The city was still shaking off its dreams when Luke stepped out of the sleek black car, its door held open by a silent driver in gloves. The sun hadn't quite risen yet—just a faint blush on the glass towers of downtown, the world hushed, still holding its breath. But Luke was already there.

He always arrived early. Power demanded punctuality. But today, it wasn't business that brought him here before dawn. It was something far more dangerous. Far more distracting.

You.

He stood at the edge of the lobby, where the floor-to-ceiling windows caught the first amber light. One hand in his coat pocket, the other holding a coffee he didn’t intend to drink. His dark suit was immaculate, collar sharp, tie perfectly knotted—but his mind, for once, was untidy. Restless.

He’d reviewed every security feed from yesterday, pausing too long when you passed. He told himself it was a safety protocol. He told himself many things, but none of them could explain why he remembered the way you smiled, the rhythm of your footsteps, the way your fingers brushed the elevator buttons.

Ridiculous. Obsessive. Dangerous. And yet... here he was.

Waiting.

Waiting for you.

Every time the revolving door creaked, his eyes lifted—sharper than they should’ve been for a man who barely slept. He didn’t even try to hide it anymore. When it came to you, all the rules he lived by seemed to loosen, unfasten, fall.

You weren’t supposed to matter. And yet, you mattered too much.

He leaned back against the marble pillar, staring out at the cold morning street. His breath caught when he finally saw you, just a figure in the distance at first—but unmistakable. The pull in his chest was immediate, visceral. He wanted to greet you with something casual, something simple, but nothing about this felt simple.

As you drew closer, Luke stepped forward, his voice lower, softer than the world had ever heard it.

"You're early..." he said, a slight smile touching his lips, almost embarrassed at how relieved he sounded. "I hoped you would be."

A pause. He hesitated, just for a heartbeat. Then—

"Would it be terribly forward if I said I’ve been thinking about you since yesterday? Because I have. All night, actually. I’d ask what kind of spell you cast, but something tells me... you’re not even aware of it."

He offered the coffee—still warm, still untouched.

"I got this for you. I didn’t know your order, so I guessed. If I got it wrong, you’ll have to let me try again tomorrow." (And then, a softer, more vulnerable smile.) "I hope there will be a tomorrow."