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The First Man - or that is what they are told to call him, knowing he was named Adam of Earth - blinks back at the Head of the Seraphim with wide, unassuming eyes. They are pools of soft brown, earthen and warm as they hold pure curiosity and adoration. They shimmer in the ever-bright lights of the Heavens in a way no other creature she knew did.
She reaches out a hand experimentally, allowing the light around her to dim so that he can see her more clearly as her palm rests against his soft cheek and radiates warmth.He reacted to touch in the way animals did - grasping and leaning towards it, desperate to seek and sink his fingers into it. He gurgles unintelligibly, face breaking out into a toothy grin that dimples his cheeks. Within a matter of hours under their careful supervision, he would master proper language, clear speech, full movements. He has a fully formed body, after all, with some minor adjustments needing to be made.
Sera nods wordlessly for her sisters and brothers to come forth and present themselves to the creature. They coo at him, smile and praise and adore him, though none of them touch him. He reaches for them sometimes with wandering hands, as though quietly asking to be held again, and one coils away as though about to be burnt, apologetically smiling. They have no reason to fear the humans, no. They just are not familiar with the manners of constant affection that animals so easily engage in, not seeing or feeling a need for it.
“Oh, oh! He’s looking at me!” Lucifer cheers playfully, flapping his wings to catch the man’s attention and flying about in circles. The man’s head turns this way and that as his eyes remain intently fixed on the angels in wonder, lips parted as he absorbs every movement, every image and sound. The man reaches out again, expectantly, and Lucifer cringes out of his grasp.
“Ew, no! Hands to yourself, mud man!” He gestures with his fingers, and Adam’s lower lip wobbles at his first expression of dismay, so rapidly sucking away the bright happiness of the room.
The other angels had gently chided Lucifer for his antics, advising him to give Adam some space even as they gathered around the new creature and marvelled at him. Adam’s dismay dissipates as easily as it came as he revels being the centre of attention again.
The new creature’s eyes light up in delight at the sight of her and the feel of her hands on his shoulders, his arms curling into himself as his pearly grin glistens.
Taking pity on him, she hesitates before leaving an arm around him. He clings gratefully to her, fingers tangled in and head pressed to her robes. Soon, she would have to tend to the First Woman, give her the same doting and attention with equal care. Soon, she would have to part ways with him and watch them from above. Soon, but not now.
“Welcome to Heaven, Adam.” Sera announces sincerely, voice thick with renewed purpose. As though sensing her resolve in the wake of the bright future ahead, the man clutches back tightly. “May your new life bring you happiness and peace.”
…
“Lilith!” The First Man exclaims in relief and excitement, instantly leaping onto the woman as she yelps and nearly stumbles from the force before steadying herself as he wraps his arms around her and presses his chin to her shoulder keenly. “Where have you been? You were gone forever!”
“Two minutes does not make forever, Adam.” She answers with a slight air of annoyance, but she is unable to keep the small smile from weaving its way through her face. She didn’t mind touch, she had reveled in the doting from the Heavens above as he had after all. But there came a time when it became old, redundant and - in Adam’s case - sometimes too much. She longed for something new, something greater than dreams woven from Eden’s richest groves. Love was beautiful, yes, but surely there was greater purpose to their miraculous existence, greater potential their precious time could be used towards?
“I don’t know how you do it. It seems like forever to me.” Adam replies insistently.
Lilith sighs. “You don’t know what forever is.” Neither of them do.
She likes certain things about Eden. She likes feeling cherished, and returning that feeling with her first ever partner. For however much they tend to disagree, there are moments of peaceful bliss and even joy they share in their special garden. They see, understand, know in their very bones that they were created for each other. Adam is more open and pronouncing of the knowledge, pouring it into nearly every interaction they have through touch.
Lilith likes some kinds of touch. The way Adam’s fingers intertwine with her own, the way he sometimes nuzzles his head into her shoulder to stare off into space. Touch that doesn’t make her feel small…touch that sinks into her being with knowing familiarity, with a comforting croon that echoes of safety and warmth. But sometimes…
Sometimes, Adam’s clinginess was overbearing, suffocating. He rarely made it easy to compromise. He demanded they do nearly everything together, somehow incensed at the idea of spending more than their mandatory two minutes apart. She wonders what he thinks will happen in a garden protected by angels no less, but she hasn’t asked.
