Lucifer had never spent so much time building a single bed.
He and Moses had been hammering and sawing for an entire afternoon and evening, and still, the wooden frame lay in a heap of planks, shavings, and frustration. Night had fully fallen, stars scattered across the sky, and the warm glow of Seven Hills City shimmered in the distance.
Lucifer stood among the mess, flexing his sore arms, frowning at the debris. The whole effort felt absurd to him. Why build a bed by hand? Magic would have done the job in seconds.
Just as he opened his mouth to complain, the front door creaked open. God stepped in, wrapped in white robes that looked untouched by dust or labor, serene as ever, carrying a basket of freshly picked berries.
Water droplets still clung to the fruit—he'd washed them.
Lucifer raised a brow. This man always came back spotless, even after outdoor chores. It defied logic.
God walked toward them, unhurried.
"You're back," Moses greeted respectfully.
God nodded with a soft hum. Then, without a word, he plucked a single berry from the basket, leaned past Moses, and held it out to Lucifer.
"It's clean," he said.
The gesture was effortless, natural.
Moses blinked.
Wait—wasn't he supposed to be playing the lover?
Lucifer stared at the pale fingers holding the red berry, mind tangled. Other than God and Michael, no one knew he loved berries. As a child, he would fill his robes with them in Eden, staining his clothes as he munched on them happily. Every time, God would shut the temple doors in his face until he'd learned his lesson.
Lucifer would cry and bang on the stone steps, begging for forgiveness between sobs: "Holy One, Lucy knows he was wrong… Please don't leave me outside…"
And the next day, he'd misbehave all over again.
Michael would kneel beside him, barely hiding his laughter as he pleaded on Lucifer's behalf.
Eventually, Michael gifted him a little crystal bowl so he wouldn't stain his clothes anymore.
Now, Lucifer blinked, looking at the berry. God moved his hand closer—almost to Lucifer's lips.
Lucifer hesitated, then took it with his hand and popped it into his mouth. It was smaller than Eden's fruit but sweeter, juicier.
Actually… it was pretty good.
He reached into the basket, tossed a handful into the air, and caught them in his mouth like a show-off.
Moses reached for one too.
God snapped the lid shut.
"They're gone," he said, expression blank.
Moses yanked his hand back just in time. "Seriously? There's a whole basket!"
Lucifer watched God retreat and looked down at the berry in his hand.
"I think he's trying to poison me."
Moses choked. "What?!"
"Why else would he give only me the berries? Neither of you ate any. Suspicious."
God, of course, heard everything. Even from far across the yard, he could hear Lucifer mumbling:
"He must think if I'm gone, he can steal my Holy One."
"Doesn't even know I'm immune to poison."
"Foolish mortal."
God's lips twitched upward.
He crouched in the corner of the courtyard, removing stems from the berries and sorting them into a wooden bucket with leaves.
"You're storing them wrong," came Lucifer's voice again, sauntering over.
"They'll spoil by morning. I tried once—left them in a jar under the sun. Ruined."
God smacked his hand away when he tried to sneak another. "You'll eat them all."
He sealed the lid, checking it carefully. "Why were you storing them in a jar?"
Lucifer shrugged. "I was a kid. Had to give the best stuff to the person I cared about most."
He leaned forward, curious, and suddenly—
They were face to face.
God froze. Amber eyes blinked slowly, lashes fluttering like wind-brushed dandelions.
Lucifer thought: His eyes are clearer than I remembered.
God always seemed calm, composed… but up close, those eyes were shockingly gentle.
"Those berries," God said quietly, glancing toward the main house, now glowing with warm candlelight, "were for him?"
He didn't need to name Michael.
Lucifer stepped back. "Yeah. I didn't know they'd go bad, so I switched to carrying them in my robe. He hated when I got dirty. Wouldn't let me in, no matter how much I cried."
He smiled faintly at the memory.
God lowered his gaze. "You never said you brought him any."
His tone wasn't accusatory, just… disappointed.
Lucifer laughed it off. "They got squashed."
God didn't reply. Lips pressed in a firm line, he stood still beside the bucket like a statue.
Lucifer felt the shift in air. The change in mood was subtle, but undeniable. God, always unreadable, was—hurt?
The angel tilted his head. The scent of berries filled the air. The amber eyes watched him so honestly.
"Hey," Lucifer said, impulsively, "don't be sad."
Then he coughed, awkward. "Anyway, I did eventually bring him some he liked. So don't pity him too much."
He glanced at the house. "He's still mad about yesterday, won't let me inside. Doesn't care if I'm cold. Why are you the one feeling bad?"
"Or... are you seriously trying to be my new Holy One? If you think a few berries will win me over—"
Lucifer jabbed a thumb at his chest. "I'm a handful, okay? If you want him to pick you, make him cut off my wings. Otherwise, forget it."
He looked like a growling little pup, ready to bite anyone who came near what was his.
God finally smiled.
"I won't," he said.
Amber eyes solemn and steady.
Lucifer gave a victorious sniff. "You better not."
God chuckled quietly, scooping up the fluffy white ferret curling around his ankles.
He walked toward the house, but noticed Lucifer hadn't followed.
He turned.
The angel stood still, black robes fluttering, gazing at the candlelit windows.
"Your bed isn't finished," God said.
Lucifer replied without looking. "I'm not human. I don't need one."
He spread his wings, ready to fly back to the tree.
But something tugged at his sleeve.
The baby ferret.
Eyes half-lidded, teeth not even grown in, but it was chomping on his robe with all its might.
God looked innocent, arms holding the tiny ball of fluff.
When Lucifer met his gaze, God looked away, as if embarrassed.
"Come with me," he said. "Back to my room."
Lucifer snorted. "To watch you sleep? Or are you asking me to sleep with you?"
God gently nudged the ferret toward him. "With me."
Lucifer froze.
He was about to laugh—was about to say, Are you insane? That bed barely fits one! But then he heard a serious question:
"Is that not allowed?"
God's voice was quiet but firm.
"Is it not?"
Lucifer straightened, taken aback.
He looked into those stubborn, honest eyes.
Words caught in his throat.
Instead of refusing, he mumbled, "Fine, whatever. If that's what you want."
As if yesterday's rebellion, the sulking, and the dramatic flight to the treetop had never happened.
He added in his mind: This has nothing to do with the berries.