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Vox’s favourite cafe was busier than usual that day.
Every table was filled, and there were even more people waiting in line at the counter.
The first time he’d come here, he’d asked questions about why this place was the way it was- like why the ‘no fighting’ sign above the register had ‘unless Greg started it’ written underneath, or why no one cared that he was an overlord- but he’d since gotten the answers, and decided that he didn’t need to ask any more questions about this place.
It was strange, and often didn’t make sense, but it was quiet, peaceful, and no one cared who he was.
It was nice for people not to care when he stepped into the room, so he had quickly become a regular at the cafe. Their food and drinks were good too, so that was a bonus.
He didn’t usually drink coffee, but the bitterness suited his mood quite nicely, so he’d ordered a black coffee- no cream, no sugar- instead of his usual smoothie.
The waitress- who knew him by name and order now- had given him a weird look that he couldn’t decipher when he ordered something different.
He’d just said he was tired.
Which was true, but it was also the anniversary of Alastor’s rejection.
Officially twenty years since they’d last been friends.
No.
They were never friends, because there were no friends in hell. Alastor had taught him that.
The acid rain outside matched his mood too. It was probably why the cafe was so crowded too- many of the people here had been caught outside when it started.
Pentagram city blurred into streaks of neon and reflected headlights outside the window as he watched people scurry by the shops. Some lucky folks had acid-proof umbrellas, while others shielded their bodies with hats and newspapers balanced atop their heads.
No one, not even the lucky ones with umbrellas, looked happy.
Hell, he supposed. No one was supposed to be happy here.
The little bell above the door chimed for the millionth time since he’d sat down.
He couldn’t have cared less, but he looked at the man who stepped inside anyway.
He wore a cream coloured trench coat and a matching top hat. Neither were damaged, so they must be acid-proof. Expensive, but he had no body guards or visible weapons on him.
Either very confident, or very stupid. Could be either.
The man wore dark sunglasses despite the darkness outside too.
Vox watched the man pause inside the doorway and look around.
Every table was occupied.
Except Vox’s. He was sitting alone at a table that had two chairs.
Wonderful.
The stranger noticed it too.
Their eyes met- or at least, Vox assumed they did from behind the sunglasses- and the man walked over.
“Excuse me.” His voice was warm and light. “Would you mind if I borrowed this chair?” The stranger smiled. “I thought I should ask instead of stealing one.”
“I appreciate the honesty.” Vox snarked back.
“So?”
Vox sighed. “Go ahead.”
Instead of lifting the chair and leaving, the man sat down.
“Seriously?”
“You said yes.”
Vox blinked. “That’s… not what I meant.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“I was hoping you’d be too polite to ask me to leave.”
“That’s manipulative.”
“A little, yeah, but it worked.”
For some reason, Vox wasn’t annoyed. He probably should’ve been, most people pissed him off within thirty seconds of meeting him, but instead he found himself wondering what kind of person admitted to manipulating someone thirty seconds after meeting them.
An honest one, apparently. Or maybe a stupid one.
“Besides, you looked like the least intimidating person in the room.” The stranger added.
“Excuse you? I’m an overlord!”
“I know.”
“Then why the hell would you think I’d be the least intimidating?”
“You haven’t threatened anyone since I walked in.”
“That’s your standard?”
“It’s a surprisingly high bar in hell.”
The waitress wandered over. “What would you like, sir?”
“What’s the sweetest thing you’ve got?” The stranger said. She just stared at him for a moment. “I’m serious.”
“Hot chocolate?"
“Excellent.”
“With whipped cream?”
“Naturally.”
“Marshmallows?”
“As many as you’re legally allowed to give me.”
She scribbled something down on her notepad.
Once she’d left, Vox couldn’t help himself. “You do know that that’ll basically be melted sugar, right?”
“I do.”
“You enjoy that?”
“I adore it.”
“That’s horrifying.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“You don’t seem like the type.”
“The type?”
“To order something like that.”
“And what type do I seem?”
