The King's Favor ( Radioapple )

★ Chapter Twenty-Two ★

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Alastor remained by Lucifer's side long after their tearful exchange, his arms still wrapped around him, as if letting go would somehow cause Lucifer to slip away entirely. Lucifer had stopped crying now, his breathing shallow but steady, resting against Alastor's chest as though the emotional storm had left him completely drained.

Lucifer's words still echoed in Alastor's mind: "I just want someone to be with me." It was a simple request, but one that Alastor found almost unbearable. He had already told Lucifer the truth, something he had dreaded for so long. Lucifer knew he was dying, and Alastor had no cure, no magical fix to make it all go away.

But despite all of it, Lucifer just wanted him there.

Alastor held him a little tighter, pressing his lips against Lucifer's forehead, the soft kiss a silent promise that he would be there—no matter what.

Yet, deep down, Alastor was unraveling. The creeping fear of losing Lucifer gnawed at his very core, twisting his insides with every second that passed. He had always prided himself on being calm, collected, in control. But now... he felt powerless.

What if I can't save him?

The thought whispered through his mind like a curse. What if no matter what he did, how hard he tried, Lucifer was beyond saving? What if he was losing him right in front of his eyes, and there was nothing he could do about it?

Alastor's chest tightened, panic bubbling up beneath his perfectly composed surface. His fingers trembled ever so slightly as he gently lowered Lucifer back onto the bed, ensuring that he was comfortable before quietly standing up. Lucifer's eyes were closed, his breathing still slow, so mercifully, he didn't notice Alastor's growing distress.

Alastor stepped back, his usual vibrant smile nowhere to be found. He walked over to the far side of the room, his back turned to Lucifer as he tried to calm himself down. He couldn't break now—not in front of him. Lucifer had already been through enough pain, enough uncertainty. The last thing he needed was for Alastor to fall apart too.

Alastor's hands gripped the edge of a nearby dresser, his knuckles turning white as he stared down at his reflection in the mirror. His normally sharp, confident gaze seemed hollow now, filled with a fear he hadn't allowed himself to fully confront until this moment.

He couldn't lose Lucifer. He wouldn't lose him.

But the truth, the cold, unrelenting truth, lingered in the back of his mind: he didn't know if he had the power to stop it.

For all his influence, for all his status as the King of Hell, Alastor felt utterly helpless. And that terrified him more than anything. The idea of living in a world without Lucifer—a world where he'd never again hear that sharp wit, that infectious laugh—was something he couldn't even begin to process.

He squeezed his eyes shut, the panic rising up once more, threatening to spill over. His mind raced, frantically trying to come up with a solution, a plan—anything that would save Lucifer from this horrible fate. But the harder he tried, the more his thoughts spiraled out of control, spinning wildly into darker places.

Alastor paced the room, his polished shoes nearly silent against the dark wood floor. His mind was racing, frantic thoughts looping endlessly with no solution in sight. The usual confidence he carried had all but vanished, leaving him feeling vulnerable in a way he hadn't experienced in centuries.

His gaze flickered over to Lucifer, lying still in the bed, his face soft and peaceful in sleep. The sight should have been reassuring, but it only made the anxiety gnaw at Alastor's insides even more. He was dying, and it was Alastor's fault—all his fault.