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Quiet, dark, secluded.
Places like that were few and far between in the Devildom. No matter where you were, what time of day, how tired you were, someone would be calling for you. Half the time, there wasn’t even anything you were able to do to help. It was clear the residents of the House of Lamentation sought your company because they craved it, not for any practical reason. Whilst sweet and flattering to you, it did make for long days and restless nights fighting off the demon brothers clinging to your arm 24/7.
The library in the house was frequently vacant. With the family mostly occupying common areas with more entertainment, it left the room empty more often than not, bar recurring visitors with a thirst for knowledge. It was comfortable there, and it was serene.
Your human phone had been in your backpack when you’d been transported to RAD for the first time. There was no signal down here, but you kept it powered with the charging cable you’d been conveniently carrying as well, for emergencies. You were happy for your foresight. There were few reasons for you to miss your old life, not when you had such an incredible home in the brothers, but occasionally, your past would haunt you at night. It would be the kind of night that was cold; lonely, no matter who was sharing your bed. You’d pull the phone out of your nightstand and flick through old messages, photos, voicemails from so many seasons ago. The memories would choke you with their cloying incense, stronger than woodsmoke, more potent than perfume.
You didn’t know what exactly compelled you to torture yourself in such a way. You were happy in the Devildom, or so you told yourself. Maybe your happiness was a friend for the fair-weather, its absence only noticeable when there was nobody to distract it away. Whatever the reason, when the compulsion came around, you were powerless.
You didn’t cry. For all your quirks and flaws, your pride at being able to hold yourself together in moments of crisis could rival Lucifer himself. Every time you were tossing around in your bed in the middle of the night, drowning in sorrow, the tears would burn in the back of your eyes. You’d either will them to dissolve or they’d slip away of their own volition… but a dam is only built to hold so much water, and the cracks in your walls were beginning to show; until one night, the whole thing crumbled to your feet.
You clutched your phone in your hand as you slipped out of your bedroom, breath unsteady and heart hammering wildly against your ribs. The figure fast asleep in your bed didn’t stir when you left, completely engulfed by his own dream as he snoozed peacefully, oblivious to your distress. The hallway outside was dark, illuminated by the artificially bright white light of your phone’s torch as you stumbled along, gasping for air to fill the emptiness in your lungs and in your heart. When you reached the library, you didn’t turn on the light. It almost felt like the darkness would be safer to navigate, enclosing you in a comforting blanket away from prying eyes.
Your back slid down a cool wall as you slumped against the wall and slid into a puddle in the corner of the room, tucking your knees into your chest and wrapping your arms tightly around them. You held yourself there in a foetal position, rocking gently backwards and forwards as the tears finally fell, dribbling down your face with no prayer of surrender. It was cathartic, but almost alien to you. The salt made your eyes and your cheeks sting, the skin around your face raw from the incessant rubbing you’d been forced into doing to keep the rest of you dry. After several minutes, your sleeves were soaked, but the tears wouldn’t stop.
You hadn’t noticed, in your distraction, the sound of footsteps crossing the hallway and pausing at the door to the library. You didn’t see the concerned face peek in through the door frame, eyebrows knitted together. You hadn’t heard the shuffling of fabric as the onlooker crossed the room, reaching into their pocket for something. You didn’t feel the presence of another person standing in front of you until they crouched down, their breath fanning across your forehead. It smelled like coffee.
Suddenly aware of the intrusion, much to your horror, you looked up into the eyes of your observer, shining with worry. Your heart clenched tightly in your chest in the most unpleasant way. Since arriving in the Devildom, you had never allowed anybody to see your hurt. Those poor boys had been through enough themselves in their long lives, and the least you felt you could do was be a supportive, encouraging presence for them. You cheered them on when they were struggling, you comforted them when they were sad. You cooked them food, offered your lap for them to rest in, played them songs on the piano, held their hands when they were scared. You strove to be whatever they needed, and in turn, they gave you a home; a family. They were everything to you, and you’d do anything if it meant seeing them smile. A noble fantasy it was, but it left you on the back burner to crisp.
