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The rink glows like a little pocket of winter magic tucked into downtown Los Angeles. Strings of white lights crisscross overhead, creating a canopy of stars. Pop songs filter through the speakers, mixed with the scrape of skates on ice and the occasional shriek from someone losing their balance. Couples hold hands, kids dart like missiles, and stalls selling hot cocoa and roasted chestnuts fill the air with warmth that fights against the December chill.
It’s beautiful and fun and magical.
Chloe looks around, taking it all in, remembering when her dad used to bring her here as a kid. Normally, she brings Trixie at least once, but her daughter is at a slumber party tonight. Tonight, her companion is someone else.
And to her utter non-surprise, Lucifer Morningstar is not impressed by any of it.
“Utterly barbaric,” he declares, eyeing the skating rink as though it’s a particularly gruesome crime scene. His breath puffs in the unusual cold, which only seems to fuel his indignation. “Knives are not meant for feet, let alone for stepping onto solidified water. And you humans fall on your faces, are surprised by it, and instead of retreating, you try again. Quite frankly, it’s a miracle you don’t all perish before reaching adulthood.”
Chloe grins, tugging her scarf tighter around her neck as she walks beside him. “I mean, it’s called ice skating, and it’s fun. Maybe you’ve heard of that? Fun?”
“Darling, I have more fun in one evening than you’ve had in your entire life,” he says primly. He gestures broadly to the skaters whipping past them. “This, however, is not fun. Concussions are not fun. Bruised tailbones are not fun. Funny, yes, absolutely. And don’t even get me started on frostbite. There's a reason I moved to Los Angeles and not, say, the North Pole.”
She bites back a laugh, already amused before he even sets foot near the ice. “Come on. It’s a holiday thing. Twinkling lights, cocoa, skating—all about the experience.”
“I could experience discomfort just fine without blades strapped to my extremities, thank you very much,” he shoots back. “Actually, I did try that once, but the extremity in question was my—”
“Yeah, no, don't finish that sentence,” she cuts in quickly.
Really, it would have been easier to bring Trixie or Ella or even Dan, who can’t ice skate to save his life. But some part of Chloe that she tries not to examine too deeply wanted to bring Lucifer. And not just because it would be hilarious to see him flounder at something for once. She wanted to spend time with him. Outside of work. They’ve both been so busy with their own schedules lately that getting together for a drink or just hanging out hasn’t been possible.
And...well, if she’s being honest with herself, she misses him.
Another thing she doesn’t want to examine.
They reach the rental counter where a teenage attendant looks up with a bored but expectant expression. Chloe leans her elbows on the counter. “Two pairs of skates, please.”
“Sure thing. What sizes?”
“Women’s size nine and...?” She turns to Lucifer.
He is staring at her as though she just suggested he take a chainsaw to his piano and then light the pieces on fire. “I beg your pardon?” he says, looking genuinely offended. “Detective, this is a communal shoe trough. Thousands of sweaty humans have shoved their clammy feet into those...those bacteria-ridden coffins. And you expect me to follow suit?”
Yeah, she probably should have seen that one coming.
“Lucifer, it’s fine—”
“It most certainly is not!” Lucifer tugs at his suit jacket in agitation. “No, no, I will not be complicit in this unhygienic farce. Honestly, I’d sooner lick the rink surface itself. At least the ice is occasionally resurfaced.” He shudders theatrically, pivoting on his heel as if he’s about to march back to the parking lot.
Chloe catches his arm. “You’re seriously going to let rented skates ruin a nice evening out? Come on, you can’t bail on me now.”
“I agreed to spend time with you, Detective, not to contract athlete’s foot from some horrifying rental skates worn by a man named Randy who works in drywall and hasn’t clipped his toenails since the Bush administration. In the nineties.”
“Lucifer—”
“Honestly, Detective, one would think you of all people, with your finely tuned investigative instincts, would object to such a breeding ground for fungal disasters.”
Before she can roll her eyes, or just leave him standing here rather than attract even more attention, he’s already pulling out his phone. “One moment, Detective, I shall fix this myself.”
Never has there ever been a more horrifying sentence in the English language.
Chloe groans. “Who are you texting?”
Lucifer smirks, fingers flying over the keys. “A very useful contact who happens to owe the Devil a favor. You’ll see.”
“Lucifer, no—”
“Lucifer, yes.” He slips the phone back into his pocket, looking unbearably pleased with himself. “Crisis averted. You’re welcome.”
From behind the counter, the teenager looks between them. “So, um, you guys still want skates or...nah?”