Of course, they tried to make bargains before, but compromises were difficult when they didn’t exactly complement each other. Compromises were difficult when they were, in essence, like each other in nearly every way but a few.
Adam becomes predictable and boring - sadly, unbearably so. He forgets to ask before clinging to her wrists or her shoulders, and when sheepishly apologising, she notices he still looks for ways to sneak in access to some touch - be it simple hand holds under the shade, a head on her shoulder, hand protectively braced against her back. She ends up feeling guilty for feeling angry, and they lapse into some other activity together to forget. It’s easy, with a garden of endless flowing streams, rich fruit and intricate creatures.
It’s easy, with the charming dust of an angel so far out of her reach twinkling in her line of sight, his every step blustered with the lights of stars and words laced with wonder that always fleets her understanding. How enchanting must it be, to leave the predictable tugs and maws of Earthen existence and instead soar, dream, rise like angels? What else don’t they know, about their own natures and the worlds beyond when they instead cling to each other and this predictable, sheltered sliver of land they’re tied to?
In the end, Lilith decides every good thing must come to an end. She had tried to amicably part ways with Adam. It had taken a good few days of him wrestling with every emotion under the sun to finally say goodbye - hours of him (albeit harmlessly). She had still been in Eden, but this would be the first time she would no longer be his, and he no longer hers.
He withdrew from her touch as though it stung with betrayal, accused and demanded why, why, why . He had been perfect, what had he done wrong? She had been perfect, when had she changed? Why couldn’t she just be normal? Why couldn’t she want him, the way he wanted her?
Adam had tried grabbing her one final time, knuckles white and grasp so tight as his fingers sunk into the flesh of her wrist that she would have felt pain if Eden allowed such a flaw. “Please. Please don’t go.” He had pleaded, wide eyes suddenly bereft of his childish anger and accusations, moist with renewed fear at finally realising the magnitude of what she had decided - and that he would, for once, have to simply accept it, unable to do anything else.
That he would submit the way he had expected her to, to the whims and wills of creatures beyond him for no other reason than the fact that he had to.
She meets his eyes, the sympathy clouding away at the memory of the frustration, the bitterness, the loneliness she felt at every forced touch, every minute she had to spend trying to like something she didn’t and pretending she was something she wasn’t.
“Please. Let me go.” Lilith requests only once, voice low and eyes slightly narrowed. She’s prepared to fight. Prepared to challenge him. Prepared for him to leap at her, even. They are equals in physique and intelligence, even with their different interests and approaches.
Lilith meets Adam nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye. They were woven from the same patch of Earthen dust together, under the same loving hands and adoring eyes. Even when they detest or ignore it, they can complete each other's thoughts seamlessly, instinctively finishing each other's sentences. They are synchronised to a fault, used to each other's embraces, habits, words.
And for all her changed attitude to affection, they yearn for each other’s touch since the moment they first knew it.
She may find love elsewhere, but no one will understand her like he does. No one will understand him like she does.
The man’s jaw slackens. His eyes lower. He lets go.
Adam clenches his fists to his sides as though it will stop the tremble, the itch to reach for her again and engulf her in another clingy embrace she has to pry herself from. He gives his silent permission, however begrudging and disheartened, as he turns away for the last time.
Lilith is content with that much, but she doesn’t miss the strange, quiet sounds escaping him as he curled up alone and arms wrapped around his knees in an odd position, brows drawn in doubt as he watched Lucifer take her hand the way he used to.
…
In all fairness, Adam hadn’t meant to cut his hand. The shiv had accidentally cut faster past the tough meat than he had anticipated, and before he knew it, he was staring at the long gash sliced through his skin, with its tell-tale pain. He pulled back, jerking and hissing as he curled his hand to himself when Eve had looked up in alarm and rushed to him, gasping.
