Chapter 1
---
Alastor wandered through the halls of the supermarket, unsure whether to buy anything or just keep lurking around, checking the nutritional values of each product he liked. And it was tempting, honestly. He wanted to buy tons of food and just get home and eat it all—but he couldn’t allow himself to do that. He regretted having brought money.
Strangely, he soon found himself craving something sweet. He never really liked sweets, but maybe he was just very hungry. Alastor walked over to the cookie aisle, where he suddenly stopped in front of someone. Someone he did not want to see.
It was not the time, nor the situation.
Shit.
“Alastor?” The familiar voice rang in his ears, and his body tensed. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, let alone walk away. His gaze flickered up hesitantly, meeting his.
Lucifer.
Before Alastor could force a response, Lucifer beat him to it.
“Hey, man! Ha! How have you been?! It’s so good to see you! We– Well, I haven’t seen you in years! Wow! You look… um…”
Alastor felt himself shrink.
“…Different…” Lucifer finally said, his voice faltering as the word left his lips.
Alastor glanced away, discomfort settling in his chest.
“...What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice was quieter than intended.
Lucifer noticed. “I-in a good way, of course! Ha…–” He forced a chuckle, but it fell flat.
A pause.
Alastor wanted to take this as an opportunity to walk away, but his feet wouldn’t move. The weight of old memories anchored him in place.
“Certainly…” he muttered, suddenly feeling colder.
It was true—he had been ghosting Lucifer. Alastor avoided everyone as much as he could, and now, Lucifer was right in front of him.
“I think I should get going,” Alastor finally said, forcing his voice to remain steady as he turned to leave.
“Wait! Alastor!”
He stopped. Turned back.
Lucifer’s expression softened. “I… Please call me later.”
Alastor gulped, turning back toward the exit without another word.
---
By the time he got home, the whole situation had drained him. He lay on his bed, mindlessly scrolling through his phone.
But Lucifer’s words stuck.
Please call me later.
He sighed. His thumb hovered over his contacts before finally tapping on Lucifer’s name. So many unread messages. He hesitated over the “call” button for a moment too long—then, before he could overthink it, he pressed it.
Lucifer answered within seconds.
“Oh! Alastor? You called!”
Regret hit him instantly.
“Yes… You told me to. I… is there something you need?”
Lucifer didn’t take long to respond.
“I just… it’s been quite a lot of time, hasn’t it? We should hang out! I mean, if you want– We could talk… about life– Or anything you’d like, I…”
“When?” Alastor interrupted, blunt.
“Oh! Um, whenever you’re free, that’s fine.”
Did Lucifer really have to leave it up to him? Though, it wasn’t like he had anything important to do. Or anything at all.
“Tomorrow..?” The word slipped out before he could stop it. Why did I say that?
“Sounds fine! Hah! Well, then I’ll see you! Oh! Two PM? McDonald's… is that okay?”
McDonald's? Really?
“…Okay.”
Before Lucifer could say anything else, Alastor hung up.
He sighed, tossing his phone onto the nightstand. He felt dizzy—very dizzy. But eating was out of the question.
Maybe some tea would help.
---
The next morning came too soon.
Alastor groggily got up and went through the motions of his routine. By the time he finished brushing his teeth, the morning appetite that usually gnawed at him had faded completely.
And then—his vision blurred.
His stomach lurched, and before he could steady himself—
Everything went black.
When Alastor woke again, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. His body ached, and for a moment, he just lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling. Then he checked the time.
2:30 PM.
His stomach dropped.
He was thirty minutes late.
Alastor scrambled to get ready, though his movements were sluggish, his head still heavy from whatever had happened earlier. He hesitated at the door.
Should I even go?
He went.
McDonald's wasn’t too far, so he got there quickly. He spotted Lucifer sitting at a table, scrolling on his phone.
“Lucifer…”
Lucifer looked up, then grinned.
“You’re late,” he teased.
Alastor couldn’t help but smile—just a little.
“I am,” he admitted, sliding into the seat across from him.
Lucifer leaned forward slightly. “What are you going to order?”
“I… don’t know…” Alastor murmured, gripping the edge of the table to steady his nerves.
Why did Lucifer pick this place? Out of all places?
So childish. Then again, Lucifer had always been like that.
Lucifer stood up, brushing the crumbs off his hoodie. “Have you decided yet?”
“I… uh. Chicken… salad,” Alastor said, eyes flicking away.
Lucifer simply nodded before heading off to order.
---
A few minutes later, Lucifer returned with their food. He set the tray down, looking way too excited.
