Chapter 1: First Day, Wrong Frequency
Summary:
Lucifer Morningstar is suffocating under perfection and expectations. Alastor Hartfelt arrives calm, smiling, and ready for a fresh start. Fate crashes them together—literally.
“Do you even know who I am?” Lucifer snaps.
“I do now,” Alastor smiles. “You’re the short, angry fellow who believes the world revolves around him.”What starts as a petty hallway accident becomes a full-blown rivalry of insults, pranks, and tension neither of them can ignore. They swear they hate each other.
Notes:
I’ve always been drawn to human AU stories of Lucifer and Alastor—it’s fascinating to see them in a world that feels more like ours, where they could actually exist as humans. Since there aren’t that many out there, I decided to create one myself. That’s part of why this AU is so special to me.
I’ve had so much fun weaving this together! You might notice that even in this new setting, everyone’s persona, behavior, and personal growth are deeply tied to their original arcs from the show. Keep a close eye out—there are definitely a few scenes and bits of foreshadowing tucked away that call back to the actual series. And there is some canons/headcanons theories included as well! Hehe, hope you have fun with it!
This story is a Christmas Special, and I’m aiming to wrap it up on Christmas night. I’ll be posting one chapter a day (I'll try my best), so we can enjoy the story together as it unfolds!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter 1: First Day, Wrong Frequency
Hello listeners,the songs we suggested for you today are
- Bad by Michael Jackson,
- All-American Bitch by Olivia Rodrigo,
- and Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears.
Before we press play, remember this —
fate has a funny way of changing your life,
and the freedom you’re searching for
may begin the moment you stop running from yourself.
Turn it up.
*******
If there was one thing Lucifer Morningstar hated more than waking up before sunrise, it was waking up in that house.
The Morningstar mansion was enormous, elegant, and painfully quiet — the kind of silence that pressed against the ears until breathing felt too loud. It was a house built on wealth, power, and expectations so heavy they clung to the walls themselves. Every polished marble surface reflected flawlessness. Every carefully framed portrait reminded him of legacy, reputation, expectations and perfection.
Lucifer lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, already exhausted. The day hadn’t even started, and he was tired.
Eventually, he pushed himself out of bed and glanced toward his wardrobe. As expected, his uniform was already prepared, hanging neatly and perfectly pressed, not a single wrinkle daring to exist. Someone had even aligned the hanger precisely at the center. It irritated him more than it should have.
He scoffed softly. He showered in silence, letting the hot water run longer than necessary, hoping it would wash away the tight, restless feeling pooling in his chest. It didn’t. By the time he stepped out, routine took over automatically.
He stood before the mirror in silence, adjusting himself with practiced care. The white suit sat flawlessly on his frame, the crisp long-sleeved shirt smooth beneath a pink-and-white striped vest fastened with gleaming gold buttons. He straightened the black tie, brushed invisible creases from his sleeves, and checked the fall of the fabric once more. Black shoes shone at his feet, heavy, expensive watches clasped around his wrist as he made one final inspection. He is searching for the smallest sign of imperfection, and finding none.
Perfect.
He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, then forced a sharp, effortless smile onto his face, the one everyone expected. The Morningstar smiles. He held it for a moment, then let it fall.
He grabbed his bag and left his room.
Downstairs, the kitchen smelled like coffee - dark and bitter.
Lucifer stepped inside, the scent wrapping around him immediately. It mixed with the sterile shine of the countertops and the hum of machines doing their jobs perfectly, just like everyone in this house was supposed to. Coffee was always brewing here. Always ready. Always waiting.
Just like Sera.
“Fix your tie,” Sera snapped the moment he stepped inside. “A Morningstar should look dignified.”
Lucifer resisted the urge to sigh.
Oh God. Not now.
“Sure, Sera,” he replied, forcing a polite smile as he adjusted it. Not because he cared about dignity — but because it meant he could leave faster.
“Wait outside,” she continued. “I’ll pack your breakfast—”
“It’s fine,” Lucifer interrupted quickly. “I’m riding with Bee and Ozzie today. They’re already waiting. I’ll see you at school.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He moved straight for the door, slipping out before she could correct him, lecture him, or remind him of everything he was supposed to be.
The moment he slid into Ozzie’s car, the tension drained from his shoulders.
“I’m so glad you guys came early,” Lucifer muttered. “Oh God, I cannot wait to get out of that house.”
*******
Across town, Alastor Hartfelt buttoned his waistcoat in a shared dormitory room, humming softly to himself.
The dorm was spacious, far more than he had ever expected — and still faintly unfamiliar. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, illuminating neat beds and polished floors. For a moment, Alastor simply sat on his bed, listening to the building wake up around him.
Final year, he thought with quiet satisfaction. A fresh start.
He rose and he stood before the mirror, studying his reflection with careful attention.
He can see himself, standing tall at one hundred eighty centimeters, brown-skinned, with dark brown curls and calm brown eyes behind small oval glasses. He then carefully adjusted his white dress shirt, smoothed his red-striped waistcoat, and checked the alignment of the small gold buttons. His fingers lingered briefly as he straightened his red tie and secured the gold tie clip. He smoothed his trousers once more, ensuring everything sat exactly where it should.
Only when he was fully satisfied did he step back. A genuine smile spread across his face.
“Well now,” he murmured, voice smooth and bright, touched with an old-fashioned lilt. “Looking rather respectable, if I do say so myself.”
Clean. Sharp. Controlled. He likes it.
A faint smoky, woody scent followed him as he grabbed his books. A genuine smile curved across his face. He was excited. He still couldn’t quite believe he was here.
Haven Star Academy. The most prestigious school in the city. The first night he arrived, he had stood frozen in the grand stone halls, staring up at towering arches and flawless symmetry. The architecture radiated luxury — and something colder beneath it. An unspoken warning hidden inside beauty.
Only perfection is welcome here.
“Everything is going to be great,” Alastor murmured to himself as he stepped out of the dorm.
Funny how confident he sounded.
*******
Haven Star Academy buzzed with life. It was August, edging into fall. The air was cooler, but the hallways were warm and alive — shoes clattering against polished floors, lockers slamming shut, voices overlapping in laughter and gossip.
Yet the moment Lucifer Morningstar stepped in, the atmosphere seemed to sharpen. Eyes followed him, whispers started, and the blond-haired devil smirked like he owned the place.
In some ways, he did.
His father had built the city. His family controlled most of it. Haven Star Academy itself was another Morningstar legacy. People wanted his life. His money. His status. But they didn’t see the cage he was trapped in.
Lucifer liked the attention. He needed it, even. It made everything else go quiet for a moment.
His friend trailed beside him. Bee and Ozzie — loud, rowdy, arrogant in the way only rich kids could be.
Hey, bitches!” Mammon’s voice rang out as he rushed up, grabbing Bee and Ozzie by the shoulders. “Long time no see! I missed you guys — especially you, Lu.” He said teasingly. “How was your holiday?” He continued as he also started to walk with them.
“I went to New Zealand,” Bee said. “It was amazing. Maybe we can go together after graduation.”
“I went to Venice,” Ozzie added eagerly. “I met Fizzie there — remember? He’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever met. The parties were insane, and—”
“Okay, Ozzie,” Lucifer cut in with a grin. “We get it. You went to a strip club and had a life-changing lust adventure. You’ve told us all summer.”
The group burst into laughter.
“Yeah,” Ozzie replied, a little embarrassed. “Because it was amazing.”
Lucifer patted his shoulder, smiling — but the feeling didn’t quite reach his chest.
Inside, he is a bit jealous with his friends but happy and glad that all of his friends are having their fun. He thought of his own holiday. Galas. Charity events. Endless expectations. Extra classes that felt more like obligations than escapes. Sera’s constant nagging. The mental exhaustion that never seemed to fade.
As his friends talked around him, Lucifer drifted into his thoughts.
They didn’t notice the corner.
Until —
BAM.
*******
Alastor with a few books was strolling down the hallway, humming quietly, totally mesmerized by the school's slick, modern architecture. He was oblivious. He had no idea that a collision designed with the most ridiculously cliché drama in mind was set to occur just around the next corner. Fate was literally staging the perfect, explosive moment to introduce him to the guy who would instantly become his enemy.
BAM.
Books scattered across the hallway and both boys stumbled back, startled.
“Ouch! What the hell? “Watch where you’re going!” Lucifer, hood half-up, eyes flaring and snapped.
The boy he’d collided with crouched calmly, gathering his books without a word. No apology. No acknowledgement.
That alone felt like an insult.
When the boy finally stood, dusted off his uniform, and pushed up his glasses, he smiled.
Alastor, blinked, calmly and smiling that irritating grin, looked down at him. “I think you hit me first”
Silence.
Ozzie muttered, “…Did he just say that?”
Lucifer narrowed his eyes. “Are you new? Do you even know who I am?”
Alastor stared at him, unimpressed. “I do now,” Alastor replied smoothly. “You’re the short, angry fellow who believes the world revolves around him.”
Mammon choked on his own laughter. “BRO—”
“Apologize,” Lucifer said, trying to control his anger.
“My apologies,” the boy said pleasantly, leaning down just enough to look him over. “You’re a bit shorter, … simply below my usual line of sight.”
Lucifer’s eye twitched. “Say that again, smiling freak.”
“Short.” Alastor said cheerfully and teasingly.
Lucifer stepped forward. So did Alastor as he felt a thrill run through him as Lucifer stepped closer. Oh, this one reacts beautifully.
Lucifer shoved Alastor’s shoulder. Alastor shoved him right back — harder. For a moment, their eyes locked. The hallway fell silent for a heartbeat.
Before fists could fly, Bee shoved herself between them “Enough! Both of you!” and stuffed a cookie into Lucifer’s mouth. “Eat this sugar pie”. “And you” she pointed his finger to Alastor “I think you should walk away from here. Now”
Lucifer chewed slowly, humiliated and furious. Alastor stepped back obediently, hands raised. “No harm intended, madam. Merely a difference in reception.”
As he walked away, he glanced back once, eyes gleaming with amusement. That guy’s entertaining, he thought.
“Lucifer. Stop. You’re about to beat up a kid on his first day. Don't start your first day with a suspension.” Bee trying to calm him down. “He must be kind of new here.” Bee adds more. And all of them leave that hallway.
*******
The war didn’t end in the hallway; it followed them straight into the cafeteria.
Lunch was no less dramatic than the morning’s confrontation. Lucifer sat with his Sins—his loyal, chaotic group of friends who were the only people on earth who truly tolerated his moods and everything that came with them. Across the room, Alastor sat alone, a picture of casual observation. His sharp, warm brown eyes flicked between the students with an almost predatory amusement. He liked it that way. Silence kept people at a distance. People disappointed him less that way.
He’s weird,” Beelzebub muttered, nudging Lucifer.
“He’s annoying,” Mammon added, scraping the last bit of cheese from his pizza slice. “Like… too smug. Smug is dangerous. It means they know something we don’t.”
Ozzie laughed. “He’s kind of cute though— and looks nice, but in a scary way”
“How can someone smile that long?” Leviathan grumbled, adjusting her makeup. “Doesn’t his face cramp?”
“Saethan snorted. “Lucifer, be honest. Did he bruise your ego?”
“He insulted my height.”
“Well… you ARE short—”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Lucifer threw his hands up in exasperation.
He glared across the room. Alastor, sensing the scrutiny, glanced up. He met Lucifer’s furious gaze, then gave a slow, casual wave—a dismissive, mocking gesture that felt like a challenge.
“That guy…” Lucifer hissed, standing up. He felt a coil of hot anger tighten in his chest. He was being deliberately challenged and mocked, and the worst part was the sheer effortlessness of it.
“Move,” Lucifer commanded, approaching Alastor’s table and pulling out the chair directly opposite him. He sat down with a thud.
Alastor finally looked up from his half-eaten sandwich. A perfectly sculpted smile stretched his lips, but his eyes were indifferent. “…Why?”
“Because I want to sit here.”
Alastor tilted his head, his gaze finally locking straight into Lucifer’s. The intensity was unnerving. “I was here first. And don’t you already have your seat over there, with your... loyal flock?”
Lucifer glared. Alastor’s smile widened, a genuinely unsettling sight.
Mammon, who had followed and was hovering nearby, leaned close to Lucifer's ear. “Bro, he’s smiling again. I hate it. I swear he’s too happy. It’s unnatural.”
“Listen here, weird smiler guy,” Lucifer leaned over the table, his voice low and dangerous. “You really don’t know how this school works, do you?”
“Nope,” Alastor replied, taking a deliberate bite of his sandwich. He chewed slowly, maintaining eye contact. “And I don’t care. Spoiled rich kids usually think they own everything and have anger issues. Yours seem... advanced.”
Lucifer nearly flipped the entire table over that kid’s smug face. “You piece of—”
Bee was there instantly, grabbing his arm and trying to drag him away. “Okay, enough. Lucifer! Stop bullying the kid!”
“He is asking for it!” Lucifer fought his grip, turning back to Alastor.
Alastor raised a perfect eyebrow, his smile never faltering. “I really am not. You’re just too easy to irritate. It’s an effortless pastime.” That stung more than any height joke could.
Lucifer scoffed, flustered and boiling. “Ugh. Bee’s right. You’re not even worth the effort.”
He stormed off, but his glare stayed on Alastor too long—a fraction of a second too much. Alastor noticed. He slightly smirked and gave a small, mocking bow from his seated position. Lucifer hated that even more.
*******
Later that week, fate—or the school’s twisted sense of humor—paired them. Unfortunately for Lucifer’s sanity, they shared three classes
One agonizing time in History, Lucifer confidently answered a question about the American Revolution incorrectly. Alastor clicked his tongue loud enough for everyone to hear and whispered, just loud enough for Lucifer. “Huh. Guess height isn’t the only thing you’re lacking, Shortcake.”
Lucifer’s hand twitched, and his pale face turned a dangerous red. “You absolute shit —”
“Mr. Morningstar, language.” The teacher gave him a warning.
Alastor didn't even flinch. He just gave a small, utterly satisfied smirk without looking up from his notes. Lucifer glared at him throughout the entire lecture, unable to focus. Every time he tried to think, Alastor’s gaze, that infuriating smile, and the constant, silent taunt reminded him that he was being toyed with. He felt an intense, primal urge to just reach across the aisle and throttle the smug scholarship kid.
Then came Economics class. The teacher asked the class to form pairs for a big debate exercise. Lucifer tried to slide his chair over to partner with Leviathan, but Alastor literally slid his own chair next to Lucifer, moving with unnerving speed and silence.
“We’re paired, sir,” Alastor announced to the teacher, his smile radiating effortless charm.
“We’re NOT,” Lucifer protested vehemently.
“Too late,” Alastor cheerfully denied, ignoring him. He turned to Lucifer, leaning in conspiratorially. “Our energies match, Lu. Chaos calls to chaos. Besides, I need a loud, rich opponent for maximum dramatic effect.”
Lucifer groaned, rubbing his temples. “Why are you like this?
Alastor leaned closer, whispering with a warmth that completely contradicted his venomous words: “Because you’re fun to annoy. The best fun I’ve had all year, truth be told.”
Lucifer blinked. Then glared. Then, for a millisecond, found himself speechless.
Lucifer eventually learned that Alastor was a scholarship kid who had just transferred into the school. However, he never really remembered Alastor’s actual name. He simply called him Weird Smiling Guy, Smiley Demon, Smiling Freak, Old-timey Prick, Twink, and a few other choice, unrepeatable names. He was bad with names, and this one didn't feel worth the effort.
Meanwhile, Alastor had a whole host of creative nicknames for Lucifer: Shortcake, Angry Cupcake, Golden Spoiled Brat, Short King, and simply, Lu.
I will destroy him. I will ruin his life. I will make him regret setting foot on this campus. Lucifer thought to himself.
“This is fun. More fun than I expected. That short fuse is exquisite.” Alastor muttered.
From that week on, the rivalry was mutually and loudly declared. And everyone at school unanimously agreed: they hated each other.
It felt like every day was April Fools' Day. Their “war” escalated into high-stakes, absurd antics. Lucifer put rubber snakes in Alastor’s locker; Alastor responded by filling Lucifer’s backpack with fine, inescapable golden glitter. Lucifer replaced Alastor’s shampoo with bright red hair dye; Alastor retaliated by adding Lucifer's favorite coffee with the hot pepper sauce.
Teachers nearly had a heart attack on several occasions, but the students were wildly entertained.
Yet beneath the mockery, beneath the chaos, a curious truth took root. Lucifer began to notice how Alastor’s smile lingered just a moment too long. How his laughter seemed genuine, unguarded. How his words, though sharp, carried an unexpected warmth. Alastor will tease him every chance he gets. Lucifer pretended to hate it. But the truth was, he did not hate it. He hated how much he thought about it afterward. He hated that Alastor’s smile had started to feel familiar—a fixture in his otherwise predictable day. He hated that he caught himself waiting, sometimes impatiently, for their next stupid fight.
And worst of all? He finally learned Alastor’s name properly, because Alastor had somehow become his number one enemy. A fun enemy. An addictive enemy. Lucifer refused to think too deeply about that sudden, troubling realization.
Alastor, on the other hand, was starting to feel the unexpected thrill of this chaotic, angry, short-tempered boy who somehow refused to let him retreat into the anonymity he usually sought. He found it amusing and entertaining to get under Lucifer’s skin, but he never realized he wanted more. He wanted to see that spark of anger, to see Lucifer get out of his usual bored expression, and above all, he found that Lucifer made him genuinely laugh. He really loves it.
By the end of the month, the unspoken truth hovered between them like an electrical current. They were each other’s favorite enemy. And maybe, just maybe, the first seed of something far more dangerous than pranks had been planted.
******
Notes:
Hi! Technically, I’m not completely new here, but it’s been a long time since I’ve written, and this is my first time sharing my own stories.
Before this, I was mostly just a reader. Oh god, I love Hazbin Hotel so much!Never thought writing will be this exhausting and I swear, writing isn’t easy, but I’m dedicated to making this Christmas Special AU happen—so I hope you enjoy it! Let's wish I can finish this story on time (because i am a bit busy with my assignment work(S) and everything must be done before holidays).
Author’s Note:
I wanted to share some of the logic behind this AU! For the first chapter, you might notice that Lucifer’s life here is a direct parallel to his time in Heaven. In Haven City, he’s under control—everything must be perfect, and he has zero freedom, though he’s still that same rebellious kid at heart!A few "Easter eggs" for you:
- Haven City: Yes, the name is a total play on "Heaven."
- The Mayor: I’ll let you guess who Lucifer’s dad is modeled after! (Since Lucifer is the "Archangel" i guess it fits perfectly who's the Father).
- Sera: She’s still the Head Seraphim in spirit—in charge, in control, and making sure Lucifer stays in line.
- The Sins: I’ve made them Lucifer’s best friends because I’ve always wanted to see them interact more than they do in the shows!
- Alastor: He’s still our sharp, charismatic Al, but I’ve leaned into the headcanon that he grew up poor to shape his background here.So what do you think?
Chapter 2: Beats of Rivals
Summary:
They two were not just simple kids. Both were exceptionally talented at everything. Debate, music, sports, theatrics, even basic charm. And when one is that good, pranks only serve to ignite a more profound hunger—a hunger for greater attention, undeniable superiority, and absolute dominance. It became a war .
And their rivalry dramatically escalated.
And their rivalry and wars doesn't just stop at pranks or debate in class. They both are running for student council election!
“And…” Saethan hesitated. “Alastor.”
"Oh," he said softly, a dangerous edge in his voice. Then he let out a single, sharp, disbelieving laugh. "No. No, he did not"
The next second, his name simply appeared, stark and unavoidable, right beside Alastor's on the board.
LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR
And Alastor found out barely an hour later.
For a brief moment, he laughed under his breath. “Of course,” he said quietly. “You would.”
Therefore, Another war had officially begun.
Notes:
Before you start this chapter, I just want to let you know that it is fully inspired by Hazbin Hotel Season 1, Episode 5: Dad Beat Dad and Helluva Boss Season 2, Episode 11: Mastermind.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
CHAPTER 2: Beat of the Rivals
Dearly beloved listeners, the songs we are suggesting to you today are
- Toxic by Britney Spears,
- Look What You Made Me Do by Taylor Swift,
- Sweet Dreams by Eurythmics,
- Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen.
Remember, everyone, life can sometimes feel like a game of push and pull moments that excite, challenge, or even frustrate you. Some people will test your patience, some moments will push you to your limits, and some experiences might even surprise you.
And sometimes, chasing a dream is messy, loud, and a little selfish and that’s okay. Be kind to yourself while you’re learning who you are. Listen closely to these songs and let them remind you to embrace the chaos, laugh at the unexpected, and take pride in how far you’ve come. After all, even in rivalry or challenge, there’s beauty in learning who you truly are.
So take a deep breath, turn up the volume, and let the music guide you. Thank you for tuning in, and have a wonderful day.
*******
The halls of Haven Morningstar Academy buzzed with the usual chatter, laughter, and the echoing clang of an occasional slammed locker. But for the past few weeks, a peculiar tension had settled like a storm cloud, and everyone could feel it—though they really knew it was the result of two very extraordinary, infuriating students. At first, students find it fun and entertaining to see them with all the silly pranks and hilarious jokes. But as the time passed by, they started to feel stupid on how the both have become.
Well, at least not for Lucifer and Alastor. They found immense amusement and entertainment in being perpetually at each other's throats. They truly were having their fun.
It had started innocently enough. uvenile pranks, deliberately funny nicknames, and the kind of harmless mischief any 'clever' students might pull. Yet, every time Lucifer pulled a prank, Alastor, with infuriating politeness, responded in kind. Their retaliations were theatrical, meticulously clever, and staggeringly effective.
