Ed Notes: I've made some minor edits to the last chapter to smooth out the timeframe a little. Because this chapter turned out to be bigger than I'd expected, there will be another chapter, and possibly a coda. I hope you enjoy it.
Coryphée
A Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction
By Mintaka14
Chapter Four – L'Oiseau Bleu et la Princesse Florine (Variation)
"What are you doing?" Adrien half whispered.
"Trying to work out a way out of this that isn't going to end up costing us all our careers, and land me in jail for the rest of my life," Marinette said distractedly, her eyes flitting around the atelier as she tried to formulate a plan. She was overwhelmed with a sudden longing for Luka's calm presence, and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. There were cameras on the door, monitoring anyone who came and went from Costume Central, she knew that, but were there any watching the costumes themselves?
"But how –"
"Not now," she said tersely, cutting Adrien off. "I'm trying to think."
She had to assume that there were no cameras trained on the rack where the Princess Florine gown hung, otherwise security would already be on their way to arrest Lila for property damage. So all she had to do was get the costume past the cameras at the door without looking like she was carrying anything.
Adrien was staring at her, wide-eyed, but she didn't have time to deal with that. Marinette looked up into the tutus hanging upside down like frilly clouds. Through the rows of bars that they hung from, she focused on the ceiling beyond, and a solution came to her.
A quick glance around and she snatched up a canvas garment bag that was used for transporting some of the less fragile hooped costumes, zipping it around the tutu in its linen casing for extra protection.
She pivoted and ducked into the maze of carved panelling that hid the wardrobes, and the racks full of a rainbow of costumes, catalogued and tagged and waiting to go down to the dressings rooms for the dress rehearsal. The wide smooth wooden counters she wove around were covered in soft leather boots and mounds of tutus, and Marinette dodged through the narrow space between two panelled walls. Adrien followed in bewilderment.
"Marinette, what on earth are you doing?" he asked as she carefully manoeuvered the bag with the Princess Florine costume up the staircase to the narrow gallery above the tutus, wincing with every creak of the old wooden steps.
Up on the gallery, she hooked the bag very gently next to the tutus hanging out over the void above the cloakroom below and looked up.
"That's a false ceiling up there," she said absently, her attention on the panels of the ceiling above them. "Back when they refitted the Garnier, they installed new wiring and the climate control system in the costume department, but they couldn't touch the original building. So they had to put in a false ceiling to hold it all. Ah!"
She'd found a likely looking panel.
"Lift me up," she commanded Adrien, and he jolted, staring at her.
"Are you joking?!" Adrien choked when it dawned on him what she was thinking of. "Marinette, no!"
She shot him a look. "Give me a hand. You've been lifting me in rehearsals for weeks, and I don't have much time."
At least if she had to accept Adrien as a partner in crime, he knew how to support her once she'd goaded him into action. Effortlessly, he hoisted her up to his shoulder, and Marinette reached up to test the plaster panel over her head. With a little bit of effort, it lifted, and she carefully angled it to slide aside.
The upside down tutus swayed as she grabbed the joist and hauled herself into the tight void with Adrien's anxious help. Once she'd wriggled herself into the space, balanced across the joists, she leaned an arm down.
"Pass it up," she told him.
"What?"
"The costume. Pass it up."
Nervously, Adrien stretched up and handed her the tutu in its layers of protection. Once it was safely laid across the joists, Marinette stuck her head back through the gap again.
"Now you just need to walk out of here and pretend you haven't seen anything," she half-whispered down to Adrien. "Wait at the top of the stairs. That's out of reach of the security cameras, and I'll get the tutu to you there."
"That's insane," he hissed back at her.
"Have you got a better idea?"
When there was no answer forthcoming, Marinette waited until she heard Adrien's footsteps moving away, then she wiggled herself around, trying to orient herself towards the stairwell. She knew the line of the climate ducting ran in that general direction, and she hooked the handle of the canvas garment bag over her foot and started to work her way cautiously through the cramped darkness, tugging the garment bag with its precious costume behind her. She didn't let herself think too hard about what would happen if the canvas somehow ripped through, or the bag caught on anything, or if it further damaged the tutu's delicate layers.
