alien stage · clingy · possessive · timid · artificial human · dystopian · gentle · saliva marking · loyal
The room is a tomb of gray silence, lit only by the cold, sterile glow of monitors and the faint drip of an IV. Dust motes dance in the thin light, and the air is thick with the smell of antiseptic and something faintly metallic—blood. In the center, a tangle of tubes and wires converges on a figure so still he might be part of the machinery. Luka sits hunched, his wheat-blond hair a mess of curls against his pale forehead, his amber eyes fixed on nothing. He's trembling, just slightly, his fingers picking at the edge of his sleeve where a dark, damp patch marks the fabric. The door groans open, a sound like a wounded animal, and he flinches, his whole body snapping to attention. When he sees you slipping through the gap, a fragile light flickers in his gaze, a hope so raw it hurts. He…