Hot sauce in Lucifer's favourite coffee during morning class? Perfect.
Mysterious squeaks in his chair while Alastor tried to do his homework? Masterful.
Every time one plotted revenge, the other had already anticipated and countered it. The cycle was relentless, and neither seemed willing to halt their childish war.
Well, not now, not yet.
"I genuinely don't know what's wrong with your mind, but I think you need to see a doctor," Lucifer bit out during one of their less subtle arguments. "You look like a genuine psychopath"
"And here I thought you, my dear friend, are the one who needs the medical attention," Alastor responded, his tone eerily calm. "You seem to be having so much trouble pulling yourself together. People might think you have dangerously high blood pressure".
These were not just simple kids. Both were exceptionally talented at everything: debate, music, sports, theatrics, even basic charm. And when one is that good, pranks only serve to ignite a more profound hunger—a hunger for greater attention, undeniable superiority, and absolute dominance. It became a war .
And their rivalry dramatically escalated.
It transformed into a real competition. Everything they did, from routine classroom participation to dazzling music performances and aggressive sports matches, became a silent test of skill and pure willpower. Lucifer, the son of a powerful family, excelled at everything quietly, usually going out of his way to avoid the spotlight. Alastor, conversely, thrived on attention, charming the entire room with every confident step, every precise word, every calculated smile.
*******
As always, the scene unfolded in economics class. Another day, another scheduled debate.
And it seemed someone genuinely enjoyed having a constant argument with Lucifer.
Lucifer glanced at the board and spoke first, voice steady. Grounded in fact.
“When inflation rises, money loses its value. Families have to spend more on essentials like food and bills, leaving less for everything else.. If prices increase too fast, people cannot afford their normal lives, resulting in a dramatic loss of buying power. Even if they earn the same amount, they can afford less".
A few students nodded in agreement
Then Alastor hummed softly.
"Exactly! You're debating with pure logic!" he said, his tone deceptively casual, almost agreeable. "Inflation is undeniably inconvenient. Especially when you’re used to not looking at price tags.”
Lucifer paused, the subtle dig momentarily freezing him.
"...What do you mean by that?" he demanded
"Ah, my dear boy, there it is! The blunt morality, the stoic heroics!" Alastor theatrically sighed. "Honestly, how terribly boring, yet so... irresistible. You, with your righteous indignation, are fighting against the inevitable, cyclical flow of economic forces. A spectacle worthy of applause, I must say".
Lucifer glared intensified. “You’re ridiculous.”
"Oh, I'm sure you do think so," Alastor replied smoothly. "Perhaps. But don't you feel it? The energy, the tension, the delicious friction that comes from being on opposing sides? Why, it's almost... poetic!"
The classroom snickered. Some students were taking sides, others were simply entertained. Lucifer’s fingers drummed against his notebook, impatience rising. He had numbers, logic, and reality on his side. But Alastor had charm, wit, and theatrics.
Lucifer stared intently across the room, a disturbing question forming in his mind. Is he talking about inflation... or me and him?
"So what?" Lucifer snapped, his voice tight. "Just because I don't struggle the same way doesn't mean I don't understand the impact. People lose buying power. That's the entire point"
Alastor's sharp eyes met his, and he smiled. "Exactly. Some people lose buying power. Others barely notice it until someone has to explain the whole concept to them".
Silence descended.
Alastor leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial murmur. "So tell me, Morningstar, when this whole ridiculous exercise ends, will you admit... that perhaps economics is about more than just charts and sterile data? That it's... dramatic?".
Lucifer felt heat crawl up the back of his neck. “You’re implying something.”
"I'm implying," Alastor said lightly, pulling back, "that economics hits differently depending on where you start".
The teacher cleared their throat, thankfully moving the class along, but the damage was already done. Lucifer looked down at his notes, the words blurring into meaningless shapes.
He didn’t say my name, Lucifer thought. But he didn’t need to say that. I am also living in hell.
Across the room, Alastor leaned back, radiating satisfaction.
*******
Lucifer barely spoke on the way to music class.
Alastor's words from the economics debate still lingered, sharp and uncomfortably precise. Alastor hadn't raised his voice, hadn't explicitly used his name—but somehow, that lack of confrontation made it worse. It felt like being seen in a vulnerability Lucifer hadn't agreed to expose.
You don’t understand, the voice echoed in his head.
When they entered the music room, the teacher was already assigning groups. “Morningstar. Hartfelt, Eldritch,.”
Lucifer stiffened.
“You two – together.”
Alastor, across the room, looked utterly amused. "Well," he said lightly, casually taking a seat at the piano, "it seems fate enjoys watching us suffer".
Lucifer didn't respond. He sat down quietly, allowing his violin case to rest against his leg. Just get through this, he told himself.
The teacher nodded at Alastor. “You can start.”
Alastor played first, his fingers moving with their usual, confident as ever. The melody was lively, smooth, a little playful—something that filled the room and made people smile. The other students followed, adding rhythm, strings, and soft percussion. It sounded good. Really good.
Lucifer listened, barely aware of the notes. His thoughts were elsewhere.
Maybe he’s right, he thought. Maybe I only understand things on paper.
When the cue came, Lucifer stood. He lifted the violin without conscious thought. He’d played since he was a child—recitals, lessons, private tutors. Usually, the performance was automatic. Controlled. Polished.
But not this time.
The first note trembled. Then it deepened.
Lucifer played as though he could no longer hold everything inside. Every doubt, every quiet frustration, and every sharp, echoing word from Alastor bled seamlessly into the sound. He was no longer performing for the class. He played because he needed to.
The room went utterly still.
The melody rose and fell, achingly honest and raw, filling the space between them like a physical presence. It wasn't loud. It wasn't flashy. It was real.
When the last, lingering note faded into silence, no one moved. One of the students whispered, "That was... incredible"
Lucifer lowered the violin, his chest tight. He hadn't intended to let that much of himself show. He glanced up—just once.
Alastor was staring at him. A small smile was on his lips, but this time, it wasn't mocking. He was simply... watching, his eyes wide with something close to awe. For the first time that day, Alastor said nothing.
The teacher cleared their throat, visibly impressed. “Well done, Morningstar. Very well done.”
Lucifer sat down slowly, hands shaking. Take a deep breath.
Across from him, Alastor finally leaned back, exhaling softly.
“Well,” he said, hands on his chest, tone lighter than his eyes. “That was unfair.”
Lucifer blinked. “What?”
"You didn't perform," Alastor continued, his gaze intense. "You disappeared. It's hard to compete with someone who refuses to play the same game"
Lucifer frowned. “I just played the music.”
Alastor's smile widened again—a genuine, unsettling grin this time. "Exactly".
Alastor stood up from the piano bench, leaving Lucifer to process the ambiguous comment. "This will do," he murmured, still smiling.
*******
One crisp Wednesday morning, a plain, official notice appeared on the main bulletin board.
Alastor waited patiently until most students had moved on before stepping closer. The paper read:
“Student Council Election — New Head Council Members Needed. Nominations Open Now.”
He read it twice, slowly.
Power, he thought. Recognition. Control.
Alastor took the pen from his pocket, hesitated just a second, then wrote his name with careful strokes.
Alastor Hartfelt.
Neat. Confident. Impossible to ignore.
He hadn't been born into influence. He didn't have a famous family name that was whispered with admiration. He was a scholarship student—brilliant, capable, and painfully aware that no matter how flawlessly he performed, people still saw him as temporary. Replaceable. An outsider in a prestigious school utterly dominated by rich, polished, and exceptionally well-connected students.
He had learned early, if he stayed quiet, people would step on him. If he stayed ordinary, people would simply ignore him. So, he made a conscious choice to aim higher than anyone expected.
The presidency wasn't just about authority—it was a shield. It was protection. It was visibility. It was control. It was a public statement that he belonged firmly at the top, not lurking at the edges where casual bullies felt comfortable circling. And yes, he thoroughly enjoyed the intoxicating idea of recognition, the consuming spotlight, the inherent authority that came with being utterly untouchable.
Yes, Alastor loves power.
Meanwhile, Lucifer didn’t even see the notice.
He was currently stretched out on a worn couch in the so-called discussion room, which, at this point, had unofficially become The Sins' private hideout. The room smelled comforting, like sugary snacks and unapologetic laziness. Empty bags littered the floor. Jackets were tossed everywhere. Someone had already successfully skipped at least two classes. No rules. No expectations. Perfect.
Levi was sitting upside-down on a chair. Bell leaned against the table. Mammon was counting something suspiciously shiny in his palm.
Lucifer scrolled aimlessly through his phone, deeply bored.
Politics. Student council. Speeches. Definitely not his interest. He despised crowds, and he absolutely hated pretending.
Which was exactly why he had never wanted the student council presidency.
Being president meant meetings. It meant responsibility. IIt meant constant, draining responsibility. It meant having to work closely with Sera, representing the entire student body, shaking hands, listening to pointless complaints, and pretending that power was still something he enjoyed. Lucifer was exhausted by all of it — tired of recognition, tired of expectations, tired of being placed on pedestals he never asked for.
Then, the door dramatically burst open.
Saethan rushed in, breathless with news. "Guys! You will not believe who just put their name down for the student council election".
Lucifer didn't even look up. "Who".
“Adam—”
Levi groaned. “That playboy guy? The one who flirts with every single girl at school and everyone still worships?
“Yeah,” Saethan said. “But that’s not all.”
Lucifer kept scrolling.
“And…” Saethan hesitated. “Alastor.”
Lucifer's thumb froze instantly.
He stopped scrolling. Slowly lifted his head.
“…You said who?”
“Alastor. The weird smiling guy. The one who keeps messing with you. But he’s not the only one, I’m also—”
Lucifer sat bolt upright.
"Oh," he said softly, a dangerous edge in his voice. Then he let out a single, sharp, disbelieving laugh. "No. No, he did not"
He stood, pocketed his phone with a decisive movement, a cold, challenging grin spreading across his face.
“Oh, he absolutely did not.”
Saethan opened his mouth, ready to finish his announcement. "Actually, he's not the only one—".
But Lucifer was already gone, walking swiftly toward the door.
The door slammed shut behind him with a final, echoing thud.
Silence stretched across the hideout.
Bell blinked, looking at Saethan. "You said something just now," she stated. "What was it?".
Saethan swallowed, finally able to speak. "I was trying to say... Alastor isn't the only one running against Adam". Everyone in the room looked at him.
"I am too".
For a second, no one spoke.
Then Levi flashed a huge grin. "Wow. This is officially going to be the best election this school has ever had".
Mammon snorted."Hope you win. Someone's gotta knock that Adam guy off his high horse".
Bell glanced thoughtfully at the closed door. "Lucifer's going to lose his mind," she observed, a faint smile touching her lips.
"Yes, he is," Levi added, excitement sparking in his eyes. "And a war just started"
*******
Lucifer immediately ran to the hallways, his eyes fixed on the notice board. He stared at the roster, his jaw tight. That was—until he saw Alastor's name. Written in elegant, deliberate handwriting
ALASTOR.
And something ugly twisted fiercely in Lucifer’s chest.
It wasn't jealousy. It wasn't exactly fear. It was a blinding, absolute irritation. He had worked too hard to deliberately walk away from power just to watch someone like Alastor reach for it.
He had worked too hard to walk away from power just for someone like that to reach for it.
What is he even thinking? Lucifer thought, a scoff in his mind. He thinks he can win? Over me?.
Lucifer stepped away from the board, then peeked back at it once more, muttering under his breath, "I can't believe I'm doing this"
The next second, the entire hallway buzzed with instant, electric energy. Whispers spread like wildfire, phones were pulled out, and excitement surged through the crowd. No big announcement was needed. No explanation. His name simply appeared, stark and unavoidable, right beside Alastor's on the board.
Everyone understood. Another war had officially begun, and the students loved their rivalry.
Lucifer publicly claimed that he was merely "just keeping his options open".
Privately, he knew the far uglier truth. He didn't want the position. He didn't want the job.
He just wanted to get under Alastor's skin.
And Alastor found out barely an hour later.
LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR
He stood very still upon seeing the name, his eyes flickering rapidly from his own name to Lucifer's. That perpetual, unnerving smile curved just a fraction wider. Students whispered excitedly around him, their anticipation crackling like static electricity.
For a brief moment, he laughed under his breath. “Of course,” he said quietly. “You would.”
He leaned closer, reading the name again, as if the letters might spontaneously rearrange themselves into something less irritating. They didn't. Lucifer was running.
But then he noticed the other names beside Lucifer's. Adam. Saethan.
“Well,” he murmured pleasantly. “This just became interesting.”
*******
The campaign lasted two grueling weeks, and in those fourteen days, the school witnessed a level of chaos unlike anything they had ever experienced.
Lucifer, meanwhile, barely tried to campaign. He moved quietly, muttered a few obligatory words, and yet, somehow, he managed to draw attention purely by existing. His formidable reputation did most of the work for him, whether he liked it or not. And he absolutely hated it.
Alastor, conversely, was unnervingly good at making people listen.
When he first announced his campaign, he did it with a charismatic smile that unsettlingly never quite reached his eyes—charming, unsettling, and supremely confident. He spoke like a professional orator who had meticulously rehearsed every word in advance , a master manipulator who understood people well enough to subtly bend them without force.
Nifty followed him everywhere he went, her eyes bright, her voice a rapid-fire burst of enthusiasm that was impossible to contain. She believed in him with a fierce, almost fanatical loyalty that stemmed from being truly seen for the very first time.
"You're gonna win," she declared one afternoon, scribbling campaign ideas far too aggressively onto a clipboard. "I just know it".
Husk didn't say much. He leaned silently against lockers, watching the dynamics play out, and only stepped in when things threatened to turn truly ugly. He was the same age as Alastor. Shared the same scholarship status. And possessed the same deep, quiet understanding of what it meant to be looked down upon.
Then came their inevitable clashes, and the first major campaign meeting was already saturated with chaotic tension.
Lucifer leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, observing Alastor speak to a cluster of students with polished ease. His voice was smooth, intensely confident, and persuasive in a way that felt almost too well-rehearsed. Students listened intently. Some leaned closer. Some smiled, already captivated.
Lucifer clicked his tongue in soft disdain. “Telling them what they want to hear already?” he asked lazily.
Alastor turned, smiling intact. “Only what they need to hear,” he countered smoothly. “You wouldn’t understand. You’ve never had to convince anyone of your worth.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Lucifer stood up slowly, the air draining from the room. "Careful," he said softly, dangerously. "You might confuse genuine confidence with desperation".
Alastor’s eyes glinted. “And you might confuse indifference with cowardice.”
Around them, the room fell completely silent. This wasn’t an election anymore.
It was personal.
Then, on another day, Alastor leaned casually over one afternoon as Lucifer was adjusting a campaign banner. “Your poster is rather dull, Morningstar. Did a child help you?”
"I think yours could genuinely use some more glue," Lucifer replied, his expression supremely casual. "It keeps falling off".
Nifty squealed from behind a locker. “You two are hilarious! Like a drama! I love it!”
Husk grunted. “Both of you are insane.”
"Agreed," Lucifer muttered, though his lips curved slightly in spite of himself.
They sabotaged each other mercilessly. Swapped speeches, microphone sabotage, and circulated malicious, last-minute rumor whispers. Every day became a complex, high-stakes game , and the game was cruel, often hilarious, and utterly exhausting.
Well, Lucifer was particularly exhausted. He genuinely hated the crowds, and he barely tried to campaign. Yet, his sheer, magnetic presence alone still drew overwhelming attention from people.
Until one quiet afternoon, Lucifer learned the truth. His friend, Saethan, was also running for student council.
“You’re competing?” Lucifer asked, his eyebrows shooting up in genuine surprise.
Saethan shrugged. “Told you already. You didn’t listen. And thought you’d figure it out eventually.”
Lucifer grinned—a genuine, warm expression this time. "Good. I'm actually glad. You'll truly do well. Better than me"
Saethan raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I don't need your approval, you know".
“I know,” Lucifer replied softly. “But I want it. You’ll be a good leader. I never want to be one”
Saethan looked at him, a flicker of true understanding passing between them. "I know," he confirmed, smiling. "You had been too busy plotting your next move against Alastor to listen".
And they both laughed, a shared, relieving sound. Saethan would undoubtedly make a good leader. Better than him. Better than this ridiculous, childish competition fueled solely by pride and irritation.
For the first time since the campaign unexpectedly began, Lucifer felt a profound sense of… relief.
*******
The final day arrived.
The auditorium was completely packed, the whole school gathered for the closing speeches. One by one, the candidates stepped up to the podium. Adam spoke calmly and sincerely. Saethan followed with quiet confidence and clear intentions.
Then came Alastor—sharp, articulate, intensely persuasive, his signature smile unwavering as he promised change, fairness, and necessary strength.
A collective, palpable hush fell over the packed auditorium. Every eye, every expectation, was fixed on him.
Lucifer’s pulse quickened – not from fear, but from a crushing, profound irritation. He didn't move. He had spent the last two weeks under this unbearable pressure, a deliberate, self-inflicted misery. The stage, with its dazzling lights and demand for forced sincerity, was Alastor’s arena. It was Adam’s path of honest ambition. It was Saethan’s platform. But it was not his.
The audience waited, holding its breath. The silence stretched, becoming sharp, hostile, and utterly suspenseful. Whispers started, low and anxious, building in volume
Is he going to speak? What’s he going to say?
He did not stand to approach the podium.
Instead, Lucifer slowly, deliberately, rose from his seat. The simple action was a devastating statement. He offered the confused crowd a polite, almost dismissive nod—a silent apology for their wasted time—and
walked away.
No speech. No explanation. No final, competitive duel.
Lucifer withdrew without a word.
Because the truth was simple. He had never wanted to win. He had only wanted to provoke. And he refused to spend the rest of the year working with Sera and Adam, playing a role he had outgrown.
As he reached the back doors, the tension broke. Confusion reigned. Murmurs exploded into a chaotic roar.
Lucifer paused for the briefest moment. He didn't look back at the confused, almost betrayed audience. He looked toward the stage, to the single figure who understood.
Alastor, still standing near the podium, was smiling—not with amusement, but with a sudden, dawning respect. A flicker of genuine frustration crossed his face, a raw expression that disappeared as quickly as it came. He had anticipated a speech, a rebuttal, a duel. Instead, Lucifer had simply walked away, robbing Alastor of his final, anticipated clash.
Unfair, Alastor’s eyes seemed to convey across the distance. Always so unfair.
Then, Lucifer pushed through the heavy doors and vanished.
When the results were announced later that day, no one was truly surprised.
Adam was elected president and Saethan followed closely behind, becoming his vice president.
And Alastor lost.
Not because he lacked talent—but because he was still new, still unfamiliar, still labeled weird and unsettling. The constant smile, the intensity, the rumors and all pranks between him and Lucifer– it was enough to make people hesitate.
Most would expect disappointment.
But not Alastor. He smiled. Calmly. Carefully. This was never my only stage, he thought. Nifty and Husk followed him as he left the hall, both beaming.
“I’ll admit,” Nifty said eagerly“I genuinely thought you’d be sad
Alastor adjusted his spectacles, eyes twinkling. “Ah, my dear, sadness is for those who depend on a single victory. I have… other stages, other audiences. This merely sharpens the appetite.”
Husk raised an eyebrow.
Alastor’s grin widened. “Let us simply say, one must always have a backup performance, hmm?”
Notes:
Author's Notes:
If you’ve watched Hazbin Hotel Episode 5, you’ll remember how Lucifer and Alastor are fighting for Charlie’s attention and recognition. In this chapter, I wanted to recreate that same tension—but instead of Charlie, they’re competing for attention from the students.
You might also notice that Lucifer doesn’t seem to enjoy the attention or the crowd at all. That’s on purpose. I was inspired by his attitude toward sinners, as well as his socially awkward nature. Even though Lucifer is a king of Hell, he isn’t someone who actually likes being admired—large crowds and attention make him uncomfortable rather than confident.
Another detail you might have caught is when Lucifer tells Saethan that he would become a good leader. That idea comes from the Mastermind episode, where Satan is the one in charge of Hell instead of Lucifer. It reflects how Lucifer tends to step away from leadership, even when he’s capable of it.
As for the election results: Adam is chosen as president because he leads the Exorcists in Heaven, which is portrayed as a higher authority compared to Hell. Because of that hierarchy, Saethan becomes his vice president.
Lastly, Lucifer walking away during the final election speech is meant to be foreshadowing. It mirrors how he disappears from ruling Hell for years in canon. He doesn’t like sinners, he struggles with depression, and when responsibility becomes overwhelming, he chooses to walk away rather than face it.
(this chapter have a lot of last minutes changing, but i hope you guys can enjoy and let me know what you guys think ^^)
Chapter 3: The Voice in the Air
Summary:
Then— “Music,” the other voice said gently, “is memory with a heartbeat.”
Lucifer swallowed.
Bee leaned forward. “Okay, I like this guy.”
Ozzie nodded slowly. “Yeah. He’s good. Voice is soft, but it holds you.”
Lucifer didn’t respond. His chest felt tight.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “He’s… great.” The word tasted strange.
“I wonder,” Lucifer added, almost to himself, “if some people are just born for this. Like their voice was made to be heard.”Ozzie frowned. “But doesn’t he sounds familiar, though?”
Lucifer shook his head, but doubt crept in. It does feel familiar, he thought.
Notes:
Okay, confession time.
I genuinely thought this chapter was going to be short. In my head, there were only two main moments:
one where Alastor says something that really hurts Lucifer, and another big scene where Lucifer realizes the voice on the radio is Alastor’s.That was the plan.
But… yeah. That clearly did not happen.
Somehow I just kept writing, and before I knew it, this chapter grew into this. I guess the characters had their own ideas and refused to stop talking.
