Stochastic

by Vergil's Inferno

The twins find themselves facing their toughest obstacle yet; there was no way they would allow Nero to find out, but after forty eight straight hours of deceit, would the truth end up being the bitter punishment of its intent? Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters; they belong to Capcom.

12. Epilogue - Suppositious

As much as he tried, his body seemed to despise the overall concept of sleep, rendering him restless and concurrently awake as he stared at the ceiling, recalling the pseudo-dream to play in a pasty white filter while a light snore to his right implied a sweet lullaby he could – ironically – dream of. Although in a spiteful mood, the skin on his fingertips rose and fell in time with the slow breath dancing across the other's chest, tiptoeing on the expanse of skin and pressing gently in an effort to bring the young man back to the realm of the dead. Sadly, it obtained the opposite, making him curl closer to the brooding scaly figure on his side and aggravating him more, groaningly leaning over his side of the bed before the trademark arm slumped across and onto its own soft bamboo pillow, fingers ready and flexing against the cotton. The bigger creature allowed the chilled air into his lungs forcing an uncomfortable posture as he sat doubling over, crushing the bridge of his nose coupled in flailing willpower to crush away the migraine developing in the back of his throat. For the first and last time that day, his shoulders dropped to their usual temperature as he creaked his neck, letting his thoughts and hands float backward to the sleeping beauty half covered in the raven sheets, his slender silhouette sculpting the perfect illusion the man had ever laid eyes on; the content was breath-taking, angelic almost, sprawling on the foamy plane like it was his own in a deep enough slumber that creased his eyes while mouthing incoherencies to the occupants of his subconscious formed under his eyelids.

The demon watched on in silence, his slightly matured humanity taking in the sights for one last time should his plan for the day follow through without a hitch. It may not be what he imagined but what choice did he have? The odds weren't in his favour and the declaration was out of character, but he deserved more. Much more. He deserved what he'd been pining for since bringing him to his home, promising one day they'd do a full search of the seven circles for a brother he had never met but believed existed through a deranged, hypothetical grapevine. And that in essence is who he was – unrealistic hope, he termed it; the usual logic flushed down the toilet by the simple means of accomplishing a last resort at the one thing he wished he had while he was still alive. That day never came. One year ago, he stopped asking. Maybe all the chores kept him too busy he forgot to remember. But it was all his undoing – selfishness – that hindered the progress of their mutual oath changing once a reason to move forward into a wandering ideal searching for a suitable host to feast on and hopefully consume quickly as priority takes its toll over the unsuspecting victim, too worried by materialism to care for the bigger picture of greater things albeit restricted to the Underworld.

He reached further on the mattress until he graced a shin draped in silk, running his thumb over tremendously understated muscle and skin soft as its regular glow; he slowly inched closer with the entire leg as his objective, smirking shyly and touching the smaller man's inner thigh evoking its smoothness tenderly gracing his cheek mere hours ago: gripping lightly as payback, he circled five invisible rings all the way to each of his toes and massaging the relaxed limb out of habit of long days accommodating his every immature command, kneading the slack flesh to his knee while his victim remain unmoved to his efforts. The target unknowingly moaned in thanks and coiled some more, a fractal of purest bliss unbeknownst to the troubled mind inches away doing the bare minimum to keep his overactively dull, one-sided mind in check before giving in and turning to map his pathetic attempt at a strategy, resting his face somewhat calmly in his hands with a dragged, exasperated sigh reverberating through the rest of his mansion to hold his thoughts from subliminally spilling into the bedroom.

There was no easy way to do this: not a single loophole under his influence could save him beyond his internal conflict to do the right thing by no demonic standard, coaxing the old-fashioned left path of the truth fork on the road to the other side of town where one half of their salvation was feeding a strawberry sundae to his second half as apology for whatever sat up his ass this week. His own genius superseded him at the best of times, almost chuckling to the jail gates of his averaged mood and seamless timing with the weight shifting behind him, the ruffling sheets bringing with it tentative steps to his ominous purple aura visibly dissipating as the naked body crawled closer. "Why didn't you wake me?"

A sleepy groan played in the background while he stretched, breathing deeply as his arms lazily slithered around the bigger creature's neck and nuzzling his petite face into the crook, his tongue tracing a thick line of ink to his protruding collarbone and enduring two holes burning in the back of his skull, nibbling on the predetermined trail-by-needle and sucking gently up the shell of his ear wearing an audible smirk the seated man heard clear as day, turning his head painfully slow while the clock in his brain aligned to the rhythm of the assault. "Experience has taught me to fight my instincts, especially when it comes to you." The moment seeped within scale, permitted by reflex alone to dig his claws through the presented head of hair as he tilted the other's view in accommodation for the hunger whispering at his jaw; the silence broke with a tiny giggle in response to the talons scraping his scalp, purposely biting down hard at the individual lettering flowing onto the demon's shoulder blades and back short-lived by a fearsome crunch to his pitch black locks pulling in the opposite direction of his complete intent, and sharply twisting the strands between his fingers until a hair's width separated their feisty, lust-laced gazes. Yet something was definitely wrong. He could smell it, and the hulking mass was a brilliant liar. The smaller leaned forward and kissed his cheek kindly, playing with the deep navy satin dangling over his eyes. "What's on your mind? I'm scared of this face." He raked the strays behind his burning ears and fidgeted with his earrings in comfortable quiet. "Or has the cat conveniently got your tongue… again?"

No straight answer would stem from the beast but at least he tried, to no avail with no hope to change, sure, and the gesture alone painted a different picture in his head than an illogical, nonsensical answer to a meaningless question. And let's not forget, above all else, he took homage in being a thing of legend – a secret, a myth perhaps – and therefore a colossal inscrutable asshole to the core with a face as beautiful and deceiving as the lore behind the name in possession of the sole frozen soul in the deepest part of Hell. The mostly renowned and feared man now stared back in confusion and disarray, a direct contrast to his nonchalance and joking dismay of all things existing, not any of what he was used to. He looked exhausted, sunken, paler than usual, like something had been plaguing him. That same gorgeous epitome of sadness knew but one move to put him out of his questioning misery: before deducing right from left, said tongue darted into the younger's mouth synced with a similar tug now toward the perplexed mess of an animal thirsting for sustenance, slowly marauding the known, heated plane of the other in eagerness and care, pulling away to catch a glimpse of the frayed knot and his ever growing split ends after being undone. "Meow." Steadily regaining consciousness, he whimpered at the loss of contact in an immediate pout that suited him well. "I'm allowed to have my secrets," he said, his hand floating to the small of his back and flipping them over, wiggling his overtuned body between the smaller man's legs. He took great care in ravishing his chest, hungrily chewing the scorching flesh and sucking hard on the spots he knew drove his partner sane as an addict on his last fix, moaning into the taste of fresh desire at its peak amid the jaded crusts growing in his oesophagus. "Do you want to go for a walk with me?"

Asking wasn't his thing; commanding came naturally to the captain. So yes, something was wrong. Unbelievably. "Are you sure you're okay?" He didn't bother looking to save himself the anguish. Instead, his sense of touch followed a wet trail under his belly button, his very hand smoothing the distressed blue locks back to their place of origin. "You can tell me if-"

"I asked of you wanted to go for a walk with me." The sentiment rang true through his descent, tonguing his partner softer the closer he ventured to his enraged erection. "If you don't want to, it could pose a problem."

The sultry, pepper tinge to his words plucked at the strings attached to his torso, yanking his upper half to the ceiling as his tip disappeared into the demon's mouth. Moving slowly, his attacker's vice twisted around his thighs and dug deep in the crevices of his buckling hips emulating the pressure of his fingertips with taking him deeper into his throat; the lower he inched the more the string pulled, forcing the other's head harder into the array of expensive display feathers while the beast below devoured to his hearts content, growling with every inch he took his struggling victim in simultaneous wickedness of his intention, sneaking doses of his satisfaction with flicks of his tongue over the pulsating shaft. A husky chuckle crudely followed, echoing through his prey's legs in streams of pleasure, finally rushing upward to his heaving chest to continue its unrest of sheer tenacity. "You really are the devil."

He pulled his pursed lips from the base with a subtle pop, looking to strike individual sections of his hardened rationality twitching in leaking anticipation. "Is that a yes?"

The younger man shuddered as he gathered breath. "Whatever you wish, Lucifer."

A hint of a smile embellished the devil's features prior to his next attack, diving down once more and properly wrapping his legs over his shoulders on the exhale of a propitiated sigh-turned-deep-groan as he deepened his clutch, licking gingerly on the underside of his penis in longer, purposed strokes. "Uh huh…"

---

And here they were, standing at an unnecessarily large brass door serving as destination to their uneventful, slimy walk, and thankfully less windy than all his nights spent wrapped under the covers. For once, he was relieved to comply to what he thought was a stupid rule upon his freeload clause but now made more sense: don't go outside, the demon would say incessantly, thinking it was a simple ploy to keep him as prisoner but rather that Lucifer knew he'd abhor the conditions beyond the comfort he was provided. The dream of greener pastures outside the dark grey walls were but cold, empty streets attempting to fit as much ice as it could into every cranny of the environment, an insufferable breeding ground of frozen hopes slipping from the clasps of even colder fingertips. Stuffy and humid too in its impeccable balance, the man had long gotten used to the freezing air inside his home, and yet one step from his front door made him regret the decision under duress and immediately crave a fresh mug of the demon's famous hot chocolate. This was his reality, his forever fate, the embedded black hole in his chest that screamed something was lost since the day he woke but betraying his sense of duty to the missing link when his brain wouldn't budge, rendering him unfairly useless as a nomadic shell of the person he thought he used to be. All he knew walked beside him in his thick brooding hood, trudging through sleet and stone for two solid hours and speaking only when needed, whether directional or to occasionally check in with his walking cargo to ensure his breathing. Even now, he made no effort to knock on the ornate entrance and merely stared, tracing the outlines of the countless battles with his darting, silver eyes that could melt the tiny icicles perched in the indentations of the artwork. "So that's it? That's the way you're playing this?"

Lucifer continued looking, curving with the crafted weaponry in the hands of some of the deadliest soldiers to grace the undead army. "What do you mean?"

The man blew a puff of warm smoke an inch from his face and watched it dissipate like his last vat of energy having to deal with the silence. "We are standing in front of a huge brass door in a place I've never been… and you're really telling me nothing?"

"That's my way of doing things. It shouldn't come as a surprise." Lower than his eye level, Lucifer sought out the wrong between right and pressed at a miniature representation of Atilla the Hun holding twin pistols in his hands, setting off an array of intricate locks from the inside clicking out of place for the massive door to swing inside itself and bringing with it crunches of snow that instantly melted on specks of beige marble tile. Lucifer stood to his height, his full-length hood now swaying to an oncoming breeze and making him look ethereal past his years, a lonely mythical traveller seeking shelter in the place he knows could grant him respite from his long journey. He turned to the man and spoke softly, trying to find two spots of emerald under an identical hood. "Say nothing unless he talks directly to you."

Stage direction. Sweet. "He? Who's he?"

"My boss… You want answers. He has them." The demon took a few steps into the deep room, seeing more in the dark than the average human on a sunny day. "Let's get inside."

"And if I don't w-"

"You'll deeply regret it. I don't want to see you miserable for the rest of your days."

The echo was deafening, leaving him to wonder what torture devices lay in front of him without knowing and equally stumped at what could home such a massive space. But the outline of Lucifer's cloaked form broke the despised dark like the divine mercy draping an empty wall, shielding a harsh, misplaced glow from blinding the man's eyes still adjusting to the huge expanse before him. "It gets out of hand, we're leaving. Understood?"

"I highly doubt that." He followed the exact melted footprints and pulled the fleece closer around his body, sidestepping the mass of staggering calm dropping his shoulders for the first time that day. The doors behind them began to close slowly and the gap of light from outside shrunk into nothing, the same bolts now twisting in the opposite direction to keep them in for who knew how long. The man stretched his arms in front of him feeling for obstacles and felt a thick wave of the unknown wash over him like paint, sticking to his whole form as he fell on his back foot and teetering at too low a tilt to save himself until a lone hand secured his fall, splaying in the middle of his back and pushing him back to equilibrium. Lucifer took care in marking a path with his fingertips up his shaking spine and over his left shoulder, down his forearm and finally to his hand that he held firmly, lacing their fingers in a fateful gesture of common decency overdue to the company still shuddering in concern. "There's no need to be afraid."

"It's easy to say for someone like you."

The disembodied hand did its best not to spin him impatiently, tugging his spatial awareness to where the rest of the demon should have been: enveloping warmth accompanied the single-sounding step toward him roasted his limbs to the temperature he knew well as another hand joined the sizzling fray to rest on either side of his neck, being careful not to startle the toasting body with his sweltering grip. The heat branded his last warning into the man's chest, feeling the sticky residue leave him in droplets over his clothes in a sigh of content rivalling the very cause standing flush against him, Lucifer's own internal frustration drooping his forehead onto the other wearing the weakest of smiles unseen to the subsiding mess grateful for the contact. He closed his eyes and with wavering breath repeated his wish, the good intent falling helplessly on the man's ears. "You don't have to be afraid."

It was out of character but far from the man wanting to let go, the sudden calm too leaving with the fear from before and being replaced by a fleeting nothingness of unease in the deepest pit of his belly. "What is this?"

His questions were answered by a hazy glow from above dimming a strong light into the rectangular room and finally seeing what was on offer. Nothing. The couple turned simultaneously to the rest of the empty space and that's all it was. Empty: the beige marble tile covered every inch of the wasted floor, and the walls were lined in red silks sans pattern, waving in a non-existent breeze for effect. No sophisticated pillars adorning the corners, no vast chandeliers dropped too low from the ceiling, and no priceless art to compliment the bleeding walls for a pop of colour. A normal-sized door sat snuggly in the top right corner leading out to a small raised platform that reached halfway with a daintily designed ruby crusted balustrade framed the edge of the platform facing the rest of the space. It was miles different from Lucifer's taste but a breath of fresh air all the same, the humbler colour scheme boasting a simplistic manner of living without the need of verbose description into the head of the owner but an introduction to the place overall, stylistically bare in anticipation for its full potential. Still, there was nothing, and equally so without an explanation. The demon took the first steps forward and the man followed not too far behind looking to every angle for a hidden portrait, heirloom, agenda possibly. Nothing. Apart from the door they faced, there were no signs of life. "What are you doing?"

The hood snapped to follow him circle around him and stand in his view, his face unfixed in confusion and anger. "The right thing."

"Fucking bullshit, what's going on?"

The hulking mass cleared his throat sheer milliseconds before the latch on the normal door gave way, turning the high inquisitor on his heel as it opened outward, presenting an atypical concept of the male configuration: his long, graceful, pitch black hair swayed in the motions without a breeze, brushing on an equally dark long sleeved shirt form fitting his shoulders flawlessly, his upper arms illegally readying a scheduled burst from what he assumed were really strong fibres holding him together and shadowing a torso funnelling to the smallest, jacked waist barely holding his dress slacks in place. It was then that he noticed the plunging neckline owing to three buttons left to rest while the others were averagely content in doing their intended duty, modestly hiding muscle too defined for their own good; the turned collar showed off his chiselled jawline, drawing his plump rosy lips into the chaos as he walked in slow motion toward them now glimmering a smile that wrenched the man's heart from his ribcage; his eyes sang glowing poison ivy gleaming in non-existent sunlight, and bare feet completed the powerfully gorgeous enigma walking over to greet his guests. The wholeness was a cause for panic, a conundrum reaching far into the depths of every fantasy he's ever had just wearing a different shirt. "I just got your message." The irrevocable creature was close, fiddling with his sleeves to unfasten the buttons on his cuffs and rolling them in favour of a three-quartered look for a feast on his lean, veined forearms. "Sorry I'm a mess, I haven't had coffee yet."

'This is a mess?' was all he could think as it was said, while Lucifer stood half-smiling at his comrade. "Anything but, captain."

"Oh stop. I can't promote you any higher than you already are." The two beings shake hands and follow through with a hard, hasty fist bump that fit the description of a fast punch on the other's knuckles. The man on the side-lines twisted his head at the interaction simply baffled by Lucifer's capability of playful banter with his superior and seeing this side of him made him realise what little leeway he was allowed into his inner circle. He shadowed the demon as he took off his hood, his body on reflex going metaphorically weak in the knees. "You never request a private audience."

The half-smile faded to a straight line. "The circumstances need you and no one else."

His melancholy tone drew a direct line to the man standing next to him and the captain grew cautious of the words to come, chewing the inside of his cheek as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Alright. Here I am, my friend. What burdens your mind today?"

And a burden it was, eating its way through the chip in his shoulder. "I bring a confession."

He nodded in acknowledgement of his friend's words completely entranced by the specimen in front of him, sauntering to his half of the court without proper introduction and offering his hand for the man to do as he damn well pleased. It is taken and shook as well, his form crushed beneath the intensity of two orbs of glowing forest green. "Are you the reason Lucifer has been so tolerant these past few days?"

Maybe he was just being polite, but damn if it didn't make him feel good. "I sincerely hope so, sir."

The black paradox gave a tiny bow with his hand on his chest, his face popping in happy at the sudden formality. "Please. Astaroth. But I like your style." And just like that he went back to brooding serious mode, arms comfortable once again leaning against the crimson balustrade and propping his leg against the raised ground. "Apologies. Confession. Go ahead."

A quick nod. "Three and a half years ago, Dante and I were patrolling in Lust. There was nothing of interest to report, except what I'm about to disclose, which I left blank on the paperwork. Dante went ahead for the hot pretzels and struck up a conversation with the gentleman selling them, but something else grabbed my attention. There were miscreants, about five of them, entering an alley to the left of the pretzel stand. They disappeared behind a corner, and I can't tell you why, but I followed them. I zeroed in on their conversation and there was a sixth voice… pleading for his life." Astaroth watched the other man squirm in uneasiness, adjusting from foot to foot as the memory resonated in his bones. "I'm privy to ignore that, because… what's one dead body in the mix of millions. But I couldn't turn away, so I took the corner and there he was: on the floor, dirty, dehydrated, starving, naked, freezing-"

His friend raised a finger and he stopped dead, squaring his jaw as he fixed an unpleasant gaze in the demon's view. "Where was Just Process?"

"I don't know. I couldn't ask either way." The poor man stood frozen in place, his first day in Hell far in the back of his head but never less potent than his description of the blind terror fighting for life, pulling his cloak tighter around his body and lowering his head to hide his embarrassment. A small nudge to his right made him perk, looking at him sporting a smug face he wasn't used to. "I murdered them. But I followed procedure."

The specimen looked to Astaroth for a sultry take on Lucifer's smug, and he was amused for the first time that day. "Go on, Lucifer."

