The next morning - December 25th
Sunlight streamed through the thin curtains, landing directly on the man's closed eyelids. He groaned, rolling away from the light and burying his face in his pillow, chasing the last scraps of sleep. Then his alarm clock erupted, a harsh, electronic buzz that demanded attention. He grunted in irritation, slapped a hand clumsily until he found the button, and silenced it.
9:00 am?
It's that late already?
Did I stay up too late last night?
Ah. Right. I got fired yesterday. I drank. I drove home late.
The hazy events of the previous evening floated up through the mental fog. He stretched, the sheets tangling around his legs.
"I had the weirdest dream," he mumbled into the pillow, his voice rough with sleep. "I met a tall, stunning, beautiful woman. Brought her home." He slowly turned onto his other side, facing the empty space beside him in the bed. "She had really nice long hair. How I wish that was…"
His sentence died in his throat. His vision was still blurry with sleep, but it cleared just enough to register a shape standing motionless beside his bed. A person-shaped silhouette.
He blinked slowly, raising his head from the pillow. Standing there, perfectly still, was Lucifer. She was no longer naked. She was now dressed in a crisp white long-sleeved polo shirt and a pair of black trousers that were a little too long for her, the cuffs pooling slightly over her bare feet. She was beaming at him, her expression one of serene patience.
"Good morning," she said. "What happened last night was real, you know."
The memories crashed back in with the subtlety of a falling anvil: the naked woman on the road, the bizarre car ride, the impossible conversation in his kitchen, the fleeting, indescribable sensation of his body coming apart and being put back together like a jigsaw puzzle.
Yeah, right, it was real.
The reality settling into his groggy mind.
I nearly hit her with my car. She was standing in the road naked. And then she said she killed me. And for some insane reason, I think I believe her. I don't even know why.
He pushed himself up to a sitting position on the side of the bed, rubbing his face. "You woke up early. Did you get enough sleep?" he asked, his voice still thick.
Lucifer's gaze drifted, and she suddenly blushed, a faint pink coloring her cheeks. He realized he was only wearing his boxer shorts. "I do not require rest," she said, her eyes flicking back to his face with deliberate politeness. "So I have been standing here since you began your sleep cycle."
I see, he thought. That's not weird at all. Completely normal.
He wiped his eyes and yawned, then did a double-take. He looked at her clothes again, properly this time. Recognition dawned. "Why are you wearing those?" he asked, pointing. "Those are my favorites. The good ones. Didn't I give you other clothes to wear last night?"
He had, in fact, dug out an old, oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants for her before collapsing into bed himself.
Lucifer blushed again, deeper this time. She began to twist a strand of her golden hair around her finger, looking suddenly nervous. She pointed a shy finger toward his dresser, where a small framed photograph sat. It was a picture of him from a friend's wedding, wearing the exact same white polo and black trousers.
"Well," she began, her voice quieter, "while I was observing you in your repose, I explored the room. I saw an alternate, miniaturized version of you imprisoned in that small, squared box. He was wearing these garments. So I theorized that if I… if I wore them as well, I might… appear more human. Like you."
He stared at her, at the nervous twirl of her hair, at the utterly sincere and slightly hopeful look in her eyes. He felt his own face grow warm.
Damn, he thought, the word echoing in his still-waking mind. Her expression is so… cute.
"Should I remove them?" she asked, her hand moving to the shirt's buttons.
"No, no," he said quickly, standing up and turning his back to her to hide his own blush. He waved a hand vaguely behind him as he headed for the door. "If you like them and they suit you, you can wear them. Just… take care of them, okay? They're my good clothes."
He heard a small, delighted intake of breath behind him. "I will take excellent care of them!" Lucifer beamed, her voice full of promise.
He is so kind~, she thought, her heart feeling strangely light.
In the kitchen, the man, still in just his boxers, stood staring into the barren landscape of his refrigerator. The interior light hummed, illuminating a single stick of butter, a half-empty bottle of soy sauce, and a near-empty egg tray. He pulled the tray out. Two eggs. That was it. He hadn't been to the grocery store in over a month, a fact his now-empty pantry loudly confirmed.
If I cook both of these, there won't be any left for her, he reasoned. I should ask her what she wants. Maybe she isn't even hungry.
He turned around. "Hey—" he began, and then jumped, a startled "Hooo!" escaping him. "What the hell! Are you standing there the whole time?"
Lucifer was indeed standing right behind him, silent as a ghost, her hands clasped demurely in front of her. She tilted her head. "Were you going to call for me?"
"I… yes, I was about to." He took a steadying breath, holding up the egg carton. "Are eggs okay for you for breakfast? But I should warn you, we'll have to split these last two. One each." He gave her a lopsided, apologetic smirk.
He wasn't used to having another person in his space. His life was a rhythm of solitude, and her presence, while strangely compelling, made the air feel different. He had no script for this.
Lucifer's eyes widened in genuine alarm. She stared at the two pale ovals in the carton as if they were live grenades.
"Eggs?" Her voice was a flustered whisper. "Why would you eat those? What if the mother finds you? That creature would eviscerate you! Do you have any conception of how large those beings are?"
What the fuck is she talking about? he thought, utterly baffled. Is she worried a chicken is going to kick my door down for eating its eggs?
He watched her, the sincere fear on her face as she stared at the innocent chicken eggs. A slow, dawning comprehension began to click into place. She knew what an egg was. But the context was wrong. Horribly, historically wrong.
Wait a minute, he reasoned. Is she talking about a dinosaur egg? That's why she thinks the mother would come and kill me?
"Hey, um," he said slowly, setting the carton on the counter. "You think these are dinosaur eggs, don't you?"
Lucifer lifted a perfect eyebrow, her expression one of polite confusion. "What," she asked, "is a 'dinosaur'?"
Of course, he thought, a smile tugging at his lips. If she knows the creatures but doesn't know the human name for them, and she doesn't know what a car is…
His smile widened. He reached over to the counter and picked up his phone. "Okay, hold on. Let me show you something." He tapped the screen, pulling up a search. "You're talking about the eggs of the big things you used to see, right? The giant reptiles? With the big teeth and tails?"
He showed her the screen, displaying a vivid artist's rendering of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Lucifer leaned in, her curiosity immediately captivated. She studied the image, then nodded once, decisively.
"Yes. That is a closer representation. Though," she added, pointing a critical finger at the illustration, "some of the smaller varieties possessed feathers. Your image is lacking in anatomical accuracy."