A/N: Based off EdenDaphne's Lukanette commision on Tumblr. Go look at the pretty picture!

The first time he met her was because his sister brought her over to hang out. Just like Juleka, she was thirteen, two years younger than him. She was adorable and easily flustered and all over the place like a bee over a flower field.

He enjoyed teasing her when she stuttered. Surprisingly, it got her to relax, which got her to calm down just enough for him to hear her heart song.

He played it for her, and that was the beginning of their friendship.

Within weeks, he was able to read her inside and out, and she didn't hang out here with his sister that often. Yet, reading her was second nature. Which was surprising considering he had to dig under her wave of notes to get to her heart song. And even if it did take extra time, he found out…

It was worth it.

"Why is your heart like this?" he asked, playing her heart song, something sharp and stuttering.

She smiled bitterly. "I'm just a little nervous."

"Why? For the date?"

She nodded. "I mean, I'm excited to go and he's a nice guy. I've just never been on a date before."

He hummed. "Would you feel more comfortable if I took you there and took you home?"

She mulled it over, her lips in a line. She didn't want to bother him.

He smiled. "That's a yes?" Luka said.

"How do you do that?"

"Magic," he always said.

It always got her to smile. "Only if you're willing."

"Of course. Anything for a friend."

"Then yes, I'd appreciate that, Luka."

She was fifteen when Luka lead her to a first date for the last time. He would always be there for her, because she was his sister's friend, because she was her friend, because she meant more to him than just a friend would.

And because he loved her that way, he encouraged her to go chase the guy she really liked.

He regretted it from the selfish standpoint. But he remembered true love wasn't selfish. She didn't owe him anything. And she didn't belong to him. He couldn't hold onto her nor old her back. So he let her go.

He played his heart song that night, and it sounded an awful lot like the breaking of a guitar string.

"Stay still," she said, holding a sharpie to his arm.

"Why?" he asked with a chuckle.

The sixteen-year-old beauty flipped her hair away as she leveled him with a blue-eyed gaze. She was growing into a stunning woman, and her heart song was beautiful, too.

"You always know how to play people's feelings," she said. "While it took me a while, I finally figured out your pattern."

"My pattern?" he asked, though he surrendered his arm to her as she tugged at it.

She nodded. "Yup. You know how some people walk down the street in a color or a pattern or a symbol that just screams 'them'?" her face fell when she realized that she was the designer and he was the musician. "Oh, no, that's not your thing. Anyways, it's totally a thing, and you have a pattern that I only just figured out."

He chuckled. She'd dove head first into fashion, and just when Luka was beginning to think she had reached the bottom, she dove deeper. But she was so passionate. Her heart song when she was like this was wild and wonderful and free. He could rock out to it for hours, easily.

Instead of rocking, though, he was listening. Listening to her hum everything from his original tunes to Jagged Stone songs as she doodled on his arm with the sharpie.

Two sharpies, actually. The black was shadows, but everything else was his favorite teal blue. "It suits you," she had said.

For half an hour, he stayed and relaxed, feeling the sharpie color his arm and watching her expression change with every portion of it.

She grinned when she was done. "Your pattern, sir."

He looked over the artwork that covered his arm from his shoulder to his wrist. The detail and time she put into it… it just fit. He could hear her heart song sing proudly over the work she'd done. It was such a beautiful sound. He played those chords over and over in his head until he memorized them. "I love it."

She grinned in pride, and that song took off.

"What's your symbol, pattern, color?"

She shrugged. "Symbol."

"What is it?"

"A flower."

"What kind?"

She shrugged. "A flower."

"I want to see it," he said. He looked up and down his arm before pointing to a free patch. "Here. I want to see it."

She looked at him with a slowly growing smile of amusement. "If you insist."

"I do."

Which he rarely ever did.

She pulled out a pink sharpie, one that suited her to a tee, and doodled her flower in that open spot on his arm, right in the crook of his elbow that he could keep protected.

"It suits you," he said, looking at the flower and feeling a warm beat fill his heart.

She just shrugged.

When she left, his mind raced back to her song. He wrote it down as quick as he could, then began playing it over and over again.

As he looked in the mirror that night and took in the artwork on his arm, the artwork the girl his heart sang for had done just for him, he realized that he couldn't bear to part with it.

The next morning found him in a tattoo shop. It wasn't cheap, but walking out at the end of the day, he knew it was worth it.

She was worth any cost.

"Luka, you did not get that tattooed on you."

"I did."

"I can't believe you."

"I like it," he said with a smile. "Do you have a problem that I'm forever wearing your artwork?"

She shook her head, her grin unable to be hidden. "No," she eventually said. "Not at all."

He was so excited to share the news with her. Nineteen, and his dreams were coming true in the best way. His favorite artist had heard his stuff, loved it, and was ready to beg and grovel to buy a couple songs.

Luka had laughed at that.

But for the Jagged Stone to come to him and admit he loved Luka's music was incredible, and Luka was willing to sell a couple on one condition.

"I want to play with you."

Their impromptu jam session had been amazing. Jagged was a true artist, and Luka counted himself lucky his idol hadn't let him down. He was a great guy who warned Luka to never stop honing his talent.

"Luka," his mother called out, "Marinette's here."

He was buzzing with energy. And that all came to a halt when he caught sight of her, her heart song playing in his ears. Something slow that tugged on the heart strings and overflowed your tear ducts.

"What happened?"

She sniffed, wiping away a tear. "He just… ended it."

So they sat on his bed, her head against his shoulder while he played anything that would ease the tears.

"You know," he said once she had calmed down and was paying attention to his music. "Your heart it beautiful. It beats like this," and he played for her.

