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It’s quiet.

That’s the worst part. Lucifer was expecting it to be a relief once you were gone. He was expecting to feel like he could breathe freely again. You occupied so much of his time, running through his mind so often he was surprised you weren’t exhausted when he saw you. He had to watch out for you constantly—making sure you didn’t get yourself killed by a demon (again), keeping you and Belphegor and Satan from causing him too much frustration with your stupid “pranks,” generally trying to keep you out of trouble.

It was exhausting.

Then you kiss him.

Then you leave.

Then it’s quiet.

Lucifer's brothers miss you too. Leviathan holes himself up in his room and doesn’t emerge for almost a month. Mammon goes on a shopping spree so intense that the packages he’s ordered from Akuzon (all unopened, even weeks later—the objects less of a goal than the spending itself) flood his room and spill out into the hallway. Satan and Belphegor’s pranks take on a somewhat malicious nature, as if they’re silently asking Lucifer, “why didn’t you make them stay?”

(Lucifer asks himself that sometimes, too.)

Lucifer never once shows his brothers the depths of his grief for you (because that’s what it is, isn’t it?). He doesn’t hide the fact that he misses you; they’d never believe him even if he tried. But he only allows them to see the shallows, never letting them wade deeper for fear they’ll find him drowning. He doesn’t have time to drown anyway; he has to keep charge of the student council and make sure his brothers’ vices don’t destroy them.

Lucifer never slacks in his duties. Never acts upset.

But he misses you.

Lucifer was the first to meet you, and the last to form a pact with you. He was the last to kiss you. To spend the night with you. He still remembers that night, will always remember it, keeps the memory tucked close to his chest in your stead. He remembers the shape of your body pressed against him, your laugh as you teased him that his bed was far too big for one person, your steady breathing as you fell asleep in his arms just before dawn. He remembers you looked so very beautiful and so very fragile in the faint Devildom moonlight. He remembers you.

And he misses you fiercely.

Lucifer’s bed wasn’t too big for one person before you pointed it out. Now, it is far too big and far too empty. Some nights Lucifer wakes, wondering why he feels terribly alone in its huge expanse. Beside him, the screen of his D.D.D. glows in the darkness. He reaches for it. Opens Contacts. His finger hovers over your name.

Then stops.

It’s too early in the morning. He doesn’t want to wake you, as much as he aches to hear your voice (aches to have you back with him, truthfully, the pain of his desire so solid in his chest that it feels as if his sternum will split in two). He’ll talk to you tomorrow, he decides. He sets the device facedown and rolls over, gazing across his bed (too big, too big, too big) and closing his eyes.

"...you're not paying attention to the fireworks."

"heh. neither are you."

it's certainly not a requirement but when I do start posting fics over here it would be super appreciated if you'd consider reblogging them so I can get more eyes on them and hopefully find the rest of my moots 🙏