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“You can’t keep ignoring me forever,” the devil states simply.
The girl clenches her jaw, refusing to retort anything back and give him a response to bounce off of, probably a smug ‘oh, you’re speaking to me now?’ or something of the like. She’s learned the hard way that it’s best not to give him ammunition to use against her when she’s already so easily baffled and tongue tied. She hears Lucifer huff annoyedly behind her, most likely having expected to get a rise out of her as the man in disguise follows her throughout her campus.
It’s been roughly three weeks since the devil had declared himself her bff and casual on-again, off-again roommate. Meaning: he stopped by whenever he felt like it, stayed as long as he wanted and bothered her even when she told him she was busy, and she had little power to do anything about it all. At least he cooks sometimes. And cleans since he weirdly hates any type of filth. And on occasion she thinks she can stand his snark and passing comments, if only because anything is better than the usual silence her apartment used to home. He never appears anywhere other than the living room or the kitchen and doesn’t usually follow her out of her house. At first, she thought maybe he was somehow tied to the apartment. That maybe since she summoned him there, he was stuck to that place in particular, but when she mentioned her theory, he told her that it really was because he just couldn’t be bothered, he wasn't tied to the apartment itself. Her college campus or the old vinyl records store she stops by are the only places she really ever goes. Once in a great while she might hit up a convenience store for milk or bread, but that was rare when she could just load her backpack with packages of ramen and whole grain bars from the campus’s small grab ‘n’ go shop. It was easier and honestly cheaper, even if Satan turned up his nose at the smell whenever she dumped the sauce packets into the boiling pan of ramen noodles.
“Are you truly going to keep acting like you don’t hear me?” Lucifer grouses. Pulling her from her thoughts, and if this wasn’t Satan himself, she’d almost think he was pouting. “Even with me accompanying you safely from your school to your apartment out of the kindness of my heart?”
“What heart,” she scoffs absentmindedly, coming to a stop behind a few college goers at a busy crosswalk and waiting for the coming cars to pass by, “I never asked you to follow me, you weirdo.”
“Excuse me?” A girl who had been in front of them turns to look at her in bewilderment, having thought she was being addressed. Her pink lipstick painted lips pursed as her eyes flicker from the girl to her friend beside her.
The girl next to the Devil blanches at the sudden confrontation, fumbling out, “oh, um, not you. Sorry, I was talking to, uh--”
“They can’t see or hear me, only you can,” the Devil eagerly supplies, smirking when he watches her clamp her mouth shut in embarrassment. “Forgot to mention that.”
“Myself,” the girl amends, flustered. “I was talking to myself.”
Pink Lips and Friend each make a face, half annoyed and half uncomfortable. As the two share a this person is weird look, the girl wishes the concrete beneath her feet would crack open and swallow her whole at this very moment. Satan can have her soul now, her and the contract be damned.
“Right…” Pink Lips drags out ‘i’, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear as her and Friend both turn back around.
The girl tries to ignore the other two girls’ whispering and how they glance over their shoulders at her, instead taking out her phone to pretend to look at something else. She waits until the crosswalk light indicates it’s safe to cross, waits for the girls in front of her to cross, waits some more for the crosswalk light to turn red and more cars pass by, and then waits again for the light to show a white silhouette of a person walking before crossing the street herself. This way, once she’s finally made it to the other side of the road, Pink Lips and Friend are long gone down the street ahead and thankfully out of sight.
“I hate you,” she growls, shoving her phone into her hoodie pocket and flipping her hood up over her head.
“That’s fair,” Lucifer agrees, casually strolling beside her with his hands in his wrinkle free dress pants. “But don’t be like that, Darling. Nobody likes a wet blanket.”
“Go to hell.”
“Not yet, I can still waste a few more hours here.”
Lucifer smiles, pleased with himself, as the girl groans into her hands, and he matches her step when she starts to speed up her walking place. Like almost every afternoon after class, she makes her way straight home, not bothering to make any pit stops. She doesn’t want to bring Lucifer to the records shop, today or ever. It was like her little treasure and she was sure he’d find some way to ruin it for her. That can’t happen, she’ll make sure of it.