…
Lucifer couldn’t sleep. Tried as he did, he simply couldn’t find a way to get his restless mind to switch itself off for the night. A pile of paperwork sat on the table in his bedroom, untouched, taunting him. Deep down, he knew the reason he was struggling to find sleep was because he’d neglected his duties in favour of watching a film with everyone that evening, and he fought back a weary groan at the realisation. He ran his palm across his face, sweeping stray hairs out of his eyes, and his bed creaked at the release in pressure as his legs swung around the edge. Cursing under his breath, he stomped over to the paperwork and grabbed it, misery etched into the heavy creases on his face as he left the room with the papers under his arm.
The trickle of hot water pouring into Lucifer’s coffee mug was a soothing, familiar sound. He stood loosely in front of the coffee machine, his arms resting limply by his sides, staring up at the ceiling with a sleepy, gormless look on his face. The sharp beep of the machine’s completion brought him out of his stupor, the bitter aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air as he picked up his mug and his papers, wiping a stray trail of drool from his chin. He took a small sip, scolding his mouth in the process, and grimaced at the temperature, walking out of the kitchen towards his office.
The walk wasn’t long, but Lucifer was dragging his feet. It was times like these that he really lamented his choices, but only on a surface level. Everything he’d done, he’d done for a reason, and he had no regrets about the decisions he’d made. Though he did hate having so much work to do all the time. He yearned so deeply for more free time to spend with his family, fewer nights spent scribbling at his desk until sunrise, and more opportunities to claim you as his own. Since he was always so busy, his brothers were so quick to steal you away. Perhaps he’d go and visit you when he’d finished his work for the night. His weary expression softened at the thought, suddenly in a hurry to get his tasks over and done with so he could climb into your bed and hold you for a few hours before his brothers woke up. He hoped nobody had beaten him to it.
A noise. Barely detectable.
Lucifer froze at the library’s door frame. He strained his ears against the empty hallway, holding his breath so as not to miss the soft sound, should it occur again. He didn’t have to wait long. A muffled sob, closer to a choke, clearly coming from the furthest side of the room to the door, followed by a little sniffle. There was no doubt about it, it was the sound of someone crying.
He panicked for a second, but only a second. Brotherly instincts overrode his anxiety, protectiveness won out over fear. He opened the door as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb whoever was inside, tiptoeing into the room and setting his stuff down on the closest surface. As Lucifer turned towards the sound, his heart splintered, shattering into a million tiny, razor-sharp pieces when his eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to figure out who it was that was occupying the far corner.
You hadn’t noticed him. His footfalls on the carpeted floor were light, hushed by the slow, careful steps he was taking towards you. Your head was buried in your forearms as they rested on your bent knees, your bare feet clenched, toes curling. You were gripping yourself so tightly, Lucifer was terrified you’d hurt yourself if you didn’t relax. He had never seen you cry before. It was something he’d always been fascinated by; a side to you nobody had seen. He thought he’d love it if you’d trust him with such a private part of yourself, but seeing you there crumbled on the floor, your broken heart leaking from your eyes… It just felt jarring.
Standing in front of you, you still didn’t look up. Lucifer wasn’t sure if you were so absorbed in your emotional reaction to whatever it was that had upset you that you genuinely hadn’t noticed him, or that you had noticed and just didn’t care. He crouched down in front of you, his forearms resting on his taut thighs, surveying your fragile state for a moment or two before reaching into his breast pocket for the handkerchief he kept in there. It was only when he held it out towards you that you finally looked up at him, your big eyes shimmering, your skin blotchy and rubbed raw. A look of pure, unadulterated horror flashed across your face, your crimson cheeks darkening with embarrassment, but Lucifer did nothing. He said nothing. He simply waited, his hand outstretched, offering you his hankie.
