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What a fucking joke.
Everything about Lucifer could honestly be classified as just that—a fucking joke. And not just an unfunny one, nor was it just a bad pun. No, Lucifer was better compared to one of those long, drawn-out jokes with no real start or end and where the punchline doesn’t make any sense.
Fuck, even his analogies were nonsensical.
The only noteworthy things he’d managed to do in his life were giving humans free will (and look how great that turned out for humanity) and creating his daughter, Charlie.
Fucking Charlie.
He was supposed to have lunch with her today.
After the hotel's reconstruction, there had been a slow but steady stream of new residents trickling into the hotel over the weeks since its reopening. Of course, it was only around 3 new people, but Charlie was ecstatic all the same. Lucifer was so proud of her. Despite everything, his little girl maintained her faith in humanity… something Lucifer just couldn't do.
The king rolled over in his bed onto his back. His side was starting to hurt from lying on it for so long.
God, how pathetic was that?? He wouldn't be fucking bothered to actually get out of bed and be a person, despite the actual, literal, physical pain it was causing him.
He let out a long exhale as he rested his hands on his stomach—effectively lying as one would in their coffin during a funeral procession. Shit, a funeral . Wouldn't that be nice?
Lucifer wasn't suicidal; he knew that. He didn’t actively want to end his own life. But some days… it just seemed like an easier alternative to anything else.
While he didn't want to, actively, at the moment, to say Lucifer had never tried to end his own life before would be a lie. There were many nights as he sat alone in his cold, empty palace that he did, for lack of a better word, attempt. But hey, that’s eternal damnation for you. No matter what you try, it's eternal.
Lucifer rubbed his face miserably.
He wiped his palm down his face before raising it above him so he could look at it. God, he was so… so…
He couldn't find the words.
Once, he had been the very embodiment of temptation itself. He exhaled sharply through his nose as he thought about that prospect, and he raised his other arm and stared at the inky blackness that his once alabaster hands had become. Not to mention, the ink didn't just end at his wrists. It went all the way up his arm to his elbow before even starting to fade out.
He was hideous .
That's the word he was looking for.
Lucifer sighed again and rubbed his eyes, unable to stomach looking at himself any longer. He was thankful he hadn't gotten out of bed yet, since the first thing he normally did was turn on the light. But he thought if he had to see his present form under his harsh, unforgiving bedroom lights, he might've just hurled.
God, how pathetic was th-
Knock-knock
”Sire?”
Fucking Christ, Alastor. Of course, it was fucking Alastor. Because his day wasn't bad enough.
“Sire, I'm coming in.”
Lucifer saw the sinner enter the room out of the corner of his eye while his stare nearly bore holes into the ceiling.
“My, my, sire. What an intense gaze you have.” Alastor taunted.
Lucifer turned his head to face the sinner. “What do you want?”
“And what a rude greeting!” His smile widened.
“Listen, Al, I'm really not in the mood for your bullshit.” The king spat venomously, sitting up—not missing how the sinner's ear jerked in reaction to the nickname. “So, just hurry up and spit it out already.”
Alastor's eyes narrowed, finally dropping the act. “Your daughter sent me. For some unfathomable reason, she’s worried about you.”
Charlie… Shit, he should've known she would be worried about him after he missed their appointment. He didn't deserve her.
Alastor's eyebrow twitched in frustration. “As much as I’d love to sit here and watch you wallow, I’m afraid I have actual things to do today.”
“R-right. Thanks…” Lucifer felt so fucking dazed, he didn't even notice he was thanking the radio demon.
The sinner raised an eyebrow. He thought about saying something, but he wasn't quite sure what, so he decided against it and simply left the room.
Lucifer was once again grateful that the lights in his room were off as he laid back down under the covers. He’s such a fucking loser. Shitty king, shitty husband, shitty father.
As he lay back against his pillows, his head felt… spinny. Spinny? Spinny. But he couldn’t just spend another week asleep again. Charlie needed him. Yeah, like he’s done so much for her recently. Even when he actually tries, his best just… isn’t good enough. Of course, it wasn't. Because no matter how hard he tried now, it still couldn't make up for all the years he wasn't there for her in the first place. God, how fucking path-
…
Huh?
