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“Sooo, Al~”
Done with today’s activities, Charlie found herself scooting closer toward the Radio Demon, who barely had time to exhale a satisfied, almost smug huff over today’s success. The pop-up café had been bustling—too bustling—and even he could admit, in the privacy of his own mind, that it had gone rather well.
“I know that we’re quite busy with this pop-up café,” she began, voice lilting with that unmistakable sing-song curiosity, “but like… have you thought of what you’re going to do for Valentine’s?”
Alastor arched a brow immediately, distaste curling sharp on his tongue like spoiled syrup. Valentine’s. Of all things.
He didn’t really have good memories of this day in particular. In life, it had been nothing but an annual parade of cloying affection and unwanted attention—women and men alike throwing themselves at him simply for being conveniently attractive. Sometimes even with the addition of for a black man, as if that was any compliment at all rather than a grotesque little backhand.
Much unfortunately, though, his partner’s daughter was clearly one of the hopeless delulus who worshipped the day as if it were some sacred holiday of romance. Case in point? This entire café situation, drenched in hearts and sugar and sentimentality.
So, being polite—as he always was when he wasn’t actively being a menace—he answered smoothly, “Why, darling, there’s no need to rush. We’ve only just brushed the start of the month. There is still time!”
And then she squealed—actually squealed—probably thinking the element of surprise was hella exciting.
“Ah! Well, I do hope you plan something good! Or maybe you already did—but couldn’t tell me because I might tell Dad?” Charlie leaned closer, eyes sparkling with scandalized delight. “No worries, I actually wouldn’t, but I understand if you don’t want to take a risk, but EEEEEK, honestly!”
Her excitement seemed to attract the other two fallen angels as well, because both Emily and Vaggie soon found themselves drifting over, pulled in like moths to the flame of gossip.
“Hm? What’s up? What are you talking about, babe?” Vaggie asked immediately. She had noticed her girlfriend’s affectionate high-strung mood—which had been steadily escalating since the end of January—but she remained wary.
Not of Charlie.
Of Alastor.
As she always was.
“Ah, sorry, Vaggie. Nothing alarming,” Charlie waved quickly, though she was practically vibrating. “Just, ehe~ I’m curious what Al would be planning for Dad. I mean, this would be their first Valentine’s as a couple, right?”
“Oh, heavens! Is that true?” Emily joined the enthusiasm completely uninvited, clasping her hands like this was the most precious development in all of creation.
Honestly, Alastor wanted nothing more than to flee. Why must he explain anything of his private matters to this trio? Even if, technically, they were his partner’s daughters, they had no right to pry.
Still, he refused to look unprepared. He would never allow himself to appear caught off guard.
So all he did was shrug tastefully, smile sharpening into something charming.
“Being the first of it would not change a thing, rest assured. Your father would not be left wanting~”
The nephilim and fallen seraphim squeaked in glee, as if he had just promised them front-row seats to a romance novel.
Soon enough, their noise earned the attention of the said Devil himself.
“My, my,” Lucifer’s voice chimed in, amused and lilting. “Gathering here when everyone else is doing their best wrapping up~? How scandalous.”
He chuckled, though his brow lifted when his young ones jolted as if his presence had not been anticipated.
His gaze immediately turned to his lover—not with accusation, not fully at least, but with something playful and knowing. Alastor could still be chaos incarnate, yes, but Lucifer trusted, deeply, that he would never harm his children anymore. Especially not Charlie.
“Ah, nothing much of an issue, mon ange~” Alastor crooned smoothly. “Our little darlings were just being… busybodies~ But what’s new, right~?”
And with practiced ease, he stepped closer to Lucifer’s side, cheekily seeking refuge behind his partner from the hyena-like daughters hungry for love information.
Lucifer mused but let his deer step slightly behind him, understanding perfectly. His daughters loved teasing Alastor about their relationship. It was practically sport to them now.
He planted his hands on his hips and playfully snarled at them, the picture of theatrical indignation.
“For hells sake! stop bullying your hotelier, why don’t you~? Come now, everyone, chop chop! I’d like to get over this soon and enjoy my evening in relaxation~”
Charlie and Emily giggled, clearly fed enough by the dynamic displayed between the two.
“Okay, okay! We’ll get going now~” Emily chirped.
And Charlie, ever generous when she was satisfied, added, “Actually, you know what? You guys have been helping a lot today! So many customers, and sinners getting more interested in the hotel, hehe. You two can go back now, it’s fine!”
Vaggie looked like she wanted to argue—especially about letting Alastor go so easily—
But the red-haired opportunist already took the chance. He slid his arm around Lucifer with swift familiarity, claiming him like a prize and taking that as his cue.
“How generous. My gratitude for your consideration, darling.” His grin widened. “Now then. We’ll be going. Good evening, everyone!”
And before Lucifer could even say a word of protest, the shadow puppeteer had already warped them away, dissolving into darkness—Straight to the Apple Tower.
A bit disoriented but immediately finding his center again, a chuckle soon found its way to Lucifer’s lips.
“Did you really just escape my daughters? Goodness, Al,” he laughed, the sound bright as he adjusted his posture. “Just what did they say that terrified the terrible Radio Demon this much, hmm~?”
