Chapter Text
It all starts with one glass of liquor.
“Drink up, drink up!” You don’t think you’ve ever seen Celestine in a better mood in all the years you’ve been with Themis, her smile stretching from one ear to the other and then some more as she pours drinks for everyone. In stark contrast, her senior partner is stiff as a board, looking comically out of place under the colourful lights of the karaoke lounge. It’s hard not to laugh, really, at how he keeps glancing at the door out of the corner of his eye - he looks as though he’s ready to book it out of here at the first opportunity. “Artem! Stop making that face! You’re ruining the mood!”
Artem’s lips press into a frown. “No one told me we were going out to drink,” he says, a tinge of haplessness creeping into his voice, but Celestine either doesn’t hear or just straight up ignores him. Knowing her, it’s probably the latter. She leans over Kiki to hand you a glass, and when you take it, the liquid inside is a clear, almost pretty shade of amber. One whiff over the rim, however, is almost enough to bring tears to your eyes. “Here, one for you too, Luke! Considering how much you contributed to helping us win this case, consider all your drinks tonight paid for. No need to hold back!”
“Oh, there’s no need to, I only helped out a little where I could.” Seated next to you in his usual jeans and jacket, Luke seems just a little bit out of place among the familiar faces of your colleagues - Celestine had insisted that he attend this celebratory party as well. After he’d helped crack a code for you to get your hands on a damning piece of evidence, you’d managed to close a case that the entire team had been struggling with for over a month. Despite all of that, though, Luke still seems a little more shy than he should be, scratching the back of his neck as Celestine holds out a glass to him expectantly.
“Just take the offer,” you nudge him in the side with your elbow, before your lips quirk up in a slight grin of amusement. He raises an eyebrow. “It’s not often that Celestine is so generous.”
“Don’t forget who pays your year end bonus,” Celestine quips back almost instantly, and the two of you share a laugh before you reach out to take Luke’s glass from her. “Here, give it to me. I’ll drink on Luke’s behalf if he doesn’t want it.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” Gently, Luke plucks the glass from your hand with long fingers before he raises it to his mouth. Before you can blink, he’s already downed the entire shot in one gulp, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. There’s a slight sheen left behind at the corner of his mouth, lips soft and pink, and you find yourself averting your eyes. “It’s a good bottle of Hennesy. Very smooth.”
Celestine beams, looking delighted. “That’s great! I didn’t know that you knew so much about alcohol— drink all you want, it’s on me today. And— ahh! Don’t think I can’t see you trying to escape, Artem! Get back here right now!”
You lift your own glass to your lips to hide your snicker as the two of you watch Celestine drag Artem back by the collar. “Poor Artem,” you say, before turning to clink your glass against Luke’s empty one with a curious look. “Since when were you such a good drinker? I remember during that one party after finals, you-” Luke covers your mouth with both hands before you can say anymore, cheeks visibly red even under the dim glow of the lights.
“Not another word! Don’t remind me about that!” He pleads, frantic mortification creeping into his voice. It’s counter effective, really, since you’ve always loved teasing Luke. Grinning, you take a breath and continue anyway, words muffled but still clearly audible against his palm.
“-got completely smashed from just one can of beer,” you hum, delighted with the hot blush that’s spreading down his cheeks all the way to his neck. “I had to drag you all the way home because you just couldn’t walk straight, and then you puked all over my nice new shoes right outside our house-”
“Stop,” Luke pleads, the look on his face very reminiscent of a glowing tomato at the moment. Taking some pity on him, you decide not to recount the part where he’d passed out on the doorstep right after and instead settle back against the couch to sip at your cognac. Like Luke said, it’s sweet and smooth and slides easily down your throat. “Really, though. You used to be terrible at drinking. What changed? Some sort of NSB alcohol endurance training?”
You’d meant that as a joke, but Luke nods seriously as he pours himself another glass. “There was an undercover mission where I had to infiltrate the banquet of a businessman involved with drug dealings. He was known to be quite the connoisseur of all sorts of alcohol, so I had to do a little research of my own to prepare for the mission.” Luke swills the drink in his hand with a shake of the head. “You should have seen the state I was in after taste testing all of them. My teammates had to haul me back to my bunk afterwards, but they couldn't lift me up, so they just left me on the floor.”