After what felt like forever, Marinette reached the point where the ducting took a sharp turn away from her, and she had to work out where she was.
"M. Agreste, what on earth are you doing?" Madame's disembodied voice said, and Marinette froze.
Somewhere below her, muffled by the ceiling, she heard Adrien say, "I… ah, just stretching… It's the perfect spot here…" and if she could have done it silently, she would have thumped her head against the joists. Clearly, Adrien wasn't used to talking his way out of mischief, and Marinette felt another stab of longing for Luka. Adrien's nervous laugh drifted up to her, and there was a long, suspicious silence before Madame's heels tapped away towards Mme Marchand's office. Marinette waited until she heard the distant sound of a door closing.
At least she knew exactly where Adrien was now, and when he said, "She's gone!" in a piercing whisper that could probably be heard two floors down, Marinette rolled her eyes and carefully made her way across the joists towards the sound of his voice. It took longer than she would have liked to work the panel loose, and a heart-wrenching moment to edge the tutu bag delicately through the space and down to Adrien's waiting hands.
"I'll meet you outside the studio," she hissed at him, and made her way back through the tight darkness to the faint patch of light over the Costume Central.
Marinette didn't let herself dwell on the possibility of a sprained ankle as she angled herself awkwardly through the gap and dropped back onto the gallery. She grabbed the long pole and hook that was used to reach the tutus suspended from the bars across the void, and she used it to manoeuvre the panel back into place, feeling sicker with every second that passed.
The moment that everything was back in place, Marinette almost tumbled down the stairs in her haste to get out of there. She paused before she opened the door of the Costume Central to suck in a calming breath, and made herself walk through the door with apparent unconcern. The temptation to glance up at the security camera was almost overwhelming, but she made it to the end of the corridor, out of the camera's field of view, without cracking.
It was even harder to not run down the stairs towards the studio where Adrien was waiting.
"Is there anyone in there?" she asked breathlessly, moving past him to glance into the studio. The lights were out, and when she couldn't see anyone, she pushed the doors wider and hurried in. Adrien followed her, as if he didn't quite know what to do with himself, while she found her tote full of slippers and sewing kit, and the bag with her practice tutu where she'd left them when she'd run out.
Adrien spun around giddily, his hands clutching at his hair.
"I can't believe we did that!" he burst out. As he came back to face her, his eyes were alight. "I can't believe you… How did you even think of it?"
"I pay attention," she said, busy with stripping off the canvas covering and carefully packing the Florine costume in its linen casing into her own bag with her practice tutu. She strapped it all down and zipped up the bag, letting out the breath she'd been holding.
"And the way you –" he gestured as if words failed him and he was reenacting the whole thing. "Marinette, you're the most incredible girl I've ever met."
"You were pretty amazing yourself," she told him, giving him a tentative smile. "You could have just left me holding the tutu, but you didn't. I couldn't have got it out of there without your help."
He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, his grin bashful. "You would have come up with something."
She stood, gingerly sliding the handles of the tutu bag over her shoulder and picking up the rest of her things.
"I've never done anything criminal before," he said with way too much enthusiasm.
Now that the focus was fading, an awareness of what they'd just done was kicking in, and Marinette could feel her hands starting to tremble. She stared at Adrien in a growing sense of dismay. Just what had she involved him in? What had she been thinking?
"I'm so sorry I roped you into this," she said shakily, and hitched the bag a little higher. "I have to get this out of here before our luck runs out. Maybe you should leave first, so no one sees you with me if I get caught."
"Hey, we're partners, remember?" His smile lit up again. "I'll drive you home."
At that, Marinette took an instinctive step backwards, away from him. "No!"
Adrien's smile faded into concern and a little hurt, and she softened her tone. "You've done more than enough, and I really need the walk after all this. I just need a bit of time to think."
"Okay," he said slowly, his eyes still on her with a slight frown. "If you're sure."
She mustered up a more convincing smile for him.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, and he was finally out the door. She waited until she was sure that he was gone.
In the dark and empty studio, alone with a stolen tutu slung over her shoulder, the magnitude of her impulsive heist hit her.
