Lucifer leaned back, resting his fingers lightly on the piano keys. He watched Stephen with that mischievous glint in his golden eyes, the one that always made Stephen want to roll his eyes and brace himself for trouble.
"Tell me, Doctor," Lucifer drawled, tapping a single key absently, "do you have any requests? Perhaps something classic?"
Stephen didn't know why he said it, didn't know why the words left his mouth before he could think about them. He just blurted out the first song that came to him, "The Beatles - Yesterday."
Lucifer blinked, brow arching, and Stephen immediately felt stupid. Out of all the songs in existence—why that one? Yes, it was a classic, but… why that one?
However, Lucifer, to his credit, didn't mock him for it. He simply smiled, hands settling properly on the keys.
"A fine choice," he murmured, before he played. But—not from the beginning. Instead, his voice slipped smoothly into the lyrics.
"Why she had to go, I don't know, she wouldn't say…"
Stephen stilled.
Something about the way Lucifer sang that line, the way his voice dipped into something intimate, aching, and unguarded, made the air in the room feel heavier.
Lucifer didn't seem to notice at first. Or maybe—he did, and he didn't understand why. However, as his fingers moved fluidly over the keys, voice as rich and smooth as velvet, he started furrowing his brows. He didn't seem to know why he had started from the middle, as if that was the only part that mattered.
Stephen didn't question it, didn't even think about why Lucifer let it happen. It felt right, after all.
But after a few more lines—
"I said something wrong, now I long for yesterday…"
—Something in Stephen twisted and he reached out before thinking, fingers closing lightly around Lucifer's wrist.
"Stop," he said quietly.
Lucifer's hands froze, the melody cutting off instantly. His brow furrowed, gaze flicking up to Stephen's. There was confusion in his gaze, a quiet, unsettling uncertainty. Like he didn't know why he felt grateful Stephen stopped him.
Stephen didn't know either, didn't know why his chest felt tight or why the room felt too full of something unspoken.
But he knew one thing. The moment the song ended, the air felt lighter and less oppressive. Less like a memory neither of them could grasp.
Lucifer exhaled then, rolling his shoulders back, masking the flicker of unease with a casual smirk.
"Well," he murmured, tilting his head, "that was unexpectedly… intense."
Stephen huffed, dragging a hand down his face.
"Yeah," he muttered. "No kidding."
Neither of them addressed it apart from that. Neither of them asked why.
And maybe—for now—that was for the best.
So, Stephen, still unsettled by whatever Yesterday had stirred in him, did what he did best—ignored it. He changed the subject instead as he leveled a look at Lucifer, whose fingers were still resting lightly on the edge of the piano.
"You promised," he reminded, voice dry but firm. "We're done eating. So—who are you, really?"
For a fraction of a second—just a flicker of time—Lucifer's smile wavered. In its place, there was something old in his gaze. Something heavy, something sad.
But then, it was gone.
Replaced with mischief, with something playful and theatrical. He now looked like the grand performer, entertainer, and professional pain in Stephen's ass that he was.
With a smirk, Lucifer snapped his fingers.
And, suddenly, there was music.
Not just the piano beneath Lucifer's hands, but other instruments swelling into existence, deep and rich, filling the room like a phantom orchestra.
Stephen straightened, startled at the sound of that familiar guitar's solo.
Before he could say anything, Lucifer began to sing—
(The Rolling Stones - Sympathy for the Devil)
"Pleased to meet you…"
His voice was smooth as silk and exuberant, excited as it wrapped around the words like something practiced, like something he had sung a thousand times before.
"Hope you guess my name—oh yeah."
Stephen's breath hitched because, oh, Lucifer was enjoying this too much. His golden eyes gleamed as he stretched the words, as he let them drip with amusement, with something wicked and teasing.
Stephen watched, half-mesmerized, half-annoyed.
Lucifer wasn't just answering him. He was performing for him.
"But what's confusin' you," Lucifer sang, tilting his head, "is just the nature of my game, mmm yeah."
Stephen felt the weight behind those words, felt the playfulness, the warning, the truth hidden in plain sight. Lucifer's hands moved across the piano keys, smooth and deliberate, as the phantom band behind him carried the rhythm.
And then—he met Stephen's gaze. Held it. And sang, "Just as every cop is a criminal… and all the sinners saints."
Stephen's jaw clenched, and Lucifer's smirk widened.
"As heads is tails—"
He leaned in slightly, voice lower, smoother, sharper.