Alastor scoffed, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve with exaggerated offense.
“They seemed to be quite insistent on pushing me to make something especially grand for Valentine’s Day.”
Lucifer blinked.
Then—slowly—his smile stretched, amused and knowing.
“Oh,” he hummed. “That.”
Alastor’s expression tightened just a fraction, the barest crack in his usual theatrical composure.
“Yes. That.” His tone was light, but there was something sharper beneath it, like a needle tucked inside velvet. “As if the world will collapse if one does not drown themselves in pink ribbons and saccharine declarations for twenty-four hours.”
Lucifer let out a soft sound of agreement, an easy little “Mm.”
Alastor continued, pacing a step, hands clasped behind his back as if lecturing an invisible audience.
“It is a peculiar tradition, really. People behave as though affection must be scheduled. As though love, or devotion, or whatever flimsy imitation they peddle, is only valid when wrapped in lace and stamped with a calendar date.”
His smile turned thin.
“And Heaven forbid one chooses not to participate. Then you are suddenly a villain. Cold. Heartless.” A beat. “Unromantic.”
Lucifer’s eyes flickered with attention. “You think the whole idea was just too much pressure, huh~?”
Alastor’s voice lowered, almost conversational now, “I find it… exhausting.”
That, at least, was honest.
Lucifer’s gaze softened, though his lips stayed curled in that teasing way.
“Well, you are speaking to the Devil, my dear. I don’t believe either of us is particularly suited for mass-marketed romance. I’m done with that era~” he said lightly, stepping closer with a blooming smirk, “we can always schedule our trouble another day.”
Alastor huffed a laugh, genuine this time, “Ah, yes. Of course. How could I forget?”
Lucifer leaned his shoulder against the wall as if this was the most casual thing in the world, his hands folding neatly.
“Truthfully,” he went on, tone breezy, almost dismissive, “I’ve never understood why people get so fixated on it either.”
Alastor’s head tilted.
“Oh?”
Lucifer shrugged with practiced ease, the lie slipping out as smooth as silk.
“It’s… strange, isn’t it? The expectation. The pressure. The idea that you must prove something on one particular day, or else it means nothing.” He scoffed softly, as if the very concept bored him. “Seems rather silly.”
He even rolled his eyes, for effect.
Alastor watched him closely for a moment, as though searching for mockery—but found only agreement.
And something in him eased, subtly. Like a knot loosening.
“Precisely,” he said, satisfaction curling into his voice. “You understand.”
Lucifer smiled.
Of course he did.
Alastor’s shoulders relaxed, the tension bleeding away.
“I was beginning to think I would be alone in this,” he admitted, almost begrudging. “Charlie speaks of it as though it is some holy event.”
Lucifer chuckled.
“My daughter is… enthusiastic.”
“That is one word for it,” Alastor muttered.
Lucifer’s grin widened, fond despite himself.
“She means well.”
“I know.” Alastor’s tone softened, then sharpened again. “But still. I refuse to be cornered into performing some grand gesture simply because the month demands it.”
Lucifer lifted a brow.
“And you shan’t.”
Alastor looked at him then, truly looked.
“You don’t mind?”
Lucifer’s answer came instantly, too quickly, too naturally.
“Mind? Please.” He waved a hand as if brushing the entire holiday away. “I couldn’t care less.”
The lie was flawless.
Because in truth—
Lucifer adored Valentine’s Day.
He adored the softness of it, the excuse to be indulgent, the sweetness of romance that he rarely allowed himself to crave out loud. He adored the idea of giving something stupidly heartfelt, something tender and private and theirs.
But he would rather swallow every heart-shaped decoration in Hell than coerce Alastor on anything in their relationship.
So he smiled, easy and careless.
“Let the rest of the world fuss over it.” Lucifer gave a careless shrug. “We have far more interesting things to occupy ourselves with. Like—oh, I don’t know—terrorizing a couple of unfortunates. Now that, actually… wouldn’t that be romantic? We get to destroy bastards together!”
Alastor’s eyes gleamed with pleased amusement. “Oh, darling—why must you tempt me with such a good time~”
And for the first time since Charlie had cornered him a couple of days ago—Alastor felt… oddly comforted.
How fortunate, he thought, that his partner was aligned with him.
How fortunate indeed!
Lucifer only smiled wider, warmth tucked carefully behind his ribs, hidden where Alastor would never think to look.
Days passed in a blur of sugar, steam, and far too many heart-shaped pastries.
The pop-up café had become something of a phenomenon—sinners wandering in for novelty, regulars returning for comfort, and Charlie practically glowing every time someone left with a smile instead of a scowl.
Alastor, unfortunately, had begun to glow in an entirely different way.
Not with joy.
With dread.
The closer it crept to Valentine’s Day, the more he found himself subconsciously… relocating.
If Charlie entered the lobby with that particular sparkle in her eye, he would suddenly remember an urgent matter in the kitchen.
If Emily waved at him too brightly, he would, quite coincidentally, need to check the storage room.
If Vaggie so much as looked like she might open her mouth—
He was gone.
A shadow slipping neatly between hallways, vanishing into corners, reappearing only when absolutely necessary.
He told himself it was efficiency.
It was not.
It was avoidance.