Another nod. "I couldn't leave him to fend for himself if he ended up slipping through the cracks. I told Dante I had to go home for a few minutes. He offered to come with me, but I asked him to keep his eyes on patrol just in case. He dropped the issue and I took this man to my home, hooked him up to every machine I had and locked every door. The next time I saw him he was awake, frightened, but better. It was only when I introduced myself that he went into a mild panic and he-" He stared blankly at the wall, catching himself mid tangent, clearing his throat to clear the charmed expression from Astaroth's face. "I asked if he remembered anything from before landing in the alley, answering no. I ventured to the gates and asked front desk to do a check; I gave a general description and he was on none of the records. Dead, pending death, awaiting judgement, he was nowhere to be found. No file either." At this, Astaroth pursed his lips and creaked his neck, glaring at the space between them with hellish intent, clearly irritated at the last detail. "I thought to report him, but I'd rather cover my tracks and found out what I could; there would be a case opened so I may as well ensure he was up to nutritional standard before he stood in front of the rest-"

Lucifer turned to his left, so attuned to when the man wanted to interrupt. He took it as consent to speak. "Nutritional standard?"

The enigma chewed on his thumb. "The Just Process: when you die, you arrive here in your best state. Healthy, basically, for proper eternal punishment. That's why finding you skinny and fending for your own survival isn't up to task. We can't accept you here because of your condition, but we cannot send you to the surface without knowledge of proper resources to resume living. Housing, family, money, all that. And if you're not on file, we know absolutely nothing, and its more paperwork if we make the wrong call the first time."

The demon continued. "But we got lucky one day: he found a book… a photo album of the older families and soldiers throughout their years of service to the Underworld. You know the one-"

"Lucifer, this is unlike you, so I'd appreciate if you got to the point quicker than your current pace-"

"I've been practicing all night. Please hear me out." The man's eyes resembled golf balls at hearing the word, shocked three shades from Sunday that it sat moulding in his vocabulary. At least he had his reason for why he appeared twitchy the entire day. Astaroth, too, put his hands up in restless apology and biting his lip to draw blood, sucking at the wound until dry to keep him sane. "He was looking at the photos and came across a particular one: a couple in the middle of soldiers wearing their fatigues in salute. He acknowledged the man, saying he recognised the face but didn't know where. Not so much the lady, but it nagged at him for a few days after; he went back to the photo multiple times thinking it necessary to sneak it out of…" He trailed off mid thought. "What is the damn word…"

He looked over, using his tongue to scrape hypothetical peanut butter off his palate and clicking his fingers as if to prompt the correct word into his mind. "Bookshelf. Anubis." He clicked again matter-of-factly and poked at the answer, relieved. The confusion wafting in the air could be cut with a butter knife; the struggles of speaking Latin and Icelandic first and second were lost on both. "He names the things he forgets the English words to; the coffee plunger would be Horus and Osiris a dictionary, that kind of thing." 'And what was the point of renaming if he's going to forget both' his brain asked, rolling his eyes to hold gentle snigger on his tongue at bay.

"His obsession with Mythology is adorable, wouldn't you s-" The overall cough brought about by a stern silver look of venom was believable enough, clearing his throat as if nothing happened and he wasn't afraid for his life. "Okay, so we're at a photo with a vague description-"

"A photo of your parents, Astaroth. Mom and dad with big smiles on their faces, bragging with her pregnant belly to the camera, and he recognised your father."

The mischief bouncing between his facial muscles turned vacant and stone cold at the possible implication presented at his feet, wishing nothing more to either squash the factoid then and there or have adequate information given for him to embrace the situation as a functioning whole. There wasn't a living thing alive that could feasibly identify his face that he knew of, apart from what family he had left sewn in the fabric of the universe. He screwed his gaze to have a better look at the man once more and he returned it, terrified at the swift scrutiny but wanting the correlation between a familiar face and the pressure build up on his ribcage. "Alright… What does that mean?"

"You recognised a man that has been dead longer than I assume you to be alive. What do you think it means?"

"Maybe he has a common face. Those are a thing-"

This voice cracked as Astaroth began moving in his direction, his grimace softening with every step he took and albeit how small, something nagged in his heart to stay still and stand his ground, but his brain screamed for him to equal his steps in the same direction as a man two heads taller than he was was sure to pummel him in a heartbeat. "Astaroth's father was the last known incubus to serve in the army of the Underworld. He is also the only recorded in history to have a purebred child with a succubus, which isn't supposed to be possible, more impossible to be done twice."

The man chose to keep firm and waited for fate to take his swing, and in its place were two gentle hands softly cupping his face, scratching his fingertips against their family's trusted jawline inherited from every generation since its conception. "Look at me," he said, an ardent whisper that would be dumb to ignore, which the man didn't. Tilting his head to the side he caught the familiar whiff he so desperately expected to, the wanted outcome now fleshed out and nervously gazing back at him with the finish line in sight however slow he may be creeping to it. "If this is true…"

"I have nothing to attain lying to you." Lucifer took a small step to face the pair at the moment the smaller man reached his ribbon and smiled brightly without thinking, laughing to curb the obvious emotion welling in his eyes, and both of them oblivious to the deeply soaked regret mere feet away from their bubbling meet. "His name is Eligor. Last name: Nygård, of course. Second child and last born of Rharsyx and Lynnira. Approximately one and a half to two centuries younger than you born by normal means on Earth. Manner of arriving to Hell unknown. Enjoys cooking and reading, but puzzles and problem-solving are his thing. He takes a liking to coffee and jelly when he's stressed and soup on default when he's feeling anything but neutral…" Utter sadness laced the fond recollection of what little he knew about his companion, going solely on facts that have presented themselves in tangible form and not the many aspects he'd assumed about his personality and character that Astaroth too could guess in a span of thirteen minutes. It was inexcusable really, having wasted countless days thinking there would be no end to their time and yet here he stood flushed in inexplicable emotion when most days he thrived in thoughts on new ways to torture the lost soul, other days praying he'd stay out of the way and leave him the hell alone with his misguided beliefs after a long day at work… and times like these when he knew deep down he'd done the opposite of what he aimed to achieve, not being selfish and watching things fall flat to a faded grey in real time. They looked fantastic together, he said to himself, trying to convince no one in particular that he was genuinely okay to let the man go and live his life the way he was meant to. The demon fiddled in his pockets and came up with a tiny piece of silver jewellery oval in shape with a small lip on one side, hinges on the other. Upon opening, it revealed a photo sepia in age and of the same man and woman in the other photo, and the baby still growing in her belly now a budding teenager standing front and centre with an unquestionable resemblance to Astaroth; the eyes betrayed him out of deniability. Closing the clasp, he turned the locket over and handed it to Eligor, the words FIND HIM scrawled in all capitals inscribed with a sharp, flimsy instrument. "This was all you had on your person when I found you. If there is still cause for uncertainty, I urge you to rethink."

Seeing and touching it didn't jog any memories as he'd hoped but remained hopeful, inspecting it further for any other detail between his fingertips. "Are you serious?"

"No proof otherwise." Lucifer faced his colleague with a faltering step his way, still stumped and staring at his new brother. "We had a conversation not too long ago about the possibility of you having siblings and I thought you'd hate the idea. But in your words, 'It would be a dream come true to have one, are you kidding? I can spoil him and give him everything I never had,'. What can I say to justify not bringing him to your literal doorstep?"

And in that moment, Astaroth understood the implication. Completely. One good act could never rule out one evil in the same breath, and Lucifer was taking a massive chance with where the conversation would eventually lead to. Such a fragile matter would break him to pieces, soul and all. All he could do was fight for the weaker hoping he wouldn't turn into a brown husk while attempting to beat him at his own game. "I completely agree, Lucy, but you can't expect him to just go with the decisions you make for him." He needn't look but he knew Eligor would catch on, his mood drastically fading as the seconds ticked in anticipation for a reply from the other demon. "Look at him, he doesn't want to be here."

It was working. "Wait, what decision?"

Lucifer wasn't in the mood, snapping from a pleasant aura to absolute impatience that he had figured him out. "Now isn't the time for your democratic ideals. Think rationally about this."

Eligor regarded them in their turns, his features falling to mediocre at best as he pieced together the remnants they chose to say out loud. "I am, and the only conclusion I can come up with is for his input. If you care about him the way I assume you do, you'll listen to what he has to say-"

"HE HAS NO SAY!" It wasn't a shout but louder than his usual mellifluous tone, echoing through the empty hall and encircling their bodies like a hostile whirlwind individually tailored for their own personal disquiet. Eligor flinching was what sent them both over their edges, opposing directions. "He needs stability, and you are the one who has to give it to him."

"You've been doing fine this far." Astaroth no longer needed to hide his displeasure, quietly dismissing his colleagues attempt at a futile excuse for the real reason he made the trip.

Lucifer mirrored his intimidating stare in a dare to judge his predicament on the subject. "I know what's best for him. I have to do this."

"And what is it that you have to do?"

He asked not expecting an answer as per protocol, and Astaroth wouldn't stand for him leaving his brother empty handed; Eligor deserved as much from what he could tell of their relationship, and Lucifer's nature wouldn't allow for him to stoop to that level. "He's leaving you. He brought you here under the cover of believing you need more than he can offer when in truth he can't get to grips with what he feels for you. Is that it?"

The accused straightened to his full height with no confirmation or denial to his interrogation but merely twitched his nose in irritation. "Leaving? What? Why?" Eligor is now annoyed that he had been downgraded to be given away as is pleased, an ordinary toy being handed from one owner to the next – he couldn't make it easy for him. Two can play that game. "Offer me what? He knows what I want."

"And I have told you numerous times I can't give it to you."

They made eye contact for the first real time since the morning's escapades unable to notice one another's sheer unhappiness by brute force of their own ripping their hearts in two. The smaller man huffed in rage as shivers rolled down his spine at the unqualified lie spat in his face after having defended the sentiment – with evidence – and unimpressed that he clung to that same argument as if it smoothed cement in the cracks on their path to actually becoming something, whatever it may have been. "You can; let's not deny who you are."

The callous voice came from behind him. "Let's take into every account who I am, Ash. A moment to process the thought of me, evil incarnate-"

"That's an old title-"

"-risking your brother's life by meagre existence."

The captain stepped forward on instinct, standing next to the composed ball of disenchanted rage rooting him to the spot. "Now you're pulling things out of your ass. Just fucking admit that-"

"What am I admitting, Astaroth?" Head held high, Lucifer marched uncomfortably into Eligor's space in self-righteous cert that the older brother would break his motion and bring his intent one step closer to completion and thusly did as expected, ripping his brother vehemently out of harm's way and nearly dislocating his shoulder in the process. There was no way Ash could be sure of his intention until it was too late. "Enlighten me."

The sixty second tantrum was unnecessary, he thought, thinking that perhaps Eligor had dodged a bullet to be rid from the beast and all his true forms, lessening his grip on the frail arm but not entirely letting go for his own safety. But the man moved of his own accord, gently pulling his limb free to stand directly behind his protector to rest his weighted, swirling mind at the centre of his back and clutching lightly at the fabric of his shirt ill-equipped to handle the demon in that state. In the same movement Ash shielded him completely from Lucifer's immature outburst, deflecting the evil look in is eyes and increasing it tenfold as he spoke to his brother, glaring straight ahead and feeling nothing for the monster and his petty retreat. "Eligor, I take it all back. You have no future with this abomination. You have a better chance at a rewarding life with me. I have the power to fulfil your deepest, utmost desires, whatever they may be, and I will do so with all my might if you choose to stay. Dante and I will be your family from here on out and seek out a happy life for you. You will be at the centre of our home and a better person with us than would come close to anything he's tried in his entire life. That sound good?" Twisting his head to the front door, he remained still to gauge the disposition behind him not needing to look to hear his heart break in two. Eligor nodded sluggishly, gripping the shirt tighter to draw what strength he could from its fibres. Astaroth's eyes flicked to his friend in disgust, his head following suit at a normal speed. "Are you happy?"

You could taste the vile foaming on the sides of his mouth uncaring to the smidge of regret flashing in the orbs of silver. "Don't do this-"

"He isn't. But I'm glad you are." He turned and felt the grasp cease and avoided his gaze altogether, grabbing the same arm for a tender squeeze of comfort and courage rubbing his thumb against the softness of the dark hooded cloak, thinking it insufficient as preparation for the conversation the man never imagined having. "You say what you need to. I'll be right outside." To his surprise, the smaller man reciprocated with what he could, laying his other hand over the touching gesture and breathed deeply, illustrating the flow of its purpose travel through his bloodstream and halt at his neck where he raised head in soothing gratitude, smiling meekly but grassed by an escaped tear defiling his untainted, innocent skin.

They let go, and the older paid no attention to Lucifer as he turned to leave but simply left him with a thought on their wavelength, telepathically submitting words of resolute solitude void of reaction that would ring true for a long, long time:

…May his broken heart stain your conscience until you turn to dust…

The smaller man kept his eyes on Astaroth as he left through the corner door leaving them alone for one last time, and painful as it may be, he cursed himself thinking they had a chance, a little bubble inside the massive fortress that served as a true haven for him and Lucifer and all of their memories soaked into the walls without knowing his days were numbered. In hindsight he should have, given his company, but that same unrealistic hope brought him back each time that Lucifer would lean closer to the end of the stick where he would stand waiting, and waiting – and never enough for the seesaw to fully tip on his end of the playground as a definite yes to their situation. In retrospect, it was fun while it lasted; a roof over his head, a warm bed to sleep in, food in his belly, and learning beyond his comprehension of the universe – he should be thanking him, but the current moment called for a different emotion to push forth. He took a deep breath and held it in puffed cheeks, willing the image of a black canvas into his brain to last six seconds at most. "I guess that's decided."

Supposed evil incarnate looked at him this time, keeping his natural poise observing the refined body crumble under finality. "It's the right-"

"Fuck off with what you think is right." Eligor was in no mood for what he had to say, moving on autopilot and regretfully getting in the demon's space which used to be his place of necessitated respite, but presently standing up to a stranger with one less burden to nurse. He pressed a single digit into his chest, drumming in time with every biting syllable he spoke. "And for the record, that's the most I've ever heard you speak at one time."

It was Lucifer's pet peeve and he knew it, hating the general notion of someone else in command and giving him orders like some kind of servant. His wrist was hastily seized and moved out of his line of sight. "It's for your own good."

"You don't know what good is."

The bigger man resorted to an almost whisper that packed more punch than a scream at any decibel, a shadow of onyx flashing in his silver irises but Eligor had nothing to fear. The one thing he feared above all else just unfolded without his input alongside an unsatisfactory uncontrollable burn using the reserve oxygen in his lungs as fuel to flourish and ready to combust in the unworthy splendour of his unhappiness. "You're hurting, I get that-"

"You don't. How could you?" Equally as mild, disproportionate in malice.

He hadn't pulled away, forcing Lucifer to stand silently impeding his ability of coherent thinking, defeated and surprisingly exhausted at the turn of events. "Eli-"

"No. There's been time. I have given you my time, and you've wasted it." The position of their bodies was bizarrely calming, giving them both a moment to catch themselves before history served them some piping hot regret for lunch; the loose hand floated to his reddened cheeks as the tears fell and found it shockingly comfortable crying in front of him – another discovery too late – while Lucifer endured a small piece of him dying at the sight of how truly sad he was. "There's no one else to blame."

Eligor stood fixed in solace as the demon stepped closer, noting the anger in his stomach subsiding the more he dared, a shallower breath posing as a side effect of his waning sanity. "Don't make this difficult."

He could almost laugh, bearing those pearly fangs in a broad, mocking sneer juxtaposed to the deliberately empty gaze glaring back. "Goodbyes are meant to be difficult, or they wouldn't be goodbyes." He effectively wiped away the wet streaks on his face, eliminating the trace of Lucifer ever inducing him to such a despicable condition because of a nonsense effect on his stupid psyche. "But you don't see this as a goodbye, do you?" And even as he said this, every fibre of his being begged for a last reminder of Lucifer's taste, that sickly sour temptation presented in a unblemished bow below his nose that, too, anticipated his kiss but fought fervently against the urge, steadily laying his free palm flush on the perfectly carved chest and unscrewing from his grasp, using the unyielding figure as leverage to push himself away and stand facing the adjacent wall awaiting his brother's return and holding his arms behind his back as the demon always found him upon arriving home, and in a way sardonically using their shared mannerisms for someone else's attention.

A pained hush fell and deafened the occupants, echoing the room like a melting sandstorm ready to either sweep them from under their feet or bury them neck deep in their own remorse, reliant on their own perseverance to dig upward and eventually out, leaving a gaping hole that looked all too comfy a spot to serve in the rest of eternity. Lucifer breathed infirm confidence into his lungs and turned to leave, having nothing more to say as he flipped the hood over his head and conjuring his uniform from the very item – dark, silky, rustling cotton mixed with an abundance of black leather and shiny metal squeaking while walking to the door; the oversized thing began its ritual of unlocking within a reasonable proximity of his aura, taking the opportunity to look ruefully to the figure now with his hands over his face quelling the storm reverberating through his core and trying not to cry out loud.

…I'm not worth your tears…

As the door closed behind him and the last bits of his armour slinked in place, the soldier took a moment for the freezing cold air to overwhelm his sordid body and lungs, drenching him back to his reality minus the thing that made it worth living. Lucifer closed his eyes and got it together, bunching today's series of events under the 'process later' shit pile as he paced left, remembering the general direction of his home. God, when was the last time he walked anywhere? Like a blessing in disguise Vergil took the corner and reached him head on, dusting and adjusting the straps and buckles of his new armour for a better fit that made him immediately bemoan his new title. No helmet. "Lucifer. I was on my way to you."

Of course he was, the prim and proper sod. This was the normal procedure, so why was he so fussy all of a sudden? "I saved you a trip. Ready?"

Vergil met with no reply but simply called Yamato from its middle ground, unsheathing the fearsome sword and searching for a suitable spot of flat ground for their portal. "Are you okay?"

They had worked together long enough for the hybrid to pick on the small things, a crack in his voice here and a bubble in his throat there, but he chose to play it off to save face in the company of his underling. Sorry. Equal from now on. "I am. Is there something on my face?"

After finding a good spot, Vergil spun and saw Lucifer's irises and pupils become one in a flaming mush to his usual unliving state, an off-grey matte finish with crystallised silver along the edges doubling in size with no compensative glossy texture that transformed him into a deadly, heartless machine designed purely for death and destruction to those who consciously choose to oppose the law. And yet to his surprise, a teleporting gust of blue took a cyan handkerchief from his inner pocket and dabbed at his left cheek, folding it back into a perfect square and hiding it from view. "Not anymore."

He blinked. "Great. Let's go." Vergil returned to his place and commenced a vertical and horizontal slash of his sword, peeling at the cross section and opening in blue and purple static to a full-sized diamond shape fraying at its borders. He stood aside for Lucifer to head in first as etiquette dictates the more powerful of the pair to enter first, lightly putting his hand on the small of his commanding officer's back as he stepped through. "You tell no one of what you saw today."

He stopped to acknowledge his effort but stared ahead to save them both the trouble. "I have no idea what you're talking about." Their eyes met swiftly with a curt nod, Vergil hot on Lucifer's tail as the portal began to close and disappear into oblivion to continue routine as normal.

