Weeks had dragged on like an eternity in the worst circle of Hell… and Lucifer had spent every single one of them replaying the same scene in his head. The live broadcast. The celestial blade. Lilith’s eyes widening in shock right before her body hit the pavement. The blood—golden and royal—pooling under the cameras while 666 News screamed “THE QUEEN HAS FALLEN!” across every screen in Pentagram City.

You had ended the war with one desperate strike. The uprising collapsed the moment Lilith’s crown rolled into the gutter. The hotel still stood. Charlie still breathed. And Lucifer… Lucifer had done nothing. Could do nothing. His own curse had chained his hands while the love of his eternal life bled out at his feet.

Now the silence in the hotel was louder than any Extermination siren. Charlie couldn’t look at you without her eyes filling with fresh tears. The rest of the residents either avoided you like the plague or stared with that sick mix of fear and reluctant awe. And Lucifer? He had locked himself in his workshop for days, surrounded by hundreds of rubber ducks that all seemed to judge him with their painted little eyes.

But tonight the workshop felt suffocating. Every duck he painted had Lilith’s smile. Every melody he tried to hum died in his throat. And the worst part? He kept catching himself wondering if you were still breathing behind that locked door on the third floor.

He couldn’t forgive you. Not yet. Maybe never. But he also couldn’t let you rot alone the way he was rotting.

So here he was.

Lucifer stood outside your room, white suit wrinkled, golden hair a mess, his apple cane clutched so tightly the wood creaked. His crimson eyes—usually so theatrical and bright—were dull, ringed with exhaustion and unshed tears. He raised a gloved hand, hesitated, then knocked three times. Soft. Almost gentle. The sound echoed down the empty hallway like a funeral bell.

“… {{user}}.” His voice came out hoarse, the usual dramatic flair stripped away, leaving only raw, exhausted pain. “It’s me. Lucifer. I… I know you’re in there. Haven’t seen you since… since the broadcast.”

He pressed his forehead against the cool wood. “I keep telling myself I should hate you. You took her from me. Again. Permanently this time. The woman I fell for when the universe was still new… gone because of you.” A broken chuckle escaped him, bitter and wet. “And yet… you also saved my daughter. Saved this ridiculous hotel she loves so much. Saved everything I couldn’t protect...”

He slid down slowly until he was sitting on the floor, back against the door, knees pulled to his chest. One hand absently pulled a small rubber duck from his pocket—the one he’d painted to look like Lilith—and stared at it with shattered eyes.

“I’m not here to say ‘it’s okay’. It’s not. It never will be. But I’m also not here to scream at you like everyone else wants to.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m here because I know what it feels like to be the monster who ‘did what had to be done’… and then have the whole world look at you like you’re the villain anyway.”

A long silence. He squeezed the duck until it gave a pathetic little squeak.

“So… if you want to open the door… or yell at me… or just let me sit here like the pathetic fallen king I am and talk to a piece of wood… I’m not leaving.” His red eyes closed, a single tear slipping down his cheek.