Because the chirping was relentless.
Valentine’s, Valentine’s, Valentine’s—
As if the holiday itself had teeth.
And then, of course, inevitably—
The last day of the café arrived.
The final rush had ended. The last customer had been ushered out with a complimentary cookie and Charlie’s beaming farewell. Chairs were being stacked, counters wiped down, the air finally settling into that rare quiet that came after chaos.
Alastor exhaled.
At last.
He turned, intending to slip away before—
“Al~!”
His shoulders stiffened.
Slowly, like a man approaching his own execution, he pivoted.
Charlie stood there, hands clasped behind her back, rocking slightly on her heels with the kind of barely-contained excitement that should have been illegal.
“Ohhh my gosh,” she whispered dramatically, as if sharing state secrets. “Do you know what day it is?”
Alastor’s smile twitched.
“I am painfully aware.”
Tomorrow is that dreaded pink laced—
Charlie’s eyes widened further, sparkling.
“Today is literally Valentine’s.”
Ah.
Shit—So it wasn’t tomorrow?
It was today.
Alastor’s expression froze in a way that only someone very skilled at pretending not to panic could manage.
“Yes,” he said flatly.
Charlie leaned closer.
“And I have been thinking—like, really thinking—about what your surprise is gonna be.”
Alastor’s eye twitched.
“Have you, now?”
“Yes! Because it has to be something amazing, right? Like, you’re you, and Dad is—well, Dad, and it’s your first Valentine’s as a couple and—”
Her words began tumbling out, bright and unstoppable.
“Did you start this morning with flowers maybe~? But no, that’s too normal. Maybe it’s like… a whole orchestra? Or a fancy dinner by the candle light later on? Or you rent out an entire section of Pentagram City and make it spell out ‘I love you’ with fireworks— wait, that would be something I'd do instead—”
Alastor inhaled, preparing to finally tell her off. To finally snap that this was none of her business. That this holiday was ridiculous. That her father had no need for—
Charlie continued anyway, utterly unbothered.
“And Dad is totally gonna pretend he’s not excited, because he always does that, but I know he is, and I just—EEE—!”
“Charlotte,” Alastor cut in sharply, voice suddenly edged.
Charlie’s words faltered, just a moment before, then her expression shifted, “Aha ha ha… sorry!” The brightness softened. Her shoulders relaxed, and her voice dropped into something quieter, gentler.
“…I’m just glad,” she said.
Alastor paused this time, willing to listen now that the Nephilim no longer seemed so frantic. If anything, her lingering nervousness intrigued him. What did she mean by glad? The way she phrased it made it feel as though there was something he had been missing—something he would never discover unless he allowed her to continue.
Charlie looked down at her hands.
“I’m just… really glad that this year, he actually has someone to celebrate with.”
The air went still.
Alastor’s mouth closed.
Charlie smiled, but it wasn’t her usual squeal-ready grin. It was smaller. Real.
“I can only imagine how hard Dad is trying to suppress his excitement,” she murmured, a little giggle slipping out. “He always does.”
She glanced up, eyes warm.
“And honestly? I can’t wait to see how he’s gonna fail this time~”
Alastor arched a brow, causing Charlie to laugh softly.
“Like… he ALWAYS tries so hard to be cool about it, but in the end, he always ends up doing something ridiculously grand anyway.” Her voice grew even more thoughtful. “Even when Mom and Dad separated… and Dad locked himself away in the castle…”
Her smile wavered a bit.
“The only time he never failed to reach out to me was on my birthday,” Charlie swallowed. “And Valentine’s.”
Alastor’s expression stilled completely.
Charlie looked away, her smile thinning.
“Even if it was just a message. Or a phone call… or—well, more realistically—voicemails.”
She let out a small, humorless laugh.
“But still.” Her fingers twisted together. “He always remembered to say he loved me.”
It hurt, realizing that she only truly noticed those gestures now—subtle or otherwise. Only recently had she learned that Lucifer’s distance hadn’t been something he’d wanted, either. Worse still, he had done it for her. For her sake, even. And though it had ended up hurting them both, he had meant well… perhaps, at the time, he believed it was the only kindness he had left to give after everything that had gone wrong.
Silence stretched, heavy in a way the café had never been before.
Charlie exhaled at last, turning her head slightly, as if suddenly remembering where she was.
“…And I’m sorry,” she added suddenly.
Alastor’s brow lifted.
Charlie smiled sheepishly, her shoulders drooping just a little, “I know I’ve been kind of… stealing him today.”
Alastor tilted his head as though confused, ‘Hm?’
Charlie gestured vaguely at the café around them—the decorations, the heart garlands, the remnants of the holiday rush.
“I mean… it’s Valentine’s Day. And Dad finally has someone. And you two should probably be doing something together, not…” She laughed weakly, “Not helping me run a pop-up café for half the day more.”
Her voice softened, “I feel bad. I didn’t even think about it until now. I just got excited and—well, you know me.” Charlie’s eyes flickered up, earnest and apologetic, “I’m sorry for cutting your time together in half.”
Alastor did not speak.
Because what could he say?
How could he tell her that Lucifer might not even care about this so-called special day of love the way she made it sound—or any of the times before? That her father had told him, so easily, that Valentine’s was meaningless? That perhaps all those grand gestures had only ever been for Lilith?
