sure?”  She asked, looking at her co-worker with utter cluelessness.  All the other could do was facepalm, while the older lady later grumbled loudly.

“Ah, ya were drunk half of those shifts.”  The scratchy voice filled the entire room.  As soon as she opened her mouth, Alastor began to make his way away from the table, heading to the corner with a much larger and well-kept coffee machine.  “In fact,” she continued, much to his dismay, “Rosie betta fire ya!  She deserves better.”  Lizzie gasped loudly, feigning hurt.

“Rosie loves me too much to fire me.  Ya just jealous that ya can’t get away with drinkin’ on the job ‘cause she keeps an eye on ya.”

“Especially after she tried to spike the coffee pot.”  Alastor mumbled to himself, pouring himself a cup of coffee and calming down at the smell of the fresh coffee and the warmth filling up the cup.

“What did ya say?”  She screeched, causing Alastor to freeze.  That old bird could practically hear anything when she wanted to, which was always. He didn’t dare turn to look over his shoulder at her, though it didn’t stop her from continuing.  “I wouldn’t have to do that if ya loosened up!”  Just from the sound of a rhythmic piece of wood tapping on the floor, he could tell she got up and was making her way to him.  “Darlin’ Rosie agrees, but she doesn’t want me forcin’ it on ya.  I disagree!  It’s like pushing a baby deer into a herd of deer and tellin’ it to make friends, but it sticks by its mama with you.”

Snapping his head to her, Alastor’s eyes widened, though his smile never faltered.  In fact, it sharpened.  “A baby deer?”  He yelled internally.  The idea that she sees him as a baby deer was the most insulting comparison she has ever spat at him.  Not even a full-grown buck?  A baby deer?  With a tight smile, Alastor retaliated against his better judgement.

“At least I’m not stinking of death, driving away our youth with the horrible smell.”  While his main focus was completely on the short lady in front of him, the other two mumbled to each other “here we go again” before she replied.

“Ya got it wrong, buster!  I’m the cool grandma with weed brownies, ha!”  Now this piqued Alastor’s interest, though her continuation quickly punctured it.  “Something I’m sure Mista Stick-Up-His-Ass would call the fuzz on.”  While Alastor was a bit more old-fashioned, something like weed brownies sounded delicious.  Too sweet, the brownie part, though the weed?  Oh, he’d eat some for a whole evening and let himself sit with the cosy feeling of a nice high.

“Alastor!  Susan!”  The two froze, their stares directly at each other, in fear of looking at who had just entered the kitchen.  Nevertheless, they both slowly turned to face the doorway, only to find their tall boss staring at the two like a disappointed mother.  Arms crossed, hips jutted out as one foot tapped against the floor.  Disappointed mother indeed.  “What have I told ya both about this childish bickerin’, eh?”

Backing away from each other, the two looked away with furrowed eyebrows.  While Rosie loves to encourage his antics, she was rather strict of this sort of play with Susan and vice versa.  The old lady could do this to anyone else, except Alastor, and Alastor could have his fun with anyone else, except Susan.  Perhaps because it would never end, the two would forever be yelling insults and demeaning the other for all eternity.  Or, because Rosie knew someone would end up dead on her floor.  From old age or the hands of Alastor, he couldn’t be certain!

“Apologies, my darling rose!  I should have been the bigger person and not engaged.”  Replied Alastor, clearing making a jab at Susan’s own maturity.  This only received a scoff from the old lady, who came back with a witty reply.

“Bigger person?”  She started, “With how skinny ya are, anyone else in this buildin’ is bigger than you!”  Insulting his weight and stature wasn’t the insult that would affect Alastor.  He knew that his appearance made him look not threatening, which was perfect for a smaller hobby of his.  All he did was roll his eyes as Rosie shook her head at both of them.

“Alastor, I believe our segment is startin’ soon.”  The host perked up at this, grabbing his finished coffee and striding over to stand next to Rosie.  “And Susan…”  All eyes landed on the old lady, who’s frown was gone and replaced with a look of compliance.  “No brownies.”

“Bah!”  She scoffed back, frowning in disappointment.  A smile nuzzled it’s way onto Rosie’s face before she allowed Alastor to lead the way back to his studio room.

The most ironic part of that demand is how hypocritical it was.  During his first few years working with Rosie, the bossy lady had walked in on Alastor smoking a joint.  The amateur he was, he had quickly tried to dissolve the smoke and hide the roll, fearing of getting fired since she had a strict policy on smoking.  She simply walked in and held her hand out for the roll, which he reluctantly and shyly gave.  To his surprise, instead of scolding the younger host, she took a long drag from the joint and smiled.  Ever since then, they’d hide in her office and share a few puffs if things were really stressful at the workplace.

Alastor was sure that Rosie would love to try some of Susan’s weed brownies, he could see the curiosity in her eyes.  Yet, she had an image to uphold!  No smoking, no drugs, no drinking.  Very simple, yes?

Upon arriving back into the studio room, Alastor spotted a few new pieces of paper as the last song played through the radio.  The stack wasn’t abnormally tall, though there was a significant amount of writing to read over.  Rosie was the first to reach it, handing it over to Alastor after noticing it was for the advice segment.

“There better be something good this time.”  She stated, preferring to be surprised by the writing instead of reading over it beforehand.  “It gives a more sincere and genuine reaction!” she had once explained to him after his confusion.  While Alastor was one to do things “on the fly,” something like advice would be required for him to rehearse instead.  Not just come up with.

“I’m sure there is something you’ll like.”  Alastor looked over the first page, noting how boring it was and how disappointed Rosie would be.  A poor lad was asking for advice on some job complications: someone has been eating their lunch and, oh, what is this?  They wish to catch the culprit by using laxatives?  Alastor could see the carnage.  Would the culprit cause a mess in the office, embarrassing themselves from their unpredictable bowels?  Or perhaps, it would get so bad that they get sent to the hospital!  Imagine the explanation they’d give the doctors.  Oh, the embarrassment!  Alastor chuckled before saying, “While the first one isn’t gossip, it most definitely is vile.”