The memory of a pubescent Luke, drunk off his feet and loudly reciting facts about the human circulatory system, makes you laugh to yourself. Perhaps you won’t ever admit it, but imagining his flushed cheeks, the hazy, vulnerable look in his eyes as he looks up at you through long lashes— you banish that image in an instant, feeling the first onset of embarrassment tickling your cheeks. These sorts of thoughts have been spontaneously invading your mind for a while now, and although you can’t quite pinpoint when they started to occur, you’re not dense enough to ignore them altogether. Being attracted to Luke in that way… as natural as gravity, if you allow yourself to think about it. Inescapable. It’s hard not to love Luke Pearce.
Still, it hasn’t been that long since Luke has returned to Stellis. He’s still settling down in the city he hasn’t lived in for eight years, so it probably isn’t the right time to drop such an emotional bombshell on him. Such trivial matters, like your very non-familial and non-platonic feelings towards him, can wait until... well, they can wait.
You smile a little humorlessly to yourself, knocking back the rest of your drink in one gulp. The whiskey burns like fire at the back of your throat, hot and sobering.
Or maybe you’re just afraid of being rejected.
“A stellin for your thoughts?” Luke offers, and his voice startles out of your thoughts. His coral eyes are tinged with a hint of concern as he looks at you, and your heart tightens almost painfully in your chest, unspoken emotions straining against the seams. I like you.
“Just thinking about how I missed out so much on your life while you were overseas,” you say instead, shifting closer to him to rest your head on his shoulder. It’s something you used to do all the time when you were kids, but both of you are older now, Luke’s shoulders broader than before. Yet, even after all these years apart, the sense of security they give you hasn't changed in the least. “Now that you’re back in Stellis, there are so many things I want to do together with you.”
Luke’s hand settles on top of your head. “I’ll give you all of my time,” he offers quietly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s all yours.”
He says it so earnestly that you’re caught off guard for a moment. Since your glass is empty, you reach for the bottle of Hennesy instead and take a large swig to drown whichever frightening emotion is welling up in you at the moment. The liquor has you coughing furiously as it goes down your throat., much to Luke’s alarm “Are you okay?!”
“Yes. Fine. I am,” you cough, nostrils burning. “Super fine.”
Luke pats your back soothingly. “Do you need some water?”
No, just you. “That’d be great, thanks.”
While Luke leaves to get you a glass of water, you take the moment to calm yourself down before you actually do something you regret. He’s always been like this — sweet, attentive and so damn frustrating — and that’s wherein the whole problem lies. Because Luke treats you the same way he always has eight years ago, since the time the two of you were kids, when both of you were entering puberty, when you finally became teenagers. If he ends up rejecting you, things are going to get weird between the two of you — and you’d rather die trying to stifle these emotions deep in your chest.
So, really, this is all Luke’s fault, you think to yourself, staring mournfully at the Hennessy in your hand. Liquid courage, some people call it, and while you’ve never been a huge fan of alcohol, you could use some of that right now.
With a sigh, you lean back and raise the bottle to your lips once more.
“I’m back.”
Glass of water in hand, Luke steps into the lounge once more, glancing around the room as his eyes adjust back to the lighting. In the corner of the room, Artem is already passed out on the table, half a glass of whiskey sitting next to him, abandoned. Luke takes note to exclude him from any infiltration exercises involving alcohol in the future.
More importantly, however, he doesn’t see you.
Slightly concerned now, he steps over to where he last left you — and is stunned to see you sprawled out on the couch, the jacket he’d left on the seat earlier wrapped tightly around you. The sight makes his cheeks heat, but he leans down to check on you carefully. “Rosa?”
Your only reply is a string of unintelligible noises, but he’s relieved to know that you aren’t completely knocked out yet. When he glances back at the table, the bottle of Hennessy is, as he’s guessed, completely empty. Surely you didn’t finish the entire thing on your own…? You’re not usually one to drink unless you have something on your mind. Pressing his lips into a line, Luke rests his hand against your forehead gently as he sits next to you, fingers combing through your hair out of habit.