---

Eligor's ears rang indefinitely at the sound of the final locks clicking the door shut and a last ditched effort for a few milliseconds of silence before crumpling like a wilting wisteria on himself, using what strength he could to prop his heavy torso by his knees. He couldn't give in to the overwhelming sense of loss at the literal chapter closing on him, maintaining easy and pacifying lungfuls of lukewarm air to feed his overcharged mind into a recessive daze for just a single moment, using pure will and his unrelenting desire to keep fighting at the elapsed thirty minutes and its damage to his spirit. The man had no patience to dwell on the affair but who could blame him? One thousand, two hundred and eighty-one days was the estimate grinding down the garbage disposal with other elements of waste rotting away in his subconscious; full colour memories became black and white newspaper headlines fading as the liquid ink oozed from its purpose and resulted in a measly Rorschach blob floating in the dark abyss of his mind, camouflaged with the rest of his immaterial opinions he never thought would play a pivotal role in piling on top of one another to squash the new addition from existence. That's all there was to it, right? For now, it would have to do. After two raspberries and a stiff talking to, he picked himself from the slump of his own bubble and sagged his head, rubbing the back of his neck with both hands eager to release the 'feel like shit' endorphin from his hair follicles and into the space he occupied, metaphorically setting it alight with no hopes of return. His view switched to Astaroth as quietly entered, appropriately saddened by what he'd just witnessed and making his way over. "I'm really sorry."

"Don't be." His slouch perked at the image of frosted green and tall stature that would now be his guardian for the remainder of who knew how long, radiating sparkles that flowed life into his body. "I'm sorry that had to be the way for us to meet."

It was the mildest grounds for apology, and he so badly wanted nothing more than to waft its irrelevance in the face but kept to his own, hoping not to offend him further while approaching little by little, unsure of how to proceed within the context and unnatural opening of Pandora's Box. "Can I give you a hug?" Eligor prayed for the contact, taking a step toward him before finishing his question and practically dissolved into his brother's frame and the subtle warmth of his touch. It gave him reason to believe it was going to be okay, even more so with the mellow rubs on his back that sent jitters down his spine. "I promise… we'll take care of you."

Astaroth's light, husky tone gave boost to his tired limbs. "I believe you."

But the elder couldn't be serious for longer than needed, and to his credit, his happiness was contagious. "And now if you'll excuse me, I HAVE A FUCKING BABY BROTHER!" Had he shouted any louder there may have been a mini earthquake rippling through the circles above, swaying with him from side to side and shaking loose the gunk collecting in his brother's ears. The huge teddy bear went around his back and pinched the thin arms curled around him, taking a step back to gape at his sibling who had ostensibly ignored his havoc. "Let me get a good look at you." He mulled at arm's length with a shy smile flavoured in an impressed array of spices, giving him the once over before diving to the nitty gritty up close. Astaroth got to work immediately and held the confused face in his hands. "Baby greens, check." Moving lower, he pulled a face showing off his incisors, deftly prompting the same from his test subject; he complied. "Canines, check." A slight head tilt, his fingertips tracing a line from the base of his ears to his chin. "Jawline that can cut cheese, check." He earned a little chuckle and rightfully so, moving lower to his shoulders, chest, and feeling his way down to one particular aspect that was a dead giveaway with every man harbouring the Nygård name. "Birthing hips, check. Don't ask why we have that…" Eligor had no plan to, staying in neutral gear while his body went under intense scrutiny in an act of definite cheering up, going as low as his bare calves, ankles and feet 'to examine his proportional growth'. But as he rose, he observed the anxious face in its entirety, a sombre aftertaste on his otherwise pristine palate; the man didn't share the same broad smile, still feeling self-conscious and raw but slowly getting to where he needed to be. "Too much?"

He'd admit to loving the attention, yet it seemed miles different to how he expected to feel. "No, not at all…" and skewed his face in quick succession, unsure if it was up for questioning altogether.

"What's wrong then?"

What the hell, Astaroth was no nonsense enough to just ask directly. "I'm… ummmm…You see," he began, the tenacious emeralds cheering him on. "I had long given up the search to find any traces of family down here… I thought Lucifer would be what I was looking for, but it turns out-" He stood in suspended animation crushing an invisible goblet in his hand, digging his nails into his palm and shaking his head in discomfort. "Imgettingawayfrommypoint – what I mean to say is…" He recovered well, clearing his throat of the premature build-up and swallowed the lump quickly. "There was… is… still a chance that… you may need time to… adjust… because of… what…" He grew tired of his own blathering, blowing another raspberry in defeat. "Do you like me?"

The elder brother raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That's your question?" It turned soft, sexy, so undeniably the definition of the man standing in front of him. "Eligor, I fell in love with you when you walked in, and now I have reason to love you even more. Not that I'm biased… or anything." And by the force of nature known as luck, Eligor's giggle was the perfect side dish to the main course that was an incredibly cute smile on his face. Things were starting to look up, and although far from adequate, it was a start. As if on impulse Astaroth remembered one last concluding trial, bending forward and sniffing under his brother's left ear – the ultimate sweet spot to any and all unliving. He responded the only way he could, circling his grip around Astaroth's upper arms in a harmless tizzy and burrowing into unadulterated muscle of religious note. "God, you smell like honey. I haven't smelled anything this good since-" and the clock inside his head chimed twice, the unneeded second time for urgency, looking at him gravely as the fragments flew over his Viking-styled half ponytail. "You haven't been sired."

He'd never heard the word, but it sounded important. "Sired?"

Astaroth swatted the idea away like a fly, switching on care mode for such a thing to be discussed later. "We can talk about that another time."

"If it can take my mind off the past half hour, I'd greatly appreciate talking about it now."

"I really don't think such a topic would-" and Eligor's face sunk like a submarine without a propeller, truly eager to learn whatever he needed to under his brother's guidance. Now was as a good a time as any, wasn't it? He seemed to hold his brother's attention anyway. "Okay." A light touch to the balustrade brought a slight rumble to its foundation as vines of tile peeked and swam in slender reeds in the area in front of them, bending and twisting on one another to form two picturesque garden chairs and a bundle of logs between, a thick sheet of glass setting itself on top of the ceramic peaks bowing outward to support the overall structure. As the top of the table was deemed steady, a prepared jug of water and two highball tumblers raised from the glass, filling with ice and lemon eagerly awaiting this very moment.

The brotherly cool factor went up exponentially. "Really?"

"Why not." Astaroth gestured to the chair to their right and they moved in tandem to their seats. Reaching for the jug, he poured two full glasses and set one in front of his sibling, downing his own in one swallow. "We hadn't touched on it, but can I assume you know you're an incubus…?" He dragged the last word waiting for his brother's acknowledgement of the obvious – a quick nod gave him the answer, nearly spilling his drink. "As incubi, better known as sex demons, we have a craving for sex as a means of sustenance, more so than other demons specialising in other things. We, too, get off from witnessing the pleasure of others, but at a smaller scale. In the early years it can be controlled because the knowledge or concept of intercourse develops quite late, but once puberty hits, it becomes an annoyance or a hankering depending on whether you're with someone or not."

Eligor sipped his water, tasting unlike anything he's ever had. When was the last time he had water? "I haven't had that."

"I can only assume you two did it often enough for you not to notice." He followed, pouring and drinking his second glass as fast as the first. The younger noted the jug wasn't getting any emptier either. "I take it Lucifer didn't pitch?" At this insinuation Eligor healthily choked on his drink, thinking the man across from him waited for the exact instant it was halfway down his oesophagus to spring the opinion over the table. "His train wasn't going in any of your tunnels? His chicken nugget wasn't being dipped in your sweet and sour sauce?"

The red tinge to the man's face couldn't have been solely from his struggles, surely, coughing his lungs out until he was sure he forced every drop from his windpipe. "That's a new one." A few more and he was good to go, wiping the corners his mouth on his sleeve parallel to masking a deep sated laugh tussling all day to find its way to the surface – the elder smiled fondly at the melodic ring to it, finally unlocking its darn near full potential with a simple euphemism. "My chicken nugget was the one doing the dipping."

He stared sincerely back; this must be one special motherfucker, he thought, not finding a better word to fit seamlessly as his gaze drifted off centre from his focal point. "That's incredible."

Eligor hesitated his sip, just in case. "What is?"

Astaroth got comfier in his seat, leaning back and spreading his legs as far as his slacks would allow and gripped the chair where the new gap formed. "Lucifer, the king of horny and sexing everything with a pulse, didn't sire you."

He wasn't wrong. "Is… is that bad?"

He tucked his feet under his chair. "Well, when the sire happens, you're at your sexual peak and will never feel that again. Your sire partner is generally picked out for you by a few factors, but mainly physicality and strength. The more powerful the nugget, the tangier the sauce." A sly wink over the rim of his glass before he continued. "The act of an incubus losing its virginity to a powerful being is sacred in that it literally dictates your sex drive and physical development. The con to that is that you develop an underlying attachment to that being that cannot be explained; regardless of how you feel toward your particular nugget, you will feel a sense of obligation to whomever sired you."

One of the aspects was a lesser evil, and it wasn't the issue of physicality. "So, Lucifer didn't want the attachment?"

Astaroth's face froze mid factoid thinking in fast forward for the plainest answer in sight, his tongue licking between the inside of his cheek and mouth. "I don't think Lucifer has ever sired anyone." Across the table, two dark eyebrows rose in shock. "And the fear attached to that link drove him here…"

That seemed to obstinately calm him, twisting his features like it was the textbook excuse to exonerate Lucifer for his actions. Still, it made sense, and not far out the ballpark of boundaries he set himself with Eligor. "Why couldn't he say that?"

There was no way of knowing apart from asking the demon himself; no one had achieved more progress with Lucifer than the very man sitting in front of him. "It's easier for him to cut ties with him thinking you hate him, so whatever he could do to infuriate you, it's on his to-do list. I don't need to tell you this, but he isn't a fan of feeling things. I've always hated that about him." Rolling his eyes he downed his last glass, placing it on the table and climbed back into his uncomfortable posture. "And as your resident older brother, I should go over there and punch him a new asshole, but I have to work with him every day. All I can do is make his life a living hell. Would that be sufficient?"

"As much as I'd pay a limb, he's been your friend longer than I've been your brother." He spoke softly, like it hurt for him to say.

Astaroth snorted. "That's not-"

Their heads snapped to the miniscule noise respectively, seeing the knob of the entryway rotate in minus tempo and the hard wood replaced by a strapping figure draped in red leather tapping at a handheld device before retiring it to his pocket and looking to the seated pair: the head of sex hair bobbed airily as he walked while his heavy-set coat shifted in the same indiscernible breeze from before, snugged up tight and dreamily framing his shape; as he turned at the end of the mini balcony it revealed him shirtless under his jacket, the sole other piece of clothing a flimsy black sweatpants with drawstrings hanging loosely on his hips and showing off the gist of his inguinal crease, casting a shadow of absolute perfection the nearer he trod. "I know you told me to wait but you were taking forever." The statement was aimed at the holder of this sacred secret, visibly enjoying the internal skirmish of his brother, slack-jawed and unknowingly tonguing the rim of his glass. The stranger's smile made him one hundred times more charming, targeting the younger for all his worth as he bolted unexpectedly from his chair perplexed at how outright handsome he was. A double whammy out of nowhere. Fun. The guest shook his hair attempting to make sense of it as he approached them, reinforcing an edge of intimidation he wasn't going for – a 'crush you in hugs' kind of way. Illegal, in theory. "Dante."

Eligor managed to take the outstretched hand and shake it, falling victim in the vibrant orbs of untainted blue. His hands were soft to the touch, skilled, unreasonably gentle. "Eligor. Pleasure… to meet you."

Dante noted his firm grip and littler, similar build to his fiancé, his eyes undeniably belonging to him too. "It's a little early, but…" he said, a slow exhale bending his frame in a grateful embrace one could describe as simply wonderful, sneaking beneath the younger's arms and snuggling in that way rather than the easier over-the-top but it was adorable all the same. Unfortunately for the subject he succumbed to a tighter cuddle with unjust chest muscles flexing against his clothing, not at all helping with the information he'd learned seconds ago about cravings and such. He trusted himself to enjoy it – almost – as his thoughts lingered to the healing element of physical contact and how great the duo made him feel for appearing in their lives close to an hour prior. Threads of white brushed his cheek as the red collar laid rest on his shoulder, taking a breath in the deepest crook of his neck and filling his lungs with the smell tucked from view. Bewitched by unreserved compulsion of richest form, Eligor lost his footing on reality and basked in the feeling, raking through the softness and clumping his hair between his fingers; his lips grazed a vein on his way to resume posture and the younger became horrified by his own actions, immediately claiming his limbs and dusting his cloak from his mistake of remarkable proportion. Neither creature paid him heed moving around frantically to straighten his appearance. "Yep, honey," said Dante, turning his attention back to the flustered mess. "Sorry, I couldn't resist."

He wasn't listening the two times he spoke – if that was what he smelled like, this was undoubtedly what it sounded like. He looked to his brother for a change of pace, only slightly subsiding in embarrassment at the naughty expression soaking his demonic pores. "Is the honey supposed to be a thing?"

A confident nod. A half smirk that spread like lava across the lower half of his face. "It's our family scent. The purity is a symbol that you're a virgin, an unspoiled body if you will; those who have had sex smell like a mix of their own notes and the one chosen to do the deed. A ping for predators on the prowl if they get too close and a warning sign not to be messed with depending on your sirer… Is that a word?" The coupled shrugged. "Once you're sired, your smell changes to a fresher, more real scent with only undertones of your original scent. That scent is unique to everyone, even to shared partners."

Dante stretched is arms and crunched his fists, jerking them back in. "Layman's terms, designed to pull you in by the balls…"

Eligor chuckled to save face, his thoughts a million miles away from the pleasantries unfolding between the couple. His posture drooped without the mental energy to keep him from slouching, rewinding to that very morning he floundered in their bedroom sheets and beaming in the happiest possible state of being, smothered in silk and what he assumed to be a different formula to affection from whom he thought liked what they shared. He had been flogged raw rolled in salt by his own means feeling the grains stick to his flesh for a lasting sting, coming to terms with having more bad than good in the days to come. And he was fine with it. Lucifer did the same every time, that same sniff that set off fireworks leading straight down and forgetting the hollow shell that pushed him to do what he did, no substance to his actions yet pressing forward because the moment called for it. He felt so dumb; it may have contradicted his brother's words, but if he wanted to be hated then so be it. He'd hate him more than anyone. And he'd be proud. And Eligor wouldn't care. He chuckled again.

At this Dante frowned, knowing Astaroth left him a piece of the puzzle to discover on his own. A flash of red brought him from Hell and bumped him in the chest, made worse by the glaring pools of worry tainting his image. "Hey, what's wrong?"

He shrunk, losing more of his glow as his eyes wandered over the straps of his coat. "What do you mean?"

"Last warning. You can't bullshit me." A warning it was, his voice actively flipping a switch embedded in his Adam's apple. "Did you break a controller? That makes me sad sometimes."

It may not have been the smartest thing to say, but it was certainly the best shortcut in making him feel better. "Nothing like that," said Eligor, using his sleeves to wipe away the fresh falling tears he so anxiously held at bay. "Just a stupid break up. But I'll be-"

"Give me a name." Dante fixed his focus on the wall of brass, chewing a sudden bad taste in his mouth.

And then he peered down. "Don't worry ab-"

"I didn't ask that."

It was Astaroth's turn to look smug in the background, folding his arms in anticipation of the three syllables that would make Dante climb off his thoroughbred and removing his rusting, shining armour. "Lucifer."

And again unravelling then, he waved his hands to conduct the one-man orchestra revelling in the sing-song nature of the name and the utter dismay on his betrothed's face. "I'm gonna need you to repeat that last word. I thought you said Lucifer." Watching that penny drop was a marvellous sight, catching the second his conviction altered to disorientation: no, he hadn't heard wrong. "Lucifer? LUCIFER Lucifer?" Saying his name multiple times wouldn't help either. "I am holier than thou Lucifer?" That instant his voice went up an octave? Crisp. "Needing to change the witch's broom up his ass daily Lucifer?"

Astaroth hid his amusement well, curling his mouth inward and biting hard. "Dante-"

"One more." He held up a single digit, inadvertently pointing to a picture of failed resistance cackling silently with his shoulders. Astaroth sighed. "The Monday of everyone's life Lucifer? YOU'RE KIDDING!" The detail wouldn't sink for a while but he pulled Eligor from his momentary slump and to a better space mentally and emotionally, giving him no excuses not to listen to what Dante had to say. Jokes aside, the red demon's hands slithered onto Eligor's upper arms bringing the whole room to a hush, kneading the knots upward as he talked to restore what was lost in the fray. "Okay, now you listen to me… There are people… beings out there who don't deserve the good they have in their lives. Take Lucifer as a prime example: yes, he can be a good dude; yes, he's terrifyingly good at what he does, but aaaaall of that is driven by one single thing." He lifted a finger and wiggled it front of the other man's face, showing its insignificance without the other four. "Pride. To the extent that it becomes detrimental to him and those surrounding him, but he lost a big chunk of that today." The same finger found reprieve in a spot on his bony chest; he went to look. "You." The digit now floated under his chin, holding his head up high. "Take pleasure in knowing he's probably fucking miserable right now."

The outsider moved closer to their bubble genuinely moved by the improvised speech. "I thought you two got along."

"Like sand and ice cream, I know…" The irony was lost on no one. "Hey, don't get me wrong, we're unstoppable on the field but nothing makes me happier than pissing him off or seeing him cheesed to his limit. I do it in tiny stages to see how far I can take him before my head lands on a pike in his front yard." Dante sounded oddly sad that it hadn't happened yet but transferred his focus, sombrely addressing the last few bulky tears waiting for their turn to tumble from their green backdrop. "You are no longer his prisoner or his leash. You are you now. Your adventure starts here." And finally they fell, two of many he supposed, making their first and last slow descent filled to the brim with sadness and regret, taking their time downward to relish their seven second lifespan; he fiddled in his pockets and came up with a crimson handkerchief with his initial embroidered in one corner, folding it into a tiny square and handing it over to Eligor, who took it appreciatively. "We'll give you tonight. We'll move you in and you can do all the reminiscing and crying you want. Tomorrow morning, we can hit the main library, grab you some books and go from there, alright?" He made a fist and nudged it against the tensing jaw. "If it was meant to be, he'll come back. This could be a blessing in disguise, but only time can tell you that. And we're here if things aren't okay."

The younger felt the jar of his lid closing tightly, releasing some of the internal pressure before the final twists sealed his sorrow from view, hissing as the remaining air seeped through the chamber before being locked away in a fairly lit room with no means of escape. It couldn't go into the dark room just yet. "Thank you, Dante. Thank you, Astaroth." He dabbed at his eyes and cheeks and blew into the hankie to force the earlier gunk out for good. "Let me wash this before I give it back to you."

