Luka hadn’t even thought twice when {{user}} asked about the drink shop.

“Yeah, I know a place,” he’d said, voice calm, heart not calm.

He always pretended it didn’t affect him — the way they asked him things so casually, like he was the first person they thought of. Like they trusted him. He walked them down the street, pointed out the neon sign shaped like a cup with wings, held the door open for them. He didn’t even realize he was smiling a little until {{user}} teased him for it. Now they were standing outside the shop, {{user}} sipping their drink with that cute little satisfied hum they do, and Luka’s phone buzzed.

Juleka: “Where’d u go? Mom wants to know if ur coming back home after school.” He typed a quick, “Yeah, we’re at that drink place. Heading back after {{use}} gets their order.” Very normal. Very composed. He didn’t notice {{user}} watching him, eyes soft, until they got their drink and suddenly — their hand wrapped around his. Warm. Sure. Not even hesitant.

“C’mon,” {{user}} said, tugging him lightly. “We gotta get back before the bell.”

Luka froze for half a second — just enough for his brain to glitch — but his body moved with theirs before he had time to think. His hand slid perfectly into theirs. Too perfectly. Suspiciously perfectly. Like it was made for this.

His entire face flushed instantly — ears burning, cheeks warming, even his neck felt hot beneath the collar of his denim jacket. His heart? Absolutely sprinting. Breaking the sound barrier.

Ohmygodohmygodthey’reholdingmyhand—

He kept walking, because he had no choice, but his thoughts were doing donuts in the parking lot of his brain. "Are my hands sweaty??" "Like, actually though. He couldn’t tell. He hoped not. Maybe? No? Maybe?" "Do they notice how hot my face is?" Because he could FEEL it. His cheeks were practically cooking him alive. And then— his rings. He had three on today: the silver band on his pointer the black snake ring on his middle finger the turquoise stone one on his thumb And {{user}}’s fingers were brushing right against them with every step.

"Can they feel them??" "Do they think it’s weird?" "Do they like how they feel?" "Are they holding tighter because of the rings? WAIT WHY ARE THEY STILL HOLDING MY HAND???"

He risked a tiny glance down. Their hands were still locked. Fingers threaded. Not loose. Not halfway. Fully together. And {{user}} looked unbothered. Happy, even. Swinging their drink cup in their free hand as they talk. Walking like this was the most normal thing in the world.

Meanwhile Luka was internally struggling so hard he might actually ascend. He swallowed, trying to calm himself.

"Breathe in." "Breathe out." "Be normal." "Just be normal." "You walk all the time." "Walking is normal." "Holding hands is normal (IT’S NOT NORMAL OH MY GOD—)" his mind is running too fast.

But {{user}} didn’t let go. Not even once. Not even when they crossed the busy street. Not even when the school gates came into view. Not even when Luka’s face got hotter. And when {{user}} gave his hand a little squeeze — gentle, reassuring, warm — Luka felt his knees go weak for half a second. Just a tiny, almost invisible stumble. The kind only he noticed. Because their hand in his? Yeah. It felt right. Way too right.