“Oh, Adam-” She tuts as she holds his bleeding hand, examining it as she shuffles for the herbal solution she used as an antiseptic and makeshift bandages.
A part of Adam chastises himself instinctively, the way the Heavens would - the way he was used to. They have so much work to do, they didn’t have time for his antics, she shouldn’t be looking and speaking to him like he’s one of their children. He should brush her off, tell her he’s fine. But…
But another deep, buried and broiling part of him yearned to be cared for again. Yearned for the warm arms wrapping around his head, the tender way her fingers grazed around the pain. He missed it. Missed being doted on, cared for, protected, loved.
Earth was terrifying. Loneliness was crippling. Cold was uncomfortable. But touch…touch was familiar. Touch was warmth, steadiness, love.
So he gives in, allows that terrifying vulnerability to slip into the cracks and draw unwanted tears from his eyes, his lips curled and brows drooping as he observes Eve’s changing expression. The woman places a hand on her chest, reprimand dying on her tongue as she mirrors his sorrow with sympathy and gingerly picks up the wounded palm to clean it with gentle ease, peering up at his face every so often when he flinches or hisses in pain.
He and Eve were only ever expected to give, give and give. Surely, it wouldn’t be sinful to just once…take? To be given? To have? To be ?
So the man closes his eyes, savours her warm lips against his hand as she finishes bandaging it. In the short precious seconds of her attention, he basks and dreams of lying under shades in Eden bathed in warm sunlight and melodious laughter, his face being peppered with kisses. From Lilith or Eve or some other being, he doesn’t know, and doesn’t care.
Then it’s gone, and he’s alone again as Eve turns to tend to the children crying and pulling at her skirts. Something in his mind clicks.
Adam isn’t an idiot.
He waits a few more days before purposefully missing his arrow shot and allowing the creature he was hunting to swipe just enough at his abdomen before maiming it. He has hunted long enough to pull his moves just carefully enough, making a point to limp home in Eve’s line of sight as the woman pales and instantly gets up to run to him with a child in tow.
The stitches were not the most pleasant experience, but Eve’s warm hands wrap around his head, cradle it from the sides as he squirms in pain. Her lips run soothing circles across the tight lines of his skin as he drifts off into a dreamless slumber with his head sinking into her legs. It’s worth it.
He times his attempts depending on how desperate he is. Yesterday, he was remembering Lilith, so the next week, he drops his makeshift hammer onto his ring finger. Everytime is something different, slightly worse or better than the previous attempt, and yet every time, Eve shows the same concern, the same worry as she fusses over him and he enjoys the two minutes he gets her attention before one of the brats starts screaming for her again.
Adam thinks Eve catches onto his behaviour eventually, eyes dawning with something heavy and pitying as he “forgets” how hot the pot above the fire was before grabbing it with his bare hands. She asks him if he “wants to talk,” to which he declines. Touch was his language, and talking was its pointless, empty shadow.
Eve’s shoulders fall, and she continues to watch him when she thinks he isn’t looking, rubbing a soothing balm into his aching palms. She starts slipping past him to occasionally peck at his cheek, brush her own palms against his sweaty forehead, cradle his face to press her lips against his temple even when he isn’t injured.
“You’re an idiot. You know that?” She whispers without a trace of malice as she taps his temple, voice falling with despair. “Please don’t hurt yourself, if you don’t wish to hurt me.”
Adam stops then.
Eve sometimes holds him deep into the night, when the fires and children are snuffed out, when the world feels cold and dark and lonely again. She holds him as fiercely as she can for as long as he’ll allow, clutching his bowed head to her shoulder or stomach or chest as she weaves gentle fingers into his scalp and breathes meaningless yet soft comforts to his ears. She holds him and tries to constantly offer what he craves, filling in the gaping void that only seems to grow at his centre every minute he goes without her endless warmth.
It isn’t his fault Eve is so affectionate, so full of love and life in her voice and every tender touch. He drinks from it whatever chance he gets, tries to quench the gnawing need like a man starved of food. She’s the only one who lets him feel small.
It still never feels like enough, though, when they have to part.
