Chapter Text
“What are you doing in here?” Was the question that managed to break through the tough silence of the room. It was voiced with fearful confusion. Certainly not the cheeriness Luka wanted, but he’ll take what he can get.
“I missed you,” He confessed giddily like a schoolgirl with a crush. His pale face stained with a deep, cherry blush which would make anyone believe that he was suffering from the most severe fever of his life. He’s not. You know this, but you still raise your hand to his forehead when he draws near to check anyways.
He has a slight fever despite how much red covers his cheeks, nose and ears and you’re sure you know the cause of it — though you were no doctor.
It was the same annoying reason for his sudden visit, the same irritating reason from last time he broke the rules and was later punished for it; you.
Nevertheless, your heart did sing. Maybe it was due to the foreign look that clouds his visage with no remorse — that glazed over expression that was complemented by glimmering, sunny hues and a wide, eager smile — and the fact that he seemed truly uncaring, but the longer you stared, you could feel your anxiety being flushed down an imaginary drain.
Alas, you only had the pleasure of feeling neutrally empty before this light liquid of relief came pooling in, reminding you of the breath you've been holding this entire time.
You had blocked out the feeling for as long as you could, but seeing him after so long reminded you oh so bitterly that you were scared stiff — terrified about things out of your control and unknown to your mind and seeing him, okay and well and alive allowed all that worry to seep from your pores.
You let your breath go just as it began to burn your lungs, and because of that, when your lips parted to speak, you could only do so in a soft murmur — as if you were reciting your favorite lullaby.
“I missed you too…but you shouldn’t be in here. What if—” You're shushed in probably the worst yet best way as Luka decides he doesn’t want to hear what you’ve jammed in his ears a thousand times already and leans in for a kiss.
His lips are firm, cold, and no matter how much he tries to make it taste better, it bleeds the rotting blood of absence. Devoid of emotions that any sane person should possess and feel — the tang of fear mixed with worry of getting caught and being severely punished. The bitter zest of irritation at your lack of excitability initially. Maybe even sadness of this possibly being your last time seeing each other if, again, he’s caught disobeying so unabashedly — and yet nothing sours the taste of his lips, leaving you to deal with the teeth-rotting sweetness of his love for you.
You quickly grow overwhelmed, but how could you not? Oftentimes than not, Luka’s love felt like you were actively consuming a heart that was still beating with life and his show of affection was constricting at best. Like you were being squeezed and choked by clingy intestines and limbs that want nothing more than to mold and mix with yours. In the face of such destructive endearment, it’s inevitable for you to yearn for an escape and push him away whilst silently gasping for breath.
Luka doesn’t pay mind to your attempt at fleeing and immediately leans back in as if it never happened. Starting a trail of kisses along your jawbone, ones you’re sure will sink into your flesh and infect your bloodstream sooner or later.
Before that happens, you need to get him to go back to his room.
“Luka…” You call, beginning to push him away once again only for Luka to protest by throwing his arms around your neck. You groan, “Luka.”
He hums, slowing but never stopping in his assault despite the bellowing cries from his abdomen and the acute stabs of pain to his frail joints whenever he moves even the slightest bit — which you managed to catch out of the corner of your eye.
That’s when you grip him semi-tightly by the shoulders and rip him away from your neck just as he opens his mouth to lay a dent in your supple flesh with his teeth, “Luka, stop.”
You told him that as if he had a choice. With how firmly you held his shoulders, no amount of jerking or squirming would allow him to break free from his captivity. Regardless, he tries, twisting and yanking every which way despite the fact that the harsh movements did nothing but add onto his near-constant headache and throw a bit of dizziness in the mix. He exhausted himself like an overly excited candle, hypnotized by his own demented love for you.
To others it was insanity, but to him it was invigorating to be driven to an edge, tipped off it, and actually feel your heart skip at the weightlessness of the fall. It was a drug he could never tire from even when his heart beats to the drum of a heart attack and he’s breathless and shaking. To him, it was the closest he’d ever get to cloud nine and he’d tear himself apart to continue reaching for it.
Besides, it wasn’t much different from his Father’s experiments where he’s actually ripped apart. At least now when he’s stitched back together something warm fills his chest cavity
“You should sneak back into your room before dinner time,” You whisper, like someone other than him may hear you, “If they check your room and see you’re not there, they may…” You don’t dare finish your sentence. Scared that so much as saying it aloud would bring such a horrid possibility into fruition. You instead decide to mutter, “Lets just say, I’ve heard them talk about…the other yous a lot more recently.”
And as if he were deaf, Luka asks, “Hold me?”
“Luka—” “Please? I’ll do anything you want after that,” He cuts off, a pointless bargain seeming as he’d do that anyway. Practically living in this hospital your whole life — though most times it was treated moreso like a lab — you’ve learned a lot of things, especially about the blonde that sat before you. If you asked it of him, he’d carve out his very heart and serve it up to you on a golden platter without hesitation. Throw in a smile and he’d chop off his head for you to use as decorum for your bland room.