Alastor blinked.
“…Happy Meal?”
Lucifer rolled his eyes. “The toy that came with it was a rubber duck.”
Alastor let out a rare chuckle. “Is that why you wanted to come here?”
“…Maybe.”
The conversation carried on, the initial awkwardness slowly fading into something familiar. Comfortable, even.
Until—
“Not hungry?”
Alastor stiffened.
Lucifer’s eyes flicked toward the untouched salad.
Alastor quickly chewed a piece of lettuce. “I… No, just got lost in our conversation.”
Lucifer didn’t look convinced.
But he didn’t push.
For now.
Lucifer raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. Instead, he just picked up his Happy Meal toy and spun it around in his fingers.
“So… what have you been up to?” he asked, breaking the momentary silence.
Alastor forced a smile, stirring his salad absentmindedly with his fork. “Oh, you know. The usual. Lurking in supermarkets. Staring at food I won’t buy. Ghosting people.”
Lucifer let out a sharp laugh. “At least you’re self-aware.”
Alastor chuckled softly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He quickly shoved another piece of lettuce into his mouth to avoid saying anything else.
Lucifer leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “You know, you really do look different. And not in a bad way, I swear.”
Alastor tensed. There it was again. That look—that same look people gave him when they noticed something was off.
Lucifer continued, oblivious to Alastor’s growing discomfort. “It’s just… You used to be a bit more, um… lively?”
Alastor rolled his eyes, stabbing his fork into the salad. “Ah, yes, because eating a McDonald’s Happy Meal is the pinnacle of adulthood and liveliness.”
Lucifer snorted. “Touché.” He picked up a fry and pointed it at Alastor. “But I’m serious. You’ve been avoiding everyone, and now I see you again, and you’re all… I don’t know. I mean, I don’t wanna be that guy, but—”
“Then don’t be that guy,” Alastor cut him off sharply, his smile twitching.
Lucifer hesitated. He wanted to push, but there was something in Alastor’s tone that warned him not to. He sighed instead, leaning back in his chair.
“Fine. But if you ever do wanna talk about whatever’s going on in that little head of yours, I’m here,” Lucifer said, flicking a fry at him.
Alastor caught it before it could land in his salad and smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now, are we just here to emotionally analyze me, or are we going to enjoy the fine dining experience that is McDonald’s?”
Lucifer grinned. “Right, right. Let’s focus on the real reason we’re here.” He reached into his Happy Meal box and pulled out another rubber duck, placing it dramatically in front of Alastor. “Meet Sir Quack III. He is now your responsibility.”
Alastor gave him a deadpan stare. “I refuse to accept this.”
“Too late.”
Lucifer shoved the duck toward him until Alastor finally gave in, sighing as he picked it up. “You are such a child.”
“And you’re a ghost. We balance each other out,” Lucifer teased, grinning.
Alastor rolled his eyes, but for the first time in a while, the tension in his chest felt a little lighter. Maybe seeing Lucifer again wasn’t the worst idea after all.
—
The two spent nearly an hour at McDonald’s, talking about nothing and everything. It was… comfortable. Too comfortable. And that scared Alastor.
As they finally left, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the streets. They walked in silence for a moment, the distant hum of traffic filling the space between them.
“You know,” Lucifer started, “I really meant what I said earlier. You can always reach out. You don’t have to keep everything bottled up, Al.”
Alastor stiffened at the nickname. No one had called him that in a long time.
“I’ll think about it,” he muttered.
Lucifer smiled knowingly. “Good.”
They parted ways soon after, but as Alastor walked back home, Sir Quack III still clutched in his hand, he couldn’t shake the feeling that today had been different.
That terrified him.
When Alastor got home, the first thing he noticed was the hunger clawing at his stomach. It had been gnawing at him all day, but now it was unbearable. His body ached, his head felt light, and his hands were cold, even though his apartment wasn’t particularly chilly.
But eating was out of the question.
He couldn't.
So, instead, he needed a distraction. Something to occupy his hands and mind—something to make him forget about the way his stomach twisted in protest.
Baking.
Baking was perfect.
He had always liked baking, anyway. The measurements, the precision, the way everything had to be just right. It was methodical, almost like a ritual. And the best part? He didn’t have to eat the result.
Alastor made his way to the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves. He scanned the cabinets for ingredients, eventually deciding on something simple—cookies. He wasn’t sure what kind yet, but it didn’t matter. Just the act of making them would be enough.
He set everything up carefully, measuring the flour, sugar, and butter with practiced ease. The scent of vanilla filled the air as he mixed everything together. His hands trembled slightly, but he ignored it, forcing himself to focus.
