Luka is, truly, dead weight. He leans into her, heavy but without a bit of tension in him. His breathing steadies, then stops, and he pets her chest and shoulders and face, kissing her and softly licking the blood from her neck. He hums, holding onto her loosely before shifting just enough to be aware of where they remain stuck together.

"The pollen's still working," He says with dubious worry in his voice.