Chapter Text
The bar was… standing.
Technically.
Barely…
One of the walls was still open, like a reminder of the battle, exposing twisted structures and the remains of what had once been decoration.
Several tables were overturned, others reduced to fragments of wood. The floor still held impact marks, cracks that hadn’t been repaired, and a thin layer of dust no one had bothered to clean.
The entire hotel was under reconstruction.
And that place, in particular, had been left aside. According to Charlie, it was better to save the alcohol for when the repairs were done, so they could drink to celebrate—as motivation.
Saying the Spider complained would be an understatement.
That’s why no one was there.
No sinners.
No noise.
No distractions.
Just Lucifer.
Sitting on what remained of the bar, holding an intact glass, slowly turning it between his fingers as if that small gesture were enough to keep everything else under control.
The amber liquid reflected the uneven light of the room, warping with every slight movement.
Lucifer watched it without really seeing it.
His mind was still in the battle…
The thought always circled back to the same point.
Adam.
The hotel.
The blood.
The exact moment when everything could have ended in a way no one would ever have been able to undo…
As much as he hated him, he wasn’t worth losing the new relationship he was building with Charlie.
He exhaled slowly.
“What a mess…” Lucifer muttered.
“I must say, you have a talent for understatement.”
The voice came from behind him.
Clear.
Intact.
Irritatingly intact.
Lucifer didn’t turn immediately.
His fingers paused slightly on the glass.
“Curious,” he said at last. “I hadn’t seen you after the attack. I thought you were dead.”
“It takes more than that to kill me,” Alastor replied calmly.
Lucifer let out a short laugh, still not looking at him.
“What a shame. I was already preparing your little tribute. Something discreet, of course… probably unbearably short.”
Alastor tilted his head, as if considering it.
“I’m disappointed to think ‘discreet’ isn’t part of your usual repertoire.”
“Depends on the day,” Lucifer murmured. “Sometimes I feel generous.”
Alastor stepped closer, avoiding the debris with almost offensive elegance.
“Then I regret depriving you of the opportunity to dramatize my supposed death.”
Lucifer finally glanced at him.
“Don’t worry. I got over it pretty quickly.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah.” Lucifer rotated the glass again. “Two minutes of mourning, maximum. Very efficient of me.”
Alastor let out a small laugh.
“Admirable coldness.”
“I know” Lucifer replied without missing a beat. “It’s part of my charm~”
Alastor stopped beside the bar, right next to him.
“I’ll keep that in mind… for the next time I decide not to die spectacularly enough.”
Lucifer looked at him a second longer than necessary before looking away, finally bringing the glass to his lips.
The alcohol burned pleasantly.
Simpler.
More manageable than everything else.
“Charlie’s going to kill me when she finds out I’m here” he muttered.
Alastor chuckled softly.
“I’m sure her disapproval will be devastating.”
“You have no idea” Lucifer said with a half-smile. “She’s terrifying when she wants to be.”
“Charlotte? Impossible” Alastor laughed.
There was a brief silence.
But it wasn’t heavy anymore.
It was… looser.
Easier.
Lucifer rested his elbow on the bar, turning a bit more toward him.
“So where were you?”
Alastor watched him.
“During the battle?”
“After” Lucifer clarified. “You disappeared.”
Alastor tilted his head, as if weighing how much to say.
“Let’s just say I had… other matters to attend to.”
Lucifer exhaled.
“Of course. Mysterious as always.”
“It’s part of my charm” Alastor corrected.
That drew another laugh from him.
And without realizing it—
Lucifer offered him a drink.
And one became two, two became three.
The alcohol started doing its job.
It didn’t make him sloppy.
But it did make him… less restrained.
Words flowed with less filter.
Pauses filled faster.
And the distance—that constant distance that always existed between them—began to shrink.
At some point, they started sharing stories and a few jokes. Anyone watching would have thought they were two old friends catching up after years apart.
