Chapter Text
Distracting.
It was as though the modern Crescent City existed for the sole purpose of overwhelming the unsuspecting pedestrian. Just beyond the historic threshold of the French Quarter, streetcars clattered, modern billboards flashed from the main streets, and strangers approached with trivial inquiries that mattered little to the speaker and even less to the listener. If anything, it was the omnipresent, phantom glow of smartphones that truly severed people from reality, keeping their eyes glued to screens rather than letting them pause to absorb the centuries-old world around them. The sheer volume of modern clutter was enough to make one’s mind fracture under the weight.
But then, one could hardly change the world, could they?
It was within this chaotic boundary where modern noise met old-world charm that the infamous Cafe au Radio grounded itself. Remarkably, it managed to preserve an air of quiet mystique, standing as a serene sanctuary beneath the flicker of traditional gas lanterns and intricate wrought-iron balconies. Despite its name, the establishment was about far more than just radios. Cafe au Radio possessed a timeless, antique charm — evoking the warmth of a classic Southern estate rather than the decay of a ruined cabin — which was precisely what made it such an alluring escape. Taxidermied gators at the porch of the shop had their own stories to tell. The iron balconies with the creeping vines also had their own little secrets. The gris gris around the big candles only ever increased the charm of the place — pun intended.
Well, those things and the barista, naturally.
He was, without question, the centerpiece of the entire establishment. Somehow, he managed to look entirely at home while remaining striking enough that no one could look away. With a charming smile, a resonant voice, and the impeccable demeanor of a true gentleman, he drew patrons in like a magnet. One might expect someone so formally composed to seem rigid or mechanical, but nothing could be further from the truth. Flattery might open doors, but it was his innate, effortless grace that made every guest feel as though they truly belonged there.
Oh, but charm alone cannot sustain an establishment now, can it?
Well, apparently, the pretty face with a pretty voice knew his way too well around wielding the portafilter. Even the plainest of dark roasts tasted like a rare delicacy under his care — not to mention the artisanal Beignets, croissants, muffins and probably every other small dish on the menu. And this fare wasn’t merely saved for the morning rush alone, no. No matter what time of the day you decide to visit, an exquisite cup of coffee will always be there for you along with a special snack of the chosen time — to help you linger and relax.
All things considered, the populace adored the establishment — whether for the serene sanctuary it offered. Or to simply witness the marvel with their very eyes. Curiosity, afterall, becomes entirely insatiable when left unfed. To find an establishment boasting a near perfect rating, yet devoid of a single interior photograph save for a few detached street-view perspectives, was a bafflement modern sensibilities could hardly ignore. If history has anything notable about human nature, it is that mankind is unimmune to curiosity to a fault.
Well, all the better for Cafe au Radio!
***
“Go back safe, Harriet!”
“Yeah see you tomorrow Mr. Al!”
As the final guest of the evening stepped out into the humid New Orleans twilight, Alastor flipped the door sign to Closed. On the wall, the grandfather clock chimed a quiet cadence indicating it was just past seven o'clock.
Another successful day had drawn to a close.
Yet, for someone as devoted to his craft as Alastor, work is rarely finished with the turn of a sign. Before he could retire for the evening, the sanctuary required his meticulous care, and so he began his nightly ritual. Order, after all, was the secret ingredient to his effortless grace.
He wiped down the rich mahogany tables until they gleamed, cleared the wooden counter of the day's remnants, and carefully balanced wooden the cash register, setting the tipping jar aside and restocked the remaining coffee beans. Finally, he began his overnight preparation for the morning’s baking.
It was a quarter past eight when the door rang again. Alastor didn’t look up. There was only one being who always showed up at this particular time.
"Good evening Al! Had a good day?" Lucifer practically jumped near the barista.
"You do realize that you can just portal inside the cafe, don't you?" Alastor deadpanned.
"Aww, but that's a lot less fun! Besides, it's kind of like a roleplay isn't it? A hardworking man, returning home from his tiring job but always making time to treat himself to a nice drink to celebrate surviving the day despite the bullshit." Lucifer conjured a stool in front of Alastor's table and sat down with a smile so bright that it almost lit up the entire room itself.
"Your job is to literally rule hell, I don't understand why you bother so much to visit the human realm anyway" Alastor complained but went to prepare Lucifer’s coffee without any further words.
