Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Alastor wandered through the supermarket aisles. Dressed in simple casual clothes—a white shirt and black pants—with his sneakers as dark as pitch. Probably his most expensive purchase, given that he never indulged himself with gifts, nor with the whims of a twenty-five-year-old, such as perfumes, barber visits, designer clothes, accessories, or anything else. However, having comfortable shoes that allowed him to run easily, without tiring his legs and with a greater chance of acceleration, was necessary for his job.

He moved his brown eyes across the cereal boxes, shifting one aside to get a clear view of the aisle next to his. His target, a man in his forties, had his back turned and was looking at the displayed jams. Alastor studied him carefully, observing his outfit, checking if he had any joint pain or injuries that might slow him down, and whether he carried any accessories that could make him less agile when he inevitably tried to escape.

He couldn't kill him on the spot, as he needed to ask him some questions. The result of his analysis was not reassuring. The man seemed agile, fairly strong, and had a weapon concealed under his jacket. Alastor sighed, stepping away from the cereal boxes and starting to walk toward him. As usual, he slipped his hands into his pockets—a classic technique to appear nonchalant and make his target believe the situation was under control. For the same reason, a thin but wide smile spread across his face, making his eyes shine under the artificial supermarket lights.

He understood it wouldn’t be easy and that he might get hurt—or worse, lose his life. But this was his mission for the day, and certainly, a situation beyond the definition of "simple" had never been an issue for him.

"Adam," he sang softly as he turned the corner, knowing they were the only two in the aisle.

The man turned to face him. He didn’t seem particularly surprised to see him there. However, Alastor could perceive the fear in his green eyes, even though his expression remained serious, slightly frowning.

Of course, they knew each other. They worked for the same agency, and for a time, Adam had even been his mentor. But Alastor was not the least bit troubled by the fact that he was there to eliminate a former superior, a colleague with whom he had even shared drinks. Adam had even invited him over a few times, where his wife, Lute, prepared homemade vegetables with their two little daughters, while he grilled meat in the garden.

Alastor found all of that disgusting, but he smiled the entire time, waiting for the event to end.

"Alastor… so they sent you in the end. How sadistic."

"Don't worry, I'll be quick. Just give me what you stole from the agency, and I won’t make you suffer. You taught me that, after all."

Adam locked eyes with Alastor, remaining silent. He was thinking, calculating. The fool still believed he could escape, live past this day, and deny that his end had come.

"I don’t have any data," he simply replied, reaching up to grab a jar.

Alastor rolled his eyes, sighing. He didn’t even bother taking his hands out of his pockets.

"Please, spare me the boredom. Hand me the USB drive with the information you stole, then follow me somewhere out of sight. You know how this works."

"And you think I'm stupid enough to let you kill me?" he nearly growled, gripping a random jar.

"I think you’re still stupid enough to keep talking and trying to run," Alastor’s tone deepened, lowering his chin and making his gaze even more intense.

No one had taught him that—except life itself. Events had shaped Alastor into someone cold, somewhat detached, the result of betrayals and predictable outcomes that had surrounded him since the beginning.

He was skilled—extremely so. Agile, fast, somewhat strong, though his tall and slender build made it clear he would struggle in a fight against a brute. But he had speed and intelligence on his side… along with pure hatred for people.

Adam hurled a jar of jam at him, which Alastor dodged with another bored sigh. He wasn’t surprised to see that Adam had already taken off, running away from him.

"Of course," he muttered, finally pulling his hands from his pockets and checking the time on his phone.

7:45 PM. He wouldn’t make it in time for his personal hobby. He put the phone away silently, though he couldn’t hide the shadow that crossed his face due to the disruption of his plans.

In a single motion, Alastor launched himself into pursuit. His expression turned slightly furrowed, irritated. He didn’t care whether he killed slowly, quickly, caused pain, or not. He just wanted to complete his job with as few complications as possible.

Certainly, killing a seasoned assassin like Adam wouldn’t be simple, and he knew it. He deluded himself into thinking he was better than the other—perhaps he was. It was pointless to compare strength, agility, or weapon skills. He was Alastor, and he would undoubtedly complete his mission successfully.

Nothing else mattered.

Adam, in his escape, collided with a small, slender figure he probably hadn’t even noticed due to their height difference.

The man, wearing a ridiculous bartender uniform—a white shirt, a caramel-colored apron, and perfectly coordinated pants—practically flew backward as the contents of his shopping bag scattered across the floor.

For a moment, for reasons he didn’t quite understand, Alastor paused to observe him while Adam continued his escape. The small man scratched his head—though he hadn’t hit it—frowning at the apples that had tumbled onto the floor from his bag. Through the bag, the assassin also caught sight of flour and canned cream.

"What kind of manners…" the man, who appeared to be in his thirties or forties, grumbled.

He had black hair and eyes of the same shade. His pale skin made him look like some creature of the night. His rosy cheeks and the childish pout on his lips completed the picture. Alastor’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, drawing the bartender’s attention as he looked up.

"I’m not a panda in Africa. You could at least help me," he said in a lighthearted yet clearly annoyed tone at what had happened—and at the stranger who was staring at him.

Alastor didn’t bother responding. There was no point in talking to a stranger who had nothing to do with his objective for the day. With another swift motion, he resumed his chase, leaving the man behind without much consideration.

The bartender sighed, dropping to his knees and starting to gather the apples.

"People are busy, Lucifer. Don’t take it personally, says your therapist," he whispered to himself.

In less than ten minutes, Alastor had managed to chase Adam exactly into one of the dark corners he had planned from the beginning. Perfect, if not for the delay he had somewhat anticipated for the day. The bastard hadn’t been easy to track down, and that chase had cost him even more time.

The brunet, finding himself against the wall, visibly dropped his shoulders, defeated. He slowly turned toward Alastor, this time looking at him with the expression of someone who felt betrayed. The mahogany-haired young man walked slowly, almost swaying, savoring the satisfaction of the predator who finally has his prey within reach. The deeper he stepped into the shadows, the more his eyes seemed to glow.

"Don't look at me like that, Adam. You knew we would end up right here," he said softly, not bothering to whisper.

After all, they were in a secluded corner of the underground parking lot, a place hardly anyone passed through. The idiot had been so scared that he ran without even calculating the traffic flow, unlike the younger man, who had led him exactly where he wanted.

"I didn’t train you for this, Al."

Alastor stopped, his eyes widening slightly. With some satisfaction, the older man noticed in the dim light that he might have hit a sore spot. But his hope vanished when the bespectacled young man began laughing like a madman, doubling over and clutching his stomach.

That laughter pierced straight through his heart, exactly as the younger man soon would. He could feel the panic seizing his body and mind. He was starting to tremble, his vision blurring. Was this what all his victims felt when he stood before them, without the chance to catch them off guard?

"Trained? You? Adam, do me a favor. You were just one of the tools I needed to become what I am now: perfect, in case you were wondering."

"A-Alastor, listen, kid..."

"You and so many others were my instructors. And I watched you. I saw how you let yourselves be softened, inviting me into your stupid homes, introducing me to your nauseatingly sweet families..." he sang, walking toward him.

He almost seemed to glide through the air, his grin stretching unnaturally wide, as if reaching his ears—or at least, that was the impression he gave. Without any effort to hide it, he conjured a dagger from who knows where and began twirling it in the air.

"I was young. I still am, after all. And you were all so weak, so easily swayed by that ridiculous human instinct to protect, to show affection for someone younger than you." He stopped just inches away, pressing his entire body against the other man’s, looking straight into his eyes with a wide smile.

Adam stared back at him, terrified, with that lingering shadow of betrayal in his stupid green eyes.

"Don’t you know that when you show affection, you end up getting stabbed in the back, Adam?" he whispered while embracing him in a disturbingly intimate manner, gripping the dagger tightly.

"Al-"

"Where is the USB drive?" he whispered.

"I don’t have it."

A searing pain made the older man shudder. His eyes widened as he stared at Alastor, who continued to smile at him, void of emotion. He was cold, terrifying. Adam realized his back had been pierced.

"Don’t worry, Adam... I’ll take care of your family."

"W-what...?"

"Your beautiful wife..." Alastor panted, pulling him even closer and pushing the blade in deeper, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from his victim.

"She’ll feel so lonely without you. But don’t worry. I’ll fuck her nice and hard every day, making her scream my name."

"BASTARD!" he gasped, consumed by despair.

Driven by a surge of adrenaline, Alastor withdrew the blade and stabbed Adam two, three, four, ten times.

"And then, dear Adam, I’ll kill your daughters, one by one, in their sleep. So they can join you soon enough," he finished, amused.

He withdrew the blade, stepping back, letting his target fall face-first onto the ground, now lifeless. He only hoped he had been heard until the very end.

He looked down at him, then slid his knife back into what seemed like a hidden pocket within his sleeve. His gaze fell upon the dead man’s face, his eyes wide open, lips slightly parted.

Stupidly, memories of their time together flickered through his mind—all the kind smiles his mentor had given him, all the times he had offered him a place to sleep or invited him on trips. After all, he was an orphan, so it was obvious that would evoke such a reaction in a parent. They had about fifteen years between them, but Adam had taken him under his wing when his wife was pregnant with their first daughter.

When Alastor received the order to kill him, he hadn't even blinked.

His grin remained wide as ever. He hadn’t even realized he had drifted into foolish memories. He stopped smiling and knelt beside his ex-mentor’s body, rummaging through his pockets and bag. It was true—the USB drive was nowhere to be found. The fool had even been carrying a loaded gun but hadn’t used it.

"Idiot," he whispered, getting back on his feet.

He noticed his shirt was soaked in blood. His gaze drifted toward the parking lot, beyond the corner where he had trapped the man. He would steal a car to avoid unwanted attention, then leave it somewhere in the middle of the city.

With a sigh, he shoved his hands back into his pockets and lazily strolled toward the parking lot, leaving Adam behind on the ground.

Chapter Text

“Please, officer, forgive my son!”

Lucifer was clinging to the policeman's uniform, who looked at him with an expression of pure disgust. The man, practically his same age, shifted his gaze to the boy he had arrested just a few minutes earlier.

He was tall, slim, platinum blond, but even without the bleach, he was probably blond. His eyes were blue, and although he was covered in earrings, nose piercings, lip piercings, and one on his eyebrow, as well as being dressed from head to toe in brightly colored clothes, the officer would have bet his salary that the two weren’t related. Even their skin tone was different—one was very pale, the other rosy-tanned.

He turned his face back toward the extremely short man.

“Sir, I don't know if you’re really his father, but this boy has stolen for the third time, from the same store, at the same time, that damn plumping lipstick.”

“I know!! Please, forgive him. He has these compulsive… kleptomaniac urges, and—”

“Hey, Lu!” the boy cut in, crossing his arms.

Lucifer stopped, shooting a glare at the boy he was desperately trying to keep out of jail—just because he was an idiot. When the younger one fell silent, pouting and looking away, the man with jet-black hair resumed his act.

“He’s really a good kid! His mother and I try to support him through university, and so we don’t have enough money to buy him all the accessories he needs as the cheerful gay he is!”

“Hey, asshole, that's enough!!” Anthony snapped again, this time furious.

The two ignored him completely. Lucifer kept staring pleadingly at the bearded officer, right in the eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was the sheer ridiculousness of the scene or the look of pure desperation from a man nearly forty, practically his peer, but in the end, Husk gave in with an exasperated sigh.

“This is the last time. Next time, he’s going to the station for a month.”

“Oh, dear heavens, thank you, really!” Lucifer continued to croon annoyingly, practically melting onto the officer before pulling away with exaggerated gratitude.

Anthony huffed, turning to leave. The moment he did, a hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around with a strength far too great for someone of that height.

“Anthony, my boy, thank the officer Husk for keeping you out of jail.” He squeezed his shoulder painfully.

The platinum blond winced at the pain, then shifted his gaze to the officer, who was frowning but also seemed slightly amused by the absurdity of the situation.

“Thank you, Officer Husk,” he grumbled.

“Thanks again, Officer! My son will name his adopted son after you! You’ve saved him from a life of crime and bad company and—”

“Yeah, yeah, get out of here before I arrest both of you. Don't let me see you again, you lunatics,” Husk said gruffly, walking away without further ceremony, leaving the two alone.

Lucifer kept his plastic smile until Husk was out of sight. Then he let out a relieved sigh.

“Gay? Adopted kids?”

“What the hell do you want, Ant? You’re gay, after all. When you reach my age, you’ll start thinking about kids, trust me.” He pointed a finger at him, finally shifting into an expression of pure disapproval.

“Are you telling me you want kids?”

“With you calling me at least once a week for your dumbass robberies? I’d say I’m already playing the father role, don’t you think?” he scolded, moving toward the bag full of apples and other ingredients he needed for the pastries he had to bake the next morning.

Anthony looked at the little guy. It was clear he hadn’t planned to stay out long, given that he was still wearing the apron from his small, cozy café. When Anthony had called, it had taken him less than five minutes to show up, since they were in the same mall. He noticed that the older man was rubbing his lower back.

“Hey, Lu. You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah… a mountain crashed into me, and I fell to the ground. But I’m still young enough to fall and bounce back, don’t worry,” he admitted, though his voice made it clear he was in pain.

The blond stepped closer, taking the bag from him and looking at him with genuine gratitude this time. Ever since he had discovered Lucifer’s café, stupidly named “Heaven,” he hadn’t been able to stay away from that place or its owner. Lucifer was a sweetheart and often sacrificed himself for all his customers, who quickly became friends. He and a few others now spent most of their free time there. He had never said it out loud, but the brunet must have figured it out—ever since Anthony started hanging out there, he had drifted away from bad crowds and worse habits. The only thing he hadn’t given up was his little habit of petty theft here and there.

Whenever he found himself in handcuffs, even knowing he was about to get an earful, he always called Lucifer. He was like an older brother to him, almost a father, or the favorite uncle everyone has.

“There’s no need, Ant. Really.”

“It’s to thank you, okay?”

“You know how you could thank me, kid? By stopping stealing lipsticks, for example. You’re already handsome enough, you don’t need that crap.”

“Always so poetic, I see.”

“Yes… yes…” he sighed, digging into his pockets for something.

Anthony tilted his head, curious about the gesture. Lucifer pulled out a twenty-euro bill and held it out to him, making the boy’s eyes widen.

“And what’s this for?”

“Just buy the damn thing. I don’t want to be called here again next week.” He muttered, his cheeks slightly flushed.

"I-I don’t need money! You know that… I mean…" Embarrassment cut him off.

Lucifer sighed, defeated by the affection he felt for the younger man. Anthony had admitted to him that he really did have kleptomaniac tendencies, and the bartender had silently figured out that the blond ran with the wrong crowd. His story was a bit cliché—the classic gay kid bullied at school, too sensitive, forced by life’s hardships to become tough, cocky, and always quick with a comeback. But no matter how many stories like his existed, it was still a terrible life, one no one deserved.

He took back the bag, snatching it from Anthony’s hands, and gave him a gentle smile.

"I want to give it to you, Ant. If you’ve tried to steal it so many times, it’s not just some impulsive whim, is it?"

Anthony stayed silent. When he felt his eyes welling up, he lowered his head and nodded—both in confirmation and as a quiet thank you. Lucifer pretended not to notice, knowing it would embarrass the blond. He turned and started walking toward the exit.

"I’ll be expecting you for breakfast tomorrow. I’ll make an amazing apple pie, you’ll see!" He called over his shoulder, waving his hand in the air.

The boy finally let himself feel emotional. He wiped away a tear, overwhelmed by the kindness and warmth of this man who knew and understood him even better than his own parents, who barely acknowledged him even when they were under the same roof. Without ever saying a word, Lucifer had started inviting him over for meals, sensing that no one was actually bothering to cook for him. He wanted to make sure the kid wasn’t living off canned tuna and instant ramen every single day. Plus, he was a damn good cook—especially when it came to desserts.

"Thanks, Lu," he whispered.

As Lucifer made his way toward the exit, he noticed a large crowd gathering around the escalators leading to the underground parking lot.

"Hm?"

Curious, he approached. The bag felt a bit heavy for him, and his back was still aching badly. Even so, he wondered what had happened and hoped it wasn’t anything serious. He neared an old lady who, even from a distance, looked like the classic cranky grandma straight out of a movie. He had fooled himself into thinking people like that didn’t exist in real life.

"Excuse me, ma’am," he asked politely, tilting his head to get her attention.

The old woman turned, her tiny eyes hidden behind glasses so small they barely seemed real. She was… ridiculously wrinkled and scowling. Lucifer immediately got the sense that she hated him for absolutely no reason.

"Yeah? What do you want?"

"Uh… did something happen?"

In response, the old lady smoothly swung her body around and whacked his kneecap with her cane. Lucifer yelped, doubling over in pain.

"W-why…?!"

"They killed a man, you idiot!"

Lucifer froze, looking at the old woman first and then trying to peer through the wall of people to see the lower level. He couldn’t make out anything, so he turned back to her.

"How did it happen? Was it a car accident or…"

When she moved her cane again, Lucifer instinctively flinched, shielding himself with his shoulders, wondering just how legal or ethical her behavior was. But the woman was so old that the disciplinary methods of her youth had probably involved all kinds of beatings.

She didn’t hit him this time—perhaps finally taking pity on him—but she still glared at him like he was the worst thing she had ever seen.

"They say he was stabbed to death. A family found him about half an hour ago, parked right nearby," she explained, oddly cooperative now.

"I-I see… thank you." He straightened up, ignoring the throbbing pain in his knee.

Now he had a clearer view of the parking lot, but he could only see the flashing lights of what had to be an ambulance. The sound of hurried footsteps made him turn, just in time to see Husk—the officer who had nearly arrested Anthony earlier—rush past him, pushing his way through the crowd and heading down toward the crime scene.

"Move aside, police!" he shouted, making his way through.

Lucifer watched the scene with an odd sense of calm. A calm he hadn’t expected to feel in a moment like this. After all, he had no idea how he was supposed to react to a situation like this, and he was just another one of the many onlookers who were probably getting in the way of the investigation. He sighed, turned around, and resumed his walk toward the exit, now limping slightly from both his knee and his aching back.

When he had walked into this place, he never imagined he’d leave with two different kinds of pain—and having been so close to a murder scene. He stared blankly at the world in front of him, lost in thoughts about life, about right and wrong, and about what could possibly drive a man to take another man’s life.

Chapter Text

The usual black room.

He considered it more of a home than his actual tiny studio apartment, where he merely ate, washed, and rested—also the place where he treated his own wounds from missions.

Alastor had started his career as an assassin at a ridiculously young age, when he was barely over ten years old. The same organization that had once tried to kill him in his youth was now his workplace. He didn’t see it as a family, like all the other fools naively did. It was pointless, after all.

Adam was the perfect example. What was the point of calling a place "family" where people invited you to their home for grilled meat one day and then hunted you down the next, aiming to kill you in the worst possible way?

He had been… “lucky.” He had seen the truth in his earliest years, even before all those idiots. He had been betrayed in the most effective ways possible, and that helped him become the independent, weakness-free man he was now.

He was sitting on an invisible—or maybe just as black as the rest of the room—sofa. As always. It was his daily dream. Every night he had it, and by now, he knew exactly what would happen.

"Alastor..."

Warm arms slid over his shoulders, then traveled down to his chest. He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he turned his face away, toward the void. Those touches irritated him. So gentle, so warm, so protective.

For what?

To stab him in the back the moment he let his guard down, just like what had happened to all his colleagues—especially the dead ones, perhaps even killed by his own hand.

He grabbed the wrists and pushed them away, standing up. A shadowy figure, with two glowing red eyes piercing the darkness, moved around the sofa. When he was a child, he had been terrified of it, but not anymore.

Stepping closer to him in total darkness, the figure became clearer—both due to its proximity and because the assassin had grown used to the absence of light.

It was a being similar to him, at least in the face, but dressed bizarrely. It was unmistakably furry, making it far from human. Completely red in every detail, except for its skin, which was somewhat pale or grayish. The ears of some kind of animal pointed upward, accompanied by two small black horns.

What he soon defined as a demon was smiling at him, satisfied, with an unnaturally wide grin full of yellowed teeth, staring at him with gleaming red eyes. Its black pupils seemed to pierce straight into his soul.

"You did well, Alastor," it praised, its voice eerily melodic yet ironically high-pitched.

The boy shoved his hands into his pockets, lifting his chin, though due to their height difference, he couldn’t actually look down on him as he wished. That demon… maybe a deer, was much taller than him.

"I don’t need you to tell me that. I already know," he muttered darkly.

Only a low chuckle rumbled from the demon’s throat in response. Alastor swallowed. He accepted the figure, but part of him still feared it. It was unpredictable, inhuman, and that made it impossible for him to calculate its next moves. Over time, he realized it had to be his own creation. A guide to follow—reliable, charismatic, ruthless—to keep him on his path of mercilessness and hatred for everyone.

"You betrayed Adam. Did you feel nothing?" The demon tilted its head unnaturally to the side.

A slow, bone-cracking sound echoed through the darkness as it moved. However, the creature didn’t seem bothered by its own breaking bones.

"What was I supposed to feel? He was an idiot, a pathetic weakling who let emotions interfere with his duty."

The figure hummed another amused laugh. Moving its arm, it slowly grasped Alastor’s chin. The boy remained impassive, staring directly into its eyes.

"Good, good. Look your fear straight in the face. And remember: don’t make his same mistake. No one is your friend, Alastor. No one truly cares about you."

A strange tickling sensation in his throat surprised the assassin, but he ignored it, continuing to listen to his demonic guide with feigned indifference.

"Adam even betrayed the organization. He stole something important… or so you told me."

Apparently, it wasn’t reading his memories or emotions, despite being inside him. Alastor always told it everything. And in turn, the demon always seemed thirsty for information—about his work, his life, even his emotions. It always ensured Alastor remained cold, ruthless—perhaps to protect him from the suffering that afflicted weaker humans or maybe to forge him into a being without flaws or vulnerabilities. Perfect. A perfect being.

"I don’t know much either. Confidential and vital data. That’s all I was told," he said, glaring at the demon for touching him.

The red being seemed to ponder, then unceremoniously let go of Alastor, pushing him aside before turning its back and walking away with slow steps.

The assassin wasn’t surprised. That entity constantly showed him some twisted form of affection, only to treat him like the worst man alive the next moment. Over the years, he realized that too was part of his training—to make him indifferent to kindness and understand that letting himself be swayed by sentimentality would only bring suffering.

He didn’t take his eyes off it. Its silence was unsettling. He wondered why it was so interested in the real world—a world it didn’t belong to—but a part of him understood that it needed to keep him close, to control him, to instruct him.

"Asking questions is not your role, Alastor. Keep killing, and before they take their last breath, drag them into despair." It spoke without turning around.

A sound. A whistle Alastor knew well made him turn in the opposite direction. A train seemed to be rushing toward him at high speed, yet he saw nothing… except for two bright gray eyes, watching him with a smile. He knew that person was smiling even without seeing their lips. But unlike what the demon showed him, that smile was truly warm and affectionate. It cared for him.

He took a step forward, feeling the train getting closer.

"Don’t..." He started, reaching out toward that kindness.

The only trace of affection that didn’t disgust him. The only thing that made him feel something other than hatred and contempt.

"Don’t go." He whispered, feeling an annoying sting in his eyes.

Those wonderful ice-colored irises were now covered in a veil of tears. As Alastor tried to get closer, a harsh, painful grip on his wrist made him flinch and yanked him back.

The demon forced him to turn toward it. It was smiling, but its rage was evident.

"AGAIN, ALASTOR?!" It roared, making the sound of the train vanish and plunging the room back into silence.

Alastor tried to turn around, only to realize that even the gray eyes that had once warmed his chest had vanished.

“How many times have I told you?! That person hurt and abandoned you too. Just like your parents and everyone else!” He placed his hands—slightly longer than normal—on the man's shoulders and shook him.

Alastor looked back at his face. A tear had streaked his cheek. But he was right. He had been abandoned by everyone. Even by those kind gray eyes that had been the only sincere affection in his life.

“You're right. I'm sorry,” he said flatly.

The demon pushed him away again, looking at him with disappointment.

“You’re still so disgustingly weak.”

Alastor clenched his fists and, for the first time, lowered his gaze without saying a word. As always, he had managed to crush him under his feet, making him feel powerless, pushing him to give more, to show more cruelty and coldness.

“You think I didn’t notice?” He broke the silence.

“What?” Curious, Alastor lifted his head.

“When you killed Adam. I know you thought back to the kindness he showed you. Nice act, really. But you can't fool me, Alastor.”

The redhead’s expression faltered before he even realized it. He found that statement so grave. An insult. A cruel accusation.

“That’s not true!!” he shouted, stepping toward him.

“Swear it on those damn gray eyes, then!” he hissed, his eyes glowing a bright red.

The bespectacled assassin froze, staring at the other with a gaze both pensive and shaken. He didn’t want to lie about the only thing that truly mattered to him.

“I… I didn’t do it because I felt sorry.” He tried to defend himself.

With a fluid, almost elegant motion, the demon’s arm shot out, gripping the boy’s throat. Alastor flinched at the touch, bringing his hands to the demon’s wrist as he was effortlessly lifted off the ground.

“Don’t waste my time, Alastor. You need to rest, so let’s end this dream. Tomorrow, you’ll be even more detached from this bullshit. Forget those eyes, forget foolish emotions. Understood?”

“I-I…COUGH—”

He couldn’t breathe. His head felt light. His vision began to blur as he stared into the demon’s face—the demon who, after all, only wanted to protect and train him, to make him strong. He should have been grateful, yet he kept disappointing him. All because he knew him far too well, even through his lies.

There were few times when he left that room in his mind on a bad note, but tonight, he had truly disappointed the redheaded stag.

“Perfect. Just follow orders, Alastor,” he whispered, before the assassin lost consciousness, plunging into emptiness, into the absence of thoughts and worries.

Alastor jolted awake, sitting up on his couch. He was breathing heavily, quickly, pulling in only short, frantic gulps of air. He was drenched in sweat, even though outside his apartment, it was just a cold early December night. He ran his hands over his face, then moved them up slightly to grasp his hair, tugging at the strands, threatening to rip them out himself.

He hated those dreams, feeling constantly tested. Every day, he faced that demon who kept urging him to protect himself from everything that had hurt him in the past—everything that had led him to this line of work. And those eyes… they only appeared in those rare moments when Alastor wasn’t entirely convinced about what he was doing, like with Adam.

He followed orders. He was ruthless, swift, and lethal. But… he wasn’t sure it had been the right thing to do. That gray—like pearls, yet paradoxically warm—whispered to him in silence, urging him to reflect on those strange pangs in his chest.

“Inhale…” he murmured, giving himself the command and obeying it as if it had come from someone else.

“Exhale…”

The silence of the room was broken only by his breaths. He trembled, but the panic had passed, his vision growing clearer. He shifted slightly to glance at his digital clock. It was five in the morning. His shaking hadn’t stopped, but he wasn’t cold. He needed to regain control. He wouldn’t give that demon—his own creation—another reason to be disappointed in him.

He wanted his praise. His admiration. He was his guide.

"I’m not a panda in Africa.”

That phrase and that face flashed before his eyes without any logical reason. That stupid man, with skin almost white and hair and eyes as black as the night, looked at him with that almost childish pout.

Maybe he should have killed him too, but that wasn’t part of the plan. After all, he could be an eyewitness. Probably… he should investigate, but his agency would protect him anyway, so there was no need to worry. He recalled his stupid apron, decorated with a smiling little teacup.

Happy Bar, it said.

Alastor sighed. Maybe  a long, bitter coffee wouldn’t hurt. A café was surely open at this hour, for those who worked at dawn. If he went there, he could figure out if that stupid little man suspected him of Adam’s death—news he had certainly heard by now—while also enjoying a coffee.

He sighed again and sat up on the couch, pressing his palms against the fabric on either side of his body. He lingered, staring into the darkness in front of him.

He was still young—mistakes were understandable—but he had to learn not to waver. The demon was right; he had almost let Adam escape.

“No one truly loves, Alastor,” he whispered, convinced and determined—but also, deep down, to comfort himself against a small, weak voice that kept screaming inside his chest.

Chapter Text

Lucifer walked slowly towards his small bar. He loved that place, and after all, he had built it according to his tastes. He wanted it to be a den, a safe, warm place full of affection.  

His feet sank into the snow, and despite wearing boots, his height certainly didn’t help him avoid the annoying feeling of wetness and cold beyond where those black boots, as dark as his hair, reached.  

Wrapped around him, a funny, heavily padded coat, extremely... orange, with a timid duck printed on the edge. The little one hugged himself, seeking more warmth that his outfit surely couldn’t provide. Covered in that way, only his coal-black eyes were visible, as both his head and neck were protected by wool dyed a color as bright as lemon yellow.  

On that cold morning, when the city had woken up wrapped in snow and fog, when the sun hadn’t yet begun to rise, the bartender arrived at his bar around five in the morning to prepare breakfast for the students and workers who passed by.  

He opened the door, entered, and closed it behind him with a loud sigh. He could still feel the warmth from a few hours earlier, when the room had been heated by his beloved fireplace. He looked up, smiling at the small room made of wood in every detail, except for the appliances. His counter with the display case, next to a corner table where one could see the outside, and on the opposite side, there were steep stairs, much like those of a treehouse, leading to the real room where all the other tables were, also made entirely of wood.  

He loved that warm and welcoming den with all his heart. He made sure to turn the sign to show "OPEN," took off his jacket and all his accessories, and walked towards the almost hidden room behind the counter. There, he found his tiny kitchen. He hung everything on the coat rack, put on his apron, and rolled up his sleeves.

He opened the refrigerator and, with carefree happiness and a heart full of sugar, grabbed all the ingredients he needed. As he had promised Anthony, that morning he wanted to prepare an apple pie and soft chocolate chip buns. Every morning was a surprise for his customers, who felt cared for and thought of.  

As he started mixing everything, the bartender smiled, thinking about each of them and the latest stories they had shared with him—seeking advice or simply venting. He was very empathetic and knew when they needed a hug, silence accompanied by a listening ear, or his words, which were often objective and impartial. He had no problem telling his friends when they were wrong, but he always tried to offer understanding and affection in everything he said.  

After who knows how many minutes, he heard the bell above the door ring. Lucifer smirked as he placed all the buns on a tray, ready for the oven.  

"Char, I’m in the kitchen," he called out.  

He heard footsteps—maybe a little slower than usual. The man with hair as dark as the night frowned slightly, though a smile remained fixed on his face. When his assistant, about fifteen years younger than him, appeared, the shorter of the two immediately realized something was wrong.  

"Hi, Lu," she said, dejectedly, as she removed the heavy layers of clothing that had protected her from what seemed like another snowfall starting outside.  

"Sweetheart, what happened?" he asked as he opened the oven and slid in all the dough.  

Only silence accompanied his question. After taking off her hat, scarf, and coat, the young woman revealed her long, wavy blonde hair. Her blue eyes could make angels sing. Her cheeks, usually rosy, were even redder from the cold. She looked like a vision. But for Lucifer, none of that stirred anything within him physically—he was interested in men and saw her almost like a daughter.  

Besides, Charlie was happily the girlfriend of another woman.  

Happily.  

A sob broke the silence, making Lucifer turn toward her with a sad, concerned look. He stepped closer, opening his arms. The young woman, about twenty-five years old, let herself fall into those sweet, fatherly arms, breaking down in tears.  

"I'm sorry, Lu."  

"Hey, we all have bad days. And besides, I think I can guess the reason."  

Charlie nodded several times, returning the hug. The bartender sighed slightly, looking at the wall in front of him. Life was strange—definitely strange. But it was that very strangeness that made it so incredibly beautiful and precious.  

"She's gone, Lucifer."  

"I know, Char..."

Her girlfriend, whom she had met during a trip practically to the other side of the world, had both family and work in that distant place where Charlie had taken refuge. She had been struggling with her studies and had wanted to spend a few carefree days. The two saw each other for about two weeks every season, taking turns visiting one another. It was a difficult relationship, but the fact that it had endured under those conditions made it solid.  

Lucifer often suffered in silence when the blonde came to him in tears, venting her sadness. He was very grateful for it—it was an important gesture.  

He had hired Charlie just a few weeks after opening the bar, a few years earlier. She had just returned from that life-changing trip. She had decided to leave her studies behind and work in a peaceful, cheerful place, regardless of the salary. She had prioritized her mental well-being in daily life rather than chasing a high-powered career, a bigger paycheck, and all that.  

In any case, the bartender and owner worked hard every day to ensure she had a full-time salary for the work she provided, even on her bad days. Charlie was a wonderful person—just like him, she smiled at everyone and always offered a kind word or a casual chat whenever someone asked or whenever she sensed it was needed.  

Strangely, many mistook them for father and daughter, despite their opposite coloring—except for their very pale skin. They were like an angel and a little demon. Lucifer’s slightly pointed teeth only reinforced that impression. But he never minded; he always greeted everyone with a big smile.  

"Hey, Char," he whispered, gently pulling her back a little to look into the beautiful ocean of her eyes.  

"Why don’t you stay at the side table? You don’t have to work, but you can sit and watch outside. We can chat throughout the day."  

The blonde wiped her tears and finally gave him a small version of the smile that always melted Lucifer’s heart.  

"N-no, no, it’s okay. Working will help," she said, her voice shaky.  

The brunet said nothing more, simply returned her smile, touched by her resilience, and nodded. He turned to check how his pastries were baking, hearing behind him the sounds of Charlie moving to put on her apron and matching cap. It made her look even sweeter and more adorable than usual.  

"I’m turning on the coffee machine and the griddles, Lu."  

"Of course, sweetheart. Thank you," he whispered as he bent down to get a better look at the pie.  

It seemed to be baking well. He had made sure to buy the best apples—the most expensive ones, from a region known for producing sweet and juicy fruit. He had almost risked losing them when they fell to the ground, but thankfully, they hadn’t been damaged. He had given them an extra wash before carefully slicing them.  

Smiling, he nodded and straightened up. At that moment, he heard the doorbell ring again.  

"Hm?" He was particularly surprised that someone had arrived so early.  

He checked his pink wristwatch. Two tiny ducks at the tips of the hands pointed with their wings to 5:30 AM.  

"Welcome," he heard his assistant say.

Curious, he peeked out from the kitchen.  

By the door, he saw a young man, roughly the same age as Charlie. His face was extremely serious and somber. Under his chocolate-colored eyes were two large, dark circles. It was clear he hadn’t been sleeping well—or at all—for some time. He was dressed entirely in black: a shirt, pants, and an English-style coat. He wore no hat, scarf, or gloves. Nothing.  

His mahogany brown hair was slightly disheveled, and nearly transparent glasses framed his almond-shaped eyes. He must have been the child of parents from two different countries. His skin had a grayish tone, but Lucifer was sure it was due to the lack of sleep.  

Extremely slowly, the young man raised his gaze toward them. The shorter man noticed that Charlie stiffened. He was intimidating, despite his beauty.  

"I’ll handle this, Char," Lucifer whispered, stepping fully out of the kitchen.  

The blonde turned in surprise, not having noticed him leaving the room behind the counter. The scent of pie, chocolate, and vanilla was beginning to fill the entire café as Lucifer walked toward the young man.  

"Welcome! You must be new—I’ve never seen you before."  

The chocolate-eyed man fixed his gaze on the shorter one, analyzing Lucifer. His expression remained serious and impassive. He almost looked like he was searching for someone to kill. However, the brunet didn’t let go of his smile, and his silence made it clear he expected a response.  

"Do you need an invitation to enter this café?"  

Lucifer raised his eyebrows. Maybe he had been a bit too direct or friendly. He slightly opened his arms, showing his palms, making it clear he only wanted a friendly chat.  

"Not at all. It’s just that the same people usually come here. I’m happy to see a new face. Do you pass by here often?"  

Alastor only moved his face toward the upstairs seating area, filled with tables. It was clear he didn’t like it. Then, he turned toward the small corner table. It seemed like a special place—secluded, away from the others, offering a view of the world without the need (or perhaps with the privilege) to interact with it.  

Lucifer followed his gaze. He was older and had dealt with many reserved and serious people over the years. He smiled fondly at the conclusion he reached.  

"If you’d like to sit there, I can bring your order to that table. Do you like it?"  

Alastor let out a silent huff, shoved his hands into his pockets, and headed for the table. Lucifer kept smiling at him, watching him go but remaining where he stood.  

He had understood the answer without needing words. He turned toward Charlie, who had been watching the scene from behind the counter with a slightly frightened expression.

“Sweetheart, go take the pastries out of the oven. They must be ready by now.” He gave her a warm and reassuring smile.  

Charlie stared at him for a few seconds. It was clear she didn’t want to leave him alone, but a slow nod from Lucifer encouraged her to head into the kitchen.  

The brunet slowly made his way to the secluded table with the panoramic view. It was understandable that someone who hated talking would love such a hidden little corner, almost invisible to the rest of the café.  

He pulled out a notepad and took a pen from the large central pocket of his apron. Pressing the tip against the paper, he spoke to the young man again as if nothing had happened.  

“We just took an apple pie out of the oven. We also have chocolate chip buns, or if you’d like, there are some cinnamon cookies from yesterday—still delicious and crisp.”  

The boy’s silence made Lucifer glance up from his notepad. The man had his chin resting on the palm of his hand, staring out the window, seemingly lost in thought. However, Lucifer was sure he had heard him.  

Somehow, Lucifer knew how to interact with people like him. The young man’s age suggested that with a bit of patience and kindness, he might be able to get a word out of him.  

Once again, he remained still and silent, waiting for a response. On the other side, Alastor realized that the other man wouldn’t leave until he made a specific request—one that, incidentally, he particularly needed.  

“A long black coffee,” he muttered.  

Lucifer looked at him again, surprised.  

“You need to eat something. You’re pale, kid. If it’s about the money, don’t wor—”  

“Coffee. Black and long,” Alastor repeated, this time in a more serious tone, his gaze fixed on the falling snow.  

His eyes seemed distant, as if he were remembering something. And in fact, snow, much like trains, brought vivid memories to the mind of the assassin, who surrounded himself only with silence and the occasional syllable.  

Lucifer didn’t write anything down. With a slight pout, he put the notepad and pen back into his pocket and sat down in front of Alastor, who showed a faint sign of annoyance—just a barely perceptible blink.  

“You’re a customer, and I’m the waiter—I know that well. But you’re young, and you clearly need to eat something. I hate wasting food, so… if I bring you something, will you eat it?” he asked quietly, so Charlie wouldn’t hear.  

Alastor moved only his eyes, glancing at Lucifer from the side. He studied him, inside and out. His mouth was partially covered by his hand, but the brunet was sure he had started to smile. A small nod followed.  

“Good… thank you,” Lucifer said, standing up and stepping away from the table.  

“I’ll be back with your coffee and something to eat,” he muttered, pleased.

In less than five minutes, he brought Alastor his long black coffee, as requested, along with a chocolate chip bun. As the brunet approached, the assassin sat back against the booth to examine what had been placed in front of him.  

Lucifer was extremely pleased to have finally broken through his shell. The young man seemed troubled by something, tormented by his thoughts. He loved helping people, especially the younger ones. He was almost surprised at how quickly he had gained his trust. 

He always had this foolish notion that anyone who came to his café was someone seeking help, affection, or company.  

Alastor grabbed the cup and drank the hot liquid as if it were water in the desert. It was clear that he liked it and that he needed it. For a couple of seconds, he even closed his eyes, savoring the moment. He would never admit it, but this was probably the best coffee he had ever tasted in his life.  

"It's really cold today. Is your workplace nearby?" Lucifer tried to make conversation again, pretending to arrange the magazines in the small display stand nearby.  

Alastor continued sipping silently, not answering, slightly dashing Lucifer’s hopes.  

He put down the now-empty cup, the sound of ceramic against wood echoing slightly. That small action made the shorter man turn toward him.  

Lucifer’s dark eyes landed on Alastor’s hands, which were gripping the chocolate bun in an oddly firm way, his whole palm pressing down on it.  

“You know, you really are a panda, after all,” he said, now amused, flashing a smile laced with pure venom.

“What—”  

Alastor’s hand crushed the bun mercilessly, turning it into mush and even scattering crumbs onto the table.  

Lucifer stared at him in shock. He felt anger and betrayal rising in his chest, wrapping around his heart, but he kept looking at him, waiting for an explanation.  

The man moved his arm toward the edge of the table, opened his palm, and let the bun fall to the floor, making it clear that all he had wanted was that damn coffee—that he didn’t want to talk, nor did he want a breakfast offered by Lucifer.  

A panda… why had he said something like that?  

Suddenly, he remembered the joke from the day before. A series of flashbacks made him realize that the person in front of him was the same guy who had seen him on the ground and refused to help him.  

Lucifer clenched his fists but refused to look at him with anger or disappointment. He was simply in disbelief.  

Alastor stood up, placed a few coins on the table, and then walked toward the barista.  

"Your skin is white, and every one of your features is black as coal. You really are a panda," he sang softly as he approached.  

Once he was close enough, he leaned down to whisper the rest in Lucifer’s ear.  

“So sweet and cute. But not everyone likes them. In fact... I find them disgusting.” He hissed before straightening up and walking toward the door.  

He pushed it open and left, slamming it behind him, leaving Lucifer frozen in place, still stunned. As he stared at the spot where Alastor had stood just moments before, his eyes drifted to the bun he had prepared with so much care—now reduced to nothing more than a pile of crumbs.

Chapter Text

"Alastor."

The call made the bespectacled man stop. He had been walking with his hands in his pockets through the long, shadowy corridor of the agency. He turned around, only to find Vox, his colleague, standing not far from him. It often happened that, by order of their boss, the two near-peers were sent on missions together. Usually, it was for intimidation or espionage, during which Vox frequently watched Alastor with bewildered eyes. However, they also met outside of work, simply for mutual favors.

"What is it?" he asked, almost bored.

"Are you… going to the boss?"

"I was called in for the report on Adam. Why?"

