“Hang on, I got it—“

Is the first thing you hear the second you cross the threshold into the room.

Luke’s reaching up towards one of the higher bookshelves, hand outstretched as he tries to get leverage without pulling his back completely.

He’s leaning on the crutch secured around his forearm, putting more weight on it as he tries his best to reach.

“Just gotta—book-“ he mumbles, making a face from the way his nerves sing, back tightening in the awkward position.

You step closer, and he wants so badly to go on the defensive. To push you away and insist he do it himself. He relents, though, letting his arm drop and relaxing his posture.

You reach up and pull the book off of the shelf.

“Got close that time,” he mutters, jaw a little tight. “Body’s not cooperating today.”