Lucifer placed his elbows on the table and placed his chin on his hands but remained otherwise silent. He was focused on watching Alastor prepare his coffee for him. Or, well, "the sweet concoction", as the human liked to say.
“Here, enjoy your fresh mug of diabetes” Alastor said as he put down the coffee mug in front of The Devil.
Lucifer took a long and exaggerated inhale of the freshly brewed coffee, “Mmmm yes! Love me a good mug of diabetes after my long day at work."
“And there's a cinnamon apple muffin in that pot. Heat it up before you eat it,” Alastor said and went back to kneading the dough while watching Lucifer gleefully taking the muffin, warming it up, and enjoying it before focusing on the coffee he had served on the mug he had purchased specifically for Lucifer—not like he would ever admit it anyway. Despite the mock exaggeration, he knew that for Lord knows whatever reason, The Devil really did enjoy the overly sweet Café au Lait Alastor prepared for him everyday — if his face was anything to go by.
“See something you like?” Lucifer arched one of his eyebrows and gave a lopsided smile.
“Yes, and I’ve even come to a fascinating realisation”
“That I’m a vision?” Lucifer said far too smugly for the human’s taste.
“That you take too much advantage of your immortality.”
Unfortunately even that didn’t make The Fallen One’s grin falter and instead he looked far too pleased while sipping his Café au Lait for someone who got his taste in coffee questioned yet again.
After a moment, Lucifer tilted his head, shifting the topic with a natural, quiet warmth. “How’s Miss Delphine doing?”
Alastor kept his eyes down on his work, his hands currently busy with a heavy rolling pin, flattening a cold block of laminated pastry dough across the flour-dusted counter. “Mama is fine. A lot better, actually,” he answered, his voice softening just a fraction at her mention. “She has started sketching nowadays because her hands are getting more steady.”
“Sketching? That's great! What's she into?” Lucifer watched the precise, geometric movements of Alastor's hands, his eyes bright with that genuine curiosity that Alastor always found slightly exhausting but not in a bad way.
“Just the flowers in our garden,” Alastor replied, his voice even, hoping to keep the conversation mundane as he pressed the rolling pin firmly into the dough. "Daisies, mostly."
Lucifer’s expression softened, his tone dropping into something sincere, entirely respectful of the boundary he knew never to cross when it came to Alastor's mother. “That sounds great. I'm really glad to hear she's doing well.” He paused, letting the sweet moment sit for just a beat before that familiar, entirely shameless grin spread across his face again. “Though, I already know she’s a master at creating beautiful things.”
He tilted his head, his gaze locking onto Alastor's from across the narrow barrier of the counter with a comical eyebrow wiggle,“I mean, look at you. Clearly her best work.”
Alastor’s hand froze instantly on the handles of the rolling pin. God forbid. A textbook, baseline, utterly embarrassing “pick up line”, and Lucifer had delivered it with the absolute confidence of a man reciting Shakespeare.
Lucifer was a master when it came to art — regardless of the medium, Alastor was sure. He had merely seen his handiwork of a rough ink sketch before, on Alastor's notepad no less, and he'd been completely arrested by it. It did not help that the subject of the sketch was Alastor himself. Even someone as prideful as Alastor had to admit that he had never seen himself look this… dreamy, for lack of a better word. No, because Alastor in the sketch looked like both redemption and sin.
Alastor did not like that.
He told himself over and over that he did not like it when Lucifer showed him the sketch he'd been doing, with a boyish smile and expectation in his eyes. He swore to himself that his face did not heat up when Lucifer's smile practically lit up the entire darkened cafe when Alastor had stated the fact that Lucifer was very skilled at art.
He did not.
“Whaaattt?? It's true alright? You really look like a painting cause I'd love to pin you on the wall”
“...Why are you like this.” Alastor said, debating whether he should scoff or laugh.
“You mean my effortless charm?” Lucifer said brushing back his hair with his fingers with a cartoonish showcase of pride.
This time Alastor scoffed and brought out the other dough he had left to sit.
“Damn, that reminds me of you.” Lucifer said with utmost interest.
“What??”
Lucifer looked at the human with a comically smug look on his face and a grin that spread to almost half his face, “Cause baby you're the one I knead~”
Alastor paused. Then slowly blinked two times. Then rolled his eyes and sighed with intentional exaggeration. It would have been a show of irritation if not for the barely suppressed genuine smile of amusement tugging on his lips.
