One of the names the mortals have given him is 'The Father of Lies'. Where they take that from is a mystery because Lucifer has never lied to anybody. Not to his maker, not to his brethren, certainly not to mortals.
And he is not going to start now.
That flash of doubt on Michael's face - too little, too late - it does not belong there.
They have not been this close since that fateful day. Bound in and confined, trapped in these bodies imitating mortal flesh and blood, they have never been further apart.
"It is you. You are not well." The shoulder underneath his palm feels foreign, feels familiar, and Lucifer flexes his fingers, turning a light touch into a firm grip, as he leans in, his voice a quiet murmur, their heads almost touching.
"Come with me, Michael. You cannot stay here. This place is not good for you. Come with me."