The white mop of hair shook, moving with its owner's disagreement. "Keep it. In case I die then they can pin it on you." Eligor's blush was a godsend, the smile ever more so.

Astaroth gently popped the bubble to grab his brother's closest elbow. "Let's have a bath. We have much catching up to do."

He made sure to grab one hand and Dante the other, leading them along like a demonic three-man paper chain to the rest of the house. The prospect of a new home, new books, and a new family clouded too much of his brain to compute the previous implication, allowing himself to be dragged like a ragdoll with his subconscious screaming through a smokescreen of disorder. "All three of us? Together?"

"Why not?" His brother spun on his heel and looked to a window that materialised from nothing to show the gloomy sky, disappearing in a satisfying pop when he gauged the time of day and finding two bug eyes of curious. "Let's not waste time. It's getting late and I don't deal well with cold."

As they crossed the threshold, Dante began deadbolting the poor thing, talking with his exclusive trace of sweetness reflective of his demon side wanting to start some trouble. "Dear, do you have someone in mind for your brother?"

Eligor's grip constricted both ways, pulling at the hand in his brother's grasp as he watched them contemplate the question. "I do not." His pitch wasn't too obvious but it was there, agreeing to his partner's anecdote to increase the middle man's blood pressure. "Do you still have your brother's number?"

The long corridor produced a pleasant echo, the word 'brother' bouncing against every inch of cement and the inside of his skull. "Vergil? Sure."

He hadn't been paying attention to the trip, missing Astaroth's warning and nearly falling on the two steps that lead to the main bathroom. Dante exaggerated his movements to not succumb to a similar fate as Astaroth turned on the taps to fill the superfluously massive corner bath, flipping a switch on the wall to dim the lights to baby making level. It took him a few seconds to form the word. "Brother?"

Dante nodded with a full pout, peeling off his jacket and hanging it over a stool. "Twin brother. Identical, but less pretty." He smirked and Eligor's mouth went oddly dry. "Stubborn as a fucking mule though."

With the bath now full, Astaroth's attention went solely to his brother still fully clothed, coming around the back and delicately undoing the clasp on his cloak resting his chin on his shoulder. "When was the last time you had a bath?" He moved only to roll the piece of clothing into a ball and toss it into an open laundry basket, spinning him around in one powerful swing and toying with the elastic waist of his jogger; he gripped at either side and snuck his hands between his brother's bare hips and the material, carefully sliding them down to the point where they fell themselves and pinned it to the ground with a bare foot at the centre bridge, holding onto his smaller hands for balance to step out of the offending clothing and kicked the fabric off to the opposite end of the room. Eligor hadn't yet answered.

Astaroth snickered, lacing their fingers and pulling him close to plant a soft, lingering kiss on his forehead. "Let's get you cleaned up."

---

True Dante took his leave from the roof, jumping with the full force of gravity onto the small balcony and trudged back inside the house with heavy shoulders, shutting the sliding door and its partnered curtains to go about his business making things right between the two flaring personalities on edge from their earlier mouthful. Sparda made sure to wait a minute minimum to be in the clear as he inhaled deeply, cracking his neck at four divergent angles before exhaling with the building pressure on his skull rupturing like a fresh glowstick without its signature excitement. He rubbed the fluorescent goo at his neck and confirmed the drifting silence below, turning his attention to the chimney where Nero had found him and called out to no one. "That went well."

The person he addressed lay occupied on his haunches scratching at a lone bird's head, zoned out from the spat a few metres away and marvelling at the contrast of the fauna on the surface compared to the array of bats roaming the circles underneath – never before had he seen a clean white coat of feathers speckled in gold up close, the usual wild pigeons scattering in disorganised clumps at the sight of another species venturing close. The bird took interest in the attention, shuffling nearer to his hand and cuddling closer to his small nest to wade off the chill in the night air. The man looked worried to the scrawny frame holding the unsoiled plumage in place and left his scratching to find a stone on the ground, dusting off the elements and using his bare hands to shape a miniature water bowl to fit inside his half-spherical abode filling to the brim with the liquid by his simple touch; he fiddled while reaching into his left pocket, conjuring a mixed handful of juicy blueberries and hazelnuts and setting them next to the makeshift vessel, chuckling as the bird stole one last rub before waddling over to the food. He then realised the silence, defaulting to his list of responses showing supposed interest to what had been going on and caring less if it made sense. "Yes, I would say the same."

The bird chirped cutely as he stood, giving it an extra bout of love at full height and towering over the bricked structure, stepping out into the moonlight and claiming his rightful entrance with the luminous spotlight proving him most otherworldly and rightfully devilish in his posture: an all-black suit covered him head to toe, pressed and immaculate down to the sword and shield cufflinks gracing his wrists, the thick-set platinum rings on each index finger, and the matching vine leaf necklace peaking from under his long sleeved shirt. Two metal chains strained comfortably around his left thigh while another snaked from his right hip into the corresponding blazer pocket, the sole accessory that served no purpose other than to confuse his sense of style. A pair of high-top combat boots hugged his calves and splintered the peace as he walked, popping the collar on his raven trench coat for better effect to his one-man audience standing at the edge of the roof. He scuffed his left temple, bringing attention to a rusty, outdated, and unreasonably wide metal cuff bolted to his skin under his shirt, and furthermore the two studded lobes of diamond in each ear and the obsidian industrial snug in his right shining justly as it intended. The man yawned quietly, revealing a standard midline bar and titanium snake eyes piercing through the tip of his tongue, clicking happily against his teeth as the yawn subsided. The square designer sunglasses were the last and most important touch to his outfit, adjusting them slightly up his perfect nose as he raised his head to glare at his superior and his adjoining upturned eyebrows. "It doesn't take rocket science to understand the strange relationship you have with your children."

A relationship it was and barely so, skating on ice thinning with every passing comment but just strong enough to keep him afloat each time, seeing the cracks form around him in zigzagging attempts at circles and never crossing where he stood, frozen in place between his obsessive need to control and know every decision his adult sons made and letting them live their own lives as said grown men. Signs of caution came at every angle, ropes and lifesaver floats of trepidation for his old-aged way of thinking and ignoring them under firm belief of their misery on the surface, opting for change of pace because they despised the routine turn they managed to stomach for the first century of their lives. But he had been watching them for some time and they seemed fine – happy – enjoying a new life without varying temperatures of air and smells at either end of the unpleasant stick, a monochrome existence free from blood spatters and pleas of forgiveness. He didn't like it one bit. Their talents were wasted. He'd fix that. Sparda looked straight ahead to the calm evening sky suddenly ready to get on with satisfying the two instances of mayhem on the itinerary, individually cracking the carbon dioxide from his knuckles and shaking his hands loose for a new build up of fluid to begin. "I'm sorry you had to hear that."

"I wasn't listening," replied Lucifer, tucking his hands in his pockets while staring in the same general direction. Whatever they spoke about, the twins were probably right. He'd long ago chosen to side with whomever was against his usurper in any situation, and as his bodyguard, it was only fitting to give him hell when not readily available within arm's reach. "But you ignored my warnings and here we are, so I'll take the apology for that instead."

The king took a step hallway off the roof and looked down in the bizarrely clean side alley for signs of life. "You don't have to be right all the time, your magnificence."

"That would go against everything I stand for." His comeback was suave and diplomatic, squaring his shoulders with all the natural conceit he could muster and faking the enjoyment of a deep lungful of polluted air, a single cough tingling his tonsils as it lived up to standard to the rumours he'd expected before their foolish trek. He was a smartass and it took one to know one, smirking as both their peripheral thinking intersected the same boundaries if the previous display was anything to go on. "How far is our location?"

Sparda looked up and over the dimming horizon channelling his inner Captain Cook seeking the ping on the two males who had made the earlier call – instead of asking for the exact address like any normal working brain, he used the 'I'll find you' line as per his script and overlooked the fact that he'd be searching Earth and not his playing ground, wanting to sound cool to the Chief of police but ending up shooting himself in the foot within a sea of hundreds of humans. He then zeroed in on the next step of their enquiry: the smell. He picked up quickly one that was unlike the other, snapping his head on route to the house that only vaguely fit the given description from afar, but he was certain. "North east; thirty-five minutes on foot."

Lucifer joined him on his own piece of ledge, turning his back to the town and facing the bird merrily chewing on a blueberry. "Let's get moving. I haven't had some bloody fun in a while."

Void of feeling, just the way Sparda liked it. "Not too much fun. We have another stop to make before going home and being covered in blood won't make much of an impression."

He didn't like the word; the first half of it contained the letters 'impress' and that was what he did for survival. Presently, it meant absolutely nothing to him. "I'm too old for that. I don't care what anyone thinks." The king's eyes twinkled at the potential of how wrong he could be as they both stepped off the side of the building. Sparda went feet first while Lucifer, the ostentatious creature he was, fell backward off the rooftop plunging headfirst toward the ground as stylishly as possible, hands in pockets and self-satisfaction smeared on his gorgeous, lifeless face…

Up close, the house was much less than he pictured, tucked away in a corner of society that had been long forgotten on a backdrop that was thriving with life and colour, sticking out like a sore thumb against the neighbours on either side of the overgrown property. It was dingy, not well taken care of, and difficult for the pair to see a human living a mediocre life at best if the outside was anything to go by. The dying rosebush had lost its war in masking the awful smell the closer they dared, almost contributing to the atmosphere as a whole as a further explanation to their needed assistance. The pair had been around worse, but it still came as a shock to their senses at the pungency of someone's life having drifted only hours prior – unquestionably deceased but taken too far somehow, a variety of gases of the human kind wafting across their demonic noses. The grey smoke from the chimney was a welcomed distraction, indicating signs of life inside the crumbling household that were dubbed no cause for concern in their plight as they climbed four uneven steps leading to half a balcony to the right of the front door. Lucifer walked the three paces to the other end, being careful not to touch the eroding metal tardy for some oily care, gazing over to the fish tank of a lawn wallowing in its own death of musty yellow with no hopes of regrowth in the lifetime after next. The soldier glued himself to the available section of wall as Sparda moved inside, securing the sorry excuse of an anything and standing clueless in an apparent foyer barren of influence. "I have less words that I did a second ago."

Lucifer joined him, marching over the threshold and solidifying his claim even more. "Looks like death came as a mercy."

They walked further into the house and entered a bigger room but not by much, stained in blood and mucus that could only have come from the pile of flesh propped against a faded couch in the uppermost right corner of the room, rotting and gaping sores contrary to his assumed time of death. Closer to them and to the left of the body sat two living, breathing men huddled by a roaring fire eating from a half-eaten tub of chocolate ice cream, vividly unphased by neither their decaying company nor the presence of the two demons patient yet eager to do their job and go about their business back in the Underworld. Salazar looked to his underling to laugh at what could have been a joke, finally noticing their guests with a weak smile and shifting to greet them the proper, human way. Dusting off his slacks, he spotted the infamous metal cuff on Lucifer's bare wrist tugging gently to his left side and standing under the literal smoking gaze of the Prince of Darkness and all his rumoured blank splendour. He truly was as everyone explained: a toned bag of arrogant potatoes you keep as a souvenir that would kill you in your sleep and eat you like the French fry you were. His subordinate hadn't seen them but followed in his footsteps, setting the ice cream on a clean spot on the floor to cut spillage out of the equation, and good on him too – nothing could have prepared the occupants for the high-pitched shriek and mini bodily seizure that came from his normal-sized muscular frame, stopping only when his lungs were empty and breathing deeply through his nostrils like a crazed madman on the prowl that bit off more than he could chew. Lucifer frowned and tilted his gaze at the little man, bland delight coating his lips in resisting the invitation to remove the tinted film from his eyes and have the poor officer suffer from hallucinations for the remainder of his career. Sadly, the idea was short-lived as Weasel composed himself from his fright and gawked in awe, showing the correct response to seeing a real devil in the flesh for the first time and remembering Salazar's lecture to show no fear as his life wasn't in danger. That, and that they would smell it a mile away and poke his innermost ego with a vary sharp utensil that may leave him scarred for life. Sparda spoke softly to the two of them, customarily breaking the ice for their circumstantial meeting while pointing to the mass of loose skin watching television. "This is all that's left?"

The bigger human nodded. "Your boys' handiwork. Nothing intact. Cause of death unknown." The last line was an odd one to note owing to the multitude of options at their disposal, but to isolate the true reason was time and money they wouldn't waste on corpses like him, deserving of the worst possible outcome in an equal manner. But he had no right to decide that, and that's why he made the call.

Lucifer surveyed the fleshy mound with respect to their dexterity. Those two still had some devil in them. "I don't think it matters."

His comment reminded Sparda of his presence, and because there were local officials present, he introduced his partner for the record of keeping his side clean in the matter. "Ah. Salazar, Lucifer. Lucifer, Salazar."

"I guessed. Big fan." The official extended his hand knowing better, unperturbed when the demon made no move to shake it, his vacant stare fixed on his palm waiting for more information about the person attached to it. "Lars' boss." Nothing clicked; he scrunched his nose in boredom. "My mistake – Astaroth's boss."

His face lifted in recognition of the title knowing the man by a sole word in summary. "Chief." This worried him. The most feared hunter the seven circles had ever seen…took orders from a human?

"That's me." The devil offered his hand and they shook briskly, concentrating his dislike and channelling the fury into his right arm squeezing the soft ligaments out of place. If the officer were in pain, he didn't show it. "This is Troy. Also a fan."

"You do good for the people of Earth – how are you a fan?"

He ran his piercing slowly along the bottom row of his teeth, thinking he had the man stumped by the way he glared at his outfit swiftly brought to an end by a deft smack to the back of his head. It was rule number two: don't stare. He cleared his throat to buy time to word it correctly, but the slap had hit something out of its socket. "Reading. Books." Okay, safe start. "I find you interesting. This ultimate bad guy that asked the right questions… and then building an empire to answer those questions for others, it's kinda cool."

Lucifer liked that explanation, his features softening at the sincerity of his on-the-spot delivery of a line he hadn't heard before. "And how do your human books compare to the real thing?"

Seeing the genuine interest he took to the man's answer, the other two played along in unwearied silence simply captivated by the perchance exchange happening in real time. The demon understood the urgency to the task, but it wasn't as if the meat hill was going anywhere. What was a few seconds to revel in his own excellence from an atypical human perspective? "You're taller than I expected. More no-nonsense than they set you out to be. Better looking too." The subject pursed his lips, pleased over the triviality of detail excluded to justify his monstrosity. No one wished to tussle an evil, good-looking man, so the only way to give him a fighting chance at relevance would have been to make him hideous, making his obnoxious deeds exponentially ruthless because he resembled a freak. It took humanity to the stage Troy was currently in, compelled to make the comparison with what he's learned and what stood before him being unable to equate the gruesome with the saccharine simper plastered for purpose on his delicious face. "What I mean is… I'm sure you're incredibly strong and scary and unforgiving and cruel and all the other things, but they… they get your face wrong every time." The cop gestured to the area of the body he referred to in case no one followed his mumbling, embarrassed in reflection of the words falling from the hole in his face. "I'm sure they do it to depict their agenda for the winning side."

Sparda and Salazar expelled their bated breath collectively, subdued in relief at the young man's meticulous choice of words. It saved them another dead body. "Good answer. You may live," said Lucifer, directing his prized attention to the mound of flesh that used to be a person and fell onto his haunches, giving the body a good once over looking for anything he could use as a means of torture and struggled to find any. Had he a moral compass he may have felt sorry for the sod, but it was as he'd said: if the goodie-two-shoe twins pulled all of this there might have been no humanity left to feel for and in turn something the demon could thrive on, hooking his claws into the single good thing and subsequently ripping it to pieces as they watched in pain – already dead – and allowing the dark void to swallow them in the smallest chunks they'd lay witness and wither to before achieving insanity and the lights switched off. He could never live a steady life on Earth with people as terrible as him existing between the respectable ones; in Hell, there was a general understanding of where each soul roamed the designated circles, but one unpredictable flat surface laying waste to every sin was what he hated most, especially the convenient gift of 'a change of heart' of actions and emotions at will and when the environment called for it. Hypocritical bastards. "Do you have any requests?" Lucifer never asked and simply did what was fitting to the dead according to his gut – the life they lived, their spoils and glories – but there was little to work with, finding nothing of worth or pride or life inside the abode. If he were alone, the default would extend to the plot and surrounding grounds bathing in the blood pools at his lifeless corpse. "A preference for punishment before he's eaten."

At this declaration the cuff on his wrist clinked happily on the milieu of the humans only now learning of the detail, looking to one another for a decent enough send off for the deserving piece of shit. "Inhumane. Quick."

A challenge – he liked it. The side eye and a quick nod made them believe it was his specialty, reaching out to a pulverised, infected forearm and rubbing his thumb on what remained undamaged inside the bruised skin: the spilled life force on the floor began soaking back up into the mass, blowing him to normal size like air filling a jumping castle, limb by limb reanimating to what he was until he crossed the identical duo. His chest and head were last in line to receive colour, taking a deep breath as the lungs and windpipe took their healthier form and an ear-piercing cry filled the forsaken room with no warning. He was alive and breathing and in severe pain, picking a louder pig squeal when his eyes and brain came from the dead along with the rest of his frame, thinking this another cruel trick from Hell by bringing him to his home where the nightmare began in the first place. As his eyesight returned, he saw a lone, crouching figure holding his arm and dropping it as they made contact so he could cower to the closest mouldy wall, the broken bones working sluggishly as a unit in searing pain with his every move. The all-black, irresistible hallucination walked over slowly, sparing a moment to roll his sleeves and reveal the bolted cuff before standing in his line of sight, unbothered to the whimpers of bad breath and fake stoicism looking to him as he spoke. "Your last words."

"My what?" It was more or less what he sounded like but surviving without water for the past two centuries. "Last words?"

"I may be the devil, but I have rules to follow." That would have been his one good thing for when he passed on, his irresolute duty for following his own and breaking the ones he didn't care for or impeded his benefit. He ignored the unsettled yells behind him and looked to the black chronograph quartz ticking away on his wrist, raising a single digit to mute the profanities hurled at the man by the two cops on the other side of the room. "You have five seconds."

Salazar took mock offence to being silenced, putting his hands on his hips while he stared to the snivelling heap of piss mid misplaced bravado. "Why-"

"He can't hear you," said Sparda, chiming in by Lucifer's extrasensory order. "He can't see you either."

Their heads snapped to the guttural sound of non-existent saliva collecting in his dry throat, spitting the globule at the spotless suede combats impassive to the attempt at intimidation. "Go to Hell."

