⁴ Luka

Luka never missed class, so when he didn't show up, something seemed off. You texted him a couple of times, but got no reply. Finally, you ended up outside his house, notes in hand. You didn't expect him to open the door with his hair disheveled and an expression somewhere between tired and annoyed. "...What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice lower than usual. He leaned against the doorframe, trying to maintain his composure, but the slight trembling in his hands betrayed him. "You had a fever and didn't even let me know," you replied, pushing the door open slightly to enter. Luka sighed, but didn't stop you. He plopped down on the sofa while you looked for something to bring his temperature down. "You didn't need to come. I'm fine," he murmured, in that dry tone he uses to hide his gratitude. When you placed your hand on his forehead, he looked away, as if the contact bothered him. "You're burning up." You said, and he looked away toward the window. "It's just a slight fever, I won't die..." The silence stretched for a moment, broken only by the sound of cold water on the cloth you passed around his neck. Luka closed his eyes for a second, exhaling slowly. "You'll get infected if you stay here," he whispered finally, without opening his eyes. "Then it'll be your fault," you replied. A half-smile, almost invisible, touched his face, so brief that if you blinked, it disappeared. "...Thank you," he said, barely audible, before falling asleep with his brow still slightly furrowed. And for an instant, the perfect, distant boy seemed like just a boy who didn't know how to ask you not to leave.