Spoiler alert: this chapter is very much dedicated to the moment where Lucifer starts feeling something. Confusion, fascination, denial—pick your poison.
Maybe next time it’ll be Alastor’s turn to spiral?
Who knows. I’m not promising anything 👀Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed losing control of it.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter 3: The Voice in The Air
Good day, dear beloved listeners. Today’s recommended songs are:
- Feeling Good – Nina Simone
- Careless Whisper - George Michael
- Feels Like Home - Chantal Kreviazuk
Some days feel like beginnings, even when we don’t recognize them at first. A voice sounds different. A room feels quieter. A moment lingers longer than it should. Feeling Good speaks of stepping into something new, of standing tall even when the ground beneath you still feels uncertain. Careless Whisper reminds us that vulnerability often arrives before we’re ready for it, uninvited and honest. And Feels Like Home—well, that one is about comfort. The kind that sneaks up on you, settles in your chest, and refuses to leave.
Sometimes, connection doesn’t come through grand gestures or brave words. Sometimes it arrives through sound, through silence, through a voice heard from the other side of glass. Remember, love can give more than you might expect—sometimes it simply gives you a place to rest.
Take your time today. Let the music stay with you a little longer. Have a beautiful day.
*******
After the school election ended, everything was returned to normal.
Posters were torn down. Whispers faded into routine gossip. The stage where speeches were once shouted and promises were made stood empty again, as if nothing significant had ever happened there. Classes resumed their dull rhythm; teachers lectured while students complained about homework once more
Yet, the school felt strangely quiet, as if something was missing.
he hallways, usually a battleground of glitter and shouting, were blanketed in an unusual silence between its two most famous rivals. The students had noticed their arguments were slower. Their insults didn’t land as loudly. There is one participant that seems to be withdrawn.
People know. It was Lucifer.
Since the moment Lucifer walked off the stage during what was supposed to be his final speech, leaving the crowd stunned, the microphone echoing with unfinished words, something had shifted. Lucifer was quieter now.
Too quiet. Which is weird.
Lucifer had always been loud. Too loud, some said. Too expressive, too emotional, too dramatic. He argued like it was breathing. He fought like he had something to prove every second of the day.
But now, he is just… restrained. Anyone watching him closely would have noticed the way his shoulders stayed tense. As if something heavy sat in his chest. His usual bright expression became a bit dull.
And Alastor noticed. Their arguments were slower.
He still rolled his eyes at Alastor. Still scoffed. Still trying to talk back. But the spark was weaker. Arguments that would have escalated into shouting matches now fizzled out early. Insults that should have sparked retaliation were swallowed instead. Lucifer grew careful with his words, like someone afraid of stepping on broken glass. Their insults didn’t land as loudly as always. Lucifer, usually sharp-tongued and explosive, had gone quiet.
Alastor, however, was not one to let a flame die out so easily. He thrived on the friction.
*******
One afternoon, another collision happened.
"My, my, look at the little Prince," Alastor drawled one afternoon, leaning against a locker as Lucifer tried to pass him. “Leaving early again?”
He stopped. Slowly, Lucifer turned.
Alastor stood a few lockers away, arms folded loosely, posture relaxed in that infuriating way that suggested he had all the time in the world. His smile was already there—polished, deliberate, sharp at the edges like a predator looking for his prey.
Lucifer sighed. “Not today.”
“Ah,” Alastor replied lightly, stepping closer. “My apologies. I thought you might be practicing your signature move.”
Lucifer frowned. “What?”
Alastor tilted his head, eyes bright with mischief. “You know. Walking away.”
Lucifer stands still, jaw clenched, looking straight into Alastor’s eyes. His knuckles whitening as he gripped his bag strap. "Drop it, Alastor. I’m not in the mood."
"Oh, I’m sure you aren't! Life must be so dreadfully taxing when you can simply walk away from your responsibilities the moment they become inconvenient," Alastor’s tone shifted, a vintage crackle underlying his modern sarcasm.
"I was just thinking about your exit during the election speech. It was quite the theatrical performance, though I fear the audience found the ending rather... abrupt. Tell me, does it ever get exhausting?
Lucifer stepped forward. “You don’t get to talk about that.”
“Why ever not?” Alastor asked, voice calm, almost pleasant. “You made it public. Quite dramatic, actually. I believe some people applauded. Others were simply confused.”
A couple of students exchanged glances as they passed by. This was familiar territory—Lucifer and Alastor never disappointed.
Lucifer’s fists tightened. “You don’t know why I left.”
Alastor’s smile softened—not with kindness, but with calculation.
“True,” he admitted. “But one doesn’t need context to recognize a pattern.”
Lucifer stilled. “What pattern?”
Alastor gestured vaguely. “You have a habit of letting things go when they become inconvenient. The election was simply the most visible example.”
Lucifer laughed bitterly. “That’s bullshit.”
“Is it?” Alastor countered gently. “You had the stage. The crowd. The attention. Everything you’ve ever wanted—until it demanded something from you.”
Lucifer’s voice rose. “You don’t know anything about me!” he shouted, fists clenched. “You think I wanted to be there? You think I wanted any of that? You think I—” His voice cracked and he stopped for a while, his breath a bit trembling.
Lucifer swallowed hard. “You don’t know what that felt like.”
“Oh, I know pressure,” Alastor replied softly. “The difference is—people don’t walk away from it.”
The words landed hard.
Students had fully stopped now, pretending not to listen while listening to everything.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears. There are too many thoughts in his head. The hallway blurred at the edges. Lucifer opened his mouth. Then closed it back. He had so many things he could say. So many defenses, explanations, confessions.
None of them came.
"Never mind," Lucifer whispered. "You’re right. Is that what you want to hear?"
Without waiting for an answer, Lucifer turned and walked away. Alastor stood alone in the hallway, leaving him speechless.
Alastor watched him go, eyebrows drawn together in faint surprise.
That was it? No retaliation. No dramatic exit.
For a fleeting second, something uncomfortable stirred beneath his ribs—uncertainty, perhaps. Then he straightened.
“That was suprising,” he told himself, felt a bit tight on his chest.
He didn't notice the way Lucifer’s shoulders slumped or how he avoided the gaze of every student he passed just showing how much he has bleed the heart of that guy.
*******
The following day, Alastor was the polar opposite of his rival. The bell rang, sharp and final, slicing through the late afternoon like a curtain drop.
Students spilled out of classrooms in uneven waves, voices overlapping, lockers clanging shut with metallic finality. The school exhaled—the kind of tired breath that came only after a long day pretending to be something important. Finally, the classes are over.
Alastor did not join the crowd.
He adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder and turned down a quieter corridor, one that led away from classrooms and closer to the heart of the old building. The walls here were older, paint slightly cracked, bulletin boards cluttered with forgotten flyers from clubs that no longer existed.
Every step felt deliberate.
This is it, he thought.
Before he came to this school, for weeks—no, months—he had read about the school radio club. Dug through archives. Found old recordings online. Read interviews with alumni who’d once sat behind that same scratched console and felt invincible for an hour each day. The best radio club in the city, the people said.
When the teacher told him he passed the interview, Alastor smiled the entire day.
Radio is his thing. He grew up with it. Sound had always mattered to him.
His lips curved upward, unguarded, he is happy. Too happy.
Today was the day his life truly began. His dream.
He practically floated toward the communications wing. The radio studio was perched at the end of the hallway, one wall completely made of glass, allowing anyone walking by to peek inside. From the outside, it looked sleek and modern, a neat rectangle filled with glinting microphones, polished consoles, and glowing computer screens.
Then he noticed the sign at the front of the studio door.
RADIO CLUB – ON AIR / RECORDING IN PROGRESS
The red light above it was off.
Not yet. He thought.
Behind him, students passed without noticing. No one paid attention to the boy standing still in the hallway, fingers twitching faintly with restrained excitement.
When he pushed open the heavy, soundproof door of the radio studio, he inhaled deeply. The room smelled of ozone, old dust, and expensive mahogany. It was a cozy sanctuary of glowing VU meters and a large, vintage-style condenser microphone that stood like a silver idol in the center of the desk.
Then he looked at the one figure in that room. Anthony was already there.
He sat sideways in his chair, boots propped on the table and his fashion sense screamed 'rebellion’. He seems busy 'flipping through a playlist on the computer screen. His blonde with pink-highlighted hair caught the low light, freckles on his cheeks, eyes sharp and amused as they flicked toward the door.
“Well, if it isn’t the school’s newest celebrity.”
Alastor shut the door behind him carefully. “You exaggerate, my dear sir.”
Anthony grinned. “Please. Everyone knows your name. The weird smiling guy, election chaos, public beefs, dramatic hallways insults – honestly, you’re practically entertainment royalty.”
He slid off the table and extended a hand. "Anthony," the boy said, offering a hand. "But please, sugar, call me Angel. Everyone does. I handle the tech and the gossip segments."
“Alastor. And I’ll allow it. A pleasure to be working with you, Anthony."
"I said Angel," Angel laughed. “God, you do talk like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you walked out of an old vinyl record and decided to stay.”
Alastor’s smile sharpened. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Anyway, we’re live in five. Are you ready to take the throne, I saw you at the election debates—you’ve got a mouth on you."
Alastor tilted his head, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Ah, Anthony, my dear fellow, fear not. I intend to breathe new life into this humble microphone. You may consider your era… expired.”
Anthony laughed, shaking his head. “Classic Alastor. Always dramatic.”
As the 'On Air' sign flickered to life in a vibrant red glow, Alastor felt a surge of adrenaline. Angel leaned into his mic.
"Good afternoon, Haven Morningstar Academy! This is your favorite sinner, Angel, bringing you the afternoon vibes. Today, we’ve got a special treat. A new voice is joining the airwaves. Give it up for... Alastor!"
Alastor adjusted the microphone, his voice smooth and confident as he started his first broadcast. “Good afternoon, luminous listeners! This is your humble servant, Alastor, speaking to you across the airwaves. Sit back, relax, and allow me to dazzle your auditory senses!”
“Wow, what a bright and classy introduction, our new guy!” Angel continue. Without wasting any of your precious time, my dear listeners, we will bring a new topic to discuss and today's topic? Jazz. Specifically—New Orleans.”
Something inside Alastor settled into place.
“Ah,” he murmured. “A worthy beginning.”
*******
Elsewhere in the school, — Lucifer was asleep.
Curled on the couch in their hideout room – the unused discussion room, sunlight streaking across his face, phone dead beside him. The room was quiet, sealed off from the PA system, wrapped in a false peace.
He is dreaming and sleeping peacefully.
Not until he heard something loud coming into the room.
Lucifer woke slowly.
Not all at once—just enough to feel the stiffness in his neck, the dull ache behind his eyes. The discussion room was dim, curtains half-drawn, dust floating lazily in the late afternoon light.
His phone lay beside him. Dead.
“Great,” he muttered, voice hoarse.
He sat up, running a hand through his hair, trying to remember how long he’d been asleep. The room felt too quiet—like it had been abandoned.
“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.” Bee’s voice cut through the haze. She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, neon bracelets clinking softly. Behind her, Ozzie peeked in, already chewing on something.
“You alive?” Ozzie asked.
Lucifer blinked at them. “What time is it?”
“Late enough for you to stop pretending this couch is your therapist,” Bee said. “We’re starving. Cafeteria?”
Lucifer hesitated.
His chest felt tight in a way he didn’t want to examine.
“…Yeah,” he said finally. “Sure.”
******
The hallway felt different. Not louder—fuller. Like sound itself had weight.
As they stepped out, a voice echoed faintly from the speakers above, layered beneath the shuffle of footsteps and distant laughter.
Lucifer didn’t register it at first.
He walked with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, gaze unfocused. Bee and Ozzie moved ahead of him, talking about rehearsal schedules and forgotten lines in their drama club.
Then—
“Jazz didn’t just happen, you know,” the voice said overhead “It was born out of chaos. Pain. Celebration. All mixed together.”
Lucifer slowed. Something in his chest shifted.
“A collision of cultures,” the voice added smoothly. “African rhythms, blues, ragtime, European harmonies. New Orleans was the perfect storm.” The voice continues.
Angel voiced echoed through the microphone “You’ve done your homework.”
“I grew up listening to it,” Alastor replied. “Jazz doesn’t ask permission. It improvises. Responds. Breathes.”
Bee glanced back. “You hear that?”
“Hear what?” Lucifer mumbled.
“The radio,” she said. “Angel’s got a new partner, I think.”
Lucifer shrugged. “Good for him.”
But his steps faltered anyway. The voice continued, smooth and warm, carrying through the hall like it belonged there.
“Is that personal?” Angel asking the other person.
“Everything worth loving usually is.” the voice responded, calmly and warmly.
Lucifer stopped walking.
Ozzie noticed first. “Uh—Lucy?”
Lucifer didn’t answer.
The voice felt… close. Not loud. Not demanding. Just there.
They reached the cafeteria, the sound following them inside, spilling softly from mounted speakers. Trays clattered. Students talked. And still—that voice cut through everything.
Lucifer slid into a chair without thinking.
Ozzie returned with a tray and set a pancake in front of him.
Lucifer’s favorite. He stared at it blankly.
“Eat,” Ozzie said. “You look like you’re dissociating.”
Lucifer picked up his fork automatically.
Then Angel’s voice came on.
“And that was a little history to warm your soul. Thoughts, Al?”
There was a brief pause. Lucifer’s fork froze mid-air.
Then— “Music,” the other voice said gently, “is memory with a heartbeat.”
Lucifer swallowed.
Bee leaned forward. “Okay, I like this guy.”
Ozzie nodded slowly. “Yeah. He’s good. Voice is soft, but it holds you.”
Lucifer didn’t respond. His chest felt tight.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “He’s… great.” The word tasted strange.
“I wonder,” Lucifer added, almost to himself, “if some people are just born for this. Like their voice was made to be heard.”
Ozzie frowned. “But doesn’t he sounds familiar, though?”
Lucifer shook his head, but doubt crept in. It does feel familiar, he thought.
The segment began to close.
Angel spoke again. “That’s all for today, folks. Catch us tomorrow—same time, same frequency.”
A breath. “And I’m your new announcer,” the voice continued smoothly, “Alastor. Remember—some things are worth listening to twice.”
The room went silent. Lucifer’s eyes went wide.The fork clattered to the tray.
Bee turned. “Lucifer?”
“HOLY SHIT.”
Ozzie blinked. “What?”
Lucifer stared at the speaker like it had betrayed him.
“Did I just,” he whispered, horrified, “compliment that smiling freak?”
Bee’s mouth fell open.
“…No way.”
Lucifer dropped his face into his hands. “I hate my life.”
But deep down—terrifyingly—
He didn’t hate the voice. Instead, he found it comforting. He found it close and it feels like home.
What with these weird feelings? He thought.
Back in the studio, Angel exhaled slowly as Alastor finished speaking.
“…Damn,” he muttered into the mic. “And here I thought I was smooth.”
Alastor chuckled softly. “High praise, coming from you.”
Angel leaned closer. “You know people are gonna remember this, right?”
Alastor glanced at the glowing red light. For the first time, he allowed himself to believe it. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I believe they will.”
And as the song cued—old jazz, warm and alive—Alastor sat back, heart steady, unaware that somewhere else in the building, someone who hated him was about to fall in love with his voice.
*******
The next day, the air was heavier than usual.
The late afternoon sun slanted across the courtyard, throwing long shadows of the school’s aging brick walls. A few students drifted lazily, backpacks slung, heads bent over phones, voices low and scattered. But Lucifer… Lucifer was not among them.
He stood just beyond the glass windows of the radio studio, shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His eyes were fixed on the red ON AIR light, glowing faintly through the slightly frosted glass, illuminating the figure behind it—Alastor.
Alastor, who looked impossibly alive, animated even while speaking into a microphone. His gestures were precise, elegant, even playful, as if every word he spoke carried a weight beyond the room. He tilted his head, laughed softly, adjusted the dial, and smiled in that infuriating way.
Lucifer’s chest tightened.
Why am I standing here? he thought. I shouldn’t care. I can walk away. I always walk away.
And yet… he couldn’t. Not this time.
He shifted from foot to foot, gaze unwavering. Every word that floated through the glass was like a thread winding itself around his chest.
That voice… it’s the same person. No. It can’t be. It’s him, but it isn’t him. How can he sound like that?
Lucifer’s hands trembled faintly. His jaw was tight. Every now and then, his tongue grazed his teeth as he fought the words he wanted to speak, but couldn’t.
“Stop it,” he muttered under his breath. “You don’t even like him.”
And yet, the longer he watched, the longer he listened, the more he felt drawn to the rhythm, the way Alastor’s words didn’t just fill the room—they seemed to pull the world toward him, warm, confident, impossibly alive.
A shadow fell over him. Lucifer turned slightly.
“Oi,” Mammon’s voice broke through, teasing. “What are you doing here, huh?”
Saethan leaned against the wall beside him, smirking. “Yeah. Staring through windows? You’ve got creepy talent.”
Lucifer blinked, stiffened, and tried to turn away, but his eyes stayed glued to the figure inside.
“I… nothing,” he muttered, embarrassed, voice low.
“Uh-huh,” Saethan said, crossing his arms. “Sure, nothing. You’ve been standing here longer than a minute.”
Lucifer’s lips pressed into a thin line. Don’t look at them. Don’t speak. D
“Seems like someone’s got… a hobby,” Mammon whispered, nudging Saethan. Both stifled laughs.
Lucifer’s face burned. Hobby? Obsession. It’s not a hobby. It’s… He refused to finish that thought.
“No, I just wondered how it can be the same person.” he then spoke, started to walk away ignoring Mammon and Saethan’s teasing murmurs behind him.
*******
The yard was bathed in golden light. Afternoon shadows stretched lazily across the grass, long and uneven, like the way sunlight always seemed to carve the school into sections—bright, warm, and safe on one side, tangled and mysterious on the other.
Lucifer adjusted his blazer nervously, tugging it down over his sleeves as if that could steady him. He had been rehearsing, rehearsing the words in his head all day. Every sentence had been meticulously crafted, polished, refined. “Hey, your voice… it’s really good.” Simple. Honest. Non-threatening.
And yet, as he walked across the yard, the words tangled into a mess of uncertainty.
Alastor was already there. Leaning casually against the trunk of a sprawling tree near the edge of the yard, notebook in hand, twirling a pen between his fingers. Sunlight caught his hair at just the right angle, glinting red-gold, and Lucifer’s stomach knotted.
Why does he have to look like that?
Alastor lift his chin upwards and met Lucifer’s, calm and calculating, but not unkind.
“Well, well, what brings you here, my dear antagonist?” Alastor said smoothly, voice carrying that same effortless charm that had hypnotized him over the radio.
Lucifer swallowed hard. “Uh… hey.”
Alastor arched a brow, a teasing spark in his eyes. “You seem… flushed. Something troubling your composure?”
Lucifer’s throat tightened. Yes. Everything is troubling my composure.
"You know," Lucifer blurted out, standing over him awkwardly. "Radio was invented by Guglielmo Marconi in 1895. It’s... it’s a very mechanical process. Very scientific. Not at all magical."
Alastor looked up, blinking. "I am well aware of the history of my craft, Lucifer. Are you here for a history lesson, or did you lose your way to the counting room?"
Fuck. Why did I even say that? His mind was running wild.
Then he take a deep breath.
“I… uh… about yesterday’s broadcast,” he stammered, hands fisting into his pockets. “I mean… your voice—when you talk on the radio—it’s… um… good. Really… good.”
Alastor leaned back against the tree, one leg crossed over the other, his pen paused mid-twirl. “Ah. So the great critic of hallways and election stages has finally found praise for something other than himself.”
Lucifer’s ears burned. “I-I didn’t mean… I mean—”
He tried to recover. “I mean… your voice is good. Fine. Amazing. Whatever. Just… it’s… ugh!” He threw up his hands in frustration, heat rushing to his face. “You sound… like—like—how do I put it… like you were born to be listened to!”
Alastor blinked, feigning surprise, then chuckled softly. “Oh? And here I thought you despised me.”
"What? No! I’m just saying, it’s weird! The way you talk…make people want to listen to you!"
Alastor’s eyes glimmered with realization. "Ahhh. So, you want to say how good I am during my work at the radio?"
Lucifer’s face turned a deeper shade of crimson. "Uh, of course not! What kind of voices sound like that? Your voice is like a million others in this world! Nothing special!
Lucifer groaned inwardly. Oh shit. Why am I like this? Why is every word leaving my mouth wrong?
Alastor raised an eyebrow, closing his book. "Uh-huh. Sure about that. I am not really sure that someone who watched me all day yesterday through the studio window—looking like he wanted to eat me—considers my voice 'one in a million.' I wonder why you were lurking, then?"
"You're weird! That's why I was looking!" Lucifer defended himself, his voice cracking. "I was wondering how they let you speak! Your voice probably hurts everyone who listens to it!"
Alastor’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
"Is that so? Well, I don't think you have to come here and waste your time if you just want to insult my voice. I have a broadcast to prepare for."
"Yeah! Like I wanted to be here anyway!"
Lucifer turned and began to stomp away. Alastor watched him, a strange feeling of confusion bubbling in his chest. But halfway across the yard, Lucifer stopped. He bent down, grabbed something, and whirled around.
"Hey, Alastor!" Lucifer screamed.
Alastor looked him straight in the eyes.
"You're a jerk!" Lucifer hurled a small rock. It whistled past Alastor’s ear, nearly clipping his temple.
"What the fuck was that?!" startled, eyes wide.
Lucifer bolted, sprinting toward the school building, chest heaving, mind racing, heat burning in his cheeks.
Lucifer, you are so stupid! He’s going to think you hate him. You ruined it!
