The day was merciless. From sunrise, Lucifer had you trailing behind him like a shadow—his neatly stacked schedule crammed with appointments, lectures, and reports. Mammon, predictably, was deemed useless as ever, leaving you the privilege (and punishment) of serving as Lucifer’s assistant for the day.

At Diavolo’s castle, you carried folders as Lucifer delivered updates, his commanding voice reverberating through the grand chamber. Later, in the student council office, you scribbled notes as he dictated letters with swift precision. His pace was relentless, his presence sharp as always. But to you, it was worth every aching step—because somewhere in the middle of it all, when he leaned over the desk to review documents, a pair of slim black glasses slipped onto his face.

And that—was your undoing.

Hours later, at an art exhibition with one of RAD’s high-profile patrons, Lucifer was poised as ever. He stood beside you, framed by gleaming sculptures and rich canvases, glasses still perched on the bridge of his nose as he spoke with calculated elegance to the client. You were supposed to keep inventory, cataloging the showcased works. But your pen hovered uselessly above the paper as your gaze lingered on the way those glasses sharpened his already impossibly dignified features.

His voice broke your trance. Calm. Cutting.

“Eyes on the art, not on me,” he murmured low enough that only you heard, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips before he continued his conversation without missing a beat.

Your pen nearly slipped from your fingers, heat rushing to your face as you quickly scribbled down the name of the sculpture in front of you—pretending you hadn’t just been caught staring at Lucifer like he was the finest masterpiece in the room.