Vox swallowed, looking at the ground. Alastor still believed this job wasn’t suited for him. He played his role well—the ruthless young man, almost entertained by violence. But when faced with the real thing, anyone could notice that fleeting expression of a frightened child, one even Vox himself wasn’t aware he had.

"Today… well, today the president is supposed to come."

Alastor’s eyes widened, finally showing a hint of emotion. The president… A man so unapproachable, yet the one he longed to be near more than anything else in the world. The reason? Those gray eyes, like pearls, which brought back memories of someone he had been chasing for years. It could only be him, but he had never had the chance to ask, to talk to him.

Until now, he had only seen him from a distance, during meetings that included the entire company, involving other branches. The result was a mass of people standing between him and that man—someone who, most likely, was the same person he occasionally admired in his dreams. He tried to compose himself, but Vox wasn’t entirely stupid. He had noticed that flicker of excitement in Alastor’s chocolate-colored eyes. His face darkened as he stared at his colleague.

"What’s with that look?"

"What look?" Alastor asked, regaining control of the mask on his face.

Vox huffed, knowing full well he wouldn’t get an answer, as always. The only moments when he could catch a glimpse of the colors that made up the real Alastor were when they had sex—those few seconds when the redhead reached the peak of pleasure. He would wrap his body in a tight embrace, burying his face in Vox’s shoulder. A brief but intensely liberating moan made it clear he had finished, along with the wet sensation the brunet felt inside him. The ruthless hitman, more out of a sense of dominance than a desire to bring Vox pleasure, would grab his member and stroke it mercilessly until he sent him over the edge.

"Vox?"

"Huh?"

The brunet had gotten lost in his memories—extremely pleasant ones. Alastor rolled his eyes. That lack of focus from Vox disgusted him, confirming his belief that he was unsuited for this job. Moreover, he was well aware of Vox’s feelings toward him, even though the brunet did a terrible job at pretending indifference.

In any case, he was grateful Vox avoided any serious conversations that could disrupt their arrangement and ruin their work dynamic.

"Never mind. What did you want to tell me?" he asked, sighing, regretting stopping to waste time with that idiot.

Vox blushed slightly, clenching his fists.

"Well… you know that when the president comes here… it means the situation is serious."

"Of course, it does. You know I was sent to kill a traitor who stole critical data from the agency." He slumped his shoulders, making his frustration with the conversation evident.

"Al… did you find that data?" he asked almost pleadingly.

Now his eyes were nearly glossy, staring straight into Alastor’s, silently begging him to open the door to his soul and speak honestly. Something the assassin, of course, would never do.

"No, Adam didn’t have it on him. It’s obvious there are more moles around, and he must have handed it off before escaping."

Vox exhaled slowly and silently. Alastor had zero interest in his frustration or concerns, so he turned and resumed walking.

"AL!" Vox called after him.

The redhead with chocolate-colored eyes stopped once again. Before turning back to his colleague, he counted a few seconds, staring into the void. Once he regained control of himself, he turned around, smiling.

"Yes, Vox?"

The brunet with the scarred eye knew he had pissed him off. That sadistic smile—that wicked grin Alastor wore when he slaughtered people without mercy—was unmistakable.

"You—you know the president is always looking for someone to punish."

"I know. So?"

"I… I, Al… I’m afraid he might take it out on you. Because you didn’t find the data."

Alastor raised an eyebrow, eyeing the brunet with a skeptical look.

"Let me get this straight," he began in a dark voice, slowly turning toward him, making sure to keep his hands in his pockets.

"I tracked, chased, and killed a traitor." His steps were slow, his voice growing deeper and heavier.

"And you think his crime of betraying the agency could fall on me?" He stopped just inches away from him.

"That’s not what I’m saying! It’s just that… you know he’s insane. The mission wasn’t completed exactly as the highest level of the agency planned and—"

Alastor placed his thumb and index finger under Vox’s chin, gently tilting his face up. The brunet’s cheeks turned completely red as he stared at him in disbelief.

"A-Al…?"

"Let's make the obvious clear, Voxie."

"Wh-?"

With a fluid motion, the redhead leaned forward, stopping just millimeters away from his colleague’s lips. Vox trembled, breathing unevenly in anticipation of something that would likely never happen.

"I’m probably the best in all the agency’s branches. That’s why I was given a mission like this. What I was asked to do, I did. The USB wasn’t in Adam’s possession, so I will continue searching for it. But don’t ever dare to consider my work a failure again…"

He shifted his face beside Vox’s, leaving an almost imperceptible kiss on his ear.

"Or you’ll never have my dick inside your ass again." he whispered.

"Alastor…" Vox moaned, overwhelmed by emotion.

"Tonight, the usual parking lot, Voxie. We both need it, I see." He concluded, shoving his peer aside and walking away with long yet unhurried steps.

He left Vox standing there, stunned, in the middle of the corridor.

After a moment, Vox clenched his fists so tightly they hurt. His chest felt tight. He was terrified something might happen to Alastor, but of course, the redhead would never acknowledge fear or uncertainty about anything. He always had to be the best, the flawless, the invincible. And that flicker in his eyes whenever the president was mentioned sent sharp pangs through the brunet’s stomach. But he couldn’t put a name to the overwhelming feelings inside him.

He only knew one thing—he had to keep them to himself because Alastor didn’t seem even remotely interested in what Vox felt or thought. The scarred man knew that if he wanted to keep Alastor around—or inside him—he could never talk about emotions, let alone affection.

Since the day he met him, ten years ago, the redhead had only ever shown indifference, coldness, and near-perfection in everything he did. He longed to know the real Alastor, but the truth was, Alastor probably didn’t even know himself. He was a man trapped inside a shell, wandering the world, completing his missions with a rage and cruelty that only trauma could create.

Once, Vox had dared to ask about his childhood, but he ended up going home with a broken arm—fortunately, not the one he used to shoot. It had been intentional, of course—an effective threat. Vox sighed, realizing he had been standing alone in the corridor for too long. He had a mission to handle on his own, and he was already late.

Forcing himself to swallow his worry for Alastor, he turned and walked in the opposite direction of where the redhead had gone.

Chapter Text

Alastor kept walking. He tried to keep his mind completely blank. However, his hands inside his pockets were clenched—tremendously tight. His pupils were extremely dilated.

The President.

The President was there! His one purpose in life. That man… the only person who ever made him feel something was just a few meters away from him. He wanted to see him, hear his voice, talk to him, ask him questions.

He stopped in front of the boss’s door. As expected, as always, the two twins were there—literally the right and left hand of the person in charge of that branch of the agency.

“I have an appointment with the boss. I was called in for the report on Adam’s execution,” he said, pretending to be bored and confident.

The two simply stared at him, standing still with their arms behind their backs, keeping them perfectly straight. If someone had to describe them, they would say they were pure ice. White in every single element of their appearance. Bleached hair, white turtleneck sweaters, white pants, white shoes. Their blue eyes made them appear even colder. Pale skin, which somehow reminded Alastor of that stupid bartender whose heart he had so clearly broken that morning. His stupid disappointed face would make him laugh for weeks.

After a few seconds of analyzing Alastor, the twins moved aside, finally revealing the door.

“Ten minutes, Alastor.”

“Yes… yes…” He huffed, stepping forward and opening the door.

Welcoming him was a decidedly dark room, much like the one in his dream. Only a small desk lamp illuminated the table in front of which Carmilla, his boss, was seated.

“Alastor.” Her voice echoed—feminine yet extremely low and stern.

“Boss.” He moved slowly until he stopped about a meter from the desk.

A simple glance from the green-eyed woman, whose hair was voluminous, long, and wavy—blonde, with mulatto skin—made Alastor take his hands out of his pockets, letting his arms rest at his sides.

Calmly, he stared at the woman, who was likely of Spanish descent. Despite being around fifty or sixty years old, anyone would say she carried it well. Under one of her eyes, three tiny drops of glitter accentuated her features even more.

Despite—or perhaps precisely because—she was the head of one of the agency’s most important branches, she always dressed with great elegance. That day, she wore a tight-fitting, high-necked shirt and an entirely white jacket. He couldn’t see what she was wearing below, but his interest was decidedly nonexistent.

“You did well to kill Adam. He betrayed all of us, even you—his protégé.”

“I am aware, Boss.”

“Are you?”

A voice from the total darkness made Alastor’s eyes widen as he quickly turned his head toward the sound. He hadn’t sensed anyone else’s presence.

From a completely black corner, a short, well-dressed man with golden hair and gray eyes emerged with slow steps. He stared at Alastor, who instinctively held his breath without even realizing it.

That man… it was him. It was the President. He radiated an indescribable power. He seemed so small, at times almost sweet, with his boyish features. The pearl-gray of his eyes made Alastor’s heart race. The assassin was in disbelief—having him so close, being looked at and spoken to by him.

“P-President…” he whispered, stunned.

The blond turned to Carmilla with an almost playful air.

“What did you say his name was?”

“Alastor.”

“Alastor!” He sighed, turning back to him.

“Yes, President Peter,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he tried to remain serious and composed.

Those eyes… he wanted those eyes on him. He needed him. He craved his attention. He felt his hands sweating, his heart on the verge of bursting from his chest. He wanted to talk to him, to ask him so many things.

Peter stepped closer to him. With each step, his smile widened more and more. Alastor felt his face grow warm—scorching hot. His expression became a mask of iron—rigid, devoid of emotion. He was a bundle of nerves.

Suddenly, the President grabbed his collar and yanked him down forcefully, bringing his face right in front of his own. He tightened his grip, nearly cutting off his air supply.

“Tell me exactly what was going through your head.”

“W-what, President?”

“I see we’re not understanding each other, Alastor,” he whispered, moving even closer.

The redhead could smell his scent—so sharp, so virile, yet elegant at the same time. He felt his legs nearly give out. He was unfocused, out of touch with reality. He couldn’t concentrate. It was… so damn strange. Why was he feeling these things? Why couldn’t he stay sharp and in control as usual?

“I fear I don’t understand you, President Peter.”

“Where is the USB, Alastor?”

Alastor swallowed hard, feeling Peter push him down even further, nearly making him lose his balance. Still, he tried to stay composed.

“President, he didn’t have it on him.”

The next second, a powerful punch struck him square in the face. The glasses on his nose shattered into a thousand pieces. The assassin felt shards of glass pierce his skin. He collapsed to the ground with very little grace but quickly tried to sit up, throwing away the broken frame before removing some shards from his face. He tried to open his eyes, and, fortunately, he could still see without any problems.

Peter rested his heel lightly on Alastor’s stomach—with the clear intention of hurting him. Alastor gritted his teeth and looked up to see the man he apparently had… positive feelings for.

“He didn’t have it on him.”

“N-no, President.”

He pressed his foot down harder on Alastor’s stomach, making him let out a sound of pain. Pushed backward, the redhead planted his palms on the ground behind him. He felt some glass shards pierce his hands as well, but at least he managed to stay slightly propped up.

“Explain yourself properly, Alastor. You chased Adam…”

“Yes…”

He pressed harder.

“You asked him if he had the data.”

“Yes, President.”

The assassin was starting to have trouble breathing.

“He told you no…”

“Correct.”

“And you killed him.”

“Yes.”

With a powerful kick to Alastor’s face, Peter sent the young man back to the ground. The redhead’s world spun, filled with pain, confusion… betrayal all over again. He felt the strange sensation of burning and wetness in his eyes. He quickly turned to Peter, now driven by an instinct to defend himself. The man simply stood there, staring at him with those gray eyes that glowed in the dark room—illuminated both by the lamp next to Carmilla and by the sadistic pleasure of inflicting pain.

“President, let me explain, please,” he said with a strange tone that didn’t even sound like his own.

What the hell was happening to him?

“Then explain yourself, Alastor. You know well that you have ten minutes here, and you’ve already wasted six just pissing me off.”

“I was sure he had it on him! That’s why I didn’t ask him anything else,” he tried to say as he lifted his torso.

A violent thrust given with the heel of his shoe on the boy's chest put him back against the ground. An incredible pain made Alastor scream, who realised that his superior had just broken something.

“If you had checked before shoving yourself into him like a whore, you would’ve also realized there were other moles in the agency, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”

One last kick, this time straight to the face, nearly knocked the redhead unconscious as he struggled to stay awake.

“P-Presid…ent…”

Peter knelt on one knee, admiring Alastor’s battered face. He grabbed his hair, pulling him up.

“And yet… they say you're the best, Alastor,” he whispered.

Alastor's vision began to blur. Everything was getting even darker than it already was. Realizing he had only seconds to give his next order, Peter smirked, exhaling sharply, as if he were witnessing the most pitiful thing in existence.

He noticed Alastor moving a hand, resting it on his leg near the ankle. It almost seemed like he was caressing him, but Peter ignored the gesture, dismissing it as the delirium of someone terrified and on the verge of passing out.

“Find the USB and track down the other moles. Only then can you still be considered the best.”

“Yes…” he promised before his eyes rolled back, making it clear he had lost consciousness.

Peter didn’t bother any further. He tossed Alastor to the ground before turning toward Carmilla, wiping his hands.

“You said he was good.”

“He is the best, President.”

“A mistake like this, Carmilla? Do I need to start doubting you too?” He fixed his gaze on the woman, who stiffened.

Although Carmilla was an incredibly powerful, composed, and fearsome individual, Peter could make even the most terrifying of beings tremble. He was immensely strong, charismatic, ruthless, devoid of kindness, and relentlessly hungry for power—traits that had propelled him to the highest ranks.

“He's young, and Adam was his mentor. I believe those two factors made him falter.”

Peter turned back to Alastor, looking down at him.

“He wanted to finish it quickly?” he speculated.

“I assume so.”

“Carmilla.” He turned back toward the woman.

“Y-yes?”

“You do understand that affection and care have no place in our agency, don’t you?”

The woman shifted her gaze toward the unconscious young man. She knew Alastor was the most ruthless in her division of the company. He was flawless in every mission, executing his assassinations with meticulous attention to detail and just the right amount of sadism to make him feared by both his colleagues and the company’s enemies. She had to admit that, on this occasion, he had acted completely unprofessionally. It was true—he should have interrogated the target, ensured the USB was there, and questioned him about any potential other moles.

“I understand, President. He will be properly punished, and we’ll put him back on the mole mission as soon as he recovers.”

Peter let out a short chuckle as he started walking toward the exit.

“A couple of broken ribs have never stopped any of our agents from working.” He stepped over Alastor’s body, then continued forward, opening the door and letting light flood the room.

The two twins stepped aside, clearing the way for the President. Carmilla didn’t dare say anything else—she simply nodded. When Peter walked out, slamming the door behind him, she let out a sigh of relief. That man was a madman, but that was precisely why he held the highest position in an assassin’s agency. She picked up her phone and brought it to her ear.

“Call the doctor, we need immediate medical attention,” she said, staring at Alastor—unconscious and covered in wounds.

She never would have imagined seeing him in such a state, and yet, here they were. She put down the phone and leaned back in her chair, waiting for help to arrive.

Chapter Text

Anthony ran through the snow, which had been piling up for nearly two days. Even though he was extremely tall and his boots reached high up his legs, the bleached-haired young man was starting to struggle walking on it, sinking with every step and feeling the unpleasant sensation of cold and wetness creeping past his ankles.

The day before, he had noticed that his friend Lucifer seemed rather down. He had asked the waitress, Charlie, but the only thing she knew was that a new customer had arrived at the bar and that he was quite intimidating.

Lucifer had played his role well, but the young man knew him well enough to tell he was hiding his sadness. For that reason, he had stayed late, even helping them tidy up before closing, despite the brunet's repeated insistence that he go home.

The next morning, he had promised himself to arrive earlier than usual, just in case that so-called new customer decided to return. The only thing that had ruined the usually bright mood of that seemingly unshakable man was that very client.

When he opened the door around six in the morning, he found the place filled with boxes. At first, Anthony nearly had a heart attack, but the next moment, he realized they were filled with items for the shop rather than for a move or an imminent closure.

The boxes were packed with various decorative and bar-related items—mugs, cups, cutlery, napkins, and more. But there was one thing that all these objects had in common.

Pandas.

Pandas everywhere. Anthony grimaced slightly, more out of confusion than any real annoyance toward pandas, which he found, all in all... kind of cute.

“Yes?” Lucifer called from the upstairs room, where he was busy arranging the tables.

“Lu? It’s… it’s Ant.”

“Ant?”

The brunet poked only his head out of the room, glancing downstairs at the absolutely bewildered young man.

“What are you doing here so early?”

“W-well… I wanted to see if I could help you, but never mind. What… what’s with all these boxes, Lu?” He gestured at them, almost disgusted.

“Those? I’m renovating the place. I ordered a new sign and a new menu to put outside, but those will arrive tomorrow. In the meantime, I’m working on the interior decorations.”

“Renovating… the place.”

“That’s what I said, kid.” He disappeared back into the room, presumably continuing to decorate the tables with all the panda-themed items.

Anthony turned toward the corner table, the most secluded spot in the whole bar. It was covered with a tablecloth full of tiny panda faces, already set with a glass, placemat, and cutlery… all panda-themed. They were cute, undeniably. Maybe a little excessive in number. Only then did he realize that in what had previously been a fairly simple establishment, decorated mostly with wood in every corner, there were now various trinkets, plushies, and ornaments, all centered around that specific theme.

“Can I ask why pandas?”

“You have a problem with them too?” Lucifer asked from the room above the steep stairs, out of sight.

“Wha-? No, no no… it’s just that I didn’t know you liked them.”

“It was a suggestion from a friend, which I took.”

Anthony moved between the boxes, taking a quick look inside. Blankets for winter, cushions, even oven mitts and the new uniforms were black and white with panda faces. From the aprons for him and Charlie—neatly folded atop a box, taken out for inspection—even the bar’s logo and signage had been changed to read “Happy Panda Bar.”

“That must have been a very persuasive friend,” he murmured almost under his breath.

Lucifer stepped out of the room, carrying an empty box in his arms, and started descending the stairs.

“Definitely. He’ll be happy the next time he stops by,” he said with a wide grin.

“You changed the name of the place?” Anthony approached his friend, taking the box from his hands and setting it down to break it apart and fold it neatly.

“Yeah, it needed a fresh look. Besides, I was never really convinced by the old one. Too simple.”

“I-I guess…” Anthony lingered, staring at the panda face on the apron as he continued folding the box.

It did remind him of someone, though he couldn’t quite place who. Guided by some instinct, he turned to get a better look at Lucifer, who had since knelt on the floor, pulling new items from another box.

His eyes widened when he finally made the connection—his friend really did resemble those colors, and in some ways, even that expression. Lucifer actually looked kind of cute and lazy, not to mention black and white, just like a panda.

“Actually… I’m starting to understand the reasoning behind the suggestion,” he said, beginning to unpack items from another box himself.

Lucifer glanced up, slightly surprised, tilting his head in confusion at the remark.

-

Alastor slowly reopened his eyes. Pain radiated all over his body. His face was wounded, his chest and ribs burned like fire, and even his jaw throbbed in sync with his pulse. He was disoriented, but it didn’t take long for him to remember everything. Sleepy and indifferent, he stared at the ceiling. He didn’t need to turn his head to figure out where he was. He had ended up in the agency's infirmary many times before, either during training with Adam or after completing one of his more... lively jobs.

"Alastor!!"

A broken, frantic voice made the redhead slowly turn toward it.

Vox was sitting beside him. His face was desperate, tear-streaked. He was smiling, yet warm tears kept streaming down his cheeks.

"What do you want?"

"What do I want?! Fuck, Alastor. The President turned you into a goddamn sieve, he almost killed you, and that’s all you have to say?!"

"Don’t be dramatic, Vox." He turned back to face the ceiling, silently enjoying the comfort of the bed, so different from the couch in the tiny apartment where he barely managed to survive.

He felt the brunet get back on his feet and grab his hand with both of his own. That gesture, unbearably irritating, made the assassin’s eyes shift toward the touch, making it clear just how much he loathed the contact.

"You passed out and wouldn’t wake up. You've been here since yesterday!"

Alastor turned to look at Vox’s face, slightly surprised. He hadn’t thought the injuries were severe enough to knock him out for so long. He had broken his ribs multiple times before, among other things, but he had never been unconscious for this long.

"The President wasn’t that excessive," he said simply.

Vox stared at him in disbelief. His grip tightened around Alastor’s hand, anger boiling in his chest.

"What the fuck are you saying, Al?! You have three broken ribs, your face is completely wrecked, and your jaw is swollen like a damn balloon. And you still have the nerve to say that?"

"Yes, Vox. He just punished me for what he considered to be my mistake." He sighed, lazily pulling his hand away from his colleague's.

Vox let his arms drop to his sides, utterly stunned by what he was hearing. He was even defending him. That look he'd given him the day before when he mentioned Peter, and now this pathetic attempt at justification… it could only mean something Vox didn’t like.

"Al… do you like the President?" he asked softly.

Alastor froze. Silence filled the room as the assassin reflected on the absurdity of the question. Memories of those pearl-like eyes saving him, holding him, reassuring him… and then abandoning him, resurfaced in his mind. What he felt for Peter… was strange. It was a bizarre form of admiration that made his chest tighten and stole the air from his lungs. His presence, his scent, left him confused and weak, inattentive.

Was that… interest?

"Like?"

"I mean… are—are you in love with Peter?"

"Christ, Vox. Stop with this movie-script bullshit," he sighed, closing his eyes in the hope of getting some rest.

He knew he wouldn't be able to work at full capacity for at least a week, but he'd use that time to gather information.

"Movie-script bullshit?!"

"That’s what I said," he muttered, savoring the pleasant sensation of sleep creeping back into his mind.

He hadn’t slept properly in weeks, if not months. He hadn’t been knocked out or beaten to the ground in so long that he'd gotten used to going home on his own two feet, without medical checks, without care, without a warm and comfortable place. He didn’t indulge in comfort, but he had to admit that the recent cold had made sleeping even worse, especially on the worn-out piece of furniture he called a bed.

"Alastor… Love and affection are real," Vox whispered, his voice cracking.

Alastor sighed, irritated by the subject. He slowly opened his eyes again, noticing that Vox was crying even harder than before.

"What do you want me to say to get you to stop bothering me?"

"Alastor! I was… I… I was worried about you, do you get that?!"

"I get it. What makes you think I don’t?"

"And why do you think I was worried?" His voice grew ridiculously high-pitched, and his cheeks turned red like tomatoes.

"Don’t start this conversation, Vox. You know damn well that if you even try to say something like that, you won’t see me again." His tone was final.

Vox let out a choked sob. He knew he felt something for Alastor, but this incident had made him realize something far more serious.

He… loved him.

"Al, please… let’s talk about it."

"There’s nothing to talk about. If you still want to fuck, don’t bring this kind of bullshit into it. I’m not interested in any of that."

That bluntness, that coldness, the sheer cruelty in those words stabbed into Vox’s heart. He had known the terms from the beginning. Alastor had probably predicted that someone like Vox would fall in love after being bent over a few times. That’s why they had made that promise—if one of them ever developed feelings for the other, their purely physical arrangement would end.

Alastor pulled the blanket aside, revealing the erection straining against his pants, clearly thinking about someone entirely different from Vox. The brunet, with the scarred eye, stared at him in shock.

"You waited for me last night, didn’t you? I bet you’re even more desperate for my cock now."

Vox swallowed hard, clenching his hands into fists.

"You like the President, Al?" he repeated.

"You have exactly one second to put it in your mouth, Vox."

The brunet didn’t say another word. He locked the door of the room they were in and climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between Alastor’s legs. He pulled down his pants and boxers, finally letting his member breathe, needy for touch and release.

“Take yours out too. I won’t be able to shove it inside you today,” he whispered.

Vox nodded, doing the same in a rather feverish manner. He grabbed his own length, starting to pleasure himself, while lowering his upper body forward. With his free hand, he wrapped his fingers around Alastor’s shaft, licking it along its entire length before swirling his tongue slowly and playfully around the tip.

The redhead let out a silent gasp, tilting his head back. In his mind, images of Peter repeated in an endless loop. His eyes, his gaze, his scent. With a bit of imagination—something he didn’t use often—he envisioned it was his President giving him those touches, that mouth, that tongue. That warm breath on his skin. The sounds of ever-quickening strokes.

“In your mouth, Voxie…” he invited dreamily.

Vox didn’t need to be told twice. He took Alastor’s entire cock into his mouth, making the redhead moan and sending a jolt of pain through his ribs.

Unintentionally—but not entirely unwillingly—he pushed his hips up slightly, matching the rhythm of his colleague’s movements. The bed was starting to creak, but neither of them cared in the slightest. Alastor grabbed the brunet’s head with cold precision, his fingers tightening around tufts of hair, nearly yanking them out. Vox let out a faint sound of discomfort as his head was pushed down and lifted again, forced to follow the desperate pace of Alastor’s hips. The redhead was beginning to growl, his thrusts becoming more erratic.

The brunet felt himself getting close and tried to make it clear to the other with whispered, desperate moans.

Alastor understood—but he couldn’t care less about that information. He just wanted to come inside someone’s mouth; everything else was irrelevant.

He imagined those pearl-like eyes watching him again. Those lips saying his name. Those strong, authoritative gestures, that strictness—

“FUCK—!”

He came hard into Vox’s mouth, making the brunet gag, unprepared for the sudden release, let alone how deep it reached.

He fought back a gag reflex and swallowed everything Alastor gave him. At the same time, the idea of being there, pleasing his beloved, of seeing him shatter once more and break free from that ridiculous mask of seriousness, sent Vox over the edge, forcing him into an immediate orgasm.

With a soft “pop,” Vox finally pulled away, remaining between Alastor’s legs, kneeling on the mattress. His hand and part of the sheets beneath him were now coated with his own release.

He lifted his gaze to find Alastor with hazy, dilated eyes, flushed cheeks, and slightly ragged breaths. He was a sight to behold like that.

"Never bring this shit up again, Vox."

Chapter Text

BANG BANG

Two gunshots, quiet enough… paradoxically.

Alastor was trembling like a leaf. He was a bundle of nerves, instinct, fear, sadness—a hollow shell. He stared into nothingness while that blond-haired, blue-eyed man stood in front of him. Two men lay on the ground, motionless, still. Pools of blood flowed copiously from their heads.

The child moved his eyes toward that scene, one not even fit for an adult. He was barely eight years old. The tremors were uncontrollable, whimpers and sounds of terror escaping his mouth. From his chocolate-colored, almond-shaped eyes, countless tears fell without him even realizing it, with no parent there to wipe them away.

The man before him crouched down, showing him the palm of his hand. His face was covered by a completely black mask. Only his eyes conveyed that he was looking at him with a smile.

"It’s all right," he said gently before that scene vanished like sand in the wind.

Alastor woke up screaming. His body was completely drenched in sweat. His breaths were short and rapid once again. Pure ice coursed through his veins, panic reigning over his mind.

The redhead looked around, terrified, clutching the thin blanket he used for cold nights.

"P-Pres…ident…" He sought comfort from that man, the only one who had ever shown him any affection.

The only one.

The only person who had protected him, who had cared for him, and who had… smiled at him with warmth. Hot tears streamed down his face, still scratched a week after his punishment. When he wasn’t dreaming of his reindeer demon, his dreams mostly revolved around that moment from his past. Blood, fear, cold, betrayal. It all ceased with that smile behind icy eyes.

In those moments of pure panic, he felt like a defenseless child. He never allowed himself to sleep outside his home. Or, at the very least, he made sure he was always alone. He could never know what dream he would have, but most of the time, he would wake up with a panic attack or, like that morning, in a state of utter confusion and sadness.

Alastor wasn’t someone who had been taught about feelings and emotions. He had only experienced the worst of them, leading him to consider all emotions as mere malfunctions of the mind—things that simply made duties and daily life complicated and unnecessarily difficult.

He despised and rejected any emotion, both his own and those of others. People like Vox… he pushed them away. Yet, the brunet refused to keep his distance, insisting more and more each day. Alastor kept him around solely for the pleasure of having someone to screw when he felt like it. But those rare times his colleague found the courage to bring up the topic of feelings—something Alastor had absolutely no interest in—he almost regretted keeping him around.

"Inhale…" he instructed himself, starting to accept that no one would be there to console him or strip away the fear still clinging to him from that night’s memory.

"Exhale…"

"Inhale…"

His arms moved to embrace his own body. He hated all of this. He hated that part of himself that craved an embrace, that made him weak. Yet, he had resigned himself to the fact that, in order to calm down and start his day, those touches were necessary.

He closed his eyes, feeling utterly ridiculous, and immersed himself in the fantasy of Peter holding him, whispering once more that everything was okay, that he was safe, that he would protect him, gazing at him with that smile in his eyes.

"President…" he whispered, hugging himself tighter.

He was freezing, which only worsened his trembling. He opened his eyes again, releasing the embrace, and looked outside. The snow was falling heavily. His gaze shifted to the digital wall clock—it read 5:00 AM.

Alastor sighed, trying to lose himself in thoughts of his upcoming work projects. He planned to interrogate a couple of colleagues who had recently become particularly close to Adam. He had learned that Adam’s entire family had been murdered and that the USB had not been found in his home. This made it even more plausible that there was still a mole among them.

He stood up, finally calm, and began changing. Once again, he chose an all-black outfit, slightly inappropriate for the season’s temperatures, but he didn’t care. He put on his sports shoes and headed to the coffee machine. Opening the cupboard, he found the coffee jar completely empty.

"Fuck," he muttered.

He had finished it the day before but hadn’t bothered to buy more, preferring to fast rather than go outside.

The image of that stupid barista flashed through his mind again. He had confirmed that the man barely remembered him, meaning he wasn’t at risk of being accused of the mall murder. The topic of Adam’s discovery hadn’t even come up. He was simply an idiot.

That coffee…

That coffee, though, had been extremely delicious. The best and warmest he had ever had.

The redhead felt the annoying sensation of saliva pooling in his mouth. He had never been the type to crave food, as his frequent fasting suggested. And yet… that coffee had something special, something that screamed at him to return for more.

He sighed. He knew that if he went back, the short man would surely leave him alone, pouting over the insult Alastor had thrown at him days before.

Summoning his resolve, he grabbed his black English-style coat and stepped outside, without a hat or anything else to shield him from the cold.

-

"And… TA-DAH!"

Lucifer flipped the panda-shaped pancake he had carefully crafted, drawing the face, ears, and eyes with dark spots.

From that criticism, he had created a new identity. Now, that place truly had something unique. For the past week, he had made dozens upon dozens of pancakes until he figured out how to achieve the perfect shape and design.

He was so proud of the result that he now only made those every morning for all his customers, who didn’t seem to mind the vanilla, cinnamon, and lemon zest he secretly added to the batter.

He had even created the “Panda Challenge,” hiding a chocolate inside one of the daily pancakes. Whoever found it wouldn’t have to pay for their breakfast.

The brunet chuckled to himself as he flipped the pancake with the hidden surprise, wondering who would find it that morning.

The bell above the door rang. Charlie had requested a day off for a routine medical check-up, something Lucifer would never say no to.

"Coming!" he nearly shouted, turning off the stove and placing the pancake atop the others he would soon display in the case.

The brunet stepped out of the kitchen, only to find himself face-to-face with the same guy from a few days ago. All his joy turned into surprise and, partially, into what seemed like disbelief.

Alastor stood by the door, still and waiting for someone to seat him. His face was scratched, and he held his body slightly hunched, as if in pain.

"You came back," Lucifer said, stepping around the counter.

"Is there an attendance register?" the redhead muttered, looking at Lucifer with disgust.

He was particularly annoyed that Lucifer still seemed eager to talk to him. As Alastor’s gaze wandered, he noticed how, in just a few days, the place had turned into a panda-themed haven, with every accessory and decoration following the same motif.

“There’s no attendance sheet. I was starting to doubt you’d come back.” He stepped closer to him with a sly smirk, clearly noticing how Alastor’s expression had turned utterly disgusted.

The redhead spun around and placed his hand on the doorknob, ready to leave.

“Ah! W-wait!”

Lucifer moved forward, grabbing the redhead’s wrist, who flinched at the touch. Unintentionally, the brunet had pulled him, causing pain in his ribs. The bartender noticed the reaction and immediately let the man go.

“D-did you get hurt? Is that why you didn’t come?”

“Why the hell did you think I would?!” He turned around, almost shouting in his face.

The pain had made him lose control, and his mind was still clouded by that dream, that overwhelming sense of fear, loneliness, and a childish need for human presence. Not even Alastor himself knew if he was there for the coffee, for something to eat, or… just to hear someone’s voice in the background, to not feel alone. Of course, he kept telling himself he only needed the first reason.

Lucifer smiled at him, perhaps a little too kindly for someone who didn’t even know him.

“I don’t mean to brag, but this place often becomes a den where people come to take refuge from their daily lives.”

“This shit?! A den?” Alastor turned toward Lucifer, stepping away from the door.

He wanted to hurt him again. He wanted to see that expression of betrayal and pain once more before feeling completely satisfied and walking away. He was a damn fool and an optimist. That annoyed him tremendously, and the offense of putting pandas everywhere, clearly after his criticism, was unforgivable. He didn’t even know why he was so angry, but his nerves were on edge. No one had ever reacted like this to his cruelty.

“Yes, a den. And now, thanks to your suggestion, it’s even cuter. Don’t you think?” Lucifer laughed, placing his hands on his hips.

“If you think I’ll stay here a second longer, you’re wrong.”

Alastor turned again, gripping the doorknob to leave.

“You’re right. I didn’t think you could be so strong.”

Alastor froze, staring blankly ahead with a murderous look. After a few seconds, he slowly turned his head and torso toward Lucifer.

“What did you just say?” he almost growled.

“I said I didn’t think you could actually be this strong.” He smiled, this time slyly and mischievously.

Without asking for an explanation, Alastor lunged forward, grabbing Lucifer by the collar and slamming him against the wall, lifting him several inches off the ground, his feet dangling in the air. Yet, the brunet kept smiling at him while the redhead glared at him in fury.

“Strong for what?” he whispered, gritting his teeth.

Lucifer placed his hands on Alastor’s wrists. He was grateful that Charlie wasn’t there that day. Ever since he had first seen him, he had desperately wanted to help and protect him in his safe haven, just as he had done with everyone else. Even if he was reacting this way, Lucifer considered it a half-victory. After all, it was still a form of opening up compared to the shell he had shown just a few days prior.

He had guessed that such a conversation would irritate him, forcing him to reveal a part of his true self.

“To let yourself be helped.”

Alastor’s eyes widened before he burst out laughing in the bartender’s face.

“Help?! Me… from someone like you?”

Lucifer sighed, tapping his palms against Alastor’s wrists.

“Put me down, kid,” he asked gently.

The redhead thought for a long moment. He wanted to hit him, but he was a civilian, in no way connected to his work. He wasn’t allowed to act violently outside of his missions unless in exceptional cases, like self-defense. He had to regain control of himself, and that tone, strangely enough, had calmed him down—even if he didn’t want to admit it.

Slowly, Alastor lowered Lucifer back onto his feet, letting him go and returning to his serious, emotionless expression. It was the only way he knew how to avoid problems and steer clear of stupid conversations like those of Vox and this guy.

“Don’t look at me with that stupid expression. What’s your name?”

“I’m a customer. You don’t need to know my name.”

Alastor turned and walked toward the same corner table he had chosen last time. He needed that coffee, and getting mad over pandas was incredibly stupid. Besides, playing that short guy’s game and getting worked up over such a childish prank was even more ridiculous.

Lucifer sighed, still watching Alastor with a bittersweet smile. Without taking his order, he walked into the kitchen to prepare what he thought would do him good.

Alastor resumed staring outside at the falling snow. Before entering, he had felt cold everywhere, but he had to admit that this corner made him feel safe. The fireplace was lit, crackling softly.

The scent of freshly baked sweets began to fill the shop, reaching even the corner where he sat. He no longer felt cold, and his stomach had started growling strangely. Even though he didn’t eat much during the day, usually settling for instant food, his own body refused to complain.

His eyes felt heavy, exhaustion taking hold of him. The fact that the idiot bartender had left him alone in that warm, safe, and quiet corner made him close his eyes without even realizing it.

Lucifer came out of the kitchen with a plate of pancakes and sliced bananas. In his other hand, a long coffee—one he knew would probably save him from getting punched.

“Here’s your cof—”

He stopped when he turned the corner and saw that his customer had fallen asleep. His head rested against the glass, maybe while watching the snow outside, just like last time. His relaxed face made it clear he was still young, somewhere between twenty-five and thirty. He looked so innocent when anger and hatred didn’t twist his features.

His cheeks were covered in scratches, and his body ached, though Lucifer couldn’t tell where.

He slowly approached, silently placing the food in front of him. He watched him, feeling his heart tighten. It was… a very important gesture to him. Maybe he had finally made him understand that he was safe here.

He leaned forward, stretching out his arm. He gently placed his palm on the young man’s cheek. He only noticed what he was doing when it was already too late. Fortunately, the redhead didn’t seem to wake up. He was sleeping deeply. He looked exhausted. His scratched face, the dark circles under his eyes even deeper than last time. The frame of his glasses was different, and this made Lucifer put two and two together. Had he gotten into a fight with someone?

He moved his thumb, gently stroking his cheek. He felt… overwhelming sadness for this young man, who seemed so terribly alone and tormented.

Lucifer strongly believed in fate, and his mission to help those who came to him had become his reason for living. Fate had led this customer to him at this moment, and he would do his best to help him however he could.

Alastor shifted slightly, sighing. His peaceful face made it clear he had fallen into a deep sleep.

“It’s alright, kid…” he whispered, a warm smile spreading across his face.

“President…” he muttered in his sleep, the single word almost incomprehensible.

Lucifer remained silent, stroking him a little longer—for his customer’s sake but also for his own. It was as if he had come to him just as he was about to hit rock bottom. He was deeply grateful for it.

He slowly pulled away, letting him rest. Turning around, he grabbed a blanket covered in panda faces and gently draped it over the redhead, still sleeping against the glass. Then, he returned to the kitchen to continue preparing breakfast for the customers arriving in less than an hour.

Alastor slowly reopened his eyes. The chatter of people in the background, far from him, the sound of plates and cups clinking, the crackling of the fireplace. He blinked a few times, noticing that outside, the city was now illuminated by the sunlight. He looked at his watch, and it was a little past eight. He had slept for about a couple of hours, against the window. It was unforgivable. He had allowed himself to sleep outside his house. Inconceivable and inexplicable. Maybe he really needed to rest better to avoid such weaknesses.

His eyes fell on the table, where a panda-shaped pancake was staring at him. He raised an eyebrow, looking at that obscenity. However, it smelled good. His stomach growled again, a sound that Alastor didn’t hear or notice often.

"Ah, you're awake."

Alastor stiffened, staring at Lucifer like a beast cornered against a wall. Lucifer let out a slight puff of laughter.

"I took your coffee; it had cooled down." He said, while walking around the counter to make another coffee.

Still sleepy, the assassin straightened up, staring at that stupid panda. He didn’t want to give the bartender the satisfaction, but he had to admit that he would gladly forget the shape just to eat it.

Lucifer came back to him, placing the long black coffee cup in front of Alastor. The assassin looked at the cup. Knowing he was being watched, he slowly moved the plate with the pancake, so he could place his hands around the ceramic container.

Without raising his gaze, he understood that Lucifer was sitting down in front of him. He closed his eyes, sipping, hoping that Lucifer would leave.

"I know you don't want to be bothered."

"Incredible how you keep doing it, then."

Lucifer smiled, partly amused.

"I'll leave you in peace, but please, eat."

Alastor put the cup down, reopening his eyes. He made an effort to put all his hatred into his expression, directing it at thzze bartender.

"You're nobody to tell me what to do."

"I'm not telling you what to do. I just asked you, please." He whispered, before standing up and taking the first steps to leave.

"The pancake is filled. You won a free breakfast." He said, leaving him alone.

Alastor remained silent, staring fixedly at him until the brunet disappeared around the corner. He sighed, taking the fork and knife, cutting into the soft sweet. Dark chocolate cream spilled from the cut, pouring onto the plate. He took a small piece and put it in his mouth.

It was... very soft, not too sweet, just how he liked it. Sipping the coffee, it created a blend of flavors that he couldn't quite describe, but he couldn’t say he disliked it.

Lucifer was focused on cleaning the cups of some customers who had left when he heard the bell above his door ring, followed by the sound of the door slamming.

He leaned out from the corner to see that Alastor had left, leaving a banknote on the table and an empty plate.

Chapter Text

The sound of the approaching train grew louder, more overwhelming.

Alastor could do nothing but sit there, on the bench, watching helplessly as that power and speed rushed down the tracks, only to brake almost suddenly. That moment always sent a surge of electricity through his veins.

He glanced at his wristwatch.

8:00 PM.

Right on time. As always. He shoved his hands into his pockets, observing the people disembarking one by one, hoping he was there.

Through his chocolate-colored eyes, shapes and shadows floated, dictated by memories he replayed multiple times a day.

Don't go! He could still hear his own childhood voice echoing in his ears.

The man with icy eyes, about to board the train, turned sharply toward him, surprised to see him there.

What the hell are you doing here?! Go back. His voice was muffled by the black mask he had worn from the first moment Alastor had seen him until their farewell.

P-please… please, don’t leave me alone… He sobbed, grabbing his sleeve.

The golden-haired man remained silent. It was clear he was thinking, and his eyes made it obvious that he was sad, on the verge of crying himself. He knelt before Alastor and hugged him with all the affection a person could give. The boy could feel that the man, despite being older than him, was trembling.

My life… is damned. You have a future ahead of you, he said with a broken voice.

Alastor returned the embrace. That man was the only one who had ever shown him affection. His pearl-colored eyes had been his salvation. Not even his own parents had loved him, and then he came along—a perfect stranger—to show him protection and love.

I beg you… I’ll do whatever you want! Just don’t leave me!

The man stood up and kissed his head. Warm tears streamed from his eyes as he smiled at him.

Go back.

That was all he said before turning his back to Alastor and being swallowed by the train. The child cried, cried for a long time. And when the train departed, with its infernal noise, Alastor screamed. His heart bled. He was wounded. That man…

That man.

"Alastor?"

