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Lucifer’s footsteps are too loud in the onyx hallway. The sharp sound echoes through his veins to resonate against his heart, again, again, like the ticking of a clock. It has been fifty years since he last saw Sandalphon. His duties have kept him from visiting Pandemonium.
His duties. He can taste the lie in the silence of his own heart. When he’s busy enough, he can pretend he’s not lost without his solace.
This layer of Pandemonium looks disarmingly ordinary. He knows it’s arranged that way for his benefit. A long, dark hallway ends in a door that swings open at his touch, revealing a cold, bright room. The room is empty except for a chair, where Sandalphon sits.
Sandalphon looks up, but doesn’t blink at the sight of Lucifer. They must have told him he was coming, Lucifer thinks, until Sandalphon says, “You again.”
His voice is harsh, exhausted, like Lucifer has never heard before. There are dark circles under his eyes, and the angle of his jaw is too sharp. His wrists are too thin, resting manacled in his lap.
“Sandalphon,” he answers, because for the first time in decades, he doesn’t know what to say. He wants to fix this, to break the chains, to smooth out the tension in that clenched jaw. But he can’t fix what isn’t out of place. Sandalphon rebelled. He’s supposed to be here.
Sandalphon’s brow furrows. “Well, get on with it. Are you the good delusion or the bad delusion today? I’m starting to prefer the bad ones, if you’re making up your—”
“It’s me,” Lucifer says softly. “I wanted to see you.”
Silence falls between them. The room is blinding white. Sandalphon’s eyes widen, then narrow.
“Fifty years,” he whispers at last. “And you wanted to see me.”
“Yes.”
Sandalphon looks at the ceiling. The floor. The manacles. Anywhere but at Lucifer. And it hurts, but it doesn’t surprise him when Sandalphon says roughly, “Well, you’ve seen me now. You should probably leave.”
This was a mistake. Lucifer swallows down his hurt and says calmly, “As you wish.” But he hasn’t reached the door when Sandalphon snaps, “Wait.”
He turns.
Sandalphon is still staring down at his manacled wrists. “Can I ask something from you?” There’s a sharp edge beneath his quiet voice.
Lucifer says, “If it is in my power to give.”
“Of course.” Sandalphon laughs too loudly. “Of course, I wouldn’t ask you to do something you can’t do. Something you’re not allowed to. I know what you are.”
The laughter hurts. Not the mockery, but the pain Lucifer hears behind it. Pandemonium is not a place for rehabilitation. Sandalphon has been ruminating, festering here in the dark depths that Lucifer has been too afraid to visit.
It is fear, not patience, that keeps Lucifer quiet until Sandalphon is done laughing. A hint of madness glitters in his eyes, and despite that, perhaps because of it, Lucifer finds him beautiful. He looks directly at Lucifer, in a way he never would have dared before, and he says, challenging, “Kiss me.”
It is the second thing Sandalphon has ever asked of him. The first was a purpose of his own, and Lucifer could not give him that. But he can give this. He steps closer, sees the way Sandalphon’s neck moves as he tilts his head up to look at him. Sees blue veins through fair skin under too-bright lights. The pink of Sandalphon’s lips. A strange, painful desire sings through Lucifer’s bones.
This is wrong. Sandalphon shouldn’t be here. Lucifer shouldn’t be so entranced with this captive offering. He leans down and brushes the hair from Sandalphon’s eyes. Tenderly.
He closes the distance, and the taste of Sandalphon’s lips is sweet enough to break him. Sandalphon is soft, giving, the dream of yesterday that Lucifer has never needed more than now.
When he pulls away, Sandalphon’s gaze is cold and broken. There’s no hint of solace left.
Guilt presses over Lucifer’s skin like a shroud, but his purpose requires him to be calm and impartial. He cannot lose himself in the taste of Sandalphon’s sorrow. He turns to the door and leaves, without another word.
He doesn’t visit again.