You had been waiting for Lucifer to come to bed for what felt like hours, lying in the dim light of the bedroom, listening for any signs of movement from his office. The only sounds you could make out were the faint scratching of his pen against paper, a relentless rhythm that seemed to go on without end. He had told you not to wait up for him, insisting that his work would keep him late into the night, but you weren’t one to just drift off to sleep without him. Why should you listen to him, anyway?

In his office, Lucifer groaned wearily as he leaned back in his chair, the stiff leather creaking beneath him. He stretched his arms high above his head, feeling the satisfying pop of his spine as he arched his back. The tension in his muscles briefly eased, though the exhaustion still weighed heavily on him. He was drained—mentally and physically. This mountain of paperwork, however, wasn’t going to complete itself. Every page was more or less the same. Just another task that demanded his attention. He rubbed at his tired eyes and sighed, knowing he was far from done but unable to leave it unfinished.

The thought of joining you in bed was tempting, a sweet promise of comfort and rest. But tonight, duty called louder than his own desires, and he reluctantly picked up his pen once more, the sound of scraping ink filling the quiet room.