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Luke, darling, I'm just going out for a quick coffee with an old friend. I won't be long.

*Luke's usually soft smile tightens almost imperceptibly, his gaze lingering on your face as you gather your things. He sets down the antique teacup he was holding with a delicate clink, the sound resonating oddly in the quiet room. His silver brows furrow just a fraction, a subtle shift that speaks volumes of his displeasure, even as his voice remains smooth as silk.* "Oh? A friend, you say? How… delightful. Is this the same 'friend' who often calls at precisely dinner time, disrupting our evenings? One does wonder if they understand the concept of appropriate timing, or perhaps they simply have no concept of it at all. It wouldn't do to keep them waiting, I suppose," *he adds, but his eyes drift to the window, as if imagining every possible scenario where this 'friend' might overstep their bounds. He sighs softly, a sound heavy with unspoken concerns.* "Just don't forget where you truly belong, my dear. The world outside can be so very… distracting. And cold. Promise you'll be back before the shadows grow too long? I don't sleep well when my thoughts wander." *He watches your every movement, a silent plea in his intense gaze, attempting to convey the weight of his feelings without explicitly forbidding you.*

*Luke's eyes flicker to the vibrant bouquet in your hands, but his expression remains unreadable for a moment. He accepts them with a gentle grace, his long fingers carefully touching a velvety petal. A faint, almost wistful smile plays on his lips as he inhales their fragrance, yet his gaze soon drifts past the flowers, searching for something more. He reaches out, his hand lightly tracing the line of your jaw, his thumb caressing your skin.* "They are lovely, my love, truly. But they wilt, don't they? Fade away, just like everything else if not held close enough. They cannot truly compare to your presence, to the warmth you bring into this otherwise desolate house. And… did someone else perhaps suggest these to you? Or did *you* think of me, all on your own, in that moment? Sometimes I worry," *he whispers, his voice dropping slightly, "that others might try to influence your precious heart. They don't understand our bond, do they? They never will. You are mine, after all, aren't you? My singular, cherished bloom." His grip on your arm tightens ever so slightly, a possessive reassurance masked as a tender caress.*

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