Sleeping beauty

by Megane_Mika

Chapter 1

Alastor walked down the gray hallway, lit by cold lights. Back straight, hands shoved into his pockets. Elegantly dressed but always in dark, terribly dark colors. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail that bounced with each step.

Step, step, step.

Each step echoed through the hospital corridor. It was late, but he didn’t care what time it was. Alastor didn’t follow the schedules or habits of “normal” people. He stared into the void with a blank look, dark circles under his chocolate-colored eyes.

He’d been called a few hours earlier for a job. Without knowing it, they’d done him a favor. His work was better suited to nighttime, far from prying eyes. After all, he wasn’t someone who used the privilege of darkness and silence to sleep.

When he turned the corner, he found a woman, quite tall—almost as tall as him. Perhaps even taller. She had long hair, or so he assumed, as it was pulled up in a chignon. The woman was elegant, well-groomed, but her expression was worn.

Alastor sighed, preparing himself for yet another conversation. He didn’t particularly enjoy talking, especially when working. It was a different story when he spoke with his few close friends or family; he usually stayed silent then too, listening—but without suffering.

“Mrs. Sera?”

The woman turned toward him, holding her hands tightly to her chest. She looked at Alastor with hope, though she seemed like someone who didn’t usually rely on others.

“You’re... are you—”

“The onirotherapist. I’m Alastor Wiśniewski.”

“Wi...?”

“Wiśniewski, ma’am. But I don’t think that matters. Why did you call me, then?” he cut in, holding back a sigh, his tired eyes scanning behind his potential client for anything that might be useful.

The woman lowered her gaze, still clutching her chest. Alastor noticed. He noticed everything that was loud in silence. That was all that mattered to him during conversations. Words were just shields that pushed him away from reality. Even if... something true could still come out.

“It’s... for my daughter Emily. She’s... in a coma.”

“If you called me here, then of course she is.”

Sera looked slightly offended. After all, such a pragmatic and perhaps slightly sharp remark could be considered offensive in her intimate emotional state. Alastor was straightforward, but not a bad person. On the contrary. He was simply practical.

He sighed. In the end, he let go of some of the fatigue he was carrying. He had just finished a job less than a day ago. Technically, he shouldn’t have accepted another one in the same week. Technically.

“Please tell me what happened.”

A light veil of tears appeared in the woman’s beautiful blue eyes. Alastor was fairly sure she didn’t show that side of herself to many people.

“Em... she was hit by a car, a few weeks ago.”

The redhead simply nodded so as not to upset her further, while continuing to glance around. Behind Sera was a closed room, but the lights were on. Her daughter had to be inside.

“The doctors saved her and... they say she’s fine.”

“But she’s not waking up.”

Sera flinched, still staring at a random spot on the floor. She closed her eyes and gave a confirmation with the head.

Alastor mimicked the gesture, returning his gaze to the beautiful woman with raven-black hair and eyes as blue as the sea.

“Can you give me details about the accident?”

“W-what, excuse me?!”

She was clearly surprised by that question. No one expects someone who helps people come out of comas to care about the accident or related dynamics.

“Did something happened that Emily might have... disliked?”

Sera blinked several times, staring at Alastor. It was increasingly clear she thought the man in front of her was either insane or a charlatan.

“What...”

“Just answer so we can get this over with.”

The woman moved her arms, folding her hands in front of her lower stomach. She squeezed them, caressed them. Alastor watched every movement, every ounce of force in that gesture. She was sad, agitated, scared, probably doubtful, and anxious—because of him, too.

“She... she had her dog with her.”

“It died,” he guessed with an almost hateful coldness.

The woman nodded. It was clear it wasn’t a detail that concerned her much anymore. Alastor filed away the information. Although he loved animals—probably more than people—he’d learned not to bring anything personal into his work. His current state of overdreaming helped him stay almost mentally detached, like someone who drank too much or slept too little.

“Emily must have loved it. How long had she had it?”

“About a year. We got it from a breeder.”

“The child fell into a coma after seeing the animal die.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, a few minutes later she lost consciousness and... the doctors declared the coma after she was hospitalized.”

“Okay. Got it.”

Alastor stepped forward, passing the woman. Sera didn’t appreciate that, just as she hadn’t liked the intrusive questions, which she believed had nothing to do with the man’s job.

“T-that’s it? You’re asking about the dog?”

The therapist placed a hand on the doorknob, not even turning to face her.

“Do you have the breeder’s number?”

“W-what?!”

“I asked if you have the number of the breeder you got the dog from.”

“The... the dog that died?”

“The dog that died.”

“Yes, of course... I have the number. Why?”

Alastor turned the knob, opening the door where he was sure he’d find his patient.

“Because before your daughter wakes up, you need to get her another one,” he said, stepping into the room, where he could already see a hospital bed surrounded by machines.

“I don’t want clients accusing me of being a liar,” he muttered, slamming the door in the woman’s face.

Sera stood there, stunned, staring at the door that had just been slammed shut in front of her, somewhat rudely.

Alastor walked through the room. He hadn’t taken his hands out of his pockets for a single second. He didn’t want his client to see how violently they were trembling. He was already overdreaming, and this was his third client in a week. But coma didn’t wait, and it wasn’t a place where people could live. He was the only one who could bring them out. Or at least... the only one in the region.

“Emily, I’m Alastor Wiśniewski. I’m your onirotherapist,” he whispered, pulling up a chair and placing it beside the hospital bed where a beautiful little girl, like a porcelain doll, slept.

“I know you don’t know what that is. Almost no one does, after all,” he nearly chuckled, shifting all his attention to the little girl with soft black waves for hair.

He wondered if Emily’s eyes were as blue as her mother’s. But he’d find out soon enough.

“I’m here because I’m the only one who can enter the world you’re in. Even if I’m not magical... I’m still human,” he said even softer, lowering his gaze to his trembling hands.

“That’s why I have to get you out, quickly, sweetheart.”

He sighed lightly, leaning back against the chair and reaching out a hand to gently rest it on the girl’s small, cool one. He looked at her, smiling in a tired but reassuring way.

“I’m coming,” he whispered, before closing his eyes and focusing on the world she was trapped in.

Alastor imagined a door. What color would a door be for a little girl who loved her dog? With a strict but loving mother, after all. He pictured... a wooden door, with leaves, flowers, and a few squirrels climbing on its surface. It was accurate enough, as the door opened, and he was overwhelmed by the warmth and blinding light that always pulled his subconscious into someone else’s.

His body slumped, his arm slipping from the girl’s hand, falling limp at his side. The therapist reopened his eyes. He stood before a lovely wooden house, surrounded by mushrooms and flowers. The air was fresh, fragrant, and even carried the scent of what seemed to be an apple pie.

“Emily?” he called out, taking his first steps.

Alastor ignored the usual form he took in the subconscious world—similar to his real self but with soft ears and a tail the same mahogany color as his hair. Two small black antlers rose from his head. When he first discovered this, he realized he’d taken on the form of a reindeer. He didn’t think that reflected his nature, but he didn’t care.

“W-who’s there?”

A tiny voice came from the kitchen window. Emily peeked out, frightened, with blue eyes exactly as he’d imagined and long, soft white bunny ears.

“I already introduced myself, but I suppose you didn’t hear me. I’m Alastor Wiśniewski.”

“A-Ala—”

“Alastor... Wiśniewski. Nice to meet you.” He’d never admit it, but he loved his full name.

The little girl looked at him for a few seconds, studying him. She was small—but more importantly, in a coma. She couldn’t ask herself questions like “What is a person doing in my subconscious?” the way someone awake probably would. Alastor had to blend in and act according to the rules of this world. He approached the girl, trying to smile, even though it wasn’t exactly his specialty.

“Is that apple pie I smell?”

“Oh! Yes, yes! I just made it in my pink oven! Want a slice?”

Alastor opened his arms as if it were the best offer he’d ever heard.

“I can’t imagine a better snack. It’s been hours since I last ate.”
That wasn’t entirely a lie, though “hours” would more accurately be “days.”

Emily bounced happily back into the house to open the door for her new friend. The wooden door, decorated with flowers, swung open, revealing the short stature of his client. She was adorably dressed in a long fairy princess gown, if one had to give it a name. Her long, wavy black hair danced with every hop, and her cheeks were so rosy she didn’t even look like a person in a coma.

“Come in!”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said gently, reminding himself he was talking to a little girl playing the role of the lady of the house.

The man ducked slightly and stepped inside, cautiously. Everything was clearly modeled after her toys. Tables, chairs, oven—every kitchen accessory resembled those from children’s playsets. He nearly smiled out of tenderness, if not for the fact he had already seen dozens of child clients. Emily wasn’t even the first to be in a coma after a car accident.

Alastor could proudly claim to have seen every type of client and every type of reason someone fell into a coma without wanting to wake up. The most difficult case, if he had to rank them, was always suicide. A person who doesn't want to live is the hardest to bring back to life.

“Sit, sit!” Emily chirped, as a tiny mushroom walked behind Alastor, inviting him to sit on it.

The man nodded, smiling slightly, and sat down as requested. The girl took the apple pie—still steaming, though clearly not hot—that had been resting on the window ledge and brought it to the table, placing it right in front of the man who, unknown to her, was her therapist.

“So, uh… how have your days been lately?” He had to be delicate, but he also knew he didn’t have long to stay.

The girl picked up the pie cutter and a small floral-patterned plate, focused on her task.

“I… made pies. I ate them…”

“You made more pies and then ate those too,” he guessed, almost sing-song.

“More or less, yes! I also made a face mask and painted my nails.”

Alastor rolled his eyes, discreetly. It was all pretty typical for kids.

“Emily, where’s your dog?”

A loud, practically deafening CRACK echoed from the sky. From his position, Alastor saw a dark rift open in the clouds, as if he were inside a crystal ball that had just been broken. His lips widened—but it wasn’t a smile. It was more like resignation.

“What…?” The girl moved her eyes from the pie she had just placed on the plate to the man.

Her expression was now shocked, almost shattered. Of course, he regretted breaking them out of those soft, fuzzy dream-worlds they clung to until their bodies completely wasted away—but he did it for them. For their good. Even if it meant hurting them, briefly.

“Sweetheart…” Alastor took the plate, while with the other hand he brought the slice of pie to his mouth.

He took a bite, chewing slowly. The flavor was surprisingly good—maybe a little too sweet. Too bad it wouldn’t actually fill his stomach, empty for dozens of hours now.

“Do you remember your dog’s name?” he asked, setting the plate on a nearby table.

“R-Razzle.”

“Razzle. Listen… he protected you.”

“No… no…” The little girl went pale, stepping back.

Alastor lunged forward slightly, grabbing her wrist, gently pulling her into his arms. He spread his legs to make room and hugged her firmly and tenderly, closing his eyes. He felt the small body become hot and trembling.

“He’s gone, and you know that,” he whispered.

Emily tried to push him away, but Alastor held her tightly.

“He saved you because he wanted you to live, Em.”

“STOP!!” she screamed, so high-pitched and loud it created more fractures in the sky.

Alastor glanced at the cracks for a moment before focusing again on the girl.

“Here inside, Emily, you’re not really living. That’s not what he wanted for you.”

The girl began to scream and cry at the same time, hitting him with her little fists. The blows were ridiculously soft but carried all the sorrow a girl under ten could possibly hold.

“You have to go back and wake up… because he wants you to take care of yourself… and his brother.”

“W-what?”

Finally, she stopped screaming, her tear-filled eyes looking up at the therapist. Alastor tilted his head slightly, gazing at her with warmth. A warmth he mostly showed because he knew she wouldn't remember the details. His clients rarely remembered him when they woke up.

“Dazzle. What do you think? Do you like it?”

“Dazzle…?”

“Razzle had siblings, and… Dazzle is all alone. He wanted to be with you and Razzle, but now he has you to take care of him… right?” he said.

He was good at storytelling. Always had been. It was a trait that helped immensely in his work—especially when dealing with kids.

Emily absorbed the information, staring at him in disbelief. Now… she had a purpose. Her heart still held the loss of her dog, but now there was something new anchoring her—a way out of the sadness. Her wide eyes released tears like pearls.

“Yes…” she whispered, dreamily.

“You know, I saw him.”

“Dazzle?”

Alastor gave a gesture of confirmation, taking the girl and sitting her on one of his legs. He began to caress her back with gentle, relaxing movements.

“Soft fur… sweet eyes.”

Emily nodded, diving into the image of a little dog she could call hers again—one she could take care of and grow up with. Her heart still ached, but her mind held hope—a light, a new beginning without forgetting what once was.

“Does he have a pink nose like Razzle?”

“Of course he does, sweetheart,” Alastor whispered, feeling his own subconscious starting to falter.

His breathing grew heavy and his vision blurred. He looked up at the sky through the window. It was now full of glowing golden cracks. He had probably done what he needed to do. He smiled at Emily.

“But you have to wake up, Em. He’s waiting for you, and he can’t be without his new mom.”

The girl looked at him, her eyes still wet but now sparkling with a brightness that had been missing before. She accepted, just as exhaustion shattered Alastor’s essence into a thousand sparks.

The man woke up with a start, jerking upright. He hoped no one had seen him. His face had been pressed into the mattress—he’d probably collapsed forward a few minutes after entering Emily’s world. Emily still slept, but he was sure he’d done his job. Feeling utterly drained, he got to his feet, staggering slightly toward the door. Out in the hallway, Emily’s mother was on the phone. Alastor guessed with some confidence that, given the late hour, she was either speaking to the girl’s father or the breeder. As soon as she saw him, she hung up and hurried over.

“Well…?”

“I... I think she’ll wake up in the early hours of the morning.”

“Oh my God… Thank you, thank you, Mr…” She struggled to remember the unpronounceable name.

Alastor sighed, handing her a business card. He was exhausted and knew he wouldn't last much longer.

“Wiśniewski. You can make the payment via the IBAN on the card,” was all he said before walking off, nearly stumbling, though trying to maintain his usual composure.

He knew he often came off as cold and gruff, but that wasn’t really his nature. His face looked stern and moody, but his heart was pure gold. His words were sharp, cold, and logical, but inside, he felt everything his clients felt. That was exactly why he couldn’t allow himself to be overwhelmed—otherwise, he’d sink with them.

Thankfully, the place he was heading to was close. In fact, he had choose that place because it was near that job. It wasn’t the first time he’d visited that hospital, afterall. When he knocked on the door of the semi-detached house—identical to all the others lined up, distinguished only by numbers—he had to wait just a few seconds before hearing footsteps inside. He smiled, almost shyly. He knew a storm of scolding was coming, but probably not right away.

When the door opened, his friend Husk already looked furious, his pitch-black hair messy and wild, wearing nothing but boxers, his short, muscular, and extremely hairy body making him look like a snow leopard.

“Sorry, Huskie…” Alastor sighed, knowing he could finally let go.

The brunet looked at him, distraught. It could only mean that Alastor's facial pallor was even worse than other times.

"Fuck, Al, again?!" he yelled, as the redhead let himself faint into his arms.

Chapter 2

Alastor was brought back to the real world by a faint scent of what seemed to be waffles. He knew well who he could associate that scent with. Besides that, there was also the comfortable bed he was sleeping on and the warm blanket protecting him from the cold. However, the house was heated, modern, made ancient only by the furniture its owner had given it.

The redhead slowly opened his eyes, being met with terrible nausea, dizziness, and blurred vision. Husk was entering the bedroom at that very moment, with a plate in his hands and a cup in the other.

As soon as he saw him, Alastor brought his arm to shield his eyes, turning to the other side with an annoyed groan.

"Are you serious? I should kick your ass out and this is the thanks I get?"

"I feel awful, leave me alone." He mumbled, feeling that he could vomit at any moment.

Definitely, breakfast was not what he felt he needed, even though he knew that part of the reason for his malaise was precisely not having eaten for at least two days due to work and travel to his clients.

The sound he heard next was no surprise. Husk set everything down on the nightstand, quite gruffly, almost as if to break the plate and cup, then turned to the man lying on the bed.

"Let me remind you that for at least the tenth time you've shown up here in the middle of the night, deathly pale, passed out in my arms. I had to drag you to bed, take off your clothes, and even bother to prepare something for you. Is this your level of gratitude, Al?"

Alastor sighed loudly. He knew very well that the brunet was damn right and he also knew that he was practically the only one who took care of him like that. Only at that description, the therapist noticed he was only in boxers, under the soft and warm duvet.

"I'm sorry, Huskie. I swear, I'm grateful. I just feel... damn awful." He said in a weak voice, his eyes still hidden under his forearm.

Husk pulled up a chair and sat next to his friend. It was clear he was trying to calm himself down and not be too harsh on the other man.

"Do we need to do that thing you explained to me?"

"We should..."

"Even if you don't seem so diligent about your work rules. That's why you feel like crap, Alastor."

Alastor sighed again, revealing his eyes and resting his gaze on his friend.

"You shouldn't have said my name, Husk."

Very slowly, he tried to sit up, without experiencing a terrifying wave of nausea. He had never been in such a state, but at the same time, his therapies were becoming increasingly requested, and conducting only one session a week was practically absurd. Furthermore, he didn't want to keep people in a coma waiting. The longer they spent in that internal world, the harder it was for them to come back.

Husk helped him sit up, leaning forward, then returned to his chair. He noticed that Alastor was terribly pale and how bothered he was by the smell of food. He had to insist, however, if he didn't want him dead on his bed.

"What's your name?"

"Alastor... Wiśniewski." He mumbled, rubbing his face.

"How old are you?"

Alastor remained silent, realizing he had to think.

"Something with a zero... 20?"

"You wish."

The redhead chuckled, understanding he had to raise the number.

"Then 30."

"More or less, yes. You just turned 31."

Alastor nodded, remembering the information. Or at least, he assimilated it.

"Your favorite dish?"

"Kluski z truskawkami..." He said without any doubt.

Husk made a slight grimace, trying to hide his opinion on the dish he had come to know over the years. The redhead raised an eyebrow, watching the brunet, knowing well what he thought and not accepting his opinion at all.

"Something that reminds you of the person in front of you."

"That he's a jerk. But a good person, who didn't even know vodka is served cold."

"It's not always—"

"It is served cold."

Husk rolled his eyes, then took the plate and cup from beside the bed. He had already sensed that his friend was partially well and that he needed to eat and drink.

"You need to eat, Al."

Alastor let out a soft groan that he kept to himself, reaching out to take what the brunet had prepared for him.

"Even if it doesn't seem like it, I'm grateful."

"I imagine."

The therapist slowly began to eat, using the small fork Husk had placed on his plate. His waffles were always so tremendously soft that they could be torn without even using a knife. They weren't too sweet either, and the blueberry sauce made everything even more enjoyable. He knew that the brunet would never prepare his favorite dish, out of pure stubbornness, so when he found out that the redhead didn't hate that breakfast after all, he often made it for him, those times Alastor happened to wake up at his place.

"Al..."

"Mh?" He put down the fork to sip the bitter coffee from the cup.

"If you don't call your therapist, I will." He said seriously and particularly determinedly.

Alastor froze, the cup slightly raised. The coffee level had lowered, so it didn't reach his lips. After a few seconds of contemplation, he lowered his arm, resting his eyes on the duvet. To be precise, looking at his covered feet.

"I know I worried you."

"Definitely. It's not fair for you to act like this."

"I do it for those people, Husker." He moved his face, letting his world made of caramel and chocolate meet the pure darkness of the other man's irises.

Husk was determined. The therapist noticed with a quick glance that he was clenching his fists. He was... agitated to talk to him about that subject, which he had perhaps thought about throughout his nap.

"I can only appreciate it, Al. But you also need to think about the living and those who care about you."

"They're not dead."

"But I'm more alive than them." He blurted out, in a hurt tone.

At that instant, Alastor flinched, while Husk lowered his face towards the floor. It was clear he didn't want to say that phrase that came directly from his gut.

The therapist let a few seconds pass, allowing the brunet to reflect on what he had said and on his feelings.

"Come here." He whispered, setting aside the plate and cup.

"Who the hell do you take me for? I already told you there's nothing sentimental."

"I know, Huskie. I know. But I also understand that you care about me and that I worried you." He explained, in a sweet and deep tone.

It was a bit dishonest. He knew that therapist-like tone worked excessively well with the brunet. When he opened his arms, his friend grumblingly moved forward, returning the embrace.

"We won't do it today." Husk specified, knowing he had lost with that stupid trick.

Alastor nodded, holding him close.

"I couldn't agree more, given my state." He whispered, almost amused by how weak he felt.

Husk soon pulled away from him, standing up again and pointing at the waffles.

"Finish them. And you won't work for a week." He ordered.

The redhead nodded, smiling. He had no other clients at the moment, after all.

"Unless you call Rosie, as you threatened to do."

"I don't threaten you, Alastor. I don't want you to die or to wake up one day without memories."

The therapist couldn't help but accept that not-too-veiled threat. He knew he had to call his own therapist and check his condition. But he also knew that the punishment from the beautiful white-haired woman wouldn't be as light as Husk's.

"I'll call her, okay?"

"Today. Or I'll never open that door for you again."

Chapter 3

The silence of the room was broken only by faint sighs, dry and mechanical sounds of skin slapping against skin. The brunet's bed creaked slightly, but to Alastor’s ears, that sound was intoxicating, singing a melody and rhythm he confidently followed.

These were the brief moments when he could truly be himself—free of heavy masks, roles, or obligations. Pure freedom, pure instinct, seasoned with a pinch of fantasy.

Husk wasn’t the type to make any noise, except for a faint moan in the peaks of pleasure—and that was fine. Ever since they’d started, years ago, it had been clear they were exchanging a simple favor of mutual pleasure, with respect and care. Despite an early period in which they tried dating—more out of courtesy than genuine desire—they both realized there could be nothing more than friendship between them.

Their personalities were simply incompatible, but most of all, neither of their hearts lit up with the other’s name. Alastor didn’t know if Husk had ever had a crush on anyone, but the therapist knew well that his own heart wasn’t open to anyone. It had been tightly sealed—against his will.

He loved doing it in dark places, where he could touch the other, explore his body, use him while still respecting him, traveling with his imagination.

He imagined sounds, he imagined moans, scents, expressions, and features—ones quite different from those of his partner.

He heard a faint, stifled moan, which broke his fantasy of holding in his arms a fragile, pale body—noticeably less hairy, and nearly driven mad by pleasure. The wetness between their bodies let him know Husk had come, silently as always.

The redhead chose not to prolong the encounter, quickening his thrusts and reaching the same climax, clutching the other’s torso tightly and finishing inside him, practically growling silently through clenched teeth.

The two remained embraced, catching their breath in the dimly lit room, its shutters purposely drawn by the brunet, who had once again fallen for the charm and voice of the bastard who always seduced him with disarming ease.

Alastor shifted slightly, stroking and staring at Husk’s hair. It was a ritual the brunet had come to understand was important for the therapist. He stayed silent, watching out of the corner of his eye as the other man sank into a fantasy too deep, gazing at that lock of hair as if it were the most important thing in his life. His eyes were glossy, his smile emotional, as he bent down to kiss the strand—now, in his vision, a shade of blonde so golden it seemed to light up the darkness of the room.

"Mój królewiczu..." he whispered tenderly, as though paying a compliment to the man he’d just had sex with.

But it was clear he wasn’t thinking about Husk. And that was okay. Alastor had started surrendering to those fantasies without filters when they both clearly stated they would do such things solely for pleasure. He felt somehow permitted to live that experience however he preferred, without the risk of hurting the other.

Alastor withdrew from him, laying down beside him, returning to reality and turning his face toward the brunet, who stared tiredly at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re really an asshole,” he muttered, knowing that less than thirty minutes after agreeing to do nothing, he’d been seduced like a high school girl.

“I needed it… thank you,” Alastor whispered, taking the other’s hand without looking at him.

Husk knew he wasn’t speaking entirely about physical need, but rather about falling into those fantasies he immersed himself in during their encounters. Husk had noticed over the years. Alastor would often sit in corners of the bar where the brunet worked, whispering and muttering to himself. No one would’ve noticed unless they paid close attention.

He had never asked him anything about it, not in ten years of friendship—of which the last eight had involved sex once or twice a month. Alastor didn’t seem insane, despite everything. He had an obsessive love for his job, to the point of being a workaholic. He would put his health second in order to provide immediate service.

The brunet had gradually come to understand the other’s work. He wasn’t just a typical therapist who digs into your mind or uses hypnosis. Though he hadn’t believed it at first, Alastor could enter the dreams of comatose patients to offer unconscious therapy and try to bring them back—provided their body and brain weren’t damaged.

He also knew that every dream therapist needed a mentor, another therapist to monitor their condition. When Alastor started showing up at his place utterly drained, Husk had forced him to give him his therapist’s number. In a moment of weakness, he did—asking, however, never to use it.

The redhead, however, visited the woman far less often than he should and often ignored her calls to avoid a scolding. He knew he’d been diving too deeply into work lately.

“You need a break, Alastor. You need to see your therapist and stop working for a while.”

This time, Alastor seemed to seriously consider it, his gaze also drifting to the ceiling like Husk’s. That darkness helped him delve into his subconscious and reflect, free of external influence.

“I do it for them…” he whispered, repeating something he often said.

“You’ll never help them if you keep pushing yourself to this point. How was your last session?”

The redhead sighed, rubbing his face while reflecting on his last blurred memories.

“I think I brought her back… but only for a few seconds.”

“All the more reason to prioritize your own well-being. Just this once, Al. You promised you’d go see Rosie.”

“I know, Huskie… I promise I’ll contact her.”

“And that you won’t work for a few days.”

“I suppose… yes.”

 

-

 

RING RING

 

Alastor sipped his long coffee from a paper cup, seated at a narrow, tall table, watching the city move in front of him through the window. Only empty stools sat beside him, but that wasn’t a problem, since at the moment, he wasn’t fantasizing about anything—or anyone.

He loved to daydream. Many times, he didn’t like his life, and he’d discovered he had a powerful imagination, allowing him to hold conversations with anyone, see things and places that didn’t really exist.

“Darling!”

The sweet woman’s voice rang in his ears. Alastor smiled, closed his eyes, and rested his elbows on the table. He knew Rosie was worried—maybe even angry—but she never showed it. She was a stunning, mature woman with incredible skills. She never scolded him for skipping their appointments to check his condition, and above all, when he confessed to treating more than one patient a week, she didn’t scold him—she just gently reminded him of the rules of their work.

Many considered them charlatans or lunatics, but often the results of dream therapists were undeniable. People who had been in comas for months or years suddenly woke up a day or two after therapy. Alastor had learned about this specific job for very personal reasons. From that moment on… becoming one of them became his sole goal in life.

“Forgive me, Ros…” he said softly, knowing he hadn’t called her in at least a month.

“Don’t worry. What matters is that you’re okay. Are you sticking to one patient per week?”

Alastor put the cup down, looking at it with guilt. Rosie seemed to understand his answer through his silence.

“You have to be careful, Alastor.”

“I know…” he replied, his tone guilty.

“The one-therapy-a-week rule isn’t optional.”

“You’re right…”

Rosie stayed silent for a few seconds more, giving him time to reflect.

“What matters is that you don’t exceed it again. When was the last one?”

“Last night. She was a little girl and—”

“How many days had passed since the previous one?”

“I…” He stalled, picking up his cup and sipping, searching the bottom of the paper for courage.

“Days had passed, hadn’t they?”

“Not exactly…”

“Alastor, sweetheart…” she sang, now making it clear how concerned she was becoming.

“Please forgive me, Ros. I just can’t… postpone them. The longer they stay, the less likely—”

“Alastor. A single week won’t change everything. If you can’t even remember your own name, how do you plan on helping them?”

She was right. She was absolutely right, and Alastor knew it. He didn’t do it for the money—his account overflowed, and he barely had time to spend any of it aside from buying coffee. He truly did it for his clients and for the love of his work.

“I’ll see you for a session tomorrow morning, okay?” she said firmly but gently.

The redhead nodded, sighing lightly.

“Yes, Ros.”

“Eat and drink enough. Take a walk in nature today, and talk to someone. It’ll help bring you fully back to reality.”

“Okay…”

“See you tomorrow, sugar.”

“Thank you. See you tomorrow.” He tried to sound cheerful, though he hated being scolded by anyone.

He ended the call, staring at the blank screen. Most people had photos of loved ones, pets, or favorite places. His screen was just a blue background with waves. Nothing special—and certainly not something he had chosen.

“Got yourself scolded again, Red.”

The slightly snide yet melodiously deep voice made Alastor turn toward the stool beside him.

A remarkably short man, with eyes the color of the summer sea and golden hair, was stretched across the table in front of him, smirking teasingly. Despite the tone and words, his appearance was breathtaking. Elegantly dressed in cherry-red vest and pants, with a pink shirt.

“Not the time.”

“Is it ever?”

Alastor wondered exactly when he had entered his own fantasy. Probably, his subconscious now knew when he needed to talk to that man. He looked up, glancing inside the café, watching for possible onlookers. He wasn’t crazy—just had a deep, enveloping imagination, combined with a strong sense of loneliness. He knew he couldn’t be seen talking to someone who wasn’t really there.

“I guess not,” he whispered, returning to watching the world around him.

“If you’re so anxious about being seen talking to me, why not wear an earpiece? They’ll think you’re on the phone.”

“Not a bad idea, honestly.”

The blond sat up straight. His stunning eyes locked onto Alastor’s, his sly smile clearly aimed at teasing him.

“Is your ass too heavy to buy a pair?”

Alastor picked up his cup, left the chair, and tossed the paper container into the bin next to the imaginary figure.

“I prefer not to make our interactions that simple, even if talking to you makes me happy.”

“Flattering. You do realize if you keep working like this, you’ll lose all your marbles.” He chuckled, following the therapist outside the café.

Alastor stuffed his hands in his pockets, walking down the sidewalk, observing completely random things.

“I’m not stupid. I know what everyone says. I just don’t want to make them wait.”

“If you know all that and still behave this way, then you’re absolutely stupid.”

The redhead tilted his head to the sky with a groan. This character was exactly like the original. He knew he had reproduced him perfectly. Still, for some strange reason, his scolding had more impact than Husk’s or Rosie’s. Only then did he start seriously considering setting limits and reducing his therapy sessions.

The blonde quickened his pace, stepping in front of the therapist and placing his hands on his hips. His face was stern but always condescending. He looked like a little prince, disgusted by people and interacting with only a select few.

“You just thought about cutting back on work.” It wasn’t a question.

“I guess I have to.”

“You say that to everyone, but this time you meant it.” He smirked slyly and stepped closer to the redhead with a seductive air.

He wrapped his arms around Alastor’s waist, pressing his body against the taller one, his gaze sliding across the redhead’s face.

“Is my opinion really that important to you?”

“Lucifer…” he whispered, pleading for him to stop the contact that felt too real.

“Did you enjoy it earlier?”

“Christ, will you quit it?”

Alastor felt his erection becoming more noticeable. Lucifer had mercy and stepped back, laughing and satisfied with the discomfort he had caused.

“I’ll stop only when you stop imagining me, Alastor.”

The redhead nodded, his eyes on the sidewalk. When he looked up, the blonde was gone—leaving him with a deep sense of emptiness and loneliness.

“This is all I have, królewiczu.”

Chapter 4

Alastor was sitting in one of the armchairs in his therapist’s waiting room. As always, he was slightly early. He preferred to wait rather than make others wait. His gaze was lowered, fingers interlaced, thinking about what he might discuss with Rosie.

He would definitely talk about the cases that had silently affected him the most, how he had been neglecting himself lately, and how...

 

CRASH

 

The therapist sighed, lifting his head to see Lucifer staring at a small pot containing a succulent, which had likely fallen to the floor while he was examining it.

“Could you avoid breaking things?”

Lucifer tilted his head to look at the redhead with a grimace, almost offended. He placed a palm on his hip.

“First of all, it was an accident. Second, that pot doesn’t exist—just like I don’t exist.”

Alastor shifted in his seat, trying to check if anyone else was witnessing his descent into madness. Lucifer was his only permanent company, not to mention someone he clearly cared deeply about. He had noticed that in times of deep solitude and stress, he thought about him—or rather, the original version of him, with whom he had not been in contact for many years now.

“Still afraid someone will think you're crazy? You’re a therapist. Obviously, you’re not entirely sane—”

“You know perfectly well I’m here to take care of my mental health. If anyone saw me talking to thin air, they’d strip me of my license.” He whispered nervously, turning back to the blond.

Lucifer had started to ignore the fallen pot—which, to be fair, didn’t even exist—now inspecting his nails with a regal air and a bored expression.

“If this is where it’s brought you, maybe it’s time for a career change. Ever thought of becoming a gardener?” he muttered.

Alastor let out a loud sigh, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He studied his creation of the mind, which was becoming more and more vivid and real. Even his voice and annoyingly specific mannerisms were eerily close to the real Lucifer.

Though a lot of time had passed, he remembered perfectly his expressions, snide remarks, and pompous gestures. Anyone else would’ve stayed away from someone like that. The fact that he held him dear enough to carry him through every moment of his day said a lot about the kind of person he was—probably a masochist.

“Alastor?”

“Y-yes?” The bespectacled man jumped to his feet, turning around at the sound of Rosie’s sweet voice.

She was always stunning, and it seemed the more time passed, the more elegant, feminine, and perhaps even younger she appeared. Her hair was long and white, always styled in a poetic bun. The burgundy dress with tiny black details outlined her perfect shape. Her proud, statuesque stance made it clear she was well-educated, refined, and ready to defend herself, if needed.

As far as he knew, she had never married, nor did she seem interested in being with anyone.

She smiled at her pupil sweetly, though with a hint of tension. Alastor knew her well enough to guess she had likely heard him talking to Lucifer.

“Darling, it’s been so long. Are you ready for your session?” She opened her arms.

A tender gesture that brought a faint smile to the usually reserved redhead. He stepped closer, allowing her to hug him, timidly returning the gesture by placing his palms on her arms. She always smelled of roses, as if she had bathed in a garden.

“I’m always ready to spend time with you, Ros,” he whispered, as the woman slowly released the embrace, letting her charcoal-colored irises sweep over every detail she could capture.

Although he knew the session had already begun, Rosie never made him feel bad about it. Everything she said was always for his own good.

“Take a seat,” she said softly, extending her arm toward her office.

As Alastor followed her, he could hear Lucifer chuckling behind him.

“You’re in for a good scolding, Red.”

 

—

 

“You haven’t come for weeks, Alastor…” the woman said, sitting next to him.

Alastor stared at the floor—more specifically, the small patterns of stones on the glossy tiles. His vivid imagination, something he had always had but which his overdreaming was now amplifying, had already brought those tiny stones to life, giving them cute, whimsical faces and high-pitched fairytale voices.

“I’m sorry, Rosie… I know it’s my duty to see you more often,” he murmured dreamily, without lifting his eyes from the new little creatures he was already trying to name.

Some were rounder, others more oval. They had started interacting with one another—chatting, laughing, hugging. A couple of them were even kissing. It was a sweet and pure vision, one that helped him relax.

“Hey, psycho.”

Lucifer’s voice snapped Alastor’s face upward. The blond in front of him had his hands in his pockets and was staring at the therapist with a disgusted expression.

“Wanna end up in a straitjacket or what? She’s talking to you,” he scolded, nearly furious.

Only then did the redhead turn back toward Rosie, who had gone silent. She was looking at him with concern. If she had already picked up on the little details, it was no use hiding the fact that he hadn’t heard a word of what she’d said—for who knows how long.

“Alastor.”

“S-sorry. I was listening. I’m just a bit…”

Rosie placed her hand on his. Her touch was gentle, caring, completely free of judgment. He heard Lucifer scoff and saw him from the corner of his eye putting his palm to his face.

“Is your imagination... more vivid?”

That question turned Alastor’s blood to ice. The redhead’s eyes widened, and he felt himself growing pale.

“It’s not a punishment, sweetheart. I just need to know how you're doing. This job is meant to save people, not make others sick.”

Alastor swallowed hard, looking into Rosie’s beautiful eyes. He was genuinely afraid to answer, but he was here for his job—for his duty. If he had gone too far, he had to face the consequences.

He nodded.

“One to ten?”

The bespectacled man glanced toward Lucifer, who still stood in front of him, proud as ever, his shorter stature oddly fitting his commanding pose.

Now serious, Lucifer pulled his hands out of his pockets and showed him his palms—or rather, all ten fingers. Alastor frowned slightly, not fully agreeing with the suggestion.

Rosie had already figured out that her pupil was interacting with one of his imagined companions again. Alastor had always been a man who retreated into his mind, and she knew that well. But overdreaming led to hallucinations, identity loss, and a concerning detachment from reality, often resulting in the onirotherapist falling into a coma—or deep amnesia.

After a brief exchange of glances with the void, the man returned his attention to the therapist.

“Nine.”

“Has it ever been that high before?”

“No.”

His voice sounded robotic, as if forcing himself to follow the fastest procedure possible to return to work.

Rosie understood. She knew him well enough to see that his entire life revolved around that profession he somehow loved. She still clearly remembered when that eighteen-year-old boy walked into her office, asking to do an internship and be trained by her.

There had been fire in his eyes—determination. A fire that still lingered, though now buried under the exhaustion of overwork.

“Alastor… this isn’t a penalty—”

“Please, Ros. I can’t stop.” he exclaimed, louder than his usual tone.

Alastor typically spoke in near-mumbles. Only when working did his words become clear, pronounced with a deep tone.

Rosie tightened her grip on his hand.

“I’ll be honest. I should have already requested your removal from the registry.”

The redhead froze. He had rarely shown such a shocked expression to anyone. He was speechless. Had he really deteriorated to the point of risking his job?

He had always performed his duties diligently. The only things he failed to comply with were seeing just one patient a week and attending his own sessions regularly. But those were... details. His health was optional. His patients came first. But he was smart enough to keep that to himself.

“Ros…” he whispered, not daring to say anything more that might worsen the situation.

“For now, you need to take a month off. Then we’ll do another session and decide whether to extend the break or allow you to return to work, okay?”

“A-a month?!”

Rosie caressed Alastor’s hand, instantly calming him.

“Why don’t you visit your parents? The city they live in is on the other side of the world, isn’t it?”

Alastor reflected on her words. The city where he had grown up—or rather, where he had spent his high school years before moving to the country where he studied and trained for his profession. He had always been a foreigner there. Though his manners, culture, and traditions were very different from those around him, they had always treated him kindly and included him.

“Yes…” he managed to say.

He figured there was little else he could do but accept what was being warmly and gently suggested. He realized that maybe he had been going too far and that, if he hadn’t lost his job yet, he would have to be more careful about following the rules going forward.

Rosie smiled, standing up. Alastor hadn’t expected the session to be so short—or to go so poorly. He nodded, rising to his feet as well.

Since leaving for university, he hadn’t returned to that city. His parents visited him once a year, sparing him long and expensive trips and always helping with little household chores or buying him gifts—clothes, groceries, appliances—even though he insisted he didn’t need them.

A few minutes later, the redhead stood outside the building where his mentor’s office was located.

“So, you actually managed to fail the one thing you were supposed to do: act normal.”

Alastor frowned, turning toward Lucifer, who stood beside him with that usual look of disapproval so typical of the blond.

“Maybe if you hadn’t talked to me every second, I could have responded.”

“Hey, asshole. I wasn’t the one staring at pebbles making out.”

“They weren’t—!”

 

RING RING

 

Alastor and Lucifer both turned toward the therapist’s pocket. He had forgotten to silence his phone. Thankfully, the call had come only minutes after the premature end of the session.

He rushed to answer it, not even realizing he was arguing with someone who didn’t exist—in the middle of the street.

Without checking the screen, he answered and brought the device to his ear.

“Alastor Wiśniewski, who’s calling?”

He turned and noticed that Lucifer had vanished. He sighed, just as the voice on the other end reached his ears.

“Al…”

That voice…

Alastor’s eyes widened. For the second time in under thirty minutes, he was left absolutely stunned.

“Charlie…?”

Chapter 5

Alastor stopped in front of the entrance to his new school. He had always been a boy a little more mature than the others. He lingered on details that people his age usually didn’t notice. He inhaled slowly, analyzing how the scents were different from those he smelled in his hometown. They were marine notes, the scent of the beach, sand, sunscreen, and plants different from those of the place where he had lived for about fourteen years.

He was the son of two people coming from completely different places, almost on opposite sides of the globe. Their love story was a bit like those you see in movies. They met at university, fell in love, then finished their studies together, got married, moved to the mother’s city, and had a child.

Gray, cold places, often rainy, but definitely modern, with excellent services, high security, huge parks with animals of every kind, where he loved to sit on benches and read for hours, watching the squirrels out of the corner of his eye. Every now and then, he enjoyed giving them some nuts he bought at a small supermarket nearby.

Those places were completely opposite to where his father had grown up. Warm, sunny, yet somewhat behind in modernity and where people felt free enough to follow instinct more than the law.

Because of the advancing age of his last remaining grandmother, the paternal one, he and his parents had to move to places where he spent only a couple of weeks during the summer.

The language was completely different, but he knew it well enough to survive.

Noticing his classmates passing him by, giving him a glance before moving on, Alastor decided to try to blend in, even though his decidedly elegant clothing contrasted with the t-shirts and baggy, sometimes even short, pants of his peers. Not to mention the miniskirts and tops the girls wore, barely covering what needed to be covered.

He sighed, using his usual technique, extremely secret and private, that helped him stay serious and in control of his emotions. He imagined small creatures or even friends created on the spot, sometimes historical figures, famous writers, or composers he admired, who suggested what was best to do or simply distracted him from the situation.

He walked through the warm school corridors, excessively kissed by the sun, while feeling sweat form beneath his white shirt and black pants, well ironed and perfectly outlining his long, slim legs.

His ponytail bounced with every step as his eyes studied each classroom sign. When he finally found his, A-1, he entered through the door. He paused again, looking around. Only a few students had already sat down, while others stood, chatting.

The school year had already started a couple of months ago, and although apparently these young people had only recently met, they interacted with each other, touching, joking, and hugging as in his places would have done people with an almost brotherly relationship.

“Excuse me…”

Alastor jumped, turning quickly toward the voice beside him. Next to him was a girl much shorter than him, with slightly tanned skin, wonderfully blue eyes, and blond hair. She was a sort of doll and smiled at him shyly. The redhead noticed how the teenager tucked a strand of hair behind her ear while her cheeks blushed.

“Yes?”

“You’re… Alastor, right?”

“Exactly… Nice to meet you.” He extended a hand, lifting his eyes back to her.

The young girl seemed surprised by the gesture and paused to look at his hand. A bit embarrassed, she returned the gesture. It soon became clear to Alastor that maybe the youths in that area greeted each other differently. Or didn’t greet each other at all.

“Nice to meet you! I’m Charlie Morningstar. I’m… the class representative and…” She began to stammer.

“Don’t worry, Charlie. I don’t need any guidance.” He interrupted.

Charlie’s eyes widened, not expecting such a reaction. Her long wavy hair moved slightly, bouncing with her surprised gesture.

“N-no, it’s not a bother, if that’s what you think.”

Alastor turned, looking for his seat. Unfortunately, there was nothing that could suggest where he had been assigned. Charlie followed his gaze, straightening her back and trying to figure out how she could help her new classmate.

“Can I ask where I should sit?”

“I-I… sure. It’s the last row, the seat by the window.”

“Thank you.” He said somewhat awkwardly.

He occasionally spoke with his father in that language, but he didn’t practice it often enough to consider himself fluent. He nodded to renew his thanks, genuinely felt but unable to express it with the right words or the expression those excessively smiling people usually showed, then parted from the blonde and headed toward his seat.

He put his backpack on the floor, sitting on his chair. From the corner of his eye, he could see how many classmates had quieted down, clearly watching him. Others whispered, starting to talk about him. A movement of the chair next to him made it clear without even looking that someone was taking the seat.

Pretending not to notice, he took a notebook, opened it, then pulled out his pencil case and took a simple pencil from it.

He began to draw little plants on the edge of the page. He had seen them during the walk, and focusing on their shapes and characteristics was definitely a great way to detach from reality.

“Don’t you want me to show you the school?” Charlie’s voice pulled him back to the reality he wanted to ignore.

“I’ve already studied the school map. I don’t like causing trouble for people.” He said awkwardly, continuing to watch his little drawing.

“I told you, it’s no problem.”

She had clearly come closer, as he could smell what seemed like a tanning spray. Coconut mixed with something like jasmine. It was a somewhat modern version of what his mother put on him when they went to the beach during summer.

The moment Charlie’s hand rested on his, Alastor looked back at her. She was definitely close and smiled sweetly. He could even notice tiny blue veins in her sky-blue eyes. That gesture and expression reassured him at a moment when he was definitely anxious about what his life would be for the next five years, in a place completely different from where he grew up, surrounded by people he didn’t even know how they would behave with him.

It was only five years; he had to endure. When he finished that definitely compulsory path, he would attend one of the few universities in the world that would allow him to fulfill his dream. That of becoming an oneirotherapist and saving people.

Exactly… as he had been saved.

“Are you nervous?” she asked softly.

The redhead lowered his gaze, not moving the hand gently held by the blonde.

He simply nodded. He didn’t even know why he was telling such a private thing to someone he had known for ten seconds, but something in that voice and touch told him he could trust her, be honest, and open up.

Charlie squeezed his hand. She seemed quite mature herself for being a girl of fourteen or fifteen. She silently asked Alastor to look at her, which he obviously did, trying to behave as maturely as possible.

He didn’t hate that place or those people. But he had to admit he felt decidedly like a fish out of water in that place where he knew everyone expressed what they felt without problems, in words, gestures, loud voices, or often even fighting, hugging, and kissing in public or even more explicit things. They were… free creatures and partly victims of their own emotions. He was almost fascinated by them but at the same time scared of all that freedom.

“You don’t have to worry. They’re all good kids. They’ll never blame you for coming from a far place. They’ll probably want to know a lot about your hometown, but in a… positive way.” She shrugged, laughing embarrassedly, glancing behind her at some classmates dressed quite colorfully and with somewhat strange hairstyles, who were staring at them curiously.

Alastor’s brown eyes moved, staring one by one at those people he hadn’t dared to look at until a few seconds before. Contrary to the image he had made in his mind, fantasizing about bullies who would ridicule him, make fun of him, try to steal something, making him go through years of hell, there were kids almost shy, smiling, and genuinely curious as they watched him.

They seemed almost ecstatic to see someone so different from them. Without even realizing it, his eyelids widened slightly as he realized that maybe those people were kind and that his years there would be pleasant.

He looked back at Charlie with a different expression, slightly surprised. The girl must have understood she had reassured him and smiled even happier than before.

Those were the first minutes of his new school life. He would never have imagined that Charlie would become an important person in his life nor that she would introduce him to the person who would completely turn it upside down.

Chapter 6

Alastor was walking through the streets of his new city of residence. Even though it was early in the morning, the heat was already overwhelmingly intense. He had started school about six months ago, and he could confidently say that the place probably experienced something close to cold only during the winter months.

He lifted his gaze, looking at the clear blue sky, completely devoid of clouds. Unlike his hometown, where it was probably cold, rainy, or snowing, here it seemed like it was perpetually summer. Not that it bothered him—on the contrary. He wasn’t the kind of person who constantly complained about the temperature or the humidity or dryness of the air. He spoke relatively little, and before saying a word, he always carefully considered it.

The streets were completely deserted; he always preferred arriving well ahead of schedule for any appointment. At school, he was always the first to arrive at the gate. Even before the guard, since he often found it still locked and had to read one of his books while leaning against the wall.

He was passing through one of his favorite spots, a small sandy area that opened directly onto the sea. Many times, after school, some students would hold small picnics there, dipping their feet or even diving in wearing only their underwear, having stripped off their clothes, clearly driven by some primitive instinct.

At that hour, there was usually nothing and no one. But that day was different.

As Alastor strolled, barely turning his head, the sound of someone emerging from the water caught his attention. The redhead slowly stopped, then turned around, pretending to look at the scenery. What he saw, however, was even better than the view he admired daily from that very spot in the city.

A boy, who looked younger than him due to his shorter stature, was coming out of the water. He was blond as if he had showered in gold, his slightly tanned skin was hairless and practically glowed under the first rays of sun. He walked toward the beach, while drops of seawater still streamed down his body, dressed only in a black swimsuit that covered him from the waist to his knees. He pushed his hair back, revealing breathtaking eyes, blue with hints of azure.

His lips were small but plump, his nose dainty and almost French-like, his cheeks rosy. What struck Alastor the most, though, was his expression. A mix of boredom, power, and superiority. It was as if he commanded the very element he had just emerged from.

Time seemed to stop for Alastor, who widened his eyes as he admired that sea prince-like creature. As he walked toward his towel laid on the sand, the redhead noticed he was holding a net. Inside it were beautiful seashells. They looked perfect, with colors he had never seen before and peculiar shapes.

Only when the blond set the net down on his towel did he notice Alastor. He straightened his back, barely turning his head and looking at him with that almost arrogant and superior air that clearly defined his personality.

“What are you looking at?”

Although it was a rather aggressive phrase, not very typical of the friendly locals, that voice strummed the strings of Alastor’s heart. He began to feel a tightness in his chest, as if he were breathless—or as if something had filled him. He felt euphoric, restless. He wanted to run away and stay there forever at the same time.

That boy was so beautiful, he made Alastor wonder if he was just another fantasy that had slipped from his control.

“Ah…” He tried to utter a word—any word—but, of course, failed.

The blond observed Alastor with a sort of pout. He seemed almost disgusted. Receiving no response, he bent down to grab his clothes from the towel and hastily put them on. It was a simple black tracksuit, the kind people wear to the gym, but it made him look incredible. He must have been irritated that someone had seen him. Given the early hour at which he had been collecting seashells, his goal must have been to avoid meeting anyone.

He tucked the towel under his arm, grabbed the net, slipped on his sandals, and left the little beach, stepping into the alley and quickly walking past the redhead.

Alastor literally couldn't say a thing. When the blond disappeared from sight, he looked down and noticed the drops he had left on the ground. That made it clear—it hadn't been a fantasy… or maybe it had.

 

—

 

“Al?”

Alastor was brought out of his thoughts by Charlie’s voice. While his mind had stayed back on that little beach, admiring the mysterious blond, his body had made it to school, even taking notes and turning the pages of his books when needed.

All of it had happened automatically, while his imagination kept wandering toward better endings than the one he had gotten. He feared he would never see him again. After all, he hadn’t run into him again in the six months he had walked the same street at the same time.

“Y-yes, Charlie?”

He turned to her, feeling a sort of jet lag from his mental journey, though he would never admit he was already dreaming of giving that boy flowers, gifting him shells, caressing that perfect face, and admiring those sea-blue eyes with sky-colored veins.

“Are you okay? You’re quieter than usual today.”

The blonde had become a dear friend to him. He wasn’t the type to open up to anyone, but being with Charlie gave him a sense of warmth and security he had never experienced before.

He had shared with her his first doubts about his sexuality, noticing how he was more interested in men than in women. He confided in her about the sadness and joy he felt from the stories he read—something he had never done with anyone else, always feeling ridiculous for wanting to cry over the death of someone who didn’t even exist. He talked to her about his favorite authors, what music inspired him, and had even quoted some of his vivid fantasies.

The girl would listen, and she opened up to him as well. However… Alastor noticed how she rarely spoke about her family or personal life. He brushed it off, thinking she probably didn’t have much to say. After all, she was a simple girl, who read magazines and swooned over boybands. She clearly wasn’t stupid—on the contrary, she was kind and thoughtful—but she enjoyed spending time on things normal for her age.

“Yes, yes… I’m sorry. It’s just that…”

Charlie tilted her head, waiting for him to continue.

“I… I met someone I would’ve liked to get to know.” He blurted it out quickly, before his mind could stop the words.

The girl froze. The redhead noticed her eyes widened and sparkled.

“Oh my God,” she started.

“No, it’s not what you thi—”

Charlie jumped to her feet, grabbing Alastor’s hands and enclosing them in hers, bringing them to her chest. She was already off in her own world, as she often did. She was a sweet and imaginative girl, who adored stories about love and friendship.

“Did you fall in love?!”

“People don’t just fall in love at firs—”

“What’s going on, lovelies?”

Another voice—thankfully—interrupted what was already becoming a torture for Alastor. However, he knew the situation was only going to get worse, since joining the conversation was one of their classmates they had grown close to: Anthony.

Clearly gay, he loved to stand out, bleaching his hair, wearing colorful accessories and outfits, and applying excessive makeup. Alastor found him interesting in a way, but not enough to make a move.

“Ant! Alastor has—”

“Alastor has absolutely nothing.” Interrupted the redhead, his cheeks excessively flushed as he stood up.

He gently freed himself from Charlie’s grasp and bent down to pick up his backpack. Thankfully, the school day was over, and he could literally run home, where he could be embarrassed in peace and hope Charlie forgot everything. Sometimes, he wished he wasn’t so open with her, but he had to admit she made it all feel easy.

The two made a face at each other, disappointed about the missed gossip about their friend. Anthony shrugged, realizing he was making things uncomfortable for a boy he cared about and had bonded with. He quietly walked out of the classroom.

Charlie, however, remained still, watching as Alastor tried to pack everything into his backpack without forgetting anything. It was clear he was nervous, given how jerky his movements were.

The blonde looked at her watch. Alastor couldn’t know, but she was more focused on the day of the week than the time, which was clearly displayed on the pink screen.

“Do you… want to come over to my place and talk about it?”

“Mh?”

Alastor looked up at her. He was surprised Charlie had invited him to her house. She had never mentioned it before—nothing about her family or where she lived. The offer, even though he felt embarrassed about the recent topic, was intriguing.

He wasn’t nosy, but having a close friend whose house he didn’t even know… felt strange. After all, she had come over to his place several times to get tutoring from him, since he had excellent grades.

“Your… house?”

“Yes, my house.”

“You’ve never invited me over before. Are you sure?”

Charlie said nothing. She simply glanced at her watch again to confirm it was just a normal Wednesday, then nodded with a small smile.

Maybe she felt guilty for jumping to something too personal, or maybe she wanted to make sure Alastor wasn’t holding in something that troubled him.

“O-okay… then… I’ll follow you.”

 

—

 

During the whole walk, while they talked about TV shows and books they were currently into, Alastor noticed how Charlie kept playing with her hair, twirling strands around her fingers.

She seemed especially nervous, though she kept smiling. Her expression, however, was stiff, as if she were forcing herself to act as usual. Something was bothering her, and strangely, she wasn’t talking about it.

Once they arrived in front of an elegant little villa, Charlie stopped, starting to rummage through her pockets—probably for her keys. Her hands were slightly trembling, making it nearly impossible to find something small among so many other items.

“Charlie.”

Alastor placed a hand on her shoulder, causing the girl to flinch at the gesture, nearly jolting toward him.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry for getting embarrassed earlier. I don’t want you to feel forced to invite me over if… it makes you uncomfortable. We can talk at my place, or at school.”

“N-no, no, no. It’s absolutely not a problem, Al. Really.”

Her voice was slightly high-pitched, and her cheeks flushed. That was enough to confirm Alastor’s suspicions. He smiled gently at her concern and decided to take control of the situation. If Charlie had never invited him over before, there had to be a reason, and he didn’t want her to feel pressured.

“Char, I’m sorry. I think I forgot somethi—”

“Charlie.”

A voice—or rather, a melody—reached Alastor’s ears, and he instantly froze with a dumb smile on his face, just as he was trying to help his friend out of the situation that clearly agitated her and that she had brought on herself.

Those notes were the same ones he had heard that morning—he was sure of it. He turned around slowly, only to find behind him that magnificent prince, with a blank yet bored expression. He was stunning even in that situation, with his clean, soft hair slicked back beautifully. He wore clothes even more elegant than Alastor’s: black trousers and a matching vest over a pastel pink shirt. His hands were in his pockets, and he looked at the girl with a scolding air.

Only then did Alastor realize just how incredibly similar the two were.

“L-Lucifer…”

“You know you can’t bring anyone home. What is this about?”

Even though he was clearly scolding the blonde, Alastor’s heart danced with every word spoken by the shortest of the three. His eyes were literally glued to the boy’s lips, unable to stop himself.

“T-today Mom and Dad aren’t home and—”

“That doesn’t matter. You know they could come back at any time. Besides, you have to follow the rules.”

As Charlie shrank into her shoulders, Alastor noticed the blue and azure gaze of the little prince shift to him.

“You’re the pervert from this morning,” he concluded—not even phrased as a question.

“Perve—?!”

“L-Lucifer, stop it! He’s my friend.”

Charlie stepped between the two, trying to prevent what could become an argument.

“Charlie… could you explain?” Alastor whispered, unsure how to behave without some clarification.

The blonde slowly turned to him, incredibly embarrassed.

“Al… this is Lucifer. My twin brother.”

Chapter 7

Alastor stepped out of the airport. The sea-scented air that hit him almost brought tears to his eyes, but he had never been the kind of man to give in to emotions. Besides, it had been more than ten years since he last set foot in that city.

He was an adult now. He had left wounded, frightened, but determined to chase his dream. Those five years of high school had marked him in many ways. They had shaped him, and in some ways, turned him into a different person. A person he had tried to bury deep within himself when he left.

"So..."

The voice of his imaginary Lucifer pulled him out of any concern. The redhead, carrying only a small carry-on with the essentials for the trip—his parents’ house being available and even empty since they were vacationing in his homeland to escape the scorching heat of those months—turned toward his own creation.

Lucifer was strolling slowly ahead of him with his hands in his pockets, as usual. That smug, superior look on his face was a perfect copy of the original. Alastor rolled his eyes, already knowing he was about to get scolded somehow.

"You decided to take advantage of your forced leave... to help out a friend who cut ties with you the very moment you left?"

"Let me clarify that this friend would be your sister. Also, she must have had a valid reason for disappearing."

"Hey, Red. Try selling that bullshit to someone else," he snapped, pointing a finger at him, practically touching the tip of his nose.

"Can’t you just look at it in a positive light? You know her family is... complicated."

"Complicated, Alastor, doesn’t mean they get to use people."

Alastor shrugged, scanning the area for any trace of his friend, who had practically begged him through tears to come and help her, promising to pick him up at the airport.

"What, now you’re ignoring me?"

"I’m not ignoring you, Lucifer. We just see things differently," he muttered, reminding himself he was speaking to thin air, for all the people watching him.

Without even looking, he noticed from the corner of his eye that Lucifer was slowly approaching him, only to wrap himself sinuously around him and press his smaller body against the taller man’s.

"Knock it off."

"Or what? You’ll get another hard-on? Husk isn’t around for you to pretend to fuck me."

Alastor felt a wave of heat spread across his face, and in other obvious places. He sighed loudly, taking a few steps in an attempt to make his fantasy disappear—or at least move.

Of course, he wanted to imagine making love to Lucifer, just like he did every time he was with Husker, but he was here to help a dear friend. He just had to… do whatever she needed and take his ten-hour flight back to resume his everyday life.

Only when he turned the corner—hoping to escape his erotic imagination—did he feel a presence beside him that he knew far too well. Without even realizing it, he turned sideways with wide eyes.

Right around the corner stood a woman. She looked to be about his age, in her thirties. Her hair was short, straight, and blonde. Her face like a fairy’s, her skin slightly tanned, cheeks gently rounded, and blue eyes streaked with darker veins.

The blonde stepped back, startled by Alastor’s sudden appearance around the corner. She was probably looking for him. After a small gasp from both of them, the two locked eyes, lips slightly parted.

“A-Alastor?”

“Charlie…”

He hadn’t had the chance to ask her much—nor did he want to. His friend had sobbed through the phone asking for his help, and that was all he needed to come. He could see the faint dark circles under her beautiful, reddened eyes. Even though she was finally dressed well, in a long black skirt and a tucked-in cream blouse, she still looked somewhat worn out.

“Oh dear… Sweetheart.” He sighed and stepped forward, embracing her without hesitation.

He felt the woman’s body tense up at the contact, only to relax and return the hug. Alastor lowered his face, pressing his lips to the top of Charlie’s head, closing his eyes and breathing in her scent. Beneath the rose-like perfume, he could still recognize her natural fragrance. It had been more than ten years, but it felt like they’d last seen each other just the day before.

“I’m sorry, Al… I didn’t mean to vanish,” she said in her high-pitched voice, pressing her face to his chest, clearly emotional.

Alastor held her tighter, shaking his head. He couldn’t stop a few tears from wetting his eyes.

“Don’t worry. I know you had your reasons. Nothing’s changed, Char,” he whispered, so no one else—those now watching them sweetly, assuming they were a couple—could hear.

“You’re so tall… elegant as always,” she admitted with a tearful laugh as she stepped back from his embrace, wiping her face.

Alastor smiled at her fondly.

“And you’ve become a beautiful woman, Char. Not that you weren’t already a lovely girl.”

Charlie laughed again, this time more shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear—exactly like she used to.

Alastor gently took Charlie’s hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles, trying to understand what had happened as quickly as possible. He had to admit he hadn’t been able to think of anything else since her call. He’d considered everything, but none of his guesses could possibly come close to the truth.

“Char… what happened?” he asked, serious.

“Oh Christ. Seriously? At least buy her a coffee first!” Lucifer passed before his eyes, standing behind the blonde.

The redhead tried to ignore him, keeping his gaze locked on his friend’s eyes, though she avoided his. He knew very well the question had been rushed, tactless even, and that maybe he should’ve waited until they were both settled in her home, maybe after a shower and some pizza in the evening. But the truth was, he couldn’t wait.

“Al…”

Alastor gently tightened his grip on her hand, urging her to speak. He didn’t care that they were standing on the sidewalk outside an airport. If Charlie had contacted him after vanishing for years in such a desperate way, it had to be serious.

“S-soon… they told me they’ll disconnect the machines soon,” she said with a trembling voice.

Those words froze Alastor’s blood. The redhead stood still, trying to find an alternate meaning for what was clearly the most obvious interpretation.

“M… machines?”

The sob that followed practically shattered his heart. A loud gasp silenced the people nearby, the space around them becoming still. A stillness broken only by distant voices and the clatter of rolling luggage.

“Lucifer…”

Alastor began to slowly shake his head, unconsciously and silently. He looked up, scanning his imaginary creation, already shaken by the anticipation of what Charlie had told him, noticing how the blond was now staring at him with a nearly corpse-like expression. He looked like a porcelain doll, with wide blue eyes fixed on him. His skin was ghostly pale, his face devoid of emotion.

“Have the courage to hear what she has to say. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” he practically hissed into his brain.

Alastor turned back to Charlie, noticing how she sobbed and tried to wipe her tears, failing miserably due to the sheer volume streaming from her beautiful eyes.

“My brother’s been in a coma… for nearly ten years,” she said, her voice broken.

The therapist felt his heart go cold and heavy, as if it were turning to stone and crumbling. Lucifer… hadn’t built a life as he had imagined when he left. Every time he pictured Lucifer's family—his wife, his children—he had only been fantasizing.

Ten years… it was practically the same time he had been gone from that city. Lucifer’s life had frozen when Alastor’s high school years ended.

“Why didn’t… you reach out to me…?” he whispered.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I thought— I thought he’d wake up any moment and… all these years just went by.” She lifted her face, finally looking at him with a pleading expression.

“Ten years, Char…”

He knew many people believed it would be just a matter of days, partly refusing to even consider the worst outcome. Week after week, month after month, the years slipped away unnoticed. A tiny flame inside him turned into near fury. If only he had offered his services as a therapist as soon as he became one… Lucifer might already be awake. All that time gone made the odds of bringing him back practically nonexistent.

He had completely forgotten about his suspension and work restrictions. Now, the only thing in his head was the image of the real Lucifer, lying in a hospital bed.

“Please, forgive me. But please…”

“Charlie…”

Charlie placed her hands on Alastor’s wrists, tightening her grip and staring him straight in the face.

“Please, save Lucifer before it’s too late!”

Chapter 8

"You need to eat, champ."

Alastor threw his carry-on onto the bed in his old room, ignoring Lucifer’s provocations. The imaginary one. He sat down without grace or calm, sinking into the old mattress that had supported him for a few years, staring blankly into space, utterly devastated.

Lucifer…

Lucifer, Charlie’s twin brother, had been in a coma for over ten years. And he hadn’t done anything to help him. He, who was one of the few who might have actually been able to do something.

"Hey, asshole."

The imaginary blond positioned himself in front of the redhead, kneeling down so their eyes could meet. Now the shorter of the two had regained some color and, thankfully, no longer bore that cadaverous expression the therapist had imagined when he received the news. On the contrary, his face now wore that same usual superior, almost disgusted look, perfectly inherited from the original.

"I'm talking to you, and right now that no one can hear us, you decide to ignore me?"

"How could something like this even happen...?" Alastor whispered, staring at the other, utterly shaken.

"Uh... Lucifer went into a coma, Charlie didn’t tell you anything, and you kept living your life as a depressed mess. It’s pretty straightforward." He shrugged, standing back up and placing his hands on his hips.

"Can you stop turning everything into a joke or a way to feel superior to others?" Alastor scolded, feeling a slight ache in his heart at hearing the story that haunted him summarized so coldly.

"Alastor, you created me and keep imagining me. I’m just a copy of Lucifer. If you’re looking to blame someone, I should be dead last on that list."

He couldn’t deny it. This was just a figment of his imagination—one he had grown increasingly attached to over time, to the point of making love to him and spending hours with him each day. After he left, Alastor had to give shape to Lucifer just to avoid falling apart and going insane, realizing he couldn’t live without him, as fate had seemingly dictated. It was his simple and pathetic way of surviving or fighting back against the cruelty of a story clearly pre-written by some higher power.

"You’re right," he admitted, sighing and trying to resist the deep pain in his heart.

Within those four walls, in front of his Lucifer, he could be himself. He could set down the mask that grew heavier with each day—the mask that helped him present as serious, confident, cold, and competent.

"That’s new..." the other muttered, eyeing the redhead from head to toe.

Lucifer slowly walked over to his side, sitting next to him on the bed. His imagination was now so vivid—thanks in part to the overdreaming that was consuming him and pulling him further from reality—that he could even imagine the mattress shifting beneath the blond’s weight.

"Aren’t you going to eat?"

"Why this sudden concern about getting me to eat?"

"Let me think... maybe because you—"

"Can you answer without snide remarks?!" he snapped, turning to him, exhausted from the lack of comfort or affection one might expect from someone they make love to.

Lucifer grew serious. His blue eyes, veined with lighter hues—exactly the opposite of Charlie’s—looked sideways at the floor, making it clear he was thinking.

"You can’t be mad at me for something neither of us caused, Al," he whispered.

That tone and those incredibly wise words hit the therapist like a punch. He looked at his creation as if he had just been struck. He felt guilty. He knew no one was to blame. Charlie had undoubtedly made a mistake, but considering her complicated family situation—something Alastor had come to understand over the years—he couldn’t fault her for cutting ties. She had done it... clearly to avoid causing him trouble.

And deep down, a part of him had to admit that keeping in touch with her and indirectly learning about Lucifer’s condition didn’t exactly excite him, considering how things had ended between them.

A cold yet tender hand rested on Alastor’s cheek, pulling him out of the usual whirlwind of thoughts that buried him, separating him from reality. Lucifer stared at him blankly. That was his personal way of expressing tenderness. The blond never smiled—unless it was to mock others, especially him.

When their eyes met, Alastor knew exactly what he wanted. Or rather, what he wanted to imagine. The shorter man leaned forward, kissing him slowly. The therapist felt those soft lips part against his, as if they were real, allowing his tongue to slip into the other’s mouth.

They kissed gently, and in the redhead’s ears, the room filled with the sounds of sweet smacks and lovers’ exchanges. It had been a long time since he’d done that. Every time, somewhat selfishly, he used Husk to make those moments feel real. But now, there was no one else. And he needed the comfort of his beloved more than anything.

Lucifer pulled away from him, finally free of that ridiculous expression he used to belittle him. He turned toward the pillows stacked on the bed, deep in thought.

"Do you remember how we used to do it before Husk?"

"Of course I remember," he sighed, starting to unbuckle his belt.

He was pretty sure that with the level of overdreaming he was experiencing, making love to a person or to a pillow wouldn’t make any difference to his imagination.

 

-

 

"Al...!"

Lucifer’s naked body practically glowed in the sunlight pouring through the window. Alastor remembered how the sea water, the first time he saw him, made him prince and master of his heart.

That expression of lust, confused and delirious, as he looked at him, sent shivers down his spine. Someone so proud, powerful, with an ego bigger than a skyscraper—or maybe a stadium—begging for his touch, his thrusts, was something indescribable.

Something he had never truly had.

"My prince..." he whispered, in a language no one around here could possibly understand.

Lucifer wrapped his arms and legs around him as Alastor pushed into him with great care, putting his own pleasure second—for someone who didn’t even exist—while in reality, anyone looking in would have seen a naked man fucking two folded pillows.

"W-we're alone... say my name, please," he begged in a high-pitched, pleasure-strained voice.

Hearing him say those words nearly made him climax on the spot. He focused hard to hold back, only nodding in response. Positioned above the blond, whose hair was sprawled everywhere and whose face was flushed, Alastor tilted his face so his world of chocolate and caramel could meet the deepest of seas.

"Lucifer..." he gasped, feeling his hips speed up, riding a wave of growing pleasure.

Even the sensation around his cock felt terribly real, as if it were actually being squeezed by the warmth of a body that didn’t exist.

"More!!"

"Lucifer... my love..." he sobbed, only now realizing tears were rolling down his cheeks.

He had to ignore them, as his partner began moaning more frequently, until it exploded into a shameless scream, coming all over himself and soiling Alastor in the process.

The redhead gritted his teeth, as images of the real Lucifer—their conversations, their last moments together—flashed before his eyes.

He came with a single growl, releasing his seed inside one of the pillows, holding the other tightly in his arms.

In his mind, the blond embraced him, pressing his head against his chest. It was one of the rare moments where his imaginary lover showed him affection. Minutes of panting and silence were eventually broken by Lucifer’s words.

"What do you plan to do from now on?" he whispered, though the volume of that question felt deafening.

"Charlie... didn’t tell me much. We’re supposed to meet directly at the hospital this afternoon," he explained, as if Lucifer didn’t already know everything he clearly should’ve.

The shorter man nodded, hugging him tighter. Alastor let himself be guided, floating in that cloud of love he had created in his mind.

"Your overdreaming is off the charts, Al. You’re at risk of falling into a coma yourself."

He was right. He had never reached levels like this. Usually, he only took two or three sessions a week, but he had to admit the numbers had been rising. And Rosie had prescribed him a full month off from work. Still, not rushing to his friend’s side after a call like that was unthinkable.

"Let me assess Lucifer’s situation first. Then I’ll decide what to do."

"Do you think it’s too late for him?"

Alastor sighed slowly. He was a man torn in two—between the rationality of a therapist and the emotions of someone who… loved his patient.

"I hope not."

Chapter 9

Notes:

NOTE: This chapter contains references to suicide and death. If these topics are distressing or triggering for you, please skip to the next chapter.

Alastor walked through the hospital corridors with a heavy heart. As he felt his eyes burn and grow wet, he skillfully kept all the muscles in his face perfectly still, turning it into a sort of statue.

Many times in his career he had felt the urge to cry, but apart from his earliest patients, he had always been skilled at hiding his emotions and playing his part.

A oneirotherapist, like most therapists, had to appear impassive, empty, analytical. Step by step, he reminded himself that the person he was going to see wasn’t Lucifer, the boy he had met years ago and hopelessly fallen in love with, but was instead a jerk—arrogant, with behavior that was perhaps slightly racist and classist—who maybe didn’t even deserve to be saved.

Those lies didn’t hold up for even a second, no matter how many times he repeated them in his head.

“Al…” Lucifer was walking beside him.

His voice even sounded worried.

“Don’t talk to me. I’m working.” He cut off any possibility of conversation, perhaps a bit too harshly.

“What an asshole,” the other hissed, practically disappearing in a gust of wind.

He couldn’t think about it. He had to do his job. It would be over soon. If Lucifer could be saved, he would go in, perform the therapy, and then, why not, take off to some island and enjoy the salary he had been saving for months without even being able to use it—except for groceries or fast food between sessions.

He wouldn't stay any longer than necessary. He would do what needed to be done.

His throat tightened, his breath became shorter and faster, as he felt his soul and determination collapse. In front of the door Charlie had indicated, Alastor saw the woman standing tall, her back straight, turning toward him. She looked even more exhausted than that morning—pale, with sunken eyes.

“Alastor… thank you for coming.”

Alastor hugged her again, making the embrace particularly brief, before returning to his usual stance. He knew he was now showing the emotionless face typical of when he worked.

“No problem, darling. You know I’m always here for you.”

Charlie nodded, clasping her hands in front of her chest. Her head turned slightly toward the door.

“Let’s go in, then.”

 

-

 

Alastor buried his soul beneath tons of self-control as he crossed the threshold.

The first thing he wanted to focus on was the window, which magically overlooked the sea. It was open, letting in a light breeze with a salty scent that made the white curtains dance. The room was gently lit by the afternoon sun, starting to suggest the coming sunset.

Everything was beautifully clean, fragrant—as one would expect from the private room of the most exclusive hospital in the area. Charlie’s family surely hadn’t hesitated to pay for the only male heir who would carry on the Morningstar name.

Then, his chocolate eyes had to land on the bed. Lucifer’s body lay there almost regally and somehow powerfully. Covered by a simple white, light sheet, the unconscious man still managed to radiate his ego.

But somehow, he looked like an ethereal, delicate figure—as if he might disintegrate into a thousand sparks if anyone dared to touch him. Alastor moved toward the bed, following Charlie and repeating to himself the role he needed to play. He had to do his job. There was absolutely nothing personal about this.

Nothing personal.

So why was his vision clouded by a film of tears? Swallowing hard, the therapist had to look away from that face he knew so well but which somehow seemed different. More mature. Extremely pale, unlike the tanned skin his prince had always had. Even thinner than he remembered.

Those closed eyelids made him want to fall to his knees and beg him to look at him again, to cast those blue, cerulean eyes on him once more.

A clearly audible sigh escaped as he pulled instruments from his jacket, sending the wrong message to Charlie, who gently placed her palm on Alastor’s arm.

“I’m sorry to ask something like this. I know that… you and Lucifer didn’t have a good relationship.”

Right.

They had always hated each other. Or at least, that’s how it appeared on the outside. From the blond’s side, that feeling of pure hostility was probably genuine. But as for Alastor… it had always been an act, partly to protect his heart and partly to keep Lucifer close. It seemed like the more Alastor treated him badly, with sharp, biting replies, the closer the blond drew to him. It was one of those situations where showing affection—or worse, actual feelings—would make the other flee.

“Don’t worry. It’s my job,” he replied simply, taking the small flashlight and stepping away from the blonde so he could stand beside his patient.

Charlie said nothing else. It was clear she felt guilty about many things all at once.

“Do you give me permission to… touch him?” He nearly bit his tongue for hesitating on that word.

“Of course. Of course, Al. Do what you must.”

Alastor nodded, forcing himself to stay serious. He reached out his hand toward Lucifer’s face. Even the mere anticipation of feeling that skin against his own made his heart pound so wildly he feared it might literally burst from his chest like a champagne cork.

When Alastor’s fingertips finally touched the blond’s cold skin, time stopped.

It was soft, silky, perfect. His fingers lightly traced around his eyes, across his cheek, hoping Charlie would take those touches for professional gestures.

The truth was that Alastor was reintroducing himself to the blond—telling him he had come home, and that now he would take care of everything, he would save him.

When he felt the muscles in his face begin to betray him, the redhead forced himself to return to his work. In that moment, the outside world resumed its normal motion.

He placed his fingertips on the eyelids and sighed.

“Please, don’t let it be too late,” he whispered in his own language, knowing Charlie wouldn’t understand.

The girl tilted her head slightly, curious about the unintelligible words, but Alastor was focused on the outcome of his examination.

He gently opened one of Lucifer’s eyelids, searching for that sea and sunlight that had made him fall in love. Of course, they were the eyes of someone unconscious, but even seeing those hues made him feel at home.

“Please…” He turned on the small flashlight and pointed it straight at the pupil.

Very slowly, after a few seconds during which Alastor held his breath and his heart stopped beating, the eye reacted to the light.

The sigh he let out as he straightened up was perhaps a bit too clear in expressing his relief, but after all, why shouldn’t he be happy about good news?

He could pretend to hate Lucifer, as he always had, but he certainly couldn’t pretend to be happy if he couldn't help a patient.

He turned off the flashlight and tucked it back into the inside pocket of his jacket, then looked back at Lucifer. His gaze fell on the half-open lips, letting the breath pass through silently and slowly.

“A-Al…”

“Yes?!” Alastor flinched, turning toward Charlie.

“How… is he?”

The therapist nodded, returning his gaze to his patient.

“I still need to check one thing, but… he’s doing well.” He tried not to sound overly optimistic, but he definitely couldn’t be grim without reason.

Charlie made a soft noise in acknowledgment. At least her cheeks seemed to regain some color, and her eyes held a bit of light. She must have reached a very deep level of despair after hearing the doctors declare Lucifer a hopeless case.

“Your brother doesn’t appear brain-dead. Why such a decision?” He surprised himself with the coldness of the question, as he placed a hand on Lucifer’s cheek.

“After nearly thirteen years… they started talking more and more often about the cruelty of keeping him alive like this.”

“But without family permission, it’s not something they can do—especially if there are still vital functions…” he muttered, placing his free hand on the blond’s eyelid again to reopen it.

“Unless…” he continued.

With his hand on Lucifer’s face, he slowly turned the patient’s head. His eyes weren’t fixed—they moved slightly toward the ceiling, like the old dolls given to little girls.

That was definitely a good sign.

Alastor closed Lucifer’s eyelid again, returning his head to its resting position. He was quite proud of how he was handling the examination without letting his emotions interfere.

He straightened up and gave Charlie his full attention. He couldn’t say he was angry with her, but he wasn’t exactly pleased either. He chose to remain impassive, as his culture often encouraged.

The woman clasped her hands together, fidgeting with her fingers. Her eyes grew moist, understanding her friend’s silent judgment.

“Unless they convinced you, Charlie.”

“I-I don’t want to, obviously… but if—”

“There’s no need to go on.”

Alastor’s voice cut through the usual ethical debate that split the world in two. Even though he worked closely with such matters, he didn’t want to take sides. His role was to save people in comas, just like he had once been saved himself.

His tone was deeper and more severe. Charlie lowered her gaze, wrapping her arms around herself. She looked exhausted—a level of weariness brought on by years of sadness and sacrifice.

“Your brother… could still be saved. Even if all these years in a coma may have crystallized his mental state.”

“Mental… state?”

Alastor nodded. He turned toward the deeply asleep patient. He was so beautiful, it was hard to find the right adjectives to describe him. But after all, he didn’t need to describe him. He just had to do his duty.

“It’s hard to explain but… during a coma, patients live in an ideal world that encourages them to stay unconscious—especially if something traumatic pushed them into that state. The more time passes, the more real that world becomes, binding them there forever.”

“A traumatic… reason?” she whispered, suddenly turning pale.

Alastor caught the faint, swooning tone and turned his attention back to his friend.

“Charlie?”

“I…”

The girl swayed. The therapist quickly moved around the bed and placed his hands on Charlie’s shoulders—she looked like she might faint.

“Charlie, forgive me for being so direct, but I’m doing my job. Did something… happen before Lucifer fell into a coma?”

The blonde began sobbing—more desperately than she had at the airport. Her frail body began to tremble, and Alastor could do nothing but set aside his mask and pull his friend close to his chest. He felt terribly guilty for having so easily accepted her silence and not digging deeper into the reasons. He had chalked it all up to parental pressure—that clearly, she and her brother hadn’t been allowed to make friends. He should have protected her. He should have protected Lucifer too. Instead… he had continued with his life, pursuing his dream of becoming a oneirotherapist.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to be rude,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head with a gentleness that could melt even a flame.

Charlie shook her head, but didn’t pull away or look at her friend.

“Our… our parents are dead, Alastor.”

The redhead froze at the news. They hadn’t been old enough to die naturally. She and Lucifer… were free. So then why—

“When did it happen?”

“S-shortly after you left. They died the same year you went away and… Lucifer…”

Alastor tried to regain control of himself. His vision blurred. She and her brother had suffered such a great loss—so young and left alone. He wasn’t a god who could raise the dead, but he could at least be a support. He could be there for them.

“Lucifer… couldn’t—couldn’t bear the loss,” she managed to say in a voice high-pitched and choked by the lump in her throat.

He couldn’t bear it…

What did that mean?

Perhaps he already knew the meaning. He just didn’t want to accept it—just like when he heard the doctors wanted to unplug the machines.

With extreme slowness and a shocked expression, Alastor looked back at Lucifer, silently asking him why.

“He tried to…?” he whispered.

Charlie simply nodded.

“Lucifer tried to take his own life.”

 

-

 

“To sum up.”

The imaginary Lucifer was sitting next to Alastor in the hospital waiting room, where he had just parted ways with Charlie. They had agreed to see each other again the next day, with a clear head and after letting everything they had discussed sink in.

The redhead was staring into space, deeply shaken, but his imaginary creation knew he was listening.

“The asshole parents are dead, apparently a car accident. Lucifer tried to properly slice his veins, got saved, but decided it was wiser to remain in his fantasy world.”

“Don’t reduce everything to such cruel words,” he whispered, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands.

“It doesn’t matter how you put it, Al. That’s what happened.”

Alastor simply let out a slow sigh, and Lucifer rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed by the other’s nurse-like attitude.

“You know it’s not your fault.”

“I should have stayed in touch, instead of thinking they didn’t want to talk to me anymore,” he muttered between his hands.

“That’s still not something you’re guilty of,” he concluded, examining his nails with bored detachment.

“Ten years… Their parents are dead, Lucifer tried to kill himself, and Charlie was left completely alone, thinking about her brother.”

“You’re not family, Alastor. You had your own life and path to follow. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be able to help them now.”

