Lucifer's Mansion, Late Late Saturday Night/Early Sunday Morning

[my_own_advocate]

The party was over. The clean-up crew would be there first thing the next morning. So, too, was apparently the one-week adventure of having a houseguest. Lucifer returned home, slipping out before Seivarden could ask if the maybe/maybe-not sleepover was happening after all.

He didn't sleep. After a few desperate attempts, he eventually found himself drifting through the bedroom to the piano.

His fingers fanned out over the keys. One note, then another. A child's song, an easy lesson in rhythm and sound.

"Bit late for a new case, isn't it?"

"I'm not here for a case. I'm here for you."

"Oh. Really."

"Yeah." ... "I thought you could use a friend."

"Ah. ... Do you play?"

"Nn-- no. I... I had three years of piano lessons, and this is all I remember."

Her blonde hair had hung loose over her shoulders. Her eyes had been bright, and her smile had been-- radiant. He'd felt like this, then. Alone in a too-empty house, missing a friend who had shared some of his life for such a little while. And she had shown up like a gift, to twist the sad sounds he'd been wringing out of his piano into something joyful and simple.

He flattened his hands against the keys with a sigh. There'd be no blonde sweeping in like a warm wind this time. There very likely would never be one again.

I need to stop looking backwards, he'd told her once. Now, backwards was the only direction in which his hands drifted next.

[[ establishy. ]]