Wilbur
I got home late. Home, it's a peculiar thing. What makes a house a home? Before I could knock, Lucifer opened the door and hugged me. I buried my nose in his neck. He has a bleach scent. It's too strong. The apron is on.
"You're back!" Lucifer hugged me. The crutch at his side.
"I am," I said. I rubbed his hip with my thumb.
"You need to shave," Lucifer smiled. I can feel it, I know he's beaming. I don't remember what I mumbled. It's a terrible thing. In a blink, I'm sitting on the edge of the table, Lucifer's making foam and smearing it on my face carefully. He doesn't mention the black eye forming. He doesn't bring up my wrapped hands. Instead, he grabbed the blade and began the task of removing the stubble I failed to notice. His tongue stuck out slightly.
Lucifer is ramblin
