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A cozy evening in the House of Lamentation’s study was the haven you needed after a busy week at the academy. The paper you were writing for Devildom Law, together with your D.D.D., remained on the desk in your bedroom, unattended. Instead of taking your friends’ up on their invitation to unwind at The Fall tonight, you opted to take some time off and stay at home, away from the hustle and bustle of the Friday night in town.
You sat on an armchair, your legs crossed, a copy of the first volume of The Tale of the Seven Lords in your hands. Beside the stack of the next volumes of the series on the table, a cup of tea rested, a swirl of steam rising from the fine china. It was a brew made especially for you by none other than the man you were spending the evening with.
Lucifer remained as busy as ever, his brows knit in concentration as he read through a pile of articles and documents. The cup of tea on his side remained untouched. His fountain pen glided on the paper as he jotted down notes and signed those that needed his attention, the faint scratch from the friction of the nib meeting the paper a pleasant sound against the crackling fire in the hearth.
You admired him from afar, neither saying nor doing anything to disturb him. A certain thought occured to you: many fell for Lucifer’s charms. You were aware of those who harbored affections for him, and you were sure that there would be more who would find themselves in the same situation in the future. He was someone who could draw anyone in—whether angel, human, or demon. Although you found it difficult to pinpoint the exact reason why, you soon came to the conclusion that he was simply being… himself. That enough was enamoring.
Wordlessly, Lucifer stood from his seat, strode to the record player on the corner of the room, and bent the stylus to meet the vinyl in the turntable. A soft melody played in the background, a track he was fond of and one you recognized all too well from all the evenings you had spent with him: Chopin’s Nocturne in E-Flat Major, Opus 9, Number 2. Lucifer proceeded to the shelf nearby and took a hardbound book lodged in the corner with ease. He flipped it open, browsed the table of contents, and without so much as a glance at you, he pointed out, his voice resonant through the classical music, “You’ve been staring at me for quite a while now. Why?”
You sank further into the plush seat, embarrassment tinting your cheeks pink. Lucifer always knew, and this was something you learned through the time you had spent living in this house—through the moments you shared with him. At this point, there was nothing to lose in daring to express your honest thoughts. You cleared your throat and played it cool as you said, “You’ve had many lovers before. Isn’t that right?”
He froze, his eyes pausing from scanning the page. After a few seconds, he shut the book, walked over to his desk, set it down, and turned to you. “I believe I’ve mentioned this in passing some time ago, but yes, that is correct.”
Deep in thought, you nodded and looked back on the memory. Of course, he has had his fair share of lovers—he was Lucifer, for heaven’s, human world’s, and hell’s sake. Imagining how many beings, both mortal and immortal, had their eyes set on him was an easy feat, especially when you were one of them.
Lucifer leaned against his desk and watched you in return, his arms crossed. “Why do you ask?”
“Nothing much,” you responded as you returned to your book and flipped the page, feigning nonchalance. “You must have broken many hearts, then.”
The remark caught him off guard, but instead of offense, it was amusement—or maybe even flattery—that made its way across his features. “I’m curious to know what makes you say so.”
“Lucifer.” You raised your gaze to him and said with a chuckle, “I don’t believe anyone can know you, kiss you, and not fall in love.”
“Is that so?”
He strode over to you and placed his palms over the armrests of your seat, bending his head to connect your gaze with his. Heart pounding in anticipation, the music faded from your senses as you tilted your head to look back at him. Your eyes fluttered closed, and the book you were holding slid to your lap the moment he leaned forward and pressed his warm lips on yours. It was a soft and gentle kiss, one you return without a second of reluctance, a caress you would dare describe as chaste, but at the same time, was an open challenge; an honest gesture on both your ends.
“How about now?” he asked once your lips parted from his. Lucifer’s face hovered over yours, your breaths mixing as he waited for your answer.
“Silly,” you replied with a laugh and shook your head. Smiling, you cradled his face with your palms and stroked his cheeks with your thumbs. “I’ve been in love with you long before you kissed me ten seconds ago.”