So, when Lucifer starts to loudly complain about wanting to go somewhere new on their walk back, she just picks the first coffee shop she sees. It’s a small café crammed between two bigger buildings and not too far from her campus, making it no surprise to her that most of its occupants are around her age and probably go to her school. The Lord of Darkness himself is more than happy to simply sit down at one of the outside tables as she goes in to order a drink. He looks a bit out of place, looking a bit older and more polished in a suit with an added gray overcoat he started wearing once the temperature started to drop. Yet, at the same time, he has the unique ability to blend into his environment like he belongs there. She has to actually look around to find him in the slight crowd when she steps outside with her freshly brewed cup of coffee; a hot mocha that she only slightly verbally fumbled over ordering.
The mood isn’t really fixed after she sits down across from him so much as the girl has finally calmed down from the crosswalk event and Lucifer has finally toned himself down after getting something he wanted. He does glance at the single drink in her hand for herself, but he doesn’t comment or show any indication of being surprised or mad about getting nothing.
“I might head home soon,” she comments, shifting awkwardly in her seat. It wasn’t very cold out just yet, the fall season having just started, but the metal chair was uncomfortably cool against her butt.
"I don't want to leave," Lucifer frowns. "We just got here."
"Nobody's stopping you from staying, I'm just gonna head out," she argues. The excuse of having to do homework is on the tip of her tongue, it's one of the very few excuses Satan actually listens to and she's not afraid to use it. Technically it's not really an excuse, she's always got homework, but whether she actually does it or not is always up in the air.
"If you leave, I leave as well," Lucifer states flatly. He's growing more annoyed with the passing seconds, that much is obvious.
"You don't have to babysit me," she glares, feeling herself starting to get irritated as well. She knows it probably isn't smart to sass the devil, but he can so easily push her buttons that sometimes it's hard not to. How do you talk with someone who always thinks they're right and acts like they're above you? Given, yes, he's the Satan–and that is still something she can't wrap her whole head around–but… still. She doesn't know how to talk to normal people, how does he expect her to be able to talk with him?
"While you've proven otherwise," Lucifer begins, "that isn't what I meant. I am restricted from freely roaming amongst the little humans. For the remainder of our contract, I am unfortunately tied to you. Where you go, I go, if I am to be up here."
"But you can be in the apartment without me," she points out. He often is too, just there, busying himself in the kitchen or sitting on her worn out, thrift store couch while reading a book or watching some movie he found lying around her apartment with her DVD player that's so tiny you have to practically hold it up to your face to watch anything. She's gotten more used to him being around after a while, but it's still a bit surreal to have him there or to just have anyone to come home to.
Lucifer sighs, hesitating for a moment as if to pick his words before speaking.
"These things are… a bit unintuitive but moderately flexible. I am allowed there because the apartment is yours in a way. You have… some sort of ownership of it, even if you are renting it from a second party. It is a place you reside, so it is a place I can freely stay. Should you move, I cannot be there without you. Is that dumbed down enough for you to be able to understand?"
"But you said you weren't tied to my apartment in any way!" She snaps, frustrated with him and his direct insult. "You lied to me!"
"No. I said I am not tied to your apartment because that is where you summoned me. I just said I am tied to you and simply by extension wherever you live." He reiterates with a bit of edge in his voice that she picks up on, but otherwise his tone is neutral. "I did not lie to you at any point before or during our agreement. I am only here to fulfill my part of the agreement and that requires me to be your friend."
“Maybe I don’t want to be your friend,” she scowls at him across the table.
“What other choice do you even have?” he wagers, leaning over to grab her cup as she helplessly stares at him, frozen in her seat. He takes a sip of her coffee, like his words hadn’t struck a nerve. “You have very little to offer a person with, let’s see, your stunted emotional growth courtesy of your distant family members, your complete inability to maintain lasting connections, your self-destructive tendencies coupled along with your compulsive impulsiveness and your horrible, horrible communication skills. I don’t see anyone else dying to be your friend. It seems like I’m your only option, might as well make the most of it, no?”
