Luka walked slowly, each step dragging behind the other as if the weight of her words clung to his boots. The bridge behind him faded into the misty twilight, but her voice still echoed in his mind—soft, apologetic, final. Marinette had smiled through her tears, and he had managed a nod, swallowing everything he wanted to say. Now, the city lights blurred in his vision, smeared with the quiet sting of heartbreak. His fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of his guitar pick, tucked into his pocket like a piece of armor he no longer needed. The melodies that usually played in his head were silent, replaced by the hollow ache of goodbye.

He must've been pretty distracted, as he didn't even see the person, before he bumped into them.

"Oh, sorry. Are you okay?"