“You must have been stressed from the case,” Luke whispers quietly, tucking a few strands behind your ear. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help more.”
“Tired…” You mumble suddenly, and he glances down to see you squinting at him with hazy eyes, red decorating the top of your cheeks. “Wanna go home…”
Definitely very drunk, Luke thinks to himself, unable to hold back his smile. Also definitely very cute.
“You should probably bring her home.”
Luke almost jumps out of his skin at the sound of Celestine’s voice behind him, yanking his hand away from her as though burned before he whirls around — he’s supposed to be one of NSB’s top agents, to be caught off guard by a civilian! — and clears his throat. “Uhh, I should… right. Take her home. To her home. Yes.” Celestine only smiles, a knowing look on her face, and Luke feels like he should say something to explain himself. “I—”
“We’re wrapping up here anyway.” Fortunately, Celestine decides to have some pity on him and changes the topic. Luke is grateful for that. “I might have to give Artem the day off tomorrow with the state he’s in right now, though I suppose that it’s my fault—”
“Lukeeee…” The two of them turn to look at you when you tug at Luke’s sleeve, before holding out both arms with a childish pout. “I’m cold! Gimme a hug.”
“Mmhmm.” Reaching over, Luke gently pulls you over so that your head is cradled in his lap, one arm resting across your waist. It’s not quite a hug, but about as close as he can manage. “Still cold?”
You grab his hand and press it to your flushed cheek before smiling contently, squeezing your eyes shut. It’s like having a large cat curled up in his lap, except that you’re not a cat, and he’s very much in love with you. “Not anymore.” Luke’s face burns again when he hears Celestine holding back a laugh behind him.
“You should get her home,” she says again, the smile on her face a bit wider, a bit more amused this time. Flustered but also grateful, Luke reaches for your handbag before he carefully shifts you into his arms. You grumble a little when you’re forced to move from your comfortable spot, but still wrap your arms around his neck obediently before you bury your face against his collarbone, hot breath ghosting over his skin. Celestine is still watching, and Luke is seconds away from combusting on the spot.
“I’ll be heading off now,” he says instead, and mercifully, she only laughs before waving him off. Luke’s ears are burning.
Your apartment isn’t too far from the karaoke bar, which is why Luke opts to carry you back home (your home) himself instead of waiting for a cab. Luckily for him, you’re rather obedient even though you’re drunk off your feet, getting on his back when he asks you to and allowing him to put his jacket on you without a fight. Your fingers play idly with the strands at the nape of his neck as he carries you home, breathing steady and warm against the shell of his ear. It’s been a while since he’s carried you like this.
The rest of the journey back to your place goes without a hitch. At the door, he roots about in your handbag for the keys before remembering that you’ve changed the lock to a digital one. “Hey, we’re here,” Luke whispers, not wanting to bother you too much, “do you want to open the door?”
You only wrap your arms more securely around him, burying your face against the back of his neck and Luke has to bite back a full body shiver when your lips brush the sensitive skin there. Bad thoughts, bad thoughts! “Use… your own…”
A little surprised, Luke looks down at his own thumb before pressing it against the screen. There’s a beep, a click and the door swings open to reveal the unlit interior of your house. “Since when did you get my fingerprints without me knowing?” Luke asks aloud with a slight smile of amusement, familiar warmth stirring in his chest. “As expected of my Watson. You never fail to surprise me.”
“Was… going to surprise you… but the case…” you mumble, dropping your chin onto his shoulder as he carries you upstairs to the loft, careful not to jostle you. “Got busy… and forgot... sorry...”
“There’s no need to apologise for something like that. I know you were stressed.” Setting you down on the bed gently, he watches as you let out a groan and crawl onto the sheets, before you turn to stare up at him with a strange sort of intensity, despite the haziness in your eyes. “Is that why you drank so much today?”
You shake your head from side to side, scrunching up your face as your hair flies everywhere. Holding back a smile, Luke leans forward to brush your hair back with his hand, but he’s stopped by your own, much to his surprise, fingers curling around his wrist. “No…” you mumble, and up close, Luke can see just how red your cheeks still are. He should probably look for the painkillers in the kitchen, because you’re sure to have a nasty hangover tomorrow morning. “Needed… courage.”