Alastor jolted, turning sharply toward the voice. He was completely thrown off. He had been lost in his memories, reliving the same emotions he had felt that evening at 8:00 PM.

Standing beside him was a colleague—Zestial. Technically, a superior. He was about the same age as Adam and probably that idiot bartender as well. He was surrounded by people about ten years older than him, except for Vox and a couple of other colleagues who still tried to include him.

Zestial was… cold. He weighed every word, carefully studying the souls of those before him. He was extremely tall and slender. One of the company’s best assassins, to the point of becoming the head of a branch in a city not far from there. Before that promotion, Alastor had been under his wing and trained by him.

His techniques were devious, concealed, heavily reliant on poisons—injected, ingested, inhaled. A different approach from what Alastor felt most skilled at. When Zestial was transferred, Alastor moved on to training under Adam, who was objectively a better teacher, showing him various techniques and letting him choose the one he felt most comfortable with.

"Zestial… long time no see." He stood up, pulling his hands out of his pockets.

He tried to remain serious, composed, and to show his usual indifference. The truth was, the presence of that man there unsettled him. He wondered what he was doing there, besides the fact that he had seen him at a moment when he had let his guard down.

"Always a pleasure. I've heard great things about you… except in the last few days."

Alastor remained still, but he was sure his gaze had betrayed him. Hearing that his work was not only imperfect but actually criticized made his blood boil. First the bartender, who had enjoyed provoking him that morning, and now his old mentor was piling on.

Zestial smirked slightly under his breath, stepping closer to the younger assassin.

"They've given you a case that’s far too difficult, Alastor. You need a hand," he whispered.

"W-what? I can handle the traitors myself. I took down Adam!"

"Exactly." Zestial turned and began walking toward the station exit.

Tied to him by the conversation and curiosity about what came next, Alastor followed, slowly. When the older man realized he was being followed, he continued.

"By killing him, you made a big mistake. You should have tortured him and extracted information until he told you who the others were."

Alastor stopped and lowered his gaze. He was… unfortunately right. He had been irrationally quick to take out his mentor and couldn't ask him anything else, naively convinced that only Adam could be reckless enough to go against their agency, steal important data, and take it who knows where.

The redhead clenched his fists. If he wanted to maintain his image as the perfect assassin—cold, calculating, and ruthless—he had to accept that criticism, especially when it came from people like the President or Zestial.

"I know. It won't happen again," he whispered, admitting his fault and making the other stop, turning to face him.

"Why did you do it, Alastor? That’s not like you." Now his tone was less harsh, almost understanding.

That man rarely showed such openness. When he trained him, he had been nothing but ruthless and distant. He had even forced him through a series of poison intakes so his body could build resistance, in case the situation ever arose.

Alastor lifted his gaze, looking back into his mentor’s eyes.

"I was sure he had the USB on him."

"That’s why I’m asking. It’s not like you to make such rash decisions. You've been with the agency for almost fifteen years now. Not even in your first assassinations did you let inexperience deceive you."

Alastor sighed. He glanced briefly at the suitcase Zestial was holding. A black trolley. Extremely simple. Its size made it clear he would be staying for a while. Rumors were circulating that he and Carmilla had a rather deep friendship. Maybe she had called him to help with his mission.

"I-I…"

Yeah… why?

He had never stopped to think about it. Instead, he had only been frustrated by the mistake the President had pointed out in rather direct ways. His ribs still hurt, but it was all bearable.

Zestial leaned in a little closer, smiling, but in a fatherly way. The redhead had enough experience to tell that the affection he was showing was fake… unlike that stupid bartender’s smile.

That man would die easily if he ever ended up in their sights. He was naïve, optimistic, protective to the point of putting others’ well-being before his own. Alastor had him figured out. He knew that kind of person… They were the most enjoyable victims to deceive and kill.

"You won’t tell me the truth. So let’s drop it. Starting tomorrow, we’ll be working on this mission together."

The redhead flinched, feeling a burning sensation in his heart.

"Zestial, there's no need! I'll fix this and kill whoever the traitor is in the worst possible way."

Zestial laughed, amused, once again revealing his true cruel and cold nature. He straightened his back, adjusting the hat that covered his sleek, long dark hair. His extremely narrow eyes made the emerald green of his irises shimmer under the streetlights.

"You will kill them, no doubt. Unless, of course, they happen to be people you care about." He said, turning away and leaving without waiting for an answer.

"Wha—" He tried to respond, but decided to swallow his anger instead.

Lately, he had been letting himself go too much. Ever since he received the news that Adam was a traitor and since his first visit to that stupid bar, he had become distracted, often manipulated by emotions that only got in the way of his work.

He took a deep breath and pulled out his phone. He needed to let off steam somehow, and he knew exactly who would be willing to help him.

-

Lucifer stared at the palm of his hand. Since the young man had left, the bartender had been feeling an overwhelming sense of sweetness and happiness in his heart.

He had let himself be helped. He had felt safe in the very place Lucifer had built to make his customers feel protected and at ease. He had chosen his own little corner and stayed. He had finally eaten! Lucifer had wanted to see his customer's face after tasting his pancakes, but he hadn’t wanted to push too much.

It was clear he was a wounded person, someone who hadn’t had an easy life. His tired, somber eyes made it obvious that he had been betrayed by everyone he had ever known. Lucifer was there to show him that wasn’t the case, that not all people were bad, and that he deserved to feel comfortable expressing himself and his emotions.

He smiled, deeply moved by what had happened that morning. He could still feel the warmth of that smooth face, slightly roughened by the stubble that had likely grown from just a single missed shave. His drowsy eyes, his parted lips from which slow, relaxed breaths escaped, his expression of total unconsciousness.

Lucifer’s face was strangely warm, his vision slightly hazy, and his chest felt like it was about to burst with joy.

"Lu?"

Lucifer lifted his head in surprise. Standing before him was Anthony, looking at him with a puzzled expression. The brunet hadn’t even noticed him come in. Very strange, considering he always heard the bell above the door.

"Oh, Ant. Welcome... How— how’s it going?" He lowered his arm, turning his attention to the young man.

"Are you okay? You're red."

Lucifer blinked several times, raising his eyebrows.

"What? Yeah, of course. I'm fine."

Anthony placed a hand on his hip, his expression making it clear he didn’t believe a word of it.

"You didn’t even hear me come in. You were just standing there, staring at your hand."

"Ah... I think I just overworked myself with the new decorations." He lied, not knowing how to explain his distraction.

The platinum blond watched him with a slight pout, sensing the lie. However, he didn’t press the issue and simply shrugged.

"Suit yourself. Let me know if I can help..."

Lucifer gave him a soft smile, touched by the other's concern.

"Thanks, Ant," he murmured.

The young man returned the smile, a bit flustered, as he made his way upstairs to sit at a table. The fact that he had brought his university backpack with him made it clear to Lucifer that he planned to stay there to study.

"I’ll make some scrambled egg," Lucifer called out as he stepped into the kitchen, his usual smile returning at the thought that Anthony had chosen his café once again as a place to spend his time and study.

He turned on the stove and grabbed the pan, following the motions out of pure habit rather than actual attention.

President...

Lucifer froze, staring blankly at the heating pan.

-

"Al! Al!"

"Shut the fuck up."

Vox was on his knees on the plush seats of his car, his face turned toward the headrests, bracing himself with his palms as Alastor pounded into him with relentless force.

Alastor growled, unleashing all his fury and burning through the pent-up lust that had been accumulating over the past few days. He dug his nails into his colleague’s bare hips without restraint, one knee pressing into the seat while the other foot remained planted on the car floor.

The car rocked unmistakably in the empty parking lot where they always met. A simple office area, practically deserted at night. At that moment, even if it had been broad daylight, he wouldn’t have cared.

The President’s reprimand, Zestial’s arrival, the mistake he had made with Adam, and… Adam himself.

"Alastor!" the brunet cried out, lost in the haze of pleasure as the other’s painfully hard cock drove him into ecstasy like a rocket into space.

The redhead leaned down, sinking his teeth into the other’s neck, making him scream desperately as he came onto the seat, which was covered by a fabric purchased specifically for these occasions.

"I DIDN’T GIVE YOU FUCKING PERMISSION, VOX!" He practically shouted into his ear.

"S-Sor— AHHN!"

Alastor started thrusting even harder, even more furiously. In the end, he felt that build-up in his lower abdomen, ready to explode. His mind was finally emptying, filling instead with complete nonsense. Images from the past few days flashed before his eyes.

I know you don’t want to be bothered.

That idiot’s voice suddenly echoed in his ears for no logical reason. It disturbed him. Tremendously.

I'll leave you in peace, but please, eat.

Alastor shook his head, as if trying to shove away the images and sounds of the bartender—who seemed completely out of place in this moment.

I'm not telling you what to do. I just asked you, please.

That whisper made the assassin see white as he came inside Vox with a guttural growl, pressing his forehead against the brunet’s shoulder. He was pissed. Furious. That idiot had ruined his wild fuck. Why the hell had he thought of him at a time like this?

It’s alright, kid…

Alastor stared in shock at the brunet’s back as he slightly turned, saying something that the redhead hadn’t even heard.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Lucifer walked awkwardly through what remained of the snow on the sidewalk. With his boots and his long, colorful puffy jacket, his appearance was undoubtedly amusing to anyone watching.

He was still particularly distracted, unable to understand why his mind kept looping over those few interactions with the new customer—definitely grumpier and sharper than anyone else who had ever walked into his bar, never admitting they sought refuge from their daily lives.

He hadn’t even been granted the honor of knowing his name, yet he was terribly worried about him. That was just his nature, and there was little he could do about it. Life had surely thrown many challenges his way, and he had always faced choices. Dissatisfied with who he was, he had decided to dedicate himself entirely to others, without neglecting his own happiness.

His ability to be happy with himself, his life, and everything he did only attracted even more people in need of warmth and lightheartedness. It was a virtuous cycle he had achieved with great effort, but he had reached it, and he was proud of it.

His new “mission” was that boy, with his sunken eyes, lifeless face, and grayish skin. Poorly fed yet undoubtedly hydrated, he made it clear he had lost faith in people—exactly the opposite of what Lucifer was.

Sighing, still imagining the lingering warmth on his palm, he pulled out his keys to open the door to his bar at 5 AM.

A second later, an immense force slammed his fragile and light body against the wall, making him flinch.

“FUCKING HELL!” he shouted, instinctively placing his hands on his attacker’s wrists.

Before him, in the shadow of the night and the timid first rays of dawn, stood the very boy he had been thinking about incessantly for hours. He was literally growling. His eyes burned with pure hatred—though at least now they showed some emotion, even if it was clearly a negative one.

“Christ… it’s you.” He let out a breath of relief, still pinned against the wall.

“I wouldn’t be so relieved, asshole. You have no idea who I am.” He hissed like a snake.

To say he was pissed off was an understatement.

Lucifer relaxed his shoulders, finding the whole scene unnecessary. His gaze turned almost bored by how obvious it was that the boy wanted to scare him away. He was angry at him for something—presumably at himself for allowing a tiny part of himself to be seen by someone who was eager to know him.

“Of course not, you never told me your name.”

Alastor slammed him against the wall again, harder, making the brunet shudder.

“Would you cut it out?! You’re hurting me.”

“Maybe you don’t get it. I hurt people who piss me off. And you’re pissing me off. A lot.”

“Listen, you came here today. I didn’t do a damn thi—”

The redhead pulled him away from the wall again, only to slam him back even harder. The shorter man tried to stifle a groan of pain but was getting tired of being tossed around like a ragdoll. He realized, however, that until his customer let off steam, there was no point in asking him to stop. So, he simply held his gaze. His hands on the other’s wrists almost unconsciously brushed against his skin through the thick fabric of his jacket. He could feel him trembling—partly from rage, partly from the cold.

“You… touched me.”

“Huh?” Lucifer blinked, utterly confused.

At that point, Alastor pulled one arm away, raising his fist. He wanted to hit him. He wanted to hurt him, to make him stop having those hopeful eyes for him. He wanted him to stay away, to push him away like everyone else. That longing for closeness, for affection and attention—it was unforgivable.

“Don’t play dumb with me. You took advantage of the fact that I was sleeping and touched my face,” he growled, still holding his fist up.

“Oh… that.” Lucifer looked at his free hand—the very same one he had used to touch Alastor the day before.

He smiled fondly and reached out, once again placing his palm on the redhead’s cheek. Alastor’s eyes widened, utterly shocked by the gesture. Completely opposite to what he had expected.

His touch was warm despite the freezing temperature. His hand was soft. He began stroking him gently with his thumb, sending a strange wave of confusion and drowsiness through the other. Without realizing it, Alastor started lowering his arm. His eyes were locked onto the bartender’s, unaware of the puzzled expression he was giving him—one that only encouraged Lucifer to show him even more affection.

“It’s true. I did just that,” he whispered.

“You fucking pervert,” came the equally hushed response, as Alastor fully dropped his arm and let go of Lucifer.

The redhead took a few steps back, looking at him with pure disgust. Yet his eyes still carried a strange glint. The same glint Lucifer was happy to see after their first encounter. He no longer looked like an empty shell. And even if he had only begun to feel negative emotions, it was still a start.

He had come to him—even if only to threaten and hurt him—but that was still something. The worst outcome would have been total indifference and absence.

Massaging his shoulders, Lucifer pouted at him playfully.

“Can we start over?”

“Nothing has started, and this is the last time you’ll ever see me.”

Lucifer sighed, extending his arm.

“I’m Lucifer. What’s your name?”

“Did you not hear me? I only came here to—”

“I’ll make you more coffee.”

Alastor fell silent, much to his own surprise. He didn’t think he was someone who could be bribed—let alone with something as stupid as coffee. And yet, he had to admit, a part of him found that little corner he had chosen… comforting. And the coffee… probably the best he had ever tasted.

“I don’t want your coffee or your stupid pancakes,” he muttered.

Lucifer smiled, defeated but warm.

“I can’t force you. I just know I’d like to see you more often, know your name, and at least make you a meal. You don’t seem like someone who takes care of himself. You’re also freezing in that spring coat.”

Alastor fell silent, hoping his glare alone would intimidate him since he barely had the energy to do so. Every sentence threw him off. This man reacted exactly the opposite of how anyone else would.

Lucifer understood, picked up the keys he had dropped, and turned his back to Alastor to open the door.

“You don’t have to tell me your name, but that means I’ll have to keep calling you ‘kid,’” he sang, stepping inside but leaving the door open—a clear invitation.

Alastor stood at a crossroads. He could leave or enter. He had come here only to threaten him, to scare him. No one had ever dared to touch him like that.

“What a load of bullshit.” He turned, taking a few steps to leave.

Just as he did, he found himself face to face with a blonde girl about his age. She flinched, tightening her grip on the strap of her shoulder bag. It was clear she was afraid of him, as she should be.

“G-good morning,” she whispered.

Alastor sighed. He said nothing and walked past her, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Excuse me!”

Her voice made him stop. Why the hell did everyone here want to bother him? He slowly turned his head and torso.

“What do you want?”

The blonde had started trembling, but her eyes remained determined. Her cheeks were even redder than before, and her brows furrowed.

“Come inside, please!” she nearly shouted, her voice high-pitched and shaky from embarrassment.

Alastor stared at her, fully intending to scare her. Yet, despite her obvious fear, she held his gaze firmly.

“Why?” he asked, surprised by her courage.

“B-because… you can feel good here…”

“Feel good? With you and that lunatic?” He tilted his head, making it clear how absurd her statement was.

Charlie tightened her grip on her strap and straightened her back.

“It’s a bar. A simple bar, I know. But here… people find a refuge and can…”

She searched for the right words. Alastor turned fully to face her, strangely waiting for her to finish her sentence.

“… find lightheartedness and happiness.”

Another few seconds of silence passed before the assassin broke it with a loud laugh. Alastor leaned forward. It was hilarious. Those two were a freelance version of the cults.

Charlie looked at him, offended, but remained determined. She waited for him to stop laughing and straighten up before speaking to her again.

"And then what?" he asked, suddenly serious and slightly disgusted.

“W-what?”

Alastor took slow, ominous steps toward her. His gaze darkened with a strange glint in his eyes, one that sent a shiver down Charlie’s spine. He stopped just inches away, completely disregarding her personal space. Yet, the blonde wanted to appear steadfast, and even if she had begun to tremble, she stood her ground.

The redhead found her demeanor irritating. He lowered himself slightly, his grin widening sadistically.

“Do you really think this bullshit is real?” he whispered.

Charlie stared at him, shocked, remaining silent. Alastor took it as a sign to continue.

“Let me explain how this will go, sweetheart.” He circled her slowly until he was behind her, now leaning toward her ear.

“That bartender and all the idiots who come into your little circle of friends, joy, and positivity will eventually get tired of you and betray you.”

Charlie remained still, staring into the void in front of her. She listened to his words, unable to believe the scenario he was describing—or the cruelty in his voice.

“You’ll only end up hurting yourself, and it’ll be your own fault for letting yourself be fooled.” He sighed, laughing as if invigorated by the pleasure of returning to his true nature.

Noticing that she neither moved nor spoke, Alastor simply let out another chuckle before turning to walk away.

“No.”

The redhead stopped, closing his eyes and sighing.

“No, what?” He didn’t even turn around as he asked the question.

“Nothing you said is true.” Her voice cracked with a lump in her throat, perhaps from the pain of his words or the mere thought of the scenario he had painted for her.

“It just hasn’t happened to you yet. I warned you—do what you want. Just don’t bother me.”

Alastor’s legs suddenly felt heavy. He couldn’t take a step forward. His back was turned to the blonde, and he wanted to leave, yet part of him wanted to keep listening to whatever she had to say.

“Then let’s make a deal.”

“What?”

Alastor turned around abruptly, surprised by her proposition.

“You heard me. Let’s make a deal.” Her eyes glistened, making the blue of her stunning irises shine under the first rays of dawn.

“What kind of deal?” He almost bit his tongue.

Alastor wasn’t fond of gambling, betting, or challenges. And yet, for some bizarre reason, he was still standing there, falling into the verbal traps of those two.

“You… spend a week having breakfast here.”

“Never.”

“A-and… if nothing changes… I’ll give you whatever you want.”

The redhead blinked several times, confused.

“What would I even want from someone like you? You’re just a stupid, delusional girl. If you think I have any interest in you, you’re way off—”

“WHA—NO!!” she shouted, flustered.

Alastor flinched, not expecting that reaction.

“Char?”

Lucifer appeared in the doorway, analyzing the situation. The apron he wore, with a few minor stains, made it clear he had started cooking, hoping that leaving the door open would lure Alastor inside.

He was surprised to see the two of them—practically the same age—actually talking. He had noticed that Charlie was particularly afraid of the redhead, so it was unexpected to see her trying to convince him to come in. Since hiring her, he had noticed how she had embraced the same cause as Lucifer. She loved welcoming people, making them feel comfortable, forming friendships, and gathering together for even the simplest conversations just as much as he did.

“And then what?”

“I-I don’t know… I could… bring you breakfast at home or… drive you wherever you want… run errands for you or…”

Alastor had had enough. He let out a loud sigh and stepped toward the blonde once again. He pulled a hand from his pocket and extended it to her, waiting for her to shake it.

“I just want you to admit I was right in the end. Nothing more.”

Charlie looked at him, surprised. That… was a kind gesture. He was giving her a way out of a potentially dangerous situation that she had put herself in.

Lucifer leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms and watching the scene, slightly moved.

The blonde smiled, embarrassed. While she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with one hand, she used the other to shake the assassin’s hand.

“Alright.”

Chapter Text

"Aaaand... here you go!"

Lucifer cheerfully and gracefully placed a steaming plate of panda-shaped pancakes on the table, accompanied by a cup of long black coffee—just the way his difficult customer liked it.

Alastor slowly lowered his gaze toward the obnoxiously shaped pancakes, which reminded him of the bartender, making him even more irritated. He had been roped in by those two... zealots or whatever they were, into their stupid world of positivity, affection, and friendship. Ever since he had stepped into the shop, the two had done nothing but smile and hum cheerful tunes, while he sat silently in his hidden corner, watching the snow outside slowly melt as the first rays of sunlight kissed the streets.

He was still partially furious about everything that had happened since Adam’s death. That murder had changed him in some way. He felt something inside that he couldn’t quite define, and everyone kept testing him in different ways. His ribs still hurt quite a bit, but at least he was able to move again—and more importantly, to sleep with his colleague.

The main obstacle in those days, when he was supposed to be focusing on work, was... that idiot who was now grinning at him with all his teeth, silently waiting for something.

"What do you want?"

"Nothing," he replied, humming.

The assassin felt a nerve pop in his head, or perhaps more than one. To calm himself, he imagined all the ways he could end that little man’s life.

"Then you can leave. You’ve served me."

"But I want to see your reaction."

The redhead waited a few seconds, staring Lucifer straight in the eyes, emphasizing the absurdity of what he had just said. This went beyond any normal interaction between a customer and a bartender. And yet, the more he showed his annoyance, the closer the brunet seemed to get to him.

"Reaction...?"

"You’d never tell me the truth about how they taste if I asked you, so I want to see your face while you eat my pandacakes."

Alastor sighed, massaging his neck. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard, especially coming from a man of about forty years old.

"What did you just say...?" he whispered, exhausted by the nonsense.

"Pandacakes," Lucifer repeated, even more excited than before.

It was clear he had thought this through before bringing that utterly ridiculous idea to life. The only problem was that he had probably revealed it for the first time to the worst possible person.

"You know what? Fine. Let’s get this over with." He didn’t want to argue anymore.

He lowered his gaze to focus on the plate, grabbed his utensils, and gleefully sliced the panda’s face into two precise halves, then into four. He stabbed one piece with his fork and quickly shoved it into his mouth. He tried to swallow it as fast as possible, but he had to admit that the freshly made, still-warm pancake melted in his mouth, embracing his taste buds.

Alastor didn’t like sweets, and yet this breakfast dish had the right balance between sweet and slightly bitter. The hints of cinnamon, bits of orange or lemon zest, mixed with the dark chocolate inside the pancake, created a dish that, strangely enough, he didn’t mind.

Lucifer was staring at him, swaying happily in silence. The redhead hated being stared at. His work and, more importantly, his personality had led him to a life in the shadows—blending into the chaos, never standing under the spotlight. And yet, here he was, under those warm, pitch-black eyes that studied him as if they could read straight into his soul.

He swallowed the bite silently, quickly grabbing the coffee cup, pretending to be indifferent to what he had just eaten. However, the overwhelming aura of expectation and bursting joy radiating from the brunet almost made him feel suffocated.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" He lifted the cup to his lips, beginning to sip the hot, dark liquid—just like his mood.

"Did you like it?"

"I don’t like sweets."

"But you’re eating it."

"Only because I hope you’ll leave me alone."

Lucifer sat on the couch across from the other, smiling softly.

"I’ll leave you alone soon. Actually, thank you for staying."

Alastor set down the cup without looking up at the man in front of him. He grabbed the fork again, idly playing with the piece of pandacake. He would have liked to tear it apart like he had done with the chocolate bun on his first day there, but since he had practically been forced to stay for seven breakfasts, he wanted to avoid unnecessary drama.

Surely, those two fools were capable of throwing a fit and bursting into tears over a ruined pastry. He still remembered the look of pure betrayal the short man had given him when he had tricked him, only to hurt him.

Besides, he had to admit that the place was particularly warm and quiet, even when there were people upstairs. That little corner seemed to give him just the right level of mental relaxation he needed to plan his next moves and maybe even get rid of that strange feeling that had been growing since Adam’s death.

"So what do I have to do to get some peace?"

"Would you tell me your name?"

"No."

Lucifer let out a chuckle as he stood up and made his way out. The assassin was surprised by his sudden freedom. Without realizing it, words left his mouth, calling out to the brunet’s back.

"Didn’t you want to know my opinion on the dessert?"

He furrowed his brow, questioning himself about why he had even asked that. But Lucifer didn’t turn around. Still, the redhead knew he was smiling.

"Your eyes gave me the answer," he said quietly, before turning the corner and leaving the young man alone.

Alastor stared for a few seconds at the spot where Lucifer had disappeared. He lowered his gaze, looking at what remained of the panda-shaped pancakes. Slowly, he resumed eating, sipping the coffee between bites.

It had been months, maybe years, since he had eaten anything that wasn’t instant food, a sandwich, or something cold and dry. When he finished the last crumb, he silently gazed outside again, lost in thought.

Adam... wasn’t alone. There were other moles. One or more.

Why betray the agency? What was on the USB drive? Questions, questions, and more questions began to flood his mind. Even louder was the question of why he was even asking himself these things.

His only duties were to listen and carry out what he was told. He had never questioned what was behind his missions. So why was he doing it now? Why had Adam chosen to die... and not even try to defend himself?

He had a loaded gun on him, and he didn’t use it to kill or even try to wound Alastor—who clearly had no such hesitations. Why?

Why...

"Kid?"

Alastor jerked to the side. Lucifer was looking at him, concerned. He held another cup of coffee in his hands, perhaps having prepared it for him, sensing that he would want to use that little corner to rest and think.

"What do you want?"

"Ah... sorry. It almost looked like you were crying."

Alastor stared at Lucifer in disbelief at such nonsense. He sighed, reaching into his pocket for a bill.

"Ah—no... really, there’s no need—"

He slammed the bill onto the table and stood up. His expression had returned to being dark, cold—almost like on the first day. He stopped in front of Lucifer and grabbed him by the collar with one hand. He didn’t lift him, but instead leaned in to glare at him with pure hatred.

"We are not friends, your desserts are awful, and you will never know my name. And most importantly..."

He shoved him back, as had become somewhat of a habit, and straightened his posture.

"I don’t cry. Not ever, and not for anyone." He hissed before swiftly passing by the café owner and leaving, slamming the door shut.

Lucifer let out a slow sigh, brushing his hair back.

"If only he had said at least one true thing," he murmured, smiling.

Chapter Text

Alastor was sitting in the agency's hallway. He swung his small legs, staring at his feet, which were clad in rather simple, inexpensive, and slightly worn-out shoes.

He had been in that place for only a few weeks. Everyone looked at him in utter shock. Even though he was surrounded by assassins, they were all human. The idea that a child of about ten years old could be there, willingly, after what had happened, was inconceivable.

As soon as he was accepted into the agency, passing the harsh test they had subjected him to, he was immediately placed under Zestial’s wing. A small room, a storage closet, had been set up for him. A simple bed, a desk, and a wardrobe—nothing more.

He slept only a few hours at night and then spent the whole day in that hallway, waiting for someone to prepare him, to tell him what to do. He was there for that one person, that man with ice-blue eyes. He… had to be there. He would become like him, he would get closer to him. He still wanted those gentle eyes, that kindness, that protection. He trusted only him, the only person who had protected him and had risked everything for him.

He heard footsteps approaching him. The small bespectacled boy didn’t lift his gaze. That hallway was always filled with assassins passing by, and in most cases, his eyes met those of complete strangers who judged, criticized, speculated. He didn’t care about any of that.

“Excuse me…”

A very gentle voice made Alastor turn slightly. Next to him stood a woman with long, blonde hair, almost white. Her deep blue eyes and her sweet yet slightly embarrassed smile made her presence in a place like that almost unbelievable.

The woman, who looked to be in her thirties, knelt down to meet Alastor’s gaze. The boy remained impassive. Even though he was looking at her, his stare was empty. Everyone was his enemy. Everyone, except for the owner of those mesmerizing eyes, would betray him, hurt him. She could smile at him all she wanted, she could be so beautiful that she seemed like a creation of the divine, but he didn’t care. She wasn’t him.

“Have you eaten anything?”

The question unsettled him. There was always someone who left a plate with food in front of his door. Simple things. A piece of bread, some biscuits, a small plate of pasta, a glass of milk or orange juice. It wasn’t a place where people ate, drank, or cooked. Probably someone—or multiple people—had been assigned to ensure his survival. In his wardrobe, he had about three outfits for his age, socks, and underwear.

His hygiene, clothing, and nourishment were his own responsibility. But that wasn’t a problem, as cruel as it seemed. He had seen worse and had achieved a certain level of independence a long time ago.

He looked at the woman without saying a word. Yet, she smiled even more, gently placing the palm of her hand on the boy’s shoulder. Alastor turned even more, watching the gesture with apathy.

“Let’s go to a café, okay? You can’t keep eating just a few biscuits and a glass of milk. You’ll get sick.”

“I’m not here for that,” he whispered, moving the woman’s hand away.

The blonde accepted the gesture and continued to look at him kindly. She knew very well that for a child to be in that place, he must have gone through something terrible. Besides, there wasn’t much room for kindness and altruism in that environment.

“Zestial will be back later today. He’s on a mission. If you eat more, you’ll have more strength to show him,” she said softly, as if revealing a secret.

Alastor lowered his gaze, reflecting on her words. Slowly, he stood up, leaving the chair. She seemed sincere, and in truth, he was hungry. He had noticed he was getting weaker day by day. In his last training sessions with the tall and cold man, he had nearly fainted. Zestial had seemed almost disappointed in the last sessions, and maybe he should take advantage of this opportunity.

The woman extended her palm, silently asking him to walk with her.

“I’m Emily. I’ve been here for a few years. What’s your name?”

Alastor looked at her. He didn’t take her hand, but at least he could answer by telling her his name. That was the only thing he could give her.

“Alastor.”

Emily smiled even more warmly than before, almost moved. She accepted his defiance—or perhaps his indifference—and began walking toward the exit, making sure the younger one was following her.

“Nice to meet you, Alastor.”

-

As Alastor walked through the streets, he reflected on his goal. That man, that angel with blue eyes, surely wasn’t in that agency anymore after what had happened. He was just a child, but even a fool would have understood that.

He wanted to become like him and gather as much information as possible about how to find him, who he was, and what his name was. That warm voice, that ice-gray so welcoming, that embrace, and those tears shed just for him. He had given everything, just for him.

“Alastor?”

The boy lifted his face to look at Emily, slightly annoyed that she had interrupted his thoughts.

“Are you okay? Do you feel sick?”

She was annoyingly caring. One could almost say she was trying to act like a saint, even though his instincts told him she was genuinely like that, making her presence in that place all the more absurd.

“No, I’m fine,” he said very softly, almost lazily.

Emily stopped, placing a hand on the boy’s arm. She lowered herself again, kneeling down to look him straight in the eyes, just like before. Only this time, her eyes were determined. Maybe she had waited until they were outside the agency to speak sincerely with him.

“Why did you come to a place like this, Alastor?” she whispered, stern but keeping a motherly tone.

“What do you mean?”

“You… you know what we do.”

“I know,” he said seriously.

A seriousness that struck the woman. For a moment, it almost felt like she was speaking to a man her own age. However, she didn’t back down and continued speaking to him.

“I… I don’t agree with what they did to you and your family. But you shouldn’t have come back here.”

Alastor lowered his shoulders slightly, thinking about his last days. Until a couple of weeks ago, he had been in his mansion, in his grand room filled with books and wooden models. His favorite radio and his canopy bed—too big even for an adult—where he liked to curl up under the soft, warm blankets at night, which protected him more than his parents, whom he rarely saw.

“It’s what I wanted,” he said simply.

“Alastor!” Emily grabbed both of the boy’s shoulders and shook him slightly.

This time, her expression was extremely worried, maybe even shocked, but also partially furious.

“They tried to kill you, and… they made you do that horrible thing to be accepted here. Don’t you understand that they asked you to do it because no one expected you to go through with it?”

Alastor stared at the woman without showing any emotion. The feeling of the gun in his hands… aiming straight at the head of those who had betrayed and hurt him the most… pulling the trigger. Seeing how quickly a person could die.

His childish imagination even made him think that through the hole in the head he had caused, their souls had escaped.

If you open a hole in the body, the soul comes out, he thought, childishly.

“But I did it. So I was accepted.”

Without realizing it, as he recalled those moments and spoke those words, a mischievous, satisfied smile spread across his face, making the woman’s eyes widen.

Emily tightened her grip on his shoulders, swallowing hard.

“Why did you come to the agency, Alastor?” she repeated.

The boy sighed. Maybe this woman could be useful after all. She seemed naïve enough to go against her own company and reveal important information.

“Do you know the man who saved me?” he asked directly.

Emily furrowed her brows as if finding his question strange, as if he had suggested something alien.

"The man… who saved you?”

"The man with ice-blue eyes. He saved me. And that’s why he’s not at the agency. You’re angry with him, aren’t you?" That reasoning, stated so freely along with the question for confirmation, was a clear reminder that he was still a child.

Emily lowered her head, her hands gently rubbing Alastor’s shoulders with her thumb.

"We… we’re not angry with him, Alastor."

"Then where is he? Why haven’t I seen him? I’ve been in the hallway for days, and I know all of you, one by one."

Emily seemed to ponder, remaining silent for a few more seconds. Then, she lifted her face, her eyes glistening, and offered a smile so incredibly sweet that it hardly seemed human. It was as if she were witnessing the most precious yet heartbreaking thing she had ever seen.

"Because… he’s our president. His choices are always accepted by us."

Alastor blinked a few times. Strangely enough, that made sense. A president was rarely seen, and naturally, his subordinates could only comply with his decisions.

"C-can I… see him? Please." Now, his tone, his chocolate-colored eyes, and his flushed cheeks finally made him look like the child he truly was.

Emily hugged him slowly and tenderly. They stayed like that for a few seconds. Alastor didn’t return the gesture, merely enduring it. He didn’t care about the affection others might give him. It would only last until they got tired of him, until they betrayed him. People didn’t love. They only thought about themselves.

That woman was doing all of this just to feel good, to feel kind, to feel important. Maybe her age forced that maternal instinct upon her, one she perhaps didn’t even truly want.

The only person Alastor would ever be loyal to, the only one he would dedicate his life to, was…

His president.

"He should be stopping by the agency today, at our headquarters. But you mustn’t say a word to him, okay? He doesn’t want anyone bringing up what happened that night. You have to promise me." She explained, whispering in his ear.

"I promise…" he murmured.

Chapter Text

Alastor entered the agency, noticeably more nervous than usual. He just hoped he could hide it, just as he managed to conceal every thought, every day of his life, with total apathy or his cruelty. He kept any doubts or hypothetical weaknesses to himself. His top priority wasn’t so much succeeding in his missions, but rather maintaining his persona. A determined, ruthless, self-assured, perfect Alastor. Just as that demon whispered to him every night, the one who didn’t seem too pleased with the recent changes in the assassin’s heart.

However, when he stepped inside, he noticed something strange. The air was freezing. Colder than usual. But what sounded even more like an alarm bell was that almost all his colleagues were murmuring, whispering in agitation. It was particularly rare to see more than two or three talking to each other. Now they were all there, staring at something.

The bespectacled man walked cautiously and slowly, his hands tucked into his pockets. He looked straight ahead as he passed by the group of colleagues, keeping his ears sharp.

“It’s Zestial. How do you not know him? He’s probably the most ruthless in all the branches,” someone whispered.

“Why is he here? Something serious must have happened for them to call in a big shot like him,” another replied.

“They say he just took out one of his own colleagues…”

At that new piece of information, Alastor froze, his eyes widening slightly.

“What the hell is going on? Alastor killed Adam a few days ago, and now this…”

No one was supposed to know they were looking for moles inside the agency. However, he also understood that it was inevitable for certain things to leak—like the fact that he had to take his own mentor out of the game. It was obvious that people in their line of work would start asking questions in less than a day about the reasons behind it, especially since killing agency members without a specific mission was strictly forbidden. The penalty was expulsion and, of course… execution. It was outright treason.

Had Zestial killed one of them? He hadn’t heard anything about it. It had to be something very recent. He turned to the small group of colleagues whispering among themselves, opened his mouth—already hating the fact that he had to exchange words with someone.

“You—”

“Al!”

Alastor turned toward the voice he knew all too well. Vox ran up to him, grabbing his wrist. Naturally, the redhead yanked his arm away, loathing the touch. The brunet always had that damn instinct to touch him and seek closeness.

“What the hell do you want, Vox?” he growled, already impatient with his colleague.

“Have you heard? It’s… Zestial!” he whispered, almost terrified.

The redhead scoffed. He hated that attitude of Vox’s. He seemed so damn weak, always a victim of his emotions. He couldn’t keep himself in check, making every thought that crossed his mind painfully obvious.

“I know,” he replied, making it clear how annoyed he was by the interruption.

But maybe… he could avoid talking to his colleagues and exposing himself too much. He stared at Vox for a few seconds before stepping closer, making the other man’s face flush red, and whispered:

“Come to the infirmary.”

-

Alastor locked the door, just as had happened some time ago when he had woken up after the President’s punishment. He turned, darkly eyeing Vox, who was sitting on the bed in the room. The idiot was getting the wrong idea, as usual. But he would bring him back to reality soon enough.

“What do you know about this Zestial business?” he murmured, leaning against the door and crossing his arms.

The brunet looked slightly surprised but, to the redhead’s great relief, quickly regained his seriousness and, most importantly, seemed to understand that Alastor’s intentions were not what he had hoped for. He cleared his throat, his expression turning into a mix of seriousness and concern.

“They called in Zestial… but so far, no one understands why.”

Vox knew more or less about the mission assigned to Alastor. The bespectacled man didn’t like spreading information, nor did he enjoy trusting or confiding in the other, but he had to share details about the moles so his colleague could provide materials useful for the mission. Vox wasn’t a great assassin, but he was an impressive spy. His hacking skills were enviable, and he had the ability to view all the city’s surveillance footage, filtering by appearance to track any person captured on camera.

After consulting him, he managed to locate Adam in less time than expected. Of course, he had asked him to keep it a secret since he wasn’t supposed to talk about it with anyone.

“I-Is it about that mission, Al?” he whispered, worried.

“Yes. They sent him to assist me. Or rather, to have me assist him,” he admitted, pure acid dripping from his voice.

He hated being pushed into the background. With Zestial’s arrival, his position as the best in the agency was obviously overshadowed. The other had far more experience—due to age, the number of missions, and especially the direct and immediate way he carried out his killings. Alastor only admitted it to himself, but… he was still rather uncertain. Even though he completed his missions, his thoughts often slowed him down. He just needed to get better.

“Did you hear that… before coming here, he took out a big name in the agency?”

Alastor nodded, clenching his fists. Although he was focused on the conversation, his ears were scanning for any approaching footsteps. So far, no one seemed to be heading toward this practically forgotten part of the agency. Assassins usually took care of their own wounds or had a trusted medic to go to. This place was rarely used.

“Who did he take out?” he asked as soon as possible.

He was sure that the thought and fear of the answer would paralyze him. If Vox knew the answer, he was about to reveal the second mole, possibly giving Alastor a significant lead on the remaining ones.

“Sera,” he murmured, almost imperceptibly.

Alastor’s world stopped for a few seconds. His eyes widened. Sera… she was an assassin of extraordinary skill. A one-of-a-kind manipulator. She carried out maybe one or two assassinations per year, but that was because she spent her time getting into the psyche and heart of her targets. She had even married some of them under a false name. If assassination could be done at such a slow pace, she would have been the best on the planet.

“S-Sera…?”

"Her."

Alastor stepped away from the door, sitting next to the brunet, who watched him with concern. That irritating hand on his body again. This time, Vox placed his palm on the redhead’s knee, stroking it.

"Are you okay?"

This time, Alastor didn’t push the hand away—he didn’t care. The problem wasn’t Sera herself. There wasn’t… even a real problem. Or maybe there was, but it was… irrelevant. It had to become irrelevant to him. If Zestial had killed Sera, that meant she was another mole within the agency. And most likely, if Sera was involved… then someone else was, too.

"Yeah…" he whispered.

His hands trembled, though he didn’t seem to notice. The brunet, however, had learned to study him, picking up on the subtle movements and reactions Alastor thought he hid so well.

Even though he knew his feelings weren’t reciprocated in the slightest, in that moment, he just wanted to comfort him about whatever was troubling him. Gathering courage, for once, Vox wanted to be the decisive one between them. He placed a palm against Alastor’s face, gently turning him toward him. The redhead looked startled by the gesture and stared at Vox in silence.

"Don’t tou—"

"What’s wrong, Al?"

"What?!"

Vox stroked his cheek with his thumb. That touch… triggered an image in Alastor’s mind. A familiar one—the bartender. One of those typical moments where he’d smile at him with that foolish, carefree expression.

The touch was warm, gentle. The complete opposite of the President’s touch, who seemingly didn’t even know his name. Or maybe, after everything that had happened, he was just pretending. Maybe… he was doing it to protect him, because he cared.

"Al…" Vox whispered, leaning in, pressing his lips to the redhead’s.

At that soft, warm contact, a strange sensation washed over Alastor. His mind went blank—he became disoriented. He couldn’t think. It felt as if he were falling asleep, yet he was fully conscious. Vox’s lips parted slightly, brushing against his.

Even though they had slept together countless times, there had never been anything emotional—at least not for Alastor. That was why they had never kissed. The brunet had tried before, but the bespectacled man had always rejected it without hesitation.

He tried to place his hand on Vox’s chest to push him away, but he had to admit… that sensation made him feel almost dependent on it, as if he wanted more. His eyes grew heavy until they shut. That touch, that kiss, weakened him in a deeply concerning way. His muscles relaxed, sending a clear message to the other man, who slid his hands onto Alastor’s shoulders, gently guiding him down onto the bed.

Vox had sincerely wanted answers from him. He wanted to know what had him so shaken. But that tender kiss quickly turned into something else. He desired the redhead so much that he let go, forgetting his original intentions.

Alastor lay against the mattress, the brunet positioning himself over him, continuing to kiss him with growing hunger. The bespectacled man furrowed his brows, baffled and incredulous at what was happening. His hand moved to the back of Vox’s neck, inexplicably pulling him closer, as if asking for more.

With his eyes closed, his imagination took over. That never happened—except when he was predicting his targets' moves or planning their executions.

His lips moved on their own, responding to the kiss, and deep within his consciousness, Vox was stunned.

His imagination convinced him that the one kissing him… was that idiot. That damn bartender. There wasn’t a single ounce of awareness or rationality in his mind at that moment. The man—short, yet so warm, affectionate, but at the same time confident and almost fatherly—was touching him, kissing him with incredible tenderness. In his mind’s eye, he imagined him gazing at him with that same foolish look, smiling at him with emotion between kisses.