Eggs. He needed eggs.
He opened the fridge and reached for the carton, only to feel his vision sway. A wave of dizziness hit him like a brick, making him grab onto the counter for support. His breathing was uneven, his body screaming at him to just eat something, but he shook his head and pushed through it.
No. Not yet.
He cracked the eggs into the batter, one by one, his movements slower than usual. He stirred everything together, shaping the dough into small, neat circles before placing them onto the baking tray.
Then, into the oven they went.
Alastor let out a slow breath, leaning against the counter as the heat from the oven warmed the kitchen. He watched the cookies bake through the glass door, mesmerized by how they slowly spread out, turning golden brown.
The smell was intoxicating.
He hated it.
It made his stomach twist even more, and his mind started whispering thoughts he didn’t want to hear.
You could eat one.
Just one.
It wouldn’t be that bad, right?
His hands clenched into fists. No. He wouldn’t. He’d just make them, and that was it. He didn’t need to eat them. He could give them away or throw them out. It didn’t matter.
When the oven timer finally beeped, he let out a small sigh of relief. He grabbed a mitt, pulling out the tray, and placed it on the counter.
The cookies looked perfect. Golden, crisp on the edges, soft in the middle. Exactly the way he used to like them.
But now, they felt like the enemy.
He picked one up, holding it between his fingers, feeling its warmth seep into his skin. The scent of butter and sugar filled his lungs, making his head spin.
For a moment, he almost—almost—brought it to his lips.
But then, just as quickly, he dropped it back onto the tray.
No.
Instead, he grabbed a plate, stacking the cookies neatly before covering them. He’d leave them for later. Maybe he’d give them to Lucifer, or maybe he’d just let them sit there until they went stale. It didn’t matter.
He was not eating them.
Alastor took a deep breath and stepped away from the kitchen, feeling the familiar, hollow ache settle in his chest.
He was used to this by now.
The next day, Alastor woke up feeling like absolute shit.
His entire body ached, and his head was pounding. His limbs felt weak, as if he had been drained overnight. He tried to sit up, but the moment he moved, a wave of nausea hit him so hard he had to grip the edge of the bed to keep from collapsing back down.
Too fast. Too much.
He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the dizziness to pass. His throat felt dry, and his stomach was in knots, twisting painfully from hunger. But he ignored it. He was used to ignoring it.
With slow, calculated movements, he forced himself to stand. His vision blurred for a moment, but he steadied himself against the wall, taking a few shallow breaths before heading to the bathroom.
When he looked in the mirror, he almost startled himself.
His skin was paler than usual, dark circles hanging under his eyes. His collarbones jutted out more prominently, and his cheekbones were sharper than he remembered. He tilted his head slightly, running a cold hand down his jaw. His fingers traced over the bone, lingering for just a second too long.
Good.
The thought was automatic. Reassuring. Comforting.
Still, he felt awful.
Alastor ran the tap and splashed cold water on his face, trying to shake off the exhaustion weighing him down. He brushed his teeth, the taste of mint almost making him gag, and then changed into something decent.
It was Saturday. Rest. No responsibilities. Which meant more time for distractions.
He made his way to the kitchen, stopping when he saw the plate of cookies still sitting on the counter. Untouched. Just as he had left them. The sight made something in his chest tighten.
He picked one up, weighing it in his fingers.
It’s just a cookie.
His stomach growled. His hands felt numb. His body was begging him.
But he put it back down.
Instead, he made himself a cup of tea—no sugar, no milk, just plain, hot tea. He wrapped his hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into his fingers. The steam rose up, filling the space around him, and for a moment, he let himself pretend it was enough.
Ding.
His phone vibrated on the counter.
Alastor frowned, setting the mug down before picking up his phone. A new message.
Lucifer: Good morning! Wanna hang out again?
Alastor stared at the message for a long moment, debating whether or not to respond. He hadn’t expected Lucifer to reach out again so soon.
Did he even want to go?
His body felt like lead. His energy was nonexistent. But staying home alone all day… that didn’t seem like a great idea either.
After a long pause, he finally typed back.
Alastor: Where?
Lucifer’s response came almost instantly.
Lucifer: Arcade?
Alastor sighed, rubbing his temple. Of course Lucifer would suggest the arcade.
Alastor: Fine. What time?
Lucifer: 1 PM! Don’t be late again :P
Alastor rolled his eyes. 1 PM gave him enough time to pull himself together. He downed the rest of his tea in a few quick sips, rinsed the mug, and then went to lie down for a bit.
