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An unfamiliar uneasiness grips the fallen’s chest as he stares at the radio demon, quietly reading by the fireplace of his room.
Alastor notices his stares and looks at him, he smiles.
“I assume you have something to say to me?” Lucifer blinks, he chuckles awkwardly and turns away.
“No, I don’t really. I was just thinking.”
“Is that so?” The radio demon places his book down, walking across and sitting close to him.
“What have you been thinking then? I wouldn’t mind lending an ear to soothe your discomfort, dear.” Asked the sinner as he gently stroked his hair, playing a few strands of his gold locks even. The fallen smiles but he simply lets himself lean on his beloved’s body.
Humming softly as he says: “Your presence is enough, thank you for trying though.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yeah.”
“Reminder to you, sire, that I am here, prepared to listen to your woes and discomforts; be it any of it that burdens you. You are dear to me, Luci.” The fallen laughs softly.
“Yeah, I know, I love you too.”
A sickening feel of tightness spreads in his chest but he dismisses such symptoms and simply relishes the warmth of his beloved all while the sinner hums a tune quietly.
The days go by with each mundane task that becomes almost a routine for the fallen: the day starts off with Alastor waking him up and getting each of them ready, a little morning tea and talking about their plans for the day, separating and doing their own responsibilities, and lastly, they ate dinner together with the residents of the Hazbin hotel and retreat to their rooms for the night(his room being in either his or the radio demon’s). It was a comforting routine for him.
Still, the tightness in his chest seems to have worsened— for whatever reason. Every single day his lungs seem to limit his capacity to take in oxygen when it comes to breathing, and every breath feels like a prick in his lungs. The coughs he once thought were merely insignificant slowly become prevalent and worse as time continues on.
Nonetheless, he ignored them all again. Chalking it up as part of the stress from all the paperworks he was suddenly dumped with.
“I’d like to inquire, sire, is it necessary for you to be up this late?” Alastor asks as he walks towards him, taking a piece of paper from his stack and glancing at the contents loosely.
“Sorry, I just want to finish them so I won't have to worry about it tomorrow.” He smiles tiredly at the sinner but comes back focusing on his paperwork. Alastor tuts and places the paper back to its stack.
“Both of us know that such a task, even for a powerful being yourself, your majesty, is not possible. You will wear yourself down with such a terrible schedule.” He takes the pen away from the fallen’s hands, “I believe it’s best that you retreat for the night and I shall step forward in aiding the troublesome task you have tomorrow, my dear.” Lucifer smiles and leans on him.
“Thank you.”
“Anything to ease the burden of my dearest.” Alastor says with a smile, gently kissing his hair.
The prickly feel in his lungs worsened.
The 5th day, his coughs has grown intense, it’s no longer just a simple small coughs but loud and painful. His throat is itchy, dry— it hurts to cough so much with full force.
He coughs, hacks, and wheezes, grasping tightly on his chest. It hurts to even breathe now but the coughs worsen everything. The torment of it all continues until golden ichor escapes his mouth, he hacks and wheezes dryly, petals laced with his own blood come out of his throat at every few coughs.
He grasped on the petal— snapdragon petals? He gasps, crouching on his office floor as he stares at the petals with a dumbfounded expression.
An ailment? What disease is this that it even affects celestial beings?? Or has father finally decided to punish him?
He grips on the petals covered in his blood and incinerates it. He’ll look it up later once he’s done with work. Maybe he’ll request Al for—
Not even a minute of his thought passes and his coughs grow worse, his lungs feel like it’s burning— he feels like he’s suffocating. He feels like vomitting from the endless fits of his coughs.
What’s going on? Why won’t the coughs stop? His lungs feel like they’re being pierced and yet his fit of coughs are nonchalant of its deterioration.
More petals escape his mouth, more golden blood paints the floor, more tears begin to shed. His throat is on fire— he can’t breathe- he can’t breathe he can’t— hecantbreathehecantbreathehecantbreathehecantbreathehecantbreathehe—
He collapses on the floor. His face dirtied from his own blood and petals as he wheezed and tried to catch his breath. His lungs hurt, his throat hurts.
Slowly sitting up, his body feels heavy for the first time, his arms feel like lead, and his brain is racking for any information that could correlate the symptoms he’s feeling right now. Tightness in chest. Limited breathing. Coughs. Petals. Blood. Pricks in his—
“Father created a special sickness.”
His body freezes. This is an old memory— a time when he was a newly babe of an angel.
“This is a secret I’ve helped my Father with. I’m telling you this because I trust you.” His brother, Jophiel, whispers with a smile.