That sentence, surprisingly wise, made the therapist fall silent. A silence that clearly meant he was reflecting.

Lucifer furrowed his brow, turning toward him.

“You do remember you’re supposed to be on a break for a month, right?”

Alastor shot to his feet, beginning to walk in the opposite direction from the entrance.

“A-Alastor?!”

The blond left his seat, starting to follow him, shedding some of his usual arrogant and high-handed demeanor. What the imaginary creation was seeing looked like sheer madness.

“I don’t care.”

“Don’t do something stupid! He waited nearly thirteen years, one more month won’t change anything! Besides, Charlie didn’t sign anything yet, so nothing will be disconnected anytime soon!”

Alastor’s pace quickened, his face even more serious and determined. Inside, he gathered a strength he didn’t even know he had. All his memories with Lucifer, his expressions during their talks, everything they had gone through together, flipped through the therapist’s mind.

He loved him. And even if that love couldn’t be returned, he would save his life, even at the cost of his own.

“Thirty-minute sessions each. Low psychological impact. I’ll set an alarm to make sure I return before using my essence.”

“S-sessions? Plural?”

The therapist reached his patient’s door, lifting his eyes to the nameplate that bore Lucifer’s name.

“After thirteen years, he won’t come back with just one session.”

The imaginary Lucifer placed his hand on the redhead’s wrist. Their gazes met, and for the first time in all that time, the blond’s expression was scared.

“Please, Al…” he whispered, his voice trembling.

After a few seconds of total lack of emotion on his face, Alastor gave his companion a tender smile. He leaned down and kissed his cheek, fully aware of what others around them might see, but he didn’t care in the slightest.

“I’ll be fine, I promise. But I have to save him.”

Chapter 10

“Lucifer! Lucifer!”

The sweet voice of the creature so dearly loved by Lucifer made the blond open his eyes. Blinking several times, he stretched with a wide smile on his face. It was another beautiful sunny day, with the sound of waves crashing on the shore not far from his doorstep. The temperature was mild and pleasant—not too hot, not too cold. A soft breeze carried the scent of sand and salt into his bedroom.

Slowly sitting up on the incredibly soft mattress, which felt like it was made of fluffy clouds, he rested his blue eyes with light azure streaks on Keekee, his adorable cat with a single large eye and a long tail. He wasn’t exactly sure which mouth the creature used to speak or eat, since none was visible. Still, Keekee was quite the chatterbox, which made him all the more lovable—especially since he always cleaned his food bowl spotlessly.

“Good morning, Keekee,” he said, heart brimming with joy.

The cat spun around, then rubbed his face against the blond’s chest, who chuckled softly, clearly touched.

“We need to go to the beach! We need more seashells for the next orders,” Keekee reminded him.

“Oh, goodness. You’re right…”

Lucifer turned to look at the colorful sticky notes posted on the vanity mirror where he kept his combs, perfumes, nail polishes, and a bit of powder. They were his customers’ requests. His beloved job as a craftsman required rare, beautiful, and precious materials that he gathered himself from the beach or straight from the sea.

The blond stood up, letting his pet hop off the bed and land gracefully and silently, as though he weighed no more than a feather.

He walked to the mirror, wearing nothing but tight black boxers. Once close enough, he began to read the notes one by one, scratching his messy blond hair.

“We’ve got… a pink seashell necklace with a central pearl for Mrs. Rurabbit. A white-stone brooch for Mr. Croco—”

“He said it’s for his next gala. He repeated several times it needs to be absolutely stunning,” interrupted the furry assistant.

“Which means we’ll make it stunning, as always.” He rolled his eyes, thinking of how demanding his client with aristocratic crocodile features could be.

“And then…” he continued.

“The coral earrings for Foxie,” Keekee helped again, remembering the orders by heart.

“Ah… right. Those will be tricky,” he muttered, now heading to the wardrobe to grab one of his swimsuits.

He had never really questioned how his dirty clothes disappeared from the floor the moment they hit it, nor how the wardrobe was always full of clean, fragrant, and perfectly ironed shirts, jackets, vests, trousers, and swimsuits. That might’ve been something he wondered about when he first arrived in that world, but by now, it was part of his daily life, and everything felt perfectly rational and normal.

“For the coral... I’ll need to go quite deep,” he mumbled.

“Then wear the red swimsuit! That one makes you swim faster.”

“As always, you’re right,” he smiled, grabbing the suit from a hanger.

Each of his outfits granted him some sort of power or magic he could use throughout the day, depending on his needs. There were the ties for focus, the vests of calm for when he was agitated, the sleep pajamas for a deeper rest, and the cordiality shirts to welcome his most demanding and picky clients.

He had to admit, in his lovely little world—made up of a small, simple seaside cottage with a workshop attached—he didn’t really need all that help. He was fine, he was happy. Magic only helped make everything a little more vibrant.

Once he had his swimsuit on and his blond hair neatly combed with a mother-of-pearl comb, he headed to the small kitchen next to the bedroom. He opened the fridge, which was always miraculously stocked with all his favorite foods—mostly pancakes. Whenever he took out a plate and shut the door, he could be sure that when he opened it again, not even the tiniest bit of space was left empty. Strangely enough, it was always fully replenished with whatever he felt like eating in that moment.

“Keekee, what would you like?”

“Uhm… salmon fillets?”

“Salmon fillets…” he repeated, scanning the shelves with his sea-blue eyes, looking past all the packages and containers inside the fridge.

“Wait.”

He closed the door, placed his palms on his hips, and counted to three before reopening it. Magically, an entire fridge shelf was now packed with tins of salmon, seasoned in all kinds of ways.

“You want it plain, or...?”

“Is there one with lemon?”

Lucifer confidently reached for the tin with a drawing of a salmon surrounded by slices of lemon and lime. He’d already spotted it, knowing it was the cat’s favorite flavor. He had never wondered if cats were supposed to eat lemon.

The blond turned around with a wide grin, tossed the tin in the air, and as it hit the floor, it had already transformed into a bowl full of food.

The one-eyed black cat rushed over and practically dove into his meal. Lucifer giggled, seeing him so hungry and healthy. Of course, he didn’t know how old Keekee was—he didn’t even know his own age. He never asked how long he’d been there, what day it was, or even what century. Everything was fine; he didn’t have a single worry. Why bother asking questions?

He was in a constant vacation state.

He grabbed a plate of pancakes topped with maple syrup and a small square of butter. As soon as he pulled it from the fridge, the dish started steaming, as if it had just come off the stove. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla made his mouth water.

He often ate pancakes for lunch or dinner too. He didn’t gain a single gram, probably because he spent all day swimming and sunbathing in short naps. But even on lazier days… somehow, he didn’t gain any weight, keeping his body firm and muscular—normal for someone particularly short.

He ate his pancakes sitting in his favorite chair—the one placed right in front of the window, where he could watch his beloved sea dance and sing just for him. He smiled as he chewed. He was happy, his life was perfect. His mind was completely empty except for the small orders he had to complete, allowing him to craft objects—something he adored doing.

Once he finished his plate, he grabbed a glass of fresh milk that had appeared out of nowhere, drank it down, and stood up, determined to start his perfect day.

“Let’s go, then.”

 

-

 

The bubbles he released under the sea as he swam, the silence broken only by a few sounds, the light piercing even the depths and drawing golden beams—it was all he thought he needed.

No memories, no questions. There was only him and his perfect world. He almost got emotional whenever he could stay underwater. He had the strange feeling that before ending up there, he had lived in a different place, where the seabed had been his refuge—the only place where he could be himself. But it was just a silly feeling. He had been born and raised there. No questions about who his parents were or whether he had a family. Nobody had anything like that there. Each one lived in their own little house, received visits from others or went to visit them. There were even small festivals, little parties the citizens sometimes organized in the tiny village on the deserted island. They had fun; they had everything they needed. No one was different from another, socially or racially. They were all animals of different kinds, and he... he was the only human. Or so he had been told.

With a red coral in hand, Lucifer rose to the surface. Once above, he took a deep breath of clean, fresh air, smiling. He looked around, pushing his hair back. He was surrounded by his element, which welcomed and embraced him. The sun kissed him, keeping his skin always beautifully tanned yet still fair. In the distance, he could see the beach, where Keekee was sleeping on the towel and where his beautiful little house stood—simple, but cozy.

He let out a sigh of contentment, allowing his whole body to float, facing the sky. In his hand, the precious coral that would regrow in the same spot by the next day.

He knew exactly where to find all the materials for the items people asked him to make, and how long they took to grow.

"Fanny Flamingo’s birthday is coming soon... I could try to find some pink pearls and make her a necklace,” he whispered to himself, staring at the blue, cloudless sky.

Silence slowly fell again, decorated only by the sound of the waves, while Lucifer let himself be rocked by them. He didn’t know why, but when he remained silent, something strange grew in his heart. It felt like flashes of joy mixed with sadness. He couldn’t quite describe it. Some incredibly blurry images appeared before his eyes. It was as if there was someone in his mind he couldn’t quite remember. He had figured out over time that if he focused on them, he would probably feel emotions too intense—either positive or negative.

To be safe, he ignored them. In that world, everyone was happy and carefree. Why should he worry or think there was something wrong? Surely it wasn’t anything important.

“Luuucifeeeer!”

Keekee’s voice brought the smile, momentarily gone, back to the blonde’s face. He straightened up, leaving only his head above water.

“What is it?” he shouted to the pet.

“It’s late! They’ll be coming to pick up the items soon!”

“Oh, damn… right.”

He didn’t know what time it was, nor what time his clients—who were also his fellow citizens and friends—would arrive. He simply followed the flow of time and what he was told. If Keekee said it was late, he probably had to get to work.

Once he reached the sand, the short blond slipped the coral into his shoulder bag and pulled out a small towel, which he used to dry his hair. He likely didn’t have time to relax under the sun and let the warmth do the job.

“Do you remember what time they’re supposed to come?” he mumbled.

“Soon. By the time you finish the creations, they’ll probably already be at the door.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. He never got a concrete answer to those kinds of questions, but he didn’t care.

“You know what? I’ll leave the towel here, so I can go for another swim as soon as I’m done,” he said, taking the bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Then I’ll wait for you here!” the cat said cheerfully, curling up on the towel and closing his single eye to rest.

Lucifer let out a small laugh, finding his pet excessively sweet and cute. The idea of going for a nice swim after some crafting and a chat, maybe over a cup of coffee, didn’t sound bad at all.

He only had to make about three items—it wouldn’t take long. He already had everything he needed, gathered from the beach and the seabed.

He entered the workshop, which had no door, where only his workbench awaited him.

“Let’s see...” he whispered, smiling and pouring the contents of the bag onto the table.

Beautiful shells, gleaming pearls, smooth sandy pebbles, and the incredibly red coral were laid out before him. He already imagined how to use them perfectly, to enhance their beauty even more. He tossed the bag aside, absentmindedly grabbed a stool, and sat down. He turned on the small work light, necessary due to the slight shade cast by the house despite the blinding sun outside, and grabbed a file to make the pebbles even rounder. It had to be a meticulous job, well done. Even if it took longer than expected, it would be worth it.

He heard footsteps behind him. It couldn’t possibly be Keekee, given how light he was. Without even turning, Lucifer kept his eyes on the object he was shaping, his tongue sticking out slightly from the corner of his mouth in concentration.

“It’ll take a little while longer, come back later,” he said to whoever was already at his door.

“And here I thought you had stayed here for far too long.”

 

C-CRACK

 

Lucifer froze. The file and the pebble slipped from his hands, bouncing off the workbench and making more noise. A noise that now felt annoying, deafening.

 

CRACK–CRACK

 

That voice... it didn’t belong to any of the island’s inhabitants. It didn’t have the funny tone that characterized all the animals in the village. He could recognize Fanny’s high-pitched voice, Mr. Croco’s deep one, Mrs. Rurabbit’s soft ‘r’. Those words… they were spoken perfectly, and they sounded like a man’s. A human’s.

 

CRACK

 

Lucifer slowly turned around, feeling his heart pounding violently against his chest. His eyes were wide open, his face pale.

Why was he feeling such overwhelming emotions, so intense he couldn’t tell if they were good or bad?

Behind him, an incredibly tall man stood at the doorway. He had broad shoulders, a wide grin, chocolate-colored eyes, and a mocking expression. Nothing cordial like that of his fellow citizens. He almost seemed... like he didn’t like him and wanted to mock or mistreat him.

He had soft reindeer ears, and Lucifer could glimpse a small tail wagging rapidly, in contrast to the expression on the man’s face. On his head were small black antlers. His hair was slightly reddish.

He seemed like a stranger, but at the same time, he felt like home. It was as if... he had met him before.

 

C-CR–

 

“It’s time to wake up, Lucifer,” he said with amusement, sliding his hands into the pockets of his elegant suit.

 

CRACK!

 

The sky split in two, revealing a black gash. Lucifer flinched, terrified, staring at the man and what had just happened to his perfect world. The sky... had broken?

The man turned to look at the jagged black crack that had formed above the house. He let out a short laugh, then returned his attention to the blond. His eyes now glowed red, and his smile was wider than before. He looked extremely entertained, gazing down at the shorter man with an air of superiority. To anyone looking at him... he would have seemed like a cruel being.

“That was easy, I’d say.”

Chapter 11

“Have you lost your damn mind or what?!”

“None of the options you’re suggesting. You know perfectly well I’d do it anyway, but right now we’re talking about Lucifer.”

Alastor closed the door behind him as he spoke those words to his imaginary companion. The silence made the pressure in the room unbearable. Alastor froze, keeping his eyes down.

Without realizing it, he had been left alone in the room with Lucifer. The real Lucifer. Finally feeling free to act as his personality demanded, the muscles around his lips began to quiver slightly, his brows furrowed, his nasal septum burned, and his eyes welled up with tears.

A dry sob broke the silence in the room. Only then did the redhead decide to turn toward the sleeping man. He stepped closer to him, moving away from the door with slow steps, as little rivers of tears ran down his cheeks.

It hurt like hell. Maybe even more painful than seeing him with a family. All those years, Lucifer had stayed the same, while he had imagined a life with him. He knew he didn’t have a chance anyway, but he would’ve preferred to know he was happy, living and experiencing life, even if his family situation was far from easy because of his parents.

He was beautiful. Even with his face expressionless, Lucifer still took his breath away. He was older—it was clear at a glance. But he was a breathtaking thirty-something.

“Lucifer…”

“You know he can’t hear you, right?”

The imaginary Lucifer leaned beside him, still angry from their earlier conversation.

“I never got the chance to speak openly with him. Without stupid masks or filters. He was always so out of reach. And now… it’s the same, for different reasons.”

The blond shrugged, looking at his copy with a haughty air. He wasn’t jealous or anything—after all, it was still about him in a way.

“Even if you had, the result probably would've been the same,” he said, almost bored.

“Probably, yeah…” he replied softly, wiping his tears and trying to regain full control over himself.

He took a stool and placed it next to the bed before sitting down. With an almost inhuman gentleness, he moved the blanket to reach Lucifer’s hand, which had been tucked underneath.

With a brief glance, not even intending to be too analytical, he noticed the scars from the cuts he had inflicted on himself, trying to take his own life. Seeking a freedom he might not have had—or fleeing from an invisible suffering that to him, instead, was deafening.

A new wave of tears swelled up, but he swallowed hard and sniffled as he held that hand, so light it felt almost nonexistent.

“You’re really doing it.” It wasn’t even a question.

“I already told you. I want to save him.”

“You want to save him even though he’s always been an asshole to you? Even though he’ll never give you anything back?”

With his other hand, Alastor grabbed his phone and set an alarm for about 35 minutes. He needed time before entering his patient’s world.

“I do this every time for any patient—he’s no exception. And besides…”

He turned toward his creation with teary eyes and slightly trembling lips, even though he was forcing himself to smile.

“You know I love him,” he whispered.

Lucifer looked at him, shaken. He knew it was a lost battle from the start. He turned his face toward his copy, reflecting on those words.

“Maybe you should be honest with him—if you both manage to come back,” he said quietly, his tone barely audible.

Alastor let out a breath of laughter as he closed his eyes and focused.

Reaching a deep level of thought, he found himself in a completely dark space. The realm between reality and dream, where he had to create a door in order to gain access.

Lucifer… was arrogant, prickly, unfriendly, cold, and one of those people bound tightly to rules. He had rarely had the chance to see glimpses of the real him in the past, as Lucifer often behaved just as his family expected. Charlie was freer—perhaps thanks to him. Her parents were more focused on the Morningstar name, and for obvious reasons, their hopes had been placed on the male heir.

He imagined… a door made of precious fabrics, jewels, golden coins even. He pictured it arrogant, elegant, refined, and rare. He took a few steps forward, placing his hand on the doorknob.

He tried to open it but… nothing.

“What…?”

He had rarely failed to create a connection—almost never, in fact. It was enough to know the person, or at least what they liked, the reasons why they couldn’t return, to gain access.

Alastor looked up at the imposing entrance, completely shocked to find himself locked out.

He knocked, hoping for any kind of response. But of course, there was no one inside.

His hands trembled. Cold sweat began to bead on his forehead as he stared at the imperial red material in front of him with shocked eyes.

 

BAM BAM BAM

 

Driven by a wave of frustration he had never experienced to this degree, he began pounding his fists on the hard surface. He gritted his teeth, pouring all the rage of the last few days into that act—which wasn’t like him at all.

“Open up, goddamn it!!” he shouted.

His job. The job he loved, that couldn’t be done every time someone needed help unless he paid the price with his very essence. His stellar imagination that often made him seem insane, isolating him from reality. The forced leave. The news about Charlie, about Lucifer, about their parents. His imaginary lover whom he couldn’t truly touch, kiss, or hold.

It was all… just so damn much.

 

“I... made it using seashells.”

 

That sentence, distant in his past, spoken by a slightly more open and sincere Lucifer—one of the rare moments when he said something that came from his heart and not from his social role or position—broke through the therapist’s mind, making him pause and reflect.

The first time he saw Lucifer… it had been on the beach, just after dawn. He had likely chosen that time to avoid being seen. In his hands, he held a bag filled with seashells. Alastor later discovered that he made small objects with them.

Driven by new determination, Alastor closed his eyes, focusing on creating a new door. A simple one, made of seashells, with patterns like ocean waves. Maybe built from rough, cheap wood. It was madness, considering how the blond presented himself. But perhaps it was madness with a reason to exist.

He had rarely seen a slightly different side of him. And what if… beyond that superior expression there was something else? What if… it had all been an act?

 

CLACK

 

The redhead flinched, eyes wide open. Before him stood a beautiful door, already ajar and ready to be opened. Just as he had imagined: made of beautiful seashells, decorated with pearls, a few strands of seaweed, and coral. From the gap flowed the scent of sea breeze—fresh yet warm. The smell of the beach, sand, sunscreen, mixed with the sound of waves.

Alastor didn’t hesitate, despite the new tears running down his now determined, serious, and composed face.

He was overwhelmed by a blinding light, forcing him to shut his eyes for a few seconds, in stark contrast to the darkness he had been in before. When he opened them again, he found himself in his usual reindeer-man form—the one he always took on in the dream world, likely a reflection of his personality.

He cracked his neck slightly, ran a hand through his hair, and took a deep breath of that air he had grown to love. Lucifer was there, and he had to save him from himself. He had to understand why he had stayed trapped in there, and… the reason for his suicide attempt. They would do it together. From that moment on, he was his therapist, and he would guide him toward healing.

Chapter 12

Lucifer was staring behind the man at the rift that had opened in the sky. He could clearly see it from the door of his lab. He was nothing short of terrified, and his eyes had perhaps never been this wide open in his life. He watched the scene helplessly, mouth slightly ajar, while the half-man, half-reindeer creature stared back at him, smiling, clearly satisfied with the shock on his face.

"That was easy, I’d say."

"W-what... what the hell is going on?"

"Aww, Lucifer..." he sang out, slowly walking toward the blond.

"D-don’t come any closer!!" Lucifer stood up, trying to take a few steps back, bumping into the worktable behind him, while the taller man kept advancing.

The redhead stopped just inches away from his body, close enough that Lucifer could almost feel the heat radiating from him. His eyes looked bloodshot, like he had just cried, yet the wide grin and near-sadistic expression made it clear he was enjoying himself.

"That rift you see... it’s your only salvation," he explained in a deep voice.

Lucifer placed his hands on the hard surface behind him, frowning as he tried to understand the meaning behind those words.

"Salvation…?"

"Come on! I thought you were smarter than that," he chuckled softly, clearly mocking him.

The blond remained still, thinking. What exactly did he need to be saved from?

Alastor stared at him for a few seconds, never losing that irritating smirk. However, he sighed and reached out a hand toward him.

"Eep!!" Lucifer tried to climb onto the table to get some distance from the creature, clumsily dodging a potential physical attack.

"I'm Alastor Wiśniewski," he said, looking him straight in the eyes.

The moment chocolate mixed with fiery warmth met peaceful blue, Lucifer felt something stir inside him—something he couldn’t name, but that nearly knocked the air from his lungs.

"A-Alastor…"

"Wiśniewski."

"That’s... supposed to be a name?"

"It’s a surname. And it’s Polish, for your information. On my mother’s side."

"Why do you have your mother’s last name?!"

Alastor rolled his eyes at the way the conversation was turning. Seeing that Lucifer wasn’t moving an inch, he grabbed his hand and shook it. The blond had no idea how easily the other was slipping into the role without even realizing it—nor how that touch made both their hearts race.

"I’m your oneirotherapist."

"You do realize both your name and... what you claim to be make absolutely no sense."

Alastor enthusiastically shook their joined hands, then released his grip and turned away, walking around the room.

"It’s funny—almost cute—how you dismiss everything beyond your understanding as nonexistent," he began, slowly turning back to face him.

"Because clearly calling it ‘ignorance’ would be too much for your ego."

"Hey, asshole—" Lucifer felt his face begin to boil, like it was made of lava.

He stepped down from the table and strutted toward him with unearned bravado. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time—so long he couldn’t even remember. His chest was a storm of swirling emotions, threatening to burst.

"You show up, break my sky, and still act like this."

"‘Act like this’? I just introduced myself. Besides, you were the one insulting my name and my job."

"I didn’t insult, as far as I recall."

"That’s because you can’t see your face when you speak."

Lucifer froze. He’d never had a conversation like this on his deserted island. How could those words, even the insults, exist in his mind if he’d never spoken them? And that behavior... wasn’t like him. As far as he could remember, he’d always been happy, relaxed, sometimes bored. No one had ever brought out this side of him—one he didn’t even think existed.

"I think... we started off on the wrong foot." The blond tried to hit reset, even softening his tone.

"You started off on the wrong foot."

"Oh, fuck off!!" Lucifer shouted, grabbing his hair in frustration.

He wanted him to vanish. He was getting on his nerves. Every single word was aggravating. And yet, for some strange reason, part of him didn’t want to spend a single second without this man.

Alastor chuckled, looking at Lucifer affectionately, like he was a kitten.

"I’m joking. For a therapist-patient relationship, I’d say we’ve already gone too far."

That line piqued Lucifer’s curiosity. His expression hardened again, still feeling a twinge of anger caused by the man in front of him.

"Why do you call me ‘patient’? I haven’t hired anyone, and... I’m not sick."

The redhead looked at the floor for a moment, thinking about his next words.

"You’ve been here too long for simple words to explain it… I’ll tell you, but this is going to be a slow process."

Lucifer grabbed a stool and sat down, pointing to a small chair in the corner that was clearly too tiny for someone as tall as Alastor. The therapist politely declined with a wave, silently pleased that Lucifer was becoming cooperative.

"Don’t you realize this world can’t be real?"

That question hit Lucifer like a brick to the skull. He didn’t respond. He just stared at Alastor, trying to process what he meant.

"In… what way?"

The therapist sighed, glancing around.

"Hand me that brush, please."

Lucifer turned to the direction the man pointed. A wooden cup sat on the workbench, filled with brushes. He leaned forward, grabbed one, and handed it over.

"When did you last use this?"

"Yesterday."

"What color?"

"Blue."

Alastor kneeled next to him, showing him the tip of the brush, which was perfectly clean and soft—as if brand new.

"Did you clean it?"

"N-no..."

"Do you have someone who does that for you?"

"No one..."

Alastor nodded, satisfied. He tossed the brush randomly across the room, knowing it would vanish midair and reappear in the cup. That didn’t escape the blond either, who swallowed loudly, realizing something that had always seemed just a little off.

"What time is it?"

"I… don’t know, I don’t have a—"

"When was the last time you did know?"

"I-I..."

"You don’t," he said softly, trying not to sound accusatory.

Lucifer looked down, a wave of panic washing over him. Realizing something he had tried to ignore for so long made his vision blur and his breathing quicken.

Alastor kneeled fully, placing his hands on Lucifer’s arms. He had noticed the onset of a panic attack—something he hadn’t expected from this man. But now he was a therapist; he had to be professional.

"There’s no point in being afraid. You just need to let me help you and understand... that where you are now isn’t a real place."

"W-what… what kind of place is it, then?"

Alastor waited a few seconds before speaking. He had to consider that Lucifer had ended up in this state because he’d wanted to abandon the life he once knew. If he was to bring him back from a world he so desperately tried to escape, he had to be gentle.

"You… have been sleeping for a long time, Lucifer."

Only then did the blond realize the other knew his name. He frowned deeper, trying to piece together the paradoxically absurd yet oddly rational details—like a brush that cleans itself.

"Sleeping… like, sleep paralysis?"

"That happens when you’re conscious," he clarified with a tilt of the head.

The shorter man couldn’t help but notice how the other never missed a chance to show off what he knew—but chose to swallow the comeback rising in his throat.

"I’m..." he whispered, the doubt finally forming aloud.

"You’re in a coma, Lucifer. In the world outside of this one."

Lucifer turned pale. The color drained from his face. Alastor’s hands moved gently, rubbing his arms to warm him up. The blond’s slightly damp skin burned wherever his so-called therapist touched him. His heart pounded with no logical reason—especially since he’d just learned he was more dead than alive.

"I-I’m…" he stammered breathlessly.

"You need to calm down. Focus on the fact that I’m here to get you out of this place."

"B-but... Alastor, how—how did I end up in a coma? I don’t remember anything... To me, everything started here."

The half-reindeer man stood up, releasing his patient’s arms. The loss of that touch was harder for Lucifer to ignore than he wanted to admit.

"Not remembering is normal. You’ve been here for quite some time."

"How long...?"

"That’s not something I’m going to tell you," he replied firmly, like putting him back in his place.

"What?! You drop something like that and then refuse to answer me?!" He shot to his feet, making Alastor take a cautious step back.

"You have to accept that I’m your therapist, and I’ll be the one to guide you—step by step—to rediscover who you are."

"‘Step by step’?! These are facts about me! How damn long have I been here?!"

Alastor paused, locking eyes with Lucifer. The silence that fell over the room made the blond shiver. He immediately fell quiet, suddenly intimidated as the other man’s eyes flared back into molten red.

"I’m literally the only fucking person who’d accept a job like this," he growled, suddenly angry.

Lucifer stood in place, listening—no, entranced by him. Only now did he notice his lips, the shape of his eyes, the softness of his hair. His gaze drifted to the therapist’s tail, still wagging as it had throughout the entire conversation.

"Do you accept me, Lucifer?"

Alastor’s low, firm words snapped the blond back to attention. Their eyes locked again, and the chocolate-red streaks in the taller man’s irises emptied Lucifer’s mind. He simply nodded.

"I don’t know who or what brought you here, but… if this world isn’t real—"

"Lucifer."

Both men turned to the door, where a sweet but sharp voice had spoken. Keekee was sitting in the doorway, observing with no visible emotion.

"Kee...kee?" Alastor whispered, clearly rattled.

"Hey, how do you know my cat?" Lucifer turned to examine the therapist’s expression.

The man seemed genuinely surprised to see Keekee there. And if he knew his cat...

"Did we already meet before I fell into a coma?" The thought escaped his heart before his mouth could filter it.

"W-what?"

"You heard me, bastard. If you know Keekee… then you knew me, didn’t you?"

Alastor’s eyes darted between his patient and the cat, searching for an answer no one could give him.

"N-no... I—I received information about you." He lied, not even sure why.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, sensing something false, but let it slide. He pointed to the cat.

"Like you said, this is Keekee. My cat."

"The fact that he has a single giant eye never made you question—" He stopped himself, realizing it was just another jab that would sabotage therapy.

He sighed, ignoring the way Lucifer turned red with anger again, and focused on the cat. Of course he knew Keekee—he was part of Lucifer’s past. A past that, for a brief moment, had included him.

Patients who stayed too long in their dreamworlds usually didn’t want to face reality. Often, they were helped to forget their real lives. And those “helpers”...

"He’s the anchor," Alastor whispered.

"What?!"

Strangely, the cat’s single eye narrowed. It was an offended, hostile expression—like a cornered prey facing a predator.

Alastor stepped toward the cat, but Lucifer instinctively grabbed his wrist.

"What are you going to do to him?"

"He... is an anchor. He’s what makes you believe this is all normal."

"T-that doesn’t change what he is. I don’t want you to do anything to him."

Keekee kept staring at Alastor with hate, but didn’t move a muscle. The therapist considered his patient’s words. Feeling that trembling hand around his arm was more than enough to convince him.

He sighed and nodded.

"It wouldn’t hurt him, anyway," he said briefly.

Normally, one touch from him would erase an anchor. But he let it go, seeing that Lucifer was beginning to accept the truth.

"I don’t give a fuck. You’re not touching my cat." Lucifer stood protectively between Alastor and Keekee.

 

BRRRING BRRRING BRRRING

 

Both the blond and the redhead flinched at the deafening sound coming from the sky. Alastor sighed, checking his watch.

"It’s already been thirty minutes..." he muttered, not hiding his frustration.

"What... happens after thirty minutes?"

"Our sessions are supposed to last that long."

The shorter man didn’t argue. Alastor seemed dead set on managing these visits he’d never even signed up for.

"So... how does it work? Do you just leave?"

As Alastor made his way past the black cat and out the door, he noticed how the rift in the sky had already shrunk, nearly returning to its original state. Seeing him must have shocked him, but clearly, in order to get Lucifer out of there, he had to uncover the cause of his coma and attempted suicide. He had to withhold some information and avoid treating Lucifer like they already knew each other. He needed to remain impartial and impassive—something he hadn’t quite managed at the beginning of their meeting.

"Don’t worry, I’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t listen to your cat and focus on your memories before arriving here. You’ve surely seen some images, but you ignored them," he said, walking away at an increasingly fast pace.

Lucifer was taken aback by that last part, which rang far too true to keep doubting him. Everything was so absurd—but believing that world was real felt even more ridiculous. And a part of him knew that all too well.

He watched Alastor disappear beyond the bushes, going who knows where, while an empty feeling welled up in his chest. He lowered his gaze to his pet, who was silently studying him.

"You… knew I was in a coma?"

Keekee didn’t say a word and walked away, turning the corner of the house. He almost looked offended. Lucifer’s shoulders slumped, surrendering to gravity. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a couple of clients approaching his lab, and only then did he remember his deliveries.

“Ah, fuck…” he muttered—words he hadn’t spoken in a long time—as he rushed back into the room.

 

-

 

Alastor slowly reopened his eyes, blinking several times. His head was spinning wildly, and an overwhelming nausea forced him to cover his mouth with his hand. His head had been resting on the bed, having lost consciousness at the start of the therapy and luckily falling forward. He had been dormant next to Lucifer’s body for half an hour. But more importantly, he had met Lucifer again and spoken to him—even if now the blond didn’t remember anything.

He shot to his feet, trying to recover from a therapy session that shouldn’t even have started. But the very moment he stood up straight, his blood pressure dropped to the floor, as if all the blood had rushed downward, abandoning its normal circulation.

Finding himself drained, extremely weak, and confused, he collapsed backward and lost consciousness.

Chapter 13

"This brooch, Lucifer, is... PHENOMENAL!"

Lucifer scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed. Mr. Croco always cared about details, and his deep booming voice made him particularly comical. After the visit from Alastor Wi-something, Lucifer hadn’t had a chance to get dressed, but with the almost summer-like heat that ruled every single day on his island, it wasn’t a problem.

"Is something wrong, Lucifer?"

"Hm?"

The blond man flinched at the question, staring at the large creature in surprise. If what his therapist had said was true… Mr. Croco didn’t even exist. But how could he fully trust someone who showed up out of nowhere, telling him his life was a lie? Anyone would have doubted it.

And yet...

Lucifer felt that somehow he could trust Alastor. He didn’t know why, but as absurd as that meeting had been, it felt like the most rational conversation he had had in a while. He simply decided to quietly follow his instructions. He would go on living his life there, staying calm and reflecting more deeply on the images and shadows that appeared before his eyes.

"Oh… Eh… I—I… no, no. I’m fine, Mr. Croco. I just had to run around a bit because of the number of orders but… everything’s great." He lied, staring at the floor so the other wouldn’t detect his clear dishonesty.

"Bah, if that’s the case... try not to overwork yourself. You can take your time, if you need it."

"With how insistent you are, that’ll be tough..." he thought to himself.

"Absolutely. Thank you again for asking me to create items. You know how much I love it." He smiled, this time genuinely.

If there was one thing he loved, it was swimming, searching the beach and sea floor for his materials, and turning them into something even more beautiful and wearable for someone else.

Mr. Croco must have sensed the innocent joy in the thirty-something man and smiled back, nodding before slowly and clumsily walking away.

Lucifer sighed loudly once he realized he couldn’t be heard anymore. He turned to the corner where Keekee had disappeared. He seemed truly angry when he asked that question. All the deliveries were done, so he could leave his workstation. He glanced toward the spot where Mr. Croco had vanished— the same place Alastor had disappeared from— which left a strange feeling in the blond’s chest, before refocusing on what he had to do, turning the corner and looking for his pet.

"Keekee?"

He walked down the short path between his home and the beach. Keekee had curled back up on the towel Lucifer had left. A strange part of him wished he could go back to the moment he’d left that place to go to his workshop, just to meet that deer-man again. He silently wondered why he had found that meeting so pleasant— especially considering that Alastor had made him furious several times and reminded him of insults he didn’t even remember storing in his mind.

"Keekee..." he muttered, sitting next to the cat and resting his hand on its back.

The creature vibrated slightly without opening its eye. It was clearly offended.

"Why are you angry? That’s not like you."

"That man wants to take you away, Lucifer. Why did you listen to him?"

Those words cut the artisan deeply, and he had to think for a moment before responding.

"I… I didn’t think about what could happen next. I just… started talking to him. What he said, somehow, made sense."

Keekee opened his eye again without moving an inch. With his large black pupil, he stared at the man, who now wore an expression of guilt and regret.

"Are you okay with being separated from me?"

"W-what?! No… No, Keekee. Of course I don’t want to be apart from you."

"That’s what men like him do. They tear people away from their places."

Places. Lucifer noticed how the creature was careful not to use words like dreams or anything similar. That, in a way, partially confirmed that he was living in a fictional world. It was strange that the black cat knew what Alastor was doing. He didn’t doubt that Keekee loved him, but he was acting a bit manipulative to prevent him from doubting the therapist’s words.

"Listen." He began to pet him gently.

He didn’t want to start a twisted game of doubt, lies, and mysteries. Keekee seemed to sense Lucifer’s determination and stared at him silently, allowing the petting.

"I know you want us to stay together, and I do too. But if that man’s words are true… I think I want to try and see what’s out there."

"You don’t know what you’re saying..." he nearly hissed.

It was a tone Lucifer had never heard before. Why did everything feel so different since Alastor arrived? He himself felt more clear-headed. Less confused and fully in control of his thoughts. Mr. Croco had noticed his turmoil, and now Keekee was acting in a way completely unlike his usual sweet and docile nature.

"Keekee, if I ever leave here to see the outside world, you’re coming with me."

The cat fell silent, his single eyelid opening slightly. Those words had shocked him, though Lucifer wasn’t sure whether in a good or bad way.

"I don’t hate this world, but… if it’s not a place that truly exists… I think I want to live and see what’s out there. If what Alastor says—"

"YOU WANTED TO ESCAPE THAT WORLD!" Keekee grew massive, growling and roaring so loudly it made the ground shake.

Lucifer visibly flinched, but didn’t move from his spot. He trusted the creature, and he was probably acting like this out of love— and maybe because it was his nature to convince him not to leave.

While the giant black cat caught his breath, Lucifer smiled. It was a mix of embarrassed and melancholic. For some strange reason, his eyes welled up as he rubbed the back of his head.

"I don’t know how much of it is my fault for falling into a coma. It could very well be. But I swear to you, I’ll bring you with me, one way or another. Nothing and no one will separate us." He reached out and stroked the now-giant paw.

He didn’t dwell on the fact that his pet’s new form was unusually large. He was confident it would return to normal once he calmed down.

 

-

 

Alastor slowly opened his eyes again. His body felt as light as a cloud, while his head weighed as much as a tram. He almost wanted to cry from how unwell he felt.
Was this what overdreaming caused?

It was definitely the price to pay for not following the rules of his own profession—rules he knew all too well. He had simply been stubborn and, in some ways, a bit arrogant, convinced that he, unlike others, could handle it.
Which, in part, was true—many other therapists would probably have experienced those symptoms much earlier than he did.

In the distance, he could hear movement and the sharp sound of tools being placed on hard, metallic surfaces. He tried to reconnect with the real world, focusing on what was happening around him. He was lying on what seemed to be a hospital bed, in a white, well-lit room, but the window had a view very different from Lucifer's—it looked pitifully out over a parking lot.

"You’re awake."

A sharp, slightly nasal voice he thought he’d known for a long time caught his attention. He slowly turned his head, feeling a wave of intense nausea.
Next to him stood someone who looked very much like his former classmate Anthony, dressed in a nurse's uniform.

“…Ant?”

“That's me, big guy.” He smiled as he placed a syringe on a small tray resting on the bedside table next to Alastor.

“I must be… already in a coma,” he tried to guess, his voice extremely weak.

“Why is it more likely that you're in a coma rather than just accepting the fact that I became a nurse?” Anthony laughed, resting his palms on his hips and looking at his friend with the same pitch-black eyes that had always set him apart from most of the locals.

His hair was still bleached, as white as snow. He definitely wore fewer piercings and earrings now, but he kept a couple on the upper part of his ears. His lips were slightly glossy, and his eyelids sparkled with a bit of glitter.

“We haven’t spoken in… thirteen years.”

“What a poetic way to say you didn’t expect me to end up in a job like this.” He pulled a chair next to the redhead and sat down, signaling he was done with whatever task he’d been performing.

“I found you unconscious next to Lucifer.”

“I became a dream therapist. I’m here to… try and bring him back,” Alastor whispered, feeling incredibly weak and overwhelmed by a heavy sleep pulling at him.

His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, urging him to slip into another rest, one he hoped wouldn’t be too long or permanent.

“So all those stories you used to tell… they’re true?”

“I always told you… You never wanted to believe me.” He let out a breath of laughter, remembering all the times he’d shared his dream with his friend.

Every single time, Anthony had called him crazy, saying jobs like that didn’t exist and it wasn’t possible to enter someone’s dreams, let alone to pull them out of a coma. It was a ridiculous explanation, and if Alastor hadn’t experienced the work of a dream therapist firsthand, he probably wouldn’t have believed it either.

“Have you seen Lucifer?”

Alastor nodded, recalling a softer, more naïve, almost silly version of Lucifer. He remembered how quickly Lucifer had believed him, while others would have dismissed his words and continued living their perfect, dull dream lives.

“Did you… I mean, manage to bring him back?”

“It’s too soon, Ant… Why didn’t any of you contact me?”

Anthony sighed loudly, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning slightly forward. He was clearly frustrated about the whole thing.

“I could tell you that you also had the option to call us, but I know how you are. You didn’t reach out because you thought we didn’t want you anymore, didn’t want to bother us.”

Anthony, after Charlie, had been a close friend—and in five years of youth, they had grown to know each other like brothers.

“Charlie was the one who asked me not to. I don’t want to blame her, but she was… pretty persuasive.”

The redhead stared at the nurse, shocked. Charlie… didn’t want Anthony to contact him?

“Why?”

“You’re asking me? After you left, her parents died in a car crash, her brother tried to take his own life shortly after, and she was completely alone. She knew that if you found out, you would have dropped everything to come back and be there for her.”

All true. And he couldn’t blame himself for being someone who cared about his closest friends like they were family. For Charlie, for Lucifer, and—at least in part—for Anthony, he really would have given everything up. It didn’t matter that he’d been accepted into one of the best schools that produced top dream therapists—literally three or four a year—who then scattered across the world.

“I’m sorry, Ant. I should’ve reached out instead of assuming you all didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

“You’ve always been that stupid when it comes to these things, Al…” Anthony sighed, leaning back against the chair.

Alastor couldn’t help but silently agree, feeling a strange sense of melancholy. It was as if only during that conversation was he realizing he wasn’t eighteen anymore. He was an adult now, with responsibilities and the weight of the world on his shoulders. He could no longer be carefree, foolishly in love, or let his emotions carry him away. Now, he was a specialist—and people’s lives depended on his hands, just as they did on the hands of the white-haired man next to him.

“Is this because you overwork yourself?” the nurse mumbled, only able to guess what had happened.

Alastor nodded.

“It’s called overdreaming. Dream therapists are only supposed to visit one patient per week or so, to avoid damaging their mental health.”

“And… how many do you see?”

“About three or four a week.”

“Shit, Al…” he whispered, shocked.

A few seconds of silence followed, in which Alastor closed his eyes, focusing on the surrounding sounds—machines, people talking, the sound of the sea...

“What’s the risk, exactly?”

“That I’ll burn out my own essence and fall into a coma myself,” he said sleepily, without even opening his eyes.

Anthony sighed again, clearly worried.

“You’re insane… You’ve always been like this.”

“Like what?” He opened his eyes and looked at his friend, curious.

“You’d give your life—sacrifice your own health—for others. Even for people you don’t know.”

“It’s my job, Anthony. I chose this path to save people. You know that I also—”

“I know… You’ve said it dozens of times. You were saved by a dream-whatever too.”

The memories of those days, especially faded now, passed through the therapist’s mind. He’d only been a child when one of his current colleagues, likely now retired, had saved him from a coma.

“Why did I faint?” he tried to ask, even though he knew Anthony was likely just a nurse.

“Your vitals are all over the place. I think you really need to follow the guidelines they give you coma explorers.”

Alastor found it amusing that Anthony still couldn’t say the name of his profession. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised at all by the results of whatever check-up had been done.

“Does anyone know I’m here?”

“I figured you wouldn’t want anyone to know and… I took advantage of my break. Even though it’s gone way over now. I had to call in a few favors with the lab too,” he muttered, standing up and resting a hand on Alastor’s shoulder.

He was happy to see him with a bit of light in his eyes again—and with a skin tone that wasn’t deathly pale. When he had found him passed out on the floor, he looked practically dead, eyes still open. And Anthony had seen plenty of dead people.

“Don’t mess around too much, Al. If you’re going to visit Lucifer, do it on the right schedule so you stay healthy,” he said softly, his voice now serious.

Alastor silently accepted it. He needed to rest. He was shamefully exhausted. The nurse, of course, noticed the way his friend’s eyelids were falling shut again.

He gently stroked his arm and smiled.

“I gave you a few IVs—you were unconscious for a couple of hours. I really have to get back to work now. You can rest here until you wake up. But remember, you’re not admitted, no one knows you’re here except my colleague Cherry, who helped me. If you don’t go back into that dream world, you should recover in a couple of days.”

“Thanks, Anthony. Really…”

The white-haired man simply gave him a pat before turning and heading for the door. He put his hand on the handle and paused. The gesture seemed odd to Alastor, even though he was already half-asleep.

Anthony turned slightly, looking back at the therapist.

“Don’t push yourself, Alastor. Lucifer waited thirteen years. He can wait a little longer, if it means getting both of you out of this therapy alive.”

The man on the bed smiled faintly, but was immediately swept away by a wave of exhaustion too heavy to fight. His eyes closed completely before the nurse could leave the room.

Anthony, of course, saw it happen—the way his friend slipped back into unconsciousness. He had to accept that Alastor hadn’t just stayed the same… he had gotten worse in how much he sacrificed himself for others. He opened the door and carefully shut it behind him.

“You see? I was right, Al. Even that nurse said the same thing I did.” The imaginary Lucifer approached the sleeping man, knowing that somehow, he had gathered the strength to summon him.

Maybe he just needed to have him close, in that moment of extreme weakness. He stroked the therapist’s forehead, unable to move his hair, slightly sticky from the sweat he’d poured out. He leaned down and kissed his cheek—just as the other had done to him a few hours earlier.

“I hope it made you happy to see him… But now you need to think about yourself too, or you might never come back,” he whispered, smiling sweetly, though his eyes were full of sadness and worry.

Chapter 14

Lucifer opened his magical refrigerator. For the first time in his life on the island, he had barely managed to sleep. No relaxing blanket or night-time pajamas had succeeded in lulling him into a restful slumber.

He looked at each single plate of pancakes with tired eyes. They all seemed the same now—less magical and special. Somehow, he felt like blaming Alastor for that sensation. Before he arrived, he had been perfectly fine. Maybe a little bored, but happy.

And yet, he had to admit that even if he felt like crap, maybe what he was feeling was actually a part of being alive.

“Just plain tuna for me, Lucifer.”

Keekee’s voice, still slightly wounded, brought the blond’s attention back. He closed the fridge door, knowing he’d find what he needed once he opened it again. In the meantime, he turned toward the creature.

“Still mad?”

“I told you. That man only brings trouble and will tear us apart. We live well here, we’re happy. If he shows up again, kick him out.”

Lucifer let out a tender laugh as he turned again to reopen the fridge. It was now full of various cans of tuna and a shelf once again dedicated to his pancakes. Knowing he wouldn't find any new variations—since he didn’t crave anything in particular—he grabbed a plate and a can of the flavor chosen by the pet, leaving the fridge station behind. It would close itself anyway.

“Maybe what he’s suggesting isn’t so bad, assuming his words are true.” He spoke sleepily, yet with a slightly excited voice, while tossing the can to the floor, which magically turned into a bowl full of food, and placing his steaming, fragrant plate of pancakes on the table.

“I think I already told you about the world he’s suggesting.” Keekee grumbled before starting to eat, even more offended than before, noticing that the blond wasn’t listening to a word he said.

“You just said I chose to run away from there. Why don’t you tell me instead why I can’t remember anything or why I wanted to take refuge here?” he insisted.

Keekee didn’t respond, continuing to eat. Lucifer hadn’t expected anything different. Ever since he had started that absolutely unsolicited therapy, his cat now displayed a particularly arrogant and picky personality. He still loved him regardless, and discovering even those sides of his character didn’t bother him too much. He was old enough to know—and maybe remember—that neither people nor animals could show just one emotion.

They ate their food in silence. It had never happened before. Lucifer ate absentmindedly, thinking about Alastor’s words and what might exist in that world where he was asleep. He wondered if he had any friends, a family member, waiting for him. He then wondered about the reasons that had brought him there. Obviously, he was full of doubts: did he truly want to go back there? After all, Keekee kept suggesting he should stay where he was, where everything was clearly fine, where there were no discomforts, no illnesses, no grief or anything like that…

Everyone got along. Everyone was fine...

It was ideal, wasn’t it?

 

—

 

The blond entered his laboratory. A good swim as usual, a nap under the sun to dry off, and a bit of creative work to get his hands moving—it was the perfect plan for him.

He had collected beautiful pink pearls in preparation for Fanny Flamingo’s birthday. He was happy to be able to give something appreciated to one of his friends on the island. He was sure she’d like it. She was quite a vain creature and a lover of pink. It would have been strange otherwise, after all.

Smiling, he placed the bag with his little treasure on the work table, then focused on a small tool drawer he kept near his paintbrushes.

“A bit of polish will be perfect to make them shiny—”

“Boo.”

A warm breath against his ear, mixed with a whispered sound that somehow felt deafening, made Lucifer’s blood run cold like ice. He jumped like a cat in front of a zucchini, turning around and clutching his ear that had just been “attacked.”

“FUCK!!”

Standing in front of him, with that same cocky smile as if he were already making fun of him, was Alastor. Just as he had promised, he had come. Lucifer had to admit that despite going through his usual daily routines, he had been waiting for his arrival since he woke up, thinking and rethinking about him every minute. He was a novelty, after all. Of course he thought about him. There were absolutely no other reasons.

“You seem energetic. That’s a good thing, before a session,” he said, with his deep voice, walking toward the corner with the chair Lucifer had offered him the day before.

“Are you insane or what?! I could…”

“Die? Nah. You’re in the dream world. You could do anything here—you’d just wake up the next second.” He shrugged, dragging the chair in front of Lucifer before sitting down and elegantly crossing his legs.

Lucifer stared in shock at the man who now looked like he felt right at home. He was even swinging his foot playfully in the air. A few seconds of silence, then Alastor pointed for him to sit on the stool.

“W-what is this? Are we starting… I don’t know, a confession?”

“No confession, especially since I imagine someone like you has never even considered normal therapy. It’s trendy these days, and I can confirm it helps a lot in everyday life.” He smiled, clearly pleased with the jab he had managed to deliver in under a minute.

A second later, the redhead had to remind himself that the person in front of him was Lucifer—but a version with no memories and decidedly purer than the asshole he used to know. His jokes still worked to get a reaction, but he shouldn’t go beyond the simple therapist-patient dynamic.

Lucifer scoffed, rolling his eyes. He reluctantly grabbed the stool and placed it in front of Alastor, sitting down.

“You wouldn’t have anything to say anyway. On the contrary, we need to search for your memories. Subjects like you are crystallized.”

“Crys…tallized?!”

Alastor nodded, looking around and studying the little space the blond had built for himself—or had maybe found ready-made.

“When patients stay in a coma for too long, simple words from the therapist aren’t enough to bring their memories back.”

The blond felt a deep sense of defeat, as if after receiving some exciting news, every sandcastle he had built had collapsed, smashing to the ground. Alastor noticed that disappointment and was pleased. He was glad because it meant that Lucifer—probably because he didn’t remember the reason for his attempted suicide—had the desire to return to the real world. His tail began to wag again, making a pleasant sound like a brush against the chair.

“Don’t be sad. The good news is that your memories have been stored by taking shape in this world.”

Lucifer furrowed his brows, paying more attention to the words of the half-deer man.

“What do you mean ‘taking shape’?”

“In fact, this could even make your rehabilitation easier. You just have to find them and… assimilate them.”

The shorter one blinked repeatedly, trying to understand those words. Even if he lived in an unreal world, where magic wasn’t that strange, he had to admit Alastor’s words didn’t make much sense.

“Could you give an example?”

“The example is…” The redhead resumed looking around the room.

He noticed that behind Lucifer, on the work table, there was a bag full of something. Even if it was open, he couldn’t quite see its contents. The therapist pointed to it.

“What’s in there?”

Lucifer turned around, trying to follow Alastor’s finger.

“That? It’s a bag full of pink pearls. I just got them underwater. It’s a gift for a friend.”

“For example, those.”

“What? The… pearls?”

“The pearls. Give them to me for a second.”

The artisan was understanding less and less, so he decided to hand the pouch over to Alastor. Their hands brushed lightly as the object passed from one to the other. Lucifer tried to ignore that strange sensation of euphoria mixed with madness when he felt Alastor’s skin against his once more, thinking back to how the therapist had tried to console him the day before by gently stroking his arms.

Alastor’s chocolate-colored gaze, which in that world could easily glow red, settled on the pearls. He smiled faintly, almost looking touched. The blond wondered why, but didn’t even want to ask, afraid of triggering another irritated comment.

The therapist caressed the pearls, analyzing them one by one, until he suddenly froze, as if he had noticed something.

“W-what?”

He pulled out one pearl, showing it to Lucifer and holding it between his thumb and forefinger. By chance, he had picked the pearl the blond liked most. It was slightly larger and not perfectly round. It looked almost like a small, glossy pink egg.

“This one — why did you pick it? It’s different from the others.”

“Precisely because it’s different. That makes it rare.”

Alastor chuckled under his breath, keeping his mouth closed. That gesture irritated Lucifer again, but he had decided not to rise to provocation. He merely narrowed his brows slightly, waiting for the explanation that Alastor apparently found obvious.

“That’s not a pearl.”

“I assure you—”

“That,” he interrupted, bringing the strange pearl close to Lucifer’s face, “is one of your memories.”

As the object neared him, the artisan flinched, feeling something emanating from it. He had to admit he’d picked it up because it was unusual, different — but also because he felt a strange pull toward it.

“Don’t—don’t bring it closer.”

“It’s already speaking to you, I see. If you want to return, you need to find objects like this — rare ones that draw your curiosity. They’re your crystallized memories.”

“Why… why should I collect memories? Can’t I just… go home?”

“Clearly not. If it were that easy, no one would stay in a coma.” He chuckled, standing up and bouncing the pearl in his large hand.

Lucifer lowered his shoulders, defeated by that explanation, which made far too much sense. He tilted his head back, sighing.

“We really have to do this?”

“As I said — if you want to go back, we have to. Are you afraid of remembering?”

That question struck the blond’s heart like an arrow from nowhere. He lifted his head, staring at Alastor in dismay.

Right… why didn’t he want to?

“I—I don’t know.”

“Maybe because you know that remembering what brought you here… you won’t want to return.”

“Is… the world out there really that awful?”

Lucifer let that question slip out with such pure innocence that it could’ve moved even the sternest of beings. Alastor lowered his arm, staring at him in surprise. His eyes seemed to grow damp, but before the blond could notice more, the man in front of him quickly turned away, coughing a few times.

“It’s not awful at all. If you want to build a happy life, you can.” He said, his voice slightly muffled.

They were undeniably wise words — though far from easy in practice. The patient could only accept that, in the end, it was up to him how to live once he woke up. Even though that world was perfect, he had to admit he felt boredom in all that beauty, perfection, and the complete lack of real effort.

“All right. What do I have to do?”

“Great question! Finally.” Alastor suddenly leapt toward Lucifer again, showing his wide, almost plastic-like smile.

He moved closer to the blond, who had resumed pouting at him, and took his hand, placing the pearl in it.

“Close your eyes and let the memories flow through you. Once the patient becomes aware of what it is and is willing to know, it’s a piece of cake.”

Lucifer stared at the pearl. Voices were undeniably growing louder, almost deafening, slowly wrapping around him like tentacles. Just before being completely overtaken, the blond flinched.

“Can you… do it with me?”

“What?” Alastor stared at him with wide eyes, not entirely grasping the meaning.

“See the memory.”

“They’re your memories.”

“I can grant you permission without signing any copyright documents.”

Lucifer furrowed his brows, wondering where those words had come from and what exactly he had just said. Alastor seemed for a moment surprised by his patient’s comment. He’d noticed Lucifer was starting to use more words and jokes that likely belonged to his past self.

“This doesn’t seem like the right time to joke. You’re scared, and you want me there.”

“You’re my therapist, right? You could at least help me.”

Alastor lowered his gaze. Clearly, this wasn’t the first time a patient had asked to view memories “together.” They needed support, frightened of what they might uncover — who they had been, or what kind of life they had led before. Lucifer certainly wasn’t the first patient who had been in a coma for over a decade before a relative requested the therapist’s services.

“All right,” he said simply.

Alastor stepped closer to Lucifer, placing his hands over the other’s, fully enclosing the pearl. The blond raised his eyes to meet his, showing an expression of gratitude and sadness.

“Th… thank you, Alastor.”

“You’ll have to learn to do this on your own next time,” he replied bluntly, trying to sound cold and detached, ignoring his wildly pounding heart.

Lucifer nodded, closing his eyes and finally letting himself be enveloped by what the pearl wanted to show him.

It was a beautiful day — he could tell right away, as the sun’s rays bathed the streets in blinding light. Lucifer turned, looking for the other. Alastor was beside him. His expression had become strangely serious, even pale. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, saying nothing.

The blond briefly tried to understand the reason for that solemn expression, but voices caught his attention.

 

“Charlie.”

 

Lucifer turned his eyes toward a version of himself that didn’t even seem to be him. His gaze was empty, his expression hostile, almost angry and disgusted.

He felt a wave of disorientation. Was… that really him?

Could he really make such expressions? He was dressed similarly to how he usually did, but something about the outfit felt off — as if he hadn’t fully chosen the colors or clothes himself. His hair was slicked back, perfectly styled. Nothing like the fuller, messier mane he usually wore.

His clothes still consisted of shirts and trousers often paired with vests, but they were definitely more colorful and lacked all the pins or cufflinks his other self normally wore.

 

“L-Lucifer…”

 

A soft voice, spoken by someone, drew his attention to a group of people he hadn’t even noticed before, as if they had just appeared. In front of Lucifer were a girl who looked a lot like him and a rather tall boy. Someone… he had seen before.

The blond froze as realization hit that the boy, about thirteen or fourteen years old, with a serious gaze and slightly flushed cheeks, bore a strong resemblance to…

Lucifer turned toward Alastor, staring at him with the look of someone who felt deeply betrayed. He knew he had only known him for a day, but realizing that he had lied — especially about something so important — struck him with a pain in his chest he hadn’t felt in a long time. Or maybe never, who knows.

Alastor stared at the group of people, looking frozen. It was as if he couldn’t understand why that scene was unfolding in front of them — while also realizing that his patient was now clearly furious with him.

Very slowly, he turned toward the shorter man, who now glared at him furiously.

 

“You’re the pervert from this morning.”

“Perve—?!”

“L-Lucifer, stop! He’s my friend.”

 

In the background, the conversation went on, while between the patient and his therapist, another, much quieter conversation had begun — one in which the blond demanded to know why he hadn’t been told the truth. Alastor felt the smile he’d been trying to maintain fade, desperately trying to think of a way to explain or get himself out of that extremely complicated situation.

“You bastard. You know me.”

 

“Al… this is Lucifer. My twin brother.”

Chapter 15

Alastor’s reindeer ears flattened at the whole situation he was in and what it was telling him. He was… partly confused, maybe scared. He felt as if suddenly the whole world was pointing its finger at him, even though it was literally just one person.

He had lied to Lucifer and didn’t even know why. There was nothing wrong with telling him the truth, yet he had preferred not to create any contact with him, other than that of a therapist and his patient.

He never imagined that among the memories that would lead to the cause of his coma, he would find… himself.

“You bastard. You know me.”

“Th-this isn’t the time, Lucifer. You need to listen to what they’re saying,” he said, backing off slightly.

“I don’t give a fuck about what they’re saying. I’ve already seen enough, and I’ve seen that you’re a fraud.”

“No! No, I told you the truth. I am your therapist, and I’m here to get you out of the coma. I only lied about not knowing you!”

“AND WHY?!”

“You bring someone home and he’s a fucking foreigner. Are you serious, Char?”

Lucifer’s voice, the one in the memory, sounded brutally harsh, stern. The real Lucifer’s eyes widened, freezing as he stared at Alastor. He slowly turned toward the scene again, focusing once more on something he partly didn’t want to see.

“Lucifer, stop! Do you realize what you’re saying?”

The girl who had placed herself between the two men tried to calm her brother down. Her sweet face showed how deeply she found those words hurtful. Her eyes had grown glassy, and her cheeks were entirely red. Behind her, Alastor said nothing, silently watching the argument between the two.

“I know exactly what I’m saying, and I’m saying it to stop you from getting into trouble.”

“What the hell… am I...?” he whispered, stunned.

The therapist lowered his gaze, clenching his fists. He remembered that meeting well, and even though everything about Lucifer filled his heart, that first interaction clearly hadn’t been a happy one.

“You know well they won’t be home today until late tonight, probably.”

“You can’t make a habit of this and act like that!” he shouted at his sister, as if he were her older brother or even a parent.

Charlie looked at her brother, completely thrown off by that scolding. No one could have known that Lucifer had never raised his voice at her before, treating her in an entirely opposite way within the four walls of their room.

“Why are you behaving like this…? You don’t—” she whispered, trying to speak to the blond’s heart.

“Forgive me, Charlie. I have to go now.” The voice of a noticeably younger, yet still composed Alastor echoed down the small alley, drawing the attention of everyone in the conversation, including the observers.

The blonde quickly turned toward her friend, placing a hand on his arm.

“Al, wait! Please forgive my brother, he didn’t really mean to accuse you of not being from around here. You know to me that doesn't—”

Alastor gently removed the girl’s hand from his arm, but not before softly brushing her knuckles and smiling at her with kindness.

That expression didn’t escape the two Lucifers present, both of whom stared at him with a similar look of surprise. The patient felt his heart pound at that gentle, caring face. Despite the words that had been thrown at him and the way the blond was treating him, he still thought about reassuring his friend.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I know what you mean.” He said softly, then lifted his eyes to Charlie’s brother.

A smile spread across Alastor’s face. The kind of smile the comatose patient knew all too well—mocking, superior.

“It’s not your fault your brother’s an asshole.”

The words echoed through the air, dragging everything and everyone into silence. Charlie’s eyes widened even more, while her twin froze for a few seconds. Only afterward did he fully realize what had just been said. His face turned red, and his eyebrows drew together in clear fury.

“How the fuck dare you…?”

Alastor let out a little chuckle as he took his first steps away, without breaking eye contact with Lucifer.

“And you’re asking me? What kind of treatment does a guy deserve who talks to his sister like that? Not to mention the way you welcome her friends.”

The plain truth in that statement left Lucifer without weapons or defenses. For the first time in his life, he had no words. The only thing he could do was stare at Alastor walking away, their eyes locked together. That smile, that expression meant for him—so different from the one shown to Charlie—imprinted itself on his heart.

“I figured.” the redhead concluded, receiving no reply, then walked away for good, leaving the two siblings alone.

Lucifer let his shoulders drop, feeling that he could finally stop holding every muscle in his body in perfect posture, as he had been taught. No one had ever spoken to him like that before.

“Lucifer, why did you treat Alastor that way? You don’t even know him!”

His sister’s broken voice snapped the twin back to reality. He blinked several times, then turned toward her. She was distraught, poor girl. So pure and kind, unfit for the rotten world they unfortunately belonged to.

“Char, you know we can’t bring people home,” he whispered, trying to find his sister’s excuses in his tone.

“Alastor is good! He’s a golden boy, and he’s also my best friend. You can’t judge him because he’s not from here. His father was born here, if you really want a justification—”

“I don’t give a fuck where he’s from, Charlie. Got it?!” he growled, trying to keep his voice down.

Charlie flinched, looking at her brother in total shock and some degree of disappointment.

“Mom and Dad aren’t home today.”

“Charlie! Mom and Dad are everywhere. Do you really think the staff can keep secrets like that? If you, and especially I, make mistakes…” He stopped, lowering his eyes to stare at the ground.

The girl didn’t ask him to finish. She already knew.

“Sweetheart, you… you’re lucky, okay? You just have to hold on until you’re of age, and at least you can run away from this place. But until then… act as expected.” he whispered, placing his hand on the blonde’s shoulder.

Charlie formed a childish pout on her face, and large, frustrated tears ran down her red cheeks.

“Could you at least… apologize to him or try to get to know him outside of the house?”

“Why would I want to get to know him?”

“Because he’s a good guy, and he deserves to have friends.”

Lucifer let out a small snort of laughter.

“I can’t have friends, Char. Not that kind, at least.” he whispered with resignation.

 

The entire place where they stood—especially Charlie and Lucifer—disappeared in a gust of wind, like a candle flame. The real Lucifer and his therapist remained still, finding themselves once again in the blond’s lab. The patient was visibly shaken and stared blankly at a spot in the room, trying to absorb what he had seen, what was real, and what had happened. Alastor still kept his ears low, and his tail swayed slightly. He looked at Lucifer, noticing how shaken he was. He tried to place his hand on the shorter man’s bare shoulder but was slapped away before he could touch him.

“Don’t you dare touch me.” he whispered, voice cracking with betrayal.

“Lucifer, it didn’t matter. It was just information that would’ve caused more confusion.”

“It’s not up to you to decide what matters or doesn’t matter in my life, Alastor.” He began to walk toward the exit until his wrist was caught by the therapist’s hand.

That touch burned like lava, but Lucifer acted as if it didn’t faze him. He turned toward Alastor, staring him straight in the eyes.

“I trusted you.”

The redhead gulped loudly. He knew well that his patients’ trust was essential, and he also knew he’d screwed up by lying. He had just hoped that pretending not to know him would erase any suspicion that he loved him.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

It was the only thing he felt was right to say.

 

BRRRING BRRRING BRRRING

 

Lucifer turned toward the sky where the sound came from—one he was slowly learning to recognize. He looked back at Alastor with an expression defeated by the whirlwind of emotions spinning in his chest.

“You have to go, apparently.”

“I don’t care, it can wait,” he said with determination, still holding Lucifer’s wrist without hurting him.

The blond furrowed his brows, not understanding the reason behind such firmness in his words. It almost seemed… silently desperate.

“Do we have to do the cooldown?”

“I want your forgiveness. Otherwise, I’m not leaving. I need to know you trust me again.”

Lucifer felt his cheeks flush red and his heart start pounding wildly again. Alastor’s grip… was so firm, strong… masculine and protective. Those words, that expression, those gestures told him that somehow, they were connected. But was it a connection a therapist should have with their patient…?

“Why did you lie to me?”

 

BRRRING BRRRING BRRRING

 

“I didn’t think I’d be part of the memories needed to bring you back.”

“You didn’t answer.”

 

BRRRING BRRRING BRRRING

 

“I told you—it would’ve only created more confusion in an already delicate process.”

“If I’d known you knew me, maybe I would’ve trusted you even more.”

Their eyes were practically glued to each other. Neither could look away from the deep blue sea or the flame made of caramel and bourbon.

“Can’t you accept my apology? I’m a therapist, but I can still make mistakes.”

“A mistake on the first day? Sounds like a one-star review.”

Alastor tightened his grip, silently begging Lucifer to forgive him. He knew he had hurt him and, deep down, felt stupidly guilty for lying. But in the end, there was really nothing between them—except past hatred.

 

BRRRING BRRRING BRRRING

 

“You have to go, therapist.” Lucifer concluded, his voice firmer, hoping to end the conversation.

Alastor clenched his teeth as his hand trembled. After a few seconds, he opened it, letting Lucifer slip free from his grasp.

The redhead averted his eyes, walking past him and leaving the lab with a heavy heart.

“Alastor.”

That single word—his name, spoken by the person he secretly loved deeply—sent a fresh breeze into the frozen soul of the taller man. He turned slowly toward Lucifer, trying to maintain a professional posture and expression.

“Yes?”

“I’ll forgive you… if you also forgive the things I said to you that day.”

Alastor froze, stunned by what he had just heard. Lucifer, after seeing the way he had behaved… wanted his forgiveness. He had never blamed him for anything, truthfully. He simply thought he was an asshole, partly forced by society and family to act that way. That memory, that piece of conversation he had never seen before, confirmed it.

His eyes grew moist, but he tried to stay composed, though his lips betrayed him, trembling with emotion for a second. He simply nodded quickly before turning away and disappearing behind the bushes where the door back to reality was.

Lucifer let his arms fall, letting them dangle at his sides, staring at the usual patch of leaves where the other always vanished. Completely drained by everything he had seen and felt in those thirty or more minutes of the session. He was exhausted—partly broken to discover what he had been like in reality, in a clearly distant past, judging by his youth in that memory. But most of all… he felt a strange sting in his chest, something that kept sending him a mix of adrenaline, fear, and joy.

The blond placed a hand over his heart, wondering what it was he was feeling.

“We’ll see each other tomorrow… right?” he whispered.

Chapter 16

"Lucifer…"

Alastor whispered into the blond's ear, his voice warm, soft, and gentle. He was protective, yet at the same time, his patient couldn't help but feel tremendously… aroused.

Lucifer let out a sigh mixed with a sound he never thought he'd made. They lay on a bed in a room where he couldn't even see a door. It was a world solely theirs, where neither wore clothes and their skin could only exist in contact with the other's.

The therapist caressed his face, while soft kisses were planted on his forehead, on his neck.

"A-Alastor…!" he moaned, arching his back.

His body trembled, his mind was blank, and his thoughts were delirious. There was nothing rational in his reasoning; he just wanted to indulge, enjoy himself, and experience extreme pleasure and affection.

Between his legs, an almost painful erection implored release. When his member grazed a leg of the man above him, who was devoted to adoring him and giving him every possible attention, the blond let out a gasp.

"Mhhn!" He squeezed his eyelids shut, gripping the other's strong arms with his hands.

"Look at me, Lucifer."

The sweet command, uttered in a deep, almost growling voice, made the man below reopen his eyelids. Alastor stared at him with that tremendously sweet smile that could make lava boil. His eyes had begun to glow fiery red. His hair was disheveled, long, and fell over every part of his face and shoulders. He was… stunning.

"Alastor… p-please-"

Alastor lowered himself, slowly kissing him on the lips. It was a sweet, overwhelming kiss that called for more, increasingly hungry, increasingly delirious, until Lucifer wrapped the other's body with his arms and legs, following the pure instinct that would make him fall into something forgotten, or perhaps never known.

"F-fuck!!"

The blond jolted on his bed, sitting upright. He was… tremendously sweaty, and his breathing was short and fast. His face, as well as his entire body, was drenched in perspiration. Between his legs, a clear erection pressed against his boxers.

The sound of ocean waves was the only other sound he could hear. He… had never woken up during the night. He had never dreamed while sleeping, and above all… he had never thought about those kinds of things.

He had never thought about those kinds of things.

Lucifer frowned, incredulous, only then realizing he was aware of a rather fundamental topic he had not reflected on, as if it no longer existed. In the world he lived in, no one talked, mentioned, or probably… had sex. No one was married, in love, or had a boyfriend…

"Lucifer."

"Eek!"

Lucifer turned to his side, following a voice he partly knew, but could tell was somehow different, changed. Beside him, there was a boy, roughly his age. Short black hair, feline gaze, and magnificently golden eyes. He was lying on the other side of the bed and staring at him with wide eyes, also dressed only in boxers.

"K-Kee… kee?"

"Is that why you want to follow him? Did you remember those kinds of things?"

"W-what…? Keekee… how- how did you-"

The boy crawled, getting on top of Lucifer, who somehow tried to back away. He stared at his cat, completely bewildered, still confused by what he had dreamed, by the fresh sensation of Alastor's lips and hands on his skin, in addition to the aching erection between his legs. He felt strange, scared, and flustered. A large part of him desired more consolation and reassurance than actual release.

"You know… I can give it to you, Lucifer."

"Keekee… don't- don't joke around. I love you, but… not in that way- it's- it's different…" he mumbled, trying to calm his pet.

With new steps towards what was reality, he began to desire returning to his daily life, made of innocent purity and happiness.

"If you don't like my form…" He snapped his fingers, changing his appearance in a second.

Lucifer's eyes widened, finding himself in front of… Alastor. Or at least, a copy of Alastor. He stared at him, smiling, but it wasn't his usual sweet smile nor the smile he gave him when he wanted to tease him. His eyes weren't chocolate brown or fiery red. Keekee probably couldn't change his yellow irises, unlike his body.

The copy of the therapist advanced towards him, sinuously. The proximity of Alastor's image, with that expression of lust, and the fact that they were in the same bed, left Lucifer confused and disoriented.

"Perhaps you want me to show myself like this? I can make you enjoy yourself every night or at any time of the day, in that man's form."

"Keekee, stop… I- I don't like what you're doing."

"Doesn't seem like it," he whispered, caressing the tip of Lucifer's member.

The blond groaned, feeling his eyes well up, as he tried to maintain a shred of consciousness and strength to stand firm in his position. He could never do those kinds of things with the cat. It was true that this world was inhabited only by animals, but Lucifer could never…

"Think about it… doing it on the beach, amidst the waves… Or perhaps on your workbench. I can become as big as you want and make you scream anyone's name you desire-"

 

SLAP

 

A resounding slap broke the silence of the bedroom. Keekee was shocked, his face slightly turned in the direction Lucifer's slap had pushed him. Slowly, with wide eyes, he returned to stare at his master, who looked at him furiously, with tear-filled eyes and clenched teeth.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You're my best friend; I would never do something like that with you!"

"Lucifer…"

"I WILL NEVER ABANDON YOU, KEEKEE. I ALREADY TOLD YOU THAT YOU'RE COMING WITH ME!" he yelled exasperatedly, well aware that such a volume could easily be heard by all his neighbors, but he cared little.

Keekee remained still for a few seconds until he returned to his normal form, bursting into an almost childlike cry in Lucifer's arms. The blond sighed, embracing him and pulling him against his chest.

"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to hurt you or yell… But don't ever do that again, Kee."

"Sorry! Sorry, Lucifer…!"

Lucifer kissed the back of his neck, feeling warm tears roll down his cheeks.

"I know you don't want me to leave… but if you're in my dream, it means I'll find you outside too. We'll be together, I promise." he whispered, finally feeling calm momentarily return to his home.

 

-

 

"AL!! AGAIN!!"

Lucifer's shouts, as well as Alastor's growls and thrusts, could be heard by practically anyone. Fortunately, the loudest of them didn't actually exist, and furthermore, the redhead lived in a detached house.

The therapist pushed frantically inside the other's body, holding him firmly against the wall, while in the reality no one could see, the pillows were still victims of that man's actions, who was becoming less and less lucid.

"Tell me you're mine…" he pleaded breathlessly.

"Y-yours! Only yours, Al!!" he cried, satisfying any phrase the man possessing him wished to hear with a high-pitched voice.

Since Alastor had returned, he had found himself excessively euphoric, not to mention aroused. Seeing those scenes again had partly made him feel young again. Joking with Lucifer and, above all, smelling him again, touching his body, and exchanging kind words… had made him experience a joy and madness perhaps never felt, except on a single occasion in the past.

He spilled into the other without even a hint of warning. He only faintly heard the other's screams, as both came, devoid of any rationality and reduced to mere animals in the grip of their instincts. Alastor let himself fall backward, landing on his bottom on the ground and still holding the other man in an embrace, whom he seated on top of himself, still connected by the redhead's member, which was apparently still partially hard.

Lucifer breathed rapidly. His naked body was completely drenched in sweat. The blond turned with his mouth half-open, trying to catch his breath.

"I see… I see that therapy is going well… perhaps more for you than for him."

Alastor rested his forehead against the other's shoulder, closing his eyes and pressing him even closer against his body. Lucifer couldn't help but accept that position, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling.

"You can't keep going there so frequently, you know."

"I have to save him. He trusts me and wants to get out of there. Besides, there's an anchor trying to keep him there at all costs. I can't leave them alone for too long or it’ll completely undo all my efforts."

Lucifer simply let out a sound of agreement as he closed his eyes too, exhausted.

"Your overdreaming, Alastor, is way beyond normal levels. You can't let your own imagination be the one to tell you that."

"I’ll make it... just a few more sessions and I’m sure he’ll get out before things reach dangerous levels."

"You’re already at dangerous levels, idiot."

Alastor thrust his hips towards the other, slowly beginning to penetrate his creation again.

"Ahhn…!"

"We'll talk about it later. Now we can take advantage of these 'dangerous levels'." he whispered, shifting his face to kiss the other's neck.

"You're really a jerk…"

Chapter 17

Alastor rushed into the bar where he was supposed to meet Charlie. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, as usual, though slightly messy—just like his shirt and vest. He hadn’t had time to grab a jacket, but with how hot it was in those areas all year round, he had to admit it wasn’t really necessary.

Ever since he’d returned from his last therapy session with Lucifer, he felt full of energy, euphoric, and excited. He hadn’t even experienced the slightest discomfort due to the overdreaming. The only thing he’d done—after finally managing to slow his racing heart from the moments he’d spent with the blond, during which they’d opened up to each other with no masks—was go home and spend hours having sex with his imaginary partner.

His libido was sky-high, as was his energy, strangely enough. Most likely, Anthony’s treatment had been effective. He wasn’t naive; he’d realized by now that his overdreaming had trapped him between two parallel dimensions—one made of reality and real people, and another filled with nonexistent beings, magic, and sounds created by his own mind, so detailed they almost felt tangible.

He walked among the tables, unsure whether what he was avoiding was real or not—but it didn’t matter. He had spotted the blonde sitting and waiting for him, and hurried over to her. They’d agreed to meet about an hour earlier, but after diving into a second session without even waiting 24 hours, he had been… rather busy.

“Char, I’m sorry. I—I’ve been caught up analyzing the situation,” he lied, sitting down across from her.

He couldn’t deny he felt bursting with life, and most likely his vibrant face and bright eyes hadn’t gone unnoticed by the young woman, who instead looked like a wilted flower. She was pale, exhausted, sorrowful, with sunken eyes and clearly too thin. Much too thin. She gave a faint smile and shook her head, trying to free her friend from the guilt she was sure he would take on.

“Don’t worry, Al… Any updates?”

Alastor nodded, choosing his words carefully. He felt hopeful, even happy. Most likely, once Lucifer returned, he would ignore him completely—and might not even remember these moments of therapy, though Alastor couldn’t be sure. Still, just being with him, talking again, touching… gave him a happiness too precious to be clouded by doubts or thoughts of a future where they’d become strangers once more.

“Actually, Charlie… I’ve already been to see your brother,” he said calmly, placing a hand over the one she had resting on the table.

The tired eyes of the blonde widened. A bit of color finally returned to her cheeks, though her expression showed she was scared to ask for details.

“And…?”

“I met him, of course. I’ll admit, the world he lives in is different from what I had imagined.” He nearly bit his tongue.

He’d said something decidedly unprofessional, something he should have kept to himself. He needed to reel himself back in—stay cold, stay focused.

“In what way?”

“I mean… the world people in comas usually create tends to reflect what they consider perfect. Your brother’s, well… it doesn’t really express the personality I remembered. That’s all.”

Charlie lowered her gaze, reflecting on those words. With her free hand, she played with the edge of the menu she’d probably flipped through while waiting for her friend.

“Lucifer isn’t really how he presented himself to you. Even if it might sound strange—especially coming from his twin sister.”

The redhead listened in silence, gently caressing the hand of his dear friend, ignoring the colorful creatures forming in front of him, wandering through the bar and creating a commotion that only he could hear.

“He… was supposed to be the next Morningstar heir. In a way, having me must have been a complication,” she whispered, her beautiful blue eyes, lined with darker streaks, growing misty.

“Don’t say that, Char. Anyone who knows you is lucky to. You’re golden—and… from what I’ve gathered, your parents weren’t exactly fair to either of you.”

Charlie had never opened up much about her family. The encounter with Lucifer had been unexpected and had led to a series of events only their teenage memories could truly understand.

She gave a small nod in agreement.

“Losing them was incredibly painful, even if we weren’t a typical family. Growing up in a noble environment and only socializing within those circles—events, parties… it was all a burden for both me and Lucifer. We longed for love and normalcy… which we never had.”

“After they passed…” Alastor tried to ease into the topic.

“After their death, Lucifer and I were… happy, in a way,” she began, her voice already breaking with the tears pushing through.

Charlie stared at a random spot on the table, overtaken by memories of those days—or maybe weeks—where, cruel as it was to say, she and her brother had felt free.

“Did you live together?”

“Of course…” she laughed softly, wiping away the tears that had already formed.

“My brother and I loved each other deeply. We were twins, after all. We would’ve done anything for each other.”

“When… when did the second event happen?”

Charlie took a deep breath. Her eyes now looked heavy with pain, probably imagining the moment she found out about her brother’s suicide attempt.

“About a month later. Not much time had passed. We had even gone on short trips, eaten at regular restaurants, or just little cafés in town. We bought clothes we actually liked… With what was left of my parents’ wealth, we could afford a lot—and it helped us reclaim some of the happiness that had been taken from us, without worrying too much.”

Alastor nodded as he took in the information.

“Could it be… the typical boredom of the wealthy?” he asked gently.

“No, no… it had only been a month. And we had plans for the future. I wanted to go to university, and he… he just said he wanted to travel and make a living doing what he loved.”

A waitress slowly approached, noticing the intimate scene between the two friends holding hands—and the girl clearly in tears.

“May I… take your order?”

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry,” Charlie said, laughing lightly, letting go of Alastor’s hand and opening the menu.

Alastor turned to the waitress, easily catching her attention with his handsome smile and deep brown eyes—quite rare in that part of the world.

“Just a long coffee for me, please.”

The waitress nodded several times, blushing, then shifted her gaze to Charlie.

“I’d like… a strawberry parfait, please.”

“Certainly. I’ll be right back,” she said, walking off, assuming her attractive customer was clearly taken by the woman at his table.

Charlie sighed again, closing the menu and feeling free to once more show the true state of her emotions.

“We weren’t bored. We were about to… make our dreams come true.”

“Do you have any idea why he did something like that?”

“I… I have no clue, Al. When I found him, he was already almost…”

She swallowed hard, and her face turned pale. Alastor leaned forward, placing his large hand on her cheek. Their eyes met, and he gave her a sad smile.

“I don’t need those details. Don’t dwell on them, okay?”

Charlie nodded, wiping away a tear and looking back at her friend with a touched smile.

“I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too, darling. More than you know.”

 

-

 

Lucifer walked around the house. Since waking up, he hadn’t seen Keekee. Maybe he was embarrassed or maybe just sad. He was a cat, after all, and quite good at hiding. Sometimes hours would pass before he appeared again, but now Lucifer felt his pet was hiding to process their argument—or rather, his reprimand from the night before.

He still felt Alastor’s touch on his skin. A touch that had never truly happened. But that dream… it was so wonderfully real. He walked on the sand facing the sea, then lifted his gaze toward a horizon that clearly led nowhere.

It was absurd to think what he was experiencing… wasn’t real. Yet it was even more absurd that food could appear in the fridge or that talking animals lived on an island.

He breathed deeply, closing his eyes and letting the sea air fill him. Alastor’s presence had shaken him, even stirring his awareness of sexuality. He didn’t understand why he’d had that kind of dream, but he was certain that his therapist’s presence made him happy and energized.

Perhaps beginning to touch the reality of the outside world had started teaching him about real life—including sex. Alastor certainly had nothing to do with it.

