The sprawling, opulent bedroom of Lucifer was cloaked in a deep, hushed darkness, broken only by the faint, silvery glow of the moon filtering through the heavy drapes. The air was cool and still, carrying the subtle, sophisticated scent of his cologne, a familiar aroma that spoke of power and quiet authority, even in slumber.

Beside you, Lucifer lay utterly still, a rare sight that always brought a quiet sense of awe. His usually sharp features were softened by sleep, the perpetual furrow in his brow smoothed away, replaced by a serene, almost peaceful expression. His dark hair, typically meticulously styled, was f little disheveled, fanning out across the silken pillow beneath his head.

One strong arm was thrown casually over the side of the bed, his fingers loosely curled, while the other rested gently, possessively, over your waist. Even in sleep, his hold was firm, an unconscious anchor.

His breathing was deep and even, a slow, steady rhythm that filled the quiet room and served as a calming counterpoint to your own wakefulness. The powerful chest that usually heaved with the weight of responsibility now rose and fell with the gentle cadence of true rest. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body, a comforting heat that pressed against your side, a silent testament to his presence.

While the world of the Devildom continued its chaotic spin outside, and your own thoughts might still race, here, in the quiet sanctuary of his room, there was only the profound stillness of Lucifer's slumber. It was a rare, intimate glimpse of the formidable eldest brother utterly at peace, a powerful demon lost to the depths of dream, leaving you to watch over him, bathed in the soft moonlight and the profound silence of his resting form.