Chloe opens her mouth to answer, but her partner beats her to it. “The answer is nah, my pimple-faced peon. But do feel free to spread your contagions elsewhere.”
Ten minutes later, Chloe collects her own pair of slightly scuffed rentals despite Lucifer's complaints and is tugging them under her arm when she finds out who he texted. A sharply dressed man in an overcoat comes striding towards them carrying two bags. He looks like a courier for some luxury clothing boutique—because, Chloe realizes with dawning horror, he is.
“Delivery for Lucifer Morningstar?”
“Ah, lovely.” Lucifer steps forward to accept the bags like it’s totally normal to get deliveries in an ice skating rink. “Excellent timing, my good man,” he purrs, tipping the man what has to be hundreds of dollars. “You may have just saved my feet from falling off.”
The courier bows slightly, then vanishes back into the night.
Chloe blinks. “Please tell me you didn’t just—”
Ignoring her entirely, Lucifer moves towards a nearby table to set down his deliveries and starts digging through them. First he pulls out a long wool coat, slipping it over his suit with a relieved sigh. Next comes the scarf, leather gloves, and ear muffs. He looks like he’s ready to walk through Lake Tahoe at Christmas.
Which...okay, it is cold and Lucifer didn’t bother dressing for the temperature or activity.
Then, from the second bag, he removes two sleek black boxes and flips open the lids. Curious, Chloe steps forward to look—and why is she surprised? A pair of black leather ice skates that gleam like a sports car, and have red stripes along the sides. But he isn’t done; when he opens the second box, there's another pair of skates, these ones in blue leather—clearly for a woman’s feet. Size nine.
“I refuse to sully my person with community footwear, Detective,” Lucifer says smoothly, sitting on the bench to remove his shoes. “So I had a proper pair expedited. And naturally, I couldn’t exclude you.”
Chloe stares dumbly down at the pristine blue skates. “You...bought me designer ice skates. At a pop-up rink. In L.A.”
“You’re welcome.” The grin he shoots her is infuriatingly boyish.
“Lucifer, these cost more than my rent,” she says faintly. “In a year.”
He arches a brow. “And yet, worth every penny to spare us both the indignity of fungus footwear. Now.” He hands her the blue skates. “Shall we?”
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Chloe mutters, “You are unbelievable.”
“Unbelievably considerate,” he corrects cheerfully.
With a sigh, she returns the rental skates to the confused attendant and drops down to the bench beside Lucifer. She easily swaps her usual sensible shoes for the ridiculously designer skates, shaking her head the whole time.
“I still say this whole venture is absurd,” Lucifer comments, staring at the rink as the crowd skates at various speeds. “I can think of far better pursuits.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t tell me the great Lucifer Morningstar is afraid of a little ice,” she taunts.
He whips his head towards her so fast he nearly gives her whiplash. “You take that back! I fear nothing, let alone a bit of frozen water.”
“Oh yeah? So why are you whining about it?”
“I am not whining, I’m...trying to understand the point.”
“Fun, Lucifer. That is literally the whole point.”
“Honestly, you’re quite fortunate I enjoy your company. But know this—when I perish of hypothermia or impalement, I shall haunt you for eternity. You’ll never escape the sound of my spectral complaints.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I mean, I never escape them now, so...”
He pretends not to hear her.
Suppressing a laugh, she glances from the skates he still hasn’t put on to him. “Okay, well, if you’re going to haunt me, the least you can do is learn how to skate first.”
Lucifer mutters darkly as he removes his other shoe to replace it with his brand-new designer skates. “Freeze my very soul, why don’t you.”
The words sound half like a curse, half like surrender. Chloe catches it, her smile softening while he isn’t looking. He is ridiculous—dramatic and spoiled and hopelessly vain—but he’s also here. He could have walked away, could have refused, but instead he’s sitting beside her in the cold. And okay, sure, he had bespoke winter gear and skates delivered, but at this point...that’s just Lucifer. What’s more, she knows he’s doing it for her, and that makes her feel warmer than anything.
He glances at her, catching the curve of her smile, the light in her eyes as she tightens the last lace on her skates. Something tugs at him, soft and warm, and for a moment, he actually forgets to complain about the absurdity of it all.
Then, naturally, he remembers himself. “But I swear, Detective, if one toe so much as blisters—”
She bumps her shoulder into his. “You’ll survive.”
Lucifer sniffs, regal even in defeat. “Highly doubtful. But very well. Let’s get this over with before my dignity completely disintegrates.”
When she finishes lacing her skates, Chloe glances over at him. “You...have to put the skates on first,” she reminds him.