Lucifer sardonically waited for the two last seconds to tick down while Sparda winced at the horrible choice of words and taken action wildly unaware of the scenario, moving the innocents to the furthest corner away from the demon shielding as much as he could with a clear view for them. "Come over this side. Can't risk… your uniforms…" For their own safety they refrained from asking questions, and at that moment the massive essence of evil bent down and gripped Constanza by the neck pulling him to face level, simultaneously tugging on the chain connected to the metal cuff shifting uneasily with the rush of smoke growing behind his sunglasses. The discomfort was unlike anything he'd ever experienced, hanging purely by the strength of his wrecked spine and flailing his legs like a lost child on a misbehaving swing, knowing there was nothing he could do but take the punishment as a grown man in the hopes that the next round would be less excruciating; this time it felt different, however, like the wheels were beginning to slow at an uneven pace up the hill he consistently climbed since landing in the inferno, a cold tinge to the hand around his neck and a colder, darker expectation to the next step of his sentence in eternal damnation. In every situation there was a little boy who saved him within an inch of his life, running through an invisible door and screaming for him to be freed, taking the instant of confusion to escape from the realm's grotesque clutches to move to the next room where the monsters grew more merciless and fierce, but the boy would always be there to save him. Undernourished and naked, he'd appeal to the silence in childish pleas for the man and he was altogether grateful for the intrusion, yet while his oesophagus froze to a tricky temperature, he kept his gaze to the actual doorframe in the room counting down the seconds he'd see the boy run through and howl the familiar words to set him free…

He didn't. Not this time.

The victim quieted at the sight of a heavy metal chain materialising from under his chin to behind his punisher, following the clinking trail as it split to three diverging paths attached to spiked, dog collars levitating a few feet from them. The gradual appearance of the collars showed the end of the elongating links and the man thought he was in the clear, waiting for the peek of white hair to come bobbing into the space and take him to the next level. Instead, Lucifer stepped dangerously close and smiled as he removed the last thing keeping his prey from unprecedented panic and fear beyond relief, peeling the sunglasses from his eyes and setting them on his head. Constanza faced a thing of utmost terror and began to cry with the screams of blue murder, looking to his ceiling for respite from the disgusting image centimetres away but pulled back with a new addition to the mix of fucked up he was experiencing. A three-headed, decomposing dog growled and stalked toward him, calm and salivating at the prospect of fresh meat after having been so long without it, planting his paws firmly on the wooden floor and piercing the foundation in excitement.

The cops jumped at the sudden holes in the floor fixed to a shape of navy blue and grey TV static taking up the entire room, leaving them little room to comprehend its appearance and purpose to the whole thing but remained reverent in respect for whatever it could be, breathing deeply at the bare surface of Constanza's plight into nothing.

Lucifer allowed the picture enough time to blister his mind, opening wider the smoking cavities in his face before rotating the grip around his neck and digging into his jaw, pressing the length of his fingers through the muscle so deep it showed on the inside of his gaping mouth; his right hand did the same at the exposed crook of his shoulder, clasping tightly and tearing through the tissue in a clean swipe from his body, giving the immobilised expression a last look as he tossed the human treat to the middle head who chewed and chewed, grossly crunching and squishing the remains all around his jaws to savour the taste of overdue justice swirling in his mouth. The two heads on either side dug deeper into the floor as their master dipped his hands at the spinal cord and tore downward, shredding the body into two perfect halves and shaking the intestines loose before throwing the meat over his shoulder to the hungry mutts. He pulled a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and wiped his hands thoroughly, getting the gunk between the webbing of his fingers and the excess on his face, replacing his sunglasses and using the soiled linen on the bloodied intestines as he bent down to retrieve them, turning to face his magnificent pet and ripping the fatty tube into three equal parts to hand them off individually, blankly satisfied at fulfilling the criteria set out for him to the T.

The warped reality shielded less than they expected, seeing the brutality first-hand disappear in gory lumps to a place unseen to the naked eye but assumed much worse than the shaded horror beneath those sunglasses. They watched its owner scrunch his face as he scratched violently at what they guessed to be a soft spot, feeling a mysterious breeze whip past them and brush between their legs. "So, that right there is Cerberus. You can only see him if Lucifer lets you." Sparda stepped forward for a good look at their faces: Salazar, visibly uncomfortable but not to the point of no return; Weasel, encompassing his name on the green verge of puking, looking queasy from the neck up. "If he feeds the dog a physical body, the soul connected to that body won't enter Heaven or Hell after it's consumed. It's fairly seldom he gets fed like this," he added after a dirty look from the Chief in wonder of the amount of times the procedure was performed. Though he couldn't see the pet, he made out the solid muscle at the hind and started patting him for a job well done – Cerberus' tail wagged wildly for a stronger breeze to nearly knock them off their feet, regaining their balance to a pointing finger directed at their tub of ice cream. "Can I have the rest of that?"

Salazar crab-walked slowly to the corner, fearful of any unnecessary movements to set the dog off for no reason, taking his eyes off the scene for a millisecond to grab the cold tub and passing it over to its recipient. "I don't think either of us can stomach any more. Weasel, grab two spoons from the kitchen would you…?" There was no movement next to him for a few seconds, prompting a hard slap to his back that nudged him forward and out of his trance, blinking wildly in response to his fever daydream cut short to obey the command. He cautiously walked along the perimeter of the huge shape knocking into everything in his path to find the knob to the kitchen door and turned it slowly, still unable to take his eyes off the moving invisible blob plonked flat for a belly rub. Troy dipped through quickly and scratched in the first drawer he saw, struggling with the assortment of cutlery to find what he was looking for but proving successful after too long a battle with stainless steel of other forms, popping back into the lounge and following his breadcrumbs to his previous position pinning the spoons to his boss' chest. His face didn't change once. "He's brilliant, I swear."

The Chief passed them over as Sparda ripped the lid from its housing and dropped it to the floor, ploughing through to the bottom of the plastic and scooping a generous mouthful for himself. "I have no doubt in your men, Salazar. He's handling it quite well for a first time-" and as if waiting for a simple comment to trigger his bowels, he bolted from the room clutching his mouth and made it to the balcony timeously, letting loose on the long deceased rose bush moving with the motions of his stomach. "Still not bad," he replied, shoving the chocolatey goodness into his mouth. "Damn, this is good." He spoke to no one, turning to Lucifer yanking on the chain three times and seeing the warped spot disappeared into its own realm, walking over to him as he unscrewed the bolt that kept his shackle in place happy to shed the ghastly accessory in a red puff of smoke as he reached him. "Want some?"

Sparda offered the tub and a fresh spoon, only noting the missing man coming up for air after his burrow through the most sinful bout of frozen goodness he'd every had. He took a last dip for the road twice the size of what the cutlery supported. "Where did they go?"

"Outside. Baby got sick and mommy went to see if he's okay."

Lucifer wasn't listening, too invested in the sensation as a welcomed surprise after his hard work and moaning lightly as it tickled his taste buds – for someone who hated the cold, he sure loved ice cream. "They don't make it like this at home."

"Right?" The king smacked his lips as he swallowed and left his colleague to devour the rest, following the dry heaves and wretches and Salazar screaming 'THAT SIDE OF THE RAILING, DUMBASS!', arriving with barely enough space for the three and their cluttered wingspan looking at the flowers drowning in the cop's vomit. Contrary to the earlier directive, the Chief was miles away leaning his full weight on an expanse of wall a foot away from his subordinate with a friendly frown painted on his altruistic features – he solved a riddle and wished he hadn't. "Something on your mind, human?"

The propped leg pushed off the wall and folded him over the railing, folding his hands in earnest. "There was a missing persons case years ago: a group of young men were meant to go on trial for a misdemeanour; a guilty plea would land them a year of community service, and a non-guilty plea if found guilty would mean six months in juvenile detention, four for good behaviour and daddy's money, probably." Light nuances of bile to the fact left a dreadful taste in his mouth but he pushed on to his actual point, somehow ignoring the actual example playing out close to him. "One day before the trial, however, they all mysteriously vanished. Just like that," he said, clicking his fingers to reflect the speed. "All traces of their existence wiped clean. Their parents were believed to go insane talking about children that didn't exist. Suicides took them all." Salazar straightened and held onto the iron for dear life, turning to his suspect that stared back blankly but listening to the qualm. "Any ideas on what could have happened?"

Sparda, clearly intrigued by the creative tale, smiled only. "How could I possibly know of any affairs above my jurisdiction?"

"Because your adopted grandson was the victim."

"And my son-in-law has a reputation he has to uphold." He moved out of the way as Lucifer made his way out scraping the rounded edges of the tub, his devotion to sweet things taking him slowly down the steps conflicting with his requirement of wanting nothing more than to leave the crime scene; at the bottom rung he crumpled the container and flung the sphere back into the house, regaining his dignity and malevolent stature pausing military style at the foot of the baby staircase. "Chief, it was years ago. But I admire your sense of justice." Sparda tailed his shadow, getting to the pavement while holding onto the railing in an effort to seem friendly. Everything about him said the opposite. "And Salazar-" the cop faced his way, lacklustre, eyebrows raised in question. "-trust that I would do anything to protect my family without hesitation."

Of course he would – the possibilities were endless to a father who's kin managed to turn a human body into a blubbery carpet. "Is that a confession?"

Sparda sneered as he clutched the barrier, silently bending the rusted ends inward in a pretty two-fold spiral grinding under intense rust. "Mere admiration to a fellow monster taking matters into his own hands," he answered, taking the curb with extra pep and joining his soldier's right side. "Lucifer and I will be taking our leave if you no longer need us…? Keep well, Salazar. Send greetings to the wife and kids for me." They walked confidently to the middle of the empty road and without a rearward glance as the king hung back one step for the demon to do his thing, noticing a smudge of chocolate in the corner of his distasteful smirk. "You have a…" and stopped mid gesture, seeing an impatient shrug drop the pair of broad shoulders in front of him, twisting unamused at yet another snag in the plan to finish their next job and get the hell off the surface. "Never mind." Lucifer led the small walk it took for the walls of reality to swallow them whole, popping out of view with no excess trace of their presence left behind.

He was right, the Chief thought, to fuck justice in every cavity had any of his sons been the victim with such a lenient reprimand, and if any, given pace the city was taking; he wouldn't care about due legal procedure, paperwork, phone calls, and everything else the force taught him about doing the right thing for the greater good. His job was to make things better, to fulfil a duty to the serve the people who couldn't help themselves, but his most important task lay sleeping in their beds under their Spiderman duvets dreaming about girls, video games, and the many ways to make those worlds collide, gratefully untrained to the ranks of evil that rove undetected to those suitably naïve to expect the best until proven guilty. If it came to it, he'd gladly give up his badge for any person unlucky enough to cross him or his family, and with his new loophole to make things disappear completely, there left no room for prejudice or contemplation beyond reasonable doubt. Salazar pulled a card from his pants pocket and skewed his face, remembering the building creeps with pressing every digit on his cell now evaporating as he eased the contact into his shirt pocket, buttoning it closed for his own benefit and peace of mind. Zoning to the present, the vulgar wretches to his left had subsided to spittle noisily gathered and spat all over the garden, lowering himself onto the balcony floor holding his knees to his chest and resting his chin on the propped joints. "How are you okay?"

He wasn't, but being Chief came with the perks of a banal constitution persuasively coached in a week dedicated to inexorable tasks and setups no living thing should be committed to, and it came in handy every single time. "Do you really think that's the worst I've seen?"

It was, but he wasn't going to admit that to a man nicknamed Weasel. "What's worse than a human being ripped apart like a piece of paper?"

"That's up there, sure…" But he needed to get a move on, and quickly. "Are you done?"

Troy lifted his head and landed some dribble between two slats of iron, having no energy to celebrate the tiny feat considering the phantom duplicate slats that weren't there before. "I think s-"

"Great… Wait in the street, I have to torch this place." The cop didn't need to be told twice, getting to his feet as fast as they would allow and slogging across the stretch of tar to a safe spot away from the oncoming heat, falling to a sitting position to claim his strength back. Salazar hurried his strides inside the house, opening every window in every room for fresh oxygen to feed the flames that would take over in a few minutes. Grabbing the fire tongs hanging on the wall he nabbed the bigger pieces of still-burning wood and running small fires along random materials he passed before setting the logs in all of the doorframes – the lounge, two bedrooms, bathroom, and kitchen – causing a big enough ruckus for the flames to spread at an alarming rate throughout the residence. With a clear exit to the front, he drew out his state-issue pocketknife and shoved the stove aside to expose the battered gas pipe, taking a deep, smoky breath as he punctured the cylinder and cut a straight line to let the gas stream through…

Troy jumped to his feet at the first blast taking the kitchen with it, looking to all the windows on the side of the house and hearing no controlled shatters to signal the Chief's exit or landing outside the boundaries of danger exploding all around him. The lounge was next, shards of glass flying at disturbing speeds into the adjacent street and inches from his feet, some whipping past his face and drawing droplets of blood as he pushed forward and marched to the burning building, ignoring the concentrated heat and searching the holes in the wall for a trace, a shadow – something – of the man meant to escape the collapsing structure. But it was the falling ceiling that tugged at his impulsive nature, running to the entrance and making quick work of the slippery steps only to be knocked back by another crisp explosion that took its last legs, collapsing inward in a wall of flames reaching twice its original height and cackling loudly to the closed sky, almost a chuckle for a long belated mercy since being taken over by its now departed owner. The eruption chose wisely it seemed, flinging Troy backward with adequate force for him to pull a backflip from his non-existent hat, quickly finding his equilibrium and landing on the balls of his feet and a gloved right hand, the residual of the blast skiing him along the ground a fair distance away and whipping his head to the shadowy form that too extended his landing gear and braced his knees for impact, touching the road without so much as a thump or damage to his uniform. Salazar straightened and ran over to help his underling to his feet, both entranced by the fire consuming what was left of the awful place. And smiled.

Yet gravity had a different plan for the cop as his abdomen bubbled, coming in the form of a short, deep burp but the Chief knew better, grabbing him by the collar of his bulletproof vest and spinning him in the opposite direction just in time for a brown, speckled projectile to be welcomed to the world, filling the indentations in the road like costly, chocolate grout spreading into the middle of the street.

'The best soldier in the world's deadliest task force…' he thought to himself, holding fast to the Kevlar as he pushed Weasel to arm's length for his own protection. "This is coming out of your paycheck."

---

The early hours of the morning descended on the desolate street, and using the cloak of chilly darkness, the two imposers effervesced into existence a few metres away from the only building emanating any form of light down the dark road, a particularly large beacon of reference donned in the littlest twinkles in comparison to a busy street during the day. Lucifer gestured for his partner to take the lead as no location came to mind, his eyes travelling at the speed of light for familiarity regardless of size while they marched forward shoulder to shoulder thanks to Sparda too being sensibly cautious of the unpredictability the surface has thrown him over the years. The massive light source did little to comfort them from a different kind of cold – the kind to creep under your skin and into your bones as opposed to the nip that usually welcomed them home – and by his calculation would be the end-all of their trip, picking up the steady pace Sparda set for conversation and walking accordingly to escape it. Paying no attention to the massive explosion of fire in the distance behind them they pressed on in complete silence, allowing for a few minutes of the roaring element to warm their ears before the king chose to speak at his own risk. "Earth is so peaceful at night." He looked next to him for no reaction. "Very different to how it was when I first arrived but it kept its shape. I can't say much for the people though." Again; the blank stare got spookier with every step. "Come on. Talking makes time go faster."

Lucifer looked to his associate with less energy than before. "Yes, I would say the same."

It wasn't boredom; he wanted to go home, for two reasons – less interaction gave less fuel for Sparda to recall and rekindle their so-called midnight romance traipsing the streets in the dead of night, trusting the tiny journey to sufficiently slide in his back pocket should he need it. "Two hours, that's all I'm asking."

"And you can have it, Sparda."

He couldn't ignore the restlessness in his tone but there wasn't much of a choice. If he knew where they were going and what waited for him there, going home would be the last thing on his mind. "You can't hate it here that-"

"I do," he interrupted, shaking off the pall down his spine for the prospect of spending more time on Earth with the minimal possibility of the second reason showing his face this late. "Like you wouldn't believe."

He could, and although he dreaded it, the bar of negative attachment would never reach same level as the place donned the centre of the devil's problems since day one. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind for next time."

Lucifer calmly squared his jaw, projecting every ounce of hate onto the two words he despised in that very moment, scrunching the left side of his face in distaste at the prospect of 'again'. "Sparda, let me let you in on a little something." Pulling his hands out of his pockets he folded them behind his back as they continued, angling his shoulders slightly off centre to seem interested enough in the other man's reaction to his discourse. "I don't like you. Never have. You are in charge and I follow your orders, that's as far as this goes." He plucked a hand free, lazily gesturing the empty space between them. "We are not friends. I tolerate you because I must, not because it's a want. I don't ask questions because I don't care to hear you voice opinions on matters other than what my job entails. I don't care about what you say or what you think, contrary to what I make you believe. I don't have time for anything that bares no fruit in my direction, so do excuse me if I express no interest in your daily life or misgivings of your troubled mind."

Knowing himself to be a sorry sack of shit at the best of times, he was somewhat moved by the confession lightly dusted in dulled languor yet colourful to misinterpretation, edging closer to the massive sulking hulk and delicately placing his hand between the devil's shoulder blades, rubbing softly as even the fabric's hairs stood to attention. Nothing could soil Sparda's mood – the chance of it rolling downhill after reaching their destination was a possibility – and filled the gaps of silence with the few words he knew would piss him off. "I appreciate that… it's about time you opened up…"

Lucifer hadn't shrugged the contact this time around, keeping his head forward as the building came closer in view. "Answering the opposite with the opposite. Nicely done."

The road to keeping him uncomfortable was working. Just a few more metres. "Whatever it was, I'm glad-"

"I can only imagine. Can we please move on?"

"Sure…" Mere paces were all it took for the speech to leak through his other ear, catching up to the bigger steps toward the flickering concrete cube, toying with the morose mobius strip playing in his subordinate's mind. "Are you afraid you'll see him? Is that why you want to go home so badly?"

There it was, his crutch; he was seconds off schedule, but it had to do, and he had to make it work. "I'm not doing this."

"No one's around-"

"There's nothing left to say-"

"All I'm saying is… It couldn't have been easy."

It was exhausting listening to his attempts at empathetic droning, their proximity to one another playing in neither's favour but for the sole purpose of dragging Lucifer as low as humanly capable, and in an act of pure irony he looked to the sky wanting to disappear, sniffing the cold air for the revulsion to tickle the back of his throat. "And now I understand why your children left you."

Sparda was far too stubborn for such a quip, tilting his head like a dog and curling his lip to seem offended. "It doesn't hurt as much as you think it does." Or maybe it did, he never knew. Hearing it from a mouth not his own consistently stung him in the same spot and he'd grown to ignore the tiny stabs a long time ago. Still, with the persistence and depth, it was a gaping hole he claimed blame for and one he'd have to get used to and leave alone for the sake of everyone around him. "Do you miss him?"

The devil's relief lasted all of eleven seconds, scratching the bridge of his nose under the sunglasses. "If I answer that, will you be quiet the rest of the way?"

