"I'm sorry." Azazel turned away and pretended to study the cover of 'The Psychology of Relationships'. "I can't afford the emotional investment needed to keep you. I have to let you go."
"Let me go where?" Lucifer frowned. "I'm not an employee, you know. I am – was – your lover, up until a couple of months ago when you had your pity party and stormed out."
"Let you go. Allow you your freedom. Oh, I know you're beautiful, and intelligent, and marvellous in bed, and what you can do with a rubber hose is nothing short of miraculous but you need to fly."
Lucifer frowned. "I've gone. I went ages ago. I wouldn't be here at all if you hadn't left your cock expander at my house."
"Oh!" Azazel put the back of his hand to his brow. "Blame me if you must. I shall be the scapegoat of our relationship!"
Lucifer shook his head. "You're the god of scapegoats, old bean," he said. "And to be fair, it was you who stormed out over an argument over Heidelberg vs Wittgenstein and which one was the better darts player. I do blame you. You didn't phone me for six weeks."
"Then go!" Azazel wiped away an imaginary tear. "Just... buy me lunch first?"