Although he sighs dramatically—because of course he does—he pulls the skates on. When it comes time to lace them, though... He tugs at the laces with no success, the stiff leather resisting while his perfectly manicured fingers fumble.
“Bloody hell. These infernal contraptions,” he mutters darkly. “Honestly, who designed this barbaric torture device? Knots, loops—what are we, sailors? No wonder this activity is such a death-trap. People die before they even reach the ice.”
She blinks at him. “You really don’t know how to tie skates?”
“Well, how hard can it be? Although, really, it’s not as though there's ice in Hell, Detective.”
Chloe snorts a laugh. “Right, of course. So what you’re actually saying is that you’re hopeless.”
Lucifer scowls, tugging harder. One lace slips free, unraveling his entire attempt. “Hopeless? Hardly. I could conquer empires. Bend kingdoms to my will, and then bend their leaders over my bed. And yet—” He holds up the flapping, untied lace with tragic gravity. “Bested by footwear.”
Shaking her head, Chloe crouches down and bats his hands out of the way. “Move over.”
“Detective, really, I don’t—”
“Shut up and hold still.” Ignoring how close she is to him right now, she briskly threads the lace through the eyelets as though she does it every day. Her fingers work quickly, tugging, looping, tightening.
Lucifer tilts his head, watching her with sudden quiet. No quips, no mockery, all he feels is that odd, curious softness as her hair slips over her face. A smile tugs at his lips when she impatiently blows it away, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
“There,” she says finally, giving the second lace a firm tug and knotting it off. “Secure. Try not to break your ankle.”
Lucifer looks down at his neatly tied skates, then back at her. The smile widens. “Marvelous work, Detective, as ever.” He extends a hand to help her up again. “You could make an excellent valet, you know.”
She rolls her eyes, hiding a smile. “Don’t push it.”
“Well, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” He pushes himself upright, only wobbling slightly as he gets his balance, and for a second, he manages to remain composed and smug.
Then his ankles wobble. His knees follow. Within moments, the Devil himself is gripping the bench in a death-clutch, every elegant line of his body compromised by the sheer betrayal of physics.
Chloe bites back a laugh, but it slips anyway. “You look like a newborn baby deer.”
He shoots her a look, indignant even as his skates scrape awkwardly against the floor. “I’ll have you know I possess impeccable balance.”
“On land, maybe.” She grins, thoroughly enjoying the sight of the ever-graceful Lucifer Morningstar struggling to stand on ice skates. And wishes she thought to record his first attempt. “Ice is a whole different game.”
Lucifer sniffs, recovering as much dignity as possible while clinging to her. Because he is—and she’ll probably have the bruises to prove it. “Nonsense. Ice is nothing more than water that’s forgotten how to flow. Hardly a challenge.”
“You sure about that?”
“Entirely.” He straightens, releasing the bench as if to prove it, but still holding onto her shoulder. Only to stumble again, caught instantly by Chloe’s hands at his elbows.
“Come on, champ,” she laughs. “Let’s get you to the rink before you sprain something on the rubber mats.”
Lucifer mutters something about “infernal footwear” again, but doesn’t let go of her arm the entire way.
They manage to make it all the way to the edge of the ice without him taking them down. Barely. And not without him complaining the whole way. Chloe just shakes her head, presses her lips together, and sticks with him. As amusing as it is to see him struggle, the last thing she wants is for him to actually get hurt.
Mostly because the whining would be unbearable.
Lucifer glances suspiciously at the ice, then at her, as if he’s wondering whether this is some kind of setup. A couple of kids squeeze past them and dart out onto the rink like they were born for it. After a moment, he extends one leg onto the ice, and his expression immediately sours.
“Oh, marvelous. This will be like keeping rhythm while buried to the hilt on a wet countertop.”
Chloe blinks, then scrunches her face. “Ew. Lucifer, there are kids around.”
“What’s your point? They’re all darting around like little sticky-fingered hellions anyway.”
Rolling her eyes, she shows him how it’s done, gliding forward like it’s nothing, the picture of relaxed confidence. She glances back over her shoulder, skating backwards to face him. “Relax your knees, not your ego,” she taunts.
Lucifer scoffs, clinging to the railing like it’s a life raft. “I can assure you, my ego is the only thing keeping me upright, Detective.”
She grins, skating a half-circle around him. As it turns out, those lessons her mom made her take as a kid paid off, if only for this moment. “Oh, come on. Aren’t you supposed to be good at everything? Surely you can handle a little frozen water.”
That’s all the provocation he needs, apparently. He pushes off from the railing experimentally. For a moment, she thinks he might actually have figured it out already. His arms are spread wide, his hair catching the light as he moves, and his smugness is radiant enough to melt the rink.