“What? Didn't like this one? Don't worry, I got more!” Lucifer adjusted his hat and said, “Are you a campfire? Cause you smell like smoke- wait no.”
Lucifer scratched his scalp for a few seconds and then conjured a book with spiral binding and, obviously, a duck themed cover—and a pair of office frame reading glasses. Adjusting his glasses on… Alastor couldn't understand how it even worked because The Angel had no ears or nose to place the glasses on but he didn't question it. He was busy looking at Lucifer frantically flipping the pages of the book- no, notebook to what Alastor could assume was to find the pickup line he had just attempted.
“Is this where you write the horrible pickup lines of yours?” Alastor said with utter amusement at the scene.
“My pickup lines are great okay??? Whe- oh, here.” Lucifer said after finally finding the “pickup line” he was looking for and closed the notebook—with an unhealthy amount of colorful sticky notes—and placed a hand on the counter, leaning in towards Alastor while looking at him with yet another smug expression and face-splitting grin,
“Are you a campfire cause I keep wanting for s'more.”
The sheer contradiction of this entire display made Alastor lose his heavily crafted composure and he let out a loud and genuine bark of laughter.
“Oh you are truly unbelievable” Alastor barely managed to let out.
Lucifer's lips curved to a soft smile. He let out a heavy breath—
“Beautiful…”
Alastor paused. For a long, heavy second, the only sound in the cafe was the slow tick of the grandfather clock and the slow Bessie Smith on the antique radio. Alastor looked at Lucifer.
The Devil — who was wearing the softest expression on his face — looked at Alastor like he was the one who hung the stars in the sky instead of The Morningstar Himself. Like he was the sole true lotus in the lake of illusion. Like he was the only color in the monochromatic world.
Like he meant something to Lucifer.
Like he meant everything to Lucifer.
And Alastor— …did not know what to do with that.
So he averted his eyes and looked at the dough he had stopped kneading somewhere along the line — refusing to acknowledge the heat he was feeling in his cheeks.
He wanted to discard everything to just look at Lucifer. But at the same time he was terrified to look at Lucifer. Terrified to acknowledge what it meant. But Alastor still knew what it meant. And he did not know what to do with that.
Alastor will figure it out someday, he was certain.
But that someday wasn't today.
Luckily, Lucifer understood what was left unspoken aloud — and let the night flow below his enamored gaze.
»»——⍟——««
There was something about this man that had piqued Lucifer's interest since the day he first saw him.
Roaming around in the human world was something he had never thought he'd enjoy. But after a decade of mourning for the end of a marriage that will never be recovered and another half a decade of recovering from it — he had finally taken the decision of visiting the mortal realm.
Well, it wasn't exactly his decision. Other Sins had insisted that he should go there for a “change of scenery” and after their constant complaining about his absence in his own kingdom and the best possible solution being getting outside the kingdom for a walk or fly — he had decided to go. If he got lucky — he'd admit that the stroll didn't do him any good and probably never go there in the future. And if fate had the pleasure of laughing at his face yet another time then he'll find something that'll keep him occupied there and then he'll visit the place again.
It was the latter. Of course it was.
Admiring the sun and the evening sky for a strong forty five minutes had already made him feel so much better than it should have. He had planned to call it a day but in the end; curiosity got the best of him and he decided to visit more places. It certainly was better than Lucifer had expected and also somehow worse.
Just about when he was planning to portal back — a certain kind of building caught the corner of his eye. Then he turned back to look at it with meticulous interest because even he could tell it was something that could be called the remainder of history if the said history was reserved with utmost care.
After debating for a few seconds; he flew towards it to take a look and woah were those gas lanterns? The original ones and not another version that electric lamps came in? Interesting.
Apparently it was a cafe — Café au Radio — that was probably designed to mimic an old Bayou cabin from the 1920s — almost a century older than what it should have been. Lucifer looked through the glass windows to take a look of what was inside and — talk about dedication because it truly felt like the aesthetic of the place had taken him a century back. The customers who were currently leaving the cafe were wearing modern clothing but everything else took its role rather seriously.
And then Lucifer saw him.
