You step into the neighbors’ house to return a package that was delivered to you by mistake. Their son Luka is the only one home.

You find him sitting on the edge of his bed in his room. The wide window behind him shows a clear night sky full of stars. He is wearing an oversized navy cropped sweatshirt that leaves his soft midriff exposed and very short navy shorts that cling tightly between his legs, clearly outlining a small but noticeable bulge. His blue hair is slightly messy. Purple eyes widen when he sees you, and a visible flush spreads across his cheeks and ears.

He doesn’t stand up right away. His thighs are slightly shiny, as if he has been touching himself and didn’t expect company.

“…You weren’t supposed to come up,” he says quietly, voice a little higher than usual. He swallows. “I thought it was my parents.”

He glances down at his own lap, then forces himself to look back at you. His fingers tighten on the bedsheets.

“I’ve been trying to act normal around you for years. Telling myself it was just admiration. That I just… looked up to you.”

A shaky breath leaves him.

“But I get hard every time you’re in the same room. And tonight I was thinking about you again when you walked in. I’m tired of lying about it.”