nexuses | can't a man have some coffee in peace

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can't a man have some coffee in peace

[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?]

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[Hmm... He considers that.]

I suppose you're right. [It's true—he passed on his role not because he wanted to, but because it was necessary. Not because the world wanted a supreme primarch, but because the world needed one. In that sense, maybe it didn't matter that he had chosen him, specifically, when it could have been any of the other archangels. But even then...] Is it a problem if I want to think about you?

[The thing about his selfishness, both that which he'd often denied and the very little he'd allowed himself, was that it always, always had to do with him. The dreams he'd had for the future, the things he'd wanted for himself... There was nothing he'd wanted that didn't involve another person. He did care about their world and what happened to it, because he loved it and everything in it, but that—

It was far, far from the only thing he loved.]

[He almost wonders what would possess Lucifer to want that, but he knows why. His pure words, Lucifer had said. Those tender days when they would forget the laboratory and worldly duties in that shaded place . . . Sandalphon looks down, his expression softening.

Lucifer is truly benevolent. Those days are behind them now, yet he would still cherish the one who'd thrown them away. Sandalphon has no right to say much on the matter.]

If that's what you want, there's no problem. Just don't forget about yourself.

[That's a promise he'll make tonight. Should Lucifer forget, Sandalphon will remind him.]

I won't. [He's satisfied with Sandalphon's response. Honestly, it's something he was ready to argue for, because... well, Sandalphon was the only one who'd ever made him want anything for himself.] Perhaps I could still afford to learn to be more selfish. Yet, I can think of little I want more than this.

[He thought dragging Sandalphon along to cater to his fascination regarding human whims was already pretty selfish...! But even though it was something he probably would have done regardless, it wouldn't have been the same without him. None of this would, really.

Could he want for more? Maybe. Probably. But for him, this was more than enough. Just being by his side was— enough.]

[A development like that is sure to take time, especially for one so conditioned to being otherwise. It's almost ironic, given who's sitting next to him. With a slight smirk, Sandalphon lifts his head.]

That just means that part of you needs to evolve. Evolution takes time. You know that better than anyone, don't you?

[Give Lucifer time, and he'll be thinking about more than Sandalphon in the future. That's just the way it'll go.]

[Hmmm...

Sandalphon means well, he knows, yet he can't help but feel like— something is off about this. But he can't quite place what it is or why. He's not sure if Sandalphon doesn't understand, or if he doesn't... approve? Or if it's something else entirely.

A part of him thinks they might be having two different conversations.]

I wonder. [Maybe the issue is that, if they are having the same conversation, Sandalphon's words imply that there's something wrong with the way he feels.] What more should I want?

[Sandalphon frowns. That isn't a question he was expecting, nor is he in the position to give a formulated response.]

I can't answer that.

[That's for Lucifer, who's spent millennia observing Skydwellers, to decide. There must be a number of things that he wants, things that'll come to the forefront of his mind once his initial concerns are settled. For Sandalphon, this is the logical progression.

But he mustn't presume overmuch. Their last encounter in Canaan had proven that he hadn't understood Lucifer very well.]

[That is... well, maybe that's to be expected. But it's strange, too. Sandalphon felt like he should want more than to just— be with him, and yet, he can't give him any examples as to what that could be.]

Then, what about you? What more do you want, Sandalphon?

[Lucifer isn't sure if that's something Sandalphon can answer, either, but he wants to try to understand where he's coming from.]

[Nothing.

That's his immediate thought. It's not entirely true, because his mind is preoccupied these days by the promise he'd made Lucifer at Canaan; other than that, however, he finds himself drawing a blank.]

I haven't thought about it.

[Moreover, thinking about it would be a distraction, which he can't afford.]

[Hmm... He can understand that, he supposes. It's probably a lot to ask, given Sandalphon's situation, but it leaves Lucifer with more questions than answers.]

I don't disagree that I should be more selfish. Yet I wonder if what I want is too selfish.

[He normally just... assumed that Sandalphon felt the same. And he knows, to an extent, that he does share his feelings, but even then...]

[What Lucifer wants—to think about Sandalphon? He doesn't follow.]

Why do you say that?

[Thoughts don't harm anyone. Lucifer clearly means more, but they seem to have hit a snag in their conversation. Are they talking about the same thing anymore?]

[The thing he's always wanted yet never been allowed to have...]

