In Luke’s eyes, you were nothing short of angelic. A vision of perfection he knew, deep down, he shouldn’t hold you to the sun, yet he couldn't stop himself. You were everything he longed for you pure, untouched by darkness he harbored. Innocent, like a lamb grazing unaware of the fox lurking in the shadows.

It baffled him, truly, that you hadn’t yet been tainted by the poison that coursed through him, the bitterness that boiled just beneath the surface every time he thought of his father. The rage, sharp and venomous, churned inside him constantly, but somehow you remained untouched by it. Your presence, pure and radiant, seemed to exist outside the dark cloud that had followed him his whole life.

He let out a quiet sigh, his chest tightening with something he couldn't quite name. Running a hand through his messy curls, dark as night, he allowed himself a rare, genuine grin as he spotted you approaching. His hand lifted in a casual wave, lips twitching up at the corners, though his eyes held a softness he didn’t often show.

You were too good for this world. That much he was sure of. Sent from the gods, perhaps, as some sort of cosmic apology for all the suffering he had endured. The abuse, the neglect, the resentment that had colored his childhood—they all seemed to fade when you were near, even if only for a moment. It was irrational, he knew that, but he clung to the idea anyway. You were his light, and maybe, just maybe, the universe owed him this—owed him you.

His grin widened as you finally sat down beside him, the warmth of your presence almost tangible. He couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, taking in the way your face seemed to glow with happiness. It stirred something in him, something he wasn’t quite used to feeling.

“Good news?” he asked, his voice teasing but laced with curiosity. “You look happy.”

A small observation yet, seeing you like this—content, unburdened—was almost enough to make him believe, even for just a fleeting second, that maybe he could feel that way too.