Eliza always thought of her and Lucifer as the perfect duo. They fit together effortlessly—like matching puzzle pieces, like lyrics and a melody. She didn't mean to fall for him. It just sort of happened—like missing a step on the stairs, that sudden, breathless lurch that left her heart pounding. One day, Lucifer was just her best friend—the boy who stole her fries and made fun of her awful taste in music. And then, suddenly, he was so much more.
It wasn't some grand, dramatic moment. No fireworks, no slow-motion glances in the rain. It was in the little things. Like the way he draped his jacket over her shoulders when she forgot hers, grumbling about how she'd catch a cold but never asking for it back. His jacket always smelled faintly of cologne and winter air—warm and comforting in a way that made her heart stutter. She used to scold him for spoiling her, but he'd just roll his eyes and ruffle her hair, muttering something about how she was hopeless.
Or how he always texted her to get home safe, even if it was just from the coffee shop down the street. He never said why, but the concern in those two a.m. messages—"Text me when you're home, dumbass"—was enough to keep her cheeks warm for hours. She'd lie in bed, staring at his name glowing softly on her screen, wondering if his heart raced like hers did.
Lucifer was the type of friend who showed he cared in the smallest, quietest ways—like knowing exactly how she liked her coffee or saving her a seat in the library without asking. He remembered the little things she said weeks ago, like how she'd been craving that strawberry pastry from the bakery downtown, and he'd show up with it the next day, shrugging it off like it was no big deal.
"Stop looking at me like I just gave you my kidney," he'd grumble, ears tinged pink. "It's just a pastry."
But Eliza would hide her smile behind a bite, heart fluttering treacherously because it wasn't just a pastry—not really. It was the thought behind it, the way he always remembered the things that made her happy.
It was the way he'd wait for her after class without being asked, leaning against the lockers with a lazy smile that sent her heart into a frenzy. The way his eyes softened when they met hers, like seeing her was the highlight of his day. Or how he'd text her stupid memes at 2 a.m. just because he knew she was still awake, grumbling about exams and deadlines. She could practically hear his chuckle through the screen whenever she responded with a half-asleep insult.
Lucifer was always there—tossing crumpled notes at her in class, stealing her fries at lunch, dragging her to rooftop hideaways when the school hallways felt too suffocating. He made her laugh without trying, smirking at her eye rolls and turning her worst days around with just a few words.
She couldn't help but notice the way he tugged her closer on crowded sidewalks without thinking, hand brushing hers for a heartbeat too long. Or how he remembered her favorite songs and played them without being asked, tapping the steering wheel in time to the beat on late-night drives. The city lights would blur outside the window, and Eliza would lean her head back, letting the sound of Lucifer's humming fill the car, pretending the warmth in her chest was from the heater and not him.
Sometimes, when they were crammed into a booth at the diner, sharing a plate of fries and bickering over who got the last one, Eliza let herself pretend. Pretend that the way he leaned in, eyes warm and smile lazy, meant something more. That the way his knee bumped against hers under the table wasn't just an accident.
Her favorite moments were the quiet ones—the ones where it was just them, no one else. Like when Lucifer would show up at her door on a rainy Sunday, soaked and shivering but grinning, holding a stack of her favorite movies and a bag of popcorn. He'd collapse onto her bed without waiting for an invitation, complain about her awful taste in rom-coms, but he'd stay until the credits rolled, pretending not to notice the way her head ended up on his shoulder.
It was those moments that had her heart aching—because it was so easy to imagine more. Easy to imagine slipping her fingers through his, leaning up to kiss that smug smile off his face, watching his eyes widen in that startled way she loved.
But that wasn't reality. Reality was the way he draped an arm around her shoulders casually, oblivious to the way her heart stuttered. The way he ruffled her hair without thinking, calling her "Drama Queen" with a fondness that shattered her defenses every time.
He was annoyingly charming without meaning to be, and Eliza fell in love with the way he existed in her life—quietly and consistently. His warmth, his stupid jokes, the way he ruffled her hair when she was stressed—all of it sunk into her heart before she could even try to stop it.
And that's why it hurt. Because he did all of this without thinking—without realizing how every small gesture made her fall harder. To him, it was just friendship. Nothing more.
Sometimes, Eliza wished he'd notice. That he'd catch one of those glances and see what lay hidden behind it. But most of the time, she preferred the safety of silence. Because as long as he didn't know, she could stay by his side. And that, for now, was enough.
But maybe the real question was: how much longer could she pretend that friendship was enough?
To be continued....