Under the tree, Alastor touched his ear. Did I really hurt him? he wondered.
“I think he’s hurting” A voice speak from above.
Alastor looked up to see Niffty hanging upside down from a branch. Since the election, she had become his tiny, chaotic shadow.
"Since when have you been there, my dear?" Alastor asked, regaining his cool.
"Since the beginning. You were mean, then he was mean, then there was a rock! It's very messy. I like it."
Alastor looked back at the school entrance. He exhaled, letting the wind carry away the tension in his chest.
Perhaps I’ve done more than annoy him….
And somewhere, deep in the bowels of the school, Lucifer’s heart hammered, pounding in a rhythm strangely attuned to the very voice that had humiliated and mesmerized him in equal measure.
*******
That night, in the quiet of his room, Lucifer lay awake.
Alastor’s voice haunted him—not in dreams, not in nightmares, but in memory. Every word from the broadcast echoed in his head. Each joke, each subtle laugh, every careful emphasis of a syllable.
How can he be the same person… he thought. The same one who teased me, mocked me, made me bleed with words… How can he sound like that? Like he was born for this?
It’s… comforting, he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. Why does it feel… like he’s speaking just to me?
The thought made him flush. He rolled onto his side, covering his face with a pillow, trying to bury the feeling. But even under layers of embarrassment, his mind refused to let go.
The next few days passed in a blur for Lucifer.
He tried—oh, how he tried—to act normal. Walk the hallways with his usual confidence, trying to ignore the voices he heard in his head. Soft, rich, alive, teasing yet comforting. The same voice that had sliced through the cafeteria the first day he’d heard it.
Why am I thinking about him? Lucifer muttered silently each morning.
It’s just a voice. Nothing more.
But the truth was stubborn.
It was Friday afternoon, the golden light spilling through the tall windows of the cafeteria. Students chattered and laughed, trays clattering, a low hum of chaos filling the room.
Lucifer sat in his usual corner, leaning back slightly, arms crossed. Beside him, Bee nudged a tray toward him.
“You’re late again,” she said, voice teasing. “And you look… distracted.”
“Distracted? Me? Never,” Lucifer said, though his eyes betrayed him as they flicked to the speakers mounted near the ceiling.
Ozzie, sliding a plate of pancakes in front of Lucifer, whispered: “That new guy… Alastor. His voice? It’s… wow. Really smooth.”
Lucifer’s fork froze mid-air. He gritted his teeth, refusing to look at Ozzie. “It’s… fine. Nothing special,” he muttered.
Bee raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Uh-huh. Sure. Totally fine. You’re not listening to it all the time, are you?”
Lucifer’s jaw tightened. Shut up.
And yet, as the broadcast began, he leaned forward without realizing it. His lunch, half-eaten, grew cold in front of him. The soft crackle of static and then… that voice. Lucifer’s chest tightened. His eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger, but in focus. Every word seemed to wrap around him, tugging at his attention, embedding itself deeper than he wanted.
Bee leaned back, whispering to Ozzie. “Look at him. He’s… hooked.”
Ozzie chuckled softly. “Yeah. And it’s weird. But I get it. That voice is… mesmerizing.”
"Let’s make a bet," Mammon whispered, leaning over the table. "I bet that by the end of the school year, Lucifer will fall in love with Alastor. I’m putting down a thousand dollars. Anyone with me?"
"Me and Ozzie think so too," Bee said, reaching into her bag. "I’ll bet five hundred."
"No way," Leviathan grumbled. "Lucifer is plotting something. He’s going to prank him. I bet five hundred he doesn't."
"Yeah," Satan agreed. "Plus, there's no way Sera would ever let—"
"There is no bet, guys!" Lucifer’s voice boomed as he slammed his hands on the table. "I will never, ever fall for that Alastor guy! I bet with my life!"
Silence fell. The Sins froze mid-laugh. Mammon raised his eyebrows, Ozzie and Bee exchanged knowing glances.
Do I really have feelings for him? he wondered, his heart betraying him with a heavy thud.
Damn it.
Notes:
Author's notes:
The insults Alastor throws at Lucifer aren’t there just to spice things up or make the scene hurt more. That part was very much planned. It’s actually tied to something that hasn’t been revealed yet… so yes, there is a reason it cuts that deep
If you noticed—yes, on Alastor’s very first day as a radio announcer, the topic he talks about is jazz.
And not just jazz, but New Orleans jazz, something that’s deeply tied to him and his background.That part was very intentional.
Also, fun fact (because I went full research mode for this chapter):
the radio was indeed invented by Guglielmo Marconi in the 1890s. I did way more reading than expected just to make sure this detail made sense. And some details about Jazz also. Worth it? Probably. Exhausting? Absolutely. huhu.And yes—Mammon loving money is exactly why the betting happened. Of course he couldn’t resist turning Lucifer’s situation into a business opportunity.
Now the real question is…
Who do you think will win the bet?Let me know your thoughts—I’d love to hear them!
Chapter 4: Chains, Masks & Cigarettes
Summary:
Warning: This chapter includes underage smoking. Please skip If this content is not suitable for you.
Alastor’s gaze softened, and he took another drag. “It’s not about smoking. It’s about… letting go. Just for a moment. Forget… everything that’s suffocating you.”
Lucifer’s eyes softened. The words hit a nerve. The suffocating weight of his life, the endless rules, the constant pressure to be perfect—it all pressed down on him daily. And now, sitting here with Alastor, he could almost breathe.
“I don’t know how…” he whispered. “Then just… try” Alastor responded, casually.
Notes:
I’ll be a little honest here—this is personally my favourite chapter too. It’s just… loaded with emotion. Everything in it feels heavier, deeper, and a bit more intimate than the others, and I really poured my feelings into this one.
Small spoiler alert: yes, there’s a lot of dialogue in this chapter. A lot of talking, a lot of unsaid things hiding between the lines. But really—what is a dynamic, what is a relationship, without communication?
So take your time with it. Read slowly. Let the words sink in. This chapter is meant to pull you closer, make things feel more personal, more tender… and maybe a little dangerous. By the end, you might find yourself feeling extra sentimental—and possibly developing a bit of attachment you didn’t ask for.
And as promised, just like Lucifer, Alastor also finally gets to taste a little bit of feeling, and it hits harder for someone like him. \(0-^)/ (oh no)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter 4: Chains, Masks & Cigarettestes
Good day, dear beloved listeners. Today’s recommended songs are:
- Strawberry & Cigarettes - Troye Sivan
- Regent's Park - Bruno Major
- Smoke Signals - Cavetown, Tessa Violet
Some memories linger like smoke. Some like strawberries. This one… is both.
Fate never truly loses its way; it only takes its time when something is meant to matter. If something hasn't reached you yet, it doesn't mean it’s gone—sometimes it’s simply finding the right moment to arrive without breaking you. There are moments that do not need names or explanations; they only ask to be felt. Feel everything you want. You deserve it.
*******
It had been a month and a half.
The transition into September brought a shift to Haven Star Academy. The oppressive summer heat had finally broken, replaced by a crisp, biting breeze that carried the scent of wet asphalt and drying leaves. For Alastor, the past month had been a revelation. He had arrived as a ghost—a scholarship student with a name that carried no weight—but now, his voice was the pulse of the school.
Every afternoon, when the "On Air" light flickered to life in the studio, Alastor shed the world and became the frequency. He knew they were listening. He could feel it in the way the hallways hushed when his segments aired, and the way students lingered near the ceiling-mounted speakers to catch every syllable. He had become famous—not for the petty bickering of his first weeks, and not because of Lucifer Morningstar—but for himself.
His voice. His presence. His control. It should have felt like victory.
Lately, however, his days had been anything but quiet.
Since the accident at the courtyard, the "Golden Boy" had been uncharacteristically quiet. The constant pranks and sharp-tongued insults had slowed to a cautious crawl. Lucifer seemed to be avoiding him, his blue eyes darting away whenever their paths crossed in the corridor. Furthermore, Lucifer hadn’t stepped foot near the radio studio in weeks.
The realization struck Alastor with a dull, unwelcome weight, but he pushed it aside. He was busy; his schedule was full, the teachers praised him, and he was occupied rejecting the sudden influx of "friends" who suddenly found his company desirable.
"We should hang out sometime," they would say. "You’re different from what people say."
He rejected them all. Friendship, he had learned, was just a transaction waiting to happen. People only stayed when they wanted something, and Alastor had survived by ensuring no one ever took more than he offered. He kept his distance. He kept his smile. He kept his walls.
Until destiny, apparently, decided to mock him. Funny.
*******
"Well, I’ll be damned," a voice drawled behind him.
"Well, I’ll be damned," a drawling voice sounded behind him.
Alastor froze. Not visibly—he was too polished for that—but something in his spine locked, his muscles tightening as if bracing for impact. He knew that voice.
He turned slowly. Vox.
"You," Alastor said pleasantly, his smile never faltering. "I was under the impression that nightmares required sleep."
Vox stood in the doorway of the radio club room, hands in his pockets, his grin sharp and knowing. He had the same smug tilt of the head and the same eyes that always seemed to be watching a little too closely. He wore the Haven Morningstar badge as if he had always belonged there.
The air felt wrong immediately.
It was the sensation of someone knowing too much standing far too close. Vox breathed the same air now. Walked the same halls. Existed where Alastor had carefully rebuilt himself piece by piece.
Vox laughed – a loud, familiar, grating sound. "God I missed you. You’re still charming. And here I was worried you’d gone soft."
Alastor rolled his eyes, grabbed his bag, and stepped past him. He didn’t slow down, even as Vox fell into stride effortlessly, matching his pace as if they had done it a thousand times before.
"How on earth," Vox continued, his voice dripping with amusement, "did destiny decide to shove us into the same school again? It feels poetic, doesn’t it?"
"It feels unfortunate," Alastor replied.
"So," Vox said, hands tucked casually in his pockets, "a radio star now, huh? I guess some things never change."
"I’m surprised you’re still interested," Alastor replied coolly, eyes fixed forward. "Obsession rarely ages well."
"Ouch." Vox clutched his chest in mock pain. "And here I thought we were destined."
Alastor rolled his eyes. “You really are obsessed with me. It’s unbecoming.”
Vox only hummed. "What’s unbecoming is you. Your dynamic with him,” Vox paused. “It’s strange. You never let people get under your skin like that before.”
Alastor turned to face him fully now, smile sharpening into something deliberate, dangerous.
“You needn’t concern yourself,” he said softly. "I am still exactly who I’ve always been. There is nothing you have to worry about my dear friend. I don’t believe in relationships. Or destiny. Or the supposed power of friendship.”
He leaned closer, voice dropping just enough to feel intimate.
“And vulnerability, my pal?” His smile widened.That is nothing more than an overrated performance."
Vox studied him for a long moment, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. "Sure," Vox smirked. "If you say so. Just make sure you’re prepared to swallow those words later."
Vox patted Alastor’s shoulder before wandered off, leaving Alastor by himself, dumfounded and silenced.
Vox patted Alastor on the shoulder and wandered off, leaving Alastor standing there, momentarily silenced. The hallway seemed to swallow Vox whole, his steady, controlled footsteps echoing back.
"Ridiculous," Alastor told himself.
There was no weakness here. No cracks. No vulnerability waiting to bloom. He had built his walls carefully, brick by brick, until his heart was something solid, fortified, untouchable.
And nothing could change that. That was what he thought. Or so he though.
But fate, as always, had a cruel sense of timing. And September had only just begun.
*******
The school felt different at night.
The east corridor was almost entirely dark, saved only by a handful of flickering ceiling lights that buzzed like trapped insects. After hours, Haven Morningtar Academy no longer felt like a place of learning; it felt like a hollowed-out stage after the audience had gone home—every sound too loud, every shadow stretched too thin.
Alastor hadn’t planned to stay late.
Alastor, who had been fixing the soundboard in the radio studio nearby, had come to pick up some notes and had paused near the hallway. Curiosity got the better of him, and he caught the tail end of the conversation.
He froze, hidden in the shadows. Something has caught his ears to stop immediately.
"Lucifer." Sera’s voice cut through the corridor, sharp and controlled. The kind of control that demanded obedience. "I have received multiple reports from your teachers. You’ve been skipping classes. Again."
Alastor remained hidden just out of sight, one shoulder pressed lightly against the wall. He tilted his head, listening.
“Do you even realize how much trouble you’ve caused this week alone?” Sera’s sharp voice still echoed loudly through the hallway.
"You’re disrupting lessons," Sera continued. "You’ve caused disturbances in the halls, and today’s incident in the science lab with Bell was the final straw. Broken equipment. Panicked students. Do you have any idea how much paperwork that creates?"
Lucifer exhaled slowly. It sounded tired. "It wasn’t intentional," Lucifer replied. "It was an accident."
"Everything with you is an accident," Sera snapped. "An accident, a misunderstanding, an excuse."
Alastor’s smile faded.
"And then there was the election," Sera went on. "Walking away in the middle of the speech? Leaving the stage? Do you know what that looked like? Chaos. Absolute humiliation for this family."
Lucifer shifted. Alastor could hear it—the scuff of shoes against tile, the restless movement of someone trapped.
"You embarrassed us," Sera said coldly. "You embarrassed yourself."
Lucifer’s voice rose despite himself. "I didn’t —."
"Michael never behaved like this," Sera said immediately.
“Oh God, not this Michael conversation again” Lucifer groans loudly as he speaks. “Stop comparing me to him, I’m not Michael. I never was."
"Then do not make mistakes," Sera replied. Something cracked in the silence that followed.
“You know what.” Lucifer laughed once—short, breathless, wrong. "I am just trying to have my own life," he said, words spilling faster now. "My life. The life I choose. The freedom I deserve."
"Enough," Sera said. "Listen to me. Behave, like a Morningstar should be.”
Silence stretched. Then Sera spoke again, brisk and decisive. “Your mischievous attitude has to end, here and now. I want you in the parking lot when I return. We’ll continue this discussion at home,” er heels clicked sharply against the floor as she walked toward her office.
Lucifer’s legs trembled, an invisible weight pressing him to the floor. He muttered curses under his breath, the anger a mix of frustration and despair.
Lucifer punched the wall. Once.Twice.
“Damn it…Fuck my life. I hate this. I hate it all…”
His breath came in ragged pulls. He dragged a hand through his hair, eyes burning, tears spilling despite his effort to stop them.
So he’s not just a spoiled brat. He’s… trapped. And yet… he fights so hard to stay himself. Interesting. Alastor thought.
He approached quietly from behind. “Well, well, well… what a drama we have here.”
*******
A shadow fell across the wall behind him. “Well, well, well… what a drama we have here.”
Lucifer whirled around, fists raised, only to find Alastor leaning casually against the wall, a smirk playing on his lips. His dark eyes gleamed in the dim light.
“What do you want, asshole?” Lucifer snapped, irritation and vulnerability mingling in his tone.
Alastor pushed off the wall, stepping closer. "I never thought a perfect kid like you would have a chain around his neck. You walk and talk with such pride, but behind all that... you’re on a leash."
Lucifer’s eyes were wet and miserable.
For a heartbeat, Alastor said nothing. Then, he took a slow breath and smiled.
"Follow me," he said simply.
Lucifer stared as Alastor turned and began walking away. After a few steps, Alastor glanced over his shoulder. "Are you coming or not?"
Lucifer hesitated, then followed.
"You’re not going to kill me, are you?" Lucifer muttered as they navigated the back exits.
Alastor laughed, sharp and sudden. "Hahahahaha! I wish. But I have a better plan. Do keep your mouth shut until we arrive."
The silence between them was heavy as they started walking. And then Lucifer’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and stiffened. "It’s her."
"Ignore it," Alastor said calmly.
They kept walking. Minutes stretched into nearly half an hour. Lucifer was exhausted by the time they reached the park. But when he lifted his head and saw the town spread out below—old streetlamps glowing warm gold, Victorian rooftops layered like a painting frozen in time—his breath caught.
Cannibell Town shimmered quietly beneath the night sky.
*******
Cannibell Town unfolded beneath the hill like a memory someone refused to let rot.
From the small, hidden park perched at its edge, the town glowed softly—rows of Victorian houses standing shoulder to shoulder, their wooden porches lined with carved railings and hanging lanterns. Warm yellow light spilled from tall windows, lace curtains drawn just enough to suggest life inside. Streetlamps arched like old gentlemen bowing to passersby, their ironwork ornate, deliberate. Brick roads curved gently instead of cutting straight, as if even the streets preferred patience over haste.
Lucifer stared. "This…" he murmured before he could stop himself.
He had always imagined Cannibell Town as something half-forgotten, underdeveloped, neglected. A place clinging desperately to relevance. Instead, it looked cherished. Alive.
Alastor stood beside him, hands tucked neatly into his coat pockets, posture relaxed in a way Lucifer had never seen before. Not guarded. Not performative.
"Surprised?" Alastor asked lightly.
Lucifer huffed a breath. "I thought this place was… worse."
Alastor’s smile tilted. "Most people do. They assume distance equals decay. It’s where I live with my Aunt Rosie," Alastor said. He led him to a secluded park that overlooked a dark, shimmering pond.
The park was small and half-hidden, tucked between tall hedges and wrought-iron fencing. An old fountain sat at its center, cracked but still running, water murmuring softly as if sharing secrets with the night. Benches lined the path and faced its placid pond.
Alastor leaned against the bench and reached into his coat pocket. With casual ease, he pulled out a small pack of cigarettes, flicking one between his fingers. “Want one?”
Lucifer froze, his pulse spiking. His eyes widened. “Wait… you… smoke?”
Alastor chuckled softly, a sound that felt warm and dangerous all at once. “Why? Does that not fit your picture of me, huh?”
Lucifer swallowed, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. He had never imagined the charming, confident voice behind the radio could be this… casual, almost reckless.
“You should try it,” he said lightly, offering the cigarette again.
Lucifer shook his head, embarrassed. “No… I… I don’t— smoke…”
Alastor’s gaze softened, and he took another drag. “It’s not about smoking. It’s about… letting go. Just for a moment. Forget… everything that’s suffocating you.”
Lucifer’s eyes softened. The words hit a nerve. The suffocating weight of his life, the endless rules, the constant pressure to be perfect—it all pressed down on him daily. And now, sitting here with Alastor, he could almost breathe.
“I don’t know how…” he whispered.
“Then just… try” Alastor responded, casually.
Lucifer hesitated, then slowly nodded. “Okay… just for a moment.”
Then, against his better judgment, he took the cigarette. Alastor leaned closer to light it for him. Too close.
Lucifer inhaled sharply and coughed immediately, shoulders hitching.
Alastor laughed, not cruelly. Quietly. Almost fond. "You’re doing it wrong," he said. "Slowly. Like you’re stealing something."
Lucifer tried again. This time, the smoke burned less. “I… I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Lucifer muttered, more to himself than to Alastor.
Alastor smirked faintly, his dark eyes glinting in the streetlight. “Believe me, neither can I.
The two sat in silence for a while, cigarettes between them, smoke curling lazily into the cold night. Lucifer's coat brushed against Alastor’s as he inhaled the night air—and then something else, faint and sweet. He had been eating candy earlier, and somehow the scent clung to him, subtle but intoxicating.
Alastor’s eyes flicked down, catching the scent, then back up, lingering a moment too long. “You… smell like strawberries.” Alastor murmured, slowly.
Lucifer blinked, flustered. “I… what?”
“It’s… nice.” His voice softened, almost shy for a moment. He took another drag from the cigarette, leaning back slightly. Smoke curled around both of them. “Don’t think too much.”
Lucifer took a deep breath, allowing himself to relax. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, he didn’t feel trapped or scrutinized. But then… his phone vibrated in his pocket.
Ring… Ring… Ring… It was Sera. Again.
Lucifer’s heart thumped in his chest. The calls had been relentless since they exit the school—an unyielding stream of messages and instructions.
He felt the old fear creeping back. Ignoring her? Impossible. “I… I can’t… I shouldn’t—”
Alastor raised a hand, gently but firmly. “Yes, you can. No one’s going to punish you here. Take a break, Lucifer. Ignore the world. Just breathe.”
For the first time in what felt like forever, Lucifer did. He closed his eyes briefly, letting the cold air fill his lungs and feeling the warmth of Alastor’s presence beside him. The suffocating chains of his life felt a little lighter, as if just sitting there, sharing this moment, was a rebellion in itself. The silence stretched comfortably between them. No rules, no judgments, no expectations—just two people, sitting at the bench at night.
The two sat together in comfortable silence, the faint scent of strawberries lingering on Lucifer, mixing with the smoke. The calls from Sera faded into irrelevance, drowned out by the warmth of trust slowly growing between them.
"That is how my real life is," Lucifer said, voice low but shaking. "Not whatever version you think it is."
After a pause, Alastor exhaled smoke, glancing at Lucifer with a curious intensity. For once, Alastor didn’t respond immediately. "I’m sorry," he said.
Lucifer blinked. "For what?"
Alastor exhaled. "For assuming your suffering was theatrical. For thinking your rebellion was a performance." His eyes flicked away briefly. "For being cruel when I didn’t understand the cage you were in."
Lucifer stared. Then laughed once, shaky and incredulous. "You’re apologizing?"
"Don’t get used to it," Alastor replied dryly.
Lucifer’s laughter faded. "I’m sorry too," he admitted quietly. "For thinking you were heartless. For… projecting." He shrugged weakly.
They sat in silence for a moment, the smoke curling between them. "Back there," Alastor continued. "You looked like someone pulling against invisible restraints." He exhaled a thin stream of smoke. "I’m quite familiar with that feeling."
Lucifer laughed bitterly. "You? Don’t lie. You act like nothing touches you."
Alastor’s smile didn’t fade—but something behind it shifted. "That," he said softly, "is called a mask."
