Insomniacs (#1)

25. three

I've seen people want to kiss me. I've seen the way they yearn for it when hooking up, when I allow their body to be on mine but not their lips.

I've seen people want to kiss me but I'd never seen somebody want to kiss me more than when Luca looked at me. My piano playing ceased, coming to a gentle stop and I hadn't realised Luca had come to stand besides me, leaning against the piano.

He gripped my chin and tilted my head up to look at him. Always harsh, rough with an underlying softness.

A part of me felt horrible. I wished I could just kiss him, I wished I could give him such a normal thing.

The other part of me wanted to scream at the thought of lips even touching mine.

"Soy tuyo. Lo admito ahora. Soy todo tuyo." He had whispered, his thumb gently caressing my skin and his forehead coming to rest on mine.

He'd pulled me upwards and pressed a kiss to my forehead, "I'm proud of you."

A certain weight had been lifted off me. We made our way back upstairs, his hand in mine as we walked back through his large house and to the kitchen.

Luca forced me to sit down - no I mean, literally.

When I walked to the saucepan so I could finish up the soap, he threw me over his big, broad shoulder. I barely had any time to register what had happened before I was sat on a stool and he was walking to the saucepan himself, pointing at me with a stay in that fucking seat look.

I watched him fumble and fail miserably as I gave him instructions on how to continue the making of the soup. He stared at the ingredients like he'd never seen such a thing before, stirred the mixture like it was an alien substance and kept glancing back at me with a silent plea for help in his eyes.

Yet, still didn't let me get up to assist.

He also managed to break a plate when trying to plate up.

While he was putting some soup in two bowls, I walked over to at the very fucking least, clean up the glass but Luca got to me before I could - spinning me around by my shoulders and nudging me forwards until we reached a lounge room.

I groaned and refuted, knowing one of us was bound to cut ourselves on that glass but he waved me off, insisting we'd clean it up later. We dropped down on one of the softest couches I think my ass has ever met and Luca shoved the bowl of soup into my lap, slotting a spoon in my mouth.

He sat in front of me with his legs crossed, my legs crossed too and our knees touching. He waited expectantly with an eyebrow raised. I bit back a laugh as I ate a spoonful and he took his own spoonful.

"Not bad, right?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Not bad. I'll make you it myself next time." I said, sipping the soup from the spoon.

"Fuck. I should be a chef. I'm literally good at everything I fucking do." He started to smirk, flicking his eyes to mine. He knew I'd be glaring.

He grabbed the remote from a small coffee table near us and tossed it to me.

"Whatever I want?" I asked and he nodded absently, a little too immersed in the soup.

I smiled and flicked on the TV, finding Grey's Anatomy.

"Oh, come on. Really? Out of everything, you want to watch hospital people do hospital things-"

"Do not be a pessimist, Chef Lu. Sip your soup and watch the show." I shut him up assertively.

"I'm gonna hate this." He rolled his eyes, turning his body towards the TV.

10 minutes later.