"Daphne?"
The name escaped before Lucifer could stop it, his exhausted brain struggling to process the situation. He looked between mother and daughter, and the resemblance was so jarring it felt like a physical blow. Same golden eyes, though Nia's held years of experience where Daphne's held only enthusiasm. Same stubborn set to the jaw. Same way of tilting their heads when curious.
Of course. Of fucking course.
"Oh, you know my daughter, Lucifer?" Nia's eyebrow arched, that golden gaze sharpening with interest.
Before he could formulate a response that wouldn't sound completely insane, Daphne bounced on her toes, pigtails whipping around. "Yes, we go to the same school! He's my best friend!"
The words hung in the gym's climate-controlled air, a clear challenge.
I didn't agree to be your best friend.
The thought must have leaked onto his face because Daphne's expression crumbled. Her bottom lip trembled, a prelude to tears. She pressed against her mother's leg, those golden eyes going glassy.
"So you don't want to be my best friend?"
Christ. The quiver in her voice was pure emotional blackmail.
"Fine. I'll be your best friend."
The transformation was instant. Sunshine burst across her face, the threatened tears evaporating like they'd never existed. She actually bounced, both feet leaving the ground.
What's the worst that can happen? We'll probably never speak to each other again in a few years.
"Since you guys are already acquainted, it makes things easier when I train you." Nia's hand settled on Daphne's head, fingers gentle despite their obvious strength. "She's usually shy around new people."
Shy? This child who declared best friendship after knowing me for a week?
"Can we just get back to basketball?" The words came out sharper than intended, but his muscles were already cooling, starting to tighten.
Nia's expression shifted back to professional mode. She crouched to Daphne's level, her voice dropping into that particular register parents used when they needed compliance. "Sweetheart, Mommy has to help your best friend now. Can you sit over there and play with your crayons?"
Daphne sprinted to the bleachers, her pink backpack bouncing against her spine. She yanked out a thick coloring book and a box of crayons that rattled like maracas.
A basketball appeared in Lucifer's hands. Not the massive adult ball he'd expected to struggle with, but something scaled perfectly for his size. The pebbled leather felt right against his palms, like it belonged there.
"Let's start with the basics." Nia stepped back, her golden eyes cataloging every angle of his stance. "Stand with knees bent, then alternate pounding the ball with your stronger hand. Pass it between your legs to the opposite hand. Figure-eight pattern, both legs, keep it low."
He bent his knees and started dribbling. The ball felt alien and familiar simultaneously, muscle memory from his past life fighting with his current body's limitations.
"Stop." The command was sharp, stopping him cold. "Your stance is wrong."
She demonstrated, her body flowing into position. "Feet shoulder-width apart. Like this."
Easier said than done when your proprioception is still figuring out where your limbs end.
He mimicked her stance, feeling the subtle shift in balance, the way it opened his hips and grounded him to the court.
"Better." No praise, just acknowledgment. "Now dribble with your dominant hand. As you dribble, pass between your legs to your non-dominant hand. Keep this posture. Three minutes."
Three minutes felt like an eternity. The ball wanted to bounce too high, skitter away, betray him at every pass. His thighs burned from maintaining the crouch. Sweat beaded along his hairline and trickled down his spine.
"Time. Now sprint the length of the court while dribbling. Full speed. Five times."
The first sprint was manageable. The second, his legs started to protest. By the third, his lungs burned. The fourth was pure stubbornness. The fifth happened only because Nia's golden eyes promised consequences if it didn't.
"Don't sit. Walk it off. Breathe through your nose, out through your mouth."
More drills followed. Wall dribbles that made his forearms scream. Form shooting from two feet away—just the mechanics, no jumping—until the motion carved itself into his nervous system. Defensive slides left his legs trembling and weak.
When she finally called time, Lucifer didn't so much lie down as melt onto the hardwood. The ceiling lights created stars in his peripheral vision. His shirt was soaked, clinging to his skin.
Never felt so tired. It's gonna be a very long year.
Small footsteps approached. Daphne's face appeared upside down in his vision, her pigtails dangling as she peered down at him. "Here, Luci."
A water bottle, beading with condensation. He sat up, muscles protesting the movement, and took it.
"Thanks."
The water tasted like salvation. He drained half in one go, feeling it spread through his system. Daphne watched him drink with the intensity of a nature documentarian observing a rare species.
"Did you need something?"
"Since you're done, can we play?"
"Play?"
"Yes! We can play doctor. You're the patient!"
The refusal sat on his tongue, ready to deploy. But those golden eyes, so like her mother's but still untouched by the world's sharp edges, held such hope.
"Fine."
What followed was two hours of medical malpractice that would have gotten any real doctor's license revoked. Daphne's "treatments" involved checking his temperature with a crayon, prescribing "medicine" that was just her pretending to pour nothing into his hand, and declaring him cured of diseases she made up on the spot.
"You have… purple fever!"
"That's not a thing."
"It is! And only special doctors like me can fix it!"
By the time dinner rolled around, he'd been cured of purple fever, invisible spots, backward knee syndrome, and something she called "grumpy face disease," which might have actually been accurate.
The dining room smelled of roasted chicken and fresh herbs, Pearl's cooking filling the space with warmth. Everyone gathered around the mahogany table that could have seated twenty but felt intimate with just seven.
Nia's teasing smile appeared over her wine glass. "So, how did you meet my daughter, Luci?"
That fucking nickname is spreading like a virus.
"She couldn't read and thought my cubby was hers."
The table erupted in a chorus of "awwww" that made his teeth ache. Even Arthur, who'd seemed too sophisticated for such displays, joined in.
"Wait," Nia leaned forward, "Are you the same one who said she can't be a nurse and a lawyer?"
"Yup."
Alice's disappointment was palpable. "Lucifer, that's not nice."
Pearl turned to Daphne, who was currently investigating whether mashed potatoes could be sculpted into mountains. "Don't listen to him, sweetheart. You can be whatever you want."
Daphne looked up, potato on her nose, and stuck her tongue out at Lucifer.
Now I guess it's okay to lie to kids.
The dinner continued with the adults discussing things that mattered to adults—market fluctuations, a scandal at the country club, whether the Bulls had a shot this year (they didn't). Daphne occasionally piped up with observations that had nothing to do with anything, like how butterflies tasted with their feet or that her friend Jeremy could fit twelve grapes in his mouth.
When Nia and Daphne finally left, promises were made. Pick-ups from school. Training schedules. A new routine was cementing itself in his life.
His room felt like a sanctuary after the chaos of the day. The Egyptian cotton sheets felt smooth against his skin as he collapsed onto the bed, still smelling faintly of sweat despite the shower. The ceiling held no answers, just expensive crown molding and a light fixture that probably cost more than most cars.
His new life was turning out good.
Complicated, yes. Exhausting, definitely. But good. The burn in his muscles was the good kind, the kind that promised growth. Tomorrow they'd ache, but that was tomorrow's problem.
The future stretched out before him, full of drills and games and apparently a best friend he'd never asked for but couldn't seem to escape. Good or bad, it was his.
Sleep took him between one breath and the next, and in his dreams, he was already flying toward the rim.