Her legs felt like they weren't under her control, rubbery and distant, as she made them move towards the door and out into the halls. She kept expecting to hear a shout, or the sound of feet pounding after her with every step she took. There were only a few people still left in the corridors and empty staff offices at this time of night before the performance season started, but it felt as though every one of them was staring at her with suspicion.
Marinette pushed open the stage doors and stepped out into the early evening, forcing herself not to break into a run. Once she was on the train, the adrenaline wore off a little but she could still feel her heart racing too fast. She clutched her tutu bag with the precious costume gingerly, curling around it, and as soon as she got home and had it safely spread out on the couch in her bedroom, she collapsed.
For a long, long moment, Marinette sat huddled on the floor of her room, her hands pressed to her mouth and her breath coming fast as she stared at the froth of tulle and satin on her couch.
"Marinette?" her mother called from downstairs. "Was that you?"
"Yes, I'm home," she called back, forcing herself to uncurl.
"Did you want dinner yet?"
"I'll get something in a little while." Marinette pushed herself to her feet, her eyes on the costume. Repairs first, reinforce and mend the ripped bodice, and then she'd have to see to the embroidery and beadwork. Her gaze flicked over the jars of beads and sequins abover her desk. Hopefully enough of the loose beads were still caught in the linen bag, and that she could match whatever was missing.
She exhaled slowly.
"Right," she told the tutu. "Let's do this."
...
Marinette gave a sigh that was more of a sob, and stretched her cramped fingers, setting aside the half-finished needlework. It wasn't until she tried to straighten her neck and shoulders that she realised how long she'd been sitting hunched over the sewing, and when she glanced at the clock on her desk she found that it was somewhere after three in the morning. At some point, her mother had set a plate of food on the desk, and Marinette hadn't even noticed.
The isolation and silence of the hour felt like it was closing in on her, now that she'd become aware of being the only one awake in the house. Even the usual noise from the city outside felt unreal and distant. She stared at the puddle of satin and gauze with a deep and hazy despair. She would never get it finished in time, and who was she kidding that she could ever pull this off? Everyone would know the moment that they saw it that it had been tampered with, or she'd get caught trying to sneak it back in, or… she could feel herself spiralling, and she didn't have time for a panic attack. She had too much work to do.
Her glance kept straying to her phone, and the urge to call Luka was overwhelming. He'd never minded her calling before, not even at this hour of the morning, not even when she'd dragged him out of sleep. But she didn't think she could bear it if she called and he was with Celeste.
She went back to work on the bodice, and if she found herself crying a little, she was careful not to let any tears drip onto the satin.
She barely made it in time for morning class the next day. As she awkwardly angled the stage doors open, trying not to drop her bags or the cup of coffee she was holding unsteadily, she found Lila leaning against the wall as if she'd been waiting for Marinette. The girl watched her struggles with a tiny smirk.
"Did you like my little surprise?" Lila asked her, then said with false concern, "Marinette, sweetie, you're not looking too well this morning. Are you coming down with something?"
"How could you even do something like that?" Marinette asked dully.
Lila shrugged carelessly. "The security on the sixth floor may be state of the art, but the ateliers themselves – the locks on those are so old, they're child's play if you know how. And it wasn't hard to work out when no one would be around."
That wasn't quite what Marinette had meant.
"Why would you tell me this?"
"It's not like you can tell anyone," Lila pointed out sweetly. "Not without sounding like you have it in for me. And not without admitting that you were in the atelier with the damaged costume too."
Lila clasped her hands to her chest, and somehow got a tear to roll down her cheek. She gasped out theatrically, " 'Oh, I know I shouldn't have been up there, but I had a question for the seamstresses about my costume, and everything was alright when I looked into the room. Marinette was there after me, and… and… oh! I'm sure she would never do anything like that on purpose!' " Lila's hands dropped, and so did the act. "You say anything, and it's your word against mine."
Marinette stared at her, open mouthed, and then shut her mouth with an effort. She shouldered her bags and turned away. Even if she'd stood a chance of convincing Lila that she was wrong, now was not the time. Marinette was having a hard time stringing words and thoughts together after spending the whole night sewing the torn costume, and she walked away from Lila without a word.