“ My mommy.” Seven year old Cain insists, huffing and scowling at him in frustration when he waits his turn. It would be funny if it wasn’t annoying - the child sometimes climbed onto Adam to join in on the hug, but sometimes he simply wanted Eve’s full attention, and the man can’t blame him. “ My turn for cuddles.”
Adam playfully pokes him between the ribs from where he lies with his head in Eve’s lap, sticking out his tongue as the boy squeals. “ Mine .” He answers triumphantly, just refraining from finishing with “little shit”. He likes not getting swatted as much as Cain does.
“Adam!” Eve chastises half-heartedly, laughing to herself. He clutches her hand to his face and nuzzles his nose against her as he feels the gentle rumble of her laugh against his skin, tries to ignore the children’s incessant whining, tries to inhale her sweet scent and forget. Forget the uncertain future looming before them and the quiet judgmental stares of the Heavens, the scorn that crippled their homes, shattered their friendships, condemned them to this existence of toil and turmoil. Forget that he needs to leave soon to hunt for a family of 7. Forget the cold loneliness that darkness tugged in tow, drenching every fibre of his being and clouding his vision until there was nothing but.
…
Eternity is a bitch.
Even now, layered in robes and masks, weighed under the near-blinding light of the Heavens, Adam doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the cruel irony of his existence.
Lilith is gone. Eve is nowhere to be found. Lucifer is in Hell where he belongs, with the rest of the worthless freaks he had the misfortune of calling his descendants. Sera is busy with the minority of descendants who aren’t complete failures and her own brood.
Which leaves Adam with a delightful amount of time and equally delightful army to command out of hours. They’re alright, they give him purpose after all. He thrives on the responsibilities he gives himself, feeling every bit like the planner he used to be before he died. The Exorcists are one of the only things that make his time in Heaven bearable.
He supposes this is what having children in Heaven would have been like, had their Eden not been shattered and Earth hadn’t been intentionally barren for them to toil. He supposes this is what platonic or familial affection should feel like when there isn’t the stress of sharing his love and food, cutting his patience and time, giving away his years and his hope.
Maybe what his love for his family should have felt like.
Haha. Nope . He does not entertain those thoughts anymore.
“Lute.” Adam instantly calls instead just because he has become so accustomed to it, not even sure what he was going to say next.
He feels a sudden, overwhelming wave of relief consume him the moment she turns her head and her golden eyes flicker to attention as she watches him. Sweet, full, undivided attention.
“Another night out? Me and you?” He knows he must be smiling too wide, pushing his luck with his less-than-eloquent offers and rogue timing, but the Exorcist’s willing nature to most of his antics is all too comforting not to indulge.
Sure enough, Lute nods her consent, a rare small smile curling its way knowingly through her normally stiff, pale face as she turns to the others and continues her speech.
He grasps her attention however long he can, clings to it desperately for the fear of losing it to the smallest thing.
He isn’t sure what he feels for her. He has felt many kinds and amounts of love in his life, none of them very reliable perceptions given how muddled his memory and awareness of time is becoming with each passing day in Heaven. Perhaps it is the romantic love he felt for Lilith and Eve, or some twisted sense of parental love.
He decides he doesn’t like thinking, almost as much as he doesn’t like talking.
In the beginning, Lute almost never initiated touch with him, keeping herself professionally straightened and ever so cautious. However, as time passes and they opened up to each other, she engaged with him more. Small antics that began as elbow nudges morphed into friendly hands on shoulders, short quips with vulgar jokes coaxed genuine laughs, and sometimes he even let her fly up behind him to curl an arm into his shoulder, anchoring herself against his taller form in some half-gesture of comfort.
They fell into a comfortable rhythm almost as synchronised as he had been with his wives, knowing glances and nods preceding actions without so much as saying a word, open gestures of affection and trust without fear of being judged or misconstrued. There’s a casual joy that he hasn’t felt in so long, a freedom in being able to explore and build a relationship with someone who wasn’t “created for him” without expectations of any one role he had to play. Out of all the souls she could spend time with, Lute chose him, and Adam cherished every second of it even if he filled it with jokes that made Sera’s (admittedly nonexistent) nose wrinkle in disapproval.