Vox considered for a moment. “...Coffee."
“Black?”
“Probably.”
The stranger looked scandalized. “I have feelings, you know.”
“I'll believe it when I see it.”
“You wound me.”
“I've only known you for two minutes.”
“And already you've chosen violence.”
After a few minutes, the stranger’s drink arrived.
When he took a sip, his entire expression brightened. “Oh, that’s delightful!”
Vox stared. “Huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just… you looked genuinely happy.”
“I am.”
“It’s hot chocolate.”
“Exactly.”
When had Vox last seen someone genuinely happy over something tiny like that?
Probably before he died, and even then, it was usually only little kids who smiled like that over something that small.
“You’re an odd man.” He finally said.
The stranger nodded. “And I’ve been called so much worse!”
Silence settled between them.
Not awkward.
Comfortable.
Outside, thunder rolled somewhere in the distance.
The stranger watched the rain.
“I like storms.”
Vox looked up.
“Really?”
“They make the world quieter.”
That was an… unusual way to describe them. “How?”
“People stop rushing.” The stranger nodded toward the window. Outside, demons huddled beneath awnings, waiting for the rain to ease. “They're forced to just… exist for a while.”
“Hm. I’d never thought about it like that.” Vox sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I usually am.”
“Ah, there it is.”
“What?”
“The ego.”
The stranger laughed. “Just a healthy amount of confidence.”
“A dangerous amount, if you ended up down here.”
“Not everyone ends up where they expect.” The stranger smiled. A pause. “You looked tired when I came in.”
Vox stiffened slightly. “Did I?”
“You still do.”
He waited for the follow up.
The back-handed compliment, or maybe just a straight up insult.
It didn’t come.
No questions, no assumptions.
Just an observation.
“Been a rough few years.” Vox admitted.
“I’m sorry.”
Nothing more.
No ‘what happened?’.
No ‘want to talk about it?’.
Just ‘I’m sorry.’.
Funny how rare that was.
“What about you?” Vox asked. “Hiding from something?”
“Someone.”
“Oh?”
“They mean well. They usually do. But sometimes people who mean well can be… exhausting.”
“That’s true.”
“They keep trying to decide what’s best for me.”
“Ugh. I know that feeling.”
“I had a suspicion.”
For a while, they traded stories.
Nothing huge.
Just little complaints.
People who talked too much.
Meetings that could’ve been letters.
Expectations.
Responsibilities.
By the end, Vox realized something odd.
They'd spent nearly an hour together, and neither of them had asked what the other actually did.
“So.” The stranger said eventually, as he finished his sugar-in-a-cup. “I should go. They’re probably freaking out that they can’t find me right about now.”
“I guess so.” Vox said, still smiling from the last joke the stranger had cracked. “So long, mysterious hot chocolate enthusiast.”
The man tipped his hat. “So long, mysterious coffee snob.”
“Fair.” Vox chuckled. “I never did get your name.”
“Lu.”
“Vox.”
The stranger- no, Lu- offered his hand.
His grip was warm, firm, and not trying to prove anything.
“Pleasure to meet you, Vox.”
“Likewise.”
“I hope we run into each other again.”
“Yeah.” Vox surprised himself with his own answer. “So do I.”
He watched the stranger disappear into the rain.
Only after the door closed did he realize something.
He’d spent nearly an hour talking to someone without pretending to be a big, scary overlord.
Without worrying about appearances.
Without thinking about Alastor.
He looked down at his untouched coffee.
It had gone cold.
He smiled.
For the first time in a long time, he didn’t mind it.
As the cafe door closed behind him, Lucifer adjusted the brim of his hat.
“Your Majesty!” Lucifer looked over. A palace guard stood beneath an umbrella, looking equal parts annoyed and relieved. “We’ve been looking everywhere!”
He glanced back at the cafe, and through the window, Vox was still sitting there, smiling into a cold cup of coffee.
“Sorry.” Lucifer said quietly. “I got distracted.”
And he was happy about it.