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you see it in your dreams.
a thunderstorm flashing in the distance, darkness all around you, and by your feet, a hole, the size of a body. ready for you.
you turn around and see him and jump, startled, even though you knew he would come.
lucifer.
his huge wings stretch out with a powerful gust and he bends his head forward, as if to charge you with his horns. he glares at you, demonic, with no trace of mercy, as you feel the start of a hurricane flaring up through the wasteland. the brittle trees shake, the same way you can't help from doing.
you fall on your rear as waves of electricity sizzle high above him, and try to scoot away with your hands in the dirt.
backing up, you find yourself falling into the hole someone dug as your grave. you're falling and falling into never-ending nothingness and then--
you awaken with a jolt that leaves you breathless.
you feel sick.
you press a hand to your clammy forehead, finding it sopping wet, and wipe the sweat away. your stomach churns and clenches in pain. the room spins.
you can't get out of bed.
you pass out and fall back asleep.
the next time you see lucifer change form, it's because mammon pisses him off so badly. something about betting the dorm somehow. making a big debt to a casino. you can't remember.
you see it and run.
your legs go and go and go, thoughtless, until you're safely behind the door of your room, clicking the door shut.
you slide down to the floor and feel faint.
you were afraid this would happen, that you would react this way in real life. the dreams, you've tried to remind yourself, are just dreams - and that thing that happened between the two of you, it happened a while back already--
so why does it still haunt you?
lucifer already apologized and even invited you out for dinner. while threatening and intimidating you during that whole period of time, sure, but you can't hold it against him anymore...
you thought you didn't, anyway.
lucifer may be difficult, the most troublesome of his brothers, and a scary person. but he's also pretty special.
there's no way this fear of yours is sustainable if you want to get closer to him.
you've heard something before, in some psychology or self-help article you read once... "love and fear can't coexist."
you don't know if that's true, but you know one or the other is going to win inside of you.
you remember crying after trying to protect beelzebub and luke. so soft and sensitive-- you felt like a fool.
lucifer was right. you're just a human, weak and unworthy. that was what you thought at the time.
the truth is that you didn't care about that, didn't care if you were the most worthless thing ever created in the universe. it hurt because he was the one who thought that. it hurt because you were nothing but an obstacle in his way.
you're an ally now, but the memory still hurts.
it's unknown how many hours pass while you sit with your back to the wall, until there's a slow, purposeful knocking on the door. you know who it is immediately.
dread sinks in your gut.
when you open the door, lucifer stands beyond it with a stiff back and shoulders. normally, you would be glad to see him, might even be unable to keep yourself from fawning over him, but now you're only uneasy. he must think you look terrible, as you're growing increasingly ill when his true form fills your thoughts.
"hello. may i come in? i would like to talk with you."
you stare at him, the blood draining from your face. you know the expression you must be making is all wrong, but you can barely speak, so you simply nod and open the door.
you go to sit balled up on your bed while he stands before you.
"i noticed that you fled when you saw me scolding mammon. why is that? were you afraid?"
you don't want to look at him, don't want to answer. the bed feels like the hole in your dreams.
"it's dumb," is all you can manage to whisper.
he shakes his head.
"it's not 'dumb' if it's something that's bothering you so deeply. you can confide in me. whatever it is, i'll understand."
he can be so kind sometimes. the other side of the coin to his cruelty.
you decide to answer. if he takes it badly, there's nothing to be done for it. all you can do is be honest; that has been your greatest strength.
"i've been having these dreams for a while," you say, not quite knowing where to start. "where you-- you're in your true form, ready to attack me. your power is surging all around me. there's a hole dug for my grave and-- and i know i'm about to die."
you can't bear to look at him, see him pity you or hate you for being fearful or weak, so you hug your legs to your chest and hope this conversation ends soon so that you can be alone again.
"i'm sorry," you continue. "it's not like i hate you or think you're a bad person. i don't know where this is coming from."