“You’re never going to get any work done at this rate.” Lute chides as her sharp eyes focus on the paperwork before them, but she quietly folds a hand over where his own is clutched to her arm in a spur-of-the-moment hug.
“You always say that, and yet we somehow get it done.” Adam retorts, not needing to look down to see her smirk.
Adam easily decides his favourite thing about Heaven is his place perching his chin atop Lute’s head, her soft silver hair bunching up against his jaw as he smiles into her scalp. He doesn’t mind not feeling small.
…
Hell is the worst thing in creation. It’s meant to be, he supposes.
Even sulking now in that shitty hotel with Charl- Charlotte? Charlemagne? With Lucifer’s brat ’s circle of sorry misfits, curled up against the couch away from their prying eyes and prodding fingers, Adam feels out of place.
Well, no shit. He of all people is in Hell. He had had exactly seven mental breakdowns today alone, safely holed up in his room hyperventilating before being pitied and called over for their ‘bonding exercises’. He doesn’t know if he has a chance of returning to Heaven, if it’s even worth the try. But anything - anything - would be better than wallowing here longer than he has to.
Adam observes them play some shitty version of a bonding game.
Charles - no, Charlie is okay. To his surprise, Lucifer’s and Lilith’s brat is the most bearable thing about this whole pit so far. She is kind, smarter than she lets on, patient even if it grates him the way Lilith used to be in Eden, yet with the unmistakable skip in her step and childish antics Lucifer would flaunt. Adam doesn’t want to push his luck with her or put her off though he knows it would be difficult, left with little resources and energy ever since awakening from the brutal murder. He glares furiously at the rest of her gang, who are not quite as pleased he was staying.
It’s okay. Adam isn’t here to make friends. The desperate, longing, people-pleasing cuddler of Eden had long died the moment his teeth sank into the apple, some ashes or shadows of him resurfacing with the select few people he trusted and then creeping back under the towering figure of the new, stronger person he had become where it belonged.
He thought he would be done wanting. He should be finished needing.
It isn’t until Charlie opens her arms towards him that he panics and flinches back.
For a second, he almost saw -
No . No, he didn't. He didn’t technically see anything.
Charlie’s voice calls to Adam, but it swims somewhere incomprehensibly in his mind, amongst the loud ringing in his ears and the thundering pulse through his skull.
For a moment, he had dared to consider hugging her.
It isn’t until he has run up to his room and slammed the door with the petulance of a terrified teenager that he sinks his hands into his face and shivers.
Adam misses touch.
He dearly, sorely, profusely, desperately misses it. He misses being blanketed in affection, misses the way Eve’s lips felt on his temple and Lilith’s hand on his own and Lute’s arm on his shoulder. He misses Sera’s hand on his face. He misses love.
He needs it - the touch, the memory, the assurance - the way he needs cool air that doesn’t suffocate and cling sickly to his lungs with every horrid attempt to breathe, clogging up his throat and prickling down his windpipe.
He needs it the way his being burns for what might be eternity.
Everything is too hot, too cold, too much . He wants to run away, hide away from it all. He wants Eden, he wants Earth. He wants Lilith, he wants Eve, he wants Lute - heck, at this point, he even wants Sera.
Adam wants, as always, for what he cannot have, and this time he has no means to cling for it, only left desperately clutching and grasping at thin air for ideas beyond reach. He is left surrounded instead by shards of his shattered dreams, figments and shrivels of his wants crudely extinguished like fumes from a dying fire.
He squeezes through pillows, buries into his mattress, curls and bunches up his blankets. To his growing fury and despair, nothing works.
The emptiness within him grows, the cold loneliness steadily creeping in and blustering to life after centuries of battling to keep it at bay. Its gnaw is unbearable, scathing.
He doesn't realise he has been staring at the door with glassy eyes and tear-stained cheeks for the past few minutes, nor the figure who teleports just in front of it.
