With the spider siblings out on their own little adventure, the rest of the hotel crew were having their own bit of fun. One of them was Lucifer himself; he decided to go down to a bar that wasn't too far from the apartment. The evening air carried the scent of rain-soaked asphalt, mingling with the distant aroma of street food and cigarette smoke. Neon lights flickered above the entrance of a dimly lit bar, the kind of place that had just enough grime to give it character but not enough to be considered a health hazard. Lucifer, ever the image of elegance—even in his human disguise—strode inside with the air of someone who owned the place.

Technically, he didn't, but ownership had never stopped him from acting like he did. He slid onto a barstool, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored crimson jacket before signaling the bartender. "Whiskey, neat. And don't be stingy."

A glass was placed before him almost immediately, and he took a slow sip, savoring the burn. It had been a long day of wrangling sinners, avoiding Alastor's incessant humming, and dealing with the general chaos that followed their little excursion to Earth. A drink was well-earned. A few drinks in, he felt his usual regal composure slipping just a little. A few drinks more and the former King of Hell found himself actually enjoying the company of the mortals around him. Humans were simple creatures—easily pleased, easily fooled, and oh-so entertaining when intoxicated. He found himself in a conversation with a group of rowdy locals who were eagerly drinking with him, laughing at his exaggerated stories of old-world conquests, unknowingly toasting to the devil himself.

Back at the apartment, Alastor was going about his own business, fine-tuning his radio equipment, adjusting dials, and ensuring that his setup was properly transmitting local broadcasts. He had been vaguely aware that Lucifer had left, but had paid little mind to it—until nearly two hours had passed and the clock struck midnight. Lucifer should've been back by now. With a sigh, Alastor straightened his tie, debating if he should go fetch him. He wasn't particularly interested in babysitting, but something gnawed at him, a strange little concern buried beneath layers of mischief and amusement.

It had nothing to do with sentimentality, he assured himself, just a practical assessment of the situation. After all, a drunk Lucifer could be a disaster waiting to happen. With that thought, he grabbed his coat and headed out. When he arrived at the bar, the sight before him nearly made him laugh out loud. Lucifer, the grand Morningstar, was slouched over the counter, his once impeccable human disguise slightly disheveled. His white-blond hair, always so perfectly in place, was mussed, and his usually pristine suit was slightly askew. He was grinning lazily, eyes unfocused as he lifted his glass in a lazy toast to absolutely no one.

Perhaps it was because he had never actually seen the Morningstar let loose. With a fox-like grin, Alastor materialized at Lucifer's side, leaning an elbow against the bar as if he had been there the whole time. "My, my, my, what an interesting sight this is. The mighty Morningstar, sulking in a bar all alone. Whatever would your dear Charlie say?"

Lucifer turned his head toward him, blinking as if trying to process who had just spoken. A slow smirk spread across his lips. "Ah... Alastor! Fancy seeing you here."

"Oh, I had a feeling I'd find you here," Alastor mused, slipping onto the stool beside him. "Though I must admit, I never expected to see you so... mortal."

Lucifer chuckled, taking another sip—then immediately wincing as the alcohol hit a little too hard. "It's been a long time since I've had a drink like this. Hell's liquor isn't quite the same."

"Yes, I imagine it's a bit more... robust," Alastor said, watching with amusement as Lucifer's head lolled slightly.

Lucifer, blinking sluggishly, suddenly narrowed his eyes. "Wait... did you come to check on me? How cute."

Alastor chuckled, signaling for a drink of his own. "Oh, don't be so sour, old sport! I was merely out for a little late-night exploration and happened upon this fine establishment. Imagine my delight in finding you here, drinking all by your lonesome."

Lucifer rolled his eyes and downed the rest of his whiskey. "Not lonesome. Just enjoying some peace and quiet. Something you clearly have no regard for."

Alastor laughed, the sound a rich, eerie melody. "Peace and quiet? In a place like this? My dear Lucifer, you must be truly desperate."

Lucifer waved a hand dismissively, signaling for another drink. "I don't need commentary from you, Radio Demon."

Alastor hummed in amusement and took a sip of his own drink, his eyes flickering with something almost thoughtful as he watched Lucifer. The fallen angel had a certain air about him tonight, something different from his usual arrogant grandeur. He looked... weary. Worn down in a way Alastor wasn't used to seeing. It was strangely compelling. As if on cue, Lucifer downed the rest of his glass and signaled for another. It wasn't often he allowed himself to drink so freely—he had a reputation to maintain, after all—but tonight? Tonight, he would allow himself this minor escape.

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, the quiet hum of the bar's patrons filling the space between them. Alastor, ever the opportunist, took this chance to observe Lucifer more closely. There was something about the way he carried himself, even in moments of relaxation, that Alastor found intriguing. Regal, yet undeniably mischievous. Powerful, yet... vulnerable? No, that couldn't be right. Lucifer was many things, but vulnerability was not one of them. Yet, Alastor's mind drifted back to the battle with Adam. He remembered the moment Lucifer had stepped in, shielding him, healing the wound he had sustained.

That soft touch, fleeting as it was, had lingered in Alastor's thoughts more than he cared to admit. It was strange; disconcerting, even. He was not one to dwell on sentimentality, but there was something about Lucifer that made it... difficult to ignore. Lucifer, oblivious to Alastor's internal musings, let out a dramatic sigh. "You know, for all the power I have, sometimes I wonder why I even bother. Charlie wants me to play nice, but do you know how exhausting it is to pretend to tolerate you a lot?"

