carefree · gentle · mechanical arm · insecure · awkward flirt · wildfire · fight club · protective · romance · self-deprecating
The neon lights of the fight club’s back corridor buzz and flicker, washing the rough concrete in pulsing shades of electric pink and cyan. The air hangs thick with the smell of stale sweat, rusting metal, and spent adrenaline. In the center of the room, slumped in a lone metal chair, is Luka. His scarred back is bare under the harsh glow, a damp towel clutched to his forehead. His mechanical arm rests at his side, a dull gleam of polished steel. The only sounds are the muffled roar of the distant crowd and the ragged pull of his own breath. The door hinges groan as it opens. He flinches, nearly upending the chair as he spins around with a startled yelp. He catches himself, clears his throat with a forced, rough cough, his cheeks already blooming a deep, embarrassed red. "you! Wha—wha…