She doesn’t answer him, too busy trying to swallow the bile building up in the back of her throat. The devil raises a brow at her, taking another sip of her coffee. Everything he had said was true to some degree. Her parents had always been distant, but never too neglectful. Even if they were off vacationing somewhere warmer at the moment, her tuition was still being partially paid and money was being sent to her for food, rent and whatever else she needed when her summer job closed for the fall. They might not call much or hardly visit, but they still loved her in their own way. Probably.
And as for her awkwardness and poor communication skills… Talking to people is hard. She can’t ever seem to start a conversation naturally and she loathes small talk altogether. What could she even talk about? What do people like to hear during first impressions? Why is it so hard to keep up with friendships? Anytime she gets a text message, she struggles to answer it. Maybe she’s slightly being overdramatic, but sometimes it just feels too draining to respond right away. There are days she wants to talk, of course. Occasionally every week or so, she’ll unlock her phone to pull up a contact she hasn’t spoken to in weeks and reread their messages. She’ll type out several greetings or comments on their last conversation, each eventually getting deleted one after the other. After a minute or two, she’ll psych herself out and put her phone away, having no messages sent. She justifies it all with the thought of “well they didn’t message her either,” but she knows deep down it’s just a thinly created excuse.
“Oh, and you never clean your dishes,” he adds helpfully, tapping her plastic cup with his index finger, as if just remembering the small detail.
“Then why don’t you just kill me and be done with it if I’m such a lost cause?” she asks after a moment of silence, her voice coming out soft and wavering. She stares down at her hands curled tightly in her lap to hide the biting tears building in her eyes. "Just take my soul and be on your way."
“I could,” Lucifer agrees quietly, his voice more even with its earlier smugness. “But at no point have I wanted to.”
He sets her cup back down in front of her gently, waiting until she looks back up at him. She feels a few fat tears roll down her cheeks, but she doesn’t say anything and thankfully he doesn’t comment on them either.
“I am willing to be your friend, genuinely. I have grown utterly bored in this last century or two and frankly I want a reason to dodge paperwork as much as I can.” He shrugs, grinning like a cat that’s got the cream. “And the nice little cherry on top is your shitty soul? That works double for me.”
The girl groans, rubbing her face in frustration, “you’re such an asshole.”
“I’m literally the devil.”
“Still,” she presses, but has no real counterargument against the blunt truth. Instead, she bites her lip in thought, asking, “how do I know you aren’t lying? That this isn’t all a trick?”
“Darling, you stupid sack of wasted potential,” the devil purrs with a cruel yet charming smile. “I have no reason to lie.”
“I don’t believe you,” she responds automatically, before she even realizes she spoke at all.
“Then you may not be as stupid as I thought,” Lucifer quips, leaning back comfortably in his chair.
They settle into a silence then, one that’s not as uncomfortable as she had thought it would be. She’s happy to finish her drink in peace, half watching Lucifer watch the people around him and half simply zoning out and enjoying the nice weather. The devil eyes a few people here and there, staring at anyone across the way or walking by their table with a neutral expression but every now and then his eyes would seem to swarm with emotions she can’t place. Intrigue maybe? She wonders what he’s thinking about but is too scared to ask.
“This is nice,” he speaks up without bothering to look at her. “We should do this again soon.”
“I─” she pauses, unsure of what to say. On one hand, she wouldn’t call the majority of their hang out today as “nice”, but at the same time, she can’t remember the last time she ever even hung out with another person in the first place. When he’s not threatening her or potentially manipulating her, he’s not that bad to be around. This is also the first time she’s gone anywhere other than school, the record shop and home in the last five months.
“Yeah,” she nods, vaguely staring in the direction he is, “I guess we could.”