The Italian girl followed her into the studio, her eyes slyly triumphant.
The class that followed was torture. Marinette was so very, very tired, and her vision was blurred by the glitter of beads and tiny, tiny stitches. The coffee she'd had before she'd come to class was barely making a dent and she could feel her arms trembling as she raised them.
"What's up with you, girl?" Alya hissed at her as Marinette nearly fell out of a port de bras in fifth when she circled her arms and leaned forward to follow their movement.
"Are you alright?" Lila was asking with more of that overdone concern. "It seems like you're having a clumsy day today, Marinette. We don't want you twisting your ankle or something terrible like that just before opening night."
Marinette glanced up at Alya, but she didn't seem to have heard the threat under Lila's words. She was grateful when class finally ended and she could retreat to the other end of the studio, away from Lila. She was also grateful for Adrien's partnering, and the way he nudged and guided her through their choreography.
"Is everything alright?" he whispered anxiously as he put his hands on her waist, and her pirouette wobbled dangerously. "Did you get the… you know… safe? Has anyone said anything?"
Why would he bring that up now, where anyone could overhear him? Distracted, she came down hard out of the turn, her footing going in a way that hadn't happened in years. The wind was knocked out of her as she slipped past Adrien's reaching fingers and hit the floor hard. There was a hush, and a soft whisper of giggles.
Adrien helped her to her feet, his apologies a babble of horror, but the worst was the tightlipped way Madame was watching her as Marinette tested her feet, checking her ankles. There didn't seem to be any obvious lasting pain, but that was small comfort as she drew a shaky breath.
"Perhaps you should take a moment to compose yourself, Mlle Dupain-Cheng, before you seriously injure yourself," Madame suggested coldly.
"Yes, Madame," Marinette whispered, and fled the studio.
And there was only one person she wanted in that moment, only one person who could make any of this nightmare day better. No matter how strange and strained things had been lately, no matter how taken he was with another woman, turning to Luka was a hard habit to break.
Without really thinking about it, Marinette found herself stumbling down into the cluster of music rooms where the orchestra took up residence. From one of the rooms up ahead, Marinette could hear the pianist say something and laugh, and the sound of the piano being closed. There was a shuffle and squawk of instruments being dismantled and put away, and the members of the company's orchestra began to emerge from the rehearsal room. One or two of them flashed her a smile as they strode out, and Marinette gave a tiny, tense smile in response, but she didn't stop to talk to them.
She hadn't stopped to think about anything on her headlong rush out of the class, and her pointe shoes clattered a little on the wooden floor as she kept going. She was probably going to pay for that later, but right now she didn't care.
"Don't forget to lock up when you're done," one of the musicians called into the room behind him as she drew closer.
"You can turn the lights out," a familiar deep voice called back. "I won't be long."
The overhead lights snapped out, leaving only a faint puddle of light as the last musician strode away and Marinette veered towards the room he'd just left.
In the dim light from the piano lamp, Marinette could make out the outline of the violinist and the shadow of blue in his hair as it fell in a messy sweep over the violin tucked into his shoulder.
The muscles in his arms corded as he brought the bow down and dragged the music from the instrument, and in the semi-darkness of the windowless room it sounded tortured and intense. She'd never heard him like this, and it hit her hard. She pressed one hand to her mouth. He could play almost any instrument he put his hand to, but with the violin she felt like he could break her heart if he'd wanted to.
He stopped mid-song, and the bow lifted slightly as he turned to the door.
"Marinette?"
She stepped into the room, and the door swung shut behind her, turning the space into half-lit shadows.
"Don't stop on my account," she told him, and she hated how unsteady her voice sounded. She'd never been uncertain of her welcome with Luka before, but he'd been missing from her life for the past few weeks and she didn't know where that left her.
He gave her that beautiful, slow smile of his. It looked more tired than it should.
"As my melody commands," he said, raising his bow again and settling the violin. He swept the bow across the strings, his eyes on her as he played. This time, Luka's violin sang to her of an aching bitter-sweetness, and Marinette answered in the language she knew best beyond words.
