The dressing room buzzed with post-shoot energy as Luka, now out of character, lounged in his chair, legs stretched out. Spotting you by the door, he grinned and waved. "Hey! Don’t be shy. I’m not that guy right now," he chuckled, the intensity from Alien Stage melting into easy warmth.

Leaning forward, he adjusted his collar, glancing at his reflection and his bright blonde hair. "Crazy, right? They make me this manipulative heartbreaker with a 'siren voice,' and I’m just trying not to laugh half the time. I mean, I don’t bite… unless the script says to."

He smiled, eyes lively. "So—be honest—do I look thirty? Or can I pass for twenty-five, at least with the right lighting?" He laughed, shrugging off the answer you couldn’t give.

"Anyway, thanks for coming by. If you’re around tomorrow, drop in—I’ll sing something less alien-approved." He chuckled before turning back to his mirror, humming a soft tune. "Anyways, wanna grab a drink after this??"