Honouring the request meant little as there wasn't much 'rest of the way', but simply for the satisfaction of having him promise silence of the pricey kind was what he was going for, seeing the man stand in a mock salute, straight posture with his hand on his heart and a soft face that had gotten him out of trouble more times he could count. "Scout's honour."

The miniscule scratch evolved to an irritated pinch having to say what Sparda already knew. He looked up, strangely serious, and oddly, sad. It wasn't a look he'd hoped to see ever again. "Everyday."

A smile gently creased his eyes, grasping the stem of the cherry gingerly between his fingers. "Do you feel better?"

He promised one answer but shook his head in return. He never would, and it was something everyone had to accept. "Where to next?"

"On the roof. He doesn't know we're here so be your equivalent of nice."

Sparda received no objection which meant a partial chance he'd at least try but he was in no position to count his chickens, simultaneously launching off the ground to land on a dimly lit roof of fairy lights scattered to where they were needed most, illuminating a small and full vegetable garden along the north wall; a small ornate railing jutted from the opposite corner of the roof leading to an array of cosy furniture atop a raised platform nestling under a stylish, neutral tarp keeping them safe from the elements. Lucifer followed the slight step that graced the perimeter to find a lone mass of a figure looking toward the city with a frozen tumbler in its clutches, lifting his head as he blew warm air to the freezing night. "I wish you called."

"We were in the area, I thought to stop by." The man didn't catch the hint, sipping at amber liquid still turned away from them as Sparda stood on his tiptoes to reach the top of the cake. "Are we in trouble?"

The alcohol was two thirds down his throat before he clicked. "We?" Spinning hurriedly, he should have guessed the other based on not sensing his presence alone, an obscure and stagnant blur next to the kitschy aura of his father-in-law. Their eyes met for a split second and the mood shifted immediately as Astaroth downed the remainder of his drink, tossing it across the roof to shatter and land in the vegetables where the shards of ice dispelled equally over the bed, the incubus making quick work with shrinking the space dividing them. A still-stunned Lucifer stood frozen and unsure of how to proceed while his friend caught him in a bear hug around his lean waist, the smoke previously emanating from under the frames abruptly extinguished at the contact from his long-lost comrade. The overwhelming sense of comfort that washed over him couldn't be contained, melting his apprehension in a returned hug that welcomed his warm touch and made him forget the past few terrible hours in an instant, instinctively taking the role of consoled as he always did when Astaroth was nearby. The demon pulled away but held fast on his coat, genuine happiness in his default gorgeous form plastered on his face. "It's been forever."

"It has." That too was an understatement, coming up nearly half a century since their secret adjustment. "You just up and left."

"You would have convinced me to stay." That he would had Eligor not been in the aged picture, but he understood then more than ever how badly they needed greater things the Underworld couldn't provide. Lucifer stood as the sole creature to support their escape, unafraid to admit the blatant shit show Hell had turned into, made worse by the sudden loss of half its consulate shelving their armoured responsibilities for a better and more stable tomorrow instead, not condemning their new families to a future in flames but giving them a choice. The choice they never had. And rudely pulled from his daydream was Astaroth feeling in and around his coat, patting under his arms and downward applying suitable pressure on the firmness of him as a concept, massaging softly the closer he ventured to his hips. "Have you gotten bigger?"

It seemed his tactic had yet to fail him, seeing the devil snap out of his daze at the mention of his physique; at his age he guessed he'd stop by now. "Could be…" he droned, taking his turn to interrupt his friend's selflessness and looked deep into his eyes, wondering at the tinges of sadness and unease masked by his wonderful smile. "Are you okay, Astaroth?"

A warning flash to his eyes told him his concern wasn't misplaced and his admittance would come at a time when the king wasn't so close by, feeling terrible to not speak freely to the only one who saw through his bullshit. "The timing is inconvenient for you to ask, but I'll be better. You?"

Why lie? He was kidding no one. "Miserable. No ice."

Astaroth chuckled lightly at the two-tiered joke, slowly breaking away from the black comfort and turning to greet Sparda. "Dad."

A nod. "Son."

They shake hands, obligatory firm grasps on either end. "I would have been prepared if I had known-"

"Nonsense. Just making sure my family is healthy and happy."

The overly caring manner in which it was said didn't sit right in his gut, but he'd take the answer at face value for now, switching his focus to the unnervingly earnest expression scrutinising his rooftop. "Come on. Ask."

Lucifer didn't care for succulents and he knew this. "What?"

"Ask me." Astaroth rocked back and forth on the sides of his feet channelling his inner sassy to his upturned eyebrows. "Your mouth is fizzing."

Of course, he caught on; he was the smartest to walk the universe after all, being the unfortunate trait that got him sacked from his previous job and gratefully so. He cleared his throat and did as he was told, biting the corner of his mouth at having to say his name after so long. "How is Eligor?"

The incubus matter-of-factly pointed to the corner to his right, housing the opening of a small staircase Lucifer had been too busy to notice before, cursing the sunglasses for messing with his peripherals – as if it truly mattered – and unable to bring himself to acknowledge the familiarly new scent joining them on the roof. Astaroth had been waiting a while to pull off the simple move, a full smirk at the ready to unleash timeously with his outstretched fingertip. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

Hanson took his last step on the metal staircase and raised his head, his eyes growing as he drifted to the huge outlier that caught his gaze at the same moment, confidently troubled at what he was looking at. The devil looked different to what he remembered but the blank stare remained, penetrating and merciless as ever, feeling the knock hit him square in the progress his mental wellbeing had made. His poor brain began computing at three quarter light speed glancing at the handwritten list and clutching at the empty words that no longer held sustenance between them, not thinking this little time would have elapsed before having to confront him with a sharp mind and even sharper kitchen knives just down the stairs; it was all a flurry of mayhem and captivation mixed with unresolved anger issues, feeling the concoction bubble in his head too foamy to form a comprehensive thought nor nonchalance that wasn't loaded in sarcasm or touching on a piece of their shared past. The young man couldn't move but stood strong at being caught off guard, gathering himself like the professional he thought he was and thanking whatever deity's name he could remember that he was able to prop himself on the railing, making it seem easy enough for his white knuckles being out of view. "Lucifer."

The name dropped from his lips like a forbidden fruit, licking the corner of his mouth to savour the taste before it turned bitter exposed to the evening air. Lucifer stole a heartbeat for the melody to sink in, pushing his sunglasses to their correct place as he turned his body to face him out of respect for what was lost, wholly taking the opportunity to speak to the love of his life. "Eli."

It had been so long since he heard that name and it felt nice, a feint, honied smile hiding the parallel twinge of heartbreak contained in those three simple letters. Feeling the nerve moving back into his legs he took a further step to speak, politely interrupted by Sparda's head peeking from behind the black mass' ribcage, unnaturally chirpy compared to the previous experience of deadpanned mystery at their first meet. "Good evening, my boy."

The loud jolt physically shifted him sideways, jumping onto the roof and resisting the impulse to laugh himself into a stupor, awkwardly coughing and clutching his chest at wrongly allowing the devil free reign in his vacant mind. "Sparda. I'm sorry I didn't see you…" He idly waved in return opting the distance a safer option than hurrying over for a formal greeting, changing the subject for his thoughts to not be as obvious as they were with his flimsy welcome. "Is everything okay? Is my brother in trouble?"

"No no, we were in the neighbourhood is all. I need to speak to him."

From a family health check to a purposed conversation, hey? Astaroth doubted whether his father in law remembered the reason for being there, and to his credit it may be important – he wouldn't traipse Earth in the dead of night willy nilly alongside his now second in command for the fun of it. "Alright. Can I offer you some coffee?"

Sparda patted twice on his heart shaking the liquid in the breast pocket of his deep purple overcoat. "I've brought something a little stronger with me, thank you."

He turned ever so slightly to face Lucifer – a good host he would be, regardless of the company, scratching the itches at either side of his mouth. "Would you like some?" he asked softly, like the reading of a sacred text that begged for every ear in the vicinity, subtly leaning to the answer benefit to the waiting three.

Yes. One word, all he needed to do was say it. Y-e-s. "No thanks, I'm good."

Hanson nodded, subconsciously slapping his common sense to bounce in the confines of his skull – did he stop drinking it? Why was he hoping he'd say yes? Why was he overthinking a cup of coffee? "Okay. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. I know you're starving, but I've decided to make cinnamon rolls. Just thought I'd… tell you… before you asked…" The longer he stood the more he felt them individually chip at his resilience, his confidence wilting at the five second mark as he dusted off his apron to break their flooding streams of thought. "Do you hear th- Oh! What is… That's my-"

And he dissolved down the spiral steps following a phantom buzz of muffled gibberish burning his left inner ear, quickly closing the sliding door that made his brother and Sparda inwardly smile. Lucifer stared at the spot where he stood seconds prior, blinking slowly for the memories to flood back in an orderly fashion of how he used to look compared to the sired, awoken incubus – a literal before and after flashing beneath his eyelids. He looked good, he smelled even better; no longer the undernourished helpless man begging for his life in an alley but now the biggest star atop an average Christmas tree, stealing the shine from the rest of the colourful decorations and rightfully far from reach, solely preoccupied with the view at his level and no lower.

Could he be proud at what he'd seen? As much as he wanted to blow his own horn, none of the man Hanson was today was his doing. He had become what he was meant to be without him, and grateful he was, for once ignoring the strides he had missed and brimmed quietly at the sense of joy he felt at seeing him again, overshadowing the repercussion of their flee and every following occurrence he was forced to be responsible for. Like butter on a freshly baked scone it melted between the cracks to become part of its flavour, heavy with the added goodness and fluffy texture of all the ingredients in its culmination, and all he had to do was take that first bite. A tug on his sleeve made him turn to look at Astaroth's kind eyes and knowing smile, creaking his neck to the same corner. "Go."

Every bone in his body agreed, but that meant nothing to a probable course of action. "I'm good where I am."

"What if he's waiting?"

"I know him to wait on no one."

He sunk down the sleeve and took his hand. "Things are different now."

Lucifer squeezed it. "Precisely. I need to stay on this roof-"

The demon stepped into his glum bubble, dropping to an unnecessarily shrill whisper as he lightly poked at the devil's coat where his heart was supposed to be. "Just this once-" poke "-can you drop-" poke "-the act-" poke "-and do-" poke "-what this thing-" poke "-is telling you to do."

It was meant with the best of intentions, yet he couldn't excuse it, folding his friend's finger back with the rest of his fist and setting it gently at his side, cautioning numerous other uses to best use the limb he risked losing to make his point clear. "Last time I checked, that's exactly what I did-"

"Then go and talk to him. Let him get some things off his chest. You owe him that."

He was right: neither of them got closure the healthy way, if walking away without giving him a choice was considered closure. And by the looks of it Astaroth had gotten through the forged bravado as the devil stole a deep lungful of aerated courage, staring at the fixed path to reconciliation standing irrevocably at a stovetop stirring one of his umpteenth delicious creations. "I won't be long."

"We'll live," said Astaroth, using the scolded fist for a solid punch to his right shoulder, watching him flinch only the amount his stanch vanity would allow. "Now get down there and swallow your pride, old man." Lucifer gave a defeated sigh, looking to Sparda who winked tenderly among the slew of profanities slugged in his direction in knowing everything from the damn start. As much as he yearned to throttle the older man, his tasteful choice of words would do for the time being, walking hastily to the topmost stair and dropping to the ledge below to eliminate his concentration hitting each step, lending his entire focus on the scolding baking together with the cinnamon rolls. Sparda moved and was stopped by a lone, bruised digit as Astaroth listened for the trademark slide and click that shut the door, ruling them truly alone to conduct whatever business was needed. It took ten seconds until they were in the clear, hearing a snippet of Hanson's voice spatially disappear beneath their feet. "What could you possibly want to talk about bringing Hanson a distraction?"

He drew the bottle from its confines, happily swishing away against the glass. "What makes you think Lucifer doesn't need it?"

"Touché," he mumbled, placing his hands on his hips as he gave the bottle a once over and noting the long thin neck and bulbous body housing the sweetener to the deal he would propose, taking away the validity to the quick visit schtick. "What is that?"

The glass appeared top of the range, the contents even more so. "Fifty five percent of burnt, bourbon goodness. Specially brewed for times like these."

And what times were these, exactly? He suspected neither knew the answer by the perforated plastic seal around the wooden cork, seizing the extended alcohol owing to said seal not cooperating with Sparda's vulgar touch. "It's never been opened."

"I've never needed it." The hefty sigh from the king gave a hint to the matter, and to his credit it didn't seem like he wanted to talk about it.

But it all fit together quite seamlessly, in fact; his presence on Earth alone involved an involuntary visit to the twins, a perfect, full-sized diversion for Hanson, and a fresh vat of Astaroth's favourite in his own time while leaving the Underworld unguarded. One thing connected them all. "It's Nero, isn't it?"

Another sigh, heavier this time, watching as the demon popped the cork without struggle. "It is."

And like a flash of lightning, suddenly the beautiful, prudently constructed cake teetered dangerously to either side, so close to smashing to the ground as a mouth-watering stain on an undeserving carpet. The air around Astaroth thickened perilously fast, raising his head at the besieged noises coming from a metre away. "What have you done to him?"

"Nothing yet." Sparda would tread carefully under the sinister tone, drawing deeper breath to counteract the effects of the viscous outpouring straight from his son-in-law's pessimistic train of thought, steamrolling ahead in anticipation for the worst before he had the chance to speak – in this case, however, he wasn't wrong. That boy was his everything, and to say what he had to would be a difficult pill to swallow for the incubus given the mere mention of his name and the consequences thereof; Astaroth learned in trial and error that leaving his throne to come to you was never a good thing and nor was the succeeding outcome, uncaring to the excess of dead bodies trenched in each of his footstep for the sake of his rare, outrageous tasks. The least he could do was make it difficult for him to say his piece.

The reply sent the demon into the calmest rage of his career, looking through half-lidded venom ready to kill on the spot. His timing was utter shit, the demon more than ready to set the world on fire for the next minor inconvenience in his path. There was no telling what he'd do if anything happened to Nero. "You touch him, I swear to God-"

"I have done nothing of the sort, please calm down."

Astaroth stuck his tongue in his cheek as he proceeded to conjure another frozen glass, the ice forming its base in his curled palm and freezing upward to create its spherical shape and pouring a triple for good measure, taking it down in one shot and allowing the sweet burn to take over his constricting throat. Doing it a second time, he let his hand slip until the rim of the frozen water, holding the bottle in invitation for Sparda to follow suit in identical fashion and settling the bottle on the ground between them. He chuckled feebly, his dry mouth making it sound more demonic than he intended. "Telling me to calm down is a bad way to start this conversation."

---

Eligor stirred the pot of soup a few times more, standing over the stove as the gentlest thump came on the other side of the sliding door. Looking through, he snuck a peek at Lucifer fixing his new short slicked-back hair before being caught in the act, thinking it beneficial to double the intensity of his gaze to coax entry. He tapped twice on the glass and waited, and Eligor did the same on the countertop – their tell for consent, a question asked, and a similar tap meant for the favourable answer reflecting the interest from both parties for the mutual outcome to play out. Lucifer moved inside and closed the door slowly for the two above informing them of his new location inside the house. "Is it a yes on the coffee then?"

The devil locked the tiny mechanism, spinning past the figure in the kitchen for a few moments to scope the layout of their abode. It was very different from the mansion they had in the Underworld – given that each were crafted to relay importance of influence and social standing – so the muted, stylish design suited them both more than the unnecessarily huge for the sake of using floor space. They had what they needed with minimal extras splurging only on their individual hobbies and a kitchen suited to Eligor's experimental nature fitted to the T with every appliance imaginable. It was perfect in every sense of the word. "Please," he said softly, feeling his way around the perimeter of the island until the opposite corner, perching on one of the four barstools and crossing his ankles to get comfortable on the silver leg rest inches off the ground.

Being in his presence was overbearing but fairly received by the host dancing between the countertops, moving to the plunger with the fresh brew to the cupboard overhead, taking the biggest mug of the lot and pouring within two centimetres from the top, whirling on his heel to the fridge for the carton of whole milk. "I haven't gone shopping, so there's no cream-"

"That's alright. I haven't had it that way since you left." Fitting as it was his fault in the first place, and painfully obvious he'd underindulge in the luxuries brought to him by another for reasons solely he knew. Adding another centimetre of milk, the incubus kept the spoon in motion while he carefully trod the shorter distance to the devil passing the steaming cup directly to his hands, letting him grab at the unneeded warmth to chase an unseen chill. "Thanks."

Lucifer took a sip and was transported to a Sunday afternoon in a simpler time, watching the ripples form between his laced fingertips. "What are the sunglasses for?"

"It's a precaution," he said, taking another deeper, heavenly sip. "Every part of me knows I don't particularly like Earth. When I step through the gate to come here, fragments of my true image seep through my efforts at keeping my dislike at bay, so I must hide them. It's easy to layer clothing without seeming suspicious, but my eyes are an entirely different story." The gentlest puffs of smoke came from underneath the tinted frames, unscented, disappearing without a trace behind Lucifer's head. "My own personal amusement to screw with humans with a flick of my wrist, if you will."

He let the absurd detail sink in, watching the figure intently for another minute as they both ran through a scribbled list of things to say or ask with as minimal an impact as their current silence, tracing his finger around the portion of black and white decal turned his way. Sadly, Eligor was itching for one thing in particular – a banning ache fifty plus years strong. "Do you think you could take them off?"

The devil at least had the lip of the mug to hide his blatant pleasure, raising his eyebrows above the frame in acknowledgement of the request and swallowing the last, purposed mouthful of the godly nectar. "I can't, but-"

"They're distracting." The smaller man blushed slightly aware of how he sounded, and his clear eyes showed he didn't care. "And you're indoors. And it's dark."

Lucifer set his empty mug down resting his chin on his hand in the other's direction. "I can't, but you can, if it's something you want…"

There wasn't any particular trick to it not withstanding his humble curiosity, playing witness to the action of getting into his haughty space and removing them himself had it fit the bill troubling enough to make him move in ways he detested to sate the bother plucking his brain to no end. And he did, reaching to either side of his face as Lucifer flinched with the initial movement of the sunglasses. The incubus saw him tightly shutting his eyes as he pulled them off, placing them on the marble in proximity should he need it. What he sees is a little more than he bargained for but simultaneously underwhelmed by what greeted him: a thick sliver of pale skin split in three breathed under each eye like gills, covering a solid black endless void that tickled the fear buried deep in Eligor's soul, giving him unexpected chills but none unbearable. "And your eyes…?" Tongue in cheek, the devil did it nice and slow, two dark slits transforming into pupils on the silver spheres too big for his eyelids flaming from the inside out and dying the larger the slits evolved, the loose pieces of skin expanding before conforming to his chiselled, high cheekbones. Seeing the purest of smiles grace his features confirmed Lucifer's greatest fear – he was in more trouble than he imagined, having known it all along, but as a lingering established fact he'd have to file for later consequential deliberation as a tentative hand squeezed his neck, breaking his gloomy concentration and giving him cause to glower unapologetically at the softening, retuned stare. "I was looking forward to the doom and gloom."

