can't a man have some coffee in peace

[melancoffeea]

[The thread that connects him to the supreme primarch's power has unraveled, taking with it his wings. Rent of what makes him an archangel, he's no better than a human with a purpose thrust unto him by a weakened witch. All in all, the whole situation reeks of nonsense.

Indolence won't help his brooding any. Sandalphon tours the city instead, pointedly taking the less populated path. Even then, too many people approach him with their wares and saccharine smiles, and he rebuffs each one with a single-word response. It's not soon enough when he slips into a shop that smells faintly of coffee, hoping for some peace and quiet.

But even here, the employees jump at every person to come around. Sandalphon grits his teeth in reflex annoyance when a rehearsed greeting and a request for an order is thrown his way. He hadn't intended to buy anything. Still, he can't just turn around and leave.]

Fine. Give me coffee.

[That unleashes a whole new can of beans. Regular or decaf? Perhaps a mocha, a latte, or a cappucino? And what about ice?

Does any of this matter? No one makes coffee like Lucifer. It hasn't been more than two hours, and Sandalphon wants to quit Shehui.]

That doesn't matter to me. Make what you want.

[At the very least, the service is quick—too quick. Sandalphon eyes the cup in his grasp with mild suspicion. What's with the lid?]

Comments

[melancoffeea]

[He continues to sample the drink while Lucifer talks, savoring the minty aftertaste. Impressive, how humans have managed to diversify the taste of coffee.

"I apologize for asking such self-indulgent things," Lucifer says. Were it anyone else, Sandalphon would have snorted. Asking for him to make coffee is no skin off his nose. More importantly, he likes it this way: Lucifer's allowed to want things for himself.

Longing, yearning . . . elation, pain . . . Sandalphon's brow pinches, and his lips curl into a tentative smile.]

It won't be in that shaded garden, but I'll make that cup of coffee we can share.

[He'll make it every day, if he has to.]

[supremo]

[Even though Sandalphon had already made it clear that he had been there, Lucifer's still taken aback, just a little, when he hears him acknowledge his words like that. But it's not a bad thing at all—he can't remember the last time he felt so much relief in his heart. And so much warmth.

He doesn't say as much because he's sure it isn't a pleasant memory, but nothing means more than knowing he had been there after all. Even if he hadn't known it then, and even if it probably didn't matter now. There had been the fear that Sandalphon might never know his words, let alone his feelings, but it seemed like, maybe, he had been fortunate enough to have both.

He still had regrets, and there were so many things he could never fix, but he's grateful for this small thing. This selfish thing.]

Thank you, Sandalphon. I look forward to it.