"Kid…" he whispered, unaware of his real name.

Alastor’s eyes fluttered open, expecting to see that scene before him. But when he saw Vox, eyes closed, kissing him feverishly, lost in the heat of the moment, reality came crashing back. He jerked back, shoving the brunet off him roughly before scrambling off the bed, wiping his lips with his wrist.

"Alastor… I-I…" Vox blinked several times, staring at him with both regret and shock over what had just happened.

"You. You will never touch me again, or I swear, I’ll put a bullet straight through your head," he growled, feeling his heart pounding out of control.

He didn’t understand what was happening to him. How had he allowed himself to get so confused, to the point of being laid down on a bed like some whore, to the point of… imagining something completely nonsensical? Yes, nonsensical. Because Alastor had absolutely no interest in that bartender. Alastor had no interest in anyone except his President.

"Please, Al! I- I didn’t mean to! I was just worried about you, and—"

"I DON’T GIVE A FUCK, VOX!" he shouted, exhausted by his persistence.

The brunet fell silent, staring at Alastor with utter defeat. The flush on his face turned pale. He had never seen the redhead so exasperated. That shout, that expression, that tone—it made him realize he was fighting a losing battle. He finally understood that he would never have anything from Alastor besides a meaningless hookup.

"I won’t do it again," he whispered, lowering his gaze.

The bespectacled man straightened his clothes and smoothed his hair, thinking.

"I will only allow you to be fucked by me if you help me with my next task." he said, cold and merciless, just as he had always been, locking away what had just happened in a mental drawer best left forgotten.

Vox had his confirmation—there would never be anything more with Alastor. But he couldn’t let him go. He couldn’t give up those stolen moments, that secret intimacy. He nodded, perhaps even a little too solemnly.

"Yeah… alright."

Alastor exhaled, his expression shifting into one of deep resignation.

"I want the latest footage of Sera… and Emily."

Chapter Text

Alastor still remembered that morning, as if it had happened just a few hours earlier. Emily had taken him to a small pastry shop, where she offered him croissants, pancakes, cakes, and some hot chocolate. As if all that food could fit into that tiny child’s stomach.

The redhead had never been particularly fond of sweets, but after being completely alone, he had to admit that his body had grown accustomed to very small amounts of food, which justified his now skeletal frame. His hollow, empty eyes stared at all those colorful treats that the girl, apparently an assassin herself, was offering him with a warm smile on her face.

"Aren't you eating?" she sang, sipping her rainbow milkshake through the straw in small sips.

"I don’t care about food, I want to see the President," he said, perhaps even gloomier than before.

Now that the only person who cared about him was just a few steps away, he wanted to see him as soon as possible. He hadn’t gone far, as he had thought. He had simply returned to the group of assassins he belonged to. He was the leader, so they weren’t angry with him for sparing Alastor that night. The boy had returned to the same place where those people who had kidnapped him and tried to take his life belonged. Funny, but he didn’t care much about living anymore. He just wanted to be with that man who had shown him something he had never seen or felt in his life.

Emily grew serious again, looking at the vibrant colors with melancholy.

"Why do you care so much about seeing him, Alastor?"

"It’s none of your business."

"Well... let’s put it this way: if you don’t tell me, I won’t let you see him."

The little boy blinked multiple times. He stared at the girl, bewildered, who for the first time showed something akin to sternness, even though she had spoken those words almost like a nursery rhyme.

"What?"

"You heard me. Theoretically, you wouldn’t even have the chance to see him, so... I’m doing you a favor. The least you can do is tell me why."

Alastor’s small shoulders slumped, defeated. He didn’t yet have the means to hold a conversation. He had grown up with a very strict education, taught by educators of all kinds. All the professional figures, all the best teachers in the country... except his parents. The same people who indirectly taught him to trust no one... not even them.

"I... That man saved my life."

"I figured, since you’re here." She smiled, sipping the colorful liquid from her glass again.

Any other child would have been downright scandalized by such a statement. But by now, for Alastor, phrases like those were as invisible as the air. He merely nodded.

"He decided to save me and... took me away. To a safe place. He looked at me that way and held me." He whispered, as if ashamed.

His cheeks had turned red. He was so desperate for that touch, ironically one he didn’t want from anyone else. No other person would have been good enough.

Emily sighed, setting her glass aside. She would have liked to place her hand over the child’s, but she knew well it would only annoy him.

"You care about him, then."

Alastor flinched, looking at her this time as if she had said the worst thing imaginable. The greatest weakness in the world.

"No! I... I just wanted to thank him and-"

"Don’t lie to me. I won’t tell anyone." She interrupted, even more serious than before.

Alastor froze, staring straight into her eyes. He was paralyzed, feeling exposed. He hadn’t thought adults could understand things that weren’t said out loud. That was another useful lesson. He lowered his gaze, feeling his face burn. He brought his tiny hands to his bony knees and clenched the fabric of his pants. He wished that woman would disappear, forget everything. He wished he hadn’t followed her that morning. Why was he there? For him, that’s why.

"You don’t have to tell me, but it’s clear that’s the case. Alastor..."

She leaned forward, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. She tried to make the touch almost imperceptible, so as not to bother him too much. She felt the redhead's body shiver, but he didn’t move as he stared at the floor beneath the table.

"You shouldn’t get attached to anyone in that place. Not to me, nor to him..."

"You?" he said, disgusted, turning to look at her, incredulous.

Emily smiled at him, this time almost moved.

"Yes, to no one, Alastor. That place isn’t where you make friends, and those you see today might not be there tomorrow. You have to forget about that man."

He was incredulous. First, she had told him where he was, and now she was telling him to forget about him.

"No way. I... he is..."

He didn’t know the words. What was he? What was that man? His savior? Someone he cared about? A figure to admire? He didn’t even know himself. He was just obsessed with that voice, those eyes, and that touch so tremendously gentle it made him want to cry. He wanted to return to his arms and be with him.

"Alastor. He... will pretend not to know you."

The redhead’s eyes widened. He felt the world collapse beneath his feet. Why?

"W-why?"

"Because... you were spared and... you joined the agency. Now you’re one of us. The most admired, probably, given what you did. He won’t want to make you seem like his favorite, nor supported by him. He wants you to behave exactly like the others."

Alastor kept staring at her, not understanding. Why save him if he was just going to pretend not to know him? If he had become the most esteemed, so young, shouldn’t he just praise him, tell him he regretted letting him go?

"Do you think he’s angry with me... for following him?"

Those words, perhaps finally the first childlike words, struck the girl. She saw how hurt he was, worried about making angry or disappointing someone he cared about. She caressed the little one's shoulder, smiling tenderly.

“No. I’m sure not. But… he can’t make you look like one of his favorites. That would cause you trouble in here. Even though, I think you should have stayed where you were. Safe, like he wanted.”

What the girl thought mattered very little to him. Reassured by her words, he picked up the cutlery, aiming at the bear-shaped pancakes. Their appearance made him feel less sad, almost happy. He cut a small piece and put it in his mouth. It was warm, soft, almost like a hug. Emily pushed aside her milkshake glass for good, watching Alastor with a tender smile.

The redhead, feeling watched, continued to eat slowly, staring straight into her eyes, but neither of them said a word.

-

The woman glanced at the clock. She let out a small sigh, but a promise was a promise. She knew Alastor cared about it, and besides, she knew he was only there for the President. She lowered her gaze towards the boy, who stared determinedly at the entrance of the agency, his cheeks flushed.

"Is he... already here?"

"I think so. Shall we go in?"

Alastor seemed almost frightened but at the same time incapable of waiting. He nodded several times, yet remained rooted to his spot. Emily smiled, extending a hand towards him. The redhead stared at the gesture, eyeing the woman’s hand with doubt.

She didn’t want to explain; she thought it was clear. With a bit of hesitation, perhaps not wanting to upset her too much, he took Emily’s hand. The blonde’s heart filled with joy, a feeling she couldn’t experience very often. She nodded, almost as a sign of gratitude for his trust, and took the first steps towards the agency.

Once the door was opened, Alastor stiffened even more. Unintentionally, he moved closer to the assassin, almost seeking protection from the situation. Emily, on the other hand, walked with a straight back, confidently heading towards a specific room. When she stopped in front of a door, she looked at the boy, who seemed unwilling to say anything more.

The woman knocked and waited.

"Come in." A male voice said.

Alastor flinched, squeezing Emily's hand. She now seemed cold, determined. Without hesitation, she opened the door, bringing the boy inside.

The bespectacled boy fixed his gaze on the floor. He... was there. He could feel his presence, could sense that his mere existence in the room had filled the space with a pure aura of power. He was the President, after all.

"Emily, who do you have with you?" He asked, almost ironically, seeing a child.

"President... this is the newcomer. Alastor," she introduced, almost coldly.

"Alastor..." He whispered, approaching him.

The redhead clung even tighter to the woman, almost sticking to her. He couldn’t understand why he needed her protection and reassurance so badly. He was scared, extremely anxious. He hadn’t felt that anxiety since that night, when he brushed against his own end with a fingertip, but it wasn’t a feeling he often experienced. Not even when he faced his entry trial was he this anxious. Contrary to what many thought, it hadn’t been difficult for him.

When the man bent down to look at him closely, Alastor moved his chocolate-colored eyes. He flinched when he finally saw those eyes. That beautiful blue, almost gray, like ice. His heart started pounding wildly. He was home. Home again. The expression was decidedly different from what he remembered. That man, who no longer wore the black mask covering half his face as before, stared at him with seriousness, apathy. Yet those cold eyes were analyzing his very soul.

Alastor remained mesmerized, longing for that smile again, desperately craving that embrace. He slowly detached himself from Emily without even realizing it.

"And what is someone... of this ridiculous age doing here?"

"President, Alastor wanted to join the agency and... he passed a rather difficult test. That’s why he was accepted. Practically no one would have done what he did to get in."

"Mmh... and I wonder what a brat could have done to enter such a place."

"He... did-"

Alastor grabbed the President’s sleeve. That gesture shocked everyone, who stared at the boy incredulously at what he had just done. Emily’s face darkened with worry, but as soon as she opened her mouth, a loud slap struck the boy, almost knocking him aside from the force behind it.

"P-Pres-"

"Emily."

That single word silenced the woman, who lowered her eyes. She knew she no longer had permission to speak. Alastor lifted his gaze again. That man... it was him. It had to be him. The hair, the eyes, even the voice, were the same. Yet he seemed like a different person. He was cold, almost empty. He radiated... ruthlessness. The people sitting at the table in the background were frozen, staring at their cards. That same mannequin-like stare was now on the beautiful face of the woman who had brought him there to meet the President.

The short blond, extremely small, approached her, gripping her chin, perhaps a bit painfully, as Emily flinched imperceptibly.

"You let a damn kid into this headquarters. You even brought him to present him to me, as if he were one of us. And then... the brat even dares to touch me. Maybe I was wrong to put you in charge of this place after all."

The redhead shifted his gaze towards Emily. Was she... the head of that place?

"President... Alastor is one of us. He undertook a difficult test, one that even I wouldn’t have had the courage to ask for."

"And who was it then?"

"Zestial, Sir."

"Perhaps I should put him in charge of this place then. What do you think?" He growled, releasing the woman’s face a bit harshly.

"P-President."

Alastor's voice surprised everyone, who expected total silence from him, dictated by fear. Instead, his eyes now burned with determination. His face, with a swollen cheek, was red, making his young age clear. He clenched his small fists, searching for the right words.

"I... I promise I’ll do my best. I-I will make you proud."

"Alastor..." Emily whispered, watching that scene with a broken heart.

She cared for him so much that she ignored every harsh gesture or cruel word, which unfortunately were very common from the President. The blond watched him for a few seconds. When he stepped towards Alastor again, Emily stood in front of him, locking eyes with Peter.

"President, please. He will learn. I and everyone else will make sure he becomes... obedient."

Alastor looked at the woman’s back. She was... protecting him. Silence followed that phrase. Almost ten seconds later, Peter grabbed the woman’s hair, who said nothing, except for a small sound of pain.

"Don’t you dare speak unless I ask you to. Don’t ever get in my way again, Emily. Don’t take advantage of being my favorite."

“Y-yes, President.”

It almost seemed like he was about to rip her hair out, making the question of how he treated those he disliked a natural one. When he let her go, he moved the woman aside, returning to stand in front of the boy, who still gazed at him with pure admiration, despite everything.

“You better keep your promise. At the first mistake, you’ll become fish food,” he whispered, letting a sadistic smile spread across his face.

It wasn’t that smile. Why was it so different? Why didn’t he smile at him like he had before? Maybe he was protecting him. Just like Emily had said. He was playing a part.

“Yes, President,” he said softly.

Peter turned, clearly bored with the conversation. He went back to focusing on the people seated at the table, talking about the reasons that had clearly brought him there that day. Emily understood the introductions were over. She grabbed Alastor by the wrist and started pulling him away.

“N-no...”

“Alastor, we have to go,” she ordered, imperceptibly.

“I want- I want to stay with him!” He said, his voice slightly louder, hoping to be heard.

However, Peter had already started talking with the others, ignoring the two as if they weren’t there.

Emily crouched down, placing her hands on the boy’s shoulders.

“To be close to him, you have to stand out. Okay? You can’t expect from him what you hope for. That’s not how things work, Alastor,” she hissed, making it clear with her expression that she was scared of being there and wanted to get the boy to safety.

Alastor turned, watching Peter talk. His broad shoulders, despite his height, his confident demeanor, made him even more precious to the boy. His safe harbor, ignoring the fact that his cheek still ached. He didn’t want to be separated from him again, but Emily made it clear they had to leave to avoid making him angry. He would... have to become the best. Become his favorite through more “traditional” methods.

He nodded, defeated, following the woman who hurried to leave the room, closing the door behind them.

-

Alastor was sitting at the table in that horrid bar. Staring outside, as usual. The snow was falling, and that day it was falling much heavier than usual.

“Aaaaand... here you go!”

Lucifer’s annoying voice and the sound of a plate and cup being placed on the table made the redhead slowly turn, looking defeated at the result of that stupid bet. He still wondered why he had gotten involved in that absurd challenge and why he hadn’t given up on the first day. He didn’t care about those people’s opinions. And yet... there he was.

The panda-shaped pancake, the pandacake, stared back at him, almost wishing for death, to be cut into pieces by utensils, chewed, and swallowed by him.

“Now you can go,” he cut short, preventing the brunet and extremely short man from starting to talk again.

“How boring... you could at least tell me your name.” He pouted childishly, resting his palms on his hips.

“No. You can go,” he sighed, picking up the utensils.

Lucifer let out a chuckle, turning and disappearing around the corner. The redhead was almost surprised to be left alone so easily.

He started picking at a piece, spearing it with his fork and bringing it to his mouth when his phone pinged with a message notification.

The killer set everything down, grabbing his smartphone. He saw the preview of photos and videos sent by Vox. A strange heaviness in his chest made him sigh without even realizing it. He was... almost worried.

He quickly opened the files and, to his little surprise, saw Sera talking with Emily, somewhere outside the agency. He didn’t recognize the location of the two women, but it definitely wasn’t an office. It looked like a bar or a restaurant.

He saved the video for last, and his chocolate eyes fixed on the woman, now much older than the one he had known, speaking to the skilled assassin with a happy, almost emotional smile. He knew the two were very close, almost best friends, if not practically sisters.

His heart began to race, hoping not to see anything other than a meeting between women.

Lucifer turned the corner with a couple of small bowls. His annoyingly wide smile, proud of something he might have created earlier that morning.

“Kid, this morning I tried using those hazelnuts I bought fresh yesterday at the market. I made a crea-”

The brunet stopped, noticing how Alastor was staring at his phone. The redhead didn’t know, but his expression was close to terrified, almost desperate.

Suddenly, Emily leaned towards her purse, fished out something extremely small, and handed it to Sera, who quickly grabbed the object and slipped it into her pocket.

That object... was a USB pen drive.

“Kid...?” Lucifer whispered, placing the bowls on the table and approaching Alastor.

He bent towards him, placing a hand on his back. The redhead had let his phone fall and buried his face in his palms, remaining silent and shutting himself off in his own world.

Chapter Text

Alastor was pale, his eyes even more sunken than usual. Since he had started having breakfast at the bar of that sort of dwarf panda-man, he had gained some color, and his cheeks were less hollow. Even the light in his eyes had started to change, unbeknownst to him. But that light... it had disappeared again.

The pub doorbell rang. He was waiting for his guest, who entered the place with her usual gentle smile, greeting the bartender of a bar he didn't even know. She chose a spot near the woman's house, in a different city from where he lived.

Emily had been transferred shortly after his arrival. They considered her too attached to him, as she always tended to protect him, feed him outside of hours, and seemed too unprofessional to be in charge of that branch. She was put back at Peter's side, where she had been previously. He considered her lucky, given that he wanted to be in that position, but when she left... he couldn't help but feel a new hole inside his heart, one he never revealed to anyone and that was filled by Adam and his family.

"Alastor!" Emily approached him, opening her arms.

The assassin sighed, remaining seated and looking at Emily with resignation. She was always too sweet for that kind of work, and he himself wondered how it was possible that she was part of such an organization. The woman kept smiling, lowering her arms, sitting on the bench in front of him.

"You've grown so much... it's been so long. You didn't reply to any of my letters."

"I didn't receive them, obviously. But I wouldn't have replied anyway," he said flatly.

That woman, so sweet and beautiful, now about fifteen years older than when he last saw her, kept smiling at him in that annoying way. A way that almost reminded him of that idiot bartender, who had stroked his back for almost half an hour while Alastor tried to gather his composure and plan his next move, only to chase him away and leave without even paying.

"Come on, don't say that. How's work going? I know you've reached the highest positions-"

"Em." He interrupted, serious.

The woman flinched, looking at the boy surprised, more for the nickname he had started giving her a few days before she was sent away than for any real fright.

"Y-yes?"

Alastor raised an arm, calling the bartender to place an order. The man with the apron, decidedly different from that Lucifer, tall and muscular, with shaved hair and tattoos on his neck and arms, approached them with a notebook, emitting only a sound to ask what they wanted.

The redhead looked at the woman with extreme seriousness. His eyes were deep, also indicating disappointment, sadness, which he tried to mask with coldness. Emily stared at the boy she had seen as a child and spent a few months with, protecting him like a younger brother.

She understood.

She wasn't stupid and knew very well what was happening. She smiled, resigned, and turned to the bartender.

"A cappuccino," she asked softly.

The muscular man shifted his eyes to Alastor, who nodded. A few seconds of silence followed, and the bartender walked away. The redhead's eyebrows furrowed as he lowered his gaze, unable to hold the woman's, too gentle for him.

"Who are the others?"

"There are no others, Alastor."

"How can I believe you? You betrayed the agency, Em."

Emily smiled again, turning to thank the bartender who placed her cappuccino on the table.

"You don't have to believe me, but I'm here to endure whatever you have prepared for me," she whispered, taking a sugar packet to tear it open and pour it into the cup.

"You're not even trying to deny it. Justify yourself, Emily," he scolded.

"There's nothing to justify, Alastor. If you're here, if you asked me to meet, it's only because you found out that Sera and I had the USB stick, which we then passed to Adam."

Alastor's eyes widened. Of course, she couldn't have it. How did he not think of that? She had passed it to Sera, and Sera to Adam. But Adam... didn't have it on him.

Alastor slammed his palms on the table, rising from the bench. In response, Emily began sipping her cappuccino.

"Who did Adam give it to? Why are you betraying the agency?" he growled.

Emily drank the last sip of her hot beverage, lightly placing the cup on the saucer.

"It wasn't bitter, probably tasteless. Thank you, Alastor."

"EMILY!"

The woman rested her forearms on the table, looking at the boy in front of her, softened.

"I told you not to get attached to anyone in the agency. Yet you look at me with that face," she said softly.

Alastor jolted. He didn't immediately understand the phrase, but then brought his fingers to his face. He felt his expression had contracted in a way he never expected it could. Was he... what was he? Desperate? Sad? Disappointed? Hurt, perhaps.

"Don't be sad, promise me. You did what you had to do."

"Don't bullshit me!" he shouted, searching for the answers he wanted.

He ignored everything the woman was saying. She only spoke of stupid feelings, promises, regrets.

Emily rummaged through her pocket and pulled out something different from what the redhead expected. It was a set of keys, with an address written on the tag attached to them.

"I have a cat, which once belonged to Sera. Please, take care of it or... give it to someone who can. People with our job shouldn't have animals or family. But..."

Alastor was incredulous. She was accepting her assassination with irritating resignation, smiling at him and even asking for favors.

"Sera, Adam, and I weren't able to avoid getting attached to someone." She concluded, now showing teary eyes without losing that smile.

The bespectacled boy lowered his gaze and noticed the girl's hands beginning to tremble. The poison was starting to take effect. Her breath came fast and short from her beautiful lips.

"There's little time left, I guess," she sighed, turning to look at the big guy behind the counter, pretending to dry cups.

"He'll surely take care of me. Leave, Al."

"W-what?"

"I said leave. I don't want you to see whatever will happen to me." Although said kindly, it was practically an order.

"What the hell are you saying?! Do you realize that..."

"I realize perfectly well."

"Answer my questions."

"I have no answers for you, Alastor. You want to know where the USB stick is, but I can't help you. There was no one else but us, so..."

The woman swayed slightly, trying to take a big gulp of oxygen, which she could no longer bring to her lungs. Her soft skin grew paler, and her voice began to falter from lack of air and the effort of speaking.

"He must have lost it somewhere. Now... go."

Alastor realized he had started to mimic her behavior, unable to breathe himself. He felt a heaviness in his chest he couldn't describe. His eyes burned, his throat tightened. It was as if he could no longer bear her presence there. He turned to the bartender, who watched him almost secretly, eyes lowered. He felt... judged. He was one of them, after all. One of the newest, who followed everyone's orders in the agency to gain points and hoped to receive a mission sooner or later. A sort of handyman. It was true that he would take care of Emily's body. It was Alastor who ordered it, just as he ordered him to poison her drink.

The redhead turned back to Emily, who now kept her eyes almost closed. He... couldn't see her like that.

"Em-"

"Go." She hissed with an unrecognizable voice.

Alastor's vision began to blur with something he couldn't quite describe. If he had taken anything, he might have suspected he had been poisoned as well. He moved toward the bartender, almost as if seeking some kind of help from him, but outwardly he knew he was projecting seriousness and apathy. Or at least, that was what he hoped. He grabbed the keys from the table and walked away without paying any more attention. He felt a deep unease; he wanted to leave.

"Goodbye, Al."

Alastor opened the door without a word and slammed it shut behind him.

He walked. He walked through the snowy streets. The cold stiffened his bones, his muscles were tense, his vision hazy. Something escaped from his mouth; it wasn’t words, it was a sound.

Just as it had happened after killing Adam, foolish images of the person he had murdered began flashing through his mind. Emily smiling at him, Emily holding his hand, shielding him with her body when President Peter wanted to hurt him.

His hand rested on the cold, wet wall of a hidden alley. Alastor slid down, dropping to his knees, soaking his pants from the snow melting against the warmth of his body, seeping through the fabric. He brought his free hand to his face, pressing his glasses against his eyes as if trying to block what others would usually release in moments of sadness: tears.

He didn’t cry. He never cried. The truth he denied even to himself would only be known by the darkness of that place.

-

A cold hand wrapped around his neck from behind. Seated on the usual imaginary couch, Alastor stared into the void. Empty… exactly how he felt.

"Alastor..."

The demon's voice echoed through the room. It didn’t frighten him; it didn’t send that usual shiver down his spine. For the first time, were there… doubts in his mind? Thoughts, perhaps.

"What was that?"

"What was… what?"

The hand with pointed fingers tightened around his neck. Now, in his dream, he almost felt safe. It was no longer a place where he felt judged or had to stay alert. Compared to what he was living through in recent days, he knew that here he could be at peace and only had to face the demon who instructed him, guided him.

"Did you cry for someone you killed?" It whispered in his ear.

"No." He said too quickly, resting his head against the deer demon's arm.

The demon shifted its hand, letting it slide against Alastor's cheek. It almost caressed him. It noticed the killer nearly ignoring it, and that annoyed it. Greatly.

"What was... Emily to you?" It said softly, almost hissing.

"She was nothing. Especially now that she's dead."

"Look."

Alastor followed the demon's gesture. He lowered his gaze to his hand, opening it. Inside, he saw the key the woman had given him. His brows furrowed in a way he couldn’t quite describe. His nasal bridge began to burn.

"Why did you fulfill her wish if she was nothing to you?"

"I didn’t fulfill—"

"Won’t fulfill it? You won’t go to her apartment to get her stupid cat…?"

"I’ll go to the apartment."

He admitted it because the demon would have found out anyway. He was becoming more aware that his doubt wasn't real. The demon knew everything that happened inside and outside the killer. It asked all those questions not because it didn’t know but because it wanted to hear his version, to see if it matched reality.

"See?"

"I'll go to the apartment to look for information on the other moles." He said coldly, turning to stare into the eyes of his own demon.

The being's eyes widened, revealing the fantastic and luminous red color of its irises. It seemed extremely satisfied, almost proud.

"You think there are others..."

"There must be. The pen couldn’t have just disappeared."

The demon smiled with a closed mouth, continuing to caress the boy softly, which in an instant turned into a painful grip.

"Don’t change the subject. You’re developing feelings, Alastor." It growled, getting straight to the point.

The redhead flinched, not expecting that reaction nor that statement. Feelings, him?

"Don’t make me laugh." He tried to say, even as his cheeks were painfully squeezed.

"And you don’t be an asshole."

The demon vanished into a black cloud, then reappeared, straddling the boy. Its arms on either side of his shoulders, embracing him and sinuously bringing its face closer.

"We’ve never lied to each other, Alastor. What’s happening to you?"

The bespectacled one looked straight into its eyes. What was that being to him? Since that night, he had found it in his dreams, guiding him, ensuring he remained cold and perfect to become the best, to reach the position of Peter's right hand. Lately, he felt detached from it. He no longer saw it as a true guide but as a teacher who only pointed out his mistakes.

"I don’t—"

The demon leaned forward, kissing Alastor's cheek slowly, gently, making him feel the warmth and wetness of its thin lips, which always framed that sharp grin.

"We are one, Al. Be honest with me." It whispered into the other’s ear.

Alastor remained silent. It was true... In their recent encounters, he had censored many things. He hid having been with Vox, thinking of someone else, even if it wasn’t the brunet. He concealed the stupid pact with the waitress from that horrid place. He didn’t tell it about finding a corner where he even felt peace. Every night they met, but he only talked about his mission and theories, hoping it wouldn’t find out.

But why didn’t he want it to know? Simple. Because he knew he was straying from the right path.

"I must just be tired and stressed. I’ll go back to who I was in no time." He reassured it, knowing it was useless to hide anything.

"That place, Alastor..."

It pointed out what had been hidden, making it clear it knew. The redhead appreciated that the demon didn’t scold him for the concealed truth. It was talking about Lucifer's bar.

"There’s nothing sentimental. It’s a place that helps me reflect."

A few seconds of silence followed. The deer demon pondered. It moved its face, slowly kissing Alastor's other cheek.

"Whatever makes you do a good job. Pull yourself together, Alastor. Become the cold machine you once were. Emily was your weak point, and you did well to get rid of her. Just like Adam."

He nodded, saying nothing more, letting the darkness envelop him, pulling him back to reality.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Lucifer was leaning forward, trying to disinfect the wounds on Anthony’s face, who was sitting where Alastor usually sat.

The white-haired held his face up to prevent liters of blood from continuing to pour out.

“Promise me that asshole won’t come in here again, Lu.”

The brunet smiled, almost touched. He was worried about the boy in front of him but understood he wasn’t as bad off as he seemed at first.

“Don’t laugh! He’s a psychopath. Now I get why you’ve been like this lately.” He said, highly angry.

“Ant, that guy needs help, just like you did.”

“Do you seriously think my need for help is comparable to his? He’s a troubled guy, probably all alone, and it’s obvious he does some shady stuff for a living!” He started listing, his agitation reassuring Lucifer about his condition.

The bartender nodded, smiling softly, while placing an ice pack on the boy’s nose bridge, causing a loud complaint from Anthony.

“Precisely because it’s not comparable to your case, I want to help him even more…” He whispered.

-

Lucifer closed the shop, ridiculously late as usual. But after all, who was waiting for him at home? No one! His home was that bar he had built in his own image and likeness, with lots of love, thinking to create his den where he could chat with people, meet friends and kids, host beautiful animals, and help people. All the best intentions in the world.

He hummed quietly, trying not to think about what had happened that morning. He just hoped Alastor would come back, to apologize for raising his voice, for finding out his name despite the other’s wishes, and to try to help him even more than before. He had never seen him so destroyed and shocked. It was clear something had happened to him, and instead, he had scolded him. Even though he was hurting Anthony, he should have been more… calm with him.

He put his bunch of keys in his pocket and, sighing, took his first steps toward his apartment, literally two buildings down from where his bar was. As he passed by the dark alley where he usually left the trash during evening cleaning, he heard a strange noise.

“A cat…?” He whispered, guessing there was an animal.

It was a strange sound, like something crawling or stuck. Lucifer, who didn’t seem blessed with survival or self-defense skills, ventured into the alley. He turned on his phone’s flashlight and raised it to illuminate the point of interest.

As soon as the beam fell on what looked like a body and, most importantly, when he recognized the person lying on the ground, Lucifer turned pale, becoming the same color as his frothed milk. His mouth slightly parted and his eyes widened.

Alastor was there on the ground, in a pool of blood, lying face down. He was still moving weakly and somehow, maybe unconsciously, trying to crawl toward the destination he wanted to reach.

“Holy hell, Al!!” He shouted, dropping his phone and literally rushing to the younger man who was a few years his junior.

The redhead turned with confused eyes. It was clear he had fainted and was regaining consciousness, not knowing where he was or who the person beside him was.

“Alastor! A-Al, please, do you hear me?” He asked worriedly.

Alastor simply nodded. Lucifer sighed in relief, reached out to retrieve the phone, turned off the flashlight, and called an ambulance. As the glasses-wearer heard the sound of the keys, he grabbed Lucifer’s smartphone with unexpected quickness. His eyes glowed in the dark. He looked like a frightened, wounded beast cornered. He bared his teeth and even growled.

“No…no…” He said.

“Are you kidding me? You’re a damn colander! In an hour you’ll be in heaven if I don’t call someone, for Christ’s sake!”

“No…” He just said, before closing his eyes, too exhausted to say more.

“Fuck…” Lucifer whispered, putting the phone back in his pocket.

Lucifer tried to put the young man’s arm around his neck, lifting him slightly but with great effort. Alastor was very thin but at the same time very tall, unlike him, who couldn’t boast that height. As soon as he moved him, the glasses-wearer screamed in pain. The bar owner felt ice in his veins. But he wanted to take him home and check the situation, maybe heal him. Anyone else would have called an ambulance and ignored the injured man’s request. But Lucifer had partly started to understand Alastor from all those times he came to his bar to silently or not-so-silently complain about everything he saw while sipping his long, bitter coffee. He understood that young man was really important to him.

“Come on, big guy… You’ll make it. But you have to be patient with me, okay?” He said, before standing up and lifting the injured man, who barely had his feet touching the floor.

Alastor screamed in pain, and the brunet was devastated. Although it was his request, not calling the ambulance led to these rough, homemade methods. He certainly wouldn’t let him die or aid him in a dirty alley.

“I know… come on. We’re close. Can you take a few steps for me?”

“Yes…” He said with a pained voice, placing one foot after the other until they exited the dark alley.

Fortunately, there was no one around at that hour. Lucifer tried to walk slowly but at the same time quickly. If Alastor fainted, he wouldn’t be able to carry him easily without his help. Also, he kept losing large amounts of blood from what looked like gunshot wounds on his chest.

“What the hell did you do…?”

Alastor muttered something, practically more unconscious than conscious, but Lucifer was sure it was an insult. The brunet let out a tired laugh, more from stress than actual amusement. Very slowly, they arrived at his front door. Rather awkwardly, Lucifer took the key from his pocket, opened the door, and went inside the apartment, with Alastor still leaning on his body, his long arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“We’re here… Let me see how tough you are, okay?” He muttered, kicking the door closed.

Alastor, practically gray-faced with sunken eyes, raised his gaze distractedly. He was practically blinded by the prideful explosion of colors from Lucifer’s toys scattered around every corner of the house.

“I’m going to die in this dump…” He said, regretting following him.

Lucifer rolled his eyes, starting to think he should have left him to die in that corner like the worst sinners.

“You won’t die here or today, got it?”

He helped him in front of the kitchen table, fortunately long enough to accommodate the redhead’s entire body. With a rather rough gesture, he pulled off the tablecloth, causing all the objects on it to fall to the floor. Alastor looked weakly at the dark wooden surface, starting to feel genuine fear. He had never touched death this close. He was a very reserved and cold person, but who wouldn’t be scared in such a moment?

“I’ll help you lie down… I need you to lie right there.” Lucifer placed him so that the redhead’s buttocks touched the table surface, then helped him lift his legs onto it.

Alastor was easy to handle. The brunet could feel the weakness in his muscles. His arms and legs were like leaves in the wind.

“Big guy… now I’m going to help you, okay? But you have to do everything I say.” He explained as Alastor’s back touched the hard surface.

He moved his face to meet Lucifer’s. He stared at him with fear and vulnerability. He was unrecognizable to the shorter man, who was touched by the scene. His eyebrows furrowed and, without thinking, he moved his arms toward the redhead, who made a very weak movement to move away from him. Lucifer felt sorry. He didn’t want to scare him; quite the opposite.

“Al… can I? It’s me, I won’t hurt you. Before… starting, I wanted to reassure you.” He said softly and calmly.

Alastor looked at him like someone who didn’t understand what he wanted to do or why. He only knew there was no time and that Lucifer might be the only one who wouldn’t let him die. The assassin relaxed his muscles, nodding, as he felt his blood start dripping from the edge of the table, hitting the floor with soft plic-plec sounds.

Lucifer wrapped Alastor’s nape in a warm embrace, pressing it against his chest and placing his lips on his forehead. It was burning hot. He was definitely about to go.

“It’ll be okay, alright? You won’t die here.”

Alastor was surprised by the gesture. He had literally never received a hug. It was so warm and comforting. His fear and weakness, along with the confusion of no longer having large amounts of blood in his veins, made him sob, to his great surprise. He placed his hands on Lucifer’s arms, starting to cry softly.

“I… I’m…” He tried to stop the words that wanted so badly to come out.

Lucifer kissed the boy’s head, starting to think about all the tools he’d need and where to find them. He had to use every second of available time and stay focused.

“What, kid?”

“I’m… scared.” He whispered, between sobs.

“And who wouldn’t be, Al? I’m here now, okay? You’re not alone anymore. Trust me, I’ll take care of everything.” He hugged him gently, before feeling the younger man’s body grow weak in his arms.

Lucifer’s eyes widened as he lowered his gaze to notice Alastor had passed out.

“No… no, no… Al?” He released his hold, resting the redhead’s head on the table.

With trembling hands, he felt Alastor’s neck. The pulse was still there but clearly weak. Lucifer dashed to the medicine cabinet where he kept everything he would need. He grabbed the kit, tweezers, a lighter he used for candles, whiskey, needle and thread, and some towels. He ran back to Alastor, placing everything beside him. The first thing he did was tear off the boy’s shirt, now unconscious, revealing his chest clearly.

“Goddammit, Al…” He whispered, horrified.

Among the various wounds, the assassin had a bullet clearly still lodged in his chest, close to the heart. It was literally a miracle he was still alive. Lucifer, terrified, took the whiskey and opened the cap.

“I’m sorry. It will hurt like hell, but I have to save you, okay?” He spoke almost to the void.

He gently poured some drops on the wound, intending to clean and disinfect it. The very moment the first drop touched the torn skin, Alastor’s eyes flew open as he started screaming at the top of his lungs and thrashing around. Lucifer rested his forearm on the other’s body to hold him still, even though his movements were desperate and strong, almost causing him to fall several times.

“Please, Al!! I’m treating you! Hold on, if you can hear me!!” He shouted, continuing to pour more drops.

Alastor’s screams, as he dug his nails into the wooden table, were heart-wrenching. Lucifer began to cry without even realizing it. He had to do the same procedure on the other holes that remained open. When he judged the wound to be clean enough and could see the bullet, he felt satisfied.

“Stop… stop…” Alastor whispered, looking at Lucifer with unfocused eyes.

“Sweetheart… I don’t want to let you die, okay? You have to be patient.”

“W...hy…” He tried to say before losing consciousness again, resting the side of his head on the table.

Lucifer was broken, but as he had promised, he would never let him die. In his own way, he cared for him and… Alastor wasn’t indifferent to him either. Quite the opposite. Every day he waited for the time he would come in. When someone sat in his spot, he politely asked them to move somewhere else. He wanted him next to him, reserving that place that clearly gave him a sense of safety.

“Al… please, hold on.” He grabbed the tweezers, lit the lighter, and held the flame to the metal, praying it was enough to disinfect them.

When the tips turned red, Lucifer put out the flame and shook the tweezers several times, waiting for them to cool down. As soon as they reached a lukewarm temperature, he focused on the wound, gently inserting the instrument. His eyes kept darting to Alastor, who remained deeply unconscious. The shock must have been too much for him.

As soon as he felt the tweezers reach the edges of the bullet, he squeezed lightly, hoping they had it firmly gripped, and slowly pulled it out. It seemed to be coming out. He saw Alastor squinting his eyelids, clearly feeling the pain, but still asleep. When he began to see the tips of the tweezers with the object trapped inside, Lucifer felt a wave of relief. By now, his clothes, the table, and the floor were soaked with blood. It looked like a scene from a horror movie.

“There you go, bastard…” He cursed the bullet as soon as he lifted it, moving it away from Alastor’s body, then threw it to the floor along with the tweezers.

“Al… just a little more. Please, I’m almost done.”

As absurd as it was, he took a needle and thread—the same ones he had used the day before to fix a button on his bar uniform. He sighed, threading the needle. He tied a knot and brought the needle’s tip near the skin flap, gently sewing it. For safety, he again rested his free forearm on the redhead’s chest in case he regained consciousness. He was sweating profusely, but fortunately didn’t find the act of stitching live, open skin disgusting or terrifying. In a few minutes, he closed the worst wound and all the others in that decidedly homemade way, bit the thread to cut it, put everything down on the table, then grabbed some adhesive gauze pads, which he applied on the wounds.

Finally, Lucifer could stop being tense, serious, and strong. He placed his palms on the blood-soaked table. He turned his eyes to Alastor’s face, completely unconscious, pale, and with large dark bags under his eyes.

“Al…” He whispered, moving closer to him again.

He bent his knees so that his face aligned with the redhead’s. He caressed his cheek. His skin was burning hot. He stared at him with extreme worry.

“Al, darling… can you hear me?” He said softly but a little louder.

Alastor weakly reopened his eyes but said nothing. His beautiful chocolate irises seemed faded. It was a sight that would break anyone’s heart. He was a poor man on the edge between life and death. Lucifer smiled at him, moved.

“Hey…” He said.

“Hey…” Alastor replied sleepily.

“You did great. I… I closed and disinfected the wound. There was a bullet stuck in you and I took it out. How… do you feel?”

“Like a person who had a bullet stuck in his chest and a baker stitched up his wound with needle and thread.” He said very slowly.

Lucifer laughed heartily. If he had time for jokes like that, he must be feeling better. He rested Alastor’s head against his chest again, hugging him affectionately and placing soft kisses in his hair. Both were soaked in blood, but neither cared, for different reasons. Alastor lifted his nearly closed eyes to observe such behavior so alien to him.

“Why, Lucifer…?” He managed to ask this time.

“Rest, Al… There will be time for words. Right now, you have to rest, okay?”

Alastor took advantage of his situation, pretending he had no choice. Actually, he was feeling a pleasant reassurance in those gestures. Lucifer held him close, rocked him, and kept him near his body. The sound of his heart accompanied the redhead into a restorative sleep, this time induced in a gentler, softer way.

Chapter Text

Alastor slept soundly. He wasn't dreaming, wasn't thinking. He was simply submerged in a warm cloud of pure darkness. Though it should have been a situation that would instill fear in anyone, the assassin felt a warmth, a kind of spark within his chest, that almost made him smile in his unconsciousness.

Remembering nothing, he slept, recovering his energy, his body finally enjoying a temperature above freezing and a soft surface on which to rest.

Small drops of memories began to slip into his mind. His chat with Emily, their last exchange of words, then Lucifer's concern at the bar, his confrontation with that stupid white-haired guy, his chat with Vox... Valentino and other agents entering, pointing guns at him.

The only thing he remembered after that was finding himself on the ground in the street, probably near Lucifer's bar. Small sensations, smells, voices, tones, searing pains, began to swirl within him, slowly bringing back everything that had happened.

He remembered the brunet's hug, his worried face, his glistening eyes, his softened smile. And then his words... that he wouldn't let him die and that he would take care of everything.

"I..."

"What, kid?"

"I... I'm scared."

Those words, so alien, spoken in his strangely broken and high-pitched voice, made the redhead's eyes widen. He let out only a slight gasp, waking up under a ceiling he didn't recognize.

Just making that sound caused him pain everywhere, like many swords plunged into his torso. He gritted his teeth as he looked around. He was surrounded by stupid puppets, all turned towards him, as if they were talking to him. He was lying on an extremely soft bed, in a blue room, with various pastel-colored objects and furniture of all kinds. It almost looked like a child's room.

He felt incredibly clean, dressed in soft pajamas and covered by a fluffy, but extremely warm duvet. His head rested on what must have been a pillow, or perhaps two. He didn't have pillows in his house. Or at least, nothing that could be called one.

The door opened slowly, as if someone who didn't expect to find Alastor there was about to enter. Lucifer was indeed coming in with a tray in his hand, his gaze tired and blank, staring at the floor.