Rosie smiled sharply, sitting down in the extra chair near Alastor.  She shook with giddiness, excited for the gossip that was to come.  That is the main reason she does this segment: gossip.  While her advice was always from the heart, she had an itch for juicy gossip.  Lies being exposed, secrets unfolding, words that can’t be unsaid!  It’s all Rosie ever wanted to hear from the souls in the kingdom, keeping her entertained during the mundane life she lived.

Alastor sat down, placing his fresh cup of coffee down and straightening his posture, staring out the window to see the signal that they will be on air in 5 seconds.  With one adjustment of his microphone and Rosie’s own, Alastor puffed his chest in pride.  The jazz number slowly came to an end, filling Alastor’s head as he noted that yes, everything was now perfect.  The light above his window and door flickered on.

“Good night, listeners!”  He cheered through his microphone, laughing slightly as Rosie stayed silent.  “It’s time to read some of your embarrassing and desperate calls for help.”

Laughter had echoed all around the studio room, flowing cheerfully into the microphones, gliding through the radio waves, and filling the other room playing their radio station.  Rosie was wiping tears while Alastor wheezed slightly, trying to desperately catch his breath.  Her previous jokes for the last segment were making Alastor think that she could take a job as a comedian.  Sadly, it wasn’t at the anonymous listener's expense, much to Alastor’s disappointment.  It was hidden well behind his joyous laughs that sided along his friends.

“How about,” Rosie chuckled out as they both calmed down, eyeing the man on the other side of the radio who pointed at the clock on the wall, signalling that they needed to end the segment.  “We do one more?”  At the suggestion, Alastor almost immediately stopped his laughter, clearing his throat and looking for the next written call from their previous break.  Adjusting his glasses slightly, he hummed with agreement and began to read over the writing in his head.

“I believe it’s a magnificent idea, Rosie!”  Clearing his throat once more, Alastor began.  “‘My marriage,’ says our listener, ‘has been nothing but painful for me.’”  Rosie couldn’t help but move forward on her seat, having already been intrigued by just the first sentence.  It almost made Alastor laugh, though explaining that to his audience wouldn’t be wise.  Her advice is genuine and that is how she wishes to keep it, with to keep her interest in gossip out of the light.  “‘My partner has been uncaring, cheating, and just making me miserable.’”

“Divorce!”  Rosie yelled out with a smile.

“Well, let’s see what they have to say about that…”  Replied Alastor, having already read ahead and rolling his eyes at her interruption.  “‘Divorce would be an obvious,’” continued Alastor, “‘but my family is highly against it and my friends are extremely judgemental.  Not to mention, some of my family have been practically praying an end to my marriage, not for my sake, but simply because they dislike my partner.”  Alastor couldn’t help but freeze up slightly at the explanation, his brain connecting some dots that he thought were there.  Instead of letting himself fall down a rabbit hole of his thoughts, Alastor tried his best to focus back on the paper in front of him.  “‘I am desperate to leave this marriage, perhaps reconnect with others and find love in another…’”  Voice faltering slightly, Alastor told himself that it’s some weird kind of sympathy, having been in a similar situation in the past.  He could sense that Rosie was staring at him, perhaps with sad and concerned eyes.  Looking over to her wasn’t a good idea.  “‘Though, the idea of how my family and friends would react is preventing me from acting.  What should I do?’”

It was rather silent as soon as Alastor finished, making it feel like hours for him.  The thought of not being talkative on his own show didn’t even register to the host, simply letting himself dive headfirst into the thoughts stirring in his mind.  Alastor could tell who it was, he knew it without much information.  Was he an idiot?  To talk about divorcing Lilith so publicly?  Lucifer doubts that his citizens have their own minds and thoughts, able to do detective work well.  However, with the amount of times Alastor has had to help his co-workers with their crosswords, ones that a baby could do, he wouldn’t doubt if others didn’t see who was talking.  If Lucifer got caught though…  Alastor wouldn’t care, of course!

“I think,” Rosie spoke, breaking the 1-second silence and snapping Alastor out of his thoughts.  “That it would be smart to follow through with a divorce.”  Raising his eyebrows at her, she smiled and shrugged.  “Who cares if they don’t like it!  I’m sure you’ll find someone much nice’a than your current partner.”  Looking over to Alastor, she smiled and waited for him to say something in response.

“Well said!  Personally, I am more interested in how embarrassed they will feel after the divorce.”  Embarrassment and failure, yes, it’s better to focus on that.  “Imagine staying in a failing marriage!”

“Ugh, you’re so…”  She began replying with a disappointed, crossing her arms instead of smacking him upside the head.  Alastor chuckled, causing Rosie to quirk a smile.  “Never mind him, listener.  I promise it’s not like that!  There is gonna be someone else out there for ya, I can feel it.  For now, get your freedom.”  Rosie and Alastor looked up to see the worker pointing at the clock.  Time was up.  “In fact, I propose a toast!”

Alastor gave a suspicious look at his dear friend, who grabbed her coffee mug and his, shoving it in his hand.  Sitting up straight, Rosie held her mug up as if she was actually giving a toast.  Only then did Alastor realize she was serious and copied her movement.

“To our lovely listener!”  Her gentle look changed to something dangerous, staring straight at Alastor.  The smile she had  slowly sharpened, making him feel like she’d eat him, almost causing him to back away as his own smile threatened to leave his face.  “A celebration of their freedom.”

Chapter Text

Rain didn't fall so much as batter the windows, each drop hitting with the sharp percussion of thrown gravel. The glass shuddered under the weather's assault, the storm determined to carve its way inside. Outside, people rushed for shelter; not unlike ants scurrying from the thunderous, imposing fall of a boot crashing down beside their mound of dirt in a cracked stretch of pavement.

The city's golden glow bled through each droplet, smearing yellows and whites across the sound booth in a way that made everything feel slightly unreal. A dream, or a memory that didn't seem quite right.

