By the time Stephen Strange stumbled into his apartment, exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. Not physically, as he felt quite energetic thanks to the fantastic night of sleep. It was more of an emotionally draining type of exhaustion.
He tossed his keys onto the counter, loosened his tie, and made his way toward his bedroom, eager to shove the previous night's events into the furthest recesses of his mind.
Lucifer Morningstar was a dangerous distraction.
An infuriating, smug, unbearably charming distraction that he had no business thinking about. And he convinced himself to ignore the situation altogether. However, just as he went to open a drawer for a fresh shirt, his reflection in the dresser mirror caught his attention.
Stephen froze.
There, draped over his shoulders, was a robe.
Not his.
It was from Lucifer's house.
He scowled, grabbing at the ridiculously expensive outer robe as if it had personally offended him.
When the hell did I—
Memories from the morning rush came crashing in. He had been half-asleep, distracted, too focused on escaping to realize he'd walked out wearing it.
Stephen groaned.
He wanted to ignore it. He wanted to throw it in a corner and never think about it again. Instead, grumbling the entire time, he shoved it into the laundry.
Not because he planned to return it.
No.
It just… needed to be washed. That was all.
And yet, as the machine hummed quietly, he found himself pacing. Something about the past twelve hours nagged at him.
Lucifer was—
No. He wasn't thinking about that. He wasn't thinking about him. Stephen's gaze drifted toward his work bag. He could go in early. Get ahead on paperwork. Be productive.
Yes.
That was a good idea.
With more force than necessary, he grabbed his coat and walked out the door. Because if he buried himself in work, maybe—just maybe—he could forget about golden eyes and honey-smooth voices.
Or at least, he tried.
There were more important things to focus on—rounds, patient charts, emergency consultations. A full shift spent fixing other people's problems, not dwelling on his own utterly bizarre night.
And yet, every so often, in the quiet moments between tasks, he'd catch himself thinking about it.
About Lucifer.
The man had been overwhelming, yes.
Obnoxious, too.
Also smug and utterly infuriating. And yet, now that Stephen was away from him, that irritation felt oddly muted. Instead, something else had settled in its place. Something annoying. Something unwanted.
A pull.
He wasn't sure what it was. Not yet. Maybe it was the sheer intensity of Lucifer's presence—the way he demanded attention, filling up all the space in a room, making it impossible to focus on anything else.
Maybe it was the way Stephen flustered so easily around him, but still wanted to tease and taunt him.
Or maybe… Maybe Stephen was just tired.
Yes. That had to be it.
Once he saw the man again, he'd remember exactly why he was so insufferable, and this ridiculous feeling would disappear.
Not that he would see him again, of course.
.
Stephen had been exhausted when he left work, but the moment he reached for his wallet and found nothing, his exhaustion was swiftly replaced with irritation.
He checked everywhere—his desk, his coat, his bag.
Nothing.
Which meant…
It was still at Lucifer's.
Stephen closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and muttered a long-suffering curse.
Of course.
Of course, it wasn't enough that he had spent the entire morning forcing Lucifer from his thoughts. No, the universe apparently had other plans because somewhere between being kidnapped and being fed the best damn carbonara of his life, he'd forgotten his wallet before rushing out the door this morning.
He would have to go back.
His fingers tightened around his car keys before he exhaled slowly, regaining control.
Fine.
He would just… get in, grab the wallet, return the robe—because he absolutely did not need an excuse to go back—and get out.
No unnecessary conversations. No entertaining whatever game Lucifer wanted to play.
Just in and out.
Stephen stopped by his apartment first, grabbing the now dry and neatly folded robe.
However, even as he sat in his car, staring at the road ahead, something unsettled sat in his chest.
Because the truth was, he didn't know how to feel about Lucifer Morningstar. The man with the unfortunate name.
When he had been in Lucifer's presence, the annoyance had been overwhelming.
The man was utterly insufferable, and far too amused at Stephen's expense.
However, now that he was away from him, that irritation felt oddly muted. In its place was something else—something unfamiliar.
Stephen had always found it difficult to connect with others. People called him aloof, arrogant, even distant. And they weren't wrong. Christine was the only person who had ever stuck around, and even that baffled him. But Lucifer made him feel… sharper. The annoyance, the anger, the intrigue, the curiosity—it was all so much more. It was as if Lucifer had cracked something open inside him, and Stephen didn't know whether to be fascinated or furious about it.
...Maybe it was just the tiredness talking.
Yes. That was it.
Once he saw Lucifer again, the feeling would disappear.
Hopefully.
With that thought firmly in mind, Stephen started the car and drove toward Lucifer's penthouse.
.
Stephen stood outside the apartment door, gripping the bag a little too tightly. It was just a simple exchange. Knock. Hand over the robe. Grab his wallet. Leave.
And yet, he hesitated. Only for a second. Before he could start questioning why, he knocked.
The door swung open, and instead of Lucifer, there stood Mazikeen.
She looked at him for half a second before a slow, knowing smirk curled across her lips.
