Stephen woke up feeling like absolute shit.
His sleep had been pitiful—a restless cycle of tossing, turning, and waking up in a cold sweat. His mind wouldn't shut up long enough to let him rest. Every time he closed his eyes, it was either golden eyes watching him too closely or the lingering warmth of feathers against his skin.
It was stupid.
Even thinking about Lucifer Morningstar felt stupid.
And yet—here he was, sleep-deprived and frustrated, staring at his own reflection in the mirror as he got ready for work. His hair was messier than usual. His shirt was almost buttoned wrong before he caught himself. Damn it.
This is nothing. It's just because he's… odd. And annoying.
Right. That was it. Lucifer was insufferable. He wanted to get under Stephen's skin, and Stephen had just… let him. But now he was back in his world. His real world.
No demons. No angels. No winged men singing seductive love songs to him while playing the piano.
Just him, his job, and Christine.
Speaking of which—he had a breakfast date with her before their shift.
Perfect. He could focus on her. On what was normal. On the person who had actually been there for him all these years.
When Stephen arrived at the small café, Christine was already waiting at a table. She smiled when she saw him, but as he approached, her brow furrowed slightly.
"You look awful," she said bluntly, her lips twitching in amusement.
"Good morning to you, too," Stephen muttered, setting his coat over the chair before sitting down.
Christine tilted her head, studying him. "Didn't sleep well?"
"Something like that," he admitted, rubbing his temples.
A waitress came by, and they placed their orders. Christine got her usual—black coffee and a bagel with cream cheese. Stephen ordered something simple, something safe, trying not to think about the ridiculously extravagant meals Lucifer had been throwing together like it was nothing.
Christine took a sip of her coffee and tapped her fingers against the table.
"…You seem distracted," she said finally.
Stephen paused mid-reach for his own coffee. His fingers tightened slightly around the cup.
"I'm always distracted."
"Yeah, but this is different."
Stephen exhaled through his nose and took a sip, hoping it would give him a few seconds to figure out what to say.
Christine was too perceptive. She knew him too well. Which was normally a good thing—except for moments like this, when he was trying very hard not to acknowledge the cause of his current predicament.
Christine leaned forward slightly. "Alright, spill. What's on your mind?"
Stephen thought about lying.
Then thought better of it.
So, instead, he shrugged. "Just… thinking."
Christine arched a brow. "About?"
Stephen hesitated.
There was an answer on the tip of his tongue. One that he didn't want to say out loud.
Lucifer.
Instead, he tried to be logical about it. He tried to compare.
Christine had been in his life for years. They had history. She was his friend, his colleague, and sometimes—when he wasn't an unbearable bastard—his girlfriend.
She was reliable. She was good.
And yet…
Sitting across from her, listening to her voice, watching the way she frowned at him in concern—he felt nothing out of the ordinary. There was warmth, sure. Familiarity. But nothing like the overwhelming sensation that had filled his chest when Lucifer had leaned in close, when those golden eyes had pinned him in place.
With Christine, everything was steady. Predictable.
With Lucifer, everything felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down at something vast and unknown.
Shit.
Christine was still watching him, waiting.
Stephen forced a smirk onto his face. "What, I can't have deep thoughts first thing in the morning?"
Christine rolled her eyes but didn't push further. "I guess miracles do happen."
It wasn't planned.
Hell, he didn't even realize he was going to ask it until the words were already slipping out of his mouth.
"Christine," he started, his voice quieter than before, his fingers absently running along the edge of his coffee cup. "What do you think of us?"
Christine, who had just taken a sip of her coffee, blinked at him. "Us?" she echoed, lowering her cup.
Stephen shifted in his seat. "Yeah. I mean—" He exhaled sharply, tapping his fingers against the table. "What do you like about… being with me?"
It was almost funny—how quickly Christine's face shifted from mild confusion to outright surprise. She stared at him for a beat too long, and that was all it took for Stephen to regret everything.
So, naturally, he started rambling.
"Look, I know I can be an ass," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "I know I'm difficult. I push people away, I'm arrogant, I—" He scoffed at himself. "I'm not exactly boyfriend material."
Christine stayed quiet, watching him.
Stephen let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "But you…" He hesitated, searching for the right words. "You're steady. You're someone I know I can rely on." His lips twitched slightly, something self-deprecating in his tone. "Not that I'll ever do. Because, you know. Ego."
Christine's lips parted slightly, like she wanted to interject, but she didn't.
"But knowing I could if I had to? That's… reassuring," Stephen finished, his throat feeling oddly tight.
Christine exhaled slowly, setting her coffee down carefully.
There was something unreadable in her expression.
And Stephen hated not knowing what people were thinking.
Especially now.
Finally, she leaned forward slightly, tilting her head. "Where is this coming from?"
Stephen hesitated.
He could feel the words forming at the back of his throat.
A man with golden eyes and wings is making me question my entire emotional landscape.
Instead, he swallowed them down.
"Just curious," he muttered.
Christine searched his face for a moment, like she didn't quite believe him.
Then, finally, she smiled—small, a little amused, a little sad.
"You drive me insane sometimes," she admitted. "Most of the time, actually."