His heart trembles, his fingers clench at the memory.
No.
“It’s a sickness that makes your chest tight at first, leaving you gasping for air,” no- “your lungs prickling as stems of the flower inside them grow and grow—“ No. Stop- “leaving to a fit of coughs until blood and petals comes out, the flowers representing the cause of it.”
No. Nononono—
“A sickness that affects those who’s love were not reciprocated. An ailment that can only be cured when the person they love returns the feeling with genuinity.”
Nononono- NO!
He clench his chest— his sight blurry from tears as he bite his lips until bloodied. Alastor? No, no! He wouldn’t— no way! Why would he— he wouldn’t trick him- why would he do that?
“I know I helped with this but, I hate the symbol of snapdragons and I hope they will never appear for the cause of ailment.”
Snapdragon flowers— deception .
He gasps, trying to breathe— he can’t. And it’s not the roots nor the flowers in his chest’s fault for it. The petals on his sight doubles, spins and— where is he? He’s supposed to be at the hotel, alone at the bar until Alastor comes and accompanies him every night alone— no that’s not right, he’s at Alastor’s room with Al— no, he’s at his office right now, papers are stacked around his desk.
Papers. Ink. Words. Blood. Petals—
Petals. Blood. Alastor. Snapdragon.
Alastor.
Snapdragon.
Betrayed.
Deceived.
Lied .
He wants to vomit— he wants to cry. The visions of his past interactions make him sick so suddenly.
“Good morning, my dear, have you slept well?” Alastor spoke softly with a smile as he gently stroked his messy hair.
He can’t see his face, only his sickening smile.
“Don’t fret over such menial troubles my dear, I am here to aid you with them, Lucifer.” A gentle kiss on the forehead, a smile that soon becomes mocking in his memories.
The place where he last kissed him feels like it’s burning him— it’s itching beneath his skin, reminding the play of affection he did(what a loving. feeling)
A fool he was to believe it all to be true.
His mind continues to torment him— drowning him in the endless memories of just Alastor and his affections towards him. Alastor being kind. Alastor being a listener. Alastor being attentive. Alastor. Alastor. Alastor. It’s all just Alastor with a small smile in his direction when he says: ‘my dear’ with such tenderness.
It’s an abyss that he can’t get out of; his feet anchored deep in the memories that he thought were genuine.
It’s hell for the fallen.
Lucifer sits up on the floor. He didn’t realize he fell unconscious, lying on his own blood and bed of snapdragon petals— he doesn’t remember coughing out this many petals.
He looks at the time and— oh. It’s 12. How long was he unconscious?
Slowly, he stands up, flicking his fingers to burn the bed of petals and dried blood on the floor. He fixes himself, removing the blood on his clothes and face as he sighs and sits down on his office chair.
He tries to catch his breath even though he simply moved a few steps towards his chair. It seems the symptom worsened while he was having a breakdown. Great.
He doesn’t feel like going home— no.. He isn’t going out of his office, not when the reason for his suffering is just outside the room.
Lucifer stares at his chest where his lungs are supposed to be— where the disease should be. Maybe he could get rid of this sickness, pluck out the cause of suffering by digging it out of his chest— out of his heart. It would be easy. Painful but not the worst one yet(he hopes). No one would know of his attempt— no one would notice his death anyway.
Just a simple cut between his chest, digging deep and pulling out the flower that’s flourishing from his own suffering. It’s a simple thing, really. He can do that. He can—
A knock on the door startles him out of his thoughts. He quickly places his hands down on his lap, forcing a smile as he looks up when he hears the door creak open.
His heart dropped.
“What are you still doing in your office, sire? I have been waiting for you for a while.” It’s the sinner he wishes to never see again. Alastor.
“Oh—“ he clears his throat, “sorry. I didn’t notice the time.” He laughs awkwardly, the roots pricking his lungs suddenly hurt more.
Alastor tuts, the permanent smile of his becomes soft— or so he shows.
“My dear,” he can feel petals tickling his throat, “I admire your dedication to your work albeit it is too much. I know you’re a celestial being, but I can’t help but worry for you like a human who needs the proper rest and eating habits set in place.” He can’t believe the words he’s spewing were an act— he can’t believe he was being disingenuous when he’s acting like that . Like he truly cares for his well being. It’s sickening him— it’s abhorrent.
Yet why?
WHY?!
Why is he so weak for this sinner who doesn’t even love him?
Why is he easily swayed by his theatrics?
Why the hell is he willing to befall on this damn illness for that manipulative psychopath?
..
He hates himself for secretly wanting to feign ignorance about this newfound knowledge of unrequited love.