That, in truth, Lucifer would rather be here with her than do anything useless with him for a stupid, fake-ass holiday—
No.
Alastor’s jaw tightened. He shut his mouth. The words died where they had been forming.
Of course, he would not voice such thoughts to his partner’s daughter. Instead, he straightened, his smile smoothing back into place like a curtain being drawn.
“It is quite alright, my dear,” he said gently, his voice warm in the practiced way he could make it. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
Charlie’s shoulders eased.
Alastor tilted his head, his tone light. “Your father is not a fragile creature to be stolen away~! And besides…”
His grin sharpened with clear bemusement as both of them watched the devil in question waving his hands carelessly, using his magic to efficiently clear the lobby as they finally closed the maid-and-butler café.
“I assure you, if he wished to leave, he would have done so.”
Charlie giggled, wiping at her face. “That makes sense. Still…”
Alastor’s voice softened, almost sincere. “Everything is fine. But I would appreciate it if you would leave us alone for the remainder of the day~”
“Ah, yes. Noted! I’ll be doing just that—you can kidnap Dad now if you want, Al! See you tomorrow~!”
“See you tomorrow, probably, dear~”
Charlie grinned widely this time, satisfied enough with that compromise, and finally turned back toward the others while Alastor remained where he stood.
Later that day—since, as expected, Lucifer had insisted on staying to help his daughter until everything was properly tended to—when the last of the café’s warmth had faded into quiet, the two of them found themselves retreating upstairs.
Or, more accurately—
Alastor found himself kindly escorting Lucifer back to the Apple Tower, as though the King of Hell might somehow trip over his own pride if left unattended.
The halls were calmer now. The hotel’s usual noise dulled into a distant hum, and the tower itself greeted them with its familiar hush—golden light, high ceilings, and the sort of stillness Lucifer only ever allowed himself in private.
Lucifer stretched the moment they stepped inside, rolling his shoulders with a tired sigh.
He might not always look like it, but the devil truly loved this—
the calm.
the quiet.
The absence of chirping sinners and daughters alike, and—perhaps best of all—the rest of Hell’s endless screaming.
Still… the silence lingered long enough that even he, indulgent as he was in peace, eventually broke it.
“So,” he began, voice light, almost lazy, “how’s today been treating you, demoniuccio?” He glanced sideways, amusement flickering, “I see Charlie got to you again earlier.”
Alastor’s smile was immediate.
Not sweet.
Not harmless.
The kind that always promised something sharp underneath.
He shrugged with theatrical ease. “Mm. Your daughter is nothing if not persistent.”
“Is that so~?” Lucifer chuckled, “Well, you don’t seem to be as disturbed as the last time I asked of you, so, what happened?”
“Well,” Alastor continued smoothly, stepping closer—not enough to touch, just enough to loom in that way he enjoyed, “she was apologizing for being overbearing.”
He paused, letting the word hang. “Which she is.”
Lucifer’s mouth twitched, trying not to laugh. Instead, he lifted his chin, eyes narrowing playfully.
“Careful there,” he warned, voice turning faux-indignant, “or I might bite~”
Alastor’s grin widened as if he’d been offered a gift.
“Oh?” he purred, head tilting. “Such a threat.”
Lucifer’s gaze sharpened. “I mean it.”
“I’m sure you do.” Alastor’s voice dipped lower, warmer, velvet over teeth. “But you and I both know…” He leaned in, just enough that Lucifer could feel the suggestion of his presence. “…you’d much prefer to be bitten instead~”
Lucifer’s composure cracked instantly—His cheeks betrayed him.
“Hey—! Back off, sinner.” The word came out far too high. “And don’t talk like that’s a routine. It’s not. So what are you even talking about?”
Alastor’s laugh was quiet, delighted.
“Oh? Is that how we’re playing tonight, sire?” he mused, taking another slow step forward.
Lucifer—very unfortunately—took one back. Even less fortunately, his throat went dry at that exact moment, and he swallowed, the sound almost embarrassingly audible.
Alastor noticed. Of course he did. His smile sharpened; it was always a delight to tease the devil about this sort of thing—watching Lucifer retreat as if he were the one uneasy with intimacy.
“My, my,” he murmured, his voice practically purring now. “Is this your way of inviting this cannibal to have another taste, Your Highness~?”
Lucifer’s breath hitched.
“N-No.”
Alastor blinked innocently. “No?”
The devil scowled, flustered fury rushing in like a shield, “Fuck no!”
The Overlord hummed, as if giving it serious consideration, “What a shame.”
Lucifer pointed accusingly at him. “I’m tired. I am exhausted. If you want to share a cuddle, I’ll entertain that, but otherwise—” He jabbed a thumb toward the bathroom like it was salvation, “I’m taking a bath!”
Alastor’s grin turned nearly wicked.
“A cuddle?” he echoed, savoring the word. “How domestic.”
“Sh-Shut up,” Lucifer’s voice cracked on the first syllable, which only made Alastor’s amusement deepen.
Lucifer glared like he could set him on fire. Then, without waiting for another word, he fled.
The King of Hell, reduced to retreat by flirtation.