Luke pauses at your words. “Courage?” He repeats after you, a little surprised. You’re one of the bravest people he knows. Far braver than he is by a long shot, for that matter. “What for?”
You squint up at him, eyes suddenly focusing on his face for a split second, and then you pull hard.
Completely taken by surprise, Luke finds himself sprawled flat across the mattress, almost entirely on top of you, the lines of your body pressing firmly against his. For a second, Luke swears that the spark plug in his brain has short circuited because all he can do is stare down at you with wide eyes before he’s scrambling to get off you, sheets slipping and sliding under his hands. “I-I, I’m so sorry!”
You shift under him and he loses his balance all over again, barely managing to keep himself from crushing you under his weight with his arms. In stark contrast, you don’t look the least bit flustered, instead raising one hand to run your fingers along his cheek a little clumsily. At your touch, Luke goes dead still, not even daring to breathe as you trace his features achingly slow, lingering on his brow and coming dangerously close to the bow of his mouth before your fingertips cradle his jaw with a featherlight touch. His heart might just be trying to break out of his ribcage with how hard it’s hammering against his chest.
“I like you, Luke.”
His eyes go wide open with shock. Before he can process your words, however, you’re already pulling him down, and the next thing he knows is the soft, warm pressure of your lips against his.
You’re kissing him. Mouth slotted against his, swallowing his little gasp of shock, arms tightening around his neck. He can’t breathe, and he doesn’t want to if it means pulling away from you. Too good to be a dream, yet too surreal to be true, he’s caught in the middle of a riptide of desire and disbelief, unable to figure out whether he’s supposed to kiss back harder or pull away when it’s something he’s been dreaming about for years.
You nip at his lower lip, and an embarrassingly soft moan slips out of Luke’s mouth before he can stop it. Taking advantage of that, you pull him even closer, so close he can feel the heat of your body through your clothes, the tip of your tongue brushing his and Luke shudders uncontrollably as desire surges through his body like liquid fire in his veins. He’s burning like Icarus flying too close to the sun, brought to ruin by the intoxicating taste of your mouth, and in all honesty, he’d willingly let you turn him to ash if he didn’t suddenly remember that you are, in fact, very, very drunk.
Desperately grasping at the last remaining straws of his self-control, Luke finally pulls himself off you with one swift movement, sending himself tumbling off your bed and onto the floor. his head spinning and heart hammering madly in his chest. He can still taste you, on his lips, in his mouth — it’s driving him crazy. Panting, he turns back to the bed to check if you’re alright, to apologize for whatever that was, but you already appear to be fast asleep, light snores leaving your mouth, as if you hadn’t just taken his first kiss just seconds ago.
His knees go weak all of a sudden — whether it’s from relief or something else, he doesn’t know — and Luke allows himself to slump against the side of your bed, dragging the heels of his hands across his face roughly as he attempts to collect himself. You’d kissed him. Him. Your lips were softer than he’d dared imagine them to be, and—
—And you were drunk.
Luke buries his face in his hands and lets out a silent scream. You were drunk, and he’d kissed back. Luke Pearce is officially the scum of the earth. He needs to get out of here before he does something even more stupid. He needs to take a quick dive into the nearby river to clear his mind.
“Luke…”
A quiet, innocent, sleep-drunken whisper of his name from your lips, and Luke is powerless against it. When he glances back at you, you’re still fast asleep atop your bed, but your hand is stretched out across the mattress, as if searching for someone.
As if searching for him.
So, instead of running, Luke very quietly rises to his feet and picks up your blanket, tucking you in with careful hands, the same way he used to do eight years ago. Leaves a plastic cup of water on your bedside table next to a couple of painkillers, because glass might be dangerous when you have a hangover in the morning. Adjusts the covers when you toss in your sleep.
Then, and only then, does Luke flee your apartment, the taste of your lipstick still lingering on his lips.
Luke’s lips are chapped.
A little chapped (you’d always scolded him about not using chapstick when he was younger), so warm that you swear the imprint of them is still seared against your own, and you—
—you want to scream.
“Oh god.” The hangover is nothing compared to the crippling mortification you’re feeling right now. You kissed Luke last night. Your childhood friend of sixteen years, whom you haven’t seen for eight. While drunk. Without his consent. And the worst part?
You can’t stop thinking about it.
With a small scream, you fling yourself face down into the pillows. The hangover really isn’t helping, and your head throbs with what feels like a hundred strobe lights and the feeling of Luke Pearce’s lips against yours. Stop it, you try to tell your brain as sternly as you can. Stop thinking about it, stop thinking about Luke’s lips, and most importantly, stop thinking about how good it felt to kiss him in that state…
What would it feel like to kiss him when you’re sober?
You spend a whole minute mulling over that one thought until you realise what you’re doing, heat burning at your cheeks. Hopeless. You’re hopeless! You—
BBC Sherlock’s theme suddenly blares out of nowhere, and you very nearly fall off the bed in surprise, scrabbling about the mattress for your phone. And of course, it has to be Luke’s sunny smile that appears on the screen, because the world hates you. For a moment, you nearly contemplate not picking up, but that would only make things all the more awkward between the two of you. And besides, weren’t you drinking to work up the courage to confess to Luke anyway? This really wasn’t how you intended to do it, but now...
Your finger inches nervously towards the answer button. Like ripping off a bandaid, quick and painless.
“Did I wake you?”
“No, no, you didn’t. I just woke up a while ago.” You cringe at your own words. Could you possibly sound any more awkward? “I saw the, uhh, painkillers you left me. Thanks.”
“You had quite a bit to drink yesterday, I hope your hangover isn’t too bad.” It’s now that you notice Luke sounds a little out of breath over the phone, and you’re about to ask him about that when he continues. “Ahh, don’t mind me. I was just out for a jog — I needed to clear my mind for a bit.”
You swallow. “Yeah, about yesterday, Luke…” Just tell him that you don’t regret it one bit, damnit!!
“It’s okay,” Luke interrupts suddenly, and you pause, unable to proceed with a wrench tossed into your whirlwind plans. No, it is not okay, not okay in the least. “I-I, uhh, know you didn’t mean anything by it. You were drunk, and if anything, it’s, umm, it’s really my fault for letting you drink so much. I’m so sorry about that. I’ll make it up to you somehow.”
He’s stumbling over his words, a sure sign he’s nervous — Luke must think that you might actually be upset with him, which couldn’t possibly be further from the truth. Part of you sighs fondly, it’s a habit of his that you’ve always found endearing, but the other part of you wants to grab him by the face and kiss him stupid until he shuts up. “Luke, don’t be stupid, if anyone is apologising here it should be me—”
“Delivery!”
“—give me a moment.” You toss the phone onto the bed and stumble down to the first floor, yanking the door open. “Sorry, I didn’t order anything today—”
The delivery man blinks up at apartment number before holding out a paper bag, and you recognise the sweet, familiar smell immediately — the deep fried youtiao and hot soy milk from your favourite stall. “For a Mr. Luke Pearce?”
Oh. Your heart goes all sorts of melty at that, and you reach out to take the bag from him. The paper bag is as warm as what you’re feeling on the inside right now. “Thank you very much.”
“Did you get it?” Luke asks, the second you get back to the call. “I don’t know what you usually eat when you get a hangover, sorry, so I just ordered your usual—”
“Luke,” you cut him off. “Shut up. I love it. I love you.”
A muffled cough, choked and a little breathless, before Luke answers. “Love you too,” he says, so softly that your entire heart feels like it’s collapsing on itself. “Yesterday night… it doesn’t change anything between us, does it?”
“Of course it doesn’t.” You find yourself saying. “Don’t worry yourself over it, okay?”
“Right. Okay.” He sounds so relieved that you don’t have the heart to tell him otherwise, even though the words are right there, on the tip of your tongue. “Then, I’ll see you on Monday for the NXX investigation?”
“Mm. See you then, Luke.”
The call hangs up. You flop onto your back, stare blankly at the screen for ten whole seconds, before you let out a frustrated scream and hurl your phone across the room like a professional discus thrower.
Then you get up to eat your breakfast, unable to shake the feeling of Luke’s lips from the back of your mind.