“I have to admit, Red” Lucifer said mid-laugh, setting his glass down more gently than necessary, “you’re actually quite pleasant when you’re not trying to be a pain in the ass.”
“I could say the same about you, Your Majesty” Alastor replied, his sharp politeness no longer sounding entirely like a mask.
They looked at each other.
A second longer than usual.
And by reflex, they both looked away almost at the same time… as if something about that coincidence had been too obvious.
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was aware.
Lucifer lightly turned the glass between his fingers, though he wasn’t really looking at it anymore.
“That’s strange” he murmured.
Alastor glanced at him.
“What is?”
Lucifer hesitated for a moment, as if the right word didn’t quite want to come out.
“This… being here with you.”
Alastor didn’t answer immediately.
He just watched him.
Unhurried.
Uninterrupted.
Lucifer let out a small laugh, quieter now.
“Not in a bad way” he added, almost like he needed to correct himself. “It just… doesn’t match what I expected.”
Alastor tilted his head slightly, watching him with that calm that never quite felt passive.
“And what exactly were you expecting?”
This time, Lucifer held his gaze.
Longer than necessary.
As if the question wasn’t directed at the conversation… but at something that had been building long before that night.
Silence fell between them.
But it wasn’t empty.
It was dense.
Heavy.
Full of everything unsaid.
Alastor didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
Lucifer set the glass down without looking away. The soft clink of glass against wood was the only thing that broke the moment… and even then, not entirely.
He leaned in slightly.
Not enough to be obvious.
Enough that it was no longer accidental.
Alastor didn’t move.
But he didn’t pull back either.
And that… that was everything.
The space between them disappeared without either of them being able to say exactly when.
The kiss didn’t start.
It simply… happened.
Soft.
Almost uncertain.
At first, it was brief.
As if both were confirming something they already knew, while still giving the other the chance to pull away.
But neither did.
And that… that changed everything.
There was no rush.
Just that first contact held a second longer than necessary.
And then another.
And then it stopped being doubt.
It became intention.
Stronger.
Clearer.
Without losing that dangerous calm they carried even into something like this.
The world around them blurred completely.
Nothing else mattered.
When they pulled apart, it was slow.
Without fully breaking the closeness.
As if neither wanted to be the first to really step away.
Breath returned first.
Then reality.
But something had already changed.
And there was no undoing it.
Lucifer didn’t fully pull away.
Neither did Alastor.
And that said enough.
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was… measured.
As if both were deciding what to do with something neither had planned.
Lucifer exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
“This…” he murmured, “is not something I do.”
No embellishment.
No explanation.
He didn’t need it.
Alastor watched him with unusual stillness.
“Neither do I…”
The answer was just as direct.
No irony.
No game.
And that, more than anything, made Lucifer look up with a slight frown.
“I don’t believe you.”
It wasn’t an accusation.
It was… instinct.
Alastor tilted his head.
“Believe it or not, I don’t usually… involve myself this way.” A pause. “It’s not territory I consider particularly… useful.”
Lucifer let out a quiet laugh.
“Yeah. That sounds more like you.”
Silence.
But it didn’t break.
It settled.
Lucifer leaned both hands on the bar, slightly forward.
“I’ve been alone for so long” he said finally. “I’m not even sure I remember how to be in a relationship.”
No dramatics.
Just truth.
“And the last time I…” he paused. “It didn’t end well.”
He didn’t look away.
Neither did Alastor.
No interruption.
No clever remark.
Just… attention.
“So I’m not interested in repeating that” Lucifer concluded.
Alastor nodded slightly.
“Reasonable. Then let’s not.”
Lucifer narrowed his eyes.
“Not what?”
“Repeat the same thing” Alastor said. “We can establish something… different.”
The proposal was simple.
Unadorned.
And coming from him, that made it serious.
Lucifer studied him for a long moment.
Evaluating.
Looking for cracks.
He found none.
“And what does that imply?”
Alastor didn’t hesitate.