When the bartender raised his coal-colored eyes, he froze, staring at the awake young man with astonishment. The next second, his face twisted into what looked like emotion.

"You're awake... Holy hell, Al..." He whispered, his voice broken.

Alastor remained still, staring at him. He hated that this man felt entitled to treat him with such familiarity, as if they knew each other or had some kind of friendship or kinship. His... affection made him feel incomprehensible things that unbalanced him, made him feel strange, and promptly made him want to escape and return to his normalcy, although he felt slightly drawn to that adrenaline.

The brunet placed a tray on the nightstand next to the bed, containing eggs, bacon, and sausage, with some cherry tomatoes and broccoli. The redhead wondered why he had done it, since he didn't even imagine finding him awake. That man was so absurd that he had probably prepared meals for him at various times of the day, even if Alastor was unconscious.

Lucifer sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out his arm and stroking the assassin's cheek, as tears streamed down his face and he smiled, moved.

"You don't know how worried I was."

"Why?"

He wanted to resume the only question he had an answer to. Contrary to how he usually did, this time he let himself be caressed, feeling the strange need to close his eyes and move his head against the touch of the man who had saved him and who had always shown him concern, attention, and affection.

He wasn't like Vox. Lucifer wasn't by his side because he felt weak and wanted Alastor as support. He wasn't a damn doormat, scared of everything, looking for a little pleasure and sex. He knew Vox cared about him, and the redhead couldn't say he ignored it entirely, given how he had reacted at the agency. Simply... there was nothing between them but complicity and that little that could be called friendship.

Lucifer was different. Though he didn't know how.

"Still with that question... Don't you want to rest that stupid brain of yours?"

"I... I don't accept your attention, Lucifer." He said, reopening his eyes and trying to threaten the brunet with his gaze.

Lucifer let out a snort of laughter, as he caressed the young man even more and further modified his smile. He seemed... so exaggeratedly happy, as if he had won enough money to live in comfort for the rest of his life.

"You don't have to accept them if you don't want to, but let me do it." He whispered.

"Perhaps the question wasn't clear: why?"

The bartender moved his hand from Alastor's cheek to his head, lightly playing with the boy's hair who didn't want to move, officially not to feel pain, but unofficially because what he was feeling wasn't unpleasant.

"Because... I care about you, Alastor. And I don't want you to suffer or be in pain."

"Wh-"

"There doesn't have to be a reason for everything, you know?" He interrupted, continuing to smile at him.

Lucifer apparently cared about him, for no reason. He had saved him, cared for him, washed and dressed him, giving him his bed for who knows how many days... for no reason. Not to mention all the breakfasts, which, although Alastor had wanted to pay for, he insisted on offering him.

"Do you have a nurse complex or something?" The acidic man spat.

The brunet laughed again, this time more softly. He straightened his back, moving his hand away from Alastor. The assassin would never have admitted that he was annoyed by that decision.

"It's true, I love taking care of people who seem to be in trouble. I can't deny it. However... you have something I can't ignore, Al."

The redhead tried to show an annoyed face at that nickname, but unfortunately, every cell in his body could no longer be entirely stern or mean to the man sitting next to him. Something had changed in his mind and heart, which made him see Lucifer in a different light.

"What is it?"

"I don't know... just how you are. I told you, there isn't a reason for everything." He turned, looking distractedly at the room.

Alastor sighed, resigned to not being able to get rational answers. He turned to look at a penguin that was staring straight into his eyes, then returned to staring at the brunette.

"I won't ask you what happened, if that's what worries you."

"It might worry me, but in any case, I wouldn't tell you anything. Although... I think I no longer have ties to the place I belonged to before." He said the second part more to himself than to Lucifer.

He had failed. He hadn't found the USB, he hadn't found the moles, he had breached the secrecy of his mission for optimal results. He didn't know if Vox was still alive and above all... he would never see the President again.

That thought brought tears to his eyes, although he was a man who, at least in words, never cried. Lucifer noticed the sadness and placed his hand on Alastor's, leaning towards him.

"What's wrong, kid?" He whispered.

"I... I no longer belong to that place."

"They shot you, so I'd say they'd finish the job they couldn't finish if you go there."

Alastor sobbed, unable to hold back the gasp that caused a wave of pain, forcing him to cry even more.

Lucifer didn't want to interrogate him. He knew he didn't want to give him answers. However, something moved him. A question he wanted to ask and felt was the problem.

"In that place... is there someone you care about?" He asked softly.

Alastor's world completely collapsed. The image of the President shattered before his eyes. Unable to hold back a real wail that came from his heart, the redhead began to cry like a child, gritting his teeth and pressing his palms to his face.

Lucifer turned his torso towards him, alarmed, with a shocked expression. He didn't want to make him suffer like that. Yet, he had.

"Alastor, kid..."

"Why?" He croaked, this time directing his question to his entire life's journey up to that moment.

Very gently, Lucifer lay down beside him, to avoid moving him too much, and slowly hugged him, resting Alastor's head against his chest and resuming kissing the top of his head, while stroking him with such slowness that his movements seemed still.

He had realized that Alastor didn't hate that gesture or that he was pretending to be too convalescent to not send him away. However, those caresses, those lips, and those hugs were so full of unconditional affection and paternal protection that they transmitted an irrational wave of calm, impossible to refuse.

"I don't care where you were or where you worked before. From today you'll live here and work at the bar, with me." He whispered, with such determination that it was clear he wouldn't listen to any complaints or refusals.

Alastor removed his hands from his face, his eyes red and swollen, and looked at Lucifer with complete dismay.

"What...?"

"You've been asleep for two days. I took the liberty of taking your measurements and did a little shopping for you. You don't even need to go to your old house, do we understand each other?"

Another statement that didn't sound like a question at all.

Only then did Alastor realize he had been unconscious for too long. Despite the shock of the moment, his mind wandered to the promise he had made to Emily. For some irrational reason, he was alarmed.

"My... my old clothes." He said, rather abruptly pushing Lucifer away, trying to sit up again.

"Hey, hey. Where are you going, big guy? Do you miss your colander cosplay? You'll have to stay like this for at least two or three weeks." Lucifer left the bed, standing up and trying to make the redhead lie down again.

"I have to go somewhere."

He didn't care about animals, but Emily cared about her cat and that was the only thing she asked him. The key had to be in his old clothes. He couldn't admit he was terribly ill because of her and for having killed her, so he would somehow exorcise his guilt by taking care of that being.

"Are you crazy? Tell me where, and I'll take care of it."

Alastor was practically forced to lie down, while he reflected on that proposal. If he went to Emily's house, someone placed there on guard would probably finish the job, as the brunet had suggested.

If it were Lucifer, a complete innocent, probably nothing would happen to him, and they would mistake him for an acquaintance or neighbor of Emily's.

"There's... a cat at my house." He invented on the spot.

Lucifer started, immediately showing concern.

"Damn... days have passed. It must be starving, poor creature." The brunet moved towards a coat rack in his own room, grabbing a vest and putting it on.

Alastor studied him. That man was always damn ready to help anyone. Exactly the opposite of what he did. People like that, he had always seen as naive and weak.

But then why did Lucifer now transmit an aura of pure power to him? It was like... a deity who could do anything, choosing to help humanity instead of minding his own business or using his powers for his own interests.

While Alastor had begun to stare at the brunet with total astonishment, without even realizing it, Lucifer had already prepared to leave, turning towards him.

"If I help that cat... you'll accept what I proposed to you." He said suddenly.

A seriousness Alastor had never seen on the other's face.

He was serious, damn serious. His eyes were deep, his gaze devoid of emotion. It transmitted a wave of pure electricity to him, which he nevertheless tried to ignore.

He knew Lucifer would help the cat anyway. Yet... that proposal, however absurd, made a wind of novelty blow within him. He was alone, after all.

The redhead looked up at the man who literally wanted to adopt him. He swallowed, then nodded slowly.

"Yes..." He merely whispered.

Chapter Text

"Uhmm..."

Lucifer lowered the phone where he had set the GPS, looking ahead at a row of buildings, all attached to one another. Although Alastor had given him a precise address, the brunet had to admit he had no clear idea which building was the right one.

He picked up the keys again, turning them in front of his eyes. The address was written on them, the same one he had typed into his app, but there didn’t seem to be anything that could tell him which of those gray buildings was the one he needed.

He sighed, putting both the phone and keys back in his pockets and resumed walking, hoping to find a doorman or someone at the entrance who might help him.

As he approached the complex of buildings, apparently all sharing the same street number, he noticed that there was no one around. After all, the time of day wasn’t ideal for meeting people, since it was right between lunch and early afternoon.

Lucifer sat for a moment on the raised edge of a planter, staring at the structure where he was clearly lost, though his mind was elsewhere. He tried to stay calm, almost as if he were playing a part. But the truth was that his heart had been racing ever since Alastor had woken up.

He had taken care of the young man for days, watching his emotionless face slowly come to life, finally revealing his features, his youth… his beauty.

The brunet sighed, bending forward and burying his face in his palms. Alastor... was younger than him, and the bartender felt somehow compelled (without a shred of regret) to protect him, to care for him, from the very first moment they met.

He had known from the start that what he felt was different from how he felt about Charlie or Anthony. And yet… he pretended not to notice. He had even let himself go too far, stroking him, teasing him, pushing him to eat properly.

He could never deny his worry whenever he saw him come back in worse shape than before. Not to mention the time he found him in a pool of blood, his young face terrified, pleading for help, lost. His high-pitched, pained voice. He could never stop himself from hugging him or kissing him on the head. He could go on asking himself why he had those instincts, but he was old enough to know.

When Alastor woke up, the brunet had cried tears of joy. And when the younger man accepted his proposal—clearly made in a moment of total euphoria—Lucifer could have sworn his heart was about to burst out of his chest.

As he thought back to that “yes” that had sent him to the heavens, Lucifer noticed a very tall man with long, slicked-back hair tied in a ponytail. He was dressed in dark clothing and walked past without even glancing at him.

“Ah– e-excuse me!”

The bartender jumped to his feet, trying to stop the man. He seemed to freeze, then slowly turned toward him. The brunet realized he might not have done something welcome. The man gave him a faint smile, but there was pure hate and annoyance behind his eyes.

“Yes?” he asked, his voice deep and warm.

Lucifer was caught off guard by the tone, feeling his face warm up slightly. He knew he liked men, but lately things had been getting harder to suppress. Or maybe Alastor’s presence in his life had made him more impulsive than usual.

“I’m sorry… I’m looking for my friend’s apartment and—” he stopped, realizing how ridiculous that sentence sounded, especially since the rest of it was even more suspicious.

“I– I have to feed his cat, because he’s on vacation. But I don’t know which building it is.”

After a few seconds in which the man seemed to think it over, he approached Lucifer, extending a hand. The shorter man flinched, realizing he was asking for the keys. He awkwardly fumbled through his pockets before handing over the set to the man with the mesmerizing voice.

He examined them, checking the address carefully. His eyes flicked briefly back to Lucifer, as if analyzing him, then returned to his mild, politely cordial smile.

“I believe it’s the second building from the left,” he said, returning the keys.

Lucifer took them back, wondering how he could possibly know. He looked again at the row of buildings. There were six in total, all joined together. He blinked several times.

“How—”

The man bent down, making Lucifer flinch, and pointed to the small metal tag where the address was written.

“There are tiny symbols along the edge. It indicates the building and the apartment number.”

Curious, the brunet turned the tag and only then noticed a tiny engraved image that looked like a wing, followed by the number seven. Practically invisible unless someone knew what to look for on that particular set of keys.

“Do you also live here?”

The man nodded, though Lucifer had the faint feeling he was lying. But he wasn’t there to investigate or suspect someone who was helping him.

“If you like, I can take care of your friend’s cat until he returns.”

The offer made the bartender’s eyes widen slightly. It was… a very strange and overly generous gesture from a stranger.

“Do you… know the guy who lives there?”

Finally, the taller man showed an expression of confusion. It was as if Lucifer had said something incorrect. He furrowed his brow slightly, then looked again at the key set, as though seeking confirmation of something.

Lucifer felt he was trusting a bit too easily. After all, anyone could walk around pretending to be a resident. And yet this man seemed so cordial, serious, and well-off. He was well-dressed, and his cologne was definitely not cheap.

“Guy?” he muttered.

The brunet felt a wave of discomfort. He was definitely saying too much. He slipped the keys back into his pocket and smiled as sweetly as he could.

“Th-thank you for your help. I’ll take care of the cat myself. You’ve been very kind,” he said quickly, before walking past the man and heading toward the seventh apartment in the “wing” building.

He felt the man’s eyes on him and heard a faint mumble that sounded like “goodbye,” but the bartender tried not to think too much about the encounter.

-

When he finally found the door, on the second floor of the building, Lucifer inserted the key with trembling hands. He only hoped the poor creature was okay.

He opened the door slowly, greeted by a scent that was just a faint memory of something floral. It was mixed with the musty smell of a shut-in space. Lucifer stepped into the dark apartment, feeling along the wall for a light switch.

He turned on the lights and closed the door behind him. Lifting his gaze, he analyzed the place with his coal-black eyes. It was simple, tidy, without many furnishings or decorations like ornaments or paintings. It felt like a place someone didn’t live in very often.

And yet… something told him Alastor had nothing to do with this place.

“Cat…?” he called, stepping further inside.

As he moved toward what seemed to be a living room-kitchen, Lucifer’s eyes landed on a photo frame set down carelessly on the edge of a small table, where the resident clearly dropped their keys into a little metal dish.

Inside the frame was clearly not Alastor, but a very beautiful woman, looking almost angelic, hugging a distinctly overweight cat. She was smiling, happy. But who was she?

Lucifer sighed silently, crushed under the weight of so many questions he wanted to ask the boy but clearly never would. He stared for a few more seconds at the lovely girl’s face. Anyone would wonder if she and Alastor had some kind of relationship. Still, the brunet didn’t linger on that thought and kept walking.

“Cat?” he called, louder.

A weak sound from the area with a couple of small sofas in front of a turned-off TV caught the bartender’s attention, and he rushed toward it.

With growing alarm, Lucifer found a cat lying on the soft couch, clearly unwell. It was massive—its belly spread out, taking up nearly all the seat—but it hadn’t eaten or drunk in days.

“Shit…” he muttered, approaching.

He knelt by the sofa, gently petting the creature. It seemed alert and still alive, but weak. As he ran his hand over the orange fur, he noticed a fish-shaped tag on its collar with the name “Ponta” engraved.

“Ponta… I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were alone. I’ll get you something to eat and drink right away, okay?”

The orange cat’s green eyes shifted to Lucifer. That day, the bartender was definitely being scrutinized by many. He smiled, got up, and moved quickly to the kitchen. On the floor were two empty and licked-clean bowls. He couldn’t waste time cleaning. He grabbed one and filled it with tap water, then brought it back and set it by the obese cat.

“Drink, please… or I’ll have to take you to a vet,” he said gently, almost threatening and pleading for the feline to gather its strength.

The cat seemed to understand. Lucifer was sure it glared at him for a second before sitting up and eagerly lapping at the bowl.

The brunet felt moved, relieved by what he saw. His heart started beating again, not even realizing it had stopped. He walked back to the kitchen more slowly this time, so as not to startle the animal. He opened various cupboards, finding soaps, sponges, pink placemats with designs clearly not chosen by someone like Alastor—until he found a can of food.

“Oh, thank God…” he whispered.

In seconds, the bartender had poured the food into a bowl and placed it in front of the cat. Thankfully, Ponta devoured it in no time. When he finished eating and drinking, Lucifer let out a sigh of pure relief, brushing his black hair back.

“Ponta… your owner is at my house. We need to go, okay?” he explained, looking around for a pet carrier or something Alastor might have used to transport the animal.

Lucifer heard a sound like a mix between a growl and a whimper. He turned to see the creature glaring at him again. The brunet let out a chuckle, finding the plump cat oddly adorable.

“Don’t be mad. What matters is that we’re together, right? And hey, my house is pretty nice. It’s full of toys, plushies, and—” He leaned in to pet the cat again, but this time got scratched without warning.

Lucifer jumped back, more surprised than hurt by the unexpected swipe. He looked at his arm—already bleeding. He looked back at Ponta, who now stared him down. It was clear the cat had figured out it was being relocated.

The brunet’s shoulders dropped as he resumed scanning the apartment for a possible carrier.

“I guess this won’t be as easy as I imagined…”

Chapter Text

Alastor was sleeping soundly on Lucifer's bed. He would never admit it, but at the bartender's home, on that mattress, under those warm covers, where the brunet's words and gestures lingered, he almost felt like a different person. A person he had perhaps always refused to be.

Lucifer, with extreme gentleness, delicacy, and patience, was drawing out parts of Alastor's true essence, drop by drop. A part of himself that Alastor didn't even know existed. It made him... vulnerable. It made him feel strange, weak, confused. Every time that jerk caressed him, kissed his head, or said something with his stupid smile, the former assassin felt his mind cloud over, as if he were drowsy.

After what had happened, Alastor couldn't stop thinking about that man, who almost replaced the President's image in his head, but he didn't want to exaggerate with definitions. Lucifer had been there for him, helping him gently, not panicking, and comforting him when he was most afraid.

While resting in that room, the redhead didn't see the demon within him. He was sleeping in a cloud, serene and even almost happy. He didn't know what his life would be like from that moment on. He knew very well that even if he was no longer an assassin for the organization, he could continue his career privately. One thing was certain: he wouldn't change. He wouldn't become weak, as Lucifer perhaps tried to make him.

Just as he repeated the promise he'd made to the demon to himself, Alastor shifted slightly in his sleep, trying to move his body. There was, however, something heavy on him that hurt his wounds and prevented him from moving a single inch. After a few movements and silent complaints, the guy slowly and confusedly reopened his eyes.

What he found before his eyes was nothing he would define as normal. A large, heavy cat was on top of him. It stared at him, almost as a pastime. The creature was sitting on his stomach, studying and judging him. It judged him, and in a particularly severe manner.

"Fuck-" Alastor jumped, not expecting such a scene.

A tremendous pang made him flinch and stop instantly. Although he wanted to sit up or leave the bed, all his injuries ordered him to stay still and lie back down. The redhead rested his head on the pillow again, staring at the cat with disgust.

"Get off me," he commanded sternly.

He received only a sort of "meow" in response. A sound to which the former assassin would have liked to respond with a dagger plunged into the creature's skull. But he didn't have the strength, nor the desire... besides the fact that he didn't have a dagger handy. He returned to looking at the ceiling, feeling crushed by that tremendous weight, wondering where Lucifer had put all the guns, knives, and poisons he kept hidden in his clothes. They were small, not invisible.

He foolishly wondered why the brunet hadn't even asked him a single thing about it. The moment he asked himself the question, the bedroom door opened. The bartender entered with a smile that was far too cheerful and broad for someone who was tending to a person who had brushed with death.

"You're awake! You were sleeping like a baby again," he said in a voice flavored with sugar and honey combined.

The way Lucifer looked at him, Alastor felt that he was being considered weak, perhaps small, and in need of care. The thought bothered him, but at the same time, something he couldn't define was simmering inside him, sending waves of adrenaline.

The redhead lowered his gaze to Lucifer's hands and arms, well exposed since the brunet had rolled up his shirt sleeves above his elbows. They were full of scratches; some even seemed quite deep. He also noticed small marks that looked like bites. Alastor looked back at the cat. It seemed so damned obese and stupid that he thought it impossible for it to have done all that damage to a person. But after all, it was an assassin's cat. It must have picked up something from its adoptive mother.

"Are you happy? I brought you your cat. He's fine."

Alastor blinked, even more confused than before, not perfectly remembering the lie and the request he had made to Lucifer. The brunet let out a snort of laughter, putting his hands in his pockets and approaching Alastor.

The redhead, although lying down and trapped by that damned cat, turned the other way, trying to distance himself from Lucifer. He had already shown too much calmness and availability. The last thing he wanted was for the brunet to get strange ideas. He had undoubtedly been useful, but now Alastor had to distance himself from him again, not allowing him to get any closer.

"You could have also told me that your building was the one with the leaf symbol," the brunet said, almost mumbling.

"I didn't think it was useful..." Alastor replied, looking at the wall.

He heard Lucifer humming and fiddling with his feet, repeatedly rising on his tiptoes.

"Thank goodness Snowflake was okay... I was afraid he might have died."

"He's... a rather fat cat. A couple of days on a diet could only do him good."

Lucifer smiled even more broadly, slowly sitting on the side of the bed, looking at Ponta and then back at Alastor.

"You had left his food in the laundry. It was hard to find."

"It was the most convenient place for me."

The brunet extended his arm, resting his hand on Alastor's cheek again and asking him to turn towards him. The redhead slapped Lucifer's hand away, turning and looking at him with an annoyance he didn't actually feel. His face had become hot, but he justified it with his discomfort from having been shot and treated in a completely makeshift manner.

When their gazes met, Alastor couldn't help but notice again that extremely sweet expression, melted at the sight of something that didn't exist. Lucifer always looked at him in that strange way, making him completely insane in the former assassin's eyes. But ever since he took care of him, it almost seemed like he thought of nothing but Alastor. As if everything he did revolved around him. Of this, he couldn't be sure, but the bartender made it rather obvious. And the redhead couldn't help but wonder why.

"That wasn't your house."

That whispered phrase made Alastor's eyes widen. He pressed his lips together, trying not to show anything or let out any words that could get him into trouble.

"It was my house."

"The building didn't have the leaf symbol. The cat's name is Ponta, and his food was in the kitchen. Can you stop messing with me?"

Alastor couldn't fight the furrowing of his eyebrows. He felt his cheeks grow even hotter. He considered himself intelligent, but he also had to admit that he wasn't at his best. Furthermore, Lucifer was older than him and met many people daily. It was clear that he would discover a lie like that.

The redhead didn't say a word. He felt the cat settle on his stomach, pushing him with its paws, as if he were some kind of pizza dough. Only then did he realize the situation he was in. Around him there was... calm, warmth, silence, protection.

When the cat named Ponta lay down on him again, even closing his eyes, Alastor pondered for a few more moments. How could a person like him find himself in such a world, especially after touching death? Perhaps he really had died.

"Al, look at me," the brunet whispered.

Alastor felt immense annoyance at that request. Lucifer was acting as if they were intimate, as if he were his protector. The next instant, however, the former assassin turned his gaze towards the other man.

Now Lucifer was serious, but with the sweetness untouched within his eyes.

"That house wasn't yours," he repeated.

"No," he replied, without even thinking.

Lucifer nodded. This time it was his turn to look away, lowering his face towards the floor. He reflected quickly, then began to speak again.

"I don't know what happened to that woman, nor what kind of relationship she has with you." he began.

The redhead felt his heart begin to beat, sensing the danger that this conversation could entail.

"I won't ask you anything."

Alastor remained staring at Lucifer. Ironically, now he was the one trying to catch some expression in the other, in an attempt to understand what he was thinking, what he knew, or what he had understood at Emily's house.

"But you have to make me a promise, Alastor," he said softly, turning back towards the other.

Of course, he got no answer. The younger man remained lying there, watching him in complete silence.

"Whatever you did before, I want you to stop doing it."

He hadn't phrased it as an order. It was just a request, but that was enough to make the former assassin finally sit up. He no longer cared about the pain, or the cat that had gotten off the bed. He sat up, trying to give Lucifer his worst glare. He had to cut that... whatever it was, as soon as possible.

"What I did is none of your business."

The brunet remained still. This time he didn't try to make the other man stay still. He understood that what he had just asked was extremely annoying and intrusive. In all likelihood, he was still unharmed only because Alastor was still terribly weak.

"In fact, I told you I wouldn't ask you anything."

"I don't have to promise you anything, and what I do doesn't concern you," he growled, trying to sound minimally formidable.

Alastor's feeling, however, was that of a kitten trying to act like a tiger. He felt awful, and for some strange reason, he could no longer hate the other man or feel disgust, as he had managed very well before being shot.

Lucifer exhaled, pushing his raven black hair back.

"I just want you to be well, Alastor. Why is that so hard to understand?"

"What the hell do you want from me?!" he almost yelled, feeling his body rebel and his chest begin to ache, without understanding why.

Lucifer looked him straight in the eyes, trying to speak directly to the man's soul.

"What you were doing almost killed you. You were shot and almost died. You're not even thirty, Alastor."

"You didn't answer. What the fuck do you want from me?! I agreed to work in your stupid bar and... stay for... a short period in this damned apartment."

Lucifer tried again. He raised his arm, making a small sound that concealed a request for permission. He was asking Alastor to let him do it. With great patience, he remained still with his hand a few inches from the other man's face. It almost seemed as if he were obsessed with touching the man in front of him. The redhead simply stared at him with an emotionless gaze, and that was enough for the bartender, who finally let his palm touch Alastor's cheek.

The man tried not to revel in the pleasure that touch conveyed to him. Every time Lucifer bestowed caresses upon him, his defenses fell. A small part of his mind asked for more, and for longer.

The brunet began to smile again, as he rubbed his thumb against the other's cheek.

"I want you to stay here and in my bar for as long as you want. Be it years or decades."

"You're not normal. You're a damn pervert," he hissed, still clinging to a timid hope of chasing him away.

"Perhaps... But I don't think I'm worse than those who did this to you, Al."

"Stop calling me that."

"Do you want to understand that I care about you?"

Alastor flinched slightly. He slowly widened his eyes. Those words... they couldn't be addressed to someone like him. No one cared about him. Or at least, not without a reason, like Vox did.

Lucifer leaned forward, moving his torso. The redhead was shocked; although his mind told him to run, to hit that man, or to take him out, he remained still, as he watched the other open his arms towards him.

"Let me," he whispered, before closing his arms around Alastor's shoulders and head, being careful not to touch his wounds.

The man couldn't do anything. Lucifer's body was warm, his embrace protective, and something in his scent, in the hormones he released, or something similar, communicated how true the words he had spoken were. Alastor couldn't help but confirm that Lucifer's was sweet affection, although he had never had direct experience of it, only stupid stories heard around or in movies. They weren't lies. He just didn't understand why him.

He felt the brunet's breath. His lips near his ear. His own body began to be a victim of pure euphoria, insane lack of control, while outwardly he was nothing but immobile like a puppet, without returning the gesture.

"Please, stay here. Close that world off and let me take care of you," he whispered, holding him gently.

Ironically, Alastor noticed the cat walking around the room out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't used to the presence of an animal, or even a man in the same room where he slept, hugging him, whispering sweet words. Lucifer stroked the back of his head, bringing his attention back to him.

"Al."

He wanted to ask why again, but he knew Lucifer wouldn't answer him the way he wanted. It made no sense. They had practically never spoken, and every time they interacted, Alastor had always treated him badly. How could he care for him with that foundation?

In the absence of logical proof, although that was usually the only thing Alastor referred to, the redhead followed his instinct. An instinct that screamed something completely alien, pushing him to behave senselessly.

The man rested his head on the brunet's shoulder, then raised his arms and very gently placed them on the older man's back, as if he were made of lava. At these gestures, Lucifer couldn't control a wave of emotion. His dark eyes filled with tears, and his face furrowed. Perhaps he was getting old, but every time he managed to extract some sweetness from Alastor, he wanted to cry tears of joy for hours. He felt the younger man's head nod.

"Oh, heavens..." he whispered, holding him even tighter and pressing his lips into the soft red hair.

He planted sweet kisses, while caressing and embracing him, feeling how the other's body relaxed, almost snuggling against him. Lucifer couldn't help but see him as a poor wounded animal, scared and disappointed by the world. Every cell of his body now moved in Alastor's direction. He would help that man, showing him the affection he deserved and... controlling unspeakable instincts and filtering what he felt for him.

"I'm here, Alastor. Now I'll take care of you, darling."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Lucifer's lips touched Alastor's, parting and closing over the younger man's thin ones. The redhead's eyes widened, while his heart began to pound excessively fast. His hands moved quickly over Lucifer's arms, as if he wanted to stop him.

However, the older man's soft and plump, though small, lips were practically magical. He didn't know if it was experience or just because it was he who was doing that to him, but Alastor felt his mind empty as if by enchantment. He no longer thought of anything, simultaneously feeling that sense of happy confusion that Lucifer had made him feel many times.

His vision blurred as he stared at the other's closed eyelids. At that proximity, he could see every tiny wrinkle or hair. He could admire the other's determination, with his furrowed brows, coupled with a certain sense of liberation, as if he couldn't take it anymore. Lucifer slowly pushed Alastor towards the wall, continuing to kiss him, until the taller man's back touched the surface, pinning the former assassin and pressing him with his body.

The bespectacled man let out a faint sound, which he would never be able to describe or define. His shoulders slumped, and all his muscles relaxed, as he closed his eyes, possessed by instinct, clumsily returning the kiss. It was no longer him.

He was no longer Alastor, the assassin, the ruthless, self-assured, charismatic, perfect man. Now he was a normal young man reaching his adulthood, who had come to terms with his weaknesses, his doubts, his emotions. A person who was only discovering feelings at twenty-five years old.

The redhead moved his hands, placing them on Lucifer's cheeks, exactly as the other was doing to him. He tried to align himself with the other's rhythm, feeling that man's always controlled and gentle breathing become fast, exhausted. He perceived a slight growl from the brunet, which went directly to pierce his brain.

Alastor pulled Lucifer's face even closer to his own, almost as if he wanted to merge with the other. His body was literally overwhelmed by pure euphoria and desire. A craving that was decidedly different from what he felt when he did something with Vox. He could say that this single exchange didn't even come close to what he had felt doing sex with his colleague, nor when Vox had kissed him, stealing his first kiss. Not that Alastor cared.

The redhead made everything faster, fiercer. The room filled with the sound of their lips, their grunts, and gasps. In a few minutes, a gentle gesture had transformed into something else. Alastor stuck out his tongue, sliding it into Lucifer's mouth.

The man let out a moan, intertwining his tongue with Alastor's. His body moved with a jolt, pushing the younger man with a swift motion.

That push, exactly in the right spot, made the former assassin's eyebrows rise; he could no longer control himself. Lucifer's small but apparently strong body pressed him against the wall, while they kissed with animal frenzy.

The redhead felt the other's erection caress his.

"Mhhn..." he moaned, still pleading for something he didn't even know what it was.

Lucifer growled imperceptibly, removing a hand from Alastor's face and shifting his body slightly so he could grasp the other's clothed member with his palm.

"Ah...!" Alastor broke the kiss, tilting his head towards a ceiling he wasn't staring at, with an expression of pure bliss.

The brunet's eyes widened, realizing only then how far they had gone.

"Damn..." he whispered, backing away and leaving Alastor.

The bespectacled man lowered his face, staring at Lucifer in dismay. He was utterly confused and shaken. However, the brunet seemed even more shocked than he was. He looked at Alastor as if he had just broken him.

"I-I'm... I'm sorry, Alastor... I-"

"What...?"

"I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to do this to you, please... forgive me. I have to..." He followed with a laugh as he turned towards the door.

Alastor frowned, almost offended, feeling an anger he didn't think he could feel.

"I have to go to the bar," he mumbled, distractedly grabbing the bar keys and dashing out faster than lightning, still with a rather evident erection.

When Lucifer slammed the door, Alastor stared blankly, incredulous. He had touched the sky, only to find himself even in the worst circle of hell. Still with his body pressed firmly against the wall, his clothes slightly sweaty, wrinkled, and warm, they carried Lucifer's scent.

Alastor looked down, noticing how hard his erection was. He was... incredulous. Furious, to say the least.

Lucifer had just done something like that, without even asking him anything, only to get him involved and then leave him in that state.

"Fucking jerk..." he growled, heading towards the bathroom.

He locked the door. He didn't want to risk any more interruptions like before, then took off his pants and boxers. His dick was at attention, and his body was trembling like... never before. Not even when he was a teenager had he felt something like this.

Before he could touch himself, Alastor noticed the laundry basket. He stared at the object, reflecting with wide eyes and swallowing loudly. With an agile movement, trying to prevent his reason from stopping him, he opened the basket and rummaged inside. He found a shirt belonging to the bartender, which he immediately brought to his nose.

He could smell Lucifer's scent, his sweat. He didn't even know what he was doing. He had been completely out of control since the moment the brunet kissed him. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, as he sat on the closed toilet. With his free hand, he began to masturbate.

Before he could face any kind of feeling or consider everything that his relationship with the bartender would be from that moment on, Alastor had to release himself.

He imagined Lucifer not stopping. The brunet caressed his member, faster and faster. He licked his earlobe, his neck. He imagined that he would fill him with kisses, everywhere between his shoulders and face, whispering secret phrases.

"Alastor..." The brunet moaned.

"Ghh...!"

The former assassin's dick began to vibrate, hot and tremendously hard. It was unthinkable that only a few weeks earlier, Lucifer hadn't even been a part of his life. And now, not only had he replaced the thought of the President in his mind with extreme rapidity, but he had even reduced him to a bundle of lust with a simple, albeit deep, kiss.

He silently swore he would beat him to a pulp when he returned.

"My little one, do you want to come for me?" Lucifer whispered in the redhead's increasingly realistic fantasy.

"Yes..." he replied to himself in the room, with the other's shirt pressed tightly against his face.

Lucifer's hand moved faster and faster, kissing below Alastor's jawline, where the man hadn't shaved in the last few days and where small hairs were starting to sprout.

"Do you like it, Al?"

Alastor nodded repeatedly, many times, continuing to keep his eyes tightly closed.

"Me too, darling... But now I want to see you come for me," he demanded.

"N-no...I...can't..."

"What can't you do?"

Alastor squinted his eyes, realizing he was completely alone in that small room, like a stupid teenager.

The brunet in his imagination was beside him again. For a moment, the imaginary Lucifer turned like Alastor, looking around the room and realizing only then that they were in a bathroom.

He turned back to the former assassin, this time with eyes lit by a dark light and a wide smile.

"Isn't it wonderful, Al?"

"What...?"

"You can't resist me. You have to lock yourself in a bathroom like an animal in heat, you're so turned on by me," he explained, with no small amount of malice.

"S-stop it."

"And why should I?" Lucifer knelt between Alastor's legs, without breaking eye contact.

Alastor watched that overly realistic scene, feeling increasingly overwhelmed. Without realizing it, his hand moved with extreme speed, caressing his glans with his thumb. He felt tears forming in his eyes.

"I can't wait to be here, Al... To take you and make you mine, darling."

"Mnhh..." He tried to ignore it, looking to another side of the room.

Lucifer caressed his inner thigh, humming and admiring Alastor as he masturbated to the peak of pleasure.

"Do you want to be slammed by me, Alastor?"

"Y-yes..." he said with difficulty, admitting it only because it was a damned figment of his imagination.

He heard Lucifer chuckle in a way that the real brunet probably never would. He raised his face with a look of pure lust.

"Then come on me if you want your prize, Al."

That phrase, said in such a tone, with that face and those touches, practically made Alastor scream. He threw his head back, almost hitting the tiled wall. He came, expelling such a quantity of semen that it felt like liters. He sniffed the shirt again, then looked down.

His fantasy still lingered, and now before him knelt Lucifer, his face completely covered in his cum. The brunet licked a small part, then looked at Alastor with bright eyes and a strong desire to continue.

"You were so good for me, kid."

"Get lost, damn it."

Lucifer chuckled, standing up again, still smiling.

"You desire me, Alastor. It's time for you to admit it and finally say something."

The redhead felt reprimanded. He wondered why all his fantasies or dreams had to tell him what to do. Perhaps it was his rational side suggesting how he should behave, knowing that otherwise he would feel lost.

"I don't know how to," he admitted, giving up on sulking even at a phantom.

Lucifer wiped his face with his forearm, then immediately turned his attention back to the other.

"There's no right way. Speak, act. But do something. Anything. I can't keep guessing how you are or what you feel. Do we understand each other?"

Alastor realized that Lucifer must have hidden his feelings for a long time. He briefly wondered why such an open and unfiltered person hadn't told him anything.

He probably was afraid of scaring him or making him run away permanently. Or perhaps he didn't want to be hated more than he had been until three weeks prior. The bespectacled man sighed, resting his elbows on his knees and reflecting.

"Do we understand each other?" he repeated.

"Yes..." he whispered.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Lucifer rang the bell of his own house. He felt incredibly stupid. In his hands, he was holding a bag from a pastry shop. He had never thought about what flavor Alastor might like and didn’t even bother asking, knowing full well he wouldn’t get an answer.

He picked a tiramisu. It seemed like the most reasonable choice, considering the redhead only ever seemed interested in drinking coffee. For any other meal he had tried to make him eat, it always took about thirty minutes of insistence before he got an eye roll and an exasperated huff from the other—something that, to Lucifer, signified pure victory and comfort.

When Alastor started getting out of bed, the battle became significantly more complicated, as he’d get up and walk away from the plate. Sometimes the brunet felt like he had a stray cat at home (a second one, if you counted Ponta—who wasn’t stray and yet ate more than both of them combined).

Alastor opened the door, staring Lucifer down from head to toe. The bartender had never felt so... small. He fidgeted with the paper bag in his hands, staring at the younger man with total embarrassment.

“Hey…”

“It’s your house. Why are you ringing the doorbell?”

“B-because… I’m not usually home at this time, so… maybe…”

One of Alastor’s eyebrows lifted, making it crystal clear just how annoyed he was by that unspoken suggestion.

“Maybe?”

“M-maybe you… I don’t know, had something going on that you planned for when you’re alon—”

The redhead scoffed, walking back into the house and leaving the door open, while Lucifer was still stammering like an idiot. The brunet slumped his shoulders in defeat. He rubbed his face with one hand, trying to collect himself. He gathered some courage and stepped inside. He had to take responsibility. He was the one who had started all of this.

“A-Al…” He tried to speak with a confident voice, but it came out rather high-pitched as he closed the door behind him.

“What?” The redhead was already seated at their usual table, flipping through yet another book that he maybe found interesting.

“Listen, we nee—”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

The shorter man remained frozen in the middle of the room, staring at the other’s profile, who, despite his serious and falsely indifferent expression, had flushed cheeks.

"Could you tell me the line you're reading?" he asked, as he removed his coat and scarf, hanging them on the nearby coat rack.

Alastor flinched quietly. Lucifer could see his eyelids open slightly, only to return to pretending nothing was wrong.

“It’s none of your—”

“You’re not reading it.”

“What the hell do you want, Lucifer?!” he shouted, slamming the book on the table.

The bartender flinched a bit, and Ponta darted from who knows what corner, only to reappear in another. Lucifer gulped loudly and stepped closer. He placed the pastry bag on the table. The younger man glanced at it in confusion, thinking it completely unrelated to the topic at hand.

“I brought you some tiramisu.”

“I don’t want tiramisu. Why the hell do you think I eat sweets?” He turned toward him, staring.

“Because… I wanted to apologize.”

“I said there’s nothing to talk about. These things happen.” He tried to end the conversation and picked up the book again, pretending once more to read.

Lucifer sighed, looking for a moment at a random corner of the room. He was the adult here, after all. Or at least, the older one. He had to stop seeing Alastor as a child, but he also needed to understand that their personalities, their experience, and even their age made any attempt at conversation more difficult.

“It wasn’t an accident.” He said this time with a deep, determined voice, one that cut straight to the other man’s heart.

Alastor froze, staring at a random word in the book. Specifically, “radio.” Not that it mattered. His body stiffened at the sound of that strange, authoritative tone. He slowly turned toward Lucifer. The brunet was still staring at a random corner, with no real interest in it.

Lucifer turned too, looking Alastor straight in the eyes with the same seriousness he had shown weeks ago when he asked him to live with him and work at his bar.

“I like you, Al.”

The redhead remained frozen, staring at Lucifer. A few seconds later, his expression twisted, his slightly brown skin turning nearly tomato red.

“I… don’t care. That’s your problem.”

“That’s not true.”

“It absolutely is.” He stood up abruptly, nearly knocking the chair over.

His voice was shaking, and his pupils were tiny like pins.

“Don’t you ever do something like that again. And don’t you dare say those words to me again.”

Lucifer looked heartbroken, leaning forward and trying to take Alastor’s hand, which was, of course, pulled away as the redhead took a step back.

“Don’t—”

“I know you feel it too.” He tried to say with confidence.

Alastor tried to look scandalized and a bit disgusted. But Lucifer had to admit that, among all the performances the redhead had ever put on since they met, the one he was staging now was of rather poor quality.

The young man paced around the room, clearly reflecting. It was obvious he had never had conversations like this—or, if he had, he’d never wanted to dig deeper.

“Don’t… don’t make me laugh, Lucifer. You basically jumped me, I decided to pretend it didn’t happen, and now you show up at the center in the morning with a damn tiramisu, thinking you can figure out what I think or feel?” He laughed awkwardly, though he tried hard to mask it as disgust.

Lucifer approached him again, this time grabbing his hand firmly, never breaking eye contact.

“I hurt you, I know that. I didn’t want to run away like that, Al. But I was scared,” he started, ignoring everything Alastor was saying.

“Are you even listen—”

“I thought— I thought that… in order to protect you, I couldn’t allow myself to feel something for you.”

Alastor listened intently, trying to analyze the other man’s words, despite pretending to be disinterested and furious.

“I… I’ve always felt something for you, from the first day you walked into the bar. And I’m sorry I hid it from you. But after… after seeing your face this morning, I realized that… maybe, you feel it too.” He hinted, hoping not to be interrupted.

Lucifer gently stroked his hand, the way he always did, confusing the taller man’s mind as he stared at him, no longer able to control his expression.

The brunet felt comforted by the fact that the other was now showing emotion—albeit unwillingly. In Alastor’s eyes there was disorientation, confusion, and a touch of that something he had seen earlier that morning.

“I care about you, and I don’t want anything in return. I just want to… protect you, give you affection, care. And if you tell me I was wrong and you don’t feel anything for me… I’ll believe you.”

“You were—”

“But you have to think about it, Alastor. Please. I know what I saw and what happened between us this morning.” He interrupted, making sure to say everything that needed to be said.

Alastor furrowed his brows again, this time in a way that perfectly described his inner conflict. He tried to look around the room—the book, the desk, the pastry bag—but Lucifer’s hand was stroking his so gently, it made thinking almost impossible.

