Lucifer placed his arm on Eve's shoulder and walked her to the door. Beyond it, where there should have been stairs, was a small, clean bedroom. There were a few photographs, mostly of Justice, Lucifer's girlfriend, or Mary, Lucifer's best friend, or Mary's children. There was a small unmade bed in the corner, which Lucifer straightened with uncharacteristic embarrassment. Outside, Lucifer was a manipulator, a conjurer, an illusionist. In here, he was a twenty-something human.
"You're probably going to be sick at some point tonight, given all the things you've done to yourself in the past few hours. I'll be here if that happens. In the meantime, you should sleep." The casual arrogance was gone, or at least lessened; Lucifer had the alcohol tolerance of a gnat, so he could far more easily identify with hangovers than existential angst.