“That I don’t intend to ignore what happened.” A pause. “But I also won’t assume something I don’t understand.”
Lucifer let out a humorless laugh.
“Surprisingly sensible.”
“It is.”
Lucifer watched him another second.
“If we’re doing this… I don’t want games.”
And there—something in Alastor shifted.
His smile didn’t disappear.
But it softened.
“I don’t play with what interests me.”
And this time… it didn’t sound like a trick.
Lucifer held his gaze a moment longer.
Then nodded.
“Then let’s make something clear.”
His tone wasn’t harsh.
But it was firm.
“This…” he gestured between them, “stays between us. No one can find out.”
Alastor inclined his head.
“Mutual discretion. Sensible.”
Lucifer rested a hand on the bar.
“It’s not just discretion” he added. “We’re… public figures.”
A pause.
“And not exactly popular.”
That earned a small smile from Alastor.
“An elegant way to put it.”
Lucifer exhaled.
“I already have enough on my plate trying to fix things with Charlie. I’m not letting this become a problem.”
No shame.
Just… care.
“I’m not risking that.”
Alastor didn’t respond immediately.
He simply watched him.
And this time, there was no mockery in his silence.
“That’s understandable,” he said at last. “In my case, it’s not much different.”
Lucifer raised a brow.
Alastor leaned on the bar.
“I have enough enemies without offering them… additional information.” A pause. “And an image I’d prefer to keep intact.”
Lucifer laughed softly.
“Right. Can’t ruin the feared Radio Demon’s reputation with feelings~”
“Tragic” Alastor replied seriously.
That drew another laugh.
Softer this time.
“Then we agree,” Lucifer murmured. “No one can know.”
“No one,” Alastor confirmed.
Silence.
But no tension.
It was… defined.
A real agreement.
Lucifer watched him one more second.
Then smiled.
A real one.
“This is a terrible idea…”
“Indisputably.”
And that was all it took.
Because the next moment—
Alastor used his shadows to grab Lucifer by the waist and pull him close, closing the distance in one sharp motion, as if all previous restraint had lost its meaning.
The kiss was more direct this time.
More certain.
No questions.
As if the agreement had removed the last barrier between them.
And Lucifer melted into it, accepting it willingly.
For a moment, it was just the two of them, enjoying each other’s presence and affection.
Natural.
As if everything before had only been the necessary beginning.
When they pulled apart, it was slightly abrupt.
Not because they wanted to.
But because both of them seemed to have forgotten to breathe.
Lucifer stayed there, still close, his expression somewhere between amused and slightly incredulous.
“Okay…” he murmured.
Pause.
“That definitely wasn’t part of the plan.”
Alastor tilted his head, a small smile on his lips, softer than usual.
“I’m beginning to suspect we don’t have one.”
Lucifer let out a laugh.
For a moment, everything felt perfect… almost like a dream.
—————————…
The warmth of the contact was still there.
Persistent.
Recent.
The feeling of a hand holding his, firm, real… the echo of the kiss still lingering somewhere between memory and present, as if the world hadn’t had time to cool yet.
And then… pain.
It didn’t arrive.
It struck.
Lucifer woke with a sharp jolt, his body arching against the restraints before he could even take a single breath. The electricity tore through him without warning—brutal, absolute—ripping away any trace of that previous moment as if it had never existed.
A broken sound escaped his throat.
Not quite a scream.
It didn’t have enough shape to be one.
The air didn’t reach his lungs properly, catching halfway, forcing him into an irregular, desperate, useless attempt to breathe.
And still… that wasn’t the worst part.
The worst came after.
The sensation.
That absence.
Lucifer went still for a second too long, his body trembling, his mind trying to grasp something that wouldn’t quite align… and then he felt it.
Something was wrong.
Deeply wrong.
Not in his flesh.
Not in the pain.
Deeper.
Beyond.
Something inside him was being… moved.
Not torn out.
Not destroyed.
Extracted.
The understanding didn’t come as a thought.