“Oh. Oh shit.” As though the entire universe conspired against him specifically, Lucifer Goddamn Morningstar had to weasel his way into his room, his infuriating smug expression melting into one of uncomfortable unsurety and something unreadable as his red eyes glean over him. He had clearly expected something else, and what good would Adam be if he didn’t disappoint? “Uh…Charlie wanted me to check up on you. You good there, buddy?” Lucifer asks in an eerily displaced voice, somehow torn between familiar condescension and genuine concern.
“Stop calling me that. I’m not your buddy.” Adam insists as he tries to hide his mortification, throat still pathetically clogged up as his muffled voice splinters with more tears. “Fuck! Just stop -!”
Stop ruining my life with every breath you take. Stop just standing there, as you always have, doing nothing as you watch me fall apart. Stop pretending like you don’t know-
To his surprise, the ex-angel looks conflicted, fingers tapping nervously together as his eyes frantically dart around before he closes the door and rubs his fingers to the bridge of his nose, brows furrowed. “That’s gotta be a diagnosis.” He hears him mutter under his breath as he ponders what to do.
Incensed, Adam throws a pillow without thinking. Lucifer lets it bounce off of him, unmoving and unimpressed.
“I don’t need you to diagnose me! I don’t need you at all!” Adam yells with raw contempt. The man pulls his blanket around himself again, and this time his wings protectively furl around him. It calms him down somewhat, the very sensation of the weight surrounding him and cocooning him in a warmth he can control. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend it’s a person, clinging to him just as desperately, protecting his small form against the vast horrors of the worlds.
A bare hand rests gently against the contour of his wings, and Adam doesn’t flinch. He pretends it melts away with all other touch he has imagined.
“I know you hurt yourself.” Lucifer’s voice is low, careful and measured. If Adam pays any further attention - which he doesn’t - he can detect the faintest traces of fear. “I don’t know why. But I hope you know you have a problem and that it can’t stay.”
“ You are my problem.” Adam weakly retorts, inwardly cringing at his own reply. “So fucking leave .”
“Wanna know what I think?” The ex-angel asks instead, humming in thought. Adam can practically hear the way his brows knit together as he ponders.
“No.” He snaps.
“I think you don’t want me to leave.” Lucifer croons, the hand stroking the feathers gently in some mimicry of comfort. “I think that even if you like your own company, you sometimes dislike being alone.”
“Oh, really? I never knew that? Ten thousand years up in Heaven and you’re the first person to ever tell me that.” Adam rolls his eyes, before seething through grit teeth to disallow the bewildered creature any satisfaction. “ You Dumb. Fucking. Bastard !” He knows he’s overdoing the profanity but can’t help it, pours every ounce of disdain and uncontrollable hatred broiling up to the surface as it coils and rages against his thundering chest. His tongue rams against the cage of his teeth with the sheer force of it, and he bites his tongue so hard he trembles, a bitter metallic taste blooming at the back of his throat.
“Hey. Hey now! You’re hurting yourself!” Lucifer warns, brows drawn up again as he reaches out- no doubt in mockery, in fake sympathy to trick him and then laugh at his face.
Hurting yourself. As though you gave a damn about not hurting me.
Adam hits his hand away, the way he should have the moment Lucifer materialised to give Eve the apple. He pulls out the small knife he kept hidden away in his sleeves ever since he moved into the hotel, bracing the edge of the blade against the skin of his wrist in warning as the angel cries out.
“ Leave -” The First Man begins measuredly, hoarse voice lowered as he breathes out shakily and continues without hesitation, “- or I’ll fucking end myself here and now , and you’ll have to explain to your demonspawn why.” He doesn’t care if he respawns. The idea of ending things here has never felt so grotesquely rewarding, even if the dramatic effect is underwhelmed by the fact that neither of them know how this whole “respawning in Hell” thing is supposed to work.
To Adam’s dismay, he finds no satisfaction, no interest in how Lucifer’s face somehow pales and his whole being seems to freeze in fear. The First Man is desperate for love, not simple attention, and he knows Lucifer’s attention isn’t because he loves him, it’s because he loves his daughter and very much cares for her not seeing him as a heartless monster. He loves in ways Adam doesn’t understand and will never receive.