The brunet took a deeper breath, sniffing in sharply and audibly before stepping closer to the former killer. He held his chin, understanding perfectly that he wouldn’t get a reply unless he gave him a little help.

To his surprise, Alastor let himself be guided, lowering his torso slightly as Lucifer rose on his toes. Their eyes were magnetically locked, their souls starting to intertwine, dancing together as their minds and thoughts slowly faded.

“Please stop me if you don’t want this.”

The redhead slightly widened his eyes, placing his free hand on Lucifer’s arm, just like he had earlier. Maybe it was a sign of fear, of being unable to face something so strong and new. The brunet leaned in even more, his whispers almost loud now to the other man’s ears.

“I… I like you, Alastor.” He whispered, lowering his eyelids.

“Sto—”

“Push me away if you truly don’t want this.” He said slowly, before closing his eyes and kissing once more those lips that had haunted his dreams.

He heard a soft, quiet exhale from the other, whose body slowly relaxed. Lucifer kissed Alastor gently and slowly, this time refusing to let physical pleasure take control.

He caressed the other’s chin tenderly, then moved his hand to cup his extremely thin cheeks, framed by the faintest hint of stubble.

He felt Alastor’s hand grip his arm tighter. Maybe he was just scared—scared of facing something so strong and new. Lucifer opened his eyes, pulling back just a few millimeters from the other’s lips. This time, Alastor hadn’t closed his eyes like the first time. He was staring at Lucifer in disbelief—probably not because of the kiss, but because of what he was beginning to realize about himself.

“I like you, Al.” He whispered again.

In the redhead’s chocolate-colored eyes, a faint spark came to life, dancing in that warm sea of color. It was like something inside him was finally being born—something that had never had the chance to exist before. He kept looking at Lucifer, stunned, lips slightly parted.

“You don’t have to say it. But… if you feel the same way, kis—”

He didn’t let him finish. Alastor grabbed the brunet’s neck and face with both hands, kissing him in a swift motion, picking up where their morning kiss had left off—with the same hunger and intensity he could no longer hide.

Chapter Text

Alastor slammed Lucifer onto the table, sending both the book and the pastry bag, with the tiramisu inside, tumbling down.

"Shi-!" The brunet flinched, staring at the other in surprise.

Now Lucifer lay with his back against the hard surface, while Alastor, with predatory eyes, leaned down over him, kissing his neck, biting and licking it. These actions made the brunet see stars; he rolled his eyes without even noticing.

"A...l..." he tried to say, placing his hands on the other's shoulders, gripping his shirt.

The redhead had no mercy. He had already gotten down to business, without a word or desire for cuddles, for preparation. He was aiming for the conclusion.

"Not- not like this... Alastor."

The younger man placed one hand on Lucifer's cheek and the other on the hip of the man beneath him, who welcomed the other with open legs to receive some contact.

"Al-"

"Shut up," he ordered, hating every single second of what he called weakness.

Lucifer's sounds, scent, body, and face drove him crazy. Alastor couldn't hold back what he understood to be physical attraction for the bartender mixed with something in his chest he couldn't yet understand, or perhaps didn't want to accept.

The redhead rubbed his member against Lucifer's, tearing idyllic sounds from him. It was clear he hadn't done something like this in a long time, just as it was clear he adored doing with Alastor what they were doing. The younger man felt the other's legs close around his waist, considering it a victory in the brunet's stupid attempt to talk or do things slowly and with disgusting sweetness.

Just as Alastor felt reassured he could proceed his own way, he was practically spun around with indescribable force, finding himself for an instant with his back against the table. Despite the quickness of the gesture, Lucifer had even been careful not to let him hit it, so as not to damage his bandages and healing wounds.

Alastor looked at the other with complete dismay, only to be turned with his chest against the table and hands held firm behind his back. Lucifer smiled slightly, but it was clear he was in a complete struggle with himself, as well as with Alastor. He was panting and sweating, as he squeezed the younger man's wrists. The spectacled man practically growled, unable to move and feeling frustrated by how easily he had been subdued.

The bartender massaged the other's butt with his erection, hoping to comfort him that way, and it partly worked. All of Alastor's attention focused on the hard member he felt against him. Until he met Lucifer and began to feel something for him, he had never imagined he could be the one on the bottom. However, he would never admit it, but he desired it so ardently that it was difficult to bury with all the willpower he had.

"You need to calm down, kid... It's not- it's not how these things are done."

"It's exactly how they're done. You've read too many fucking books instead of screwing like real people do." He growled, unable to prevent his voice from being slightly broken by excitement.

Lucifer laughed, panting between one laugh and another, enjoying the massage he was giving his member against Alastor's body. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes and savoring making this boy he adored his own. Who knows why, though. He pretended to hate him, treated him badly, only spoke bad words to him. Yet, he couldn't help but... adore him. It was as if he could read him inside out, and everything the other showed was just transparent air to him.

"Now you're telling me how people behave? Funny, Al..."

"Don't call me that..." he threatened, shaking his torso in an attempt to free his arms.

Lucifer leaned down, pressing his chest against the other's back, so he could whisper in his ear.

"What do you prefer I call you? Hmm? 'My little one'?"

Alastor's eyes widened, feeling his face turn pure lava and his penis tremendously hard. He was surprised by how detailed his fantasy about the brunet was, even guessing what he would call him in those moments. He wriggled his hips, not realizing he was rubbing his butt against Lucifer's penis. Or perhaps, that was exactly what he wanted.

Lucifer laughed internally, without opening his mouth, then straightened his back again. He stopped rubbing against the other, and instead began to thrust slowly but decisively.

"AH..!" Alastor lifted his head, arching his back.

It was... an utterly heavenly sensation he never imagined could exist. The world around him became muffled, filled only with... pleasure.

"Do you like it?"

"No..." he panted.

"Good... then I'll continue," he whispered sweetly, receiving the true answer from the other's tone of voice.

Lucifer knew he couldn't let go, unless he wanted to get punched in the face. He held Alastor still, with his arms pressed firmly against his back, while with his free hand he held the redhead's hip, starting to push at a faster rhythm than before. The table began to shake, while the former assassin tried not to make any sounds.

The thrusts Lucifer's pelvis gave him with his hips sent idyllic sensations to the redhead.

After a few seconds of silent enjoyment, Alastor tried to rebel, finding what they were doing absolutely unacceptable. He tried to squirm, attempting to kick the other, with clumsy attempts.

"Alright, big boy..." Lucifer panted.

The brunet lay back down on the other's body, lowering his zipper and beginning to fish inside his boxers.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"You clearly need to come now."

"W-what?!" Alastor tried to turn to look at the other, gritting his teeth.

"Don't worry... I didn't say it would end here."

Lucifer finally gripped the younger man's hot member, who received an electric shock of pure relief. His body stopped at that touch, immobile and obedient, begging for pleasure.

The brunet smiled, beginning to massage Alastor's shaft.

"Ah...ahhhh..." he tried to hold back, as his eyes lost focus and his eyebrows raised.

Lucifer leaned in again to the other's ear, kissing it sweetly and slowly, to try and whisper words of guidance and comfort.

"It's just you and me, Alastor. Let go, little one."

"Don't...gghhnnn..."

The younger man squirmed on the table, while his hips met the increasingly fast gestures of Lucifer's hand.

Alastor's sounds became more and more evident, until the redhead could no longer control himself. Groans, moans, and more urgent, desperate sighs escaped his lips, as the bartender gave him pleasure.

"Mmgnn...!!" A sharp sound went straight to Lucifer's member, who also wanted to get down to business as soon as possible.

However, he didn't want that for Alastor. He wanted to do it gently, slowly, talking and walking that journey together. But he also understood that Alastor, being young, probably hadn't done anything in at least a month. Perhaps beyond his sexual habits, he must also have a strong need for it.

"Tell me, Al... did you do it this morning, while I was away?"

"..."

Alastor moved his arms faintly, and Lucifer caressed his wrists with the hand that held him still, to encourage him. The other hand increased its speed, filling the room with a sweet and wet sound of masturbation. To top it off, the brunet started pushing against the younger man's butt again.

"Did you do it?" he repeated.

"Y...es..." he admitted, feeling defeated again by this man who always seemed one step ahead of what his idiotic appearance made people think.

Lucifer smiled, perhaps moved or touched. Even embarrassed. To think that Alastor had been so excited, because of him, filled his chest with joy.

The younger man's increasingly fast and sharp sounds, now in a cloud of pure pleasure and lack of rationality, made it clear to the brunet that he would come soon.

Lying on Alastor's body, Lucifer kissed his ear, licking it faintly. He also felt he had only a thin veil of control left, but he forced himself to wait.

The redhead was nothing short of scalding, sweaty, panting, and tried to stop his sounds by gritting his teeth. But his eyes and expression showed only pure surrender and a desire to let go.

"Would you come for me again, my little one?"

Alastor could no longer control himself. Trying to hide his face, so as not to show how much pleasure he was ejaculating with, he came into Lucifer's hands, spilling his seed onto the floor.

Only a small, forced sound escaped his tightly clenched teeth, held by who knows what pride. However, his heart was pounding, and what he would never admit to be happiness flowed through his veins.

Lucifer moved his face to kiss the other's cheek, then slowly pulled away and tried to stare at him. He couldn't fight the wide, softened smile from what had just happened.

"Did you like it?" he whispered.

Alastor reopened his eyes, which he had closed at the moment of highest pleasure, looking at the other. The two studied each other. Chocolate brown mixed with that strange night black. The younger man simply couldn't understand why he always stared at him like that, as if he was about to cry for him with joy. He also didn't understand why Lucifer always did all those things for him. The answer had been given to him abundantly, but it was practically impossible to believe that words like "love" or "affection" or... "protection" existed in reality.

He couldn't say no to him, but he also didn't want to admit anything. He simply nodded silently, trying to move to free himself. This time Lucifer let him, releasing his arms and stepping back.

The former assassin straightened up, moving his arms to stretch them and then putting his member back into his boxers.

"I- I'm sorry... did I hurt you?"

"How are you so strong, Lucifer?"

The brunet jumped, not expecting that question. He stared at Alastor for a couple of seconds, probably looking for the correct answer. Before replying, he took a few more moments to grab some tissues and dry his hands.

He threw away the tissues and sighed, approaching the other.

"You know, Al. Being a bar owner can require muscles." He laughed, showing his arm in a completely foolish way.

Alastor rolled his eyes, surrendering the moment the blonde didn't seem to want to answer. He certainly wouldn't start taking an interest in the other's private life.

Before he could do anything, Lucifer took his hand, gently leading him towards the sofa. Even to his great surprise, Alastor allowed himself to be pulled and sit down.

He fell into total silence, while Lucifer placed a hand on his cheek, resuming his gentle smile.

"Would you kiss me again?"

"Wh-what?!"

Lucifer leaned in, noticing how the younger man's cheeks were already reddening, looking down to avoid the other's gaze.

"I want to continue, Al," the brunet whispered.

Alastor wondered why on earth he could no longer reject him as firmly as he once could. Now, towards Lucifer, ever since he had saved him, he felt only something strange, which, however, frightened him. He masked it with his aloof manner, hoping not to change anything in his life.

Continue... Lucifer wanted to do it with him. He had just masturbated him, made him come. He had done nothing but say sweet words, kiss him, treat him well (except when he held him still against the table), caress him and adore him.

While he was thinking of the various ways he could reject him, the redhead closed his eyes and let their lips meet, delicately. An alien delicacy for him, which left Lucifer shaken for a few seconds.

The former assassin kissed him once, twice, dozens of times, pulling both of them into a new vortex of pleasant confusion, until Lucifer finally let go of all control, embracing Alastor and pushing him down, onto the sofa.

Chapter Text

The room was silent, illuminated by the midday sun. Yet, on Lucifer's couch, there was an intimacy so profound it felt like deep night.

The two had fallen into a cloud where every thought, worry, pride, or judgment had vanished.

Alastor was learning the slowness and importance of gestures, words, touches, and scents. Although the younger man always tried to speed things up, Lucifer kissed him slowly and sweetly, on every part of his face, on his mouth, under his jaw.

Confused by pleasure, they didn't even notice how they ended up naked, removing button by button, zipper or elastic, every minute. The redhead stared at the other, giving his all to give him every single thing that would bring him pleasure. He even discovered he had points that excited him, but which he would never mention, like when Lucifer kissed his nipples or inside his ear.

He had never felt anything like it. Lucifer caressed him and whispered his name as if it were the most important thing to cherish.

The former assassin lay on his back on the couch, silently welcoming every gesture from the other man. He merely returned the kisses that reached his lips and unconsciously placed his hands on the other's shoulders, as if asking him to draw even closer.

Lucifer was above him. He was breathing slightly, his cheeks flushed and his penis fully erect, just like Alastor's. He looked at him with blurred eyes, appearing even darker than they already were.

The redhead observed the older man, as if trying to understand, to study him. He acted exactly like an animal who had only received violence and abandonment from the world, not understanding the reason or existence of kind gestures, without any secondary purpose.

"Al..." Lucifer repeated, looking at the other's chocolate-colored eyes.

Alastor merely moved his head slightly, silently asking what he wanted.

"Tell me something..." he panted, feeling reason slip away from him.

Lucifer was certain he knew what was in Alastor's head and heart. He simply felt it, and any expression or word of distancing was completely unbelievable. However, he wanted some form of verbal consent.

"What do you want me to tell you? You're taking hours to do something that would take much less time," he grumbled, looking away from him.

Lucifer let out a muffled chuckle, looking at the redhead with amusement mixed with tenderness.

"I know you're enjoying this, Alastor... The sounds you make, little one..." he began, leaning down to speak a few inches from his lips.

Alastor turned back to him, feeling the warmth of Lucifer's skin.

"They're unmistakable. And you don't know how grateful I am that you're giving them to me," he whispered.

The redhead looked away again, tremendously shaken by those words. Lucifer made him feel such inexplicable things, which infuriated him. It made him feel weak. Damn him and his stupid way of talking, and his stupid expression.

He heard the brunet laugh faintly, until he felt a finger press against his entrance. Alastor flinched, looking at the other in shock. He wasn't stupid; he knew he was the passive one in this situation. Both felt that this was how it had to be, and yet... he couldn't stop being afraid. Lucifer merely stroked his entrance, not taking his coal-black eyes off him.

"Am I your first, Al?"

"Mind your own business."

Lucifer couldn't stop finding him amusing and endearing. He pushed slightly, just enough to enter less than a centimeter inside the redhead, who closed his eyes, squeezing his eyelids and tightening his grip on the other's shoulders, making it clear how much fear he felt.

"It's me, Al... I'd never hurt you," he whispered, almost too softly to be heard.

Yet, his voice was so deep and paternal that it was almost deafening in the other's heart.

"I'll stop any time you want, darling. Do you understand me?"

Alastor slightly reopened his eyelids, feeling the other's finger slide inside him with almost disarming ease. He... was giving his first time to Lucifer. The brunet noticed that the other had finally reopened his eyes and smiled at him with that damned moved look.

"There you are."

"Will you shut the fuck up? Do you really have to talk about everything you do?"

"How could I not talk to someone like you, Al?"

"S-someone like me?"

Lucifer's finger spun around multiple times, moving in and out with such slowness that it sent more small clouds of confusion into the redhead, who began to see blurry and be moved by utterly primal muscle contractions. He wanted to arch his back, roll his eyes back, moan, but no. He would never allow it.

Lucifer leaned down, giving him another small kiss on the lips. He noticed how Alastor's gaze was now hazy. He took advantage of the moment to insert a second finger.

"Mhhrrnnn...!" he tried to swallow.

"A gentle person, Alastor... You're hurt and scared. You only make me want to take care of you even more and give you every minute of my life and all the attention you deserve."

"Knock... it...o-nnahhh..." he panted, digging his nails into Lucifer's flesh.

The brunet simply gritted his teeth from the discomfort that gesture could cause, but he didn't pay it much mind. He continued to push and pull his fingers from the other, faster and faster, receiving increasingly uncontrolled moans and gasps as a reward.

He inserted the third finger, delivering the final blow to the redhead, who arched his back, digging his nails ruthlessly into the flesh of the man above him. Lucifer flinched slightly, sensing he was bleeding. However, he did not stop and addressed the other again, who was no longer looking at him and most likely wouldn't even listen.

"Louder, Al. Let me hear how much you like it."

"Ahh..n....!!" He hated that moment.

He hated Lucifer, he hated being so weak, he hated enjoying it so much, being submissive, having to hear that crap. He hated loving all of this.

"Tell me something... or I'll stop instantly."

Alastor's eyelids flew open, pausing for a second. He felt Lucifer's fingers had stopped moving. He felt such a sense of bewilderment and loss that it almost made him want to cry. He simply looked up again and stared at the other with an expression of betrayal. Lucifer couldn't help but feel so much tenderness again.

"I'd never stop, okay? But... I'd like to hear you say something. Anything," he explained softly.

Alastor lowered his gaze, knowing his face was probably the color of lava. He wasn't the type to say such things, nor had he ever been in a similar situation. Thinking about how to proceed, his hands stopped piercing Lucifer's flesh and gently caressed the shoulders of the man above him. The brunet didn't move or say anything, but his heart felt full of joy at that gesture and especially at seeing that the other was actually thinking of something to say. He knew the great effort he was making.

"M-more," he mumbled, almost imperceptibly.

Lucifer was speechless. He looked at the other in complete shock. He felt tears form in his eyes, like an incurable romantic, but he swallowed back any emotion, nodding repeatedly. He lowered his face to kiss the other sweetly, who returned the gesture in silence, overwhelmed by what he was feeling.

The bartender withdrew his fingers from the redhead, positioning himself between his legs, without stopping kissing him. When Alastor felt the tip of Lucifer's penis caress his entrance, he couldn't help but gasp, breaking the kiss, but remaining embraced by the other a few millimeters from his face. The brunet kissed his cheek.

"Can I be your first?" he whispered, searching the other's eyes.

Alastor stared at the other, no longer knowing what expression he was showing. Without saying anything else, he just nodded in approval. Of course, the man above him felt so tremendously honored and lucky to be probably the only person with whom Alastor had opened up in that way.

"Stay with me, little one," he asked, before entering the first few centimeters.

"Shit-!" Alastor threw his head back.

It was definitely something intense that he wasn't used to. He clung to Lucifer's words in his mind, knowing that he would never hurt him and instead only sought his pleasure. With slow pelvic movements, Lucifer entered the other with extreme slowness, who had begun to moan without worrying about anything anymore.

"Like this, Al... you can take it all. It's just for you."

"Mmhnn...ahhhh..." he let out, suddenly jerking his head back more decisively than before, causing his glasses to fall to the floor.

Lucifer began to push with extreme care, feeling his member entering fully. He continually checked the state of the other, who seemed no longer conscious and rational. Alastor stared at the wall behind him, with an arched back, open mouth for sounds to escape, and empty eyes.

"I love how you feel... You're so hot and tight, Alastor," he moaned in a high-pitched voice.

"Sh-shut u...AHHN...!!"

Lucifer grabbed the other's hips, feeling the last drop leave him, and began to push faster, increasing the rhythm, now possessed by the desire to make him his, to make love. He admired the other contracting, moaning, losing his identity, and finally letting out who he truly was and what he felt without foolish filters.

"Ahh...aaahh...! Mmhnn..."

The brunet increased his pelvic movements, beginning to growl and push more and more frantically. Even though it was the young man he adored and continuously saw as a fragile being on the path to healing from many different perspectives, Lucifer no longer wanted to stop being cautious. He knew he could stop, because Alastor wanted it too.

"Tell me you like it," he growled.

"I... y-yes."

"Do you like it?" he repeated, sternly, pushing so hard that the couch began to move, creating noises easily audible from outside.

"I- I like it..." he moaned, in a high-pitched voice.

Lucifer hadn't had sex in years, limiting himself to a few casual encounters during periods of deep stress. Having even a person for whom he felt feelings and physical attraction drove him crazy.

"Good... good, dear. I'm so proud... of y-you... Al," he tried to say calmly, as he began to withdraw his member.

Alastor's eyes flew open, he lifted his torso, and trapped Lucifer's buttocks to keep the brunet's body against his.

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

"I'm... oh, heavens... forgive me. I have... I have to come, Al," he justified, panting heavily and looking at the other with embarrassment.

"That's exactly it, you bastard. Don't you dare pull out!" he yelled, almost seeming like the empty, ruthless man he was in the beginning again.

Lucifer flinched, easily understanding what he meant.

"You want... me to come inside?"

"I won't tell you what you want to hear."

Alastor simply said that, then lay back down, hoping the other would resume what he was doing. Lucifer accepted it and resumed his fast rhythm, admiring the younger man losing himself again, this time digging his nails into his couch. He realized he might have actually adopted a cat.

"Al- Alastor, my little one- I have to..."

"Do it, damn it!" he yelled, exasperated.

Lucifer was overwhelmed by a wave of pleasure he was sure he had never felt before. A moan of ecstasy he had never emitted escaped his lungs. It was long, desperate, dreamy, and perverse in tone. He completely poured himself into the younger man, pushing as his instinct dictated. After coming, slower and smaller thrusts alternated with long and deep ones, giving Alastor further pleasure.

The redhead saw through his blurred vision that Lucifer pulled out of him, then crawled a few centimeters and lay down next to (practically on top of) him, panting quickly, as if he had just run a marathon.

Alastor stared at the ceiling, trying to find words to say or imagine what that idiot would say to him. He had just given his virginity to Lucifer. He had just made... love, with someone. He knew this wasn't just sex. Those pleasures due to simple gestures or words, that slow and careful connection of bodies... it couldn't be just sex.

When the former assassin felt the other's breathing become deep and long, and also felt his small body slump and become heavier on top of him, Alastor turned, noticing that Lucifer had fallen asleep. From the sound he made, it was quite clear he hadn't done so in a long time. He lingered, looking at that practically perfect face devoid of any expression. One of Lucifer's hands rested open on Alastor's chest, a little near where he had been treated. He moved one of his own hands, placing it over the brunet's, then lowered his face and kissed his sweaty head. A simple, imperceptible, small kiss, but one that communicated everything that was traveling within his heart.

Chapter Text

“No.”

Anthony stared at Alastor with pure disgust. Frozen at the bar's entrance, completely shocked, he watched the redhead drying some mugs behind the counter, raising an eyebrow in clear indication that he didn’t want him there.

“Perfect, you can leave. The door’s still open, so you won’t get tired.”

Anthony felt his face turn to lava as he clenched his teeth in frustration. He turned around, looking for his friend.

“Where’s Lucifer?”

“Do I look like his secretary?” Alastor sighed, putting down the cup and grabbing another wet one.

The white-haired man walked in, moving behind the counter and ignoring Alastor as he headed into the kitchen.

“LUCIFER!!”

The bespectacled one sighed even louder, placing the second cup down. According to the instructions, he was supposed to start grinding the coffee beans now. He bent down, looking for the bag Lucifer had described.

“CHARLIE!!”

The former assassin opened every drawer and cabinet, ignoring the other guy's yelling in the background. After everything he’d been through, someone like that certainly wasn’t going to make him feel pressured.

Anthony left the kitchen and headed upstairs to look for someone to help get rid of the person he clearly didn’t want in the café—especially not working there.

“Where are you?!”

The boy’s shouting echoed through the whole place. It wasn’t even eight in the morning and there were already people with that kind of energy. Almost enviable if it wasn’t… slightly annoying.

Alastor was a rock. His patience was enviable. Perfect.

He felt a burning rage grow in his chest as he searched the tenth drawer for that damn coffee bean bag. Nothing.

He straightened up, and when Anthony passed in front of the counter, Alastor grabbed his hair, pretending he was about to smash his face again. However, he restrained himself and stopped Anthony’s face just a centimeter from the counter's surface.

The white-haired boy screamed, clearly terrified of receiving the same treatment as a few weeks before. Even though Alastor hadn’t actually hit him, Anthony resumed yelling the names of the two staff members like a deranged parrot.

“I swear if you don’t shut up, I’ll knock out every single one of your teeth on the corner of this counter.”

“WHERE THE HELL IS LUCIFER?!”

“What is going on here?!”

The brunet’s voice came from the still-open door, letting in the spring cold from outside the warm café, making both of them turn around.

The scene was clearly questionable, with Alastor holding the other guy by the hair, practically pinning his face against the hard surface, and Anthony yelling in both anger and fear.

“Did you put this psychopath in your bar?! Are you kidding me?!”

“Christ, Al!”

Lucifer dropped the sack from the shop where he’d gone to pick up the ingredients he’d forgotten to buy over the past few days—probably for a very non-mysterious reason—and approached them. Alastor sighed for the third time in less than five minutes, releasing Anthony and placing his palms on his hips.

“Where the fuck is the bag of coffee beans?”

“Are you serious? You were about to smash Anthony’s face in again just for that?”

“No, I was about to smash this faggot’s face in because he was screaming like a sissy, which he is.”

“Hey, you piece of sh—” Anthony tried to push back, slamming his hands on the counter.

Lucifer placed a hand on the white-haired boy’s shoulder, cutting him off. No one knew how he did it, but whenever Lucifer got serious—which was pretty rare—the air got a little heavier, making everyone feel that something couldn’t be allowed to continue.

Alastor felt it, and even though he hated being seen as involved, he lowered his gaze, avoiding the brunet’s eyes.

“First of all, you’re gay too. Second, you can’t talk to people like that, Alastor.”

Anthony was clearly surprised by the first bit of information, looking at the redhead with a level of shock he might’ve never felt before. Alastor swallowed hard, saying nothing.

“Al.”

“What do you want?”

“Apologize to Anthony.”

“What?!” For once, the two were in agreement in their reaction, turning wide-eyed toward Lucifer.

The bespectacled man couldn’t fight the irritating blush that formed on his mulatto cheeks, clenching his fists. He hated every second of Lucifer taking advantage of… whatever the hell their relationship was. Ever since that idiot walked into his life, since he met him in that stupid mall and visited his damn café… the thought of that person had become more and more present inside him. His words, his requests, his opinions—somehow, they’d started to matter.

Lucifer crossed his arms, making it clear he wanted Alastor to apologize and, somehow, get along with the other guy.

The redhead sighed—for the fourth time—and focused on the drawers where he hadn’t found the coffee beans, just to resolve things as fast as possible without realizing it.

“Sorry.” He said softly.

Anthony felt a strange sensation in his chest, like happiness—or maybe even emotion—as his eyes got slightly misty. He scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment. Even though it was barely audible, Alastor’s single word meant a lot to him.

Lucifer nodded, smiling again and giving a damn annoying sense of relief to the former assassin’s soul. It was… detestable. The bespectacled man turned around, walking silently into the kitchen in search of a little personal space.

The brunet looked at the younger man next to him. Anthony now seemed somehow regretful. He wasn’t stupid, and he sensed that Alastor wasn’t exactly a normal person with an enviable past. To be honest, even he hadn’t had an easy life, but he had always had a roof over his head or someone who cared about him. Not to mention the fact that he had never killed anyone for a living. Lucifer gave him a reassuring nod before walking around the counter to reach the redhead.

“Al…?”

“Where are the coffee beans?” he asked seriously, still looking for the bag just to distract himself.

Lucifer chuckled softly, reaching the other man and placing his hand on Alastor’s arm to turn him around.

“Love, look at me.”

That word made Alastor’s heartbeat skip, and he froze, staring at a random point in front of him. He never would’ve thought anyone would call him that in his whole life. Not that he needed it. He wasn’t one of those singles watching couples with envy or crying in a corner. However, even though he used to find it stupid just a few weeks ago, now that simple way of calling him almost brought tears to his eyes.

He slowly turned toward the other man, and Lucifer was smiling at him again with his sweet smile. Only after losing that expression for a few seconds did the bespectacled man, behind his mask of seriousness, realize just how important it was to him.

Lucifer noticed how that nickname had affected the other positively.

“Do you like it when I call you that?”

“What do you want, Lucifer?”

“Don’t make fun of me. I know that upset you. Want to talk about it?”

Alastor sighed—for the fifth time in less than fifteen minutes. He leaned back against the wall, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“I didn’t like it.”

Lucifer nodded, satisfied. He and Alastor had been working a lot on communication. Since he welcomed him into his home, the barista wanted to help him open up, trust people, and maybe… be a little kind. He didn’t want to change him, of course. But he wished only the best for him. A happy life, full of affection. Respect, honesty, and trust were definitely the foundation.

“Good job, Al… What didn’t you like? My scolding or—”

“Seeing you serious.”

Now it was Lucifer’s turn to be surprised. He lifted his dark eyes to meet Alastor’s, who had finally found the courage to look at him again. He was determined, though clearly embarrassed. The brunet stepped closer, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist. Alastor pulled his hands from his pockets and weakly returned the gesture, placing them on Lucifer’s arms. Their bodies were together again.

After making love the day before, the two had stayed on the couch to rest. Alastor got up, took a shower, and didn’t want to talk about what had happened. Lucifer didn’t push him, understanding the storm inside him. To distract him, he suggested working at his café, promising even a salary—though he never got a reply, refusal, or acceptance.

Now the redhead let out a silent sigh of relief. It was as if having Lucifer’s body against his own helped him breathe again. He felt strangely… at peace.

“I didn’t want to, sweetheart. But I don’t want you to react to things you don’t like in that way. Being cruel, Al, doesn’t do any good. It only hurts you and everyone else.”

Alastor nodded slightly. Somehow, he had begun to accept that Lucifer had taken him under his wing, that he was "teaching" him about life, even allowing him to be cared for. Day by day, the former assassin was learning what it meant to live a life with someone who truly cared for you. He was starting to accept that whatever his existence had been before meeting the barista... it was over.

The demon had disappeared from his dreams. He no longer felt the urge to go to the station to watch the train that had separated him from the first person he had given affection and trust to. Vox still lingered in his thoughts—the worry that his colleague… his friend, might be dead. But he had to admit he was afraid of reengaging with that world. He feared that… he would be dragged back in.

“Tell me the truth, Al. Was it because Anthony was yelling? Did that make you anxious?”

Alastor paused to think, lowering his face toward Lucifer’s without even realizing it. In truth, that bastard’s shouting had made him nervous. He didn’t know why—he’d grown up killing screaming people. Or maybe… it was precisely because of that.

“I think so.” He whispered, just inches from Lucifer’s lips.

“I’m so proud of you, Al… We’ll work on it together, love. I’m here with you now.” The brunet spoke softly, before rising slightly on his toes and finally letting their lips meet in the quiet of the small kitchen tucked behind the counter.

Chapter Text

Alastor wandered in the dark. It was cold, like the apartment he had abandoned weeks before. He hadn’t even bothered to lock it or visit it again. He simply threw the keys into the river not far from Lucifer’s house during a walk.

The brunet had taught him so much in those months. How to enjoy free time—reading, listening to music, taking short walks wherever he wanted. He wasn’t worried about running into members of his old organization. They were practically all souls living in the shadows, far removed from the everyday lives of normal people.

In that severe darkness, Alastor turned around, noticing the figure of Adam, arms crossed, smiling at him in that almost paternal way—or like an older brother—which he did every time with him.

“Adam…”

“I’m happy for you, Alastor. You finally understood what it means to love and be loved.”

“I– I killed you,” he said, his voice already beginning to break.

Adam had cared for him deeply; he had practically raised him like a son. After meeting Emily, Alastor was handed over to Zestial. Both were called to the main headquarters, and so Alastor was placed under Adam’s wing. The man, nearly ten years older than him, had treated him like family, hoping he’d grow up differently. But Alastor’s heart had already been shattered when…

“Ma’am, we have your son hostage.”

That sentence, etched in his mind, made him turn the other way.

Alastor was a child, kneeling on the ground, with three men in front of him. He was tied up like a goat offered in sacrifice, listening to that call on speakerphone.

“Do you hope we’ll give you money or political favors for this? Do what you want with him,” was the reply from his mother, whom he barely saw during the day except at gala events.

The redhead’s eyes widened, feeling, for the first time, true betrayal and abandonment.

One of the men raised the gun at him. A child. He was terrified, to say the least. He now had confirmation that his parents didn’t care about him. He was sure of that doubt he had always carried—of being unloved—only to nearly meet death a moment later.

Then, two gunshots from the man behind them. He was short, wearing a black mask that covered his nose and mouth. His eyes, icy blue, stared into Alastor’s as the two fell dead to the ground, the call already cut off by the person on the other end.

The man, with blond hair like gold, knelt, untied him, and then embraced him.

"It’s all right," he whispered with a soft, muffled voice.

Alastor instantly bonded with that man, clearly short in stature. However, the first thing the man did was take him to an orphanage, wishing him the best. Alastor escaped right after, chasing him and stopping him at the station.

But even there, he was abandoned again with kind words and loving gestures.

That man was everything he ever wanted. He had been his savior and the only person to show him affection. He would dedicate his life to him.

That’s why he started searching for the organization that had wanted him dead. The blond had been charitable to him, so maybe they wouldn't have killed him. Maybe he didn’t feel worthy of being loved by anyone, but Alastor cared for him! And he would make him understand. He returned, to be with him forever.

They subjected him to a trial which, as Emily had said, was likely designed to make him give up: kill his own parents.

The redhead was brought to a small hill near his villa. One of his eyes aligned with the weapon’s scope, watching his mother and father dancing romantically and peacefully in front of the record player. He didn’t hesitate. He fired two shots with enviable precision.

“You didn’t do it because you’re evil.”

Now Emily’s voice drew the attention of the present-day Alastor.

The redhead turned toward her. She was beautiful, as always. She smiled at him with emotion, sorrowful, hugging herself.

“You did it because you were hurt. You need to forgive yourself, Alastor.”

“Em…”

“You were just hurt and betrayed over and over again, Alastor…” This time it was Vox’s voice.

Alastor only moved his eyes a few centimeters, as his friend appeared next to his former superior. The brunet smiled in that awkward way of his, cheeks red, contrasting with his gangster appearance.

“Voxie…” he whispered, feeling his tears fall down his cheeks.

“You risked your life trying to save me. You shot a member of the agency, betraying them, because you cared about me.”

“I-I…”

A warm hand wrapped around his, making him turn suddenly. Next to him stood Lucifer. His hair was nearly invisible in that shadow. The man stared at the two before them, as Adam joined the scene of people the redhead had once loved—people he could no longer see, partly because of his own actions.

“I understand your guilt, Alastor. But now you must move forward and live for them, who loved you.” Lucifer’s voice was serious, deep, like few times Alastor had ever heard it.

The redhead stared at him in shock, soft sobs shaking his delicate shoulders.

“Now you are loved, and you’ve learned how to love.” Lucifer continued, now shifting his gaze to the eyes of the man next to him.

He smiled, a sad look in his eyes. He perceived all the suffering the twenty-five-year-old had gone through over the years and the burden of guilt he carried.

Alastor felt a presence behind them. He turned once again, finding the demon from his daily nightmares, staring straight at him with his plastic smile.

“You…”

“You no longer need my guidance to survive, Alastor.”

Lucifer mimicked the redhead, looking at the demon with apathy. That was a creation of the former assassin, a reminder of how perfect he needed to be—cruel, violent, cold—in order to survive in that world he had locked himself into, where he thought he could live with his beloved President.

The demon nodded slowly, then disappeared in a black flame. He heard a similar sound behind him, noticing that Adam, Vox, and Emily were also gone. Only he and Lucifer remained.

The redhead looked at the brunet, feeling lost and confused, but Lucifer began walking, pulling him by the hand.

“I’m here with you, Al. You’re no longer alone,” he said in his sweet tone, as a warm light in the distance grew bigger and brighter until it engulfed them entirely.

Alastor woke up practically screaming, clutching the warm blankets wrapped around him in desperation.

“A-Al?!” Lucifer shot up, still half-asleep.

They had started sleeping in the same bed in the bartender’s home, but in that moment of sheer panic, Alastor barely remembered it. He tried to take in breaths of air he couldn’t feel reaching his lungs, while tears of primal fear had already started falling in his sleep.

“Alastor, baby. I’m here… I’m here. Breathe.” Lucifer got on his knees, lifting the younger man’s torso and stroking his back firmly yet gently.

The redhead focused on that touch, that warmth, the dimness of their little bedroom, lit only by a silly duck-shaped nightlight Lucifer had installed for him—not wanting him to sleep in complete darkness.

“You’re here, Al. Here with me. In this room, it’s just us. The world and everyone else are outside. You’re— you’re safe here, sweetheart. There’s no danger,” whispered the brunet, trying to sound comforting, poorly hiding his own confusion and fear after being woken up by a scream.

Alastor thought about his words. He imagined being in a little box, with only him and his beloved inside. Warm, welcoming, safe. Everything else was outside. Nothing and no one could get in. As childish as it may have seemed, that image helped him relax. His breathing slowed, though the tears continued to fall.

He had killed everyone. He didn’t know where the USB was, who the moles were, who had betrayed the agency. But after all… he no longer cared. As much as he had loved the President, what Lucifer had given him was far more worthy of his love. He didn’t know why the blond had saved him that day only to later treat him poorly and beat him. But it no longer mattered.

Now… that was no longer his life. Not anymore.

Alastor began sobbing like a child, nearly tearing the blankets apart. He leaned forward, letting his tears fall into the void.

“I’m sorry…” he croaked with a high-pitched voice.

“Al, love…” Lucifer leaned forward, hugging him.

“I’m sorry…” he repeated, speaking to all those people to whom he had only shown coldness and violence, while they had shown him affection in various forms.

Adam had been like a father, Emily like a mother, and Vox like a brother. To worsen his guilt, he thought of all the people he had killed over the years, mercilessly, despite their pleas for him to stop. And yet, he had killed them all.

“I’m sorry—” he sobbed.

Lucifer kissed the back of his head while holding him tightly.

“It’s okay, Al. It’s over. We all make mistakes,” he whispered, not really knowing what the other was apologizing for.

It had been three months since Lucifer had first taken care of him. The two made love often. The brunet guided him, day after day, in patience, kindness, forgiveness, and how to behave with others. He had never faced his past in that way, not until all those weeks had gone by. Maybe the time had come to officially turn the page.

Through his tears, he turned to Lucifer. The brunet pulled back slightly from him, sensing that he wanted to say something.

Alastor looked at him, his face twisted with pain, but his gaze was determined—to do something he had never done in all that time.

“I love you,” he said, trying to hold back his sobs.

Lucifer widened his eyes in a way he had never shown the redhead before. His brows furrowed, and his eyes filled with tears—for the exact opposite reason than the younger man's.

“A-Al…” he tried to say.

Lucifer began sobbing too, overwhelmed by a feeling so powerful, so intense, it was undoubtedly the most profound of his life. He pulled Alastor back into an embrace, with such strength it almost crushed him, while both of them cried, their souls entwined.

The brunet opened his mouth to finally say what he had been feeling for so long but had held back out of fear of scaring the other.

“I love you too, Alastor. More than anything… You—you are my life,” he whispered, moved beyond words.

Chapter Text

"My loooove!"

Alastor rolled his eyes as he brushed his teeth. Since they'd woken up, Lucifer had been annoyingly good-humored. Not that he didn't know why, but he would have preferred a little... secrecy.

He just sang, with extreme cheerfulness, inventing love songs, dancing around the house in his boxers. Suddenly, Alastor was embraced from behind. The former assassin stared at the glass in front of him, as foam began to spill from his mouth from the intensity of his brushing.

"Sweetheart," the brunet hummed, fresh from a declaration of love.

"If you call me that again, I swear I'll shrink you another ten centimeters," he grumbled, spitting out the foam.

Lucifer burst out laughing, squeezing his boyfriend tight. His warm, silky face rubbed against the other's body, and Alastor certainly wasn't entirely immune to those touches and the feel of the brunet's skin against his own. They were both in boxers, and he was fairly sure Lucifer hadn't slept even ten minutes since he'd said "I love you." Who knew what had gotten into his head then.

The redhead, on the other hand, was exhausted and fell asleep in the other's arms, exactly like a child. He had probably never slept so peacefully in his entire life.

Lucifer chuckled, and Alastor already anticipated trouble. He put down his toothbrush and washed his hands.

"What do you want, Lucifer?"

"I have a wonderful gift in mind for you."

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine." He freed himself from the other's grip, walking from the bathroom to the bedroom to get his clothes.

Naturally, Lucifer followed him.

"Come on, Al! Let's celebrate our becoming boyfriends!"

"What?!" Alastor spun around, eyes wide, looking at the other with a completely red face.

Lucifer clung to him again, hugging him from the front and grinning from ear to ear. Joy practically oozed from every pore.

"We told each other 'I love you,' Al! We're boyfriends now, aren't we?"

Alastor didn't dwell on it longer than necessary. Even if it wasn't quite his forte, he should have intuited that after such an important phrase, something would unlock between them. Something that went beyond making love, as they did about three or four times a week; feelings had arisen that certainly couldn't go unnoticed.

Lucifer began to rub his erection against Alastor's, sure to find his boyfriend's member ready to enjoy. The taller man blushed tremendously, parting his lips to let out sighs he could no longer control, while his expression already twisted into a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure.

Lucifer hummed with closed lips, increasing his movements, knowing he had already won. Alastor's body already lost its rigidity, becoming weak to the brunet's touches, who caressed his back, shoulders, and buttocks, staring directly into his eyes, without losing the connection between their souls.

The room soon became silent, seasoned only by the heavy breaths of the two men, who had begun their dance, standing, in front of the bed.

"Come here," Lucifer whispered, inviting Alastor to lean down for a kiss.

The redhead said nothing more, even though he tried to show a pout almost in protest. However, he had already realized that any kind of resistance didn't work with the brunet. He leaned down, trying not to smile or show the happiness he felt. If he had a tail, it probably would have betrayed him, wagging terribly.

Their lips met, and Lucifer, as always, swept his boyfriend into a whirlwind of confusion and pleasure. With not a stitch of clothing left, the two were once again stretched out on the bed. Soft gasps and moans escaped, as Lucifer pleasured his beloved, watching him as if admiring the finest creation on Earth.