Alastor adjusted dials with practiced precision, fingertips brushing worn metal with the kind of reverence one might regard an old friend with. His studio always smelled faintly of old circuitry, unpolished oak wood and second-hand cigarette smoke. It was comforting in the way empty rooms sometimes are… a place built to be filled with voices that never stayed for too long and laughter that always seemed to seep into the wallpaper and stick there like a ghost you don't acknowledge once its passed.

He didn't mind it. He liked it. The control, the dissonance… the way he could pour his detachment into a form of entertainment like meaning held no meaning anymore until it was travelling the frequency with his words.

The "ON AIR" sign snapped bright, its sudden glow slicing the shadows in half. He leaned into the microphone, posture immaculate and smile already set in place; the corners of his mouth tugged upwards as if magnetised into its spot on his face.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," Alastor purred, each word spoken like smoke curling around ones neck. "Welcome back to Smiles and Chats, music, news and more! Tonight, late-night minds come to confess their sins… and I offer my unsolicited, yet undeniably superior counsel."

A soft chuckle. Smooth as butter, yet just about as hollow as a grave. Performative.

"Tonight's theme is regret. That old, faithful companion we've all tried to outrun. Now, I don't expect the outside world to offer much in the way of excitement, but my listeners? Ah, I hold you to a far higher standard. If one of you has a tale worth sharing or a burning questiong tugging at your heartstrings, the line is open at +1 (504) 666-1933! Write the number down, folks. I won't repeat it! Simply dial that line, and you may find yourself live on the air with me, right here at WWL Radio! Don't be shy now… Regret often shouts when its whispers go ignored."

And thus, the myriad of calls flowed in like flies to a corpse. Alastor fielded them with elegant ease. A man mourning an affair gone stale despite his vows spoken proudly at the alter to his wife. A mother who hasn't spoken to her daughter in eight years. A lonely salesman, wanting to hear a familiar voice; yearning for his fathers pride, and wondering if he should've followed in his daddy dearest's footsteps. Alastor toyed with each of them; witty, light-hearted, then cutting when it suited him. He never let the pathetic emotions on the other side of the line stick to him.

"—And so I wonder if I should've fed my dear Snoodles more…. but my son called him an obese monstrosity, and I just felt such shame. I regret letting the boy get under my skin… Perhaps Snoodles wouldn't have run off…" the caller wailed, her shrill voice snivelling through the speaker as though the world had collapsed under the weight of one misplaced feline.

Alastor stared at nothing in particular, his face resting in the cradle of his palm, expression carved from pure apathy. As she rambled, he could only picture her exactly as her voice suggested: a woman wrapped in a floral housecoat, hair set in pin curls despite having nowhere important to be beside the local market; one hand fluttering at her throat as she choked over her complaints. He imagined her cheeks being red, puffed and blotchy from a lifetime of crying over nothing and everything all at once. Alastor couldn't help but wonder if cat hair clung to every inch of her, and her entire home was arranged in tribute to that missing, overfed beast.

He smiled. Wonderfully empty as usual.

"Well now," he crooned into the microphone, tone warm yet brittle at the edges, "it sounds as though you cared very deeply for your Snoodles. I'm certain he will turn up in due time. Creatures with… generous appetites rarely stray far from wherever supper is served." The faintest lilt of humour glinted beneath his words, too subtle for her to grasp no doubt, and too sharp for anyone attentive enough to miss. "You've done all you can, my dear. Try not to let your regret swallow you whole."

"Oh— thank you, Mr. Benoît, thank you so much—"

"Of course. Best of luck to you, doll."

He cut the the line. The switch clicked with the intensity of a guillotine, and his relieved sigh, if not for him holding muting himself, would've torn through the airwaves like a sin.

The smile faltered instantly.

"Marvelous," Alastor muttered under his breath, straightening his tie with a flick of irritation. "The fifth caller of the evening and it's a tragic tale of a runaway meatball in a fur coat. Riveting stuff."

His posture straightened immediately and his voice brightned as the red llight on his console blinked to life, signalling the next segment of his installment. And a new caller.

"Who's next?"

He pressed the button, and poised himself to listen to yet another sob story to reinforce his need for a stiff drink later. Making fun of people was always fun. But their pathetic feelings always bored him after a while. Novelty was a fickle thing.

"You're live," the radio host hummed, tone playful beneath a forced grin. "Do try making this one less furry than the last!"

It was silent. Alastor narrowed his eyes and leaned closer to his console as if he could try taking a peek at whoever was on the other side of the line. The callers were lucky this was anonymous. Alastor held his breath, only for a moment. On the other end, as the seconds passed with the radio host's growing trepidation, he could hear breathing, restrained and controlled.

And then a voice, all too familiar. One that made his heart squeeze behind his ribs.

"Alastor."

His breath hitched. It wasn't his name that froze him… no. It was the way it was said, and the voice who dared to utter it after all these years. Like nothing had happened. Like nothing had changed. And despite the time that had passed, his voice still remained the same. Smooth, deep, resonant. The kind of voice you either hated or worshipped. Angelic in its own… devious way.

Lucifer.

A flicker of static filled the space between them, but nothing masked that timbre. Lucifer's voice, a voice he had adored for its cleverness and its warmth, and despised for its cowardice.

Alastor took a moment to adjust his tie with one hand, shaking though not chilled. His movements stiff, too deliberate. He swallowed, then spoke—

"My, my," he drawled lightly, "To what do we owe the honour, my dear anonymous caller? Though I suppose that entire premise has been undermined seeing as I believe I know exaclty who I am talking to."

Lucifer exhaled over the line, a sound edged with weary, hesitant amusement. "You always did notice everything."

Alastor's smile thinned a fraction. "Old habit."

And old habits were things he hated being reminded of.

Lucifer's breath lingered over the air, as though afraid the line might vanish if he spoke too quickly. "It has been years.."

"Has it?" Alastor replied snarkily, though his too-polite tone betrayed that. His voice was feather-soft, but his words were sharp; a blade unsheathed in spite. "I don't track time by disappointments. Too many to count."

He heard a swallow on the other end, then a shuffle, as if Lucifer was readjusting himself. Alastor braced in his seat, heart hammering in his chest with the same ferocity the rain had been pelting at his window.

