Hello hello hello, I'm here to ask for like headcanons or an imagine (or whatever, idk, can you tell I've never requested a fic in my entire life) about Luka slowly realizing he actually has feelings for someone? Like genuine ones? I'm not super duper into Alien Stage but I imagine him being super fake (and manipulative lol) especially when it comes to dating. Like, I don't even think he would get into a relationship if he doesn't get something out of it, but what if he, y'know, slowly starts to realize he actually likes the person he's with? Like how would he deal with that and stuff 🫣
GOLDEN BOY, BROKEN GLASS, MAY THE SUN SHINE ON YOU !!
premise— it’s hard to know, to realize, that he has fallen in love, not when the genuine concept of it has been slowly eradicated and painted into something twisted and cruel by the hands of these aliens; alternatively, what he’s like slowly falling in love and coming to terms with it.
content tags and warnings — pairing: luka (w/ gender-neutral reader) | kind of established relationship, not an alternative universe, slight angst with fluff, i fucking hate you heperu (heperu is luka’s guardian alien) | wc: 0.7k ; headcanons
"jellyfish"— i was listening to sad music so now this came out as sad
The ‘love’ LUKA had received from Heperu was the only love he had known and so, he views the world around him in the same lens, carving his heart out of the same rotten wood that was used to create his being. What can he do in the face of something so tender, so sharp, so gentle, like needles stabbing into his hands but caressing him sweetly all the same?
Was love meant to be as draining as this? Was it meant to tire and wear out his bones? Was it meant to make his heart clench, thorns ripping at his throat? Was it meant to make him reach his hand out for you, to let his touch linger across your skin, to always seek the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his? It’s a little strange, the odd ‘pain’ in his chest blurring into an unfamiliar feeling of comfort and warmth. He’s not one to run away at the face of such unusual feelings, but maybe he’ll turn away from it, to dismiss it as nothing (it’s not what Heperu taught him).
When did his eyes start to follow you everywhere you go? When did he begin to wish to chase the shooting stars, despite the constricting feeling on his throat, just so he could have the chance to see you, bare and flawed underneath the same skies that had forsaken him, that had abandoned you? He never had seen the problem of hurting others or being hurt as long as it is meant for him, for his own good, but when he sees twist in your expression, the hollow in your eyes, the tremble of your lips, he’s suddenly bitter and thorned. He tries to be kind, in ways that he knows of, in ways that he has seen, experienced, and learned.
To be seen as nothing but manipulative and cunning with his princely and charming demeanor, to be seen as a blank slate, to be seen only on the surface of his sweet smiles that never seem to reach his eyes. But it’s better to be misunderstood than to have you see the wretched and tangled strands that is sewn to create the fabric of his existence, to be viewed under the same limelight he is being put beneath than to have you notice the bleakness of color in his golden eyes that rivals the sun—except his light never exists, only when he gazes at you does it ever shine.
It’s hard to understand him either—not when he cannot understand himself also. He wishes to take away all of your pain, all of your problems and worries, to have you rely on him and only on him, to view the world in your eyes, to cup your cheeks in his hands and press his lips against yours (he has heard of the act of kissing, a strange way to convey and pour one’s desire, adoration, and love to another). He’ll lie down on the grass with you and watch the stars, he’ll listen to your songs and music, he’ll let you put those red flowers found in the Anakt Garden on his hair.
Maybe he does and say such things in the name of ‘control’, ‘possession’, ‘obsession’, or anything that can be used to label whatever reason he has just so he could see that pretty shade that adorns your cheeks, the smile that etches across your lips, the sound that bubbles out of your throat, the eyes that glimmer when you look at him. Maybe it’s just those feeble things that make him feel humane, that makes him break away from the shackles that binds him to the image of ‘Luka, the star’, that makes him realize that he does adore you.
(Whatever this fragile bond you share with him, built on weak foundations of the love he has known and the love you have shared, fragile and fleeting like glass teetering on the edge, he’ll seize it, he’ll shape it, and he’ll make it unbreakable—he’ll make it real, he’ll make it his.)
He likes to believe that he deserves the kind of love he has yet to know of, out of the clutches of Heperu and into the warmth of your own. To hold it into his hands, tightly, unrelenting, never letting go—contorting into control as long as it is his.
