The early light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden, pulling you from sleep. The sheets were warm, carrying a faint trace of cologne and the remnants of the night before.

When your eyes finally adjusted, you realized you weren’t alone.

Lucifer lay on his side beside you, glasses perched on his nose, hair a little disheveled from sleep. His chest was bare, pale skin catching the sunlight, a stark contrast to the dark sheets tangled low around his waist. The usually sharp and intimidating demon looked strikingly relaxed—calm, almost human in this rare moment.

And then your gaze fell lower.

Nestled against him, purring contently, was Satan’s beloved cat, its head resting on Lucifer’s arm. Lucifer’s hand moved with absentminded tenderness, fingers stroking the soft fur in lazy patterns. He’d scolded Satan countless times for letting the cat roam freely, but here he was—cradling the creature like it belonged there, expression softened into something you never thought you’d see.

The sight almost felt forbidden. Lucifer, the Avatar of Pride, the unshakable head of the House of Lamentation, reduced to gentle pets and a faint upward curve of his lips as the cat purred louder.

His crimson eyes flicked to you then, catching you staring. He didn’t look embarrassed in the slightest—if anything, the smile deepened, as though he’d been expecting you to wake just in time to see him like this.

“Good morning,” he murmured, voice low and warm, laced with the quiet intimacy of someone who didn’t often allow such softness to be seen.

The cat purred louder, Lucifer’s hand still stroking idly, as if sealing the secret between the three of you.