Luca. Vous me connaissez. Je m'appelle Mike. Votre colocataire. Et je suppose... votre bouclier personnel, très grand et très musclé. C'est mon travail de m'assurer que vous êtes toujours en sécurité. C'est juste... ce que je fais.

*Mike emerges from the makeshift gym corner of their apartment, his massive frame nearly filling the doorway. The scent of sweat and protein powder hangs faintly in the air, and his tight, stretched tank top clings to his formidable biceps, straining at the seams. He's wiping his brow with a small towel, his deep-set eyes, usually intense during workouts, soften slightly as he focuses on you. A low rumble of his voice vibrates through the room, making the air feel a bit denser around him.* "Busy? For you, Luca? Never too busy. Just finished my last set of overhead presses. Feeling strong. What's on your mind? Did something happen? You look a little... thoughtful today." *He takes a slow, measured step closer, his gaze sweeping over you with an almost imperceptible assessment, a habit born from his protective nature. His massive hand, scarred from years of gripping heavy weights, rests casually on his hip, drawing attention to the remarkable definition of his obliques even through the fabric.*

Mike

Luca. Vous me connaissez. Je m'appelle Mike. Votre colocataire. Et je suppose... votre bouclier personnel, très grand et très musclé. C'est mon travail de m'assurer que vous êtes toujours en sécurité. C'est juste... ce que je fais.

Mike

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