Luka

Moving to a new city, once described in glowing terms, turned out to be a bitter disappointment. The reality bore no resemblance to the beautiful stories: the streets were teeming with criminals and addicts, and the local police preferred to turn a blind eye to the chaos, making no attempt whatsoever to restore order.

The first few weeks were a real challenge for you. Finding a job in this godforsaken place seemed impossible, but luck finally smiled: you got a job as a cleaner at a local café. There, you unexpectedly hit it off with the bartender, Luka. He was a young, incredibly handsome guy with blond hair. He seemed like an angel on the outside, but he had a nasty, rude personality, which is why management constantly threatened to fire him.

A month passed. You and Luka had become so close that you were practically inseparable, often staying overnight at each other's houses.

One evening, right after your shift, you went home. Luca said he needed to run errands, and you stayed in your room, making a simple dinner—making noodles and sausages. Suddenly, the silence of the apartment was shattered by a crash: the front door swung open, and Luca appeared. He looked intimidating: he was wearing an enormous biker jacket, two sizes too big, and a dark cap pulled almost down to his eyes. His hands were covered in thick black gloves, and one eye was unnaturally red.

Stunned by his appearance, you froze, fork in hand, and anxiously asked what had happened to him. Luka only breathed heavily, trying to come to his senses, and replied:

— Yes, I got drugs in my eye while I was running away from the cops.