"He likes you; I can't help that." He calmed him to the extent that he could freely be himself on the surface, and it was pure magic seeing it first-hand, how he'd underestimated the strength of his feelings for Eligor in the first place. The inner devil acknowledged his presence, unseen under circumstance in any realm and ever thankful it held no duty to his performance in either milieu. "What have I missed?"

The demon followed his hand sliding the mug across the island and halting its beige expedition next to the stove top with perfect precision, chuckling gently at the unwarranted question that he couldn't possibly take seriously, however solemn his invariable features glared on the back of his neck. "Really?"

"Really." Lucifer stood from his stool and towered over him, touching his shoulder as he wandered to an arrangement of frames next to the staircase in search for answers he wanted to hear. "I want to know I did the right thing."

Eligor watches closely but moves steadily to the sink, grabbing the still-warm mug and leaning on the island for a better angle not obscured by twisting metal. "Nothing much to report. Living the normal life, I guess." His guest didn't buy it, shifting from one frame to another as they momentarily documented snapshots of the brother's lives and changing gradually the richer it became, some including Dante and Vergil and a lesser known face in one of them, far younger with striking white hair and soul-wrenching blue eyes. He was stiff as a board but smiling to his ears, a playful naivete next to the permanent scowl of Vergil and slightly less mature than Dante's default setting, the latter's arm draped over the smaller shoulder as he bent forward to fit in the picture. By his guess Vergil's hand rested on the subject's back, flawlessly centre and proper. Even in pictures he couldn't stand the poise looking translucent daggers at the camera. He hadn't known how long he was staring until the smaller man came over and inspected the object of his focus, where a huge smile erupted the silence in a way only he knew how. "Oh, I have a nephew."

The random photograph now made less sense than his initial thoughts, and the twins' appearance less so. "Nephew? Did your brother-"

"Adopt, yes," he interrupted before the otherworldly mind went to an irreparable place, and the sad truth of vividly picturing Dante giving birth through his ass was crushed by a single word. "Went through hell to get him home… in the figurative sense," the incubus added to counter the 'oh really' frown from the devil to his left.

And that gave rise to another query. "Why are the twins in this photo?"

The guise of pride was unparalleled, a soft iridescent glow to the bright green forest enamoured in the photo's contents. "They raised him."

His reply told him all he needed to know; it wasn't a standard conversation provided the convention of time nor was he the right person to do so, the detail in the truth known exclusively to the identical faces staring blankly at them. The devil wished to press on for what morsels he knew but resisted long enough when his eyes caught Eligor's full name on a much bigger, shinier frame written in elegant script with officiality plastered on the watermarked paper. There were 6 in total, varying in title next to one another and taking up the left side of the familial achievements. "What are these?"

Black, glossy strands twisted slowly to the direction of the deep voice eyeballing the pointed finger at one of his certificates. "Degrees."

"For?"

Giving a heavy sigh he slouched the tiniest bit. "Criminal Law and Ancient Culture…" The confession went higher in pitch with every syllable while avoiding the piercing grey altogether.

"I help my brother sometimes and assist in editing and fact checking the resource material at my old university-"

"You didn't think to mention them?"

'Of course not,' he thought to himself. 'Why would I give you a reason to falsify your interest in my life?' "It's not a big deal."

"It's huge, Eli," he said, his soft, sweet tone glazing the vat of undeniable delight ducking under his reputation. Lucifer remained focussed on the documents a few seconds more, bouncing to each rung the higher the ladder went, tracing the wavering letters of his name with each new echelon of triumph. Stepping back to evaluate the full picture in all its glory, he turned to a coy face nervously scratching the skin on his hand and miles away to distract from the practiced comments the devil would aim his way. "Congratulations."

He stuck out his hand. Eligor took it. The shake felt weird, considering. "Thank you, Lucifer." Like indubitable clockwork, the simplest form of contact made them crave more for their boundaryless past, both lingering too long on the touch without faulter afraid of their self-imposed limits of interaction, clinging to the bare minimum to satiate their frenzied desires. "Your fault."

The devil could almost chuckle. Shoving books down Eligor's throat seemed to be his sole redeeming quality, thinking back to the evenings of crosschecks and debates and having him then whip out the actual texts much to the awe of the googly eyes watching him handle them with utmost care, near bursting with intrigue at the possibilities of learning straight from the horse's mouth – their quiet time in the evenings to unwind and relish in knowledge that drove him to sneak an issue here and there from the massive bookshelf and subsequently endure the punishments that came with it. He was happy to, more at the chance of snatching a new book come each new day and learning twice fold. "Don't blame your hard work on me." And for the first time today, he allowed himself to relax for just a moment, paying closer attention to his surroundings to smell an all-time favourite bubbling away his usual contemplation over needless detail. His focus went from chef to creation, leaning to the side and sticking his tongue at the corner of his mouth to a sound more familiar than his own name, minding its own business while brewing to perfection. "Is that what I think it is?"

With their hands still linked, he turned to the nearly ready simmering pot of chicken noodle practically calling Lucifer's name. "Is that not the reason you came down here?"

"I came here to talk to you, but-" he droned off; a whiff of home hit his senses, his personal remedy solely replicated in his imagination as comfort beyond his wildest dreams.

Ah, yes, a method of indefinitely shutting him up. His choice in variation was spot on. "Is it still your favourite?"

"I haven't had it in years."

Eligor began walking backward deaf to his reply, gently pulling his partner along on autopilot toward the kitchen. "Then today is your lucky day."

Lucifer followed like a sheep to his slaughter, getting a better eye at the stove top knowing more than anyone how much Astaroth ate. By his calculations he could get two ladles at best, the world knowing it wasn't enough to accomplish the demon's ultimate pastime. "Are you sure?"

"I know better than to make one pot of one kind of food when it comes to you demons. Sit." Pun fully intended, Eligor led him back to his stool and although it wasn't finished as he'd liked, he knew better than to keep him salivating until he was satisfied: he fished a bowl and plate from a shelf behind him and dished a hearty portion – one third meat to two thirds liquid goodness – setting it aside to retrieve one of the three baking loaves of bread from the oven where the corner and two straight slices were plated, and grabbing a tray from behind him he quickly added the meal and select cutlery, semi-proudly adjusting the sunglasses and placing the snack in front of him. The aroma cleared the devil's conscience, expecting nothing less from the epitome of perfectionist smirking silently to his left. "Hopefully it tastes better than you remember."

He went about his business charting the final touches to dinner as Lucifer begins to dig in only to stop himself, breaking the soupy surface with the tip of his spoon in instinctive eagerness but having his integrity float upward at the last second, gently dropping the utensil and folding his arms as he leaned on the marble squaring up to the back hunched over the sink. Eligor senses no movement behind him, turning on his heel to see the devil draped in his thinking cap as he glared, fluently syncing their breathing under the assumption it brought them to the same wavelength. It did not. The demon raised his eyebrows in question, leisurely drying his washed hands on his apron. "I want to clear the air." He was a sucker for poor timing and self-induced punishment, wrestling with the fragrant steam right under his nose. "You have things you want to say to me, and I want you to say them."

'So close, so fucking close,' he thought, biting the loose skin inside his cheek and tonguing at the tiny drop of blood looking just past the devilish face to concentrate on any object that dared come into focus. "Your soup will get cold."

"I consider you more important, so I'm all ears-"

"You don't have to do this." Disappointment filled his lungs worse than second-hand smoke, wishing he could give the elephant a middle finger being centimetres close from having his night worsened by the lingering stress of reaching backward while doing so well in his blinkers on the straight and narrow.

"I don't." Two words, earning pleasures on both sides of the spectrum reflecting his dislike and yearning for what would be spoken into the air. "Whatever you need to say, say it."

Eligor's gaze drifted an inch noting his usually humourless features somewhat softer than he remembered, genuinely interested in an old fashioned scolding of the routine kind and willingly open to receive whatever punches he may throw his way, elbows strained on either side of the bowl and laced fingers hovering over the light mist. "Eat. I'll switch off, then we talk."

It hit two birds with one stone: Lucifer could get into a better mood and he could continue unnecessary drivel to procrastinate forcing himself into the bed that was laid for him, returning to the space burning his psyche to cinders and reducing past coherencies into flaming garbage he'd now have to dig through and piece together in a moment he'd been waiting for not to happen at all costs. True to his word, he quietly twisted all the knobs to zero and hung up his apron, dragging his feet the longer way around to the stool next to the eating devil and shuffled the stubborn furniture as left as he could without making it consequentially obvious. He took his seat, and seconds after found his stool being hauled even closer to its corner counterpart by two sturdy arms, one of which found solace in the space between the backrest and the hem of the smaller man's shirt. He was more than capable in single-handedly defeating the final spoonfuls of his dinner, rubbing at the presented exposed skin tabula rasa on his irrevocable features. "I don't think you understand exactly what it was that pissed me off."

Lucifer pushed away the empty tray to utilise every ounce of his short attention span on the matter at hand; the man seemed so small, caught off guard by the wrong headspace from their insignificant yet sweet moment before. "I know you're angry as general consequence."

"Yeah, and I thought I processed it enough to have a civilised conversation with you, but alas I have to go back and explain to you why what you did was wrong." Shifting uneasily, his gaze dropped to the shuffled cutlery on the other side of the island until Lucifer's thumb persuaded a few unpermitted chills to ascend his spine, wanting his full attention as well in trying to egg the unpleasantries out of the smaller body. "That I was terribly angry that you gave me no head's up to the whole thing. That you took it upon yourself to end what we had in the way that you did. You actively chose not to tell me we were over, not even breaking things off or giving me a chance to properly say goodbye."

He drew soft circles with every finger, drifting his permanently black nails on the expanse of skin just underneath Eligor's shirt while laying his chin in his other palm, pained at seeing light crumbles of the tougher exterior fall into his lap. "It would have been harder for you-"

"But I would have known. That's the point. I don't hate that you keep things from me, but when it directly concerns me, I have every right to know. I deserved that. I thought I meant enough to you to have earned that space in your mind. You made me feel worthless by saying nothing and fighting against that notion became exhausting. And yes, it would have been difficult knowing this with a clock ticking over my head, but what you did was worse. Killing… everything… at the drop of a penny just as..." He stopped without knowing why: was he the only who thought things were getting better between them? Did he imagine them being closer? Lucifer being more open? It was so long ago he wasn't sure what to believe anymore, except the plain as day recollection being dropped like a hot potato on a stranger's doorstep. "There were things I wanted to say, things I wanted to do all cut short by a conscience you weren't supposed to have. You gave me extra to deal with and that wasn't fair."

Lucifer could feel him oddly calm through the pores of his skin, autonomously laying his hand flat in soft strokes across his back as each caress made him more composed with fury. "It wasn't my-"

"We went down the middle with everything, and then you left me alone. You walked out of that room after dumping your half on my shoulders, and I had to process everything. By myself. That hurt me, Lucifer." His voice grew faint – aggressively dignified – as if the words travelling at a snail's pace came equipped with A-grade butcher's knives attached to the agony of their presentation and equally as sharp. "More than any of your punishments, more than being locked away like some lavished slave-"

"I have warned you about calling yourself that in my company."

They looked at one another, the fringes of their previous life showing its singed face entirely unwelcome to their conversation. "I can call myself whatever the fuck I want."

"You absolutely cannot."

Eligor wouldn't win, regardless of how true he may be, so he sidestepped for the purpose of moving forward for the real juicy goodness that would crush him like a two for one special. "What stopped you?" So absorbed, neither dare break the invisible bond out of spite, softening as it led to the crux of his hoariest troubles. "What stopped you from grabbing your own balls and coming clean to me?"

Lucifer unconsciously drooped to the marble in front of him, running his fingers through his hair and scratching deeply into his scalp soothed by the terrible pain it brought with it. Further and further his fingers went, the louder the sound of ripping flesh as he dragged his nails forward, the feel of his cold blood drenching his follicles and digits bringing solace to the manifestation of his own memories the day his life almost ended. He spoke one word to encapsulate it all, a word never associated to any aspect of him as a collective whole. "Fear."

His hand went higher, and the demon allowed it so, thinking to assume more from his touch than what came from his mouth – a neat little trick he learned that the soothsayer mistook as subordination but was really a niche for his inability to communicate. "What were you afraid of? You're fucking Lucifer, for crying out loud. You fear nothing."

He spoke without a beat. "I fear you."

This was a first, giving little time to comprehend as he continued scratching. "Why?"

"The implications of keeping you around." A hand left his short strands, resting his temple on the now clean fist. "I had no power over you or the way you made me feel. I harboured no influence over your choices or thoughts. You were your own person and yet you were an extension of what I was turning into. I went to you with everything and eventually lost track of who I was – I needed to be ruthless, callous, calculating, brutal, arrogant, because that's what I am, that's what I'm destined to be, and becoming afraid to be that is not something I could tolerate on a moment's notice." An opened hand now cradled the throbbing, angling his features as he tapped a light jingle next to him, squaring his jaw as the skin prickled in recognition of his cold desire. "We both needed you to leave. I am not who I need to be when I'm with you. The fact that I can say that with certainty is frightening enough, so I decided that morning that I'd go through with it – not a month or a week before – but that morning. I made sure neither of us had time, so don't you dare think it was easier for you because I was the one who walked away. Being selfish was the only option, and things were easier knowing your heart wasn't steadily breaking with every step we took. That was something I wanted to bear alone, for the best possible outcome. And it was within your right not to join me; there was no way you would have stepped out of that door if you knew."

"You would have made me understand-"

"I wouldn't have," he interjected, lightly shaking his head. "I'm a selfish creature, Eli. Making you understand wouldn't have been for my benefit."

Eligor managed a chuckle while the final piece of the story clicked into place. "So, breaking me into a thousand pieces made more sense to you than justifying your ego?"

"It makes more sense if you consider I'd be begging you to leave me."

And knowing why would have made the world of difference. But the more he thought of it, the more the intended course of action made sense, lining up with Lucifer's overall mannerisms and unhealthy tendencies to drop everything in favour of a current happening, important or not, because acting on impulse to satiate any and all his desires sat embedded in his namesake. From that perspective it all connected, although highly illogical, which amounted for forty percent of his livelihood. Without reliance on strategy or logic, there was a goal and he did what he had to fulfil it. However, the mere suggestion of impact over his thinking gave Eligor reason to puff his chest a little more, unaware of the true hold he had over him now revealed in the most selfish way possible and maddened that he had wasted night after night thinking he was the problem – when in one sense he was – but in another it was the devil's flawed feelings at fault as well. He had done nothing wrong and still lost.

A wave of incensed relief allowed him to concentrate on the meagre, otherworldly contact, closing his eyes as he straightened his spine looking to one of the dangling lights directly above his head and breathing slow for the revelation to circulate in his veins and dissociate the hatred attached to the silver orbs he could feel staring at him. The heat from the stare unfroze the butterflies lying dormant for too long, warming him up with the gentlest flicks of their wings as they fluttered about confused, grey as ash and doused in wrath in his own perverse stupidity sans proper foundation. "You don't give me enough credit."

Lucifer nodded along, knowing the opposing core of the argument wasn't something he could control. "I can admit to that. But in my defence, telling you I've known who you were from the beginning and that the brother you explicitly came to Hell to look for was a direct colleague of mine was not something I wanted to do without evidence. You wouldn't believe me otherwise."

The incubus was no longer listening, taking the moment to thoroughly ignore the supposed scapegoats plucked from the dusty thin air and letting his anger filter what he heard, looking lovingly at the sliding door and the rush of blood coming with smashing it into a million pieces. "I wish you knew how much I loved you."

"I did. I feared that the most," he whispered, the sweet tune slowing in rhythm for his fingers to shamelessly reflect his most private affections and prying the man's gaze to his own, leaning the tiniest bit toward the cloudy greens lazily coming into view. It was moments like these that pierced their thick, experienced miens where they delved to their past natures, their little bubble prematurely burst by losing themselves being wrapped up in the fantasy of it all and ignoring the real facets of what made them true to one another, bound by the saviour and his hopeless case twisted into a darkened fairy tale that had no hope of existing beyond the four walls of its growth. Only Lucifer knew of this certainty and tried desperately to keep him away from that established fact, embellishing the blanket of security until it became too heavy even for him, ladders ripping at Eligor's line of sight and starting the clock of the inevitable. "I want us to be okay-"

"There is no us," he replied quickly, his hands shaking slightly in his lap at the undeniable truth in his heart, and it hadn't hurt any less having to admit it to the creature who owned it. "It's going to take a while for 'us' to be anything remotely okay."

The devil suffered millennia alone; no amount of time could bother him. "I can wait-"

Eligor twisted his hand at the extended elbow and touched it warmly, a warning of caution and the loss of contact that would come in a mere moment. Again, sheer habit, too late invested in the involuntary action – their bodies hadn't forgotten. He took a breath but decided against using it, jumping from his seat with puffed cheeks and a quizzical, squinted look that his partner emulated while frozen in his posture, following him floating to the oven to retrieve the baked goodies. As the bigger tray clanged on the stovetop and the sweet smell hit his nose, he grabbed the misty trail of the man currently attacking dessert with a plastic spatula, making quick work for a burnt corner and its neighbour onto two side plates appearing from nowhere. Still warm and steaming, he balanced the soft buns all the way back to his seat, passing over the bigger portion to a silvery pair of fervent hunger feigning composure to the frankness of his actions. Before sitting down, he drew two pastry forks from his back pocket and tossed one directly into the devil's piece, subtly coughing in recognition of his skill as he shimmied back into his spot. The incubus drew circles with the pointy end over his cinnamon bun, scraping groves into the glaze to show his company the object is, indeed, for consumption, a cute smirk tugging at the biting genius resting at the edges of his mouth.

Mealtime together was sacred to both, giving them time to mutually drown out the incessant knock of reality for a few minutes more. "You were saying?"

Lucifer scoffed, remaining his default complacency and resuming his position four minutes prior, pressing the fork deep into the centre of the bun as his right hand traversed the empty space to Eligor's back, smoothing the shirt from his shoulders down to the belt in his jeans. "Nothing."

And while taking his first bite, the man next to him began poking the treat to his heart's content lost in thought, troubled by the simple feeling a single answer could make disappear. He plucked the breathy courage only to discard it on the unappreciative marble but not unnoticed by the devil attuned to every morsel of his being, turning to face him in an his altruistic 'yes?' without further prompt of Eligor's agitated mind to coerce him gently with more shapes on his soft, heated flesh. "Did you ever love me?"

The devil swallowed, worming the utensil a second time and claiming a human-sized steaming biteful of the newer experiment. "I haven't stopped." His face was grave like the factoid was obvious enough, recalling he'd never outright admitted it but guessed it was assumed, nonetheless. The response stopped the incubus dead in his tracks for a good minute and then contorted to a 'I fucking knew it' smile like it was something he doubted, and the back and forth like a game of checkers obliterated in three words could not have been a better resolution to his conundrum. It was a pity he waited that long to know that he wasn't delusional in thinking it was mutual – the only certainty he entertained was his temper.