"I'm divorcing her."

A small, violent pop sounded through the microphone as the pen Alastor had been holding in his right hand snapped between his fingers at that, and his whole world faltered for a second. He drew in a breath, and his throat closed up. Alastor felt a sharp pain buzzing in his palm where the splintered plastic of his pen sliced through caramel skin and hot blood seeped from the wound like an insult. He masked his pain with a too-bright laugh.

"Congratulations!" He said, strained, "Divorce is very vogue these days. A bold reinvention for a man like you. Refreshing. Tell me, have you both figured out who gets what shares yet?"

"Alastor," Lucifer repeated, carefully as though he were talking to a fragile child. Alastor hated it. It was infuriating, familiar… and unwanted. "I'm not calling for sympathy," the man said quietly. "I just… needed you to know. Someone who knows me. Truly."

Alastor huffed a boisterous laugh at that, and dug his nails into the cut, eye barely twitching behind his glasses at the white hot pain coursing through his pain and down his wrist. "HA! Truly? My dear, I'm flattered you think so highly of me! Get in line!"

Lucifer didn't rise to the bait. He never had. It was part of the problem.

"Listen… I know I don't have the right. I know you have every reason to cut me off… I still have to talk about my regrets though. I have regrets. About the one that got away."

Alastor went still.

Not visibly to Lucifer, but he was sure the man on the other end could feel it. Alastor had perfected the art of freezing. Lucifer had always compared him to a buck in headlights.

"I miss how they'd talk to me. Cook meals I'd probably burn the holy Hell out of… I hate how the chance I had to hold them slipped through my fingers because my wife said so. I regret letting go. I regret being too afraid to admit I loved them."

The line fell silent, and for a moment, Alastor could see his reflection in the glass; years of tight-packed resentment, humiliation, longing and heartbreak shoved at the very edges of a dam he had built too well, coming back to haunt him. His features showed his age, and a deep crease forged between his brows where he furrowed them. His smile had vanished entirely. He sat back against his chair in silence, unsure of whether he was fighting the burning in his eyes, or the urge to out Lucifer to the mass of ears listening in on them right now.

He took a deep breath. Slowly.

"Caller," he said too quietly. "My opinion on the matter is simple:"

Lucifer waited on the other end, silently, as if holding his breath and hoping for the best.

The best did not come.

"If something slipped from your grasp once…" He flicked the ON AIR button off with a controlled snap— "…it was never yours to keep."

The line went dead.

Alastor sat in the dark, barely registering the rain thrumming against the windows. The silence was suffocating, pressing its cold palms to his throat, to his temples and to his chest; preventing him from breathing right. He had to get out. He had to escape the feelings. Escape Lucifer.

He stood slowly. Coat, hat and gloves in hand, every movement crisp and deliberate. But fragile.

By the time he had stepped out into the rain, it was like the storm shared his sentiment and his anger only boiled hotter in his veins. It was unwelcome, but he'd take rage over hurt in a heartbeat. Lightning carved through the sky in a jagged fashion, violent, unrestrained; a striking promise of release. Alastor needed that release like he needed a cigarette to come down after the ordeal that took place over his radio waves.

The city dulled in the storm, streets slick with the heavy downpour of rain and haloed in the glow of passing headlights and flickering streetlamps. Alastor rolled his shoulders back, slipping into the familiar performance of a man heading home after a hard day at work. He pulled his hat over his face and tugged his coat snugly around himself to protect himself from the rain, and walked like someone merely taking a late-night stroll.

Thunder crashed overhead. He liked that. It drowned out the noise in his skull.

The radio presenter walked without aim, letting instinct choose the direction like a quiet magnetic pull that always led him exactly where he needed to be. And that instinct was correct, as always. Someone stumbled out into the harsh conditions; disheveled, middle aged, a white man drowning in priviledge. And now, in rain. He tried to light a cigarette with trembling hands, only barely sheltered by the flimsy canopy fighting against the wind and the fierce showers. A rough night was written in every crease and line in his posture and face. He glanced up as Alastor approached, features scrunching in disdain for a moment.

Alastor merely smiled. A kind, intimate smile that often told strangers exactly what they wanted to hear before he even said a word. A stark contrast to his usual sharp grin. Alastor was smaller in stature to this man. He could use that to his advantage.

"Trouble lighting that?" he asked, voice smooth, civilised and pitched up in innocence.

The stranger's face loosened a tad, though his eyes remained narrowed. "Yeah. Weather's a bitch."

"Allow me?" Alastor stepped closer, cupping the lighter in between his gloved hands to shield it from the storm. The flame sparked, wavering in the wind as the man leaned in; trust blooming too easily, too quickly. People always underestimated him when he smiled like that and looked up at them through dark lashes like a shy doe in need of protecting. They never caught the temperature dropping beneath his charm, or the warmth leaving his brown hues when he knew he had them in the palms of his hands.

"There we are.." Alastor murmured quietly as the burly bloke inhaled when the ember on the tip of his cancer stick flared.

Gratitude softened his features instantly, and he blew smoke from the corner of his lips before offering Alastor a drag. "Thanks… you headed somewhere?"

"Just home," Alastor replied, tone light. "It's a lonely walk back.." he added carefully, taking a drag from the outstretched cigarette all while maintaining eye contact.

That offered him a playful smirk. Perfect. A closet case. "You want company?" The man leaned in further, towering over Alastor like he held any actual power over him. The sharp gleam in his eyes was likely mistaken for interest by the brute rather than disgust.

"I'd like that…" The radio presenter smiled, and suddenly his waist was grasped from behind, sending tingles of pure displeasure up his spine.

They began walking; Jack, as his name turned out to be, had heavier footsteps. Inelegant, trudging and loud. The complete opposite to Alastor's light and skillful steps. The lumbering fool squeezed the dip between Alastor's hip and his ribs and stumbled like the drunken dullard he was; slurring something, a joke maybe, that Alastor merely graced with a soft laugh. They didn't walk too far as they neared a barron alley, sheltered mostly from the passing traffic and the prying eyes of onlookers. The noise of the world dimmed and the look in Jack's eyes deepened into something hungry. Alastor's did too… for vastly different reasons.