Stephen huffed a quiet laugh. "Sounds about right."
"But I've also never met anyone like you," she continued, twirling her spoon idly between her fingers. "You're brilliant. You push yourself harder than anyone I've ever known. You never give up, even when you should. And despite that massive ego—"
Stephen smirked. "Careful, I might get a big head."
Christine rolled her eyes. "Despite that—" she emphasized, "—you care. More than you let people see."
Stephen's smirk faded slightly.
Christine took a sip of her coffee, then set it down again.
"That's what I like about you."
Stephen wasn't sure what he expected.
But somehow, it didn't feel like an answer.
Not the answer he was looking for, anyway.
And that was the moment he realized—
He didn't know what answer he wanted in the first place.
Christine let out a short, quiet breath, her fingers tapping against her cup.
"Also, we're more of an off-and-on couple, actually," she pointed out dryly, arching a brow at him.
Stephen nodded because she was right.
"Yeah," he muttered, "I know. So why keep coming back?"
Christine blinked at him, something in her expression flickering—uncertainty, maybe.
Stephen hesitated for half a second, then pushed forward, choosing his words carefully. "I mean, you were the one who wanted to start something between us." He lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. "I'm just wondering… why?"
He didn't say what he was thinking.
Didn't say how he knew Christine had a habit of trying to fix people.
Didn't say how maybe—probably—she saw him as another project.
He didn't want to make her mad, after all.
Even if some part of him already suspected the answer.
Christine's brow furrowed, a flicker of concern crossing her face.
"Okay," she said slowly, "this is weird. I've never seen you this… introspective before. Did something happen?"
Stephen tapped his fingers against the table, exhaling sharply. "I'll tell you if you answer my question first."
She studied him for a beat, then sighed, shifting in her seat. "Alright," she relented.
There was a brief pause before she finally spoke.
"I know you can be difficult, Stephen," she admitted, voice even, "prickly, hard to talk to, full of yourself most of the time—"
"Gee, thanks," Stephen muttered, rolling his eyes.
Christine huffed out a soft laugh but continued. "But then there are moments," she said, softer now, "where you show… I don't know, something tender underneath all of that. And I like that. I really like that. When I see it, it—" She shook her head slightly, searching for the right words. "It makes me want to see it more."
Stephen made a face, leaning back in his seat.
Of course that was it.
She did see him as a project.
Christine saw those rare moments when he let his guard down, and instead of accepting them for what they were, she wanted to bring them out more.
His lips curled into a wry smirk. "So you… like those 'moments' I have," he drawled, "and want to bring them out more?"
Christine opened her mouth, hesitated, then shut it. Then, she leaned forward, eyes narrowing slightly. "Okay, I answered. Now it's your turn."
Stephen rolled his eyes but relented, exhaling through his nose as he drummed his fingers against the table. "I met… someone yesterday," he admitted, picking his words carefully. "Practically kidnapped me, actually."
Christine blinked. "I—what?"
"Not important," he said quickly, waving a hand. "The point is…"
He hesitated.
He couldn't say what was really on his mind—not out loud.
Not that for the first time in ever, he was feeling something—more. Too much. Something that lingered even when that person was gone. Something that confused him.
Instead, he went for the safer explanation.
"This person," he continued, "reminds me a bit of myself. But worse."
Christine arched a brow. "Worse?"
"Worse," he confirmed. "An ego somehow bigger than mine. Infuriating. Smug. Thinks they're the most charming thing to walk the earth—"
Christine smirked. "Starting to sound familiar."
Stephen shot her a flat look. "Point is," he said, "it made me wonder about…" He trailed off, suddenly realizing he had no idea how to finish that sentence.
He cleared his throat. "Some things," he finished lamely. "Anyway, while we were driving back home—"
"Stephen," Christine interrupted him slowly, "please tell me you didn't just casually follow some stranger into their house."
Stephen winced. "I—technically, I didn't have a choice."
Christine's eyes widened. "Oh my God, were you really kidnapped?"
"It wasn't—okay, look," he sighed, rubbing his temple. "I was exhausted, alright? Six-hour surgery, barely keeping my eyes open, and this—person—just takes my damn car keys and decides they're driving me home."
"That's not reassuring!" Christine shot back.
"I didn't give them my address," he pointed out, as if that somehow made things better. "So they took me to their place instead."
"Stephen!"
He grimaced. "Yeah, I see how that sounds."
Christine stared at him like he had just admitted to taking candy from a van that said Free Surgery Equipment. "You were kidnapped," she repeated flatly.
"I was chauffeured," Stephen corrected. "Technically."
"Oh, yeah, sure," Christine deadpanned. "Nothing says chauffeuring like an unsolicited hostage situation."
Stephen groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It wasn't like that."
"Did you try to leave?"
He opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then scowled. "That's not the point."
Christine folded her arms, unimpressed. "It kinda is."
Stephen huffed, knowing she wasn't going to drop this. "Fine," he muttered. "They cooked for me."
Christine blinked. "They what?"
"Cooked."
"Kidnapped you and cooked for you?"
"Yes."
Christine's lips twitched. "Stephen," she said, "you didn't get kidnapped. You got courted."
Stephen groaned. "I hate you."
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