@bluebnnets 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖆 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖗
he opens the glass and metal door to his coffee shop (it’s a small, dinky thing sandwiched between an insurance building and a shoe store), and the little bell jingles, signaling his arrival. the shop is a 24/7 establishment, and lucifer is always there at 1 am, on the dot. he walks up to the counter and asks for his usual: a large black coffee, fresh, and hot as possible. while the barista, the one with bags beneath her eyes, pours his cup, he looks around the shop. the green paint on the walls is peeling, exposing the skeleton of the building. a few of the framed prints are crooked and a fine layer of dust pixelates the images. his eyes land on his usual table; a small wooden set right by the big window, beneath the glowing open sign. and to his surprise, someone is sitting in his chair, right next to the glass.
lucifer takes his coffee, naked fingers feeling the delightful burn of hot ceramic, and walks to his spot. footsteps loud on the creaky wooden floors, he lets it be known that he’s walking their way. a cocky grin appears on his mouth when he sets his mug on the table with force. the coffee splashes, droplets splattering on the table, steam rising and curling from the mug. loudly, lucifer drags a chair from another table not too far away, and brings it to a halt right across from the spot thief. he plops down, elbows on the tabletop, and he watches them for a moment. what smug little bitch thought they could take his spot? did they have a god complex? did they know who he was?
finally, he speaks, and in a low tone, he says, “that’s my seat.”