Lucifer had turned his head, but instead of finding more of his bed and sheets, he found… Alastor's shadow?
No, no way, he had to be imagining things. He rubbed his eyes. Yeah, just his sleep-deprived brain making stuff up! But as he removed his hands from his face, the shadow was still there.
“The fuck—what are you doing here?!” Ugh, why was he talking to it?? “Get out! Get out of my room!” Lucifer yelled at the apparition. But it remained, not so much as batting an eye at the king’s command.
He pointed toward the door. “Leave!” But yet again, instead of doing what it was told, the shadow just stayed where it was. If anything, it curled up closer to Lucifer.
“H-Hey! What the fuck are you—" The shadow made some sort of unintelligible chittering-like sound as it rubbed its face against Lucifer's chest. “...doing?” he trailed off.
Lucifer didn't know what to do with this. He knew he should throw the spirit off of him and force it to leave or personally take it back to its owner. But at the same time… something about the shadow felt oddly comforting. It wasn't warm, exactly, but it wasn't cold either. It was almost nice.
Fuck it. It was clear this shadow had a mind of its own, so until its owner returned, Lucifer would take advantage of any comfort it cared to give. He wrapped his arm around the shadow (an awkward movement, to be sure) and started running his fingers through its cosmic hair.
It was such a strange feeling, and even stranger to feel actively comforted by it, but as Lucifer felt the shadow’s vague purrs against his chest, he felt like he was being put at ease. He looked down at the apparition he held against himself and looked at his hand on it.
Right.
His hand.
His gross, burnt hand.
Lucifer let out a sigh as he looked down at it. After a short moment, the shadow noticed Lucifer had stopped petting it and tried to move its head into his hand. At that moment, the king realized how similar in color his hand and the shadow were.
Huh.
Well, that was certainly a disarming thought.
Lucifer held the shadow tighter against him and chuckled at his unintentional pun. Perhaps he could just have a… just a little rest…
—
Normally when Alastor's shadow went missing, it was off doing something that would serve to benefit him, so he let it go. It was never gone for more than an hour anyway, so he never worried. Today, however, several hours had passed, and his shadow was still nowhere to be found, and it was getting late. It wasn't like his shadow had a curfew, but Alastor still wanted to know where his own shadow was, goddammit.
So he went searching for it.
Alastor retraced his steps from the day, which led him to where he least wanted to be: outside of Lucifer’s room. It wouldn't be here, right? It couldn’t .
Yet he still had to check.
Fuck.
Alastor slowly opened the door to the king’s quarters, the light pouring in from the hallway causing him to turn over. Luckily, when he’d turned, he’d taken the shadow with him.
The sinner's eyes widened as he saw his shadow spooning with the fucking king of hell. He walked closer to the two and gripped his shadow’s arm, staring daggers into it as it opened its eyes. The shadow seemed anxious as it let go of its grip on Lucifer and slunk away. “We’ll discuss this later.” Alastor seethed as he watched the shadow exit the room.
He let out a sigh and knelt in front of the smaller man until he was face-to-face with him. He scowled. “How pathetic,” he muttered, unsure who exactly he was talking about at that moment. He reached out a hand to tuck a stray lock back into the king’s normally well-maintained coiffe.
Alastor let his hand slowly run through the rest of Lucifer’s hair before coming down to cup his cheek, running his thumb over his high cheekbone. “...How beautiful…” he muttered again, this time fully aware of who the subject of his sentence was.
The sinner leaned in, taking in the sheer, unadulterated magnificence of Lucifer—the Morningstar, who rested in front of him. His effortlessness, his serenity, his… everything. Alastor didn't realize he had leaned in even further until he felt his own breath bounce back onto his face.
He blinked himself back to reality and quickly stood before unceremoniously leaving the room, his heart racing.
The second the door closed, however, Lucifer’s eyes jolted open.
WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT????
Lucifer's mind raced and spun before the dartboard in his mind hit a bullseye.
…Was he...?
No. He couldn't be.
No…