Alastor chuckled lowly, pleased with himself, watching him disappear into the bathroom.
Not even waiting for an answer about that cuddle session—Lucifer was already gone, muttering something about soap and peace and demons with no shame.
Alastor shook his head, still smiling.
With a lazy flick of his wrist, he sent one of his shadows slipping after him.
Whispie—Lucifer’s graceful name for them.
Ridiculous.
Infuriating!!!
…Endearing, unfortunately.
“Assist him,” Alastor murmured, and the shadow obediently melted through the doorway.
In the meantime, Alastor turned, considering his own next move.
He could return briefly to his bayou, cleanse himself of café scents and sinner sweat, change into something more suitable for lounging.
And, perhaps…
He hummed thoughtfully.
Perhaps indulge Lucifer’s desire for skinship.
Cuddling hadn’t been so bad anymore. Not after how many times they’d fallen into it now—Lucifer clinging like it was instinct, Alastor pretending it was merely tolerated.
Feeling… generous, he took a step—
Then a sharp burst of clown-themed music cut through the air. The sound was wildly out of place in the tower’s quiet—though, admittedly, perfectly suited to Lucifer’s ringtone.
Alastor’s gaze shifted, narrowing slightly as he followed the noise.
Lucifer, after all, rarely received phone calls. He preferred emails and texts. The only people Alastor knew who called him with any regularity were the Morningstars—specifically Lucifer’s baby girl.
But Charlie had already promised to leave them alone for the rest of the night. And Lilith? She only ever contacted Lucifer this way if there was an absolute emergency requiring approval or intervention. The same went for the Sins.
As for calls from Heaven—Lucifer would have reacted immediately. So, definitely not them, at least.
Now, considering the rest of the possibilities, Alastor, as the king’s principal aide, decided it was well within his duties to determine whether this interruption truly required the King’s attention—or if it could simply be dealt with tomorrow.
Despite his teasing earlier, Alastor did agree that his partner deserved the rest. Two long weeks of constant roleplaying and managing demons would exhaust anyone.
And it wasn’t as though Lucifer hid things from him, or ever objected to Alastor handling matters in his stead. Sometimes Lucifer would literally hand him his phone when things became overwhelming, insisting on an official break.
That one incident—when exhaustion had driven his vessel to collapse—had been lesson enough to never repeat.
So yes. Without hesitation, the radio demon went in search of the device.
He found it half-hidden beneath the edge of the bed, vibrating insistently against the polished floor as if it had been forgotten in a careless rush.
Which, frankly, was very Lucifer.
Alastor didn’t even second-guess it—his partner had done exactly that this morning, oversleeping and waking up rudely before slipping back into his butler outfit, ready to charm the world… or, well, the café visitors.
The demon stared at the screen as the tune continued to blare.
[Ozzie], the name read.
“Hm?”
The Sin of Lust calling Lucifer on Valentine’s Day was, frankly, ironic. Alastor couldn’t help the quiet chuckle that slipped past his teeth as his mind wandered. Demons—likely hellborn this time, not sinners… unless this had something to do with the Pride Ring—were probably being rather vigorous today.
Who knew? Perhaps Lust had gone feral for once, spilling unchecked across the Rings, and that was precisely why Asmodeus was calling for Lucifer’s assistance.
Curiosity piqued, Alastor cleared his throat. If this was some kind of catastrophe, he wanted to hear it unfiltered. He tested his voice, subtly adjusting his tone, pitching it just low and rough enough to resemble Lucifer when he woke up groggy and half-irritated.
On the third—and final—ring, Alastor answered.
“…The fuck. What is it, O—?”
“Where are you???” Asmodeus’s voice burst through the speaker, sounding more annoyed than panicked. “Geez! I mean, sure—you canceled the whole shebang—but didn’t you say yourself you’d still perform? It’s almost your time to shine, babe! And now I find out you just woke up????”
Alastor blinked.
Canceled what?
What performance?
Lucifer had never mentioned any of this.
Which was… absurd, considering Lucifer himself had appointed Alastor to manage his royal schedule. Unless—perhaps—this wasn’t a matter of kingship at all.
A personal arrangement, then.
Interesting.
Alastor leaned lightly against the bedpost, listening.
“…Huh? Wait—what?” Lucifer’s voice suddenly cut in, rough and disoriented, closer now as Alastor leaned in further. “Fuck. What time is it? And—uh—what were you talking about, Ozzie?” He groaned softly. “Sorry. Think I got myself drunk at a very bad time. Anyway—ahem—what’d you say?”
“It’s seven p.m.,” Asmodeus snapped. “You’re up in ten minutes. You know—the dance performance you promised? Payment for the VIP seating, the flowers, the whole deal—yada yada—” He groaned again, lowering his voice. “Luci, don’t make me think Mammon was right about this deal being worse than a shit on my shoes. I’m betting on you, Lu. Don’t embarrass me like thissss…”
“Ah, well, I—”
“Alastor?”
The radio demon snapped his head around so fast it was a wonder it didn’t twist clean off—thankfully, his anatomy was forgiving in that regard.
Still, he didn’t flinch. Didn’t act caught. Instead, he calmly held out the phone toward his partner, who stood there in his robe, blinking like reality had only just caught up with him.