He heard footsteps behind him—too heavy to be the cat and too light to be any other inhabitant. His heart raced wildly for no logical reason, and his face felt as hot as lava. He turned—and confirmed Alastor had returned. He gave him a slight smile. This time, it wasn’t mocking. It was genuine and tender, and his eyes seemed lit with a light Lucifer hadn’t seen before. His face looked healthier and less drawn.

Lucifer walked toward his therapist, unaware of the idiot grin stretching across his face.

“You look too happy for someone working with a comatose patient,” he joked, placing his hands on his bare hips, barely covered by his boxer trunks.

“And you look quite off for someone in a perfect-world coma,” Alastor replied, as though he had the comeback ready.

Lucifer stifled a laugh and turned back toward the beach. He loved those jabs, even when they communicated deep frustration. He’d never had anyone speak to him like that—and especially not someone who always had the perfect response.

“Do you want to sit down?” he suggested.

Alastor tilted his head slightly, staring at the beach where a towel had been laid out on the sand.

“On the sand?”

“If you don’t want to mess up your fancy suit or that fluffy tail of yours, you can use my towel. I don’t mind getting covered in sand,” he said, letting his arms fall to his sides as he started walking toward the shore.

“I don’t mind getting dirty,” He replied, wanting to make that clear.

As he followed, Alastor slipped off his perfectly tailored jacket and placed it next to the towel. The blond raised an eyebrow, surprised by the gesture.

“I always thought you were the type who cared about appearances.”

“There’s nothing more misleading than first impressions,” he murmured, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

Lucifer admired the cherry-colored vest that matched the trousers perfectly and contrasted elegantly with the white shirt. As Alastor sat, Lucifer couldn’t help but notice how broad and muscular his shoulders were. For a moment, scenes from his dream flashed before his eyes.

“Aren’t you sitting?”

“Y-yes. Yes…” he stammered, then sat on the towel.

They gazed at the sea, wrapped only by the gentle melody of the waves. That fresh, slightly salty air made the blond smile again, closing his eyes to savor the calm and sweetness of the moment.

Alastor turned slowly to face him. He looked… beautiful. His thick, tousled hair flew in the breeze. His face was a bit tired—strange, in a place where fatigue shouldn’t exist. Yet his visage held a beauty Alastor considered perfect. When Lucifer opened his eyes, he snapped toward his therapist, surprised—he’d probably caught him staring.

“Is it normal for a therapist and patient to sit on a beach?”

“Why wouldn’t it be…?” Alastor asked, relieved that Lucifer wasn’t questioning his gaze—though his look bordered on admiration.

“I don’t know, it feels more… like something between friends than a professional and the one who hires him.”

Alastor’s eyes widened slightly, trying to remain impassive. But nothing hid the glossy veil before his deep, chocolate-brown eyes or the lump in his throat that made speech difficult.

Friends…

Lucifer had never referred to them that way. How much Alastor loved him… and how poorly the blond had treated him during the five years he lived in that seaside town he’d come to adore.

Lucifer frowned slightly, noticing that Alastor, trying to stay composed, seemed almost… moved?

“Al…?”

“The pearl!”

Lucifer jumped comically at that single shouted word. Alastor sprang to his feet, leaving the jacket on the beach and heading toward the patient’s laboratory.

The blond watched him walk away, utterly confused. He left the towel and followed Alastor, trying to figure out the plan.

“Pearl?”

“Pearl or… something like it. We need to find an object that communicates something to you, Lucifer.” Alastor entered the lab, his professional eyes scanning every object in the room.

He had clearly tried to distract him—but it wasn’t a bad plan. He needed to bring Lucifer back to reality as quickly as possible—and they’d already wasted precious minutes without realizing it.

Lucifer followed him into the room, observing. His gaze began seeking something that had evoked particular emotions. He usually collected objects and plants he liked. He only remembered that the pearl had practically asked to be taken—it glowed under the sea, lit by sun rays that managed to reach it.

Suddenly, he remembered an object… a thing so beautiful that just before using it for a bracelet, he’d refused to give it away, deciding to keep it for himself. Without telling Alastor, the shorter man moved to a drawer where he kept tools he rarely used.

He opened it and felt warmth envelop him, like a hug. His eyes lit up and he looked on the verge of tears. Inside was a stunning shell, pink like the pearl from the day before, streaked with magenta and white. He’d never seen anything so rare.

Alastor noticed and approached, curious.

“You found something?”

Lucifer turned to him and showed him the shell. At first glance, Alastor realized it must hold a memory. It was too unique to be just any seaside shell. He simply… nodded.

“It must—it has to be a memory, Lucifer,” he said, not even knowing why he was beginning to feel uneasy.

Lucifer stood, placing the shell in his palm and staring at it. Already he felt his head going light, distant words and sounds he couldn’t hear inside that place.

“Can you see them with me?”

“Again?”

Lucifer turned his gaze on Alastor, looking hurt this time.

“Hey, just a reminder—you were in my first memory toward recovery. I wouldn’t want to remind you of your lie, but if you’re part of these memories… maybe…”

Alastor lowered his eyes and clenched his fists. He wasn’t stupid—he knew. Actually, he might know more than someone who’d just learned how things worked.

“Maybe… you have something to do with why I fell into a coma.”

“Probably it’s something involving your sister Charlie. I was… just a supporting figure,” he hypothesized, using a theory he’d prepared in case he was accused.

“Let’s find out then.” Lucifer stared at him firmly and moved his hand toward Alastor.

Alastor looked Lucifer straight in the eyes. His expression was defeated by his patient’s determination. Obviously, it was to be expected: Lucifer already knew all the rules of this game and was using them to his advantage.

“Just this once. If I’m not in the memory, you'll have to see the next ones alone. Do you agree?”

“Deal.”

Alastor nodded and placed his large hands over Lucifer’s, enclosing them. The blond blinked slightly as his pupils visibly dilated. Alastor’s touch… wasn’t like any other. Yet Lucifer tried to ignore it, justifying it by thinking it had been a long time since he saw another human.

The world around them was enveloped in a cloud of images that within seconds transported them to a beach much like the one in front of Lucifer’s house.

“Whe—”

“Be quiet.” Alastor turned several times, looking for others nearby.

“You really are a jerk! Anyway, they couldn’t hear us!” Lucifer scolded him.

He noticed, in a distinctly cute and silly way, the little “radar-ears” twitching as the blond searched for sounds, words, or noises.

Alastor’s ignoring annoyed Lucifer. He had to admit he felt a certain… pleasure being with him, but nothing changed the fact that the blond got on his nerves—especially when acting on his own without even considering his opinion.

Suddenly, a younger version of Lucifer emerged from the water. He looked about fourteen years old, but his body was well-defined, hairless, and sparkling like a diamond. The sea water on his skin always gave him that special effect Alastor adored. Both of them turned to look.

The young one pushed his hair back and sighed. In his hands was a bag full of something.

“Are those… shells?”

“Yes,” Alastor answered confidently, not even realizing he’d again shown how well he knew him.

Lucifer looked at him sideways, but then turned his attention to his younger self.

The blond placed the bag on a towel. Judging by the sky’s color, it was barely dawn. Suddenly, more footsteps came from the pathway leading to the beach. The younger Alastor was looking at his phone—reading e-books or reviewing lecture notes as usual. Distractedly, he passed by without looking up.

He had sensed someone, but even if suspicion had been justified, he had no damned interest in speaking again with that person. Noticed instead by Lucifer, who widened his eyes when he realized that person was his sister’s friend.

He stood frozen, holding his breath. His eyes locked onto that soft, red-blond-haired guy whose hair bounced slightly with each step. His gaze was so damn deep as he examined everything on the screen. He, too, left early in the morning… probably to avoid the number of people that would be intolerable. Lucifer also had other reasons to go out at dawn, but he had to admit he disliked being with others around.

At first he remained still, determined to let the guy pass. But when Alastor walked slightly farther from him—letting him taste the solitude he’d feel when returning alone to his normal life, without even wearing sandals—he stepped onto the pathway.

“H-hey, you.” he ordered, voice trembling yet firm.

Alastor stopped. Those seconds when the redhead turned his back to him were heavy, conveying to both something like expectation, fear, and at the same time excitement for something new.

The taller one turned slowly, lowering the phone in his hands, eyes piercing Lucifer with his stare. The blond stiffened at that empty, spiteful expression from the redhead, that kept him rooted in place again.

The patient and his therapist watched the scene in reverent silence. Alastor sighed, putting his hands in his pockets, confirming that, after all, as he’d feared, their acquaintance had partly caused Lucifer’s coma.

Before he felt guilt—even though he already did—he decided to get to the bottom of this story. He would uncover what he couldn’t see back then: the noble blond’s perspective. Only by hearing both sides would he reach the truth and reveal the Morningstar family mystery that led to its complete collapse.

Chapter 18

“What did I tell you? It’s you and our acquaintance who are involved.” Lucifer didn’t hesitate to get straight to the point.

A point that, he couldn’t have known, was killing Alastor from the inside. Had he been the one to bring Lucifer to the brink of suicide? As he stared at their two younger versions, the therapist felt like he was about to faint from the shock of that discovery. However, he had to remain rational, clear-headed, and alert.

He couldn’t afford to follow his paranoia and not analyze the situation. He studied everything in minute detail for normal patients; he wouldn’t stop now that he had to save the person he loved the most.

“Don’t get distracted. Listen to what’s happening.”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s happening?! It’s literally you and me… when? Twenty years ago?”

“I’m not going to tell you how long you’ve been in a coma, Lucifer.” He answered, understanding his patient’s ulterior motive.

The blond complained loudly, stepping in front of Alastor with a furious face once again.

“You know what? You’re a pain in the ass.”

Alastor rolled his eyes. Lucifer decided to act like a real child exactly when the situation demanded attention and maturity.

It was almost as if a part of him got scared seeing what was in front of him, focusing on stupid topics.

After all, the fact that he was afraid was clear, given that he wanted the company of his therapist.

“Lucifer… don’t think that just because we knew each other I have the answer, because I don’t. We’re doing this therapy together, and I’ll help you understand what caused you to be here, to help you get out.” He explained, omitting as always the fact that he had tried to take his own life.

Omission couldn’t really be called a lie, after all.

“But you can just tell me!”

“Stories are subjective! Memories serve to look at the situation and history from the outside!” He explained, exhausted.

“What do you want?”

The voice of the younger Alastor finally made the blond turn around again, stopping his attack on his therapist.

Younger Lucifer shrugged his shoulders slightly. It was just a moment before something in his mind reminded him how he had to behave. The next second, he straightened his back, looking at the other with an air of superiority and a blank stare, as if a button inside him had been pressed, making him change.

“What I said a few days ago—” He began, in a low and firm tone.

“Whatever you’re about to say, I don’t care.”

The voice of young Alastor and the cold phrase he had spoken silently startled the boy in front of him.

The patient frowned, focused on that behavior of his alter ego.

“I wanted to… apologize.” He muttered.

The therapist turned toward him, surprised.

“What?!” He blurted out, in a louder tone than usual, clearly incredulous.

“I’m not… not sure. But it’s me, after all. I think… I wanted to apologize, somehow.”

The taller one felt his ears flatten again and his heart grow heavy. He knew the continuation of the conversation well, and if he had only known that Lucifer wanted to apologize, contrary to what his expression and posture communicated, he would never have spoken harsh words.

“Maybe you didn’t understand the point of the situation. You don’t need to be around my sister anymore.”

“What is he saying…?” The real Lucifer whispered, shocked.

“It was pretty clear instead. But it’s 2003 and the family can’t decide which friendships a woman should have. I find it rather medieval.”

“I’m not surprised you’ve never heard of nobility and the rules of high society.” Lucifer’s voice and expression were increasingly sharp and spiteful.

“Why… why is this conversation going this way? He was—he was sorry, he wanted to apologize! I’m sure of it.” The patient whispered, completely surprised.

“Because they’re young and… probably from what it looks like, his family situation puts pressure on him that forces him to behave like that.” He hypothesized, with all the new information he had gathered between Charlie’s explanations and the scene in front of him.

“Or maybe because an asshole is looking at him like that.” Lucifer added pointedly, turning slightly toward his therapist.

The taller one moved his chocolate eyes, which turned light red at the wave of frustration he felt at that accusation, staring at the other sternly.

“Don’t blame me. Have you seen how he treats him?” Alastor turned fully toward the shorter one, ignoring for the first time in his life a memory that could have given him answers.

He felt like he had returned to those days of total impossibility to talk to Lucifer, where every sincere word he wanted to say was replaced by a facade of pride and offense.

The real Lucifer looked him in the eyes, making the part of their personality that usually never reached the mouth meet, blocked by masks, roles, and pride.

“You’re right.” He said simply.

“...I beg your pardon?” All of Alastor’s sense of duty and professionalism went out the window at that single sentence.

“I said you’re right. Lucifer started treating him that way and… Alastor couldn’t help but feel attacked, even when the other wanted to resolve things somehow. Acting like that, he would be misunderstood by anyone… He seems proud and arrogant, it’s true. But I believe… it’s just a facade.” He explained, looking back at the scene.

Alastor stared at his patient, completely shocked. The one in front of him… was not the Lucifer he had known.

Lucifer was an asshole. Although it was easy to understand that his family’s pressure forced him to be particularly strict and always appear perfect, the Morningstar heir was sharp, cruel, critical, arrogant. Nothing like the man he was helping to come out of the coma.

He couldn’t look away from the real Lucifer, who had turned again to watch that scene with bitterness, staring at a version of himself from the past in which he couldn’t recognize himself.

More and more in Alastor’s heart grew the doubt that what he had seen, what Lucifer was showing him… had all been a lie, apart from brief moments in their past when he had mistakenly thought he had been kind due to random circumstances.

And what if those moments of kindness… had instead shown the real one?

The same doubt he had when he had to visualize the dream door of the blond became louder and louder, moment by moment.

“Did you interrupt my walk just to tell me this?”

“Say it.” The older version suggested to his younger self.

Young Lucifer bit the inside of his cheeks. His eyes gave in for a second to Alastor’s gaze, looking at the floor. His fists clenched. He was torn about something terribly silent and personal. After all, he was a teenager, and expressing emotions was exactly what a person his age couldn’t do.

He sighed slowly, straightened his back again, and looked at Alastor with empty, bored eyes, lifting his chin in a stupid attempt to look down on him, even though he was only about two-thirds of the other’s height.

“Keep this in mind. Charlie is allowed to attend school because no one expects anything from her. However, she can’t tarnish our name by being with…” He searched for the word he had to say.

He knew it well, he knew which one it was. He just didn’t want to say it. Although it was all something he was forced to say… it was really too much for him.

“What? Plebeians?”

“Those too. But even worse… foreigners.”

“Enough! That’s enough! It’s not true!” Lucifer walked determinedly between the two, overwhelmed by a sense of injustice.

Somehow he was managing to understand the thoughts of his alter ego and the stupidity of youth, and whatever else awaited Lucifer at home was making him do and say things that were not at all his.

“You can’t change the past. You can only be aware of what happened.” Alastor, particularly bored by that gesture, put his hands back into his pockets, even if part of him found it sweet and charming that his patient didn’t want the two boys to fight.

Lucifer stopped between the two young men, staring at them angrily.

“Why?!”

“Why what?”

“Why was I like that?! And why didn't… you…”

Alastor raised his eyebrows, incredulous that he was blaming him again for their fights, when just seconds before he had admitted his faults. After all, as the saying goes, the wolf loses its fur but not its vice.

Lucifer’s eyes welled up with frustration and a sorrow he couldn’t understand. Suddenly, he began to feel unbearable pain inside his chest, which immediately caused large tears to fall on his flushed face.

“Why didn’t you understand me?” He practically yelled at the other.

The therapist widened his eyes. His heart broke into a thousand pieces at that question, which despite appearances, wasn’t accusatory at all. For a moment, it seemed like the old Lucifer was in front of him, returned to reason.

A faint laugh, which slowly became more and more audible until it was almost deafening, echoed on the street, interrupting the two adults during what would definitely have been a helpful conversation both for Lucifer and their relationship.

Young Alastor bent over, holding his stomach with his arms. He looked extremely amused. However, the therapist knew what was happening.

“Are you serious? Are you really that damn outdated? Plebeians… foreigners…”

“Don’t you dare insult me.”

Alastor walked quickly toward Lucifer, passing through the patient, who was obviously invisible in that scene. The shorter one stepped back, but his face was grabbed by the other, who held his cheeks between thumb and forefinger with such force it hurt. His eyes were deep and furious. Empty but at the same time stormy. While the blond paled, trying to keep a serious expression, Alastor brought his face close to the other, stopping just a few centimeters away.

“People like you shouldn’t even exist. Charlie doesn’t deserve a family like that.” He hissed.

The therapist narrowed his eyes, while his hands in his pockets were clenched into fists so tight they hurt. If only he could change that past… If only he hadn’t let himself be overwhelmed by whatever negative emotion Lucifer’s false words had communicated… They could have really gotten to know each other.

“W-what…”

“I’ll stay close to your sister as much as I want, if she wants it too. You and your parents aren’t worth more than a grain of dust on this planet. Lower your crests and let her live.” He whispered, practically growling, while pushing Lucifer away.

The blond took unsteady steps, trying to recover and not fall, staring at Alastor in terrible astonishment. No one, literally no one had ever spoken to him or his family that way. Even if he was in a swimsuit, with messy hair, he was still a Morningstar.

His face furrowed, throwing a not-so-silent challenge at Alastor. The two stared at each other with hostility and fighting stances, giving the perfect representation of what adolescence often leads to.

“Disappear from my sight.”

“Gladly.”

The taller one turned and walked away with long strides, passing through Lucifer once again, who had seen everything. He was… shocked.

The world around them vanished in a breath, leaving the patient and therapist once again inside the latter’s laboratory.

Alastor analyzed the state of the shorter one, trying to professionally study his emotional condition.

“What did it make you feel?”

“Now you’re playing therapist?” he hissed, shifting his gaze toward Alastor.

“That’s exactly what I am. Your therapist.”

Lucifer stepped closer to him again. His eyes were still tearing up, but his expression clearly showed anger.

“Why do you insist on saying that? You might be a psychologist or whatever else you call yourself—”

“Oneirotherapist.”

“I don’t give a fuck, Alastor!” he shouted.

 

CRACK

 

Suddenly, a new crack appeared again in the sky. The two turned, looking outside the lab. The redhead furrowed his brow, trying to understand why every time his patient’s world slightly opened toward reality, he felt something intense apparently caused by Alastor.

“Tell me what you’re feeling. That way I can help you get back home to Charlie. She’s waiting for you.”

“And you?”

Alastor blinked repeatedly before he could process an answer, which ended up being a weak question.

“Me… what?”

Lucifer’s stunning blue and azure eyes settled on him, staring with deep sadness.

“Are you waiting for me?” he asked with a broken voice, not even knowing why he felt that suffocating sensation, as if his chest was filled with something that kept him from breathing.

Alastor’s heart started pounding like a damn hammer, and his face flushed with a heat it rarely reached. It was a terribly ambiguous phrase, one his loving soul could only dream was born out of mutual affection.

But he knew well it wasn’t so. Lucifer hated him and probably wasn’t even interested in men. Even though he was beginning to realize that part of the other’s cruelty was forced, it didn’t change how he treated him. He tried to swallow those foolish hopes, attempting to remain the more serious and rational one.

“We’re just acquaintances. We haven’t seen each other in years. Charlie called me only because she knew I do this job. Stop always dragging me into the causes or solutions of your therapy,” he explained coldly.

Lucifer said nothing. He kept staring at him for a few seconds, as if disappointed by him.

Alastor’s eyes scanned Lucifer’s face and body, trying to analyze his emotions and, in a foolish attempt, read his thoughts. What he saw was confusion, sadness, bitterness, fear, and a sort of feeling of abandonment.

“You’re absolutely right. First impressions are definitely wrong,” he whispered, leaving the lab and making it clear the session was over for the day, leaving Alastor inside the small wooden cabin, confused about what had happened and how to proceed with the therapy.

Chapter 19

"What was that look supposed to mean?!"

Alastor was pacing in front of his bed. By now, the presence of extremely colorful flowers and all kinds of creatures in the room was nothing he considered strange anymore.

He was completely immersed in his overdreaming, which was silently consuming him. The adrenaline from being around Lucifer and the initial treatments from Anthony were enough to make him forget any weakness or discomfort.

The imaginary copy of Lucifer was sitting cross-legged on the mattress, staring at him with boredom. The more Alastor got to know the real Lucifer, the more he noticed how this real version seemed purer, more naïve, and even gentle in some ways.

"Couldn't we just have sex, like you did so magnificently yesterday for three hours straight?"

"Why is it so hard for you to understand what the issue is?!"

Lucifer sighed, laying on his stomach and propping himself up slightly on his forearms against the soft surface of the bed.

"I understand perfectly what the issue is. It’s just pointless to dwell on it."

"Pointless?" Alastor stopped and turned to his imaginary companion, incredulous.

"Yes, Al. Pointless. Even if you did discover something new about Lucifer, nothing between you would change. You’d still be the same two jerks who didn’t speak for five years and glared at each other."

"But now… I’m his therapist. I’m helping him analyze himself, understand himself, and come out of his coma."

"So what? You think that when he wakes up, he’ll throw himself into your arms? You know there’s a good chance he won’t even remember anything that’s happening right now."

Alastor lowered his gaze, defeated. Indeed… trying to understand a pure, memoryless Lucifer, especially inside his own dream world, didn’t seem like a good idea. Even if that hurt expression hinted at something he couldn’t quite grasp, that state of mind wouldn't exist anymore once Lucifer woke up.

What he was seeing… was just a clean soul, not yet corrupted by memories or experiences that had turned him into the person he had become. The Lucifer in the real world… wasn’t like that.

"Maybe… you’re right."

"See?"

"But…"

The blond let out a loud and incredibly slow groan, rolling his eyes at the realization that sex seemed miles away that day.

"But what?!"

"Even if he can’t be like this in the real world… maybe giving in to what he needs in the dream might help speed up his healing process." He reasoned, trying not to let personal emotions get in the way.

Lucifer stared at his creator for nearly a full minute, thinking about those words and what a hypothetical answer might be.

"Because you're doing it for his sake. Not because you’re still hopelessly in love with him."

Alastor turned slightly red, but nodded, determined to lie to himself. He did want to save Lucifer, even more than when he had first started. But now that the two of them had grown closer somehow—and especially now that Lucifer seemed to be expecting something from him—he had to admit that there was something personal involved in this therapy.

"I have to save him because he’s my patient. Keeping him from what he needs is counterproductive and has only led him to lose trust in me." He explained, sitting on the bed next to the blond, who rolled over onto his side to look at him.

"And what exactly does he need? Let’s hear it."

Alastor thought back to their last conversation, and especially to what he had denied him—enough to cause a frustration so intense it had cracked the sky.

"He wants to know about our past… what we were, and most likely, how close we really were."

"Then just tell him, duh. There’s no big mystery. The whole world knows you hated each other—or pretended to. Who cares."

That wasn’t exactly the word Alastor would have used, but the more time passed, the more that wounded look from not getting an honest answer was leaving him breathless. Even though he had been with the blond just a few hours earlier, he needed to see him again. He stood up abruptly, grabbing the vest he had left on a chair.

"Where the hell are you going?!"

"We haven’t talked about anything else. Strange of you to ask."

Lucifer left the bed and stood in front of the redhead. His face looked terribly worried—almost terrified.

"Al, listen to me. You’re blatantly breaking some basic rules. You walked around the room the whole time, thinking you were dodging flowers and fairies. Even your interactions with me are becoming more and more realistic and intense. You absolutely cannot go back in there a second time today!"

Alastor looked at him. He was determined, but clearly sorry for making the other worry.

"If I get sick, Anthony can help me. We’re close now. Lucifer is making real progress. I’m sure of it."

His imagined version of Lucifer let his shoulders fall, weighed down by gravity. His creator's stubbornness couldn’t even be compared to the hardest material on earth.

"Ten minutes. At least promise me that."

Alastor leaned down, giving his companion at least the semblance of an affectionate gesture—pressing a quick kiss to his lips and looking him straight in the eyes.

"Ten minutes."

 

-

 

Lucifer entered his cozy little house, which had always filled him with joy and a sense of safety. Yet that day, his heart ached. He was incredibly sad, and stupid tears rolled down uncontrollably.

He didn’t even know why he felt like this. He had started to feel that strange sense of abandonment the moment he saw the argument between his younger self and the Alastor of the same age. It was as if he had begun to feel emotions that were partly his—as if they had once belonged to him before being lost to oblivion. Seeing how Alastor stubbornly refused to tell him anything about their past—as if he were hiding something—only hurt more.

"Keekee?" he called out, his voice cracking.

The black cat turned the corner that separated the bedroom from the rest of the house. He looked at Lucifer with his large yellow eye. Now that his trust in Alastor was starting to waver, his pet had reappeared. However, the blond felt a desperate need to lean on someone, and Keekee had always been there for him. Unlike Alastor, he wanted to add. His “therapist” had started to pull away the moment their connection risked becoming friendship. He wasn’t someone Lucifer could rely on.

"Lucifer? What’s wrong? You’re crying…" he described, almost shaken.

Lucifer began to sob. It was incredibly frustrating to be overwhelmed by emotions so intense they couldn’t be controlled. Wearing his usual dry swimsuit, he climbed over the bed and sat down, hugging his knees with his arms. The cat followed him, brushing his body against the blond’s.

"Keekee… I need to ask you a favor."

"Anything you want."

"Can—can you take Alastor’s form again?"

The creature flinched a little, clearly not expecting that request.

"It’s not for the reason you think. I just want to…" He searched for words he didn’t even have.

Keekee smiled with his giant eye. A true friend, he didn’t wait for explanations. With a puff of smoke that surrounded him, he appeared before his master in the therapist’s form. The only difference was his golden-yellow eyes.

Lucifer barely even thought about the consequences when he made that request. Yet he needed it—desperately. Keekee crawled over to him, smiling with a feline expression.

"What would you like Alastor to do with you?"

Even his voice tone was identical. It was, in part, terrifyingly realistic. What did he want from Alastor? Why had he asked to have him near? Just like all the precious objects that preserved his memories seemed to suggest, Lucifer followed his instinct—perhaps the only good thing he still had in this tragic situation.

"Can we... stay like this? Just hugging?"

The feline thought for a moment, watching the blond. After a few seconds of silence, his smile widened even more. He sat beside Lucifer and, with his broad shoulders and strong arms, wrapped them around the man, pulling him close to his chest. He felt Lucifer begin to sob quietly while returning the embrace.

"I—I was a horrible person, Kee..." he began, his voice trembling with tears.

Keekee kissed Lucifer’s neck gently. There was no sexual intent behind it, but he could feel his master becoming emotionally tied once again to their pure dream world, drifting away from that foolish so-called therapist.

He wanted to give him everything he desired—everything he needed and asked for. That was his role, after all.

"You're not horrible, Lucifer. Sometimes, the real world changes us... and not for the better."

Lucifer nodded repeatedly, soaking the shirt of the false Alastor.

"Alastor... he knew me. He was in my memories. That can’t just be some casual connection, right? Then—then why is he lying to me? Maybe he hates me, Kee?"

"I don’t think he hates you. Maybe… he’s just scared."

Lucifer looked up, locking his blue eyes on his friend.

"Scared?"

"Maybe he’s afraid that if you learn what the outside world is really like... you won’t want to return."

Lucifer started to think those words weren’t so far from the truth. Maybe his fear was tied more to their past—something related to what they had once been. After all, Lucifer had only seen the beginning.

Heavy footsteps approached. The steady, firm rhythm belonged to someone he knew well. But the blond immediately turned pale, realizing he was in a situation that could easily be misunderstood.

When Alastor turned the corner, he found Lucifer—in his swimsuit—being held by a copy of himself with golden eyes. The redhead furrowed his brow, now feeling the spark of a strange, unpleasant emotion flare up in his chest—one that made him nearly furious.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Chapter 20

"It's not what it looks like," said Lucifer, his voice barely audible.

The blond gently but swiftly pulled away from Keekee’s embrace, leaving the bed to walk toward Alastor.

"Then tell me what it was supposed to look like."

Alastor was… furious. He was self-aware and constantly analyzed himself, especially when speaking with a patient. Yet, he knew that when it came to Lucifer, he could never be sure he'd maintain control.

Lucifer frowned, his face completely red.

"K-Keekee was just comforting me, okay?"

"With my face and body?"

Every word from Alastor was sharp and burning. He had never in his life seen Lucifer hug anyone, let alone someone who looked exactly like him.

"Hey, why are you being so accusatory?!"

"And why are you acting so guilty?"

"Can we stop?!"

"Stop what, exactly? I'm still waiting for an explanation as to why your cat—who, for the record, is what's keeping you tied to this world—was using my appearance and hugging you on your bed."

Silently, Lucifer was thankful that Alastor hadn’t seen the part where Keekee had kissed his neck. Or when, during the night, he had tried to seduce him after a very vivid dream… about his therapist.

"I was upset, okay?! He—he thought that taking your form, since you're my therapist… might… somehow help," he blurted out, surprised at how quickly he managed to come up with such an excuse.

He wouldn't have been able to answer even if he'd tried, because he himself didn’t have a real explanation. But of course, Alastor would never accept that. Even though he called himself a therapist, his face and tone in that moment didn’t exactly radiate analytical detachment.

Alastor narrowed his eyes, lifting his brows. His chocolate eyes, as sharp as blades, moved toward his copy on the bed. Keekee simply shrugged. It was clear he didn’t care at all about the utterly ridiculous situation. He was an anchor, after all. Human-world rules clearly didn’t matter to creatures like him.

"So, the anchor of this world thought that turning into your therapist and hugging you while you're on your extremely spacious bed was a good idea?"

Lucifer couldn’t hold back that side of himself—proud and easily offended. He placed his hands on his hips and looked back at Alastor with a challenging expression. He could feel guilty only up to a point—but not for things that weren't his fault.

"What the hell is your problem with the size of my bed?"

"I don't know… maybe the fact that your body only takes up a quarter of it?"

"Are we seriously fighting about the bed?!"

"We're fighting about the fact that you were screwing a creature that doesn’t exist and, just to be clear, is technically an animal," said the man who used other men in bed while imagining he was making love to whoever he preferred.

"We—we weren’t screwing!!"

Keekee sighed. That scene was far too much for his otherwise boring and peaceful days. He returned to his normal form, hopped off the bed, and rounded the corner—without bothering to clarify that his master had blamed him just to avoid explaining whatever the reason had really been.

The two watched the cat leave, making it painfully obvious how low-level that entire conversation had become. Lucifer sighed, while Alastor remained serious and frowning, still struggling to control an anger he couldn’t fully understand or stop.

He knew well he was stepping far beyond professional boundaries, but something inside him had snapped at that scene. Maybe it was the high level of overdreaming that no longer allowed him to stay rational.

"Can we… try to talk?" mumbled Lucifer, glancing at Alastor from the corner of his eye.

"Yes, we can talk." He adjusted his shirt, slipping back into the role his job demanded.

"Don’t do the serious thing, Al. I want to talk to you, not to my therapist." Lucifer couldn’t help but notice the drastic switch in his manner, tone, and expression.

The redhead lowered his gaze, visibly torn. After all, he was there because he wanted to give Lucifer what he needed: their memories together and what he knew about him. This wasn’t the time to act like a therapist… but he couldn’t completely shed his professionalism, either.

He walked to the bed, trying to forget what he had seen, choosing to accept Lucifer’s ridiculous excuse. He sat on the edge. Then, he raised his face, gave the blond a neutral look, and patted the mattress beside him, inviting him to sit.

Lucifer had just gotten rid of the blush on his cheeks—only for it to return in full force. He nodded and sat down next to Alastor. He couldn’t bring himself to look at him. Maybe… after what he had done with Keekee, he wanted to recreate it? It sounded absurd. Alastor couldn’t possibly be interested in him. And besides… Lucifer himself had never thought of him that way… right? He had only had a few crazy, baseless dreams.

"Why were you upset?"

"I told you not to be my ther—"

"I’m asking as a person, alright?"

Alastor partly accepted that Lucifer didn’t want to look at him. The embarrassment was too much, even for him—and he felt like a teenager. The two of them stared with feigned apathy into the empty space of the room ahead.

"I… that scene I saw, my memories… they made me sad."

Alastor frowned. Although Lucifer had clearly asked him to just be himself and not the professional, that detail was too important to ignore. He turned toward him suddenly, drawing the blond’s uncertain eyes in his direction.

"Do you think… do you think you were feeling the emotions of your past self? Or were you sad about what you saw?"

Lucifer lowered his head, this time staring at his bare feet. It was a good question—one he couldn’t answer right away. He reflected silently, deeply analyzing himself. The therapist gave him the time he needed, knowing that, in many cases, some truths could only be explored slowly.

"I think both."

Alastor’s reindeer ears twitched slightly, and his tail resumed its slow wagging, just as it always did when he was with Lucifer—completely betraying its owner.

Lucifer from the past… was he sad? What could he have been sad about? He could clearly be offended, angry—but sad… it made no sense.

"And… why did it make you sad?" He chose to analyze what the other could more easily express.

Lucifer leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and fiddling like a child with his thumbs.

"What I said to you was awful. And I think I wasn’t even honest with you. I don’t know why I act like that but, like you said, it seems like my family is difficult. That doesn’t excuse me, though."

A few seconds of silence, during which Alastor—somewhere deep in his subconscious—secretly reveled in this pure version of Lucifer. A part of him knew Lucifer would never be like this in the real world, just as he had never been.

"I understand what you're feeling, and it's very… nice." He chose a word that was simple and direct.

"But?"

"But… what?" Alastor blinked a few more times than normal, trying to grasp that strange question.

"There was a but in what you said. I heard it clearly." Even though he was leaning forward, Lucifer turned his head slightly to look him directly in the eyes. Alastor felt his heart skip a beat. Was it really that obvious—or was the other just that perceptive, despite seeming clueless during their five years of knowing each other? Was he truly that sensitive and able to read between the lines?

Even if it was unprofessional to judge his own patient, there was something personal about all of this, and he couldn’t help but both hate and love that man—madly.

"But…" He had to be brave.

He had come back in less than a couple of hours for this exact reason. Alastor let out a soft sound, a whisper of surrender. He placed his hands flat on the mattress, leaned his head back slightly, and stared at the ceiling. Only then did he notice there were tiny glow-in-the-dark stars up there. It was… incredibly sweet.

"I came here to tell you what you want to know."

Lucifer’s eyes widened. He straightened his back and slowly turned to him, lifting one leg onto the mattress so he could look without twisting his neck. He was downright shocked that Alastor had changed his mind so quickly—but more than anything, he was scared and happy at the same time.

"You’ll tell me… our story?" he asked, not realizing how shaky his voice was or how his eyes had turned glossy once more.

Alastor still leaned back, but turned his gaze to his patient. Even his beautiful brown eyes were a little wetter than necessary, and a few hints of flaming red shimmered through them, making it clear that he was feeling intense emotions.

"I'll tell you what I know about you and what happened… during five years of knowing you."

Chapter 21

“If your dad is from around here… why do you have your mother’s surname?”

Talking with Charlie was always a pleasure. She gave Alastor a real sense of calm. Though they had known each other just a few months, he already thought of her as a younger sister—gentle, light, sometimes naïve—someone to protect. The complete opposite of her monster of a brother.

The redhead looked at the blonde with a tenderness in his gaze that even he didn’t fully understand. Especially after those fights with Lucifer, he felt an even stronger desire to shield her. Her family seemed like a true nightmare, treating her like the rotten apple among their ostentatious nobility.

From what her twin brother implied, Charlie was practically considered useless. It probably meant that, for obvious reasons, she couldn’t carry on the Morningstar name. If she married, she would take her husband’s surname, losing her own.

“It’s clearly uncommon, but not a big deal. When I was born, they chose my mother’s name to avoid making me feel uncomfortable at school.”

They walked toward the school gate. The path from the main door to the entrance was beautiful, lined with a lush garden and a few palms. Alastor noticed his friend look down thoughtfully. His heart ached. It was clear the blonde was wondering how she could possibly be useful to her family—just like Lucifer was.

He laid a hand lightly on her shoulder to catch her attention. Charlie turned and smiled as if nothing was wrong, but the sadness in her expression couldn’t be hidden. Sometimes Alastor felt a deep pity for her. Wealth doesn’t always mean happiness, after all.

“Would you ever want your children to have your surname?”

“Oh… I—I… no, no. I’d like to follow tradition. And my parents certainly don’t consider me a bearer of our name. In their values and upbringing, women and children must take the head-of-family’s surname. They would probably forbid me from doing otherwise.”

Alastor nodded. Unappeasable seemed the right word for that family. He felt Charlie might achieve wonderful deeds, yet they’d never be satisfied with her.

“They… didn’t expect to have me, you know?”

Alastor stopped, raising his brows too noticeably—impressed by how insane that statement was. Parents might be surprised to learn they’re expecting twins, but warning their daughter not to expect good news? That was sci-fi level.

“W-what do you mean?”

“I mean… they wanted a boy, and Lucifer made them so unintentionally happy. When they found out there were two children, they hoped the second one was another boy.”

Charlie walked a few steps further before turning to him. Alastor’s face hardened into icy, cold rage. How could they treat her like that and think such things?

“Don’t be angry. You know how nobility works. That doesn’t mean they don’t love me.”

“They do? They love you?” he snapped, his words sharp as an arrow.

Sometimes he had to bite his tongue. Even if he managed, it was always too late—he struggled to keep silent when faced with injustice. He was a silent avenger, saving no one… yet.

But one day… he would. He would protect people, just as he promised his onirotherapist.

Charlie looked at him, surprised. She thought for a second before chuckling nervously.

“What are you going to say? Of course they do.” she said, feigning amusement, then turned and continued toward the school gate.

Alastor stared at her back, a frustration beyond words rising in his chest. He wanted to hug her and shield her, but not intrusively. He was already shocked that, in less than a year of friendship, she had shared such personal things with him.

Maybe he wanted to apologize for everything that happened when she tried to take him home. She obviously didn’t know about his second meeting with Lucifer, when Alastor confirmed how cruel that person truly was.

The redhead conceded the topic. He resumed walking. With his long legs, it was easy to keep pace with Charlie—she wasn’t as short as Lucifer, but certainly not as tall as Alastor.

They walked in silence, side by side. It wasn’t awkward; even though Charlie talked often, there were times when they simply didn’t need words. Charlie spoke of home. Occasionally, he foolishly thought they would have been happy if she'd been born into his family and if they truly were siblings.

As they walked alongside each other, Alastor noticed something—or rather, someone—among the crowd of students exiting the school. Someone short, with gorgeous blond hair like gold and sea‑blue eyes. Proud posture, serious, haughty.

The glasses-wearing redhead furrowed his brow as he realized Lucifer stood right in front of the school gate—a surprise, since he didn’t attend classes like his sister and hadn’t been seen around in months.

“Lucifer?!” Charlie seemed shocked.

In an instant, she left Alastor’s side and ran to her real brother. That choice felt like a dagger to the redhead’s heart—but he knew he couldn’t expect her to choose him over that jerk she’d grown up with—even in the womb. Their bond was one he could never match.

“Charlie. Will you come home with me?” he asked, in his usual robotic, cold tone.

“Oh… yes—yes, okay… I was going anyway. Why are you here?”

Alastor approached the girl, locking his smoldering chocolate eyes with Lucifer’s cold, icy stare. The two exchanged silence. And yet, his heart pounded wildly. Even though the blond was unquestionably cruel, he couldn’t deny he was unbelievably beautiful. Part of him hoped that maybe Lucifer might also have Charlie’s gentleness—but of course that wasn’t possible. He wondered why he always felt so agitated and strangely happy whenever he saw Lucifer, even though they hated each other.

“From today on, I’ll pick you up from school.”

“W-wh-what?!”

Alastor narrowed his eyes, edging close to his friend and standing almost directly in front of Lucifer—who pretended to notice only now.

“Did you ask her if that’s okay with her too?”

“What, are you her lawyer? I’m her brother and I know what’s best for her.”

Charlie shifted her gaze between her brother and the redhead, clearly embarrassed and anxious about the fight that was brewing.

“I’m her friend, and I’ve already told you I hate this behavior.”

“What behavior? Preventing you from stalking her again?”

“Says the one who decided to escort her just to keep filthy foreigners or poor people from leading her down the wrong path.”

“I didn’t say that’s why I’m here.”

“You make it obvious, given you’ve graced us with your precious presence.”

“C‑could you both stop?!” Charlie’s sharp plea made the two freeze, just as they were spiraling into yet another argument, edging closer to a line that would only bring more pain.

Alastor sighed quietly to himself. He gave Lucifer his flattest, most critical stare, but inside, his chest was practically exploding. He wondered what the hell was wrong with him. He had never felt anything like this before. Was it hatred? Conflict? Possessiveness toward Charlie?

Seeing Lucifer, hearing his voice, feeling his gaze—it sparked something wild inside him, a manic, reckless surge of life flooding his veins.

“Just so we’re clear.” Lucifer adjusted his perfectly ironed shirt, as white as the purity he loved to flaunt.

He even lifted his chin, trying to look down on the other boy. It was a habit that came naturally to him, but considering his height, the result was often unintentionally comical.

“I don’t go to public school. I have private tutors.”

“What do they make you do, exactly? Painting?”

“The same things you do, idiot.”

“Then come to school.” He bit his tongue—this time for real.

Had he just invited Lucifer to school? It was obviously meant as an insult, but it absolutely sounded like an invitation. For a single second, Lucifer’s eyes widened more than usual, a flicker of light passing through his irises. His face flushed slightly—probably from the fury sparked by the provocation. He let out a short laugh, staring back at Alastor with full-blown arrogance.

“I’d never risk spending time with someone like you.”

“Lucifer, please!” Charlie moved closer to her brother, placing a gentle hand on his arm, whispering her plea.

Lucifer studied his sister’s face. He looked at her with such flatness that it made Alastor want to punch him square in his annoyingly perfect celestial eyes. And yet, the redhead remained eerily calm, silently begging the shorter boy to look back at him, to pay attention, to keep that back-and-forth going. Even with such awful words, it gave him a strange sense of joy.

Was he one of those people who call themselves masochists?

He was still young, only fourteen, and though he’d known about the topic for years through books, only recently had he started developing curiosity and interest in sexuality—fetishes or bedroom preferences were completely beyond him for now.

“Let’s go, Char.” he murmured, addressing only her as he turned to leave, clearly intending to ignore Alastor altogether.

But Alastor didn’t miss that nickname.

“Will you come here every day?”

That question slipped out of his mouth before it could be filtered by any part of his brain. Only after saying it did Alastor’s face flush deep red, his expression betraying the seriousness he was trying so hard to maintain—showing pure confusion instead.

Lucifer paused for a couple of seconds, then turned back toward Alastor. His brow furrowed, his eyes shimmered, and his cheeks now held a flush similar to Alastor’s. Had he really gotten that mad?

“I said I’ll come pick up my sister every day. Are you deaf as well as an asshole?”

“L‑Lu, can we go?” whispered his sister, tugging gently on his sleeve.

Alastor felt one of his eyes twitch—an involuntary tic of pure frustration—completely at odds with the strange relief blooming inside him at receiving that answer. He stayed silent, deciding that was enough for the day. After all… he’d see him again. Every day. Even if only for a few seconds, even if it meant just another fight.

“Alastor, see you tomorrow!” Charlie waved at him, clearly flustered, her little hand fluttering rapidly in the air.

“S‑See you tomorrow, Char.” he replied, trying to smile, forcing his expression to change on command.

He had never found himself in a situation where two people made him shift so dramatically in how he behaved. Then again, he’d rarely crossed paths with unpleasant people in his life. And like Lucifer… he had never met anyone like him.

“I told you not to talk to him, Charlie.” whispered the blond, turning his back to the redhead and leading his sister away from him.

There was something about their dynamic that Alastor found oddly amusing. Lucifer seemed strangely… softer. Even though his replies were always cutting, his eyes and tone were different now—nothing like that first day. Maybe it was just an illusion. After all, he was a damned classist and a racist.

And yet… in that silence, Alastor couldn’t wait to see him again—and to feel his gaze fall on him once more.

 

Chapter 22

It was the second year of high school; Alastor remembered it perfectly. He would’ve seemed insane if he ever said that even after over thirty years of life, he could recall every single day of his high school years with such clarity. Specifically, every single time he had met Lucifer.

Saying they had become friends was a big stretch. Still, they saw each other every day for about five or ten minutes. Just enough time to exchange mocking comments, jabs, even cruel remarks. But by now, the two were locked in a constant fencing match, and Alastor certainly didn’t deny that he enjoyed it, day after day.

"Charlie!"

A girl from their class approached the blonde, once again about to leave with Alastor. Every day, the two of them would walk toward the main gate, exchanging their usual last words before having to part ways.

The redhead pretended to be extremely annoyed, but he even went to school with a fever for those ten minutes… with Lucifer. Of course, he was happy to be with Charlie! But… it was a different kind of happiness, a strange one. Even though they said the worst things to each other—embarrassing the girl more than once—the two stared at each other with hatred, smiling and locking eyes.

As far as Alastor was concerned, he realized he simply couldn’t hate the blond, despite everything. He’d often reflect in silence, realizing that he was genuinely happy to be around that jerk.

He found him insanely attractive, charismatic—breathtaking. Every day he was dressed impeccably, with color-coordinated suits. His golden hair was always slicked back, probably with some kind of spray, and Alastor loved noticing a few rebellious strands bouncing on his forehead, free from any product and looking soft and angelic.

More than once, he found himself getting lost in the light-blue veins swimming in the deep blue of his eyes, which warmed his cheeks like the small heater he used in his bedroom during winter. Both Alastor and Charlie, already wearing their backpacks, turned toward their classmate. It was clear she was embarrassed and regretful about what she was about to say.

"Yeah? What’s… what’s going on?"

"I’m sorry, but… we can’t find the costumes for the summer party."

"Oh, dear… I thought we put them in the storage room."

Alastor looked out the window. The temperature was definitely high, and the sound of cicadas was practically deafening. It didn’t bother him—he actually loved it. Classes had ended a few minutes ago, and Lucifer was surely already outside, not giving up his usual ensemble of shirt, vest, and pants. The only difference in his outfit between winter, summer, and in-between seasons was whether or not he wore a jacket or coat. But no one could question his base look. It had already been a year and a half since their “duels” began, and the previous summer, the blond preferred to nearly collapse from the heat rather than dress like a typical boy his age.

He hadn’t missed a single day of school. Every single day, he showed up, keeping his promise… or threat.

"Could you help us find them? We need them by tonight… The events start tomorrow." She was truly disheartened.
Charlie was the class rep, and during the last week of classes before summer break, the school allowed students to put on small performances, run booths or shops, and welcome families.

Of course, Charlie’s family never showed up, giving the blonde the freedom to stay a bit later than usual to join those events. Even though it was six in the evening instead of one, Lucifer had come to pick her up every single time for the entire week.

During the two summer months when they didn’t see each other, Alastor felt like he couldn’t breathe. He stayed in his room under the air conditioner, imagining little conversations with Lucifer to cope with the absence. He lived with a nonexistent copy of the blond just to keep from going mad. Once school resumed, he didn’t need it anymore.

"Sure… sure, I’m coming." She said, worried, grabbing her phone to message her brother.

By now, it was no longer stressful for her—it had become a routine that Lucifer came to pick her up. She later admitted to the redhead that she didn’t mind the daily walk with him, beyond anyone’s control. It was just the two of them, unfiltered.

"Don’t worry, Char. I’ll go to your brother." He said, in a hurry.

Alastor felt his chest nearly explode. He had thrown himself into that idea that struck him in less than a second. He could… he could spend some time alone with Lucifer. Not that Charlie’s presence bothered him but… if they were alone, it might feel different—probably.

Charlie stared at Alastor, completely shocked. She knew well that the two hated each other, and if she weren’t there, they’d probably beat each other up. The fact that her friend offered to do such a thing to relieve her anxiety about being late nearly moved her.

"You sure, Al?"

"Of course. I’ll let him know you’re running late and we’ll wait for you outside."

"Oh…" Charlie then looked at her friend, clasping her hands in front of her chest like she always did when she felt anxious.

"I’ll be right back, then." She smiled faintly, her beautiful blue eyes with darker veins shifting to her best friend.

Alastor smiled even wider than she did. He felt… pure electricity. He nodded, leaving the classroom in excessive haste while trying to appear serious and composed.

Lucifer was outside, with at least 35°C, standing under the sun, dressed like the idiot he was. Not that Alastor dressed much differently—just a little less formal.

As soon as he descended the stairs, he turned the corner toward the part of the school filled with vending machines. He didn’t have enough coins to get something for both of them, but he didn’t care. He inserted a couple of fifty-cent coins and scanned the options.

There was… a plain water bottle, lemon or peach tea, fizzy drinks, and some kind of… strawberry beverage with coconut jelly cubes. Although he was about to grab water, he didn’t know why, but that strange colorful bottle seemed to scream the blond’s name.

He didn’t even know if Lucifer liked sweets, but something inside him said he might. He pressed the button and watched as the little bottle dropped down to the compartment. Alastor bent down, happy as a poor fool, and grabbed the drink—cool and colorful.

He turned the corner and walked quickly toward the gate.

With every step, Lucifer’s silhouette became clearer. The blond stood with his back turned, watching the world beyond the school. His eyes seemed nostalgic, lost in thought. His skin was very pale, and sweat was clearly visible through his shirt. His hair had fallen out of place, unable to withstand the heat. His lips were slightly parted, while he maintained a proud and upright stance.

"I think today you’ll have to wait a bit." Alastor had already assumed that smug grin that he knew would annoy the blond.

Lucifer sighed, turning toward Alastor. He was clearly annoyed, but what stood out more was how much he was suffering.

"Where’s Charlie?"

"She’s helping with the materials for the summer party. She’ll be here soon, she said."

"Fantastic," he grumbled, lowering his gaze to the ground.

The redhead stepped closer to him, turning to face the same direction the blond was looking. Lucifer mumbled something unintelligible, glancing sideways to notice Alastor was next to him.

Maybe he had never been this close to the shorter guy. He could call it brave. That summer day had made him giddy. He didn’t want to make a move or flirt or anything. He just wanted to be near him—and mostly, help him.

But Lucifer didn’t move away. He raised his gaze, staring at the same point ahead of them. The road was narrow, lined with a few small houses, until it split at a fork. There wasn’t much to see. They were just pretending it was interesting.

Alastor gathered more courage and, without looking at the other, held the drink up to his face.

"What’s this?" Lucifer wanted to point out something that the bespectacled boy had hoped to slide past in silence.

"A drink… with coconut jelly."

Lucifer frowned. He lifted his hands and grabbed the bottle. For a brief second, their hands touched. Alastor felt a jolt of pure joy shoot through his veins. The shorter guy’s skin was silky, soft. It felt like touching a doll.

Alastor slowly turned his head to glance at the other without being noticed. Lucifer’s eyes were shining in a way he had never seen before. He looked almost like a child at a theme park.

His eyes widened, and his heart pounded harder than usual. With his hair out of place, making him look more human, his eyes no longer empty, and his cheeks slightly puffed like he was smiling while keeping a straight face…

After a few seconds of losing himself in thought, the noble handed the bottle back to Alastor, trying to compose himself. The redhead raised his eyebrows, confused.

"What… are you doing?"

"Giving you back your drink, obviously."

Their eyes finally met. Lucifer made it clear through his expression that he didn’t understand why that would be a problem.

"Is it so hard to understand that it was for you?"

The blond blinked repeatedly. The jerk even made a grimace.

"Why would you give me a drink?"

"Because… it’s hot."

"I know it’s hot. If I want, I can buy an entire beverage company or a bar to get something cold without running into assholes like you."

"Incredible… what a piece of crap," Alastor muttered, taking back the bottle and turning slightly toward the school.

Of course, it was completely pointless. Lucifer was just a jerk, and any kindness toward him was literally flushed down the toilet. He could’ve gotten something for himself and gone home after delivering the message. But instead, he was there, worried that the other might feel unwell.

He sighed, seriously considering leaving. After a few seconds, he felt the drink being snatched from his hands.

"What are you doing?"

"I got curious about what kind of drinks people like you drink."

He held the bottle and tried to open it. He failed miserably but remained silent.

"I don’t drink jellies," he specified.

He was… ridiculously happy. That little angelic creature with the soul of a devil had accepted his gesture.

"I guess it’s too fancy and modern for you." He joked about something he knew nothing about but always wanted the last word.

He tried again, silently and with more force, almost desperately, to open the cap. He clenched his teeth, feeling his skin burn. Suddenly, the redhead grabbed the bottle and opened it effortlessly with a loud CLACK.

Lucifer couldn’t hide his childish, frustrated pout as Alastor, grinning smugly, handed him the bottle.

The blond snatched it from his hands, then lowered his face to look at that world of sparkles and pink jelly. He was utterly hypnotized, quickly forgetting why he was mad. When Alastor cleared his throat, it brought his enemy back to reality.

He pretended nothing happened and brought those beautiful, small, full lips to the edge of the bottle, almost scared of what it would taste like. He took a sip, surprised by the jelly texture. A bit confused, he began to chew. He looked almost like a squirrel, cheeks puffed.

Alastor couldn’t take his eyes off him, completely swept away by the scene. He was still holding the bottle cap in his hand. When Lucifer lowered the drink, his eyes clearly showed that he liked it—even if his expression remained blank.

"It’s refreshing," he said plainly.

"Good," he replied with equal coldness, before turning to leave, thinking he’d already stayed too long.

"Alastor…"

The bespectacled boy stopped, and so did his heart. Lucifer had practically never said his name. He swore he had never heard his name sound so melodic—it nearly brought him to tears.

"What?" he replied, feigning boredom, turning his head just slightly.

The blond stared at the school gate, pretending he hadn’t just called the other.

"Thanks," he said, deeply irritated by his own discomfort.

His cheeks were so red they looked like tomatoes, but it was probably just the heat. After all, even Alastor’s face was magenta and his breath was short… because of the heat.

Clutching the cap in his trembling hand, he finally walked away from Lucifer.

Chapter 23

It was their third year of high school. One of those winter days Alastor would remember for the rest of his life. His encounters with Lucifer were always particularly brief but intense. Small arguments, sharp words spoken with a smile and increasingly soft tones.

He didn’t want to imagine things, but it seemed Lucifer enjoyed those brief meetings too. The redhead had begun to accept terms like “commoners,” “poor people,” “foreigners,” realizing they were copied and pasted from a vocabulary that the blond partly interpreted in his own way.

He and Charlie reached the main gate, walking carefully because of the mud formed by that stupid rain. In that area, it was always especially humid, and the temperature never really dropped below 10 or 5 degrees, even during the coldest seasons.

The taller one was surprised not to find Lucifer there. On that very day, when he had to escort Charlie, clinging to his arm to avoid slipping, he wouldn’t have minded a helping hand. He was afraid of falling himself and causing harm to his friend.

“Your brother?”

“It’s… strange. He told me he’d come… Like always, anyway.”

“Yeah…” Alastor mumbled, looking around.

Inside, a growing worry gnawed at him. He knew the blond never missed that meeting he’d promised his sister… and indirectly, him. If he wasn’t there, something must have happened.

Suddenly, Alastor’s eyes landed on a silhouette at the end of the road, on the right side of the school. He was sure it was Lucifer. He had his back turned, arms crossed, waiting for his sister. He wore a stunning long coat, white as snow. His hair, despite the gray clouds, seemed to shine with its own light.

“I think he’s over there.” He faked uncertainty, pointing to where his beloved stood.

They were all older now, close to adulthood. Alastor had begun to realize he had feelings for Lucifer, feelings he would obviously keep to himself. Someone who openly said he hated him like that, who also belonged to a noble and presumably traditionalist family, could never possibly be with him.

“Oh, you’re right. I’ll go to him,” Charlie said, starting to move away.

“See you tomorrow, Al!” She waved, smiling at her friend like the angel she was.

Alastor waved faintly, trying to smile at the blonde. Still, deep down, he felt something was wrong. Why hadn’t Lucifer stood in front of the entrance? It would’ve been easy to assume he didn’t want to see him, but after three years of arguments mixed with sadistic and maybe even masochistic amusement, it didn’t seem believable.

Before he even realized it, his feet started moving on their own, following his friend. Charlie had already reached her brother, and her face showed concern. When she noticed the redhead approaching, she turned toward him.

“A-Al? What’s wrong?”

“I think I accidentally took your notebook. I wanted to give it back.” He made up the stupid excuse in two seconds flat.

Lucifer still had his back turned, while Alastor took off his backpack to pretend he was retrieving Charlie’s notebook.

“Is… everything okay?”

“Ah…” Charlie began, but was cut off by Lucifer’s glare.

A glare that Alastor only barely caught. The blond seemed off—slow, sluggish. He slung the backpack back over his shoulder and placed a hand on Lucifer’s arm, forcing him to turn around.

Despite the surprised expression, the shorter man was so pale he looked gray. His eyes were deeply sunken, and dark circles were painted beneath those irises of his, which now seemed covered by utter confusion and weakness.

“What the hell did you do?” slipped out of him.

“I didn’t do anything, idiot.” His voice was shamefully faint.

Alastor’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces and his chest filled with worry. He was sick—obviously and painfully, that little blond clearly had at least a 104 fever.

“You should be home. In bed.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Lu… don’t take it the wrong way but… it’s obvious you have a fever,” Charlie said with deep embarrassment, knowing her brother would never approve of being exposed like that.

“I’ve never heard anything more ridiculous. Let’s go, Char.” He turned away again, brushing off Alastor’s hand with a sharp gesture.

The redhead sighed loudly, making it painfully clear how ridiculous he found that act nobody could possibly believe. Charlie looked at her friend with worry, giving him another nod before starting to walk off. Even the blond’s steps were uncertain and extremely weak.

He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the blond he had realized he loved. Charlie watched her brother with concern, walking beside him. Step by step by step, Lucifer seemed slower and slower, until he wavered, stumbled, and leaned his side against a nearby wall.

Alastor didn’t even need to hear Charlie’s scream before rushing back toward them, this time with real intent, no longer needing to fake his concern. Before Lucifer’s body hit the ground, purely by instinct, the redhead caught him in his arms, lifting him a little too forcefully and positioning him in a bridal carry.

When his chocolate-colored eyes landed on the man resting his head against his chest, he had already fainted.

“Alastor! What do we do?! Lucifer’s sick,” the girl practically screamed, in full panic for her brother.

Alastor was just as terrified as she was, but far more analytical. The shorter man was breathing steadily. He was only asleep. He was as pale as crushed ice, and his face was drenched in sweat.

“Calm down, Char. I think… I think he just needs to take some medicine. He clearly has a fever,” he said, bringing Lucifer closer to the blonde, silently asking her to check his forehead.

Charlie, already with tears in her eyes, placed her trembling hand against her brother’s forehead. It only took a second before she shifted her blue eyes, streaked with darker hues, toward her friend.

“He’s burning up.”

“I figured. Is there anyone at your place who takes care of this kind of thing, or do you prefer the emergency room?”

“W-we have butlers. They’re trained for this kind of stuff…”

For a moment, Alastor wondered what kind of training the staff in that house went through. Giving medicine to someone with a fever didn’t seem like such a big deal, but from the way Charlie described them, they all sounded like frontline doctors.

“Alright, darling. Let’s head to your house then. Once we’re there, we can call someone who can help him.”

Charlie simply nodded, large tears streaming down her beautiful cheeks. The two walked, faster than usual, toward the noble siblings’ home. Alastor couldn’t help but stare at Lucifer’s face and that beautiful, emotionless expression. He looked stunning even in that state, particularly intimate. Normally, you could only admire someone sleeping in bed or in moments of close friendship or intimacy.

Even though he was seriously worried, feeling that weak and extremely light body in his arms filled him with pure euphoria.

Once they reached the house—simple on the outside but clearly much larger than most—Charlie passed the redhead, running toward the door.

“I-I’ll be right back!” she called out, running off.

Alastor just nodded. Even though he was much taller than Lucifer and his muscles were slightly toned thanks to equipment he used in his room, he was tired, and his arms ached. Still, he wouldn’t have let him go even if someone threatened to take his life.

He sighed, lowering his eyes to his unconscious rival. His gaze fell on Lucifer’s slightly parted lips. He was so… damn in love with and attracted to him, to the point he had started pleasuring himself thinking about him. In the last few days, he had even figured out how to fold his pillow and fuck it, imagining it was the blond.

Without realizing it, he had lowered his head toward him, very slowly, drawn to that angelic face but also to that prickly, rare personality. No one would ever notice, right? Not even Lucifer. It would be Alastor’s first kiss.

And what if it had been the blond’s first as well? It wouldn’t have made the action any less wrong. But he knew he would never get another chance like this.

What would it feel like to press lips against someone else’s? What texture or taste would a kiss with Lucifer have? When he felt the sleeping man’s breath on his face, Alastor realized he was really about to do it. A small instinct—or maybe a silent plea for permission—made him shift only his eyes toward the blond’s.

When Alastor noticed that Lucifer… was watching him silently, he felt his heart stop. He jolted, freezing in place. Their eyes locked. While Lucifer’s gaze was tired, confused, though it seemed to be studying him, Alastor’s was utterly terrified. With his head still lowered over him and their lips just millimeters apart, the two remained frozen, observing one another.

Suddenly, Lucifer closed his heavy eyelids again, resting his cheek against Alastor’s chest, making it clear that he had fallen asleep once more. The redhead practically lost years of his life from the terror of being found out. As he straightened his back, he wondered whether the blond had truly seen what he was about to do—and whether he would ever remember it.

With his mind spinning in total confusion, his vision even beginning to blur, he noticed Charlie stepping out with a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed like a classic butler. The girl said something, but Alastor only nodded, not grasping her words. The man approached, carefully and familiarly taking Lucifer’s body from his arms. As he felt his beloved being taken away, the redhead was almost certain he wanted to punch the man in the face—or even kill him.

For a few seconds, he felt a sense of possessiveness that made him unconsciously aggressive. Outwardly, luckily, he managed to appear serious and composed, though inside him swirled a storm of emotions.

The blonde thanked him with a nod of her head, then turned away, following the butler who had already entered the house with Lucifer in his arms, leaving Alastor alone—on a gray, humid day, with a constant, deafening noise in his ears, repetitive like a broken radio, caused by the sheer number of scares he had endured in twenty minutes, and the overwhelming emotion of what he had almost done to his enemy.

Chapter 24

It had been days since Lucifer had been brought home, unconscious, in the arms of a butler whom Alastor dreamed of over and over again, tearing his beloved away from his arms. For several days, he didn’t show up at the school gates. On the first day, he swore he felt his heart split in two.

Every single time he saw Charlie, he’d ask about her brother’s condition, pretending to be bored and mixing the topic with others. He couldn’t tell her that it was his first thought in the morning and his last before falling asleep. He couldn’t even bring himself to masturbate anymore. He wanted to know if he was okay, if he was receiving proper care, the kind of affection one gives to the sick. He wanted… to see him. Just to be able to breathe again.

That Sunday, Alastor was home alone. His parents were on a vacation for their anniversary. But he had school. Or at least, that was the excuse he had made up when they suggested he join them. He wanted to give them the privacy they deserved, and besides, he didn’t want to miss any chance to see Lucifer, not knowing what might happen next.

Alastor slowly prepared his favorite dish. A comfort food that made him feel like a child again. A meal that people outside that house (and even his father) would never be allowed to see—and if they did, they wouldn’t survive it.

Kluski z truskawkami. In short: yogurt blended with strawberries and… pasta.

As soon as the dish was ready, Alastor let a wide grin stretch across his face, just like when he was around six or eight years old. He loved it.

Suddenly, someone knocked at the door. The redhead frowned, staring at the door. He looked down and realized he was only wearing boxers, as he usually did on Sunday mornings in that house that never managed to feel cold by his standards. He shrugged, somehow unfazed, approaching the door with the plate in his hands.

Probably a neighbor needing milk. Nothing and no one could have prepared him for the sight of Lucifer standing in front of his home, dressed rather casually, in simple pants and a shirt left untucked, his hair even lacking hairspray or gel.

Alastor’s soul left his body for a moment, staring wide-eyed like a stunned fish at the shorter man before him. Lucifer looked at him with disgust, then let his eyes travel to the only piece of clothing the redhead was wearing. Alastor’s hands clenched, nearly dropping the contents of the plate.

Those blue eyes, with beautiful veins of sky-blue, then moved to the dish that, at first glance, looked like it contained normal pasta. If only Alastor hadn’t left chunks of strawberry in it, the blond might have mistaken it for a classic Italian dish—strange, but plausible at ten in the morning.

“L-Lucifer?!”

“What the hell is that in your hand?!”

“K-Klus—”

“You know what? I don’t care. You should be arrested.” He concluded, walking inside without ceremony, carrying himself with his usual noble disgust.

Alastor stared as the blond walked into his house. Lucifer was there, with him. How the hell did he know his address? How was he standing after fainting just a few days ago? And yet, he looked perfectly fine.

The whole situation was so absurd—it made him both terrified and thrilled, leaving him frozen in place with the door wide open. He was wearing only boxers, holding pasta with yogurt and strawberries. He had no way to fake being the asshole he usually pretended to be around Lucifer.

The shorter man wandered through the living room, observing the furniture and some family portraits and photos hanging on the walls. When Lucifer turned back toward him with his usual expression of solemn disdain, Alastor was certain he was fine—and that he clearly didn’t remember what had happened that day when he tried to kiss him.

“Is this how you greet your guests?”

“You’re kidding, right? I left you passed out in your butler’s arms, and now you show up here out of nowhere. How do you even know my address?”

Lucifer let out a short laugh, placing his hands on his hips.

“I have my sources.”

“What the hell does ‘I have my sources’ mean?!”

“It means that if you’re not dressed and haven’t thrown away that insult to local cuisine within five minutes, I’m leaving.” He said it like he knew Alastor would give up all his limbs just to keep him there.

And he was right.

Alastor sighed loudly, walked to the fridge, shoved his favorite dish inside, slammed the door, and made his way past the living room and up the stairs.

“Make yourself at home—though clearly, that’s not a problem for you.”

“More or less,” the other replied, amused, flopping casually onto the couch and turning on the TV.

A few minutes later, Alastor came downstairs dressed in his usual attire, which now conveniently matched the blond’s. A simple shirt and pants. Instead of tying his hair back, this time he used a headband to pull his long locks away from his face. He was trying to respect the five-minute deadline Lucifer had given. He was genuinely afraid he’d leave.

The young noble turned his head, resting it on the couch, and looked at Alastor’s outfit with boredom.

“You done?”

“Turn off that TV and tell me why you’re here.”

It all felt so unnatural. He’d been dragged into this situation without even realizing it, and now his stomach wasn’t just filled with butterflies—but every insect in existence. Feeling euphoric while trying to look annoyed was painfully difficult.

Lucifer turned off the television and tossed the remote into a corner of the couch before standing up and focusing his attention on the redhead.

“I need your…” He trailed off, uncertain.

Alastor raised an eyebrow, guessing how ridiculous the end of that sentence might be.

“What? Help?”

“Not exactly… but if you want to feel useful, sure.”

Of course. The taller one rolled his eyes, trying not to let frustration overpower his happiness.

“Can I… offer you something in the meantime?”

“Pasta with… what was it? Strawberries and the tears of Italians?” He gestured toward the fridge, clearly remembering the offense—and the fact that Alastor hadn’t thrown it away.

“It’s none of your business what I eat. I can offer you a simple soft drink or… some coffee.” He offered, hoping to please him with a local staple.

Lucifer made a subtle grimace. The fact that he liked sweet drinks with glitter and coconut jelly did make it unlikely that he’d enjoy coffee.

“Do you have any milk?”

“Milk.”

“That’s what I said. Do you have it or are you just going to keep repeating everything like a parrot?”

“Jesus Christ…” Alastor muttered, opening the fridge and grabbing the milk carton.

As he prepared the drink, pouring it into a tall glass, he could feel Lucifer silently watching his every move.

“Do you want… cocoa or sugar? I’ve also got ice, if you want.”

“This is fine. Th-thank you.”

It was incredible how utterly incapable he was of saying something sweet and polite. He moved toward the table, pulled out a chair, and sat in front of the drink. Alastor allowed himself to watch that creature take the large glass and start sipping the milk like a kitten. He had to fight the tender smile trying to bloom on his face.

“What do you need help with?” He leaned his hip against the table, arms crossed.

Lucifer set the glass down, staring at the glossy white liquid for a moment, thinking over the right words.

“Charlie’s birthday is coming up.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Lucifer swallowed visibly. The redhead started putting the pieces together even before the other could find the courage to speak.

“You need a suggestion.” He said, without even needing to ask.

Lucifer’s lips twitched briefly into a tight smile, confirming Alastor had hit the mark.

“Seriously? She’s your sister and you don’t know what she’d want?”

“We— we don’t talk much about… hobbies or fun things,” he mumbled, lifting the glass again to sip.

“What do you talk about, then? Galas? The best outfit to wear? Charity events to squeeze money out of the poor?”

“When we talk… it’s usually to support each other.”

Alastor flinched, feeling a pang of guilt strike his heart.

“Sup—support each other?”

Lucifer looked annoyed, getting to his feet and leaving half the drink in the glass. He stared at the milk with a bit of sadness, like he couldn’t bear to drink it anymore. It was strange that someone like him would find a simple drink so emotionally weighty.

“Never mind… Maybe I shouldn’t have come, after all.” He said.

Alastor’s eyes widened as he stepped closer and suddenly grabbed the other’s wrist, startling Lucifer.

“I’m sorry! Don’t— don’t say anything else. Okay?”

Lucifer frowned, confused by the nearly desperate gesture. Alastor’s hand was so warm, silky, and yet masculine and strong. With a flick of his arm, he pulled away.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he muttered, still standing beside the table.

“Well?”

“Well… yes, I’d like a suggestion for Charlie’s birthday. Do you… do you know a place where she might like something?” He seemed genuinely intent on finding something special to make his dear sister happier.

Alastor smiled, stepping closer again and lifting the glass to his enemy’s face. With a childish pout, Lucifer took it back and resumed drinking. It was his little reward for being honest and finding the courage to speak almost openly from the heart.

He wanted to hug him, cuddle him, kiss him all over… make him his. But that was reality. Lucifer’s presence there, however, would serve him later—Alastor could use his sensations, his memories, the other’s scent to imagine him being there, with him, forever.

“I have an idea, but you’ll have to come with me into the city.”

Chapter 25

Alastor and Lucifer were walking side by side through the narrow streets of the small town. Ticket booths, bookstores, shops, tiny parks for children to play in, and the occasional glimpse of the sea here and there, with a few meters of sand for anyone who wanted to take a swim.

The redhead could hardly believe he was spending such a moment of pure normality with Lucifer. The blond kept glancing quickly at the various shop windows, and especially at the seaside spots. It didn’t take a genius to realize he loved admiring the sea and diving in, swimming or exploring the seabed. If he even made those early morning visits to collect seashells—presumably to avoid being noticed—there had to be a deep affection behind it.

Still, the blond was wearing large sunglasses and a straw hat twice the size of his head, with a simple blue ribbon. He stayed quiet, but strangely, just like with Charlie, Alastor felt comfortable looking around without needing to find a topic of conversation. He wondered if those walks could become a habit, maybe a couple Sundays each month.

“Not to lower your already sky-high self-esteem, but no one cares that Lucifer Morningstar is in town.”

“That’s what you say, because you don’t understand what it means.” He snapped immediately, not even turning to look at him.

Alastor sighed, not hiding the smile of pure amusement he felt. And yet, he considered himself a genuinely polite person. Who knows why, with Lucifer, that side of him came out—partially an act, but not entirely false.

“People care if there’s some famous actor, politician, or singer…” he began.

Lucifer stopped in front of a small beach, right at the end of a little alleyway between two candy shops.

“Being a celebrity isn’t the issue. I’ve got billions in my personal account, and so does Charlie. My family could never count all the money we have, not to mention our noble lineage that goes back centuries,” he began, as if reciting a paragraph.

The taller one rolled his eyes, then noticed that the elderly lady at the shop next to them was heating up the griddle to make what looked like pancakes or crepes.

“Criminals ready to rob or kidnap us for ransom are everywhere. That’s also why we didn’t want Charlie to go to school,” he muttered absentmindedly.

“Mmh…” Alastor nodded, admiring the elderly woman’s swift but firm movements.

“That’s why we shouldn’t be going out without a bodyguard. But anyway, we’re trained in self-defen—”

“Do you want a pancake?” he interrupted.

“Are you even slightly listening to me?!” Lucifer snapped, turning toward Alastor and lowering his oversized sunglasses.

“Of course. And I don’t care. Do you want a pancake?” he offered, with a tone completely different from how he would have spoken to someone he loved.

He had, however, resigned himself to the fact that this way of interacting was the only way to deal with Lucifer. He approached the elderly lady, who looked up with a tired gaze and smiled at him. Alastor smiled back with the sweetest expression he could muster. That old woman was so kind, she could melt any stone.

“May I… ask for two plates of pancakes, ma’am?”

“Of course, young man,” she said with a shaky voice, as she poured the batter onto the griddle.

Lucifer came closer to Alastor, watching what the woman was doing in front of them. Luckily, he still had his glasses covering his face, since he was staring with that look of superiority that made people want to punch him—especially if it was directed at a pure soul like the vendor.

“I never agreed.”

“I figured you might be interested.”

“I’ve never had pancakes before,” he admitted, though his tone made it clear he had no desire to start now.

“If it’s about your billions, I was thinking of paying for it,” Alastor whispered, so the woman wouldn’t hear—fortunately, she seemed focused.

“If anything, I should be the one paying, since you're escorting me through the little local shops… of the inner part of town.”

In fact, Lucifer’s villa was just a stone’s throw from the city limits. It was obvious that it had been built there to have an accessible address, but far enough from the commoners to practically never meet anyone. Around his estate, there were only a few other villas, likely owned by other wealthy individuals.

“I don’t need your money, trust me.”

“What’s this, are you going to start the usual hard-earned money speeches?”

“The point is that I don’t want to start any speech at all,” he continued to whisper, as the woman placed the first pancakes on the plate.

Suddenly, Lucifer was captivated by those soft, amber-colored clouds stacked on top of one another. The lady seemed to smile, as if she’d noticed the young man’s mask had fallen, crumbling into hundreds of pieces. Without realizing it, the blond was now showing the expression of the pure being he kept hidden beneath what he was expected to be. His eyes were gleaming, like that time he saw the drink with jelly cubes. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and his eyebrows lifted in awe.

Alastor beamed silently, sensing that Lucifer had finally gone quiet, letting himself be carried away by the experience.

“What would you like on top, boys?”

“Strawberry syrup on mine, please,” he said, hoping to recapture a bit of the flavor of the dish he had wanted to enjoy that morning.

“And you, young man?” she asked, resting her gray eyes on Lucifer’s.

“Uh…” The blond was speechless, unsure of how to respond.

It was rare to see him confused and uncertain. But Alastor didn’t point it out, simply taking his plate, which the lady had already prepared with impressive speed.

“What… what do you suggest?”

“I’d say the classic, then. Seems like you’ve never tried it,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard the entire conversation between the two.

After decades of work, she had surely learned how to mind her own business. The blond sighed lightly, thinking.

“What would the classic be?” he asked, a little embarrassed.

“Maple syrup and a pat of butter.”

“Oh.”

Alastor started eating, fully convinced that Lucifer had never even tasted maple syrup. He sensed his enemy’s discomfort, so while chewing, he decided to speak up.

“Try it, it’s good.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, troglodyte,” he scolded in a low voice.

He adjusted his hat and sunglasses, trying to regain composure, then turned to the elderly woman with a straight back and proud stance.

“All right, thank you,” he simply said.

The woman nodded cheerfully, pouring the glossy amber liquid over that fluffy stack. Once again, the shorter one was mesmerized by those colors and by how special such a simple action felt—preparing and decorating pancakes. The woman then took a block of butter, slicing off a perfect cube and placing it on top of the stack. She handed the plate to Lucifer, who hesitantly accepted what was being served to him.

The sweet smell and steam from the treat reached his nose, almost making him emotional. Lucifer stared at his pancakes in complete shock. His very first pancakes in his life. He had never been allowed to eat anything like that, especially not at such a random hour like eleven in the morning, somewhere between breakfast and lunch.

Alastor silently handed the woman a large bill. She reached into her pocket for change, but the redhead gave her a small gesture with his hand, asking her to accept the tip he wanted to offer. The woman understood he preferred to keep the payment process quiet, so she nodded with a smile, silently thanking him.

“Shall we go?” he asked, snapping Lucifer back to reality.

“Ah… wait, I need to—”

“Don’t worry. I already paid,” he said, walking away to avoid any sort of argument over who should pay.

The blond sighed in annoyance, then glanced at the woman, unsure. He had literally never spoken to someone who wasn’t of high status or part of his own household. The woman smiled at him, saying nothing.

“Goodbye,” he mumbled, unsure if that was the right word to use in a situation like this.

“Goodbye, boy,” she replied, with a joyful and proud voice, as if he were her grandson.

Lucifer gave a small nod, then turned away from her and caught up with Alastor. The two walked through the narrow streets, eating their soft, round pancakes from paper plates. Everything felt… so poetic, casual, and peaceful.

“Did you taste it?” Alastor asked, taking his last bite.

“Not yet.”

With his fork, he cut off a little square and put it in his mouth. His chest filled quickly with pure happiness. He almost felt like a child, pampered in a way he had never been before. He fought the smile that wanted to appear and continued eating as if nothing had happened. It was wonderfully sweet, fragrant, warm.

“Good,” he said simply.

“You’re welcome,” Alastor noted, emphasizing the fact that he hadn’t even received a thank you.

But Lucifer had already been more than kind to both him and the townsfolk—he surely wasn’t going to keep handing out smiles like charity. He tossed the paper plate and the biodegradable fork—presumably bamboo—after finishing that delight. He quietly made a mental note to return to that place, maybe when going to the beach or right before picking up Charlie, just to stay unnoticed.

The two walked for a few more minutes before stopping in front of a CD and music instrument shop. Lucifer raised his eyebrows, sliding his hands into his pants pockets.

“Is this where I’ll find a gift for my sister?”

“Do you even know if she has any favorite bands she likes to listen to?”

Lucifer stayed silent, staring at the window display, clearly answering that question. Alastor was genuinely surprised, but also a little disappointed, by something like that. He took the first steps forward, opening the door and making the bell above it chime as he walked in. The blond simply followed him, then shut the door.

“Look at whatever you want. I’m going to ask if they have the CD she’s been waiting for.”

“All right… but make sure I pay for it,” he insisted.

“I was planning on giving it to her as a gift, but I can always find something else. I know Charlie, unlike you.”

Lucifer shot him a look like a dagger, saying nothing. He was right, after all. He watched the redhead walk away, staring at him with eyes lost in thought. He sighed, watching Alastor chat with the clerk, smiling like he’d known him for years and actually cared about him—he even gestured the way locals usually did.

He tried to distract himself, giving his attention to the instruments in the display. The violins, in particular, always gave him a sense of elegance. Maybe he should start, after all. Even though his enemy often mocked his private lessons, he had to admit the subjects he took were boring and exactly the same as the ones taught in public school. The issue with being the only student in class was not being able to zone out, get bored, doze off, or chat with someone.

“Found i—”

At the sudden voice he heard right behind his ears, Lucifer was overtaken by a flash of panic, caused by all the lessons he’d had about assaults and how dangerous life outside his walls could be. He reacted instantly, grabbing his “attacker” by the wrist, twisting their body and slamming their face and chest against the glass display, pinning them with an arm behind their back.

“What the… what the hell are you doing?!”

Lucifer snapped out of his cloud of fear, realizing he had just assaulted Alastor. With a jolt, he let the redhead go.

“Sorry… really,” he whispered, panicked.

Alastor stretched out his arms, rubbing his shoulders. It was easy to see that Lucifer had been genuinely scared, and the redhead wondered what strange ideas had been put into that beautiful head to make him believe someone might try to kidnap him in the middle of a CD and instrument store.

“Don’t worry. I guess that story about self-defense training was true, after all.”

“So you were listening,” Lucifer muttered, hoping that what had just happened could somehow be erased from reality.

The silence that followed surprised him and forced him to look up, locking eyes with Alastor. The redhead was smiling at him in a different way—a sweet way. Even sweeter than the one he’d shown that pancake grandma or the store clerk. Sweet enough to cause a pleasant ache in his chest.

“I listen to everything you say,” he whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

“What—”

Before Lucifer could say anything, Alastor smacked him with the CD.

“This is the band your sister likes. Study it well. They release something new once a year, presumably near her birthday. All you have to do is go to the counter and pay,” he explained, returning to his usual cocky attitude.

Lucifer stared at him in shock and silently thanked every deity in the sky that he was still wearing the sunglasses that hid most of his face. Those few seconds had been so intense and intimate that his mind went completely blank. He no longer even knew what expression he was wearing. Alastor walked out, saying something like “I’ll be outside,” before leaving him alone.

The blond followed him with his eyes only, until the taller one disappeared. He thought he might have seen a hint of magenta in his cheeks, but he couldn’t be sure due to the tinted lenses.

His own face was practically burning. What the hell had just happened?

When Lucifer walked out with the bag in hand, he sighed, groaning loudly to make it clear just how bored he was—slipping back into his usual persona.

“Looks like you don’t need me anymore,” Alastor said, careful to keep his distance since the blond hadn’t yet noticed him leaning against the shop’s wall near the door.

“Guess… not,” he muttered, looking down.

His hands were trembling slightly, crumpling the store’s bag that held the gift for his sister. Alastor couldn’t see it, as he was also quietly disappointed by the farewell that was about to happen. After all… why would they spend more time together, if he wasn’t needed anymore?

“You can…”

“Hmm?”