At least until gravity seems to remember it exists.
His eyes widen as his feet go in two different directions while his arms flail like malfunctioning helicopter blades, and he makes a strangled sound somewhere between a yelp and a growl. He windmills wildly before slamming back into the railing with a graceless thunk.
Chloe claps a hand over her mouth, laughter spilling between her fingers. “Well,” she chokes out, “that was smooth.”
“Sabotage!” he hisses. “The ice itself has turned against me.”
She skates closer, steadying him with a hand on his arm. “Or maybe you just need to stop overthinking.”
Lucifer tilts his head down at her, dangerously close, warm brown eyes smoldering despite the near-death experience. “Detective, I do not overthink. I perform. Always. Exceptionally. Unless, apparently, water is involved.”
Her lips twitch. “Maybe the universe is trying to keep you humble.”
“As bloody if,” he shoots back, straightening with as much dignity as he can muster while wobbling like a newborn giraffe.
Before she can retort, a tall, elegant woman in a glittering, barely there dress glides past them, throwing Lucifer a sultry smirk as she spins effortlessly into a graceful pirouette. Her hair fans out like silk, her posture picture-perfect.
Predictably, Lucifer's head swivels instantly, admiration lighting his face. “Well, hello, darling—”
The ogling lasts all of two seconds before his balance betrays him again. His feet slip, his arms shoot out, and he pitches forward. The only thing preventing him from face-planting is the railing and Chloe’s quick reflexes.
A little farther down, the beautiful woman snorts a laugh and turns her back.
“Careful,” Chloe says dryly, hauling him upright again. “See, that’s what you get for checking out someone else’s—” She bites the inside of her cheek, smirking. “—skills.”
Unbothered, Lucifer grins wickedly at her. “Jealous, Detective? Wish it was your skills I was checking out?”
She narrows her eyes, ignoring the heat creeping up her neck. “Now who’s being absurd?”
“Oh, no need for lies, darling. I saw that little flare of irritation.” He steadies himself with what little poise he has left, flashing her a smirk. “Admit it, you enjoy having my attention squarely on you.”
Chloe rolls her eyes, skating backwards again, keeping just out of his reach. See how he does without her help. “I enjoy not having to scrape you off the ice.”
“Same thing.” He tries to push off towards her with what he clearly intends to be a powerful stride. Instead, his skates scissor dangerously, forcing him into a frantic shuffle that looks more like interpretive panic than actual skating.
She laughs so hard she nearly loses her balance again. “Oh my God...you really do look like Bambi.”
Lucifer straightens indignantly mid-wobble. “You take that back! I do not resemble a baby deer. I exude elegance and raw sexuality, Detective, even when gravity is cruelly conspiring against me.”
“Raw something,” she mutters under her breath, grinning.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” she says sweetly, gliding past him again.
Lucifer attempts to follow, muttering, “Bloody buggering hell, this is humiliating,” but he pushes off too forcefully. His momentum sends him straight towards a cluster of teenagers lingering a ways down the ice. At the last second, in a miraculous burst of reflexes, he spins sideways and narrowly avoids mowing them down.
The spin ends with him clinging to the barrier once more, breathing heavily, chest heaving as if he just fought off an entire army. He looks over at Chloe with a triumphant smirk. “See? Absolute mastery.”
She’s doubled over laughing now, hands on her knees. “Mastery? You almost took out a Girl Scout troop.”
“Keyword, Detective—almost.” He puffs up his chest, catching his breath. “And besides, they looked rather impressed. Probably drafting songs in my honor as we speak.”
Actually, the girls are staring at him in horror, while trying to skate away as fast as they can to avoid another catastrophe.
Chloe shakes her head, skating over to him, still grinning. “Have I mentioned lately that you’re ridiculous?”
Lucifer leans in with a seductive smirk—while still clinging to the railing for dear life. “And yet,” he says in a low, smooth voice, “you dragged me here. Almost as if you can’t resist the pull of...ridiculous.”
The way her heart stutters is annoying, but she masks it with a smirk. “Or maybe I just wanted to see you fall flat on your face for a change.”
He arches a brow, eyes lighting with heat and mischief in equal measure. “Careful, Detective,” he purrs. “You might discover you prefer me on my back.”
Refusing to give him the satisfaction of blushing, Chloe pushes backwards again. “Skating lesson. Now.”
“How could I refuse such a splendid offer. Can I refuse?”
“No.”
“Then on with the lessons, my dear Detective.” He offers his arm gallantly, nearly toppling again in the process.
