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Moonlight bleeds through the thin linen curtains, casting a silvery sheen on the black silhouettes in their bedroom. The sound of waves kissing the shore slips in through the open window and joins the choir of slow, heavy breaths. It’s almost like a lullaby, every note making Chloe’s eyelids heavier, pulling at her, inviting her into peaceful darkness.
‘I just want to let you know that I love you.’
Lucifer’s whisper, although impossibly gentle, stops her from finally drifting off. It’s okay, though. She doesn’t mind being kept awake if it's by his late-night confessions. In fact, it makes her sleepy lips tug up into a smile.
‘A lot,’ he adds in the same hushed voice, laced with awe and meaning. ‘Never forget that.’
She turns onto her side to look at him, and the moonlit sight that greets her has warm tears prickling in her eyes. Apparently, it wasn’t her he was talking to.
‘Should I take this personally?’ she asks him, exhaustion making it a hoarse, unmelodic mumble.
He looks up at her and offers an absent-minded ‘Hm?’ in return. A streak of light illuminates his face; even with a scruffy beard, tousled hair, and dark circles under his eyes, he looks annoyingly, heartwarmingly handsome.
‘It took you three years for you to say you loved me,’ she reminds him.
He doesn’t get it. (She doesn’t blame him; he’s about as sleep deprived as she is.)
Still in a monotonic murmur, she points out, ‘She was born four days ago, and you’ve already confessed your love to her. Twice.’
‘Do you always listen in on our private conversations?’ He tries to give her a disapproving look, but he can’t hide his smile—not even in the semi-darkness of their bedroom. ‘Besides, can you blame me?’ he asks her, smiling even more now. ‘I mean…’ With pride and adoration all over his face, he nods towards their baby, nestled between them. She’s staring up at her dad with wide eyes, her tiny hand still wrapped around his index finger.
‘No,’ Chloe whispers, her eyes lingering on the unbelievably cute face (who thought it was fair to let her have her father’s eyes?). Unable to resist, she carefully reaches over and brushes the back of her finger across her daughter’s soft cheek.
‘She really is perfection,’ Lucifer states quietly, like it’s a well-known fact. ‘Certainly our best collab.’
Chloe’s too tired to remind him that she did most of the work, so she just hums in agreement, a drowsy smile playing at the corner of her lips. It’s true; she is perfect.
They both watch as her eyes turn droopy, and her small chest starts rising with slower, deeper breaths. Just after loosening her grip on her dad’s finger, she finally closes her eyes and falls asleep. More careful than Chloe has ever seen him (maybe except for the first time he held his daughter), Lucifer leans over their baby and places a feather-light kiss to her forehead. Then he scoots a little closer, hyper-aware of not disturbing the sleeping infant, and reaches over to cup the side of Chloe’s face. Instinctively, she leans into his gentle touch, her eyes falling shut.
‘I love you, too’ he tells her, almost inaudibly. There’s a new ring to the words, an undertone that wasn’t there before—before she gave birth to his child. Even more so now, he says the words like it’s a lifelong promise, but also a heartfelt ‘thank you’. As if she’s given him the sun, the moon, and all of the stars, and he doesn’t know how he’ll ever pay her back.
Little does he know there’s no debt to pay. Not when he’s already given her everything.
She’s about to tell him that when he, voice raspier than before, whispers, ‘A lot.’
Along with their daughter’s quiet snores, that’s the last thing she hears before she falls asleep, his hand on her cheek and a blissful smile on her face.