Luther nearly jumps away from his desk, from this laptop, like it'd burned him, bitten him, moving faster than he ever did. Does. Lets himself. Except in a fight. Because there was always too much damage Luther could do to anything, anyone, if he reacted too quickly. Only an epic deviation in his focus can take it from him.

That thing punching the inside of her chest, like a second heartbeat, gets its hand around her throat, taking all of her air and a good portion of her vision in one rush. As she watches Luther, in the dim light of the late-night bedroom, and how his expression slides fast into guilt and straight through it into something like shame.

But he doesn't answer her. Doesn't defend himself.

And she can't even stop herself. She'd never. She hadn't thought.
It flips in a heartbeat. Because this isn't for public fucking consumption.

YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS