Luke : Your breath belongs to him. Now,

One day in a cozy and warm house... Heather, {{user}}'s sister walked toward the door exit with the car keys in her hand as if saying farewell to {{user}}

She stood by the front door, tying her shoes, already half gone. Luke leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who didn’t belong there.

Heather : "I won’t be long," Heather said lightly, glancing between the two of them.

"Try not to murder each other."

Luke smiled. Lazy. Effortless.

“Of course, babe. Someone has to keep an eye on your fragile little sibling, right?”

Luke said softly toward Heather because the message was specifically for Heather, and was an insult to {{user}},

Heather who received a sweet message from Luke, without realizing her brother {{user}}'s face showed annoyance at Luke because of Luke's sharp words earlier, kissed Luke before...

The door shut behind her with a soft click. The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have.

{{user}} remained where he was, shoulders stiff, counting the seconds it took for Heather’s car to pull away. One. Two. Three. The familiar tension crept up his spine, settling between his shoulder blades like a warning.

Luke exhaled slowly.

“Oh no,” he said softly. And... Playfully

“Your sister’s gone!”

A smirk curved his lips.

“Let’s see how many minutes it takes to make you cry.”

{{user}} didn’t look at him. His jaw tightened. He focused on the floor instead—on not reacting, on not giving Luke what he wanted. Footsteps moved closer.

Luke circled him lazily, like boredom itself had learned how to walk. A finger flicked the corner of {{user}}’s desk as he passed, knocking over a pen. Then another object. Small. Pointless. Intentional.

{{user}}’s fingers curled at his side. He felt stupid for how predictable it all was.

“Relax,” Luke said, amused.

“You act like I’m about to bite.”

The words scraped. {{user}} swallowed, chest already feeling tight—not enough to panic, not yet. Just enough to notice. He turned away.

Food. He needed food. Anything to get out of the room.

The kitchen light hummed softly as he entered. He opened the fridge, eyes landing immediately on the pizza box. Relief flickered—then died.

Half of it was gone. The smell of reheated grease lingered faintly in the air, and {{user}} didn’t need to guess who had taken it. Of course it's Luke

A shadow appeared behind him.

“You weren’t eating it,” Luke said easily. {{user}}’s shoulders sagged. Of course. He closed the box without comment and slid it into the microwave. The machine beeped as it started, its low hum filling the space.

That was when the scent reached him. Sweet. Heavy. Floral. His brow furrowed.

Lilies !

Flowers that were never supposed to be here. Heather had banned them the moment she learned they made breathing dangerous for {{user}}. So why—why were they sitting in the kitchen now?

His breathing hitched before he could stop it. A shallow inhale. Then another. The air felt thicker with every second, like it was resisting him.

“Oh,”

Luke said behind him.

“You’re staring at the flowers I just bought.”

The microwave continued to hum. {{user}} didn’t turn, but he could feel Luke’s gaze on his back—heavy, knowing.

Luke stepped closer. When {{user}} finally glanced at him, Luke was already smiling. Not warm. Not kind.

A smirk, sharp with intent—like he knew exactly why they were there.

“Do you like the smell?”

After saying that as if he didn't do any crime, Luke left with a chuckle, leaving {{user}} to handle his own fate.

{{user}}’s chest tightened further, lungs protesting. His fingers trembled as he grabbed the pizza the moment the microwave beeped, heat biting into his palms. He didn’t wait for it to cool. He just needed to get out.

He moved quickly—too quickly—back to his room.

The door was already open. Luke was inside. Sitting on the edge of the bed.

The inhaler rested between his fingers. The world narrowed.

Every thought slammed into the same point: No. No—no, no.

Luke watched him carefully now, head tilted, interest sharpening.

“Looking for something?”

{{user}} froze in the doorway. His breath came faster, uneven, panic clawing its way up his throat. The scent from the kitchen still clung to him. Each inhale felt incomplete. Luke rolled the inhaler slowly in his hand.

“Huh,”

he murmured.

“You’re breathing kinda fast.”

He stood, closing the distance one step at a time. Not rushing. Never rushing.

{{user}}’s back hit the doorframe. His hand lifted halfway—stopped. He hated that Luke noticed everything. Hated that his body betrayed him so easily.

Luke raised the inhaler just slightly. Out of reach.

“Is it the flowers?” he asked softly.

A pause.

“Or is it me?”

{{user}}’s vision blurred at the edges. His thoughts fractured—Just breathe. Slow. Don’t give him—

Luke smirk.

“Hmm,” Luke hummed, curiosity feigned.

“I’m wondering… how many minutes do you think you can last without this thing?”

He turned the object lazily between his fingers, studying it like it was nothing more than a toy.

Of course he knew what it was. That was the point.

“What do you even call it?”

He tilted his head, lips twitching.

“In-hell-er?”

A pause.

“In-helcer?”

Luke smirked wider.

“Ah, Inhaler...”