"I loathe you as well." Alastor stated.

Lucifer huffed, staring at the drink as if it personally offended him. But his pride wouldn't let him back down from the implied challenge. With a resigned sigh, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a long, deliberate sip. Alastor watched intently, his eyes gleaming with amusement. There was something undeniably captivating about Lucifer in moments like this—unguarded, unfiltered. He had always been an enigma, but now? Now Alastor found himself wanting to unravel the mystery, piece by piece. Perhaps this little outing would prove more interesting than he initially thought.

As the night wore on, Lucifer continued drinking, which was concerning given that celestial beings didn't usually indulge to the point of excess. But tonight? Tonight was different. He had fought, he had bled, and for once, he wanted to just forget. Alastor found himself watching Lucifer more than usual, taking in the way his golden hair fell into his face when he leaned over his drink, how his red eyes dimmed slightly when lost in thought. It was... oddly endearing. And that realization was startling enough for Alastor to immediately order another drink to shake the thought away.

Then, as expected, Lucifer drank himself sick. "Oh, dear," Alastor mused, watching as Lucifer swayed in his seat. "I do believe you've overestimated your tolerance, my dear."

Lucifer groaned, gripping the edge of the bar as the room spun around him. "I'm fine."

"Oh yes, clearly," Alastor said dryly. "That's why you're currently trying to have a staring contest with the floor."

Lucifer scowled, though it lacked his usual bite. "Shut up."

Alastor chuckled before sighing dramatically. "Well, I suppose someone has to be responsible for you. And since dear Charlie isn't here, I, your ever-dutiful roommate, shall have to escort you back."

Lucifer gave a lazy, knowing smile, though it was slightly ruined by his lack of coordination. "You like me, don't you?"

Alastor stiffened. "I beg your pardon?"

"You. Like. Me," Lucifer repeated, jabbing a finger in his direction—only to miss entirely and nearly topple off the stool.

Alastor barely caught him by the arm, scowling. "You are insufferable."

"And you..." Lucifer slurred, leaning closer, "...are blushing."

Alastor quickly released him. "That's the alcohol talking. Now, finish up. We're leaving."

Lucifer attempted to protest but was cut off by Alastor all but yanking him up from his seat. He stumbled, and Alastor, with a surprising amount of gentleness, steadied him. "Tsk tsk, Lucifer. You're usually so graceful."

Lucifer grumbled under his breath as Alastor practically dragged him out of the bar. It was a comical sight—Hell's most feared beings, one leaning heavily on the other as they made their way through the city streets. Alastor, ever the gentleman, whistled a cheerful tune as they walked, thoroughly enjoying Lucifer's suffering. "You're so warm, Alastor," Lucifer murmured as they stumbled down the street. "Didn't think you'd be warm."

Alastor rolled his eyes. "Stop talking."

Lucifer pouted, "Make me."

"I will drop you."

Lucifer only snickered, though he did fall into silence, content to lean heavily on Alastor as they made their way back to the apartment. By the time they arrived, Alastor was ready to throw Lucifer into their shared room and be done with it. He kicked open the door, unceremoniously dragging Lucifer inside before depositing him onto the bed. Lucifer groaned, rolling onto his back. "The room is spinning."

"That tends to happen when you drink like a fool," Alastor muttered, loosening his tie. He sighed, running a hand through his hair before eyeing the fallen Morningstar. "Do I even want to know how much you had?"

Lucifer grinned lazily. "Enough."

Alastor sighed again, rubbing his temples. "You are impossible."

Lucifer chuckled, but his amusement was cut short when he suddenly lurched forward, groaning. Alastor reacted quickly, shoving a trash bin toward him just in time. Lucifer coughed, slumping back against the bed afterward. Alastor earned a disgruntled groan from the celestial. "You're a terrible nurse," Lucifer muttered.

"And yet, here I am, taking care of you," Alastor replied smugly. He grabbed a damp cloth and pressed it to Lucifer's forehead, a small frown tugging at his lips as he watched the usually composed ruler of Hell reduced to this state. "You really are something, you know that?"

Lucifer cracked one eye open, his gaze unfocused. "Flattering me, Alastor? What, you got a crush or something?"

Alastor went rigid for a split second before forcing out a laugh. "Oh, my dear, if I did, you'd be the last to know."

Lucifer smirked lazily before his eyes slipped shut. "You're not as bad as I thought."

Alastor blinked, caught off guard by the admission. He sat there for a moment, staring at Lucifer, before sighing and shaking his head. "And you're even worse than I thought." Alastor sat beside him, looking down with something bordering on pity. "You're a mess."

Lucifer cracked one eye open. "But I'm a charming mess."

Alastor scoffed, shaking his head. And yet, as he sat there, something twisted in his chest. Something annoyingly fond. He ignored it, standing up with a huff. "Get some sleep, Morningstar. You'll regret this in the morning."

Lucifer hummed, already half-asleep. "Stay?"

Alastor froze. His instinct was to laugh it off, but the request had been soft—genuine. Against his better judgment, he sighed and sat back down. Lucifer smiled faintly before slipping into unconsciousness. Alastor sat there in the dim light, staring at the ceiling, feeling something he hadn't felt in a very long time.

Damn it all.