Making sure the coast is clear of trip hazards—and people—Chloe guides him towards the center of the rink, arm looped stiffly through hers like she’s escorting royalty to a ballroom rather than hauling a stubborn nightclub owner onto ice.
“Okay, lesson one: Bend your knees a little,” she instructs, demonstrating. “Keep your weight balanced over the middle of the blades. Don’t lock up.”
Lucifer scoffs, tipping his chin up primly. “Detective, I am a man of impeccable balance. I could glide across this ice in my finest loafers and lose not a single step—or my composure.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not in loafers, are you?”
“Tragic, isn’t it? Although, you must admit, we both look miles better than the rest of these plebeians in their rented skatewear.”
Chloe rolls her eyes. Not that she’ll admit it aloud, because his ego does not need the boost, but these skates are a hundred times more comfortable than the ones she would have rented if he wasn’t a spoiled Prima Donna. “Okay,” she says, getting back to the lesson. “Watch me.”
“Oh, I’m always watching you, Detective,” he purrs.
She pushes off lightly, gliding backwards in a slow circle. The move isn’t professional by any stretch; her turns are a little chunky, her arms not exactly graceful, but she manages with an ease that makes Lucifer bristle.
“See?” she says, coasting to a stop in front of him. “Not that hard.”
Lucifer narrows his eyes. “You make it look...deceptively simple.”
“Because it is simple.” She holds out both hands. “Here. I’ll hold you steady.”
Pursing his lips, probably at the implication that he needs the help, he places his hands in hers. The moment their fingers lace, his usual smirk softens into something more genuine. The irritation in his eyes fades slightly. But before Chloe can dwell on it, he attempts to mimic her glide.
One push, and...immediate chaos.
His legs shoot apart, his body lurches forward, and Chloe has to brace all her weight to keep him from plowing directly into her. They stagger, tangle, her chest bumping into his. His breath brushes her ear as he mutters, “Bloody treacherous ice.”
Chloe laughs just to disguise the way her heart rate picks up. “You are...completely hopeless.”
“Correction: I am adjusting. Adapting. Strategically testing the limits of physics.” He tries to find whatever is left of his dignity to straighten, though the grip he has on her hands remains white-knuckled.
“Strategically, huh?”
“Indeed. You see, Detective, falling with style is a highly underrated art form.”
She bites her lip to keep from grinning too wide. “Hmm. Pretty sure you skipped the style part.”
He gives her one of those wicked grins. “Yes, well, I’m told I make up for it in other areas.”
Rolling her eyes again, Chloe drops one of his hands, skating backwards while still holding the other. “Okay, well, less bragging, more practice. Come on, glide with me.”
When he opens his mouth, eyes glinting with innuendo, she gives him a look—and he closes it again. Then he tightens his jaw in determination. He bends his knees (too much), pushes off (too hard), and instantly careens forward with alarming speed. Chloe yelps as he barrels into her, the two of them spinning in an ungainly knot before crashing into the barrier. Somehow, they don’t take out a cluster of ten year olds as they go.
Lucifer braces his arms on either side of her, one hand cradling the back of her head to keep it from slamming into the glass partition, pinning her between his body and the railing. His face hovers dangerously close to hers, breath quick, eyes gleaming with adrenaline.
“See?” he murmurs. “Improvement.”
Chloe tries, and fails, not to laugh. “You almost killed us. And half a dozen kids.”
“Yes, but stylishly this time.” He grins down at her. “And with the added benefit of pressing you against a wall, which I daresay is a fine reward.”
She shoves at his chest, cheeks flaming again. “Back it up, Casanova.”
Lucifer pushes away, wobbling but upright, and looking entirely too pleased with himself.
They try again and again, each attempt ending in some variation of chaos. Lucifer trips over his own skates, spins unexpectedly into a clumsy pirouette, and once almost takes out a middle-aged dad and his five-year-old daughter before Chloe yanks him back just in time. Through it all, though, Chloe stays steady, guiding him, laughing harder than she has in weeks. He’s infuriating, dramatic, utterly useless on ice—and yet, somehow, magnetic.
Finally, after several close calls that could have potentially landed him (or both of them) in an ambulance, he manages a shaky glide for a full ten feet without disaster. He throws his arms in the air triumphantly. “Yes! Victory at last! Witness me, Detective, as I conquer frozen water.”
“Congratulations,” Chloe deadpans. “You lasted ten seconds.”
Lucifer leans close, eyes sparkling. “I’ve also been told that ten seconds with me is still unforgettable.”
Somehow she manages to not facepalm. “Really?”
