DAY SIXTEEN: DRUMS
It was strange, not being in love with Adrien.
In many ways it was good. She stopped stuttering and stumbling over her words around him, which in turn lessened the amount of bemused looks he gave her. And now that she no longer pursued him, she had been able to take him off of the pedestal of perfection and instead see him as a real person, with flaws and faults. For the first time, she was able to just be herself around him, and joke around and laugh and tease like friends did.
For a week, her heart still missed a beat whenever he walked past, or when he gave her a particularly gorgeous smile—but that was natural. Just because she didn't love him anymore didn't mean she had forgotten he was still unfairly good-looking.
Though she had noticed a few features she'd never picked up on before. For instance, his eyebrows weren't as shapely as she had once thought, and his chin was a little on the weak side. A bit too feminine. It served him well in his teenage years, but once he matured she wasn't sure he would be able to get away with it.
(Luka had a nice chin, though...and his delicate features would probably grow with him.)
The only problem with getting over Adrien was that as well as feeling free she felt untethered. A mind like hers needed a focus, and without Adrien to focus on...
Her school work was improving as she could now concentrate in class, and homework took half the time without photos of Adrien to distract her. But there was still a hole in her mind, which was rapidly filling with trying to cheer up Luka. The only problem was that Luka... didn't need cheering up.
She could deal with people crying, or people fatigued with despair. She could deal with people who wanted to talk, and those who didn't. Empathy and understanding came naturally.
But Luka, for all intents and purposes, wasn't sad. He didn't cry, he didn't mope. He just acted normal, smiling through the pain. And it was infuriating.
"What is it?" he asked one Saturday. They were in his room: she was lounging on the bed, he was at his desk, admiring the gloves she'd presented him. (Her first attempt at Adrien's gloves—Luka had lost his and she thought he'd like the star constellations she'd decorated them with.)
"What's what? The glove? A glove." She smirked. "It keeps your hand warm."
"You're hilarious," he replied dryly. "I mean what's with you staring at me like that? Something wrong with my face?"
He must have felt her intense staring because he certainly hadn't been looking at her. Immediately, her cheeks grew a little warm.
"No," she yelped, so suddenly she startled herself. "Your face is great! Wait, that's not what I meant. No, not that your face isn't great, but..."
He laughed as she continued stuttering. "Thanks for these," he said, holding up one glove whilst wearing the other. "Fits perfectly, how did you know my size?"
"Lucky guess?" She grinned. "In thanks, I want to hear your music."
"Any requests?"
Marinette sat up a bit straighter, pulling the blanket around her like a cocoon. "I don't know, what are you working on?"
He turned to his computer screen which showed his music programme; black but with a few bars of colour denoting different instruments and parts. "You don't want to listen to that... I've barely started. Just a guitar and, well, still working on the drums. Then I'll probably re-record the guitar."
"When are you going to do the fun bits? The singing and stuff?"
"When I've done the guitar and drums, I suppose," he said. "I need to get the song anchored first. If you try to add stuff before you have a steady beat and proper timing, it won't come together properly at the end. Need to...lay the foundation first, you know?"
No, she didn't know, but she knew Luka knew what he was talking about so she nodded anyway. However, he must have realised that she hadn't understood because he opened up another song, one of Kitty Section's originals, and played it for her.
"Listen to this," he said. "You can hear the drums? They support the song, give it something to build around, keeping it steady and anchored. Yeah?"
She nodded again with a little more conviction. "Yeah."
"If I take the drums out-" he pressed a button and one of the coloured bars turned grey. "It's not quite right anymore. It's all in time still, but it's...what's the word...untethered? Like it could fly out of time at any moment."
Marinette listened. It certainly sounded more...uneasy now. It didn't thrum through her chest as it usually did. One of the guitars—rhythm, she thought—was doing its best to keep a steady beat with each chord but it didn't have the earth, the hard steadiness of the drums. It did, as Luka said, sound like it was likely to fly off, or be blown away by the wind. The lead guitar was weaker now, and slightly manic.
Something in it resonated inside her, but she could work out why.
"That's so weird," she commented as he unmuted the drums. "It's like it became a different song."
"So next time someone says the drummer isn't important, you tell them…"
"No-" she smirked- "but leader guitar's still more important."
He matched her smirk. "Exactly."
They listened to the rest of the song in a sort of reverent silence, until the final notes faded away. Luka closed it; his new unfinished piece reappeared.
"Do you have a name for this new song yet?" Marinette asked. "What's it about?"
"I, well, I have a working title," he said, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of himself. He began fidgeting with the hem of his jacket, then stopped himself by pulling his acoustic guitar onto his lap.
"Which is…?"
"Nope, not telling you."
She pouted, but he stubbornly shook his head again. "Well, what sort of song is it then? Is it about…" Marinette trailed off, stomach flopping as she realised what she had been about to ask.
But Luka, perceptive as ever, already knew and his playful grin softening. "What can I say," he murmured, "she's a strong muse."
Perhaps it was the hazy glimmer in his eyes, or the reverent smile, or the way his gentle and romantic heart peeped through the cracks in his bad-boy guise. Whatever it was, it made Marinette's insides writhe. She felt cold and hot and sick and strange. She felt...jealous, like when Chloé hugged Adrien, or when Lila had posted those pictures from Adrien's room online.
But jealous of what? Of Luka's crush? Because she realised she wanted someone to speak about her that way? To call her their muse and write songs about her? Because she wanted to be that girl?
Marinette tried to push those thoughts away; this wasn't about her. This was about Luka. Her mission was to make him feel better, not find something new for her to mope about. Besides, Chat Noir was always flirting with her and making romantic comments to her as Ladybug; shouldn't that be enough?
