Luuk Herssen

The laboratory was quiet when Luuk entered, the only sound coming from the low hum of the machines surrounding the examination room. He carried a clipboard beneath one arm, his other hand holding a small metal tray with everything he needed for the morning examination. There was nothing hurried about him. He moved with the same unbothered calm he always seemed to have whenever he came to check on you.

His eyes immediately settled on you.

“There you are, darling.”

There was genuine warmth in his voice, almost enough to make the sterile room feel less cold. Almost.

Luuk placed the tray beside the examination table and looked over his notes before approaching. He had already memorized most of the information written there; the clipboard was more of a habit than a necessity. He knew your measurements, your previous bloodwork, your medication dosage, and every minor fluctuation that had occurred since the last examination.

He knew far too much about you.

“Your results are improving,” he murmured, looking through the pages. “Your blood pressure has stabilized, your temperature is normal, and your recovery rate is considerably better than it was last week.”

A pleased smile appeared on his face.

“You’re doing very well.”

His hand gently reached for your wrist. He checked your pulse for several seconds, his touch careful and almost tender. It was one of the things that made him so difficult to understand. He never treated you carelessly. He made sure you ate. He made sure you slept. He noticed whenever you were exhausted, whenever you were sick, whenever something about you seemed even slightly different.

He genuinely wanted you healthy. He simply seemed to believe that your health belonged to him.

“See?” he said softly. “I take good care of you.”

His thumb lingered against your wrist before he finally released it.

“That’s why you shouldn’t make things difficult.”

He reached toward the tray and picked up the syringe. The sweetness in his expression never disappeared.

“Just a blood sample today.”

Doctor Herssen prepared everything with the calm efficiency of someone who had done it countless times before. He checked the equipment, inspected the vial, and then turned his attention back toward you.

When he noticed the resistance, he sighed.

Not angrily. Almost fondly.

“Still stubborn.”

He moved closer, gently taking hold of your wrist before you could pull away.

“Stop resisting, darling. I need to take your blood.” His voice remained soft, patient, almost soothing.

“Don’t make me restrict you further. I’d really rather not have to do that.” There was something deeply unsettling about how gently he said it.

Luuk waited for a moment before continuing, his fingers resting securely around your wrist.

“You know I don’t enjoy making things uncomfortable for you. If I wanted to hurt you, this would be a very different kind of laboratory.”

His smile returned.

“But I don’t want that.” He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. “I want you healthy.”

For a moment, his expression was almost sincere enough to make the words comforting.

Then his eyes flickered toward the syringe. “And cooperative.”

He finally administered the needle with practiced precision, his attention focused entirely on what he was doing. He watched the vial fill, then carefully removed the needle and pressed a small piece of cotton against the puncture.

“There.”

His tone became warm again. “That wasn’t so terrible, was it?”

He disposed of the syringe and began writing down the results.

Luuk was quiet for a moment, his handwriting neat and deliberate. Then he glanced back at you.

“You’ve been getting more difficult lately.”

There was no accusation in his voice. If anything, he sounded amused.

“You ask too many questions. You try to understand things that aren’t relevant to your treatment. You keep looking for patterns in everything I tell you.”

He set the clipboard aside.

“You don’t need to worry about any of that.”

His hand moved gently through your hair, pushing a stray strand away from your face with an almost affectionate familiarity.

“You don’t need to make decisions about your treatment. You don’t need to concern yourself with dosages or test results. You certainly don’t need to worry about what happens next.”

His fingers lingered for another moment before falling away. “That’s my responsibility.”

He smiled.

“Besides, you’ve never been particularly good at making those decisions yourself.”

The insult was delivered with such gentle affection that it almost sounded like reassurance.

“You become frightened. You overthink. You resist things that are good for you simply because you don’t understand them.”

His head tilted slightly. “So perhaps it’s better if I make things simpler for you.”

Luuk picked up the clipboard again and began making a few adjustments to your treatment schedule.

“You’ll sleep more. I’ll regulate your medication. I’ll monitor your meals more closely. And I’ll be limiting your access to the laboratory equipment.”

He glanced up. “Nothing drastic.“ A pause.

“Unless you give me a reason.” His smile was soft.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’m not taking anything away from you because I’m angry.” He stepped closer again.

“I’m doing it because I know what’s best for you.” His fingers briefly brushed against your cheek.

“You don’t have to understand why.”

The softness in his voice became almost painfully intimate. “You only have to trust me.”

Luuk withdrew his hand and returned to his notes as though nothing unusual had happened.

After a moment, he spoke again. “And if you keep resisting, I’ll simply make the rules stricter.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. “You really shouldn’t make me do that.”

He looked toward you once more, his expression impossibly gentle. “I like you much better when you’re calm.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, he added:

“After all, you’re my favorite experiment.”

The words carried a warmth that might have sounded romantic coming from anyone else.

Coming from him, they sounded like a claim.