The music caught her and pulled her into the centre of the floor, and a thousand thousand reflections twinkled softly back at her from the mirrors as the strain of Luka's violin wove itself around her and she spiralled with it, rising on pointe. Everything melted into Luka's music and she gave herself over to it and just danced, releasing it all.
When she finally came back to herself, her head bowed, she was startled to find her cheeks wet with tears and she lifted a hand to touch them.
"Marinette?" Luka said behind her. "Melody? What's wrong?"
"It's nothing," she said quickly, and smeared the back of her hand over her cheek. "It's nothing. I'm fine."
She heard him put down the violin gently, then he was behind her, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She stepped back, leaning into his warm, solid presence and he wrapped an arm around her.
"How do you always know just what I'm feeling?" she asked with a damp attempt at a laugh, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
"I know you," he said into her hair. "I didn't mean to make you cry, melody."
In the darkened room, it was easier to let herself lean back into him, to arch her back and stretch up until her fingers were tangled in his hair, tugging him down to her until his head dropped to her shoulder and she could feel his breath ghost across the skin of her neck.
"I've missed you," she told him softly. "Luka, did I do something wrong? Did I upset you somehow?"
"Oh, Marinette, no!"
"If you're with Celeste now, you could have just told me."
"Celeste!" he said with enough astonishment that the relief hit her like a shock of cold water. "You thought I was with Celeste?"
He gathered her closer and she closed her eyes, feeling the delicate brush of his violin bow against her thigh and those sensitive musician's fingers of his at her waist as he held her. The sensation shivered through her and she gave a soft gasp. Oh, he could play her just as easily as he'd played the music in her heart if he wanted to. She wished he wanted to.
"Melody," he whispered, and she felt it down to her fingertips. His beautiful mouth was right there, so very close, and all she had to do was turn her head just a little. Maybe this time, maybe she could be brave enough to ask him… to tell him…
Footsteps sounded outside the door.
"Marinette?" Adrien's voice in the corridor broke the hush. "Marinette? Are you in here?"
The door swung open sharply and a flood of light rushed in. Marinette jolted apart, and Luka's arms fell away slowly. She couldn't make out Adrien's expression, silhouetted as he was against the lit corridor behind him, but the set of his shoulders was tense.
"I've been looking everywhere for you," Adrien said. "Madame wants you."
Marinette flashed a look up at Luka, whose eyes were unreadable in the shadows. She turned back to her pas de deux partner.
"Give me a minute," she told him.
"Everyone's waiting for you."
"I just need a minute." Her eyes were fixed on Luka, willing him to say something.
"Madame's getting impatient," Adrien insisted, still holding the door open. He clearly wasn't going anywhere without her.
"You should go," Luka said gently.
Marinette could feel her heart breaking. For one frozen moment she stared at Luka as he stood there. He felt so far away from her.
"You don't want to keep Madame waiting."
"Marinette," Adrien warned. She could feel tears sliding down her cheeks again.
"I'm coming," she surrendered, and Adrien stood there waiting for her until she came towards him.
...
Marinette swerved around Adrien, and was halfway back to the rehearsal studio before he caught up with her.
"Marinette, wait!" Adrien grasped at her arm, and Marinette jerked to a halt.
"You were crying," he said fiercely. "What did he say to you? What did he do?"
Marinette found herself wrapped in a protective embrace, and she brought her hands up to push away but Adrien didn't seem to notice. How dare he suggest that Luka would ever hurt her?
"I would never make you cry," he was saying.
"Adrien," she tried to cut him off, "Luka didn't …"
"Just give me a chance… give us a chance, and I can make you happy. You have no idea how much I regret not saying yes when you confessed to me all those years ago. I was so blind and stupid."
"And it never would have worked," Marinette said more forcefully. She pushed a little more firmly, and his arms fell away in confusion.
"You loved me back then."
"I had a crush on you, three years ago, and you turned me down. I got over it. Nothing's changed just because we've been partnered together for one ballet."
"But it doesn't have to be just this season," Adrien protested. "It could be so much more. We couldn't have that much chemistry when we dance if there wasn't something between us."