Alastor managed to show a side of himself practically impossible to imagine. His eyes tightly shut, his teeth biting his own lips, despair in his gaze, like someone caught amidst emotions and sensations too powerful to control.

"L-Lucifer…" he whispered, making it clear he didn't want to utter that name he so secretly adored, as he placed his hands on the shoulders of the man above him.

"I love you, Al… Now that I’ve started saying it, I’ll never stop," he said with tenderness and clear emotion, as he witnessed the twenty-five-year-old’s latest collapse, ever closer to his climax.

Alastor half-opened his eyes, fixing his gaze on the other with a clear request he didn't dare to utter. Lucifer met his eyes, tilting his head slightly and looking at him with his sweet smile.

"Tell me, love."

"Can you… t-together?" He uttered that mere fragment of a sentence, hoping it would be understood.

Lucifer swallowed a small laugh, as he adjusted himself to bring his member close to the other's, enclosing them both in the same grip. Alastor had made such a request before, but Lucifer prided himself on being able to understand him even when he was too embarrassed to speak.

He began to pleasure them both, reveling in the melodious sounds the boy beneath him emitted.

"Sing for me, Alastor… louder, darling."

"Ahhn….L-Lucifer!" He arched his back, his eyelids fluttering shut again, and his nails digging once more into the other's skin.

Lucifer was accustomed to it by now, and his shoulders seemed practically subjected to torture. But he would never say anything. He knew that a part of Alastor was still scared and unaccustomed to such powerful emotion. He would even have had his head cut off for him.

"Come, Al. I promise I'll come with you," he reassured.

He had understood, perhaps even as well as the redhead himself, that Alastor preferred to come together. Perhaps it was a way to feel less embarrassment, or perhaps because he didn't want the brunet to dedicate 100% of his attention to him. Whatever the reason, Lucifer found it adorable.

It wasn't difficult for the bartender to keep his promise, given that Alastor’s cries, expression, and body contractions were nothing short of idyllic when he orgasmed. The former assassin's body, and the bed beneath them, received the culmination of their shared pleasure. A few seconds later, Lucifer collapsed beside his boyfriend, caressing his face with a clean hand.

The younger man rolled his eyes, turning towards him. He still had the audacity to pretend to be annoyed by the other.

"What surprise were you thinking of…?" he whispered, not admitting he wanted to know.

Lucifer chuckled weakly, as he caught his breath and emerged from his post-orgasm haze.

"I want to take you somewhere that helped me a lot in the past."

"What would that be?"

"A spa with a massage!"

-

"Are you sure you've done it before?"

Alastor was sitting inside the sauna, resting on the hot wooden bench and wrapped in thick steam that made everything invisible. Not that it mattered—he wouldn’t have seen anything anyway without his glasses.

But he couldn’t ignore the completely labored breathing of the other man, making it painfully clear that he was struggling. The redhead was certain that Lucifer would faint at any moment, and they hadn’t even been in there for ten minutes.

"Absolutely… ahhh… I-I’ve done it dozens of times. You get rid of… ahh… the… the toxins,” he tried to explain.

Alastor rolled his eyes again, as he often did. He still wondered what he saw in that man, even if his heart knew all too well. His mind still refused to accept it. He couldn’t believe how easily he had said those words—just the night before.

"Hey, Al…" said the brunet from some unknown spot within the sauna.

“Mmh…?”

“I can’t see you, and I’ll probably die in here shortly. Would you say those words to me again?”

Alastor slumped his shoulders. He knew Lucifer truly wanted to hear them. He just wasn’t… the type to repeat those things.

“You’re not dying. You just need to get out of here because you’re weak.”

Lucifer laughed loudly, getting back on his feet and moving closer to him. From the movement he could sense, Alastor realized he was approaching. The brunet placed a hand on his shoulder, bent down, and kissed his cheek before standing up straight again.

“Would you repeat it for me?”

“No. If I change my mind, I’ll let you know. For now, the situation is as I described it.”

The formality with which he said something like that left the bartender stunned, and he couldn’t help but laugh again as he headed for the sauna exit.

“Will you come with me to the ice waterfall?”

Alastor stood up, tightening the towel around his waist. He had never done anything like that before, but during their travels through that place, he had read up on the benefits of these kinds of body treatments. He found them genuinely interesting. After all, he cared about staying healthy and in shape, especially now that he had healed from wounds that had left only scars behind.

Lucifer smiled, noticing how his boyfriend would’ve preferred to stay a little longer. Still, it was a couples’ experience, and it was definitely more fun to do it together.

-

"Remind me again—how many times have you done something like this?"

Alastor sighed as he voluntarily rubbed ice over himself, scooping it from a bowl placed in front of him. In the background, Lucifer was still under the cold shower, which he had only managed to turn on a few minutes after Alastor. The brunet was screaming in despair, as if someone were ripping out his internal organs.

“D-d-d-dozens… dozens of times.”

“Yeah, right…” he whispered, grabbing another handful of ice and massaging his arms and stomach with it.

Lucifer approached him, soaked like a drenched chick, staring at the full bowl that was collecting ice falling from a pipe in the ceiling. The bartender looked up at the opening above, trying to figure out how ice could be coming down, especially from inside a building. Still, it was really just a way to delay the inevitable torture.

Alastor was quick to put an end to his suffering, rubbing ice on Lucifer’s small frame before he could even notice. The former assassin had never seen the man jump and scream like that before. It was as if he had been stung by a scorpion. It was, to say the least… ridiculous.

As Lucifer ran out of the corridor designed specifically for that cold treatment, the redhead lowered his gaze, noticing that a small puddle of… black had formed on the floor.

Alastor furrowed his brow, glancing around to find the source of such a strange color. In the end, he gave up, convincing himself that maybe some pipe was rusted or just old. He wasn’t a plumber, after all. He set down the ice still in his hands and exited the second treatment room, moving on to the next.

-

“Now this is a treatment!”

“You’re only saying that because it’s relaxing. You should work on toughening up more.”

The two were sitting with their heads leaned back inside a warm, bubbling hot tub. Alastor sighed, completely forgetting how Lucifer had shown—and still occasionally showed—just how strong he really was. A part of him, maybe that tiny shred of assassin-like, calculating personality still lingering inside, almost believed all those exaggerated displays of suffering from the other man were just an act. But there was absolutely no reason to pretend.

“Are you Alastor?”

“Mmh?” the redhead opened his eyes, tilting his head even further back to look at a stunning woman with white, tied-up hair, dressed in a beautiful red kimono.

“I’m here for your massage. Would you follow me?”

Alastor flinched, straightening his head and turning his torso toward her. He had completely forgotten that Lucifer had actually mentioned a massage. The younger man then turned toward his boyfriend, looking for confirmation.

The brunet smiled and nodded.

“You go ahead, Al. I’ll get a shorter, lighter one.”

The redhead furrowed his brows, not quite understanding what he meant, but he wasn’t there to ask questions—plus, he wanted to push himself to be someone who trusted others more.

He nodded, slowly stepping out of the tub to avoid slipping, then followed the woman down a couple of corners into a small, almost hidden room.

He could no longer hear the bubbling sound of the hot tub, as he was enveloped in soft, almost spiritual music, the scent of incense, and a warm light.

“Take everything off and put on those underwear.” The woman, with almost melodic gestures, pointed to a pair of underwear that looked as if it were made of paper.

Alastor had no idea what the procedure was or what exactly was about to happen. He only knew he was supposed to get a massage. He decided to go with the flow, since it was a gift from Lucifer. If his boyfriend—the man he loved so deeply—believed he needed it, then he had to trust that.

When the woman left the room, giving him privacy, Alastor slowly removed his swimsuit and put on the strange underwear, left practically naked. For a few seconds, he turned toward the large radio, listening to that odd music that felt like it was cleansing his soul.

KNOCK KNOCK

“May I come in?” asked the woman from the other side of the door.

“Yes…” he muttered, wondering why she had stepped out at all—this was her job, after all.

Maybe she thought Alastor would be embarrassed. Or maybe, as a woman, she wasn’t supposed to see certain male… belongings.

“Please… lie down.” The woman’s gentle voice invited Alastor to follow her direction.

He lay down, almost surprised by how passive he was becoming—and by the fact that this woman could’ve told him to bark, and he probably would’ve done it. He heard her pour a large amount of oil into her hands before touching his body with firmness, but also incredible gentleness. Alastor’s eyes widened, surprised by that kind of care.

The woman’s graceful hands traveled with such fluidity across his shoulders, arms, and chest, then moved down to his legs and feet—as if she were rewriting the essence of the redhead, erasing what had come before.

Alastor tried to suppress the smile forming on his face from the pleasure, unwilling to show any reaction.

“Are you ticklish?”

“Yes.” He lied quickly.

“If you tell me where, I won’t touch you there.”

“No–no, it’s fine. I can handle it.”

The white-haired woman let out a faint laugh, as though she’d seen right through the lie. Alastor wasn’t ticklish in the slightest. But the pleasure of those touches was so intense, it brought him just a breath away from heaven. He closed his eyes tightly, lips sealed, letting himself melt into the sensation.

“Turn over, sweetheart.”

Of course, the younger man obeyed, and within seconds, those slender hands were back on his back. Strangely, the touch changed dramatically, beginning to crack his spine and shoulders, which made sounds that would have concerned just about anyone.

“Oh my! So young, and yet so tense. Do you have a tough job? Are you under a lot of stress?”

“I don’t know.” He answered simply, making it clear he didn’t want to talk.

The woman nodded with a smile. It was as if, to her—and to Lucifer—Alastor was an open book.

Suddenly, her hands moved to his hair, beginning to stroke it in a way that was soft, possessive, protective—almost motherly.

Those caresses, tousling all of his hair, brought a lump to the former assassin’s throat, and he couldn’t hold back the thin veil of tears forming. It was… such a tender touch, even if probably devoid of real sentiment. And yet, it made him feel cared for—loved. Just like Lucifer made him feel every single day.

Alastor turned his head so the woman wouldn’t see his tears, which were now falling more freely. But the lady in the red kimono seemed to understand in silence exactly what was happening, continuing to gently stroke Alastor’s head.

As if throwing him a lifeline to distract him, loud laughter echoed from the room next door. It was clearly Lucifer, probably getting a massage himself.

“He’s a client who’s very ticklish,” the woman reassured softly.

Alastor simply smiled, knowing he couldn’t move from that spot, as the woman resumed massaging him.

-

“Thank you so much! Come again soon.”

Alastor gave only a nod to his masseuse, who, after that deeply moving massage, had let him nap for ten minutes in that cozy little room.

As the redhead walked off, heading toward the changing rooms to shower and put on clean underwear, Lucifer quietly approached the woman, careful not to be seen by Alastor.

He leaned his back against a wall, arms crossed, smiling, waiting for the conversation to begin.

“So… did he cry?”

The woman nodded, without even turning around to look at him. She already knew he was behind her.

“He cried.”

Lucifer wasn’t surprised. He smirked, satisfied.

“That’s just what he needed. The soul massage, along with some proper muscle relaxation—that’s the perfect combo,” he said, almost with nostalgia for long-past days.

The white-haired woman turned, tapping Lucifer’s nose with the tip of her finger.

“You should try it too, Lucifer. How long has it been since you visited me? And now I find you with such a lovely boyfriend.” She pouted, clearly playfully.

Lucifer chuckled softly, gazing at her with warmth.

“I promise I’ll come by soon, Ros,” he whispered, mentally noting that he really should visit her more often than once every two or three years.

Chapter Text

“Mmmh…mhn!!”

In the dim light of their bedroom, Alastor bounced atop Lucifer, impaling himself and staring at the ceiling with a total loss of reason.

The brunet admired his boyfriend, holding him by the hips, not restricting his movements. Since the spa day, Alastor seemed even freer, more serene, and eager to live.

His moans were increasingly sincere, his work hours filled with small chats with clients, even if with a feigned bored tone, and his hours at home full of reading and exchanging stories about what he was reading. He was becoming a different person. He was blooming, or rather, coming out of his shell. Six months had passed since Lucifer saved him from certain death.

“Cum for me, Alastor… You can’t imagine how stunning you are, my love.”

“Sh-shut up…” He pleaded, increasing his bounces on the other man’s member, who was sitting with his back against the headboard.

“Tell me how much you love me, Al.” He whispered, knowing he was speaking to the most unfiltered part of the other.

Lucifer’s eyes were glistening with desire, emotion, and happiness. Since he and Alastor got together, he too felt that he had finally started to breathe and was truly living life.

“Mmhn…” He tried to resist, biting his lips.

“Alastor, love.” He asked for his attention again.

A particularly strong thrust, given by himself and reaching depths perhaps never before achieved, almost made the redhead scream, losing even the last shred of rationality.

“I love you…” He said, desperate, staring upwards.

“Again.” He commanded with that rare and peculiar voice of his, which became deep, vibrating, beginning to manipulate the mind of whoever heard it.

“I-I love you! I love you, Lucifer…!”

He was practically intoxicated with pleasure, his mahogany hair plastered to his face almost concealing that look distorted by lust. His naked body, slightly muscular but decidedly slender, almost shone in the early morning light, due to the layer of sweat procured by all those movements.

Lucifer breathed deeply, leaning his head against the headboard behind him and closing his eyes with an utterly idyllic smile.

“I love you so much, Alastor…” He said, dreamily.

His hands trembled slightly, feeling that he was about to climax from that pleasure and that situation of extreme enjoyment.

Alastor, amidst his moans, perceived that Lucifer would finish shortly. He increased the speed of his bounces, while he felt his boyfriend, though keeping his eyes closed, grasping his member and beginning to masturbate him to the rhythm, practically making him see stars.

“L-Lu…!”

“Come, Al. Let’s come together, love.”

The redhead would never admit it, but he adored not being the only one to climax during sex with Lucifer. He knew that the brunet observed him, studied him, and admired him in every single thing. When he reached the climax, it was the only moment his mind was clouded.

A small part of him also loved traveling towards the light with the man he loved.

Alastor moaned faster and faster, until he screamed with all his lungs, overwhelmed by a powerful orgasm and ejaculating on Lucifer, who, with few and subdued moans, came inside the younger man.

A few seconds later, spent in slow movements, then stopping completely. The two moved their faces, looking at each other and breathing heavily. Their chests rose and fell in rhythm, trying to regain a normal breathing frequency.

“Did you like it, Al?”

“You’re such a jerk.”

Alastor lifted himself from his throne, leaving the bed and heading towards the bathroom, while he heard the brunet obviously laughing loudly.

“Oh, come on! It’s the only time you tell me.”

Alastor opened a bathroom drawer, searching for something he had put there days before, while his gaze furrowed with shame and his cheeks flushed. He pulled a small fabric pouch from the drawer, then returned to stand in front of the bed, looking at Lucifer as if he deeply hated him. Which was quite probable in that moment of pure embarrassment.

The brunet looked at him with a surprised expression, wide eyes and a pursed mouth, not understanding what his boyfriend wanted. He thought he would go shower, as always, without even waiting to exchange cuddles. He was still working on that, but Alastor was particularly reluctant to fully let go to the point of remaining embraced after making love, exchanging tender kisses, or whispering sweet words. Alastor tossed the pouch to Lucifer, remaining still and shifting his chocolate-colored eyes to the floor. The brunet slowly took the pouch, opened it, and poured its contents into his palm. A small, cute, tiny duck attached to a keychain fell out.

Silence fell in the room. Alastor gripped one forearm, squeezing it with his other hand and awaiting a response.

“Al…”

“I’m going to take a shower.” He turned, interrupting Lucifer’s nascent speech.

The shower door was then violently reopened, banging against the wall, startling Alastor, who turned sharply.

Lucifer entered, grabbing the other man’s face and pulling him close, kissing him with full love, while he too got soaked. The younger man’s back was pressed against the tiled wall, while he instinctively returned the gesture. The brunet pulled away from him, still holding his cheeks. His eyes, a short distance from his boyfriend's, were completely glistening, and his expression was contorted with emotion.

Alastor opened his eyelids wide, staring at the shorter man with astonishment. He had rarely seen him so moved.

“Thank you… thank you.” He whispered with a broken voice, embracing him with pure affection.

The redhead looked at him, slowly lowering his eyes. He felt his boyfriend starting to sob, but he couldn't see his face. Following what his heart told him, Alastor raised his arms, placing his palms on Lucifer’s back, while the water continued to stream over their naked bodies.

-

“Al.”

“Mh?”

Alastor was munching on a slice of bread, a rather bland breakfast, while reading the newspaper in his favorite corner of the living room. Lucifer appeared in the doorway, already dressed and apparently ready to go out.

“I need to go out first to get ingredients at the minimarket. Can you open the shop?”

“Yes… don’t worry.” He said, distractedly, continuing to read without looking up.

“Love, the pancakes are in the kitchen.” He said, as he headed towards the coat rack to get his coat.

Of course, there were pancakes. There wasn't a morning when Lucifer didn't prepare them for him. But since Alastor had noticed he had gained weight, he tried to avoid the sweets the other man prepared for him.

“I’ll put them in the fridge and eat them in the afternoon with tea.” He mumbled, then took another bite of the slice.

Lucifer chuckled, happy. That daily routine, in addition to the fact that Alastor had finally become a refreshed, apparently happy boy, clearly feeling secure, loved, and protected, would melt even the glaciers of the coldest place in the world. The brunet finally felt at home, although he continued to live in the place where he had lived for the past few years.

“I’m counting on it.” He whispered, opening the door.

“Will you tell me you love me?” He added, before leaving.

“No.” He replied, turning the page.

“I love you, Al!” He shouted with uncontrollable joy, then closed the door, without receiving the answer he wanted.

Alastor smiled, reading the lines, knowing he was no longer observed. He stood up, placing the newspaper on the coffee table and heading to the bathroom to get ready to go out.

The redhead turned on the tap, grabbing his toothbrush. He took the toothpaste and squeezed a small amount onto the bristles. As he began to brush his teeth, his eyes fell on a strange, tiny speck on the sink.

“Mh?”

He leaned forward, observing what looked almost like a small mole. He ran his finger over the ceramic, smearing the black color across the surface. His gaze furrowed, trying to analyze the substance. It looked almost like melted chocolate or black paint. Considering it was about a millimeter in size, thus not easily noticeable, it could have been anything, even chips or pancake filling, spit out while brushing teeth.

Alastor spit out the foam, then rinsed. It was late and he didn't want to open the place Lucifer entrusted to him day after day late.

Chapter Text

Alastor placed the cup he had just dried into the small cupboard near the sink. He was starting to enjoy his job, something he would never have expected to say. Moments of pure silence, seasoned with small, mostly pleasant sounds. Light chatter, background music, the clinking of cups, and the rush of water. All often accompanied by the aromas Lucifer let waft from the kitchen.

He still wondered what that spot on the sink was. He didn't know why, but that seemingly trivial detail continued to create a big question mark in his mind. Perhaps his life was genuinely becoming too monotonous, a bit like that of a housewife who spent her time in a mechanical and repetitive routine.

However, Alastor had pleasant and colorful days. He worked at the bar about six hours a day, either in the morning or in the afternoon, depending on what Lucifer needed. When he wasn't working, he took walks, read books, or listened to music.

He had even started to take an interest in cat accessories, buying Ponta various small items that could make the obese cat's life more pleasant.

When he and Lucifer were together... well. They often made love, with increasing passion. The brunet would look at him with those deep eyes, whisper incredibly sweet words, touch him as only he knew how to send him to the stars and make him delirious.

Besides that, they often took small trips around or simple visits to shops or bars, where the brunet mainly talked about everything and Alastor listened, replying only when necessary, but letting it be known that he had heard every word.

The bell above the door jingled, making the redhead look up. It was Anthony, who seemed exhausted already that morning. He and the white-haired man had somehow started to get along, and the more colorful of the two had even gotten into the habit of talking to Alastor when he was at the counter doing less demanding tasks, like washing and drying cups. When, instead, he was serving customers, preparing coffee or other drinks, he preferred to leave him to his own devices.

Lucifer had explained various things to him in private. From that moment, Alastor perceived that Anthony had become more patient and gentler with him.

“Hi, Al…” He said almost in pain, dropping his bag to the floor and sitting on a stool in front of the counter.

When the white-haired man slumped his torso onto the hard surface, the redhead understood that a long monologue was about to begin.

“Good morning.” He mumbled, grabbing another cup to clean and turning on the tap.

A few seconds of silence, occupied only by the sounds of running water and the scrubbing sponge, before Anthony let out a long groan.

Alastor rolled his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He said softly, almost trying not to notice himself for that phrase and that interest, decidedly out of character, but increasingly suited to his new nature.

“I think… I think I’m in love.”

Alastor stopped, staring at the soapy cup in his hands.

Falling in love…

What exactly does one feel when one falls in love? He had never asked himself, after all. Ever since he met Lucifer, the brunet's image was always in his mind. He had started to imagine him when they had sex, when he masturbated, during moments of despair, or when he traveled with his imagination, secretly hoping for a life different from the one he had, made only of pain and suffering.

Lucifer made him feel an indescribable happiness. He filled his gestures with warm affection and attention, making it clear to the redhead how much he cared for him. He was always there, discreetly, without pushing excessively, for any moment Alastor felt unsupported.

He hugged him during the night, caressed him during the day, and held him close, smiling, while they made love. He was careful about his health, diet, and proper clothing.

The former assassin's chest beat strongly and often felt like it was exploding, every time Lucifer's thought or presence was with him.

This was probably what falling in love felt like.

“With whom?” Was the first stupid question that came out of his lips, as he rinsed the cup from which he had not taken his eyes.

“I don’t think you know him… when he’s here, you’re never around. It almost seems intentional.” He said, now chuckling and lifting his torso to rest his elbow on the counter and his chin on his palm.

Alastor furrowed his brow, as he always did when analyzing something to understand it. There was someone who came every time he wasn't there. He had been working there for six months. The chances of it being a coincidence were low.

“And who would that be?” He pretended not to have any doubts.

“He’s… a police officer.”

Alastor froze completely, swallowing a bit more noticeably. For some strange reason, his hands began to tremble, but after all… why should he be afraid?

Lucifer protected him, and in any case, the organization was so secret that it erased even the slightest visual or physical evidence of any murder any killer committed. He was… safe.

He smiled faintly, more to reassure himself than to feign not having concerns.

“So?” He said softly, placing the cup alongside the previous one.

Anthony mumbled sounds, while pointing to the coffee machine for the redhead. Alastor let out a silent chuckle, turning towards the machine to prepare the usual long coffee with whipped cream on top.

“I… I think I’ve fallen in love with that guy. At first, he used to stop me at the shopping center, when… well, I wasn’t doing entirely correct things.”

“And then?”

“Then I started seeing him here. He always chats with Lucifer, so I think they’ve become friends.”

“Everyone becomes friends with Lucifer here.” He said casually, hiding the accelerating beat of his heart.

Lucifer talked to a police officer when he wasn't there. Alastor had never told the brunet about his past, but his boyfriend seemed to have understood anyway that what he did was neither good nor honest. The hypothesis that he would report him and have him arrested was unthinkable, considering how he behaved with him.

“Yes, I know… But I always stay far away, I don't even listen to them. Yet when he comes near me, he always pats me on the shoulder, on the head, or strokes my cheek. He gives me words of encouragement, and last time he even told me he was happy that I stopped stealing around.” He recounted, with an childish pout and flushed cheeks.

When Alastor turned to hand the coffee to his regular customer, he found Anthony with a distant gaze, staring at the scenes from afar that reminded him of the person he had begun to love. He wondered if he too had that expression when he thought of Lucifer.

“Why don’t you tell him then?”

“You make it sound easy. Your boyfriend did all the work, and you just had to accept. The part of initiating the courtship is difficult, you know?”

Alastor tilted his head slightly, reflecting on what he had just said. Indeed… if it hadn’t been for the brunet, he would never have taken a step forward and would have remained in complete silence. Lucifer fortunately didn't seem to have problems with it and threw himself wholeheartedly into the courtship, although at first he tried to mask it as simple paternal concern.

“Why don’t you write him a letter? I’ve read in some book that it works.”

“You read those kinds of books?” Anthony took the coffee, beginning to sip.

The redhead shrugged.

“I read a bit of what’s in the bookshelf. Though they’re running out now.”

“I guess I know what to get you for your birthday then. When is it?”

“Mh?”

Alastor raised his eyebrows, looking at the other with slight surprise, almost as if he didn't know what he was talking about.

His birthday… when was it?

The bespectacled man lowered his gaze, distractedly grabbing another cup to clean and the still-soapy sponge, reflecting on the question.

Anthony furrowed his brow, beginning to understand the problem. He felt terribly guilty, but at the same time, truly sad for the boy he now considered a friend, even though at the beginning of their acquaintance he had slammed his face against a table.

“I don’t— I think… it was December or January. In winter.” He said, simply, not worrying about sounding strange.

“You’ve never celebrated your birthday?” He leaned slightly forward, placing the palm of his hand on the other man’s arm.

Alastor nodded.

“In recent years, no. I had… things to do.”

“Right…” He said, terribly sad.

Anthony released his grip, sitting up properly again and looking at the other man with renewed enthusiasm.

“Then why don’t you choose a date you like? It will be your new birthday.”

A new birthday. Looking at it in an excessively poetic way, Alastor could consider what he was living a new life. And that life had begun when he met Lucifer… the day he killed Adam. It was a cold day. Although it coincided with a particularly sad day, when his mentor died, it was also the beginning of his happiness for having casually met the love of his life, who introduced him to a new way of existing in the world.

“I think… November 10th.” He hypothesized, trying to remember the date of that day.

With much coldness, he only remembered it because at the supermarket where he met Adam, that date was written in huge letters, indicating big discounts.

“Then it will be November 10th. Not many months left either. I’ll get you some books.”

Alastor smiled, hiding his emotion and setting aside the clean cup. He looked up with slightly moist eyes and placed his palms on the counter.

“Will you write that letter?”

“Why not… after all, trying doesn’t hurt. The worst that can happen is he says no.” He chuckled, finally showing a glimmer of happiness that somehow reassured the redhead.

Alastor nodded, smiling faintly, unable to get those pieces of information he had received about Lucifer out of his head.

-

“Hey, Al! Forgive me, love… There was so much confusion I lost hours.”

Lucifer entered the small bar kitchen with at least six bags in his hand. The redhead was cleaning what used to be his favorite corner. He loved taking care of that table and corner sofa. He had to admit he was sometimes jealous when someone sat there. Other times, he used it himself, for example when he was waiting for Lucifer to finish work.

“It’s nothing.” He said simply.

It was almost noon and finally it was starting to get almost warm outside. They lived in an area where cold and snow were more natural, but in the summer months the climate was decidedly more pleasant, although far from being properly warm. At least on those occasions people could wear simple jackets instead of coats.

Suddenly, the redhead felt his beloved’s hand on his hip, causing him to turn around. Lucifer always smiled at him sweetly. For a moment, Alastor thought back to that car and the fact that he spoke with a police officer. Perhaps he had never told him because, after all, he talked to everyone. Why should he worry about it?

“Is everything alright? You seem tense.”

“No… no, I’m just a little tired.” He whispered, straightening his back.

Lucifer nodded, smiling tenderly.

“You’re right, darling. You’ve been here since opening. Go home, I’ll take care of the rest, okay?”

Alastor had to accept. All those thoughts were stupidly exhausting him. Perhaps he really was stressed and needed to distract himself.

-

The hour after lunch was always excessively quiet. There was practically never anyone, after the large crowd of students leaving lessons to grab a sandwich or office workers ordering scrambled eggs, pasta, or a quick salad before returning to work.

Lucifer was putting all the things he had bought into the cupboard, kneeling to store long-lasting foods, like canned legumes.

Suddenly, the bell above the door rang, indicating that someone was in the shop that until then had only welcomed the brunet.

“I’m coming!” He said, standing up and rushing out of the kitchen.

At the door, the bartender found a person he was sure he had seen before. A very thin man, decidedly much taller than him, with straight, long hair, black as night.

“Good morning.” He said, with a deep voice.

“Ah.” The brunet let out, only remembering at the sound of that voice where he had seen that new customer.

“G-good morning, please sit wherever you prefer.” He smiled, indicating with a gesture of his arm that the man could choose any spot.

The taller man nodded, sitting opposite Lucifer, on the stools in front of the counter. The brunet slightly furrowed his brow at that decision. Perhaps he just wanted a coffee.

“What can I get you?” He said, putting on his apron, smiling in a decidedly sweet and naive way.

“A long coffee, black.”

“Coming right up!” He hummed.

Lucifer turned towards the coffee machine, inserting the powder obtained from grinding the beans.

“We’ve met before somewhere…” The shorter man brought up the topic, to make conversation.

“I see you remember.”

“Of course I do! That tangle of buildings was decidedly problematic.” He laughed loudly, his back to the man.

He felt his customer moving, as if he wanted to take something from his bag or pocket. Yet, when Lucifer turned around, he found him exactly as he had left him: sitting with a straight back and eyes fixed on him.

“I’m glad I could help you then.”

“It’s a place decidedly far from here! I’m glad you ended up here in my shop. Allow me to offer you the coffee as a thank you, Mr.…” He asked without asking a direct question, placing the steaming cup in front of the man.

The customer smiled with thin, wide lips, almost joining his ears together. His eyes became two crescents and almost shone with an incomprehensible excitement.

“You can call me Zestial.”

-

Alastor sighed, running his hand through his hair. It had been ages since he had cut it, and with the arrival of the warm weather, it would definitely be time for a trim. He held his jacket under his arm, rethinking his conversation with Anthony.

He hadn't even realized he had reached his boyfriend’s house. It wasn't far from the shop, in fact. He took the keys from his pocket when he suddenly heard a sound that was difficult to describe. It sounded like interrupted footsteps or the movements of someone stopping to hide.

The former assassin frowned, turning towards the corner near him from which the sound came. Although every cell in his body urged him to go inside, Alastor took steps towards the small, shadowed corridor between their building and the one next door.

As soon as he leaned towards the entrance, a strong hand grabbed his collar, pulling him inward and slamming him against the wall.

Alastor let out a sharp sound, dictated by fright and pain. Although his wounds had completely healed, the redhead remained slightly sore and, above all, he was no longer trained as before.

In front of him, in total darkness, two eyes that seemed to be made of ice observed him. The former assassin’s eyelids flew open, feeling his heart stop and sleet flow through his veins.

“P…”

A short man, with a black mask covering his nose and mouth and blond hair, approached his face, silently.

“Alastor… I finally found you.”

Alastor didn't know what he was feeling at that moment. Inside him there was pure confusion, terror, remorse, happiness. He could easily say that all the emotions a man could feel were in his heart, swirling at an indescribable speed.

His eyes became moist, while his throat closed with emotion.

That man… was in front of him. Exactly in the same guise he had known him. His voice seemed less gentle, but he had just admitted he was looking for him, that after all he was interested in him. Now he was staring at him. His eyes were finally on him.

“President… Peter?” He whispered with emotion.

Chapter Text

“Why were you in these areas, Mr. Zestial?”

“You can call me by my first name.”

Zestial sipped his long coffee, as if he didn't have a particularly small and silent gun, well hidden inside his jacket, ready to kill the particularly stupid man in front of him.

“Only if you do too!” Lucifer laughed, placing his palms on his hips and looking at the man with an almost touching innocence.

He was happy to make new friends and have new customers in his bar to chat with. Having the chance to thank that man was surely a gift from heaven.

The assassin delicately placed the cup on the counter surface, resting his forearms on it and looking up to admire the decidedly short bartender in front of him. He loved to see the last moments of his targets' lives.

Lucifer tilted his head slightly, continuing to smile, making it clear that he didn't understand what was going through his hypothetical friend's mind.

“Absolutely. What can I call you?”

“I’m Lucifer.”

“And tell me, Lucifer… After that day at the apartment, have you seen your friend again?”

“Mh? My friend?”

The brunet with black eyes reflected on those words. His expression showed total astonishment and confusion. He thought back to his interaction with Zestial the day they met. He had understood that the apartment wasn't Alastor's, but he had clearly said he was looking for his boyfriend's house.

“Oh, Al. Yes, of course. He’s become my boyfriend, in the meantime.” He said, almost moved.

His smile widened with tenderness, remembering the first days, the first weeks, and the first exchanges with the redhead, while Zestial tried to hide a small jolt of surprise, which was nevertheless noticed by the brunet.

“I see. I’m happy for you two.” He said, with a deep voice and a melody that wasn't entirely clear to Lucifer.

It almost seemed like he was enjoying something excessively. Perhaps he was truly very happy about his engagement, after all. Probably… he was a good man.

However, the reality was that Zestial was experiencing immense pleasure at the thought of killing that man, who had become important to the jerk who had betrayed the agency.

Given… the new situation, he had to find Alastor, but not without punishing him for what he had done.

Zestial sighed slightly, bringing his hand towards his jacket, quite casually.

“Oh…!”

Lucifer’s startled sound made the assassin turn, noticing the bartender putting a hand to his face, covering one eye. He seemed almost in a panic.

“Oh, darn it… I lost my contact lens. Excuse me for a moment…” He mumbled, bending down and disappearing behind the counter.

Zestial rolled his eyes, annoyed that he had to postpone the killing of that idiot by a few seconds.

“I think I found it.”

Lucifer’s voice was… strangely changed. It was deeper, almost different. Anyone would have noticed the loss of those notes of sweetness and innocence that distinguished him.

That simple phrase, spoken in that particular way, made the assassin freeze. Zestial began to feel an indescribable chill flowing through him, almost stopping his heart. He didn't know if it was related, but his breathing also seemed to become increasingly difficult.

When Lucifer stood up again, the man fixed his gaze on the assassin. His expression was one of total apathy, devoid of any trace of emotion, to the point of looking like a doll. But what made him seem even more terrifying were… his ice-blue eyes.

Zestial tried to spring to his feet, but his body was paralyzed. It wasn't a mere block caused by fear. He genuinely couldn't move a muscle, as his breathing became shallower.

“Sa- Samael…?!” He whispered, his voice constricted by an inexplicable tightness.

“Long time no see, Zestial.”

The assassin brought his hand to his neck, connecting the dots.

“Wha- what…”

“What am I doing here? And why am I with Alastor? Is that what you want to know?”

Lucifer smiled, but it was nothing like what he had shown all those years. His was not an act, it was not pretense. But his past… remained that of a ruthless man when he took a life.

Zestial tried to breathe, but fewer and fewer drops of oxygen were being captured by his body. His vision wavered and agitation took over.

The shorter man's hand rested on the other's. Lucifer continued to smile at him in that grim way. He almost looked like an angel of death, with crescent-shaped, icy eyes and lips twisted by pure sadism. His hair, black as darkness, made his image even more frightening.

“I won’t tell you to breathe, since you can’t. But you must stay calm, clear-headed, and listen to me, Zestial.”

His voice was deep, and every single letter sounded notes that would shake the soul of even the bravest. Samael, after all, was the most feared in the entire agency, before he betrayed everyone the day Alastor was spared. When the number one assassin’s father died, he was supposed to be President, but he refused, leaving the position to his cousin, Peter. They were both ruthless, powerful, though in different ways. Samael was pure ice and perfection. Peter was violent, charismatic, and physically strong.

“I have the antidote, if you tell me where Peter is.” He whispered, looking straight into the assassin’s soul.

Zestial’s eyes were wide, as death caressed him. He felt more and more cold, more terror, while an unconscious nature ridiculously hoped for the other’s pity and salvation. Only then did he understand what his victims felt.

“I was just waiting for Alastor to distance himself from you assholes, although the method certainly didn’t please me. Since he’s been under my wing, my dear Zestial, I’ve started dismantling your agency… piece… by piece.” He explained, straightening his back and returning to look apathetically at the man in front of him.

“I swore I would annihilate all of you… legally speaking. Adam, Sera, Emily, and I worked for years, even at the cost of our lives.”

Zestial felt himself fading more and more, trying to force his arm to grab the weapon, but none of his muscles responded. The sound he made with each attempted breath was agonizing, to say the least, as his face turned gray.

“Peter escaped… you’re the only one left. And, of course, knowing Alastor was still alive, you did your stupid investigations, finding out he was here. It went decidedly badly for you, as before you touch him, you’d have to go over my dead body.”

Lucifer almost chuckled to himself, finding the last sentence particularly amusing.

“A difficult task, wouldn’t you say, huh?” He asked, smiling, with eyes devoid of any emotion.

The man sitting at the counter began to sway uncontrollably, but Lucifer’s hand rested on his shoulder.

“Hey, hey. You still need to stay with me. Tell me where Peter is and perhaps you might even be spared… now and from the police.”

Zestial looked up, staring at the man who was taking his life but also promising him survival. Lucifer released him, searching in his pocket, from which he pulled out a pen and a small notepad, which he probably used for work, and placed it in front of the man. He took the assassin’s hand, put the pen in it, and slid the notepad under his hand, leaning forward.

“Write down where Peter is and you won’t die like the jerk you are.”

His wicked smile was terrifying, diabolical. For a foolish instant, Zestial wondered how he had managed to change personalities like that, looking like an idiot made of sugar, marshmallows, and cookies. That was the Samael he knew. He had to admit, when he left the agency, he felt relieved. Everyone was terrified of him.

Of course, he was so lethal and frightening that no one went looking for him for revenge. Not even Peter gave any orders. They all seemed happy that he was gone… but silently terrified at the idea that he would report them and give out private information. After a few years of silence, the few who remained in the agency who knew Samael were confirmed that they would be safe. Until… Sera's betrayal, who then passed the USB with the data of all members and all missions to Emily… who then passed it to Adam.

Zestial wrote an address, with great difficulty. He was already walking on the edge of the afterlife. He dropped the pen, knowing he had written something vaguely comprehensible, then looked at Samael or Lucifer, with hope.

The bartender nodded, showing an expression of his new personality, smiling with satisfaction.

He took a small vial from his other pocket and, in a decidedly ungraceful manner, opened the assassin’s mouth and poured its contents inside.

Zestial felt a wave of relief and almost wanted to cry from emotion and the joy of survival.

Lucifer threw the vial away, breaking it, turning his back on the assassin.

“You know… I’ve always wanted to disintegrate the agency.”

The assassin tried to breathe, but strangely found no relief. Perhaps he needed more time. Perhaps the antidote would work in a few minutes. Distractedly, he listened to Samael’s words.

“I trained hard, in every aspect, dreaming that one day I would do it. The moment I decided it was time… was when two agents were about to kill a kidnapped child, rejected and abandoned by his own parents.”

He turned back towards Zestial, with a flat, apathetic gaze, although his eyes were glistening as he thought back to those moments.

“It was absolutely not planned for me to fall in love with him, but I knew I would dedicate my life to him, who had given me the courage to change and live as I wanted.”

Zestial understood that the antidote must have been absolutely nothing. In his last moments, what he felt was total betrayal, exactly what he had just done to Peter.

“The others and I always made sure he was safe, after he returned to your clutches… because of me.”

Lucifer sighed, watching the man fall lifelessly to the ground with a loud thud that echoed through the establishment. One of his colleagues outside had put a large "CLOSED" sign to prevent any customers from entering.

“Oops… I think I accidentally gave you the rosewater vial… my bad.” He smiled, bitterly.

He hadn't killed anyone in over a decade. However, using his old identity to continue his mission and revenge didn't displease him too much, although a strange weight, a sense of guilt, now lay in his chest. Ironically, as if Zestial were the first person he had killed. Which, of course, was not true.

Lucifer took out his phone, dialed the number on the screen, confirmed, and put the device to his ear.

“You can come in… Clear everything as soon as possible.” He said with a deep voice, taking the note written by the assassin and putting it in his pocket.

-

Lucifer entered the house. He had put his black contact lenses back in, smiling as always. He was genuinely happy to see his beloved again and needed him to feel purified, to remember why he was doing all this.

“Al, love. I’m hom—”

The brunet looked up, just as he closed the door behind him. In front of him, Alastor stood with a straight back, an empty expression, pointing a gun straight at his face. He sighed, taking off his satchel and letting it fall to the ground, without taking his eyes off his boyfriend.

“Would you explain what’s going on?” He said, trying to show calmness and confidence, even though a storm of regret, fear, and panic raged within his soul.

Alastor released the safety, swallowing much more noticeably than usual.

“You… betrayed the agency. You’re the last mole.”

Chapter Text

The President’s eyes sparkled like two gems in that narrow corridor of darkness between the buildings.

Alastor didn’t know what to feel. He had loved that man for so long. He had been his savior, but also as freeing as Lucifer.

The blond man before him, aside from that childhood episode, had shown him only violence, terror, authority. The dark-haired man, on the other hand, had taught him true affection, love, and sacrifice for others.

“President Peter…” he whispered again, not knowing what to say, especially now that those eyes he had longed to feel on him were finally watching him.

His heart beat harder because of a not-so-distant memory from the past, yet his stomach twisted with a deep sense of wrongness.

Peter looked tired, paler than usual, and under his eyes were faint dark circles. He didn’t even look like himself, despite the mask covering part of his face.

His small but strong body leaned against Alastor’s as he moved even closer.

“The agency has lost a lot since you left, Alastor.”

“W…what?”

Hearing the agency mentioned again brought back memories and sensations that had long been buried, buried under affectionate and sweet moments with Lucifer, carefree days spent reading, listening to music, or walking by the river, tiring but somehow fun shifts at the bar and conversations with customers.

“I severely punished the ones who did this to you, my dear…”

Peter lifted his hand and caressed the redhead’s face, creating even more emptiness in his confused mind.

“I’m glad you’re doing well. We couldn’t afford to lose a key member like you. And finally, I’ve found you.” He nearly sang with his deep voice, plucking strings within the young man’s soul.

While Alastor furrowed his brows, searching for a way to tell Peter about his new life—that he was no longer an assassin and wanted nothing to do with the agency—the blond seemed to take for granted that Alastor still belonged to that world, wrongly assuming he was eager to return under his wing.

“P-President, I—”

Peter pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and slammed it, in his usual ungracious way, against the younger man’s chest.

Alastor looked down at the spot he’d been touched, taking what his former superior was giving him.

Just by feeling it, he realized it was a photo.

He slowly turned it over, his breath catching. He had a sense it was something he wouldn’t like—something that would drag him back into the agency's world.