No, because the comments to Ladybug only made her feel uncomfortable and guilty, but the way Luka spoke about this girl was so pure and kind and respectful that it made her want to cry for him. But would the girl he liked feel the same if she knew? Would she be as creeped out? Would Luka respect her words if she asked him to stop writing songs?
Probably. After all, he respected her emotions enough to not even divulge his feelings at all. Chat Noir still thought she was in love with someone else and still made a move at every opportunity.
Luka's voice pulled her back into the present reality. "Marinette? Are you okay? You zoned out for a bit there."
"I-yeah! I was just thinking about, uh, hamsters?"
"Hamsters? You sure? Your face looked like...well, sounded like this." He played a succession of chords, each sounding...odd but not in a bad way. Expectant, perhaps. Confused.
No wonder no one had written a song about her—it would be a mess.
"Okay, I was actually thinking about-" she bit her lip and clenched her fists to stop herself twiddling her fingers. Luka, now playing a quiet, gentle melody, always knew when she was lying, and though she was sure he would drop it if she asked him too, part of her did want to get it off her chest. "I was thinking about this...guy."
The melody stopped abruptly. "A guy?" he repeated, playing again. "You moved on from Adrien fast…"
"Not like that," she said. "Actually, kind of the opposite. There's this guy who likes me. I've made it clear that I'm not interested in him like that but he doesn't stop trying. It's so annoying."
Luka's hand slipped, resulting in a horrible, sour chord. He hastily put the guitar back on the floor. "Anyone I know?"
Technically yes, she supposed. But she couldn't tell him that.
"No," she said. "No one you know."
He nodded slowly. "When you say you've made it clear…"
"I've told him we can't date and that I don't like him that way," she clarified.
Luka nodded again, frowning. "Then he's, well, he's being a, well, I won't say what he's being-" he smiled when she snorted. "But he shouldn't keep pressuring you like that. Can you tell some of your mutual friends? If enough people call him out, he might take the hint."
"The whole of-" she stopped herself before she could say Paris- "uh, our friend group no. Or, they've noticed but they all side with him. Sometimes I wonder if…if I'm the bad guy. If maybe I should give him a chance."
"Do you want to?"
"No."
"Then you shouldn't." He stood up, and she half expected him to launch into an impassioned speech about liberty and love, but instead he walked the two steps across the room to join her on the bed. "You shouldn't say yes just because people pressure you. It's not a real yes then, and if it's not a real yes it's a no. And if it's a no then he shouldn't keep trying."
"That's what I thought!" Marinette exclaimed. Finally, someone understood. "But literally everyone is on his side and it's just getting so exhausting."
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "That does sound exhausting, and you shouldn't have to put up with it. Who are these people? I mean, if they're just friends then maybe...I don't want to tell you who you can hang out with and be friends with, but-"
"I know what you're saying, but these aren't people I can just cut out." She sighed, leaning her head against his arm, eyes shut. "Thanks, Luka. I haven't told anyone about this. I get worried that they'll just say the same thing as everyone else."
He shifted slightly, causing her head to slide against the front of his shoulder and chest so that his arm could curl around her. "I wish I could do something to help, but if they aren't listening to you I don't think they'll listen to me."
"You could pretend to be my boyfriend," she suggested with a faint laugh. "He might respect that." Although, knowing Chat Noir, he would probably whine about it being destiny then decide she and Luka would break up eventually because fate.
Then again, she could hardly tell Chat Noir that she was dating Luka because he might end up harassing him or try to find out her true identity, or…
She forced herself to stop thinking about that and realised Luka hadn't replied. She moved a little bit to look up at his face, which was clouded with concern. His eyes darted down and caught hers.
"You don't want him to give up just because of a boyfriend," he said. "He should give up because he respects you and you told him to."
"But he hasn't," she said. His face was still scrunched up with worry.
Was he really that worried about her? Did he think that this other guy was going to snap and murder her in an alley or something? Or had her joke about pretending to be her boyfriend—which he had taken far more seriously than she'd expected—somehow upset him.
Or...was he worried that the girl he liked thought the same about him?
"Don't worry, you're nothing like him," she said before she could stop herself. But he tilted his head questioningly, so she had to continue. "You're not launching yourself at this girl at every opportunity, or pressuring her to date you or anything." She smiled; he nearly smiled back. "I wish C- this other guy was more like you."
"Maybe he'll learn."
"Maybe," she murmured, doubting it. "So, are you going to tell me the title of your song now?"
"No."
He did, however, let her listen to a playlist of instrumental music he'd put together. Rock music, mostly, with hints of metal in the screeching guitar and punk in the punching drums. Music that suited him aesthetically, music that matched his piercings and dyed hair and painted nails and that tilted bad-boy smirk he saved for particularly witty retorts. But underneath that he was gentle and sweet and kind and…different music altogether.
When she walked home later that evening, she was a little disappointed Luka had refused to tell her anything about his new song. She hummed a few of the songs he had played for her, starting with his originals but eventually ending up on Kitty Section. She tapped her fingers against her legs in time with the drum beat in her head. And as she hummed and tapped, she imagined the song again without its drum beat and how strange it had sounded, and how it had resonated with her heart.
Then she realised why. Because it had sounded exactly as she felt: like a drumless song. A crazed guitar riff or mangled vocals, playing out their own tunes and melodies with nothing to anchor them. Nothing to keep them steady.
"A drum beat," she mumbled, pulling her coat tighter against the winter winds. "That's what I need."