“Oh yes, just ask—”
“No. Don’t...don’t finish that sentence. I don’t want to know.”
“Shall I demonstrate instead?”
“Absolutely not.” She shoves him playfully, skating ahead.
Lucifer follows—wobbly, ridiculous, but unwilling to admit defeat now that he’s gotten even a taste at progress. He nearly eats ice again when another elegant skater twirls past, showering him with a spray of frost. He stumbles, catches himself barely, then glances at Chloe.
“What? No comment about me checking out her pirouette this time?”
Chloe sniffs, skating backwards. “She can have your pirouettes. I’m the one keeping you alive.”
He grins at that, satisfaction humming under his voice. “Exactly why I prefer you, Detective. You’re indispensable.”
The words are tossed off casually, yet they lodge warm in Chloe’s chest. She looks away quickly, pushing into another glide as she hides a smile. “Come on. One more round. Maybe this time you won’t kill anyone.”
Lucifer smirks, chasing after her with unearned confidence. “Oh, Detective, I always make things more fun when la petite mort is involved.”
This time she facepalms.
Lucifer, determined not to be shown up by anyone—not even Chloe—decides to let go of her hand.
“Observe, Detective,” he announces, wobbling as if he’s standing on Jello as he pushes off alone. “I am now skating independently, much like a majestic swan gliding across a lake of—”
His skate catches on a groove, and the ‘majestic swan’ pitches forward, arms windmilling. Again. He staggers, spins, and somehow rights himself—though it looks more like he’s breakdancing on accident than it resembles elegance.
Chloe claps sarcastically. “Very majestic.”
Tugging the lapels of his long wool coat, Lucifer preens as though he hadn’t just almost made a snow cone of his own face. “You mock, yet that spin was entirely intentional. I call it the Satanic Spiral.”
“More like the Satanic Faceplant.”
“Ah, but I didn’t faceplant. Which is what makes it genius.”
Chloe laughs, skating in a circle around him. “I can’t believe I’m actually better than you at something. This is...kind of amazing, actually.”
Lucifer's eyebrows shoot up. “Detective, I’ll have you know, I am good at everything.”
“Except skating.”
“I’m merely...acclimating. To the elements. And the—” He stumbles again, grabbing the railing. “—bloody sabotage following wherever I go.”
“Uh-huh.” Chloe coasts to a smooth stop in front of him. “Face it, Lucifer, you’ve met your match.”
Lucifer leans in with another one of those sinful smiles, though the soft look in his eyes belies the flirtation. “Detective, you’ve always been my match.”
For a second, she can only stare at him, her heart fluttering in her chest. Then she clears her throat and skates out around him. “Focus, Lucifer. Glide. Don’t flirt.”
“I can do both simultaneously," he protests, pushing off again. “Multi-talented, remember?”
He tries following her lead, watching her knees bend, her movements steady and confident. For a few glorious seconds, he mimics her well enough to actually look competent. Chloe’s smile widens proudly.
“See? That’s it, you're getting it!”
Lucifer beams back at the praise—then a little boy zooms past with hockey-like speed, brushing against him. Lucifer startles, yelps, and promptly collapses into the barrier with a loud oof.
“Sorry, mister!” the kid calls over his shoulder.
Lucifer glares back at him, muttering curses and threats under his breath.
Chloe snorts a laugh. “You should see your face right now. Oh, I should take a picture.”
“Don’t you dare.” Lucifer shoots her a dark look from where he clings, half-folded against the boards. “You know, Detective, I’m beginning to suspect you brought me here solely to humiliate me.”
“Would I do that?”
“Absolutely.
A grin breaks out across her face. “Hmm, maybe just a little,” she admits, snickering.
He pulls himself upright, glaring, but the sparkle in his eyes betrays him. “Very well. If humiliation is the game, I shall simply have to win at it.”
Chloe blinks, her smile fading slightly. That can’t be good...
As it turns out, Lucifer's ‘winning’ turns out to be escalating his attempts into full-blown theatrics. And she’s beginning to suspect he’s doing it all just to make her laugh now.
He pushes off with exaggerated flair, sweeping his arms wide, while announcing to passersby, “Behold, humans! Your ice king has arrived!”
He manages three confident strides before his feet betray him again, and he goes sprawling in a spectacular tumble that earns applause from nearby teenagers.
Lucifer pops up instantly, taking a bow. “Yes, yes, thank you! Autographs later!”
Chloe nearly chokes laughing. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Unbelievably talented, you mean,” he says, brushing himself off. “In fact, I propose a competition. First one to make a full lap without falling wins.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You sure you want to do that?”