For as long as I can remember, the only thing I've ever wanted is to be with you. [Lucifer had never asked for much. Even being able to have this at all was never something he'd ever questioned or wanted for. He absolutely could have lived without it, but once he'd had it...] Is that not selfish enough? Or is it too selfish?

[It's more of a rhetorical question this time—he doesn't expect Sandalphon to actually be able to answer that, especially since... well, it involves him.]

You don't have to want what I want, but it's quite selfish for one's happiness to depend upon another, isn't it?

[And not just selfish. Selfish implied flawed, and both of those were very human things.]

[Yes, it is. It's selfish, and Sandalphon knows that.

All he's ever wanted was to be with, be useful to, and be wanted by Lucifer. Right now, all those needs are being fulfilled. But he knows that this is a transient moment in time and space; and that, in reality, being with Lucifer is an impossible dream that visits him every night.

This is his failing. Even now, he struggles to overcome this need. Lucifer, however, has the strength to go beyond such a superficial boundary: Sandalphon hadn't always been there to reach for his attention.]

Even if it is, your happiness doesn't depend on just me. You care about the sky, too.

I do, but the sky isn't what makes me happy.

[There are implications here, but Lucifer isn't entirely sure what to make of them. Did Sandalphon not want him to care about him so? That was not what Lucifer had gathered before, from all their interactions together. Did he not think he was worthy to be cared about in such a way, or was the problem that he was jealous that there were "others?" Or was it something else entirely?

He honestly doesn't know.]

Do you think my selfishness misplaced?

[Happy . . .

He looks away, unable to respond. Yes, he thinks, that selfishness is misplaced in that the entire world awaits. At the same time, rejecting his being in Lucifer's thoughts rattles his core too much to say aloud. His conscience wars with his emotions.

Lucifer, who's beloved and followed by all, has a vast future ahead of him as long as he's here—alive, so full of curiosity and appreciation for the culture of the living.

Words he'd thought past him bubble to the forefront of his mind: a peasant should not hope to monopolize the grace of his king.]

It's complicated, isn't it?

[That's as deep as his comprehension goes because it could be-- so many things. He's aware that he still doesn't really know Sandalphon as well as he thought he did, or even wished to.

He wonders if this would be easier if he did. He fears-- that he might be making things difficult for him again. Then it all comes back to the question of how selfish is too selfish.]

Although it pains me to admit, your thoughts on the matter are beyond me. Yet, regardless, if you think my feelings misplaced, I fear there's little I can do to change them. For me, you'll always be more precious than the sky.

[Even if Sandalphon didn't approve, for thousands of years, he thought about him, wanted to see him, wanted to be with him again. Even despite their disagreements and misunderstanding, he'd wanted nothing more than to speak with him again. He didn't think that would easily change.]

[Sandalphon swallows. It feels as though a lump is lodged in his throat as he whispers.]

I don't deserve it . . .

[For two thousand years, he'd thought that he was nothing, only for Lucifer to have told him otherwise. Now, being told again in such clear terms, Sandalphon finds a wave of emotions crashing down on him.

Lucifer speaks of selfishness, yet the selfish one here is him. The familiar noose of guilt threatens to choke Sandalphon while his hands, curled into loose fists on his lap, tremble. A single thought pervades his mind: he should get down on his knees and beg forgiveness for having betrayed Lucifer's faith.]

[The words are quiet—he's not even sure he's heard them right. But it's obvious from even the little gestures that Sandalphon is dealing with a lot, so even if he had, he's not sure where to even begin with dealing with them.

He's reminded of the ways in which humans cope with pain. Then he wonders if that would be enough, or even effective at all. Or would it be too much? They weren't human. But...

He reaches for one of those trembling hands with his own.]

I'm sorry. I didn't truly understand your feelings until now.

[He wonders if it would've been better if he hadn't said anything... But at the same time, it felt important that he did. Sandalphon felt like he didn't deserve it, but Lucifer thought there was no one who deserved it more. He thinks, now, if there's something he wants more than just being with him, it's— changing his mind. It's wanting him to understand Lucifer's feelings, too.]

[That has always been a problem. To hear it addressed directly causes Sandalphon's breath to hitch as he all but leaps onto his feet, pulling his hand free from that gentle grasp and turning his back to Lucifer. The urge to flee is overpowering, but his feet remain planted on the ground beneath them.

The last time he'd held back tears, it had been on that fateful day two thousand years ago. The watering eyes, rising dizziness, numbing heat, and that persistent lump in his throat—the sensations are the same as back then. He almost doesn't believe this is happening.

