Chapter Text
The land of Eden was quiet as ever, untouched and impossibly beautiful.
That peace broke—the grass shivered—as someone rushed across the field: a man with blond curls, blue eyes, skin pale as lilies. A man with blond curls, blue eyes, and pale, almost white skin,
“Adam?” his voice cut through the stillness as he looked through the bushes and the grassy field. He found Adam where he always did: nestled beneath a tree, dozing beside a black panther while a bunny slept against his chest. Predator and prey. Such a strange image, predator and prey resting together as if this harmony was the only law that mattered in Eden.
The man took a seat beside them, his back leaning against the tree bark, calm, but taking in Adam’s appearance in familiar fascination. He has complex feelings about this ‘human’ as He calls it, the man doesn’t look like angels, less knowing, less perfect, and yet… so compelling (but of course, not as perfect as Him). Such a strange creature He has created! Lucifer never understood why he kept coming back.
Lucifer remembered the day they first met. He was curious; he found Adam in Eden and observed secretly (which he and other angels were not allowed to do and bother the humans) as he ran around with a panther near him on watch, holding a baby bird to keep him company. Adam had spotted him immediately, in a shaft of sunlight.
“Hey you!” Adam exclaimed, “What are you? You don’t look like the animals that the Lord wanted me to name! Can you talk?” Adam looked puzzled but excited.
Lucifer had hesitated before landing in the grass, wings unfurling in a ripple of light. Adam had run forward, reaching out—.
“Oh no, little human, you are not to touch my wings!” Lucifer exclaimed laughingly as he gently folded his wings out of reach, feathers shivering from the contact. Adam blinked up at him, confusion melting into a mischievous smile.
“Why not? They’re soft-looking,” Adam said, as if that was reason enough to ignore boundaries.
Lucifer huffed, trying very hard to look offended and not flustered. “Because they are sacred. Priceless. Beyond your comprehension.”
Adam tilted his head. “Fine!”
“None of the angels talk to me,” Adam admitted, voice softening. “You’re the first. Are you supposed to?”
Lucifer stiffened. “No.”
“Are you gonna stop?”
A beat. Then— “No,” he said again, quieter—and somehow truer.
Adam studied him with those wide, golden human eyes, the kind that looked like they were seeing the world for the first time every second. Lucifer hated how they made something inside him shift, unfamiliar and strangely warm.
“You have a name?” Adam asked, curiosity bright as sunrise.
Lucifer hesitated. He wasn’t supposed to give that either; he knew the rules. But Adam waited with such earnest curiosity it felt like withholding a sin far greater than offering.
“…Lucifer,” he finally said. “Bringer of light.”
Adam’s mouth formed a small “o.” “That’s beautiful.”
Lucifer looked away quickly, pretending to inspect a leaf. “Of course it is. I am—”
“Perfect?” Adam guessed with a playful grin.
Lucifer blinked, thrown off balance. “Well… yes.”
Adam scooted closer, the bunny still tucked in his arms. “Then why hide? Shouldn’t the angels be proud you came to see me?”
No one had ever spoken to Lucifer like that—with innocent candor, without duty, purpose, or perfection. His wings had twitched, unsure.
“I’m not hiding,” Lucifer said, though he sounded unconvinced even to himself. “I’m… observing.”
“And I’m observing you,” Adam said, with childlike certainty. “Your eyes are really pretty.”
Lucifer froze.
No angel had ever said that to him either.
“…Little human,” he murmured, almost warning but not quite, “You mustn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” Lucifer said, wings drawing around them like an instinct he refused to acknowledge, “I don’t know what I might say back.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Just stay. ” Adam said brightly
“We can explore Eden together!”
Adam’s smile was so open, so earnest, it nearly knocked the breath from Lucifer’s lungs—if angels had lungs at all.
“You… want me to accompany you?” Lucifer asked, as though the concept were foreign.
(It was.)
“Well, yeah,” Adam said, shifting the bird that was in his arms, so it wouldn’t fall. “It’s more fun with someone else. And you seem lonely.”
“Lonely?” Lucifer repeated, offended on instinct—then pausing as the word echoed uncomfortably within him. Angels didn’t get lonely. They served, they obeyed, they praised. That was all. That was enough.
But Adam looked at him like he saw right through him, past the feathers and light and duty, into something Lucifer didn’t even know he possessed.
“Besides,” Adam added, scooting close enough that their knees brushed, “you’re interesting. The animals don’t talk back, and the Lord doesn’t stay long. But you do.”
Lucifer swallowed a spark of guilt—and something sweeter beneath it.
He shouldn’t be here.
He shouldn’t interact with the human.
He shouldn’t enjoy it.
Yet he found himself sinking down into the grass fully, folding his legs beside Adam as the panther stretched and placed its massive head on Lucifer’s lap, purring like a housecat. Adam laughed.
“See? Even they like you.”
Lucifer tried very hard not to melt. “Animals have… questionable judgment.”
Adam leaned closer again, peering up at him. “Do you like me?”
Lucifer went utterly still.
The question was simple—naive, even. Adam didn’t know the weight it carried. But Lucifer felt it, heavy and dangerous and bright.