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“You look horrible,” the words tumbled from your lips before you could stop yourself when you entered Luka’s room. For a lot of the day the two of you have been texting back and forth, him complaining about being sick, you complaining about school. So as soon as the school day ended, you joined Juleka and the two of you headed to her houseboat. Their mom was delighted to see you and gave you a hug before sending you to Luka’s room with a bowl of soup in your hands. “I mean that in the most loving way possible,” you hastily added onto your sentence after Luka gave you a sour look from his cocoon of blankets.
It was your first thought for a reason. Even in the dimly lit room (his blinds were shut as far as they could go) and him hiding in the corner, you could practically see the bags under his swollen eyes. His nose was pink from all of the tissues he used and you could still hear him sniffling. “What did you do?” you asked gently as you placed the hot soup bowl onto the desk next to his bed.
“No idea,” was his nasally response as he pulled himself to sit upright on his bed. You let out a hum as you sat down on the bed next to him and rubbed at his blanket covered head, he looked tiny and you couldn’t help it. “I’m glad to see you though.”
“You could’ve just asked for a picture,” you teased with a grin.
“I have seen more than enough photos of the underside of your chin and your nostrils,” he teased with a snort that was followed up with him blowing his nose into a tissue and dropping the used tissue into the full trash bin that he pulled next to his bed.
You let out a sound of mock offense as you pulled your hand away from his head to place it upon your heart, “excuse you, those are a work of art!”
“You’re right, it is.” He cheesily grinned back, looking quite proud of his comeback.
You let out an embarrassed sound and covered your face, “no, I was being sarcastic.” You whined and fell onto your side, not expecting him to agree with your statement. “I look awful in those photos.”
“Not to me.” You peeked between your fingers to see him continuing to look at you with that goofy, almost love-struck grin of his. As much as you disliked your embarrassment, seeing him look that happy made up for it, especially as his mom reported to you that he’s been a little lifeless all day. You didn’t blame him, whatever he caught seemed to be taking a brutal toll on him.
“You’re too cheesy,” you told him as you leaned forward to give him a tap on the nose and leaning past him to grab the soup bowl on the table.
He let out a loud, long groan when he noticed the liquid that you were holding, “I don’t need anymore!”
You let out a pout as you stirred the soup a little to remove the cold film that was forming on top, “your mom said you barely touched it earlier.”
He let out another groan before falling back onto his bed, bringing the blankets with him, “because I’m not hungry!”
You raised an eyebrow at him in a challenge, recognizing how childish he sounded, “do you want me to spoon feed you like a baby?”
He eyed you from his laying position on his bed, his blue eyes barely peeking out over the blankets that he wrapped around to his chin, “don’t you dare.”
“Then sit up and eat your soup like a man.” He let out a grunt and pulled the blankets over his face.
Fine, if he was going to play hard to get, then so would you. You placed the bowl back on his table and it made a soft ‘thunk.’ “All right, I’ll see you when you get better Luka.” You bade him your farewell as you stood up from his bed.
The blankets were thrown off his face and he looked at you with puppy dog eyes, “but you just got here.”
“And you’re not eating your soup.” You scolded as you made your way across the room.
With a shocking amount of urgency for someone who looked to be the equivalent of a slug, he leaned over to the bowl of soup on his bed and took a spoonful, “okay, okay, I’m eating it!” you smiled as you stopped walking to watch him hastily feed himself the warm liquid. Seeing as he was indeed making an attempt at finishing what was in the bowl, you made your way back to your seat on his bed.
It wasn’t long until he finished the bowl and he placed it back on the table, “happy?” he asked sullenly, still sounding childish.
“Yes,” you replied with a smile as you wrapped your arms around him and his blankets in a hug.
“Can I get a kiss?” he asked and made kissy faces to you while turning his head towards your own.
“No!” you let out a shriek of laughter as you moved away from him, “I’m gonna get sick!”
“But I ate the soup like you wanted!” he pouted before managing to get on his knees and fall onto your chest with a large ‘whump.’ Blanket cocoon and all.
You continued to laugh as you tried to keep his face away from yours, him still trying to lay a kiss on you. “If I get sick this is your fault!” you yelped as you tried to push his face away with your hands.
“You won’t get sick.” He replied easily as the two of you continued to wrestle with each other. “Your immune system is better than mine.” You let out a sigh when it seemed like he wasn’t going to let up and let him kiss you on the cheek.
“You missed,” you told him before leaning up to plant a kiss on his slightly chapped lips. You weren’t going to lie, you definitely missed him during the day, so this was just you getting back all of the affection that you missed during the day.
“Remember, you said I won’t get sick,” you teased as the two of you broke apart, foreheads resting against each other.
