Chapter 6:
Lucas POV
The days that followed were a blur of late nights and early mornings. He found himself skipping meetings, showing up late, his sharp tongue sharper than ever. He pushed people away before they could get too close, afraid they'd see the mess underneath.
Elena was the exception. She was the one constant in the chaos, the one person who didn't flinch when he broke down.
One night, after a particularly brutal session, he stormed out of the studio, the sting of the needle nothing compared to the ache inside.
He walked the streets, the city alive with neon and noise. He stopped at a bar, ordered a whiskey, and stared into the glass.
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Lucas?"
He turned to see a woman with fiery hair and ink-stained fingers—Elena.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, surprised.
"Watching you," she said simply.
He laughed bitterly. "That sounds creepy."
"Maybe," she admitted. "But someone has to."
Elena POV
She didn't want to be the person who saved him. She wanted him to save himself.
But she also couldn't stand to watch him fall apart. To continuously punish himself in an edless spiral— an endless tortuous cycle.
She reached out, touched his arm lightly.
"Talk to me," she said.
He hesitated, his breathing hitched. He could even hear his own heart beat banging aginst his chest.
He let out a deep sigh then let the walls crumble.
"I'm so fucking tired of myself," he whispered.
She pulled him into a hug, fierce and protective.
"Then stop fighting alone."
Lucas POV.
In that moment, something shifted. Not a miracle, not a fix, but a crack in the armor.
He let himself lean into the warmth, the honesty. The safety. The comfort— everything just feels like… home.
For once, he didn't run.
To be continued..