It came as instinct.
Because there was a small secret that very few entities knew.
Lucifer was not… a complete being.
He hadn’t been since the Fall. Since he had been condemned to rule.
When he fell, his body and soul separated. His soul became something greater than himself.
It expanded.
It transformed into something far beyond what any physical form could contain.
Hell was not just his kingdom.
Not just his creation.
It was… him.
A living extension.
Infinite.
Impossible to confine to a single point.
And that body… the one now hanging, bound, vulnerable—was nothing more than a vessel.
An anchor.
A way to move within something far greater.
Lucifer did not fully exist there.
He hadn’t for millennia.
He only placed a fraction of his soul into that physical form.
Enough to interact.
To feel.
To live.
To be someone…And not just be a prisoner of his punishment
And now… the machine was taking that.
Not all of it.
It couldn’t.
But the part that was there.
The part that connected him to his body.
The part that made him present.
Another pulse surged through him.
And this time, he felt it with terrifying clarity.
A pull.
Precise.
Controlled.
A piece of that fraction was separated.
And in that same instant, the connection trembled.
It didn’t break.
But it strained.
Like a rope stretched beyond its natural limit.
Lucifer inhaled sharply, the pain finally reaching him fully—but it wasn’t just physical anymore.
It was… wrong.
As if he were being pushed out of himself.
Hell was still there.
He could feel it.
Distant.
Too distant.
Like a distorted echo of something that had always been within reach.
And that… that shouldn’t be possible.
Another extraction.
Deeper.
More invasive.
Lucifer let out a broken sound, his fingers tensing uselessly in the air.
Another piece gone.
And this time, it left a void.
Real.
Palpable.
Horrible.
It wasn’t just weakness.
It was reduction.
As if he were being forced to fit into something smaller and smaller.
And for something that was, by nature, infinite—that was a form of agony impossible to ignore.
His breathing turned erratic, his eyes narrowing as he tried to hold onto something that couldn’t be taken so easily.
His body tensed violently, muscles betraying him, reacting before he could.
But even that felt unstable now.
Because what they were draining wasn’t just power.
It was the part of him that could remain there.
The part that allowed him to exist as an individual.
Another surge.
Another pull.
And Lucifer—
Lucifer began to understand that this wasn’t just a simple trap.
It was a torture machine.
One designed to strip him, piece by piece, of the only part of himself that could be… him.
Another shock tore through him.
His body tensed violently again, muscles betraying him—but this time, through the pain… he felt it.
A pull.
Precise.
Controlled.
Something from that fraction inhabiting his body… was separated.
And this time—
he felt it leave.
The sound that escaped him was low, broken, completely devoid of control.
There was no pride.
No mask.
Only loss.
Lucifer clenched his teeth, eyes half-lidded, trying to hold onto anything that wasn’t the torment of his soul being absorbed by the machine.
Pain spread through his entire body. Sweat clung to his forehead, and breathing became difficult.
He felt dizzy, unfocused, dark spots forming at the edges of his vision.
“Just a moment…” Lucifer murmured, letting himself slip into unconsciousness once more.
——————————————
With time, the secret stopped feeling like a decision and began to feel like a habit—something that no longer needed to be discussed because it simply existed between them, with the same natural ease as the silence that filled spaces no one else could properly interpret.
In public, everything remained exactly the same—as it should, as it always had—with the carefully maintained precision of two figures who knew each other too well to ignore one another, yet were far too proud to admit anything that couldn’t be disguised as mockery.
Lucifer continued occupying his place in the chaos of the hotel as if nothing had changed.
Alastor remained Alastor.
And no one else saw what truly existed in the cracks of that normalcy.
“How charming to see you still breathing in my presence,” Alastor remarked one afternoon, that perfectly sharp smile in place as he crossed the hotel lobby.
Lucifer didn’t even look up from what he was doing.
“And how comforting to know your sense of humor remains in a permanent state of emergency.”