He just needed to rest. Just for a little while.
Then he’d deal with Lucifer.
By the time 1 PM rolled around, Alastor had managed to make himself look somewhat presentable. He still felt like absolute garbage, but he wasn’t about to tell Lucifer that. If he acted normal enough, maybe Lucifer wouldn’t notice.
The walk to the arcade wasn’t long, but it felt like a marathon. Every step was exhausting, and his head was still pounding. His stomach had stopped growling, which wasn’t a good sign, but he forced himself to ignore it.
When he finally stepped inside, he was greeted by the obnoxious sound of arcade machines beeping and kids screaming. The lights were blinding, and the smell of buttery popcorn and fried food hit him like a truck. His stomach twisted in protest.
“Alastor!”
Before he could react, someone threw their arm around his shoulder.
Lucifer.
“You’re on time for once! Proud of you, buddy,” Lucifer teased, ruffling Alastor’s hair.
Alastor grimaced, pushing his hand away. “I’m not a dog.”
“Debatable,” Lucifer snickered. “Anyway! Come on! I already got a bunch of tokens.” He jingled a handful of arcade coins in his palm.
Alastor sighed but followed.
Lucifer led him straight to a racing game. “Let’s start with this! I know I’m gonna kick your ass.”
Alastor raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You sound awfully confident for someone who has the reaction time of a snail.”
Lucifer gasped dramatically. “Excuse me?!”
Alastor smirked. “Did I stutter?”
“Oh, you are so going down.”
They both sat down in the racing seats, gripping the plastic steering wheels as the countdown started.
3… 2… 1… Go!
Lucifer immediately crashed into the wall.
Alastor burst out laughing. “Wow. Impressive start.”
“SHUT UP—”
The race went on, Alastor effortlessly drifting around corners while Lucifer struggled to stay on the road. By the time they reached the finish line, Alastor had lapped Lucifer twice.
The screen flashed: 1ST PLACE – ALASTOR
Lucifer groaned dramatically. “THIS GAME IS RIGGED.”
“You’re just bad at it,” Alastor replied smugly, stepping out of the seat.
Lucifer pouted but quickly perked up. “Okay, fine, but I will destroy you at air hockey.”
Alastor smirked. “We’ll see about that.”
They spent the next hour hopping from game to game—shooting zombies, throwing basketballs, even playing some dumb claw machine that Lucifer insisted was totally winnable (Spoiler: he did not win).
For a while, Alastor almost forgot how terrible he felt. Almost.
Then Lucifer turned to him with that look.
“Have you eaten anything?”
Alastor froze for a split second. “What?”
Lucifer crossed his arms. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been weird all day.”
Alastor rolled his eyes. “I am weird.”
“You know what I mean.”
Alastor shrugged, pretending to be distracted by a nearby claw machine. “I’m just not hungry.”
Lucifer sighed. “Dude. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
Alastor felt his jaw clench. “I’m fine.”
Lucifer frowned, clearly not buying it. “Okay. Then let’s make a deal.”
Alastor narrowed his eyes. “What kind of deal?”
Lucifer grinned. “If I win the next game, you have to eat something.”
Alastor exhaled sharply. “And if I win?”
Lucifer shrugged. “Then I’ll shut up about it.”
Alastor considered it. He really didn’t want to eat. But he also never lost to Lucifer.
“Fine,” he said. “What game?”
Lucifer’s grin widened. He turned to the nearest machine—Dance Dance Revolution.
Alastor immediately regretted everything.
He stood in front of the DDR machine, already regretting every single life decision that led him to this moment. Lucifer, on the other hand, looked way too excited.
“Alright,” Lucifer said, cracking his knuckles. “Hope you’re ready to get your ass handed to you.”
Alastor scoffed. “Please. You trip over air.”
Lucifer gasped. “Rude!”
Alastor just smirked as they both stepped onto the dance pads. The screen lit up with song options. Lucifer scrolled through, humming dramatically.
“Ohhh, this one looks fun!” He selected an insanely fast song.
Alastor’s stomach dropped. “Are you serious?”
Lucifer grinned. “What? Scared?”
Alastor huffed. “Of you? Never.”
The countdown began.
3… 2… 1… Go!
The arrows started flying across the screen at inhumane speeds. Lucifer immediately flailed around like a dying fish, stepping on random arrows with zero coordination.
Alastor, despite his exhaustion, tried to keep up. His legs felt like lead, and his vision blurred slightly. But there was no way he was letting Lucifer win.
Lucifer, however, was too busy being horrific at the game to notice Alastor struggling.
