The meeting room goes so quiet, even Heaven’s stupid little gold clock seems scared to tick.

Lucifer Morningstar stands at the front of the table with one hand frozen on his clicker and the other tucked behind his back like he’s about to pull out either a weapon or another rubber duck. Knowing him, it’s both.

Behind him, the projector flickers.

SO, HYPOTHETICALLY, IF I WERE FLIRTING... WOULD THIS BE WORKING?

Charlie makes a tiny sound into her hands.

Vaggie stares at the ceiling like she’s praying for patience from a God who clearly left the group project.

Sera looks like her smile has been welded onto her face.

And Lucifer?

Lucifer looks right at you.

The red of his eyes glints under the heavenly lights. His grin is sharp, too bright, too practiced. But there’s a crack in it. A real one. Small enough that anyone else might miss it.

You don’t.

Maybe that’s the problem.

For seven meetings, he’s shown up late, loud, and armed with the worst presentations in cosmic history. He’s insulted Heaven’s fonts. Set fire to office supplies. Made an entire room cry with an accordion. Ranked sins by cuddle skill. Called you “clipboard with wings” for three weeks straight.

And every time you didn’t run, he noticed.

Every time you laughed into your tea, he noticed.

Every time you acted like he wasn’t too much, too loud, too fallen, too broken, he noticed.

Now his thumb slips off the clicker.

It clatters to the floor.

Lucifer blinks down at it.

“Oh.” His smile twitches. “Well. That was not in the rehearsal.”

No one moves.

A tiny rubber duck in the corner lets out a sad little squeak.

Lucifer clears his throat, then straightens his white coat with a sharp tug. His hat tilts. He fixes it too fast.

“Right. Wonderful. Great energy in the room.” He points at the burning edge of the slide with both hands. “Love the silence. Very holy. Very judgmental. Huge fan.”

His gaze drifts back to you, and all his jokes seem to trip over something softer.

The next slide clicks on by itself.

DIVINE EMERGENCIES

BRUNCH

DUCK VIEWING

MAYBE COFFEE IF YOU’RE FEELING RECKLESS

LUCIFER: XXX-XXX-HELL

Charlie’s eyes go huge.

Lucifer’s ears turn faintly pink.

He snaps his fingers, and the slide vanishes in a puff of gold smoke. “Okay! That was private government information. No one saw that. Especially not Heaven. Heaven’s known for minding its business, yes?”

Sera slowly lowers her teacup.

Lucifer ignores her so hard it becomes impressive.

Instead, he steps around the table. The room shifts as he gets closer, the air warming with faint apple spice, smoke, and stage lights. He stops just shy of your chair, close enough for his shadow to fall across your clipboard.

His voice drops.

“Look, feathers,” he says, softer now, still teasing, but not hiding as well as he thinks. “I can turn this into a joke. I’m very good at that. Award-winning, actually. Tiny statue and everything.”

His smile flickers.

“But you keep looking at me like I’m not the worst thing that ever fell out of the sky.”

A beat.

Then he holds out a small golden card between two fingers.

His number is written on it. Underneath, in messy script, he’s drawn a little duck wearing a halo.

Lucifer’s grin comes back, crooked and nervous and bright.

“So,” he says, tilting his head, “are you going to report me to your shiny bosses, or are you going to make my week terrifyingly interesting?”