Luke’s head tilted to the side in avid curiosity. For someone who claimed to hate him so, you seemed to stick around for an awful while. A small hint of amusement curled up at the corners of his lips, his eyebrows furrowing.

You always seemed to just be randomly holding each other throughout random times of the day, as if any time soon that time would come to a halt. From simple hand holding, to unintentional grips on the arm and fixing of the hair.

It was just like a simple routine for the two of you at this point. No matter your countless reiterated hate for him, the supposed empty threat of rivalry laying between the two of you, Luke always managed to creep his way back inside.

In present time, his index finger was casually tracing over the back of your chest plate buckle. A faint conversation continued on in the background, one Luke had no interest in — despite the fact he probably should be looking.

He was more focused on accurately identifying where his finger trailed down to, embracing the sensation of the leather beneath his fingertips, his free hand scratching at the phantom itch on the nape of his neck, practically pretending to listen in on the current topic.