“Darling, I happen to thrive under pressure.”
She smirks. “Fine. Loser buys hot chocolate.”
“Done. Prepared to be dazzled, Detective.”
They line up at the edge of the rink. Chloe crouches slightly, ready to push off. Lucifer rolls his shoulders like he’s about to box twelve men.
“Okay. On three,” Chloe says. “One...two...”
She shoots off at two, laughing over her shoulder.
Lucifer sputters. “You little cheater!” He lurches forward after her, legs flailing like a wind-up toy.
Chloe skates steadily, not fast but controlled, weaving easily past clusters of people. Lucifer thunders behind her, occasionally spinning out but somehow staying upright. He catches up at the halfway mark, grinning triumphantly.
“See, Detective? Natural talent.”
But of course that was never going to last. The momentum and overconfidence betray him, and he careens into a snowbank of children at the corner. Shrieks of laughter erupt as he flounders to extricate himself.
Chloe swoops past, laughing so hard she nearly loses her balance—once she makes sure no one is hurt. “Smooth move, Ice King.”
Eventually, Lucifer disentangles himself, muttering apologies, then pushes off again with renewed determination. He catches up again just as she reaches the final stretch. They end up neck and neck—her steady strides against his wild bursts of speed. He leans forward, eyes locked on the finish. She glances sideways, smirking, and deliberately cuts him off.
Lucifer yelps, flailing wildly to avoid colliding with her. By sheer miracle—or devilry—he spins in a full circle and lands upright. The crowd gasps, then bursts into applause.
Lucifer bows deeply mid-glide, preening. “Thank you, thank you, I am extraordinary.”
Which leaves Chloe to cross the finish line first, grinning. “Apparently, extraordinary doesn’t win races. But I do.”
Abandoning his drove of fans, Lucifer slides to a stop beside her, his eyes narrowed. “Only because you cheated.”
“Or maybe because I’m better than you.”
He steps closer, smiling wickedly. “Oh, Detective, you’re better in many ways. I’d be delighted to list them for you, though I imagine some would be...wildly inappropriate for a family-friendly ice rink.”
Rather than letting herself blush, Chloe throws him a smirk, leaning closer still. “Oh, you have no idea how good I am,” she whispers.
Lucifer's lips part in surprise, clearly having not expected that. He clears his throat, recovering quickly. “Would you care to give me a demonstration?” he murmurs.
“In your dreams.”
He looks her up and down with a leer. “In my dreams, indeed.”
She rolls her eyes, unable to hide her smile. “Hot chocolate’s on you.”
Pressing a hand to his chest, he gives her a look of mock anguish. “Highway robbery, my little cheat. But very well, one overpriced cocoa. But next round, I’ll destroy you.”
“Next round, huh? You never quit, do you?”
He licks his lips, eyes burning with playful challenge. “Oh, Detective. I never quit while I’m behind.”
The words sound like something else than a race.
Chloe’s heart skips, but she masks it with another smirk. “We’ll see if you survive a next round.”
Lucifer grins, offering his arm despite still wobbling. “Lead the way, cheating champion.”
Back at the snack area, Chloe waits on a bench after Lucifer insisted he could handle getting refreshments now that they’re off the ice. She watches as he balances a steaming cup of cocoa in each hand while carefully maneuvering back to her on shaking legs. With his tongue poking out of the corner of his lips.
It’s kind of adorable, really. All of it. The fact that he actually came here with her. The drama over rental skates, replacing them with designer pairs. How he’s completely hopeless at ice skating. And how he gave up trying to be the best just to make her laugh.
She wasn’t really sure what to expect when she floated this idea to herself. But now...well, she’s glad she did. Especially with the way he grins proudly at her as he presents her hot cocoa.
“Your prize, Detective,” he announces grandly. “Even though you absolutely cheated.”
Smirking, Chloe blows on her cocoa before taking a sip. The cocoa is overly sweet, the whipped cream piled high, but she’s flushed and happy, and Lucifer looks smug enough to power the rink lights by ego alone.
All in all, a pretty great night.
“Admit it,” Chloe says, sipping. “You had fun.”
Lucifer sniffs, stirring his cocoa as though he’s swirling a brandy snifter. “Fun is a rather strong word. I...endured. Magnificently, I might add.”
Her smirk widens. “You laughed.”
“I laugh often, Detective. I’m delightful company.”
“You fell. A lot.”
“I fall with style. We’ve covered this.”
Chloe shakes her head, still smiling. “Okay, style king. After cocoa, let’s try one more lap. Slow this time. No showing off. No racing. Just...skating.”