"well, it sounds like you must still resent what i nearly did to you when i found that angel trying to steal the grimoire," lucifer says matter-of-factly (though you want to correct him because luke didn't even know what that thing was at the time).
"i can't say i blame you." he shrugs. "you would have surely lost your life if diavolo hadn't talked sense into me."
"yeah. i always remember mammon telling me on my first day here to run if a demon tried to attack me. but running would never stop you. i'm sure of that."
lucifer would have laughed at that backhanded compliment if this conversation weren't so uncomfortable. instead, he sits down at the foot of your bed and watches you.
"we're past that though," you say more to yourself than to him, as if trying to convince yourself that it doesn't matter. "i thought... that i would be over this by now. you already apologized. i mean, what else is there to do...?"
"it seems that your heart hasn't forgiven me. tell me if there's something i can do to help. anything."
you shake a little at this request, humiliated, despite not knowing why. your pride?
he gazes at you steadily, a hand reaching out at your feet, not touching.
"i can't promise that i would never hurt or kill you. i'm a demon. i can resist neither temptation nor fits of rage. please understand."
a few tears fall out the corners of your eyes as you shut them.
"i don't care if you kill me." you find the thought comforting, under certain circumstances: the face of someone beloved being the last thing you see, their power over life and death being the last thing you feel. no doubt that makes you an odd one. "i just... don't want you to hate me."
he pauses to think about this, while you tremble.
"did you think i hated you as i was about to attack you?"
"it sure felt like it. i know better now, you must have been so afraid for the sake of the devildom and because i was meddling so much, i get it, but..."
"we're all fortunate that you've meddled so much in our affairs." he smiles. "but i didn't hate you at that moment. i simply can't control myself when i'm enraged. those words that i said aren't the truth, do you understand? you're more than just a human. and i don't hate you, now or ever."
his gloved hand lands on your socked foot and stays still, sending warmth coursing straight to your chest.
you understand that demons are proud, that they think they're better than humans, and with how strong they are, maybe it's justified. mammon has called you an insect before, but are bugs not allowed their own pride too?
you don't know what you want. maybe you just want him to give you the reins for a moment.
"so i ask you again, if there's anything i can do to help, please tell me. or perhaps, if you need me to leave you and give you some time... i can do that as well."
"show me your true form. right now."
lucifer pulls his hand away from you, silent, before he changes reluctantly. wings and horns out, he frowns at you, uncertain.
"just show me this," you say, crawling closer to him on hands and knees. "show me your true form so i can get used to it."
you ask permission to touch him, not only because it's polite, but because you want a reason to commit to the action, a reason to not shrink away. he allows it.
despite the complaints of your stomach, the dull thud of your heart, the cold sweat breaking out on your forehead, you trail a finger down the bumps of a hooked horn.
your hand wanders to his back and the feathers of his wings are as soft as you had imagined. you stroke the top of one delicately, and it opens up to let you see more.
he's so beautiful. you know the most fantastic things in nature tend to be dangerous too. lions, mountains, oceans, lightning. you lean closer, trying to be bold, and press your lips to the base of a horn.
you feel more than hear lucifer gasp, quiet but jerky, and wonder how sensitive his horns and wings are.
you want to do more, finally more adventurous than frozen by fear, but instead fall back on your haunches, body quivering from over-exhaustion. you pull away from him completely.
"don't push yourself," he says.
he threads his fingers through your own, gazing into your eyes, as if wanting you to take in the sight, wanting to burn this moment into you.
angels have accidentally killed humans who sensed their true forms, haven't they? you've heard that somewhere before. because such a form is too overpowering to the senses of a mere human, too blinding, too deafening.
lucifer is no longer an angel, but you think that for better or worse, he might crush you like a tin can someday, slaughter you without even meaning to. but it doesn't scare you anymore, if it ever did.
not as long as he holds you in his heart.