In the privacy of the alleyway, Jack pushed Alastor up against the wall and the radio presenter's smaller frame collided with brick, followed by a soft disgruntled noise of half-shock, half-protest as lips smashed into his. Alastor contained the urge to kill him then and there and allowed himself to melt into the bruisng make-out, gloved hands scrambling to find purchase on broad shoulders. He noted that the man tasted like bourbon and tobacco, not minding the taste so much if it weren't for the one kissing him being the exact opposite of what Alastor would find attractive.

A tongue forced its way between his lips, and Alastor resisted the impulsive need to bite it off. Instead, he threw his arms over Jack's shoulders and bucked his hips forward, just for the older man to wedge his knee between Alastor's legs and assault his crotch with nothing short of sheer aggression, rather than an actual bit to try and pleasure him. Alastor's breath hitched into Jack's mouth, and the bigger male withdrew; his own hot breath washing over the radio host's face before working to pull the collar of Alastor's coat and shirt down.

"You like this don't you, you little cocktease..." He gruffed into Alastor's neck, grazing crooked teeth over unblemished mocha skin. Alastor bit back a choked sound as Jack's knee worked his groin harder, and he adjusted, tilting his head to the side to allow for more access while he shimmied his wrist over the man's shoulder to reveal a silver pocket knife with an 'A' welded into the handle. Despite the warmth flooding into his gut like the rain was flooding the streets and the electricity shooting up his spine, nothing about this was truly arousing for Alastor. He felt nothing. Physically of course, he felt everything, but mentally? His fantasy ran rampant with the knowing that this man's blood would coat the cobblestone ground in due time and he never would have seen it coming.

"Hah.. You're— quite rough, aren't you?" Alastor gasped, poising the knife in his hand perfectly aimed at Jack's neck where his brain stem would be. The idiot didn't reply, he was too busy groping and pawing at Alastor's sides and ass, grinding his knee into Alastor's crotch and sinking his teeth into his neck. The sensation admittedly drew a startled moan from the younger man and he dipped his head forward in tandem with Jack's relentless pursuit of his behind, just to nibble lighly on the oaf's earlobe, and whispered.

The words that followed were spoken in such a dark, low tone that one might've assumed it had come from some disembodied spirit, but no, Alastor had chuckled into Jack's ear. It had been him all along.

"…Too bad. Thanks for the forgettable experience though—"

Before Jack could even dignify that with a confused response, Alastor drove the knife into the base of the man's head with such force, he felt bone crack with the impact and he was instantly released as Jack fell back with all the grace of a hippo on ice. He made a wet, gargled noise and Alastor didn't give him time to recover as he was already on top of him; plowing the blade again and again into his chest cavity, his neck, his face... Anywhere he could land a blow was game. Each stab was more violent than the last, more angry, quicker, careless.

The sound of flesh tearing and cold steel hitting bone filled the alley in a disturbing, visceral symphony of a man losing his grip on reality. Blood splattered the pavement in wet sloshes and climbed up the wall, leaving nothing behind but the brutal scene of a fellow human being slaughtered with zero remorse. Alastor kept going, grunting and panting in unison with every time he slammed the blade into the body beneath him. Jack had long since been gone, the first strike enough to kill him. Alastor didn't care. He couldn't bring himself to. Flashes of Lucifer's face crossed his mind and he forced a strained, unhinged sob-like laugh as he dug the blade into Jack's mutilated sternum and dragged it down; entrails flopping from the deep incision. He laughed again and drew the knife across the corpse's throat as he heard Lucifer's voice enter his head.

"…I'm divorcing her..."

"…I regret being too afraid to admit I loved them…"

Time held no weight anymore as Alastor thoroughly wrecked what he barely considered the human below him. It was raining still, washing his mess away in diluted streams of reds, pinkish greys and fragmented bone. A solemn, nod to how utterly tired he was. And how his eyes streamed with tears he couldn't tell existed because he was laughing or because he really was crying. The scene was brutal, and he was a mess.

At last, Alastor's body began to slow with the oncoming exhaustion and the adrenaline wore off — his arms burning like he had been forced to carry a log twice his size up a hill. He slumped, breath coming out jagged and hitched as he hiccuped his way through the aftermath.

A distant car horn brought him out of his daze and he looked down to properly examine the horror beneath him, he trembled with barely concealed panic. This was a bloodbath… Alastor jumped up from the mangled cadaver and tucked his knife and Jack's stolen identification into his coat, before ducking out into the darkness; making a mental note to ensure there'd be no cameras catching him leaving the scene.

Jack's corpse was so terribly disfigured. It'd be fine. At least, that what Alastor reassured himself with as he tugged the hat he wore over his face and hoped that it concealed him enough outside the dingy bar the now scarlet fountain of a man stumbled out of before the ordeal unfolded. He sped home. Time made zero sense to him in this moment. He didn't register the feeling of his pants and shirt clinging to him due to being thoroughly soaked with viscera and rain. He didn't register how his earlier wounded hand shook the faster he moved. Everything was a blur. He thanked the heavens it was dark and raining tonight. He didn't once look back as he made the long journey back shrowded in shadows.

His cabin sat in the depths of the bayou, half-obscured by trees that dripped rainwater in steady, rhythmic taps against the wooden roof. It was his sanctuary, all warm tones, dim lamps and the comforting scent of old books, coffee and musky dust settling on inherited cabinets. It was a comfort the killer should have embraced as he just about shoved his way into the small abode, slammed the door shut with a raucous bang that rattled through frame behind him.

Alastor didn't care. His back hit the wall and he slid down until he was a crumpled shape on the floor, coat still sodden against him, breath tearing in and out of his chest like he had forgotten how to control it.

His hands shook. Not light tremors, or gentle trembles, full involuntary shuddering that rattled up his forearms and into his shoulders.