“I…” Lucifer began, voice softer than he intended. “You are… curious.”
Adam smiled as if that counted as yes.
“And strange,” Lucifer added quickly, for balance. “And reckless. And—”
“Warm?” Adam supplied, pressing a hand to Lucifer’s arm without thinking.
Lucifer flinched—not because it hurt, but because it didn’t. Human touch was warm in a way angelic light wasn’t. It seeped through him like new sunlight cracking dawn.
“Adam,” Lucifer said, low and conflicted, “You truly should not—”
“Too late!” Adam declared proudly, fingers still wrapped around Lucifer’s forearm. “I’ve decided you’re my first friend.”
Lucifer stared at that small, human hand, unsure what to do with the flutter in his chest.
“Friends,” he repeated, as if tasting the word for the first time. “You want to be my friend?”
“Yeah,” Adam said happily.
Lucifer felt his grace ripple, shaken at its core. Forbidden, dangerous, undeniably tempting. He should pull away.
But instead, his fingers brushed Adam’s—barely, lightly, a tremble of contact he could pretend was accidental.
“Very well, human,” Lucifer whispered, unable to stop the smile tugging at his lips. “I will… accompany you.”
Adam beamed, triumphant. “Great! Come on, Lucifer—let’s explore!”
He paused, “Oh yeah, Lucifer… You can call me Adam! That is my name.”
He stood, offering his hand.
Lucifer hesitated only a heartbeat before taking it. “Of course… Adam”
And somewhere far above Eden, something in the orderly heavens shifted—quiet, subtle, but inevitable.
He had sat beside Adam then, letting the panther rest its head on his lap, allowing Adam’s laughter to echo in his ribcage. Every morning thereafter, Adam would wake and call his name. And every morning… Lucifer answered.
Sometimes it was a strange fruit he discovered—holding it up proudly like a trophy.
Sometimes it was a nest he helped rebuild.
Sometimes it was nothing at all, just Adam grabbing his hand the moment he arrived and pulling him toward somewhere he’d already forgotten the name of.
But every time, without fail, Adam’s face lit up as if Lucifer were the most exciting thing Eden had to offer.
And Lucifer—who had seen stars born, who had shaped nebulae with his own light—found himself unable to look away.
Today was no different.
Adam woke up from his slumber, rubbing his eyes he excitedly called out
“Lucifer! Lucifer, look!” Adam called as he got up and sprinted across the soft grass with the same reckless enthusiasm that made Lucifer’s wings twitch in equal parts fear and fondness.
The human skidded to a stop in front of him, cupping something gently in both hands. A cluster of glowing beetles—tiny, shimmering things—floated lazily above Adam’s palms.
“They light up! Like you do!” Adam said, cheeks flushed with excitement.
Lucifer’s chest tightened. “I do not ‘light up,’” he corrected automatically. “I radiate.”
Adam grinned. “You glow.”
“I radiate,” Lucifer insisted, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him with the faintest smile.
Adam stepped closer, closer than necessary, offering the beetles up for Lucifer to see. Their soft golden light flickered against Adam’s skin, making him look almost… celestial.
Lucifer wondered why that thought unsettled him.
“They remind me of you,” Adam said simply.
Lucifer opened his mouth—and found no words ready. Just a feeling, warm and loud and entirely forbidden.
“…You should be careful with creatures so small,” Lucifer said instead, gently cupping his hands beneath Adam’s so the beetles floated down into his palms. Their light glittered across his white skin like captured stars.
Adam watched him, soft and delighted. “But you catch them perfectly.”
“I am capable of precision,” Lucifer said, dipping his head so his hair brushed Adam’s cheek. “Humans, on the other hand, are notoriously clumsy.”
“Hey! I’m not clumsy.”
“You trip over air.”
“That was one time.”
“And the tree root.”
Adam squinted at him. “You’re making fun of me.”
Lucifer’s smile widened. “Perhaps.”
Adam nudged him with his shoulder. “Friends don’t make fun of each other.”
Lucifer raised a brow. “Are you certain? I was under the impression that friends banter.”
Adam blinked. “…What’s banter?”
Lucifer stared. Then he laughed—soft, incredulous, unrestrained. It made Adam brighten even more, as if collecting every rare sound Lucifer offered him.
“Come,” Lucifer said once he composed himself, offering a hand—not because Adam needed it, but because Lucifer wanted him to take it. “Show me what else you discovered today.”
Adam eagerly grabbed his hand. “I will! There’s a whole field of flowers I didn’t know existed until this morning. They smell really nice. Oh! And a stream with shiny rocks—”
Lucifer let him ramble, wings shivering lightly in the warm breeze. Adam’s grip was warm, and grounding.
Pure.
Because somewhere in the heavens, a presence stirred—a warning, a whisper, faint but unmistakable.
Lucifer… why do you wander so far from Us?
He ignored it.
Instead, he let Adam pull him through Eden’s light, their hands still intertwined, the beetles glowing faintly behind them like fragments of dawn.
Even then, Lucifer could feel it:
Adam was changing him.
And he did not want it to stop.