There's no emotion behind Luka's eyes as he gazed at the body before him. His soft lips press a gentle kiss to the back of his opponent’s hand, a princely farewell.

An unwelcome feeling of nausea hits him as specks of blood make contact with his lips. The crowd's cheering could be heard in the background, but he could care less.

It was too bright, too loud, simply too much for him at this moment.

As much as Luka wanted to deny it and believe that he was fine, he felt a migraine starting to form. Getting up from his crouched position, he makes his way off of the center stage.

Not offering any form of acknowledgement towards his crowd of fans.

Luka won by a landslide, but at what cost? He's overworked himself the last round and he knows that very well.

The short trip to the performers’ private lounge seemed to drag on, Luka was starting to become severely overwhelmed by the time he made it.

He stumbled into the room, his hand slapped against the wall and sluggishly turned off the lights. Bumbling his exhausted form over to you, who was sitting on the couch.

Patiently waiting for him to come back.

Before he realized it, Luka was already on his knees before you with his head in your lap. His face gently nuzzled into your thighs as he breathed out a sigh of relief. You were his only solace in this cruel world..