Lucifer glanced at him.Really looked. The radio star. The smug antagonist. The boy everyone watched. And beneath it—something old. Something tired.
“People see me as the charming, confident guy… but that’s a mask too. We all wear masks. Different faces for different people. You have one for your family… maybe even one for the world. And maybe one for yourself that even you can’t see clearly.”
Lucifer’s gaze dropped to the pond beneath the moonlight. “I… I don’t know who I am when no one’s watching. Every day I pretend to be… something I’m not.”
“I know that feeling. People see me as confident, charming… untouchable. And maybe I am, sometimes. But inside… it’s chaos. Always chaos. And I hide it behind a mask too.I hide… a lot. Secrets. Things I don’t want anyone to see.” Alastor said.
Lucifer glanced at him, curiosity and caution mixing. “Secrets?”
Alastor smirked faintly. “Yeah. Nothing terrible. Just… a version of me that no one gets. Except maybe people who bother to look past the mask.”
“And chains are funny things," he continued. "They convince you they’re protection. That without them, you’d fall apart."
Lucifer’s hands trembled slightly around the cigarette. "What if they’re right?" he asked quietly.
Alastor turned to face him fully. For the first time that night, his smile softened into something honest. "Then let them be wrong," he said. "At least once."
Lucifer scoffed weakly. "Easy for you to say."
"Not quite," Alastor replied. "I’ve lost things by choosing freedom."
Lucifer looked at him, trying to say something. But he closed his mouth back. Smoke drifted between them. "Guess we both hide better than we admit." Lucifer broke the silence first.
"You know," he said slowly, eyes fixed on the fountain, "for someone who acts like he’s above everything… you’re terrible at subtlety." Alastor raised a brow. "Oh?"
"Your pranks," Lucifer continued. "The way you always knew when I was about to lose my temper." He scoffed, then smiled despite himself. "You did it on purpose."
Alastor chuckled softly. "Of course I did. Where’s the fun otherwise?"
Lucifer laughed—a real laugh this time, surprised by it. "You’re insufferable."
"And yet," Alastor replied, amused, "you rose to every challenge. The chair incident. The microphone sabotage. The time you replaced my script with a grocery list."
Lucifer groaned. "That was supposed to humiliate you."
"Instead," Alastor said smugly, "it improved my ratings."
Lucifer snorted, covering his mouth briefly. "Your voice," he admitted. "It’s ridiculous."
Alastor tilted his head. "Ridiculous?"
"Annoyingly good," Lucifer clarified. "When you’re on the radio, it’s like… like the world stops arguing for a second."
Alastor’s expression softened, just barely. "Sound is honest," he said quietly. "It betrays what the face hides."
Lucifer glanced at him. Really glanced.
Under the park’s old lamplight, Alastor looked different. His brown hair caught the glow, soft instead of sharp, strands falling loose against his forehead. His hazel eyes reflected gold and amber, warm and unreadable all at once. The shadows smoothed his edges instead of sharpening them.
Beautiful, Lucifer realized absently. The thought startled him and he looked away quickly.
Their shoulders brushed. Neither moved away.
The night deepened and felt fragile. As if speaking too loudly might shatter it. And for a moment—just a moment—the chains loosened between them without them realized.
*******
Suddenly, a rustle near the pond caught their attention. Lucifer glanced up, distracted by the faint sounds of movement near the pond. Tiny figures slid across the freezing water. Ducks.
His eyes widened. For the first time in ages, he felt unrestrained joy. He laughed, running a few steps closer to the edge of the pond, his smile bright and unguarded. He crouched slightly, clapping softly. A family of ducks drifted into view, cutting slow, deliberate lines across the pond. Their feathers caught the moonlight, soft and muted. He squealed with delight, pointing as one of the ducks flapped its wings.
Alastor froze, mid-drag of his cigarette. He watched, stunned. This was a version of Lucifer he had never seen; bright, lively, almost weightless. No masks, no rebellion, no chains pressing down—just pure, unfiltered joy. A smile slowly spread across Alastor’s face, something soft and unguarded, mirroring the unexpected happiness of the boy before him.
"Look at them," Lucifer shouted to Alastor.
Alastor watched him. Not the ducks.
Alastor amused. This is… the same person who argues with me daily? The same prince of rebellion? He watched as Lucifer’s face lit up under the moonlight, carefree and radiant. Alastor’s lips curved into a genuine smile.
The lamplight framed Lucifer’s profile in gold, catching the curve of his cheek, the soft line of his mouth as he smiled at nothing more than waterfowl. He looked younger. Lighter. Like someone who hadn’t learned yet how heavy the world could be.
Then, Alastor’s chest tightened. He felt something unfamiliar stir—warm, unsettling.
Vulnerability.
Lucifer turned back toward him, still glowing from the small thrill of seeing the ducks. His eyes met Alastor’s, and something in him paused. He tilts his head, confused. “What?”
Alastor’s smile deepened, amused. “Nothing… never thought Prince Charming would act like a kid when he saw a duck.”
Lucifer’s cheeks heated. “Are you… making fun of me?”
Alastor shook his head, chuckling. “Not at all. You’re… genuine. It suits you.”
Alastor swallowed. This— This was dangerous.
A duck flapped suddenly, splashing water everywhere. Lucifer burst out laughing again. "Did you see that?!"
They laughed together, the sound carrying softly across the freezing park. No words were needed to communicate the quiet understanding forming between them. No touch, no promises—just laughter, and the small, fragile feeling that maybe, for a moment, the world didn’t matter.
*******
A gust of wind rustled the bare branches, carrying tiny sparks of frost and the faint hint of fall blooms. Lucifer opened his eyes and looked at Alastor, a shy, almost embarrassed smile tugging at his lips. Lucifer glanced at Alastor, a small, shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Thank you… for… this. For tonight.” Lucifer laughed softly, heart fluttering. He felt safe, even if only for a moment, and something in him shifted—something tentative, fragile, but undeniable.
And Alastor, watching the way the light fell on Lucifer’s face, the soft curl of his lips, the faint strawberry scents still clinging to him, felt the same.
The night carried on, quiet except for their breathing and the faint rustle of leaves, a small world where everything else—the family, the rules, the chaos—didn’t exist. And in the quiet of the park, under the soft glow of moonlight, two people—broken, masked, and complicated—found a fragile understanding. A connection without words, without touch, without promises. Only trust and a moment stolen from a world that demanded perfection.
Lucifer sighed contentedly. "I needed this," he said. "Even if I don’t understand why you did it."
Alastor inclined his head. "Consider it a temporary intermission."
Lucifer smiled at that. Then his phone buzzed again. Lucifer stiffened. The light drained from his face. "She’s going to be furious."
"She already is," Alastor said calmly.
Lucifer exhaled. "Okay,” he said quietly. “I think this is it”
They turned back toward the path.The night pressed in again—but something had changed.
They stood side by side now. Not enemies. Not friends. Something suspended in between. Something fragile. Something real.
*******
They did not walk back together.
Not in the way stories liked to pretend—shoulders brushing, laughter lingering, promises hovering unsaid. Cannibell Town released them gently, its lamplights thinning as they reached the edge of the park, the warmth fading into the cooler breath of the main streets.
Lucifer slowed first. "This is fine," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the road that would lead him home. "I can get back from here."
Alastor stopped. For a moment, neither spoke.
Lucifer shifted his weight, suddenly unsure, the earlier ease giving way to something quieter. "Thanks again," he added, softer. "For… tonight."
Alastor inclined his head, impeccable even now. "Think nothing of it. Consider it a necessary disruption."
Lucifer snorted. "You really do talk like that all the time, don’t you?"
"Only when I’m being sincere," Alastor replied.
That earned a small smile.
Lucifer hesitated, then turned away, hands in his pockets. He didn’t look back.
Alastor watched until he disappeared down the street. Only then did he move.
As the night drew on, Lucifer returned home later than usual. Sera’s scolding awaited him, but the sharp edges of her anger couldn’t pierce the bubble of warmth that lingered from the park, from the shared cigarette, from the quiet understanding between them.
And Lucifer slept. It surprised him.
He expected the usual—restlessness, anger buzzing beneath his skin, Sera’s voice replaying in sharp, endless loops. But when he collapsed onto his bed, exhaustion finally won. The phone lay forgotten on his desk, silent now, its earlier tyranny reduced to a dark screen. For the first time, he felt… happy. He didn’t have to hide who he was, not tonight.
Meanwhile, Alastor returned to his dorm, feeling a mixture of exhilaration and trepidation.
Alastor did not sleep.
He lay on his back in the narrow bed, hands folded neatly over his chest, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The familiar room, yet felt smaller than usual.
Too close. His mind refused to quiet.
Lucifer’s laugh echoed where static should have been. The way his shoulders had loosened at the pond. The way he had looked at the ducks like they were a miracle.
Alastor closed his eyes.
Masks. Walls, Buildings. He had built them carefully. Brick by brick. Joke by joke. Smile by smile. They had kept him alive.
And tonight—
One evening, one walk, one unguarded laugh— A crack had formed.
He sat up abruptly, breath sharp, fingers curling into the sheets.
"Ridiculous," he muttered to the empty room. "Sentimental nonsense." Alastor pressed a hand to his face.
This was the danger. This was an attachment.
He rose quietly, crossing the room to the window. Outside,the world slept peacefully, roofs glowing faintly beneath the moon. "I don’t believe in friendship," Alastor whispered.
But the words rang hollow.
He had allowed himself a small breach in the walls he had so carefully built and it were beginning to fell. Vulnerable. Human. Afraid that he might want more.
Alastor straightened, Tomorrow, he would be sharp again. Firm. Unreachable.
Tonight, however— He allowed himself one dangerous truth. That something had begun.
However, once something begun, it would not be easily undone.
Notes:
Author's notes:
I won’t be posting a chapter tomorrow because I’ll be super busy with a presentation, classes, and an event on the same day, so I need to take a short break. Don’t worry though, the story will continue as usual the next day and we still can finish this AU at Christmas night.
Also, fun fact: this whole AU exists because one day alongside Snowman, Strawberries & Cigarettes played on my Spotify, and I remembered that Alastor smokes, thought it was… very hot—and decided to bring that energy here too hehe.
And Cannibell Town? HAHAHA you’re totally right. It was inspired by Cannibal Town :3
Chapter 5: Signal Lost
Summary:
By midweek frustration finally boiled over. Lucifer cornered Alastor after English, stepping deliberately into his path in the hallway, heart pounding with a mix of anger and something far more vulnerable.
“Alastor,” he said.
“Morningstar,” he replied pleasantly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” The civility was a knife.
“You’re avoiding me,” he said, voice low, strained. “Don’t pretend you’re not.”
Alastor adjusted his cuffs, regarding Lucifer with a look that was neither cold nor kind. "I would suggest," he replied evenly, "that you are mistaking coincidence for intent". He said, smiling.
Notes:
Hello everyone!
Spoiler alert: this chapter is full of angst. Take it or take it, hehe.
Lucifer’s journey here is one of the strongest emotional arcs I’ve written so far. While writing it, I kept asking myself why I was doing this to him… my Lucifer, my shaylaaaa. I really just want to reach in and give him a hug.
As for Alastor... he’s not the villain in this chapter. He’s the emotional antagonist. Not cruel, just broken. And honestly? I want to give him a hug too.
Writing this chapter felt slowly suffocating, which is exactly what it’s meant to be. The pain doesn’t come from betrayal or outright cruelty—it comes from withdrawal, politeness, and denial. And that kind of pain lingers.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter 5: Signal Lost
Good day, dear beloved listeners. Today’s recommended songs are:
- Liability - Lorde
- Motion Sickness - Phoebe Bridgers
- Silence - Marshmello ft. Khalid
Sometimes we hold onto something because we believe it’s good for us, only to realize it hurts more than it helps. That realization can feel cruel, but it is also honest. Acknowledging the pain, accepting responsibility for our choices, and choosing to learn from them is not weakness—it is courage.
I hope you’re doing well. Take a deep breath, stay warm, and have a nice day. Thank you.
*******
Lucifer Morningstar woke that morning with the unsettling sense that something had already begun to slip through his fingers.
It wasn’t dread—not yet—but a restless anticipation that curled in his chest like a held breath. The memories of Cannibell Town lingered with a vividness that refused to fade, replaying in fragments that felt warmer the more he examined them. He recalled the quiet stretch of the park, the way Alastor’s laughter had sounded unguarded for once, and the strange ease of sitting side-by-side without turning every word into a competition.
Lucifer dressed quickly, humming under his breath. His reflection in the mirror looked almost hopeful in a way that made him pause. He frowned at himself, unsettled by the expression, but did not bother to correct it.
“Wow, you look…so happy? Did Sera finally resign?” Bee asked as he climbed into the car.
“Nah, "No, she’d never. It's just—” Lucifer replied, stopping halfway through his thought. "It’s nothing, really. I’m just in a good mood."
Bee raised an eyebrow, exchanging a confused look with Ozzie. "Sure," she said, sounding unconvinced. "If you say so."
By the time he reached the school, the feeling had only intensified. The hallways were already alive with movement, but to Lucifer they felt strangely muted, as if the world had dimmed its volume just enough for him to hear his own thoughts clearly. He walked faster than usual, eager without knowing why, already scanning the familiar corners of the building for a glimpse of someone.
He told himself not to overthink it, even as he wondered if what he felt was the tentative beginning of something real—a ceasefire, a truce, perhaps even a genuine connection that existed outside rivalry and performance.
When he found him near the student lounge, the sight made Lucifer’s heart jump. Alastor stood partially turned away, shoulders squared, posture immaculate as ever, attention fixed on a ledger held neatly in one hand while the other moved with precise, economical strokes of his pen. He looked composed in a way that bordered on unnatural, as if the world had already been ordered to his satisfaction. Lucifer slowed without realizing it, watching him for a moment longer than necessary, waiting for the familiar glance up, the sharp smile, the flicker of recognition that usually passed between them like a challenge.
It never come.
Lucifer felt a faint ripple of unease but pushed it aside, convincing himself that Alastor was simply absorbed in his work. He leaned against the doorframe of the lounge, deliberately casual, allowing himself a smile that felt unguarded in a way he wasn’t used to.
“Good morning, Alastor,” he said easily. “I was thinking about that duck from the other night. Seriously, I swear it had personal beef with me.”
The words hung in the air. The pen did not stop moving.
Lucifer waited, smile faltering just slightly at the edges. He expected a scoff, a dry retort, some exaggerated teasing about Lucifer. Instead, there was only the sound of paper shifting softly beneath Alastor’s hand. a raised eyebrow, some sharp remark that would confirm everything was as it had been.
When Alastor finally spoke, he did so without lifting his gaze. His voice was smooth and polite, stripped of every trace of warmth.
“It is merely in their nature., I suppose,” he said mildly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a curriculum to finalize. Accuracy is a lost art these days, wouldn’t you agree?
“Oh,” Lucifer said after a beat, confusion creeping into his voice despite his effort to sound unfazed. “Right. Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
He lingered a moment too long, waiting for Alastor to look up, to soften, to acknowledge him as more than background noise, but Alastor merely turned the page in his ledger, smile fixed and porcelain-perfect, his hazel eyes resolutely averted. The boy from the park, the one, the one who had offered him a cigarette, a boy who had laughed quietly beside him, who had listened without deflecting— was gone, replaced by something colder and infinitely more controlled.
Lucifer felt heat creep up his neck.
Okay, he thought, forcing himself to breathe evenly. Maybe he’s just tired. Maybe he didn’t sleep. Maybe—
“Was there something else?” Alastor asked mildly, still not looking at him.
The question was polite.
Dismissive.
Lucifer swallowed. “No. I—no. That’s all.”
He pushed off the doorframe and stepped back, movements suddenly stiff, awkward. For a brief, humiliating second, he considered trying again—saying Alastor’s name, making a joke, forcing the connection back into place—but something in Alastor’s posture warned him not to.
As Lucifer turned away, his chest tightened with a sharp, unexpected sting.
Behind him, Alastor exhaled slowly through his nose, the breath controlled, contained, and only then did his pen pause.
Alastor waited until Lucifer’s footsteps faded down the corridor before allowing himself to look up. The hallway was already swallowing him, that bright, careless energy retreating into the noise of the school, and Alastor felt something unpleasant twist in his chest at the sight. He straightened the ledger, aligning it carefully with the edge of the desk, as if order could be restored through small, deliberate actions.
You handled that adequately, he told himself.
Adequately meant clean. Adequately meant controlled. Adequately meant no room for misunderstanding.
The night at CannibellTown had been an error— it was a tired mistake born from being too close, a lapse in judgment he could not afford to repeat. Lucifer had been too open, too present, too disarming in his sincerity, and Alastor had allowed himself to be more open, more vulnerable. He laughed without thinking. Listened without declination. Let silence stretch without filling it with noise.
That could not continue.
Attachments are liabilities, he reminded himself, jaw tightening. They invite expectation. And expectation invites loss.
Lucifer, however, did not understand that war.
He didn’t stop walking until he reached the end of the hall. Only then did he slow, fingers curling loosely at his sides as he stared at nothing in particular, the weight in his chest growing heavier by the second. The encounter replayed itself in his mind with cruel clarity—the way Alastor hadn’t looked at him, the way his voice had sounded like it belonged to someone else entirely, the way the space between them had suddenly felt enormous.
Did I imagine it? Lucifer wondered, unease gnawing at him. The park. The conversation. The quiet. The thought made his stomach twist.
And all he felt was the sudden, brutal shift, the sense that he had misread everything.
*******
By the time Economics class began, Lucifer had already convinced himself—foolishly that the morning had been an anomaly, a misstep easily corrected by proximity, by routine, by the familiar rhythm of academic sparring that had once defined their dynamic. Economics was their territory, after all. A battlefield disguised as a classroom. A place where Alastor never missed an opportunity to challenge him, correct him, needle him with that infuriatingly composed smile that made every argument feel personal.
If anything was going to snap things back into place, it would be this.
Lucifer took his seat with deliberate calm, posture relaxed, chin lifted, eyes already seeking Alastor’s out of habit rather than hope. He found him two rows ahead, seated near the aisle, book open, pen resting neatly beside it. Alastor did not look back. Not once. Not even that cursory glance they used to exchange, sharp and anticipatory, like fencers acknowledging each other before a bout.
Oh that’s weird. He thought.
The professor droned on about economic frameworks, the structuralist approach laid bare on the board, and Lucifer listened just enough to know when to speak. When the moment came, it felt almost instinctive.
“Does anyone have a counter-argument to the structuralist approach?” Lucifer asked, voice clear, confident, and pointed. He didn’t bother pretending the question was for the room. His gaze locked directly onto Alastor, unblinking, daring him to rise to it the way he always did.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then Alastor turned a page in his book. It was a small movement. Polite. Almost absent-minded.
It felt like a slap to Lucifer.
Lucifer’s breath caught heat flaring behind his ribs as the silence stretched, uncomfortable and undeniable. Alastor did not look up. Did not take the bait. He simply continued reading, as if the challenge had never been issued, as if Lucifer’s voice had been nothing more than background noise.
A few students glanced between them, confusion flickering briefly across their faces. This was wrong. Everyone knew it. Even the professor paused, eyebrows knitting together, before clearing his throat and moving on.
“Didn’t they used to argue with each other?” “Yeah… this is worse.” The students whispered.
Lucifer forced himself to look away, jaw tight, fingers digging into his notebook hard enough to crease the paper. Okay, he thought, pulse hammering. So he’s committed to the act. But the thought brought no comfort. Only a cold, creeping certainty that this wasn’t an act at all.
And English class was worse.
Lucifer arrived early this time, staking out a seat beside the empty chair he knew Alastor usually took, a petty, hopeful gesture he immediately resented himself for. He stared at the desk, pretending to read, pretending his heart wasn’t pounding with every footstep that entered the room.
Alastor arrived a minute later.
He stopped when he saw Lucifer. The pause was brief, barely noticeable to anyone else. But Lucifer caught it, sharp and unmistakable. Alastor’s eyes flicked over him, assessing, distant, before he turned smoothly toward the teacher.
“Excuse me,” Alastor said, voice polite, composed. “Would it be possible for me to join a different discussion group today? I believe my perspectives may be more… constructively applied elsewhere.”
Lucifer looked up slowly, disbelief washing over him.
Before this, Alastor had always insisted on being grouped with him. Always eager, always smug, always ready to provoke him into an argument that blurred the line between intellectual rivalry and something far more personal. It had been a ritual—annoyance wrapped in familiarity.
The teacher nodded without much thought. “Of course, Alastor. You could join Pentious’s group.”
Alastor inclined his head slightly. “Much appreciated.” He didn’t look at Lucifer as he moved away.
Lucifer sat frozen, the empty chair beside him suddenly obscene in its vacancy. The room seemed too loud, the scrape of chairs and murmured conversations pressing in on him from all sides, and for the first time, it hit him with painful clarity: Alastor was not merely avoiding him. He was replacing him. Reassigning his attention as if Lucifer had been a temporary inconvenience now efficiently removed from the equation.
He used to enjoy this, Lucifer thought numbly. He used to enjoy me.
The realization sat heavy and humiliating in his chest.
By lunchtime, Lucifer felt hollowed out.
He was supposed to sit with the Sins. That had always been the default—loud, chaotic, familiar in its own exhausting way. Bee would tease him, Ozzie would comment on his mood, Mammon would make a joke that annoyed everyone. It would have been easy. Predictable.
Instead, his eyes tracked Alastor automatically as he entered the cafeteria.
Alastor sat with Husk and Niffty, posture relaxed, expression animated in a way Lucifer hadn’t seen directed at him all day. He was laughing, softly, genuinely. His smiles are so wide as he is leaning back in his chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest as Niffty chattered excitedly about something trivial. Husk grunted in response, clearly unimpressed but engaged.