If you merely told him and seriously meant it, Luka would get up and walk out of that door right now, you’re sure of it.
…But can you bring yourself to do it? To use the same assertion that the segyein use to shove you around with all the time? That make your life miserable? That often made you feel as though cutting up all these cords that impale you with a pair of scissors and bend them into shapes until you're unable to keep your eyes open seem like the next best thing? Despite knowing the blissful effect you give him, can you snap at him to leave? Do you purposefully walk back in doors when you’ve finally allowed the sun for a brief moment? Do you strip him of that much needed sunlight? Force him into that stale loneliness that you know slowly drives him mad?
How could you say something like that and mean it when Luka looks like he’s just returned from war — with his hair going every which way as though it had been tugged with the strength needed to kill a person. His limbs tightly covered all over in off-white that, in certain places, have light splotches of crimson that give proof to the hell he likely endured. The fact that…wait. Is he…?
“...Are you trembling?” You whisper. Luka immediately responds, unsettling innocence laced in his obliviousness, “Am I?”
He lowers his gaze, raising his hands up before him where he then flips them over to show himself his palms. He turns them again to look at the back of his hands before repeating the process a third time, as if he truly couldn’t believe it.
“I guess I am,” He then acknowledges, his smile unwavering.
Something in his voice does change, however. As if pointing out his tremors had struck a weak point in the wall in his mind that he had no clue he built, his tone crumbles and his words shake in a similar way yours would whenever you had to participate in one of those god awful experiments.
He asks again, “Hold me?”
You give in immediately, tugging him closer so that you can cage him in your arm. Now uncaring of the fact that he’ll do nothing but steal the warmth from your body and the very oxygen from your lungs as soon as the chance arises.
“What’s wrong? What happened? What kind of experiment was it this time?” You shoot out question after question, pulling back only to search his eyes for answers to what the actual hell happened for him to be put in such a state.
And he replies simply, “Heart rate,”
You can feel your own heart drop and shatter like glass, scattering around and piercing your organs — which bled out even more of your sorrow. That sadness doesn't last long in your warm body, and before you can fully process your own despair, you feel something bubbling at the pit of your stomach. Pure, hot, lava overflowing in your veins and seeping out of your pores and mouth in the form of fiery words.
“Why in the world are they doing that again?!” You asked, your voice now raised to an earsplitting octave, “Didn’t they already get what they wanted out of you the first time? I thought you said everything went fine?”
In the face of questions you both knew Luka couldn’t truly answer on his own, he answers you with a hum and a lazy, open mouth kiss to the part of your shoulder blade that your tacky gown exposed to him. He lays against you, sucking in your natural perfume through his nose before murmuring against your skin, “Squeeze me?”
And you blurt out, “Why?”
From the looks of it, he was in dire condition. His bandages hid them well, but you know what lies underneath; ugly stitching and unhealed cuts. That said, you fear giving into his wish may cause him to burst under the pressure and for his guts and blood to spill out all over you.
But alas, he asks again, pleading with silent desperation, “Can you squeeze me, please? I’ll leave right after if you want to just please.”
You hesitantly agree.
Your arms stiffen, and just like he wished, you squeeze down. Not too hard, but just enough to that he’ll feel it — the constriction of his limbs and the force that pushes your bodies impossibly closer — before loosening your grip.
“Do it again,” He says, immediately going back on his previous words like you expected him to. You decide, this once, not to chastise him about breaking his promise and give him another gente squeeze.
Your ears pick up on the light exhalation he lets loose from his lips. It‘s not sharp and stricken with pain like one would think, but airy and carries this strange sense of relief. It was as if he liked this feeling that was akin to walls closing in on him. The slight fear — or in his case, thrilled amusement — that came with putting your life in another’s hands. The steady reminder that he was here, alive, in this horrible world filled with strange creatures who want nothing but to torment and toy with those like him and you.
But as he let out another one of those sighs and you felt his lips softening against the crook of your neck, you found learning his reason behind the odd request less and less important.
As long as he was still here, safe and physically intact in your arms, nothing else mattered.
“...Can we… Can we stay like this for a bit?” He mumbled. You decide to ignore the sudden crack that splits his words midway through speaking. Look a blind eye to the translucent crystals gliding down his pale skin and the sudden dampness of your shoulder that soon follows afterwards and instead bury your face in his shoulder.
Rust quickly floods your nose, but you try your best to take your mind off of it as your mind wanders to things that may smell more pleasant — like that plantation you read about the other day, anemones you think it was called — as you finally replied in your own somber whisper.
“Yeah… Yeah, I don’t mind. ..But only this once.”