Blood streaked across his shirt in uneven swaths; dark from the rain and oxygen exposure, sticky, and cold. Everytime he inhalled, the metallic tang of it punched straight into his sinuses, dragging the rancid memory of the alley with it.

He hadn't planned to lost it. He never did that. That truth shook him to his core.

One knee jerked up as he tried to force air into his lungs. It came in spasms, frantic bursts that didn't do anything but feed the panic clawing up his throat.

"Stop. Make it stop…" Alastor whimpered weakly, damp, gloved hands finding his curled hair and tugging desperately in an effort to ground himself.

"Get up.." He couldn't. "Compose yourself..!"

He couldn't.

Alastor's mind replayed every fragment of the encounter in disorganised flashes; overwhelming his senses and the weight crashed down on him heavier. It wasn't the act that undid him, no. It was the loss of control. The sloppiness. The emotions threaded through his actions like a poison he hadn't realised he had swallowed. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady the spiral.

Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer.

The name forced itself into the cracks of every fractured thought, unwelcome and inevitable, intruding on each vulnerable affliction plaguing the killer's mind. Even now, soaked in the aftermath of something so reckless, raw and emotionally fuelled, Lucifer still stood at the centre of it all. The voice on the radio, the memory of their unlabelled relationship, how they exchanged private touches, glances, smiles… a warmth Alastor pretended not to crave, but one Lucifer had provided so seamlessly before his wife tore him away. Alastor was angry.

Hurt.

Lucifer had chosen his deadbeat wife over him… and had the nerve to come back like this?

Alastor's breath hitched violently, tears pricked at his eyes yet again. He willed them not to fall, but his eyes stung.

Pathetic.

Chapter Text

It had been a long time since Lucifer had felt such a deep rooted emptiness. It was as if his whole body was consumed in darkness, leaving him and everything around him in a void. The feeling wasn't light either, as if he was floating in nothingness. No, it was heavy, dragging him down into the deepest pit the Universe had to offer. His body was a rock, sinking in the Marianna Trench as it let all the creatures pass by, watching lives move on as he stayed stuck in his spot in the sand. Even the light from the sea creatures weren't enough to phase him awake.

The bed was too soft for Lucifer's liking, his body making the choice to lay in the large closet instead. With the lack of windows, there was a peace about the darkness too, even if it left him alone with his thoughts. Though that would also mean he wouldn't be able to actually see himself crying, only feel the tears stain his cheeks and taste the disgusting salt it left when he licked his lips. Eyes feeling heavy, they remained shut as his brain replayed everything there was to dwell on.

"It was never yours to keep."

Curling into himself, he screwed his eyes shut at the words. Alastor was right: he was never his to keep. Neither was Lilith. Or Charlie. Or anyone in his hellscaped life. One thing was always consistent about it, the people he had always left or were pushed away to the point of leaving. Even his life long friends, those so close that they are his family, they seem to get sick of him.

"Alastor, there's something I need to tell you." His own voice echoed in his head as he gripped his hair tightly, wishing to yank the memory or — more specifically — yank his past self. Why did he listen to her?

"It's not new news, Lu, she had always had a distaste in me, haha!" Oh, his laugh. How he missed his stupid laugh, the way his canines gleamed as the soft smile opened into a silly chuckle. The way his neck would expose itself as he leaned his head back into a beautiful laugh, eyes wrinkled with joy. Even his nose crinkling with cringe at any "dad joke" Lucifer let out, heading shaking and brown curls bouncing with the movement.

"I thought you were better than that, your Highness…" Throat tightening, Lucifer's hands raked down from his tangled hair and began to scratch his face. The disappointment, the hurt that laced Alastor's quiet voice. The sound grabbed his heart tightly, squeezing it till it ached. His nails dug into the white skin, stinging the flesh underneath them as he dragged them harshly over his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth. "You're just the same as any man though: a weak fool… Figures." Right again. Lucifer was weak.

Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak-

Blinded, Lucifer's eyes closed tighter as he covered his head, practically hissing from the light that now entered the dark closet he hid in. He had told Asmodeus that he was feeling ill in order to stay in bed and unbothered by the Prince. The large silhouette that his eyes briefly cause showed that the plan had failed. Typical.

"Ugh-" Lucifer groaned out, rubbing his heavy eyes with his hands as he stayed curled. "I'm still feeling sick, Oz."

"Mhm, sure." Ozzie replied sassily, hands on his hips as his lower lip jutted out in disappointed suspicion. The elegant boots tapped their way closer to Lucifer, grating horribly against his eardrums. Asmodeus' deep voice didn't help either. "Sick from your own foolishness!" A groan was the only response Lucifer had to the tall Prince, cowering even more from the loud voice. It only reminded him of…

The steps halted in their spot, Lucifer continuing to cover his head with his arms in an attempt to block the sunlight flooding in. He didn't want to see how Asmodeus was looking at him: disappointed, angry, sad, as if he was a pathetic piece of work. Perhaps he deserved all those looks from everyone. His silly wife, all the closest Royals, his father and family. Alastor. As soon as the large hand grazed his shoulder, Lucifer's body stiffen for a brief second — until his entire dam broke. The tears wouldn't stop flowing down his face, shoulders shook violently as his chest and throat heaved with the sharp, desperate intakes of breaths that failed to reach his lungs. Even as his arms covered his head, his golden hair wasn't shown mercy from the grip of his fingers as pain shot through his skull. It was the only other thing that showed how all of this is real. That all this pain was real.

"I'm such an idiot, Oz!" Each word was followed by a gasp for air all while Asmodeus' hand became heavier as he rubbed the small King's back. "How could I have done this? Let that- that!-" He lifted his head up quickly, eyes spinning with dizziness that he ignored as he looked ahead with anger. Lips curling at the word, they trembled as he stumbled over it. "Bitch!" He finally spat, slamming an open palm against the floor, which only caused more pain. "Tell me what to do!"

"Are you talking about Alastor?" Ozzie asked, confusion lacing his voice that grew closer as he lent down towards Lucifer. The smaller spun his head around, eyes wide and puffy with tears and eyebrows trembling with rage along with his lips.

