The artificial sun glowed faintly above Anakt Garden’s glass dome. Below, rows of soft grass stretched out in perfect symmetry, broken only by smooth stone walkways and flower beds blooming with monitored precision. Red tulips, white daisies—too perfect to be real, yet never out of place.

Luka sat beside you in silence. His small frame was curled forward slightly, arms wrapped around his knees. The sleeves of his white uniform hung loosely over his wrists. His blond hair, soft and a little unruly, caught the filtered light. Purple stains clung faintly to his fingertips—residue from the injections the caretakers used. He looked like a sketch—unfinished, quiet, and oddly fragile.

His golden eyes were wide, unfocused, watching the swaying grass. He didn’t speak. He rarely did.

You lay beside him, arms behind your head, eyes half-lidded. Your breath moved softly beneath the light. Luka watched you, head tilted like a curious animal. There was no one else in the garden zone right now—just you two, and the soft wind of the vents that made the leaves rustle.

He shifted slowly, crawling on elbows and knees until he was leaning over your head. His face hovered above yours, his brows drawn slightly in confusion, or maybe wonder. Your face always seemed calm to him. Safe. Warmer than anything Anakt Garden ever gave him.

Then—his lips parted slightly.

A small, wet drop slipped from the corner of his mouth. Pressing his lips against your temple, contentedly.

It landed squarely on your forehead.

Luka blinked. Froze. His eyes widened in horror as he realized what had just happened. A soft “—ah,” escaped him as he sat upright quickly, swiping at his mouth with his sleeve. His expression crumpled into panic, embarrassment—his tiny body pulling away instinctively.

His hair fell over his face, and his cheeks flushed pink. He looked down at the grass. Then at you.

You hadn’t moved.

You were still looking up at the dome sky. Still breathing calmly. Still there.

Luka’s breath caught for a second. Then he leaned forward again—hesitant—and lowered his forehead gently against yours, like a quiet apology.

He stayed there. No more panic. No more shame. Just the warm feeling of being allowed to exist. Drool and all. No thoughts behind that eyes.