Lucifer tapped the side of the mug, fingers idly drumming. A quiet rhythm, steady and slow. Like his thoughts were trying to find their own beat again.
"You know," he said, not looking up, "I used to dream about this."
His father glanced over. "This conversation?"
Lucifer nodded. "Not exactly like this. Sometimes we were screaming. Other times I was killing you. One time we were just… fishing."
A short laugh escaped him. "That one pissed me off the most."
His father smiled gently. "Because it felt too simple?"
"Because it felt real."
They sat there, the silence comfortable now, like a blanket thrown over old wounds. Nothing healed, but no longer bleeding.
"You always knew how to make things look effortless," Lucifer muttered. "Creation, light, love… justice. You made it look easy."
"It wasn't."
"Yeah," Lucifer said. "I know that now. Still doesn't excuse everything."
"I'm not asking for excuses."