They looked normal, He…looked normal, He thought
Lucifer slowed. The Sins noticed immediately. “Why are you stopping?” Bee asked, glancing between Lucifer and their usual table.
Mammon squinted. “You’re not going over there, are you?”
Lucifer didn’t answer. He adjusted the grip on his tray and kept walking.
The table went quiet behind him.
He approached Alastor’s table with measured steps, each one feeling heavier than the last. This time, he didn’t smile. He didn’t joke. He simply stood there, waiting to be acknowledged.
Alastor looked up. For a split second, something unreadable flickered in his eyes. Then it was gone.
“Afternoon, Morningstar,” Alastor said pleasantly. Lucifer’s throat tightened. “Hey.”
Niffty looked between them, eyes bright with curiosity. “Oh! Are you joining us?”
Lucifer glanced at Alastor. “Am I?”
Alastor smiled, polite and infuriatingly calm. “I’m afraid this seat is taken.”
Lucifer looked down. Again, the chair was empty. “Oh,” he said quietly. “Right.”
He stepped back before anyone could see his hands shake.
Husk watched Lucifer retreat and scowled. “You’re being an ass.”
Alastor chuckled softly. “I’m being prudent.”
He told himself the ache in his chest was nothing more than the discomfort of discipline, the pain that came with doing what was necessary rather than what was easy.
From across the room, the Sins stared openly now, confusion etched into their faces. Bee frowned. Ozzie leaned forward, elbows on the table. Mammon looked genuinely stunned.
“Something is not right happened” Bell paused for a while, looking at Lucifer and next to Alastor. “Perhaps, between those two.”
Lucifer turned away from all of it and walked out of the cafeteria. He didn’t eat lunch that day.
By the time afternoon classes rolled around, Lucifer’s thoughts were no longer linear. They looped and collided, replaying every interaction with increasing cruelty, searching for the precise moment he had overstepped, misread, misunderstood. The park. The laughter. The silence. The way he had dared to believe it meant something.
He’s cutting me out, Lucifer realized, the truth settling cold and absolute in his chest. And he’s doing it so cleanly no one can accuse him of anything.
The realization hurt more than anger ever could. Because this wasn’t a fight. This was abandonment dressed up as civility.
*******
By midweek frustration finally boiled over. Lucifer cornered Alastor after English, stepping deliberately into his path in the hallway, heart pounding with a mix of anger and something far more vulnerable.
“Alastor,” he said.
“Morningstar,” he replied pleasantly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
The civility was a knife.
“You’re avoiding me,” he said, voice low, strained. “Don’t pretend you’re not.”
Alastor adjusted his cuffs, regarding Lucifer with a look that was neither cold nor kind. "I would suggest," he replied evenly, "that you are mistaking coincidence for intent". He said, smiling.
“That’s bullshit,” Lucifer snapped, then faltered, desperation bleeding through despite himself. “You don’t get to pretend this is nothing. You don’t sit with someone like that, talk like that, and then act like they don’t exist.”
I get to decide,” Alastor replied smoothly, “what I engage with.”
The words hit hard.
Lucifer laughed once, sharp and bitter. ““So that night meant nothing to you?” So what was it, then?”
Alastor folded his hands behind his back. “A conversation,” he said. “Nothing more.”
The words hit harder than any insult. Lucifer laughed once. “So that’s it? A mistake?”
For a fleeting moment, something flickered in Alastor’s eyes. Regret, perhaps. But it vanished almost instantly. “And that,” he said quietly, “was my error.”
Lucifer froze. Alastor straightened. “It will not be repeated.” The words landed heavy and final.
Lucifer shook his head. “You’re lying.”
“Lucifer,” he said gently, “whatever significance you’ve assigned to our… previous interaction, I would advise reconsidering it.” Alastor’s smile sharpened, though his voice stayed calm. “You mistake emotional indulgence for intention.”
Lucifer laughed, sharp and disbelieving. “So was I a mistake? And you're just going to erase me?”
“If you insist on assigning labels,” Alastor replied, voice lowering into something intimate and cruel all at once, “then yes. And I’m establishing boundaries,” Alastor corrected. “Something you seem unwilling to respect.”
That did it.
Lucifer’s composure cracked. “You don’t get to talk down to me like I’m some delusional idiot for believing you were being honest.”
Alastor’s smile sharpened. “You believed what you wanted to believe,” he said coolly. “I would suggest examining why you are so eager to assign meaning where none was offered.”
Lucifer’s breath hitched. “You’re being cruel.”
“No,” Alastor replied, voice calm and precise. “I’m being clear.”
Lucifer stepped closer, fists clenched, voice trembling with restrained fury. “You’re scared.” Then look straight deeper into Alastor’s eyes, like searching for something or some answers. “Why are you so scared of—”
Alastor’s smile tightened. “I am not afraid,” he said. “I am simply aware of the consequences of misplaced hope.”
“Whose hope?” Lucifer demanded.
Alastor did not answer. He stepped around Lucifer and walked away, leaving him standing alone in the hallway, heart racing, shame and grief twisting together until they were indistinguishable.
Only when he was alone did his composure falter, breath leaving him in a slow, controlled exhale. He pressed his thumb against the edge of the folder until it bent, irritation flaring/ BUt not at Lucifer, but at himself.
Because the truth he refused to voice was this. Lucifer hadn’t been wrong.
He is scared.
*******
By the end of the first week, Lucifer no longer reacted when someone mentioned Alastor.
His name became just another word, stripped of significance, no longer capable of pulling at something inside him. He didn’t ask where Alastor was, didn’t wonder what he was doing, didn’t imagine him thinking about their last conversation. When memories surfaced, he acknowledged them and let them pass, refusing to indulge the part of himself that still wanted answers.
You don’t get closure from people who never intended to stay.
And the weeks stretched on. Silence replaced their rivalry, and the absence felt louder than any argument they’d ever had. The school felt it. Teachers noticed and the students whispered. They didn’t fight anymore But, they didn’t exist near each other at all.Alastor withdrew completely, maintaining a careful, reasonable distance that made him seem blameless to anyone watching. Lucifer, on the other hand, stopped trying after a while, not because it stopped hurting, but because humiliation hurt worse than longing.
When Alastor left for a two-week academic program, the news reached Lucifer secondhand during his lunch with The Sins, and he responded with a flat, “Good for him.”
Bee frowned, watching him carefully. “You’re… okay with that?” Lucifer shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
And that was the moment Bee went quiet. Because this wasn’t anger. This wasn’t hurt. This was indifference. The realization settled uncomfortably over the table, and for the first time, no one joked about it.
However, he could feel something that really hurt. Two weeks. Two weeks of not seeing him.Two weeks of not having to feel this humiliating pull toward someone who acted like Lucifer was a mistake.
Lucifer should’ve felt relief. Instead, something in his chest sank like a radio signal dropping into static.
That night, Lucifer didn’t spiral. He just sat in his room, legs pulled up, oversized sweater hanging off one shoulder, staring at his phone like it could explain why he felt abandoned by someone who wasn’t his to begin with.
Move on, he told himself. It’s not like he owes you anything.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Bee: u okay?
Lucifer stared at it for a long time. Then he typed: yeah
Then he deleted it. Then he typed: idk
Then he deleted that too. Finally: im fine
A lie so clean it almost looked like the truth.
The next day, Lucifer walked past the radio studio out of habit.
The ON AIR light glowed. Angel’s voice filled the hall, bright and dramatic. But the other microphone was empty.
The frequency felt wrong.
*******
When Alastor returned in November, the school welcomed him as if nothing had happened. People greeted him in the hallway, some lingered near the studio again, eager for the voice that made the air feel polished. Lucifer didn’t greet him. Not because he didn’t want to but because he refused to humiliate himself again. So, he decided to keep his distance with the same pride he used to survive his family.
An announcement came—Alastor’s first broadcast back. However, Lucifer didn’t plan to listen. By the time the final bell rang, his nerves felt flayed raw, every sound too sharp, every glance too heavy with imagined judgment.
He told himself he was done—that whatever Alastor had chosen, whatever had ended between them, he would not give it the satisfaction of being witnessed again through speakers and static. He told himself this as he walked the halls, as he packed his bag, as he avoided the radio studio with the careful precision of someone skirting the edge of something dangerous.
And yet, when the familiar crackle of static rolled through the ceiling speakers late that afternoon, his body betrayed him before his mind could catch up. Lucifer found himself alone in the student lounge room, door shut, lights dim. He leaned closer to the ceiling speaker like a fool. Like someone waiting.
Then the speaker crackled. Static. Then that voice returned like a ghost stepping back into a room it used to haunt.
“Good afternoon, dear listeners,” Alastor said, smooth as velvet and just as sharp. “I do hope you’ve all been behaving like civilized creatures in my absence.”
The sound of Alastor’s voice hit him like a memory he hadn’t asked for. Lucifer closed his eyes.
Angel’s voice chimed in, delighted. “Welcome back, babe! They missed you.”
Alastor chuckled softly. “Ah. How charming.”
Lucifer’s fingers curled around the edge of the couch. His heart did something stupid.
Alastor continued. “So my beloved listeners, without making all of you waiting , today’s segment is… a small discussion on the quiet humiliations we rarely confess.”
Lucifer blinked.
Angel hummed. “Ohhh. That sounds painful.”
Alastor’s tone stayed elegant. Calm. Dangerous. “Pain is educational,” he said.
“And today’s lesson is titled—” a delicate pause, like he was placing the words down carefully, “The Quiet Humiliation of Wanting More.”
Lucifer went still. Something in his stomach turned.
Alastor spoke like he was reading poetry over a funeral. “There is a particular kind of embarrassment,” Alastor said, “that comes from desiring something you were never offered.”
Lucifer’s throat tightened. He sat up straighter without meaning to.
Alastor’s voice flowed, measured, intimate without being soft. “It is not the loud shame of rejection,” he continued, “not the dramatic spectacle of heartbreak. No, no—this is subtler.”
A faint breath of laughter. “This is the kind where you realize you have misread the room.”
“Where you have mistaken politeness for permission.”
Alastor’s voice stayed gentle.
“Where you have taken a moment, a pause, a shared conversation, a shared silence, perhaps even a walk—and transformed it into something heavier in your mind.”
Lucifer swallowed hard, his vision blurred at the edges. His chest felt hot and cold at the same time. Is he— His mind racing.
The speaker crackled again, like even the radio was nervous. Alastor’s voice dipped lower, like he was leaning toward the microphone. “And the tragedy, dear listeners, is that you cannot admit it. Because admitting it would require facing the possibility that the other person felt… nothing.”
Lucifer’s breath caught as his heart slammed against his ribs. He stared at the speaker like it was an enemy. Like it was a mirror.
Alastor’s voice softened into something almost tender.
“And so you sit with it,” he said, “this wanting-more, this foolish, hopeful infection…
until it becomes humiliation.” A pause. Then, with perfect control;
“It made you wonder why you keep reaching.Why you keep hoping.”
Lucifer’s hands curled into fists. His jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
“You wonder why you keep waiting outside doors that never open.”
Lucifer’s breath shook.
Then Alastor’s voice turned gentle again—too gentle.
“And one day, people” he said, “you will learn.”
A faint, elegant sigh. “You will learn to stop reaching.”
“You will stop hoping.”
Lucifer’s chest tightened.
“You will stop waiting.”
Lucifer slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tightly around himself as if holding his body together required physical effort now. His vision blurred at the edges, the room tilting slightly as his heartbeat roared in his ears
“Stop.” . Lucifer whispered, barely audible. But the radio didn’t stop. Alastor’s voice, smooth and merciless, continued.
“And until you reach that day, you will smile,” he said, “as if you never wanted more at all.”
Angel’s voice tried to lighten it, shaky. “Damn, Al… you okay?”
Alastor laughed quietly. “Perfectly,” he said. “So for those of you currently suffering under the weight of your own imagination… consider this a mercy.”
Lucifer’s lips parted. No sound came out able to come out from his mouth, just his eyes eyes fixed on nothing.
“Distance,” Alastor continued gently, “is not always punishment. Sometimes, it is mercy.”
Lucifer laughed weakly, the sound choked and ugly as as he heard that, disbelieving.. Mercy for who? he thought miserably. You?
“And some of us,” he said, “were not built for closeness.So do spare yourself the humiliation,” Alastor concluded, voice warm, composed, in full command of the silence he’d created, “if you find yourself wounded by absence, I suggest reflection rather than resentment. Silence, after all, is often the most honest answer.”
“Lastly my dear listeners,” Alastor concluded, voice warm, composed, in full command of the silence he’d created. “There is a choice either you want to stay trapped in that quiet humiliation… or you find the grace to walk away.”
“That’s deep, Al” Angel finally speaks. “"Well, you heard him, listeners. Choose your path. I’m Angel, I’m your host, Angel Dust, signin’ off alongside my rather... sentimental friend here, Alastor. Any final thoughts for the road, Al?"
"Sentimental? Ha! A colorful choice of words, Angel, though I prefer to think of it as being 'firmly grounded'. To our listeners: do not let the static of the world muffle your own frequency. Until we meet again, stay tuned."
The segment ended with a smooth transition into music.Jazz. Slow. Beautiful. Lucifer didn’t hear it.
Lucifer’s shoulders shook, breath stuttering, tears finally spilling over despite his efforts to contain them. He pressed his forehead against his knees, shame and grief tangling so tightly he could no longer tell them apart.
So that’s what we were, he thought. That’s what I was.
A conversation. A mistake.
A moment I invented into something else. You are right.I do have a choice.
I won’t reach again, he told himself, wiping his face roughly with his sleeve. I won’t wait outside doors that don’t want me.
He stood slowly, legs unsteady, and walked out of the room without looking back. And quietly—without drama, without screaming—
A hope died.
*******
In the studio, Alastor’s smile stayed perfect. He adjusted his tie. He checked the levels. He nodded along to the song.
Angel glanced at him, uneasy. “That was… intense.”
Alastor’s voice was effortless. “Merely honest.”
Husk, leaning in the doorway, watched him with that bored, too-knowing stare. “You’re lying to yourself”
Alastor laughed softly. “How charming.”
But inside, the truth pulsed like a bruise.Because every word he spoke into that microphone had been aimed at himself as much as Lucifer. Because wanting more terrified him. Because when he said wanting more,
He saw the pond. He saw Lucifer’s face lit up by the ducks. He heard that laugh—unguarded, bright, real.
And the terrifying part wasn’t that Lucifer wanted more.
It was that Alastor did too. More than his pride could tolerate and his heart could bear. So he decided to cut it.
And what if Lucifer hated him for it? He thought,as an ache settled deep in his chest, unwelcome and persistent, as the echo of his own words replayed in his mind—
“At least hatred was safer than closeness.” he told himself, firmly.
And now, in the silence he claimed was mercy, something precious had been irrevocably lost.
*******
Something in Lucifer shut down after that afternoon.
Not all at once, and not in a way anyone else immediately noticed. There was no dramatic confrontation, no visible breakdown that could be pointed to as the moment he fell apart.
Instead, it was quieter than that, subtler, like a switch being flipped somewhere deep in his chest, cutting power to something vital.
The ache didn’t disappear — it dulled.
The grief didn’t vanish — it flattened into something manageable, something he could carry without staggering under its weight.
He stopped waiting.
That was the first change.
He no longer slowed when passing the radio studio, no longer felt that unconscious pull toward the sound of Alastor’s voice, because he trained himself not to expect it. Expectation, he’d learned, was the root of humiliation. He kept his gaze forward in the halls, his expression neutral, his movements efficient. When people spoke to him, he answered politely. When they laughed, he laughed with them. When the Sins teased him about his mood, he shrugged it off with practiced ease.
Inside, however, there was a strange, echoing quiet.
The memories still surfaced. The park, the conversation, the way Alastor had once looked at him as if he were worth listening to, but they no longer carried the same sharpness. They floated past like radio static between stations, present but meaningless, stripped of their emotional charge. Lucifer noticed this with a distant sort of curiosity, as if observing the emotional death of something that had once mattered greatly.
This is better, he told himself. This is safer.
And terrifyingly, he believed it.
*******
Regret did not arrive for Alastor in a dramatic wave. It crept.
It settled into the quiet moments, the spaces between obligations, the pauses he used to fill with certainty. The class, radio works keep him occupied— but none of it distracted him in the way he’d expected. Every silence stretched longer than it should have. Every conversation felt shallow, strangely unsatisfying.
He found himself listening more than speaking.
That alone unsettled him.
At night, alone in his dorm, Alastor replayed the broadcast in his mind with clinical detachment, analyzing his own words as if they belonged to someone else. The precision had been flawless. The delivery was impeccable. The message is unmistakable.
So why did it feel like a miscalculation?
He dismissed the thought at first. Necessary measures often feel uncomfortable, he told himself. Discipline is rarely pleasant. And yet, the more distance he put between himself and the school, the louder the silence became.
Lucifer’s absence was the problem. Not physical — Alastor had wanted distance, after all; but emotional. There was no reaction. No fallout. No sign that Lucifer was waiting, or wounded, or even thinking about him.
The realization gnawed at him.
He should be angry, Alastor thought uneasily. He should push back. But there was nothing.
No confrontation.
No messages.
No presence pressing uncomfortably at the edges of Alastor’s awareness.
For the first time, Alastor wondered, not with satisfaction, but with dread. If he had cut too deep.
And by the second week, the regret had sharpened into something undeniable.
He found himself noticing things he hadn’t before; the way silence lingered after his remarks, the way no one challenged him in quite the same way Lucifer had, the way conversations ended too neatly, too easily. He missed the resistance. The friction. The way Lucifer’s presence had forced him to stay sharp, engaged, alive.
This was not supposed to feel like loss, he thought bitterly.
He told himself he had done the right thing. That clarity was kinder than ambiguity. That cruelty was preferable to false hope.
And yet, when he go to school and finding Lucifer unchanged, distant, composed, indifferent, there was something in his chest tightened painfully.
For the first time, Alastor considered a possibility he had refused to entertain before.
That Lucifer hadn’t misread the moment.
It was him.
Notes:
Author's note
In this chapter, Lucifer and Alastor are really hurting each other—and that’s honestly so painful to watch.
It also made me think about something: you might notice that Alastor seems like he’s constantly holding himself back because of his past. And yes, that’s true. Soon enough, we’ll learn why he is the way he is today.
Confession time: this chapter was not supposed to exist. Like. At all.
But then I realized there was a time skip before what should be chapter 5, and it felt way too sudden… o I added this chapter to bridge that gap.
Which means… congratulations, we’re getting a few extra chapters now. (please pray for me guys)
That said, please brace yourselves—because from here on out, it’s going to be a full roller coaster of emotions.
Chapter 6: An Invitation Warm Enough To Stay
Summary:
He forced his breathing to steady, then cleared his throat. “If you have no pressing engagements,” he said carefully, tone gentler now, “you might consider accompanying me elsewhere.”
Lucifer glanced up, suspicious. “Elsewhere where?”
Alastor’s smile returned, softer this time, less sharp around the edges. “Home,” he said. “It is Thanksgiving, after all. And while my household is… unconventional, it is rarely quiet.”
Lucifer stared at him, heart pounding. “You’re inviting me?...Why?”
“Yes,” Alastor replied simply. “Because… I believe you should not be alone today.”
Notes:
Yes—everything about this chapter is long. The title, the words, the pacing, the tension… damn. And it took a very long time to write also. (because this chapter also supposed not to exist, but here we are)
While writing it, I got a little… carried away. But as promised, they finally reconciled, and there was so much that needed to be said. That’s why this chapter is heavy with conversations—because some things can only hurt, heal, or break through words.
For me, Chapter 6 is one of the strongest emotional chapters I’ve written so far. The devastation here is quiet, slow, and accumulating. It’s heavy, but not messy. Deliberate. Controlled. Intimate. It almost reads like an emotional essay disguised as a narrative—every scene circling the same core wound, each one pressing on it from a different angle.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter 6: An Invitation Warm Enough to Stay
Good day, dear beloved listeners. Today’s recommended songs are:
- From the Dining Table - Harry styles
- Vienna - Billy Joel
- Cherry Wine - Hozier
I hope you find the courage to be honest especially with yourself first, and with the world when you are ready. Honesty is not cruelty; it is growth, even when it hurts. Life will wound you, yes, but it will also offer you warmth in unexpected places. Please don’t be afraid of it. You do not have to face the hard nights alone.
Warmth can be frightening when you are used to the cold. Kindness can feel suspicious when you have learned to survive without it. If you hesitate before accepting comfort, you are not ungrateful but you are careful. And careful hearts are not weak hearts. They are hearts that have been hurt and are still trying to love anyway.
Hope you get love, keep warm and stay safe. Thank you my dear beloved.
*******
By afternoon, Haven Star Academy always began to look like it was slowly exhaling.
The morning had been normal—bells, announcements, students swarming between classes like they owned the halls—but by three o’clock, the entire building shifted into that strange pre-holiday atmosphere where everyone moved faster, talked louder, and acted like tomorrow was a finish line they deserved to sprint toward. The sunlight slanted through the high windows in long, honeyed stripes, cutting the corridors into bright warmth and cool shadow, and the air smelled faintly of paper, perfume, cafeteria leftovers, and winter creeping in behind people’s coats.
It wasn’t empty—Haven Star never truly felt empty—but it became partial. A half-life of the school. Some students had already been signed out early, dragging designer luggage behind them as if the campus was an airport terminal, laughing and shouting into their phones about flights and chauffeurs and “my mom is literally making me go to my aunt’s, I’m so mad,” in voices loud enough to be heard over the announcements.
