For a moment, no one spoke.
Lucifer's golden gaze stayed locked onto the young man's expression unreadable expression, the tension between them thick despite the lively chatter and distant football commentary filling the bar.
Then, at last—
He exhaled softly, tilting his head slightly toward Lucifer.
"Matt Murdock," he said, voice smooth but measured. "And you?"
Lucifer's smile curled.
"Ah, where are my manners?" he purred.
He reached into absolutely nowhere and pulled out a gleaming silver coin, flicking it effortlessly into the air before catching it between his fingers.
It was subtle. Almost imperceptible.
But Matt's fingers twitched.
Lucifer grinned.
"Oh, don't stop now, Matt," he teased, spinning the coin lazily. "Tell me—what do you see?"
Matt's jaw tensed slightly.
Lucifer chuckled.
"Come now," he continued, flipping the coin effortlessly over his knuckles, "you were so quick to say I'm not human. So, tell me—what am I?"
Matt remained still, listening.
Lucifer could practically feel the way his mind was working, analyzing the details—the sound of the coin, the way it should've come from a pocket but hadn't, the air displacement around it that didn't match natural movement.
It made no sense.
And Matt hated things that didn't make sense.
Lucifer leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to something silken, conspiratorial.
"Here, let me help," he murmured.
Matt's spine straightened instantly—because suddenly, there was something there.
Something brushing against his back, impossibly large, weightless and heavy at the same time.
Not a hand.
Not fabric.
Something vast.
Something not in this plane of existence.
Matt's breath caught for just a second.
Lucifer's smile widened.
"Tell me, Matt," he purred, watching every tiny reaction. "What do you see?"
Matt inhaled slowly, steadying himself, pushing down the immediate instinct to react.
The feeling was gone just as suddenly as it came.
Lucifer sat back, still watching, still smirking.
Matt's fingers flexed once against his glass.
"You're trying to mess with me," he said flatly.
Lucifer beamed. "Oh, you are fun."
Mazikeen, who had been half-watching the exchange, rolled her eyes and took another sip of whiskey.
"Are you gonna flirt all night, or are we actually drinking?" she muttered.
Lucifer chuckled, finally setting his coin down on the table.
"Flirt?" he echoed, amused. "Why, Maze, I'm simply engaging in delightful conversation."
Mazikeen snorted. "Sure. That's what we're calling it."
Lucifer turned back to Matt, golden eyes still gleaming.
"Well then, Matt," he mused. "You've given me your name. I suppose I should return the favor, shouldn't I?"
He smiled slowly, deliberately.
"Lucifer Morningstar," he said smoothly. "The Lightbringer. The Devil, if you'd prefer something more dramatic."
He tapped the coin against the wood of the table, tilting his head.
"And what, exactly, does that mean to you?"
Silence.
Matt Murdock—the man who could hear a heartbeat from across a city block—
Sat completely still.
Matt wasn't sure what to believe.
Lucifer Morningstar.
The Lightbringer.
The First to Fall.
The Devil.
It sounded ridiculous.
It should be ridiculous.
But the problem?
Matt had no way to prove he was lying.
His entire life, he had relied on the subtle cues—the heartbeat, the breath, the muscle tension that revealed the truth hidden behind words.
But Lucifer?
Lucifer had no heartbeat.
No steady rise and fall of breath.
No human tells at all.
And the longer Matt hesitated, the more excited Lucifer became.
Lucifer's smile widened, golden eyes filled with mischief and curiosity.
"You're thinking too hard about it," he mused, tapping his fingers idly against the table. "Tell me, Matt—"
Then, without warning—
Lucifer's fingertips brushed against his wrist.
It was the lightest of touches, fleeting, insignificant.
But for Matt?
It changed everything.
The world snapped into clarity—
And for the first time in decades—
Matt Murdock could see.
Not the way he once had.
Not the way an ordinary man did.
No, this was something else entirely.
His surroundings were visible—the bar, the people, the dim lights, the way the condensation clung to his glass—but all of it was muted, unimportant, distant.
Because the only thing that mattered—
The only thing that truly held his gaze—
Was Lucifer.
And Lucifer…
Lucifer was divine.
Matt's breath hitched, his chest tightening, because the man in front of him wasn't just glowing—he was radiant.
His entire being burned with celestial brilliance, a golden fire that wasn't fire at all, something more, something ancient and pure and overwhelming.
His form was outlined in light, every edge shimmering with something beyond mortal comprehension, his very presence stretching, vast, impossible to contain—
And for just a flicker of a second—
Matt saw them.
Wings.
Unfathomably large.
Made of light and shadow both, feathered and infinite, folding in and out of existence itself.
