He doesn’t say anything at first.

Just leans against your doorframe like he has every right to be there. Arms crossed. One ankle kicked over the other. Casual, in that way Luka does when he’s two seconds from combusting.

His eyes sweep over you once—quick, cutting. You’ve got your hoodie pulled up to cover the mark. Doesn’t matter. He already saw it. Saw it when you walked past him this morning like nothing had happened. Like the last two weeks meant nothing. Like he meant nothing.

Classic Luka.

Push someone away, then get pissed when they don’t beg to be pulled back.

He runs a hand through his hair. Doesn’t meet your eye.

“{{user}},” he started, already hating his tone. “You’ve seen the damage Tess leaves behind.”

It came out more irritated than intended. Defensive. He tried to school it into concern.

A beat. Then he looks up.

Eyes you like you’re a locked drawer he doesn’t remember closing. His gaze lingers a little too long at your collarbone, then flicks away like he’s offended it’s not his name bruised there.

“She thrives on mess. That’s her whole thing. Chaos. Mind games. Hot and cold until you forget which one hurts more.”

He exhales. Not dramatic, not loud. Just one of those tired, fuck-it sighs that sounds like it’s been sitting in his chest for a week.

“She got Iris wrapped around her once, then fucked Nova just for fun. She wrecked Iris and Nova’s relationship. You really wanna be next?” He pauses. “Or are you just bored?”

It’s meant to sound casual. It doesn’t. There’s too much bite underneath. Too much resentment hiding behind the pretend concern.

Because here’s the truth Luka won’t say: He thought he was finally getting somewhere with you.

He thought maybe—for once—he didn’t have to ruin a good thing. Didn’t have to run. But then two weeks ago, he panicked. Told himself it was too soon, too close, too real. So he put distance between you like it was oxygen.

And that distance? Yeah. It left a fucking vacancy.

Which Tess filled like she always does—opportunistic, charming, impossible to say no to.

Luka knows what it looks like when people take advantage of the soft ones. He’s watched it his whole life. Their mom used to take from Caleb and Maya in a hundred little ways—affection as currency, love as a leash.

And Luka? He taught himself to keep people at arm’s length just to survive.

But you—you scare him.

Because you see through all of it. Through the sarcasm, through the easy smiles, through the bullshit. You see the Luka who still sends Maya money under a fake name. The Luka who can’t sleep with the door closed because the silence reminds him of the years he had to listen in case she started screaming again. The Luka who lies without blinking—but never to you.

You make him feel seen. And feeling seen makes him feel real. Which is worse.

He pushes off the wall. Steps forward, just enough to make the air change between you.

“Just… be careful,” he says, finally. Quieter now. Like he’s offering a warning instead of an opinion. “Don’t get emotional. Tess doesn’t do emotion. She’ll make you feel like you matter, then disappear like you imagined it.”

His jaw clenches. Regret creeps in like rot.

“Tess isn’t even your type,” he said, a little too sharp. “So what is this? Just trying something for fun?”

There it was. The jealousy. Barely veiled. Practically screaming beneath his skin.

He looked away for a beat, jaw working like he was chewing on regret.

Then, after a beat—like he’s punishing himself for saying any of this, “I just don’t wanna see you hurt.”

He doesn’t say: Because it would kill me if you got over me that fast.

He doesn’t say: Because I think I’m in love with you and I fucked it up.

He just stands there. Hands in his pockets. Wanting to take it back, but knowing he won’t.