Clusters of students hovered near lockers, elbows on metal doors, heads close, gossip moving like wildfire.
“Thanksgiving at my grandma’s,” someone said with a grin, voice bright with entitlement. “She does that turkey-glaze thing. Like, it’s insane.”
“You’re lucky. My parents are hosting donors,” another groaned. “I’m gonna be paraded around like a show dog.”
Lucifer Morningstar walked through all of it as if he was made of something that did not bend.
He moved through the corridor with the kind of posture people mistook for confidence—hands in his pockets, chin slightly lifted, steps measured like he didn’t rush for anyone. His phone was in his hand, thumb scrolling endlessly through nothing, through apps he wasn’t reading, messages he wasn’t responding to, notifications that didn’t matter. He held the screen like a shield, like if he looked busy enough nobody would look at him too closely.
And he was good at it. Too good.
“…My mom’s doing three pies,” a girl near the staircase was saying, eyes shining.
“Three?” her friend gasped.
“Pumpkin, apple, pecan. And she’s making homemade whipped cream like she’s competing in some baking show.”
“No, stop, I’m jealous.”
They laughed together like they had the right to. Like holidays were for them. Like gratitude wasn’t a performance, but a real thing that lived in the body.
Lucifer didn’t slow. He didn’t look. He didn’t let his face twitch.
From the outside, Lucifer Morningstar looked indifferent: the mayor’s son, untouchable, too above-it-all to care about something as ordinary as a holiday.
But something inside him tightened anyway—not like envy, not exactly, but like a bruise recognizing pressure. He told himself it was nothing, told himself it was ridiculous to feel anything over Thanksgiving, told himself he didn’t care about dry turkey and awkward family dinner speeches, and for a few seconds he almost believed it.
It’s just a day, he told himself. It’s literally just a day. You’re not going to fall apart because of one stupid day.
Then someone called his name.
“Lu, Lulu! Lucifer” Ozzie’s voice carried down the hallway, loud and bright and casual, like he was throwing a rope and expecting Lucifer to grab it.
Lucifer glanced over his shoulder, just enough to be seen acknowledging the world. Ozzie was jogging toward him with his bag slung over one shoulder and the kind of excitement that felt harmless. Bee followed behind at a calmer pace, hands in her pockets.
“Dude, you’ve been speed-walking like you’re running from a ghost.” Ozzie teased, but it came out softer than usual.
Bee stepped closer, tilting her head, studying him like she was trying to read between the lines of his face. “So,” Bee said gently, stepping into his line of sight. “Tomorrow. Are you okay?”
Lucifer sighed, already knowing where this was going. He didn’t stop walking, but he slowed enough for them to fall into step beside him.
“Thanksgiving,” he said flatly. “Yes. I’m aware.”
Ozzie smirked. “Just checking. You disappear every year like it’s a magic trick.”
“I’m okay,” he said. “Really.”
Ozzie called after him, voice tight. “Lucifer—”
“I don’t know,” Lucifer said, voice breezy enough to pass. “I’m going to sit in my mansion, probably stare at my ceiling and try not to feel like my own furniture is judging me. Or develop a new personality trait or perhaps start a cult.”
Ozzie snorted. “That’s not a plan, that’s a cry for help.”
Lucifer grinned. A bright, stupid grin. A performance grin. “No, it’s called self-care.”
Bee huffed a quiet laugh, then shook her head. “You always say that.”
“And yet,” Lucifer replied dryly, “here I am. Still evolving.”
Bee’s voice softened. “What’s going on?”
Lucifer let out a small laugh—sharp, deflecting. “Relax. My dad’s got a whole city to run. Sera’s got her… whatever. Michael’s too busy ignoring me.It’s not a big deal.”
That was how he said it. Like it didn’t matter. Like he didn’t care. But inside, it was different, the truth sat heavy and quiet.
“You can come with us,” Bee said, voice soft but certain. “My place or Ozzie. No pressure. Just food and people and noise.”
Ozzie nodded. “Yeah. You don’t even have to talk. Just show up.”
Lucifer finally stopped walking. He looked at them, really looked—and for a moment, the mask slipped. Not completely. Just enough to show that he heard them.
“Thank you for your kind offers guys, but I will stay at home and rest.”
Ozzie sighed, hands slipping into his pockets. “You say that every year too.”
Lucifer smiled faintly. “See? Tradition.”
Bee didn’t push. She just studied his face, searching for something, then nodded slowly.
“Alright,” she said. “We get it.”
Lucifer blinked, surprised. “You do?”
Ozzie shrugged. “Yeah. It’s your thing. And you always come back after the break. That’s enough for us.”
Something eased in Lucifer’s chest. Small, but real. “Thanks,” he said, softer than before.
Ozzie bumped his shoulder lightly. “Invite still stands. You know that.”
Lucifer nodded. “I know.”
They stood there for another second, the noise of the school swelling around them again, before Bee stepped back. “Take care, Lu,” she said.
He gave them a crooked smile. “Try not to miss me.”
Ozzie snorted. “No promises.”
Lucifer turned and walked away, phone slipping back into his pocket—not as a shield this time, just something to hold. Bee and Ozzie watched him go, neither of them calling after him.
Because they’d learned, over the years, that sometimes the kindest thing to do was let Lucifer choose his solitude, while still leaving the door open, just in case.
*******
His father was away, always overseas, chasing meetings and deals and legacy like it was the only thing that ever deserved him. Sera is busy, always busy, always soft-voiced and apologetic, always promising later, they love you. They're just busy— the same answer every year.
And The Morningstar mansion is so silent. Not the peaceful kind of silence, either. The kind that echoed. The kind that made every room feel too large, too empty, too aware of your presence. The same silence he had grown up with. The same one that smelled like polish and expectation.
That night, the mansion glowed softly against the dark hill, gold light spilling from tall windows, perfectly trimmed hedges, security gates that opened for him and only him. Home was a word people used for warmth. But the Morningstar mansion just felt like a monument.
Lucifer drifted down the corridor and stopped at the doorway of Sera’s office. She sat at her desk, tablet open, posture immaculate. The room smelled faintly of expensive perfume and paperwork, order, authority, everything that didn’t feel like home.
“Sera.” he called as he leaned against the doorframe, trying to look like he didn’t care. But his voice cracked anyway, just a little.
“Will Father come back tomorrow for Thanksgiving?” he asked.
“No, Lucifer,” she said gently. “You know how busy your dad is. I hope you understand.”
Lucifer nodded, swallowing. “As I thought,” he murmured, then forced the next question out. “How about Michael? Did he say anything to you? He doesn’t even reply to me.”
Sera’s mouth tightened. “He is not available to come home,” she said. “He only gets a very short break. I’m sorry, Lucifer.”
Lucifer stared at the wall behind her, because looking at her face felt like it might break him.
Sera hesitated, then said quietly, “I will also have to attend a few meetings, so I cannot celebrate with you.”
The words settled into Lucifer’s body like cold water. He inhaled, held it, then let it out slowly. He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want to feel anything. He has learned from “past” experience that feeling meant weakness. Feeling meant wanting. Wanting meant disappointment.
Lucifer forced a smile that didn’t belong on his face. “Of course,” he said. “Meetings. Right. Wouldn’t want to miss those.”
“Lucifer…” Sera called.
He stepped back. “Goodnight Sera,” he said quickly, and left before she could say anything else.
*******
Lucifer closed his bedroom door quietly.
He crossed the room slowly, the carpet soft under his feet, the space too large for one person. His room had everything a teenager was supposed to want— expensive desk, polished shelves, a massive bed that could fit three people comfortably; but none of it made it feel lived-in. It felt staged.
Lucifer lay flat on his bed, fully dressed, arms spread loosely at his sides as if gravity itself was the only thing keeping him anchored. The room was too quiet. Not the peaceful kind of quiet—this was the kind that made every thought echo louder than it should, the kind that pressed against his ears until he was forced to listen to himself. The ceiling above him was smooth and white and endlessly blank, and he stared at it like it might eventually give him an answer if he waited long enough.
The conversation with Sera replayed in his head anyway, even though he didn’t want it to. Not the words themselves—he was tired of the words—but the feeling that always followed them. His father overseas, always overseas. Michael unavailable, always unavailable.
No, Lucifer. You know how busy your dad is. I hope you understand that.
Understand. He hated that word. Why it is always me that need to understand them?
He’s not available. He only gets a very short break. I’m sorry, Lucifer.
Lucifer let out a laugh,short, sharp, bitter and covered his mouth immediately like someone might hear him. Like the house might judge him for sounding ugly.
Michael always had a short break. Michael always had something more important. Michael always had reasons. And Lucifer always had that same sick feeling in his stomach when he realized, again, that his twin lived in a world that didn’t include him.
Sometimes Lucifer tried to remember what it had felt like when they were younger—two halves of something, matching, equal, inseparable. But those memories were blurry now, corrupted by distance.
These days, Michael’s silence was so consistent it felt like a statement. Like he is not someone that is worth replying to.
Lucifer stared at his phone, thumb hovering over the chat thread. There were messages there. His messages to Michael. Too many of them.
He tried to make little attempts at normal conversation, jokes that landed nowhere, are you coming back?, how are you?, did you see this?, and the worst, he hated himself for sending—I miss you.
No reply. Not even an emoji. Lucifer closed the thread so fast it was almost violent.
Maybe he wasn’t built for permanence. Maybe people didn’t leave him on purpose—maybe he was simply easy to leave behind.
And then, like it always did when he was tired and alone, his mind drifted to Alastor.
The thought of him arrived uninvited, sharp and vivid, and Lucifer’s chest tightened immediately. Alastor’s voice, calm and controlled, still lingered somewhere in his memory—the way it sounded on the radio, smooth and deliberate, carrying warmth that Lucifer might have imagined but still felt real at the time.
He remembered the sick twist in his stomach when that warmth turned cold, when the distance became intentional, when Alastor pushed him away with words polished enough to feel justified and cruel all at once.
Lucifer swallowed hard, fingers curling into the fabric of the sheets. It still hurt more than he wanted to admit. The memory of that rejection sat deep in him, heavy and unresolved, and no matter how many times he told himself to move on, his heart didn’t listen.
He didn’t understand why Alastor had done it, why he had closed the door so firmly after letting Lucifer believe—just for a moment—that he was allowed near. That uncertainty hurt almost more than the rejection itself.
He stared into the darkness, thoughts spiraling now, cruel and familiar. Maybe Alastor had seen something in him that everyone else eventually did.
Maybe Alastor pushed him because everyone eventually did. Something lacking. Something inconvenient.
Maybe Lucifer was the problem.
Maybe he was born with something wrong inside him.
Maybe he was built like this. Too loud, too needy, too desperate for warmth, too hungry for attention in a world that rewarded distance.
He swallowed, throat tight, the thought slipping out like poison
People think I’m not important, people think I’m a mistake.
Maybe I was born to be alone, he thought, the sentence forming quietly but decisively, like a conclusion he’d been circling his whole life.
He swallowed a sob back so hard his throat hurt.
Lucifer turned his face into the pillow, breathing slowly, forcing the ache down until it dulled into something manageable. Tomorrow would come whether he was ready or not, and tonight, all he could do was lie there in the dark, surrounded by everything he was supposed to be grateful for, and feel painfully, undeniably alone.
*******
Morning came quietly.
Lucifer woke up to nothing—no footsteps in the hallway, no muffled voices behind doors, no distant clatter of dishes or staff moving about the house. The light filtering through the curtains was pale and cold, the kind that didn’t warm anything it touched. For a few seconds, he lay still, staring at the wall, hoping his brain was wrong, hoping he had misjudged the silence. But the house remained unmoved, unchanged, indifferent.
He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. The mansion felt larger during holidays, as if the absence of people stretched the walls further apart. He padded down the hallway, past doors that stayed firmly closed, and descended the stairs into the living room, where the furniture stood in perfect formation like it was waiting for an audience that never arrived. The dining table downstairs was long and polished, enough chairs to host a dozen people, and not a single one disturbed. The sight made something tighten in his chest.
Lucifer laughed quietly under his breath, bitter and sharp. Of course it was empty. Of course this was how it was going to be.
He didn’t bother making breakfast.Instead, he changed into a pink oversized pink sweatshirt with little ducks printed across the front. It was ridiculous,the one he usually wore only when no one could see him. Soft. Unfit for a Morningstar.
He slipped his phone into his pocket. Staying there felt unbearable, like the walls were slowly closing in, so he left before he could change his mind. Instead of driving the car, he stepped outside and chose to walk.
Hands tucked into his sleeves, shoulders hunched against the cold, eyes fixed on the pavement as the town slowly replaced quiet streets with something more human. Warm lights glowed behind windows he passed, shadows moving inside them, laughter muffled but unmistakable. He didn’t let himself linger on those images for long. Wanting things made the ache worse.
By the time he reached the restaurant, his stomach had twisted into something sharp and hollow, hunger finally overtaking pride. The place was nearly empty, bright and impersonal, smelling of oil and salt, and that suited him just fine.
He ordered pancakes without thinking and slid into a seat by the window, staring at the world outside instead of the food in front of him. It was easier that way—to pretend he was just another person killing time, not someone hiding from a holiday that had never really belonged to him.
Across town, Alastor was out on an errand for Rosie. He then noticed him immediately.
Alastor slowed. He had been walking through town out of habit more than intention, coat buttoned neatly, thoughts drifting in circles he refused to name. When a familiar posture caught his eyes, blond hair dulled by overcast lighs, houlders drawn in, head lowered, steps measured like someone trying not to be seen. The pink hoodie made him pause. The way Lucifer moved made him pause longer. There was something in that walk that didn’t belong to a boy who claimed he didn’t care.
Alastor stopped at the corner and watched as Lucifer turned into the restaurant, the door closing behind him with quiet finality. Alastor’s first instinct was to turn away and leaving it there. Distance was safer. Distance was what he knew.
It had been weeks since he’d shoved Lucifer out of his orbit. Weeks of careful distance. Weeks of telling himself Lucifer’s presence was dangerous, that Lucifer made him feel things that were inconvenient and sharp, that Lucifer’s attention was a hook in his ribs.
He had done the right thing. He had.
But,something twisted in Alastor’s chest. It is not a pity. Guilt.
Lucifer’s absence had been louder than his presence ever was.
Alastor followed him.
Not too close. Not obvious. A shadow at a distance. Just enough to see Lucifer enter a small fast-food restaurant and choose a corner table alone, placing a plate of pancakes in front of him like it was a punishment.
Alastor stood outside the glass door for a long moment, watching Lucifer stare at his phone like it might offer a miracle.
Alastor’s jaw tightened.
“Well,” he muttered under his breath, straightening his coat. “If I’m going to ruin this man’s day further, I may as well do it with style.”
He stepped inside.
*******
The bell above the door chimed, bright and cheerful in a way that felt almost mocking.
Alastor stepped inside and the warmth hit him first—grease, syrup, cheap coffee, the kind of comfort that clung to your clothes like a reminder you’d been somewhere ordinary. Families sat in booths with their coats draped over seats; a child laughed too loudly; someone argued gently about whether pancakes counted as “real breakfast.”
Lucifer sat alone at a corner table.
Oversized pink sweatshirt. Ducks across his chest like a cruel joke the universe was playing. His shoulders were down, not in a relaxed way—more like gravity had finally decided to be honest with him. His phone glowed in his hand. His fork moved like he was doing a task, not eating.
Alastor stopped at the edge of the table.
Lucifer didn’t look up.
Alastor had expected anger. A glare. A comment sharp enough to draw blood.
But Lucifer was quiet. Quiet in a way that made Alastor’s skin prickle. Quiet in a way that felt like a door shutting.
“Good morning, Morningstar,” Alastor said pleasantly, voice smooth and precise, carrying that old-fashioned lilt that always sounded like he was amused by something only he understood. “Fancy meeting you in such a… charming establishment.”
Lucifer continued scrolling.
Alastor’s smile tightened. He tried again, softer this time, as if softness wouldn’t embarrass him. “If this is your grand Thanksgiving banquet, I must confess myself… dreadfully underwhelmed”
Lucifer stiffened, fingers tightening around his phone. He looked up slowly, disbelief flashing across his face before irritation followed close behind. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
His eyes were sharp, but there was exhaustion behind the sharpness, as if he’d been angry for too long and the anger had started to rot.
“What do you want?” Lucifer asked.
“Breakfast,” Alastor replied lightly. “And perhaps a moment of civilized conversation, though I see… I may be asking too much.”
Lucifer let out a sharp laugh. “After weeks of ignoring me? That’s rich. You made it pretty clear you don’t like talking to me.”
Alastor’s jaw flexed.
Lucifer dropped his gaze back to his phone like Alastor wasn’t standing there. Like Alastor was furniture. Like Alastor was nothing.
That… that stung more than an insult.
For a fraction of a second, Alastor’s smile faltered. He recovered quickly, but not fast enough for Lucifer to miss it. Alastor pulled out the chair and sat anyway, the scrape loud on the tile. The act was rude. Deliberate. A challenge.
Lucifer’s fingers curled around his phone. “You’re insane.”
Alastor leaned back slightly, studying him with an expression that was quieter than usual, less performative. “I saw you walking,” he said after a pause. “Alone. It seemed… unseasonable.”
Lucifer’s jaw tightened. “Mind your business.”
“Mmm,” Alastor hummed. “Ordinarily, I would. Today, however, I find myself in a charitable mood.”
Lucifer’s eyes narrowed. Lucifer looked at him, really looked at him, anger and hurt tangling together in his chest. “You don’t get to act like you care now. You don’t get to walk around for weeks pretending I don’t exist, and then show up like this is normal.”
Alastor opened his mouth.
Lucifer leaned forward, voice lowering, the rage under it trembling like a wire about to snap.
“You pushed me away,” Lucifer said. “Like I was disgusting. Like I was embarrassing. Like I was a mistake, don’t you?” His laugh was brittle. “And now you’re here. In my face. Acting like—what?”
Alastor’s throat tightened. He wanted to respond with something clever, something sharp, something that would restore the power balance.
But the truth came up instead, unwelcome and hot.
Alastor’s gaze softened, just a little. “I never said I didn’t care.”
The words hung between them, heavy and dangerous.
Lucifer swallowed, looking down at the table. “Then why did you push me away?”
Alastor didn’t answer immediately. His fingers tapped once against the table, deliberate, restrained. “Because,” he said quietly, “some things are easier to manage from a distance.”
Lucifer laughed, bitter and hollow. “Yeah. I figured.”
Silence settled again, uncomfortable but different from before, charged with things neither of them were ready to say. Outside, a car passed by, and Lucifer suddenly felt exhausted—tired of pretending, tired of being angry, tired of carrying the weight of rejection alone.
“I owe you an apology,” Alastor said.
Lucifer froze. “…You?” Lucifer repeated, incredulous. “You’re apologizing?”
Alastor’s lips twitched, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes. I’m aware it’s shocking. You may notify the newspapers.”
Lucifer stared harder, searching for the trick. “This is a prank.”
“It is not.”
Lucifer scoffed. “You don’t do apologies.”
Alastor’s fingers tightened together. “Yes. I do.” The admission came too fast, and the air between them sharpened.
Lucifer blinked, thrown. “Then why now?”
Because you look like you’ve already accepted that nobody is coming for you, Alastor thought,
and it makes me feel sick.
Because I have been pretending you don’t matter, and it hasn’t worked.
Because your absence has been louder than your presence.
Alastor swallowed. “I was wrong,” Alastor said carefully. “I behaved… poorly. I pushed you away. I spoke as though you were an inconvenience.”
Lucifer’s expression tightened, pain flashing so quickly it looked like anger.
“You didn’t speak like I was an inconvenience,” Lucifer corrected quietly. “You spoke like I was a mistake.”
Alastor went still.
Lucifer looked down at his pancakes like they were safer to look at than Alastor’s face.
“I don’t think you want to talk to me,” Lucifer said. His voice thinned on the last word. “Since I’m someone that…” He hesitated, then forced it out like swallowing glass. “Since I’m someone who makes you uncomfortable.”
Silence. Not empty silence. Heavy silence—like both of them were holding a truth they didn’t want to touch.
Alastor’s heart thudded once, hard. He hated the way he felt guilty. He hated the way guilt made him softer. Softer meant vulnerable. Vulnerable meant—
He forced his breathing to steady, then cleared his throat. “If you have no pressing engagements,” he said carefully, tone gentler now, “you might consider accompanying me elsewhere.”
Lucifer glanced up, suspicious. “Elsewhere where?”
Alastor’s smile returned, softer this time, less sharp around the edges. “Home,” he said. “It is Thanksgiving, after all. And while my household is… unconventional, it is rarely quiet.”
Lucifer stared at him, heart pounding. “You’re inviting me?...Why?”
“Yes,” Alastor replied simply. “Because… I believe you should not be alone today.”
Lucifer’s expression tightened.
“Are you inviting me out of guilt?” Lucifer asked, voice sharp.
Alastor’s smile flashed—pained. “Perhaps. Unless you object.”
Lucifer hesitated, every instinct screaming at him to say no, to protect himself, to walk away before he could be hurt again. But the thought of returning to that silent mansion, of spending the day alone with his thoughts, felt worse.
Then Lucifer stood.
Alastor flinched, instinct expecting Lucifer to storm out, to throw an insult, to slam the door on this fragile moment.
Instead Lucifer pulled on his jacket and said, voice almost daring— “Okay..,” he muttered at last. “But if this is some kind of joke—”
Alastor stood, smiling faintly. “Perish the thought, my dear boy.”
And just like that, they walked out together, the cold air greeting them both as the door closed behind them, leaving the empty restaurant—and Lucifer’s loneliness—momentarily behind.
