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Chloe saw hemorrhaging horror in his eyes more often than she cared to admit. The smile Lucifer fell asleep with was not the same one with which he awakened. Blinking blearily, his fearful eyes would always seek her out, running raggedly across her form before he would relax in increments, reclining back in bed with a dopey grin as if all were right in the world.
But it wasn’t alright in his, she knew. And worse, he didn’t seem much inclined to share what caused his reactions. What caused him to jerk away with small, tensed jolts like an alarm had gone off somewhere inside his head. What caused him to blink uncertainty rather than sleep from his eyes.
What caused him to wake up each morning expecting she wouldn’t be there.
Maybe that was a deception too, though. A self deception. The same one she cast over her eyes whenever Lucifer politely refused red wine if she was the one to pour. Whenever he would storm from a crime scene, the similarities between himself and the victim as stark as the arcing blood splatters adorning the wall. Whenever he would stare at the sky just a moment too long, something old and aching in his expression, wanting back what he couldn’t have and perhaps hating himself a bit for it too.
She knew why he became whisper quiet when she was angry with him, diminishing himself. She knew why he presented her with trinkets as he came across them. And she knew why he always expected to wake up and find the life that they built, new as it was, would be gone and scattered by the wind like loose grains of sand.
She knew. But that didn’t make it any easier to see, playing out before her in an ingrained pattern she was helpless to alleviate in the slightest. This was who he was, his scars monstrous in both their size and grip on him. And the fact of the matter was, there would never truly be something large enough to counteract it, even her love for him, thick as it was. Because the hole was something she could never fill. She couldn’t give him back his family. She couldn’t offer him the apologies he’d never gotten, the remorse. She couldn’t promise she’d never leave…
All she could do was love him. And how frighteningly inadequate that sounded to her when she’d seen the thinly veiled jealousy he couldn’t quite contain when they visited Linda and saw Amenadiel playing with Charlie, the three of them laughing and sharing. Or the darker, sadder, expression he wore when she removed him from a case and sent him home. He visited Charlotte’s grave often, Uriel’s less so - and never with her.
He deserved the world, but she didn’t have a world to give him. She had herself. A daughter. And grilled cheese sandwiches. A friendship, a partnership, and a relationship.
So when she awakened first one morning, reaching instinctively for her phone to check the news, she diverted her hand back to the bed sheets. Rolling onto her side, she surveyed the man still sleeping beside her, hair tousled and limbs askew in a way that took up far too much of the already oversized bed.
He smiled in his sleep.
It was a just barely there lifting of his lips, nearly lost amongst his scruff, but it was undeniably a peaceful expression. Most people she had encountered frowned in their sleep - Dan had sometimes sported a truly furious scowl - but sleep lessened the worry lines around Lucifer’s eyes and relaxed his brows. She’d often wondered what he dreamed about, if his mind was filled with stars during the night rather than fire and brimstone. She so desperately hoped it was so. There was a lot she hoped for him.
Beneath the blankets, it was stifling, the heat unpleasant against her skin. They might fall asleep tangled together but rarely did they wake up that way, Lucifer’s body temperature simply too much to handle sometimes.
She slid her leg out from beneath the blankets, letting it dangle over the side of the bed. The air conditioning kissed her skin, rousing pleasant goosebumps and quiet relief. Even so, she didn’t fully get up, waiting for Lucifer. Seeing the panic in his eyes each morning, the fear she’d left, she couldn’t allow those thoughts to become actuality. If he slept too long, she’d wake him up if necessary, but she rarely left the bed without making sure he knew.
Raising herself slightly, she looked at the digital clock on Lucifer’s nightstand. Just past eight then. They would have to start the day then. Trixie was with Dan only until the afternoon, and she had to run errands before working tomorrow…
But she hesitated to rouse Lucifer. She didn’t want to see his lost expression, even if it was so quickly swallowed by relief. It broke her a bit each time, not that she dared tell him. Because if she told him, he’d want to fix it, would be ashamed of it. She didn’t want that. Any way he came, she’d gladly accept. But it was a hard thing convincing him of it.
Reaching out tentatively, she ran her hand gently down his chest. He didn’t awaken, but he twitched, shifting closer to her, his hand flexing searchingly. Smiling, she took it in her own, his fingers leaden with sleep. They curled clumsily, holding onto her instinctively as she ran her thumb across his knuckles, studying his face.
All she could do was love him…
Rolling closer, she raised his head slightly with her free hand, sliding her arm beneath to resettle him against her neck, chin tucked atop his head. Her fingers brushed through the hair on the back of his head, flattened with sleep yet still soft to the touch. He hummed against her skin, eyelashes tickling her, breath hot.
She didn’t know how long their time together would last. She wanted years, decades, but there were too many uncertainties in their lives to be so assured. But she could take things day by day, moment by moment.
Today, he would wake up knowing she was still there.
Burying her nose in his hair, she kissed the top of his head and whispered. “Lucifer?”
He shifted, already close to wakefulness from being moved in the first place. She continued carding her hand through his hair, easing him awake. His breathing quickened against her neck as he slowly roused. She felt his eyelids flutter against his skin and grasped him tighter, hardly daring to even breathe.
But, this time, there was no flinch, no fear snatched breath. He remained boneless and content as he nosed lazily at her skin. “Hmm?” he murmured sleepily.
“I need to get up,” she whispered, but made no move to do so, enjoying the lethargy of the morning.
He hummed in agreement, but similarly, didn’t rouse any further than winding his arm around her waist, tucking his larger frame into her.
Not everything that broke could be fixed. But beauty wasn’t contingent on condition either. He was bruised and battered, her Devil, a feral cat with tattered ears and missing claws.
“I love you,” she said into his hair.
And this time, his breath did hitch. But for an entirely different reason. A good one.
“I love you,” she repeated.
He shifted, seeming to want to pull away and see her before thinking better of it, burrowing back into her.
“Love you too,” he said, voice weak and hoarse with sleep.
Day by day. Moment by moment. Maybe love was enough.