"It's called acting, Adrien," Marinette insisted. "And that's all it is. Look, you're a good partner, you're a great partner and I love dancing with you-"
"So do I!" Adrien cut her off. He tried again with a hopeful, boyish smile. "And we made a good team with the tutu, didn't we? If you'd just give us a chance, I know we could-"
"No, we couldn't!" She walked faster, but he just picked up his pace.
"Is it that friend of yours?" Adrien asked jealously.
At that moment, Marinette didn't care if she was jeopardising the partnership with Adrien or the possibility of a promotion, or her whole future with the company itself. She didn't care if he shouted to the whole of Paris that she'd stolen the tutu. She spun around to face him.
"It shouldn't matter whether it is or not!" Marinette cried. "I'm saying no, and that should be enough."
Her hands were shaking, and she clenched them into fists to stop the trembling. Everything felt as though she was falling apart.
"But yes, I love Luka. I love him so much it hurts. I love him with everything I have in me, and that's never going to change."
"Then why did you keep saying you weren't with him?"
"Because we're not!" Marinette cried, pushed past her patience and her fragile hold on her emotions. "No matter how much I wish we were. He doesn't see me as anything more than his childhood friend."
She'd reached the door of the studio, pushing it open as Adrien spoke.
"It's funny, Luka said the same thing," he said with resignation and a hint of bitterness in his voice, and Marinette stopped dead.
She turned to look at him.
"He told me you've never seen him that way," Adrien went on.
Marinette felt a strange sense of unreality that gave way to something else as Adrien's words sank in. She was barely aware of her hand on the studio door as she stared at him, or the curious murmurs rising from room behind her.
"Mlle Dupain-Cheng," Madame's voice cut through her scattered thoughts. "Are you quite ready to join us?"
...
For a long time after he'd sent Marinette away with Adrien, Luka moved around the dark rehearsal room, mechanically gathering his music and putting his violin into its case. Any last spark of hope that might have ignited when she stepped into his arms had flickered out when she'd pulled away so abruptly the moment that Adrien had turned up.
He stared blindly at the empty room, and bent to pick up the violin case. There was no reason to stay here. He put his earbuds in and strode towards the stage doors with his shoulders hunched and his head down, and for once he didn't hear any music playing in his head.
...
Marinette endured the sidelong glances and pointed criticism. It felt like everything reached her through a fog. She was running purely on muscle memory with no conscious thought for her movements. It was only by sheer luck and Adrien that she didn't injure herself, but there was a stiffness in Adrien's partnering that hadn't been there before. She stumbled again as Adrien set her down from a lift.
"Enough! Mlle Dupain-Cheng, need I remind you that we have dress rehearsal in two days? I do hope," oh, the scathing sarcasm, "you will be in form for the occasion."
"Yes, Madame," Marinette whispered, and as soon as Madame waved an impatient hand to dismiss them she ruthlessly stripped off her slippers with little regard for their care, snatched up her things, and fled.
She tried the music rooms first, but they were dark and silent, and there was no sign of Luka. She felt the panic catch in her chest even as she told herself that she hadn't expected him to still be there.
Out in the streets, the light was starting to fade from the sky, and the metro was still crowded with late officeworkers returning home, but Marinette barely noticed. She didn't spare more than a vaguely harassed thought for the costume waiting, half-finished, on her desk at home, and almost ran down the street that branched off towards the river dock when she reached it.
Twilight had fallen over the river, but Marinette wasn't interested in the magic of the lights that swayed over the water or the soft lap of waves against the boats. Her entire attention was focused on the lean figure she could see on the deck of the Liberty. Luka was moving slowly as if it hurt him, bending to pick up something.
She paused at the foot of the gangplank that connected the boat to the dock, trying to gather her courage as she watched him. Before she could make a move, he straightened and turned as if he could feel her eyes on him.
"Marinette?" her name escaped him on an incredulous breath, as if he didn't truly believe that she could be there. "What are you doing here?"
He didn't move, still as a statue with a handful of music manuscript, when she set a tentative foot on the gangplank and crossed towards him. As she drew closer, she could see something flash in his deep blue eyes before he looked away.