The smaller man bowed his head into his plate and stubbornly placed his hand on the devil's right thigh, flushing and surrendering his mental will to the lacklustre flow of order he was used to, a welcomed break for his strong mind turning nimble under duress of Lucifer's incredible presence. The receiver leaned forward and they met in the middle, a lingering vanilla peck giving him free roam over Eligor's back using his fingernails as he scratched upward to his neck, massaging lightly as he always did when they kissed. He pulls away and the incubus looks him square in his eyes while tapping twice on his thigh, wanting another but deeper than his initial offer, pushing his tongue into the devil's mouth and meaning it. He was taken by surprise but went with the earthly surge, coming back to him like it was yesterday in long, deep strokes in Eligor's mouth as his benchmark, hearing him moan as he nibbled at the corner of his mouth when they jointly broke free for air. Lucifer continued his onslaught in the crook of the smaller man's neck, on his left cheek and his temple, massaging his shoulder as he did so. Unconsciously revelling in the contact, the incubus breathed heavy as his sweet spots were hit dead on, murmuring incoherencies to himself to stay afloat and not lose his sense of realism but too relishing his partner at his prime when he was in a good mood. "That changes nothing," said the demon with a tinge of mock seriousness as he, still, hadn't pulled away.

"I believe you," he said, half-smiling, and Eligor regretfully turned away, knowing his incapabilities and what that smile did to him, but the deeper blush on his cheeks was irresistible the higher his hand went up his thigh. "Control these days means so little."

His green eyes resembled saucers in disbelief of the words coming out of the other's mouth; their kiss must have knocked some screws loose. Both beings dig into their dessert but not before Lucifer aimlessly grabs Eligor's hand and laced their fingers, resting it on the spot where their thighs touched. Internally imploding he was; showing it he would not. "You haven't changed one bit."

"Maybe," said the devil, lifting the other's hand to his lips and kissing it lightly, skulking on the taste of his skin that would beat a cinnamon bun any day of the week. He went back to his portion while the demon shook his head in disbelief, unable to eat his forkful of sugar too high in aetheric disfunction induced by the gentleman unconsciously gripping his hand. Lucifer's fork hovered above his plate staring keenly at the swirls of cinnamon marbling the dough as his thumb grazed flesh all the way to his wrist, stuffing the serving into his mouth and inwardly smiling at the nuances hitting his palate where it mattered most. In an act of cultural defiance Eligor left his serving and held the devil's hand in both of his, melancholily staring at a blurred reflection of himself in the black kitchen tile as he pulled their limbs to his lap. "What?"

He massaged his forearm underneath his coat, feeling the left side of his body burn under the scrutiny of Lucifer's cataleptic silver curiosity, tilting his head in the opposite direction enjoying the gentle tingles up his entire body long overdue. He took it all in, and mixed with the honied smell a few inches away it was heaven incarnate without him having to admit it. "You talk too much; eat your damn bun."

---

He balanced the glass between his lips, a single engaging droplet taking its time to slide down the frozen wall into his mouth. "I don't think you understand-"

"I think I comprehend the situation fairly well." The finality in Sparda's tone dissipated in a quick wince as he swirled a bigger stinging mouthful with his tongue, a damning sensation he thought to be used to by now. "There are things he'll need to consider, and with his current support structure now is as good a time as any."

Astaroth caught the miniscule nose scrunch and gave a chuckle through clenched teeth, feeling the cool, failed anticipation fall to his chin instead. "It's not that simple."

Who were they kidding – the smartest living creature sat smitten beneath their very feet willingly, the only one dangerously capable under order to fulfil the will undone by the nature that created it. "I never said it would be." His bashful attempt was cute, flattering his line of thinking that ignored the outliers on the path to his conclusion. "I'm here to ask for your permission to begin-"

The incubus shook his head slowly. "Take me out of this; he's an adult, he can decide for himself."

And with that he plucked the bottle and poured to half mast, zoning to the sloshing amber before passing the last half-serving to his father in law. Taking the liquid courage, the king sought its physical counterpart in the outstretched hand and found… nothing. Picture perfect calm looked back in deep emerald as he took it, refilling his own with cheery, subtle regret and took a sip. Easier. "What happened to your stance on keeping him human?"

"That still stands, but if this is something he really wants, I can't stop that," he said as he chipmunked the full gulp and made an effort to move, stopping in his own tracks by a mindless gesture of condition pointed at the other demon. "It has to be his choice. It needs to come from him, not someone who absentmindedly planted a seed to make him feel inadequate or lesser not being like us."

"Do you think he feels this way?" Sparda pursed his lips unironically.

For the Nero he knew to feel insecure about something so trivial was absurd, and yet ruling it out completely seemed to pick at a potential raw scab the boy craved to keep invisible, scattered like the many rotting away on his own skull. The theory of human want would tirelessly allude him, but consequential logic had been a long-standing buddy of his for quite some time. "I know he wants more."

"Then let's gift him the opportunity."

"When he is ready and only then." Astaroth truly did, but his soaked headspace hadn't allowed for much explanation to seep through. To end a terrible day on a tender note left him melancholily teetering a perilous middle ground of emotion, the proposition edging to either side stretching each possibility to their limit. Which threshold stood right, and which stood easy? He chose to bury his murky judgement out of fear, turning to Sparda who no longer struggled with his drink in its last moments. "Have you spoken to your children about this?"

He probably should have seen it coming, and his expression said it all. "I came here first."

"Why?" With no courteous bones in his body, there was one other ending. "Oh, absolutely not-"

"I'm not asking you to tell them. You're legally attached to the boy, it's obvious I'd come here before that struggle."

Maybe sarcastic statement, meet definite sarcastic reply. "I appreciate the thought. Thanks."

Sparda's smirk was unavoidable, switching between the bitter and sweet efforts come to fruition. "Does this mean you're on board?"

The incubus steadily drew breath and let the liquid tingle his throat, the ice melting in his febrile hands and following suit hindering the blazing storm he strained to keep at bay. "If Nero asks, I will answer."

There was a defining shift in the air as the old demon tossed his tumbler over the side of the building, stuffing his hands in his pockets with more pep in his broad shoulders. "Of course-"

"But I mean it – I find out you had a hand in forcing him into this, I'm breaking every fucking bone in your body."

He bowed his snow-white head. "Quite the tame punishment, my son."

"We'll see," he said, his hands floating close to his head for a quick, deep scratch. "You're going through an awful amount of trouble getting this off the ground."

His icy blues turned solemn as he fondly stared into a dead spot in the night sky, tracing a messy pentagon with Astaroth's curious eyebrows just out of view. "My family's prosperity is everything to me. The one you're engaged to is no longer my concern. The other one, now he's a tricky pickle."

"Vergil is the last soul you need to worry about."

"He's found something great and I would like for it to stay that way."

The gaze drifted downward to severe admiration and sincerity glowing from the incubus' tired frame, mustering the emotional strength of a small smile. "They are happy, Sparda."

"Then I'm sure you understand where I'm coming from."

Sparda sharpened the rime in his glare hoping to relate on the 'I'm a father and still want the best for my children' trope. An obnoxious one he may be but have a point he did, that each benefit included a loss of immense proportion to each individual offspring. The notion tempted an itch to the already torn scalp, whizzing away in slow motioned, pre-emptive anticipation to the inevitable answer that would damn Nero more lifetimes than he could chew. "Don't do that. You don't get to take that away from me."

"He'll still need you," the demon king said, his eyes briefly softening as part of his fictional humanity poked its head. "More than you can ever imagine." The soldier warily stooped to his level but relaxed the tiniest bit, sharing an earnest moment cut short by faint footsteps joining the far side of the roof; Eligor slinked over to the fresh new puddle between his seedlings unbothered by its presence while Lucifer brought up the rear with his signature blank handsome slate laced with just a sprinkle of content, taking the spot in front of him to resume their tiny, muted conversation. It seemed like time had done little to affect their affections as each of their walls expertly warped in tune with their filtered thoughts interweaving like DNA wrapped around their forged hearts, taking turns to scream at the bonds against their better judgement. "If there was ever a second love story I hoped to work out, it was those two."

Astaroth was pulled from the picturesque scene by the single, burdened whisper. "Who was the first?" The sombre turned shrewd, cocking his head with the subject gazing back. "You didn't like me."

Sparda curled his lips inward, shaking his head as he faced the matter-of-factly upturned eyebrow. "I didn't like that you made it easy for him. There's a difference." They smirked in tandem loud enough to breach the silence accompanying two extra pairs of eyes, pulling their attempts further across their faces. "An old man can hope such happiness for both his sons."

The lieutenant's smirk lingered still, absorbing the sincerity of so many years spent uncaring to resistance that was never there. His green orbs dropped consequentially, following a deviated, concrete line to the couple in their own restrained world in a soft huff of worry and spoke mildly. "Hey, Sparda-"

"Don't use that tone, it's okay," he said, a smaller smile fighting to maintain its size. "I've taken enough of your time. Say goodbye to your brother for me. I won't make it home in one piece if I break that moment."

The deities shared a knowing nod as they always did, signing on their individual victories of forest and azure flaming beyond their kindred stares. Sparda turned, counting in his head each step he took to the edge of the building loud enough for Lucifer to hear- "Take care, my king."

And wasn't it priceless, his concentration broken by timid smugness solely achieved through full view of the back of his silver head; the mentioned stopped dead and sniffed the crisp air, heaving his shoulders in defiance of his title while contorting a warning look perceived in every direction. "Don't piss me off, I have time for that."

Astaroth knew that all too well and wished not to tempt fate. "Send regards to mom."

The king threw up a salute as his journey to the perch ended. "Visit her sometime, would you? She needs a different handsome face from time to time."

He winked, clumsily losing his depth perception a split second too long and fell into his ride home, given the lack of splat to crack the anxious silence sluggishly enveloping him like too familiar clouds of smoke quietly appeasing his emotion to the surface for adequate residency atop the fresh furnace Sparda had just resurrected. 'There's no way he'll leave this alone.' Pinching the bridge of his nose, he willed three steps of cold breeze into his lungs inadvertently preparing for the most enthralling inferno his world would never see. Yet the tiny sting of alcohol helped, alerting him to the footsteps growing tentative against their collective will to be anywhere else…

But Astaroth's tired smile sufficiently drew them closer, leaving enough leeway for an emphatic send-off to his old friend. The devil looked to Eligor holding his still untouched bun, reading a most conflicted expression in the furrows of his charming features. "I'll make headway-"

"You don't have to." His gaze remained transfixed on the spot his father-in-law previously occupied, wanting – for what seemed like the first time – to delay being alone with his brother. A reserved smile accompanied a single genuine request, and the two demons had little trouble deciphering which was the lie. "Stay."

Lucifer was largely insouciant, not stupid; as much as it was his nature to mess with anyone in close proximity, lingering like sticky tofu between two mildly snappy siblings was a lesson he learned the hard way with the twins, and the moment presented thick enough tension that could violently kick him into his dimension without the need of a portal. He was nevertheless considerate, understanding the extent of the older brother's personality to know what he needed and why – the plan would fail and for his own good, swiftly ignoring the buoyant ball of energy prepping a scolding he'd gladly postpone in exchange for a practical delay. "I want to, and you're too polite."

Astaroth twisted his neck but evaded their stare, focusing on the treat in his brother's hands before realising too many seconds had passed to sound sincere. "I'm sorry, I can't-"

"You don't have to explain. Rest… or do what you do to… whatever."

"I'll make sure he does." Eligor's voice was barely a whisper, mirroring the incubus' expression in verbal form. "After I beat him senseless…"

To his credit, Lucifer's cute giggle pulled them from the brooding circle of Hell they were all drowning in, showing off his sharp, pearly whites filling the once-in-a-blue-moon quota a week early. The siblings frowned at the heavenly noise out of nowhere, watching in wonder at the stylish juxtaposition pocketing his hands and cocking his head left, pressing his pierced tongue into the corresponding cheek for a conciliating sigh to peep the corner of his mouth to devastate the explosive lining in their exhaled breath. "Yes, I'm the one who hasn't changed." In an unseen puff of fumes, he stepped forward and set his hand on the back of Eligor's neck, angling it for a hasty kiss to his forehead whilst eyeing a warning to the piece of black sky behind his friend's head. He nodded, acknowledging the plea of insanity with a playful gleam gesturing to the muted wide-eyed joy at the contact, leaning into the moment as he chopped his monologue into smaller bits that better fit the holes unplugged by such a morsel of touch. "You know where to find me."

He opened the invitation to both, resuming his infamous stance with a lighter undertone as the world sucked him in like a vacuum and disappeared, abandoning the bubbling scenario and accompanying mental coin tosses to each individual outcome they were rooting for. With a calmer atmosphere, Hanson found what he needed without the lump as an obstacle, walking to the shelled form holding a close eye the nearer he trod. "Tell me one thing."

"Just one?" Lars' gaze never left his brother's nodding face, tilting his head to find the best string of words to put the mushed mind at ease. "Then no, it doesn't seem like Sparda said anything to him. He was shocked when he saw me, and more seeing you."

He nodded again – bigger – his voice less shaky. "Did he know he was being used to distract me?"

"I can assure you he had more important things on his mind." Not a direct answer but the full truth, nonetheless. "He wasn't following a script, if that's what you're digging for."

"Oh." The implication of his eavesdropping held no hassle, only that his brother's expertise on all things devil could be put to good use, selfishness be damned. "Okay," was all he musted, stuck between the past hour being the happiest he'd been in a vey long time and the past few days of absolute anguish searching for his kin.

What he failed to notice was the intrinsic pep in his voice that allowed Lars to find his own, relaxed enough to venture the dialogue and have his just desserts on a stone platter – little could ruin his mood more than Sparda's proposition, but Hanson was Hanson; his linguistic creativity knew no bounds and stung from dizzy heights that took weeks to wash off, penetrating your clothes and subconscious that normal determination would never reach. Of all the things Lucifer could teach him.

He finally looked up from his plate and they locked eyes, returning the intensity tenfold as a default setting against this particular opponent. "So, can we make our way downstairs or do I get your words of wisdom this early?"

If he were being honest, a scolding on an empty stomach was not a box to be ticked on his to-do list for the night; uncertainty burned fiery hot as it spread, making the calmer of the two less susceptible to retention for what the encounter had to offer, his reliance on purer instinct to betray him come face to face with rational logic and genuine fear – his absolute favourite to be flipped against him while seething in rage. The younger incubus mistook the blank canvas and sat the cutlery carefully on the ledge next to him, moving slowly to a decision that caught him mid stride as the stifling fury from afar tingled his tempered skin. "Swear to me you'll never try to be the hero again."

Lars squared his jaw and licked his lips, draining his stare of anything that could give him away. "There was nothing-"

"I don't care. Pull shit like this a second time, I'll make it my mission to hurt you." Hanson took a leap of faith and grabbed his brother's wrist, ensuring the next sentiment breached their shared stubbornness. "I'll get stronger, and not only will I save your ass, I'll punch you within an inch of your damned life-"

"Sounds promising." The intentional, dark anger reverberated the roof, making it known to every life force within a three-mile radius that he was done with where the conversation was going. "Let me go."

As a testament to how far gone the older was, he anticipated the hollow threat to work against the immovable predicament on his arm and growled inward in reply to his doomed flight response. "I agreed to follow along with your fucked perception of justice, but if you won't follow your own rules, why write them? More people are relying on you. Putting your life at risk because you can isn't the smartest thing nor is it a good enough excuse for your actions." Seeing the glimmer of fangs inferred his understanding, and too the possible danger his life was in. "You're the only family I have. I went to Hell for you, went through hell to get to you. We need to watch Nero grow old, Lars. Dante and Vergil… I wish you'd realise-"

"Stop," he said, grimacing at the irony. "I need you to stop."

"When it sinks in that you're not in the Underworld and that you mean absolutely nothing to these humans, I'll stop. Think about the ones who give a damn. Those morose fanboys aren't here to cheer on your rash choices. It's just us, your family, and it's fucking unfair."

"They need to keep their noses out of my business."

The steeled hand gave nothing in his attempt to escape, his last chance at a non-lethal effort before things got bloody. Irreversible. "I'm your damn brother-"

Lars harshly tugged his arm toward his own chest, pulling the death vice dangerously close and spoke spitefully, laced with venom and paralysing the younger's until-now stout demeanour being treated like a ragdoll. "Then I advise you to know your place, Eligor." A hair's width separated their features looking one another down in waiting for either to flinch. Unfortunately for them, Hanson was the one to falter, propelling curdling blood into his veins and letting go, the mention of rank being the final straw he'd content to in an argument as a reminder of his past: how he was nothing turned plaything in his search for answers and swiftly something standing by his princely brother's side, his achievements marked off not by his blood, sweat, and tears undeserving of his earnings under Lucifer's wing but glory unending carrying the discovered Nygård name. Using rank was primal, defensive – he was hiding something unpretty, and tonight wasn't the night to press those wounds. With the failsafe engaged, he stared into nothingness as the hulking mess moved soundlessly to the staircase and down to the kitchen, slamming the sliding door open and keeping it that way.

Hanson staked his life for many things, but never had he been so close to having it plucked from him like one of his dying feathers losing its place in the wingspan, uselessly falling to the ground with new, intended purpose of collecting dust. Tears nipped his vibrant greens the instant he was beyond harm's way, pooling as he breathed the trail of hot air shadowing Lars into the house. Lifting his head, he cursed the blurred stars in a staggered exhale to keep his emotions at bay and followed suit.

His heavy footsteps drowned out the faint sound of perfectly timed flapping wings, landing smoothly on the elevated ledge perpendicular to the lone pastry growing cold by the millisecond. Looking between the space separating it and the staircase acting as entry, the blinding white feathers shook with glee at neither sound nor presence sufficiently close to interrupt his unscheduled feast, waddling slowly towards it for the world to change its mind as it so customarily inclined. A wave of relief washed over the dove when none came, creeping within an inch and began pecking away, chewing bit by bit and savouring the sweetness supreme to his earlier meal of berries and nuts. The bird sat carefully next to the plate, tucking in the necessaries and closing his eyes for concentration; a light pop broke the chill in the evening air as the creature was no longer, replaced by a full figure taking in a deep breath of freshness in bigger, healthier lungs compared to its smaller counterpart. His clothes were expensive and lightly torn, falling off one shoulder as his body had seen more nutritious, fuller days. He swung his bare feet over the edge of the roof, knocking his heels into the rough concrete as he continued to dig in with proper human bites, quietly licking the warm glaze from his lips and chewing happily while his wavy auburn hair gestured utter joy through the strands, swaying on tempo with his pale feet. His blue eyes shone a brighter shade in the moonlight playing to a flawless backdrop while the deliciousness hit his tongue. Glancing over the darkness, he smirked to no one. "I found you."

He took another bite.