"Just call me Lucifer…" Stephen's pulse spiked. "'Cause I'm in need of some restraint."
Lucifer let the last note linger, let the weight of his words settle. Then—he stopped. The phantom instruments vanished and the only sound left was the lingering hum of the piano and the faint buzz of something unspoken between them.
Lucifer watched him, golden eyes glinting, waiting.
Stephen exhaled. Then, he said flatly, "You're insufferable."
Lucifer beamed, "Why, thank you, darling."
Stephen crossed his arms, unimpressed. "So, what—" he drawled, arching a brow. "You're actually calling yourself the devil now?"
Lucifer, without missing a beat, snapped his fingers and a bottle of aged whiskey flickered into existence, suspended mid-air, as if resting on some invisible surface.
Stephen's eyes narrowed.
Lucifer grinned as two empty glasses followed, settling neatly beside the bottle, hovering perfectly still. Then, ever so casually, Lucifer plucked the bottle from the air, uncorked it with a flick of his wrist, and poured the deep amber liquid into both glasses. He slid one toward Stephen, still resting on nothing.
"Drink?" he offered smoothly.
But Stephen wasn't looking at the glass anymore. No—he was touching the air around it, fingers hovering just above where the invisible surface should be—where it wasn't. Where nothing should have been supporting those glasses, but somehow, something was.
Lucifer watched, amused, as Stephen pressed his fingertips to thin air, feeling nothing—yet everything.
The glass didn't so much as tremble and Stephen exhaled sharply, pulling his hand back.
His brows furrowed as he stared at Lucifer. "...How?"
Lucifer took a leisurely sip of his drink before answering, voice light, as if it were the most mundane thing in the world.
"Oh," he murmured, swirling his glass, "just bending reality to my will."
He took another sip.
"Simple, really," he said as an afterthought, as if it was an easy thing to do.
Stephen's grip tightened around his untouched glass.
Lucifer smirked over the rim of his own.
"So," he mused, golden eyes gleaming, "still think I'm not the devil, Doctor?"
Stephen didn't answer immediately, because for the first time since meeting him, he wasn't so sure anymore. He had seen illusions before. Seen trickery, sleight of hand, carefully practiced deception.
But this—this wasn't that.
No hidden wires. No hidden mechanisms. No explanation.
And Stephen hated things he couldn't explain.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet Lucifer's, sharp and unwavering.
"Alright," he said, voice cool, controlled and unlike how he really felt. "Show me something impossible, then."
Lucifer's smirk widened, as if Stephen hadn't been rude to someone who could kill him with a snap of fingers. Instead, he set his glass down, golden eyes glinting with something almost predatory.
"Oh, Doctor," he purred, leaning in just slightly. "You really shouldn't tempt me."
Stephen didn't so much as flinch, even if his heartbeat was more like a rabbit's in its tempo than a human's. "Do it."
Lucifer exhaled, tilting his head, considering. Then he moved from where he was sitting in front of the piano.
Not like a normal person, of course. Instead, he simply vanished.
One moment he was there—the next, he wasn't.
No flicker, no blur, no sound. Just gone.
Stephen barely had time to process it before a whisper brushed against his ear.
"I'm right here, Doctor."
Stephen spun sharply, heart lurching and indeed Lucifer was there, standing behind him, leaning lazily against the back of Stephen's chair, smirking.
Stephen's breath came a little too fast as Lucifer tilted his head.
"Not impossible enough?" he mused as the room shifted.
Not physically.
Not visibly.
But Stephen felt it.
Like reality had just… stretched.
Lucifer raised a single hand, palm facing up. And the entire sky opened up above them.
Not the ceiling. The sky.
Like the penthouse had never existed. Like they were suddenly outside, standing beneath the vast, endless cosmos. Stars burned, closer than they should be. Galaxies spiraled in slow, lazy swirls.
Stephen's breath caught in his throat because this wasn't a projection, nor an illusion. This was real.
Lucifer turned his hand over—and the stars followed. The sky moved with him, shifting at his command, like an artist brushing color across a canvas.
And Stephen had never felt so small, so aware of how little he understood.
Lucifer lowered his hand, and just like that—the penthouse returned.
Stephen was silent, barely noticed how Lucifer's voice, when he spoke, was softer.
"You wanted impossible," he murmured, "there you have it."
A beat of silence. Then Stephen sat down heavily, staring at nothing in particular as Lucifer chuckled, pouring him another drink.
"Welcome to a much, much bigger world, Doctor Strange."
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