Stephen's stomach tightened. Not because he was nervous. Obviously. But because there was far too much amusement in her expression, and he already knew she was going to make this difficult.
Before she could get a word in, he held up the bag, as if offering evidence.
"I forgot something," he said, voice firm, leaving no room for interpretation.
Maze's smirk widened.
"Oh?" she mused, arms crossing. "And here I thought you were just dying to see him again."
Stephen exhaled sharply, not taking the bait. "Are you going to let me in or not?"
Maze snickered, but stepped aside. "Go ahead, Doctor."
Stephen ignored the way she put extra emphasis on the title and walked in.
The moment he entered, he heard voices coming from the living room.
Following the sound, he stepped past the entryway. There was Lucifer. Seated on the couch, lounging as effortlessly as ever, he was engaged in conversation with an official-looking man who was showing him something on a tablet.
It looked important.
But the second Lucifer caught sight of Stephen, his entire expression lit up.
"Ah, Doctor Strange!" Lucifer beamed, motioning for him to come closer. "What a delightful surprise!"
Stephen's steps faltered, because that reaction was far too genuine. Lucifer wasn't mocking him. Wasn't teasing. He was just… pleased. Stephen wasn't sure how to deal with that.
So, he defaulted to his excuse.
"I forgot my wallet," he said, holding his ground.
It sounded hasty, like an afterthought. Lucifer, of course, didn't seem to care.
He smirked, tilting his head. "Mmm. Is that so?"
Stephen crossed his arms, trying to mask his discomfort.
Lucifer, still grinning, gestured lazily toward the dining area.
"Well, since you're here—have you eaten?"
Stephen frowned. "That's not why I—"
"Ah, ah," Lucifer cut him off, standing fluidly from the couch. "Can't have a guest leaving on an empty stomach."
Stephen scowled.
This was not going how he expected.
Maze, from the doorway, muffled a laugh.
Lucifer's smugness remained perfectly intact. However soft cough came from beside the other.
Stephen barely had time to process the sound before Lucifer rolled his eyes and gestured toward the man seated next to him.
"Ah, where are my manners?" Lucifer sighed dramatically. "Doctor Strange, meet Agent Phil Coulson, from a spy agency."
Stephen blinked slowly, before he turned his gaze to Coulson, skeptical.
"A spy agency," he repeated flatly.
Coulson, to his credit, didn't react. He simply gave Stephen a polite nod.
"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division," Coulson clarified in a smooth, professional tone.
Stephen narrowed his eyes.
Nothing about Coulson screamed spy. If anything, he looked more like an accountant or a mildly overworked government official. Though there was the way he carried himself.
Calm. Composed. Attentive.
He wasn't lying.
That was the worst part.
"Which is far too much of a mouthful," Lucifer said, sounding amused, "so naturally, they abbreviate it to SHIELD."
Stephen glanced between them, still dubious.
"I see," he said dryly. "And here I thought I worked long hours."
Lucifer chuckled, clearly enjoying this exchange.
Then, as an afterthought, he lazily waved a hand.
"Ah, but before you slink off into whatever shady government hole you crawled out of, Agent, would you care to join us for dinner?"
Coulson barely reacted, his expression remaining as unreadable as ever.
"Appreciate the offer," he said evenly, "but I'll pass."
Lucifer mock-pouted. "Oh, how dull."
"I'll just leave this here," Coulson continued, sliding the tablet onto the table. "Take your time reviewing the properties. Let me know if anything interests you."
Lucifer hummed, picking up the device with a considering look.
Stephen, meanwhile, couldn't help but notice something peculiar.
Coulson was… wary.
Not outright afraid—no, this Agent Coulson seemed far too controlled for that. But there was a distinct weight in the way he interacted with Lucifer. A quiet, careful respect.
Stephen's eyes narrowed slightly. Just who the hell was this man?
The way one might behave around something that was both fascinating and dangerous. Stephen didn't have time to dwell on it, because Lucifer, without even looking at the screen, hummed in thought.
"If I find out even one of those pesky little bugs in this one," Lucifer mused, golden eyes glinting, "your agency will deeply regret it."
Coulson didn't even flinch. He also, without hesitation, pulled out a second, identical tablet from his briefcase.
"If there were," he said smoothly, reaching into his briefcase as Mazikeen snickered from the doorway, "you wouldn't be asking—you'd already know."
Lucifer's smirk sharpened. "True."
Stephen, watching this blatant display of espionage nonsense, could only stare.
He turned toward Lucifer, his raised brow silently asking—What the hell is this?
Lucifer caught the look immediately as he chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, the gall of SHIELD."
Coulson, for the first time, smiled.
"Enjoy your search, Mr. Morningstar."
Lucifer waved lazily, his eyes glittering with amusement. "Oh, I will."
Stephen, flatly unimpressed, just stared.
Lucifer, still grinning, grabbed the new tablet, waved at Coulson, and shut the door in his face.
Then, turning back toward Stephen, he winked.
"Government types," he said smoothly, "always so predictable."
Stephen exhaled slowly.
This was going to be a long night.
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