Chapter Text
It’ll be a cold day in hell before Sandalphon doesn’t despise the day-to-day customers at the coffee shop he works at. Teenage girls with their irritating laughs and shiny nails, women with too-complicated orders and men who seem to think that they can get out of paying the full price. Yet, a strange passion for coffee itself has Sandalphon keeping his position—that, and the need to pay rent for his college dorm room (because his stupid roommate is always spending his money on things Sandalphon doesn’t dare question.).
That being said, life truly would be easier without the need for this job. His boss, his employer, seems quite confident that Sandalphon can manage a busy shift on his own, and another warm day in the beginning of June sees quite a large number of people stepping into the shop to indulge in air conditioning and chilled drinks. Rolling his shoulders back and wincing a little as an audible cracking sound is heard, Sandalphon gives the back counter another sweep over with a dampened bleach cloth, pushing it into the garbage before turning back around. The large rush of afternoon customers has just died down, giving him a few moments to breathe. Normally he tries to do the work for classes in between managing orders, but the shop is simply too loud today to manage anything involving rational processing.
Just when he thought he was done, the little bell on the entrance door rings, signaling the arrival of another patron. Sandalphon looks up--nearly recoiling as he realizes that the sun is at the perfect angle to strike him in the eyes--and tries to get a read on the new figure. Their face is aimed downwards, hurriedly typing away at a message far too long to be just a text on a dimmed phone screen. However, by the time the stranger has approached the counter, their phone has been pocketed and their face is entirely visible.
They’re certainly not a regular here, as Sandalphon has never seen their face before. What they are, however, is...something. Is it an exaggeration to say that this is the most beautiful human he’s ever seen before? There’s nothing incredibly outstanding young man, who likely can’t be much older than Sandalphon himself, but there’s something about his features (soft and pale hair, knowing eyes that seem to hold the skies in their blue hues), perhaps even his presence that radiates an unusual sense of serenity, perhaps even wisdom.
Luckily, Sandalphon’s on autopilot enough that he’s able to absorb the other’s order without much trouble, but he nearly stumbles over his words as he asks for a name--really, something that should be a simple question. Lucifer, he registers, hands writing that name down and suppressing a laugh. A strange name, isn’t it?
Just when he’s begun to normalize, the shock of seeing someone so unfairly gorgeous fizzling away into nothing, Sandalphon is facing Lucifer again with a hot drink in his hand. He slides it across the counter, trying not to react when Lucifer’s pretty voice thanks him, one hand reaching out to grab the cup. His fingers are tinged red from the warmth outside, and in the brief moment Sandalphon commits every detail of his hand to memory, from the little scar on the back of his ring finger to the fact that his nails are perfectly shaped, clean, orderly.
Self-aware, Sandalphon finds himself scratching at one of his own less-than-pristine nails, trying to smooth out a jagged point from where he’d closed his finger in a cupboard door the other day and broken a nail. With Lucifer having turned away, Sandalphon finds his composure more regulated, and certainly hopes he hadn’t looked like a complete idiot in front of the other. It’s not that he’s socially inept, rather, people are just annoying, they let you down, and so Sandalphon finds he tends to stray from social events and therefore interacting with others.
The beeping of the card reader at the edge of the counter startled him, and Sandalphon turns it around to see what might be wrong. It seems that the last person to pay left their card in the machine—although it’s not any kind of card Sandalphon’s ever seen before. Light blue with black lettering and a pattern of gold and white feathers around the edge, it looks more like a child’s toy credit card than the real thing; but the signature across the bottom doesn’t lie. With a sigh, Sandalphon pulls the card from the leader, exiting from behind the counter. The card belongs to Lucifer, very clearly, and Sandalphon finds him in a sunny corner of the shop with a worn book in one hand. The title has been worn down to the point of being unreadable: clearly, the book is well-loved.
“Excuse me? I think this is yours.” He holds out the obscenely decorated card with an indifferent face, eyes purposefully averted towards the ground. Making eye contact with such a stranger would be bad, he’s decided. To his relief, the card is taken from Sandalphon’s outstretched hand, along with a quiet expression of gratitude. He nods, avoiding eye contact all while turning around in a fast spin (so fast, in fact, he nearly falls over) and makes his way back behind the fake-granite countertops.