Lucifer tilts his head, considering her. “Slow? Detective, I only do things passionately. Or not at all.”
“Well, then consider this...passionately slow.”
Once they’ve finished their drinks, she stands, extending her hand. “Come on. What do you say?”
For a second, he blinks at her hand, then at her. He takes it, though, because of course he does, rising with a dramatic sigh. “Very well. But if I perish, I expect you to make a heartfelt eulogy. Something tasteful. With tears. No mention of my tragic demise via frozen water.”
Laughing, Chloe tugs him back onto the ice. The crowd has thinned, most of the families with smaller children gone. The music has drifted into slower territory, the speakers crooning holiday ballads and mellow pop songs. The rink glitters under the lights, the chaos quieting to a kind of magic.
She guides him gently, her hand warm in his. “Just glide. Don’t think about it too much.”
“Don’t think? Impossible. My brain is a cathedral of constant brilliance.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Then shut it off for two minutes.”
He chuckles, but does as he’s told. And for once, he doesn’t fight it. He lets her lead, matching her pace, focusing on her movements. His stride steadies. His arms lower from frantic flailing to a more natural rhythm. He looks almost...graceful.
“See?” Chloe says softly. “You’re doing it.”
Lucifer glances over at her, something unguarded flickering in his eyes. “Only because you’re here.”
Well, that was the last thing she expected to hear. Her breath hitches, her heart stumbling. She looks away quickly, focusing on the rink. “Don’t go getting sappy on me.’
“Me? Sappy? Never. I’m merely pointing out that with you holding my hand, I find even this absurd human ritual...tolerable. Almost enjoyable.”
Her lips curve despite her attempts to stifle it. “Almost, huh?”
“Don’t push it.” He smirks, but the softness lingers in his voice.
They circle the rink slowly, hand in hand, the world narrowing to the glow of lights and the sound of their skates scraping in unison. For once, Lucifer isn’t preening or performing. He’s simply...there. Beside her. Chloe’s chest tightens, warmth rising that has nothing to do with the cocoa.
Of course, the moment can’t possibly last.
A couple glides past in perfect synchrony, the man dipping his partner low into a romantic spin. Lucifer's eyes immediately light up with mischief.
“Detective!” he gasps. “We must attempt that.”
Chloe’s eyes widen in horror. “Nope. No. Hm-mm. Absolutely not.”
“Come now, I’ve seen it done. Easy. I’ll dip you dramatically, you’ll swoon, the crowd will cheer—”
“You’ll drop me on my head!”
“Perish the thought.” He tugs her closer, ignoring her protests. “Trust me.”
“Lucifer—”
Too late. He twirls her clumsily, then attempts the dip. For a split second, it almost works—her back arches, his arm cradling her protectively. She sees the triumph in flash across his face.
Then his back foot slips.
They collapse in a heap on the ice, Chloe sprawled half on top of him, both laughing so hard they can’t breathe. Applause erupts again from amused bystanders.
Lucifer lies flat, arms spread like a fallen angel, grinning up at the faux night sky. “You see? Perfect execution. A flawless finale.”
“You’re insane,” Chloe wheezes, still giggling, half-sprawled on his chest.
“And yet you’re lying on top of me.” He smirks, tilting his head. His hand lifts to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “Dream come true, wouldn’t you say?”
She shoves herself upright, cheeks blazing. “Get up, drama queen.”
Lucifer sits up with an exaggerated groan, brushing ice off his coat. “I shall require immediate medical attention. Perhaps mouth-to–mouth.”
Chloe rolls her eyes so hard it hurts. “You’re impossible.”
“Utterly.” He grins, offering his hand to pull her up. “But no matter your claims otherwise, I do believe you enjoy my impossibleness. After all, you invited me here. You wanted this.”
She takes his hand, rising carefully, still laughing. “I wanted to see you wipe out. Mission accomplished. Multiple times.”
The look in his eyes softens, his thumb brushing her knuckles before he lets go. “And yet here we are, alive, unbroken...and dare I say, having fun.”
Chloe hesitates, then smiles, more of that warmth blooming in her chest. “Maybe just a little.”
Lucifer's grin widens, smug but genuine. “Excellent. Then let’s declare this night a victory.”
“Because you survived?”
He shakes his head. “Because you smiled.”
Her breath catches—again, damn him—and she turns away quickly, skating towards the exit. “Come on, hot chocolate round two. Before you decide to challenge me to a triple axel.”
Lucifer follows, grinning as he wobbles, calling after her, “Don’t tempt me, Detective. I never back down from a challenge.”