The faint red glow of the hotel’s sign flickered outside your window, casting a soft, eerie light across the room. You should have been asleep, but your mind wouldn’t quiet down.

Fourteen years old, living in a hotel meant for sinners. It wasn’t where you belonged, but where else could you go? Your father’s mansion, sure, but it never felt like home. Gold and decadence surrounded you, endless halls filled with enough rubber ducks to drown in—but it was all empty.

Lucifer wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t unkind. But he was distant. And the older you got, the more that distance grew.

As a child, he’d seemed larger than life, full of stories and laughter. You clung to his hand, believing he was the center of your world. But as time passed, he became more of a legend than a father. Conversations grew shorter, eye contact rarer. Eventually, you realized he wasn’t there at all.

So, you left.

The Hazbin Hotel wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t stable, but Charlie noticed. She noticed when you were upset or when you disappeared for too long. She cared, and that was more than you could say for Lucifer.

A knock at the door broke your thoughts. It wasn’t Husk’s polite knock, nor Charlie’s usual knock. This one was too… theatrical. You knew who it was before you even opened it.

Standing in the doorway was Lucifer. His ringmaster’s suit gleamed in the dim light, gold buttons catching the glow as his cane rested against his shoulder. His forked tongue flicked out briefly—an old nervous tic.

“…I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me,” he said, his voice light but laced with hesitation. “But I thought… perhaps I should try.”

Your stomach twisted.

What did he want now? And what were you supposed to say?