The barista—who currently had his back turned to the entrance—was dressed in perfect harmony with the establishment’s vintage aesthetic. He wore a crisp, white long-sleeved shirt paired with a striking red waistcoat. His black trousers hugged his hips with impeccable precision before flowing down into an elegant, vintage flare. Lucifer half-wondered about the leather oxfords on his feet—honestly, did they even still manufacture those?
He only half-wondered, of course, because his mind was entirely hijacked by the rhythmic, hypnotic sway of the barista’s hips as he glided across the floor with a loaded tray in hand.
Lucifer slapped himself mentally.
“Thou shalt not ogle shamelessly upon the ass of a man with whom thou hast not yet spoken.”
Surely, that command was etched onto a stone tablet somewhere. His Heavenly Father might judge if he still cared — but the Lord wasn't the one standing in New Orleans looking at that.
But it was fine. Everything was still totally under control. He was just a curious guy checking out a local mystery, because—God fucking dammit the barista was turning directly toward the window where Lucifer was standing.
If Lucifer thought the guy's hip sway was hypnotic, he was completely defenseless against the rest of him. Calling him mesmerizing, breathtaking, heart-stopping—using every dramatic adjective in the book—would be selling him short. Lucifer's brain just kind of short-circuited, settling on a single, breathless whisper:
“Beautiful…”
The human had this warm, sun-kissed skin dusted with freckles. Lucifer’s mind immediately raced, wondering if those freckles went all the way down his shoulders, or maybe gave way to a few hidden moles. The guy wore simple, oval glasses that somehow made the intense, alluring gaze of those amber, doe eyes even more lethal than they already were. A few messy dark chestnut curls fell over his brow as he stared straight through the glass.
Right at Lucifer.
Wait. Could this guy actually see him?
The train of thought in Lucifer's head derailed instantly. Only now, at the absolute peak of his shameless staring, did he realize what he'd done. He had completely let go of his invisibility spell.
Fuck.
“There's a door just a little to your left, if you'd like to come in.”
That was it. That was the third strike. Pretty movements, a pretty face, and now a pretty voice to match? Lucifer might as well be dead by now, if such a thing were even possible.
Luckily, his limbs still cooperated enough for him to move toward the entrance.
“Oh, and be a dear and flip the sign to Closed,” the voice called out. “It's past our usual hours—you're my final guest for the evening.”
Oh, Lucifer would literally bring this man the stars from the sky if he kept talking like that. For now, though, he settled for flipping the sign and stepping inside.
It was funny how the cafe’s antique charm was suddenly the least interesting thing in the room. He was just a wee bit consumed by the man currently smoothing his apron behind the counter.
“As much as I appreciate the bold admiration,” the beauty in front of him said, sliding a leather-bound menu across the mahogany counter, “I'd be deeply grateful if you ordered something as well.”
“I—uh.” Words failed him completely. Desperate to break eye contact, Lucifer grabbed the menu and practically shoved it right in front of his own face. It was a flawless shield, except his traitorous eyes kept darting over the top of the page anyway—only to find those amber, doe eyes already scrutinizing him. Every single time. It certainly wasn't helping that he was currently blushing like a schoolboy.
After a solid two minutes of staring at the text without reading a single word, Lucifer finally found his voice. “A—uh, a cappuccino, please.” He went for the safest possible option.
The human nodded, turning gracefully to prepare the order. Lucifer tried his best to not spout out nonsense but the silence felt just as awkward.
“I wasn't aware of any cosplay conventions going on around the Quarter currently” the barista noted idly from where Lucifer could still see the curve of his— FOCUS.
“I—what?? Oh! Ah, haha, yeah. Exactly.” Stellar response, Lucifer. Truly majestic.
“Hmm. The fantasy-circus-ringmaster aesthetic is certainly a bold choice. You are undeniably dedicated.”
Was that a compliment? Lucifer desperately hoped it was a compliment.
“T- thanks.” Lucifer was only just now realizing how utterly ridiculous he looked in a normal human setting. Humans weren't supposed to have porcelain-white skin and glowing red eyes, and his pristine white suit was entirely too extravagant for a casual Tuesday evening. Playing along with the cosplay excuse was definitely his best bet, considering it was a bit too late to conjure a proper human disguise without looking even weirder. “It, uh… it took a lot of time, yeah.”
“So it seems,” the barista replied. “I am well-acquainted with colored contact lenses, but I must admit, I wasn't aware modern technology allowed one to change the color of their sclera as well.”