“I’ve always believed in consistency.”
“Yes, that explains many historical tragedies.”
A pause.
Measured smiles.
Nothing more.
And yet, when they passed by each other, the contact was minimal—imperceptible to anyone else… but deliberate in its own quiet way.
The first rule of their arrangement was simple: nothing could change in public.
And both of them were exceptionally good at pretending that was true.
But in private… it was another story.
Lucifer’s room in the hotel had become, without explicit intention, a quiet meeting point. They didn’t always arrive at the same time, didn’t always stay long—but something always drew them there, as if the space itself had learned to recognize what was never said out loud.
They never mentioned it.
It simply happened.
And then… the presence stopped feeling strange.
One day, Lucifer leaned against Alastor’s shoulder without realizing it while he was reading.
He didn’t pull away.
Alastor didn’t comment.
He simply kept reading, as if it had always been that way—as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
After that, Lucifer started sitting closer whenever Alastor read.
Or when Lucifer worked on his yellow creations, Alastor made sure to bring him desserts.
Hugs became part of the routine gradually.
And kisses were always returned with affection.
One night—one of those where the world felt farther away than usual—
Lucifer lay on his bed, partially propped against the headboard, while Alastor sat beside him, not invading his space… but not pulling away either.
The room was calm.
Not silent.
Just… full of presence.
They shared small, unimportant anecdotes.
Loose sentences.
Quiet laughter.
Moments that needed no form beyond simply existing.
Lucifer was talking about something trivial—something he didn’t even remember how it had started—when Alastor interrupted him softly:
“My angel.”
Lucifer stopped.
Glanced at him.
“Don’t start” he said seriously.
Alastor’s smile widened.
He simply watched him.
“Mon amour.”
Silence.
Lucifer looked away too quickly, trying to hide the golden blush spreading across his cheeks.
“You’re doing that on purpose again.”
“Perhaps~” Alastor replied calmly.
Lucifer sighed, pulling the blanket over himself slightly as if that would help.
“You’re insufferable…”
“And yet you haven’t asked me to stop.”
Lucifer looked at him.
This time, he didn’t respond.
He just nudged him lightly with his shoulder.
Alastor let out a low laugh.
Then shifted closer, pulling Lucifer in and stealing a kiss.
As if he had always belonged there.
The nicknames stayed.
And Lucifer enjoyed every second of it…
——————-.
“Mon amour.”
The voice didn’t disappear immediately.
It lingered there, like the soft echo of a memory.
And then—
Lucifer woke up.
The return to consciousness was abrupt, violent, as if he had been shoved back into his own body without care.
The air didn’t enter properly; it caught in his throat, forcing an uneven gasp as his lungs struggled to remember a rhythm they no longer recognized.
“Wha…?” he murmured, dazed.
The pain came a second later.
Not progressive.
Not gradual.
Immediate.
The shock tore through him from end to end, forcing his body taut against the restraints with a violence he couldn’t contain. His fingers curled, his back arched, and a low, broken sound escaped his throat before he could stop it.
But this time… there was something else.
Something new.
Lucifer barely had time to focus before he felt it.
The cables.
Entering.
Piercing him with mechanical precision that left no room for error.
The pain tore through him.
The cables punctured his skin, adding blood to whatever abomination this machine was carrying out.
His breathing turned erratic as he felt his blood being extracted, his pulse weakening in a steady rhythm he couldn’t stop.
And as he hung there, bleeding, Lucifer couldn’t help but wonder… how things had ended like this.
His mind, weakened, began to reconstruct.
Not in order.
Never in order.
Fragments.
Images.
Loose sensations that refused to fully fit together.
The hotel.
Still under reconstruction.
Months of accumulated effort.
Dust in the air.
Constant noise.
Charlie moving from one place to another, holding together something no one else seemed capable of keeping upright.
And then… the doors opened.
The inauguration.
More sinners entering.
More voices.
More chaos.
Too fast.
Too quickly.
