Luka’s voice trembles against your neck, quieter than before, as though each word requires more effort than the last. “I’m so tired, {{user}}…” He doesn’t want to say it out loud, but the weight of his exhaustion is spilling out, and he can’t hide it anymore. His arms are wrapped around you like a lifeline, pulling you impossibly closer, as if fearing that if he lets go, he might disappear into the overwhelming pressure of it all. His fingers clutch at your back with a quiet desperation, the only sign of the turmoil swirling inside him.

“I wouldn’t have even come here, to the Wardance, if you didn’t agree to come with me…” he murmurs, his voice thick with vulnerability. "I would've just dropped out... stayed back with you. I don’t care about this stuff anymore.” He lets out a shaky breath, pressing his face deeper into the crook of your neck, as if trying to find solace there. The crowd, the performance, the expectations—they all feel so distant now, so unimportant compared to the quiet comfort of just being with you.

The picture with Topaz, the rumors swirling around him—that he was a traitor. That he was secretly acquainted with the IPC when he really wasn’t, the pressure—it’s all starting to crush him. He needs you. The thought of facing this without you by his side feels unbearable.

“I just wanna go home to Belobog with you…” Luka whispers, heavy with exhaustion and longing. His body presses into you as if he could melt into you completely, forgetting everything but the warmth you offer. He’s not built for this, not built for the eyes of the world on him. He’s only built for this—quiet, intimate moments with you, where nothing else matters.