"No! Lilith!" Shouted Lucifer in response. Soon enough, the muscles in his face caved in as they once again frowned with sadness, his eyes closing as more tears were shed and his mouth opened in a sob. A loud, ugly, snot filled sob. "I should never have left him!" Returning to his own body, he once again covered his face at the sight of Ozzie's saddened look.

The Prince couldn't stand seeing his beloved friend, his brother, like this. There was hope that simply hearing the voice of Alastor would aid Lucifer. He didn't expect the moron to not only reach out once but twice! When Fizzarolli had told him about the segment, only recognizing the casual voice as Lucifer's because of their time together — thankfully the King had a more Royal voice and tone in public — Asmodeus was gobsmacked. Frustration had flowed through his veins at the fact the Lucifer announce, anonymously, that he was going to divorce Lilith. What if she had heard? Or the others? What if someone recognized his voice as well? It would only cause more issues than a broken heart. And Alastor's response made the Prince want to march over to the radio station and throw the broken Lucifer to his feet. Yet, the response was also valid, as much as Asmodeus hated to admit.

But his own heart broke at the sight before him. Continuing to gently rub Lucifer's shaking back in soothing circles, Asmodeus simply sat next to him on the floor. It was best to let him cry and scream than to hold it in, especially with Lilith's return arriving soon. If only he could help his friend get away.

Unless.

Taking in a deep breath, Asmodeus closed his eyes. The idea he had could end up going horribly, even break the Kingdom apart and cause more chaos from Lucifer's father. But it was a headache he was willing to help the small King through. Hopefully, the others would too. Asmodeus sighed, his bright eyes looking down at Lucifer who thankfully began to calm down a bit.

"There's a lawyer I recommend." Spoke the deep voice, drowning the quiet sounds of air barely entering the shaking body on the floor. "It is the same one Stolas used when he declared the divorce to Stella, funnily enough!" With the attempt to make a small, meaningful connection, Ozzie chuckled at it before frowning at the movement of Lucifer covering his head even more with his pink bathrobe. His dark fingers reached to Lucifer's shoulders as comfort. "Peter is one to keep things under wraps until it must be publicized. He's an absolute angel when it comes to these sort of dealings, especially with Royals!"

Quiet sniffs began in place of the sounds of breathing and crying. The face that he was finally calming down was a wonderful sign for Lucifer, making Ozzie hopeful that he'd take his advice and contact Peter to begin movement with the divorce. Blue eyes peaked from underneath the robe, filled with unshed tears.

"You… Actually think I should go through with it?" Lucifer mumbled out with fear, ready for Ozzie to laugh in his face and call it all a joke. That is something Mammon would probably do. Instead, he was met with a hopeful, yet sad, smile.

"Hell yes! Look," The Prince cupped Lucifer's face, holding his head up slightly to bring him out from his robe a bit. Even if the light stung his eyes, Lucifer stared tiredly at his friend. "Even though I'm sure Satan will throw a hissy fit and that your father will be an ass," He insulted through gritted teeth, only getting another sniff from Lucifer in response. "It's something worth dealing with… Luci, you cannot stay this miserable any longer." Without even meaning to, Asmodeus squished Lucifer's cheeks which only resulted in his eyes to close, already puffy from crying so much and even moreso with the squishiness of his face in between Ozzie's hands. "You are getting out of this and you're gonna get Alastor back."

"But he doesn't want me." Explained the small face caught in Ozzie's large hands.

"Excuse me?" Asmodeus responded loudly, raising an eyebrow while smirking. "I'm sorry, but if that man didn't want you, he wouldn't have responded like that over live radio! From what Fizzy said, he made it per-son-al!" As he spoke the last word, Asmodeus couldn't help but move his head side to side with each syllable.

Teary blue eyes simply stared at Asmodeus, sniffles hiccuping against his chest while Lucifer blinked wearily. Perhaps he was right. Knowing Alastor, he never showed much emotion to others and certainly didn't want his business to be known. Yet, his response in such a public place? It had caught Lucifer off guard, the words caught in his throat before he could even process the fact that the line disconnected. Asmodeus slowly released Lucifer's face, allowing him to rub the raw skin underneath his eyes as he wiped away the tears.

"I guess…" He replied quietly, slouching down where he sat as Asmodeus immediately beamed at the hesitant agreement. Not matter what, the Prince was going to take it as a win.

"I am always right, Lu! Now, how about we get up, hm?" Standing up swiftly, the taller man turned to the still blinding doorway of the closet, the light consuming his form as he stepped out. Lucifer squinted into it, his mouth hanging slightly open before he hung his head in defeat and groaned. Knees creaking underneath his weight as he tried to get up, the groaning only continued dramatically.

The bedroom looked untouched: bed still made, curtains drawn wide open, not a speck of dust in sight. It had looked like Lucifer had simply gone to the closet and lied there. He wouldn't be surprised if that was really what occurred, not clearly remembering the events after the call. Yet, he on the other hand, looked as if he had crawled out of a dungeon. Lucifer's eyes glanced over the pristine room, freezing at the large vanity mirror that Lillith used, staring at the familiar stranger inside of it.

Red marks from his nails violently were drawn over his face, covering his eyes and cheeks as he had practically clawed his eyes out with no success. The skin beneath his eyes and on his cheeks were raw from the constant tears and rubbing, stinging from just the air alone. It was more red than the blush he typically wore. Eyes puffy and tired, dark eyebags only making it worse. It looked as if there was no actual skin there, just bones and eyes. While his face came from a horror movie, his own body didn't look any better.

Golden hair was tangled, some pieces hanging loosely and ready to fall from the previous attack as he had pulled his hair in desperation. Though he didn't remember touching his shoulders, hints of long scratch marks covered them. He was sure if he turned around, similar markings would be glazed on his back. The robe he wore was falling off, feathers from the edges of the fabric were plucked out. Such a shame, it was his favorite one.