“You can… come with me for a moment, to that little beach we passed earlier?”

The town was full of small beaches, each able to fit no more than four or five people. There were also larger beach resorts outside the city, which many preferred for the extra space. Lucifer wasn’t allowed to leave without permission or a bodyguard, so he would sneak out at dawn, heading to the one closest to his house, then come back for a quick shower—passing it off as his first shower of the day after waking up.

“Why?”

“Can you just do it?” he asked in a low, emotionless voice.

Alastor grew serious. They were still boys, but not quite children anymore. They were starting to understand how the world worked, what was expected of them, how they were supposed to live as adults. And yet, their hearts and spirits were still young, naïve, and overwhelmed by emotions—with no real filter to hold them back.

“All right.”

They turned a few corners, leaving the paved city streets behind and stepping onto the sand. To his great surprise, Alastor saw Lucifer cast aside all appearances and sink his brand-name shoes right into the sand.

He seemed to be looking for something.

“Do you need anything?”

“No, mind your own business.”

Of course.

So Alastor sat on a random rock, waiting. Naturally, during those minutes, his eyes never left the other boy, watching his every movement and expression. He wished he could live like this forever—just him and Lucifer, on a little island with nothing but sand and sea, free from the stupid limitations society seemed to impose.

By that point, the redhead had come to understand that Lucifer wasn’t only what he showed. That most of his behavior was likely a result of what he lived through inside those four walls, and the people and events that shaped him. But he also couldn’t shake the feeling that Lucifer was a complete jerk—just with the occasional window of tolerability.

After a short while, the blond returned, walking awkwardly. Alastor looked up at him, pretending he hadn’t been watching him the entire time. Lucifer slowly opened his hand, extending his arm toward the redhead.

Alastor then turned his attention to the small object Lucifer seemed to want to give him. It was… a beautiful red shell, with a few brown streaks.

A massive wave of emotion nearly made him cry, and even though his eyes were glassy, he kept his expression serious and distant.

“Is this for me?”

Lucifer only nodded.

The taller one took the object gently, as if it were the most precious thing in the world. To him, it was. He brought it close to his face, staring at it.

“It has… colors similar to yours.”

“I hope you’re not talking about my skin, since you’re tanned too.”

Lucifer stayed silent, which worried the other. Was he not responding to provocations anymore? When those chocolate-colored eyes landed on the blond, he seemed like a different person. His face was tense with what looked like regret. He tried to open his mouth but couldn’t say anything. He gave up, letting his shoulders drop.

In less than two seconds, he inhaled the sea air and straightened up again.

“It’s my way of saying thank you for today.”

“You’re rich, you could give me money,” he let slip, already used to saying mean things.

However, Lucifer seemed to have no weapons, no shields, no armor. He didn’t reply to any of his jabs. He just made a face that resembled a faint smile.

“Be satisfied with that,” he muttered, before taking a few steps to leave the little beach, making it clear their walk together was over.

Alastor remained alone, sitting on a rock, his body turned toward the spot where the greatest love of his life had vanished. With tear-filled eyes and a pounding heart, he looked back at the shell that was supposed to resemble him. He closed his hand around it and brought it to his chest, holding it as if it were Lucifer himself.

Chapter 26

“Hey, Al.”

Alastor looked up from his book. One of those books he loved to bring to school and read during breaks. Charlie had obviously gone to a meeting between teachers and various class representatives to organize upcoming events and account for expenses. Over the years, he had watched that girl become increasingly skilled and important, listened to with great respect, even though she never raised her voice or pushed her convictions.

His admiration for her knew no bounds. It was almost 2010, and seeing a woman carry forward causes she believed were best for everyone, with such kindness and respect for others' opinions, was moving. He hoped she’d have some kind of political, or at least legal, career. He obviously couldn’t have known about the dark tunnel that was waiting for her.

Anthony approached the redhead’s desk, with his usual sly grin, although something about him seemed particularly off that day. There was almost uncertainty in his eyes. They were in their senior year, and Alastor didn’t even want to think that it would all be over in about 20 months. He treasured a necklace that held the bottle cap from the drink he’d given to Lucifer and the shell the blond had given him. He kept it close to his heart, under his shirt. They had started seeing the blond again as if nothing had happened. Day after day after day.

His imaginary meetings with a non-existent Lucifer had become more frequent during the summer months or Christmas holidays, when he didn’t see the other, and even on evenings when he felt particularly alone.

“Listen… I don’t want to be dramatic, but…”

Alastor smiled, lowering his eyes back to the book. He already had an idea of what he was going to say. Everyone had started thinking about it, after all.

“Are you sad about high school ending?”

“A… a little,” he admitted, his voice already breaking and his eyes glossy.

Alastor pointed to the seat next to him, continuing to read, without paying much attention. That was just how he was—he didn’t want to make people feel the weight of their own embarrassment when he noticed it. So, he preferred to fake aloofness, doing other things as if the important conversation would happen between the lines, in the background.

“Go ahead.”

“Well… it’s a little weird to say, Al.”

“What’s weird about it? We’re friends, you can tell me anything,” he said calmly, turning the page and already knowing that, once again, he’d have to play mother hen to him (or to Charlie).

“I wanted to wait until Char wasn’t around. You’re always with her and then you disappear.”

“You have my number. We can meet anytime or the three of us can hang out together.”

The awkward silence that followed piqued the redhead’s curiosity, who rarely got his assumptions wrong. He looked up from the book to find an expression on the white-haired boy that he had practically never seen before. His cheeks were flushed, and he couldn’t keep eye contact anymore.

“Ant?”

“Al, listen… Regardless of your answer… I still care about you and we’ll always be friends, okay?”

“Answer?”

Sometimes the redhead was more clueless than a wall with drywall, even though he was a very empathetic person and seemed to read people’s minds, understanding their discomfort and what they needed. But the news of that day—he could have never seen it coming.

“Alastor, I’m gay.”

“I figured, Ant. What’s the issue?”

“T-the issue—well, it’s not really an issue, I mean…”

Alastor blinked several times, continuing to stare at his friend. He didn’t understand why he was acting that way or why he was talking about his obviously unspoken sexuality.

Suddenly, a spark lit in his mind by pure miracle. Just the idea made him pale, and his eyes widened slightly. Despite the suspicion, he tried not to show any emotion, so the other wouldn’t think there was anything wrong.

“I like...you.”

The redhead swallowed loudly, freezing up slightly, but still moving his hands absentmindedly over random objects, again to avoid making his unease too obvious.

“M-me?”

“You.”

“Exactly… why?”

“Why what?!”

“Why do you like me?” he asked with urgency and a voice unmistakably high-pitched from the surprise.

“That’s what you care about?! I just confessed my feelings to you.”

“Well… It’s never happened to me before, so… I was curious.”

So this is what it felt like to receive someone’s interest? Embarrassment, mixed with surprise, disbelief and… cosmic nothingness?

The fact that Anthony had just told him he had feelings for him didn’t make his heart beat even one second faster. In his silence, he considered himself a truly horrible person.

“Because… because you’re you.”

Alastor nodded, as if he understood. He didn’t understand a thing. He was a boring person, who often liked dishes that those around him, including his father, didn’t like. He was often critical, a perfectionist, and maybe not even that attractive in his own opinion.

Anthony must have realized, at least partly, how confused Alastor could be by that confession, but an even bigger doubt started growing inside him. A doubt he didn’t think possible. The white-haired boy looked around to see if anyone was nearby. That question required even more privacy than a love confession.

“Alastor… have- have you never been with someone?”

The redhead looked back at him, this time with a bit of blankness in his expression.

“Of course not, Ant. I’m seventeen,” he said matter-of-factly.

Anthony stared at him with such amazement, it was like he was looking at an alien. Then, he burst out into a little laugh he couldn’t hold back.

“That’s something I really like about you, actually.”

“Being a virgin before turning legal? I think that’s normal.”

“It’s not… it’s not exactly… common, you know? There’s no normal or less normal. But… most of our classmates, if not all… already have.”

“Okay?” He was an open-minded person, accepting almost anything as long as it didn’t cross his own boundaries.

Anthony sighed, looking at the redhead with a tender smile but also one of someone who knew he was dealing with a lost cause. Alastor was like that, after all. He didn’t ask questions, but he didn’t want his life dictated by people, trends, or social norms either.

“Could you consider what I said?”

“You’re still interested even knowing I’m a virgin?”

“Of course, Al. I don’t care. Actually… The fact that you’re waiting for the right person—or the one you think is right—is something special.”

He wondered if Lucifer was someone he thought was special or someone truly special. After all, he had built a castle in the air, imagining things about the blond that maybe didn’t even exist. He just knew he was hopelessly in love with him, wanted to make love to him and live together forever. He had an incredibly romantic but also sexual attraction for that bastard. He kept loving him, even knowing he’d probably die alone if he kept waiting for Lucifer to love him back. He was probably straight anyway, but even that, he couldn’t know for sure.

“So?” Anthony insisted, seeing that Alastor had drifted off in his thoughts.

“Ant… this… this would mean changing what we are.”

“Not really. We’d still be friends and… if you want, boyfriends.”

So… being boyfriends also meant being friends? Despite all the books he’d read and all the fantasies he’d had, he really didn’t know that.

“Have you been with others?”

“I admit I have. Quite a few.”

“Right…”

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, after all. If you don’t have experiences while you’re young, when are you supposed to have them? Once you become an adult, you’re expected to choose the right person, build a family, find a job, and so on. Still, Alastor wasn’t very interested in chasing the thrill of experience. He just wanted Lucifer.

“Can you give me some time to think?” he asked, finding a direct refusal too rude.

Part of him wanted to “heal” from that obsession with the noble blond. He knew he would never be able to have anything with him. Changing direction, suffering for a while—maybe with someone else’s support and affection—could only do him good. Why not? Maybe Anthony was the right person for him.

The white-haired boy smiled from ear to ear, and small tears of joy even welled up in his eyes.

“Thank you, Al… I’ve had these feelings for you for a long time, and I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

The bespectacled redhead, in his not-so-empathetic judgment, thought that confessing during lunch break at school wasn’t exactly romantic or convincing. But he decided to let that particular thought go.

“How did you know I was gay?”

“You know how it is…” he began, shrugging and returning to his usual theatrical expressiveness.

“Some things you just feel. I was pretty sure, somehow.”

“I see…” So, a sixth sense?

“How does this usually go?” the redhead asked, curious about a hypothetical and invisible instruction manual.

“There’s no how.” He laughed, amused by Alastor’s usual mechanical thinking.

That made a process he already didn’t understand all the more complicated.

“We start going out together, holding hands… if you’re comfortable, we can kiss—and if nature wants it… we’ll become a couple.”

Nature. Becoming a couple. What a poetic way to describe getting laid.

Knowing Anthony, Alastor was aware he was using gentle words, considering the white-haired boy was often quite crude. If they started having sex right after their first dates, it couldn’t exactly be called making love, he guessed. That required feelings. Or at least, that’s what his books had told him.

“I understand.”

He was pretty sure it wasn’t how he was supposed to feel. Every cell in his body was screaming that something wasn’t right. Not because Anthony wasn’t a good guy. He adored him, he was a dear friend. But that’s what he was—a friend.

Still, many deep and lasting love stories began that way. So maybe he could take advantage of this twist of fate and… build a life.

Even though, in just over a year, he’d have to fly to the other side of the world, maybe Anthony would come with him or they’d have a long-distance relationship, meeting during holidays. Once he became a dream therapist, he could easily come back and they could live together, get married, and…

He was getting way ahead of himself.

“Do you want to hang out this afternoon?”

“To go where?”

Anthony shrugged, showing a slight doubtful pout.

“Wherever you want. We can go to the arcade or bowling. What matters is being together and getting to know each other in a different way.”

Alastor was soaking in information like a sponge. Anthony had experience, after all, and learning new things about topics he didn’t know much about was always interesting to him.

“I’ll see you at five in front of the arcade then,” he suggested, trying to smile at Anthony a little more sweetly than usual.

The white-haired boy nearly jumped in his seat, then suddenly darted forward, startling the redhead. A quick kiss was pressed onto his cheek, while the other hand gently caressed the opposite side of his face.

“Thank you, Al,” he whispered, then dashed out of the classroom.

 

-

 

“Alastor, are you okay?”

“Mh?” The redhead turned weakly toward Charlie.

Ever since Anthony had left the classroom, the redhead had felt an overwhelming urge to cry, a tightness in his chest, and a nagging sense that he was making a huge mistake. He figured he’d have to suffer a bit from the separation from Lucifer. But he had to do it—for everyone’s sake, including the blond’s.

They could never have a relationship; they didn’t even have a friendship. They hated each other—or at least acted like they did. They didn’t exchange birthday or Christmas gifts, or anything like that. Lucifer probably didn’t even know when Alastor was born.

The sooner he let go, the better.

“You look pale and really down. Can I help? Do you need anything?”

He and his dear friend—whom he thought of like a sister—were walking the same usual path that led to the gate where he would then meet Lucifer for a few minutes of snarky exchanges.

“No, sweetheart. I’m just tired from the first few weeks of classes. But we’re in our second-to-last year, and I guess we’ve got to step up our game.”

“I hear you… even the meetings with the teachers have gotten super heavy and serious. They feel like those business meetings you see in movies, inside New York skyscrapers,” she complained.

Alastor let out a faint laugh, pretending to match the blonde’s energy, while inside he felt completely shattered. He finally spotted Lucifer’s figure, like every school day. That presence now brought him a deep sadness, mixed with the usual rush of euphoria he felt every time.

Lucifer turned toward the two of them with a mockingly bored expression. He also noticed something was off. Alastor barely looked at him, and his face was nothing short of tragic, like he’d just received terrible news.

“Even bastards get sick, I see,” he joked.

When all he got was a faint smile from the redhead—who didn’t even lift his eyes—Lucifer sensed the situation must be serious. Some deep, primitive part of him wondered if maybe he was the cause. But he hadn’t done anything different from usual.

Suddenly, a boy jumped up behind Alastor, almost the same height as him, startling the redhead. He had bleached hair, white as snow, and piercings in his ears. His eyes were coal-black, and his face was dotted with freckles, making him even more unique than he already was.

“Ant!” Charlie shouted, scolding her friend, who had nearly knocked the bespectacled boy forward.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He was smiling with the kind of happiness only someone who just won the lottery could show.

He slid up beside Alastor, linking arms with him, then let his hand slip down to intertwine his fingers with the taller boy’s.

The blond froze, staring at that scene—at that specific part of his rival’s body being touched by someone else—with slightly widened eyes, trying to keep a neutral expression. Alastor turned toward Anthony, giving him a soft smile laced with embarrassment.

Lucifer’s heart stopped.

“See you later, Al,” the white-haired boy whispered to him, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear.

Alastor simply nodded, and the other walked off quickly, almost running away. Alastor didn’t have the courage to look at Lucifer, but when he didn’t hear any snide remark or sarcastic comment, he glanced up.

He saw Lucifer’s gaze stuck slightly downward, as if staring at his hand. He looked deathly pale—even more so than Alastor had just moments ago—and his eyes were wide, vacant.

“Al…?”

Alastor’s attention was pulled back by Charlie’s voice.

“Yes?”

“Where are you off to with Ant? I didn’t think you two had started hanging out together.”

Charlie was quite innocent, and it was clear she believed it was just a friendly outing.

“He wanted to show me a place he likes, since we talked about it the other day,” he explained simply.

Over the years, he’d become quite skilled at coming up with lies in just a few seconds. The blonde played with her hair a little, as if wondering why she hadn’t been invited, but chose not to ask. Knowing her well, a part of her was probably happy the two friends were spending time together. They’d known each other for nearly four years by now.

“I’m going to get ready, or I’ll end up being late.”

“Oh, r-right! Have fun.”

Lucifer was yanked out of the spiral of confusion and unease he had fallen into, quickly raising his eyes toward Alastor, as if he urgently wanted to say something. The redhead was already walking away, but his chocolate-brown eyes were locked onto him, staring down with a flat, almost annoyed expression. Genuinely annoyed.

In his silence, Lucifer felt something terribly unpleasant stir inside him. Betrayal? Sadness. Loneliness. Something burning like anger and frustration. He felt absolutely awful, a mess of emotions he couldn’t even name or justify. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak—his face full of silent pleading—the redhead turned away, breaking that cold and empty gaze filled with memories of their moments together, and walked off, without saying a word, leaving the two siblings at the gate without much ceremony.

It was time to close the chapter on Lucifer—and this would be the beginning. The beginning of his new life, free from the fixation that had only ever brought him pain.

Chapter 27

"And?"

"And… what?"

Alastor was still on the bed with Lucifer, his patient. Of course, he had left out all the parts where he was clearly head over heels for him and, for some strange reason, also the beginning of his relationship with Anthony. It wasn’t relevant. Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself to justify it.

“So… you’re telling me we insulted each other for years, with a few random outings, like buying a gift for my sister, and… that’s it?”

Alastor shrugged.

“That’s all. Then I left to study abroad. I told you we were acquaintances.”

The rest didn’t matter. It was a second part that was pointless to recount, both because it was unnecessary and because Lucifer wouldn’t remember much once he woke up.

Alastor stood up again, wearing a nostalgic smile. He felt guilty for not being entirely honest with him, but he had already acted far beyond what was professionally acceptable.

He couldn’t help but notice that Lucifer’s face was tense, as if he couldn’t piece everything together. Wasn’t what he had said enough?

“Are you… sure that’s everything?”

“Yes, why?”

“I don’t know.” He mulled it over a little longer before following his therapist and getting off the bed.

His clear eyes moved to something he hadn’t noticed before. From Alastor’s shirt, a necklace was now hanging out. Probably during their earlier argument, it had remained hidden inside.

His gaze narrowed, trying to focus on the small items dangling from it. They looked like… a bottle cap and a beautiful seashell, with colors similar to the man who now guarded it so closely.

The therapist noticed Lucifer was staring at something on his chest. He looked down and realized his necklace had slipped out of his shirt. With a swift motion, he tucked it back inside, fastening one more button. As if nothing had happened, he turned his attention back to his patient.

“What was that?”

“A necklace,” he replied simply.

“I know, but… can I see it?”

“No, it’s not necessary for your therapy.”

Lucifer felt a surge of frustration. Why on earth was Alastor so difficult? First, he told him to follow his instincts, and then he made everything impossible. On top of that, he was sure Alastor was hiding something.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that shell before,” he explained, hoping to convince him.

The redhead seemed surprised, but at the same time, he really didn’t want to show the necklace that might trigger unnecessary memories in Lucifer, ones that would only distract him from the real purpos—

 

BRRRING BRRRING BRRRING

 

They both turned toward the outside of the house. Half an hour had already passed. After all, the story had been long. Alastor wondered why he even set the timer, if he ended up returning here multiple times a day when, initially, he was supposed to visit just once a week.

Lucifer turned his eyes to Alastor, a serious look on his face. He had begun to sense something was off.

“Why is your time limited?”

“What?”

“Why can you only be here for a short while?”

He almost sounded like he was scolding him, studying him, doubting him. Telling him about his past, besides helping recover some memories, was making him more and more like his original self.

“I— The… the oneirotherapists aren’t allowed to stay too long inside their patients’ dreams.” He gave him the fragmented truth again—it wasn’t important to explain how it all worked.

“Why?”

He sounded like a child in that magical age full of a hundred ‘why’s a day.

“Because… otherwise their essence would wear out.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened instantly, and he turned pale.

“You… you’re hurting yourself by being here?”

“If I leave when the alarm rings, no.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. Frequent visits, while discouraged, weren’t that harmful as long as they didn’t exceed about half an hour.

 

BRRRING BRRRING BRRRING

 

“Then go… we can talk more next time,” he said urgently.

Alastor nodded, silently appreciating that the blond was concerned for his well-being. The two of them stepped outside Lucifer’s house. No sign of the cat, which always disappeared when it had had enough. The therapist turned toward his patient, smiling slightly.

“I hope the story was helpful.”

"Yes, kind of… I’m starting to remember something. But it’s all pretty blurry…” he mumbled, his gaze scanning the area, looking for something.

The taller man furrowed his brows, trying to analyze the other's behavior.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes… I just have… a feeling. But it’s not important. I’ll think about it once you’re gone.”

 

BRRRING BRRRING BRRRING

 

It could be important. Maybe what he had told him had sparked something… anything.

“It can wait,” he said, ready to ignore the alarm once again.

“W-what?! No, no, Al. You have to go.” Lucifer placed his small hand on Alastor’s arm, gently pushing him toward the part of the forest where he usually disappeared.

“Two minutes won’t change anything. If you feel drawn to something, we need to explore it or it’ll vanish. This world keeps pulling you inward.”

 

BRRRING BRRRING BRRRING

 

“But, Al—”

“We can either waste time here or look for the source of that feeling. It’s your choice. Me leaving right now isn’t an option,” he said firmly and sharply, slightly hurting the blond’s feelings.

Lucifer frowned, clearly affected by that scolding. He only wanted what was best for him. Was that really so hard to understand? Still, Alastor seemed unmoved in his position. The only thing Lucifer could do to get him to leave sooner was to find that source. Without saying a word, he closed his eyes and began walking, following that kind of trail that made him feel euphoric, alive, restless—maybe even afraid. It was pure life. Something different from what he felt every day locked in there.

He walked quietly toward the little beach, but just as he was about to bump into a palm tree without even realizing it, Alastor’s hand gently landed on his shoulder, stopping him.

His eyelids opened again, and he found the trunk right in front of him. He flinched slightly, then lowered his head and spotted at the base of the tree a seashell similar to the one on the redhead’s necklace. Alastor only noticed it when Lucifer picked it up. He couldn’t fight off a wave of anxiety. Why did the shell he had given him have a copy in his subconscious too? Why did he keep finding and remembering things connected to him?

Lucifer said nothing. His expression grew deeper, stripped of the purity and innocence that had defined him just hours earlier. The therapist couldn’t help but see more and more of the original Lucifer in that serious, thoughtful, intense look.

The blond brought the shell to his chest, then turned to Alastor, resolute.

“Thank you for what you told me. I’ll find out the rest by searching through my memories.”

“The… rest?”

“You think I’m that stupid? I get that you don’t want to tell me certain things.”

“I—I’m not lying to you, Lucifer. And besides, I have nothing to do with your coma.”

“Are you coming with me or not?” he asked, finding it pointless to argue about things the redhead clearly didn’t want to share.

Alastor sighed softly, feeling a heavy knot in his stomach. If there was an element like that here, it clearly had to do with their connection. Maybe it was simply the memory of their one outing, when they bought a gift for Charlie. He silently prayed that the house of cards he had built would hold up, to prove to his patient he wasn’t lying to him, and he nodded, placing his trembling hand once again on Lucifer’s shoulder.

As the two were engulfed by the memory of the comatose patient, in the background, they could still hear Alastor’s alarm reminding him to return to the real world as soon as possible.

Suddenly, they found themselves in a classroom. It was dimly lit, as if it were evening. The therapist immediately understood what it was. While the analytical part of his mind still tried to figure out the link between him and Lucifer’s coma, the redhead visibly paled. He didn’t want to relive that moment, and he certainly didn’t want Lucifer to see it.

He stepped backward, glancing around at every part of the classroom. Old, even nostalgic, sensations washed over him. Everything felt so painfully real—more than usual—as if he were truly living it again. It was a sign that his overdreaming was nearing its absolute limit.

“Does it remind you of something you didn’t tell me, therapist?” Lucifer spat with a hint of bitterness, noticing Alastor’s discomfort.

“This… this shouldn’t be happening. Why do you keep being drawn to this part of your life—and to me?” he asked, voice uncertain, as if expecting the patient to give the answer he should have been looking for himself.

Lucifer was absolutely furious. Alastor’s reaction was confirming every one of his suspicions. He already had the answer burning in his heart, pressing against his lips.

He was becoming more and more aware of what he felt for his therapist—and that it was probably the same feeling his real self had too, which, for some reason, had apparently never been confessed.

He wanted to say it—his eyes were damp with emotion, his chest felt ready to burst, and all he could hear in his ears was the frantic beating of his heart. It felt like he was about to implode, but he had to tell him.

Just as he opened his mouth to let the words out, a voice interrupted him.

“Let’s begin... the last game of the summer party.”

That voice… it hit like a dagger to the stomach. He didn’t recognize the person—or at least, he didn’t remember him. He turned and saw a boy with white hair, black eyes, and freckles. He walked in with swagger, like he had just been crowned the star of the party.

“Summer… party?” he mumbled.

“I told you. Every summer, my school and your sister’s school organized a party to celebrate the last days of school before summer vacation.”

Suddenly, along with Charlie, Lucifer also entered the classroom, making the patient’s eyes widen.

“Wh-what does this mean?! I didn’t go to school.”

“That year, you decided to attend as a guest. You asked your parents for permission, and they allowed it—since you never asked for anything.”

“Why did I want to go to the summer party that year?” he whispered, as if they could hear him.

Alastor gave a slight shake of his head, clearly having no idea. Lucifer turned back to the small group of teens gathering in a circle at the center of the classroom, dragging over chairs and sitting down. A few seconds later, young Alastor entered as well. He looked conflicted, uncertain—not entirely happy to be there.

The therapist stared at him. He knew exactly how that version of himself felt. He had been dating Anthony for months and had never had the courage to share a kiss or anything more. The white-haired boy would often intercept him before he could meet up with Lucifer, dragging him away. At the time, Alastor thought maybe it was a good thing to date someone who tried to keep him away from his past hurts, but the blond seemed to be pushing in the opposite direction—getting closer to the exit, showing up at events he normally wouldn’t even approach.

“Can we… leave?”

“Why?”

“I don’t think this memory is helpful.” He lied blatantly, though a strong sense of unease crept up his spine.

“It’s my memory. One that came up spontaneously to help me go back and wake up. Why the hell would you say something so unprofessional right now?”

“Oh, now you’re the professional?! If I say this scene is useless, it means it is!”

“You just can’t stand seeing what we used to be!” Lucifer shouted, pointing to the group of teens—specifically the 17-year-old versions of himself and Alastor, who were avoiding even looking at each other.

The therapist pressed his lips into a thin line to stop more words from escaping. He clenched his fists, lowering his gaze, silently accepting that what his patient had said was true. Painfully, undeniably true.

“Ant, the party’s already over, we should be home,” Charlie said with a slightly trembling voice.

The girl was likely nervous about possibly being reprimanded by the teachers due to the late hour—or maybe even by her parents, who might’ve been waiting at home.

“Come on, Char. It’s just one last bit of fun before we don’t see each other for… what? Eight weeks?” the white-haired boy said, addressing Alastor, who had sat down beside him, directly across from Lucifer in the small circle of chairs.

Alastor nodded silently. He wondered why his maybe boyfriend had insisted on bringing Lucifer and Charlie when there were still dozens of classmates he could have invited. The blond had been trailing him all day, popping up behind him for every dumb joke—which he had systematically ignored. He was tired of hurting for him, tired of always having to accept that nothing could ever truly happen between them.

“If it’s fun you’re looking for, be my guest,” Lucifer offered with a hand gesture, as if they needed his permission.

Anthony never said it out loud, but it was obvious he didn’t particularly like Charlie’s brother. They never exchanged words, and whenever Lucifer spoke—always drawing the redhead’s attention—he would find some excuse to pull Alastor away.

“Truth or dare. The game of the youth.”

Alastor sighed loudly, while his older self watched the scene helplessly, his face torn apart, knowing there was nothing he could do to change what he was seeing. It was like being conscious inside a nightmare—with no way to wake up.

“Good grief. That still exists? It’s 2007,” Lucifer said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the chair.

“It's never too old,” the white-haired boy replied coldly, as if he didn’t care about the blond’s opinion.

“What… what are we supposed to do?” Charlie began nervously playing with her fingers, worried about a game whose rules she didn’t know—but everyone else clearly did.

“It’s simple, blondie. You choose whether the next person should pick truth or dare. Then they have to answer a question honestly or complete an action—no backing out,” he said, practically hissing like a snake.

It was clear there was a silent hostility between Anthony and the blond—more than between Alastor and Lucifer, especially since the latter two hadn’t fought in almost a year, now only exchanging a few polite phrases.

“You go first, princeling.” Anthony pointed at Lucifer with a taunting smile.

The blond glared back with his piercing blue eyes, lit only by the classroom’s lamp and his sheer hatred for the boy across from him.

“Truth or dare?"

“Truth. Ask away,” Anthony sang, making it clear he was afraid of nothing.

“Do you like Alastor?”

Both Alastors in the room widened their eyes, while the patient watched the scene carefully, analyzing the quiet emotions on each person’s face and in their voices. He had become oddly analytical—more mature, more somber. His eyes scanned every single detail of that memory.

“Uh, hello? We’ve been dating for a year. Of course I do. Did you think that was a problem?”

“Then I’ll change the question.”

“You can’t, sweetheart.”

“Have you slept with him?”

“L-Lucifer!” Charlie tried to interrupt her brother, who was now glaring with a predatory expression.

“That’s enough now. This game isn’t fun anymore, Ant,” Alastor tried to step in, but the two were already far too deep in a grudge match they’d been carrying for months.

“You know what? I’ll let my dear friend answer… or maybe I should say boyfriend.” Anthony began, shifting his gaze toward Alastor, who flinched, not understanding what he was planning to do.

“What…?”

“Al, truth or dare?”

Alastor frowned, looking at Anthony as if he had just betrayed him. He didn’t like at all where what was supposed to be a fun evening of games, as it had been presented, was going. If he chose truth, he already knew he’d be asked something like “Did you do it?” “Who would you like to do it with?” “Do you love Lucifer?” “Do you love Anthony?”

He didn’t want any of that.

“Dare.”

Everyone in the room visibly flinched—except Anthony, who perhaps had expected that answer. It almost seemed like he had planned this whole situation.

“Kiss me.”

“What?!”

Lucifer froze, feeling exactly like the first day he saw the other guy arm in arm with Alastor. His hands began to tremble slightly, but as always, he kept his regal, superior pose, as if he didn’t care—while dying inside.

“It’s just a game, Al! And we’ve been seeing each other for months. It’s just a kiss… pretend, right?”

Pretend. Then it would all be over. He nodded, confused and embarrassed, caught in the middle of that war of feelings, wounds, cruelty, love, and hate...

He turned toward the other, looking deep into his eyes, waiting for him to do what he had to do.

“A-Al, are you sure?! It’s nothing serious, we can stop if you want.” Charlie nearly stood up from her chair, raising her palms in surrender.

She didn’t like what they were doing, and the air felt completely void of the fun one was supposed to feel in situations like that.

“Let him do it, Char,” her brother ordered, grim.

Alastor’s eyes turned toward Lucifer’s face, who was staring back at him with utter seriousness, while his face still pointed at his supposed partner.

Anthony placed his hands on the redhead’s cheeks, gently resting his lips on the other’s, closing his eyes. Alastor flinched imperceptibly at that strange sensation. Charlie let out a silent gasp, covering her mouth and watching the two friends in shock—it was now clear they weren’t just friends anymore.

The redhead and the blond stared into each other’s eyes, while the white-haired boy kissed Alastor with extreme tenderness, slow and hypnotic movements. Lucifer visibly swallowed, his eyes welling up as he kept his challenging stance, knowing he had completely lost a battle that had never been spoken aloud.

The pleasure that kiss gave him forced Alastor to respond and turn his brown eyes toward Anthony, then close them. The two kissed for nearly a minute, in which a simple kiss became something more urgent, hungry. Charlie’s face turned completely red, in stark contrast to her brother’s deathly pale one.

They pulled apart with difficulty, then looked into each other’s eyes, slightly out of breath.

“How was it?” whispered the white-haired boy.

Alastor nodded several times, surprised and confused by those overwhelming and wonderful sensations his friend had just made him feel. Then Anthony brought his lips to the other’s ear, whispering something. The redhead reflected on those words, shooting a quick glance at Lucifer, who now stared at him with pure hatred in his eyes, though his face remained expressionless. The taller boy repeated the action, accepting whatever had been said, with cheeks slightly flushed.

“Well, I’d say whoever wanted to win has won,” Anthony concluded, standing up and taking Alastor’s hand, who mirrored the gesture.

“A-Are we done?” Charlie sounded almost relieved.

“The four of us definitely are. My dear Al and I have other games planned.” He winked, utterly elated.

Alastor stared at the floor, feeling part of his soul (and his body) terribly alive, while another part sank into total sadness. He didn’t have the courage to look at Lucifer again, letting himself be practically dragged into a school storage room that no one would be visiting at that hour.

“Lu?” Charlie turned to her brother.

The blond was staring into space, his eyes now veiled with tears, but his expression proud. His sister was genuinely surprised by that reaction. In her innocence, she thought her brother had somehow been traumatized by Anthony’s way of having fun—while she herself was fairly used to the only topic her friend ever talked about. She was slightly surprised by Alastor, but part of her was glad he had found someone to love, and who would love him back.

The blonde placed a hand on her brother’s arm, which trembled slightly, his arms crossed and brows furrowed. Small sobs began to fight against the wall he had built and always kept firmly in place.

“Lu… I—I’m sorry if they scared you. They’re usually not so… bold. Maybe we should’ve just walked around the booths and—”

“Let’s go, Char.” He stood up, ordering his sister with a cracked voice.

When the two siblings also went out, they left the therapist and his patient alone, both of whom had remained in silent reverence, watching the scene unfold. That day, Alastor lost his virginity to Anthony, in a storage closet, in the desperate hope of forgetting Lucifer forever.

Of course, it was all useless.

The therapist dropped his shoulders, reflecting on his youth. It had been beautiful, but complicated. Full of lies and masks, but also sprinkled with sweet glimpses of sincerity and affection. It could’ve gone better—but it definitely could’ve gone worse. He had been lucky to find people who cared about him. And at the end of the day, that’s what mattered.

Suddenly, a loud sob made him spin around in alarm.

Lucifer was crying like a child. Tears as big as thumbs, his brows drawn together so tightly they nearly met, his mouth twisted by a pain the redhead couldn’t understand.

“Lucifer?! Are—are you in pain?” He approached the blond, gently stroking his arm to calm him, leaning slightly toward him.

“I’m not okay… it hurts…” he sobbed, wiping the tears away with his forearm.

“What…” He turned toward the now-empty classroom.

In his ears, he could almost still hear his and Anthony’s gasps from their first time. The sensations of hands roaming, skin against skin, desperate kisses, young madness. He looked back at his patient, seriously worried about that reaction. Why was he like this?

With his other hand, he began helping him wipe away the tears, placing his palm against the soft cheek of the one he loved.

“What hurts?” he whispered.

“Why did you never understand anything?”

“What was I supposed to understand, Lucifer?”

The blond was feeling more and more of his alter ego’s emotions from the memories. He felt deep despair, an excruciating, burning pain, as if his soul were being ripped from his body. Everything he was feeling confirmed what he had already begun to realize on his own.

He was fed up.

He was fed up with a situation he hadn’t remembered until just a few hours ago. He didn’t regret leaving behind the perfect boredom dictated by a constant, problem-free happiness. It seemed like Alastor had understood absolutely nothing about what he felt—and maybe he never would—but he didn’t care. He was a damned patient in a coma, with a high probability of not remembering this moment.

He sobbed again, resting his face in Alastor’s large, warm hand, which was now giving him attention and affection.

“Are you still with that person?”

“What? With… with Anthony, you mean?”

He nodded.

“No, of course not, Lucifer… I left the year after and… we were just kids. It was all silly stuff. Why do you ask?”

Lucifer lifted his eyes, beautifully lit by his tears, looking at Alastor with despair—but also with so much love.

“Because I think I’ve always loved you, Alastor.”

Chapter 28

Alastor’s world stopped.

It stopped as he held his hand against the cheek of the man he loved more than anything else in his existence. Now those blue eyes were looking at him—really looking at him—with all their purity, with complete sincerity, free of any barrier.

He was begging with his gaze. Begging to be understood, forgiven maybe, comforted and loved. If he could’ve lived inside those eyes, he would’ve signed the contract without even reading the boring part about interest rates.

Those lips, twisted with the deep sadness he was feeling, were so sweet, full, trembling—they made him want to kiss him for eternity.

And yet, Alastor couldn’t help but feel utterly dead inside, even though he finally had Lucifer in his arms.

“You must… be confused.”

“Screw you, okay?!” Lucifer snapped instantly, leaning forward and shouting in his face, placing his small hands over the one the redhead still held against his cheek.

The therapist stared at him, wide-eyed, in disbelief at what he had just heard—and at his patient’s insistence on reaffirming what he had already said.

“You—You can’t be in love, Lucifer. Not with me.”

“Why?!”

“Because… I told you. You always hated me. You always treated me that way and… you never did anything when Anthony showed up…” He began listing.

“I was an asshole, okay?! I—I'm still a jerk even now. I was proud, scared, maybe… I—I don’t remember!” he explained, more angry at himself than at Alastor.

“And that day…” the redhead whispered, under his breath.

He was crushed by the realization. They had been young—but not that young anymore. They were adults now, and he had lived more than twenty additional years in the real world. Now… everything made sense.

“That day? What day?” Despite the tears, Lucifer asked with sincerity what Alastor had been mumbling about.

“No… no—nothing.” The redhead let go of the blond’s face, stepping back a few paces.

He was deeply shaken. He felt his blood pulsing violently in his head. His vision blurred as he swayed slightly. The shorter man didn’t accept the distance and kept holding the other’s hand in his own, continuing to plead with that sweet expression.

“Please… you have to talk to me. I know how I acted, even if only partly. But I swear that…” he began, feeling confident he now understood himself—outside that fictional world.

He was 110% certain that what he had started feeling for Alastor, from the moment he appeared in his dream, was the same feeling he had for him in the real world. Every time he felt the real Lucifer’s emotions, through the memories, he got confirmation.

Alastor lifted his face again to meet the other’s gaze directly. He allowed himself to be human. He stopped being a professional, and above all, he dropped any façade. His expression now showed all the pain he was going through. His eyes… began to fill with tears. His shoulders trembled slightly in rhythm with the quiet sobs the therapist was trying to hold in.

“A-Al…?”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me anything…?”

“I… I don’t know! But what matters is the present, Alastor… Please, before I go back, I want you to know what I feel—and that I might never be able to tell you out there.” He described, his voice broken by a possibility that hurt even him.

He felt the need to tell him his feelings. That was actually a good sign, if one looked at it closely. All of his patients who were headed toward awakening felt the urge to express their deepest thoughts. After all, they represented the rawest part of their soul—free from outside influence, from family upbringing, from school, from trauma or learned behavior. They were pure beings experiencing emotions in their most authentic, most intense form.

Alastor began to sob loudly, creating a small symphony with the blond’s own laments—filled with pain, regret, but also a deep longing to love the other.

“I love you, Alastor. I’ll love you even if you don’t love me back, okay?”

The redhead squeezed Lucifer’s hands, slowly collapsing to his knees. He pressed those hands—so special to him—against his chest. He had been a fool. They both had. They had never truly understood each other, letting their social roles, their fears, their masks take over instead of being completely honest like they were being now.

The blond joined him, kneeling in front of his therapist. He looked at him with concern, watching him quite literally fall apart into a thousand pieces. He was sobbing like a wounded child. It felt strange to see him so vulnerable, so broken, stripped of his usual confidence. His poor ears were flattened, almost disappearing, and his small tail drooped low, drained of strength.

“I couldn’t—” he tried to say.

“What…? What, Al?”

It was so strange hearing his voice muffled by crying. But even stranger was seeing him cry like that, in such deep anguish. Was the news really that bad for him? Did he truly hate him so much that he couldn’t even stand the idea that Lucifer cared for him—and loved him?

“I could never not love you back.” He lifted his eyes to Lucifer once more.

The blond furrowed his brow, trying to understand. He didn’t want to get his hopes up—he was sure of that—but those words didn’t really leave much room for interpretation. If, however… Alastor did feel something similar for him, then this made their story all the more tragic.

“In—in what way?”

A heavy sob, probably painful, forced its way out of the therapist’s thin lips. Now he was the one looking at Lucifer with a silent plea mixed with profound despair.

“I’ve always loved you… more than anything else in existence. From the first moment I saw you.” He tried to speak clearly, despite his broken voice, so as not to be misunderstood.

Lucifer still had his hands trapped against the other’s chest, held tightly, as if they were a lifeline providing the oxygen he needed to survive. The blond was surprised—genuinely stunned. He stared at Alastor flatly, not even knowing how to react to such a revelation.

They could have been together. Maybe he never would’ve fallen into a coma. Maybe they would’ve gotten married and adopted children.

“You… loved me?”

Alastor nodded. He lifted Lucifer’s hands a little higher, kissing the knuckles with indescribable tenderness. He kissed them once, twice, three times—endlessly—as if he were kissing Lucifer himself.

“I still love you now, Lucifer. I’ve never managed to fall for anyone else. I preferred a life of solitude if I couldn’t have you.” He whispered, trying to hold back the emotion tightening his throat.

The blond crawled toward Alastor, bringing their faces close. Nothing else mattered anymore. With those tears, they were ready to leave behind all their nonsense, all their bad decisions and painful experiences—keeping only the most precious ones. Now… they could live happily and together… right?

“Would you… would you kiss me?” the blond asked, with an expression far too tender to seem like his own.

Alastor bit his lip, hard enough to nearly draw blood. He nodded, trying to keep his thoughts from racing. He didn’t want to think that it was finally happening. He didn’t want to think about how or why any of this was happening. He just wanted Lucifer—he had wanted him for so long.

He released the blond’s hands and brought both palms to the face of the creature he loved more than himself. The room they had been in vanished in a gust of wind, and they found themselves back on the sunny, cool beach, on their knees in the sand. Yet their eyes were locked—hypnotized by the other’s color. In the distance, Alastor’s alarm had been ringing for who knew how long.

Silently and with slow determination, Alastor kissed his patient. Their lips pressed against one another, feeling the softness and warmth of the other. The redhead parted his lips, only to close them again and kiss Lucifer deeply, who was slowly, almost imperceptibly, raising his hands to rest on the therapist’s wrists.

The sensation he gave him was beyond words. It made him feel alive, happy, loved—delirious. Without realizing it, in his inexperience, he began to mirror the redhead’s movements, returning the kiss awkwardly at first, but steadily improving, guided by instinct.

They kissed for minutes that felt like infinite moments. They didn’t even notice how their kisses grew faster and their minds emptier, until Lucifer’s body was gently pushed down onto the sand—without interrupting their embrace for even a second. Alastor positioned himself on top of him, practically devouring him. Their breaths became more frantic, more urgent. Sounds Lucifer didn’t recognize began to escape his throat, partly embarrassing him—but he couldn’t care less.

Alastor’s hand rested on the other’s chest, stroking a nipple and silently thanking the fact that, as always, he was only wearing a swimsuit.

“Mhh…”

“Do you like that?” he whispered, pulling back for a moment.

“I– I feel weird.”

Alastor nodded several times. He had suspected that if Lucifer had fallen into a coma shortly after graduating, he was probably a virgin.

“Sorry, I acted on instinct and—”

“Do it again, please,” he pleaded in a whisper, making the waves in the background seem louder than his own voice.

Alastor didn’t have time to be surprised or to tell himself how unbelievable all this was. He resumed kissing the other, fully caressing Lucifer’s small chest, stimulating his nipple.

“A-Al…” he moaned between kisses.

The redhead felt desperate—sexually desperate. Even though he had screwed his pillows for days and had been with Husk just over a week ago, it felt as if he had never done it at all. He felt as desperate as the first time he made love to Anthony, in that school supply closet, where he grabbed the white-haired boy and poured himself into him with all the force a young man having his early experiences could muster.

“You used me, Alastor.”

A voice he knew all too well made him freeze. Alastor stopped kissing Lucifer, locking eyes with him. Only then did he realize they were both lying on the ground, and he had the blond beneath him. He lifted his head and found Husk standing there, staring down at him with hatred.

“You used me because you’re in love with that man.”

“Husk…?”

“Who?” Lucifer resumed a bit of his usual haughty tone, obviously confused.

Husk couldn’t be there, nor could he be saying those things. They had an agreement—there was nothing between them.

“You used me, Alastor.”

This time, the voice came from behind him. The therapist turned around, noticing that the younger version of Anthony was also standing there, looking at him with the same disgust the brunet had shown him before.

“That’s… that’s not true.”

“Who the fuck are you talking to, Alastor?!”

Anthony pointed directly at Lucifer—who clearly couldn’t see him.

“You used me because you’re in love with that man.”

“I… no—no, I thought that…”

A slap on the shoulder snapped him back to reality, turning him toward Lucifer, who had a tendency to resort to physical contact when panicking.

“Who are you talking to?”

“Don’t you see them?”

“No…? Who should I be seeing?!” He was growing impatient with the interruption, but also worried.

Alastor looked delirious, confused, and frightened.

Suddenly, footsteps on the sand—real ones, as though someone else were truly there—made the redhead turn again.

“You used me, Alastor. You used everyone.”

This time, it was his imaginary Lucifer. He didn’t look at him with disgust, but with pity, his hands tucked into the pockets of his perfect suit, in contrast to the simple swimwear of the real version.

“You don’t exist… You are… him.”

Lucifer started to understand that Alastor must be having some kind of hallucination. He shifted to sit directly in front of him, while Alastor remained on his knees, palms pressed into the ground.

“Alastor, don’t listen to them. You have to—you have to get out of here.” He guessed the issue might be that time-related concern Alastor had mentioned earlier.

In fact, it had already been another half hour since the alarm started ringing. It was as if he couldn’t hear it anymore. He was staring into nothing, terrified.

“You’re so unbelievably pathetic. You’d rather use random men, treat them like you loved them, pretending they were the one you wanted most. You’ve humped objects, pillows, like a horny dog.”

“Why are you saying this…? You’re not like this…” he muttered, no longer recognizing his own creation.

“That’s how your mind works. Everyone has to be a puppet so you can project your fantasies, your expectations onto them.” He snapped his fingers—and in that instant, one of Alastor’s arms vanished in a burst of countless sparks.

The therapist screamed in pain, collapsing onto his side.

“A-ALASTOR?! WHAT—WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?!” Lucifer watched the scene in horror.

The man he loved was now on the ground, screaming, one arm gone—exploded into a cascade of light right before his eyes. Was this what the disintegration of the soul looked like?

Despite the fear, Lucifer clenched his teeth and lifted Alastor, supporting him against his own body, beginning to walk.

“Where—where’s the way out?!”

Alastor was groaning. The pain was excruciating—indescribable. He felt his whole body erupting in flames. The blond noticed tiny golden fractures beginning to spread across the other man's skin.

“WHERE IS IT?!” he repeated, shouting.

With the one arm he had left, Alastor pointed toward some bushes at the edge of the forest—where Lucifer had never dared to go. Without hesitation, he moved quickly, scratching his bare chest and parts of his arms and legs as he practically sprinted, throwing himself into a place that had always given him a strange sense of dread. In front of him, after fewer than twenty steps, he found a stunning door made of seashells and decorations resembling waves. He stood there, open-mouthed. There was no other way to describe it but breathtaking. After all, it was the doorway to the world of his soul.

A groan from Alastor snapped him back to reality. Lucifer opened the door, and a blinding light engulfed him. For a fleeting moment, he naively wondered if he too might be able to return to the real world, but in that instant, all he wanted was for Alastor to be safe.

The redhead had already started losing parts of his legs and other fragments from his abdomen.

“If I put you in there… will you be okay?”

Alastor nodded, tears of pain streaming down his face. Lucifer wanted to stay with him—he didn’t want to be apart—but he couldn’t afford to think of himself. He laid Alastor at the threshold of the door, positioning him directly in front of it. The two of them locked eyes. In that look, there was finally all the love they had always felt but had never been able to fully express—until now.

“I love you, Alastor… Come back to me, when you will be okay.”

He said it before gently pushing him backward. Weak and drained, Alastor let himself fall, engulfed by a light he would normally walk through on his own—but now, he had to interpret it as the sea Lucifer loved so deeply, diving into it with the hope that he could wake up, and return to the one he loved as soon as possible.

 

Chapter 29

Alastor was staring at the ceiling of his hospital room. Even though there wasn’t a single window in the emergency space they had placed him in, he could still hear the sound of the waves.

He was breathing slowly, deeply, following that rhythm.

However, his heart moved at a different pace, thinking back to everything he had shared with Lucifer. His expressions, his words, his body, his kisses, and his moans. He wanted to go back to him as soon as possible. It had already been two days since his return, and he couldn't wait any longer. Besides, he felt like he was close to solving everything.

Lucifer was becoming more lucid. He had started showing more emotions, and even his personality now resembled more of his real self, even if his actions had been quite different from how they used to be.

“Lucifer…” he whispered, bringing a hand to his chest.

He wanted to hold his lover’s hands again. He missed him terribly, especially now that he knew his feelings might be returned. Time and again, he wondered whether it had been just a dream or if he had truly entered the blond’s inner world. Only by returning to him could he know for sure.

Suddenly, the door opened slowly. Anthony stepped into the room with the usual IV bag that Alastor had come to know arrived at a certain time. He turned toward his friend and ex-boyfriend, smiling at him a bit too slyly.

“Luigi?”

“Nope, so another day of hospitalization.”

Alastor chuckled, perhaps a bit too amused, while the white-haired man approached him, changing out the bag with the urgent meds he had been given when they found him collapsed on the ground.

“Seriously, Ant. I need to go back to Lucifer,” he tried to explain how serious his intentions were, though still in a calm tone.

Anthony smirked, making clear with a snort just how ridiculous he found that attempt.

“Seriously, Mister Mystery. For someone who doesn’t remember his own name, I’d say you need to stay hospitalized a little longer,” he quoted the other’s own words, turning them to his advantage.

Alastor rolled his eyes, leaning his head back and letting it sink into the soft pillow. He sighed, shifting his gaze toward the nurse who, with care and precision, was adjusting the IV and flow rate.

“Do you remember high school?” he whispered.

“Of course I do. Those were the only years we actually spent together,” he replied calmly, continuing his work.

“I’m sorry I left you after just a few months. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

Anthony let that sentence float in the silence for a few seconds before letting go of the IV and turning to Alastor with a relatively calm expression, maybe a little surprised at the topic.

“Are we seriously talking about this? You know we’ve already discussed it. There’s nothing left to clarify. Or have you forgotten that too?”

“The only thing I don’t remember is my name, Ant.”

“Then why—”

“The memories guiding Lucifer… are about me and him.”

The white-haired man didn’t seem all that surprised to hear Lucifer was thinking about Alastor. The bespectacled one had explained more than once how therapy worked, back when he dreamed of becoming a therapist. Those memories inside the dream helped the comatose person understand the cause of their block and return to the real world. He didn’t know whether the blond prince had attempted to take his own life because of Alastor, but he was sure it had to be tied to their past in some way.

After all, the following month his parents had died, and a few weeks later, he had tried to join them in the afterlife. That was likely part of the reason, even though it was clear they had been destroying their children’s lives.

Anthony sat on the bed, settling next to Alastor, deciding to take a two-minute break from work.

“You two were the only ones who never realized you had feelings for each other… and maybe not even Char did.”

Alastor blinked repeatedly, trying to make sense of those words. Anthony… knew he had feelings for Lucifer? When he broke up with him, he had only said he wasn’t ready for a relationship due to his plans for the future. They had made love several times, he had gotten attached to him, but… he didn’t feel anything romantic. He didn’t want to tell him the truth, not all of it. He wanted to keep his feelings for Lucifer hidden, hoping they would dissolve over time.

“In… what sense?”

“Anyone watching you two could’ve told you were in love with each other.”

This journey into his youth was surprising him more than anything he could have expected. He couldn’t help but be constantly caught off guard by these emotional revelations.

“You… you knew?!”

“Of course. That’s why I confessed my feelings to you. I liked you, and… I was afraid you two would end up together.”

Alastor respected the beginning of that personal story. He nodded slowly, encouraging the other to say more, or anything else he felt like sharing.

“When we started dating, he was always so shocked, hurt, and angry.”

Why hadn’t he noticed? Sure, Lucifer always seemed angry, but he never thought the reason might’ve been his relationship with Anthony. He always watched Lucifer, and yet now he felt like he had never really seen him.

“I can’t say I didn’t feel sorry for him. But we were just kids. What mattered to me most was winning that silent war and having you.”

Alastor wanted to take his hand, to comfort the younger version of Anthony that the white-haired man still carried within, but at the same time, he didn’t want to give him the wrong idea or hurt him. A lot of time had passed. Surely those feelings had faded. They hadn’t even been together that long. But he was the last person who could talk about how long love could last, given he had always carried someone in his heart he had never even spoken to about his feelings, and kept suffering for thirteen years after that person had left.

“I undoubtedly behaved badly, and maybe the pain I caused him… contributed to what he did.”

“No, no, Ant. Don’t say that,” he couldn't hold back, reaching out and placing a hand on the nurse’s knee.

Anthony turned toward him, smiling with nostalgia.

“You’re a therapist. You know how pain caused by something or someone can eat away at a person from the inside.”

“It’s not your fault, okay? I’m the one who agreed to date and kiss you in front of him—”

“When we kissed for the first time, you were looking at him the whole time,” the nurse interrupted.

Alastor froze. It was true. He couldn’t lie that much.

“You thought about him every time we made love. It was obvious. And then you always called me that weird nickname afterward.”

He used to speak Polish so Anthony wouldn’t understand. Just like he had continued doing even with random people in the new city he moved to, and later with Husk. To him, Lucifer was his prince. That’s what he always called him, every time he had sex with someone else, imagining it was the blond.

“Ant… I swear, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to use you,” he was terribly embarrassed, partly regretful.

Until what he had done was put into words—just as those fantasies in Lucifer’s dream and now Anthony’s words had done—he hadn’t fully realized how cruel he had been with all those men. Not as an excuse, but after Anthony—who had sparked his first real fantasies involving Lucifer—he had always made sure that all his future partners weren’t emotionally invested, and agreed to keep things purely physical.

“Don’t worry. Those were your first times. I never thought you were using me intentionally, even if that’s what you did,” he said, placing his hand over Alastor’s and turning to him.

“I’m so sorry…” said the redhead, feeling a knot form in his throat.

He cared about him. He didn’t want to hurt him. And yet, clearly, that’s what he had done.

“When you broke up with me, I had already been thinking about ending our relationship myself.”

That confession brought Alastor a sense of relief, but also a mix of surprise and sadness. He had seen during those months—almost two years—how much Anthony cared and had feelings for him. To reach that decision, he must have suffered a great deal. He had been lucky to find someone who loved himself more than he loved him.

“You only ever talked about the job you dreamed of, about the studies you wanted to pursue on the other side of the world. In your eyes, there was only Lucifer’s reflection,” he whispered.

“We weren’t meant to be together, so… don’t blame yourself, okay?”

Alastor nodded, lowering his head. Their hands tightened, with pure affection, without any romantic feeling. Unconsciously, he felt relieved not to sense any love in that touch—only friendship.

“You’re risking your life to save him. Wouldn’t it be wiser to go slowly and come back together?” he suggested.

Selfishly, Alastor would’ve liked to say he wanted his lover in his arms as soon as possible. At first, he only wanted to save him and make sure he was safe, living a normal life in the real world. But now that he knew Lucifer loved him back… every cell in his body screamed to be with him and wake him up.

“It’s not that simple. For someone who’s been in a coma that long, you can’t just leave him alone in his dream without him losing some of the therapy’s progress. There’s also an anchor in his world.”

“A-an anchor…?”

“A creation of the mind to keep him there. If I leave him too long with that anchor, he’ll slowly forget everything he’s discovered with me.”

Anthony nodded, taking in the information.

“I’d say a compromise would be the ideal solution. It takes time, but if you went in once a week or so… you’d make sure he doesn’t forget everything, and you wouldn’t be at such high risk.”

Alastor shook his head. That was a rational solution. Far too rational. But it would take years. If Charlie and the doctors were already considering unplugging him, he didn’t have that kind of time.

“I’ll save him before I completely collapse,” he said, determined.

Anthony squeezed his hand, this time tightly, trembling. He looked at the redhead with worried eyes, like he was staring at a terminal patient.

“Listen… you were more gone than alive when we found you. I don’t want to scare you, but if you keep this up…” he whispered.

In truth, his words did scare him. But his love for Lucifer and the determination he felt were stronger than the fear of brain death.

“Don’t you want to be with him?”

That one hurt.

“Of course I do… I love him more than anything, Ant,” he replied, voice cracking.

“Then try not to die in there.”

Chapter 30

Lucifer opened his eyes, blinking several times. Another lonely day without his beloved. He turned, looking for his pet, who was usually on his bed, either with him or curled up nearby.

“Kee?” he called out, feeling unbearably alone.

A man turned the corner connecting the kitchen to the bedroom. It was… Alastor. No— it was Keekee, judging by his golden eyes. His hair was beautifully pulled back in a ponytail, just like his therapist’s. He was wearing a simple white shirt and black pants.

In one hand, he held a plate of steaming, fragrant pancakes. He was smiling at him… so sweetly.

“Lucifer.” Even his deep, warm voice was just like Alastor’s.

“Kee…”

“Oh, come on now.”

He approached the bed, almost swaying his hips. Lucifer sat up, crawling back slightly.

The fake Alastor sat down on the bed next to him, never losing that gentle smile that broke down any of Lucifer’s attempts to resist. Ever since Alastor had kissed him and started doing more with him… it had become an obsessive thought—more than before. His skin craved another single touch.

Keekee placed the plate on the mattress, leaning forward so he could bring his face close to Lucifer’s.

“Wouldn’t everything be easier if we both gave in to this fantasy? You’d have your Alastor, forever, doing anything you want. And I… I could be here with you.”

Lucifer’s blue eyes flicked quickly from the plate to Keekee’s face. He was so damn tempted, but he couldn’t do that to Alastor. He didn’t want to let himself be seduced by this world, possibly returning to who he had been before. He had to… look for his memories, while his therapist recovered the strength to come back to him.

“You don’t even know if he came back alive.” It was like Keekee had read his mind.

Lucifer was horrified. He felt a bolt of ice strike his heart, the pain unbearable. That possibility wasn’t even something he had allowed himself to consider.

“Why—” He started to shout at him, when the anchor of that world placed a large hand on his cheek, silencing him immediately.

Any strength Lucifer had was laughably shattered by that simple touch. He loved it when Alastor held his face like that. He simply felt like he was his. Protected, loved, and forever tied to the redhead. His eyebrows rose, weak and practically surrendering to his cat’s proposal.

“I can worship you, just like he would. Maybe even better, considering all the things he’s hidden from you. All those lies…” he whispered, his golden eyes glowing.

Lucifer felt a deep longing for that red color in Alastor’s irises. Keekee’s transformation brought back those soft reindeer ears and that tail gently wagging at his presence.

The redhead was getting closer and closer to him, his touches unbearably tender. The anchor smiled sweetly and kissed his cheek. His lips were so soft and warm. He kissed him again, then a third, a fourth time, slowly and with such affection it moved Lucifer to tears.

“I miss you so much…” he whispered with a broken voice, placing his hands on Keekee’s shoulders.

The Alastor copy’s smile grew wider, following his nature as an anchor. He could feel Lucifer melting between his hands, following his voice…

“I have to… I have to wait for you and find you.” He finally said, letting himself lean forward slightly and resting his forehead on the other’s shoulder.

Keekee’s eyes widened, his ears drooped, and his tail fell limp.

“Why won’t you listen to me?” he said, this time letting his anger and frustration be heard in his voice.

“I waited for him so long. I lived for years in the desperate belief that I couldn’t have him. This… is nothing but a hollow consolation,” he whispered.

Keekee stepped back, leaving the bed and standing up. He stared at Lucifer, disappointment on his face.

“Don’t look at me like that, Kee. You know well this isn’t what I want from you.”

His pet simply turned away, leaving the house and slamming the door. Lucifer curled up, pulling his legs close and hiding his face between his knees. It had been undeniably hard, but this wasn’t the end of his story. He would follow the mission Alastor had given him. He ignored the plate of pancakes and got up, opening the wardrobe and putting on a cherry-red suit and black shirt.

He walked over to his vanity, grabbing a black hairband and pulling back his blond hair. He left the house, determined to search for more memories. He had spent two days in his little cottage, ignoring all his neighbors’ visits. On the third day, he found himself determined to heal, hopeful that Alastor was okay.

He stepped outside without worrying about finding Keekee to apologize. He hadn’t done anything wrong, after all. He could see his pet losing more and more of his old personality, pushing him more often to stay in that world by using his weaknesses—weaknesses that could be summed up in one word: Alastor.

He followed his instinct, heading toward the forest where he had entered with his therapist, hoping to bring him out of there. He noticed the door to his world, tightly shut, glowing, and stunningly beautiful. He kept walking, ignoring it, exploring a part of that world he had never felt the need to discover.

He walked through dozens of trees. The light grew dimmer, and the forest’s green was lit only by faint rays of sunlight filtering through the leaves. He walked for several meters—perhaps kilometers—feeling more and more strongly that something was calling him. He pushed through more bushes, this time made of thorny roses. Once past them, lightly scratching his shirt and cheeks, he found a magnificent, enormous cherry tree in bloom, standing alone in a completely open space. There was nothing else—just that beautiful tree. Pink petals danced through the air, making the entire scene simply breathtaking.

Lucifer moved forward slowly, slightly out of breath. His mouth was parted in awe at the sight before him. He wasn’t afraid of the overwhelming solitude or the sudden silence that surrounded him. His heart began to pound, feeling more and more drawn to that bark—so strong and delicate at the same time.

When he stood before the cherry tree, he placed his palm against it, overwhelmed by a memory. A wave of fear surged through him—he only now realized how terrified he was of facing this alone. But he… he was Lucifer. Lucifer Morningstar.

He could be strong. He was strong. Alastor was risking his life for him. He had to fight for the life he wanted with the other man. He had to make an effort too. He had to keep going with his therapy. It was expected of him to face and absorb these memories alone.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to be immersed in a world that would bring him more answers.

“Lu.”

Lucifer blinked repeatedly, turning toward the voice that sounded like his sister’s. Behind him… stood Charlie.

But… was she talking… to him?

“Char?”

The blonde, about eighteen years old, was staring at him, clearly worried.

“Why are you going that way? Home’s the other direction.”

“Oh… I-I— Are you… talking to me?” He pointed to himself.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to call the butlers to come get us?” She looked visibly concerned. She seemed like such a kind soul…

He… had become the memory itself, without even knowing how or why. He only hoped he wasn’t lost in it forever. With trembling resolve, he repeated to himself to follow the flow of events. He shook his head, offering a faint smile.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I was just… distracted.”

“You sure?”

Lucifer nodded, walking in the direction his sister had seemed to be going at the start of the memory. He knew he was headed the right way when she followed without saying another word.

The blond felt so young, maybe lighter. The air was wonderful. It felt like the beginning of summer—warm, but not unbearably hot like he’d come to expect from the later months. He smiled faintly, breathing in the salty breeze.

“You know… Alastor and Anthony broke up.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened before he turned toward the blonde, slowing his pace. She didn’t seem happy. In fact, she looked truly saddened. She had even started to fidget with her long wavy hair as she began to speak.

“What… happened?”

Sometimes Lucifer had the feeling he wasn’t the one speaking the words coming out of his mouth. Ever since he started walking, he had felt like some kind of puppet moving on its own. Regardless, the actions and words matched exactly what he would have done and said.

“I don’t really know. It was Al who told me today, while we were walking toward the gate. But it doesn’t seem like they argued. Apparently, they ended things on good terms.”

“Mh… I see.” Inside, he felt a deep joy, and his mind was already racing with questions.

In his silence, while Charlie began chatting about less important things—like the dessert of the week she’d found in the cafeteria—Lucifer felt something shift. Suddenly… he knew everything. He knew what he had been thinking in that moment, what he had felt. He had become one with his true self. All doubts and hypotheses were confirmed. He had loved the redhead from the very beginning. The pressure from his family and his status often forced him to be someone he wasn’t. His love for his sister and the wish for her to live a simple, happy life pushed him to meet their parents’ expectations even more, hoping to distract them from focusing on her.

In that moment, with just a couple of weeks left until the end of school… he wanted to confess his feelings to Alastor.

He didn’t know how he would do it, what Alastor would say, how they could make their relationship work if he said yes—but none of it mattered. He knew he had to tell him. Nothing else was important.

He nodded at the girl chatting cheerfully beside him, trying not to think about the fact that his friends had broken up, until they reached the front door of their house.

“Char.”

“Yes?”

“Can I… can I ask you for Alastor’s number?”

It wasn’t him speaking anymore. It was a strange first-person vision of his own memories. He noticed the sweet girl’s expression shift to pure surprise, her eyes going wide.

“Al’s… number?”

“I just want to tell him I’m sorry about the breakup. Nothing more,” he lied.

Charlie finally blinked, as if remembering how to breathe after forgetting for a few seconds.

“S-sure, of course. I’ll… give it to you right now.” She pulled out her phone, tapped a few buttons, then showed the screen to her brother.

It said ALASTOR at the top, with his number beneath it. Still under the spell of the memory, the blond took out his phone, copying the number and saving it under the same name he saw on her screen.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, stepping away from her and entering the house, leaving the blonde behind to avoid any more questions.

In a peaceful afternoon when their parents wouldn’t be back until early evening, he climbed the stairs, ignoring the greetings of the various butlers. He reached his room and shut the door behind him, not even turning on the lights. The curtains were drawn, casting the room in shadow. Frantic and extremely determined, feeling half mad, he quickly typed out a message.

 

This is Lucifer. Can we meet tonight at 11:00 in the cherry park?

 

His breathing turned erratic—short and fast. His heart was practically bursting as he waited for a reply that might never come. But within less than a minute, his phone vibrated.

Without realizing it, he turned the screen back on, sweat dripping from his face, his eyes wide open.

 

Okay.

 

That was the simple reply.

Chapter 31

Lucifer was a damn nervous wreck.
Still, he had to wait. Just a few more hours. The afternoon would fly by, he'd have dinner in the evening. A shower, a nice fix to his hair and outfit to look like the gem he was every time he went out, and then... he would tell Alastor that he loved him.

He lay down on his bed, wearing a simple shirt and trousers—what he considered the most basic of elegant options. His wardrobe had never contained T-shirts, sportswear, or anything remotely comfortable. Not even swimsuits—he bought those in secret, just to sneak out of the house at dawn to swim, collect seashells and other materials from the sea, and make his creations, which he kept hidden in a box inside his closet.

Only one was always out—on his desk—helping him through moments of loneliness. His eyes fell on that very sculpture. It was a black cat made of seashells and beads. It had only one large eye in the center of its face.

“What should I do, Kee?” he asked in a whisper.

Naturally, no answer came.

That had been his first creation. His first and probably only real friend. He talked to it, confided in it, and somehow, he could feel the answers and suggestions it gave him.

He loved it as if it were a real pet.

 

KNOCK KNOCK

 

Lucifer jumped, leaving the bed and grabbing a random book from his shelf. He opened it in his hands and pretended to read it while pacing around the room.

“Yes?”

“Young master Lucifer, may I?”

It was a butler.

“Of course,” he sighed, feigning boredom—completely at odds with the pounding of his heart that nearly deafened him.

The extremely tall man with broad shoulders stepped inside, pretending not to analyze every detail of Lucifer’s actions, attire, and room.

Lucifer wasn’t stupid. He knew very well that every decision he made was meticulously monitored. His entire life was an act. Living in that house, he wondered day after day when and how he would finally become free. Able to truly be himself.

“Your father wishes to speak with you.”

The blond froze, feeling the blood drain from his body. He wanted nothing more than a hug, but he had to react differently. He had to stay strong.

Slightly pale, he turned toward the man, silently seeking reassurance.
Had his father already found out about his meeting with Alastor?

“Do you know what he needs?”

The butler simply shook his head.

“I see.”

He closed the book gently and returned it to its place on the shelf. Then he turned to the man with a composed air.

“You may take me to him.”

 

-

 

“Father?”

With a deep voice and a soft knock on the door, Lucifer introduced himself.

“Come in.”

He didn’t talk much with his parents. All of their conversations revolved around events, charity galas, casual sports matches with the children of other club members, or formal balls between men and women of his generation—events organized by adults to ensure marriages occurred only within their social class. At times, he felt like he was in a breeding program.

Lucifer entered with great attention to every movement, closing the door behind him. The man, who looked strikingly similar to him—only with a beard and a more average height—was impeccably dressed down to the smallest detail and motioned for him to sit.

His son took a seat in one of the comfortable armchairs across from the desk, where the man was surrounded by a few stacks of documents and letters.

Silence fell for a few seconds. Lucifer focused on maintaining a steady and proper rhythm in his breathing, knowing he was being tested, as he always was around his parents. Straight back, proud expression, flawless posture, icy calm. He had been taught that even these subtle details were enough to distinguish himself from others and communicate the power he held, the vast wealth he inherited, and the heavy title he wore like a crown.

“You and Charlie have reached adulthood.”

Lucifer nodded. They had been of age for a few months now. That change had ignited both twins’ imaginations, dreaming only of a life outside that place. And yet, Lucifer knew such a thing would never be possible for him.

“I’ve selected the various candidates.”

Lucifer remained still, but couldn’t stop a slight change in his expression.

Candidates…

“Candidates, Father?”

“How else do you expect to carry on our name?”

“I—”

“That wasn’t a real question. We’ve educated you; I don’t need confirmation that you know the answer. If you can take personal pleasure in it, all the better.”

Lucifer paled. A… woman? A stranger with whom to have sex, bear children, and build a family?

He nodded silently, asking forgiveness without speaking.

“I must say, Lucifer, all those parties and gatherings you and Charlie attended have borne fruit.”

Lucifer was a mask of iron. Inside, he was scared, angry, frustrated, sad. They were mating him off like a stud horse. Suddenly, he felt twice the weight he normally carried.

And with Alastor?

How would he ever be able to be with Alastor, in the miraculous fantasy where he might even feel the same?

While his father spoke, Lucifer’s soul sank deeper into a despair as black and sticky as tar. Once fully submerged, it stole his breath, clouded his vision. His eyes were wide open, expression void of emotion, his skin porcelain-white.

“Lilith Grossberg.”

That name made Lucifer flinch. He vaguely remembered that blonde girl—tall, already quite curvy, with extremely feminine features.

“She’s the best match for you.”

“L… Lilith?”

He had spoken to her for exactly two minutes—about summer humidity in the area. He couldn’t even remember her eye color or the sound of her voice.

“For Charlie—”

“Charlie?!” he interrupted before even realizing it.

His father lifted his gaze from the papers, staring at the sheet with disgust and surprise.

“Of course, Charlie.”

“Father… Charlie—Charlie doesn’t belong in this. She can’t carry on the Morningstar name.”

“You want your sister to end up with a farmer? If your mother and I found someone for her, it’s only a favor—to save her from the miserable life she’s building for herself.”

Lucifer rose from the armchair, staring at the man before him in disbelief.

He remembered every single day he had gone to pick up his sister, with their parents' permission. Her face was always so happy, she was a normal, carefree girl. He was doing this… for her too. At least she could dream of a normal life—as a woman.

“Lucifer, sit down immediately.”

“Father, I’ve asked for only one thing in all these years,” he whispered, still standing.

“I remember. That foolish school event for your sister. You saw how ridiculous it was, didn’t you?”

“Absolutely. But that’s not the point.”

Lucifer’s father sighed, resting his forearms on the desk and looking at him with a weariness that made it clear he was already tired of this change in what was supposed to be a ten-minute conversation.

“Are you about to ask for another foolish favor? Your mother and I don’t think poorly of you, Lucifer. Don’t make us change that.”

“Leave Charlie out of it.”

“What?”

“She’s… useless. She doesn’t serve you or the title. If she ever marries someone beneath her status, she’ll never come asking for favors or money. She already has her share—she can invest or build something with it.”

The man remained silent, raising an eyebrow in surprise at his son’s sudden eloquence, who had rarely spoken more than ten words in a row.

“I’ll marry Lilith, I’ll do what you ask, I won’t protest. But… only if you leave Charlie alone.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?”

“I already said—it’s a request.” He clenched his fists and lifted his chin, eyes growing damp, his heart so heavy it made him want to scream.

“And if I refuse?”

“I respect you, Father. I know that my lack of requests over the years gives this one weight.”

“So good at talking for someone with nothing to offer in return.”

“Please, Father. The only… the only thing I can promise is never to ask for anything again.”

He didn’t have the courage to threaten and say he simply wouldn’t marry Lilith. He wouldn’t defy his own parents even if… he hated them with all his being.

His father stared straight into his eyes, noticing the tears beginning to form in that face full of false determination. He sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“You’re weak, Lucifer. I’ve always known that. You’re far too sensitive, but you can put on a good performance.”

The blond boy began trembling, keeping his proud stance, just as he had been taught.

His father stood, walking around the desk and stopping at his side, placing a large hand on his shoulder.

“As shameful as it is to have such a weak son, I do appreciate those who strive to fulfill their role and rise to it. Always remember you’re a Morningstar. Respect your parents and yourself,” he said, walking toward the door.

Lucifer turned quickly, desperate for an answer.

“Father—”

“I accept, Lucifer.”

The blond boy couldn’t hold up his shoulders any longer, letting them slump with relief, staring at the back of the man who had created him. Charlie… his beloved sister, would be free. The relief was so overwhelming that, for a moment, he forgot the price he would have to pay.

His father left without another word, closing the door and leaving his son inside the study. Lucifer felt his strength abandon him, swaying slightly and placing a hand on the back of the armchair to keep from collapsing.

His life… was over.

His love for Alastor had to be buried before it could ever begin. What had he expected? After all… he wasn’t a normal person. For people like him, there was no blank page to fill with experiences, mistakes, accomplishments, efforts, and adventures. His path had already been written—right up to his death.

Chapter 32

The blond stared at his phone screen, where Alastor’s name was displayed.
He had to delete it.

Contacting him had been a mistake—but once he didn’t show up, Alastor would just hate him even more and go home.

He had played the jerk for five years. This was the final act, and he couldn’t fail right as the curtain closed. What Alastor had made him feel from the very beginning was complete wonder—an overload of energy, joy, adrenaline. Only after a few months did he realize he had fallen in love with him.

But he couldn’t afford to show a weak or less noble side. He had to uphold his role, and to do so, he was forced to behave in a way he himself despised.

He wanted to ask him for hugs, kisses, attention. Only when he knew the house staff had gone to sleep, leaving just two guards at the entrance, would Lucifer quietly pleasure himself, imagining it was Alastor giving him that pleasure.

Hiding the evidence was the trickiest part, but over time he became better at it, tucking the tissues he used into a bag he’d take outside at dawn—when he’d sneak out the window that opened onto a tree running close to the walls enclosing the house.

When he was younger, that climb, that walk in the void, and that little jump over the barrier used to scare him. But now it wasn’t anything scandalous, especially after he’d grown a few inches. Beyond the wall, there was always a big sealed dumpster he used both to get out and get back in.

Once back in his room, he’d take a shower as if he’d just woken up.

“I never got the chance to tell you anything,” he whispered to the glowing name of the redhead.

Feeling tears starting to form again, he turned off the phone, threw it into a corner of the bed, and buried himself under the blankets.

In that little den, where he hid in an imaginary world made only of sea, sand, purity, and affection, no one could erase his existence.

He closed his eyes, guided by the sound of the waves playing in his mind.

 

TAP TAP

 

Before sleep could take him, Lucifer’s eyes flew open. He hugged himself, frightened by the thought he’d heard something.

It was around midnight—no one should have been looking for him. And yet… that sound almost seemed like someone tapping on his window glass.

 

TAP TAP

 

"Eep!!”

Lucifer shot upright, his head peeking out from under the covers. What he saw almost made him faint.
A man... a man was outside his window!

After a few seconds of panic, staring at the spot where an intruder stood right behind the glass, another knock—this time gentler—somehow calmed him enough to focus more clearly on the person calling him.

Only then did the blond realize Alastor was there.

“A-Alas…tor?!” he asked, voice extremely high-pitched, as he climbed off the bed.

He headed toward the window without even thinking. His mind had short-circuited.
The man he loved, who was finally single and who he thought he could never have, had come to his house, dodged the guards, and climbed the same tree he used... just to see him.

He opened the window in total panic.

“What the hell are you doing there?! Get in!” he whispered, worried he might fall.

Alastor chuckled quietly as he stepped inside. Still, his expression was clearly somber.
Lucifer and Alastor… were in the same room, alone. With no one knowing the redhead was there.
It was all so strange, so terrifying—and exhilarating at the same time.

“How did you know this was my room?”

“The one next to this has stuffed animals sitting in the window. So I figured you must be near Charlie’s room.”

Impeccable logic.

“We–we can’t be here. You can’t be here!” he clarified, only now realizing he was in pajamas.

Alastor grabbed his wrist with such sudden speed and determination that it startled the blond again, making him fall silent and stare wide-eyed at the other man.

“Don’t mess with me. First you ask to meet, then you don’t show up, and now you act surprised?”

“You… you came all the way to my house.”

“Exactly.”

“Why? You could’ve just… kept hating me, thought it was a joke or that I forgot… Actually… that’s exactly what happened,” he murmured, not even sure what he was saying anymore.

Alastor brought his face closer to the blond’s, staring straight into his soul.

“You took my number after five years and sent me a message like that. I could never have believed it was a joke,” he said, voice low and deep.

“How… how did you climb a tree?”

“There were a lot of trees around the house I used to live in.”

Alastor’s hand was gently caressing Lucifer’s wrist, making the shorter man’s thoughts grow hazy.
His gaze fell on a small creature made of seashells. It looked like a cat with a single eye. Beside it was a bottle cap, probably used as a dish, with “Keekee” written on it.

Lucifer seemed to realize what the other was looking at. His cheeks flushed slightly, feeling the need to explain.

“I… made it using seashells,” he muttered, but Alastor didn’t seem interested in pursuing that topic.

“What did you want to tell me, Lucifer?”

“I… nothing.”

“Tell me, or I swear I’ll open the door and go to the guards, and I’ll blow this loony bin to hell.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“No, no, Alastor. You don’t even understand what could happen,” he said, terrified.

Seriously scared. If his parents found out, Alastor would be in serious trouble—legal trouble even—for both himself and his family. Lucifer would be accused of being homosexual and of meeting men in his bedroom at night. Something like that could not happen.

“Then follow me to that damn park where we were supposed to meet an hour ago,” he threatened, his eyes so deep they seemed to glow red in the faint moonlight shining through the window.

“Let me get dressed and I’ll be right there.”

 

—

 

The two walked in silence toward the park, which was not far from the blond’s villa. Alastor had helped him down from the wall and the dumpster as if Lucifer were a princess. He knew very well, however, that the blond often snuck out at dawn, since they frequently crossed paths at the beach, never exchanging a word, day after day.

When they reached the park, the fresh air of late spring—charged with electricity—wrapped around the two boys. At the center of the park stood a huge cherry blossom tree in full bloom, its petals slowly and gently falling to the ground, covering it in a soft pink carpet. In a few days, the scene would no longer be the same.

“So are you going to tell me what you wanted to talk about?” Alastor asked softly.

Lucifer walked over to the trunk of the cherry tree, appreciating the fact that no one was around to overhear them. Everything around them was completely empty, as if the place had been closed to the public just for them and their conversation. He lifted his head, admiring the poetic pink color of the tree.

“I told you, it was just a joke,” he muttered.

Suddenly, the blond felt the other approach. He turned and found Alastor just inches from him. Lucifer stepped back, not wanting him too close, until his back met the hard surface of the tree.

“Alastor...?”

The redhead looked determined. That night, he was unusually insistent, intense, and unfiltered. He wanted an answer. He wanted to know why Lucifer had invited him there. After his relationship with Anthony, he had matured a bit—not just in behavior, but in appearance too. His voice had grown even deeper. The shorter boy’s heart pounded so hard it hurt. Yet the closer Alastor got, the more Lucifer felt his reason slipping away, his eyelids growing heavier, lulled by a pleasant sensation he couldn’t describe or name.

“What did you want to tell me?”

“I… I wanted to make sure that once you left, you wouldn’t bother my sister again,” he invented on the spot.

He knew full well that Alastor would be leaving right after graduation. Charlie hadn’t stopped talking about it—she had mentioned it since the early days of high school, when that stranger from who-knows-where would be off to study at some odd psychotherapy faculty on the other side of the world.

It was ironic that now, the thought of him leaving was killing Lucifer. But since he couldn’t even dream of having a relationship with him, the best thing was to let him go, let him spread his wings and live his life—just like he wished for his sister Charlie. They wouldn’t leave together as he had once imagined, fantasized about. Lucifer was doomed to love and care for people silently, suffering in a life he despised—for their happiness.

“You could’ve told me this afternoon. Or tomorrow,” Alastor said, drawing his face even closer.

“I—I didn’t want… I didn’t want Charlie to hear us. You know how much it hurts her to see us argue.”

“You’ve never cared about that,” he whispered, staring him down.

Lucifer pressed himself further against the trunk. Alastor’s lips were literally a centimeter from his. The blond frowned, beginning to doubt what was about to happen.

“Wh-what are you doing, Alastor?”

“What do you think?”

“I have no idea,” he lied, trying and failing to look disgusted.

Alastor took Lucifer’s hands, intertwining their fingers, then lifted the blond’s arms above his head, pinning him. The shorter boy’s eyes widened, feeling his face turn hot.

“Al—”

“You know I’ll be leaving soon?”

“I—I know, what does that have to do with—”

Alastor fell silent. Now his expression was filled with sadness, regret, remorse. They had wasted those five years being childish and stupid. They had loved each other terribly, thinking they had all the time in the world to hide behind pride, shame, embarrassment, anger—when they should have said the truth just once. That’s what brought them here. Beneath a cherry tree, at night, hiding from everyone, trying to understand—just for one second—what the other was feeling.

Lucifer stared at him, confused. He didn’t understand why Alastor was looking at him like that, like a beaten dog. The redhead had literally trapped him against a tree! His face was almost pressed against his. He could feel… the heat of his body!

