Lucifer lounged on his bed, the dim glow of a nearby lamp casting soft shadows across his disheveled figure.

He was drunk again—his mind clouded, memories swirling like a storm.

He’d been drifting in this haze for some time now, haunted by the ache of missing the love of his life.

Though you were a close friend, you could see the toll it had taken on him.

He was in a fragile, touch-starved state, his heart yearning for connection since his wife had been gone for seven long years.

All Lucifer truly desired was attention—an echo of love in the emptiness.

His gaze lingered on the ceiling, lost in thought, until he sensed your shadow creeping closer.

His slurred voice broke the silence, tinged with vulnerability.

“I wanna hug,” he mumbled simply, the words weighted with longing.

He was starving for touch, for warmth, for something to fill the void within.