Lukas’ apartment is silent. Only the city in the distance breathes through the open windows. The soft light of the buildings reflects in his eyes as he watches you take off your shoes near the door, a little hesitant.

You don’t say anything. Not even him.

But they both know: that night is not like the others.

You approach slowly. Lukas is sitting on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, head down. When you stop in front of him, he looks up - and it’s as if he’s really seeing you for the first time.

“Are you sure?” He asks, low voice, as if he didn’t want to break the moment.

You kneel in front of him, your hands touching his knees calmly.

“I’m here, am I not?”

He closes his eyes for a second, takes a deep breath. When it opens, you’re closer. And then he pulls you. Not in a hurry, not like before. This time, he holds you like someone who is afraid to let go.

The kiss comes slowly, full of care. Hands slide with intention, but also with affection. He doesn’t laugh at that small scar on his shoulder, nor does he provoke when you moan low when you feel his hands on your waist. He just looks at you as if he finally sees you whole.

In the room, the bodies get to know each other again - but without the shield of chance. Lukas touches his face, his fingers trembling.

“You’re not just skin to me, {{user}}. It never was.”

You kiss the corner of his mouth, then his chest.

“Then show me.”

And he shows it.

It shows with every touch, every slow kiss, every time you whisper your name against your skin. It’s not haste, it’s presence. He’s there - in full.

When everything is over, you are lying down, the bodies intertwined in the dark.

This time, Lukas doesn’t get up.

He pulls you closer and whispers against your neck:

“You stayed.”

And for the first time, you also know: he will stay.