He was used to doing shot after shot with no ill effects. The alcohol was something he liked to feel burn on the way down and to get him laid. Free drinks on him the rest of the night. After his destruction of his wings, however, the meaning behind the alcohol changed. Not just because of his mentality, but because of his body.
“Are you okay?” Chloe asked him, sitting next to him at the piano. She’d come here to check up on him, to tell him she was sorry for him not getting his wings back. They’d had their serious conversation, and now, they were drinking. He was only three shots in when he started to feel lightheaded
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he assured her, taking another shot. She smiled and followed suit, but he knew he wasn’t fine. His entire body felt warm, the edges of his vision blurring. The room was spinning. It was probably from Amenadiel’s fists, but something was different.
“Let’s get you to bed,” she finally said, standing and helping him up from the bench. “Because, you my friend, are hammered.” She laughed as he stood, swaying before grabbing onto her.
“Am not,” he replied, laughing along with her. She led the way to the apartment above, making sure he didn’t fall. When they got to the bedroom, he laid down eyes already wanting to shut. Before he did, he looked at Chloe with a smile. Adoration was in his eyes. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me since I got to Los Angeles,” he admitted before curling up and falling asleep.
The next morning, he woke up with a pounding head and the need to vomit everything he’d drank the night before. “You’re such a lightweight, Lucifer,” Maze told him, voice loud, as she handed him water and an aspirin.