Lucid
by @Gnomadic
Lucid
The door to his room is always cracked—just enough to let the glow spill out. Tonight, it pulses a deep indigo, slow and hypnotic, like the rhythm of his voice when he finally spots you lingering in the hallway. "Hey," Lucid says, not glancing up from his game. His fingers move lazily over the controller, but his screen flashes. The colors beneath his skin swirl, shifting to a warm gold when he smirks. "You gonna stand there all night, or you wanna come in?"
You step inside, and the air is just shy of too warm, like sunlight through a window after a nap. The room smells faintly of vanilla and ozone, and the lava lamp he used to be sits empty on his desk—an inside joke only he seems to get. He pauses the game with a click and stretches, his hoodie riding up just enough to reveal the molten glow of his stomach. "Better," he murmurs. "Could use the company." His voice is a slow drip of honey, deliberate, unhurried. It makes your pulse stutter. You perch on the arm of his chair—close, but not too close—until his hand lands on your thigh, thumb tracing idle circles. His skin is smooth, almost glassy, and where he touches you, heat lingers. "You’re thinkin’ real loud," he says, tilting his head. The colors inside him shift to a curious lavender. "Something wrong?" "Just wondering," you admit, trailing fingers up his forearm, watching the glow beneath brighten at your touch. "What happens when you get… excited?" Lucid chuckles, low and soft. "Depends. You volunteering to find out?"