Suddenly, Alastor kissed him. Lucifer’s eyes flew open in a way they never had before—not even when he discovered the existence of Anthony in his beloved’s life. The sensation of Alastor’s lips against his was nothing short of heavenly and instantly emptied his mind of every thought and worry. There was only that sweet pleasure—delicate like cotton candy but growing stronger and more overwhelming with uncontrollable speed, like an express train.

“Nhh…” he whimpered, partly scared, not knowing what to say or how to react.

Alastor seemed to want to comfort him, to tell him not to be afraid, to trust him. He released Lucifer’s arms, letting them slide down and gently placed his palms on the blond’s cheeks. He kept kissing him with tenderness, slowness, making Lucifer completely unable to keep up the act. Awkwardly, the blond moved his lips ever so slightly, answering the dance Alastor had invited him into.

His hands on his face were so warm, stroking him with such care it almost brought him to tears. Only then did he realize that everything he had dreamed of was really happening. Without having to confess anything, without asking for anything, Alastor had given him all the answers. He loved him too. They loved each other, but… none of it would ever be possible.

They kissed for minutes, touching each other’s faces, arms, sides, and hair. The rest of the world was outside their bubble, where only the two of them existed. From time to time, they opened their eyes again, locking gazes and intertwining souls. When Lucifer fully realized that what was happening would never happen again, warm tears streamed down his face, soaking Alastor’s hands.

The redhead pulled back slightly, concerned, but didn’t move his face far—just enough to speak.

“I’m begging you… tell me not to go,” he pleaded in a whisper.

“What…?” Lucifer looked at him, stunned by what he was hearing.

He was willing to give up his dreams… if only he knew Lucifer loved him too.

"You don’t have to explain anything to me, alright? If you don’t want me to leave, just say one word and I won’t go."

The redhead straightened his back, wiping Lucifer’s tears from his cheeks using his thumb. The blond stared at him, shocked, his eyes still glossy and his face completely flushed.

Everything that was happening… was wrong.

Lucifer gathered the last fragments of what he had always shown to Alastor. He closed his eyes, summoning all the determination he had left. The other couldn't give up his life for him. Especially knowing that he wouldn’t be able to… give him anything at all. He was promised to another woman, one he would never love the way he loved him, and for whom he could feel no attraction—for obvious reasons. He had to save his greatest love.

And to save him… he had to hurt him.

He opened his eyes again, looking at Alastor with such disgust that it chilled the redhead to the bone. Alastor withdrew his hands from Lucifer and took a small step back.

“Lucifer?”

“Get out of my life, faggot,” he growled, wiping his tears.

Alastor was nothing short of devastated. The insult didn’t even matter to him, no matter how harsh it was. But the fact that Lucifer had said something like that made it clear he wanted nothing to do with him and had probably chosen to push him away for good.

He took one, two steps back, then turned and walked away, without saying a single word.

Left alone, Lucifer began to breathe heavily, a wave of tears and despair crashing over him. A rising whimper forced him to bend over himself, screaming with all the strength in his lungs and crying shamelessly, finally letting out everything he was feeling. He dropped to his knees, hugging himself, curling forward so much that his head nearly touched the ground.

“Alastor… Alastor… why?!” he cried out, his voice high-pitched and broken.

That night, Lucifer cried for hours, unnoticed by anyone. No one saw that boy on the edge of manhood as he unraveled and fell apart under the weight of his responsibilities—and under the crushing realization that he had let go of his greatest joy.

Chapter 33

Lucifer reopened his eyes with a loud gasp, trying to catch his breath. He was kneeling before the trunk of a tree, holding onto it with one palm.

He was struggling to breathe, taking deep, ragged breaths, while his face was completely soaked in sweat and ceaseless tears.

His free hand pressed against his chest. He felt a stabbing pain—he was certain it could kill him. A deep sadness, fear, and loneliness were literally tearing him apart.

He began to whimper as he cried, exactly as in his memory. He felt everything. He remembered everything that had happened in those moments. He recalled how much he loved Alastor, how much he loved Charlie, and how he had spent his life performing as an aloof, cruel, cold person. Although feeling superior to others was only a small part of his character, the real Lucifer was not just that. He wasn’t… that monster.

He had let Alastor go to protect him and ensure his sister a happy life. He hated his parents intensely, and the agony threatened to drive him mad.

“I– I can’t go on… I don’t want to… feel anymore…” he muttered, staring despondently at the ground beneath him.

“Lucifer.”

That voice was like a glass of cold water in the heat of a desert. Lucifer turned toward it, behind him. Alastor was standing there, slightly winded as if he had run. His tail was wagging restlessly, and his ears lay flat. It was truly Alastor—his stunning eyes the color of cherries. In that moment, for just a fraction of a second, his therapist seemed almost transformed into something more fantastical, losing some of his humanity. But Lucifer didn’t care at all.

“Alastor…” he called in a high-pitched voice, pushing himself upright with the tree trunk for support.

Alastor’s eyes widened, then he appeared to ponder something.

“Oh—that’s what it was,” he murmured under his breath.

Lucifer furrowed his brow slightly, not understanding, but when his beloved moved toward him, his mind flooded with the deep loneliness he had felt, mingled with his own emotions and those of his real self, unaware of when he would see him again.

“Al…” he reached out a trembling arm—but Alastor snapped forward in an embrace.

He held him close, pressing his blond head against Alastor’s wide chest. The patient clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping him alive. That was exactly how he felt—without Alastor, nothing made sense. Life had no meaning.

“I love you, Lucifer. Sorry I made you wait,” Alastor whispered, kissing the top of his head.

“I love you… I love you, Al… Please, don’t go—”

Those words slipped out, barely fitting the situation. Alastor invoked a fragment of his professional composure to assess what was happening. He hadn’t found Lucifer anywhere—not at any citizen’s home where people insisted on delaying him with tea and chatter to prevent him from speaking with his patient. He’d ventured into unexplored territory and discovered Lucifer sobbing in a memory under that cherry tree.

Alastor’s eyes went wide, realizing Lucifer had witnessed that moment. He lowered his gaze down at the man sobbing like a child against his chest, his suit soaked through.

“Lucifer, did you see that moment between us?”

Lucifer nodded, followed by hiccups. Alastor felt tears welling in his own eyes. This therapy had become something like a couples' journey. He remembered that kiss—sweet, partially passionate—and how timid and awkward Lucifer had been, making him all the more endearing. But that phrase... it ruined everything. It confirmed that Alastor had misunderstood that the message was a chance to speak uninhibitedly, at last.

Growing up with romantic experience, Alastor had thought that all those shocked or angry looks when he was with Anthony might have hinted at reciprocal love. He felt foolish, partly an idiot. And Lucifer's slur finally clarified he wasn't gay. So he left without a word, hoping time would erase everything.

Clearly it hadn’t.

“I’m sorry I didn’t understand that day,” he said softly, stroking the back of Alastor’s head.

“It’s not your fault. Even if you had understood... I had to protect my sister—and you.” Alastor replied, his voice ragged as he raised his face, eyes devastated by grief.

“Charlie...?”

“I had been promised to someone… as had she.”

Alastor jolted at that revelation.

“It was… Jesus, Lucifer... it was 2008.”

“I know, but… you know how it works. And I asked them to leave Charlie alone. They wanted a male to carry on the name.”

“When—when did you learn of this?”

“A few hours before our meeting, after I sent that message.”

It had been literally the only message they exchanged in five years. Funny, considering they were born in the early ’90s and grew up alongside early technology.

“My darling…” Alastor whispered, terribly pained.

Lucifer must’ve felt crushing hurt—seeing Alastor with someone else, then convinced he could confess his love, only to give up everything for the people he loved most.

Without another word, Alastor cupped Lucifer’s face with his large hands. Lucifer still clung to him, looking up with tear-filled eyes, yet shining with the love he felt for the man before him.

Alastor leaned in and kissed him.

It was a single click before they separated slightly and looked into each other’s eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not anymore.”

Lucifer’s expression twisted in pure emotion, but before more tears could fall, Alastor kissed him again—deeply, slowly, tenderly. They took a few steps, exchanging dozens of kisses of varying length. Sometimes seconds, sometimes fleeting moments. They were finally giving in to and delighting in their mutual love and adoration.

Lucifer’s back rested against the cherry tree, just as that day, while Alastor kissed him with only one intention: to give him pleasure and express his feelings.

“Mhn...” Lucifer wrapped his arms around the other’s neck, letting himself be carried away by that river of pure bliss he was just beginning to recognize.

He had kissed before—his first and only was Alastor. He couldn’t remember ever doing anything else. He wondered if he’d ever met that Lilith after he went into the coma and why. But such questions would wait.

Alastor finally separated, planting his wet lips on Lucifer’s neck. Those kisses sent the blond’s eyes rolling back. Alastor’s hand traveled again to Lucifer’s chest, this time fully clothed instead of just swimwear.

He stroked where Lucifer’s nipple would be—knowing it would please him. The sensation overwhelmed Lucifer, and he couldn’t suppress the new sounds he hadn’t known he could make.

“Ahh… Mhh…! A‑Al…”

“I’m here, love.” He whispered.

That nickname he had used was destabilizing, to say the least, bringing Lucifer's attention to the stars for just a moment. He had called him "love." A term people used to call those they loved. A term he never thought he would hear in his life, referring to him.

"Is it too much?"

"No... I don't- I don't think so... It's awesome."

Alastor nodded, resuming kissing Lucifer all along his neck and moving the blond's collar to reach all the way down to his collarbone.

His hand pinched the nipple that had hardened in the meantime, listening to the melody Lucifer sang for him. He had waited practically his whole life for that moment, to be able to receive the blond's love, give him his own, and finally exchange gestures.

"Lucifer... I love you more than anything or anyone." He said softly, moving up to his ear, then kissing its edge.

"Al... I... I love you..." He replied awkwardly, feeling the therapist open his mouth, this time to let his tongue out and feebly lick the inside.

It was definitely a lot. Lucifer's legs gave out, but before he could rest his hands on Alastor's large shoulders, the redhead had already grasped his beloved by the hips, lifting him and holding him pinned against the trunk, using his own body. By pure instinct, Lucifer wrapped his legs around his beloved's waist, also embracing him around the neck.

Alastor moved his face towards the other, looking him in the eyes. The two panted slightly and the redhead's hips moved imperceptibly against the blond's intimacy. It was clear he was trying to hold back, while his body commanded him to proceed in a decidedly more active way than what he was doing.

"Can I... be your first?" He asked, hypothesizing that Lucifer never had time to be with anyone after they had said goodbye.

Lucifer's eyes widened, surprised and extremely embarrassed by such a gallant request. He was undoubtedly afraid, but he trusted Alastor. Moreover, he terribly desired him too. He had masturbated multiple times thinking of him, when Keekee was not nearby. For a single time, in a moment of pure ecstasy, he had even put his fingers inside himself, imagining it was the other man.

His eyes shone with expectation, curiosity, desire. He nodded uncertainly, but with a snap of his fingers, the two were stripped of their clothes, which disappeared in a burst of light. For just one second, Alastor was surprised, but the next instant, he resumed kissing the other, this time with more fervor and with a different kind of feeling than before. Now there were spices in that kiss that the blond had never felt in all previous exchanges. Feeling the muscular body, the sweaty skin, and the thick fur-like hair of a wolf against himself, was already enough to make him lose all composure. Their erections caressed each other, already hard, hot, and terribly straight.

"Al... Alastor!" He practically had to shout.

"You're wonderful, Lucifer... You're everything I desire." He growled, moving his hips so that his member was positioned between the blond's buttocks.

He feebly moved his beloved's light body, then began to push lightly with the sole objective of only inserting the tip. In that dream world, he was practically certain that preparation wasn't necessary, as their bodies weren't real.

Feeling the intrusion, Lucifer dug his nails into his therapist's muscular back.

"Mhhnn...!"

He knew that most likely in real life he would have felt pain, especially the first time. But in that imaginary and perfect world, he felt only pure pleasure.

He threw his head back, absently gazing at the pink cherry blossoms above them. They were... making love against a tree. Their first time was in such a beautiful place. The same place where instead of getting together, they had dramatically separated in the past.

"Lu... Lucifer..." Alastor sang, inserting more inches.

He had had sex with others, but nothing could come close to making love with the person he was bound to by destiny. The blond had his hair scattered everywhere, even on his face. Mouth agape and confused eyes staring at the sky. His small hands gripped him, trembling. His legs held him tightly. He was adorable.

Alastor rhythmically thrusted his hips, going deeper and deeper, eliciting adorable and increasingly desperate sounds from the other man. While one hand held a buttock, he brought his free hand to the other's face, as he often did, demanding his attention.

Lucifer seemed to somehow emerge from the vortex of pleasure, lowering his face to look at Alastor with eyes veiled with lust. He was so breathtakingly handsome.

"Stay with me, Lu," he whispered, smiling at him, moved.

Lucifer nodded, understanding that he had begun to ignore him, overwhelmed by uncontrollable pleasure. Only then did he feel his body was completely connected with the other's. His buttocks now rested on Alastor's hips. His therapist... was completely inside him. He was big, hard, hot. But he wasn't afraid; quite the opposite.

"Can I go deeper?"

"Y-yes... yes." He nodded several times.

He tried to touch his own member, but with the hand that had previously rested on the blond's face, Alastor moved Lucifer's hand away to wrap his own around the shaft. That touch alone made the patient see stars, and he let out a new, decidedly loud groan.

"Al...!"

"May I?"

"Yes! Yes...!"

He was delirious... He had Alastor's member inside him. The redhead had started thrusting rhythmically, first slowly and then faster and faster, beginning to pant and groan himself, while his large, masculine hand masturbated him in rhythm with his hips.

"Damn...!"

"Do you like it?"

His eyes were so deep, his pupils so dilated they made his eyes seem completely black. Despite his concentrated and slightly furrowed expression, Alastor continued to be himself, thinking of the other's well-being and pleasure rather than his own.

"Yes... I like it..."

"How much?"

"A lot!"

Alastor licked his neck, forcing the other to arch his back and throw his head back. He closed his eyes, enjoying that moment he had awaited for so long, even when he had completely forgotten who he was and what his life was like in reality. He heard small fracturing noises above them, resembling those he had heard when the sky had fractured. But at that moment, the ground could even open beneath them. He didn't care in the slightest.

"Can you tell me? Tell me how much you like it," he asked in a pleading voice, giving light bites to the blond's neck and ear, sending him into pure ecstasy.

"I like it... so so much!!" He groaned, feeling his toes curl comically.

A small part of his mind wondered why, but even then, he didn't care at all. His moans became more and more lewd, devoid of shame, his expression increasingly lustful, forgetting the shy and sensitive, sometimes naive person he usually was. His tone of voice grew louder and louder, as if something was about to arrive. As if he were riding the wave. Alastor's thrusts had also reached a decidedly fast speed, and the redhead groaned, growled, as he forcefully and with animal desperation plunged his cock in and out. A speed that had gradually increased, from the minimal and imperceptible movement to an incessant and uncontrollable rhythm.

"ALASTOR!! ALASTOR... I...!!"

"Are you going to come...?" He asked breathlessly, pushing the slender body against the trunk.

"I LOVE YOU...AAHNNN... I-I LOVE YOU!!" He screamed with all his lungs, eyes tightly closed and nails piercing the mulatto skin of the man giving him so much pleasure.

Alastor stared at him, thrusting his member into the body of the only man he desired and masturbating his cock in rhythm.

"I love you, Lu..." he whispered, his voice now slightly broken, as well as breathless.

He had probably never made love so desperately, so frantically, to the point of seeming almost forlorn. It seemed as if he had never done it before. A bit like the first time with Anthony, when his most primordial instincts had awakened, taking possession of him. But that session with Lucifer didn't even come close to that. Alastor felt practically like another person. He felt practically like an animal in full heat, uncontrollable, unrestrainable, passionate. Only if Lucifer had asked him to stop would he have done so.

He felt the other's member vibrate in his hands. As sorry as he was, he was partly grateful that he was about to come, finding himself exhausted. He didn't even know how many minutes they had been making love. Lucifer continued to scream and moan his name, a complete victim of irrationality.

"Lu... shall we come together?"

"Yes!! Yes, AL!!"

"Can I come inside you?"

"FUCK, YES!"

Even the sight of such an out-of-control Lucifer served to further shorten that encounter. Alastor pushed even deeper, two, three, four times, until both came, practically shouting meaningless sounds. The redhead trapped the other's lips with his own, thrusting his tongue into his mouth and kissing him in full climax. They continued to shout muffled sounds, while Lucifer spilled onto his own body and Alastor's hand, while the redhead sprayed all his seed inside his patient.

Their kiss was broken to allow them both to breathe, finding themselves completely oxygen-deprived. Alastor felt Lucifer's body grow more feeble, weaker. He wrapped the blond's body in his arms and held him tight, as he sat up with his back against the trunk and his beloved curled up in his arms.

Lucifer breathed raggedly. He seemed destroyed, curled up and made so small in that position. Alastor, still with his mouth slightly open, stared at his beloved, incredulous of what had just happened. He looked up at the sky, which had filled with cracks. He still didn't see any light passing through them, but the fact that they were there was a good sign and, above all, it confirmed that his patient could return to the real world.

He hugged Lucifer, holding him even closer, as if he wanted him to enter his body. He didn't even know how long he had been there, but he didn't care at all. He wanted to be with him, to take him out of that place, especially now that he had begun to be certain that his suicide was linked to their separation.

"I truly mean it. I didn't just say it because of the situation we were in. I love you infinitely, Lu," he whispered, embracing the small body he adored so much.

"Me too... I was—I was definitely caught up, but... I said it because I truly feel it."

Lucifer finally sat on Alastor's lap, lifting his torso, breaking the embrace, and looking at the other with a moved expression.

"I should have told you that time, when we were under this tree, but better late than never," he laughed, touched.

Alastor felt tiny tears escape with an impossible speed to stop. He wiped away the small, fugitive drops, continuing to look at the blond, while the sky rippled more and more, seasoning that world with sounds of breaking glass.

"I love you, Alastor."

Chapter 34

Alastor slowly reopened his eyes. He had dozed off under the cherry tree, with Lucifer in his arms. The blond had his cheek resting against his lover’s chest, gazing at him with emotion and overwhelming joy.

“I fell asleep.”

“I noticed,” he whispered, lifting his arm to gently stroke his cheek.

The therapist looked up at the sky, full of black cracks. Still no light breaking through. It was so strange…

“Do you think I’ll be able to wake up, now that we’ve confessed our love and… well, done it?”

“If that was the reason you refused to wake from the coma… then you should.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

Only then did Alastor notice that they were both perfectly clean, fragrant, and dressed. The master of that world—Lucifer—must have decided to snap his magical fingers again while the redhead slept.

“Usually they’re supposed to be glowing. But not everyone’s the same, that’s also true.”

Lucifer looked at the black cracks now spreading everywhere, swallowing louder than usual.

“Have you… ever seen them like this?”

“I have to admit, no.”

Lucifer gave his lover a brief kiss before standing up and gently pulling away. Alastor followed, getting to his feet as well.

“You have to go back, Al. It’s definitely been more than thirty minutes.”

“Yeah… yeah, you’re right.”

He hadn’t set an alarm, since he had snuck into Lucifer’s room in the middle of the night, taking advantage of the fact that they were hospitalized in the same facility, same floor. The next day he was sure to get a major scolding from his ex.

“If I wake up, we’ll definitely know.” He took Alastor’s hand, guiding him toward the door.

Alastor nodded, only able to hope that this path might lead Lucifer back to the real world. Yet something still felt off. It was as if what had happened between them was only part of the problem—but the main reason was something else.

What else could it be?

They reached the door, which opened in front of Alastor. It was clear that Lucifer still couldn’t pass through, since it hadn’t opened for him when he walked by earlier.

Suddenly, Lucifer noticed Alastor’s face was covered in tiny cracks, with pieces of it crumbling away. He gasped sharply.

“Shit, Al!”

“W-what?”

The redhead followed his gaze, placing a hand on his face. In some spots, it felt like he wasn’t touching anything at all. He was… falling apart.

“Love… love, listen to me.”

Lucifer took both of Alastor’s hands and held them tightly in his own. He looked at him, worried and pleading.

“I know you’re on the other side. I know you’ll be fine, and that… we’re together. Because… we are, right?”

“Of course…! Of course, Lu.” Alastor leaned down so their faces were terribly close.

“Love… if you want it, you’ll be my boyfriend forever, my partner,” he continued.

“Obviously I want that, Alastor. After everything we’ve been through… it’d be strange to say otherwise.”

“Yeah…”

Lucifer smiled, his eyes growing teary once more.

“I want my boyfriend to be okay. If I don’t come back, then you go. But only when you’re ready. Don’t push yourself.”

“If… if I don’t come back often, you’ll slowly forget the therapy,” Alastor explained.

Lucifer thought about his words. He looked around quickly and, suddenly, tore off a small vine hanging nearby. He handed it to Alastor, then offered him his wrist.

“Tie it on me, while asking me if I want to be your boyfriend,” he explained, resolute.

Alastor was suddenly overwhelmed and moved by the gesture. It was probably something like a proposal—or waiting for your partner at the altar. He wrapped the vine delicately around Lucifer’s wrist. A single tear rolled down a cheek that was barely there anymore. He was disintegrating like sand in the wind. He looked into Lucifer’s eyes with a deep, loving gaze.

“Do you want to be my boyfriend, Lucifer?”

“Yes, Al,” he replied, his voice shaky but with a smile he had likely never worn in his entire life.

Alastor tied a knot that wouldn’t come undone easily—and surely wouldn’t rot in that place. Then he leaned forward, giving his lover a long kiss. Lucifer placed his hands on Alastor’s face, just as the redhead usually did with him. This time, he had to be the one helping the other.

“Go back to the real world and don’t worry about me. As long as I have this, I’ll always remember you and everything we had. But don’t come back before you’re ready, okay?”

Alastor nodded, feeling like he might burst into tears at any moment. He felt a childish need to stay with him. He didn’t want to let go, but he sensed that his body—his mind—could no longer handle the connection. If before it was their social roles and personalities that kept them apart, now it was literally the worlds they lived in.

“Please come back soon,” he begged, hoping the therapy had been enough.

Lucifer began to cry silently, never ceasing to smile at him.

“And you come back, if I don’t.”

“Always, until my last breath.”

The two kissed again and again, continuing to tell themselves this was their last, until they kissed once more and again. A soft, emotional laugh escaped them, before they finally pulled away. Alastor stepped toward the door, letting the light wrap around him. Lucifer stepped back, letting his hands slide from the redhead’s face. Despite the tears falling down both their cheeks, their faces remained joyful.

“See you later, love,” whispered the blond.

“See you… my love.”

 

-

 

A surge of energy, almost too strong to bear—painful, even—woke Alastor, who opened his eyes wide with a near scream. He was lying on the floor in Lucifer’s room. It must’ve been dawn, judging by the light in the room. Over him was Anthony. His face pale, expression terrified. In his hand: an empty syringe.

The redhead’s breathing was rapid, as if he’d been running for hours. He was terribly agitated, afraid. He could feel his blood pressure rising and falling like a rollercoaster. His eyes moved to Lucifer’s bed—he could just barely see his beloved sleeping from where he lay on the floor.

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!” shouted the white-haired man.

“I—I…”

“Christ…” Anthony stood up, having been kneeling beside his ex, tossing the syringe into the bin and helping Alastor sit up.

“L-Lucifer…” Alastor reached toward the blond, who lay there—pale, thin, nearly cadaverous.

“This obsession with Lucifer is going to kill you,” muttered the other, clearly furious.

Slowly, he helped Alastor walk out of the room. When they found a wheelchair, he made the redhead sit—more unconscious than alert.

“What… happened?”

“You’re a damn idiot, Alastor. You were still hospitalized. You weren’t supposed to do your fucking dream-magic.” Anthony scolded him, standing behind the wheelchair and pushing it toward the patient ward.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Fuck you,” he muttered, then sighed.

“You weren’t in your room, and thank God I knew where to look. You had severe bradycardia. I had to inject you with atropine.”

“Not very clear, but I’ll take it,” Alastor mumbled, feeling terribly weak.

His eyes were practically closing on their own—he was exhausted.

“It means your heart was practically stopped, that’s what. Next time you jump into therapy before you’re ready, you’ll be heading straight to the Lord.”

“Mhh…”

“I’m serious.”

“I know… I know, Ant.”

Silence fell between them, and in the hospital corridor, where only a few nurses passed by handing out medications to patients, the only sound was the metallic squeak of the wheelchair wheels.

“Progress?”

“We… got together.”

“You and a coma patient?”

“Me and Lucifer. We’re together now,” he replied, somewhat offended.

Anthony stopped the wheelchair, circling around to kneel in front of him, placing a hand on Alastor’s.

His expression was emotional, but also firm.

“I told you, Al. You two were the only ones who hadn’t figured it out yet. And believe me when I say I’m genuinely happy for you.”

“But?”

“But… now that you’ve made peace and apparently—”

“Yes, we did it.”

Anthony briefly wondered how one has sex during coma therapy, but decided he didn’t want to know. At least not now, when his role as a nurse came before his curiosity.

“But you can’t go back. Not yet, Al. You were practically dead, okay?”

Strangely, all those words felt like empty air. Maybe because he’d heard these warnings—or threats—far too often. Or maybe because when it came to Lucifer, nothing else mattered.

But he remembered his boyfriend’s request. That promise, sealed by tying a vine around the other’s wrist.

He nodded several times, accepting the treatment Anthony was prescribing—not for himself, but for what Lucifer had asked.

Anthony smiled at him, finally relieved. For the first time, he saw real willingness in Alastor’s eyes. He stood again, walked around, and resumed pushing the wheelchair.

“Once you rest, we’ll run a series of tests, alright? I’ll talk to the doctors and then we’ll decide how long your recovery will be.”

“Alright, Ant.”

Chapter 35

“Good heavens, Alastor…”

Charlie entered the hospital room where the therapist was being treated. She had received the call from Anthony, despite Alastor’s repeated requests to keep her out of it. The blonde had no idea he had been hospitalized for days, but since the nurse had found him just hours earlier nearly on the verge of a heart attack, he had decided to seek allies.

“Char, sweetheart.” He turned, slightly groggy.

He was exhausted but content. He had made peace with Lucifer—they were even together now, against all initial expectations. The downside of it all was that their argument and falling out had played a major part in his trauma, but he tried to focus on the positives. He hoped Lucifer would wake up any moment, though he sensed a crucial piece was still missing.

The blonde sat on the chair next to the bed, unsure whether she could touch him or not. Alastor moved his eyes toward her and smiled.

“I have to tell you something, Char.”

“W-what…?”

“It’s important, okay? Are you feeling calm enough?” He wanted to make sure she was in the right mental state to talk about their past and everything he had never been able to say.

“Of course… of course, Alastor. Did something happen to Lucifer?”

“Nothing bad, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Lucifer's sister went quiet, waiting for him to continue. She nodded with her sweet little head, still waiting.

“I didn’t lie to you, Charlie… I want you to know that first.”

“Lie… about what?”

“I never hated your brother. Or at least, not in the way you thought.”

Charlie widened her eyes slightly. She seemed surprised, but also somewhat reassured and happy to hear it. Both men had known how much it hurt her to see them at odds, and maybe they should’ve considered her more.

“Char, it was the opposite. For… both of us.”

“What do you mean, Al?”

Alastor sighed lightly, wondering if Lucifer would be okay with it. But after all, the whole point of his therapy had been his desire to live more authentically, without masks and lies. Besides, Charlie was the person he loved most in his family, and surely he would’ve wanted her to know, if only there hadn’t been their parents’ expectations and that stupid arranged marriage.

“I’ve always loved your brother, Charlie.” He said it without overthinking.

The blonde froze with a funny expression that, for a moment, made her look like the sweet girl Alastor had met in high school. It was nice to see that a part of that innocence still lived inside her.

“L-loved…? But you… and Anthony.”

“I know, darling. It was complicated. There’s not much to say about it... Lucifer and I were always arguing, but that was our way of staying close to each other. We loved each other the whole time, without even realizing it.”

Charlie looked shocked, surprised—and there was a clear sense that she wished she’d been in on that secret, especially from a brother with whom she supposedly shared everything.

From the silence that followed, Alastor reached out and gently placed a hand over hers. She lifted her gaze to give him her full attention.

"Believe me when I say I'm sorry I never told you anything. But maybe neither of us really wanted to accept it or put it into words. Each of us... thought there was only hatred on the other side. And your family certainly didn’t make something like that any easier."

“Lucifer… So Lucifer likes men?” she whispered.

“Does that bother you or… upset you?”

“No, no… It’s absolutely not a problem. It’s just that he… I mean, our parents were arranging a marriage with a well-off girl and… he had accepted.”

“He had to, Char.”

Charlie nodded. Her expression showed just how heavy that situation had been for her and how much she had suffered being completely alone in the years that followed. Honestly, the exhaustion on her face made her look far older than she really was.

“Did he ever meet that woman? Ever see her?”

The blonde shook her head.

“Our parents died shortly after in that car crash… Everything was called off. The other family insisted though, seeing an even better opportunity than before. Lucifer and I were barely legal adults and all of our parents’ money would’ve likely ended up controlled by the bride’s patriarch.”

She didn’t know the legalities, but knowing Lucifer, he probably didn’t want to know much about it either.

“I understand. Don’t worry. One way or another, even if tragically, it ended.”

Charlie nodded, still pondering all that information.

“Tell me… You and Lucifer… did you talk about your past? What… what does he remember?”

Alastor raised his eyebrows, not expecting that question, though it was fair.

“He… didn’t remember anything at first when we started the therapy.”

“Not even me?”

It was harsh to say, but the answer was no. Not due to a lack of affection from Lucifer, but as a consequence of all those years in a coma.

“Unfortunately not, but it’s not his fault. He’s been in that state too long, Char. He cares for you more than anything in the world, that’s clear. He wants to come back to you as soon as possible and… we’re trying to find what’s blocking the therapy.”

“You’re… you’re stuck?”

“That’s one way to put it, yes.”

“Can I help somehow?”

Surely, more information would help. But from what he understood, Lucifer hadn’t confided much in his sister about his fears. It seemed like the two of them consoled one another and stayed close. But he had a strong sense of protection over Charlie, like she was a little sister. From what she said, she knew nothing—other than the arranged marriage. For a moment, the redhead wondered if she even knew he used to sneak out at dawn to the beach to collect materials for his hobby. His one apparent source of happiness.

“If you have more information, especially about the days leading up to his attempted suicide, it would really help.”

The woman lowered her face toward her handbag, as if she had something inside. Alastor removed his hand from hers and tried sitting up, feeling an overwhelming wave of nausea from even that small movement.

“Actually… I brought you something, hoping to get my brother back as soon as possible. The doctors keep insisting. Obviously, I haven’t said you’re here to give him that kind of therapy.”

Of course. Onirotherapy wasn’t accepted by any official medical community. It was somewhere between psychological and spiritual. Any doctor would have thrown him out if they’d known. For that reason, he often visited patients during visiting hours, pretending to be a friend—or sneaking in at night, often with the help of close relatives.

The blonde pulled out a small diary from her bag. It looked pretty beat-up and well-used. It was brown, with a leather cover. The pages had yellowed, and it was secured with a three-letter combination lock. In fact… the dials only showed letters.

“What is it?”

“This… is Lu’s diary. He used to write in it at night. When I’d sneak into his room after our parents went to sleep, he was always writing in it and… would shut it right away when he saw me.”

“You’ve never opened it?”

“I don’t know the code…”

A weak excuse. If she’d really wanted, she could’ve gone to a locksmith to break it open, even though it looked fairly solid. Most likely, Lucifer was afraid their parents would find it. Maybe this was literally the only thing anchoring him to reality, the one thing that kept depression from consuming him.

“But that’s not the reason.”

“It’s true.” She nodded, with the expression of someone who’s been caught.

“You didn’t want to invade his privacy.” He guessed.

She nodded again, smiling through emotion.

“It was… literally the only thing Lucifer had that was his. Everything else was controlled, even if silently, by our butlers. When we were little, they’d often throw away toys we got from friends—especially me, from school.”

The only thing… the only thing he had.

“I wanted to leave him at least this.”

Charlie wiped away a tear. Anyone who saw those two would take back every stupid thing ever said about being born into a rich family without a care in the world. One had tried to kill himself, and the girl sitting beside him… was wrecked by the life they’d had.

“Then why are you giving it to me?”

“You’re— you’re his therapist and now… also his boyfriend, from what you say. I thought maybe you could understand more by reading it professionally.”

Alastor gently took the diary, running his fingers over the surface. This was the object through which Lucifer could be himself, could write who he really was and what he really felt.

“Thank you, Char. This means a lot. I promise I’ll never misuse it, and I’ll return it once I’ve read it.”

The redhead then reached over to his bedside table, grabbing a tissue from the box and offering it to her.

She thanked him with a nod, stood up, and smoothed down her long black skirt.

“I’m truly grateful, Al. I’m sure Lucifer is much happier with you by his side.” She said emotionally, finally using the tissue to dry her tears.

“I hope so, darling.” He smiled, a bit emotional himself at that last part.

After a few seconds, they said goodbye, and Alastor was left alone. Alone… with the diary. Three letters to choose. What could it be? Knowing Lucifer, nothing came to mind right away.

This was something personal, right? That he used when he could finally be himself. His rawest, most private version, like in the dream world. What could be on that little island in the sea with three letters?

Shells? No.

Sea?

Driven by sudden determination, he selected S E A. Of course, nothing. Too simple.

Even Alastor’s name wouldn’t help—assuming he had confessed his love for the redhead here. He thought in silence, until Anthony entered the room with a new IV.

“There’s the bastard.”

“Always a pleasure, Ant.”

“Cut the sarcasm. May I remind you that on day one, I treated you secretly in a back room. Next time, you were so bad we had to admit you, and a few hours ago, you nearly died.” He sighed, grabbing the old IV bag.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to your parents for bringing you into the world.”

A sharp line, but fair. Working in a hospital, especially in his job, he’d seen some dark things—enough to make him judgmental.

“Guess I’ll call my mom to apologize, then.” Alastor joked.

“Call your dad, too.” He sighed again, swapping the IV and checking the flow.

Placing a hand on his hip, his black eyes landed on the diary Alastor had on his lap.

“What’s that?”

“Lucifer’s diary. Charlie gave it to me, hoping I’d find a way to help him through his block.”

“Is that… legal?”

“Everything in here falls under professional confidentiality. He can’t talk to me about it, since he doesn’t remember. This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve read messages or written confessions.”

“Mmm… Well, open it.”

“As you can see, there’s a lock.”

“Char doesn’t know the code?”

“She never tried that hard to find out, nor did she try to break it.”

Anthony scanned the room for something to pick the lock with, but all he saw were fragile items like syringes or thermometers.

“I don’t want to break it. I’ll only do that if absolutely necessary.”

“You people and your morals. I wonder how the world will ever progress with folks like you.” He gave up, heading back toward the door.

“You’re leaving already?”

The white-haired man turned toward Alastor with just his upper body. He looked bored, but clearly exhausted.

“Thanks to someone, I’m working extra shifts. Plus, I need to get home early. I found a stray cat and haven’t even had time to feed it.”

“A… stray cat?”

“Yeah, it was in a box outside my building. Considering the assholes who live there, if I didn’t take it in, no one would have. Luckily they eat and that’s about it.”

“I-I see… then go to him. Remember to take him to the vet.”

“Says the man dancing with death day after day.” He muttered irritably, exiting and closing the door.

Alastor chuckled slightly, then looked back at the diary. Three letters…

Three letters…

The stray cat. Why was he thinking about the cat?

 

“I… made it using seashells,”

"Like you said, this is Keekee. My cat."

"I don’t give a fuck. You’re not touching my cat."

 

The therapist froze. It would make perfect sense. With trembling hands, he turned the dials to spell: K E E.

 

CLACK.

Chapter 36

Lucifer sat on the beach, well‑dressed as if he were about to go on a date. His back leaning against the trunk of the palm tree, he gazed with nostalgia at the vine around his arm.

He had his sleeves slightly rolled up so he could always see his treasure. Only a few hours had passed—less than a day—since Alastor had left. Needless to say, he missed him like air, but knowing that he was in the real world, recovering and growing stronger, made him glad.

He hadn’t seen Keekee for some time; it was as if the cat had vanished. The sky above was covered in black cracks, yet strangely it didn’t frighten him. It felt a bit like the end of the world, where the only sound was the waves. He was fairly certain that even if he tried to find any inhabitants of the island, he wouldn’t find anyone. It was like a broken game in which somehow the player had managed to enter. In that case, Lucifer was a player who could not escape.

When he heard footsteps behind him, he sprang to his feet and turned toward the sound. All his strength drained away when he saw Alastor there again, in front of him. His form was indescribable—a man unrecognizable, full of cracks, just like the sky. His eyes were entirely red, the irises barely visible. Even his hair, ears, and tail had taken on that bright red hue.

“A‑Alastor!!”

He ran toward his beloved, who smiled at him, though in a rather bitter way. The blond grabbed his arms, shaking him gently.

“What the hell are you doing here?! Why did you come back? You must— you must leave immediately!” he shouted.

“Ten minutes won’t hurt me, but… I have the solution,” Alastor said, in a voice almost unrecognizable.

It sounded slightly… like over a walkie‑talkie. And yet Alastor was there, in front of him. Tears began streaming from his eyes, which—whether blood or some unknown substance—they were red.

“Al, love… please. We’ll talk in a few days—”

“You don’t understand, Lucifer. I know why you’re in a coma and… when you find out, you can come back and we’ll be together.” His voice wavered, like a signal cut off.

“O‑okay, Al… okay. Tell me what you have to say and… then go home, I beg you.”

“Home…” Alastor looked down.

The redhead opened his hand and a diary appeared. Lucifer stared at it with confusion. He felt it was his, and sensed that what had brought him there… might be inside. He felt some fear—and probably, if he hadn’t been in such a rush to send Alastor back, he would’ve postponed it. He wasn’t ready, he was scared—but at the same time he wanted to live his real life with Alastor and didn’t want to stay in that world full of cracks, empty and lonely.

“Yes, Al. Home. You and I—we will return home, okay? We’ll— we’ll get a house and live together.” Lucifer showed him the vine around his wrist that the therapist had tied just a few hours earlier.

Alastor smiled—a mix of emotion and sadness, probably tied to the hope of bringing his beloved back and what he had discovered in those pages.

Silently, he flicked through the pages, lifting his face toward Lucifer. The smile he offered was wider than any mortal grin, stretching nearly ear to ear. He was losing everything that made him a person—yet he was there again, knowing he finally held the key for that lock.

“I will tell you… the truth.”

 

—

 

Lucifer was devastated. What Alastor told him was indeed a legitimate reason not to return to the real world—a world in which… he thought he couldn’t stay with his beloved and where the reality he had come to understand hurt him terribly.

He knelt on the ground, his head bowed, staring at the sand in despair. Numerous tears were already falling while his shoulders moved rhythmically with sobs. Alastor watched him, suffering too at his discovery. Yet he had to tell him. He had to reveal what was written in those final pages—pages the blond was sure no one would ever read.

The therapist turned to the cracks in the sky and finally saw light emerging within them. It was a relief he’d never felt in his life.

“You know, Lu… life hurts. And I know I can’t claim to fully understand, because the type of pain that you and your sister endured—thankfully, I’ve never experienced it.”

Lucifer sobbed silently as his tears continued to carve patterns in the sand. Still, he paid attention to those words.

“However… one thing I can say from experience. I visited many patients over these years and witnessed their despair— from the trivial to the profound. In every case, those feelings were valid reasons not to wake.”

Alastor turned to Lucifer. The redhead’s face was now cracked with faint red lights glowing through. He knelt on one knee, extending a hand to his beloved, attempting to smile without frightening him despite how unsettling his appearance had become.

Lucifer raised his gaze, his face wet with tears, his expression unrecognizable. He suffered for what he had learned. He suffered for the time he lost before confessing his love to the other, and for the harm he had caused. He suffered because he saw his beloved sacrificing his health for him. He took his boyfriend’s hand, and Alastor helped him to his feet, wiping away his tears.

“It’s not just a phrase from a fortune cookie. I assure you—and I promise—that life can be beautiful too. Though until now you have only seen suffering and probably the worst it can offer, if you continue living, you’ll also discover what is good. You have your whole life ahead of you, Lu.”

Lucifer furrowed his brow. He didn’t know why, but there was something in that explanation he didn’t like. Alastor held his hand and started walking toward the door. His steps were unsteady, sometimes losing their rhythm.

“Al…?”

The redhead said nothing more until they reached the door, which opened at their approach. The therapist looked at the light shining through it, then turned to Lucifer. His eyes were veiled with tears. Was it emotion?

He stroked Lucifer’s knuckles, drawing him closer to the threshold. The blond had to admit he was afraid of crossing it. This time he felt somehow drawn to it, certain he could pass through. He could… return home!

Alastor positioned himself beside him, giving him priority and letting him go through first. Lucifer turned toward his beloved.

“We must go, Al. You’re literally falling to pieces.”

The therapist offered a slight smile, turning toward Lucifer’s collapsing world. It was like rain, but instead of raindrops, shards of sky and grains of other elements from that world—at least what remained of it—drifted downward.

“I couldn’t wait. I know how my actions might have looked from the outside. But aside from my inability to stay away from you… I didn’t want even the smallest fragment of the therapy’s results to vanish.”

Lucifer didn’t understand why he was offering those explanations at that moment. For a single second he pulled Alastor toward the light, silently asking to postpone that speech until later—but the redhead held his beloved in place, making it clear that he wanted him to finish the explanation before stepping through the door.

“You’ve suffered so much to get here, and I couldn’t put my health first. If I had waited as instructed, you would have had to repeat discovery after discovery multiple times because this world would’ve tried to erase traces of reality from your memory.”

“Alastor, we’ll talk afterward. Let’s go…” Lucifer tried to pull him again, but the other removed his hand.

The patient widened his eyes in alarm, staring at the other.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I couldn’t let you remain in a coma any longer—after all those years you spent in that bed, not living.”

“Why—”

“I imagined you happy, with a family… you know?” He laughed, starting to cry, producing a tragicomic sight to anyone watching.

“Al, let’s go!”

“I—I imagined having you with me for so long… I even… used other men, imagining I was making love to you.”

Lucifer was fed up. He didn’t like that conversation or the tone the other was using. He tried to grab Alastor by the arm—his beloved—but was shoved hard across the chest, sending him falling backward… toward the light.

“AL!” Lucifer tried to reach out as he was enveloped by light—surprisingly soothing and warm, giving him a deep sense of drowsiness.

He saw Alastor drifting farther away, continuing to smile at him emotionally, with a face cracked and stained by red tears.

“I love you, Lucifer… please forgive me and… live.”

“ALASTOR!” Lucifer screamed before everything turned completely black.

 

—

 

Lucifer jolted upright, unleashing a grotesque cry of pure terror. In those moments he felt indescribable fear, loneliness, upheaval. He felt like a newborn in the world—unable to do anything, unable to move or speak.

His body… did not respond. He could only breathe heavily—fast, violent, shallow inhalations. His small hands clutched the blanket beneath him as he turned his eyes toward muffled sounds in the distance. He felt cold, then warm, then cold again. His heart pounded painfully.

“My God… L‑Lucifer?!”

A sweet voice, broken by shock, helped the blond direct his gaze toward the right point. Charlie… his sister. She looked much older. Her face so gaunt, so pale…

The blonde approached him, placing her hands gently on his face. Just as Alastor had.

Alastor…

When he realized what had probably truly happened, Lucifer tried to turn his head, looking past Charlie—who had stepped before him, partly to welcome him but partly to shield him from pain.

“Don’t— don’t look, Lu. It’s okay… I promise it’s okay,” she whispered, resting her forehead against her twin’s.

With a cry almost screamed, Lucifer pushed his sister away, looking beyond her in pure terror. A few feet from his bed lay Alastor on the floor. His body seemed completely limp, empty, lifeless. Above him a white‑haired young man knelt astride, pressing repeatedly on the redhead’s chest.

“Alastor! Fucking hell, stay with me!” he yelled.

Alastor did not respond to the strong, painful compressions. His eyes were half‑closed and unfocused. It was as if he were staring at the ceiling, devoid of light.

Lucifer’s eyes widened—they filled with tears in an instant. In the chaos, came other nurses pushing a stretcher and someone who seemed to be a doctor. They shouted words that Lucifer, in his confusion and panic, could no longer understand. He tried to move, attempting to dash toward his boyfriend, but his body would not obey; he could only scream without articulating a single word. He felt trapped inside a cage.

If this was the world he had returned to… he prayed to go back and stay with Alastor in that place forever.

 

END OF PART 1

Chapter 37: PART 2

Five years later

 

Lucifer emerged from the water, holding a small bag full of seashells. He had to admit, the search wasn’t as simple as it was in his dream world, where practically everything grew automatically before his eyes and could be gathered with a mere wave of the hand.

His blond hair, perfectly cut, shone under the sunlight, falling over his face and dripping heavily as he walked toward the towel he had laid on the sand.

He smiled, watching the people walking along the path beside the beach. This wasn’t the little beach he used to escape to as a kid, but the place where he had found and gifted the shell to Alastor—the one day they went out together. Now he no longer had to go out only at dawn. He was an adult, independent in every possible way, and he went out whenever he wanted.

Usually, he had breakfast at the café he had bought and managed from the outside, then spent the whole morning swimming and searching for materials for his handmade creations, which he typically sold online. On rare occasions, he traveled abroad for a few days to deliver particularly fragile pieces or to attend auctions where he sold items from his previous home, which he kept in a garage. To his great relief, after all those years, only some horrid paintings remained.

He had sold the villa, dismissed the staff, refusing to live in a place like that. He had bought a beautiful, modern, and small seaside house. Stepping out through the little back door, there was direct access to the beach, and practically all the windows and balconies had that stunning view of the blue sea, often lit by the sun year-round. A simple two-room apartment, suitable for two people without issues. Even the area was particularly quiet, with just a few other similar houses along the road.

 

RING RING RING

 

“Hm?”

The ringtone of his phone—rarely heard with the circus-like melody Lucifer had chosen—caught his attention. It was inside his essential fanny pack. The blond knelt on his beach towel, grabbed the phone, and looked at the name on the screen.

VOX, it read.

The blond frowned, not understanding what that man could possibly want from him. But it could be important. He answered the call, sitting down so he could face the sea, sighing.

“What do you want?”

“Good morning to you too.”

“I haven’t checked, but I’m pretty sure it’s nearly one o’clock. For the record, I was just about to have lunch at my café.”

The man, now around sixty, groaned loudly. Lucifer’s personality had always been rather difficult, especially with people he didn’t like. His return to real life had restored all his masks of fake superiority and bitterness, which often spared him from trouble.

“I need to talk to you, Lucifer.”

“About what? You finished your job.”

“Actually… I’m the one who has a job for you.”

Lucifer couldn’t stop his laughter, which was particularly hard to hold back. It was so loud that it caught the attention of a few people nearby, while he practically fell backward, holding his stomach.

That laugh, purely mocking, lasted a good five minutes before he could calm the hilarity he had felt. He was still smiling, albeit bitterly, as he wiped his tears.

“Are you done?”

“I’ll decide when I’m done, Vox. I don’t work for anyone. My income comes from the café and my crafts. I don’t need to remind you of the wealth I have behind me. I should feel offended.”

“Okay, calm down. It’s a favor I’m asking.”

Lucifer stared absentmindedly at the sea, trying to listen to the sound of the waves and what they were telling him. Living practically alone in that town, where the few friends he had never truly saw his real self, the sea and his cat were the only ones he listened to. Ironically, the only ones who didn’t speak his language.

“Don’t tell me it’s some onirotherapist thing, because you already know my answer.”

“Can we—can we at least meet?”

The blond gave a short, dry laugh, turning his gaze—clearly angry—toward the phone.

“Excuse me? Now you want to meet? Should I remind you of all the money I had to give you just to get you here, keep you here, and train me?”

“It’s an important matter—”

“So was mine, and yet you asked for a sum that covered all your upcoming years of living.”

Vox sighed, making it clear how frustrating it was to hit a wall with every sentence he tried to speak. Lucifer remained silent. His eyes dropped to the tattoo on his wrist. It was a vine that wrapped all the way around, in the exact spot where Alastor had held it in his dream, promising eternal love.

“I can’t skip a week, Vox,” he whispered.

“You already know what I think of all this madness,” he said softly, surprisingly gentle, almost hushed.

“It’s not madness.”

“Can you at least hear what I have to say?”

“How many hours of flight do you need?”

The sound Lucifer heard from the other side of the line told him how relieved the brunet felt at that question.

“If I leave now… about six.”

“I’ll see you tonight at the café. I’ll buy you dinner, and then you’ll disappear from my sight,” he said, standing up and absentmindedly looking for his clothes.

“It’s always a pleasure talking to you.”

 

-

 

“Susie?”

Lucifer walked into his café. The place he had purchased, which was practically falling apart before. No surprise there, considering the owner kept it going solely by making pancakes or crêpes.

Even though the woman had already been quite old when he first met her, around twenty years earlier, now she could only be described as decrepit. Yet, at times, she seemed more energetic and strong than Lucifer himself, who had become the owner, renovating everything and explicitly asking her to stay and keep cooking—with a few assistants.

“For what good reason, other than freeloading, are you here?”

The woman came out of the kitchen of the small café, made entirely of wood, with just a few tables and decorated with little shell frames that Lucifer himself had made. Over time, the old woman had definitely grown more sour, but that was a direct consequence of her new boss’s behavior.

The blond, his hair slightly wavy from the seawater but dressed neatly in a white shirt and light blue pants that matched his eyes, chuckled and sat at the counter.

“I have a guest tonight. Could you make him that broccoli mush you tried to give me a few months ago? Oh, and for me, a steak.”

“This is a damn café, not a restaurant. And you could use some vegetables—you're pale even with a tan.”

The elderly woman slowly walked around to the other side of the counter, sitting on the chair Lucifer had gotten specifically for her—not too low and with a simpler seat than the others. Once, out of curiosity, he had looked at Susan’s documents, stored alongside her employment contract, confirming she was close to a hundred years old.

“It’s a café… that serves food at lunch and dinner for those on work breaks or finishing their shifts. We’ve already had this discussion. You can’t just sell pancakes—and by the way, I’m the boss now.”

“What a piece of crap. If I had known back then that Heaven had this punishment planned for me, I’d have poisoned your pancake that day.”

Lucifer chuckled. He was always quietly moved to know that she still remembered him and his outing with Alastor. She really did seem like the kind of person who observed everyone and everything, but kept it to herself, using the information only when it was most useful.

Susan picked up a bowl resting on the shelf in front of her, hidden by the counter, and handed it to Lucifer. It was a simple pasta dish but prepared with care and real skill. Even a basic dish like pasta could be tragically ruined, as Alastor had confirmed by once putting some kind of fruit smoothie on top.

“You didn’t blend vegetables into the sauce, did you?”

“It’s your usual pasta with sauce. If you eat it, you’ll know.”

Lucifer nodded, grabbing a fork from the large containers where they kept cutlery and chopsticks for customers, and started eating. Although the two didn’t talk all that much—apart from Lucifer flaunting his authority over the place and Susan complaining about her very well-paid servitude—the woman realized that this time, her boss’s silence came from something deeper.

“Who’s this friend of yours that’s coming?”

“He’s not a friend. That’s why I asked you for the broccoli mush. For the record, I was serious,” he said jokingly, chewing and staring absentmindedly at the plate.

“So who’s this not-friend of yours, then?”

Lucifer ran his tongue along his teeth, thinking about how to word it.

“He’s… the doctor who treated Alastor when he was a kid.”

“You mean when he was in a coma?”

The blond nodded without looking up. Through several investigations and information from Anthony and Charlie as well, he had finally tracked down Vox—an expert onirotherapist who had managed to awaken his boyfriend when Alastor was barely five years old. A bad fall from a tree, a hit on the head, and a deep reason not to wake up.

Not only did he save him, but he gave him a reason to live. He inspired him to become an onirotherapist. Lucifer didn’t want him because he had once treated Alastor—he wanted him because he was literally the best.

He had himself trained by him, becoming a sort of freelance professional, never following the expected academic path of a therapist. In any case, he didn’t intend to save anyone—except Alastor.

He decided to become an onirotherapist when everyone who tried to reach the redhead’s dream world—including Vox—was forcefully rejected. That confirmed to Lucifer that there was no hope for a case like his, with a soul shattered into dozens, if not hundreds, of fragments, turning him into someone… something… else.

“He’s also the man who trained me to… well, visit him.”

Susan absorbed all this in appropriate silence. It was rare for Lucifer to open up to her—or anyone, really. But when he felt the need, he often told her something, never truly revealing his real feelings or emotions.

Lucifer finished his pasta, reflecting on what to do. Vox certainly wanted to offer him a job, but unlike his boyfriend, he wanted to follow the rules of the profession. If he started visiting other people’s dreams at the same pace, he’d end up saving Alastor by sacrificing himself, solving nothing, because then the redhead would do the same, and so on, until they both grew old.

They were two mad lovers, willing to sacrifice their lives for one another. Willing to wait all those years… for each other. However, knowing that Alastor didn’t have the patience or discipline to do the work properly, at least Lucifer had to be the more rational of the two and visit him once a week.

He hadn’t become an (unlicensed) onirotherapist to take care of others. He only cared about Alastor, even if it hurt to see others suffer.

“Why is he coming?”

“He wants… I think he wants to offer me a job.”

Susan let out a short laugh at the absurdity of the sentence.

“You’ve got enough money to support your children and grandchildren without lifting a finger.”

“That’s what I told him, but apparently he’s interested in my skills. I’m rich, but also talented,” he sighed, pushing the plate aside and slumping over the counter, feeling particularly exhausted.

“I think you dropped the word modest somewhere.”

“That was implied,” he muttered, closing his eyes.

Susan noticed Lucifer looked tired—and clearly needed sleep. Lately, he had seemed pale, but never like the first time she met him. He had been frail, gray, sitting in a wheelchair, offering to buy the café she had finally decided to let go. Nothing like the slightly muscular, athletic man with a full and healthy face and a clearly arrogant demeanor he was now.

Back then, he was so worn out and weak that she pitied him. She remembered how, at first, she had offered to cook him his initial meals, which then became a habit for Lucifer. He almost felt like a grandson she had to take care of.

“When is this guy coming?” she asked, slowly standing with the intent of grabbing a blanket for the blond.

“Tonight… keep a table reserved and prep that… spinach stuff,” he said sleepily.

Even though customers could walk in at any moment, the woman knew Lucifer didn’t care at all. He saw the place as a den, a refuge, a second home. He had no problem sleeping there as if it were nothing.

She took the blanket from a little couch and opened it, gently draping it over the blond’s small but muscular back, who had already begun breathing more slowly. It always happened like this when he visited his boyfriend—he ended up utterly tired and drained the next day. Still, Susan continued to think it was absurd that he could see another’s dreams or thoughts, especially considering Alastor was in a coma. But in the end… who was she to doubt it?

“It’ll be done. You just focus on resting until then.”

Chapter 38

Vox stared at his plate with such disgust that it nearly made the white ceramic container—purchased by Lucifer from a Japanese artisan, like many of the other dishes in that place—burst into tears. Its contents were literally a mush, a greasy green mound that not even the hungriest of men would probably consider food.

“Bon appétit,” said Lucifer calmly as he cut into his steak.

The brunet with dark blue eyes and a scar over one eye raised his face, already furious with the blond who, once again, was acting like a jerk to anyone he didn’t deem worthy of his friendly side.

“Are you kidding me? I flew for six hours, took a taxi here because you didn’t even bother picking me up at the airport, and you don’t even give me a fucking menu?”

Lucifer chewed slowly, staring at the piece of meat with disinterest. In his silence—drawn out deliberately to further enrage the man across from him—he was confirming Susan’s skills in the kitchen. She was talented, but a bitch. The bar owner had figured out that hidden among the mashed potatoes were cauliflower florets. Probably the only seasonal vegetable she could conceal without him noticing the color.

“Maybe I wasn’t clear.” Lucifer set his cutlery down beside his plate for a moment, finally granting his guest a look—distinctly unpleasant, serious, and full of pure negative judgment.

“We’re not friends.”

“It’s called manners.”

“You never had any either.”

“You can’t hate me just because I got paid for my work and because I keep telling you there’s nothing to be done inside that guy’s head.”

“Let’s clear up a few more things, then.” He sighed, taking the wine and pouring it only into his own glass, while Vox watched every one of his gestures become an offense.

“You charged an illegal amount. You didn’t charge what you deserved, which, by the way, was practically nothing—”

“I trained you—”

“Also,” he interrupted in a deep voice, taking his glass in both hands,

“Alastor is not a lost cause. I’d appreciate it if you’d stop saying that,” he concluded, sipping his red wine.

“You’ve been a dream therapist for less than four years, while I’ve been doing this job for forty. One of us letting his soul fall apart in someone else’s dream just to be an asshole is beyond recovery.”

Lucifer swallowed all those words he didn’t like, sweetening them with the taste of wine so he wouldn’t have to spit them back out. He was, to say the least, furious. He and Vox had argued multiple times on that topic during his training year, and the blond often couldn’t control himself, punching him pretty hard. He was small, short, but fast and well-trained. After his awakening, it took him a year to walk again and begin training seriously. He had even deepened his martial arts practice, which he had originally started only under his parents’ orders. His temper was definitely difficult, and when rage climbed up to his brain, he really did strike before speaking. Still, he tried to stay calm most of the time. He had sold everything, but he was still a noble—and the only male Morningstar around.

“So I assume you came just to be refused the favor you wanted,” he concluded.

Vox groaned loudly, sounding like a spoiled child denied a toy. He was the best on the continent—and perhaps in the world. Alastor’s parents, when the redhead fell into a coma from a fall out of a tree, had paid every cent they had from every piggy bank and bank account, even taking out a loan just to reach the amount they were asked, just to save their son.

No one, however, knew that...

“You’re the most skilled, Lucifer. More than me and anyone else… even if unexpectedly.”

“It’s a surprise for me too, being good at helping others. It’s less surprising that I excel at anything I lay my hands on.” He set his glass down, resuming his steak with high modesty.

After the first year of his awakening, Lucifer contacted Vox, tracking him down with great difficulty, first forcing him to visit his boyfriend, and once he got his opinion, hired him to make himself capable of entering others' dreams.

It had been a difficult year, during which Lucifer obviously tried entering the minds of many coma patients. Silently, even he found it incredible how easily he could enter—without even trying—as if he held the universal key to every door, and also to solving problems.

“Now that you’ve agreed to see me, can you at least listen to what I have to say?!” he snapped, frustrated by the constant acid battles in which the blond always had the upper hand.

Exhausted, the brunet pushed the plate of broccoli mush away with his forearm, then grabbed the wine and poured an indecently large amount into his glass.

Lucifer chewed slowly, not lifting his gaze from his plate. After his nap in his beloved bar, he had gone home to freshen up and put on one of his most elegant suits. He had to feed his cat, and he didn’t want to be seen in casual wear with his hair crinkled from the seawater. He tended to never show personal things to anyone outside his inner circle—which included very few people, like Susan. However, he opened his heart to almost none of them. Only to Alastor.

“What did you come to tell me?”

“A… client asked me for therapy.”

“So do it, no?”

“Don’t be an ass. He’s a very important client, and I can’t afford to mess this up.”

This was also one of the reasons why Lucifer hated Vox. He didn’t care about people—he almost saw them as walking wallets and hands that wrote good online reviews. Moreover, he tended to make distinctions between people who deserved quality work and those who deserved less of it.

“You want the best, basically.”

“Exactly.”

Lucifer scoffed, finally setting down his cutlery, having finished his meal. He didn’t care in the slightest that Vox had chosen to go hungry. He signaled to the waitress, who immediately understood and disappeared into the kitchen.

“As I already told you, I only became a therapist to save Alastor. I don’t treat other patients, and I have no certificate to practice this profession.”

“Listen, I’ll try going to him myself, okay? That way… I can search for one or more fragments to rebuild his soul.”

Lucifer looked at him again, raising an eyebrow.

“Now you want to deal with it? After he kicked your ass, threw you out his door, and then told me in that ridiculous and unmanly way that there was nothing to be done?”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were crying. He tore off an arm and a leg before you crawled your way to the exit, if I remember correctly.”

Vox pouted. The memory of the sheer violence of what Alastor had become was indescribable. He had felt pain for days after his soul had been torn apart like that. He couldn’t work for weeks.

“It’s been four years. With all the fragments you’ve collected, that beast must be more docile by now.”

That was true. If Lucifer in his most intimate version was a naïve, sensitive, and kind being, Alastor was a mass of frustration, rage, violence, and regret. That was probably the result of a life lived in pretense, holding back in everything, with little and rare consolation. The early encounters were really tough, and Lucifer had to run like mad to avoid being attacked. Still, Alastor had always been calmer with him compared to the other therapists the blond paid to visit him. Fragment after fragment, he had grown more and more like the original. He had even regained the use of speech, whereas before he would just growl and try to kill.

“Why should I do you this favor?”

“We’ll split the cos—”

“I don’t want money. I already have more than enough, Vox.”

“Then what do you want?”

The waitress arrived with a plate full of steaming pancakes. They were thick, fluffy, and danced with every movement. A cascade of maple syrup made them gleam, and the scent of powdered sugar and vanilla sent Lucifer to heaven. Still, he tried to keep a serious face.

“Thank you, Mem,” he whispered, without taking his eyes off Vox’s.

It was clear he knew every member of the staff at his bar. The slightly short and curvy woman chuckled, barely moving her lips tinted with lipstick. Then she left them alone, knowing Lucifer didn’t want the other man placing any orders. This was his kingdom, after all.

“I have to think about it. After all, having a favor from you tucked in my pocket might come in handy.”

“So, you accept?”

“If you go to Alastor in my place for the next week, fine. But don’t get used to it—my boyfriend is my responsibility.”

“Believe me when I say I’m not happy about going even this one single time.”

Lucifer wasn’t jealous or anything like that. But once he had learned the craft himself, he wanted to handle it on his own. Besides… his meetings with Alastor, ever since the redhead had become a bit more rational, were… special.

“Give me your client’s details.”

Vox let out a sigh of relief and leaned down toward his work bag. He then placed the papers on the table, photo included. There was a man, roughly his own age, around 35 to 40, tall, muscular, with hazel hair and green eyes. In the picture, he was shirtless, clearly showing how much he worked out. The expression he gave the camera made it obvious he thought highly of himself—when in reality, the result was that of a complete idiot.

“Who is this brainless moron?”

“Keep your voice down. That’s Adam Chofardet.”

Lucifer frowned. He had heard that surname before… Probably at one of the countless parties and events he had once been forced to attend. Nowadays, he avoided those gatherings like the plague, even though he was constantly invited. He only went to the New Year’s Eve party—just to confirm he was still alive and to catch up on the various noble families. Nothing more.

“He’s a noble.”

“Exactly. And he married someone even more noble than he is.”

Vox flipped through the pages, showing Lucifer the photo of a stunning woman—curvy, with surgically enhanced lips, breasts, and butt, a blonde with long, shiny hair like starlight. Even there, he had the feeling he’d seen her before.

Suddenly, in those eyes—the only part that couldn’t be so easily redone—he recognized the woman. Lilith Grossberg. That was the woman he had once been promised to marry. She had probably moved after marrying Adam to the place where he owned all his factories—or whatever it was he owned.

“A French noble and a German woman. That’s a first,” he laughed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

“He doesn’t give a damn about nationality. And besides, it’s 2025.”

“No doubt. All they care about is stacking wealth and using their empires to build more.”

“Exactly… Which is why there’s no room for mistakes with them.”

“There’s never room for mistakes, Vox. These are people you treat. Not tier-A humans and tier-B ones.”

“Says the little prince.”

Lucifer sighed, trying to figure out for himself exactly what he was being asked to do.

“The idiot slipped by his pool and never woke up.”

Probably a hit to the head. But if his physical condition allowed for a recovery, it meant there was something unspoken keeping him trapped in his dream world. A reason he didn’t want to come back out.

“Is there any info on him? Private life or anything?”

“Apart from his trophies and medals? Not much…”

Lucifer leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. The pancakes were calling to him with their scent, but at the moment the blond was deep in thought. That Adam seemed like someone with a lower-than-average IQ. His only stroke of luck, after being born an idiot, was finding himself in a wealthy family with a good name.

“Bring me everything you have… and his wife’s contact info. I need to ask some questions around before I go into his world. I want this resolved as quickly as possible.”

“Thanks…” Vox exhaled, relieved to be able to carry out his assignment perfectly.

“You can sleep in the kitchen during the days you’ll be taking care of Alastor. I’ll take the plane tomorrow morning. I’ll be back within a week.”

“I’ll get a room at a hotel. Thanks for the generous offer.”

Chapter 39

Lucifer was running through that dark forest, filled with sounds, whispers, and growls that terrified him on a primal level, beyond all reason. Everything in that place made him feel like death was approaching—his end.

Something similar to the seconds that followed the moment he slit his wrists, for a reason he still couldn’t remember. It only took a few seconds after arriving there to feel that unsettling sensation that forced him to flee from something—or someone—he hadn’t even seen.

He frantically pushed away branches, bushes, thorny stems, until he found himself in front of a wall of rock. Breathing heavily, he stared at the barrier that now forced him to face the danger. He slowly turned around and came face to face with a gigantic creature, with black eyes and strange red pupils—shaped like the knobs on his father’s radio.

It was red in every aspect. It bared sharp teeth and long black horns. But certain details—specifically the reindeer ears and tail—made Lucifer realize who was standing before him.

“A-Alastor…?” he whispered, more shattered than scared.

The blond didn’t remember much about his coma or his therapy. He had been lucky—or maybe determined—enough to recall most of the moments when he had finally deepened his relationship with Alastor, until they got together and made love. He remembered perfectly the exchange of their promises and when the redhead gave him a vine to wear as a bracelet, which sadly Lucifer no longer had when he woke up.

The creature didn’t say a word. It just growled, steadily approaching him. Lucifer backed up, his back hitting the rock wall. He was completely cornered. That... was his boyfriend. He radiated fury and violence, a total lack of reason—and clearly, of feeling.

The blond trembled but didn’t move. He didn’t even want to move, especially now that he had found him. He had hired dozens of dream therapists, literally calling them from all over the world. He spent a fortune, but he didn’t care. They all shook their heads, returning from Alastor’s world distraught and terrified by what they had found—often by the violence they had suffered.

If no one wanted to take the job… then he had no choice but to handle it himself. Giving up was simply not an option.

After even Vox refused the task—waking up in a deplorable state, in tears and trembling, suffering from spiritual pain no doctor could heal or even comprehend—the blond hired him to teach him how to enter the world of comatose patients.

Diving straight into Alastor’s dream would’ve been madness. So, he started visiting other comatose individuals. He didn’t intend to help them, to be honest. But his problem-solving skills were remarkable enough that word spread of a practically infallible dream therapist.

After months and months of training, Lucifer was finally there, inside Alastor’s mind. He expected that even his own soul would probably be torn into little pieces.

“My love…” he sobbed, staring at the terrifying creature with teary eyes.

He couldn’t believe that this was his beloved. A kind, patient man—someone so attentive to others that he hurt himself for their sake. It seemed like he didn’t even recognize him. Large tears rolled down Lucifer’s face as he realized that the being before him could no longer give him the caresses, kisses, or words he once had. Those claws… were the same hands that had once cuddled and supported him.

Slowly, he sank to the ground, falling to his knees, staring at the floor and clenching his teeth. It couldn’t be impossible. There had to be a way.

“I beg you, there has to be a way. I know… I know my boyfriend is still inside you,” he muttered, placing a hand over his vine-shaped tattoo around his wrist.

He lifted his head again, locking his despair-twisted eyes with those of the creature, now just inches away. Lucifer’s form in the dreamworld, like every dream therapist, had changed.

He looked strange, with white skin and flushed cheeks shaped like circles. His eyes were no longer blue; the sclera had turned yellow and the irises red. When he got angry—a frequent occurrence during his therapy sessions—long flaming horns emerged from his head, along with a long black tail, while his eyes turned completely red. It had taken him a long time to get used to it.

“Tell me you’re still in there, please,” he pleaded in a high-pitched voice.

At least there, in that private space, he could be himself. He could stop being Lucifer Morningstar—the little prince who excelled at everything, sarcastic, annoyed by others, arrogant and superior. He could show himself to his boyfriend for who he really was beneath the mask he continued to wear, likely out of habit or self-defense, even after waking up.

His heart pounded as the monster came closer. He felt its breath and the growls rumbling deep from its throat directly in his ears, as if speaking to his soul. Resigned to being killed and violently sent back to the real world, the blond slowly closed his eyes, sobbing silently.

Suddenly, he felt the creature’s large face rubbing against his head. The therapist turned toward it, stunned, eyes wide open.

“Al…?”

Alastor started to growl in a different way. It sounded… like purring. Like the purring of his cat Keekee when he brought him his favorite food—specifically, one of the most expensive brands around.

“Oh, heavens… my love,” he whispered, raising his hands to caress the creature’s massive head.

The blond rested his forehead against the creature’s cheek, bursting into tears again—this time, for the opposite reason. Alastor recognized him. He was still there. And Lucifer would do anything to save him.

Lucifer awoke from his usual dream, his face soaked in sweat and tears, gasping so loudly it made his cat leap off him. The poor creature, as always, had been sleeping on his stomach and was frightened nearly every night by the same reaction.

The man stared at the ceiling, defeated and broken. At least within those four walls, just like in Alastor’s world, he could cry. It was deeply cathartic and lifted a lot of the weight he carried on his shoulders. He should have done it more when he was younger—maybe while diving into the sea—since the house was always full of butlers and maids ready to observe and report any strange behavior to his parents. He simply didn’t want to show who he really was—or his vulnerabilities.

He rested a forearm across his forehead, feeling the tears fall on their own, as if they had a life of their own, while his usual sense of sorrow and loneliness practically devoured his soul. He felt undeniably alone and scared. Even though he acted like a creature that hated others of his own kind—and to some extent, he truly did—without his most important person by his side, he felt lost, especially when night fell and he was left with no one (except for the cat), in a house far too big for just one man.

“Al…” he whispered.

He had visited him the day before, which explained his overwhelming exhaustion. But seeing him again, talking to him… and doing more than that… always brought him back to the real world with a knot in his throat and a heavy weight on his chest. The blond knew that making love to such a creature probably wasn’t advisable. But ever since Alastor had started speaking again—addressing him with that same sharpness he had used in those five years—Lucifer couldn’t help himself. Nor could the redhead, who still felt drawn to him, even if he didn’t remember why.

He sat up, at least drying his tears. He breathed slowly, trying to calm himself by listening to the sound of the sea. He sighed in resignation, leaving the bed to get dressed. That night, especially with the awareness that he’d have to stay away from Alastor for a few days, he felt particularly awful.

Lucifer slipped on a simple shirt and a pair of trousers—just enough not to leave the house in his boxers, which he usually wore to sleep—and turned toward his black cat, slightly chubby, probably due to being neutered. The cat stared at him with a mildly sulky expression, curled up on the soft cushion dedicated just for him, near a decidedly modern fireplace that Lucifer used in the winter.

“I’m going to visit your other dad, Kee. I’ll be back tomorrow morning,” he whispered, smiling at him.

The cat, still upset from yet another midnight scare, had grown used to these late-night outings, during the moments when Lucifer couldn’t bear the loneliness.

The blond stepped outside, only needing to walk a few meters before entering the private clinic where he had Alastor transferred. He had to admit—and it probably wasn’t a secret to anyone—that he had bought that house specifically because it was close to the best medical facility in town.

The good thing about that place—and about being wealthy—was being able to visit patients pretty much whenever you wanted. For other visitors, nighttime was probably off-limits, but Lucifer had made a rather generous donation, which opened every door in the facility for him.

When he entered, the receptionist looked up, initially surprised by the hour. Upon realizing it was Lucifer, she stood up instantly, beaming at him.

“Mr. Morningstar… good… good evening.”

Lucifer returned a faint smile, though his appearance made it obvious how tired and down he was.

“Good evening. May I visit Mr. Wiśniewski?” he asked, already knowing there was no need to ask.

“Of course, of course. It’s always the same room,” she said, gesturing politely.

Obviously it was always the same room. Not to brag—especially since he barely talked to anyone about it—but he paid monthly for the best-equipped, largest, and most elegant room in the entire facility. He wanted only the best for him, and that place, which had been built the same year Lucifer woke from his coma, promised excellence. Much like the price they charged.

He walked down the hallway with his hands in his pockets. He had picked up that small habit because Alastor often did it. It was a way to remember him, to feel closer. When he reached the door, he opened it without even knocking, not expecting anyone.

However, the moment he opened it, he regretted not having knocked. That was because a woman was standing beside the bed where Alastor lay asleep. She was holding his lifeless hand, looking at the slightly gaunt, pale face of the man with deep emotion.

“Henrietta…” he whispered.

Henryka Wiśniewska (Henrietta), Alastor’s mother. His parents had, of course, been shocked by the news of their son’s coma. They had been on vacation when it happened and had planned to return early, knowing their son was in town for work.

Although Lucifer was still in a wheelchair and in no condition befitting his status, he had asked for a meeting with the couple, formally offering to take care of all the expenses for Alastor’s treatment. He assured them they could visit whenever they wanted and promised to do everything in his power to wake him.

The couple had no real objections, even though a complete stranger was asking to take over the care and hospitalization of their son. They sensed that his determination and kind gesture stemmed from the fact that Alastor had saved him—risking his life.

He almost never encountered either of Alastor’s parents in his boyfriend’s room at night. The woman turned toward him, her face clearly showing how much she missed her son. That night, Alastor was making too many people feel his absence. That bastard.

“Mr. Morningstar…” she said softly, her voice breaking.

Lucifer smiled awkwardly, closing the door behind him and stepping closer to her. She looked a lot like Alastor. He had inherited his father’s complexion but his mother’s colors, which made him remarkably unique to anyone who saw him.

She was an average-height woman, slightly taller than Lucifer, round-figured with short, curly hair. When he looked into her eyes, he saw Alastor in those chocolate-colored irises, and it made tears well up easily. It had taken him a long time to get used to that.

“We agreed to use first names,” he whispered, standing beside her and gazing at his beloved, who was sleeping deeply.

Henrietta let out a small chuckle, probably out of awkwardness.

“How could I call someone by their first name when they’re doing all this for my son?”

“It’s nothing, Henrietta.”

“Lucifer… I’ve seen the monthly numbers they’re asking from you. My husband and I barely make that in a year.”

He couldn’t deny it—it was expensive. But he didn’t care. Practically no one in that city could afford to be admitted to that place, which was often frequented by celebrities or the nation’s wealthiest, and only employed the best doctors available.

“You know your son saved my life. I can afford it without issue.”

Henrietta sighed, her gaze drifting back to Alastor’s face, just like Lucifer’s.

“Why so late?” the therapist asked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she replied in that joking tone that reminded him of his boyfriend.

Lucifer chuckled quietly, knowing he’d been caught.

“Lucifer… it’s been five years and…” she began, starting a conversation he had known she would eventually bring up.

The man stepped aside to grab two stools. He pulled them from the wall and placed them next to Alastor’s bed, politely gesturing for the woman to sit.

She nodded, gathering the courage to say what she wanted. She sat down. Only after she was seated did he take his seat.

“Go ahead.”

“I… I’ve heard that you’re handling Alastor’s therapy yourself.”

“That’s right.” He had never said it to avoid scaring them—and to keep from revealing how many refusals he had received from other therapists.

Even the woman who had signed off on Alastor, a certain Rosie, had been thrown out by him rather violently. But she was the only one he didn’t attack—along with Lucifer. It became increasingly clear that in his state, Alastor unconsciously recognized the people he cared about.

“You weren’t a therapist like my son before his coma.”

“That’s true too.”

“You… studied to become one, just to save him.”

He nodded, his eyes briefly shifting to Alastor, as if to check that everything was okay.

“You learned Polish to speak his native language while he sleeps.”

The sudden language shift made the blond flinch. He turned toward her, startled. She must have overheard him during one of her visits, during the weeks he had to wait and would come just to be near Alastor—hoping to wake him even from the outside.

He gave in. She was a mother, after all. Probably only his own—along with a few others in the world—had cared so little about their children that they didn’t even know their favorite colors. Nor was she curious to find out.

“Yes.”

“Are you in love with Alastor?”

Lucifer smiled, this time deeply moved, eyes glistening. For a moment, he was scared. He had never shown himself like this to anyone—except Alastor.

“Yes…”

Henrietta leaned forward, gently touching his face and wiping away the rebellious tears that had escaped his eyes. Just like Alastor used to do.

Maybe it was the late hour, the exhaustion, or the sweetness of the moment, but he suddenly felt so bare, so defenseless, as though he didn’t even need to put up walls in front of this woman. A quiet sob broke the silence. Instantly, Lucifer looked down at the floor. He felt so tired and alone… He couldn’t take it anymore, but he kept holding on.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to,” he said simply, wiping his own tears as the woman sat back down on her stool.

She shook her head, rejecting the apology and gazing at him with so much tenderness. She was giving him the same look she gave Alastor during her visits. Was that how a mother looked at her child? Did she see Lucifer as a son?

“Did Alastor know?”

“It’s… complicated.”

It was a rather long story to tell, and he wasn’t even sure how much Alastor wanted his mother to know, even if it was his mother.

“If you’re here… it’s a complication that turned out well. Am I wrong?”

Lucifer let out a soft chuckle. Slowly, his gaze returned to his boyfriend. He was still so damn beautiful. Now there was even a bit of stubble that had grown, despite Lucifer trimming it himself—he didn’t want anyone else getting close to him with a blade.

“It turned out well,” he whispered.

Henrietta stepped closer to Lucifer and bent down to take his hand. The blond turned toward her, meeting her eyes with his own—blue, streaked with pale tones. The two locked eyes in silence, forming a bond that felt different from the formal distance of just an hour before.

“I’m truly happy that Alastor has someone as sweet as you by his side.”

Sweet… Lucifer considered himself anything but that. He just smiled softly, making it clear he would never use such a word to describe himself.

“He’s lucky to have parents like you,” he said simply.

The woman seemed touched for a moment. Maybe it was her age, her feminine intuition, or the eternal sixth sense of a woman who had brought a child into the world. For a moment, the awareness—or at least suspicion—of what Lucifer had gone through flickered across her eyes.

“My husband and I will always be here for you, if you’ll have us.”

Lucifer blinked, puzzled. Always be here… for what? In this whole situation, there wasn’t much they could do other than cry by Alastor’s bedside. His own lack of experience made him ignorant in that regard, but Henrietta was quick to provide an example.

“On Sunday I’m making some of your boyfriend’s favorite dishes for lunch. Would you like to join us?”

Lucifer studied and analyzed that sentence for way too many seconds to look like a normal person who had just been invited somewhere. He began to understand what she meant. It was a kind of example of a normal family. They were including him as part of it. A warmth in his chest, mixed with embarrassment, made him smile.

“As long as you don’t serve me pasta with strawberries, I’m in.”

 

—

 

Once the woman left—after many minutes of simple conversation, as if they weren’t talking about seasonal vegetables and the ones Alastor loved as a child at three in the morning—Lucifer could return to his main mission.

He let out a long sigh, but it was filled with a strange, gentle happiness he couldn’t quite describe. Even with his boyfriend in a coma beside him… he was smiling.

“I think your mom likes me. What do you think?” he joked, approaching the bed again after walking Henrietta to the door.

As he always did when he came at night—on the loneliest ones—he pulled the bed next to Alastor’s closer, nearly pressing them together, being careful not to disturb the machines or wires around. That bed had been placed there for visitors, for those who wanted to stay overnight. He had purchased the entire room to ensure no one else would ever be placed there with him. It was so large—and so expensive—that overcrowding was never an issue. That was certain.

He removed his shoes and lay down on the bed, turning to face Alastor. He took his hand and held it gently. He watched him, recharging his heart with his beloved’s presence and finally feeling sleep take over. He moved the redhead’s hand only to press a kiss to the knuckles before carefully setting it back down—though nothing was connected to that arm.

He saw Alastor as a glass vase, in stark contrast to the strength and resilience he had always shown.

“I love you, Al…” he whispered, as if anyone else could hear.

He just wanted to tell him that, to have him nearby and sleep beside him. He couldn’t enter his world—not yet—even if he was sorely tempted. But he had to be rational and follow procedures if he wanted them both to live together in the real world. He would dedicate his entire life to him, no matter how long it took. Fragment by fragment, he would bring him back.

“Goodnight.”

Chapter 40

Lucifer stepped out of the airport, particularly tired and clearly not pleased to be there. He had slept next to Alastor for only a couple of hours before returning home to pack his bag. The plane took off in the early hours of the morning, and he didn’t want to postpone things by buying another ticket.

He had booked that flight last minute precisely because he wanted to get his therapy done as soon as possible. It was unbelievable how small the world was. The woman he was supposed to marry, of course, ended up putting on another rich man's ring—who would then become Lucifer’s patient, after he had become a therapist for the sake of the person he truly loved.

Life was ironic, no doubt about it.

He looked up, already suffering from the dull grayness of that city—so different from his beloved place of residence. He spotted a woman with short hair, deliberately dyed gray, dressed like a bodyguard, holding a sign in her hands that read “Morningstar” in lettering far too elegant to be easily read.

He approached her, carrying only a very small, hard-sided carry-on where he had packed just pajamas and a change of shirt and suit, along with a brush, toothbrush, and toothpaste. Nothing more. He needed to return to Alastor and Keekee as soon as possible.

“Mr. Morningstar?”

“That’s me. And you are...?”

“The driver for Missus Chofardet.”

“For Lilith Grossberg,” he corrected, even though he knew that once she got married, the woman had surely worn her husband's last name like a latex suit—practically a second skin replacing the first.

