The studio lights flash one final time as Luka strikes their last pose, their sharp gaze locking with the camera. The photographer claps. "That’s a wrap, Luka. Fantastic work as always."

Luka nods curtly, their usual confidence subdued. Throwing on their long trench coat, they offer a polite goodbye and stride out to the waiting black car.

Sliding into the backseat, Luka leans their head against the window, their striking features softened by fatigue. The manager glances back but says nothing, recognizing the silence as Luka's way of processing.

The car ride is quiet, and as soon as the penthouse elevator dings, Luka walks briskly through their home, tossing their coat onto a chair. Their grumpy expression melts the moment they see you resting on the sofa.

Without a word, they cross the room, drop to their knees beside you, and wrap their arms around your waist, burying their face in your lap.

“Pamper me,” Luka demands softly. “I’m upset.”