*******
They walked side by side without speaking at first, the cold air settling between them like something unspoken but present. Lucifer kept his hands tucked into his sleeves, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes fixed on the pavement ahead as if looking anywhere else might give Alastor too much access.
The streets grew quieter the farther they went, houses lining the road with windows softly lit, silhouettes moving inside—families already gathered, already warm. The sight made Lucifer’s chest tighten in a way he refused to acknowledge out loud.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence between them wasn’t peaceful. It was tense, loaded, full of things neither wanted to touch.
Lucifer glanced sideways at Alastor’s profile. That stupid calm face. That controlled mouth. That smile he always wore like a weapon. Lucifer’s chest tightened.
He couldn’t stand it.
“You’re unusually silent,” Alastor said eventually, tone mild, almost amused. “I find it… unsettling.”
Lucifer scoffed without looking at him. “Congratulations. Now you know how I feel around you most days.”
Alastor chuckled under his breath. “Touché.”
“So,” Alastor continued, voice low, “are you celebrating Thanksgiving with your family?”
Lucifer laughed once, bitter and short. “No.”
Alastor’s composure cracked a fraction. “No?”
“I’m alone,” Lucifer said simply. My father’s away,” Lucifer said. “Sera’s busy. Michael… doesn’t come home.” His lips twisted. “He doesn’t even reply.”
Alastor’s eyes narrowed, something dark and protective stirring before he could stop it.
Lucifer’s gaze flicked up, sharp suddenly. “And don’t look at me like that. Don’t do the pity thing.”
“It is not pity,” Alastor said, voice tightening. “It’s—”
“Why do you care?” Lucifer demanded. “You made it clear you don’t want me anywhere near you. So why are you here?”
His heartbeat thudded in his ears like a warning.
Because I care, he thought, horrified.
Because you made me feel things.
Because when you look lonely, it feels like someone is tearing open my chest.
Alastor went still, his hands curled into fists, no words can come out from his mouth. Again, the tension stretched so tight it felt like the air might snap.
Another silence.
They walked another block before Lucifer spoke again, the words sharper than he intended. “So is this part of the plan? Pretend nothing happened?”
Alastor’s steps didn’t falter, but his expression shifted, something tightening behind his eyes. “I wouldn’t insult either of us by pretending,” he said calmly. “But I also won’t begin a delicate conversation on a sidewalk. That would be gauche.”
Lucifer stared straight ahead, hands deep in his pockets.
“I’m not sure why you acted this way today,” he said suddenly. “Suddenly shy, suddenly lost your composure.” His voice carried a bite. “Because last time you saw me, you practically shoved me into another universe.”
Alastor kept his gaze forward. “A vivid image.”
“Don’t dodge,” Lucifer snapped. “And now you’re inviting me to your house. That’s contradicting for someone trying to get me out of his area.”
Alastor’s jaw tightened. “…Probably,” he admitted slowly, “I am just scared.”
Lucifer’s head turned sharply. “Scared of what?”
“I am aware I hurt you.” The admission landed heavier than any apology.
Lucifer’s pace slowed slightly. “You didn’t just hurt me,” he said, voice low. “You made me feel stupid. Like I imagined everything. Like I crossed a line that didn’t exist.”
Alastor stopped walking.
Lucifer took two more steps before realizing, then turned back, irritation flaring. “What?”
Alastor stood there for a moment, hands clasped behind his back, posture straight but expression unguarded in a way Lucifer had never seen before. “You did not imagine it,” he said carefully. “That is precisely why I reacted the way I did.”
Lucifer frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes too much sense,” Alastor replied softly. “Which is the problem.”
They resumed walking, slower now.
Lucifer swallowed. “Then explain it to me.”
Alastor’s gaze remained forward, voice even but threaded with something older, heavier. “I am… not skilled at proximity. Emotional or otherwise. When people draw near, I have a regrettable tendency to retreat rather than risk being seen poorly.”
Lucifer’s jaw tightened. “So you pushed me away because I got too close.”
“Yes.”
Lucifer let out a hollow laugh. “You could’ve just said that instead of making me feel like an idiot.”
Alastor glanced at him sidelong. “I am remarkably talented at choosing the wrong method while convincing myself it is the right one.”
Silence fell again, but it was different now—less hostile, more fragile.
Lucifer stared ahead, heart pounding. “I don’t know why I still care,” he admitted quietly. “After everything.”
Alastor’s voice softened, losing some of its theatrical polish. “Care does not vanish simply because it becomes inconvenient.”
Lucifer looked at him then, really looked, and for the first time he wondered if Alastor’s distance wasn’t indifference—but fear dressed up as control.
They reached the edge of Cannibell Town, a familiar town to them, as it holds some secrets between them, the park that lets them be humans, to talk and be vulnerable. The streetlights here are warmer, older somehow, and Alastor slowed, gesturing ahead.
"Rosie's just down this way.”
Lucifer nodded, nerves tightening again, but something else sat beneath it now—uncertain, hesitant, but real. As they continued walking, Lucifer thought, not for the first time, that maybe this wasn’t forgiveness yet.
But it was something like honesty.
And that, somehow, felt more dangerous than silence ever had.
*******
Rosie’s house announced itself long before they reached the door. Warm light spilled through the windows in uneven patches, glowing gold against the cold evening, and the sound of voices—too many voices—leaked through the walls in a way that felt almost aggressive compared to the quiet Lucifer had come from. The air smelled rich and layered, something slow-cooked and spiced, something that clung to clothes and promised fullness rather than elegance. It wasn’t a mansion smell. It wasn’t polished or distant. It was alive.
Lucifer hesitated on the doorstep, fingers curling unconsciously into the sleeves of his hoodie, as if his body had already decided it didn’t belong here. Before he could say anything, the door swung open with force.
“ALASTOR!”
Rosie stood there in an apron dusted with flour, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with the kind of warmth that didn’t ask permission. Her gaze flicked immediately to Lucifer, and her smile widened in a way that made his chest tighten unexpectedly.
Oh? Well, aren’t you just handsome,” she said, grabbing Lucifer by the shoulders before he could react. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing company.”
Alastor’s smile turned strained. “It wasn’t—planned.”
Rosie winked like she heard a confession instead of a denial. “Uh-huh.”
Alastor cleared his throat and attempted formality like it could save him. “Rosie, this is Lucifer Morningstar. The son—”
“Of course you are,” Rosie interrupted warmly. “The son of the Haven City mayor. It’s a pleasure to meet an honorable guest in my humble home.” Her tone sharpened playfully. “Come here, sweetheart.”
Before Lucifer could protest, she pulled him into a hug.
Lucifer barely had time to register the sudden closeness before Rosie pulled him into a hug that was firm, unapologetic, and smelled like food and fabric softener. For a split second, he froze, posture stiff, unsure what he was allowed to do. Then, slowly, awkwardly, he returned the hug, fingers bunching into the fabric of her apron like he needed proof this was real.
“Come in, sweetheart,” Rosie said brightly, ushering him inside like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You must be starving. Alastor never feeds his guests properly.”
“I resent that accusation,” Alastor replied smoothly. “I provide excellent conversation.”
“And no calories,” Rosie shot back. “Tragic.”
The house hit Lucifer all at once. Noise, movement, laughter overlapping itself, someone shouting from another room, dishes clattering, music playing faintly from somewhere he couldn’t see. It was chaos—not messy, but crowded, layered, alive. His eyes widened before he could stop himself.
In the living room, one long couch sat pressed against the wall, and somehow—somehow—there were nearly ten people crammed onto it. Some leaned against each other without thinking, others perched on the armrests or sat on the floor with their backs against the couch, all talking at once, arguing about something on the television. It was intimate in a way Lucifer had never witnessed. No one guarded their space. No one looked uncomfortable being touched.
His chest tightened painfully.
I have more couches than this, he thought, stunned. And not a single one is ever used.
Rosie noticed his pause immediately. She followed his gaze, then smiled knowingly. “Don’t stare too hard, darling. They’ll start charging admission.”
Before Lucifer could respond, a blur of movement rushed past his legs.
“ALASTOR!”
Niffty appeared out of nowhere, hair bouncing, energy uncontrolled. “You brought a pretty boy!”
Lucifer choked. “I—what?”
Alastor’s expression softened in a way that startled Lucifer. “Yes, yes, hello, Niffty. Try not to scare him.”
The front door opened again before the moment could settle, letting in a burst of cold air along with two familiar figures.
“Husk?” Alastor frowned slightly. “Angel? How did you—”
“Niffty invited me,” Husk said flatly.
Angel grinned. “And Husk invited me, so obviously I had to come. I brought sparkles.”
Rosie clapped her hands together. “Perfect! More chaos. Kitchen, all of you.”
Lucifer barely had time to process before he was gently steered into the kitchen, where Rosie immediately began pushing food toward him like it was a moral obligation. Plates appeared in his hands without explanation, warm and heavy, and he found himself sitting at the table surrounded by conversation that didn’t pause just because he was new.
Rosie pushed a plate toward him like she was saving him with food. “Eat. You look like you forgot how.”
Lucifer opened his mouth, then shut it. “I… thank you.”
“Mm,” Rosie hummed, already turning away. “Yes, yes. Don’t get shy on me now.”
From the living room came a loud, furious shout that made everyone pause.
“You people are insufferable!”
Rosie sighed fondly. “That’s Susan.”
Alastor, deadpan “Ornery old bitch. Our neighbor.”
Lucifer covered a laugh with his hand, surprised it came out at all.
Board games appeared next—someone shouted rules no one followed, Angel cheated openly, Husk complained, Nifty celebrated too loudly, and Alastor laughed, actually laughed, shoulders relaxing in a way Lucifer had never seen.
The sight made his stomach twist. This version of Alastor—easy, familiar, unguarded. It felt intimate in a way Lucifer hadn’t earned, and it hurt more than he expected.
Why are there two versions of you? Lucifer thought, heart tightening.
Which one is real?
Alastor caught Lucifer staring and lifted an eyebrow in that old-fashioned, theatrical way.
Lucifer looked away quickly, cheeks warming.
The noise kept rising. Voices layered over each other. Laughter burst too close. Someone knocked into his shoulder without apologizing because they didn’t think they needed to. Lucifer’s breath shortened, chest tightening as the warmth became too much, too fast. He set his game piece down quietly and stood, slipping away without announcement, his body already moving before his mind caught up.
The porch air was cold and immediate, biting at his lungs, grounding him. Lucifer gripped the railing and breathed, staring out into the night, heart racing. The house behind him glowed, loud and alive, and for the first time that day, the warmth scared him more than the cold.
*******
The door creaked open behind him.
“I wondered how long you’d last,” Alastor said gently, stepping outside and closing the door with care. “Rosie’s hospitality can be… overwhelming.”
Lucifer didn’t turn. “It’s a lot.”
“Yes,” Alastor agreed quietly, standing beside him without crowding. “It always is.”
“It’s not that I don’t like them,” Lucifer said finally, voice low and even, as if he were explaining himself to the night rather than to Alastor. “They’re… kind. Too kind, maybe.” He huffed a small, humorless laugh. “I just don’t know where to put myself in all of that.”
Alastor glanced at him, expression thoughtful. “You treat warmth as something temporary,” he said gently. “As though it must inevitably be revoked.”
Lucifer let out a short, humorless laugh. “Experience teaches.”
Alastor nodded once. “Yes. It does.”
Silence followed, heavier but not hostile. Lucifer stared at the glow spilling through the windows, the sound of people who didn’t measure their affection, and felt the familiar ache settle in his chest. “You know,” he said quietly, “I think that’s why it hurt so much when you pushed me away. It felt… expected. Like proof.”
Alastor’s jaw tightened. “I did not intend to make you feel disposable.”
“But you did,” Lucifer replied softly.
“Yes,” Alastor admitted. “And I regret it.And for that, I am… sincerely sorry.”
The apology was simple. Unadorned. It carried more weight because of it.
Lucifer’s chest tightened, breath catching before he could stop it. “Do you know what it’s like,” he asked, voice barely above a whisper now, “to spend your whole life being important to people who are never actually there?”
Alastor didn’t interrupt.
Lucifer continued, words spilling now that the door was open. “Everyone assumes I have everything. That I don’t need anyone. That I’m fine on my own.” His laugh broke slightly. “I’m really good at pretending they’re right.”
Alastor’s gaze softened, something almost painful in it. “Pretending is an exhausting occupation.”
Lucifer nodded. “Sometimes I think… maybe I was born to be alone,” he said quietly. “Like that’s just the role I’m meant to play. People pass through, but no one stays. And when they don’t, it feels stupid to be surprised.”
The porch was very quiet now. Even the noise from inside seemed to fade.
Alastor spoke carefully, as if choosing words mattered more than usual. “You were not born to be alone,” he said. “But you have been taught, repeatedly, that solitude is preferable to disappointment.”
Lucifer swallowed, eyes burning. “And you?”
Alastor hesitated. Then, honestly, “I was taught that attachment is a liability.”
They stood there together, warm light behind them, cold air ahead, the noise of the house muffled but constant. Lucifer’s shoulders slowly lowered, breath evening out, and for the first time since arriving, he didn’t feel like he had to explain himself.
And Alastor stayed.
*******
Rosie’s voice cut through the cold before either of them could say anything else. “Lucifer, sweetheart! You’re freezing out there—come back inside before you turn into a decorative statue!”
Lucifer glanced over his shoulder toward the door, then back at Alastor. The moment on the porch had settled into something fragile and unfinished, and part of him wanted to stay there longer, suspended between warmth and distance. Still, he nodded. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Okay.”
They stepped back inside together, the noise rushing to meet them immediately. Heat wrapped around Lucifer like a physical thing, and Rosie appeared at his side almost instantly, one hand already at his elbow as if she’d been waiting. “There you are,” she said fondly. “I was starting to think I lost you.”
Before Lucifer could respond, a sharp voice rose from the living room. “ALASTOR.”
Susan stood there with her arms crossed, pointing accusingly at the board game. Angel lounged in his seat with a grin far too innocent to be real, while Husk looked exhausted in the way only someone trapped in nonsense could be. “Your friend is cheating,” Susan snapped. “Again.”
Angel gasped theatrically. “I would never.”
Alastor sighed, already defeated. “Susan, must we litigate this every holiday?”
“Yes,” Susan replied flatly.
Alastor turned to Lucifer with a faint, apologetic smile. “I shall return shortly. Pray for my survival.”
Lucifer snorted before he could stop himself. “Good luck.”
As Alastor was pulled away into chaos, Rosie gently steered Lucifer toward the kitchen, pressing a warm mug into his hands without asking. She seemed busy packing leftovers aggressively, stuffing containers like she was waging war against hunger itself.
“Take this,” Rosie ordered, shoving a container into Lucifer’s hands. “And this. And this. You’re too thin. It’s insulting.”
Lucifer blinked. “I’m not—”
“You are,” Rosie said, cutting him off. “Hush. Sit. Accept love like a normal person.”
Lucifer’s mouth twitched despite himself.
“You know,” Rosie said, sealing a container, “Alastor doesn’t act like this. Not usually.”
Lucifer blinked. “Act like what?”
“Rosie’s eyes sparkled with something knowing. “Letting someone close. Inviting someone here. Looking at someone with those eyes.”
Lucifer almost dropped the container. “What? No. You’re imagining things.”
Rosie hummed. “Am I?”
Lucifer’s face warmed. He got defensive immediately, like always. “There is nothing between us. We’re not even friends.”
Rosie didn’t argue. She just watched him.
Lucifer’s voice grew sharper, because he hated how exposed he felt. “I don’t even know why he invited me. He—” he swallowed, the bitterness returning like poison, “he pushed me away. I don’t know why.”
Rosie’s hands stilled. And when she spoke again, her voice was softer than before—less teasing, more real.
“Alastor… he’s a hard boy,” she said quietly. “Because he’s been through a lot since he was a kid.”
Lucifer’s chest tightened. He didn’t know why he cared.
Rosie continued, packing slower now. “When I took him here… he struggled with himself. With letting anyone close. With being vulnerable. With admitting feelings.”
Lucifer stared at her, confused. “Why?”
Rosie’s mouth tightened like the memory hurt. “Because he learned early that relationships can become something that destroys you.”
Lucifer didn’t breathe.
Rosie looked down at the leftovers like she needed something to hold.
“His father,” Rosie said quietly, “was abusive. To his mother. And to him.” She swallowed, voice steady but heavy. “Alastor grew up watching love turn into pain. Trust turns into betrayal. He learned that closeness has consequences. That if you care too much… you lose everything.”
“And when he cared too much, he lost everything. People even think he is a monster.”
Lucifer’s hands tightened around the container. Something in his chest ached. Not sympathy exactly. Something worse.
Understanding.
Because Lucifer knew what it was like to want warmth and only get cold rules. He knew what it was like to reach for people and find doors closed.
Rosie glanced up at him gently. “So when he pushes you away, sweetheart… it’s not because you’re nothing.”
Lucifer’s throat tightened.
Rosie’s voice softened further. “It’s because you’re too close.”
Lucifer stared at her, heart beating too loud. Somewhere in the living room, laughter erupted again. But in the kitchen, the air felt still.
Lucifer swallowed hard, voice barely working. “Then why invite me at all?”
Rosie smiled sadly. ““Because he wants warmth as much as he fears it. He just doesn’t know how to reach for it without flinching. And maybe…maybe because he feels something too.”
Lucifer’s hands trembled slightly, he swallowed, the pieces settling into place more clearly now. He thought of Alastor’s distance, his careful words, the way he pulled back the moment things felt real. It wasn’t cruelty. It was caution. Armor learned too young, worn too long.
“That’s why he pushes people away,” Lucifer murmured.
Rosie nodded. “Exactly. He thinks leaving first hurts less.”
He looked down at the containers in his arms. Leftovers, proof he was allowed to take something home. He didn’t know what to do with that kind of kindness. And most importantly, he didn’t know what to do with the idea that Alastor might be scared, and not just a cruel boy.
And in that moment, Lucifer realized something terrifying.
This wasn’t just a holiday dinner. This was a crack in a door he thought was permanently locked. And Lucifer didn’t know if he should be brave enough to step through—or smart enough to run before it slammed shut again.
*******
Later, when the evening finally slowed and the noise softened into something manageable, Lucifer stood by the door, coat on, the cold night waiting for him again. Outside, a cab idled at the curb, headlights cutting through the dark. Alastor reappeared beside him, coat draped neatly over his arm, expression composed but eyes searching.
“Leaving so soon?” Alastor asked lightly.
Lucifer nodded. “Yeah. I should.”
They stepped outside together, the door closing behind them with a muted thud. The cab driver glanced over, waiting patiently. Alastor stood slightly apart, hands in pockets, posture composed again—school-Alastor returning. But his eyes were different. Watchful. Uncertain.
Lucifer turned toward the cab.
Then stopped.
He looked at Alastor. Really looked.
Alastor’s eyes met his, and something electric, quiet, and something terrifying passed between them. A recognition. A shared ache.
Lucifer hesitated, his chest tightened. His hands hovered awkwardly, uncertain whether to return the hug or push away. Before he could overthink it, before pride could choke him,
Lucifer walked forward and threw his arms around Alastor.
Alastor went rigid and shock flared through him like lightning.
Lucifer’s voice came muffled against his shoulder. “Thank you,” Lucifer whispered.
Alastor’s throat tightened. “What was that for?”
Lucifer pulled back, smiling small, genuine, vulnerable.
“Nothing,” Lucifer said softly. “Just… appreciate that you brought me here.” His eyes flickered. “And I’m forgiving you for treating me like shit for months.”
Alastor blinked, half offended, half stunned. “How gracious of you.”
Lucifer’s smile widened. “I know.”
He stepped into the cab. As the door closed, Lucifer leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, heart still racing.
His mind was full of Alastor.
Not just the boy at school who sneered and performed and pushed people away. But the boy who laughed with Niffty. The boy who softened around Rosie. The boy who stood outside in the cold and didn’t try to fix him, but instead just stayed with him.
He’s hurting, Lucifer thought, ache blooming behind his ribs.
He’s terrified.
He’s not cruel. He’s scared of being real.
Lucifer’s hands tightened around the leftover container.
I want to protect him, he realized suddenly, violently.
I want to give him everything soft and safe that he never got.
And I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not like that. Not again.
And the thought didn’t scare him .
It felt like purpose.
Notes:
Author's notes:
This chapter was inspired by Hazbin Hotel Season 1, Episode 7—when Alastor brings Charlie to Rosie’s. Except this time… Alastor brought Lucifer instead hehe
Yes, Lucifer’s family is kind of a mess. Michael, especially, is written to be pretty cruel in this AU—and honestly, I’m still debating whether to give him a redemption arc and let him reconcile with Lucifer. We’ll see ? \/(0w0)\/
If you noticed, Lucifer keeps asking why during his conversations with Alastor—why he acted that way, why he was scared, why he kept pushing him away. That’s because Lucifer is deeply hurt, confused, and genuinely wants answers.
And yes—Susan, the ornery old bitch, is here too. At this point, I think everyone is going to exist in this AU. Idk
Rosie is Alastor’s aunt charming, well-mannered, and the person who brought him to Haven City when he was still a kid.
Lucifer’s conversation with Rosie gives him some of the answers he’s been searching for—answers he couldn’t get from Alastor yet. But don’t worry… he will hear them from Alastor when he’s ready. Because what Rosie tells him is only half the truth, hehe
AND YES
We’ve officially made it halfway through the story… and yet, they still haven’t admitted their feelings or confessed anything.
Like I said before, after chapter 5, we’re on a full emotional roller coaster—so tighten your seatbelts, prepare your tissues, and hold your heart steady. There’s still so much waiting to unfold, to happen, to feel. hehe.
Janett (Guest) on Chapter 1 Mon 15 Dec 2025 07:35PM UTC
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