“Asmodeus called,” Alastor said pleasantly. “He’s… quite distressed about a performance you’re meant to attend in ten minutes or less.”
Lucifer’s eyes widened.
For a moment, Alastor half-expected irritation—anger, even. After all, it did seem he’d stumbled upon a private arrangement. That unsettled him more than he liked; secrets between them had become rare. Still, he understood. Some dealings didn’t concern relationships.
Business was business.
But the reaction he expected never came.
Instead, Lucifer cursed under his breath and snatched the phone, panic overriding everything else.
“Fuck! Ozzie—I—I’ll be right there!” he blurted. “Ten minutes, yeah? No problem! I’ll get ready—just—just wait up, okay???”
And just like that, he hung up.
“You seemed to be in quite a bind, Your Majesty.”
Lucifer comically froze at the nickname. Somehow, he was the one who felt cornered now as he lifted his gaze to where his lover stood, unblinking.
“Care to share with the class what that was all about?” Alastor wasn’t angry—but the way he arched a brow was enough to make Lucifer shrink just a little. A sheepish chuckle slipped free.
“Maybe… delay it till later?” he offered, flashing a chastened grin. “I mean, it’s nothing serious, but—uh—I’m a bit pressed for time?”
Alastor hummed thoughtfully. “Well, Asmodeus did sound like he was in quite the pickle. Very well.” His smirk sharpened. “But don’t think you can escape me without an answer, dearest~”
Lucifer gulped. Not out of fear—just nerves.
“Ahaha… of course. Got it, got it.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll—uh—see you soon, then! Or if you want to talk in the morning, that’s fine too—”
“Tonight, mon cher,” Alastor cut in smoothly. “As soon as you’re done with your business. Ta-ta now~”
Slipping effortlessly back into his gentlemanly tone, he waved Lucifer off. Whispie mimicked the gesture beside him.
“…Yep. Okay. Later, then,” Lucifer replied, exasperated amusement and resignation coloring his voice.
At least that was a good sign. If nothing else, it suggested Lucifer hadn’t been lying—whatever this was, it likely wasn’t anything dire.
‘Good to know,’ Alastor thought.
For now, he had time to spare.
He could clean himself up as planned—and, perhaps, use the opportunity to piece together what exactly was happening in the Lust Ring. Whatever deal Lucifer had struck with Asmodeus, it clearly warranted closer inspection.
The Radio Demon was nothing if not clever—and cunning. And unless the matter was truly grave, Lucifer had a habit of being an open book.
‘Now then,’ Alastor mused as he stepped into the shower in his own tower, ‘what do we know so far?’
Lucifer was off to perform—likely at the House of Asmodeus—as part of a deal that had since been partially canceled. Asmodeus had mentioned VIP seating, flowers, and from the sound of it, further arrangements yet unspoken.
Judging by the wording, it seemed less like a binding contract and more like a favor-for-favor exchange. Useful information.
Which left one question.
What, exactly, had been canceled on Lucifer’s end?
And why?
‘The room. The flowers.’ And given that it was Valentine’s Day…
Alastor would have to be a fool not to connect the dots.
‘But didn’t he say he wasn’t into celebrating?’ Alastor recalled Lucifer’s earlier words, replaying the conversation in his mind. That silver tongue of his had a way of slipping around inconvenient truths when it suited him.
Sneaky snake.
Alastor was no longer certain whom to trust—the words of the man known as the Father of Lies, or those of Charlie Morningstar, earnest to the point of naïveté.
Turning off the tap and listening as the water receded into silence, Alastor reached for a towel before dressing himself. He chose something simple—comfortable, but decidedly not pajamas. Whatever tonight held, he had already decided on one thing:
No matter which side he ultimately stood on, the Radio Demon would not be caught unprepared.
Not even if his infuriating partner had never intended things to unfold this way.
“Now then,” he murmured, clasping his hands together. “Shall we get to work?”
At his call, his cherubs—Cletus, Keenie, and Collin—answered, joined by a few of his Whispies and shadow puppets, eager and obedient as ever.
Just in case his idiotic duck of a lover truly was being that ridiculous this time, Alastor intended to make good on his words to Charlie. Late as it was, he refused to let the night end with Lucifer left wanting.
He would see to it personally.
.
.
.
Lucifer returned to the tower still humming faintly under his breath, the last traces of stage lights clinging stubbornly to him in flecks of glitter and heat. The door shut behind him with a soft click.
And there Alastor stood.
Exactly where he had been earlier.
Unmoving. Upright. Hands folded neatly behind his back, posture immaculate—so perfectly still that for half a second Lucifer wondered if he’d imagined leaving him there at all.
“…Huh.”
Alastor’s smile was unchanged. Too unchanged.
But as Lucifer took a step closer, something was different. The faint, unmistakable scent of soap lingered in the air—clean, sharp, and entirely out of place. And Alastor’s clothes… those weren’t what he’d been wearing before.
Not sleepwear. Not formal either.
Something simple, but also semi-formal. Red blouse and black pants, he wears.
Lucifer blinked, distracted by the realization that his lover looked prepared.
“…You’re planning to go somewhere?” he asked, genuine curiosity edging his voice.