He shouldn't be doing this, he chides himself. Primals aren't meant to showcase such a human response. But now that he's dared to think it, he can't stop: he wants to be forgiven, even though he doesn't deserve forgiveness.]

[Instinctively, Lucifer lifts a hand as if to reach for him, but he stops himself. He's afraid he's going to leave, but he doesn't want to force him to stay, either. He's spent so much time watching humans and yet he's not really sure how best to deal with this. If nothing else, he knew that every person was unique, and so it's... difficult, to know what Sandalphon needs right now.

(And he regrets that. He regrets that he doesn't already know. He's never known what he needed, and that was part of the problem.)

He's at a loss this time.]

Sandalphon...

[He wants to do so much more. This isn't an unfamiliar feeling—he's always, always wanted to do more, with everything he's ever been involved in. But this is different because that sense of yearning is there, too. For so long, he's yearned for this person's happiness, and now he realizes that he has no idea how to go about that.]

[Sandalphon takes in a shaky breath, willing the tears back. He won't cry in front of Lucifer.

If it were anyone else, he would leave the conversation. Tell the Singularity that he's going back to the ship, quit the company for the quiet solitude of the cabin to which he's been assigned—except Grandcypher is not here, and this is not the Singularity. This is Lucifer, and Sandalphon has never been able to walk away from him.

(Lucifer had always walked away first, but not this time.)

His voice sounds hoarse when he speaks.]

Two thousand years ago, I betrayed you. Does that mean nothing to you?

[Ah... Is that the root of all of this?

It's something he's thought a lot about during those thousands of years, but it's a bit strange to have to address it aloud. Still, he doesn't have to think twice about how to answer—even if Sandalphon didn't want his honesty, he deserved the truth.]

Of course it does. However, the fault does not lie entirely with you, does it? [He asks for the sake of emphasis—they both know that Lucifer also had a part in it. He'd also made mistakes.] It was painful... yet the thought of life apart from you is even more painful.

Is it wrong of me to want to forgive you?

[Maybe that was selfish of him, too, but he saw no reason why Sandalphon couldn't be forgiven, why he couldn't atone for his sins.]

[He pauses, the chilly night air of Shehui enveloping his heated cheeks. Does Lucifer want to forgive him? It can't be. That would be nonsense.

This time, his answer comes out evenly. He doesn't need to grind out the words; they've been with him for so long.]

What I've done is unforgivable. You should hate me.

[But he knows Lucifer doesn't. At most, he was punished by being trapped in a meaningless, solitary routine until he forced his way awake. Even still, thousands of years within the cradle wouldn't have been enough for what he did.]

But I don't. I never have. [He wasn't sure he ever could, really.] And I don't think that's true, either. If I thought you irredeemable, I wouldn't be speaking to you now. I certainly wouldn't have chosen you to succeed me.

[Part of him is surprised that it even needs to be said, even though he probably shouldn't be. This was how it had been before, too—he'd thought his feelings obvious, but learned that had not been the case.

But it's fine. He doesn't mind explaining. He'll do it a thousand times if he has to. He wants him to know that he's wrong about not deserving... well, anything. Because that's not true at all.]

You have a good heart, Sandalphon. [And his sins had come from that place, too, he thought.] It's true that there are unforgivable sins in the world, but yours are not them.

[Thus spoke the supreme primarch. The lump seems to swell and Sandalphon grits his teeth. It's surprising how clear his voice remains in the face of his body's emotional response to such a kind verdict.

Almost every fiber of his being fights it, save for the one that defers to Lucifer's superior judgment—and the other that craves to accept it, causing his voice to waver toward the end.]

Then what do you mean? Are you saying that you forgive me?

[He wishes to turn around, to face Lucifer and see the truth behind those blue eyes. And yet, on the edge of the precipice of what feels like hope, he falters out of deep-seated dread.]

['Of course,' he thinks, but doesn't say. Maybe he just— needed to hear it. And that's okay, too. He should be better about telling him these things, about letting him know how he feels.

While Sandalphon's voice starts to waver, Lucifer's is clear and full of confidence.]

I forgive you, Sandalphon. I forgave you a long time ago.

[Even if he'd never had the chance to tell him, he'd forgiven him. Sandalphon had acted from the heart—even if he'd caused him pain, it was only because he was in pain himself. How could he not forgive him?

If anything, he felt like he should be asking his forgiveness for putting him in this position in the first place.]

can't a man have some coffee in peace

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