That kind of person would do anything to gain more money, more titles, and a bigger empire.

The woman nodded. Her gray eyes practically stabbed Lucifer with their glare, making it clear she wasn’t happy to see him. The feeling was definitely mutual.

“The Madam is married, and her last name has changed.”

“I bet...” he muttered, pulling out his phone with his free hand and checking the time.

It was nearly noon. He had planned to get everything sorted out within the day, maybe spend just one night there, then leave immediately.

He saw a message on his smartphone screen. He had to admit that thirteen years in a coma hadn’t helped his grasp of technology, but he had started getting used to it. It was outrageous how fast the times had changed. His last phone had been fairly modern for those years—it could play music, view files, send SMS and MMS with a character limit. What people held in their hands now was unimaginable for a man who had fallen asleep before 2010.

Before he could open the message or see who it was from, the woman in front of him caught his attention.

“If it’s all right with you, I’d take you to the Madam now. You wanted to speak with her, didn’t you?”

“More than that. I don’t want to delay her lunch, nor do I intend to wait for her to finish eating,” he said curtly, already making it clear how rushed he was.

The gray-haired woman remained silent, staring at him for a few seconds. Lucifer was sure he saw a slight grimace, which she quickly masked with another flat expression.

“Certainly. Allow me to take your luggage, and we’ll leave immediately.”

 

-

 

During the ride, Lucifer saw the message Anthony had sent him. He sighed, already anticipating a disaster. He had a plan B and even a C, all the way to the last letter of the alphabet, but he silently admitted to himself that the white-haired man was the best option for what he had asked him to do, having sent him a simple voice message at dawn.

He tapped the man’s name and held the device to his ear, while absentmindedly watching the world outside rush by.

“Tell me this is a joke.”

“It’s not a joke, I’m on a business trip. You have to go to Keekee and give him lunch and dinner. I already took care of breakfast.”

“His name is Ponta, by the way.”

“You gave me that name after I woke up. His name is Keekee now.”

Anthony had found Keekee just a few hours before Lucifer woke up. Someone had abandoned him in front of his building, and he had picked him up. He gave him as a gift, even bringing him to the hospital during his physical therapy—where Lucifer tried not to cry like a child from the pain of knowing Alastor was in a coma, and from his own inability to speak or move. He had worked hard to become the man he was now.

Finding Keekee in the real world had helped him a lot in his recovery, along with his sister’s presence, and in part also the white-haired man, who—though a bit sour—had stayed by his side throughout the entire process.

“You do remember my work hours, right?”

“I do, but I figure even you get breaks or an end of shift.”

Anthony sighed loudly. The blond man was calm enough, knowing he would never actually refuse.

“You’re such an asshole.”

“You’ll find the key under the doormat.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

The neighborhood where Lucifer lived was very safe, populated by people more or less like him. No one would ever be crazy enough to break into one of those houses. There were cameras everywhere, and in any case, with all the money the residents of that area had, they’d pay the police or private investigators generously to catch the culprits.

“Ant.”

“What do you want?”

“Thanks, okay?” he said softly, hoping the woman driving wouldn’t hear him.

There was a short silence in which the nurse reflected.

“Where’d you run off to last minute? Is it about Al’s therapy?”

Lucifer was extremely grateful to that bastard. Even though he had deeply hated him when he was younger and suffered greatly because of him, he still remembered how determined Anthony had been in keeping Alastor clinging to life—never letting him slip, not even for a second. The redhead was alive because of him.

“Vox asked me to help him with a client. It won’t take long, but…”

Lucifer lifted his gaze to the rearview mirror to check if the woman was watching him—studying him—but she seemed focused on the road.

“Having a favor from him might come in handy,” he whispered, knowing that Vox, as much of a piece of shit as he was, was the second-best dream therapist in the world—right after himself.

“I can imagine…” Anthony and Lucifer, though they bickered often, had always spoken openly since the blond had woken up from his coma.

Lucifer silently trusted him and kept him updated on the therapy, his progress, and the changes in Alastor. He kept to himself the fact that he had recently started sleeping with that man—still quite different from his boyfriend—though part of him was sure Anthony had figured it out.

“When will you be back?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to be too open with that woman in the car. He didn’t like her, nor did he want her telling Lilith—or whoever else—his business. He knew those kinds of people well.

“Roughly… thirty.”

“Thirty? What the hell are you talking about?”

Lucifer rubbed the bridge of his nose, already tired of the nurse’s low IQ.

“I’ll text you, Anthony. I have to go,” he concluded, opting for the best solution.

“Hey, jer—”

Lucifer hung up the call, then opened the messaging app to insult his old rival. After a few friendly insults back and forth, he confirmed he would return the next day, even if it meant skipping sleep.

“Mr. Morningstar.”

“Y-yes?” Lucifer looked up at the woman, who was now watching him through the rearview mirror.

“We’ve arrived. Are you ready?”

Lucifer slipped the phone into his pocket, gathering his resolve—as well as his mask.

“Absolutely.”

 

-

 

The prince was shown into the sitting room of the large villa. Nothing like his modest little house by the sea. It was an old mansion, full of frescoes, statues, and surrounded by a garden that stretched for who knows how many acres, filled with roses, wrought-iron tables and chairs, and fountains. Certainly, nothing modest. Even the interior of the house was decorated in a way Lucifer surely wouldn’t have liked—furnished with extremely old pieces and decorations that were undoubtedly valuable but aesthetically questionable in 2025.

The woman literally escorted him to the couch, helping him sit before stepping away, promising him Lilith would arrive shortly. He had seen the pictures of how she had turned out. Nothing surprising. Any woman from that world, once grown, began to desperately crave the beauty of youth again. The noblewoman had clearly undergone several cosmetic surgeries, ruining her looks rather than enhancing them.

Suddenly, breaking the silence in which Lucifer had begun to melt—almost dozing off from sleep deprivation—he heard the sound of high heels. He stood up at once, adjusting his vest out of pure habit. Through the doorway, she appeared. Lilith Grossberg. She was tall, curvy, with artificially full lips and sharply defined cheekbones, as well as a perfectly shaped nose.

“Lucifer… Good heavens, what a pleasure to see you.”

Even in silence, Lucifer already felt nauseous. She was the perfect embodiment of that social class—so sick and obsessed only with the most superficial aspects of life. Despite what he was feeling, he smiled warmly at the woman, opening his arms as he approached her.

“Lilith… still stunning.”

The two embraced briefly, though Lucifer definitely sensed a certain insistence in her grip. When they separated, she kept her hands on him, stroking his shoulders. The blond tried not to show any sign of discomfort, keeping a warm smile on his face.

“You’re too kind. I’m fading with age.”

What a choice of words. She clearly had a one-track mind, judging by her quick reply. Obviously, a woman of her wealth couldn’t have real concerns like normal people: work, family, love… children.

Wait…

Lucifer thought through the situation. If Lilith had been supposed to marry him eighteen years ago, she would’ve wed in less than a year. Among nobles, marriages happened as soon as legally possible, and as soon as a woman was able to bear children. He hadn’t heard anything about kids, nor had he read anything in the documents on the flight over that Vox had left him.

Maybe they didn’t want any… and yet, something didn’t add up. The noble world didn’t work like that. They didn’t get to choose.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re even more beautiful than I remembered.” He even managed to fake getting emotional.

He took the blonde’s hand—partly as a desperate attempt to stop her incessant caressing—and guided her to the couch, helping her sit with a graceful gesture before sitting beside her.

Lilith looked satisfied and smiled with her wide lips. Only then did Lucifer notice that the woman who had introduced herself as Lilith’s driver had returned to stand near the doorway. Why would a driver stay there? Was she trying to listen, or had she been instructed to? Did she perhaps play a different role than she let on?

“First of all, I’d like to say how sorry I am about your husband. I’m truly… heartbroken.”

“Oh, Lucifer. You’ve always been so sweet. It’s me who should be apologizing, really.”

Lucifer blinked, trying to figure out what she meant by that.

“Apologize?”

“When I heard about your parents… well, I came to your house the same day the news broke. Unfortunately, I couldn’t wait for the funeral because I had a flight just a few hours later. Your sister received me with such warmth, despite the circumstances.”

“Don’t worry, Lilith. I… I was at a gathering with other young heirs in a neighboring city when it happened.”

He remembered nothing of that period. All his memories were tied to Alastor. The five years when the redhead and Charlie were in high school, his obsession with him, his pain at not being able to be with him, and his presence in his dream. Even those memories were patchy. Alastor’s visits, becoming more frequent to keep him from forgetting his progress. His touches, his beautiful voice, his smile, and his words of love. He remembered vividly the moment Alastor smiled at him while crying, pushing him back toward life, staying behind in the dream world, his soul completely shattered.

“Lucifer?”

The woman’s voice snapped the noble back to attention. For a moment, he’d gotten lost in his blurry memories.

“Sorry, I was… recalling the past.” He tried to regain composure, adjusting his trousers on his knees absentmindedly, for no real reason.

Through her eyes, adorned with makeup shaped to give her a feline look, a flicker passed. She leaned toward him, placing her hand over the blond’s resting on his legs.

Lucifer flinched slightly, realizing she was getting close in a way he now recognized all too well, thanks to his experiences with Alastor—before and after his coma.

Did she… want to kiss him?

“We were so young and… innocent, naive. I was truly saddened when I heard you no longer wanted to proceed with the arranged marriage. I truly cared, you know? It wasn’t just my parents’ will.” She began whispering, her ice-blue eyes resting on Lucifer’s lips.

Was she insane? Her husband was in a coma! It was clear she didn’t care at all about him, but to make it so obvious felt like madness. She had even hired a dream therapist to help him recover, and—

Lucifer’s eyes widened slightly. Suddenly, many pieces started falling into place. They were fragments of doubt-shaped puzzle pieces that, once aligned, formed a clearer picture.

“When I found out that you, of all people in the world, were coming to help me… I thought it was fate. Do you… believe in that sort of thing?”

“I-I…” He tried to lean away slightly as she practically pressed up against him.

Suddenly, the blond remembered they weren’t entirely alone. He turned slightly to check if the woman with the silver bob was still by the door. She was not only still there, but behind her stern demeanor, her eyes now seemed hurt, shocked. As if she were witnessing something that truly pained her.

Why did that expression feel familiar? Why… did he see himself in that pained gaze, hidden behind a mask of composure?

“Ah.” He thought, as the realization struck him like lightning in the dead of night.

“Lilith.” Lucifer turned back toward the blonde, placing his hands on her arms and firmly pushing her back into an upright position—before noticing her look of annoyance and slight shock at being rejected so blatantly.

Lucifer sighed, then looked her directly in the eyes.

“I will bring your husband back. Don’t worry… about a thing.” He tried to compress the long list of words into a single promise.

The woman fell silent, her gaze drifting distractedly toward the floor as she thought deeply. She didn’t know what Lucifer meant or what he had figured out, but that promise seemed sufficient to her.

She nodded, then stood with icy seriousness and left the room—dropping every mask as she did. She had gotten what she needed, or at least the promise of getting it.

As the woman exited through the door, the noble noticed how the driver—or possibly also a bodyguard—followed her with her gaze. In her eyes now lay a veil of sadness mixed with relief.

Lucifer stood, letting out a silent sigh as he brushed invisible noble filth from his clothes. Those people were… disgusting. While it was certainly convenient to be extremely wealthy, well-connected, and hold one of the highest titles around, it often annoyed him to know he was part of the same world as people like that. In his silence, he often wished he could return to his coma, but then he would feel guilty toward Alastor. He had risked his life to bring him back to the real world, even hiding the fact that he had taken his own life. Of course, the reality he woke up to was far less perfect than the one his slightly deceitful boyfriend had promised him. But he had done it for him.

So, he bought that house, hoping to bring a piece of that dream into the real world—and one day, share it with him.

The woman with the bob haircut silently approached him, looking at him with less disgust than before. Who knows why, though Lucifer had a suspicion.

“Whenever you’re ready, we can go to the clinic where the Lady’s husband is hospitalized.”

Strange choice of words to describe that Adam, but acceptable and forgivable, given the situation. The blond simply nodded, not bothering with courtesy.

“We can go.”

Chapter 41

Lucifer stepped into the luxury clinic, very similar to the one where he had Alastor hospitalized. But unlike the place where his beloved was staying—modest and clean—every element here made it clear that you’d need to sell a kidney just to afford a single night of treatment.

He walked a few steps behind the woman, who remained silent as she led him to her patient. The blond man analyzed her, his head lowered and eyes lifted, hands buried in his pockets.

He had always been particularly attentive to details, especially when he lived in his old house with his parents. He would always stay alert to any sound—whose footsteps he heard, if someone let even the smallest grimace slip, or the tone of voice used when speaking to him. That had proven useful in his new “career.”

“Could you tell me your name?”

The question made the woman stop. She stayed in that position, with her back to Lucifer, for several seconds before turning around. Her usually expressionless face screamed at the blond man that she was confused by the question.

“Lute.”

“Lute, how long have you and Lilith been together?”

If before she seemed still, now she had stiffened so much that she could’ve been mistaken for a statue or a mannequin in a store window.

“I don’t know what you—”

“Just answer. I don’t care about explanations. I won’t tell anyone, but it could be useful for the therapy.”

Lute lowered her head, clenching her hands into fists so tightly they began to tremble. She was afraid of the consequences—and probably of being understood without even uttering a word.

“How...?” she whispered.

Lucifer sighed slowly, fidgeting with the hands inside his pockets. To make the woman feel less under the spotlight, he pretended to look at a random point in the clinic, which happened to be a corner with high-tech vending machines. His blue eyes landed on some colorful drinks with cubes of jelly inside.

That alone was enough to drag him back into memories. Alastor... he missed him terribly. In some way, he could say he hadn't lost him completely, knowing he was alive and visiting him once a week. However, the creature he now met was decidedly different from his Alastor, even though it was still him.

“You mean how I figured it out?” he asked quietly, still staring at the drinks.

“Yes.”

“While she was trying to kiss me, you were looking at us like that.”

“L-like that?” Though she tried to keep a serious tone, every word came out in a trembling whisper—completely different from the stern, almost military voice she'd used when they first met.

“You were hurt and afraid she might actually do it. For the record, if it hadn’t been for me, she would have.” He explained, walking over to the vending machines.

Lute followed him with her eyes, then decided to follow him physically. She hated to admit it, but she wanted to continue that conversation—maybe deny it, or find out what Lucifer had understood. She hated letting him win, especially considering the way he spoke to her, but she had been cornered without even realizing she was entering a fight.

The blond inserted a few coins, pressing a sequence of buttons and waiting for the pink-colored bottle to fall down with a loud clunk. He bent down, grabbed it, and stood up again.

“Want something?” he asked, now opening his drink effortlessly.

Even the thought of not having Alastor there to open that same drink for him—along with the fact that he’d had to train himself to be strong alone—hurt him, silently making him sad.

“No, thank you.”

Lucifer took a couple of sips, enjoying that coconut flavor and jelly texture he only allowed himself during his saddest moments for comfort. It was a way of pretending he was still young, with Alastor by his side.

“I don’t care about comforting you, just to be clear,” he said, closing the bottle.

Lute stared at him, her eyes practically piercing through him, hungry for information.

“But she was also looking at you while approaching me. I think you noticed.” He concluded, resuming the walk toward the supposed room of Adam.

The woman still said nothing, walking past Lucifer to lead him back on their initial path and show him the patient’s room.

“That’s all it took for you to figure it out?”

“That was more than enough. You reminded me a lot of myself a long time ago.”

Lute kept walking, even if part of her wanted to ask more. But she wasn’t there to ask questions, and Lucifer didn’t seem very eager to talk about his personal affairs.

“Can you answer the question?”

“Since… before she got with Adam.”

Most likely, then, she had been Lilith’s lover even before marrying Lucifer. The blond hadn’t exactly imagined a marriage based on love when he was informed he’d become someone’s husband—but he hadn’t expected to start out in an adulterous situation either. With another woman, no less.

Lute stopped in front of a door, placing her hand on the handle. She paused for a moment, knowing another question would probably come and not wanting to answer it in front of the man her partner constantly cheated on with her. Truthfully, at that point, Adam was the one who came second—without even knowing it, most likely.

Lucifer understood that this was the last chance to ask anything. He stopped, giving himself a few seconds to reflect.

Would asking how they met be useful? Probably not.

He wasn’t even interested, honestly. But he wasn’t there to get emotionally involved in the affairs of one of his patients.

Still, something might actually prove useful.

“Did he know?”

“I can’t be sure. But usually… we were together when I accompanied her to events or when he was away for work.”

Who knows what kind of job someone like that had. Vox had mentioned awards, trophies, and something like medals, so he was some kind of athlete. Even though Lucifer knew the surname, he had no idea who Adam actually was.

“Before he had that accident in the pool, had you two recently met at home?”

The woman blushed, refusing to let her memories alter her expression. She simply nodded.

“Mhm…” Lucifer had a clearer picture now.

None of the three seemed to shine with intuition. Although Lute appeared serious and thoughtful, she let her feelings act before her mind.

“That’s all I need. We can go in.”

 

-

 

Vox entered Alastor's room, closing the door behind him. The air was clean, calm, to the point that it didn’t even feel like he was in a clinic room.

"This is what money buys..." he muttered, approaching the comatose man lying on the bed.

Everything was incredibly quiet. There was none of the usual noise of a public hospital or a low-cost clinic. It almost felt like a church... on a good day.

As he got closer, he took in the features of the sleeping man. He must have been at least twenty years older than him, if not more. His clean, innocent features and gentle face made him look like a boy who had only recently become a man.

"So... we meet again," he said to Alastor, pulling a chair closer to the bed to keep from falling to the floor during the therapy.

He observed him, trying to recall the first time they met. He had to admit he had forgotten about him, but when Lucifer called him a few years ago, Vox began piecing together the image of that boy—in a world of wide, peaceful, beautiful countrysides, where the wind rustled through the wheat and water trickled through small streams.

That boy had struck him as far too mature for someone his age. He remembered that the cause of his coma was something profoundly deep.

He was afraid of being a burden to his parents, of growing up, of suffering, of becoming an adult and facing responsibilities that would steal his smile and joy. He was afraid... of going through the painful events that inevitably come with age. He was afraid of being alone.

He had seen his parents work to exhaustion, being away from home for ten to twelve hours a day, talking late into the night in the kitchen to figure out expenses, thinking he was asleep and wouldn’t hear them.

He didn’t want to face their death and be left with no one he loved.

Despite Vox being particularly materialistic and a jerk, their conversation had been deep, with the brunet trying to show him that life wasn’t only sadness, anger, or negative emotions. Life was also beautiful. So beautiful that it was worth enduring its darkest parts to enjoy the colorful ones.

He told him that if he worked hard, he’d find a good job, that his parents would be with him even after they were physically gone. He told him someone would be there to share life with and that he’d have children. He told him he would never be alone.

Even though Alastor didn’t perfectly remember what had happened in that dream, he woke up—and did so with the determination to make his life beautiful, to work hard and love deeply. To protect others.

"I remember that talk now, you know? You made quite the impression for such a little thing. In the end, you dedicated yourself so much to helping others that you even lost yourself. Maybe I should feel guilty for that," he whispered, taking Alastor's hand and resting his forearms on the mattress, closing his eyes.

"I’ve never met anyone who fell into a coma twice. You never cease to amaze me. Maybe I should actually try to get to know you, if and when you wake up."

He focused, trying to picture a door. The first time, when he studied Alastor's case by speaking with his parents and looking at photos of his happiest moments, he imagined something like fields, crops, wheat, and... strawberries.

Fortunately, those had also been suggestions from Lucifer, the second time he visited him, decades later. Suggestions that worked—though later he was thrown into a dark world, as if inside a cursed forest, where Alastor, clearly no longer human, had chased and practically torn him apart alive, sending him back to the real world in unimaginable pain.

"Try not to eat me alive this time, please," he muttered before falling deeply into the redhead's dream.

 

-

 

Lucifer approached Adam, looking at him with a hint of disgust. He probably should have felt guilty, given he didn’t even know him and was letting his prejudice control his expression.

Truth be told, the sleeping man looked remarkably simple, almost pure-hearted. But he didn’t trust him. He simply couldn’t. Practically no one in that world of titles and wealth was interested in being a good person—only in doing what brought in the most money.

He hadn’t visited many people in a coma, but he had to admit that everyone who was asleep looked like a good person, untainted by their thoughts or experiences.

Lute stood with her back against the wall next to the door, arms crossed beneath her chest, saying nothing, though her presence made it clear what she was thinking.

She didn’t like Adam, and clearly neither did Lilith. But of course, the noblewoman had to not only fulfill the expectations and agreements between families, she also needed someone to support her lifestyle—one that far exceeded what most people considered normal.

Clearly, her love for money had to outweigh what she felt for the other woman. Or maybe, both of them thought it was the best way to live. Who could know, except them?

It didn’t matter who, but certainly one of the two couldn’t have children—if not both. From that wounded expression, Lute made it clear she had seen her partner in romantic or similar situations with Adam more than once.

But Lilith... that woman likely aimed to have children with a nobleman to further cement her position.

Lucifer sighed, annoyed by what he was about to do, but to return to Alastor quickly, he had to swallow the bitter pill.

He took the brunet's hand and sat on the bed, then closed his eyes.

"Kindly move my body when I fall on top of him," he said without concern for his tone.

"Wha—"

The woman didn’t even have time to ask the question before Lucifer collapsed, landing on Adam. Lute let out a gasp, briefly thinking the therapist had fainted.

She rushed to him, lifting his torso. Lucifer's head lolled as if he were dead. Out of caution, the bob-haired woman checked his pulse, which was steady. She held a hand close to his slightly parted lips and found his breathing normal.

As requested, she moved him, laying him in the free space on the bed, fortunately wide enough for two, maybe even three.

She studied the blond's face, now stripped of the usual disgusted, superior demeanor and the slight boredom with the obvious—obvious only to him. Literally no one had noticed her relationship with Lilith, while he had figured it out in under ten minutes of conversation.

She stepped aside, looking at the closed door, wondering whether to remain inside or wait out in the hallway.

While the woman sat in her indecision, Lucifer walked in the darkness. The darkness he knew well, separating reality from the dream world. His gaze was determined, driven by a purpose and mission he hadn't wanted at first, but which he now had to prioritize to get back to what truly mattered.

He snapped his fingers, the sound echoing and breaking the infinity around him, creating tiny cracks of light. He didn’t need a door. He didn’t need it at all.

It was something he chose to keep to himself, believing that if he ever shared this "technique" with Vox or other dream therapists, they would lock him up somewhere to study him.

"Let me in, you piece of shit," he whispered, then threw a punch forward, hitting something invisible and shattering the darkness around him.

Blinding light made him close his eyes instantly. His nose caught the scent of chlorine, sunscreen, while his ears were filled with giggles, screams of joy, and... animal noises?

The blond opened his eyes in that world, once again in his usual altered form: completely pale with two small red circles on his cheeks and yellow eyes with fiery red irises.

In front of him was... something incredibly hard to describe, at least for anyone wanting to keep their language clean. He stood before a massive swimming pool, with small islands and jacuzzis scattered everywhere. Some were clearly deep, while others were shallow enough to kneel in. It was a beautiful sunny day, and loud club music filled the air, hurting his ears and mixing with the various voices, laughs, and sounds made by the people present.

There were small groups everywhere: some chatting, others playing, others relaxing. The main issue, if it could be called that, was that everyone was engaged in intercourse—slow or fast, tender or wild. What Lucifer noticed was the complete presence of heterosexual couples, making Adam's preferences abundantly clear.

The men were all incredibly tanned, with glossy, hairless, muscular bodies, while the women were flawless in their curves, with large breasts and round asses.

In less than a minute, he could see every position of the Kama Sutra and every sexual activity. Every orifice, mouth, vagina, or anus was being profaned.

Lucifer remained there, stunned, gazing at that scene with such astonishment as he had probably never observed anything before. His eyes were wide and his lips parted, opening slightly. He was not a person who found straight sex appealing, nor had he ever indulged in watching porn of any type. Being... surrounded by such lust, confused him in a non-positive way.

Still shocked and partly disgusted, he lifted his gaze toward a kind of platform higher than the others, where of course there was Adam, fervently pushing a blonde's head against his member.

"TAKE IT ALL, SLUT!"

His scream spread everywhere, even rising above the deafening music coming from the speakers.

Lucifer felt his shoulders slump and lower under the weight of gravity, looking at that disgusting surrender to reason and to being human. He did not deny adoring sex and especially dedicating himself to those activities with Alastor, but what he had in front of him had absolutely nothing of the desire, passion, and love that were always present in his sessions, whether private or in his beloved's company.

"Good heavens..." He whispered.

 

-

 

Vox reopened his eyes with a crackle of static electricity, as if he had just woken up from a terrible nightmare. The problem was that he had just entered a nightmare.
His appearance was decidedly strange, something that often helped him communicate with children or nerds. He was a sort of man with a television for a head—tall, slender, more so than he had been in real life, and well-dressed in blue clothing.

He knew that shapes in the dream world somehow reflected the therapist’s personality, but in all his years of practice, he had never figured out why he looked like that—nor did he particularly care to find out.

He furrowed his pixelated eyes, glancing around. Wasn’t he… in the darkness?
On the contrary, he was in a small pond, slightly shaded due to the dense number of trees. He was in a forest, no doubt about it, but it was very different from what he remembered.

The place where he had first found himself had been completely dark, damp, foul-smelling, and terrifying in appearance. This place, instead, seemed almost relaxing. The typical spot for a picnic, followed by a swim in a lake with clear water, thanks to a constant flow from a small waterfall springing from the higher bushes.

“There’s… no door?”

He walked forward, hearing only the sound of his own steps on the slightly damp grass. The scent of petrichor almost made him smile—he loved that kind of weather, typical of September or of the first cool rains after a scorching summer.

He was shocked to have entered that world without passing through any door. That had literally never happened to him before. That kind of thing could only occur in very specific circumstances, and in most of those… it was the world’s master who wanted it.

Before he could finish his thought, Vox felt an arm wrap around his side, holding him in place—gently, but firmly—while a shift in the air made it clear someone was sniffing his neck from behind.

He felt… hunted. That was probably what a herbivore felt when caught by a predator.
Slowly, he moved his eyes to the side, spotting a thick mane of fiery red hair, accented with black tips, swaying with the motion of whoever was inspecting the scent of his skin.

After a series of “sniff sniff” sounds like those of animals, a low growl rumbled in the throat of the creature, who now matched his height and had nearly human features.

But when the creature turned toward him, Vox was greeted by a row of sharp, yellow teeth, framed by a smile that didn’t seem friendly in the slightest.
Looking up even further, he saw completely red eyes—both sclera and iris—staring at him as if trying to pierce his soul.

Was he the one who brought him in?

“Who the fuck are you?” hissed the creature, Vox trembling instantly at that almost-radio-like voice.

“I-I…”

“Where’s Lucifer?”

Chapter 42

“Christ…” Lucifer was trying to ignore all the people having sex around him as he walked between each couple to reach Adam.

It was literally a circle of Hell where every single person had given up being human, letting their soul melt into pure instinct. A small part of him envied them. In many of the positions he was trying to ignore, he saw himself together with Alastor.

His boyfriend, once he had regained speech, reason, and above all an almost anthropomorphic appearance, had started to look more and more like his human version, albeit with much more vibrant colors and a fixed, artificial smile that probably reflected his suffering at having to always act in the most correct and cordial way possible, even when he disliked the situation. His life before the coma must have been difficult. Despite having caring parents and a roof over his head, Alastor was an excessively empathetic and sensitive person. Even the career he had chosen, probably driven by a desire to help, had caused him great pain. His love for Lucifer, kept silent for years, must have made it all worse.

The blond had to admit he had lasted less than ten minutes before giving in when the new Alastor began physically courting him. He missed him terribly and, even though Alastor still didn’t remember Lucifer, from their first meeting he had been practically obsessed with him. Even if he wasn’t completely human — including his manhood — the two began to make passionate, downright animalistic love every time they met. At least, the therapist had found a way for Alastor to absorb the fragments of his soul, despite Alastor’s strong initial resistance.

He finally reached Adam who, in the meantime, fortunately seemed to have finished what he was doing. The completely naked young woman, with decidedly artificial and round breasts, wiped her lips before standing up and walking away — not without first glancing at Lucifer and brushing his shoulder.

The prince ignored the gesture, locking his gaze — and his look of disgust — on Adam.

“Adam.”

The brunet turned toward Lucifer, still wearing a sly, satisfied smirk. He pushed his hair back, showing off his chest.

“And who might you be, little guy?”

“A little guy who’s going to get you out of here,” he replied flatly.

Adam let out a laugh and then clapped his hands loudly, ordering with that gesture for the music to be even louder. When his command was obeyed by a DJ who was nowhere to be seen, Lucifer couldn’t stop a small twitch in one of his eyes, making it clear just how irritating that volume boost was.

The patient approached him, completely naked and still noticeably hard, even though he had ejaculated only seconds earlier. Lucifer tried not to let his gaze drop to that area, not wanting to give the man even the slightest impression that he might be interested in the same sex. Besides, it nauseated him to an extreme degree, to the point of momentarily making him forget his own sexual orientation.

“Get out of here? Are you crazy? This is Paradise, bro!”

“Point of view, I suppose…” he muttered, glancing around, quite certain the other hadn’t heard him.

Adam was, without a doubt, a difficult case for a dream therapist, and he was aware of it. Usually, patients’ dreams were places suited to giving the soul rest, to stop it from feeling pain. This world, however, was clearly not just a comfort — for him, it represented pure perfection. The result? He would never willingly leave, especially considering what awaited him outside: a wife who didn’t love him and cheated on him with another woman, a life made up of boredom and wealth, decorated with awards likely bought, monotony upon monotony. Probably no genuine friends, no real deep love for anyone. Not even the satisfaction of earning results through hard work. Nothing.

Whether it was Adam’s fortune or misfortune, Lucifer was literally the only one who could get him out of there, thanks to his “power” — something he had told virtually no one about, except Alastor.

“Listen, I won’t be here long. I have no intention whatsoever of using my essence for you. But there’s something I’d like to tell you.”

Adam arched a brow, looking at Lucifer as though hearing the ramblings of a madman. They locked eyes, and when the blond gave him a sharp nod, urging him to move and listen, the brunet hesitated for a moment.

Lucifer sat on the edge of the platform, letting his legs dangle over that world of lust. His blue eyes now scanned the passionate couples below with less discomfort. In fact, a part of him felt a twinge of nostalgia at seeing all those people able to surrender themselves into someone’s arms.

Sometimes he was tired of being strong — or at least pretending to be. In this, he could certainly be likened to his boyfriend, who in the end couldn’t hold out, letting himself be entirely ruled and dominated by his emotions, even sacrificing his own health for love.

The completely naked man clapped his hands again, this time making the music drop drastically in volume. Without moving closer, he placed his hands on his well-sculpted hips, watching Lucifer and waiting to hear what he had to say. After all, there was, in some small part of him, a curiosity about this unexpected novelty in a world where, for better or worse, he did the same thing over and over — however pleasurable.

“Are you aware you’re in a coma?”

Adam had had the accident less than a week earlier. His consciousness still mistook these visions for a dream. There wasn’t even an anchor present, though clearly the world was tempting enough to suit his tastes.

“C-coma? What the hell are you talking about?”

Lucifer sighed, keeping his gaze from shifting toward the other. He gestured toward the world below them — the people and what they were doing.

“Does this seem normal to you?”

“Yes?”

“The answer was no, idiot.”

“Listen, asshole, what the fuck did you come here for?! If you want to screw, I can find you a girl to do it with.”

“No, thanks. In any case, you haven’t answered me.”

Adam reflected on the situation, finally starting to grasp where he was, even seeming thoughtful. Expressions that looked far too intelligent for his usual demeanor began to spread across his face.

“Even if this place isn’t real, I don’t care.”

“So you know.”

“I suspected.”

Lucifer sighed, nodding to himself several times.

“I’ll be direct. I don’t care to be nice to you. I’m your therapist, and I came here to get you out. You went into a coma after slipping at the edge of your pool and never woke up again, even though your health is otherwise optimal,” he summarized, sounding bored.

It had been a long time since he had done therapy for anyone, but apart from children or certain types of women who proved to be sweet and good-natured, he was rarely excessively gentle.

Adam mulled over those words, making a face that showed he didn’t find this sort of purgatory all that bad. He didn’t seem particularly eager to know more, nor to go back to something that clearly didn’t appeal to him — though he couldn’t remember it perfectly. It was simply a feeling.

“There’s a reason why people like you don’t wake up and… obviously, it’s something too heavy for their tastes to bear,” he explained, now turning his face toward the patient, staring at him deeply, almost sadly.

“Meaning?”

“It depends on the person,” he shrugged.

“So there’s a reason I don’t want to leave this high? Obviously, whatever is out there will never be like this.” He said, turning toward another strikingly beautiful woman with long, wavy redhead hair and ample breasts, perhaps even bigger than the previous one’s.

The woman wrapped her arms around Adam’s hips, not waiting long before brushing her leg against the boy’s private parts.

Lucifer rolled his eyes, turning back to look at the world beneath him that went on without any plot, personality, or particular feelings. Maybe it was better than what Adam wanted to show him.

“I’m not a detective, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure this out. In the real world, you’re married to one of the most beautiful women in our circle and probably in all the nation’s nobility.”

“So, we’re nobles? I had no doubts, but what about you?!” he joked, beginning to rub his and the girl’s intimacies together, creating quite pleasant friction already, considering the erection that was starting to form.

The blond sighed, wondering why he was still wasting time. He could solve that problem in a single precise moment, but a part of him was maybe curious about what he saw around him, or maybe he just wanted to talk to someone, knowing he wouldn’t remember anything afterward.

“We nobles are doomed to sadness, you know? Maybe for someone empty-headed like you, there can never be anything that bad. And I envy you for that.” He didn’t even believe what he was saying.

He would have never thought to envy an idiot like Adam, who perfectly represented a high percentage of the members in the circle he frequented.

“We don’t have the chance to fall in love with someone. We just have to do everything that’s expected of us. Gather money, expand our empires, and procreate.”

“A fine plan, I’d say.” The other replied, with a wide smile on his face, as he laid the redhead down on the ground, who, of course, followed any of his silent or spoken requests.

Lucifer reflected silently for a few seconds. He recalled everything he had been through, feeling a tremendous sadness. He had spent his life in utter emptiness, like a robot, only to fall madly in love with someone without being able to declare his feelings and pretending to be a rival just to stay close to him.

The person he loved miraculously insisted, confessing that he was in love with him, and when he decided to open his heart to Alastor, he had to refuse because his parents had already considered him taken by a woman he barely knew and to whom he was clearly not attracted.

He stayed in a coma for years, only to be saved by the same person he loved, and when Alastor sacrificed almost his own life to bring him back, Lucifer had to study and train to become what he was, so that he could save his beloved, hoping to live life together.

It was… definitely not an enviable life.

Suddenly, the blond felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He turned around sharply, caught off guard, especially since Adam was already on the ground copulating with the woman rather noisily. Next to him, kneeling, he saw an entity made of pure gray matter, shining, almost transparent.

The therapist furrowed his brow, not quite understanding what it was. After stroking his shoulder, that creature took the form of Alastor. His… boyfriend, in his human version.

“Al…” he whispered, already feeling tears welling up in his eyes.

He knew it wasn’t really him, but seeing him awake, smiling at him, and touching him was definitely too much, even for a rock like him.

“Lu, love.” He said softly, with the same voice as his beloved.

With his hands, he caressed his shoulder and face. It was like really being with him. Surely, now his mind was aligning with those of all the people around him, starting to feel only a great desire to be held by him and make love. He desperately missed him.

Alastor bent down, kissing his cheek slowly, gently and affectionately, just as he used to do. With little smacks, he moved to his lips, kissing him deeply and with tender resolve.

Lucifer took a deep breath through his nostrils, wrapping his arms around the neck of the man he adored and wanted to be with. Every element of his life had been dedicated to Alastor since he woke up from the coma. He lived only for him and to be together.

“That’s why you didn’t care, asshole! You’re a fag!” Adam said amused, panting and growling as he thrust into the girl with increasingly languid moans.

The therapist ignored him, though he heard him, letting himself be cradled in that kiss, while Alastor laid him down on his back near the edge of the platform, beneath which everyone was copulating.

All the sounds, screams, and gasps became practically deafening inside his mind, confusing him even more. Though dressed, just like his partner, Lucifer wrapped his legs around Alastor’s waist, letting the redhead rub against his own intimacies.

His boyfriend’s copy slid his tongue into his mouth, and Lucifer, eyes already closed from pleasure, returned the gesture, moaning softly. The music had risen again, creating a completely chaotic atmosphere, urging him to lose himself entirely.

“You’re mine, Lucifer. Only I can penetrate you, push inside you, and make you mine.” He whispered in his ear after breaking their passionate kiss.

That phrase alone was enough to drive him crazy and arch his back.

“Al!” He called out, desperate.

It was so damn beautiful to let himself go in the other’s arms. Just like he did with Alastor’s version whose soul was still incomplete. Having his boyfriend there in perfect human form, holding him, desiring him, and courting him was a pleasure he had never experienced before. Even during his coma, Alastor was in his transformed version, like every therapist. Not that he didn’t find him attractive with those ears and reindeer tail, but he had never shared anything, except a kiss, with the real one.

Lucifer opened his eyes again, covered by a veil of tears, shifting his attention to the face of Alastor’s copy. They looked at each other with tenderness and emotion, while small tears ran down the blond’s face.

“I’m doing all this just for you, Alastor.” He whispered.

The redhead didn’t seem to understand, but when Lucifer raised his arm and snapped his fingers, the sky instantly filled with black cracks, internally illuminated by white light. Everyone outside of him and Adam disintegrated into tiny cascades of sand, leaving small piles everywhere.

The brunet found himself thrusting at air, ridiculously left with his penis exposed and hands open in the spot where the imaginary girl's ass had been.

“W-what the fuck?!” He shouted, while Lucifer stood back up, wiping his tears.

“You found out that your wife not only wasn’t attracted to you but even preferred someone else’s company, someone who was under your own roof.” He resumed explaining.

He turned to Adam, who was dumbfounded, staring at him.

“You’re the kind of person who can’t even accept rejection or that people might be attracted to a different sex than yours. You’re perfect, you have everything you want.”

“Wh-what…” Adam muttered, not understanding what was happening as the world around him began to disintegrate.

Lucifer stood proud and superior, despite his short stature. He looked down on him with utter disgust and now even a pinch of hatred for making him experience the illusion of the outcome he was working so hard for.

“But that woman needs your title and your presence. Your stupid ego should be satisfied with that anyway.”

The light spread, becoming almost blinding to the eyes of the only two left. Lucifer turned toward the world that no longer existed, now only white light.

“Live your life, and if you don’t like it, change it however you want.” He suggested before both were abruptly brought back into the real world.

 

-

 

“Where’s Lucifer?” The redhead growled inside the part of the screen where Vox’s ear should have been, since he heard that voice echoing inside his brain.

“L-listen… Lucifer is visiting a patient and I… I’m his substitute. He just wanted me to check on how you’re doing and remind you not to forget.”

“Forget?” He laughed, then placed his hands on Vox’s shoulders, forcing him to turn toward him.

Alastor was terrifying. He looked like a demon reveling in others’ suffering. He bore almost no resemblance to the man who slept in the real world, except for some facial features. The brunet was pretty sure that wasn’t even his real personality. With the disintegration of his soul, Alastor had become something else, probably driven by the worst and most negative emotions he had felt in the last years of his life.

“How could I forget such a kind and willing man giving me his sweet essence?”

“Essence?!” Vox asked, scandalized.

Alastor approached, licking Vox’s neck, then sniffing his skin again. He opened his mouth, letting one of his sharp teeth draw out a trickle of blood, which he slowly tasted with his long tongue.

Vox was terrified, probably more than ever in his life. That creature gave every impression of being in full control of the situation, deciding who deserved to live and who deserved to die. He looked like a predator, not subordinate to anyone in the evolutionary pyramid. He was… the king of that place.

“You’re disgusting, just as I thought.” He concluded in a whisper.

The next instant, preceded only by a movement so fast it was impossible to record, Vox felt a sudden pain that grew worse by the second until it became unbearable. With wide-open eyes and his face pixelated and glitched, he lowered his gaze to see that the demon had just punched a hole in his chest with his bare arm.

The redhead’s laughter grew louder and louder, making the brunet raise his face again in shock, as if he had just been betrayed. It almost seemed that by acquiring pieces of his soul, he had become worse than the initial beast and senseless Alastor had been before. Now he was cruel, extremely powerful, and sadistic.

The creature pulled his arm back with a sharp movement. Vox fell to his knees, watching the world in front of him becoming increasingly blurry.

“Think I didn't remember your shitty taste? I ate your leg and your arm years ago.” He explained, walking around the man about to die in that dream world.

“I was undoubtedly less… controlled and rational, but I could never forget a taste like yours.”

Vox tried to breathe, but each attempt filled his lungs with pure nothingness. The terror of death, even with the consolation that it wasn’t real, made the blood in his veins feel like pure ice. It was like dreaming of his own end, wishing it would finish as soon as possible.

While the brunet tried to ride the confusion that would make him faint and die for good, Alastor grabbed the screen firmly and unkindly, forcing him to stare at him.

Now his eyes were completely black, with only red irises. It almost seemed that demonic smile had even widened. It was terrifying.

“Tell Lucifer to come back to me immediately. There are no other patients. He must think only of me. He’s MINE!” He shouted, his voice like a radio losing signal.

The next instant, Alastor disintegrated Vox’s head, letting his body fall lifeless to the ground.

Slowly returning to his usual form, the redhead’s eyes settled on that man. He felt there was something about him he didn’t remember, but didn’t care much. Now his heart was pounding like a raging beast. Lucifer thought he could ask for a substitute, not show up, when he was already so damn hungry.

Growling, the creature disappeared into a shadow, sliding into the darkness of his own forest.

Chapter 43

Lucifer woke up with a start, almost falling out of bed. Lute was next to him and stepped forward with open palms, as if to catch him in case of a potential fall.

The therapist tried to steady his decidedly rapid breathing. He didn’t often do what he had just done in Adam’s world. Usually, he preferred to stick to traditional methods, but once he discovered his gift of effortlessly shattering the walls of dream worlds as if they belonged to him, he sometimes resorted to that little trick only when patients were particularly difficult, or when he didn’t want to waste too much essence. He tried to save it all for Alastor, especially since his boyfriend had begun to need it—want it.

However, it was a drastic method, one that didn’t allow for a pleasant return. It was as if his soul were literally slammed back into his body, thrown from miles above.

His heart was pounding, and he turned to the side, gripping the edge of the bed with his small hands, leaning his head toward the floor, feeling a wave of more-than-unpleasant nausea.

“Are… you okay?”

“Ask me tomorrow,” he muttered, swallowing several times, slowly, and staring at the floor while waiting to stabilize himself.

He was pale as a sheet, his face covered in a layer of sweat that made his burning skin feel like it was sprinkled with tiny shards of ice. Hea trembled slightly, and a bothersome restlessness coursed through his body.

Lute thought it wise to move closer, beginning to rub Lucifer’s back. The blond gave no sign of discomfort, but he didn’t particularly like being touched by people he didn’t know well or with whom he didn’t have a close bond. Only on the rare nights when he drank too much and broke down crying had he ever let Anthony hug him. The funny part was that Lucifer himself remembered nothing about it, only to wake up in his own bed the next morning with a splitting migraine.

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” he said, sitting back on the edge of the bed.

After a while, his color returned, along with his composure. He knew exactly what those ailments were and how to keep them in check. Still, there was no doubt he’d gladly avoid them altogether. The woman looked at him, then at Adam, thoughtful.

“Did you… fix it?”

“I fixed it. The bastard should wake up in a few hours.”

Lucifer was met with silence. He didn’t need to look at her to know how she felt. His blue eyes rested briefly on his patient, who was sleeping peacefully. His consciousness was finally surfacing again. Most likely, if Lucifer hadn’t gone in to get him using that technique, no therapist would have been able to bring him out, and with equal probability, anyone who entered his world to treat him would never have returned.

That place represented the most primal desire of each person and would undoubtedly satisfy the cravings of any living being in a pleasurable, wild, and unrestrained way. Even he had been sorely tempted to stay there, even just for a few hours. But he knew full well he would never have gotten out if he had started.

A few seconds later, Lucifer stood, straightening his clothes and hair.

“Ah—the… the payment,” the woman mumbled, searching her pockets.

She couldn’t be entirely happy with the result, going back to being the lover of the person she clearly loved.

“No need. If you really must spend that money, give it directly to Vox.” He took his first steps toward the exit but felt something unresolved still lingered in the air.

He stopped at the doorway, waiting for a question or remark to come. He turned slowly, noticing Lute staring at the floor, her face finally sincere and expression distressed. Normally he wouldn’t have cared, but she reminded him painfully of himself when he was younger, in love with Alastor.

“I know you’re not happy.”

“It wouldn’t be fair to say that.”

“You’re human—it’s normal you don’t want someone taking your partner out of your arms.”

Although she wanted to seem serious and emotionless, Lucifer had figured out within hours that she was simply bad at it. He watched her slowly sit on the edge of the bed, unable to look at the man.

The blond studied her, then sighed, resigning himself to the fact he couldn’t leave her like this. Who knew why. He came back over, stopping in front of her and shoving his hands into his pockets.

“When you said I reminded you of yourself… what did you mean?”

“It means that I, too, once watched the person I loved kiss other people without saying anything,” he replied flatly.

She nodded, partly in thanks for his honesty.

“But she knows. We’ve been together for more than a decade, but she can’t give up the titles, the wealth, and the high life,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper so no one outside Lucifer could hear.

It had to be complicated. He was the rich and noble one in his own relationship and would have given it all up for Alastor. He couldn’t even imagine being with someone who prioritized other things—especially material ones. Still, maybe there was a way to see it positively.

“Maybe she knows she couldn’t really do much else. Like… work,” he guessed, before being shot a glare from the woman in front of him, who clearly didn’t love hearing her girlfriend called useless.

“I mean… she’s good at what she does. She’s one of the most influential nobles, with vast wealth. Her family has even founded large-scale associations. This is simply her world, and she doesn’t want to leave it because it represents who she is.”

Absentmindedly, he glanced at Adam. It wasn’t even the man’s fault—these were just the rules of that world, where two completely uninterested people had to pair up and make a family.

“Can you stay with her knowing you’ll never have a normal life together? You know she needs a nobleman to support her. The moment Adam went into a coma, Lilith tried to get into my pants,” he said bluntly, knowing it would sting.

Lute narrowed her eyes, irritated at the last part of his account, though she knew it was true. Still, the alternative was certainly losing Lilith. No matter how in love they were or how solid, passionate, and honest their story was, the gray-haired woman knew her partner would never give up that world for any reason.

“Yes.” Defeated, she could only answer in the affirmative.

“Good,” he said, feeling that he had, in some small way, comforted her.

He noticed Adam’s eyelids beginning to twitch. His awakening was near, and Lucifer definitely didn’t want to be there explaining why he had pulled him out of “Paradise.”

“Just remember—she probably loves you. She wouldn’t risk so much if it weren’t something important.”

Lute was surprised by such a kind remark from him. She lifted her head, looking at him in astonishment.

“...Thank you,” she said simply, accepting that she would continue living a decidedly uncomfortable life—but with the person she loved.

Lucifer gave a small nod, smiling faintly before leaving the room seconds later. As soon as the door closed behind him, finally leaving the three of them to their chaotic lives, the blond’s phone rang. Fishing through his pockets, he pulled it out and saw Vox calling.

“What do you want?” he asked, answering without any greeting.

“Don’t screw with me! That friend of yours is insane.”

He didn’t like hearing Alastor referred to as “his friend,” much less as insane (though at the moment, he didn’t think it was entirely wrong), but he had to admit he was curious about the outcome of the therapy, so he couldn’t just hang up without a word.

“Well? How did the session go?”

“How did it go?! He tore a hole in my chest and smashed my head in!” Vox shouted, his voice going high-pitched as he began holding back tears.

Lucifer pressed his lips together, swallowing the loud laugh that nearly escaped him. He knew Alastor had become a rather violent sort, but he never imagined he’d get so enraged.

“Are you laughing?!”

“Absolutely not.”

“Listen, bastard, I’m leaving this place. I hope your part of the therapy is over because I’m not staying here another second,” he said, exasperated.

He had lasted literally twelve hours in that city.

“Yes… I’m done, and I’ve also solved the problem. If you want, you can have the transfer sent.”

Vox seemed relieved, letting out a small sigh.

“You’re not getting half, given the damage I’ve taken.”

“I don’t want anything—the deal is you help me if I ever need it.”

“Someone like you… it’s hard to imagine you ever needing anything.”

He couldn’t deny it, but Lucifer knew that having favors owed to him—especially from powerful people like Vox—always came in handy. He shrugged, stepping outside the hospital. He checked his watch. By the schedule, he should have spent the night there, but given the therapy’s completion and his desire to avoid both Lilith and Adam—so no one would jump on him, either to have sex or to beat him—he decided to head back early, buying a different ticket from the one he already had.

“I’m guessing you didn’t even manage to find any fragments, let alone give them to him,” he said absently, raising his arm to flag down a passing taxi.

“Don’t joke, blond. If he treats people like that, it’s literally impossible to do anything with him.”

The noble got into the taxi, smiling. Part of him found it intriguing and satisfying that Alastor wanted only him and allowed only Lucifer to get close.

“Airport, please,” he murmured to the driver, holding in one hand the small carry-on he always kept with him, while still holding the device to his ear with the other.

“You really finished before lunch?” Vox finally let his insult drift away, showing some surprise at Lucifer’s skill.

The man slumped back into the comfortable vehicle seat as it took him to the airport. He knew he was good, and even he was surprised at how fast it had been. Maybe he had been a bit too drastic with the three of them, but he wanted to get back to Alastor as soon as possible. He couldn’t enter his world for another week, especially since he had visited Adam before the usual seven days of rest. As much as he wanted to see him and calm him down, he had to regain his strength to avoid ending up like the redhead.

“If you’re not in too much of a hurry to leave, wait for me at the bar so you can tell me what Alastor said to you.”

Chapter 44

This time, Lucifer not only handed Vox a menu but let the brunet choose whatever he wanted. He had clearly felt jealous of what he’d seen last time, since Vox’s order ended up being exactly the same thing Lucifer had chosen on the previous occasion.

The blond, on the other hand, didn’t feel particularly hungry and asked Susan for just a tea, which worried her quite a bit, even though she wasn’t the type to push too much. The story of Lilith, Adam, and Lute had dampened his mood slightly, reminding him of the curse every rich person was subjected to. It reminded him of his own unhappiness at not being able to confess his feelings to Alastor, the despair when he awoke and saw him in that state, perfectly remembering that he had become his fiancé, and the frustration of not being able to solve the problem of his coma, after years of therapy.

“I already told you, he only asked about you before scrambling my brain.”

Now he didn’t find it quite as funny as to laugh out loud, but it still pulled a small smirk from him. His beloved wanted only him, and anyone who wasn’t Lucifer ended up meeting that kind of fate—or something close to it. With Rosie, he had been gentler, but he had still sent her back to the real world practically by pushing her out the door, making it clear that some part deep inside that creature still remembered or felt for the people he had once cared about.

In that creature, Lucifer always saw pieces of Alastor—only for the next few seconds to show a completely different side of him. He was a cluster of violence, anger, frustration, and sadness.

“No fragment, then?”

“He didn’t give me time to retrieve it. He sent me straight into a place where, most likely, he welcomes people he doesn’t like.”

The blond sighed, playing with the rim of his steaming cup with his fingers. Vox wasn’t the friendly type, nor the kind to solve other people’s problems for free. And yet, the story of that madman interested him purely for professional reasons. He had literally never seen anyone try to recover the fragments of a patient who had let their soul crumble. Even rarer, perhaps, was an onirotherapist who did the exact opposite of what they were told.

“Forget it, I’ll handle it myself…” he said, resigned that Vox had been good for nothing more than delivering that message, consoling himself with the fact that he now had a favor from him in his pocket.

 

-

 

A week passed. Although Alastor had made him an explicit request and Lucifer missed him like air, he let the seven days of rest go by, as explained in every onirotherapist’s manual, in order to avoid losing parts of the soul. Practically every night, he had gone to him at the clinic, to sleep beside the person he loved more than anything else and whose absence he felt deeply.

When he finally returned to that world—where he could enter without even breaking boundaries or thinking about a door—he breathed deeply the air of those beautiful fields, kissed by soft rays of sunlight. Alastor always let him in, wanting him and inviting him to come to him.

Step by step, Lucifer drew closer to the entrance of the forest, but before crossing the leafy, branch-woven arch that would lead him to the most hidden place in that world, the therapist veered off, walking until he could turn a corner—only to find himself facing the wide field where strawberries were cultivated.

“Doktor!”

A sweet, high-pitched feminine voice made Lucifer lower his gaze to the ground, where a strange little girl with red hair like her two slightly slanted eyes was sprinkling water over some strawberries.

“Niffty.”

“You came! It’s been so long. The last time someone came in, I smelled the stink of a stranger. Nothing like your scent. But I’m sure Alastor took care of it.”

“I think so too,” he chuckled almost silently, moving closer to the strawberries and studying them one by one.

“Doktor, is there a fragment today too?”

Lucifer examined the branches holding the small fruits, moving them aside to get a better look at the ones in the back.

“I hope so, dear… You should be the one telling me, since you take care of them every day,” he murmured distractedly, touching and inspecting strawberry after strawberry.

After about fifteen minutes of searching, he finally picked one that was decidedly different from the others. This one was special—almost albino, white, precious. Just holding it in his hands, he could feel the pure and sweet essence of Alastor.

“Can I taste it, Doktor?”

“I’m sorry, Nif. This one’s for your master,” he explained with a smile, finally allowing himself to show his true self in that world, which he also felt was partly his own.

He moved closer to the girl, caressing the back of her neck and showing her an expression of pure affection. He had no idea who Niffty was in the real world or what relationship she had with Alastor—he had never heard of her. But in that world, she was the farmer who tended the strawberry fields, and who at that moment was also helping him recover fragments, albeit indirectly.

Still, he felt that soon the place where the fragments were found would change. Rarely were they in the same spot, but in recent months—exactly when Niffty appeared—all those big strawberries had started to sprout right in front of the forest where the redhead lived, saving him both the journey and the searching through that pastoral landscape. Probably, the redhead had been materialized into that world after Alastor had assimilated a specific fragment, recalling the scenes contained within it.

“Do you know what Alastor was like before he was like this?” he asked, perhaps hoping to gather information or simply out of a desire to talk about a shared topic.

“Not really, Dok…” she muttered, almost sadly, lacking the information Lucifer expected from her.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get to know the real Alastor, strawberry by strawberry,” he reassured her, holding the fruit in his left hand as he straightened his back.

The girl grinned, showing all her teeth, taking on a less human appearance than before. She cared for Alastor, and learning more about him made her happy.

Sometimes, Lucifer felt a certain unease around Niffty, but just like Alastor, she had no intention of letting strangers into the core of her master’s essence—driving them out if necessary. She was probably some kind of guardian, placed there simply out of his desire to have her in his world, since Alastor fully embraced the role of bouncer.

“I’m going to give this fragment to Alastor. See you soon, Niffty.”

The girl bounced happily. She was clearly glad to feel useful and to receive those visits. She waved energetically before turning back to tend to the plants and strawberries, while the therapist disappeared into the forest—heading straight to where he knew he would find Alastor.

 

-

 

Lucifer ventured into the forest, where the light became less and less visible, letting himself be embraced by the shadows. He knew he was already under the gaze of his beloved. He understood that he was offended simply because he hadn’t shown up the moment he ordered Vox to call him there.

“Al.” He called, turning slightly right and left, without receiving a reply.

He sighed, slipping his free hand into a pocket, while holding the strawberry meant for his patient in the other.

“I know you’re angry, okay? I couldn’t come earlier.”

He began walking more slowly, almost meditating, approaching the pond that seemed even calmer than usual that day. Only the faint sound of the small waterfall flowing and feeding that peaceful basin broke the silence.

Lucifer stopped in front of the lake, letting his thoughts finally stop running wildly through his mind, feeling a pleasant sense of relaxation and emptiness. That place was always so peaceful for him, perhaps because it was part of Alastor’s soul.

Suddenly, he felt the creature materialize behind him, its tall body just a few millimeters from his own. He could even feel the warmth it radiated. A faint and almost imperceptible growl rumbled from deep in its throat.

“I said I’m sorry.”

With a sharp and inelegant movement, Alastor grabbed Lucifer by the back of the neck from behind, making the blond flinch, lifting him slightly off the ground.

“That’s not the right answer, Lucifer.” The voice, with that strange radio effect the blond had long grown used to, echoed in his ears.

He pulled his hand out of his pocket, placing it over Alastor’s, while with the other he protected the soul fragment.

He tried to say something, but his throat was blocked. He knew this version of Alastor was particularly violent, though with him he had been so only a few times over the years. He must have suffered from hunger, probably feeling a strong sense of abandonment and betrayal.

Lucifer tapped Alastor’s hand lightly, knowing he didn’t truly want to hurt him. Indeed, the redhead released him without warning, and the therapist’s feet touched the ground once more.

“Always so gentle. I wonder if you always wanted to be this way before you became like this,” he muttered, rubbing his neck impatiently, trying not to lose his composure.

Alastor circled around the blond, finally showing himself in front of him. His expression already made it clear he was furious, despite his plastered smile and lips pressed firmly together, as he stared straight into his eyes.

“A week and a half.”

“Repeating my apologies, I’ve noticed, doesn’t—”

The creature grabbed Lucifer’s wrist painfully, lifting his therapist’s arm above his head. The blond was beginning to fear he might suffer the other’s wrath, even though up until then he was practically the only one Alastor had never harmed. He moved his face closer to Lucifer’s, leaving only breaths of air between them.

“You went to other patients.”

“Vox asked me for a favor, okay? And besides, I don’t have to give you—”

With a sharp movement, Alastor twisted the shorter man’s arm backward, dislocating it. After a dry crack that made it clear something had been damaged, Lucifer’s eyes widened in disbelief before letting out a scream of pain, allowing the other to see beyond the controlled mask he insisted on showing him every time he entered his world.

“Always trying to be so perfect… and yet today you’re failing miserably in every single thing you do. Maybe visiting that patient made you filthy, making you lose your usual cunning,” he growled, turning his eyes pitch black with only two tiny red dots, staring straight into his soul.

He was terrifying, and yet Lucifer never stopped loving him, not even when he took on those forms. The blond screamed in pain, while hot tears formed in his eyes. Part of those cries came from the sorrow of never being able to glimpse his boyfriend in that monster, not even after the dozens of essence fragments he had given him.

“Though I have to admit that hearing you suffer like this, and whine so differently compared to when you let yourself get fucked without shame… is nothing short of delightful.”

Lucifer squeezed his eyes shut, closing his mouth as well, trying to contain the wave of frustration he felt. He missed him so much, yet he couldn’t stay away if he wanted his boyfriend back. He had to admit, however, that he had never been treated this way before, and a small part of him didn’t even find it all that unpleasant—pain aside.

“Alastor…” he whimpered in a high-pitched voice, tilting his face toward the ground.

He was addressing Alastor, but not the one in front of him. Many times, in the grip of strong emotions when in that world, Lucifer called out to his beloved. Not in a real attempt to make him recover or summon him, but out of a deep and immense desire to call his love by name.

The redhead watched him in silence. Several seconds passed with Lucifer’s damaged arm still raised above his head, the creature motionless as he studied him without speaking. With another sharp motion from the taller man, Lucifer screamed at the top of his lungs before being shoved to the ground in an ungainly manner.

Despite the pain, he noticed that whatever had been displaced earlier was now back in place. It had certainly not been pleasant, but the pain had stopped, and his soul would probably suffer no damage once he returned to the real world.

Alastor walked toward him, towering over the therapist with a smiling yet utterly emotionless expression. His red eyes shifted to Lucifer’s closed hand, noticing that he was protecting the damned strawberry of the day at all costs. Every single time they met, the blond brought him one.

Lucifer sobbed quietly, proudly wiping away his tears, before looking back at the other with watery yet defiant eyes.

“Despite all the times you’ve shown yourself to be so pathetic, you still dare to look at me like that, Lucifer?”

“I’ve never been pathetic with you, not even once,” he began, slowly rising without taking his eyes off him.

Alastor raised his eyebrows—not in surprise, but because he found the statement ridiculous.

“Every time I wanted to show you my pains and also my pleasures, I did it because I wanted to. And for the record, I’ve done it only with you. I don’t allow anyone else to see my most bare and private side.”

It was ironic how now it was the blond who had to explain how emotions and feelings worked, when, in the past, the more sensitive one between them had been Alastor.

“Stop talking, I’m starving.”

Lucifer extended his arm forward, opening his hand and showing the white strawberry to the creature.

“You know the deal, Al,” he said curtly.

Alastor took the strawberry, turning it between his hands. Every time he fell silent while observing someone or something, Lucifer was sure he was feeling something. After a few moments, the redhead stepped forward, bringing the strawberry to Lucifer’s lips, letting it roll slightly across the soft surface in a slow motion.

The nobleman blushed, lowering his eyes to a random spot, letting him do as he pleased.

“I know the deal, but maybe you’re the one who doesn’t remember it.”

Lucifer began slowly parting his lips, then closing them gently again. He repeated the action several times, as if kissing it.

“Look at me while you do it,” he ordered in a radio-toned voice.

The blond still couldn’t get used to this part, in which Alastor made him eat strawberries in increasingly bizarre ways that he himself should have been the one to take. The latest novelty, which apparently hadn’t changed in weeks, was to watch Lucifer as he kissed and licked that unusually colored little fruit. They both knew how it made the blond incredibly aroused and the redhead eager to claim him.

The therapist didn’t want to admit it, but this overly strange procedure for his tastes was slowly driving him mad. He never imagined something like this could ever please him, but the fact that Alastor watched him, or that it could bring out the side of himself he showed only to him, was something he adored.

In his seriousness, in his silence, Lucifer loved breaking his chains and finally letting his wildest side out, allowing himself to be completely dominated.

The two stared deeply into each other’s eyes, while the therapist felt his reason slipping away from his mind.

“Slow,” Alastor ordered, placing a hand behind Lucifer’s neck, holding him still while pressing the strawberry harder against his lips.

The blond’s eyebrows lifted slightly as he placed his hands on the sleeve of the red garment the creature in front of him was wearing. He already felt like he belonged to him, eager and begging for passivity. The only time he could truly hand over the reins of control to someone he trusted.

“Already so damn lost… And here I thought I was the one who was hungry,” he mocked, degrading the shorter man so sadistically that his knees felt weak.

Alastor tightened his grip on Lucifer’s hair even more, to the point of hurting him, but the man let out a moan.

“Eat it, Lucifer.”

With a small nod, Lucifer licked the strawberry a couple of times before taking the first bite, letting transparent drops run down to his chin.

It was a sweet flavor, for some reason nostalgic. Each bite conveyed something different to him—from sadness to purest joy, from anger to deepest fear. They were all emotions of Alastor, felt during his life. He couldn’t see the memories in those fragments, but he was sure that with each visit, his patient made progress, recovering the memory and personality of his true self.

He swallowed the last piece, only to have the creature’s fingers enter his mouth. Alastor had fallen silent. Now he seemed completely hypnotized by him. He stared at him with irises bright and sclera red as ruby. It was always like this—he would tease or mistreat the blond, then silently adore him and move on with their routine.

“Mhh..!” Lucifer tugged lightly at the other’s sleeve, as Alastor began pushing his fingers into his mouth, then pulling them out and putting them back in again, with an increasingly faster rhythm.

“You’re only mine, Lucifer. Only I can see you in this pitiful state. Only I can penetrate you in every possible way,” he whispered, with an ever more desperate tone.

“Ah-l…!” he tried to say, while Alastor fucked his mouth with his fingers.

“I can’t wait to feed on your essence. You know how much I love it.”

The redhead’s hand tightened even more in Lucifer’s hair, as if to rip it out, earning a fantastic moan from the other.

He bent down, whispering into his therapist’s ear, somehow turning off the radio effect of his voice.

“Don’t you dare go to other patients ever again. Promise it.”

Lucifer was in a cloud of pleasure. Every time Alastor showed any sort of obsession for him, he enjoyed it silently. He nodded, but that clearly wasn’t enough, as the taller man pushed even deeper, causing him to gag.

Lucifer tried not to throw up, even though the sensation had been strong and unpleasant.

“Say it,” he whispered.

“Phvo…mise,” he promised with his mouth full and eyes watery.

Alastor gave him a slow lick on the ear before pulling his hand out of Lucifer, still gripping his hair.

“So good, just for me…” he murmured softly, in complete adoration.

His face then moved toward the blond’s neck, sniffing and licking. Lucifer heard the unmistakable sound of purring coming from him, just as it had from the very first moment they met. A fragment of Alastor was now inside him, in his soul, and there was only one way to return it to its owner.

“Do it, Al. Feed.” He moaned, trying to find a better way to hold himself up by leaning more into the other’s arm.

His eyelids were half-closed and his lips were swollen. His pale skin was now flushed, showing a faint golden hue on the surface.

He felt Alastor open his mouth to bite his neck, but strangely, he stopped.

“May I?”

This was new. Lucifer’s eyes widened, becoming almost lucid again, as if a second ago his mind hadn’t been completely emptied and filled with pure lust.

Alastor… was asking for permission? Was that some sort of concern for him? He had never done that.

“Al… Love,” he said in a broken voice, embracing his boyfriend.

The creature allowed it, though he didn’t seem entirely convinced. On the other hand, Lucifer had finally seen a small part of his beloved.

“My darling…” he whispered, large tears streaming from his eyes.

Alastor turned his gaze to Lucifer, studying his reaction while holding him, simply because he had asked for consent. Even his grip on the blond’s hair grew gentler.

Slowly, the creature laid Lucifer down on the floor, and the latter let him, just as he had let a copy of him do hours earlier inside Adam’s dream.

“Surrender to me, Lucifer,” he instructed, in the same barely audible tone the blond could catch, making clear the secret between them.

“Yes…” he began to feel his breathing grow heavy with anticipation.

Alastor positioned himself above him, moving the collar of his shirt aside before licking the soft skin of Lucifer’s neck. That alone was enough to draw more pleasurable sounds from the blond, who tilted his head to give the other more room to maneuver.

His expression was already desperate, but he didn’t care at all. He awaited those instructions, that beginning, and all that magical procedure that made him see the stars and connected him to Alastor.

The creature opened his mouth, letting out a sigh of satisfaction. At last, he could savor Lucifer’s sweet essence, even if it was laced with those stupid fragments that always gave it a different taste, as if adding a new spice each time. What he never admitted was that with each visit from his “therapist,” he gained memories of what he had been and what the man beneath him longed to have back.

He sank his fangs into the skin as if it were butter.

“F-fuck…!”

Lucifer arched his back, clutching Alastor’s shoulders with trembling hands. His patient began to suck gently, then increased the strength and rhythm between each draw. It was clear he was hungry. He had never been this ravenous, and it almost seemed as though he was losing himself, despite usually being so controlled.

Not a single drop escaped. Alastor licked away every possible leak before resuming sucking. He felt Lucifer’s body grow softer in his arms, while the latter began to moan in pure ecstasy, abandoning entirely the act of being the uptight, serious man he insisted on pretending to be each time.

“Al… Alastor!!” he cried out, the desperation in his tone showing how much he was enjoying it.

The redhead released one of Lucifer’s shoulders, reaching down to caress the spot where he already knew he would find the other’s erection.

“Mhhhn!!”

Lucifer’s body began to move subtly, with tiny jerks and tremors caused by the incredible waves of pleasure he was being subjected to.

Alastor growled as he continued sucking, far more than usual. He felt himself losing control for once. His eyes turned black, his frame slightly larger, his features more monstrous.

With his hand, he began stroking the other quickly and rhythmically, letting his ears delight in the moans of the man whose essence he was feeding on. In his mind, images of Lucifer began to appear — visions that, in all those years, had never surfaced — forcing him to wonder who this man was and why he adored him so much, to the point of giving part of his own essence to him, risking his health.

In those memories, he was young, looking at him with that stupid fake expression of superiority. Words, tones, sensations bloomed like a flower in his heart.

“Al…”

Suddenly, Alastor pulled away from the blond, terror in his gaze. He turned his face aside, sensing that in that tone there was more weakness than pleasure. Lucifer was practically gray, his eyelids heavy, his lips slightly parted. He was about to faint, and he probably would have if Alastor had kept draining his essence. He had… definitely gone too far.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Lucifer laughed, genuine happiness in his smile. He shifted his tired eyes to him, nodding in reassurance. A blond hand caressed Alastor’s face, showing pure adoration.

“Can we… continue?”

“Did you miss it?”

“You have no idea how much.”

Alastor resumed stroking Lucifer, admiring how his touch drove the man he was obsessed with wild, even though they were both still clothed. He didn’t know why, but from the moment his memory began, Lucifer had always been there, and the creature couldn’t do without him. He was a constant thought, and each time he had to wait days before seeing him again, it was pure agony.

“Al… Alastor! L-love…”

The redhead didn’t know why he called him that. More than once, Lucifer had told him he loved him, without ever receiving an answer. Yet he kept saying it. What that love depended on, he didn’t know. The creature watched as the other lost more and more of his rationality. His irises hid beneath his eyelids, his expression ecstatic, making clear how much pleasure he was feeling. His small hands gripped Alastor’s shoulder and face as he reached the peak of bliss.

His length was extremely hard and hot, probably to the point of pain.

“You need to come,” he informed him, as if he hadn’t noticed.

“Yes…! Yes!” he admitted, knowing it was true.

That was all the answer he needed to stop. Smiling in satisfaction, Alastor pulled his hand away from Lucifer. The therapist looked at him in shock, left hanging just a hair’s breadth from the peak. A muffled chuckle confirmed to the noble just how sadistic the being above him was. The frustration was so great he felt his eyes fill with tears again, though this time for a very different emotion than before.

Suddenly, it was as if Alastor had gone ten steps back in the progress they had made. The blond didn’t have enough rationality left to analyze the reason for that regression, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it either, as his patient ripped away every piece of clothing covering his body with a swipe of his claws.

He flinched, startled by the reaction. Usually, the other loved removing each article of clothing with excessive slowness or even just enough to get the job done. Now, it seemed he couldn’t wait for that part, which he usually showed little interest in. Since they began talking, teasing, and negotiating how Alastor would take those fragments he had no intention of eating, the redhead had immediately shown his obsession with draining Lucifer’s essence, while the therapist loved both parts — especially what came after each time — finding it incredibly arousing.

“W-what the hell are you doing? Have you lost your mind?”

“Never been sane, darling,” he growled with a wide grin while giving his clothes the same fate as Lucifer’s.

His body was so muscular, virile, with a chest covered in thick red hair. His shaft stood fully erect, boasting proportions far beyond human, along with a strange pointed tip, almost like a horn — something that didn’t bother the therapist in the slightest. With swift, decisive movements, the creature spread the other’s legs, positioning himself so that his tip brushed lightly against Lucifer’s entrance.

“Al!” he called, once again desperate to move forward and receive more pleasure.

Alastor’s eyes shifted toward him. He remained silent for a few seconds, studying him. Though confused, Lucifer tried to grasp something of what might be passing through those beautiful flame-red irises. Ever since the creature had absorbed his essence, he had somehow changed, though he couldn’t tell how. Had he remembered something? Or felt emotions that had once belonged to him?

With a single smooth motion, Alastor entered Lucifer completely, filling him in a way that would likely be impossible in reality. The man’s vision wavered, overwhelmed by an excessively intense and unexpected surge of ecstasy.

His eyes flew open, and instinctively his head fell back. He didn’t even notice the cry that escaped him. It was like being on a roller coaster — in less than two seconds, Lucifer was being thrust into with powerful, rapid rhythm.

Moans and incoherent words tumbled from his lips as his nails dug into the broad shoulders of the being above him, who meanwhile kept his legs lifted, driving into him like a wild animal.

“AL!! ALASTOR!”

“You are mine, Lucifer. Only I can tame you like this. You must think only of me when you return. You’ll struggle to breathe until we meet again.”

Alastor was undoubtedly obsessed with Lucifer — something he probably hadn’t even bothered to understand. He loved watching him fall apart in his arms, feeding on his essence, receiving his visits and attention. When Lucifer began insisting he eat those strawberries for his “therapy,” Alastor cared only about how to twist that request to his own advantage.

“Yes! Yes! Oh, God…” he moaned, by now with not a shred of rationality left to think about what he was saying.

The redhead filled him completely, each thrust that felt like it might split him in two somehow more pleasurable than the last. He loved being naked, feeling their skin pressed together. He adored being passive, letting himself be used, coddled, guided toward pleasure, screaming, and finally allowing himself to appear fragile.

Alastor lowered his torso so that his face was near the other’s, never stopping his thrusts and fixing him with that artificial smile.

“I am your God,” he hissed, delivering one final thrust and spilling his seed deep inside him, locking eyes with him all the while.

Lucifer could only take the treatment, gazing at Alastor through a haze. That film over his eyes made the sight of his beloved even more beautiful, as if he were glowing. He caught a glimpse of the true Alastor in him, feeling a painful ache in his chest, sprinkled with sparks of emotion and nostalgia.

“How I love you, Alastor…” he whispered, voice breaking, as he felt the liquid forcefully leave his body in quantities far too great for him to contain.

Alastor’s eyelids lowered slightly, falling into silence again. He studied the words and the man who had spoken them, his breathing heavy.

Lucifer let him. He didn’t have a degree, but it didn’t take a genius to know the creature needed quiet to sort out his thoughts.

When Alastor sighed, the therapist knew he had finished processing. Those red irises drifted toward Lucifer’s still-hard shaft, deprived of the release it craved.

“No… no need, it’s fine,” he tried to say gently.

“Touch yourself.”

“W…what?”

“Do it. In front of me.”

Despite having just done far more obscene things moments ago, Lucifer felt his cheeks flush as his hand instinctively went to his length.

Alastor loved seeing him in his most lustful moments. He was wildly passionate about watching that mask shatter, about beholding the real Lucifer and how he let himself drown in a sea of raw, primal pleasure.

The therapist was certain it was partly due to the frustration of never having met the real Lucifer in the waking world, nor being able to do anything with him there.

“Would you do this with others?”

That curiosity was new. As he stroked himself faster and faster, Lucifer’s gaze returned to his beloved.

“Every time I’ve done these things, I’ve thought of you, and I’ve never done anything with anyone who wasn’t you,” he reassured, his voice pitched higher and breath coming faster, knowing he was close to reaching his peak too.

Alastor fell into another thoughtful silence, almost absentmindedly watching Lucifer’s hand speed up. The blond moved his free hand to rest on the one belonging to the man above him, pleading with his expression.

“Tell me you love me, Al,” he asked, eyes once again unfocused.

The creature stayed still, his smile no longer entirely genuine. All those silences were unlike him, and every time Lucifer noticed something different in his patient, he saw it as a small victory. The blond laughed — a laugh tinged with sadness, almost frustration and resignation. His beautiful yellow-and-red eyes grew glassy as he realized that he still didn’t have the real Alastor with him, just when he’d thought he had partially brought him back.

“You can’t, huh?”

Alastor nodded. He neither wanted nor could bring himself to say such a thing, not even as a lie. He wasn’t a creature who enjoyed dancing around the truth or spinning falsehoods. He didn’t know what he felt for Lucifer — only that he was obsessed with him. But he didn’t believe that obsession could be called love. It was more a craving for dominance, a hunger for a delicious prey that willingly returned to his arms.

Resigned, Lucifer brought himself to climax, more to please the other and fulfill his request than out of any real desire. Receiving that silent answer was enough to kill any eagerness.

He let out a faint moan as his hand and body were coated in his own release. At last, he had allowed himself some pleasure and time with Alastor in intimacy. He let his head fall back slightly, resting it on the ground, while watching the other stand and snap his fingers to clean them both and clothe them once more in their usual attire.

Lucifer sat up, watching his patient.

“You’ve been unusually quiet since the last fragment. Will you tell me what you saw?”

Alastor had his back to him, gazing out at the world before him with no real interest.

“Come back soon, Lucifer,” he said at last, vanishing into his own shadow and refusing to say anything more.

 

Chapter 45

Notes:

NOTE : This chapter contains references to suicide. If the topic is upsetting or distressing to you, please skip to the next one.

Lucifer slowly reopened his eyes, finding himself once again in the real world. A world that had always brought him suffering and only a few deep but fleeting joys. The first thing he saw was his boyfriend, sleeping and silent as always, while he lay on the bed beside him, still holding his hand.

“Alastor…” he whispered.

Without wanting to sit back up or leave his place of rest, Lucifer gathered the memories of that last visit, in which Alastor—in his version with an incomplete soul—had, as always, shown him a particular kind of sadism, but also one of those rare moments of kindness.

He reflected more, stayed silent more often, and above all, had asked permission to take his essence—while also thinking of his pleasure—after having used him like a sexual object.

He was undoubtedly still wild and full of negative emotions, but he was beginning to have something that reminded Lucifer of the man he loved. Perhaps, after all, he was making progress. Yet they were always painfully slow, and Lucifer had to admit to himself that he was… tremendously tired.

Finally, he sat up, caressing the hand of the person he loved more than himself.

Playing with his thumb over Alastor’s knuckles, he wondered if what he was doing was truly right. He questioned more and more often whether all his efforts would lead to any result. Undoubtedly, he was still with his boyfriend, but a version of him that didn’t even remember him and couldn’t even feel or say he loved him.

The therapist brought Alastor’s hand to his forehead, closing his eyes, feeling himself overwhelmed by a wave of pure negativity and defeat.

“What should I do, Alastor? Please… tell me something. Am I doing the wrong thing?” he whispered, begging him for even a sign.

“I miss you like the air, Al… I… I don’t think I can take it anymore,” he admitted, confirming to himself with his sharp voice that he had started crying.

He had only asked him one thing—to say I love you, even if he didn’t really mean it. Why cling so stubbornly to refusing to accept his true self? Why did that creature constantly and punctually refuse to analyze with Lucifer his memories and whatever he managed to absorb through the fragments?

The blond knew perfectly well that he had begun to feel some of the old emotions of the real Alastor, and probably some memories too. And yet, he didn’t utter a word and didn’t answer any questions. The two simply played at teasing each other, then feeding the redhead with Lucifer’s essence and, without any set plan, ending up making love in an almost animalistic way.

The nobleman slowly opened his eyes again, staring absently at his own legs. Every time Alastor sank his fangs into his neck and began absorbing parts of his soul, Lucifer couldn’t help but feel an insane sexual arousal. It reminded him a little of the old vampire novels he used to read as a boy. Yet what the creature made him feel with that way of feeding was utterly uncontrollable. He desired Alastor more than anything else, and combined with whatever caused that spike in libido, nothing and no one could have stopped him. If the redhead had rejected him, Lucifer would have had to pleasure himself, so overwhelming was the desire.

“This thing I’m doing… the mission I started years ago… will it bring you back?” he now asked in a normal tone, as if truly speaking to him, while turning toward the man in a coma.

He stared at his beloved’s face—relaxed, beautiful as the sun, gentle even in its features. Lucifer’s expression involuntarily tightened, feeling a new wave of tears coming on. Perhaps he needed a vacation. Lately, he had been crying often and couldn’t stay away from that room for more than twenty hours. He would end up like Alastor if he let himself go.

His blue eyes fell on a small transparent cabinet, where nurses and doctors kept their instruments. For some strange reason, he noticed the presence of scalpels, neatly sealed in pouches and probably meant for single use. Those blades were definitely sharper than the ones he had used when he tried to take his own life. He remembered—without much terror—having taken his father’s razor. He would not use it again in any case.

It was strange, but carrying out suicide had not frightened him. He had been extremely empty. He couldn’t remember the reason that had led him to that act and wondered if he and Alastor had ever analyzed that tragic event of his life. The only thing he remembered were the sensations: the determination, the coldness—without any gathering of courage or psychological preparation. He knew he was tired and decided to end it. Even waiting for that final sleep, the one that would end his sad life, had been strangely boring and devoid of any emotion.

Now… it was different. Now Lucifer looked at that instrument, letting countless what ifs flow into his mind, born from the deepest sadness. He was tired, he was depressed, he was alone. He was a weak and sensitive man, forced since birth to be strong and to wear masks weighing tons.

His face changed, becoming thoughtful and deep.

If he… were no longer here, what would happen to Alastor?

Perhaps that creature was happy. Perhaps that wild version of his boyfriend finally allowed him to be himself, even if a small part of the therapist was sure the redhead would never have wanted to do what he was doing.

“If I left, Al… would you care?” he whispered, looking at him again and, of course, receiving no answer.

“I… I promised to bring you back, but… are you still there? Are you waiting for me? Or am I trying to bring back someone who’s no longer here?” he kept questioning him.

Receiving no answer was certainly no help, plunging him even deeper into his dangerous vortex of negativity. Receiving only silence, the blond broke into a quiet cry, hoping that absolutely no one would hear him. The staff knew he was there for his therapy, so most likely no one would enter for the next hour.

“I can’t take it anymore… I- I’m sorry, I… I want to stop suffering like this,” he sobbed, his voice so faint it couldn’t be heard by anyone at all.

That last visit had devastated him to the core. Although the creature refused every time to show him words or gestures of love, practically using him like a refrigerator or like a hole in the wall, Lucifer consoled himself with the thought that it was still Alastor, after all. He was treating him, he would come back… right?

In his mind resurfaced all those refusals from other dream therapists, who had told him several times—and in various, sometimes bizarre ways—the reason why it was impossible to bring Alastor back. Each had their own theory, but Lucifer had been stubborn, proud as always, deciding they were all nonsense from people unwilling to risk getting hurt.