The idea of redemption still had no answers.
And it started to show.
In the hallways.
In conversations that ended too soon.
In glances no one held long enough.
The tension grew.
It built up.
Silent.
Constant.
And then he arrived…
The sinner with the screen for a head.
Always present.
Always… watching.
Lucifer remembered him with uncomfortable clarity.
That feeling.
That unease he couldn’t fully justify, but couldn’t ignore either.
Something was wrong.
He knew it from the start.
And he wasn’t the only one.
He had also noticed how Alastor avoided that sinner completely.
He noticed it.
In small details.
In the way his posture shifted just slightly.
In how his attention drifted.
In how something in him became more… tense.
But when Lucifer brought it up—
Alastor dismissed it.
Quickly.
Too easily.
As if he didn’t want to give it importance.
As if naming it made it worse.
Another shock.
Lucifer’s body tensed violently, muscles betraying him as the cables kept extracting, as another part of him vanished beyond recovery.
His breathing turned uneven, his body aching, soaked in sweat and blood.
But the memories didn’t stop.
More sinners.
The stress.
The hotel full.
Too many things happening at once.
Too many variables out of control.
Too many eyes watching every step he took…
They tried not to pay attention, but it was clear the atmosphere in the hotel was affecting them.
Alastor especially…
Shorter temper.
Sharper.
Easier to provoke.
And then Vox.
Present.
Close.
That didn’t help.
Nothing helped.
Lucifer had noticed.
Of course he had.
But he didn’t push.
He didn’t want to.
He thought it would pass.
That it was temporary.
That Alastor just needed space.
That he… would know how to handle it.
Another stab of pain.
More scream.
More blood.
More emptiness.
And then… that moment.
So small.
So absurd.
“It was just a comment.”
Lucifer squeezed his eyes shut, his body trembling.
“A stupid comment about coasters…”
The memory came back with cruel clarity.
The immediate reaction.
Disproportionate.
The shift in the air.
The silence that followed.
And then— “I quit.”
Flat.
Final.
No room for negotiation.
Lucifer had taken a step toward him.
He was going to follow him.
He was going to stop him.
He was going to fix it.
But the presence of the two sinners—the spider and the cyclops—stopped him from chasing after Alastor.
And all he managed was a small remark as he watched him walk away.
The moment broke before it could be held.
And that thought… so easy at the time.
So stupid now.
‘It’s fine’
‘He just needs time.’
‘I’ll talk to him later.’
Lucifer let out a broken sound, weaker now.
“…later…” he barely whispered.
But there was no later.
No chance.
Just a chain of events he couldn’t control.
The TV screen sinner.
The chaos.
Mistakes piling one on top of the other.
And now— this…
Lucifer forced his eyes open, his vision blurred, his body heavier, emptier, as he felt another piece of his soul disappear.
If they kept going—
if they kept taking more—
He wouldn’t die.
Not exactly.
Something worse.
He would be left… disconnected. There wouldn’t be enough of his soul left in that body to sustain the connection.
Separated from himself.
It wouldn’t be the first time—when he fell and his body and soul split, it took years before he found a way to reconnect with his body.
And over the centuries, he explored how far he could go, until he perfected it. He wouldn’t deny that when things got a little boring, he would slip out of his body during long meetings, leaving his vessel empty.
But that was on his terms…
When he chose to leave.
Lucifer had no idea what this would cause.
Would the machine permanently damage his vessel?
Would he be able to return? And if so, how long would it take…
Father, he hoped so.
At least he had been able to see Alastor briefly… for some strange reason, he had been tied to a chair.
The cables kept draining.
The machine didn’t stop.
The pain increased.
It was no longer bearable.
No longer something he could endure through sheer will.
His body began to give in, the tension leaving him in moments—not from control, but from reaching its limit.
His head tilted slightly to the side.
Darkness crept into the edges of his vision.
And in that final moment of clarity before everything faded… He wished his last conversation with Alastor had been different.