A moment of silence followed, then another. You were briefly stunned, unsure how to continue, how to escape this interaction with the least amount of collateral damage possible. The last thing you wanted was to make it awkward to live with you, and you were afraid that Lucifer would be thinking too hard about what was going on. In that moment, all you wanted to do was to hide from everyone, and you cursed Solomon for not teaching you the teleport spell yet. You were seconds from making a decision to stand up and leave, when a soft voice broke the silence of the room, laced with worry.
‘Please take it, my love, unless you want me to dry your eyes for you?’
You sniffled, lip trembling, scanning Lucifer’s face for any sign of disparagement or irritation. When you couldn’t find any; a relief, to be sure, you simply nodded, eyes downcast in shame. He smiled gently at you, endeared to you at how sweet and helpless you looked in that moment, and how much you were willing to trust him to help you fix it, despite how uncomfortable you clearly were. He reached up to your face, taking hold of your chin with as gentle a hand as he could muster, tilting your face upwards. He used his fingers to brush away the stray strands of your hair that clung to your tear-stained cheeks, tucking it behind your ears, before pressing the soft, clean fabric against you, collecting the liquid that still dribbled from your eyes.
You were unable to look Lucifer in the eye as he mopped you up, dabbing carefully at your tender face. The hand holding your chin slipped backwards, curving around your cheek and sliding through your hair until his large palm rested just against the back of your jawbone. Your arms and legs relaxed at his treatment, hanging limply by your side like they weren’t attached to your quivering torso. All you could do was stare at the ground, willing your body to settle down, as Lucifer wiped away the evidence of your distress.
When he’d made sure there wasn’t a single drop of moisture left on your skin, he folded his hankie neatly and tucked it back into his pocket. You felt his warm hands against your cheeks once more, his thumbs brushing against your cheekbones as his face leaned closer towards you. He placed a sweet, gentle kiss on your forehead, lingering for a moment to breathe in your scent, before withdrawing to look at you directly.
‘Look at me,’ he whispered when you still wouldn’t meet his eyes.
It took a moment of deliberation, but eventually you flicked your gaze upwards, blinking away the sting and the salt and the weariness.
‘I won’t ask you what the matter is,’ Lucifer began, his warm hands holding you firmly, protectively, ‘but if you want to tell me, I will do everything in my power to help you. I will never let anything happen to you.’
You hesitated, trembling fingers fiddling restlessly in your lap. You couldn’t deny how comforting it was to be cared for in such a gentle way, even despite the self-conscious sniffling sounds still breaking the silence of the room every few seconds as you tried to calm yourself down. From where you sat, you had a choice to make: walk away from the situation and pretend it never happened, or allow your lover to comfort you. His presence was so large, so dangerously heavy. Lucifer could command an entire room without a single word, a single flick of his eyes to the right person in the right way and he could take all the control he desired. Yet there he was in front of you, dark bruises lining the delicate, papery skin below his eyes; evidence of his fatigue.
You nodded, unfolding your arms and legs, the wince from the stiffness of your limbs barely noticeable on your face, but not undetectable. Noticing your increased movement, Lucifer stood up to his full height and extended a large, warm hand to you, which you took gratefully. He tugged you firmly, pulling your weary body into a standing position, wrapping his arms around your shoulders once you’d steadied yourself on your wobbly legs. His arms were so safe, so protective. You could feel the concern he felt for you in the way his fingers flexed delicately against your back. It was almost enough to set you off again.
‘What do you want to do?’ Lucifer whispered into the sweet-scented tresses of hair falling from your scalp.
‘Uhh,’ you hesitated. There was someone else in your bed, after all. ‘Can I sleep with you tonight?’
Lucifer didn’t fight the soft smile that spread across his cheeks, not that he could even if he wanted to. Without another word, he released your trembling body from his grip so he could bend down and scoop you up into his arms, your legs dangling over one of his forearms with your head resting comfortably against his broad chest. He smelled like coffee, a warm, comforting scent that served only to put your mind at ease while he carried you out the door and up the stairs towards his bedroom, his paperwork and mug of caffeine forgotten.