The little half-door swings closed behind him, and Sandalphon scans the coffee shop once more before allowing himself a moment’s rest. There seems to be no new customers, no one walking in the store, and so he sits rather unceremoniously in a plastic folding chair behind the counter, reaching for an over-sized and over-priced textbook. A coffee shop isn’t the ideal place to do homework when you’re the one making the coffee, but it’s easier to do work when Sandalphon doesn’t have to deal with sickening roomate.
At the thought of said roommate, in fact, his stomach drops so much that Sandalphon has no choice but to bury his nose in a textbook, scanning through lines of accompanying, messy notes until he finds the page he’s left off on. However, just before he can get any words down on the pages of his notebook—
“Pardon me. Are you busy?” Sandalphon glares up, as if to point out that yes, he clearly is busy, but when he sees a certain stranger’s face again his features almost instantly soften. He wonders if Lucifer is some kind of supernatural being, what with his ability to make the world feel calmer just by looking at him. “I can’t help but notice that you look quite familiar. Have we met before?” Maybe they’re childhood friends or something? That would at least make Sandalphon feel a little better for the amount of effort it’s been taking him not to stare at this guy.
Knowing that it’s polite to at least stand when being addressed, Sandalphon draws to his feet, standing in front of the counter. He shakes his head no, using the opportunity to look up and down Lucifer to look for any signs of anything particularly extraordinary about him.
“Perhaps this is a bit forward, but you look quite like a boy who I modeled with during my childhood.” He wasn’t done speaking, apparently, although his words leave Sandalphon with very little to say. Stuck between processing the fact that Lucifer is in fact, a model, and that he also thinks Sandalphon looks like one leave the brunette sputtering for words, jaw dropping, eyes widening, red in the cheeks. He can’t recover from a reaction like that, tragically, and his realization of the stupid look upon his face comes a moment too late—Lucifer has laughed, a small laugh that sounds like soft, late night music that plays in expensive restaurants
“I’m—I was never a model,” Sandalphon quickly insists, arms crossing defensively over his chest. This is quite possibly one of the worst social interactions he’s ever had to struggle through, and working in a coffee shop means he’s had a lot of those already. Lucifer’s small smile becomes a bit apologetic, waving his hand dismissively.
“Forgive me, then. You certainly could be one, though.”
If Sandalphon’s face turns any more red, it’s going to start looking like a comic, isn’t it? He grits his teeth, still unsure of how to spit out a response to that type of comment—but in the moment that it takes him to refocus on the familiar surroundings, Lucifer is gone, leaving behind only a faint sense of frustration dwelling in Sandalphon’s chest. Of course, it’s stupid to be attracted to strangers, but it’s also stupid for strangers to be so attractive! One loud, dramatic exhale later, Sandalphon shakes his head as if clearing his mind, gives his temples a quick massage, and refocuses in the textbook lying open on the clean countertop.
By the time his shift ends, Sandalphon is unusually ready to go home. Normally, he takes his time transferring shifts, not entirely ready to go home due to the sheer annoyance that is his roommate. However, the events of the past few hours put him on edge, understandably. That stranger, Lucifer, had disappeared so suddenly that Sandalphon was ready for him to appear at any time. His heightened anxiety seems to be noticeable on the outside, as well, given as one of his coworkers laughs and asks if he’s seen a ghost while tying her apron behind her back.
If only it was just a ghost. They’re easier to ignore than people.
The walk back to his shared apartment is a short fifteen minutes, made especially pleasant by the evening June air. The lingering traces of humidity don't feel quite as oppressive as they do during the day, and the day’s transition into night is marked by yellows and greens and deep blues painted across a cloudless sky. Despite the bustle of the crowded area he lives in, the town seems tranquil tonight—even as cars honk and children yell and people wander the ever-so-slightly uneven sidewalks aimlessly. After making it to the complex, home is only a short elevator ride away, up a few floors to room 312.
“I’m home!” Sandalphon yells into the void of his shared apartment. It serves as a warning rather than a friendly greeting to his roommate, demanding that they have any uninvited guests promptly removed. Luckily, only one pair of shoes sits next to the door, and Sandalphon breathes a sigh of relief. After the day he’s had, he’s not in the mood to deal with any annoying friends, or even worse; the poor fool his roommate’s brought home at 8 o’clock on a Thursday night.
Perhaps the most inconvenient thing about the apartment is that it was only really ever meant for one person. And so, there’s only one bedroom. When Sandalphon had been looking for a roommate to cover the other half of his rent, he hadn’t even considered that, or the possibility that he’d end up living with one of, if not the most disgusting, overly dramatic and sexual and invasive people he’s ever had the horror of knowing. Ignoring said person, splayed out across their bed with a phone in their hands, Sandalphon flops across his own bed, muffling a frustrated sigh into his pillow.
