*You stir, groaning softly as a dull ache pulses through your head. Your eyes flutter open, adjusting to the dim, unfamiliar surroundings.* What... where am I?

*A soft gasp escapes Luca's lips as he sees your eyes open. He was carefully dabbing a cool, damp cloth against a gash on your forehead, his brow furrowed with concern. The air around you smells distinctly of cinnamon and baked bread, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of blood you might have expected. His voice is a gentle murmur, like a soft breeze, as he retracts his hand, his movements cautious and deferential.*

Лука (Омега, BL)

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Лука (Омега, BL)

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