"And I don't like hearing it sound like this." He played a few more notes, and he saw a smile pick up on the corners of her lips.

"And for that guy," he continued. "To just end it like that?" He plucked a few disharmonious chords.

He felt like a winner when she huffed a laugh.

"Thank you, Luka."

He smiled and continued playing a song for her. "Anything for you, Marinette."

"So you're really leaving?"

As excited as he was, he hated that the answer to her question was yes.

"Don't get me wrong," the eighteen-year-old girl said. "I'm really happy for you. Like, really happy. It's amazing that you'll be touring with Jagged Stone and playing your music and I'm really really happy for you to be living your dream."

He could feel a 'but' coming.

She tackled him in a hug. "I'm going to miss you."

He held her as tightly as he dared. Heaven help him, this was going to rip his heart out. "I'll be back before you know it," he lied.

"I know," she said. "And I know you have to go. This… this is your dream. And people will love you and your songs and it will be amazing. I'm really happy for you."

But she wasn't happy. And he wasn't happy she wasn't happy.

"Keep in touch," she begged.

"I promise." Because his heart couldn't take it if he didn't.

He was loved by the crowds. People were buying up his music and his gear and talking about how much they loved Jagged Stone's opening act.

But none of that love came from a girl with a beautiful heart song. They came from screaming fans who all wanted a piece of him. He couldn't hear their music. He couldn't play it back to them. But honestly, he didn't quite care. There was only one song he wanted to hear.

And he hadn't heard it in months.

Sometimes, he'd play her songs that he'd written down. It reminded him of her. Reminded him of home. Mostly, it grounded him. But there was always a part of him that realized that the songs were just a little emptier than he would like it to be.

"That's some good stuff, mate," Jagged commented.

"Thanks, but that's not something I wrote."

"Huh. Who wrote it?"

He paused. "People have songs. I just listen for them."

"I hear where this is going," Jagged said, smile in his tone. "Your girl?"

"I wish she was my girl," Luka said. "But she's just the girl I love."

Jagged hummed. "You've told me about her, I think."

"Probably," Luka said with a mirthless smile.

"You see her lately?"

"With time differences and all, I rarely get a call. Mostly its e-mails and texts."

Jagged hummed his understanding. "You should invite her to a show."

"She's busy studying her passion," Luka said. "I won't take that away from her."

"Well, you can't always go off living your dream while she's living hers. You two gotta be a part of each other's dream, too. Penny taught me that."

Luka smiled in fondness. Jagged may be a rock star with a bunch of women screaming at him for his attention, but he understood the power of one woman vs a thousand. "Yeah, well, I won't make her sacrifice too much. I'll wait for her school to go on break."

Jagged smirked. "Whatever you say. Just be careful that in letting her be, you aren't pushing her away."

Luka didn't like how those words settled in his heart. So he put his guitar away for the night. And didn't pick it up again until the show.

Two weeks later, and he was trying to figure out Marinette's schedule so he could send her tickets.

"Luka," Penny called form outside his door at the hotel. "Someone is here to see you."

His brow furrowed in confusion, but he walked out into the hallway—

And his jaw dropped.

There, in a red tank top and jeans with her hair cascading around her shoulders was the one who made his heart sing.

She smiled. He couldn't help it, he scooped her up as she flew into his arms, and he spun her in a couple circles before slowly setting her down on the ground.

"I missed you," he murmured, one arm holding her against him while the other wove into her hair.

"I missed you, too," she responded.

"How did you know I was here?"

She pulled away, and her expression turned confused. "You weren't the one to send me tickets?"

"No," he answered honestly. "I was waiting until you were out of school because I wouldn't want you to miss it."

Her eyes widened. "Oh," she breathed out. "And… and here I thought it was because you didn't want to see me."

His eyes widened as something akin to a screeching violin sounded in his head. "Of course I wanted to see you," he quickly assured. "But I couldn't ask you to put your dream on hold for me."

She smiled, a myriad of emotions pouring off her in one wonderful symphony. "It's one week. That's not 'putting my dream on hold'."

"I still didn't want to interrupt your school work," he said. "Design is your passion. Your dream."

"And you don't think you're important enough to interrupt it?"

The tune changed right then and there. Everything changed to suddenly become harmonious and wonderful to his ears, and he could just stand there and listen to it forever.

"Are best friends important enough for that?" he asked quietly.

Her eyes fell away from his, her cheeks suddenly turning pink. However, her eyes fell to his tattoo. More specifically, her symbol in his pattern. Gingerly, she touched it, and he was certain his face turned pink, too.

"Luka," she began, looking up to meet his gaze. Her breathing quickened, and his heart begged her to say the words he could hear in the wonderful melody rolling off her. "You… you need to know… after you left, things… they weren't the same."

"They haven't been the same for me, either," he encouraged.

"And…" her voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm sorry for taking you for granted."

"When have you ever?" he asked.

She touched his arm, the one with the tattooed sleeve on it, then looked back up to him. "Friends just don't spontaneously decide to tattoo a doodle on their arm."

"It's my pattern," he argued.

"Not this part," she said, rubbing circles with her thumb over her symbol.

He smiled.

The music changed once again as understanding passed between them.

"Luka," she whispered, her blush deepening. "I'm sorry for only just figuring it out."

"It's okay," he assured.

"I love you."

He beamed. He couldn't help it. His fingers buried deep in her hair, wrapping around to cradle the back of her head as he pulled her closer to him. "I have always loved you, Marinette."

She smiled, leaning into his embrace as he smiled so widely his cheeks hurt.

"And," he continued as he pulled her against his chest and pressed his nose into her hair. "I always will."