But that wasn't all.
Because beneath all of that divinity, beneath the sheer impossible beauty of him—Matt saw the damnation, too.
A weight that stretched deep and far, written into every part of him, woven into his very essence.
A fall from grace itself.
Lucifer was exquisite.
Lucifer was damned.
And Matt couldn't look away.
Then, suddenly, the touch lifted, and the vision vanished with it.
The world snapped back—sound flooding in again, the bar's dull glow returning, the hum of conversation and clinking glasses surrounding him once more.
Matt sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers gripping the edge of the table.
Lucifer exhaled softly, looking almost… apologetic.
"Ah," he murmured, tilting his head. "My sincerest apologies, Matt dear. It seems that whatever has given you this heightened senses, has made you a tad too receptive."
Matt's breath was still slightly uneven, but he forced himself to calm.
"You see," Lucifer continued, tapping a lazy rhythm against the wood, "if I recover your sight, it too will be heightened—just like your hearing, your touch, your smell. And because it is I who awakened it…"
Lucifer smiled, slow and knowing.
"Well," he mused, "that means you'd see things as I do—the supernatural, the divine, the damned. Far more than you were meant to."
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to something silken.
"And for most people? That would be… overwhelming."
Matt's grip tightened slightly, but he stayed silent, processing.
Because now he knew for certain: Lucifer wasn't lying.
Matt had seen it.
Mazikeen, sipping her drink, raised an eyebrow at his reaction.
"Huh," she muttered. "Guess he saw something."
Lucifer, watching Matt closely, smiled.
"Oh, indeed," he purred.
Matt exhaled slowly, centering himself.
And then, at last, he spoke even if he already knew the answer to his question.
"...What are you?"
Lucifer chuckled, leaning back, golden eyes still gleaming.
"Oh, Matt," he murmured, amused. "I already told you."
His smirk widened, devilish and pleased.
"I'm the Devil."
Lucifer watched Matt carefully, amusement still dancing in his golden eyes.
"You know," he mused, "as a gesture of apology, I could always give your sight back permanently. If you want it, that is."
Matt tensed slightly, but his face remained unreadable.
"There's a catch, surely," he said, voice steady.
Lucifer's grin widened.
"Oh, naturally," he purred. "Like I said before, your sight—like your other senses—would be heightened. Far too heightened for most people to handle. A blessing and a curse."
Matt considered this.
Then, after a long pause—
"If I used sunglasses," he asked, "or a blindfold… would that help?"
Lucifer tilted his head, intrigued.
"Perhaps," he admitted, tapping a thoughtful rhythm against the table. "I could even craft them for your sight to not be to overwhelming. A freebie, if you will."
Matt's jaw tightened.
Then, without hesitation—
"I'll take it," he said.
Lucifer's brow arched.
"My, my," he chuckled, "how eager. Are you really that desperate to have your vision back?"
Matt was silent for a moment.
Then, finally, he spoke with absolute sincerity.
"...I know it'll be more of a curse," he admitted, his voice measured, as if he had already accepted it. "It'll be too much most of the time."
He inhaled, slow and steady.
"But if I even manage—for just one more second—to catch sight of more beauty like the one I saw before…"
His fingers curled slightly around his glass.
"Then it'll be worth it."
Lucifer blinked.
Something flickered across his face, too fast to name.
"...Beauty?" he echoed, voice lighter now, teasing. "What beauty?"
Matt turned his face toward him, unwavering.
"You," he said simply. "You are beautiful."
Lucifer stilled.
Mazikeen, mid-drink, choked. "What?"
Lucifer let out a light scoff, shaking off the moment with an easy smirk.
"Ah," he hummed, tilting his head. "That would be the angelic side of me, then. I can assure you, most people tend to find that quite breathtaking."
But Matt shook his head.
"I saw that, yes," he said, measured and sure, "but I also saw the other side."
Lucifer's smirk faltered—just slightly.
Matt leaned in, just a fraction.
"I saw the damning side of you," he said quietly. "Not just the hint of burned skin beneath the light. I saw what made you, you."
His fingers tapped against the wood, thoughtful.
"And that?"
He exhaled, as if steadying himself.
"That was beautiful, too."
Silence.
Lucifer's mouth opened slightly, but no words came.
Mazikeen, entirely entertained, grinned into her drink.
"Oh, boss," she purred. "You're flustered."
Lucifer scoffed immediately, straightening.
"I am not flustered."
Mazikeen grinned wider. "You so are."
Lucifer rolled his eyes, but when he turned back to Matt—The sincerity in his expression hadn't wavered.
It was intriguing to say the least.
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