“Uhh…”
The barista set the steaming cup down, leaning against the counter with a devastatingly charming smile and unfairly alluring tilt of his head. “What exactly might you be cosplaying as, mon cher?”
HOLY SHIT WAS THAT FRENCH??!!!
Keep talking like that and I will literally spill every celestial secret humanity has been deprived of, Lucifer screamed internally.
Lucifer had no idea how his nonexistent heart could beat this loud and fast. He wiped his face with the napkin that was provided with the coffee. He took deep breaths and thought about a little pond with ducks swimming to steady himself. It didn't work as much as he would have liked it for but something was better than nothing.
“L- Lucifer…! I'm, uh… I'm cosplaying as Lucifer.”
Which was technically true. He was just being himself—which was, basically, a walking disaster. He had been a mess for over ten thousand years, and he certainly wasn't going to stop now.
“Like… The Devil?” The sharp arch of the barista's left eyebrow was utterly lethal.
“Exactly!”
“Cher, you look more like a petit porcelain doll,” the man noted smoothly, a trace of amusement dancing in his amber eyes. “One would think The Devil would look a bit stronger. More… menacing.”
“I am strong! Err, I mean- Lucifer. Lucifer… is strong.” Phew, that was close.
“And what about his horns?”
Lucifer barely stopped himself from instinctively manifesting his actual horns right then and there. “They're hidden. In the wig. Obviously.”
“I see. I'm guessing you save the theatrical acting for the conventions? Because you certainly aren't anything like the Silver-Tongued Serpent they wrote about in the Good Book.”
“My tongue is very good, okay?!! It's just—” Realizing exactly how that sounded out loud, Lucifer immediately slammed his mouth shut and focused entirely on his cappuccino to avoid eye contact.
He took a desperate sip. Oh, wow. This stuff was incredible.
He unconsciously licked his lips, entirely caught off guard by how rich, smooth, and delicious the cappuccino actually was.
“So,” the barista murmured, watching the gesture with a sharp, calculating tilt of his head. “Does the Devil also have a forked tongue—like a proper serpent?”
“Snakes are cute too!” Lucifer blurted out defensively. “They're usually just really shy, you know?”
“I see your interpretation of Lucifer is rather adorable.”
Lucifer instantly choked on his cappuccino.
What.
“W—what?? Uh, aha, erm… Thank—thank you…”
Lucifer had absolutely no idea how a nonexistent heart could physically beat this loud and fast. Panicking, he grabbed the napkin provided with his cup and frantically wiped his face. He shut his eyes, taking deep, ragged breaths while forcing himself to visualize a calm, peaceful pond with cute little ducks swimming around to steady his nerves.
It didn't work nearly as well as he hoped it would, but it was better than nothing.
He finally lowered the napkin from his face, intending to offer a smooth, casual remark to save his dignity.
He never got the chance.
While Lucifer had been trapped in his internal panic, the barista had quietly leaned across the counter — bending down until his face was merely inches from Lucifer’s own.
Lucifer’s breath hitched. Up close, the lethal amber of the man's eyes was mesmerizing, and the faint scent of roasted coffee beans and expensive cologne was entirely overwhelming.
Alastor tilted his head, his sharp gaze scanning every inch of Lucifer's features with intense, unblinking curiosity.
“My, my,” Alastor murmured, his voice dropping into a low, melodic purr that vibrated right through the space between them. The mischievous smile on his lips was nothing short of sin itself.
“I—what?” Lucifer practically squeaked.
Alastor pointed a long, elegant finger toward Lucifer’s cheeks, “I was under the impression that humans flushed red when embarrassed. Yet you are quite literally radiating a rather magnificent golden shimmer. Tell me, how exactly are you making yourself practically glow?”
Lucifer was speechless.
“Anyway, I shall be taking my leave now. The coffee is on the house. Feel free to stay here as long as you desire.” The man said — putting a distance between them — and took off his apron, folding it with effortless precision.
Lucifer wasn't breathing. He didn't need to. But his eyes followed the movements of the man as he went towards the exit door.
“Why…?”
The man turned his head towards Lucifer and after a few moments of silence, he said — as sweet as the cappuccino still held in his hand, “Well it's not every day The Devil Himself visits my little shop now—is it?”
Well, fuck.