Chapter Text
It began as a matter of curiosity. Any angel who would agree to attend a cultural exchange within the realm of devils must almost certainly have an ample amount of it. (Or, perhaps, a nearly slavish respect for a certain Archangel who’d encouraged the trip.) And there are things he wants to know, questions gone unanswered for so many thousands of years he can barely remember the form of them, words held sharp on his tongue unvoiced.
Left with nothing but an amorphous sadness and the strange sting of regret.
So maybe it’s not so shocking that he’d be the one to choose. A volunteer heralded as compassionate and brave despite being driven by the primitive fuel of want. A desperate desire to know.
He seizes the chance with benign smile and muted grace, remembers his posture and his position. Lights a comforting hand on the young angel’s shoulder who’s been nominated for the program, and ensures him everything will be alright. Angels must look out for everyone, and that includes each other.
And then it’s a month away, a day, a blink (time moves so strangely for those who don’t have to mark its passing) and suddenly light and open air become ash and night and sulfur and they’re abruptly, irrevocably, there.
And he wonders, almost numbly, if he’s done something unforgivable, forced a miracle.
Because he’s faced with the obsessive object of his thoughts, the main actor in nightmares that angels cannot have. Listens to the Devildom’s Prince expound upon his excitement all while staring into black-red eyes.
Luke endures the welcome with remarkable grace, despite the palpable distrust suffusing his small frame. Nods and says hello and makes vague noises about how honoured he is to grace these halls. Simeon smiles, feels a laugh starting somewhere deep within him, too far away to be let out, and echoes the sentiment with more sincerity.
Afterwards the Prince insists on tea, turns back to a demon hovering beside him shadow enough to go unnoticed. Says something, gesturing excitedly. Then they stand. The angels demons below them follow suit, each with varying degrees of reluctance, some requiring outright coercion. Simeon puts his hand on Luke’s shoulder (again), presses him just slightly forwards as they follow the strange procession.
They wind up at the Palace gardens — a privilege that would have been outlandish to expect. Simeon turns his head, admiring, notes the diverse array of beautiful looking flora and wonders if any of them could poison an angel. One of the angels demons stumbles, falling into a bush, white hair disarrayed with leaves.
A cup is settled in front of him, something sharp and fragrant as a winter’s night poured into spotless ceramic. Simeon looks up to see a demon with green hair and impeccable dress holding an ornate metal pot.
“It’s a Devildom blend,” the demon explains, voice lilting and soft. “Our Lord thought that you might like to experience something unique on the first day of your exchange. I hope it’s to your liking.”
Simeon smiles at him, open and appreciative, knows how effective it is to utilize sincerity and charm. “I’m sure it will be. It smells amazing.”
The demon bows at the waist, moves on to the next guest. Simeon regards the tea thoughtfully, closes his eyes and tries to pick apart the scents. He can’t, of course. Too much of it is foreign, specific to this realm. He lifts the cup to his face and sips.
It tastes just as lovely as it smells.
It’s an afternoon of leisure. Lord Diavolo sits eagerly forwards, eyes bright as he asks his questions. He’s heard of the Celestial Realm before of course, he must have. Simeon bats the questions with a diplomatic grace, eyes never straying to the angel demon at his right. Black wings flutter, fold, as he sips his tea.
And then it’s over, enough interrogation for one day (the Prince is joking, but is he really?), and they stand fluid from their seats, every one of them a study in power if not grace. And he knew the fall would change things, would alter their lives, their physiology, their blinding, perfect natures, but. Two angels demons trip out of their chairs and a third upends his entirely.
Simeon pushes the filigreed seat in, back straight, smile unmoved. Luke is fighting a snort at his left, trying to turn his amusement dismissive.
Simeon stares at the mess of them and thinks If only you had seen them before.
Luke makes some polite inquiries about the garden as they’re parting, and the Prince and his butler take him, delighted, through the maze of their landscape. Simeon says a silent prayer of gratitude in the young angel’s direction, an unknowing accomplice.
The angel demon is, unexpectedly, standing off to the side, watching the proceedings with an implacable face. Simeon steps closer, about to say something, when he notices the bags under his eyes. He looks . . . tired. A confounding impossibility. He stutters in his step, feeling off-balance.
“What is it.”
Simeon is not surprised to be noticed. He smiles, lets the full force of his sincerity bleed through. “I came down to see you. I didn’t think I’d get the chance so soon.”
The angel demon continues staring out, a lord surveying his domain. The others are scattered, picking their meandering steps through the grounds on their way . . . somewhere else. Simeon continues, easy, into the silence. “I’m glad.”
Something tugs at him; the scales of the world re-aligning. A shift, power and emotion. He has the belated sense that this is a conversation he never should have started.
But.
