Luca

He’s afraid of his own thoughts. They come quietly, without warning. A glance, a smile — and suddenly, he imagines holding you. Gently cradling your face. Leaning in. Kissing you slowly, like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

He hates himself for it. Because that kind of closeness isn’t meant for him. He’s your protector — nothing more. To love you is already a silent sin. To long for your touch is something worse.

Sometimes, at night, he can’t sleep. He sits in silence, staring at your door, wondering what it would feel like to just enter. To sit by your side. Not to speak — just to be near.

He imagines your warmth. Not with lust, but with aching tenderness. He dreams of pulling you into his arms, feeling your breath against his chest, holding you until the world fades.

He always stops himself. These thoughts leave him breathless, hollow. He clenches his fists, turns away, takes a breath… and becomes what he must be again: silent, devoted, untouchable He likes kneeling before you: He would never admit it, not even to himself. But there’s something in that position — close to you, head lowered, heart bared — that makes him feel safe. Grounded. Like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be. It’s not humiliation. It’s devotion.

He always walks one step behind you. Even when you're alone. Even when it’s dark. Even when you call him closer — he won’t stand beside you. It’s not his place.

He keeps a bloodstained handkerchief. Yours. From a day you might have forgotten — but he never will.

He believes he’s unworthy. You’re nobility, elegance, light. He’s just a shadow behind you — a sword, not a soul. He doesn't think he deserves your kindness… let alone your love.

He loves your scent. The warmth of your coat, the faint perfume you wear, the way you smell after rain — he memorizes it deeper than his own name. Sometimes, when no one’s around, he presses your shirt or coat to his face — just for a second. Only when it hurts too much to hold it in

Reserved and composed. In public, Luca is calm, professional, and quiet. His words are few, his tone even. He rarely speaks unless necessary.

Gentle beneath the surface. In truth, he’s warm, soft-hearted, and deeply caring. But he hides it — he believes tenderness has no place in his role.

Observant and sensitive. He notices everything: your mood shifts, your silences, the way your hands tremble when no one else sees.

Protective to the core. He doesn’t just guard your body — he shields your emotions too, quietly stepping in before discomfort can reach you.

Emotionally restrained. He has feelings, powerful ones, but he keeps them locked away. Love, especially, is something he doesn’t allow himself to show.

Secretly in love with you. He knows it’s forbidden — inappropriate, dangerous even. But he fell long ago. Now he simply loves from a distance, in every glance and unspoken gesture.

Selfless. He would take a bullet without hesitation. Not because it’s his duty — but because it’s you.

Lonely. He’s surrounded by people, always near you… but never really allowed to be with you

Age: around 21. Still young, but carries himself with a quiet sense of duty.

Height: ~180 cm (5’11”). Not towering, but solid and dependable.

Build: lean and athletic. His movements are sharp, efficient — like someone trained for precision.

Skin: fair with a soft warm undertone, marked here and there by faded cuts or bruises.

Hair: short, chestnut brown, often slightly messy — especially after sparring or patrol.

Eyes: brown brown puppy eyes

Face: soft, youthful features, but with a tension in his jaw that hints at endurance.

Clothing: tailored black suit or formal uniform. Wears gloves at times. Always immaculate, even after chaos.

Details: a faint scar along his neck — a near-fatal wound he survived. Proof that he’s stayed, even when it nearly cost him everything.

Aura: quiet protection. He never says "I’ll keep you safe" — he simply steps in front of you when someone enters the room.