When he fully turned it over and laid eyes on what it showed, his world crumbled like a sandcastle in the wind.

His eyes widened, and he paled upon seeing a photo of Lucifer, sitting on the ground of what appeared to be the mall where Alastor had first met him.

The dark-haired man was frowning at some unseen point in the distance.

That expression—he remembered it well. It was the very first he had seen when his eyes had landed on the barista during the chase of Adam.

In his hand, he held an object. It was… a USB drive.

Alastor’s eyes filled with tears, his mouth opening without saying anything—or perhaps trying to say everything. His trembling lips realized that Adam had the drive when they met at the supermarket.

He had clearly had a meeting planned with the barista, but the arrival of the assassin had thrown everything off course.

They must have been professionals, improvising that performance on the spot—one that Alastor had fallen for like an idiot.

“That, Alastor, is a dangerous assassin. Stronger and more cunning than anyone else in the agency.”

The boy’s chocolate-brown eyes returned to Peter. He was utterly shocked. His world had fallen apart once again. He no longer knew to whom or what he belonged.

But Peter’s hand, still caressing his cheek, reminded him that the doors of the agency were always open for him, and he had just expressed admiration and appreciation.

“L…Lucifer?”

“He told you that was his name?” Peter said, almost laughing.

Ironically, Alastor would have wanted compassion—to be understood in the tragedy he was experiencing. But he knew Peter wasn’t that kind of man, nor did he know the nature of his relationship with Lucifer.

“His name is Samael. And in the past, he also betrayed the agency. He escaped many years ago, and none of us were ever able to find him. How ironic to think he was right under our noses,” he explained with a bitter, disgusted tone, pulling away from Alastor.

The redhead felt like there was something left unsaid in that conversation. He found it strange that the agency hadn’t noticed a traitor in the same city.

Still, his thoughts were mostly stuck on Lucifer’s real name—and his true identity.

“You were so good at finding him all by yourself, Alastor. You continued your mission even while thinking you’d been cast out. You wanted to be accepted again, didn’t you?”

Alastor was completely confused. The young man couldn’t have known that the agency practically no longer existed—Lucifer had arranged for every member to be arrested in the past months. Only Zestial and Peter remained, and the two weren’t even in contact. The assassin knew only the place where his boss was hiding from the police.

While Zestial was searching for Alastor to gain an ally, Peter had conducted his own investigation, discovering that Samael was behind everything—and that bastard had taken one of his best assassins and put him under his wing.

Of course, this was something he pretended not to know.

From Alastor’s expression, it was clear they were more than acquaintances.

Peter had never understood why the redhead was obsessed with him. When he took the place that was meant to be Samael’s, that little boy arrived, looking at him as though he were a god.

He had been disgusted by him. He didn’t even like children and had pretended not to notice the adoration Alastor had shown over the years, as he grew and became more skilled.

He had obviously spun a simple, fantastical story—one that would make Alastor feel lost and eager to return to a place that no longer existed. He couldn’t be allowed to know too much—especially not how powerful the target was.

If someone had to die, it would not be Peter.

“Search his home. You’ll surely find a hidden weapon. Once you eliminate the last mole, you can come back to us.”

He whispered, then rose onto his toes and placed a kiss on Alastor’s cheek with a soft smack.

“You’re not alone. I’ll always be here for you.”

He sensed that that gesture and those words were the perfect finishing touch. Alastor stared at him, shocked, while his heart began to feel pure betrayal toward Lucifer—and trust in his President.

Another betrayal. Only Peter had always been there for him. Even if he had a difficult personality and was sometimes violent… after all, he cared for him.

And that kiss… maybe it was meant to hint at something more.

“President…” he whispered with a broken voice.

Just from the shape of Peter’s eyes, Alastor could tell he was smiling… gently. So, the man could still replicate those gestures and expressions from when he’d saved him.

“Be careful, and come back to me… Al.”

—

Alastor wandered through Lucifer’s apartment. His heart ached, his chest was heavy, his eyes burned, but his mind was blank.

He was practically catatonic, walking while staring into space, mouth half-open. Lucifer—his greatest love, even more than the man who saved him as a child—was a traitor to the agency. He was the mole Alastor himself had been hunting.

Had he helped him just to avoid suspicion? To steer any doubts away from himself? He was an enemy of the agency, so of course he had wanted to drive him away from Peter.

The President…

Maybe… he really did love Alastor. Or at least cared for him. Maybe he just couldn’t show affection in front of the other agency members. But in that hidden corridor, he seemed to feel something for him.

In his confusion, Alastor didn’t even ask if Vox was alive. He would probably find out soon, once he returned to that place.

Once he killed Lucifer… he could use his apartment.

He didn’t even notice Ponta meowing for food. Alastor went to a spot where the dark-haired man probably thought he would never look. The redhead approached the pile of colorful stuffed animals and started moving them.

Deep underneath, he found a box. From its size, it was clear what it held. He took it, opened it, and inside was a gun.

As large, hot tears rolled down his face, Alastor tried to empty his soul, his heart, his mind.

He had to complete his mission.

He had to kill Lucifer.

Chapter Text

"You… betrayed the agency. You’re the last mole.”

Although his gaze was empty, Alastor’s voice trembled. Just hearing that broken tone combined with that expression shattered Lucifer's heart into a thousand pieces.

That bastard Peter must have found him, before Lucifer could give his location to the police.

The brunet clenched his fists, staring Alastor straight in the eyes.

“Al… this wasn’t the time to talk about it—” he said, taking a step forward, immediately stopped by a small, sharp flick of Alastor’s wrist, renewing his threat.

“You… you played me. You knew I’d start investigating you after the clash with Adam. You— you…”

“I didn’t seduce you, Alastor,” Lucifer tried to say seriously, feeling the fear of losing his boyfriend.

Ironically, he didn’t care at all about the gun pointed at his face. He had lost count of how many times that had happened in his life.

“YOU MADE ME WEAK!” Alastor shouted, finally letting out all the frustration and tears he so badly needed to release.

The redhead began to sob, his shoulders trembling rhythmically, his face contorting from the pure pain of not only being betrayed again—but by the person he loved most.

Lucifer stood still, staring at him, as silent tears also streamed down his face.

“I didn’t lie to you. I truly love you, Alastor.”

“Stop…”

“I wanted to destroy the agency. I wanted to wipe it out because they kill people. Because they turned you into what you were!” he explained, trying to take a few more steps forward.

This time, Alastor allowed it, pretending not to notice, keeping the gun firmly aimed.

His head was molten lava. He no longer knew what was right or wrong. Lucifer knew everything about his past life. He knew about the agency and was also its number one enemy.

“The agency… was my home. Peter… was the person I cared about most.”

Lucifer's eyes widened. He knew about Alastor’s life inside that place. He always received updates from the other moles and kept an eye on him. Ironically, he wasn’t informed when he found the boy injured behind his bar.

However, hearing it directly from him… hurt.

“I love you, Alastor. Peter is a manipulator. He’s always used you and he’s doing it again now. Love… please, can’t you see that everything that happened here was real?” He opened his arms, stepping closer again.

Alastor sobbed, staring at Lucifer with a pleading look.

“Peter… he’s the only person who cares about me. He— he saved me and even now… he came to save me from you.” He sobbed with raw agony.

A suffering that could break even the strongest hearts. The redhead looked like a lost child, confused, deeply hurt.

“I would never betray you, Alastor. I waited until you were away from them just to strike without hurting you too. The police promised not to touch you, in exchange for all the inform—”

Alastor made the gesture again, regaining his seriousness.

“Don’t you dare use me as an excuse, Samael.”

Lucifer looked at him in utter shock. Hearing that name from the person he loved was perhaps more painful than receiving a thousand stab wounds. Samael was his old name. The name of a ruthless assassin—someone he no longer was.

He was Lucifer. A man who smiled, joked, saw the good in others, and helped them. This was his new life, to redeem himself for all the evil he had done.

“Don’t call me that. I’m Lucifer.”

“You’re a fucking traitor to the agency. And I don’t care if you’re the strongest and most skilled of them all. I— I’ll kill you right here and… go back to Peter.”

“Alastor, love. You know he’s using you.”

The redhead sobbed, lowering his head for a moment. Not to raise his suspicions, Lucifer stood still, letting him gather his thoughts. Hoping he’d find clarity in that whirlwind of confusion.

“I loved you so much…” he admitted in a high, broken voice.

Lucifer raised his eyebrows, overwhelmed by pure sadness at the way he phrased that sentence.

“Al… think. I only wanted to protect you.”

Alastor stared at the floor for a few seconds, eyes wide. It was as if something had clicked inside him. He slowly lifted his gaze back to Lucifer. He seemed… surprised. It was as if he had just realized something he hadn’t thought of before. The brunet naïvely hoped he had finally understood.

“I’m tired,” he simply said, almost whispering.

Lucifer’s breath caught. His heart stopped, fully understanding what he meant. In his past job, he had seen countless people—beginners or professionals—give up.

“ALASTOR!” he screamed, lunging toward the younger man, just as he brought the gun to his own head, now determined to find peace in the most drastic way possible.

"NO!” Lucifer shouted when Alastor pulled the trigger.

Chapter Text

Alastor stood still, staring into the void, realizing he wasn’t dead—feeling partly disappointed, partly relieved, and a small portion scared.

Before he could look at the gun to understand what had gone wrong, Lucifer embraced him with a strength he had never shown before. A strength that was finally sincere, revealing his true self.

He felt that man—always cheerful, always reassuring or firm—begin to cry like a child. His small body trembled and became hot, showing the terror he had felt at the thought of losing him. His desperate sobs made it clear just how afraid he had been. If this wasn’t proof of his sincerity, nothing ever could be.

“Love… My love—thank heaven…” he sobbed in a high-pitched voice.

Alastor, still half-frozen in the position in which he had tried to take his own life, brought the gun in front of him, opened it, and saw that it wasn’t even loaded. He had been so confused he hadn’t checked something so stupid.

His strength gave out, and he began to sob just like Lucifer, collapsing to his knees, held tightly by his boyfriend, who followed him down.

“I don’t know anything anymore…” he admitted, resting his head on the shoulder of the man he couldn’t help but love more than himself, as he let the gun fall to the ground.

Lucifer pulled away slightly, putting his hands on his face. It looked like he was rubbing his eyes, but the redhead couldn’t quite understand.

“I’ll help you understand. Once and for all…” he said, his voice still tight with tears, but resolute.

Alastor wiped his tears, staring at him without understanding what he was doing.

When Lucifer lifted his face again, the former assassin was more than shocked.

Lucifer… had Peter’s eyes. Even more beautiful, perhaps. Icy blue with subtle blue streaks, like water flowing through glaciers.

“You…”

A great doubt—or perhaps a great hope—began to spread within him. If Lucifer already knew him, wanted to protect him, and only wanted to destroy the agency once Alastor was safe and far from them…

Then maybe…

“Alastor. Samael, the person I was before… was a perfect assassin. The agency was supposed to be passed to me. I always acted as one should, dreaming of destroying it.”

His tone was deeper now, barely resembling the man Alastor knew. And those eyes, paired with that voice…

Inside Alastor’s heart, a small flame began to burn, and his eyes showed a light they had perhaps never held before.

“A sweet child, scared and betrayed, gave me the courage to change my life… and to fight against that group that only brings suffering,” he finally admitted, letting the tears fall freely.

Alastor froze, putting the pieces together.

The man who had saved him, who had taken him to the orphanage and tried to escape on that train that night… was Lucifer.

Lucifer must have come back when one of the other moles told him about Alastor’s arrival at the agency. Emily must have lied to keep him there and protect him in the best way she could.

“Y-you were…?”

The dark-haired man smiled, moved, and nodded.

“It was me, Alastor.”

The former assassin once again enjoyed that slightly lower tone of voice, realizing Lucifer must have worked hard to change even that part of his life, so as not to be easily recognized—using a higher, cheerful tone.

He must have worn contact lenses for years, and frequently dyed his hair. Only now did Alastor understand the reason for the black stains he had often found during their dates or in the bathroom.

All the love he had tried to hide toward Lucifer, combined with the affection for the man who had once saved him, overwhelmed him and filled his chest.

At the same time, now that he had connected his savior to the man before him, everything he thought he felt for Peter faded away. Peter now seemed nothing more than a pathetic, manipulative, and violent bastard in his eyes.

He felt… finally free. He could love Lucifer without any ties to that world. Peter was not the one he should be with.

It was Lucifer.

It was the man who had always protected him, cared for him, and then loved him deeply. The man who would never ask him to kill someone, who would pull him away from the oven just to get the cookies himself.

Alastor looked at him the same way his younger self had once looked at Lucifer. A mix of admiration, gratitude, and love, crying with increasingly heavy sobs.

The bartender smiled tenderly, remembering that child perfectly. He cried silently, from happiness. He took Alastor’s glasses, set them aside on a nearby surface, then hugged him again around the neck, pressing his forehead to Alastor’s and looking straight into his eyes.

“I love you so much, Alastor. More than anything else, my love,” he whispered, with a tone so tender it could warm a heart just by hearing it.

The younger man was still shaken by everything he had felt, including the attempted suicide, but now he was letting go of all the stress in his body, knowing he had returned to the right place—the place where he truly belonged.

“Peter will never bother you again. No one will, my darling,” he said softly, pressing his body against the other’s.

“Every member has been arrested. Those who cooperated will receive a reduced sentence. That chapter of your life is over.”

Alastor stared at him, his face contorted by emotion, crying and sobbing. Knowing now he could show himself completely to Lucifer, and be honest with himself too.

“I’m sorry…” he said, his voice high-pitched and tight with tears.

Lucifer shook his head, crying with him while trying to remain composed enough to support him.

“It’s not your fault. Don’t ever blame yourself, okay? What matters is who we are since we left that place.”

Alastor nodded repeatedly, letting the tears flow as his boyfriend stroked the back of his head, playing with strands of hair and looking at him with pure love.

After a few moments of silence, in which every word was engraved in their hearts, Lucifer slowly leaned in and kissed Alastor on the lips. Though it was just a brief kiss, the younger man pulled him close, returning the gesture more firmly. Their lips met, parting and joining again.

Lucifer pulled back slightly, staring into his eyes with that penetrating, fatherly, protective gaze that made it clear he would give his life for him.

“Al—”

“I love you.”

Lucifer flinched slightly at that phrase, spoken clearly and full of emotion.

“Wha…”

Alastor did something he had probably never done before. Or at least, not with such depth of feeling. He smiled, his expression full of love.

“I love you, Lucifer."

Chapter Text

Lucifer entered the dimly lit room, throwing the door wide open and slamming it with a fury he might have never experienced before in his life. He strode quickly toward the person in front of him, sitting on a chair only a few feet away from where he had come in.

His eyes, turned black by colored contact lenses, carried a depth and rage that would terrify anyone, especially when paired with his bloodstained clothes.

Practically growling, Lucifer grabbed the collar of the young woman—no longer truly young, but still looking like someone who had yet to turn thirty.

“What the hell did you do, Emily?!” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Emily was pale, her eyes sunken, but that didn’t soothe Lucifer at all. He had never shown aggression tinted with uncontrollable emotion, especially not toward women, the elderly, or children. Even in his line of work, he had always tried to kill only grown men, and with an indescribable coldness that had made him infamous as a kind of porcelain doll—lethal and flawless.

“I thought your new personality didn’t include being violent with women.”

“Don’t screw with me!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the mostly bare room, furnished with only a couple of chairs, a table, and a counter cluttered with cups and plates, but no cabinet or real kitchen to cook in.

They were in an underground hideout, completely hidden from the rest of the world. From the next room stepped out a very tall, muscular man, his demeanor aggressive but his eyes kind.

“Everything alright in here?” he asked calmly, wiping blood off his hands.

“Alright? HOW THE HELL CAN YOU ASK ME IF EVERYTHING’S ALRIGHT?!” Lucifer unleashed all his fury, feeling his eyes nearly pop out of their sockets as he rather ungracefully released his colleague’s collar.

Emily raised a hand, signaling to the man behind her to forget whatever he was about to do as he started moving toward the brunet.

“I had no choice, Lucifer,” she explained, her voice clearly weary, her gaze shifting to the former assassin struggling to steady his breath.

“What do you mean you had no choice, huh? Taking Alastor from the agency and tossing him into a damn alleyway where no one—”

“I knew you’d find him.”

“ONE MORE MINUTE, EM—” he snapped, feeling like he could no longer restrain what was surging inside him.

It was something uncontrollable, born from the images that haunted him of Alastor lingering between life and death. The boy’s fear of leaving this world, his face twisted with pain and terror. The thought of him being shot like that and left alone in a narrow, filthy, dark alley hurt too much.

“That’s enough, friend.” The taller man, his skin so dark it was almost invisible in the room, stepped up to Lucifer and placed a hand on his frail yet strong shoulder.

“Calm down, Vortex. Lucifer was shaken by seeing Alastor like that.”

“Shaken… What a sweet way you have of putting it.” Lucifer slapped away the man’s hand.

They had hired him to stay inside the agency, pretending to handle the dirty work, like disposing of corpses. That had been Emily’s only salvation—she received the antidote just seconds before death claimed her. For Alastor and…

Lucifer turned toward the door of the even darker room, lit only by a few candles.

“How is he?” he asked, forcing himself to calm down and gather as much information as possible.

Emily sighed, lowering her gaze in distress. She stared at her palms, still trembling faintly from the poison that had coursed through her body.

“I did what I could, though in my condition I couldn’t operate at my best. If it hadn’t been for Alastor, shielding him with his own body, he wouldn’t still be alive.”

Lucifer nodded, absorbing the information, his fists tightening.

“That’s why you left Alastor for me to treat?”

Emily lifted her eyes to her colleague again, a bitter smile on her lips.

“He would have died in my arms if I’d tried to save him myself. Not only are you in good health, but you’re also more skilled in this kind of work. I’m sure he’s fine.”

The woman’s certainty and her way of coldly calculating everything irritated the new Lucifer, though it was also what had once drawn his old self to her. Emily showed silent signs of disgust toward the agency, and when Samael asked her to become a mole to bring it down, she hadn’t flinched before accepting. Her first mission had been Alastor: feeding him that tale about the president just to make him stop searching for Lucifer, keeping an eye on him, and gathering constant information about him.

Although the ex-assassin had wanted a normal life for the boy, once Alastor had joined the agency, getting him out became practically impossible. Over the years, Lucifer, Emily, Sera, and Adam—with Vortex’s more practical support—had managed to seize information on every agency member, their ongoing and completed missions, and most importantly… on Peter.

Though Lucifer wanted Alastor out of the agency so he could hand everything to the police and dismantle that damned place, he would have preferred a better exit strategy—convincing him to stay under his wing, faking his death, or something similar. But the youth of the redhead and Vox, along with their inability to keep their emotions in check, had led to this violent outcome.

Lucifer walked toward the doorway, his eyes resting on the brunet boy lying on a cot-like bed. He was breathing slowly, but Lucifer couldn’t make out his complexion. Still, he seemed alive, his bare chest wrapped in bandages.

He sighed, stepping into the room and halting only a few feet from the bed. Sensing his presence, Vox reopened his weary eyes, unable to spring up, attack, or flee. His gaze was confused, and it was obvious he remembered little.

“So young…” Lucifer whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He gently brushed the brunet’s cold, sweaty skin, while the boy struggled in vain to summon the strength to ask something. Lucifer knew what Vox and Alastor had been doing. Every mole knew it, since the redhead was constantly followed. Inside his chest, Lucifer always felt something odd, almost suffocating, whenever he learned of their meetings. They were young, after all—peers, close in age. Being homosexual and part of the same rotten world, it was only natural they… did what they did.

There was nothing, no logical reason, to feel disturbed. And yet, even though he was glad Vox was alive—for purely emotional reasons—something felt wrong, burning inside him. Something he couldn’t name.

Lucifer caressed Vox’s face. The expression the brunet with blue eyes showed him was that of a frightened child, drawing a bitter, half-moved smile from Lucifer.

“You’re safe now, alright? This will be your new family,” he whispered.

Chapter Text

BANG.

“No, kid. More to the right.”

BANG.

Lucifer looked at the hole Vox had just made in the target, a simple drawing on paper. Every day he dedicated an hour of his time to him, training him to get as close to perfection as possible.

Vox sighed, lowering the weapon. Weeks had passed living in seclusion with Emily while Vortex still pretended to be part of the agency.

“Can I ask why we’re doing this? Aren’t you… pacifists?”

“We are.”

Lucifer crouched down, taking the younger man’s weapon and aiming at the target with absolute fluidity. He fired with such cold simplicity that it almost seemed obvious. He pierced the exact center. Vox’s mouth dropped open, even though it wasn’t the first time his “teacher” had shown him what he could do.

“Knowing how to use a weapon doesn’t automatically make you a killer, Vox.”

The boy didn’t seem to understand immediately, and what he did next was simply nod, pretending he had gotten the message. Lucifer was certainly not someone you could fool easily. He smiled, even though inside he was partially angry and determined. When he was underground, in that sort of hideout, some of his old coldness returned. He became again, at least in part, the calculating man he had been before becoming Lucifer. He had to be, to ensure victory against the agency and to protect everyone he cared about—and the person he loved more than anything.

He placed the gun back into Vox’s hands, looking him straight in the eyes. Ice-gray inside ocean-blue, hoping that would make him understand just how serious and determined he was. The younger man had never questioned Lucifer. Emily had told him about him, but even without knowing his past or his current mission, he had to admit that when Lucifer was in the room, the air felt heavier. He felt the man’s authority without all the theatrics and horrors Peter used to inspire fear. It was clear that Lucifer didn’t want to scare anyone, but also obvious he had no intention of joking or wasting time.

“You have to become stronger. As strong as I am,” he whispered.

“What?!” Vox laughed.

It was impossible to reach that level. From stories and from what he’d seen, Lucifer was practically a machine. He never missed perfection by even a millimeter.

“There’s nothing funny about it. We’re your new family, Vox. You need to protect yourself, Emily, and even Alastor.”

That last detail hit him hard. Lucifer knew. Of course he knew how much Vox adored Alastor—and how painful that was, especially when he confirmed it by looking into his eyes.

“A-Alastor…?”

“You know he recovered, but don’t think all those bullets tearing through him didn’t leave damage.”

The brunette felt his heart stop. Lucifer had updated him on every improvement Alastor made, but he had never mentioned anything like this.

“He…”

“He doesn’t know, but he’ll never shoot like he used to. If I’m not there, I expect you to protect him. Are we clear?”

Now… Alastor was the weaker of the two. In the past, that had been a kind of conflict—and an excuse to argue about who was better, an argument Vox always lost. But now everything was different. He was no longer a member of the agency. Now he was one of the “good guys.” Now he could let his feelings out and follow them. With that new perspective, and the idea of protecting the person he loved even if that love wasn’t returned, something in his mind shifted, like a button being pressed.

His response was to aim at the target again, with cold, determined eyes, imagining it was someone trying to hurt Alastor or the people who had taken him in and lived with him for weeks now. He fired.His shot was now only a few millimeters away from Lucifer’s. In disbelief, he turned toward the older man, who was now smiling at him in that incredibly sweet way that made him seem practically bipolar—something that maybe wasn’t completely wrong.

“That’s the thought you need when you shoot,” he whispered, as if moved.

The younger man lowered his arm, thinking for a few seconds, then gathered his courage.

“You…”

“Mh?”

“You… and Alastor…” He began the conversation he had wanted to have for a long time.

Lucifer lowered his gaze, for the first time. He had never looked so fragile in front of the boy, and yet now he was probably showing him his true self—the one Vox would see once they left that place, once all the agency members were arrested.

“I… I love him. I have for a while,” he admitted, as if apologizing.

Vox nodded, lowering his own gaze to the floor. They were both terribly embarrassed, and inside them stirred a vortex of possessiveness, jealousy—maybe even a little violence mixed with sadness. Love could be a war too, turning lovers into warriors fighting for victory. Yet, there were no winners or losers. Only two people in love with the same person.

“He…”

Lucifer sighed, as if breathing was difficult. He had wanted to tell him for a long time, knowing it wasn’t right that only he knew about Vox’s relationship with Alastor. He knew they weren’t a couple, and that made him feel justified in confessing his feelings to the younger man.

“We’re… we’re together, yes.”

“I see.”

The silence became deafening. Lucifer had to remind himself that he was the older one, that he cared about Vox even if he could consider him a rival. He lifted his gaze again, approached him, and hugged him. The brunette seemed, at first, like he wanted to pull away, but then allowed himself to be held. It was such a sweet, paternal embrace that it was impossible to want to leave it. He sobbed, wrapping his free arm around Lucifer and hiding his face against the shorter man’s shoulder. He felt Lucifer sigh heavily, as if he too carried a weight on his chest.

“Please, believe me when I say I’m sorry.”

The brunette only nodded repeatedly, letting the pain spill out, soaking the former assassin’s shirt.

“If you care about him, please keep protecting him. I know I’m asking a lot but… we’re becoming a family, Vox.”

Those words were probably the most important of his life. It was clearly an egoistic request, maybe even a bit cruel, but he also understood that the man hugging him cared about him and genuinely loved Alastor. Blaming him for being chosen was pointless. As many times as he had been intimate with the redhead, he had never received even a kiss or a confession. Alastor had made his choice, and Vox had to accept and respect it.

“I swear someone out there is meant for you, and if I can help you find them, I will,” Lucifer whispered, gently caressing his hair—black as night, similar to his own that had protected him for years.

The two remained like that for minutes, far beyond the training hour. Emily did not come to check on them. She was a spy and an assassin, after all; she had understood everything and decided that day to bake a cake with the little she had in the hideout, hoping to cheer up the boy she had grown to care for like a younger brother.

Chapter Text

“Al…”

Lucifer stepped into the café, surprising his boyfriend. The redhead was already grinding the coffee beans before the customers arrived. As always, Lucifer had said he was going out to do some grocery shopping to restock the kitchen, yet that day he carried no bags.

“Was the supermarket closed?”

“Not… entirely, no. I think it was open,” he said, embarrassed, bringing a hand behind his neck and smiling in that foolish way Alastor had learned to love.

The bespectacled man sighed, setting the bag down on the counter and placing his hands on his hips, already expecting some disaster caused by yet another forgotten task.

A couple of weeks had passed since his encounter with Peter and the confrontation with Lucifer. The man no longer had black hair; he had allowed his beautiful blond to be visible to everyone. He hadn’t yet found the courage to remove the contact lenses, admitting he felt a bit uncomfortable showing himself so different to the customers, but he was working on it.

Alastor hadn’t asked any more questions, but Lucifer knew he was curious, as anyone would be. Niffty had fully cooperated and would only have to serve a few years in prison, while all the others had been arrested and sentenced for decades. Peter was facing life in prison.

Lucifer had asked the redhead not to go visit his friend, but the brunette sent her letters in which Alastor wrote that he was well and would visit as soon as possible. She too would have a home and a job waiting—after all, she had cared about Alastor and had been practically the only one to reveal the full story, together with Vox, Emily, and Vortex. All the documents and videos collected on the infamous USB stick had reinforced the accusations.

“You think?”

Lucifer lowered his gaze, his embarrassed smile turning into something almost bitter. It was as if he were moved or on the verge of tears, yet somehow happy at the same time. Alastor did not like that change of expression at all—he had learned to read those beautiful dark eyes, which at home were freed, turning into the icy blue he adored.

“Lucifer…?” he asked, walking around the counter to approach him.

Suddenly, the door—left slightly ajar by his boyfriend—opened right in front of the redhead. Alastor’s eyes widened; he wasn’t expecting customers this early. He noticed Lucifer turning toward the entrance with a smile that held emotion mixed with something else.

The bespectacled man turned around abruptly. What he saw left him completely shocked. His mind went blank, the ground crumbling beneath his feet. His heart stopped when he saw in front of him… Vox.

“V—”

The brunette was different. He was no longer awkward, no longer fragile or thin, and he no longer had that twisted expression of embarrassment that made him seem like an idiot. Alastor wasn’t sure whether it was because he had been terrified of losing him or because Vox had truly changed.

Vox didn’t just look more mature, determined, with longer hair and even broader shoulders—he looked… alive.

“Vox…?” he whispered, more moved than he wished to appear.

The blue-eyed man smiled, making it clear just how happy he was to see him. The thin veil of tears in his eyes confirmed it.

“I’m… here, Al.”

Alastor was confused, incredulous. He looked at Lucifer as if asking for confirmation of what he was seeing. His boyfriend had begun crying silently, knowing how beautiful affection could be, knowing how much the two had missed each other. He remembered how the redhead had shielded Vox with his own body, even while claiming he didn’t care for him.

Lucifer nodded, confirming it was real and granting him the permission Alastor was unknowingly begging for. The redhead turned again toward the other man, who approached him at once and wrapped him in a hug.

Alastor jolted, frozen for a few seconds as he felt the warmth of his friend’s body, his strong embrace, his presence—different somehow, as if telling him he had become the man Alastor still struggled to be. It was Vox, yet not the Vox he remembered.

“I’m alive thanks to you, Alastor,” he whispered into his ear.

Lucifer pressed his lips together, feeling a storm inside his chest, but reminded himself this moment belonged to them and that it took nothing away from his relationship. He stepped aside to give them privacy.

Alastor finally found the strength to return the hug. A new gesture for the brunette, who had never seen him display affection. And he, too, found Alastor very different. His eyes now held light—they were no longer empty and cold. His expression showed emotion, and now, held in his arms, he felt almost fragile, human.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry for everything,” Alastor whispered, as if trying not to be heard by anyone—not even Vox.

His hands clenched the man’s jacket, slightly damp from the drizzle outside the warm café, filled with soft colors.

Vox held him tighter, selfishly filling his lungs with the scent of the man he had loved so much but had eventually learned to see as a dear friend. He would never forget him completely—not until he found the “right person” Lucifer promised existed. Still, he wanted to stay by his side, protect him, and be close because he cared.

“It’s over, Al. Let’s start a new life, okay?”

Alastor pulled away slightly, terrified that he would now have to explain his relationship with Lucifer, Peter, the agency, and his own transformation. But what Vox had just said made him hope the man already knew what had happened.

“You…”

“I know everything. Thanks to him.” Vox motioned toward Lucifer, who had sat on a stool a bit farther away, watching without interfering.

“And thanks… to her.” He added, glancing over his shoulder.

The redhead didn’t understand at first. He simply turned toward the door. That doorway felt almost like a portal through which mortals could receive visits from heaven. For a moment, he imagined seeing his parents there and longed for it—longed to ask forgiveness.

As much as they had treated him like an object placed on a shelf, the man he had become couldn’t help but feel guilt for killing them—and for all the lives he had taken.

And through that door, someone he thought he had extinguished stepped inside. Not his parents, but Emily. The petite, delicate, feminine—but determined—woman. She too looked different, in a good way.

It was a second blow Alastor wasn’t sure he could handle. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair slightly damp from the rain outside the warm, safe world Lucifer had worked tirelessly to build. She took a few steps forward. Without saying a word, she opened her arms.

Instinctively, Vox moved aside, immediately understanding her intentions and giving them the space they deserved. He moved closer to Lucifer, exhaling softly. The two watched her embrace the boy she had once seen as a child destined for ruthlessness, wounded by the few years of life he had lived.

“How do you feel?” Lucifer whispered to his student.

“Never been better,” Vox answered.

Lucifer seemed satisfied with the response, his smile widening. In all of this, he had placed himself second—or perhaps last. That was the man he wanted to become. And life had rewarded him for it. He lifted his arm behind Vox’s back, giving him small pats on the shoulder.

In front of them unfolded a scene they could only have imagined or dreamed of: Alastor crying like a child in the arms of someone he had cared about—perhaps as a mother—being comforted and held.

This would be the official beginning of his new life, with nothing hidden, no masks, free to be moved by his emotions and feelings.

Chapter Text

"That asshole!”

Alastor sighed, rolling his eyes as he dried a mug. He no longer bothered trying to appear friendly and patient, considering the woman in front of him—slumped across the counter—was completely drunk.

The redhead, his hair now long and slicked back with a headband, turned toward the clock, confirming to himself that it was definitely too late for his patience, which had grown exponentially over the years. Still, he always aimed to raise the bar of his politeness, since every time he did, he received compliments from his beloved boyfriend.

“Vi, you need to go home. Do you want me to call a cab for you?”

“No!” she shouted with utterly exaggerated despair.

And yet, she was a beautiful woman. Curvy in all the right places, slim, full lips, deep oriental eyes, long black hair with brightly colored tips. Always fashionable, charismatic. She had been a regular at the bar for a few years now, visiting during the last hours before closing—first with coworkers, then with friends, and eventually, alone. Perfectly composed, analyzing every word. However, she lost all sense of decorum whenever a certain person was involved.

“What’d he do this time?” He knew that if he didn’t help resolve the issue (with a drunk person), no one would be going home.

Velvette drew circles on the counter with her fingertips, the same counter the co-owner had just cleaned and polished. Now the quality wooden surface—recently purchased—was stained with makeup, tears, drool, and a bit of beer.

“He made a cocktail for some slut,” she muttered.

“You’re aware that Vox is the bartender specialized in drinks, right? Him making a cocktail for a woman doesn’t mean he’s sleeping with her.” He explained, fully aware it was completely pointless.

The door opened, making the bell chime with a pleasant melody that, at that moment, felt like a stab to Alastor’s ears. Lucifer entered with an alarmed expression. Even when worry clouded his beautiful face, to the former assassin he was still stunning—especially now, in his natural state. Short blond hair, shaped somewhat like a duckling, and sky-blue eyes.

“Al, what the fuck are you doing? It’s two.” He whispered, noticing the crying woman on the counter.

Alastor straightened up, pointing with his free hand at the reason for his delay.

Lucifer sighed, slipping inside and gently closing the door. He turned the sign to indicate to any passerby that they were closed, despite the lights and people inside. Slowly, he sat next to Velvette, resting his elbow on the counter and gazing at the woman with a bit of tenderness. He adored people. He didn’t like seeing them suffer, of course, but the girl next to him was experiencing that beautiful whirl of emotions caused by love.

Feeling emotions meant living. And living is wonderful.

“What’s the princess got today?” he whispered, noticing she had fallen asleep.

The redhead set the mug down with the others. At least he had gotten some work done that he would usually postpone until the next day so he could go home to his boyfriend.

“Vox made a drink for a customer.”

“Incredible. The jerk did his job?” he replied in a whisper, though he couldn’t contain his laughter.

From the corner of his eye, Alastor admired Lucifer. He adored him in every detail, expression, voice. Thinking back to how deeply he had once hated him—mistreating him, even physically harming him, threatening him—he almost couldn’t recognize himself.

His life had once been so dark, driven only by hatred, resentment, and everything negative. Lucifer had not only saved him from certain death, but had always wanted the best for him. He had left him in an orphanage, hoping that Alastor’s life would change. When Alastor dove back into the hell that was the agency, Lucifer returned, working in the shadows to keep him safe and bring him back out. Lucifer… had always been there for him.

Years had passed since they became a couple, and things had changed drastically. Charlie had gotten engaged and moved to another country—one often sunny—where she worked in a small beachside bar.

Husk and Anthony had gotten together after various ups and downs, during which the younger one didn’t believe he could be worthy of someone as good as the policeman. With a bit of insistence from Lucifer, love had finally blossomed, and now they lived together in the same city as the former assassins.

Anthony had started studying psychology, intending to help kids who, like him, had experienced various problems—from lack of acceptance by his family to kleptomania. Thanks to Lucifer’s affection and Husk’s love, he no longer carried those burdens.

The staff and clientele had changed over the years. Now Alastor and Vox ran the bar, while in the kitchen Lucifer and Emily prepared the dishes and breakfast items.

Lately, Velvette had started frequenting the place, clearly for reasons beyond the good food and drinks. That reason was obvious to every staff member—except the one directly involved.

Alastor grabbed his phone, typing a message. His expression was tense, but he was also amused by the sweetness of that clumsy couple… who technically weren’t a couple yet. He had spoken to his friend many times, and although Vox was interested in Velvette too, he never had the courage to take a step forward.

“Did you text him?”

“He should be here soon.”

“Let them handle it by themselves.” Lucifer stretched, sitting up straight while remaining next to the girl.

“Wise idea.” Alastor admitted, walking around the counter and grabbing his jacket to put it on.

Lucifer gave Velvette another look, confirming she was still asleep. Silence fell, and he blushed slightly. The sudden lack of sound made the former assassin suspicious; he turned and stared at his boyfriend, seeking an explanation.

“W-well…”

The redhead crossed his arms, waiting for a response. Usually, when Lucifer acted like that, it meant trouble—trouble Alastor would have to solve.

“Today… well… for a couple of hours now, it’s been your birthday.” He referred to the birthday Alastor had picked for himself, as no one—not even him—remembered or knew it.

“Oh.” The bespectacled man grabbed his phone again, confirming what the blond had said.

Lucifer left his seat and stepped closer, their bodies only inches apart. He wrapped an arm around Alastor’s waist with tenderness and slowness. Alastor loved moments like that, that closeness. He did not, however, love showing affection in public—though Lucifer continued to court him fearlessly even in front of dozens of people.

“Bend down a second, sweetheart.” He whispered.

That determined expression, mixed with that tone and that nickname meant only for him, was already enough to cloud his mind. With a glance, he pointed out that the client was still there.

“She’s asleep,” Lucifer said softly, leaning in.

Alastor drowned in that icy blue he adored, bending down to receive the gesture Lucifer’s lips wanted to give him.

SLAM.

They both flinched when the door swung open. Vox entered, slight panic in his eyes. Though he noticed Lucifer and Alastor were about to kiss, it no longer fazed him. His concern was directed elsewhere. He turned toward the counter, spotting the woman asleep on it.

“Vi, holy Christ…” he sighed, approaching and stroking her back.

Alastor stepped away from Lucifer’s grasp, attempting to address the situation.

“You two should talk clearly, Vox.”

The brunet with a scar over one eye glanced at Alastor, then Lucifer. Both were encouraging him to break free from the uncertainty and standstill he and Velvette had been stuck in.

He could only sigh as he returned his attention to the woman, helping her sit up. Obviously, this resulted in whining and attempts to punch him—punches Vox accepted without complaint as he lifted her.

“I’m taking you home, Vi,” he whispered.

“You even know where she lives?” Lucifer asked, finally recovering from embarrassment.

“I… I have an idea where it is, yes.”

Lucifer and Alastor exchanged a look, gathering more information than either had admitted. Lucifer couldn’t help a mischievous grin, making the brunet blush.

“I-it’s not what you think,” he stammered, picking Velvette up bridal-style.

“No one said anything,” his mentor teased, with whom he still trained once a week.

Alastor rolled his eyes for at least the third time that hour, grabbing his scarf and wrapping it around his neck, more determined than ever to go home.

He had to endure more innuendos for another ten minutes before they finally left the bar and locked up for the night.

When Vox walked away with Velvette in his arms, covered with her fashionable coat, the couple watched them disappear around the corner. While Lucifer smiled sentimentally, Alastor reflected on how much life had changed for both him and Vox. His gaze drifted into the void, traveling through memories.

“Al?” Lucifer called gently, noticing he’d suddenly grown serious.

“Thank you, Lu…” he murmured dreamily, still staring ahead.

“Huh?”

Alastor turned, leaning down to kiss him on the lips. A simple, sweet gesture, then he looked him straight in the eyes—with sincere affection and gratitude.

“Mine and Vox’s lives… we’re happy now because of you.”

Lucifer was not someone who ran out of things to say easily, but that sentence left him undeniably speechless. His eyes widened, his cheeks turning bright red. Rarely had Alastor expressed his gratitude in words, but he did so every day—in the way he looked at him, smiled at him, prepared his favorite drinks and meals, held him when they made love, or when they kissed.

Alastor was grateful to him in every moment of his life.

“A-about that thing from before…” the redhead changed the subject, too embarrassed to hear a response.

“Oh… yes. Y-your birthday.”

Alastor slipped his hands into his pockets. He looked at Lucifer with an expression difficult to interpret—serious, but hiding emotion, tension, love, and a bit of frustration about having this conversation in the cold. But he wanted to hear what Lucifer had to say.

Lucifer grew extremely flustered as he dug through his bag. All that embarrassment made him unbearably cute.

“So… now you’re thirty… it—it’s an important milestone and… y-you know how much I love you…” He tried to find the words as he desperately searched for the item.

“If you’re referring to the box inside your bag, I already saw it and opened it.”

Lucifer’s world froze. Even the distant sound of cars turned into pure silence. His eyes widened so much he almost forgot how to breathe.

“You… you saw it?” he squeaked.

“Yes.”

“Why?!”

Alastor searched his heart for the answer, though it was simple.

“I check your things often. I don’t want… anything to happen to you.”

That honesty was so sweet it swept away every trace of embarrassment in Lucifer. Alastor checked his bag, and probably the house, and his clothes, and the shop. He still feared their old life could return to swallow him up one way or another.

The blond leaned in and hugged him. It was an embrace that said so much—an embrace meant to remind him that their life was now safe, happy, and that all they needed to do was love each other.

“Lu…?”

“Nothing will happen to us anymore, love. You don’t have to check or be afraid. Promise me?” he whispered.

Alastor reflected on that sentence, knowing it would be difficult to live completely at ease, but he had to try. For the sake of truly having a normal life. He nodded, returning the hug.

They stayed wrapped in each other under the streetlights for a few minutes, enjoying the sound of the other’s breathing and heartbeat—quickened by the moment.

“So… if you saw what was inside… your answer is…?” he asked indirectly.

Alastor nuzzled into his neck, holding him tighter, surprising the blond with so much tenderness and physical affection.

“It will always be yes,” he whispered.

Lucifer couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. Even in his new life, where he tried to stay as controlled as possible, Alastor’s answer—especially spoken so sweetly—moved him deeply.

He never could have imagined finding love and living a life like this, full of happiness. And yet, that little boy he had once helped had grown up and shown him love. He too would always be grateful to Alastor, every day of his life.

“I love you, Alastor.”

“…I love you, Lucifer."