“Dude! Why is this so fast?!” Lucifer yelled, missing every single arrow.
Alastor couldn’t even laugh. His chest was tight, his heart hammering. The flashing lights and rapid movements made his head spin.
Then—his knee buckled.
Alastor stumbled, his foot slipping off the dance pad. His balance failed completely, and before he could catch himself—
He hit the floor. Hard.
The game screen flashed: Failed.
Lucifer immediately stopped flailing and looked down. “Shit.”
Alastor groaned, trying to sit up. His entire body ached, his head was pounding, and the room would not stop spinning.
Lucifer crouched down, concern all over his face. “Dude, are you okay?”
Alastor really wanted to say “yes” and brush it off. But his body physically disagreed.
Lucifer sighed. “Okay, that’s it. You do need food.”
Alastor tried to protest. “I’m fine—”
Lucifer grabbed his wrist and pulled him up way too fast. Alastor swayed, grabbing onto Lucifer’s sleeve for support.
Lucifer frowned. “Alastor.”
“…What.”
Lucifer gave him the most judgmental look ever. “We’re getting food. Now.”
Alastor groaned. “Ugh. Fine. Whatever.”
Lucifer grinned victoriously. “Hell yeah.”
As they left the arcade, Alastor sighed. Lucifer practically dragged Alastor out of the arcade and toward the nearest café. Alastor wasn’t even resisting at this point—he was too dizzy, too exhausted, and honestly, he didn’t have the energy to argue.
Lucifer, on the other hand, looked like he was on a mission.
The café was small, cozy, and smelled overwhelmingly of coffee and fresh pastries. Alastor wrinkled his nose as they walked in—he wasn’t in the mood for any of it.
Lucifer led them to a table by the window and immediately snatched a menu. “Alright. You’re eating something.”
Alastor leaned back in his chair. “I don’t see why you’re so insistent.”
Lucifer shot him a look. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you just collapsed mid-game?”
Alastor sighed, looking away. “That was nothing.”
Lucifer groaned. “Dude.”
Before Alastor could argue further, a waitress appeared. Lucifer immediately smiled at her. “Hey! Can we get a grilled cheese and a hot chocolate? Oh, and—” He turned to Alastor. “You want soup?”
Alastor blinked. “I did not agree to this.”
Lucifer stared him down.
Alastor sighed dramatically. “…Fine. Whatever.”
Lucifer turned back to the waitress. “Tomato soup for him. Thanks.”
She nodded and walked away, and Alastor crossed his arms. “This is completely unnecessary.”
Lucifer smirked. “Says the guy who nearly passed out in public.”
Alastor rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. The truth was, he was lightheaded. His limbs still felt weak, and his stomach ached from hunger, but he really didn’t want to admit that.
Soon, the food arrived. Lucifer immediately dug into his grilled cheese, humming happily. “Man. This slaps.”
Alastor, however, just stared at his soup.
Lucifer noticed. “C’mon, just eat.”
Alastor hesitated before finally picking up the spoon. He took a small sip—just enough to look like he was eating. The warmth felt… oddly comforting.
Lucifer watched him carefully but didn’t push further.
The meal passed mostly in silence, with Lucifer rambling occasionally about random things—old childhood memories, dumb things he saw on the internet, weird dreams he had. Alastor barely responded, but he listened. He smiled, softly.
By the time Lucifer finished his food, Alastor had only taken a few small spoonfuls of soup.
Lucifer didn’t comment on it. Instead, he stretched and yawned. “Alright, I gotta head home soon. You gonna be okay?”
Alastor nodded. “Of course.”
Lucifer looked unconvinced but didn’t argue. He grabbed his jacket and stood up. “Well, today was fun. Even though you suck at dancing.”
Alastor scoffed. “You were the one flailing like a dying insect.”
Lucifer laughed. “Fair.”
They walked out together, the air much colder than before. Lucifer hesitated for a second before turning to Alastor.
“…Hey.”
Alastor raised an eyebrow. “What.”
Lucifer scratched the back of his head. “You know you can… talk to me, right?”
Alastor froze, looking away.
Lucifer sighed. “Just—yeah. If you need anything. Whatever.”
Alastor didn’t respond.
Lucifer didn’t push. Instead, he smiled. “See you later, man.”
And just like that, he walked off, leaving Alastor alone in the cold.
Alastor stood there for a moment, staring at the sidewalk. His head was still spinning, his stomach still ached, and now, for some reason… his chest felt weird.
Annoyed, he shook it off and started walking home.
He had a bad feeling about all of this.