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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[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.]

[Just like that, he has been granted forgiveness.

Sandalphon's lower lip trembles as his vision blurs. He presses the heel of his right palm against a watery eye, but that fails to stop the tears from flowing. It doesn't matter.

Deep within the cradle's hazy bosom, all he felt were isolation and emptiness. Now, the clarity of Lucifer's answer feels as though it has purified his core in a way that the cradle never managed. Whether he deserves that forgiveness, for the moment, has no bearing.

He brings the other hand up to press against both eyes. All he can do is cry in sheer, raw relief with the warmth of the scarf against his neck.]

Lucifer . . . I . . .

[Oh... Even from here, it's apparent that Sandalphon is... probably crying. But Lucifer's at even more of a loss now than he was before. His only "experience" with emotions like this was what he'd observed from watching others—he could not think of a time when he'd been directly confronted by a crying person, Sandalphon or otherwise. Not to mention that, again, Sandalphon's feelings are still a bit of a mystery to him. Is he sad or frustrated? Is this what he wanted, or is he upset that this is what he got? He did think that he wanted to be forgiven, but— maybe he'd read the situation all wrong. That definitely wasn't impossible.

He hesitates, unsure if anything he's saying is going to be the right thing anymore, but he has to ask, because he wants to do what he can for him, and if he doesn't, then all of this... might've been for nothing.]

What's wrong?

[It sounds ignorant and he knows it, but, well, his difficulties with things like this are news to no one.]

[He sucks in an abrupt breath; so that he can take another, longer one.]

Nothing.

[And to his surprise, that's the truth. There's a number of things he could point out that's wrong from a rational perspective, but for once he isn't concerned about it. His mind is looping, stuck on the fact that Lucifer has explicitly expressed forgiveness.

Sandalphon wipes his eyes as he breathes deeply and slowly, suppressing the urge to keep on crying. (Odd, that a primal would even possess the capacity to shed tears.) It's as if a dam broke and let loose his pent-up feelings, and he's just barely keeping them at bay.

Finally, he turns. His is a small, single step toward Lucifer with his shoulder pointed in the latter's direction and his gaze directed at the ground.]

Nothing's wrong.

I'm sorry. I've overwhelmed you.

[He still isn't actually sure if he's really okay or not, but apologizing is the least he can do, since making him cry had definitely not been the intention. Of course, Sandalphon is still here and doesn't seem to be mad at him (yet?), so at least there's that. Maybe it wasn't entirely a bad thing. It does feel like he's being honest with him.

He completely underestimated the toll that such honesty could take on others, he thinks. For as long as he'd watched others, he still had a long way to go when it came to learning how to deal with things like this. He hoped Sandalphon would continue to be patient with him.]

[Although brief, it feels like he cried for much longer. His eyes are slightly swollen; the skin around them is no doubt colored red. An unpleasant warmth persists all over his face, and it won't be long before the drowsiness starts to seep in. Crying really is an inconvenient mechanism.

Swallowing—at last, the lump has gone—Sandalphon bows his head at Lucifer's apology. The corners of his lips raise by a minuscule margin.]

Why are you apologizing? It's me who asked you to be honest.

[Good grief. Lucifer should stop before he starts down that road of nonsense. Right now, it's almost funny.]

[...oh. Well, that answers a lot of his questions (and doubts). He smiles softly as he stands up.]

I wondered if, perhaps, my honesty was too much. But if this is the honesty you wished for, then I'm glad.

[It was so simple to just... say what he felt. He regretted that he hadn't done it sooner, that he'd let so many things prevent him from doing so. Maybe it had been the "right" thing to do, technically, for the sake of his position, but how poor Sandalphon must have suffered for it...]

[It is too much, because Sandalphon isn't used to it. But Lucifer is right—this is what he wished for, so he has nothing about which to complain. It's difficult to decipher his exact feeling on this, but he knows that that feeling is neither anger nor bitterness. (Is it complaisance, perhaps?)

He's not going to overthink it. He can't: It's like the relief has draped a thick blanket over the expanse of his mind, numbing his ability to analyze the scene.

Sandalphon's attention drifts to the bench, and he strides over to retrieve the bag resting on it.]

Have you had your fill of the display? If so, we can head back now.

Let's go. [Really, he could probably stay here all night, but they'd been out long enough—he'd seen what he wanted to see, did what he wanted to do, and then some. Sandalphon could probably use a break, too, he thinks.] Some coffee would be nice, don't you think?

[That seemed like a good way to wind down for the evening. Plus, they had those new cups to use—]

[With the bag in tow, they've got nothing to leave behind. Sandalphon nods as he turns in the direction of the street market.]

I'll prepare the brew once we've returned.

[While the time isn't proper for coffee, sleep isn't necessary for primals. Even now, his mind's still recovering from the prior onslaught of mantras. A cup of that warm richness doesn't sound like a bad idea after that high-energy scene.]

Oh? [There's a small hint of amusement in his voice as he follows Sandalphon.] I was going to offer make it myself, but I won't say no to that.

[It's a silly thing, probably—it's not like it would be the first time Sandalphon made coffee since they arrived, but he just... didn't get tired of it. Maybe he never would, considering how long it's been since they were able to share a cup. It made him happy that he wanted to.]

[Sandalphon would never refuse coffee brewed by Lucifer's hands. Since he's already volunteered, though, there's no sense in taking the offer back—moreover . . . ]

Take it as a token of appreciation.

[If it'll bring a smile to Lucifer's face, then he'll do it. As they enter the bustling streets, the noise comes back in full force and drowns out Sandalphon's muttering:]

It won't happen again . . . I won't betray your faith.

["A token of appreciation," he says, as if Lucifer had gone out of his way or something. As if Lucifer hadn't already forgiven him years and years ago. As if there had ever been a question... But Lucifer will let him have it. It seemed to mean so much to him to hear him say it, so he'll let him show whatever appreciation he wants to. Ever since they'd arrived here, Sandalphon seemed so tense, but now, there was this lightness to him, like a heavy burden had been lifted.]

I would like that, then.

[Oblivious to Sandalphon's solemn promise, Lucifer's glad for him. Even if it's only one of many burdens, he's glad to he helped ease his heart, if only a little.]

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