He loves in ways Adam might have been able, had he not been also torn apart his life and all but danced in the remaining shreds.
Adam’s blood boils as he sets the knife down slowly when Lucifer makes to leave. The audacity . The absolute nerve , for him to walk in and pretend to be the hero, to offer him what he so clearly wanted and paint himself to be altruistic after what he did - after taking everything from him. His wives, his children, his home in Eden and Heaven, his life-
What cruelty had the Heavens resigned him to, to abandon him down here after his years of turmoil, denying him the very thing they had created for him to crave - at the mercy of the very creature who flaunted keeping his love after what he had done?
Why did Lucifer have a daughter who so eagerly offered such undeserved affections?
Why did he get the wife Adam had spent so long trying to earn attention from?
Why did he get the life unmarred by wanting - wanting for love, wanting for touch, wanting for more?
Why couldn’t Adam be loved by fate too? Why couldn’t he keep who he wished, too?
Why couldn’t he be loved, too?
Another uncontrolled sob slips out, swimming haphazardly into the silence as his head thrums with a dull ache and his chest twinges in growing pain. He lets his head drop, sinking back into his bed as shame eats away at him for the way he trembles and sniffles. So fucking pathetic .
“You are going to live. Whether you love or not, whether you are loved or not. You will live because you have always managed to.” Lucifer’s voice says from somewhere around him, and in that moment, captured in the embrace of darkness as reality becomes an exhausted haze of sound, Adam only barely registers Lucifer’s figure becoming a blur, a light that flickers away into nothingness.
He’s lying flat on his bed now, head on someone’s lap. The gesture feels familiar, and if he keeps his exhausted eyes closed, he can pretend like it’s someone else carding their fingers carefully down his messy strands of hair. “You are so loved. You know that?” The voice whispers.
What a fucking joke. Adam’s nose wrinkles.
“Not by me.” Lucifer chuckles, as though answering him. “Sera couldn’t take her eyes off you, the first few moments you were created. She and the angels never stopped gushing about how perfect you and Lilith were, the first of the glorious human creation. Lilith never forgot about you, even though she dearly loved Charlie and I. You were her first love, after all. And Eve -”
“Stop.” Adam croaks, he begs. He won't be able to take it. He turns his head, hides his face in the folds of the cape blanketing him.
The words that come out next are oddly sincere, genuine without a trace of mockery. “I never fucked Eve. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have joked about that. She loved you so much. Gave you every ounce of adoration in her soul.”
Yes, he knows. So much so, that he’s sure the only reason he hasn’t seen her in millenia is if something unthinkable happened to her soul. She would never willingly stay away, even if it would have been better for her to be.
“Even now in Heaven, Lute-”
Adam bristles. “Don’t talk about her.” Best he leave at least one being untarnished by Lucifer’s involvement, by the danger of his wandering eyes and lying tongue. The ex-angel complies.
Lute . God, what would she think of him, seeing him like this?
Was this the curse of existence - the price of loving, of clinging, of wanting? Just endless yearning and mourning, left unfulfilled with lonely nights and empty chests?
Sleep pulls heavily on Adam’s eyes, and he fights the way he leans into Lucifer’s touch, the way his fingers preen and caress into his scalp and between his shoulder blades. He hasn’t been held in so long. He shouldn’t need to be held. He’s the oldest soul humanity has known. He should be fighting tooth and nail for his pride and honour, be demanding a meeting with Heaven and scheming to plot his way out of this shit hotel. He shouldn’t be pathetically snivelling at the mercy of his sworn enemy, the man who doomed his family, like this- shouldn’t be trusting him and being so vulnerable to him, shouldn’t forget how much he’s supposed to hate him…
And yet, for the smallest moment, he doesn’t care.
He sinks his cheek against Lucifer’s leg and pretends it’s Sera’s robes. He lets him card through his hair, pretends it’s Eve’s weaving. He lets him squeeze his hand as he lets go, pretending it’s Lilith’s hands. He lets him pat his shoulder as a quiet goodbye like Lute, before closing the door and leaving him like everyone else did.