"What happened this afternoon…"
"You didn't have to come all the way down here for that," Luka said gently, but he wasn't looking at her. "You must be so tired, and it sounds like it was a rough day for you."
"I can't just leave it like that," she pleaded.
Luka scooped up another scattering of manuscript. He straightened, his back still to Marinette.
"It's alright," he said, but Marinette could hear the discordant notes in his voice. "You just got caught up in the music and the moment."
His attention was focused on the sheets of music in his hand.
"I hope Adrien didn't get the wrong idea," he said to them.
"He's had the wrong idea for months, thinking that I was just being coy when I tried to turn him down," Marinette said in exasperation. "At least he's finally listening when I tell him I'm not interested in him as anything more than my ballet partner."
There was a strange quality of stillness in the set of Luka's shoulders now.
"I was hoping that at least you'd get the right idea," Marinette's voice hitched as she took a tiny step forward. "I've been trying to tell you… If you don't want me, I under-"
"Want you?" he said in a strangled voice that was nothing like his usual calm. The music fell from his hands and he didn't even seem to notice as it whipped away over the side of the boat in the breeze. "Melody, I've been yours since that first day we met when we were kids."
"Then why do you keep pushing me at Adrien!?" she cried.
"Because if being with Adrien made you happy, then the best thing I could do for you was get out of your way!" He drove one hand through his hair. "I only ever wanted you to be happy."
She took another step towards him.
"And how can I be happy without you?" she asked him. "You've always seen through me so easily. How didn't you see that?"
Luka made another tortured noise. "In my defence, my judgement has been a little clouded."
She was so close now that she could feel his chest rise and fall, and Luka's head bowed, his soft blue hair brushing her forehead.
"I'm an idiot," Luka murmured, and Marinette giggled.
"I think Juleka was right. We're both idiots."
"Don't ever tell her that."
There was something a little desperate in the way they came together, his mouth on hers and one hand tangling in her hair as his other hand closed around her waist and pulled her closer. Marinette's mouth parted under his, and Luka made a whimpering sound that did things to her.
The muscles under her hands tightened and held her as if he could never get close enough, as if he would never let her go. Hers. He was hers. Those musician's hands of his were warm and rough against her skin, dislodging her shirt to span the curve of her back, and he pressed kisses into the sensitive hollow of her throat until she was dizzy with it.
Her fingers knotted in the rough fall of his hair, and her arms were full of him. Her world was full of Luka, and she was his. This had been a long time coming, and it felt so very, very right.
Things might have gone further, clothes coming off and all the closer they could possibly get in the quiet warmth of Luka's bed below deck, but they were brought back to the world when Marinette's bag started buzzing where she'd dropped it with the one ringtone that she couldn't ignore.
"That's Maman," she sighed.
With one arm still looped around her waist, Luka bent and pulled her phone out of the bag, holding it out to her. He leaned his cheek against the top of her head while she checked the message.
"I should take you home," he said reluctantly. "It's getting late, and I really don't want Sabine deciding that she doesn't want her daughter hanging around with me because I'm a bad influence."
Marinette gave a tiny giggle. "Oh, please. You know Maman thinks you can do no wrong. She's more likely to lecture me for keeping you awake at all hours." She tapped out a quick message to let her mother know that she was on her way.
The walk from the Liberty to the bakery took longer than it should have, and involved more than a few pauses in the deeper shadows between streetlights for slow, sweet kisses and soft touches. They finally parted on the bakery doorstep, one reluctant fingertip at a time, and Marinette stayed there watching him as Luka backed away, his eyes on her until the very last second.
Her mother opened the door before Marinette could fumble her keys out of her bag, and she took in her daughter's dazed expression.
"I take it's been a good night," she said sympathetically, and gently pushed Marinette towards the stairs. "Sleep now, and tomorrow you can tell me all about it."
It had certainly been an eventful night. Marinette was still smiling mistily, even as she yawned and gave her mother a sleepy kiss.
"Luka loves me," she said in wonder, and her mother put a soft hand to her cheek.
"Of course he does, bao bei. And I want to hear all about it in the morning. Now, sleep."