He’d looked up to him so much. The paragon of perfection, point of pride within the ranks. Glorious, brilliant Morning Star. An angel who was warm and encompassing as sunshine, smile light, eyes bright. An aura so divine it was impossible not to see him and be washed serene.
Lucifer turns to him, and his eyes are bright as memory but cold with it. The echoes of a flame long since extinguished. His voice is low, a hiss, but he’s perfectly coherent. “So now you follow me.”
Simeon doesn’t say anything to that, just lets the shock wash over him thoroughly enough to disguise the hurt. The shame. Lucifer clearly doesn’t expect a response, already turning away. It was unfair and they both know it.
But the words are claws digging into flesh and light and it stings it stings it stings
It’s funny. He’d thought so many lifetimes would have granted distance. But a handful of words from him and he’s shattering, time turning backwards. He wants to laugh. So.
Why does it feel like dying.
“I’m pleased you could join me,” he says, jovial. His voice is deep; rumbles and laughter. “Be honest. You wanted more of Barbatos’ tea.”
The butler inclines his head behind him, mild. “You do me too much credit, my Lord.”
“Your tea is fantastic,” Simeon says. He doesn’t move to take his cup, but he never says things he doesn’t mean. “Can I invite you to sit with us?”
“He’s right! Barbatos, pull up a chair.”
Barbatos defers to his master, silently slipping a chair into the nearest empty space. He perches at the edge, formal and attentive.
“Simeon, thank you for agreeing to have tea with me,” Diavolo starts, eyes shining.
Simeon only inclines his head. “Of course. I’m honoured to be invited. Did you have any lingering questions about the Celestial Realm?”
“In a manner of speaking.” He leans forwards, the significant muscle of his arms coming to rest on the tabletop. “I take it you knew Lucifer when he was an angel.”
The prince is awfully direct. That’s refreshing, in an odd sort of way. “I did.”
“What was he like?”
Simeon can see the excitement in his face, surprisingly unguarded. He smiles, polite and amused. “He was divine.”
Diavolo huffs, looking put out. “I knew that.”
“In a different way, I mean.” Simeon stares down at the surface of his tea, untouched. “He’s still beautiful of course. But when I saw him in the Celestial Realm, he was nearly glowing. He radiated so intensely sometimes he was impossible to look at.”
Diavolo nods, quick to agree. “Yes! I remember the first time I saw him. He was so wonderful I almost couldn’t believe my eyes.” He sighs, expression growing wistful. “There was an aura about him, even bloodied and tired. A power, a sort of deep, almost outlandish magnetism. The amazing grace of his wings — although by the time I met him they were already black, of course . . .”
Barbatos, who seems to have a sense for when things are going to dissolve into unrelenting exaltation of his Lord’s most trusted officer and friend, smiles discreetly at Simeon and pushes forward a plate of some truly complicated looking pastries. He picks one up, fascinated by the spiral. Almost an unlabeled Sigillum Dei.
He takes a bite. The balance is phenomenal; tart and refreshing and sweet. (More than he’d like, normally, but that’s no fault of the demons). He lets the flavour rest on his tongue while he listens with concealed mirth to the Demon Prince’s panegyric, falling so familiarly rote that he seems to have forgotten his audience.
He recognizes it, after a fashion. The ardent appreciation, the fanatic praise. The site of the Morning Star’s worship has only moved from one temple to another.
When the Prince pauses for breath, Simeon takes his opportunity. “It sounds like he hasn’t changed at all.”
Diavolo starts, surprised into awareness. Reaches with a too-strong grip towards his teacup and is only saved from cracking it by Barbatos’ intervention.
“Well,” he frowns, swallowing a mouthful of tea. “I don’t believe that can be true.”
The first time he receives the text, it’s a surprise.
He’s in the middle of the school grounds, reclining on a bench placed strategically in the gardens. He’d borrowed a couple of books from the school library; much lauded Devildom authors on literature that would never be allowed in the Celestial Realms. It might, if one considered it too long, be an act of rebellion. But no one outside of Luke is going to be overly concerned with his reading material, and for the moment Luke isn’t here.
The chiming of his D.D.D. is disorientingly loud. He lets his finger mark his place, sits up ramrod straight and only just remembers that he isn’t required to stand to attention. It takes him a moment to find the device, tucked somewhere in the pockets of his pants. And then another embarrassing minute while he fumbles with the screen, trying to determine how exactly he can read his messages.
Barbatos: I’m afraid my Lord has a singularly subjective view of the matter we were discussing last night.
Simeon: YES
Simeon: BUT ITS NICE TO KNOW LUCIFER IS APPROPRIATE IN THE DEVILDOM TWO
Simeon: I PUSH WISH I COULD SEE WHAT HE REALLY LIKES
Barbatos: Push wish what?
Simeon: I JUST WISH I COULD SEA WHAT HES REALLY LIKE
Barbatos: Ah
Barbatos: I have some free time next week.
Barbatos: Would you like to have some tea?