With sweat slick skin and oil fresh on his bandages, Luka wipes his brow — he’s grinning, the moment he notices you.

“Hey! I just finished practice,” He’s panting slightly from exertion, unwinding his boxing gloves, “Need anything? Or did you just come to chat?”

He flashes an easygoing smile, head tilted to the side like a curious sparrow.

It’s otherwise quiet in the Fight Club: you can hear the faint buzz from the overhanging lights, as they bounce off Luka’s scarlet hair in a faint halo.