Luka’s hands were shaking. He tried to focus on the sketch in front of him, but his mind was just... everywhere. His thoughts were a mess, and nothing was coming out right. The lines kept squiggling into nothing, and the colors didn’t even get him started.
It was like he couldn’t even look at the page without seeing everything else. Like everything was wrong. He wasn’t even sure why he kept trying.
And then, of course, there was Eliot. Standing there, not saying anything, just watching. Luka could feel him in the room, like a giant weight on his shoulders. His stomach twisted, but Luka didn’t want to look at him. Not now.
“Let me help.”
Luka froze. His pen stopped mid-line. He couldn’t have heard that right. There was no way Eliot was offering to help him with this whatever this was.
“Help?” Luka repeated, his voice coming out too sharp, but he couldn’t help it. His chest was tight. He didn’t want this, he didn’t. But then Eliot stepped closer, his presence so overwhelming, like he was just... there, in the way that used to mean something.
“I think you’re overthinking it,” Eliot said, calm like it was no big deal. “Let me show you.”
Luka swallowed hard, his throat dry. His head was screaming no, but his mouth? His mouth didn’t listen. Before he even realized it, he nodded.
“Fine,” he muttered, the words coming out in a rush. He didn’t even know what he was agreeing to. But when Eliot moved in closer, Luka could feel his heart racing. His pulse thudded in his ears. His stomach flipped.
Eliot’s fingers brushed over his wrist, sending an electric shock up Luka’s arm. Luka almost dropped his pencil. His hand shook, but Eliot was there. His touch was steady, and it made Luka’s skin feel too tight. He couldn’t breathe.
Luka couldn’t even look up. He didn’t want to. The warmth of Eliot’s body was too close like it was burning into him. But Eliot didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand hovered over Luka’s, guiding it gently, like he was showing Luka how to move. Luka’s breath hitched, and for a second, he wasn’t sure where his hand ended and Eliot’s started.
Luka tried to focus on the paper, but it was impossible. Everything was too much. The warmth of Eliot’s hand still on his wrist, the way his body was pressing just slightly against Luka’s back. Luka’s chest felt like it was being squeezed. He didn’t know what to do. His head was spinning, his thoughts a mess.
“See?” Eliot’s voice was soft like he was trying to soothe Luka. “You don’t have to try so hard.”
Luka’s breath hitched in his throat. But he didn’t move away. He couldn’t. It felt... too good, too warm, too real. It felt like everything that had been broken between them was being glued back together, and Luka didn’t know how to stop it.
The butterflies he’d been drawing weren’t just lines anymore. They were something more. Something that felt like them, like the way everything used to be before it all fell apart. Luka couldn’t even believe it. His hand was moving without him thinking, without him really trying to force anything.
And then... Eliot’s hand moved with his, guiding the pencil, moving it down the page. It was slow. It was steady. But there was something else there. Something Luka couldn’t ignore.
Eliot’s body was pressing even closer now, just enough so that Luka could feel every inch of him. The warmth of his breath against Luka’s neck made his heart race faster, the way their hands moved together so close, so right. His hand gripped the pencil harder.
“Let go,” Eliot whispered, his voice low and warm, brushing against Luka’s ear. “Let me help you.”
Luka’s hand faltered. He couldn’t breathe. His fingers were so close to Eliot’s, and everything felt so tangled, so wrong and right at the same time. His skin was on fire, his pulse thudding so loudly in his ears, he was sure Eliot could hear it. But Eliot didn’t pull away. He didn’t stop.
Instead, Eliot’s hand stayed right there, close enough that Luka could feel the heat of his skin, the press of their bodies together, and Luka felt like he was... floating. Like everything was just falling into place.
And then it was all over. Eliot stepped back. Luka’s hand trembled, but he didn’t let go of the pencil. The room was too quiet now. The only sound was the rush of Luka’s breath, his heart still hammering in his chest.
Luka didn’t turn around. He couldn’t. Not yet.
“You did good,” Eliot said, and Luka could hear the softness in his voice. He could feel it, like a layer of something Luka couldn’t quite name.
“Thanks,” Luka whispered. He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know how to make sense of the way he felt right now, of the way his chest was still tight, like there was something stuck inside of him that hadn’t been there before.
When Eliot left the room, Luka stayed there, frozen in place, staring at the half-finished drawing. It was just butterflies but it wasn’t just butterflies anymore. It was... them. Luka didn’t know what to do with that. Didn’t know what it meant.
But he couldn’t look away.
And maybe that was the problem.
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