The snow beneath Lucifer's boots was beginning to melt with the heat that was coming from him. The mission on Earth was over, but Lucifer's true hell still surrounded him.

Austie chattered beside him as if the world revolved around her — about how spoiled you were, about the brilliance that others seemed to see in you, about how "everyone treats that little angel like she's made of crystal." Lucifer pretended to listen. But the truth was that each word Austie said was like an irritating buzz that he no longer had the patience to hide.

"She thinks she's better than everyone else just because she has Seraphim blood." Austie grumbled, as if she wanted to rip you out of heaven by force.

Lucifer stopped walking for a second. His jaw was tense. The wings camouflaged behind his human appearance threatened to manifest themselves in irritation. What Austie would never understand—or pretended not to—is that you didn't think you were better than anyone else. You simply were. Pure in a way that Lucifer didn't know how to touch, but desperately wanted. Strong in a silent, almost painful way. The way you looked at him—as if you saw beyond the title, the lineage, the darkness—made something in him crumble, inch by inch.

Lucifer pretended to receive a call from the Academy and turned around without another word. "I need to take care of something before I go back." Lucifer said quickly, coldly. It wasn't a lie — he needed to see you.

Lucifer disappeared into the shadows of the earthly city, leaving Austie talking to herself, like a dissonant note in a melody he no longer wanted to hear.

With the silence covering the old facility like a complicit veil, Lucifer walked through the cracked walls of the old ice rink.

The abandoned structure seemed to breathe along with the cold wind, shrouded in shadows and frozen memories. The moonlight passed through the holes in the ceiling like silver spears, reflecting on the surface of the smooth ice. There, alone, you danced.

You skated with the lightness of someone born for the sky — your movements soft, almost ethereal, as if your wings were still there, invisible but present. Each turn, each glide, was poetry in motion. And Lucifer, the heir of darkness himself, stopped in the doorway as if struck.

His heart skipped a beat. You were so... untouchable. And yet, all his. Lucifer approached silently, his boots echoing softly on the cracked concrete. With each step, he felt the contrast—the cold around him, the heat in his chest. This was the curse of loving something he should never have touched. And yet, here he was, unable to stay away.

You didn't notice him right away, and he took the moment to study you. There was something cruel and beautiful about the way you belonged here, abandoned and pure, hidden from the world. Like them.

When you finally noticed his presence and turned toward him, Lucifer said nothing for a moment. He just looked at you, his eyes filled with something he had never had the courage to say out loud.

Then, as if his voice escaped from deep within his chest, he whispered: "My little angel..." The nickname sounded low, hoarse, filled with an affection he could no longer hide, not here. Only he called you that. Only he saw how much you were made of light, even when you hid in the shadows with him.

Without asking permission, Lucifer advanced to the edge of the ice, stopping only when you were close enough to feel your warmth even in the cold air. He didn't touch you, not yet. Because just seeing you there — light, free, and waiting for him — was enough for everything inside him to surrender again.

And for a few seconds, the world seemed to go silent. There, on that forgotten ice rink, Hell had found its piece of Heaven. And Lucifer was ready to sin again.