“Lucifer? Dear, are you okay? You look quite pale.” He flinches at the touch and looks at the sinner.
Stop.
Please. Stop looking at me like you truly cared. I’d rather you hate me than act like you love me at all.
“Luci?”
Lucifer moves away from the touch, “Stop it.” He weakly mutters as he avoids his gaze.
“I am not understanding what you mean, could you, perhaps, elaborate further?” He frowns.
“I mean this! You, acting and pretending you love me.”
“Acting?” Alastor chuckles, “I’d never do such a thing dear. Why would I act in front of you?” Petals tickle his throat from such blatant lies, he couldn’t help but stand up and glare at the sinner.
“Stop lying! I said to drop with the façade or whatever already, I know you don’t love me.”
“Now why would you come to that conclusion, dear? I have not done anything wrong to hurt you—“ he coughs, he grasps on his chest as the roots grow— it’s invading his lungs far too fast than he expected, and the coughs are not helping.
He falls down on his chair, coughing harshly on his hand until blood splatters his palm and petals fill his mouth. He wheezes, gasping in an attempt to breathe— his lungs hurt so much. He looks at the radio demon who’s stupefied at the sight.
“This is why.” He rasps out, still gasping for air.
“Your fake theatrics of affection towards me— your fake kindness— all of it. They resulted into this: a disease that I can’t cure.”
“You think the illness you’re currently feeling is my doing? What baseless accusations you have on mere petals from your mouth.”
“Snapdragon petals.”
“Pardon?”
“If you know a single shit about flowers, you’d know Snapdragon flowers mean deception. And who else is it that I love?” Alastor merely looked at him, his smile tight.
“.. You’re blaming me for the illness you have.” And that pissed him off even further.
“No I am not! This illness was born because you don’t fucking love me!” Alastor huffs out a laugh.
“An odd disease that appeared out of nowhere yet you blame for my lack of affection as a cause? Does that sound sane to you, sire?”
“You don’t believe me after what happened to me? I fucken’ coughed out blood and vomited petals yet you deny it?”
“Yes. It might be one of your theatrics that I don’t know of.”
This is the sinner he loved? The one who was overly kind and considerate of his feelings and emotions? The one who, mere moments ago, was worrying about his health?
“Be serious with me, Alastor.” He’s finally had enough of it. His heart can’t stand it anymore, “Do you love me?”
“Why of course—“ his coughs worsened. More bloodied snapdragon petals escape his mouth, more of his heart breaks as reality shatters his little delusions of hope about him; about their relationship.
“We’re done.”
“ Done? ”
“Our relationship is over. If you can’t even admit yourself that you don’t love me then we’re o—“ Alastor cages him in his seat, radio dials replaced in his eyes as loud radio static overcome his hearing, he growls through a tight smile.
“Whence has that been your decision, sire?” His antlers grow as symbols float around his enlarged body. “I own you, you are mine alone.”
Something snapped in the king’s mind.
“If you have some shred of will to live, get out .”
“Would you dare hurt me?” His mocking smile freezes when an arm was cleanly cut out. Lucifer looks at him with red sclera and yellow eyes, his demonic form emanating a deadly aura.
“ Yes. ” Alastor growls, blood dripping from his mouth. He disappears with his dismembered arm.
The king’s body slacks against his chair, the horns and flames disappear. His anger ebs and his rationality comes back. Alastor and him, they’re over. His comfort, his endless understanding, his affections, although everything was his sickening form of manipulation, those were everything to him; a space of tranquility that he can comfortably rest without worry. How abhorrent— he hates himself for wanting to retract what he said to the radio demon. He wants to be ignorant of the sickness he bears all because he wants to go back to the comfort he gained from that manipulation he did.
He hates it. He hates how he regrets ending it all.
His heart hurts— the roots prick his lungs and the petals remain to be his reminder of what the sinner he yearned did to him.
Fuck.
Tears pricked his eyes, the silence of his office were filled with whimpers and sobs of the broken fallen. The betrayal hurts so much more than the disease that’s slowly killing him; he wants to crush his heart for falling to such a cheap trick— for believing in such delusions he made in his mind.
Of course. No one would dare love him— hell, his wife had already left him, why did he will himself to believe that someone like that psychopath would love him? He’s a fool— a naive fucking idiot who can’t seem to learn. He’s unlovable— this is why his daughter left him, his wife left him, and his siblings abandoned him.
Why would anyone love a failed product, a program full of defects that has nothing to give?
He’s meant to be alone— above the sinners that he created from his impulsive desire. A path meant to be solely him in it.
The office feels cold; it’s no longer welcoming for him.