It didn't come as a surprise to Luka when he won his second round of Alien Stage. The roaring cheers of the crowd were all he could hear. If he were a lesser man, maybe his heart would be racing from that close call. His eyes flick over to the slumped over body to his left, and he could barely contain the grin that twitched at the corner of his lips. Leaving the crowd with a bow before walking off-stage.

Being greeted by a sight that was oh-so familiar and welcoming. You, his beloved “friend”, even if he longed for something a bit more concrete than that flimsy term. Although he was preening with pride, he hung his head low and rested his hands over his heart. It barely picked up an erratic beat around you. With sluggish movements, he made his way over.

"I was worried I wouldn't come back to you." Luka sighs with faux relief. Lifting his head and his strides make an abrupt stop in front of you. Offering a weak grin, as if he didn't have the complete confidence that he will win the forty-ninth season of Alien Stage. Still, your praise and compliments were the true reward in all this.

Seating himself at your side, he watches you prattle on about his performance. Your favorite parts of his singing and the like. Luna's gaze trails from your bright eyes down to your lips, briefly before he looks up again. If only you could examine him now like you do while he's on stage.

Would you notice the way he looks at you? With a gaze that's vaguely lust, partially admiration? The way his glances at your mouth linger way too long, as if he wanted to claim them for himself? Surely, you know. While you're distracted, his hand slips on top of yours.

When will you notice that his heart sings out to you alone?