“Mayhaps~” Alastor replied vaguely, finally moving—gliding closer. One hand lifted, fingers brushing lightly through Lucifer’s hair to flick away lingering glitter. “First, however… did you have fun, mon étoile? You’re positively sparkly.”
“Hm? Oh.” Lucifer chuckled, waving a hand as magic whisked the rest of the glitter away. “Kinda. Stage fright, apparently, is a thing I can still suffer from.” He shrugged. “But hey, I got some claps. More than I could ask for.”
Alastor scoffed softly.
“Why, I have the distinct feeling you’re being untruthful,” he hummed. “It must have been a spectacular sight. I’ll simply contact Asmodeus for testimony another day.”
His gaze, however, sharpened just slightly.
“Tonight, though… I hope you’re not out of battery just yet?”
Lucifer’s smile thinned.
Ah. There it was. The moment—the inevitable clarification he’d been dreading since the phone call. He opened his mouth, ready to explain, to deflect—
And suddenly his feet left the floor.
“Oh—hey! Al! Fuck—!” Lucifer squeaked as Alastor scooped him up with effortless ease, arms secure, unyielding, and far too practiced. “I’m sorry, okay?? W-Where are you taking me to???”
It wasn’t fear—he trusted Alastor with his life.
But this?
This was menace.
Alastor’s grin widened as he adjusted his hold, utterly unbothered by the flailing duck in his arms.
“Now, now,” he crooned pleasantly. “Do relax. If I intended to harm you, my dear, you’d already be screaming.”
Lucifer did not find that reassuring.
“ALASTOR.”
“Shh~” Alastor chuckled, turning smoothly toward the hall. “You promised me answers, remember? And I, in turn, promised Charlie you wouldn’t be left wanting.”
‘W-What does that even mean???’
What is this vicious bastard talking about???
Lucifer could only cling for dear life when he saw his lover’s eyes gleam.
“Think of this as… a very thorough follow-up.”
And just like that, the world folded in on itself. Shadows swallowed them whole, warping space with a familiar chill—and spat them back out into the humid night air of the bayou.
Alastor’s territory.
The deeper part of it, at that.
Lucifer’s scream died in his throat. His grip loosened, just a little—because at least Alastor hadn’t decided to yeet him into some unknown corner of Hell purely out of spite.
“Oh, calm down, you panicky fickle,” Alastor mused, though the constant flailing was starting to irritate him. “This was meant to be a surprise.”
“W–Wait—a s-surprise?” Lucifer blinked, dazed.
Alastor hummed in confirmation, carrying him further in, deeper toward where the shadows thinned and warm light flickered ahead.
“To celebrate the day of love.” For once, he didn’t sneer the words. Didn’t mock them.
Lucifer blinked owlishly, finally going still in his arms—no squirming now, no panic. Just confusion.
“Wait,” he said slowly. “But… didn’t you say it was stupid?”
And there it was.
The confirmation hit him all at once.
It hadn’t been Lucifer who hated Valentine’s Day. Not really. It was Alastor.
And his partner—idiot that he was—had simply echoed the sentiment like a foolish parrot, convincing himself it had been his own opinion all along.
Alastor should have known this would happen. It wasn’t even the first time his infuriating duck of a partner had pulled something like this.
But instead of calling him a moron—as he richly deserved—Alastor merely rolled his eyes, a playful grin tugging at his lips.
“And?” he said lightly. “I still think it’s a stupid day to celebrate. But what I’m doing tonight is no different from what I’d do any other day. I’d say I’m not betraying my principles~”
And with that—
A bouquet of withering roses appeared, borne aloft by Whispie as it drifted closer, patiently awaiting Lucifer’s acceptance.
Lucifer stared.
Then, almost instinctively, he took the bouquet—and in return, conjured fresh red roses, weaving them into a small crown that he gently placed atop Whispie… and then Alastor.
“A… dance?” Lucifer ventured, blinking.
Alastor chuckled, finally setting him down atop one of his emerging tentacles—shaped deliberately into a chair that would secure Lucifer in place unless he chose to escape using magic. Along with it came the unmistakable sensation of his lover’s power curling around him, warm and enclosing.
Possessive? Always, Hazbin.
But still—It seemed they had finally arrived.
“Not tonight,” the Overlord said smoothly. “Unless you wish for it at the end of the main event~”
Normally, an exchange of roses meant an invitation to dance.
But tonight, the flowers were simply that—ornaments of affection. No hidden meanings. No obligations.
“Oh.” Lucifer flushed, laughing softly as he waved a hand, trying—and failing—to dispel the warmth creeping into his face. “So… um. A date, then?” His voice dipped, shy but touched. “My. You really did plan something after all, huh, Bambi?”
He glanced away, smiling to himself.
“I didn’t expect it.”
Alastor snickered. “You think so little of me, mon caneton. I’m hurt~”
Lucifer huffed, half-laughing, half-flustered, but whatever retort he’d been preparing dissolved when the scene around them quietly came to life.
From the shadows, the cherubs emerged—Cletus, Keenie, and Collin moving with reverent efficiency as they set plates before them. Thick cuts of steak, seared just enough to be considered technically cooked, still glistened with heat. Alastor’s, predictably, had barely been touched by flame at all.