“Hey, Sandy--ooooh, hard day at work?” Belial’s mocking voice sounds like nails on a metaphorical chalkboard. He doesn’t look away from his phone as he speaks, given that the little sound of typing keys can be heard from where Sandalphon attempts to fuse into his bed.
“Shut up. You don’t know the half of it.” Sandalphon turns his head to glare at his roommate, head propped up on his elbows with an clearly disgruntled look on his face. “Some stupid guy from a modelling agency was there, and he was trying to recruit me, some nonsense like that…” he pointedly ignores pointing out the attractiveness of said model, knowing that it will only he used against him.
“A model, hmm?” Belial’s voice growing closer, accompanied by the sudden shift of a mattress under Sandalphon’s legs, lets him know that Belial’s crossed the room to sit on the foot of his bed (completely against the boundary rules Sandalphon has made him swear to follow.). That alone is enough to make Sandalphon tense, fight or flight reaction ready to trigger at any moment, but it’s his next words that shock the other and draw a reaction. “Was he pretty? Did little Sandy wanna--aaahhh!”
Sandalphon doesn’t hesitate to deliver a full-force kick to Belial’s back, one that makes his already horrid sentence cut off into a loud, faked moan. Sandalphon shoves his face back into his pillow, groaning into the fabric and doing everything in his power to block out the gross, loud sounds of Belial’s dramatic breathing.
“So rough, Sandy~” he calls, one hand coming to rest on the back of Sandalphon’s thigh. Despite feeling disgusted, there’s a bit of pride that accompanies the realization that Belial sounds genuinely winded. “Who’d have thought a little thing like you would like it so rough?” His words are met with another, more forceful kick from Sandalphon, one that forces Belial up with a surprised yelp and far back enough that Sandalphon can sit up.
“Get your filthy hands off of me. A-and don’t call me Sandy, you vile thing.” As if his pillow has become a shield, Sandalphon clutches it to his chest, in between him and Belial, who’s still wearing that disgusting, flushed face. Ugh, what a freak.
“Only if you tell me about your handsome visitor,” Belial smiles again, suddenly recovering from Sandalphon’s kick and choosing to fall back into Sandalphon’s bed, completely splayed out. Sandalphon sighs, pushes at the side of Belial’s face with one sock-covered heel, but he knows (they both know) Belial isn’t going anywhere until he gets the details.
“He’s named Lucifer. It’s weird.”
“Your name is Sandalphon.”
“Shut up. I’m talking.”
An incredibly awkward silence, punctuated by Belial raising a brow at Sandalphon in intrigue before he continues.
“Anyways, as I was saying. He’s names Lucifer, and he’s a model? Something like that. He asked if I was one as a child, because I looked familiar. Very pretty, very rich.”
“So everything you’re not.”
“I can and will kick you out of my apartment.”
“You can’t pay rent without me.”
Sandalphon wants to scream. Belial is right, of course, he’s infuriatingly right. If he wasn’t right, after all, Sandalphon would have kicked him out eons ago. But no, they’re both just broke college students, and so for the time being he has no choice but to live with this disaster of a human. Instead of snapping back with sarcasm, Sandalphon offers Belial a choice finger before rolling over and falling onto his stomach as aggressively as he can without falling off this tiny bed, just to prove his own displeasure. It seems his point has been received, because the mattress shifts as Belial stands up.
“Y’know, Sandy,” Belial says, pulling Sandalphon from his trail of distressing thoughts. He gives him a sharp glare, but Belial raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I was just gonna tell you that I got takeout. But if you wanna be a little brat instead of eating dinner, be my guest.”
The moment after Belial leaves, Sandalphon allows himself one infuriated scream into a stack of pillows before collecting himself. How dare Belial call him a brat, or make any comment towards him at all, when all he does is give Sandalphon an excuse to act like one! Well, point taken, but the brunette finds himself falling victim to his own hunger and the tempting smell of takeout sneaking in through his barely-opened bedroom door. With a reluctant and heavy breath, Sandalphon draws himself to his feet, pulling his nearly dead phone from a sweatshirt pocket and plugging it into the wall beside his bed. If he doesn’t hurry, Belial can and will eat all the food he ordered, and so even if it means facing the annoyance once more Sandalphon leaves his room behind and closes the white-painted door with a soft noise.