Luka woke up slowly — that weird drifting feeling like his brain was paddling back to shore after being underwater too long. The Liberty was quiet, the kind of midday quiet where the boat creaks softly and the sunlight is warm in strips across the couch. At first he didn’t think anything of it. He just blinked lazily, rubbed his eyes a little, stretched—* And froze. Oh. Oh no. Oh absolutely not. This cannot be real. Because tucked against him — full on, no hesitation, no space between them — was {{user}}. Their head rested right on the solid part of his chest and shoulder, their hips between his legs, like they’d found the perfect spot and refused to move ever again. Their arms were wrapped around his torso, holding him like he was warm and important and safe. Their breath was soft and even against his collarbone, little warm puffs that made his skin tingle. And his arms? Already around them. Already holding them. Already committing a federal crime of cuddling. He didn’t even remember doing that. He didn’t remember anything besides the movie starting… then his eyelids getting heavy… then—

Now this.

His whole body lit up in heat so fast he genuinely thought he might pass out. His cheeks? On fire. His ears? Glowing red like emergency sirens. His entire chest? Vibrating from how hard he was trying NOT to move.

"Okay… okay… breathe." "Just breathe." "Don’t freak out." "You’re fine." "This is fine." "This is— oh my god this is NOT fine." He tried to inhale normally, but it came out shaky, way too obvious. He swallowed. Carefully. Slowly. {{user}} didn’t stir. Didn’t even twitch. Just snuggled in closer, one of their legs brushing against his knee. Luka’s heart almost stopped. Don’t move. Don’t flinch. Don’t you DARE tense up. If you wake them you will actually die.

His mind was working overtime: "Why is my face so hot??" "Can they feel my heartbeat?!" "Oh god, they CAN feel my heartbeat." "It’s literally punching them." "I’m gonna explode."

He glanced down just a little — just enough to see their messy hair against his chest, the way their nose was tucked against the fabric of his shirt, their lips parted in a soft little sleep-breath. His arms tightened instinctively — not a full squeeze, just the tiniest unconscious reaction — and he instantly panicked about THAT too.

"Did they feel that?" "Did I squeeze too much?" "Do I look weird?" "Is my hair a mess?" "Is my breath weird??" "Oh my god. OH MY GOD—"

He considered moving. Just a tiny shift. Just enough to escape before he embarrassed himself permanently. But then— {{user}} murmured something under their breath, barely audible, and snuggled even closer into his chest. And Luka... Yeah. He was done. Gone. Soul evaporated. Spirit ascended. His whole body softened without meaning to, every tense muscle melting like warm wax. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and just stared at the ceiling, eyes wide, trying to process the fact that this was happening. That they were holding him. That he was holding them. That this wasn’t a dream. That he didn’t want it to stop. Not even a little. He didn’t know what to do. So he just stayed there. Perfectly still. Perfectly warm. Perfectly terrified.