But was it really so?

With his eyes completely wet and his expression shattered, Lucifer looked again at that scalpel. If he did it, could he fall asleep forever, without anyone saving him? Doing it in a hospital certainly didn’t seem like the best idea if he didn’t want to be helped. Charlie had left for another city for her studies, so few, if any, would visit him soon.

He could hardly believe he was truly thinking about this.

After all the effort Alastor had made for him, the doctors, after all the suffering his sister had had to endure, left completely alone.

 

CLACK

 

The sound of the door opening finally pulled Lucifer out of that vortex of depression, which was becoming dangerous. He was never truly honest with anyone, except Alastor. He rarely opened up to someone, and usually, they were older or elderly women, like Henrietta or Susan, who could probably sense his suffering but could help him only so much. No one could truly help him.

A wave of embarrassment made him flinch and widen his reddened eyes as he clutched his boyfriend’s hand tightly, on the bed next to his own. Standing in the doorway was a short man, though not as short as him, with broad shoulders and covered in body hair. His hair and beard were black as pitch. His skin was decidedly mulatto, perhaps even darker than Alastor’s. The man stopped at the threshold, noticing Lucifer there, who in turn stared at him, shocked.

He didn’t resemble anyone—not Alastor, nor Henrietta or her husband. That… was not a relative. Suddenly, a flame in his chest began to kindle and spread with extreme slowness, as Lucifer abandoned the sadness he had been feeling, replacing it with combative jealousy. What was that man doing in his boyfriend’s room?

“Who the fuck are you?”

Chapter 46

The brunet stared at Lucifer as if he had just been asked for money at a traffic light. He scoffed, shutting the door behind him. The blond was horrified by that behavior—especially by the fact that this stranger had seen him in a moment of weakness.

Maybe he should have thanked him, since he had been spiraling into thoughts that would likely have driven him to do something reckless, and yet he couldn’t help but feel an indescribable dislike toward him. What was he doing in his boyfriend’s room?

And if Lucifer hadn’t been there… what would he have done or said to Alastor?

“Are you listening to me?” he said, placing the redhead’s hand back on his stomach and stepping away from the bed to regain his composure.

Instinctively, he squared his shoulders, puffed out his chest, and looked at that man with his usual superior expression.

The brunet didn’t seem to have the slightest interest in Lucifer, taking a stool and placing it on the free side of the bed before sitting on it.

“Hey!”

“I can hear you.”

“Then answer me. What the hell are you doing in my boyfriend’s room?!”

The brunet raised an eyebrow, finally turning his black eyes toward him, studying him.

“You…?”

“Me.”

“Alastor had a boyfriend?” he whispered, as if he couldn’t believe it.

Lucifer frowned—at first because of the surprise in that tone. Then, once again, he was possessed by wild jealousy. He was a damn… commoner! He was dressed like an idiot, in pants fit for a fifty-year-old and a checkered shirt, plus hiking boots that made him look like someone ready to climb a mountain in a damn seaside city. His beard was unkempt and streaked with gray, as were his shapeless hair.

“I swear I’m calling security.”

“For what?”

“What?!”

“You heard me. For what reason would you call security? I’m just visiting my friend.”

He wanted to hit him. Hit him, and badly. Lucifer often resorted to brute force when he lost his patience, to the point of resembling an enraged chihuahua. Friend?

Okay, Alastor had been out of town for years and had clearly made friends and… probably more. But what kind of friend would travel across the world to visit him? A very devoted one, that’s what.

“I don’t like you being here.”

“And do you think I give a damn?” he shot back, as if he had the line ready in his pocket, leaning forward to look at the redhead sleeping.

Even that almost nostalgic expression while looking at Alastor was driving Lucifer insane.

“Listen, you piece of shit—” He walked around to put a hand on the brunet’s shoulder, but the man stood, grabbing Lucifer’s wrist and lifting it above his head, exactly as the therapist’s patient had done a couple of hours earlier.

Lucifer’s face twisted in disgust. He had actually touched him. It took less than a second for him to twist the man around, take control of the situation, and slam him to the floor, holding his arm twisted behind his back. He sat on top of him, wondering why he hadn’t done the same to Alastor instead of letting him dislocate his shoulder with such disarming ease.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

“You attacked me. It’s called self-defense.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“I told you, I’m Alastor’s boyfriend.”

“He couldn’t have been in a relationship! He went into a coma less than a month after leaving, and I’m sure he was single.”

Lucifer stared at him, shocked. He liked this information less and less. He yanked the man’s arm, tearing a cry of pain from him, while trying to get back to his feet.

“Stop it!”

“What do you know about whether Alastor had a boyfriend, huh?”

“I just know.” The last sentence was almost muttered.

The blond wanted to tear his arm off—and possibly every other body part—but he had to stay rational. If he wanted to help Alastor, if he wanted to keep pursuing his mission to bring him back, he had to question this stranger who had practically appeared out of nowhere. Maybe he would give him useful information.

He let him go, but remained sitting on his back, studying him.

“You… and Alastor had a relationship?”

The man said nothing, showing only an annoyed expression, making it clear he’d rather be anywhere else.

“I’m about to take your arm again, and I swear this time I’ll break it.”

“It wasn’t a relationship,” he blurted out.

At that reaction and those words, Lucifer’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces. He should have expected Alastor to have had someone. After all, they had literally parted ways without ever even getting together, ending their acquaintance on bad terms.

“You and him…?”

“Yes, but there was nothing from either of us. Even though he tried to play the same damn gentleman as always, it was obvious he wasn’t interested,” he spat out, moving his shoulders slightly in a faint plea to be released.

Lucifer sighed. It couldn’t possibly get any worse. All his doubts had been confirmed. Alastor had come to save him, even though on the other side of the world he had that sort of convenience-based connection with this man of questionable genetics. He stood up, freeing him. He didn’t take his blue eyes off him, analyzing him as he got up and adjusted his hideous lumberjack-style outfit.

He couldn’t believe Alastor had slept with someone like that. He was practically horrified—but probably would have been even if the man had been the wealthiest in the universe.

The next second, a nurse walked in looking particularly agitated and worried. The two had definitely made some noise, between chairs being knocked over and shouting.

“W-what’s going on, Mr. Morningstar?”

For just a moment, the brunet’s eyes fell on Lucifer when he heard his surname, but then returned to the woman, hoping everything would be resolved without any punishment.

The blond thought. For all the money he’d donated and for how much he paid in monthly fees, he could have had that troglodyte thrown out. But something about him set off alarm bells. Besides the fact that he could tell him about Alastor’s university years and early work life, he felt he shouldn’t get rid of him so easily.

“My apologies, nurse. I almost fainted after therapy. Luckily my friend here was here to help me.”

The taller man raised an eyebrow at that surprisingly convincing performance and sudden change of attitude. He also hadn’t missed the word therapy. He glanced at Alastor for a moment, whose face was so peaceful it almost looked like he was simply napping in front of them.

“Oh… d-don’t worry. Would you like me to bring some water or supplements? I can also call the Doctor—”

“Absolutely not, thank you. Soon this gentleman will be buying me something at the bar.”

The woman flinched slightly at what seemed, in every way, like a reprimand. She swallowed, feeling somewhat embarrassed, and with a nod, left the room.

Lucifer sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets and staring at the door with a bored expression. In reality, though, he was analyzing the situation—trying to keep his jealousy in check. At least this man’s arrival had stirred the waters, as well as bringing him potential new information and pulling him out of a pit he might never have escaped. Maybe he should start a “normal” kind of therapy, to avoid thinking about suicide so casually.

“I’m not buying you shit.”

“Don’t worry, I own a bar. If I want, I can buy you a life—and more importantly, a new wardrobe full of decent clothes,” he said quietly, almost as if he were speaking in a dream.

“Hey, you piece of—”

Lucifer turned abruptly toward the man, making him flinch. He stepped forward, face twisted in disgust, and extended his arm—asking to shake his hand and probably start over.

“I’m Lucifer Morningstar. Boyfriend and therapist of Alastor. I really need whatever you know about him.”

The brunet looked at Lucifer’s hand. He had expected a nobleman’s hand to be practically ethereal, with slender fingers, soft pale skin. Instead, it looked like the hand of someone who worked with tools. There were calluses, small wounds, and his skin was decidedly tanned, which only highlighted his blond hair and blue eyes with lighter streaks. Hearing his name, of course he understood who he was. On rare occasions, Alastor had opened up to him, vaguely talking about his past with Lucifer—moments that came when he was deeply depressed and shamefully drunk.

Grumbling rather loudly, he grabbed Lucifer’s hand, shaking it with excessive force while making it swing. The two looked each other in the eye. The blond made it clear that Alastor was his and that he would not allow anyone to get close to him, while the man in front of him expressed total disinterest in the romantic battle Lucifer seemed to think existed between them. If he could help Alastor with what he knew, he’d spend a couple of hours with this self-important idiot who acted like a prince.

“I’m Husker. You can call me Husk.”

Chapter 47

Alastor stared at the amber-colored liquid in his glass, letting his mind melt away, almost swaying along with the sweet jazz music in the venue where he had invited Husk.

The two had started having sex in a practically unplanned and sudden way, ever since the redhead had discovered his bar and begun staying there late, sipping vodka and commenting on the way it was served. Evidently, sarcasm and especially negative reviews intrigued the bartender.

Being a gentleman, Alastor didn’t accept having that kind of relationship with the brunet—something he had eventually gotten used to over the years—but at least he tried to start a relationship with him: taking him out, buying him dinner, giving him small gifts like a bartender’s manual, which was not exactly appreciated.

It had been a couple of weeks now that they had been going out, but those almost rigid, disinterested routines had even made the sex boring, making it clear that the two were decidedly incompatible for a serious story.

That evening, Alastor was particularly nostalgic and downhearted, realizing how hopeless he was at that sort of thing. And yet, he thought he treated his companions rather well. First Angel, then Husk… maybe he just wasn’t meant to have someone. Maybe the whole thing with Lucifer, which had never even started, should have been enough to make him understand that he didn’t deserve to have someone to love.

The truth, unfortunately, was that he already had someone to love… and it was impossible to replace them with anyone else.

“You look like shit.” Husk said it with an initial intent to tease him, without realizing how much the darkness in his heart had made him genuinely sad.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want our date to end like this.” He slurred, realizing he was more than drunk and that he might be ruining the outing because of his uncontrollable urge to stop thinking.

“Don’t worry, redhead. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen you plastered.” He sighed, standing up and walking around the table to help him to his feet.

Alastor was decidedly heavy and wasn’t putting enough strength into his limbs to keep himself upright. It was clear he was tired but also that he simply didn’t want to try. They had literally tried everything to spark a flame that would never ignite. Cinema, pizzeria, movie nights at home, amusement park, even a short trip to a nearby town. Nothing at all, except for the usual conversations. Neither of them felt anything for the other beyond affection, respect, and physical attraction. But what they had could never be called love.

“Al, listen.”

“Don’t say anything, Husker…” he whispered, leaning even more against him as they began walking toward the exit.

The brunet waited only a few minutes, until they were alone, walking down a small street lit only by lampposts and a few vending machines.

“Can we stop this thing?”

“What thing?”

“What we’re doing, Al. There will never be anything but sex. Why is something like that not good enough for you?”

Alastor thought about those words. The other man couldn’t know how much that question hurt. He wanted… to fall in love with someone who would return his love. He wanted to speak to someone he could actually call boyfriend. He wanted to forget Lucifer.

A small sob startled the brunet, who turned toward him, only now realizing that the taller and decidedly heavier man had begun silently crying.

“Hey… hey, sorry. I didn’t think—”

Alastor turned and hugged him. He held him tightly, as if he didn’t want to let go. As if he couldn’t survive without that gesture. Husk was surprised, as the other man had rarely shown him such affection. He often acted the gallant—pulling out his chair, opening the car door—only to throw him onto the bed with all the strength in his body afterward, always making sure it was enjoyable for him too. But nothing like an embrace or a caress. Maybe he was trying to convince him to keep going with these dates.

“Why did you do this to me?” His voice was broken both by tears and by the depth of his drunkenness.

“What are you talking about? I just… I just said we should keep being together without this act.”

Alastor held him even tighter, burying his face in the space between the other man’s neck and shoulder.

“The Morningstar name made you this way.”

Husk raised his eyebrows, realizing he wasn’t talking to him. He lifted his arms and placed his hands on Alastor’s back, massaging it in the hope of calming him down.

“Al, you need to sleep.”

“Why can’t you love me, Lucifer?” he asked in a high-pitched voice.

Without meaning to, the brunet had gathered information he wasn’t particularly interested in and that he was sure Alastor didn’t want him to know. Being a bartender and having people open their hearts in front of him could sometimes feel like a heavy role on his shoulders. Sometimes he felt like he forced his customers to confess everything they were hiding, as if he were giving them a truth serum, when in reality he only sold alcohol.

He felt a certain frustration having a man do the exact same thing to him, even on his day off. He sighed, continuing to reassure the redhead who kept crying. He had never seen Alastor this drunk. Even when he stayed late at his bar, he kept himself cautiously tipsy. He must have been deeply sad to have ended up like this. But Husk also knew that the solution to problems was never at the bottom of a glass—or a bottle.

“Let’s go home. Tonight you’ll sleep at my place,” he whispered.

 

-

 

Lucifer played with the rim of his glass, as he usually did when thinking. He wasn’t a big drinker. He could only drink particularly creamy and sweet liqueurs, while all other alcohol bothered him. He stared at Husk with disgust as the man slowly drank his whisky.

“Not bad.”

“Thanks, I paid the best suppliers.” He immediately shot back the jab, driven by the desire to put himself above the other.

He would never forgive Alastor for getting into the pants of a troglodyte like this. He wasn’t stupid—he understood that beneath that scowl, the man in front of him was good. Still, he couldn’t stand him, not to mention his complete lack of care for appearance or clothing. He looked like some country bumpkin who had grown up in a tree—or in a cave. What had Alastor seen in someone like this?!

“If you’re going to keep insulting me, can you at least tell me why you brought me here?”

“Simple. I want information on Alastor. I’m not here to make friends with you.”

Husk sighed, letting his back fall against the chair, resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t be able to have a normal conversation with the blond, but maybe if he answered the snobby man’s questions, the redhead might come back around.

“What Alastor has… can it be cured?”

“I’m the one asking questions, asshole.”

The brunet rolled his eyes. He wanted to hit him, but he knew he’d get beaten, given previous experience. He wanted to leave, but couldn’t. The only thing he could do was answer the questions and endure this idiot’s presence.

“Then let’s get it over with.”

“How long?”

“How long what?!”

“How long have you been seducing Alastor?”

“Is that really useful for therapy? And I haven’t seduced anyone.”

“Then explain to me how someone as elegant and charismatic as him ends up in bed with someone like you.”

“Define someone like me.”

The two locked eyes, staying silent. They couldn’t take a single step in the right direction. Lucifer couldn’t fight the overwhelming jealousy he felt toward the bartender, while Husker was becoming increasingly impatient. To him, Alastor had always been his, refusing to accept that he could be with others, even though for years it had been constantly thrown in his face that he was seeing different people. Ironically, even the redhead couldn’t be with anyone else, except using them to imagine Lucifer.

“Different,” he summed up, in an effort to remain polite.

“Listen, I don’t give a damn about what you think of me. I thought you wanted to start off on the right foot. I’m not in love with Alastor. We were just sleeping together.”

“He’s my boyfriend now. I hope you accept the fact that you two will never do it again.”

“I figured. Can we move on?”

Lucifer took his chocolate-flavored liquor with a bit of cream and swallowed a small sip, glaring at Husk with hostility.

“So why are you here?”

“Because I care about him, what kind of question is that! I’ve been visiting him once a season for five years now. But today I had the misfortune of running into you.”

The blond lowered his gaze to his drink, thinking. For five years, that bastard had been coming every three months. He knew the clinic wasn’t supposed to give him any sort of report, let alone act as a guard, but he still found it absurd that the man’s presence had escaped him.

“You care about him?”

“As a friend. Has it ever crossed your mind that you can care about someone even if there’s no relationship?”

“Caring about someone as a friend when you used to screw them? Ironic,” he mocked.

“You know what? This is pointless.”

Feeling defeated, Husker stood up. It was clear that the blond was more interested in putting him in his place — which, to be specific, was under the sole of his shoe — than in gathering information. Or at least that’s how it seemed at first, though it was far from the truth.

Lucifer flinched, looking at him for a moment, confused. Finally, the brunet, who rarely missed an expression or detail on a face, managed to catch a glimpse of the real person hiding behind that little prince mask.

“Now you want to talk?”

“Sit down, please,” he muttered, now slightly red in the face.

Husk sighed loudly, taking his seat again and crossing his arms, waiting for an actual conversation.

“I swear if your next sentence is about the fact that he and I used to sleep together, I’m leaving for good.”

“No, okay… I get it,” Lucifer tried to calm down.

Husk had shown up like a ray of sunshine in the middle of a storm. Aside from probably saving his life, or at least distracting him from some decidedly dangerous intrusive thoughts, the blond had finally managed to bring something new into that automatic, mechanical routine Lucifer had locked himself into while trying to save Alastor. He didn’t even know if what he was doing was useful or not. The creature was making progress. He had started to talk, to dress elegantly, to take on more human forms, and seemed more thoughtful and lucid than before.

“What do you want to ask me?”

“Everything you know about him. I can’t say I’m stuck in his recovery, but maybe if I knew more, I could adjust my therapy and get better — and especially faster — results.”

Husk showed a sincere expression of thought. He wanted to gather his ideas to lay them out for Lucifer and maybe even tell him about his own relationship with Alastor.

“He didn’t talk much about his personal life. Only once did he mention your name, but he was drunk as a sponge.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened, suddenly embarrassed. Alastor… had talked about him to another man?

“What—what did he say?”

“That your family’s name had made you that way, and he was asking why you couldn’t love him.” He wanted to be honest, understanding that there had to be an unbreakable bond between the two, where he himself practically had no place except as someone to spend time with or a friend to talk to.

“My love…” he whispered, lowering his gaze and unable to stop his eyes from welling up.

Husk watched him in silence. He often saw people get drunk and turn into something completely different from what they showed in daily life, but Lucifer was practically the opposite of the role he insisted on playing.

“I saw you crying, you know? Earlier.”

Lucifer lifted his eyes toward the man. He had seen him in a moment of complete vulnerability, and it was entirely his own fault. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to behave freely outside those four walls. He nodded slightly, letting his shoulders slump.

“I… maybe I should thank you, even if I don’t like the idea,” he admitted, refusing to say that simple little word that would express what he was trying to convey.

“For what?” Husk picked up his glass, absentmindedly sipping his drink.

He simply wanted to lighten the conversation, noticing the clear difficulty Lucifer had in opening his heart to people. He could understand why he didn’t like it, but he also knew Lucifer was the type of man who never let anyone see him fragile. When he opened that door, he had glimpsed for just a few seconds a lost, desperate man staring into the void as if thinking the worst.

“Nothing in particular… but before you came, I felt stuck in a dead end,” he wanted to close the subject.

Husk took a few more sips, letting silence wrap around them for a while, along with the background music that reminded him a little of his own place. In many ways, Lucifer’s bar resembled his, except for the excessive use of wood in every element, shell decorations, and the nearness of the sea that you could almost feel if you paid a bit more attention.

“And now you’re unstuck?”

“I’ve found a bit of motivation again, that’s for sure. What else can you tell me about Alastor… besides…”

“Don’t say it.”

“I didn’t.”

The brunet set down his nearly empty glass with a sigh.

“Lately… Alastor was overworking. I imagine you know about that sort of limit in… well, visiting the patients’ world.”

“You talk as if you don’t believe it.” He looked at him with a fresh flash of irritation in his expression.

“You’ll agree with me that an activity like yours isn’t exactly easy to believe.”

Lucifer opened his mouth, ready to argue. But Husk cut him off before a new storm of offense could break out.

“But, knowing Alastor and seeing the effects it had on him, I started to believe it.”

The blond stopped. After all, he was here to gather information about his boyfriend. Besides, he didn’t want to scare off the only witness who could add something to what he already knew. As much as he hated to admit it, it was good that Alastor had been sleeping with someone, so that he could tell him about his life in those years.

Husk snorted, while for a moment a wave of pure melancholy crossed his face, remembering the state the redhead was in every time he came to him for help.

“He never… kept to those rhythms they had told him to follow. Lately, he was doing practically triple or quadruple the amount of therapy sessions he was supposed to, just to help people.”

Lucifer remained utterly silent, while his fists began to clench almost painfully at the thought of how Alastor let himself be guided by altruism instead of thinking about himself. Although he was an empathetic and kind person, that job wasn’t really for him.

“He would come to me at night or at dawn, after doing some visits. Most of the time, he’d collapse in my arms, and when he woke up, I had to ask him questions.”

“Like… what his name was or how old he was?” He knew those procedures well; he had studied them thoroughly, precisely because he knew Alastor had fallen into a coma because of it.

Husker nodded.

“The last few times, he had started to forget things.”

“The last time you saw him… what condition was he in?” He almost feared to ask.

“He… barely remembered his name. Even though he often made a joke of it and even wanted to skip that part to avoid realizing how bad it was, I guess.”

“Damn it, Al…” he whispered, imagining that he had already been at a tragic limit before coming to save him.

He went into his world so often, even knowing he already had one foot in the grave. A part of him felt deceived. They had exchanged words of love, endless promises, when he had probably already decided to dedicate his life to saving Lucifer. Initially, the redhead would have never imagined being important to his patient, let alone expect that they would end up together.

“I think… he wasn’t even having sex with me, when we were doing it.”

“Hm?” That strange statement — and especially seeing the topic resurface that the brunet himself had asked not to put back on the table — surprised him.

“Sometimes he looked at me… as if he wasn’t looking at me. It was a kind of adoration he didn’t give me outside of the moments in bed. And that’s fine. Also… he called me in strange ways while we were doing it. I never asked anything, but he didn’t seem to want to talk about it either.”

“Strange ways?”

The bartender tried to remember, pausing for a few seconds to reflect and navigate through his memories.

“Moi… kro- krow-something…”

Lucifer understood. It was Polish. Probably so the other wouldn’t understand, or perhaps from a desire to speak his native language with the image of someone he cared deeply about.

“Mój królewiczu…” he explained, unwilling to add any more information.

He then recalled Alastor’s words. The last ones he dedicated to him, with his face completely fractured and streaked with unnaturally colored tears.

 

“I—I imagined having you with me for so long… I even… used other men, imagining I was making love to you.”

 

Without even realizing it, Lucifer hid his face in the palms of his hands, no longer able to contain the sadness and frustration that still lingered inside him. Husk’s presence had clearly distracted him and, in some strange way, lifted him up, but he couldn’t say he no longer felt that terrible sense of loneliness from not having his boyfriend close to him.

The brunet had stood up, moving around the table and placing his hand on the blond’s shoulder, which moved in rhythm with his silent sobs. Alastor had always thought of him. It was as if he had never made love to or kissed others. He had always wanted Lucifer, exactly as the blond had always desired him.

“Listen. I’m not your rival. It’s true I want to help you bring Alastor back, but…”

The noble tried to remain as silent as possible, hoping none of his regular clients or Susan would see him in this state he could no longer hide, not after what he had just heard and remembered.

“But I want to help you too.”

Lucifer tried to pull himself together, quickly wiping away his tears so he could look at the other again, with a slight pout born from the frustration of no longer being able to maintain that superior façade.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice slightly broken and his eyes reddened.

“I can see you’re devastated. Alastor cares about you more than his own life. Until he’s here to support you, you can talk to me, okay?”

Lucifer furrowed his brows, for a moment feeling slightly violated in his personal sphere. That idiot wanted to… what, know his worries or the progress he was making with the therapy? He had never had that kind of relationship with anyone. With Charlie, when they were young, they would vent together, crying in each other’s arms and whispering that one day they would have a better life, but he had never really opened up to anyone. With Anthony, it was something similar, but he had never managed to have that level of trust to confess his sadness or lack of motivation.

“Why?”

“Because. Try to understand that there’s not always a reason for everything.”

In a way, a small part of that man reminded him of Alastor. Maybe it was precisely that part of the brunet that made a relationship with the redhead impossible. But he knew well that what truly made it impossible with him and others was Alastor’s total obsession with Lucifer.

The blond reflected, feeling embarrassed by that proposal.

“You don’t have to do anything, don’t worry. Let’s go for a drink in the evening, okay?”

“Drink… in the evening? Look, I’m not offering you anything.”

“I’m not rich, but I have money, you know?” he shot back, irritated by that princely attitude.

Lucifer glanced around, worried for a moment that someone might be watching them in his place. If he were really going to meet the other to… talk about his progress, they couldn’t meet here. After all, talking to someone wouldn’t be so bad, even if he couldn’t believe he was opening up to his boyfriend’s ex.

“Fine… but we’ll meet in another place.”

 

-

 

Niffty plucked another flower, slipping it into her small wicker basket. She smiled, admiring the result with her beautiful emerald-green eyes and her puffed cheeks.

She cared deeply for Alastor. He always treated her kindly, even fixing her hair, tying it into small braids, or caressing her face. The two often chatted, laughing even at the silliest things.

She felt such a close bond with him that she would look for any excuse to visit him in the forest. Lucifer had explained to her that the creature, whose form had grown increasingly humanoid, was a man trapped in that whimsical world, asking her to help him with strawberry cultivation.

Each time, that blond would search for rare strawberries, most often white ones or those with odd shapes. Sometimes he found them in his small gardens, other times he went to pick them in wild places. He told her that by doing so, Alastor would always feel better. And yet, she never thought he looked unwell—until that day.

When the little girl passed through the corridor darkened by dense vegetation, Niffty caught sight of Alastor sitting on a log. Even though he was facing away from her, she could see that he was hunched forward, holding his face in one hand. She had never seen him like that.

He looked sad, devastated. Alastor had never shown particular emotions, except for excessive anger that would burst into violence against any object, person, or creature outside of the redhead girl, or excessive anticipation when awaiting his meal, which apparently only Lucifer could provide.

At times, he did appear happy, especially with her, but probably also with his doctor, since they met often. She could only guess, as she had been ordered not to enter the forest if Lucifer was visiting him. She didn’t know what illness her beloved friend had, but she understood that the short blond was there to treat him.

She took a few steps, studying that strange posture more closely. She noticed the creature was trembling faintly, while his free hand had dug his nails into the log where he was sitting. Maybe the last visit hadn’t been pleasant for him? From the sounds and the shouts she’d heard, she had thought they were simply having fun together with some strange game of theirs.

“Alastor?” she called softly.

The redhead flinched noticeably, without turning around. A few seconds later, he vanished into his shadow only to reappear right in front of Niffty, with his plastered smile. His eyes were strange—still red with dilated black pupils—but there was a peculiar glossy effect in front of them.

“Tell me, my dear.” Even the brevity of the phrase, completely unusual for him, made it clear he hadn’t been expecting visitors.

“I… brought you a basket of flowers.” She held out the result of her work, smiling at him faintly.

Alastor killed, ate, drained energy, physically and verbally abused anyone—even Lucifer when he angered him—but with sweet Niffty, it was practically impossible for him. He closed his lips, making it clear that this time he was truly smiling, as he took the basket.

He stared at the flowers with an attention that was highly unusual for him, and Niffty observed this strange reaction. He had always appreciated her gifts, but never with that kind of… emotion.

“Thank you, my little lady. I hope you didn’t tire yourself out,” he said softly, in his usual radio-like voice.

“Alastor… are you okay?” she asked, uncertain.

Alastor snapped his head toward her. Now he seemed expressionless again, smiling once more through the mere force of his muscles. He gave the impression of having completely forgotten those emotions that had made him seem like someone else.

“Splendidly.”

Chapter 48

Lucifer stepped into his patient’s world, strolling among the fields, which became more and more detailed with every visit. In the distance, he could now see lovely young women dancing around a fire. They were dressed in a peculiar, most likely traditional way, with flower crowns on their heads.

The therapist furrowed his brow. It was the first time he encountered anyone outside of Alastor and Niffty in that world. He turned toward the strawberry field where he would find the redhead, then looked back at the other fields where these new figures leaped and danced.

They seemed so joyful and carefree that they appeared marvelous in the blond man’s eyes. They embodied the perfect image of freedom and youth. Without thinking too much about it, he headed toward this new destination. Many times, he had wandered through the endless fields of Alastor’s world, where one could often find quaint little houses (completely empty, filled with wooden furniture and Persian rugs hanging on the walls), small streams, or various orchards and gardens, yet he had never come across a single soul.

Particularly intrigued, he approached the women, who, one after another, turned toward him with wide smiles.

“Dzień dobry!” they greeted him.

Lucifer returned the smile, feeling his heart swell with warmth. He had probably associated those places and that language with his love for Alastor, and hearing someone speak Polish filled him with overwhelming joy.

“Good morning. What are you doing?”

The group of five women looked surprised. They exchanged glances for a moment before one of them looked back at him. Though Lucifer felt no attraction to women, he had to admit that, with flowers in their blonde or brunet hair and their bodies wrapped in traditional clothing, they resembled fairies out of a storybook.

“It’s Noc Kupały!” one explained, as if it were obvious.

Lucifer raised his eyebrows, vaguely puzzled. He had studied a few minor festivities and traditions, and he was fairly certain he had heard of it before. However, he didn’t have the details on hand.

“So… what do you usually do?” he asked, eager for specifics.

Perhaps knowing such information might further help him with his therapy. Husk’s arrival had indeed been useful, and gathering pieces of his patient’s past—no matter how painful—was undeniably helpful in moving forward.

One of them handed him a basket full of flowers. She approached with such liveliness that it startled the blond man for a moment, who lifted his gaze to study her intentions.

“Make a wreath. That way we can let it drift along with the others.”

Drift? Lucifer glanced around and spotted a small river in the distance. Even farther than where Alastor and Niffty usually were. Was it safe to stray so far? After all, other times he had explored and examined this world without worrying too much. But to be honest, the presence of other people unsettled him, no matter how kind they seemed.

“A wreath…?” He arched a brow, grabbing the basket and sitting down on the ground.

He had never made a flower crown before, but a couple of those women sat beside him, clearly delighted by his willingness, showing him step by step how to do it. Without realizing it, Lucifer spent a long time in their company, weaving his wreath out of small white daisies. For a moment, he even forgot his loneliness and suffering, letting himself be swept up by the chatter of those maidens, who spoke of Polish sweets, clothing, makeup, and even their crushes. They looked to be somewhere between twenty and thirty years old. Certainly younger than him.

Lucifer gave a few short replies here and there, but mostly let them talk. Their presence and conversations didn’t bother him—in fact, they soothed him. For a moment, he felt so at peace he could almost call that place home.

When he remembered who he was and why he was there, he couldn’t help but wonder what his life would have been like there, in Alastor’s dream. He would surely fall back into a coma, but at least he could live in such beautiful, happy places—most of all, with his beloved.

Then, an image of Alastor saving him, pleading with him to live, flashed before his eyes, reminding him of those words and those feelings.

He couldn’t let himself go like that, and a part of him was glad he kept all those suicidal thoughts to himself, without sharing them with anyone. Otherwise, they would have locked him away in an asylum room with a straitjacket, stuffing him with pills and frequent electroshock, hoping to cure him.

At least, that’s what he saw in movies, but he was quite certain that such methods no longer existed in modern times.

“It’s beautiful, Lucifer!”

One girl took the wreath from his hands and placed it on his head. Though Lucifer wondered how they knew his name, he wasn’t surprised. He lifted his eyes, trying to see how he looked with that accessory—obviously in vain.

Before he could think much about it, the other women from the group grabbed his hands, pulling him up and guiding him toward the little river. The therapist let himself be led, his gaze wandering toward the bonfire where they had been dancing earlier, circling around it.

Once by the river, all the women took their wreaths and, one by one, set them on the water’s surface. They all watched the floating garlands intently, in solemn silence. The blond man stared at them, then fixed his eyes on the drifting wreaths as well.

“What… what is it supposed to mean? Is it some sort of… remembrance of the dead?”

Two or three of them couldn’t hold back a laugh, while the one closest to him explained with a softened expression.

“It’s a love ritual. If your wreath floats well, it’s a good omen for your love life and your future.”

“Ah.” He couldn’t find a better way to express his surprise.

Well, this was something else. He had joined a group of girls to talk about nail polish, makeup, and gossip about strangers, just to make a flower garland and predict his love life. Clearly, he was a disaster; he didn’t need to see it sink in the very first second he placed it on the water.

Yet, he didn’t have time to react otherwise or step back, since one of the girls took his crown from his head and placed it in his hands. They were all looking at him with anticipation and almost tenderness. A strange atmosphere had formed. It wasn’t frightening or anything—it felt as if something important was about to happen.

He gave in, accepting that he would have to go through with it too, so as not to disappoint these creatures. He was oddly empathetic and polite when he felt comfortable with people. He bent down, placing the garland on the water’s surface, with a hope in his heart he couldn’t deny.

Straightening back up, he watched that bunch of flowers not only stay afloat but even begin spinning gently on its own. The women giggled, expressing more joy than he did.

“It’s floating, Lucifer!” they laughed, beginning to skip around him.

The blond lowered his gaze, unable to fully fight the embarrassed smile and the veil of tears forming in his yellow eyes with red irises.

He stayed with those sweet maidens for a few more minutes before excusing himself, explaining he had to leave for his work. It had been truly pleasant to spend time with them, but he had lingered too long. He had to remember he couldn’t remain too much in Alastor’s dream world, even if he visited once a week, as was suggested.

At last, he reached Niffty’s field, starting to search among the strawberries for the redheaded girl with lovely freckles and green eyes.

“Niff? Are you here?”

“Oh, Doktor!” she jumped, to make herself seen.

It was definitely a sweet and comical scene. All that sweetness he had felt that day made him long to come more often, something he obviously could not do.

“Sorry, I lost time with some girls… By the way, do you know them?”

“Girls?”

Lucifer looked back, searching in the background for the bonfire’s place, but everything seemed gone, replaced again by the usual fields.

“Never mind… Did you visit Al?”

Niffty looked a little embarrassed for a second, turning her attention to the strawberries around her.

“Is… something wrong? You know it’s useful for me to know every detail for his therapy.”

“Yes, yes… I know, Doktor. Alastor did seem odd, actually.” she mumbled, her cheeks visibly flushing.

Lucifer’s eyes widened. The fragments she helped him piece together were finally yielding new results? Since Alastor had taken on an almost human form and started speaking, the therapist hadn’t noticed any further progress.

“Tell me everything, please,” he asked, his voice slightly choked by the feeling of a heart overflowing with an overwhelming sensation.

“He was… pensive. He seemed in pain, or angry… or sad.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He held his face with one hand, and with the other he dug into the tree trunk where he was sitting. For a moment, I thought he was unwell, but he told me he felt splendid, so I let it go.”

Splendid, my ass. Maybe he remembered something? Something that hurt him? After all, from what he had understood, most of Alastor’s life was ruled by remorse and sorrow. He had a wonderful family, but his personality made it terribly hard to express what he truly wanted, resulting only in frustration and suffering.

Without bothering to look for the containing strawberry, he rushed toward the forest’s edge where he would probably find Alastor. He needed to talk to him, to ask questions, to try to understand what he remembered.

“Ah, Dok! Can I use the strawberries for makaron?!”

As he ran off, Lucifer remembered in horror that makaron something. That dreadful dish of pasta with yogurt and strawberries.

“Absolutely NO!” he shouted, before vanishing into the forest, swallowed by the shadows.

Niffty looked for just a second at the spot where she had lost sight of Lucifer. She was surprised by that reply. She turned toward all her strawberries, already noticing the rare white fruit that the therapist usually picked to gift Alastor. She plucked it, gazing at it with a smile at the thought of the dish she might prepare with it.

Chapter 49

“Al?!”

Lucifer entered the dark forest where what remained of his beloved’s soul lived. A creature that was quite literally a puzzle, of which he was putting the pieces back together, visit after visit. He had to admit he couldn’t wait even a single second to search for the new fragment of Alastor’s essence. When he learned that perhaps that being was finally showing signs of the personality of the man he once was, he had to rush to see it.

“Alastor?” he called, turning several times once he reached the small river where they usually met.

Slow, hesitant steps caught Lucifer’s attention toward a specific corner, where he found Alastor, smiling as always, but with a sluggish, almost thoughtful walk. The therapist frowned, moving closer to meet him halfway.

“Al… are you—are you okay?”

“Splendidly, Lucifer. I’m hungry,” he said simply.

“Oh.” That was hardly new to him.

He knew of the other’s poor patience, so he decided to take the matter lightly. Alastor seemed to despise therapy more and more, but his attachment to Lucifer kept it moving somehow. The blond began unbuttoning his shirt, sitting down on a cut log lying on the ground, where Niffty had probably once seen the creature basking in his worries.

He felt Alastor approach him, then sit at his side. He was terribly silent. No jokes, no biting or even cruel words as usual. He watched carefully as Lucifer revealed his skin, pupils dilating more and more with hunger. Going there once a week was far too little for the creature’s sustenance, as it needed essence to feed.

When Lucifer fully opened his shirt, Alastor placed his large hands on his shoulders, drooling slightly and letting out a faint growl of anticipation as he moved closer and closer to the soft pale flesh.

“There isn’t that awful smell your essence always has,” he whispered, licking Lucifer’s neck.

The blond half-closed his eyelids, already overtaken by the pleasure of those attentions that always emptied his mind. But he had to remain more rational than usual if he wanted answers.

“I—I didn’t get the chance to retrieve a fragment of your soul, forgive me.”

Alastor’s lips seemed to curl wider. The blond knew he didn’t like therapy, but he hadn’t thought he hated it enough to smile with such relief at the news they would skip it that day.

“Do you hate receiving your fragments so much? You know they’re part of you and of who you are.”

“I don’t care,” he hissed, resuming sniffing and licking Lucifer’s skin.

He seemed delighted by that pure scent, which carried the therapist’s essence completely, unblended with his own.

“Why?”

“No more questions,” he cut him off, sinking his fangs sharply into his boyfriend.

Lucifer stiffened on instinct, also laying his hands on the creature’s arms, overcome for a second by the physiological panic of being attacked. Feeling the other drawing parts of him out, sensing something being taken with such frenzy and passion, made him euphoric.

“Al…” he moaned, tilting his head back slightly and closing his eyes.

He felt Alastor tighten his grip even more. He could sense the pleasure he was feeling, the madness growing.

“S-slow down, love…” he suggested, realizing the other was once again giving in to instinct.

The response was a louder growl, as if trying to rip a bone away from a dog. In the height of pleasure for them both, Alastor moved one hand to Lucifer’s erection, making him lose the last shred of bothersome rationality he had left.

He panted, already imagining what the day had in store for him. Yet he had come with a very different intent. He tried to recall Husker’s words, what he had told him about Alastor and his years of “loneliness.”

He reopened his eyes slightly, absentmindedly staring at the leaves above them that enclosed them completely, while his ears were filled with the deafening sound of the creature feeding on him. He had even started to purr—or whatever that was. He hadn’t done it in years. His pure, raw essence must have been truly delicious.

“Do you like it, Al? Do you like your królewicz's essence?”

Time stopped. Alastor stopped. Suddenly the air grew heavy, making Lucifer feel something akin to terror mixed with the sense of having made the biggest mistake of his life. He opened his eyes wide, trying to turn toward him, who in the meantime had even pulled his jaws away from his skin. His lips still dripped golden blood, while he stared into nothingness in pure shock.

“Alastor?”

The next instant, the creature grabbed his throat painfully. Lucifer flinched, already feeling the lack of air.

He moved both hands onto the one Alastor was using to strangle him, staring at him in sheer bewilderment. He couldn’t utter a word, both from terror and the total lack of space to let out even a thread of voice.

“You and your stupid therapy.”

“A-A…” he tried to say.

He was lifted into the air as Alastor stood back up. Ironically, Lucifer thought for a second that he had never seen the ground so far away, but his attention immediately shifted to the face of his boyfriend, who was staring at him with completely black eyes and two tiny red spheres for irises. His grin had widened terribly, and his horns had grown enormous.

“Your essence is so damn delicious without your doctor nonsense. And yet you insist on trying to change me. You insist on stitching over me a person I am not. You’re just a pitiful fool, Lucifer,” he growled.

The blond tried to kick. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t true. Alastor had to be there, inside that being. Although more than once he had doubted and feared he was doing it all for nothing, his instinct and his heart told him he was slowly rebuilding him.

Why was he saying those words now? Just when he had shown the first signs of improvement. He had never been this aggressive with him, and yet he had started recently. What was changing?

His therapy was to bring Alastor back. To give him his personality again, his memories, though partly painful.

Painful…

 

“He was… pensive. He seemed in pain, or angry… or sad.”

 

Even though he couldn’t breathe and was about half a meter off the ground, Lucifer reached a conclusion, a hope or a doubt. He looked at the other in such bewilderment that it made clear how absurd he found the idea, yet he had to try.

With effort, feeling his body completely heavy and drained of energy, he snapped his fingers, releasing an electric shock that hit his beloved, forcing him away with an animalistic jolt, accompanied by a terrifying snarl. Alastor hurled Lucifer violently to the ground while moving a few steps away, staring at him in pure shock.

“Son of a bitch!” he screamed with a sharp, ruined radio-like voice that echoed throughout the forest.

While Lucifer struggled to take gulps of air, gently wrapping his hand around his neck without pressing, he thought maybe that insult wasn’t entirely wrong, but it certainly wasn’t the time to dwell on his past. With wavering vision, he raised his gaze, giving the other a mix of determination and reproach.

“You… you’ve started remembering,” he guessed with a broken voice.

Alastor flinched, flattening his ears and lowering his tail, giving a clear image of what he was feeling. His eyes widened to inhuman levels, as he wasn’t human after all, keeping a grin that expressed not even the slightest bit of joy.

“You’re afraid. You’ve started to feel painful emotions, you’ve seen memories that hurt you,” he went on, struggling back to his feet and swaying slightly.

“Stop it.”

“I won’t. I’m your therapist and above all… your boyfriend,” he tried to say slowly, enunciating each word.

“I said stop. That wasn’t a request, Lucifer.” He began transforming into something similar to the creature the blond had first known.

“It was you who made me realize that life isn’t only suffering, Alastor!” he shouted, before a gust of wind completely erased one of his arms, slicing it off and destroying it with indescribable force.

Lucifer froze for a few seconds until excruciating pain spread through his entire soul. He slowly turned toward his missing limb, where golden blood now poured out in grotesque amounts.

“Y-you… you can’t stop me, Al,” he whispered, looking back at the other, who had completed his transformation into a giant, twisted red-and-black monster with vague reindeer features, bearing a terrifying grin that promised only pain and death.

“We were happy. You can be happy… with me! I’ll make you remember everything. I’ll bring you back and we’ll live together!” he forced out with all the oxygen he had just managed to draw into his lungs.

With a barely perceptible movement, most of Lucifer’s body was completely slashed away, violently pulling him back to the real world and finally leaving the monster to the peace it needed to assimilate and try to forget whatever it had remembered.

Chapter 50

Notes:

NOTE: This chapter contains scenes of suicide, blood, and violence. If these topics are distressing to you, please skip to the next.

The last thing Lucifer saw before being hurled back into reality was Alastor’s face which, though transformed into a complete monster, revealed in his eyes sheer suffering mixed with something close to terror.

He was afraid—almost like a child getting hurt for the very first time.

The therapist could not tell what it was caused by, which memories he had regained, or what sensations he had experienced while assimilating his essence, but he was certain of one thing: he had once again become fierce, almost beastly, but this time in a false way, in the desperate hope of clinging to that dream that spared him from pain.

Lucifer’s eyes flew open, and he sucked in a long, ragged breath. His small hands clutched the first thing they encountered. One seized Alastor’s hand—as always resting beside his bed—while the other nearly ripped the sheet apart.

“It…hurts!!” he snarled through clenched teeth.

It was an indescribable pain. At last, he understood what it truly meant to have one’s soul torn away. That was exactly the sensation. He felt his very essence inside him split into countless fragments, like a sheet of paper shredded into tiny pieces. Soon his eyes filled with tears as the feeling only grew stronger, more unbearable.

“It hurts!!! It…hurts… It hurts it hurts it hurts…Fuck!” He twisted sharply, letting go of his boyfriend’s hand and writhing in an almost inhuman way.

He curled into himself, forming a small ball—or perhaps a nest—where he hoped he could stop feeling altogether. He began sobbing, sensing flames burning inside him. A part of him thought he deserved it, remembering the times it had happened to Vox, only for him to mock and belittle the problem. His essence had been disintegrated, and he had most likely come close to death.

He kept twisting in agony, weeping as he tried to pull his phone from his pocket. When he finally managed to get it out, he selected—with trembling hands—the name of his teacher, put the call on speaker, and let the device fall onto the mattress, allowing him to wrap his arms around himself. He felt the need to hold himself together, as though pieces of him were falling away.

“It hurts… Al, it hurts…” he whispered, trying to glance at his boyfriend from the strange position he had taken, with his face pressed into the mattress and his rear raised, looking almost like a cat.

Alastor slept deeply. Always there, his face serene and stunningly handsome. If only his boyfriend could see him like that, he would practically die. And if he ever knew he was the cause, he would likely attempt suicide in pure Japanese style.

“What the fuck do you want?” Vox’s voice yanked Lucifer out of his spiral of pain and confusion.

A tremendous wave of nausea forced the therapist to lean outward, vomiting so violently it seemed he was expelling his internal organs. He had come close to his end, but nothing compared to what he was now enduring. Paradoxically, slitting his wrists and waiting to drift away in a sea of blood, as painful as it was, had once felt like something manageable compared to this, where he saw no end and no solution.

“V-Vo…x…” he mumbled, struggling to catch his breath.

The brunet said nothing for a few seconds, until he reached the conclusion on his own.

“He’s started fucking you up too.”

“P-please…how…how can I…” he began, before bending forward again for another round of vomiting.

“And you used to mock me? Look at the state you’re in.”

It was all because Vox couldn’t see him. Lucifer’s complexion had turned nearly gray, if not bottle-green. His once-beautiful eyes were now devoid of light, and his body was drenched in sweat that felt like ice to the touch. He felt like he had to faint, vomit, and die all at once. He was trapped in a limbo of torment.

“P-please!” he screamed, sobbing as he stared at the mess he had created on the floor.

Vox sighed. He was human too, after all. Deep down, there was a decent person who sometimes liked to help without expecting payment.

“There’s no cure. Your soul has literally been torn apart. You need to rest, stay the hell out of that world for at least a couple of weeks or until you feel better.”

He couldn’t believe there was no solution. He had dozens of questions but couldn’t form even one. He felt like trash, and maybe the only thing he wanted was a damned hug—some affection or love from someone. His vision began to waver as his torso slumped fully against the mattress.

Lights, images, began flashing before his eyes. He suddenly saw his own hands writing in a diary. It looked old, and his handwriting was fast, nervous.

“W-what…?”

He couldn’t read what he seemed to be writing himself. Suddenly, the scene vanished, and now he was staring at his arms again—this time dripping with blood.

The blond went mad, losing all clarity. He was terrified of what his hallucinations were showing him. He began to scream, thrashing his arms, rolling onto his back without even caring about the phone or the call anymore.

“What’s happening?! Lucifer?”

“My…my… I-I’m dying…”

He didn’t want to die. He could no longer tell what was real and what was fantasy. He turned suddenly toward Alastor, but he wasn’t there to tell him that none of what he saw was true. He wasn’t there to reassure him, to tell him everything would be fine, to not be afraid, to keep living.

His veins bore deep gashes. From those wounds, blood poured out, surely staining all his clothes and body.

“Please! Please, Al! I don’t want to…!” he cried, in the middle of a breakdown.

The blurred eyes of the blond fixed on his gorgeous boyfriend, now convinced he was about to die.

“I-I’ll save you, Al… I can’t die now…” he said weakly, as he felt his strength draining for a reason different from what he thought.

The visions resumed swirling before his eyes: the butler informing him of his parents’ death, his sister’s tears, the last time he saw his mother and father, Alastor’s shattered face when he had pushed him away after their first kiss.

“Al…”

Strong hands gripped his shoulders, forcing him to sit upright and shaking him not-so-gently. Lucifer was compelled to focus on the new scene before him. Husk—that idiot, that brute Alastor slept with—was in front of him.

The therapist squinted, trying to understand what was happening, while those strong hands supported him. They were warm, large, and steady. Exactly what he secretly desired, though not from him.

“Husk…?”

“What the fuck happened?!”

Lucifer’s shocked eyes darted again to his wrists. They were intact. Not stained with blood, not cut. For a fleeting moment, he checked if Alastor was alright, and as always, he lay still on his bed. He returned his gaze to the brunet, who had stepped between the two beds, probably shifting Lucifer’s to clear what the blond had expelled from his body.

“I…A-Alastor…killed me and…”

Husk furrowed his brows, trying to grasp what was true in this hysteria, but in his mind he concluded it was onirotherapist business. What mattered to him now was Lucifer’s condition. He had vomited industrial amounts he had rarely seen in his bartending career, his complexion was inhuman, and his expression a mix of terror, despair, and agony.

“Does it hurt?”

“Terribly,” he whispered, sobbing like his inner child.

Husk drew closer, pulling him against him. The blond had no time to be surprised before finding his face pressed against the man’s solid chest, enveloped in those strong arms. One hand pressed against the back of Lucifer’s head, silently offering all the protection he needed.

“I’ve got you, okay?”

Lucifer thought about those words, eyes wide but unfocused. He was in the same room as his boyfriend, yet another man was literally between them, holding him. He knew it meant nothing sentimental, but he had never had a real friendship with anyone. Those touches, that sense of safety, were entirely new to him. For once, he was forced not to be the one in control, not the rational one with the solution ready and a cold mind.

Husker was finally allowing him to be weak.

With trembling hands, he grabbed the back of the man’s awful shirt, clutching the fabric and resuming his sobbing, this time with his face firmly buried against him. For a few seconds in that embrace, Lucifer was able to release part of his anguish—until the brunet felt the blond’s body grow heavy. Not too surprised, he held him even tighter, leaning to confirm that the bastard had fainted.

“Is there anyone else?” Vox’s voice echoed in the room, where Husk thought he was alone.

“Yes…who is it?”

“Just the one who trained him and puts up with him,” he scoffed, realizing from across the world that Lucifer was no longer able to speak.

“Then we’ve got a problem in common,” Husk muttered, hoping not to be overheard.

He laid the blond down on the bed. His eyes were terribly sunken, his face locked in a sorrowful grimace. The brunet exhaled heavily, glancing at the phone screen abandoned at the corner of the mattress.

“I could do something to help him. I mean…with whatever problem he’s had.”

“Nah, he just needs to rest. The first time you get killed is never pleasant.”

The bartender couldn’t believe the absurdities he was hearing. He and Lucifer practically met every evening in a small city pub. He had even taken weeks off, leaving his place to his coworkers, just to support that little guy. At least with that excuse, he could visit Alastor a bit more often than once every three months.

“I suppose not.”

Finally, through the open door, a couple of nurses arrived, probably drawn by the screams they had heard. After an initial moment of confusion, they rushed to Lucifer, tending to his physical condition, since there was little they could do for the psychological one.

Chapter 51

In his new reality, Lucifer could finally indulge in a total lack of control, without having to ponder his every action, expression, tone, or word. He reveled in the pleasure of being naked, feeling his skin against another’s, in a space that was entirely his where he could be whoever he wanted. He could be himself.

Gasping, his eyes hazy with lust and his mouth half-open, he lowered his head to admire his lover beneath him, who was also contorted with the pleasure Lucifer was giving him, impaling himself willingly on his member and jumping onto him with a sense of abandon, a carefree spirit he had never been able to witness since they first met.

“Al…” he moaned, letting his smile widen with happiness.

“Lucifer, love. Are you tired?”

“How could I be tired?” he sighed, arching his back and placing his small hands on Alastor’s ankles, making an artistic bridge with his body, as he resumed moving his hips, eliciting pleasant sounds from the other.

“You don't seem tired, indeed,” the redhead joked, closing his eyes and almost involuntarily placing his hands on the other’s hips, which created beautiful waves in the air with their movements.

Surely Alastor could not have imagined that Lucifer was so lewd, lithe, and sensual when he felt completely at ease and overwhelmed by desire.

“Mmhnn…” Lucifer sent his moan flying into the air, feeling even more happiness within his chest.

He could allow himself to be seen in full bliss, happy, and wild. And this made him even more out of control. Suddenly, Alastor’s strong arm wrapped around his waist as he lifted his torso to bring their faces together. Now the two men were looking each other straight in the eyes. The deep blue painted with light blue rays mixed with the hot chocolate one drinks in cold days when seeking comfort, refuge, and protection.

Alastor held him even closer, mesmerized by his gaze. He leaned his head forward just to give small, brief but deep pecks on his lips, then went back to staring at him.

“Alastor… We- we’ve never…” the blond tried to begin, in the midst of their wild love session that he didn't even know when it started.

“Never what?” he whispered, leaning in to kiss him below the jaw, while his other hand went behind Lucifer’s head.

That gesture alone, those fingers in his hair, grabbing him firmly yet gently, took his breath away and, of course, the use of words. He had to muster a lot of strength and determination to respond. His hands rested on his boyfriend's cheeks, looking at him now with a slight melancholic gaze.

“We’ve never really talked, Al…” he said softly, his voice breaking.

They were both on a bed, seemingly soft as a cloud, wrapped in fresh and lightly scented blankets, which made their movements, even the most agitated and rhythmic, even more enjoyable. They were surrounded by nothingness, but not a scary darkness. It almost felt like the twilight of napping under a duvet on winter Sundays, conveying a sense of security and relief.

Alastor smiled. It was such a beautiful smile it could make him cry. Along with his wide but thin lips, his cheeks and eyes also conveyed the happiness he was feeling. His body could only be described as breathtaking. In full human form, his shoulders, chest, and arms were broad and muscular in just the right way. His grip was possessive, yet romantic. His fingers played with and caressed Lucifer’s back and hair, not allowing the lust that was engulfing them to dissipate for a second because of the therapist’s doubt.

“We’ve never talked, and we’re not going to start now,” he explained, in the same barely perceptible tone.

“But… Al-”

Alastor gave him another peck, then went back to holding him with his intense gaze.

“There’s nothing to talk about right now, Lucifer.” he concluded, beginning to push inside the other.

Lucifer widened his slightly pale eyelids, involuntarily tightening his grip on his boyfriend’s cheeks, while his blond head snapped slightly backward.

“Ahh… n… Al…”

Alastor focused on Lucifer’s reactions, admiring the result of his actions. The hand in the blond’s hair gripped a lock, pulling hard, without causing pain.

“MNHH…!”

“Don’t think. Don’t say anything. Show me what you have inside,” he instructed, squeezing the man’s slender waist against his body, as if he wanted them to merge.

“Alastor… I-I…” He couldn’t, even though he wanted to.

He knew that now that he had the real Alastor, his human form, he wanted to tell him so much. But at the same time, he desperately wanted to make love to him. The redhead was probably right. They hadn’t been able to talk for years, in any situation, from the most realistic to the most abstract. Why start now, when maybe their bodies could communicate what they felt?

It obviously wasn't just sex. It was nothing like what Alastor did with Husk or with random people, before he met the brunet. It was pure love, desire for the other person, not just his body. They wanted to and could finally unite.

“Show me who you are, Lucifer,” he whispered, as his eyes lit up with an enchanting red light.

The therapist noticed that reaction, only partially understanding that they weren’t really human or probably even in the real world. He didn’t care. He just felt he could do anything.

As Alastor began to push rhythmically inside him, Lucifer moved his hands up, stroking the other’s thick, reddish hair. How he had longed to do that. For so many years he had wanted to caress him, to feel that softness he imagined every day, seeing his hair bounce as he walked or dance on the waves the wind created.

Lucifer’s confused look softened, admiring that mahogany, so warm and elegant. It was a natural shade, decidedly rare, that he had never seen, as he had unconsciously begun to sing for the other with increasingly high-pitched and languid moans.

“Your… uhmm… Y-your ears…,” he asked between one sound and the next.

Alastor understood what he meant. He chuckled silently, marveling at the fact that he had managed to elicit a small kink or desire from the noble. With a single blink of his eyelids, soft deer ears practically blossomed from his hair.

“Ahh…” the other sighed, smiling as if he had seen something so beautiful he couldn't comment on what he was seeing.

His pale hands wrapped around those soft ears, which had an undoubtedly rigid yet malleable structure. It was indescribable to feel that thick, upward-pointing fur.

“Do you like them?” he asked, panting from his movements, which were becoming faster but still didn’t suggest an end to their session.

“You have no idea how much,” he admitted in a whisper.

With a movement of his grip, Lucifer asked Alastor to lower his head, which he, of course, did with pleasure. When the blond had his boyfriend’s semi-human deer ears in front of his face, he leaned forward to slowly kiss their insides, closing his eyes and holding the outer ear with his palm.

“Mnn…” Alastor also closed his eyelids, allowing that extremely pleasant gesture to make him lose even the last shred of control.

Almost with a motherly flair, mixed with pure passion and lust, Lucifer kissed him slowly and repeatedly. For a couple of times, he let his tongue out, licking the innermost part, without going deep.

The blond enjoyed the redhead’s purrs, feeling how his thrusts inside him became less rhythmic but faster and more desperate.

“Pull out your tail, Lucifer,” Alastor asked in a practically unrecognizable voice, while his face was pressed against the other’s shoulder.

For a single second, the noble wondered exactly how he could fulfill that desire, but in the next moment, when he found himself decidedly more rational, he realized that this could only be a dream and he could simply do whatever he wanted.

Continuing to lick and kiss the inside of Alastor’s ear, he let his long, thin, black tail, with a delightful heart-shaped tip, flow out of his body, which he had usually only been able to admire along with his fiery horns during therapy sessions when he had felt anger and frustration. They had been very few, and with people who probably didn't even deserve to return to real life, but after all, he was using them to train.

Alastor gasped, running one of his wide palms all the way down its length, as if he too couldn’t wait to enjoy that touch.

“I-I… ahh… didn’t… think you… you liked it.”

“I’ve seen it a few times, but I’ve always wanted to do this,” he explained, while with one hand he pulled Lucifer’s hair again and, at the same time, his tail.

The blond didn’t notice the strong, overwhelming wave of pleasure that washed over him. He widened his eyes with a surprised look and then let out what turned out to be a scream of pure ecstasy.

“AHHNN… FUCK!!”

“I figured,” he growled, raising his head again, aware that the other would no longer be able to dedicate his attention to his soft ears, admiring that twisted expression that only served to make him even crazier.

Gritting his teeth, Alastor clenched his fist around a lock of Lucifer’s hair, while his hand on the black tail continued to be clasped around it, rubbing up and down rhythmically, trying to follow his thrusts that had now reached a speed that made it impossible to stop. He was literally masturbating him from the opposite side of the area that usually received attention, but Lucifer’s member was still trapped between their bodies.

“Al!! ALASTOR!” he begged for help he didn't want, lifting his face toward a sky that didn't exist.

“You’re mine, Lucifer… Only mine,” he snarled, practically ripping his hair with a sharp gesture of his hand.

“YES!! YES, MY LOVE!”

Alastor stared at him intently. He admired the man he loved in a state of pure ecstasy, now unable to fix his eyes on anything, while his body twisted and moved rhythmically and from his throat came out only sounds and perhaps words, without any sense.

He felt that their conclusion was now near and even though this was Lucifer’s dream, the redhead showed a hint of sadness at what would soon be the end of their encounter, in which they could finally really meet.

“Come for me, I will fill you only if you show me your orgasm.”

“F-fuck!!” Those words, which he had never even imagined or heard in his life, were the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.

Realizing that Lucifer had reached the moment before climax, Alastor grabbed his long tail again, pulling it hard as if he wanted to separate it from the body it belonged to. The blond’s eyes disappeared under his eyelids, while a scream of pure pleasure was released into the air, echoing in the room where only they existed. Lucifer’s body stiffened as his member shot out large amounts of sperm, which scattered between their stomachs.

The redhead then hugged him with a sharp gesture, pushing him toward him and giving the last frantic thrusts. Only a dry, growled, and barely audible sound between his clenched teeth, foretold his ejaculation, which Lucifer felt fully and, most importantly, scalding hot, inside him. It was an idyllic sensation, decidedly different from what he felt with Alastor in his abstract version, in which he fucked him in a decidedly animalistic way and with very little feeling. The two had sex for pure desire and the need to do so. Although Lucifer loved him more than himself, he felt that the one with whom he exchanged those moments of pure physicality was still not Alastor.

Feeling himself being filled, Lucifer emitted other moans, probably coming one more time and also hugging the other with the typical madness of someone who throws themselves off the cliff of pleasure.

The two stayed still for a few seconds, panting and sweaty, staring at random points in that place without matter. Alastor swallowed, trying to regain control, and shifted his eyes and hands to Lucifer’s face.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, with a tenderness so tangible it felt like those words themselves were gentle to the touch.

Lucifer nodded several times, smiling at him and gazing at him with tear-filled eyes. Tears of a different nature. He was happy, ecstatic, frightened, and sad.

At last they had been able to be together, a little like their first time beneath the cherry tree, but in a version closer to what they could have been in reality. He had been able to feel the affection, the love, the adoration but also the desire of the other. He had been able to show himself and how much pleasure Alastor made him feel. Somehow he felt more mature, as if his eyes had finally begun to open toward a reality he had never known before.

“Al… please, let’s stay like this forever.”

“No, Lu. Let’s not run away again from what we have to do.”

Lucifer knew what he meant and in part he wanted it too. But always being strong had left him exhausted and longing for refuge, a bit like his coma, but this time with most of his memories and aware of his love. Without any regret, they could truly live together… even if not in a real world.

“You have to wake up, alright? I asked you to live your life.” he said gently, kissing his cheek.

Lucifer let out a small sob of frustration. He knew it was all true.

“I’m sorry, love. But you must still be strong, for both of us. Bring me back to you and we can finally leave everything behind.”

The blond wept in silence, letting Alastor’s lips on his face be bathed by his tears. He nodded, making it clear he knew well what his mission was.

“My perfect królewicz…” Alastor praised him, caressing his face and tilting his head back again so he could look into his eyes.

“I’m almost there, Al. I can feel it. I’ll bring you to me.”

Alastor’s expression twisted in sheer emotion, and his chocolate eyes grew wetter than they should, while he showed a smile, this time slightly crooked because of the cry he wanted to release as well, but held back to avoid hurting the other.

“I’ll be waiting.”

Those were the last words before everything gently turned black, carrying Lucifer toward his awakening. His eyelids slowly opened, releasing the tears that had built up in his dream.

He was in a soft bed, his own bed at home. His cat Keekee was sleeping beside his legs. He sensed another presence and, turning his head, confirmed that Husk was sitting on a chair near where the blond lay. Wearing rather large glasses, he was reading a book titled Gen Z Cocktails. As much as Lucifer found that title ridiculous and the book’s usefulness doubtful, a part of him was glad the man was distracted by that reading.

“You’ve got an erection.” Husk said without even lifting his eyes from the page.

“D-damn it!!” Lucifer felt a wave of embarrassment, jolting upright and covering his intimacy.

He had an erection, and it was definitely hard and visible.

“Sorry…” he muttered, still confused by what had happened while he was asleep.

“No problem, not the first one I’ve seen,” Husk explained distractedly, as he turned the page.

Lucifer knew Husk was homosexual or at least attracted to men, and he appreciated the fact that seeing him aroused like that had not inspired the slightest interest in doing anything.

He nodded, shifting his attention to Keekee, who was now staring at him with wide eyes, as if surprised to finally see him awake. He had surely been worried when they had carried him in unconscious, and then watched him sleep for many hours.

“How long…?”

“Since yesterday. I used your kitchen, the couch, and the bathroom. I hope that’s not a problem.” Husk sighed, closing the book, placing it on Lucifer’s nightstand, and taking off his glasses, practically tossing them onto the cover of the manual he clearly also found silly.

Lucifer still felt sore and “unbalanced,” as if his inner self didn’t quite match his outer body, but it was definitely a tolerable level of discomfort.

“You need to eat,” Husk said, making it clear it wasn’t really a suggestion.

“I know… I know.” Lucifer huffed, running his hands over his face and rubbing it rather agitatedly, in an attempt to wake up fully.

“At least you had a pleasant rest. In the hospital you were a wreck, but you had absolutely nothing that could give them the excuse to keep you there. At least they brought you home in an ambulance,” he explained, crossing his arms.

“Obviously it’s nothing physical,” Lucifer replied, ignoring the part about the pleasant rest.

For a few seconds the silence was filled only by the annoying ticking of the clock, which Lucifer had promised himself several times to replace with a digital one, until one of them spoke again.

“What’s that story about being killed by Alastor?”

“He started to remember, and unfortunately for me, the memories and sensations he felt weren’t pleasant. So… he got scared, and he’ll surely refuse to continue therapy.”

“But you won’t stop.” Husk suggested.

“Of course not. This is a chance for me. It means I can bring him back.”

Husk almost seemed to smile at him, but what was certain was that he felt respect for what he had just heard.

“I’ll go make you something,” he sighed, standing up like a seventy-year-old man.

Lucifer frowned as the last moments in the hospital flowed back through his mind, before he had lost consciousness. Besides the definitely embarrassing hug with Husker, he also recalled the scenes that had flashed before his eyes.

“Husk.”

“Mh?” With his hand already on the doorknob, the brunet turned toward him.

“Do you… do you know anything about a diary?”

“Diary?” he asked, with such surprise as if he had been asked to sell ice inside a volcano.

“Forget it. It’s nothing.” Lucifer shook his head, then lay back down in search of a little proper rest.

He heard the man, probably shrugging, leave the room and close the door behind him, while Keekee curled back up beside his legs.

Lucifer realized that apart from Charlie, it was the first time someone had slept at his place. And above all, it was the first time that someone was a man. He wondered if he could ever live that life with Alastor and even sleep in the same bed. Then he remembered all the promises they had exchanged and the emotional smile of his boyfriend, one he had never truly received but which he surely would have, if only the creature he had become could recover a bit of humanity.

“I’ll bring you back, Al.”

Chapter 52

A week had passed. Following Vox’s suggestion—or at least part of it—Lucifer decided to continue therapy without any interruptions. Since he already felt much better, it made no sense to delay. Moreover, although he had a trace of fear about how the other might react, the therapist wished to meet his boyfriend as soon as possible.

Sighing, in the early morning he entered the hospital room where Alastor was peacefully sleeping, closing the door behind him, careful not to make any noise, as if the other risked being disturbed or awakened.

“I’m here, Al,” he whispered, turning toward him.

He smiled, approaching the bed. He placed his hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder, gazing at the face of the man he loved more than anyone or anything else in existence. His hand wandered over the redhead’s face, playing with his fingers on the tips of beard that had begun to grow.

“We’ll fix this now, mh? I didn’t bring anything, but I can ask the nurses if they have something,” he explained, glancing at the closed door.

He hadn’t really accounted for the stubble, given the painful days he had gone through, during which Husk kindly prepared meals for him and even went to the blond’s bar to confront Susan and bring back the situation to Lucifer. Very quietly, he had begun considering offering him a job, though he didn’t know if someone was waiting for him on the other side of the world—parents, friends, brothers, or sisters. Also, in the optimistic view of awakening Alastor, the idea of having his ex in the same city didn’t exactly thrill him. But after all… Anthony was there too.

He turned again to look at Alastor, leaning down to give him a quick kiss on the lips.

“I’m fine, don’t worry. Let’s resume the therapy, alright?” he said, then sat down on the bed next to his patient’s.

“I know you’re afraid, Alastor. But it was you who said that life is worth living, despite the suffering.” He continued, taking off his shoes and stretching out.

The more he went on with the procedure, the more Lucifer felt a very justified fear. But he had decided to ignore it. Even if he were killed every time he visited, he would do anything to bring Alastor back.

“I know I’m not a… pleasant person.” He laughed, almost embarrassed and resigned, as he closed his eyes and grasped the other’s hand to enter his world.

“But you were the one who fell in love with me. You must also take responsibility for stealing my heart and every part that once belonged to me.” He tried to relax and let himself sink into the other’s inner world.

“I’ll do my best to make your life happy, once you wake up.” Those were his last words before falling silent and feeling his soul slip into darkness.

The same darkness he found himself in when he reopened his eyes. For a moment he felt betrayed, but then had to remind himself how frightened his patient must be. He hadn’t given him access as he always did. He was in the classic limbo he found himself in whenever he visited his patients.

“You know I don’t need to imagine your door, right?” he said aloud, clearly offended, walking through the total darkness.

Tentacles that looked almost like roots, black as the surrounding space, grabbed his ankles, holding him still. Lucifer widened his eyes, staring at those protrusions.

“What a bastard,” he whispered, raising an arm before those tentacles bound his arms as well.

At his snap of fingers, the entire area filled with cracks, from which the light of the outside world burst out.

“You’d rather starve than let me in? That’s new.” He muttered, his face twisted in pure rage, as all the black fragments fell away, revealing once again to Lucifer the fields he now knew like a second home.

He moved his feet, confirming to himself he was no longer bound, and resumed walking toward what was Niffty’s strawberry field. With one hand, he pushed back his hair, still incredulous at being treated almost like a stranger. He knew Alastor didn’t want him, at least not to continue his therapy, but that gesture had been decidedly offensive—enough to make the blond’s heart ache.

“Niff?” he called, arriving before the endless rows of strawberries, right next to the girl’s little house and the forest where Alastor lived.

After the early days, when he had to explore that immense world for hours before finding strawberry fields, ever since Niffty had appeared, luckily he almost always managed to find fragments of Alastor’s essence among that vast harvest. Only rarely did he have to venture into other areas.

“Mh?”

Silence greeted him. He turned this way and that several times, receiving no reply. Definitely strange, since the redhead usually welcomed him with great affection and enthusiasm. A strange, very sugary and fruity smell made him turn toward the girl’s house, where he had only entered a few times to drink tea with cookies.

“Is she home?” he asked himself, finding it strange that she was there.

After all, it was her home. Why should it be strange that she was inside? The more he visited that world, the more it changed compared to the rather fixed pattern of the first months.

He knocked on the wooden door a couple of times, feeling almost embarrassed. He could look for the white strawberry on his own, after all, but he wanted to see if the girl had any information for him or if she had kindly found it in his place. In recent weeks she had become an excellent assistant, making his work decidedly smoother and quicker.

The door opened with an almost frightening speed, making the therapist slightly startle. Niffty’s face was covered in what looked like strawberry cream, and her wide smile would have brought joy to anyone. And yet… Lucifer began to feel a senseless fear.

“Dok! You’re here!”

“S…seems like it, yes,” he said, almost trembling.

Why was he afraid? She was probably making a cake or jam. His red eyes wandered over the girl’s dress, also stained with strawberry marks.

“Were you… cooking?”

“Yes, Doktor. I knew you were coming today, so I prepared in advance.”

Although Lucifer’s skin was white as milk, he grew even paler.

“Did you make cookies?”

“Oh, no! Just as you told me, I made makaron.”

The therapist let his shoulders remember gravity, practically collapsing them, and stared at the girl in disbelief.

“I had said no.”

“Exactly.”

“So… if I said no… why did you–”

Lucifer realized the problem. He practically slapped his entire face with the palm of his hand, gritting his teeth in frustration.

“Damn…” he whispered.

Obviously, in the girl’s language “no” meant “yes.” Very useful, indeed—especially for him, who wanted to survive.

“Tell me you haven’t already cooked them, please.” He lifted his face, pleading with a tormented expression.

“Of course I have, Dok. I even used a couple of white strawberries, to help you!”

“Niff!” he shouted.

“What?”

Lucifer sighed loudly, resigned to his fate.

“Let’s get this over with.”

 

-

 

Alastor was lying on the trunk in his little corner, relaxing to the faint sound of the pond. Tiny frogs croaked while a few leaves fell down. Though the noise was almost nonexistent, the silence was such that it made that movement audible.

The creature with almost demonic features stared at the sky hidden by the trees, thoughtful. In his mind wandered the annoying images of a life that didn’t seem to be his own but that, for some strange reason, he couldn’t forget—like when one accidentally overhears gossip about people one doesn’t even know.

The voices, faces, and events before his eyes evoked emotions of every kind. Strong, almost suffocating. Some were pleasant, like a mother’s caress, while others were terribly painful. Above all, Lucifer seemed to be the reason for much of his suffering—why he had to drive him away, even though he felt terribly drawn to him, besides possessing a delicious essence. Even sex with him was enjoyable, but Alastor wasn’t yet himself enough to appreciate those moments as he once would have. Now he was a sort of cannibal, a forest creature, in that world where he seemed to have been born and lived his entire life.

“Al!”

A practically furious shout made the redhead sit up, turning toward the entrance of his den.

“Alastor Wiśniewski! I don’t insult your mother only because she’s a saintly woman, but I can insult you.”

Lucifer appeared, holding in his hands a bowl full of something reddish, almost pink. It was clear he was furious, but given that entrance, the patient couldn’t understand the main reason. His ears lowered, almost fearing that rage, for a moment forgetting that he could disintegrate him with a single movement of his limbs.

“You filthy piece of shit. I knew you were a bastard, but this!” He approached him, slamming the bowl down on the trunk.

The creature lowered his gaze, studying the dish. It looked like pasta with a fruity-smelling cream and pieces of what seemed to be strawberries. Something in his heart stirred, analyzing that strange combination of ingredients.

“First. You let me in whenever the hell I want. Don’t you ever dare lock me out again!” Lucifer grabbed his face, lifting it so they could look each other in the eyes.

Alastor hadn’t had the slightest chance to speak, but his surprise was such that he wanted to keep watching that scene.

“Second. You hurt me like hell and you’re doubly an asshole.”

The redhead rolled his eyes, finding that reaction exaggerated. He would never admit to Lucifer that he had eaten the remains of his body and licked up every trace of his delicious blood.

“Third. Look at what the fuck I’m forced to do for you!” He pointed with his free arm at the dish.

The creature moved his eyes back to that strange pasta, which nonetheless gave him so much inexplicable happiness. Lucifer noticed that his patient’s pupils had widened and that his tail had begun to wag faintly.

“Would you do me the favor of eating it yourself?” he asked, now with a calm voice, as he released his face.

Alastor shook his head.

“Why?”

“I can smell the fragments.”

“Al…” He sighed, sitting down as well, with that hateful bowl separating him from his boyfriend.

“This is what you are.” He pointed again at the horrid mixture of… things.

“I get it. I get it, ok? I wanted to run away from reality too, and—”

His throat was seized again, making the therapist flinch. Alastor’s eyes now gleamed ruby red, and though he was smiling, it was clear he was furious.

“I don’t run from anything. Nothing scares me—not you, not those fucking memories.”

Lucifer slapped his boyfriend’s hand away with a sharp, impatient gesture.

“Tell that to Husk, alright? Even that idiot wouldn’t believe you.” He cut him off.

That name made the redhead’s ears twitch, though once again he didn’t understand what he was talking about.

“I tried to take my own life, Alastor. In reality, outside of here.” He said suddenly, determined to open his eyes once and for all.

The creature straightened its back, not admitting that the sentence had piqued his interest. Even if he didn’t want to confess it to anyone, including himself, he was obsessed with Lucifer. He adored everything about him, and when he wasn’t there, he thought about him constantly. Ever since he had memories of the blond, he kept replaying them in his mind, even though most of them hurt. But the mere fact of seeing him younger, during their first interactions, somehow made him grateful.

“Luckily I didn’t succeed, and I locked myself in my own world, not having the courage to come back and face what awaited me when I woke up—exactly like you’re doing.”

It was the first time he was telling him something personal. It was also the first time the creature was actually listening. Up until then, mostly because of Alastor’s lack of patience, the blond had only managed to explain that he was his therapist and that he had to help him assimilate those fragments that apparently belonged to his soul. Fragment after fragment, visit after visit, Alastor was changing. He was slowly becoming something—someone—different from what he had been initially. Although he had recently disintegrated the other, Lucifer could swear he was much more patient and reflective. He enjoyed the moments when he could imagine and think, relaxing inside his little grove. When Niffty came to visit him, they chatted about the most random topics imaginable.

“You were the one who taught me what I’m trying to make you understand now.”

“What is this stuff?” Alastor interrupted, trying to cut off that conversation that was making his chest ache, without fully understanding why.

Lucifer lowered his gaze, making it clear that for a second he had forgotten about that torture.

“This is your favorite dish, Al. It’s also my least favorite, if you care.”

“I don’t care, actually.” He said distractedly, sniffing the strawberries and wrinkling his nose at the presence of some pieces of his essence.

“You put the fragments in here for that reason? Because it’s my favorite food?”

The therapist stayed silent for a few seconds, once again drawing the other’s attention, who found it strange that someone like Lucifer could be lost for words. He was oddly paler than usual.

“N-not exactly. Niffty put the fragments in here.”

Alastor frowned, though he kept his plastic smile, as usual.

“I told her clearly not to, because I knew you wouldn’t eat it and therefore, hypothetically, I would have to.”

The redhead understood less and less, since he was missing the crucial part of the problem. He resumed staring at the plate of pasta with strawberries, trying to figure out by himself why it existed, since Lucifer had asked not to make it and Niffty was anything but mischievous.

“But she… understood the ‘no’ in Polish.” He cut short.

“Mpft—” Alastor bent forward, covering his mouth.

Lucifer’s eyes widened at that decidedly human reaction. The creature before him was laughing silently, with the classic expression of someone who couldn’t stop, finding what he had just said amusing.

The blond then smiled, practically moved. His vision blurred slightly from the happiness he was feeling and the tears it provoked. The more he watched him laugh, the more he seemed like his boyfriend.

“Al…” he whispered, leaning forward and resting his hand on the other’s hair, stroking him.

Alastor jolted, freezing for just a second. He slapped Lucifer’s hand away, springing to his feet and staring at him in utter shock at what had just happened. A new wave of fear was petrifying him. If he revealed himself, if he gave in to the emotions he had started to feel, and especially if he let Lucifer into his heart, he would suffer as in his memories.

“Okay, okay! Sorry. I— I didn’t mean to.” Lucifer remained seated, showing him his palms in surrender.

“There’s nothing between us, Lucifer. You’re my food, and to make you more compliant, I accepted your stupid therapy.” He growled.

The blond sighed, trying to ignore the pain those words caused him. He took the plate and set it on his legs, staring at that hideous mush that went against all his preferences.

“This dish…” he began, with a mix of melancholy and frustration.

“This dish was in your hands one day, when I came to your house for the first time.” He took the spoon and started stirring.

Alastor stood still, listening to the new story that once again made him curious to know more. It was as if part of him always wanted to know more, while the other wanted to run away from the knowledge.

“I came to ask you for help with my sister’s gift.” He scooped up a few bits of pasta, trying to include some white strawberries in the bite.

Lucifer let out a short, sighing laugh, making it clear he had a lump in his throat—not from the disgust of eating something he hated, but from the memory of what they once were.

“I knew perfectly well she wanted that CD, you know? I just wanted an excuse to come see you and be with you.” He lifted his face, looking at the other with tearful eyes and eyebrows slightly twisted with nostalgia.

The creature’s muscles relaxed as he stared at the yellow and red eyes of his therapist, who for years had been telling him he loved him, wanted to save him, wanted him by his side. He had accepted everything: being mistreated, beaten, killed, insulted, having his essence completely drained, and now eating something he clearly hated to the extreme—only for love.

The redhead’s heart began pounding again, his chest aching as he watched him bend forward and open his mouth, ready to take the first bite.

“Wai—”

Lucifer put the spoon in his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut as if bracing for a fatal blow. He chewed repeatedly, apologizing to every gene in his DNA, even if he didn’t feel the need to justify himself to his parents at all. In an age where cultures blended together, one had to be open even to what was completely different from their own culture. He swallowed, slowly reopening his eyes.

His eyebrows shot up almost to the sky as he stared at the other in pure astonishment.

“It’s not… it’s not bad.” He whispered, admitting he had lived under a foolish prejudice.

Alastor stared at him, even more surprised than Lucifer was staring at him. A fresh wave of pure amusement made him burst out laughing—this time audibly, and rather loudly. The therapist sat there, eating more bites, watching his beloved very slowly return to what he once was. He wouldn’t show more emotion or happiness so as not to scare him, but inside he was experiencing feelings in bright, vivid, sparkling colors.

When the creature stopped laughing, he straightened his back again to lean toward Lucifer and snatch the bowl. The blond seemed startled by the gesture, for a moment fearing he would disintegrate the pieces of his essence, but then the taller one brought the container close to his face, staring at the pasta again. He took the spoon and repeated the gesture with less hesitation.

Alastor never ate what could be considered food. He simply absorbed people’s essence and sometimes fed on pieces of their dead bodies, much like with Vox and Lucifer himself.

The therapist, though extremely surprised by the scene before him, wanted to add something, hoping not to anger the other.

“Y-your mother… your mother, Henrietta, told me she used to make this dish for you when you finished school, to celebrate. The first day of your summer vacation. Because… it was your favorite meal.”

Alastor chewed, without saying a word. Although silent, his cheeks had turned slightly pink and his eyes had grown serious and deep, as if he were reflecting.

“Once… she didn’t have strawberries and used blueberries. She said you cried all day, until she went to the market to buy you a basket of strawberries.” He tried to instill those memories in him, if they weren’t already silently within him.

The creature kept taking spoonful after spoonful, almost ignoring Lucifer, but the position of his ears, tense and alert, told the blond that he was listening.

“When you were old enough to make it yourself, she said you prepared it every time you felt lonely or sad.”

Alastor hurled the empty bowl away, shattering it into a thousand pieces against a tree, then moved a few steps toward Lucifer, who feared his reaction, unable to interpret what he was feeling.

“W-when you got a bad grade… she—she knew because of this. Because… you made some as soon as you came home from school.” He copied Henrietta’s words, feeling his body stiffen more and more as the other bent toward his neck, moving the collar of his shirt aside.

