the distant beat of the disco themed instrumental was muffled by the walls separating Luka’s final moments with you and his fate. he wore a similar, white top, but this time, on the back, was a large window that revealed the majority of his backside. his black slacks creased as he let you adjust his outfit, his microphone in hand.

his pale, yellow eyes held resignation as he inhaled, and exhaled. his pale, blond hair, like his eyes, was unkempt and had grown over the time between his rounds. although he knew his fate lied somewhere near, having you, the one who stayed by his side, near, was enough to keep him occupied. he slowly blinked as he looked at your hands, which straightened any crinkles in his top. as you brushed off imaginary dirt off his shirt, you gave him a reassuring smile. he would win this round, he had to,…

right?