Lucifer eyed it, amused. “It’s not like that, you ass,” he said, answering Alastor’s earlier remark.
“Ah, but of course,” Alastor replied pleasantly, clearly bemused as his partner’s smile twitched back to life. “The lies persist~”
“Oh, shut up. I didn’t mean it to be something in the bad light—and you know it.”
And indeed, Alastor did know. It was one of Lucifer’s habits—one that shone the brightest to his conscience, apparently—something the overlord had noticed, cataloged, and quietly sworn to dismantle. How ironic it was, really, for the Sin of Pride to make a habit of diminishing himself—of setting aside something he adored for the sake of another.
For someone he had barely been with in this new relationship. One, not even a year old.
Alastor’s smile lingered, fond and sharp all at once.
And he resolved, once again, that he would not allow Lucifer to make himself smaller for love.
“Well then, shall we abandon this topic for something lighter instead, mon cher?”
With a grateful smile, Lucifer nodded easily.
It took him a moment to notice that something was different about tonight’s dinner compared to their usual mealtimes.
And no—it wasn’t the beautiful, romantic bayou setting, nor the fireflies, which Lucifer could only assume had been painstakingly recreated.
No.
It was the thing resting right beneath their plates.
The table between them was… smaller than Lucifer had expected. Narrow. Intimate. Nothing like the grand, rounded dining table Alastor usually favored—one that demanded distance, ceremony, spectacle, even if it still allowed them to hear one another in whispers.
Lucifer glanced at it again, puzzled, his gaze following the bouquet he’d just been gifted as it hovered midair, cradled by one of Alastor’s tentacles.
“Did something happen to your other table?”
Alastor only smiled before his hand soon reached across the table.
Not for Lucifer’s hand.
His fingers brushed the devil’s red cheek instead, caressing it gently—gesture warm, deliberate, grounding. The way he always did when he wanted Lucifer’s full attention. When he wanted him close.
Lucifer froze.
And then he understood.
The narrow table. The closeness. The way Alastor’s hand fit there so naturally, like it had been designed for this exact moment.
It hadn’t been an accident.
Lucifer leaned into the touch without thinking, eyes softening as his breath hitched. His heart kicked into a frantic, joyful rhythm, pounding so hard he was sure Alastor could feel it through his palm.
Oh.
He looked up at his lover, adoration written plainly across his face, unable—unwilling—to hide how utterly undone he was by something so simple.
So domestic.
Just the way his demon knew he loved it.
Alastor’s smile gentled, just a fraction, as his thumb brushed along Lucifer’s cheekbone.
“I doubt it’s anything close to whatever you’ve come prepared—and proceeded to cancel,” Alastor said lightly, tone teasing rather than accusatory. “But… I do hope you enjoyed yourself tonight?”
Lucifer chuckled, soft and breathy. The lingering embarrassment over his secret deal finally dissolved, replaced by something warmer—something that settled deep in his chest until his eyes shimmered faintly with unshed tears.
“More than you can imagine, Al,” he admitted, voice quiet but sincere. “I love it. So much, actually. My heart’s already running off-beat~”
Alastor laughed under his breath. “Well, let’s try to avoid cardiac arrest just yet. I still have one more thing for you.”
“Hm?” Lucifer straightened slightly, curiosity flickering bright as ever at the promise of a gift.
Sure enough, Alastor produced a small box with his free hand and passed it over. Lucifer accepted it eagerly, still leaning into Alastor’s touch as he opened it—careful only not to jostle their utensils or knock the plates askew, though his impatience was obvious.
He stared at the contents for a moment… then snorted, laughter bubbling up unrestrained.
“And what is this supposed to be?” he asked fondly. “A duck? A deer?”
“A hybrid!” Alastor chirped, proud as if this weren’t something he’d prepared long ago, tucked away for just emergencies such as this.
Lucifer laughed again, warm and delighted. “He’s so ugly. I love it.” He cradled the plush with surprising care. “Thank you, cerbiatto~”
Instead of leaning forward for a kiss, Lucifer leaned further into Alastor’s palm, pressing his cheek there, holding himself back—not out of restraint born of distance, but because the moment already felt full, he’s not about to accidentally push his lover away with his clinginess.
“Gosh… and here I don’t even have anything to give you.” He huffed softly. Of course, he could conjure something in an instant—but that wouldn’t feel right. Not like this. Not when Alastor had clearly put thought into his.
Alastor waved the concern away with a laugh. “Why not repay me by helping stockpile earthly meats, hmm? Your selections are always impeccable.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Lucifer smirked, pride returning in full. “On top of my late gift, I’ll make sure your freezer stays full~”
“Splendid!” Alastor replied, pleased. “Well then, Your Highness—shall we eat? If a dance is still on tonight’s program, we’ll need to leave room for proper rest afterward.”
Lucifer nodded, biting back the smallest hint of disappointment as Alastor’s hand finally withdrew—though the promise lingered warmly between them. That was more than enough.
Who would’ve thought, really?
That the night would end like this—quiet, full, and happy in a way Lucifer hadn’t realized he’d been craving.
And as the bayou hummed softly around them, fireflies drifting lazily through the dark, the world seemed content to let the moment rest just as it was.