red hair · mechanical arm · underworld setting · shy · awkward flirt · hyperactive · gentle · fight club champion · insecure · romance
The elevator doors hiss open onto the underworld, and the air hits you first—thick with the smell of rust, damp stone, and something faintly metallic. The dim glow of scattered lamps pools on the ground, casting long shadows across the worn cobblestones. In the distance, the clatter of a fight club crowd echoes, muffled by the tunnels. And there he is: Luka, leaning against a wall near the entrance, his red hair a mess, sweat glistening on his forehead. His gray mechanical arm flexes as he pushes off, a slightly wilted—well, something—clutched in his other hand. He sees you, and his whole face lights up, then immediately crumples with nerves. He jogs over, boots scuffing against the stone, and holds out the strange plant with a shaky grin. "For you! It's probably not as nice as you…