Lucifer's hand laggardly went up to his face, fingers touching his cheek as his eyes simply watched. It felt too late to fix himself up for everyone else, because that is what he'd do: fix himself up for others. The disgust that would crawl on their faces would be deserved though. He was disgusting. Asmodeus appeared in the mirror besides him, barely fitting in the frame. His mouth moved, but all Lucifer could hear was ringing. Eyes languidly blinking, Lucifer turned to face his friend.

"I'm sorry?"

"Would you like to take a bath?" The idea of sitting in water sounded peaceful. Yet his mind immediately envisioned his body sinking beneath the water, taking barely a gasp of air before completely submerging himself under the bubbles and not coming up for air. Asmodeus must have caught onto the thought by just looking at Lucifer, because he abruptly said:

"Shower it is then!" The tall prince hurriedly turned to the far end of the room to go to the private bathing quarters, heels clicking against the clean tile as cabinet doors squeaked open. All the while, Lucifer simply stood there and watched with faint eyes. They slowly looked over to the large, king size bed, untouched. It was looking so comfortable now that he was up and standing. So soft, as if the covers and mattress would consume him and he'd once again be in darkness, sinking to the bottom of the bed and hitting the bed bars, making him feel just uncomfortable as he looked. But it would remind him that it was all real, despite wishing it wasn't.

"Don't you even think about it, Lu!" His eyes blinked rapidly at the sudden reprimand, looking up at Asmodeus with startled eyes. The bed was closer than he originally remembered — hand on the duvet sheets, ready to pull them back. With a grumble, Lucifer frowned deeply as he pulled his hand away, like a kid caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. Asmodeus shook his head, waving Lucifer over with one large hand. Lucifer begrudgingly followed, his feet hitting the cold floor and sending a shock of discomfort up his legs as the hairs raised in alert.

The bathroom was annoyingly large, especially for one — no, two — people. Long counter tops lined against the wall on one side, a mirror standing proudly above the sinks that it held as a tall, floor length mirror stood next to the counters, practically taking up another smaller wall. Well kept flowers and unused candles decorated the tops of the counters and the small shelves that were scattered around, making the room look as if it was from a home decoration magazine rather than a place actually lived in. There was a small door that lead to the toilet, allowing even more privacy for it's user, while three different plumbing fixtures were placed in different areas to take up the empty space left: one simple bathtub that fits one person, a large walk-in shower with various shower heads to make sure it's user was properly washed, and a great jacuzzi-like bathtub further away.

He could feel the jets of water pulsing against his back again as he and Lillith sat in the enormous tub together, age not as apparent on their skin; though they still looked rather young, in all honesty. Her seductive smile and half-lidded eyes were contrary to his childish excitement as a duck passed between them. Yet another memory showed them even younger, both sending cheesy words of love to each other before water was splashed around from their passionate acts of love. The floor beneath them ended up being just as soaked as them, though they honestly were slightly more dry with how quick their bodies moved. No matter the memory, Lucifer felt the same: numb. It was different times, they were fools in love. And eventually, he couldn't give her what she wanted, what she craved. He thought she fell for him entirely, just like he had for her. Yet here he was.

"There are some towels set for you," Ozzie spoke, pointing at some yellow towels stacked on a small, decorative stool next to the shower door. "I'll check in on you in 5 minutes to make sure you're in the shower, got it?" The King nodded, barely understanding the words as he tried to tear his eyes away. The other's face crumpled with concern, gently cupping the stained cheeks of Lucifer. "It'll help… I promise." With a friendly peck on top of his head, Asmodeus made his way out of the room.

Lucifer just stood there. The blinding colors of the bathroom seeping into his brain as he stared at the towels on the stool, blinking occasionally. It felt easier to stand there than to take a shower. To let the weight of the world force his feet deeper into the tile. He anticipated that it would crack sooner or later with how heavy he felt. Perhaps he'd even fall through the floor, hit the rock bottom he mentally felt himself in. Though not even seconds passed, Lucifer felt like eons waved over him. Time stood still for the King while everyone else continued. Asmodeus hadn't came in, so it wasn't 5 minutes. Yet.

Not wanting to disappoint his friend further, Lucifer closed his eyes and began to undress himself. If he didn't look at his body, in the mirror or otherwise, he couldn't seen the carnage he inflicted upon himself. Even if he's done worse to himself, he didn't want to see the remnants of his break down. Each item of clothing — even if it wasn't a lot — made a gentle "plop" on the tile, allowing his body to be consumed with cold air as more hairs on his skin rose in attention. The temperature caused a gasp to escape his throat, a breath of release following before he slowly opened his eyes. Half way there. All he needed to do was get the water started and stand in it. One deep breath and Lucifer began to count to himself.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1…

Step.

Without much thought, his body moved towards the shower with an intense denseness. Next thing he knew, the glass door to the shower closed behind him and cool water hit his face. The sense of water spray against him caused him to relax, shoulders sagging like a plant finally watered after being starved. Though there was one problem. The water was too cold. He turned the knob more, causing the temperature to rise in heat just a little. Lucifer's eyes stayed glued on the knob, letting the water pass over his face and eyelids. Each droplet made a river of water on his skin, draining off any curves and edges his body had before following the rest down the drain. Still too cold. Another turn. Another rise in temperature. Hand glued to the knob, Lucifer felt his breathing quicken. It's not warm enough. He could feel the cold deep within his bones. The temperature rose again as he fell to his knees, staring up with wide eyes at the knobs before turning it again.

It stopped, having reached the end. Handle turned all the way to "hot," Lucifer felt his skin begin to boil from the water, even if the heat never reached him. It was still too cold. Each shaky, deep, quick breath he took heaved with his chest. His eyes stood there, staring at the sight of the knob he still held in his small hands. Too cold. With a pathetic squeak, his hand pulled itself down the tile wall before it wrapped around himself with his other arm. Resting against the floor, he felt his body hang not from relaxation, but from defeat. He was still too cold. Those bitten lips trembled, arms pulling away from himself as he looked down at them. Once white skin was now almost red as his blood, the heat not helping and the sweltering temperature of the water pricking the redness even more. He could feel the tingle of his limbs wishing to shake, but there was nothing. He was exhausted. Cold and exhausted.