Work Text:
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Although he hears the knocking, Lucifer stays by the fireplace in his bedroom, staring at the cracking flames, back straightened by the weight of the wings long lost and suffocated by the collar of his robes. He never thought he would look like this again, reverted to the shape of the angel he was before the war, his sister’s death and his many failures.
Michael’s spell was impressive. Fused with Diavolo’s magic, it created a complex lattice that even Lucifer had a hard time dismantling, leaving him stuck having to sit on a stool instead of his usual chair to do paperwork.
“Lucifer! You in there?”
Knocking at his door is the human. Any other time, Lucifer would be ecstatic they chose him over anyone else's, but today, he can't stand being seen wallowing in the past.
The house can handle one day without him, and you’ll quit eventually, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Last time you were together was an awkward affair with his personality flip-flopping between who he is, and what the spell forced him to be. Lucifer had thrown you down on his bed before immediately apologizing, then helping you back up when the spell’s noose compelled him.
No doubt you were here to cheer him up, having realized how weak he was from the previous encounter.
The knocking continues. The image of you standing in the chilly hallway, looking concerned, floats into his head. Tenacious, nosy and kind — the human is unlikely to leave him alone, so Lucifer decides to open his door anyways. Besides, even if his brothers are tame for the time being, you’re just as likely to cause trouble so it would be prudent to watch over you.
In the hall, you stand looking disheveled, as if you just ran down the halls. “Can I hide out here? Your brothers won’t stop being nice and it’s freaking me out.”
The image of his brothers all sitting orderly at the dinner table, saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ as they pass down the plates sends a shiver down his spine. No one could survive that without feeling nauseous.
There’s a paper shopping bag looped around your wrist that moves out of view behind your back when you notice his stare. Avoiding the others is not the only reason you’re here.
“And you believe my behaviour would be any different?” Lucifer says, hoping he looks composed as if he hadn’t spent the past hour lost in melancholy. All he wants to do is to pull you to his bed and hold you until he feels better, yet pride stops him from being a burden on your kindness.
“You’re still a jerk — so, I’d say you’re the same?”
What a cheeky human. Another demon who would take offense, but that is what he loves about you. The world feels lighter when you’re around, like he could let go, if just a moment.
“If that’s the case, then I suppose I wouldn’t be much company.” Lucifer closes the door slowly, enjoying the panicked look on your face as you rush to wedge your body between the door before it could shut like a pushy door-to-door salesperson.
“Wait—” you say, half inside, half outside, with an arm flailing as you try to push against the door to pull the rest of your torso in. A snort falls out of his mouth, which he covers with a cough. “I like your jerkiness, that’s why I’m here. Plus, I don’t want to be alone! I've already spent most of the day hiding out in my room, and it's been so lonely with just me.”
That’s enough teasing, and even though it was amusing, it would be cruel to keep you any longer. Lucifer lets go of the door and you scurry in.
You huff, brushing the wrinkles out of your clothes.
“Are you that desperate to be with me?” Lucifer smirked, arms folded across his chest.
Without hesitation, you respond. “Of course, I missed you!”
The honesty catches him so off guard that he hopes the heat on his cheeks isn’t visible.
Lucifer clears his throat. It is so unlike him to act so bashful; he has no choice but to blame it on the spell. To stay composed, he averts his eyes and points to the paper shopping bag instead. “What is that? I assume avoiding my brothers isn’t the only reason you are here.”
Crinkled from the fuss before, the medium-sized paper shopping bag with the logo from a popular boutique remains hanging off your wrists. Whatever it is, hopefully it isn’t fragile.
You look at it, as if its existence had surprised you. “It’s a gift.” The brown paper handle twisted in your hands. “For you. Not sure you’d like it though.”
For a moment your eyes flutter to the side, no doubt looking at his unsightly white wings that Lucifer debated ripping off when the spell wouldn’t dissipate no matter how much he tried.
It only takes a glance, and he’s aware, again, of his body, the weight of celestial golden armour, the heft of angel wings chaining him down and the collar that feels more like a nose around his neck.
When he was an angel, his family was bigger. Every angel was a brother, sister, or sibling; and all of them a child of Father’s. They shattered those bonds when Lilith was condemned to, not just death, but erasure, and his family — his true family — were banished from the only home they knew, and everyone they once loved.
Lucifer doesn’t regret falling, but he wonders if his brothers ever do. As happy as they seem, do they ever look up at the perpetual night sky and crave the warmth of the holy sun? Or long to see the angels they once considered family, and for the life they once lived?
But there is no use dwelling on it, not when any more hesitation would draw your attention and concern. Being like this wasn’t what he wanted, even though you would love and accept him, regardless. There are enough things to worry about without him being an extra burden.
He snatched the gift out of your hands, digging out what’s inside before you could protest.
Without gloves, the fuzzy soft texture of whatever was in the bag tickled his fingers. Inside was a long black woolen scarf embroidered with red flowers, in a style that’s too cutesy to suit him but in colours but clearly picked out with him in mind, the blacks and vibrant reds reminiscent of the colours he often wears.
“...you look kinda weird, so I thought, since you can’t take the clothes off, why don’t you put something on top.” The hesitation in your speech is unlike the bold person who just strong-armed your way into his office.
“—now that I see it,” you say, “it doesn’t look like your style. Sorry, I should have known better, I’ll take it back to the shop.”
It’s tacky, something he would never wear, but Lucifer drapes the fabric around his neck, letting the ends dangle over his chest, covering the whites, golds and celestial blues before you could grab it back.
“You are correct. Your tastes are questionable, ” Lucifer cuts you off before you can make a retort, “but I suppose this is an improvement from before. Those in the celestial realm have no sense, clothing not excluded.”
He relaxes. Even with his wings, Lucifer feels lighter, and he can’t help the smile that works up on his face.
“Could have just said that in the first place,” your words are sarcastic but betrayed by a fond smile.
Lucifer indulges himself and brings you into a warm embrace, which you happily oblige, before planting a soft kiss on your lips.
“Thank you,” he says.
Lucifer is not the angel he used to be, nor is he the demon from just a year ago. Life is full of regrets, but it’s also filled with happiness like soft woolen scarves and evenings spent with those who he loves.