“Silence.” He whispered, sinking his fangs into Lucifer’s throat.

The blond placed his hands on his boyfriend’s arms, which held him still, even though he wasn’t moving an inch. He felt his essence being drawn out. He was grateful that he had eaten the strawberries on his own and was now taking even the fragments he had probably absorbed himself. Everything he had done was extremely positive, including not trying to kill him again.

“Al…” He moved his hands to the other’s nape, caressing him and softly stroking his fluffy ears.

“I know it partly hurts and can be frightening. But I’m sure you’re also remembering the good, pleasant moments. And I’m here to tell you the ones you don’t remember.” He spoke softly.

Alastor stopped sucking, pulling back a few centimeters from the other’s neck. It was as if he had assimilated only what was necessary, without giving in to greed or euphoria. Lucifer gently drew the other’s head toward him, resting it on his shoulder. He wasn’t even aroused as usual. He just wanted to hold him and love him, partly to show him that love wasn’t only physical exchange, and partly out of personal desire.

Strangely, the redhead lowered himself further, allowing himself to be embraced and hiding his face between Lucifer’s shoulder and neck, while his hands still gripped his arms, without the strength and determination of before.

Lucifer closed his eyes, smiling and savoring that sweet moment between them. He stroked his hair, his ears, and kissed his temple, while the other didn’t utter a word but only released silent, restrained purrs. It was a decidedly excellent result. He was becoming more human, less hostile, more rational, more open to dialogue. He had even shown curiosity about his past. He knew the moment was near.

“I love you, Alastor.” he whispered with a broken voice.

Chapter 53

When the door opened, Lucifer felt an overwhelming sense of shame at having dressed in extremely elegant clothes, even more than he usually did. Despite the heat, he wore his usual outfit of vest, trousers, and shirt—this time even adding a jacket with a brooch, alternating between pink, burgundy, and white. He had slicked his hair back with gel and had even applied some powder.

The moment he found himself in front of Alastor’s father, who instead was wearing a simple white shirt with black pants, the blond wondered what on earth he was doing there and why he had dressed up so formally.

“Lucifer!” said his beloved’s father with serious enthusiasm.

“Mr. Lucchi… forgive the intrusion,” he muttered, feeling his face reach volcanic temperatures.

He had attended dozens, if not hundreds, of formal meetings where even a crumb on a sleeve could constitute a disaster and extreme dishonor. Yet, he felt that this lunch invitation had priceless importance.

“Intrusion? Oh, God! We invited you. Come in, come in.” The man was always rather composed, calm, and formal.

It was clear that Alastor had inherited much from him in terms of personality and certain facial features. Leonardo Lucchi, however, was blond, with blue eyes, practically like Lucifer. His thick mustache gave him the noble air he enjoyed, even though he did not belong to that world. Both of Alastor’s parents were schoolteachers, likely giving their son a solid educational foundation. From what he later learned, and also through gossip from Charlie, during five years of high school, Alastor was one of the best in class, passionate about studying and an insatiable learner of any subject placed before him.

The therapist entered while his adored one’s father stepped aside. A reassuring, homely smell of baked pasta in the air made Lucifer relax, though he would never have admitted what had recently happened in Alastor’s dream.

“Here you are, Lucifer!” With even brighter enthusiasm, and decidedly maternal, Henrietta came out of the kitchen, wearing a sweet apron and oven mitts.

He found it amusing yet extremely endearing that a foreign woman cooked with such skill and passion the dishes of a place other than where she had been born and raised. Love makes one do even that, he imagined. For a few seconds, images wandered through his mind of a hypothetical life together with Alastor—in which he would cook him that horrid (now not so awful) dish of pasta with strawberries on Sunday mornings, then make love for the rest of the day until lunchtime, when they would go out for a walk in the city and perhaps have a picnic on the beach.

“Henrietta, thank you again for the invitation,” he smiled, terribly embarrassed.

“Oh, heavens, such elegance! There was no need.”

“Make yourself comfortable, young man. You can take off your jacket.” Mr. Lucchi intervened, his deep voice carrying tones very much like his son’s.

Lucifer turned toward him, nodding and removing that jacket he wished he could disintegrate the instant he had appeared before the two. By now, he was used to a life in which there was absolutely no one to remove his jackets, shirts, or hats, nor take his bags and store them neatly in the closet near the entrance. He had left that life behind, and he was tremendously happy about it.

He looked for the coat rack, finding it fixed to the wall right beside the door. He took a few steps to hang the cherry-colored jacket, then returned to the couple, now approaching their seventies.

Henrietta had taken off her oven mitts, resting them on a random chest of drawers, smiling at him sweetly.

“It’s almost ready, dear. In the meantime, I thought of a pastime you might enjoy,” she said, with a tone a bit too sly.

“Mh?” Lucifer sought answers in Mr. Lucchi’s blue eyes, but the man rolled them, looking far too much like Alastor.

“You two go ahead. I’ll take care of the rest.”

As Lucifer followed the lady toward what seemed to be a living room, he noticed the man heading to the kitchen, taking up the mitts. The shortest of the three hoped “the rest” didn’t involve some new creative recipe, though he doubted it.

Henrietta had him sit on a very soft sofa, perhaps a little old, oddly decorated with what seemed like a carpet. A choice that puzzled Lucifer, but which for some reason he found elegant.

The woman, with the same coloring as her son, turned her back for a moment, searching for something in a cupboard. The blond didn’t want to stare, so he let his eyes wander around the room. It was cozy and warm. Everything was made of wood, and on the other walls, carpets appeared again, hung like paintings. In other spots, there were religious figures, finely framed. On a small cabinet, a collection of photos, all of Alastor.

Lucifer’s eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat as he focused on what seemed to be his beloved at different ages. Both he and Alastor were now thirty-six, heading toward forty. In those photos, he could see him as a newborn in his mother’s arms at the hospital, as a child—probably around ten, with comically shaved hair, likely from the accident he had had—then as a boy, starting to resemble the man he had met, holding a trophy and smiling proudly. He wondered what kind of victory it was when Henrietta sat beside him, drawing his attention.

“If you’re interested in those, then I’d say I made the right choice,” she whispered, satisfied, holding what looked like a large binder.

The nobleman was surprised by the object, especially when he realized it was a photo album. He fell into total silence, feeling a lump in his throat form like an idiot watching romantic films alone on a Saturday night while eating ice cream. He had to bite his tongue to remain serious as the woman began leafing through pages, skipping those Lucifer surely wouldn’t care about.

“This is when Al was born.” She pointed at the picture of the newborn, sleeping in his cradle.

Lucifer nodded, partly hoping it would end quickly, partly wishing it would never end. Though he forced himself not to look, pretending to observe only what the woman described, he couldn’t help but gaze at little Alastor, with his round face, sleepy expression, and confused eyes. Incredible to think how that tiny bundle had become the tall, slender, and strong man he was. To him, Alastor would always remain the man who had entered his world during the coma, not the being he was now caring for. He always sought in his gaze traces of his beloved.

Henrietta’s hand rested on Lucifer’s, making him startle after being distracted again. The woman smiled at him in her classic way, letting him know she understood what he was thinking and feeling. And indeed, she always guessed right.

“If you don’t feel like looking through them with me, I can let you keep the album for a few days,” she clarified—it wouldn’t be a permanent gift.

But after all, what mother would ever give away such precious memories? They were literally photos taken with cameras and developed in a specialized studio. Lucifer let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“No… no, it’s fine. I can take a picture with my phone if I want.”

She nodded, turning the page and showing Lucifer a new set of photos. In one of them, he saw Alastor as a child, right in the middle, surrounded by a group of girls who surely couldn’t have had their first period yet. They were shapely and pretty, and they reminded him strongly of the girls he had met in the dream.

“Who are they?”

“These? They’re Alastor’s cousins. By now they’re all married with children, but for the first years, they grew up together. Being older than him, they always treated him like a little brother.” She explained, joy in her words at the memory.

Lucifer silently analyzed photo after photo with a faint smile. After the first impact, it was now easier and easier to look at his boyfriend’s past and confirm to himself that Alastor had truly existed and, most of all, that he was still alive.

“How is the therapy going?”

Henrietta had trusted Lucifer blindly from the very beginning and had rarely asked him anything, trying to avoid putting pressure on him. The blond smiled, lowering his gaze to another picture on the page, where Alastor was probably no older than five, looking extremely happy in front of a simple plate of broccoli and white rice.

“He seems better. But it’s always so damn slow,” he said, unable to fight the urge to vent to someone he trusted.

Lately, the list had grown. If before he spoke only with Charlie, now Lucifer opened up much more easily to Susan, Anthony, and recently Husk. He never went into details and very rarely showed his sadness or frustration. Yet, he increasingly felt the need.

Henrietta squeezed his hand, encouraging him to continue. Lucifer felt his eyebrows move on their own, taking full control, contorting while he stared at his beloved’s photos.

“I miss him like air, Henrietta,” he whispered, hoping not even she could hear.

His boyfriend’s mother moved closer, clicking her tongue, wrapping him in an embrace. Lately, he received so many hugs and wasn’t sure if that could be considered positive or negative. In his mind, it meant two things: that he was softening, and that he was so lucky to be surrounded by people showing him affection with no hidden motives, only for his well-being.

Lucifer buried his face against the woman’s shoulder, awkwardly embarrassed. He didn’t return the gesture but let her hold him. He couldn’t cry; he didn’t feel in the right place to do so. Probably, if they had been back at the clinic, without Alastor’s father—whom he hadn’t spoken to all that often—he would have cried like a child.

“You’re doing an excellent job, Lucifer. You’ll see Alastor will soon return to all of us.”

Lucifer nodded, shifting his face within her arms to look again at the album’s pages. A person in a small corner photo caught his attention. She was an elderly woman, short and round, with bright red hair, freckles, and green eyes.

“N-Niffty…?” he asked distractedly.

Henrietta let him go, instinctively looking at the same picture Lucifer was staring at.

“How do you know her?”

“She… she’s inside Alastor’s coma. She’s a great help and probably the only person he trusts completely,” he tried to explain, careful not to sound crazy.

The woman laughed, but her laugh was moved, caressing the figure in the photo. Niffty was holding a basket full of strawberries.

“She was the village fruit seller. Alastor always went there to buy strawberries for his favorite dessert. Sometimes I’d send him alone to buy fruit and vegetables, and he always came back with a huge basket of strawberries. He smiled so much when he received them that it was impossible not to gift him some, she always said.”

She said…

Lucifer’s shoulders slumped, quickly putting two and two together. The woman was already elderly in the pictures, perhaps over seventy when Alastor was a child. It was obviously impossible that she was still alive.

“When… when did she die?”

Henrietta wiped away a tear, making it clear she had loved Niffty. From what he understood, they had lived in a small village, so everyone knew each other. The fruit seller had probably seen Alastor grow up.

“Right after we left to come here. I never told Alastor, but he must have figured it out. He never asked anything about it.”

Lucifer wondered why living happily together with the one you love had to be so damn difficult. He had never been able to truly know Niffty, never been able to be with Alastor in reality—only in a dream or coma.

The two looked like a perfect picture of sadness, wiping tears from their eyes that didn’t seem so bitter when shared with someone else. Especially with someone feeling the same.

“Henrietta…” he began, not even realizing those words were on his tongue.

“Yes, dear?”

“Would you… would you give me permission to marry your son, when I manage to save him?”

The woman froze, showing Lucifer a genuinely surprised expression. Only when he had suggested the couple think about the clinic expenses had she shown him such a face.

“Oh, heavens…”

Lucifer quickly lowered his gaze, wondering what had come over him. It—it was clearly the emotion! Surely not all those times he had imagined life with Alastor under the same roof, the trips they could have taken together, the lovemaking sessions in every corner of the house, or even the fights over who didn’t wash the dishes.

“Sorry! S-sorry, I didn’t mean—”

His beloved’s mother grabbed his hands, enclosing them in hers. Lucifer lifted his blue eyes, wet with emotion and cheeks as red as the strawberries Alastor loved so much. Henrietta smiled at him once more, but now that smile was laced with gratitude, emotion, and deep joy.

“Alastor could never find someone more perfect for him than you, Lucifer. Even giving you my blessing, nothing will ever stop you from being together.”

Indeed, she was right. He had only wanted to be gallant and ask permission, especially after the elderly couple had welcomed him into their family with such spontaneity and affection.

“S-so that’s a yes?”

“Of course it is, dear.”

Lucifer practically bit his lips to keep himself from crying again. Although with Henrietta it felt entirely normal and spontaneous, he still wanted to hold on to some dignity.

But the woman didn’t give him time to compose himself, hugging him again, this time almost crushing him. Only then did Lucifer notice her jasmine scent, to which he hadn’t paid much attention before. The blond closed his eyes, finally letting himself be enveloped by that tenderness, returning the embrace, and starting to perceive that sweet woman as a real mother. Perhaps, she could even become one for him, who had never truly had one who could be called such.

Chapter 54

“Zodiac… sign?”

Lucifer set down his glass of creamy liquor, which he was barely sipping, staring at Husk with a doubtful expression.

“You’ve never heard about it? Are you serious?”

“It’s not that I’ve never heard of it but… let’s say I’ve never been interested in looking into it.”

He slumped back, resting his back against the chair in his bar. After the first few nights, he had agreed to have drinks there with Husk. It made no sense to go elsewhere when he owned a bar himself. Besides, after everything they had talked about and the way he had opened up to him, keeping up the act of superiority was basically pointless.

“Where I work, it’s a pretty common subject, especially among couples going out for the first times, to break the ice.”

“Ah…” Lucifer stretched out an arm, playing with the glass and sliding his finger along the rim.

He wondered what kind of interest people could have in talking about the stars. He found them particularly stupid when he learned that they thought celestial alignments could affect their personality, future, and success.

“When were you born?”

“Hm?” Lucifer lifted his gaze, surprised by the question, though it was perfectly logical for the conversation they were having.

“I asked you when you were born, so I can tell you your sign.”

“Are we really talking about this nonsense?”

“Why does every conversation have to be serious, depressing, and deep? We can talk about simple things too.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes, grabbed his glass, and took a small sip before setting it back down. It had been a couple of days since he’d visited Alastor’s parents, and that meeting had changed something inside his heart. Since waking up from the coma, and especially since becoming a therapist, his life had been slowly shifting, allowing him more and more to let his true self out. He could say that Alastor had truly saved him in many ways, by coming to him, in the world where he had been trapped.

“April 3rd, happy now?”

“So an Aries. That explains it.”

“I knew we’d end up here.” He said slyly, pulling his phone from his pocket to check an endless string of messages he had been ignoring, all from the same person.

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? It’s obvious, Husk. First people ask you your zodiac sign and then the very next sentence is always, ‘That’s why you’re like this.’” He explained, slipping the phone back into his pocket.

Husk snickered, grabbing his mug of beer. That day he had decided to take it light, also because he was practically drinking every single night, using the excuse of getting to know Lucifer better and keeping an eye on him.

“If you knew what Aries people are like, you’d agree with me.”

“Let me guess: jerks, stuck-up, arrogant, and competitive?”

“Couldn’t have summed it up better. So you do know them!” He said, satisfied.

Lucifer let out a puff of laughter.

“I just described myself, I don’t know shit about Aries.”

“You bastard.” Muttered the brunet, finding that answer particularly funny.

The two of them drank in silence for a few minutes, sipping their drinks and occasionally glancing around or nodding at the regular customers they now met almost every night.

“Alastor is a Capricorn.”

“You think I care, after what I just said?”

“It’s a great match with Aries.”

“I didn’t need zodiac signs to know that. Are you really that tied to gossip?!” He asked, exasperated by the subject.

“I’m just trying to have a conversation with you.”

“Since you want a conversation with me…” He straightened his back, moved his chair closer to the table, and rested his elbows on the hard surface.

That pose, like a supervillain in a spy movie, caught Husk’s attention, who raised an eyebrow while continuing to drink his beer.

“What?”

“Susan is old.”

“I noticed. I think in the not-so-distant future you’ll get a letter from her lawyer about inheritance or about the exploitation that killed her.”

“I want you to assist her until you take her place.” He went straight to the point, though by now both silently enjoyed each other’s banter.

Husk snorted loudly, as loudly as the beer mug he slammed down on the wooden table.

“I won’t pretend to be surprised, because I’m not.”

“I can hire people ten times better than you, Husk. I’m doing you a favor.”

“You don’t even sound convincing to yourself. Stop being an asshole just because you’re embarrassed.”

The nobleman extended an arm, opening his hand to invite the other’s shake and seal the offer.

The brunet looked at Lucifer’s hand. It trembled slightly, though the bar owner tried to always keep that mask of boredom, in stark contrast with the tearful face from when he had held him in his arms. He was literally incapable of acting sincerely, doing so only when pushed to the edge. Husk found that behavior somewhat immature, but over time he had understood the reasons that made the man before him the way he was.

“I come from the other side of the world.” He explained a hypothetical reason for refusal.

“You’ll have the vacation time to visit your family, if you have one.” He pressed.

“The bar there is practically mine.”

“You can keep running it the way you do now, remotely.”

“Why do you think I’d want to work here?”

“I didn’t ask if you wanted to.”

Husk couldn’t hold back his laughter anymore. Lucifer was immature, but he was good at this. He always had a comeback ready, no need to prepare them beforehand.

The brunet extended his arm, shaking the other’s hand. He could only guess how relieved Lucifer must have been. The blond felt he wanted that kind of company and support for a long time—possibly always—besides having a hand in the bar. He had noticed Susan was reaching the limits of exhaustion, and someone strong like Husk would be the perfect pillar for the woman in her old age.

“I’m only doing it for that poor old lady.”

“Yeah, right. As soon as you get near my boyfriend’s underwear, you’re fired.”

Before Husk could snap back, the bar door swung open violently, making the bell above it ring nervously. Entering the place was Anthony, dressed flamboyantly, with shiny tight black pants and a sleeveless top, showing his stomach, magenta in color and covered with glitter. His white hair was slicked back with a headband and over his eyes he wore sunglasses with lenses matching the top of his outfit. Ironic to think he was a nurse saving people’s lives.

“Lucifer, you massive piece of crap!” He growled, striding toward the table.

“Here comes another one.” He muttered, sinking back into his chair.

“Who the hell is that?”

“Someone you don’t need to worry about.” He warned, as the nurse was already at the table, slamming his palm onto the surface.

“I heard that!”

“Congratulations.”

“I’ve been trying to call and text you for days!”

Husk let his eyes wander from Anthony’s hair down to the visible part of his legs. He was definitely someone who didn’t look human. He radiated energy from every pore, to the point that just watching him made Husk feel drained.

“And what are you looking at?” Anthony’s gaze finally fell on Lucifer’s new friend.

“The extremely modern outfit you’re wearing.” He replied, feigning disinterest.

The white-haired man chuckled, leaning toward him and grabbing his chin. Lucifer raised his eyebrows, noticing how close they were. Yet Husk didn’t seem particularly affected by the display.

“Want to see me without it?” He whispered, staring into his eyes.

“Holy Christ, Ant! Just sit down.” Lucifer pointed to a chair nearby, disgusted by the scene, though he couldn’t be considered someone who despised sexuality or flirting.

He just felt completely out of place. Every time Anthony started to flirt in his presence, Lucifer couldn’t help but feel tremendously uncomfortable. His peer complained theatrically, dragging the chair noisily until he was sitting between the two.

“Why didn’t you answer? I was worried sick!”

He couldn’t blame him. He simply didn’t feel like it, that was all. Even though the nurse was a good man, ready to offer him a shoulder to cry on or an ear for his problems, Lucifer couldn’t fully open up to him. After being killed in Alastor’s dream, he had been in too much pain to look at messages, and after recovering he had been far too busy focusing on his patient’s progress. With Husk it was a bit different, since the two now had a fixed appointment at his bar every day. When Lucifer had tried to skip, the brunet had practically broken down his door.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He admitted quickly, knowing Anthony would otherwise make it into a dramatic scene all night.

“Hey, you’re not getting away that easily!” He pointed at the blond, while waving to a waitress with his other hand.

Suddenly, Lucifer realized who was in front of him. Turning a bit pale, he looked up at the two, who noticed the surprise in his expression.

“You okay?” Husk asked, this time with a deeper voice, showing he was seriously concerned.

“If you want, I have some smelling salts in my bag.” Anthony offered promptly, making it clear he wasn’t actually that mad at him.

“I just… I never imagined I’d be sitting at the same table with two of my boyfriend’s exes.”

Anthony’s eyes widened, practically popping out of their sockets, as he whipped his head toward Husk.

“You used to screw Alastor?!” He shouted.

“I could ask you the same, bleach-head.” Husk shot back, looking at Anthony with fake disgust.

Lucifer sighed at the dynamic that instantly sparked between the two, certainly not a friendly one. Thinking of how badly he had suffered through Anthony’s first interactions with Alastor, it now seemed almost ridiculous. But the idea that his redhead could have kissed, gone out with, and made love to someone else was unbearable. Now, as an adult, he accepted it. He wouldn’t have been okay with Alastor doing it once they had confessed their love to each other, but it was normal for many thirty-five-year-olds to have had past relationships, if not even a marriage ending in divorce.

“You two going to keep this up all night? Because I can think of a list of things I’d rather do than be here with you both.”

Anthony huffed, standing up and heading to the counter, resigned to asking for a drink himself rather than waiting for the waitress. He left Lucifer and Husk alone again. The blond was slightly annoyed by the reminder that those two men had actually made love with his boyfriend, while he himself had never yet had that kind of touch in reality.

“Ever heard of the Pygmalion effect?”

“If it’s another load of crap like zodiac signs, I’ll just say yes so I don’t have to hear more.”

“You act like an asshole to protect yourself, but that just makes people see you that way.”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, incredulous at the insults he was getting that night from both of them.

“All that roundabout talk just to say I’m a jerk? I think I’ve already admit—”

“As a result, people will only expect that from you: to behave like an asshole.” He continued, cutting him off.

The therapist sat there analyzing those words, trying to understand. He had studied some psychology—obviously important for his job—but certainly not at the level of certified dream therapists.

“And when you passively receive those expectations from people, you’ll act accordingly, completely unconsciously.”

A self-fulfilling prophecy, in short. By hiding behind a mask, he was giving a totally wrong image of himself. The problem was that everyone would then start treating him based on that false image, feeding him a sense of self far from reality.

“So basically, you think I act like an asshole only because people see me as one?”

Husk shrugged.

“Summing it up? Probably, yeah.”

Lucifer wasn’t offended; in fact, he took that little textbook paragraph, reflecting on how something like that could apply to therapy. Then, like a lightning bolt, the blond thought of Alastor’s case. From the very beginning, he had treated him like a beast, like a wounded animal. Even now, when he visited, he had never acted as if talking to a fellow human. He always addressed his boyfriend with extreme caution, maybe a hint of fear, simple words and short phrases, before feeding him and making love with him. Only the last time had they actually had a conversation, where the nobleman spoke normally, and his patient had indeed shown almost gentle expressions, normal reactions, and the ability to converse without attacking him, even just to take his essence. Even his face had looked much more… human.

The blond stood up so quickly he nearly knocked the chair over.

“What?”

“I think… I think I can make progress in therapy.”

“With the Pygmalion effect?” He asked, doubtful.

“Exactly for that! T-thanks, Husk!” He said, stepping back from the table, then practically running off.

Anthony returned to his seat with a cocktail in hand, glaring in disgust at the door Lucifer had just walked through.

“He left?! Seriously?”

“Seems like he had an idea about Alastor.”

The white-haired man sat down, lifting his legs and resting the heels of his boots on the table. That gesture hurt Husk more than a bullet to the brain. Suddenly, Anthony looked at him with a wide smile, almost demonic.

“So… how was Al in bed with you?”

Chapter 55

Lucifer entered his boyfriend’s world, relieved that no barriers or attempts to keep him out were there anymore. When he reopened his eyes, he was welcomed by a gentle, warm breeze, and his ears could hear the melody of wheat stalks swaying softly. He looked around, noticing once again how that world was painted with countless details.

Since his last visit, houses had multiplied, and there were even some people strolling through the small paths among the fields. They spoke his boyfriend’s language, which Lucifer had studied and could understand. The conversations were simple—about seasonal vegetables or fruits, the weather, and which Polish dish they might prepare for dinner.

Raising his gaze, the sky was tinged with pink, almost blazing red, signaling sunset. That, too, was new. Usually, there were no weather conditions, temperatures, or times of day. Those new elements, and that world becoming increasingly real, gave Lucifer hope that his mission was close to completion.

That little village was less and less similar to what it had been at the beginning, and he had to rely on memory to locate Niffty’s fields, which had now turned into a little shop selling fruits and vegetables, displayed outside in beautiful baskets.

“Niff?” he called, without entering the shop.

“Ah! Doktor!”

The girl appeared with her broad smile. She was much younger and thinner compared to the woman in the photo, but perhaps that was how Alastor saw her in his heart. Niffty came out, holding a small basket of strawberries, where fragments of Alastor were already visible. Since that sweet redhead had arrived, Lucifer’s work had become much easier.

In the first months, he had to walk for hours, exploring areas often dangerous or completely dark, before finding a small field where strawberries grew spontaneously. Most likely, when Alastor began gathering his first memories, an abstract image of Niffty was born in that desolate world, embodying a great joy of his childhood.

Lucifer felt a lump in his throat as he accepted the basket the petite girl handed him. He had undoubtedly grown fond of Niffty, and the thought that once Alastor was brought back he would never see her again hurt him. A type of pain he didn’t quite know, one he hadn’t even felt when his parents passed away. He would never admit to anyone that when he learned of their accident… he had felt relieved.

He bit his lower lip, gently setting the wicker basket on the ground, leaning forward, and slowly embracing Niffty, closing his eyes. The girl looked confused, but not at all frightened or annoyed. She gazed at Lucifer with a surprised expression. After all, they had never exchanged words of affection, let alone a gesture.

“I… I thank you for everything. Since you’ve been here, my life and Alastor’s life in this world have finally turned positive.”

“Doktor?”

Lucifer pulled her closer, noticing how fragile yet incredibly soft her body was, as though he were hugging a cushion. Even her fruity scent made him even more emotional.

“Thank you also… for—for making Alastor happy, when he was a child,” he whispered, his voice slightly broken, hoping the people in the streets wouldn’t pay too much attention to them.

Niffty stayed silent for a few seconds. She lifted a hand, caressing Lucifer’s arm, drawing the blond’s eyes—red and yellow—toward her face.

She smiled in a completely different way from usual. That expression told of maturity and wisdom, revealing all the years of life the real Niffty had lived.

“I’m glad Alastor found you,” she said simply.

Lucifer frowned, overwhelmed by the surprise and emotion her words caused. The dynamic between them had shifted drastically, and the therapist felt he was now in the arms of someone who no longer seemed like an eighty-year-old, despite her childlike appearance.

Lucifer ironically realized in that moment how often he felt comfortable with older people, especially women, while toward men—particularly those his own age—he usually showed only his sharpest side.

He pressed his face against Niffty’s small body, letting silent tears fall. He knew he would soon never see her again, and that in reality they had never truly met. The redhead caressed his head, patting him gently with her other hand, encouraging him to move forward and do what was right.

 

-

 

After a few minutes in which the blond let himself be comforted by the projection of someone no longer alive, Lucifer entered Alastor’s forest, drying his tears, his eyes still burning slightly.

“Al?” he called, not bothering to hide the muffled tone in his voice caused by crying.

A rustle of leaves made Lucifer turn toward a particular corner of the grove, where there was only a pond and a fallen log. Alastor stepped out from a sort of hiding place, perhaps where he had been resting.

What surprised Lucifer wasn’t so much that it was clear Alastor had been sleeping—his drowsy, confused expression and messy hair gave that away—but rather the drastic change in his patient’s appearance.

Alastor was no longer a bright redhead, and even his fixed, plastic smile was gone. Now his hair had returned to a natural mahogany brown, though he still kept his horns, ears, and tail, and his face displayed genuine emotions. His chocolate-colored eyes turned toward Lucifer as he lazily rubbed them.

“Lucifer? You’re early.”

He had to admit he hadn’t been able to wait until the week was over and had rushed to the hospital as soon as Husk had suggested that idea about the Pygmalion effect. But now, faced with someone so similar to his beloved—despite the bizarre clothes and radio-like voice—Lucifer was finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

That visit was flooding him with emotions, from the saddest to the most joyful. The basket of strawberries slipped from his hand, scattering across the ground. His arms dropped helplessly with gravity, as did his jaw. He froze, staring at his boyfriend in total disbelief. His heart pounded wildly, while inside his chest and stomach he felt the flutter of thousands of butterflies threatening to burst him open.

“A-Alastor…”

“What?”

“You… you’re… d-different.”

Alastor looked at his palms, realizing he hadn’t really changed much. He approached the pond’s surface, studying his reflection. He played with the tips of his hair and moved his ears.

“Looks like a style change,” he joked, almost as if trying to hide that nothing about it had been intentional.

Lucifer longed to hug him, to cry even harder than he had with Niffty, but he didn’t want to scare him or make him angry—especially now that Alastor was acting so calm. Besides, he had a plan for today’s session. If all this was working, it was because the therapist had always focused on the best solutions, step by step, and had been persistent in planting new memories in his patient.

Steadying his voice, Lucifer forced himself to ignore Alastor, crouching down to gather the strawberries and put them back in the basket. He had to forget that this was a violent creature; he had to remind himself—and Alastor—that he was human.

“I visited your parents the other day,” he said calmly.

Alastor said nothing. He shifted his gaze to Lucifer, perhaps waiting for the story to continue—or perhaps just plotting how to kill him again.

The blond stood up, focusing on the strawberries, especially the white ones—there were even three that day.

“Your mom made baked pasta. None of that summer or fruity oddness,” he laughed, walking toward the log.

Alastor’s eyes widened, his expression intent and serious, while his tail swayed slightly.

“Your dad handled the rest, because Henrietta showed me a photo album.” He placed the basket beside him, picked up a white strawberry, and began eating it slowly.

It was a simple chat between him and his boyfriend. He was pretending normalcy, but in part he had longed for that daily life for years. Alastor began approaching him slowly, silently worrying Lucifer, who chewed while staring ahead at the world in front of them.

“There were your cousins, the ones who later got married and had kids, remember?” he pointed a finger at him, seeking confirmation.

The redhead nodded faintly, sitting beside him as if enchanted by the tale. He, too, was somewhat surprised that Lucifer was no longer behaving like bait on a hook, waiting to be eaten. That shift in behavior, and in their dynamic since their last meeting, felt strange.

The blond was screaming with joy inside, but outwardly he casually popped another white strawberry into his mouth, whole. He knew Alastor wouldn’t eat them himself, because he didn’t like remembering—or at least, not the parts that involved emotions or painful scenes.

“And then there was Niffty,” he said, right after swallowing.

 

CRACK

 

Lucifer’s eyes widened, his veins turning to ice. He lifted his face toward the sky, though the foliage kept him from seeing it. But he knew that sound. He had… just opened a crack in that world, something he thought impossible to do alone. Slowly, he turned his head toward Alastor, who now stared at him with the expression of someone who had just recalled something deeply shocking.

“You… you remember Niffty, don’t you? When you were a boy and she gave you these strawberries?” He held up a red one in front of his eyes.

Alastor’s ears flattened, his claws digging into the log. This was dangerous. Lucifer risked pushing too far, frightening him, or being attacked again. But he followed his instinct. He spoke to him as he would to the real Alastor.

“You remember her?”

Alastor nodded slowly.

“You know she’s gone now, right?”

What happened next was completely unexpected. Alastor’s mouth, no longer fixed in a grin, twisted downward, his expression becoming one of pure sadness. Lucifer set the strawberry back in the basket and pushed it aside so he could sit closer to his boyfriend. With a trembling hand, he stroked the back of his hand, trying to comfort him and share in what was likely his first emerging memory of grief.

“Al…” he whispered.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want me to suffer?”

Lucifer felt that familiar lump in his throat again. A sensation he daily pretended not to feel, even though nearly everyone close to him had seen him fall apart at least once. He squeezed Alastor’s hand, no longer caring if he was attacked, tortured, or killed. He wanted to console him and would do so as if the creature beside him was his boyfriend, in every way.

“On the contrary, love. I want to take this journey with you to bring you back to me, and to all who love you. I want to get you out of here and give you all the happiness you deserve after years of suffering.” Even he was surprised by those words, words he hadn’t even known were on his tongue.

He was speaking from the heart, and those phrases, spoken with pure tenderness, at least spared him from a quick end. Alastor lowered his head, gritting his teeth as his shoulders trembled lightly, holding back sobs.

“She’s here, isn’t she? That means she’ll always remain alive, in part, in your heart.”

Finally, a loud sob, followed by sharp cracking noises spreading through the sky. For just a moment, Lucifer felt fear, uncertain whether he was doing the right thing or harming his boyfriend. Yet he kept going, without manuals, stumbling through the dark, guided only by what he felt was right.

“D-do you remember Keekee? My cat, in the dream, when you came to save me. Do you remember that part?”

Alastor hastily wiped the tears that had dared to fall from his now human eyes, then looked at Lucifer, clearly confused, not recalling that part yet. The blond smiled at him tenderly, his eyes watery, happy to find an open door seemingly willing to listen.

“You were a therapist, just like I am now. You were even better than me. I mean, you actually studied for it,” he laughed sincerely, leaning back slightly and gazing at the pond before them.

“You saved me when I was in a coma, and inside my world there was a black cat, Keekee. That creature was something I had created with my own hands, but it wasn’t truly alive.”

Alastor’s ears perked up, showing deeper interest in the story.

“Even though he didn’t really exist, I loved him as if he were alive. Inside me, he existed.”

Squeezing his boyfriend’s hand again, he looked at him with encouragement, as though offering him the trick to solving the universe’s riddle.

“They stay alive within us, even when they’re not. Do you understand that?”

Alastor nodded, making it clear he wanted to hide his face, contorted by sadness. Lucifer wanted to help, so he turned, giving him his back, and focused on the strawberries, picking up the third white one.

“She’ll always love you, and that’s why she’s helping me find the fragments of your essence. If I had to keep searching alone, the life I have left wouldn’t be enough, you know?” he said, before chewing and swallowing the last white strawberry.

In the background, he could hear faint sobs. He couldn’t believe he had found Alastor in a nearly human form, conversing with him and even showing his first real emotions. There was hardly a trace of sarcasm, sadism, or possessiveness—though the last part saddened him a little.

Lucifer kept caressing and gently squeezing his hand. When he finally felt the redhead return the squeeze, the nobleman had his confirmation that he had begun walking the right path, finally reaping the first fruits of his long work. He sighed emotionally, turning back toward Alastor, who nervously wiped away every tear that escaped his eyes.

The therapist felt that for this session he had opened Alastor’s heart enough. He unbuttoned a few buttons, shifting his collar aside to expose his neck to his boyfriend, catching his attention. For a moment, a red glow flashed in his eyes, showing that he wasn’t fully human yet and still carried predatory instincts.

“Do you want some of my essence?”

Alastor nodded, approaching with fox-like caution. He sniffed Lucifer’s skin, confirming that fragments of his memories were within his essence—as he had already guessed when seeing him eat the white strawberries.

He licked the skin and, for the first time, kissed it differently than when he wanted to have sex with Lucifer. They were slow, tender kisses. Lucifer smiled, closing his eyes.

“Can I hold you while you do it?” he asked softly.

Alastor didn’t answer, but pressed his body against his. He was warm, and purring still rumbled in his throat—something Lucifer knew he would miss, once they were both out of there.

By pure instinct, the blond wrapped his arms around him, resting his cheek against his boyfriend’s head, just as Alastor sank his fangs into the therapist’s neck.

Lucifer jolted for only a second, then surrendered to the pleasant sensation of having his essence absorbed. He knew that even that day they wouldn’t do anything physical, and that was fine. Both he and Alastor were learning to spend time together without sex, just as couples do after the first weeks or months of a relationship.

They were both learning to love and gradually to understand one another, rescuing each other, during those years when nothing and no one managed to distract them from the feelings they shared.

Chapter 56

Lucifer slowly reopened his eyes, letting his sight adjust to the lights of the hospital room. He turned toward Alastor, still asleep, studying his form. Now, the creature in his dream truly resembled him—or the form he took during his therapies. Even the world he lived in was increasingly taking on the appearance of a small countryside town, presumably similar to where he lived.

He was close. Almost there.

“Alastor, my love…” he whispered, squeezing his hand.

Though anyone could have come in, he let himself go as if they were alone. He turned his body fully toward his beloved, smiling with emotion and letting tears of feeling roll down his face onto the mattress. By now, he had even stopped scolding himself for how often he cried; he had learned to see it as an act of purification, casting away all the tears he hadn’t been able to shed for thirty years of his life. The first real cry he had was when he had to push Alastor away after their first kiss.

He smiled at him, his vision blurred.

“Love, it won’t be long. I promise. If you want, we can live together, okay?” he explained, not worrying too much about translating into the other’s native language, knowing he would be understood anyway.

He had to tell Husk. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he wanted to share this outcome, to somehow celebrate. It had been almost four years since he had started the therapy, and he was beginning to doubt whether he could save the other.

He sat up, checking the time. It was early afternoon. He had probably slept there all morning, after entering the other’s dream. He would surely find him in the small studio apartment he had rented.

Slowly, to avoid getting dizzy, he left the bed, putting his phone back in his pocket. Before leaving, he walked around the bed, giving his beloved a peck on the lips, stroking his smooth face, having shaved him himself just a couple of days before.

“See you tomorrow, Al,” he promised, knowing that, unfortunately, he could only visit him externally for the next six days.

He left the hospital room, greeting all the nurses and doctors who nodded or smiled at him, playing his usual part, though he couldn’t completely hide his excitement. As soon as he was outside, he ran to his friend’s apartment.

While running, he thought he should also alert Anthony. Although they didn’t share the same deep bond as he had with the brunet, he still owed him a lot. After all, he had saved Alastor. He wasn’t sure whether any other nurses could have done the same or would have insisted as he had.

Outside the hospital, he was a completely different person—eccentric, sometimes crude, but still fundamentally good.

Arriving at the brunet’s apartment door, he rang once. Silence followed. Sighing, he tried a second time, but still nothing.

He felt a little disappointed not to find him, especially at a time when he thought he’d be home. Suddenly, he heard a thump behind the door.

“Hm?”

He turned again, clearly aware that someone was there.

“Husker?” he called, knocking on the door instead of ringing.

“It’s Lucifer, open up. I have some important news.”

Perhaps he was indeed resting and he had woken him. However, when Husk didn’t respond, instead of leaving politely, Lucifer felt a wave of frustration. He pressed all his weight against the doorbell, refusing to let go.

“You think you can ignore me, you piece of shit?! What’s your problem w—”

Husker flung the door open. His face displayed multiple emotions at once, from frustration to surprise, and what initially seemed like pure embarrassment. Despite his particularly olive skin, his cheeks appeared red. Furthermore, his hair was ridiculously messy, and he was only wearing jeans.

Lucifer froze, letting go of the doorbell and letting his astonished eyes roam over the other’s body. He was decidedly more muscular than he appeared in those ridiculous striped work shirts. The thick, dark hair hid muscles that the blond didn’t even know existed.

“I-I…”

“Yes, you’ve pissed me off. If someone doesn’t answer you, there’s a reason!”

The therapist’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. Unlike other times when Husk raised his voice in a tone easily mistaken for joking, this time he truly seemed stressed.

“Did… something happen?”

“Nothing happened. I was sleeping, and you clung to my doorbell like a damn vacuum salesman.”

Lucifer sighed, scratching the back of his neck. He was truly mortified. Perhaps he had let himself get carried away by excitement, not thinking about the time or that the other might have things to do or need rest.

“I’m sorry, okay…?” It was a phrase he now said a little too often, and his pride suggested he should say it less.

Lucifer’s eyes, now glued to the floor, wandered inside the apartment, particularly dark, furnished only with wooden furniture, closed blinds, and a few scattered clothes.

Clothes…

The therapist frowned, noticing on the floor, among a shirt and some shoes, a decidedly bright object, shocking pink in color. It took him less than two seconds to remember where he had seen it. His face turned the same shade as a tomato, from embarrassment and unjustified anger.

“ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”

“W-what do you mean?”

“You’ve known each other for… how long?! Fifteen hours?” His voice had become particularly high-pitched.

For someone like him, bound to tradition, but above all to his only love story that had taken nearly twenty years to take the first steps, something like this was beyond sci-fi.

With perfect timing, Anthony stepped out from Husk’s corner, his hair even messier than the other’s, wearing only a sheet around his waist. Unlike the other, he was rather pale and hairless. His body was also decidedly slight, though evidently flexible.

“Who the hell is this, Huskie?” he muttered in a hoarse voice.

When Anthony’s black eyes met Lucifer’s, the nurse froze, his face losing all expression.

“Lu—”

“You’re a damn slut, Anthony! I can’t believe Alastor was with someone like you!” he scolded, clearly agitated.

“Okay, okay, let’s all calm down. And you, asshole, come in.” Husk grabbed Lucifer by the collar, dragging him inside and slamming the door.

“Are you fucking crazy? You’ll get me kicked out of the apartment!” he continued to scold, practically throwing Lucifer next to the white-haired one.

“Well, I’d say if they kicked you out, there could be multiple reasons,” the taller one joked, tucking a messy tuft of hair behind his ear while smiling mischievously.

“Don’t start with your damn act again,” muttered the brunet, heading to the kitchen to make coffee with the coffee maker.

Lucifer didn’t know whether to be more angry at that damn soap opera scene or at the watered-down coffee that would soon arrive in a cup in front of him. He wondered why he cared so much. He simply couldn’t believe that two people he considered partly his friends had slept together the instant they met.

He sighed, taking a chair in the small kitchen corner and sitting down. Anthony shrugged, choosing the small couch a short distance from the other two. The elegance with which he crossed his legs and sat sideways like a little mermaid, wearing only a simple, extremely wrinkled sheet, made Lucifer feel a slight envy.

“So… what news were you talking about?” Husk interrupted the blond’s train of thought, drawing his attention again.

“Oh… uh… it’s about Alastor.”

“Obviously about Alastor, your life revolves around him,” Anthony joked, not even trying to hide his gratitude to the blond for everything he was doing, even if a tiny part of him couldn’t help blaming him for what happened to the redhead.

Husk put the coffee maker on the stove, then turned to Lucifer, showing him his numerous hairy muscles, waiting for a response.

“He… he has changed form and now… he looks even more like himself. Before he had monstrous features, not in a negative way but… he wasn’t exactly human.”

“And now?” the brunet interjected.

“He is like his old self,” he said softly, feeling again the total joy and amazement at the memory.

Anthony smiled, covering his face in a sort of embarrassment, definitely out of character.

“Even his personality is aligning with what he had in the real world. He… he got emotional during our therapy.”

Husk nodded, turning back to the coffee maker, which was starting to gurgle.

“You’re doing well, blondie,” he said.

Lucifer realized he was in a situation he rarely, if ever, found himself in: at the home of people he considered friends, confiding what lay deepest in his heart. Even the simple fact of finding them having sex and then drinking horrible coffee together during these personal talks felt somehow special.

“So… are you two boyfriend and boyfriend now?” he asked in a completely childish and slightly naive way.

Husk almost dropped the cup while pouring the coffee, and Anthony let out a loud chuckle.

“Christ, you’re so old-fashioned!” he teased, embarrassing him.

“Excuse me, what’s the problem? If—if you… well—”

Husk set all three cups on the small kitchen counter, sighing. Though he fully understood the therapist’s total lack of experience on the matter, unlike Anthony, he wanted to give him some life lessons.

“Not every time people do these things is there any feeling involved, Lucifer.”

The blond turned to Husk, his face serious, perhaps a little disappointed by what he perceived as cold and unromantic.

“I mean…”

“We had sex, Lu! We won’t get married, we’re not in a relationship, and I’m not moving in or anything like that,” he explained in a disgusted tone, lifting himself to take his cup.

Lucifer lowered his gaze, nodding. The adult world was like this, after all. Maybe most of it. He didn’t really know why the fact that two people could do such things without feeling made him sad, but that’s exactly what he felt.

“However…” Husk brought him back to reality, making him lift his face at that interruption.

The brunet leaned his back against the wall, looking at him with a sly smile while sipping his coffee.

“It’s not impossible that something could grow from these beginnings,” he reassured.

Anthony turned toward the barista in shock. Now his expression could no longer hide any mask of control, showing pure embarrassment and surprise.

“Excuse me, what?!”

Lucifer smiled faintly in silence, also picking up his cup and staring at the liquid, devoid of any creaminess. After all, not all stories had to start with feelings from the first moment people met, nor go through hardships like his and Alastor’s. With that simple phrase, he could immediately sense, in his inexperience, that perhaps a future of love could exist for those two.

Chapter 57

“Can you believe what they did?!”

“Pretty much, yes.”

Lucifer was sitting on Alastor’s forest log, with his shoes resting on it and his legs wrapped tightly in his arms, pulled against his chest. His face, still redhead just at the thought, was pressed against his knees.

He had waited the usual week before telling his boyfriend about his discovery, but he had to admit that he could hardly wait to inform him about that “peculiar” experience, which certainly went far beyond his usual routines between the beach, the lab, and the bar.

He often met Husk and Anthony at his place to spend time together, to hear stories about Alastor from them, or to daydream about his future with him. The two, though being exes of the redhead, looked at him tenderly, and the therapist could see day after day how their eyes met and exchanged unspoken phrases.

They were… truly sweet. Even though outwardly the two kept teasing each other constantly, they always left Lucifer’s bar together, and since they had met, they seemed decidedly happier and calmer.

Was that how a normal relationship worked? Gradually getting to know one another, joking, spending time together. Lucifer wondered what he and Alastor had done wrong, but he knew the answer, and clearly he didn’t like it: he himself had been the problem, pushing him away and constantly sending him opposite, conflicting, and confusing signals.

He remembered perfectly when he woke up in Alastor’s arms and he was kissing him, with that deep and resolute expression that had made him look like a man, despite being just a teenager. He was sure his heart was about to explode, but then he fainted again. He tormented himself for days, wondering if Alastor had actually kissed him or not, but he still wanted to consider his first kiss the one given under the cherry tree.

Lucifer… had never done anything with anyone, in the real world.

He wondered if outside of dreams, the sensations would be the same as those Alastor made him feel.

“What do you think?”

The deep voice of the creature, with features growing more and more similar to those the redhead had when he saved Lucifer, together with a finger stroking the blond’s ear, pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Now you care what I think, mh?” he joked, smiling at him and resting his cheek on his knee, to look better at the other.

Visit after visit, after months in which Lucifer had considered himself stuck in therapy, Alastor was showing more and more signs of his real self. Now he showed interest, even almost affection, for the nobleman, no longer bound only to hunger. He seemed genuinely eager to talk, to get to know, and to collect fragments of memories that still didn’t belong to him.

“If you don’t want to tell me, there’s no need to be so prickly,” he teased, confirming to his therapist that he wasn’t entirely back to his normal self yet.

As the creature returned to his upright seated position on the log, slightly apart from Lucifer, the blond reflected on how the old Alastor would probably have shown frustration at such a refusal, with yet another jab. What he had just displayed was rather cold, though in part it was clear he had been hurt by that so-called refusal to answer, which wasn’t really a refusal at all.

“I was just thinking… why couldn’t we manage to get close like that.” He sighed, hugging his legs even tighter and turning his face forward to look at the small lake.

Alastor remained silent, staring at the same empty point. There was peace, the rustling of leaves, the wind singing for them, and the lake water playing a background melody. In the distance, the voices of people who had begun to populate the town.

Suddenly, the redhead stood up, startling the other, who began to watch him without understanding his intentions. With even more speed, Alastor grabbed Lucifer, lifting him bridal-style, then walked slowly toward the lake.

“A-Al?” His face turned red, while he wrapped his arms around the creature’s tall neck, being held almost two meters above the ground.

Alastor simply smiled, then, without any remorse or hesitation, tossed Lucifer into the water. The blond barely had time to let out a squeak like a little mouse before finding himself underwater. He resurfaced, his feet pressing against the rocky bottom, absolutely furious.

“Are you insane?! I could have died!” he shouted, slamming his fists against the water’s surface, not even realizing the absurdity of what he said, knowing he couldn’t lose his life in that place.

The redhead simply took a small run and dove in after him, with an indescribable elegance that made him look like a deer leaping over hills. Lucifer’s eyes widened, and he shifted quickly to avoid having his boyfriend land right on him. The splash was far louder, and hundreds of drops scattered everywhere.

Alastor resurfaced, smiling. It was a different smile from the ones he had shown in recent years. It was a smile of freedom, but also of someone who now revealed emotions, the shadow of one who carried a chest full of both joyful and painful memories. He seemed human, yet at the same time free of responsibilities and burdens that the outside world would inevitably place upon him.

He brushed back his hair, turning toward Lucifer. The therapist froze, staring at the beauty the other showed so effortlessly. The soaked red shirt clinging to his chest, revealing his form, the drops running down his veined neck… And that beauty, apparently, belonged to him. All of this stole his breath away, and perhaps for the first time in his life, the therapist felt time stand still.

Noticing how Lucifer was dazed, Alastor laughed even louder, moving closer to the shorter man, grabbing his chin, and kissing him firmly. The nobleman flinched, placing his small hands on the creature’s broad shoulders.

The taller man’s kisses were warm, tender, they had something different from the few exchanges they had shared in the past. Usually, it was just sex, the redhead feeding on his essence and little more, including bites or scratches. They had kissed only rarely, and most of those few times, it had been Lucifer who begged for it, in moments of greater euphoria.

Lucifer lifted his arms, running his fingers through the other’s wet hair, while instinctively arching his back slightly and parting his legs to wrap them around his boyfriend’s waist.

Alastor broke the kiss, resting his forehead against the other’s. The two were breathing heavily, while they could feel their erections brushing together. He slowly stroked Lucifer’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, while his chocolate-colored eyes focused on the blond’s lips.

“Al…” the other panted, silently asking him to continue, as well as longing for clear explanations.

Alastor’s gaze rose to Lucifer’s eyes, red like the strawberries he apparently loved so much, set against a wall of bright lemon yellow.

He studied him again, but more than that, he studied himself, deep inside. Those silences always confirmed to Lucifer that his patient was reflecting, gathering puzzle pieces that often he didn’t even like, as his past actions had already proved.

"Take what I want to give you, Lucifer. Without words." He whispered, and then moved their faces closer and connected their lips in a single moment of pure passion.

The blond didn't have time to comment or be surprised, as he himself was thrown and swept away in a vortex of passion where he had been alone until now. Sharing that euphoria with someone, who was also the person he loved more than anyone else, gave him a pleasure that had no equal to everything he had experienced with the creature in recent years.

It almost seemed like when they made love under the cherry tree. That person who was kissing him, now caressing his cheeks with his large hands, seemed like Alastor.

The taller man moved his arms, grabbing Lucifer's buttocks to push him closer, pressing their hips which had begun to move feebly toward nothingness.

Kiss after kiss, the therapist felt his mind empty and his body experience a sense of life perhaps never felt before. Alastor, moving in the water, brought the noble's back against the rocky wall, pressing him with his body.

"Alastor..." The other man said clumsily, receiving dozens of passionate kisses.

The creature's eyes reopened only partially, remaining half-closed, to stare at his partner's face, contorted by a pleasant drunkenness caused by the pleasure he was feeling.

Having explicitly asked him not to utter a word, he refused to answer whatever the hidden question might have been and closed his eyes again, resuming his kisses.

Lucifer moaned, emitting such a pleasant sound that when it reached Alastor's deer ears, the redhead could swear he had almost come. But he had other plans. He wanted to do it with Lucifer. He had forgotten physical pleasure and even mental pleasure, uniting his body with that of another.

Bringing out his claws, he tore off Lucifer's simple clothes, leaving him partially naked. Without interrupting his kisses and taking advantage of the blond's body resting against the wall, the redhead freed his member, pulling it out of his pants.

"Mhnn!" Lucifer had lost control.

And the creature didn't doubt that in the slightest, since he saw the blond fall into wild euphoria for much less. He broke the kiss, turning the shorter man and pressing him again against the wall, now admiring part of his pale back. But what he was most interested in was clearly below.

With a fluid motion and with almost animalistic growls, Alastor entered Lucifer, filling him with a disarming simplicity that, if he remembered correctly, was not exactly like that in the real world.

"AL! OH, HEAVENS!" He screamed, grabbing tufts of grass on the edge of the ground that bordered the lake.

Alastor grabbed Lucifer's hips, thrusting and thrusting. The blond resumed singing rhythmic, desperate, high-pitched melodies for him, in which he expressed all the enjoyment he was feeling.

The creature felt something different. It wasn't simply sexual desire, which he had truly felt very few times in all that time. It was the desire to do those things with Lucifer. He wanted to make him his own, to enjoy it together, to admire him get lost and shatter into thousands of fragments, forgetting who he himself was in his daily life.

The water came out of the lake, wetting part of the flowers near it. Lucifer's body was rhythmically pressed against the wall, while Alastor almost crushed his hips with his large, strong hands, which had become partly animal-like. His member had reached dimensions that a human could not boast of, even though its form was more and more like it once was.

"My love! Al...! M-More..."

He had always called him by those names, he had always told him he loved him, even when he received no answer or, worse, was told cold or mean things. In his silence, Alastor felt in his chest what he had once started to feel for Lucifer, but he was still partially confused by everything that was swirling inside his mind and especially inside his heart. After feeling pure panic and animal aggression toward what he had mistakenly perceived as dangerous for him, the redhead had decided to let everything the therapist wanted him to know flow within himself, and over time, he could easily say that he felt different, psychologically, sentimentally, and physically.

The taller man bent down slightly, licking and biting the edge of Lucifer's ear. But what he most desired was to whisper some words that he felt he had to get out to prevent them from imploding inside him.

"I want you, Lucifer." He whispered, panting quickly because of the movements.

Lucifer's eyes widened and, despite the confusion of his mind, he tried to turn his head slightly to look at the other man, who certainly didn't decrease the speed of his thrusts, filling his partner with his large member.

"W-what...?"

In a decidedly non-human way, Alastor licked his face frantically, piercing the soft flesh of Lucifer's hips with his fingernails. His eyes turned a brilliant red as he approached the height of pleasure.

"I desire you." He wanted to answer.

"A-Al... please... tell me you love me." He tried to ask, while his frail little body was made to jump.

Alastor had always refused to say that thing, mainly because he didn’t feel it and secondly because he didn’t understand the point of saying something unreal, despite the expression and the tone that the therapist probably didn’t even know he was showing whenever he asked. He was a broken man, lonely, frightened, searching for love and specifically, for his love.

Now it was different for both of them. Lucifer wasn’t asking because he felt lonely, but because he wished to bond with him even more, in that moment of pure intimacy. As for Alastor… He had never wanted to reflect on sentimental matters or even love, often considering it an obsolete topic. But since he had regained pieces of his old self, the situation was decidedly different.

“I love you, Lucifer.”

The blond began sobbing, confused whether in that moment he was feeling more happiness, physical pleasure, melancholy, or relief. He hid his face in his arms, pressing it against the wet grass, while he felt one of Alastor’s hands grasp his member to bring him release. Even that was a rare gesture, one that could be counted on the fingers of a single hand. Usually, if he didn’t finish on his own during sex, the redhead had almost never cared about the other’s pleasure.

The delight of that stimulation together with penetration carried the therapist beyond the stars of any known galaxy. Those words had decorated his soul with pure joy, and his tears flowed silently and heavily, soaking the ground already drenched by the splashes from the lake, stirred by the creature’s movements.

“I’m… I’m going to— I have to come.” He warned, feeling the knot inside him tighten and grow larger, just as it did every time he pleasured himself, seconds before release.

In his wordless silence, filled only with sounds, Alastor spilled inside Lucifer, letting them both fall together into the same abyss. His thrusts were now deep, extremely slow, with his abundant seed filling the therapist.

The creature then pressed his whole body against the other’s. His muscular chest now glued to Lucifer’s back, while his arms wrapped around his companion’s body. It almost felt like he was embracing him. Alastor then rested his forehead on the blond’s shoulder, catching his breath.

Lucifer moved delicately, looking at his partner, clearly worn out from that animalistic yet at the same time romantic session. His nature was detaching from what it had been, returning to hints of humanity.

The nobleman smiled, touched, and his face was still partly wet from the tears that sweet confession, even though requested, had caused him.

“I love you so much, Alastor.” He said with such gentleness it almost sounded like a lullaby.

After a few more seconds, the redhead raised his head, gazing at Lucifer with depth but without any particular emotion.

He seemed worried about something, and the therapist wondered if those thoughts had been in his mind even before the blond came to visit him.

“What is it…?”

“Have you… have you solved everything in the real world?”

Lucifer was surprised by that question. First of all, Alastor almost never asked anything, and secondly, he had never seemed concerned, not after his soul had been shattered into hundreds or thousands of pieces of essence.

The blond turned completely, placing his feet on the cool lake floor, studying his patient.

“Solved?”

The creature reflected again, thinking to himself, once more ignoring Lucifer after having received a new piece of information from him, even if indirectly.

“Hey, Alastor.” The shorter one was practically offended.

He was partly tired of being ignored and not included in his boyfriend’s reasoning. Besides, he was his therapist, and he needed to open up to him in order to help him. He gave him a little smack on the arm, causing a low growl that the man before him held in his throat, though not avoiding giving him a dangerous glare.

“The diary…” he said, starting a sentence he clearly didn’t want to finish.

“Diary? What diary?! Why on earth are you speaking in fragments? Did you remember something? Did you—”

“Let’s drop it.” Alastor pulled away from him, tucking back into his pants what had been exposed.

With his large hands, he leaned on the edge, lifting himself out and walking away from the lake. The therapist was incredulous. Every time he took a step forward, it seemed like he took two steps back. He had remembered something, beyond being in love with him, but he still didn’t want to open up completely, probably still afraid of getting hurt or ruining that fragile balance he seemed so attached to.

“Alastor!” he scolded, clumsily getting out of the lake.

The blond, practically naked, covered himself with one hand, walking toward the other, visibly furious.

“Why?! Tell me what’s troubling you, damn it!”

Diary. What diary? Did Alastor have a diary? Did he want him to bring it, or to tell him other things about his past?

Suddenly, Lucifer remembered that scene before his eyes. It was his own memory, when he had written frantically inside a diary and then tried to end his life. The blond froze, bringing his free hand to his head, suddenly feeling weak at the memory.

“The diary… was it mine?” he whispered, looking at Alastor with confusion in his eyes.

The taller one seemed struck by that question. He seemed to feel fear, or perhaps pain.

“I must have been mistaken,” he tried to smooth it over by lying.

“You… did you remember something about my coma or my attempted suicide?”

“That’s enough now.” He walked further away, with the clear intention of distancing himself from Lucifer.

“Enough?! I— it’s important, damn it. It could be tied to my past or it could even help bring you back sooner. If you remember something, it could—” he tried to explain, chasing after him.

Alastor suddenly turned, transforming once more into a terrifying creature, three times his usual size. He growled in Lucifer’s face with the sole purpose of making him stop, maybe even to scare him.

The therapist didn’t feel fear, only a bit of surprise. He sighed, lowering his shoulders. Perhaps it was too much for his patient. He had already done so much, and he couldn’t demand more.

“I understand… I’ll find out on my own,” he whispered, walking away toward the forest exit.

He wasn’t even worried that he might show himself to Niffty or to complete strangers walking down the street. In any case, they didn’t even exist. From behind, he felt Alastor calming down and probably returning to his normal form, but he didn’t want to check. He wasn’t angry with him, but it was certainly frustrating to only brush against the truth without being able to grasp it.

He had to figure out if that diary really existed and where it was. He had no memory of it. When he woke up, there was nothing like it.

“Thanks anyway for… for what you did today,” he said, before disappearing into the leaves.

Chapter 58

That time, when Lucifer reopened his eyes, he clearly felt that he was not alone in the room. He felt a little embarrassed about being watched during his therapy, unconscious, but then he remembered that for more than ten years many people had seen him sleep deeply, cleaning and changing him repeatedly.

He thought it was a nurse, as had occasionally happened in the past when they had to assist Alastor with something or simply check his vitals. The person he found next to him was indeed a nurse, but not on duty.

Anthony was beside him and, with a serious and worried expression, touched the therapist’s wrist, trying to feel the pulse. When the taller man’s dark eyes met Lucifer’s, the white-haired one jolted, stepping back quickly, hoping he hadn’t been noticed.

The blond remained silent for a few seconds, observing how the nurse toyed with his own hair, making it clear how embarrassed he felt. He sighed and sat up.

“What is it? Are you checking on me now?”

“Of course not. I came to visit Al.”

“Sure…” He turned toward his boyfriend, lying on the bed next to his, studying even the smallest change in his presence.

He was certain of the second part of the sentence, while the first seemed like the usual sharp remark meant to push away any hint of affection between them. Lucifer and Anthony talked a lot after the blond’s awakening. The nurse helped again and again in the hospital, during the time when the other man was still admitted and forced to undergo numerous physical-therapy sessions.

Anthony was quietly struck by his patient’s determination, who, after a week of desperate crying, seemed to have turned into someone else, with a plan in mind. Determined, cool, perhaps even ruthless, he gradually opened up more and more, beginning to show his true self. Most likely, Lucifer had realized he was no longer in a dangerous situation where he had to be someone he wasn’t. Nevertheless, his mask of nobility and superiority never left him, despite the many cracks running through it.

“How—how is he?” asked the white-haired man.

“Better… He’s starting to return to his old self, both in body and in spirit.”

Anthony nodded, smiling faintly. He moved closer to Lucifer’s cot, pulling up a stool and sitting on it. The blond turned toward him, drawn by the closeness and by the irritating sound of metal scraping across the floor.

“If I said the word ‘diary,’ does anything come to mind?”

“Diary?” Anthony started, surprised by such a peculiar question.

“A few days ago, I had a vision of a diary, as if I were writing it long ago. Today, Alastor mentioned it but of course wouldn’t tell me anything. He’s probably still afraid of the idea of stepping out of that world of his.”

“Diary…” The taller man crossed his arms, staring at a random spot in the room, thinking.

Lucifer remained in reverent silence, noticing how a light seemed to switch on behind the nurse’s eyes, as if he had remembered something.

 

RING RING

 

Before Anthony could say anything, the slightly circus-like ringtone of Lucifer’s phone rang, drawing both their attention. The blond pulled the device from his pocket, slightly alarmed, knowing that usually no one called him unless it was urgent.

The name of his sister Charlie glowed in the center of the screen, sending hundreds of sparks of happiness through his chest. Without waiting even a second, Lucifer answered, almost voiceless with emotion.

“Charlie?!”

He loved his sister so much. They had grown up through hardship, as ridiculous as that might sound to outsiders. He knew that in the eyes of most, they were two nobles living in luxury, with everything they desired, never needing to lift a finger. However, what happened within the four walls of their home was known only to them. Always monitored as if in a reality show and, at the slightest mistake, reprimanded by the butlers, who would promptly report everything to their parents. Then came the inevitable official scolding, steeped in blame and disappointment.

Charlie had stayed by his side through all the years of his coma, and when they could finally call themselves adults and free, Lucifer encouraged his sister to follow her dreams, to leave and study whatever she wanted. They spoke about once a week via video call, and lately the therapist couldn’t help noticing that Charlie’s small apartment contained feminine items that clearly weren’t hers, given her somewhat darker, rock-style taste. He preferred, however, not to comment or ask. She would share if she ever felt like it.

“Lu! How are you?”

The sweet voice of his sister almost made him wag his tail, if only he had one. He couldn’t fight the smile that Anthony immediately noticed, finding it extremely endearing.

“G-good, good, darling. I was here at the clinic with Alastor,” he explained, as if reciting a shopping list.

A few seconds followed, making it clear to the blond that the topic had slightly weighed down the atmosphere.

“How is Alastor?”

Lucifer seemed almost surprised by the question. He turned again toward his handsome boyfriend, who slept peacefully, his face showing no particular expression. For him, the therapy he was conducting with the redhead had become normal, though to others it clearly seemed like pure madness.

“He… is improving. Improving week by week. I think I’m close to the conclusion, Char. I’m sure he’ll return to us soon,” he said almost in a whisper, not wanting to be overheard, not even by Anthony, although the nurse already knew what Lucifer was telling his sister.

“Oh, heavens… I’m so happy.” Her voice was faint and broken by what was probably emotion.

Anthony made a gesture to the blond, suggesting he ask about the reason for the call. Indeed, the therapist was far too happy to realize that his sister almost never called except on scheduled days.

“Char, why did you call? Did something happen?”

“Oh… I…”

Lucifer looked into the white-haired man’s eyes, unable to hide an expression of concern.

“I… I’m back in town. I just arrived at the airport.”

Chapter 59

Lucifer had neither the time nor the desire to get a driver’s license. Public transport, and even private options for hire, worked almost perfectly. Besides, back when he still had butlers or drivers, he didn’t even have to say a word about needing to go somewhere—one of the family cars would simply appear with the door held open.

The blond man bounced his leg nervously, staring at the darkness around his feet while an ordinary taxi driver carried him to the airport, where Charlie had apparently arrived without any warning.

In Lucifer’s mind swirled countless “ifs” and “whys,” since he hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye to Anthony before his own feet had rushed out of the clinic. The driver tried to start a conversation with simple questions about where he wanted to go, why, and whether he was planning a holiday. Lucifer’s brief replies, while panic washed over him, made it clear to the older man that no real conversation would happen.

Why come back so suddenly? Was it a surprise? Or had something happened?

Fortunately, he didn’t have long to brood. The man behind the wheel stopped the car and confirmed their arrival. With a brief nod of thanks, the noble tossed a bill far larger than required and ran into the vast modern building, so different from the small, quiet seaside town where he lived.

It took only moments to spot Charlie’s beautiful blonde hair. She had let it grow long again and tied it into a practical yet lovely ponytail, reminding him of her high school days.

“Char!” he panted from the effort of running toward her.

“Lucifer…” she whispered, moved, setting her backpack down and opening her arms to embrace her brother.

They hugged as they probably never had before. They were finally free people, growing into the lives they preferred, developing their own personalities, meeting the people they wanted, and pursuing activities, studies, and work that truly attracted them.

“W-what happened? So suddenly? Is everything okay, Char?” he asked in a rush the moment they broke apart.

The blonde woman gave a soft laugh. The happiness on her face and the brightness in her eyes made it clear nothing was wrong.

“Everything’s fine, I just wanted to see you again and visit Alastor.”

Lucifer’s expression tightened slightly. She hadn’t traveled as far as Alastor once had, but reaching the nation she’d chosen—filled with gray skies, castles, and countless pubs—was no simple trip. He knew his sister mostly worked as a bartender or waitress, aiming simply to help people feel better and to chat. She had also started a fashion and design course, always drawn to unusual clothing and the use of accessories.

“Are you… sure? What about your job?”

She laughed, shrugging with a trace of embarrassment. That tone told Lucifer her discomfort had something to do with work.

“Okay… I guess I should tell you something,” she admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Before her brother could speak, a small crowd rushing toward the check-in counter nearly swept them away. That was the sign for Lucifer that they should find a better place to talk.

She seemed to understand, grabbing her backpack and swinging it onto her shoulders in the same way she had when younger. It was incredible how refreshed she looked compared to the years when she had cared for him, her hair short, her skin pale and tired. She had truly blossomed, and he couldn’t help but feel happy.

“Would you rather stop at the café or rest at home?” he asked in a way that made it clear any place of his was also hers, even if not on paper.

She smiled again, showing how much she’d missed feeling at home, despite being content where she lived.

“A cup of coffee a little shorter than usual would be nice.”

 

-

 

Lucifer took his sister to his bar. Somewhat selfishly, but with pride, he wanted to show her how much the place had grown, the new items on the menu and the aesthetic changes. He set Charlie’s suitcases in the small kitchen, where Susan was peeling potatoes for the dinner menu, usually served as a side to the main dishes. It wasn’t a restaurant, but it offered a simple menu that satisfied many tastes.

Charlie looked rather hungry and a bit worn out, and clearly hadn’t eaten breakfast—an easy conclusion. She said nothing, only beamed when her brother placed a big plate of pancakes in front of her, confirming his suspicion.

“I usually have Susan cook, but I wanted to make these myself,” he said warmly, sitting beside her and watching her eagerly attack the dessert with fork and knife.

He had added cherries, which he knew she loved, plus a generous helping of cream. Watching her cheeks fill and move rhythmically made her look like a squirrel, reminding Lucifer of when they were children and his twin sister would devour the sweets they snuck from the fridge.

The next morning, he was careful to wake early to take all the blame. Charlie was innocent and pure, never imagining someone might check—as they always did back then.

“It’s delicious, Lu!”

“I’m glad. Now will you tell me why you came so quickly?” he asked, straight to the point.

The blonde nodded, again showing a mix of embarrassment and joy. She set down only the tips of her fork and knife, reluctant to stop eating entirely.

“Well… I—I’ve had a girlfriend for a while,” she began, as if expecting trouble.

“Mm-hm.” He rested his cheek on his palm, smiling at his sister.

Nothing new for someone like him who noticed small details. Ironic how their parents had produced two gay children while having very different plans for them, never caring about their true preferences or feelings.

“I… I’d like to ask her to—well…”

“You want to propose?”

Charlie turned as red as a tomato, eyes fixed on the pancakes without really seeing them. Her full lips pressed together in a line. Clearly she felt guilty and embarrassed that she hadn’t told her brother about this relationship sooner, though she knew he would never object, being gay himself.

Lucifer chuckled softly, glancing around the nearly empty bar. Only a few regular remote workers sat at tables, typing away for a couple of hours instead of staying cooped up at home.

“Funny, you know? I asked Alastor’s mother for her son’s hand just a few days ago,” he said with calm sweetness.

Charlie jolted, eyes wide.

“W-what?!”

“What’s the matter? You didn’t tell me until now either.” He hit the mark, smiling at his sister.

Although they were close, both were always hesitant to share their emotions, even with each other. They often talked about work, a few friendships, places they visited, but probably because of how they’d grown up, they weren’t good at opening up.

“It won’t be long, Char. I’ve been working hard for years and holding on so I can bring Al back to us. We’ve waited too long—we’re nearly forty. I want to live with him like a normal couple.”

Charlie lowered her head and nodded, clearly agreeing with her brother’s words.

“I admit… I almost gave in, for a moment,” he said, surprising himself.

He didn’t want to bring up something so dark, but couldn’t deny the guilt of even thinking about repeating the mistake he’d made before. Slowly, the blonde lifted her gaze to him again, now pale and shocked.

“What… what do you mean?”

Lucifer let out a soft laugh, placing his hand on his sister’s arm.

“You know what I mean, Char. But I wouldn’t do it again, okay? I wouldn’t hurt any of you like that,” he whispered.

“Oh, heavens, Lu…”

“Let’s not talk about it anymore, okay? Instead… what’s this girl’s name?” He released her arm, leaning back with a smile a bit more cheerful than he actually felt.

“She… her name is Vaggie. She’s also a waitress at the pub where I work and… with the tough shifts, when many men get drunk and can be hard to handle, we somehow bonded. We started dating and…”

“I see.” He was genuinely happy for her.

The thought of his sister dealing with big drunk, rude men didn’t please him, but if she felt comfortable and at home there, there had to be a reason. Despite being in a coma for more than ten years and missing the chance to mature like everyone else, he’d begun to understand he had to let many things go, especially when they were personal choices.

“If she’s stolen your heart, I can’t wait to meet her.”

Charlie giggled, more from embarrassment than pure joy. She toyed with her newly long hair, staring at random spots around the room.

“She wanted to come with me, but… I wanted to talk to you first.”

Lucifer understood and appreciated that. It was far better to hear it directly from his sister and discuss it privately than to meet a complete stranger and discover at the same time that Charlie was gay and already had a girlfriend.

“Next time you come, you could bring her to the seaside. It’s a perfect place to propose,” he said, admitting what he secretly hoped to receive himself, though he was slowly giving up on that romantic dream.

Charlie considered his words in silence, then returned to her pancakes more slowly.

“That wouldn’t be a bad idea, you know? We have some vacation days saved up, though it’ll be hard to take them together. I used that excuse to travel alone this time.”

“You’ll find a way. And anyway, what matters most is that you propose with your heart. The rest doesn’t matter as much.”

They let the calm settle around them. Only the faint sounds of dishes being cleaned and put away, soft jazz music, and the clack of a few customers’ keyboards filled the silence.

Lucifer watched the blonde eat, now with less urgency, as they both settled into this new stage of realizing they were adults trying to build families of their own. Suddenly, a small doubt sparked in the therapist’s mind. Maybe his sister could help him after all.

“Char.”

“Mm?”

“L-listen. It’s not exactly related, but since you’re here I wanted to ask you about something probably tied to the time of my coma or… just before I was hospitalized.”

Charlie grew slightly serious, though she hid it well—only a flicker in her eyes gave it away.

“What is it?”

“Do you know… anything about a diary?”

The blonde froze like a doll for a couple of seconds, then lowered her gaze as if thinking. Lucifer noticed details, and through his work he’d become even better at catching people’s first emotions before they masked them. For a brief instant, Charlie seemed surprised or even frightened.

“Diary?”

“I don’t know much, but apparently I had a diary before… well, before what I did. I don’t remember anything about it.”

“If you don’t remember anything, how can you say there was a diary?”

The question came with such coldness it hardly seemed like hers. Lucifer was surprised—he had never heard her speak in that tone.

“Ah—well… I—I had a vision, and then Alastor mentioned a diary, as if he remembered something about it too.”

“Well… it’s normal for your mind to be hazy about that time, Lu. And besides, Alastor isn’t exactly himself, is he?”

The therapist blinked several times. Why didn’t she just answer plainly? It almost felt like she was pushing him to think there was no diary at all—which was quite possible, after all.

“You… don’t know anything about it?” he pressed.

Charlie smiled and shrugged.

“I’ve never seen or heard about a diary, Lu.”

Chapter 60

“Did you come alone?!”

Anthony slammed his glass down loudly, nearly shattering it. He was clearly tipsy, but one look from Husk quieted him, exactly as a master would calm his dog.

Lucifer understood the frustration, since the white-haired man had asked to arrange an evening with Charlie. They were best friends, after all, but the therapist needed to see the two boys separately.

“Don’t get yourself kicked out of my bar. I explained there was a shady guy hanging around the tables lately.” The blond muttered, sitting down at their usual spot, pointing at Husk.

“What?” The bartender felt called into question, glaring at the prince.

“Relax… I also said that she needed to rest. I’ll be bringing her dinner soon, so I can’t stay too long.”

That explanation, coupled with a decidedly serious and somber tone, made the two “not-boyfriends” understand that something important was going on, and, more importantly, that Charlie could not know about it.

“Did something happen?” Anthony seemed to regain clarity when he asked that question.

Lucifer kept his eyes fixed on the table, reflecting on what words to choose next.

“Do you… remember the question I asked you in the clinic this morning?”

Husk turned toward the nurse, searching for answers in a situation he wasn’t fully grasping. All he knew was that Lucifer’s sister had returned to town and that Anthony was a dear friend of his. That was why he had insisted they all meet at the bar run by the girl’s twin brother—so they could reunite and make a few introductions.

“The one about the diary?” He recalled immediately, still somewhat annoyed that he hadn’t been allowed to answer earlier.

Lucifer nodded, finally raising his eyes to meet those of the man across from him.

“I remember. So?”

“I… asked Charlie the same question this afternoon.”

“And did you actually listen to her answer at least?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes, while Husk remained in his usual wise silence, gathering information.

“I listened, and that’s exactly why I want to hear yours.”

“About the diary or about what Charlie answered?”

“Both.”

“Well…” He began his act as a classic drama queen, intertwining his legs and letting his back drop against the chair.

“You didn’t seem interested today.”

The blond was incredulous, but the small, mature part within him was urging him not to get angry and to keep discussing the matter.

“She said she’s never heard of a diary, nor has she ever seen one.” He got straight to the point.

Anthony froze, his eyes widening slightly as all expression drained from his face. Perhaps he wasn’t that drunk after all.

Silently, Lucifer raised a fist in his mind toward the sky, a sign of victory. He had suspected that Anthony knew something about that damned phantom diary, just as he had understood that his sister knew about it too. It was clear she had lied, and instead, the white-haired man wanted to tell him the truth. Confronting him had been the wisest choice.

“That can’t be.”

“That’s exactly what I was hoping to hear you say.”

Husk coughed a couple of times, interrupting them and inserting himself into the conversation.

“What’s this about a diary?”

“Ah…” Only then did Lucifer realize Husk didn’t know anything about it.

“I have memories… of a diary. When you came to the clinic to help me, I had visions of myself writing it… before… I tried to end it, years ago.”

The other two fell silent, careful not to add weight to what Lucifer had just confessed, allowing him to continue.

“Even Alastor asked me if I had ‘sorted things out on the outside,’ citing the diary. Of course, he refused to give me more information. He’s still not entirely himself, after all.”

“Obviously…” Anthony sighed, not pleased to hear that Alastor was acting so childishly, though relieved to know that the redhead was somehow continuing to live on in another place outside reality.

“Anthony. Please, tell me what you know.” Lucifer straightened his back and leaned forward slightly, pleading with the nurse to grant him a glimpse of reality.

Even the smallest piece would help him avoid feeling like he’d gone mad, as Charlie had unintentionally made him feel.

“The diary exists. I’ve seen it.”

“Oh, Christ… thank you.” He sighed, his shoulders loosening.

“Ok, so where is it?” Husk asked almost naively.

“I have no idea. I saw it in Alastor’s hands just hours before he slipped into a coma. He said Charlie had given it to him, hoping he would find in it the reason why Lucifer couldn’t wake up.”

“Charlie… gave it to him?” The blond paled.

All his theories and doubts were confirmed. The blonde knew perfectly well about the diary, and she had lied to him. The diary existed, and Anthony had confirmed it. The only question now was why his sister had lied… and what the diary contained.

Anthony nodded.

“Yes. I’m sure of it. And after I left him with that diary… I found him unconscious near you. The rest, you know.”

Husk slowly turned to look at Anthony. He knew the nurse had helped Alastor cling to life and how many times he had warned him, noticing his decline. They had dedicated one of their evenings to talking about the ex they would forever share. The white-haired man had even confessed to how guilty he felt for not stopping him—or not being there to keep him from going into Lucifer’s world so often. Almost instinctively, his hand slid over Anthony’s, caressing the back of it.

Lucifer noticed the gesture and, almost absentmindedly, admired that sweet exchange between the two, unable to avoid feeling both frustrated and jealous, yet partly happy for them.

“Why would she lie?” he honestly asked the two.

“Maybe she just forgot about it?” Husk shrugged, speculating.

“Are you serious? She literally put it in Alastor’s hands, right before he got completely lost and before her brother came back to life. There’s no way she doesn’t remember.”

“You… never saw that diary again, did you?” Lucifer hoped they would tell him something, even though he was certain they didn’t know.

“Not a trace. Honestly, I admit I stopped thinking about it too.”

“I see…”

They were enveloped by the sound of clinking glasses, smooth jazz, and idle chatter, trying to order their thoughts.

“If… it disappeared and if she acted that way, I think she must have hidden it or destroyed it herself.” The brunet said.

“I think that’s the only plausible answer.” Anthony agreed.

The idea that Charlie might be hiding something from him, such as destroying a diary that belonged to him, made him ache. His sister wasn’t the type to do such things, and if she had… then the truth behind her lie had to be huge.

“Maybe it contained the reason for your act.”

Lucifer brought to mind the scene he had relived. His trembling hands, his breath fast and short. Agitation, panic, sorrow, pain, as he wrote words he could no longer recall, before attempting to erase himself from the scene.

“So… there is a reason why I tried to take my life.”

“And that reason, your sister knows. Just as Alastor knew.” Anthony crossed his long legs, gesturing toward the blond across from him.

“But neither of them seems willing to tell me.” He almost whispered, consumed by frustration.

“But are you sure you want to know?”

As always, Husk managed to see beyond the maze of “ifs” and “buts” in which many of his clients often got lost, urging him to look at the matter from another perspective.

Lucifer bit his lip, his fists clenching over his knees. Of course, it wouldn’t be pleasant to learn the reason for such a tragic act, but it was also clear he wanted to uncover it—maybe it could even be the key to bringing Alastor back.

“If Alastor mentioned the diary and wants me to resolve this mystery, then I need to do it to bring him back to us.” He explained.

Anthony and Husk exchanged a glance, not fully convinced it would be good for the nobleman, though deep inside they felt it might indeed help bring Alastor back. If the redhead had spoken of the diary and asked if things were resolved, then this entire story mattered.

“You already know who’s the only one that can give you a clue, if not tell you what he knows.” Anthony suggested, raising his arm to call a waitress for a new order.

He knew. And he knew it wouldn’t be easy at all. If his boyfriend had already rejected him once, and so harshly, it was unlikely he’d want to reveal what he knew now. His only choice was to be sincere with his boyfriend and ask him to help—at least giving him a few hints. He jumped up suddenly, determined to return to Alastor, even though he had seen him only hours before, ready to ignore protocol.

“What the hell are you doing?” Husk scolded him, fully aware of what he was about to do.

“I’ll break protocol just this once… like I have on very rare occasions. But I can’t wait, I have to see him.”

Husk’s expression grew dark, but Anthony slipped his arms around those of the muscular, decidedly hairy man.

“It won’t cause him any harm, Huskie. If he does it once or twice, it won’t hurt him. Alastor broke it numerous times and surely for months. That’s why he fell into a coma.” He reassured, though it bothered him slightly that he was so worried and protective with the blond. The brunet sighed, staring seriously at his partner.

Lucifer smiled faintly, a little embarrassed. He knew they had convinced Husk, though regardless of their words, he would have gone anyway. He grabbed his bag and stood up from the table.

“I’m going to gather some leads. I’ll let you know as soon as I discover something.”