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Lucifer was up later than usual, diligently working away at his latest duck that hadn’t exactly been cooperating. Maybe it was that, on top of the frankly concerning amount of caffeine, that made him notice the quiet closing of a door over the music playing in his headphones. Usually, it would be brushed off as one of the other residents (Husk was infamous for getting up in the night to simply wander), but this sounded different. Sounded far too close. Nobody came to this floor without a reason, and even if they did, he would have heard them coming up.
It must have been Alastor, then, though Lucifer didn’t know him to be the type to leave in the night. And the creak of the floorboards didn’t sound quite right. Slightly lighter, quieter, maybe. The usual elevator ding never came, replaced by the quiet clang of a metal door. Interesting. Lucifer glanced back at the duck on his desk, the little thing staring back at him with its slightly wrong gaze. He wasn’t particularly excited to return to it. He pushed it aside, leaving the room as quietly as possible. Something was off here, and not in the typical Alastor sense.
He found him on the roof, leaning on the parapet, silhouetted against the false moonlight. The small, orange light of a cigarette floated nearby, smoke curling from his parted lips tinged a faintly glowing green—though it might’ve just been a trick of the light.
“Can I ask what the hell you’re doing?” Lucifer asked, voice loud against the muffled city sounds below. He bit back a laugh as Alastor startled, embers falling from the cigarette. It was a real miracle he didn’t drop it over the ledge.
“I could ask you the same.” He didn’t fully turn, only sparing Lucifer a glance before gazing at the street again. His voice sounded strange, though Lucifer couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He reasoned this must be what he sounded like late at night.
“You were very loud coming up here. You’re lucky you didn’t wake the whole hotel.” He moved to stand next to him, glancing down for a moment. It wasn’t an astounding view, but you could see a small amount of the city at least, the skyline littered with glowing signs, car headlights, and the flickering of distant fires. He half regretted not bringing a jacket, crossing his arms as the night chill bit into his skin. Alastor didn’t respond, instead pulling another cigarette out of seemingly nowhere, holding it out to Lucifer in some semblance of an offer. “I didn’t take you for the smoking type.” Regardless, he took the thing.
“Not always,” Alastor said simply, holding the small flame of some gift shop lighter to the end. They sat in silence for a moment, Lucifer glancing the other man up and down. He didn’t seem to notice.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Lucifer finally mentioned, taking note of how he flicked the lighter on and off. How his shadowed hands slightly trembled in the brisk air. How his gaze never focused on anything. How his breath seemed oddly stuttered and quick. How the responding hum came ever so slightly higher than usual. “The hell is wrong with you?”
“What are you talking about?” He finally tore his eyes away from the lights, giving Lucifer a sidelong glance.
“Did something happen?” Lucifer shot back, returning his look, not missing how his eyes never met his. How his pulse could be seen fluttering at the side of his neck.
“Not that I’m aware of.” His voice sounded ever so slightly off.
“We both know that’s a lie.” Lucifer raised an unimpressed eyebrow as Alastor's usual smirk fell back into place, ever so slightly too small, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes somehow artificial.
“Would I lie about that sort of thing?”
“Yes.” Lucifer crossed his arms, unconvinced. Alastor's snarky response never came, replaced with an eye roll as he returned his gaze to the skyline. “Would you—”
“Drop it.” Alastor interrupted, suddenly sounding more tired and irritated than Lucifer had heard. He paused a beat, taking another breath of cigarette smoke, eyes falling closed. When they reopened, the smile grew as if forced into place, and the sarcastic energy bled back into his words, “It’s getting cold, I’ll be heading back inside. You probably should too at some point, unless you plan to spend the night raking icicles from your wings.” He pushed himself away from the parapet and spun on his heel in one fluid movement.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Lucifer grabbed his wrist. Beneath the coat, the fabric layers felt off, too many. It felt ever so slightly too warm in some areas compared to his usual unnatural (and frankly concerning) chill. A slight flinch he clearly tried to push down came from the other man before he jerked away.
“Inside?” He pointed to the rooftop door over his shoulder, already taking a few backward steps toward it. Lucifer gave him another once-over and leveled him with an exasperated glare.
“Stubborn asshole.” He snuffed out the end of his cigarette on the concrete ledge, stalking past Alastor to the little door. He glanced back to find him staring back at the city lights, the unfocused glaze settled back in his crimson eyes, smoldering cigarette dangling loosely from his fingers, one last puff of smoke drifting into the air.