Desideratum

Chapter 5

Luka Couffaine had taken a wrong turn. Instead of turning right on the exit on the highway, he turned left—leaving him with an entire metropolis to cross in order to arrive home.

In retrospect, his entire life could be described as a series of wrong turns, so perhaps he should be used to it by now.

At least traffic was not as terrible at this hour of the day as it usually was. Of all the cities he had traveled to, Paris seemed to be the worst in that aspect. Or maybe it was just him and his desire to get from one end of the city to the other without really looking around and having the chance to see much.

It was ridiculous how many memories he had in this part of the world—and how the majority of them were centered on a certain woman.

He missed her. He missed her so much it was crazy. Every time he closed his eyes, she was there. It was even more terrible when he was in town. And the worst part of it all was that he could hardly remember when it was that their relationship suffered so much damage, what the last straw was—the word that made her put an end to everything they stood for.

They were fighting more than usual, he knew. She was quietly resentful because he was always gone. Her parents had an untimely death on their flight to China to celebrate their 20th wedding anniversary. As he was her boyfriend at that time and knew that they both loved each other very much, his family took her in. Not long after that, they got married so young, she just turned 18 but at that point in their lives it was all that made sense for her-for them. She somewhat lost her spirit and light when her parents perished, it took him a long time before she came out of the shell she made to cocoon herself. However, he thought that their relationship went on a downward spiral when he gained fame not just-apparently, Jagged Stone's first born child, but also because of his undeniably good musical talent. He was always gone for days on end. At one point, yelling became their communication and it continued. When they said stress and growing up changes people, he didn't think it would turn him into a monster.

That had been their norm. She would scream, and he would yell. He would say 'no', and she would push. She would slam a door, and he would jump on the first plane that left the country.

When they reunited, their tempers cooled down, the anger dissipated from their system, the tension remained, but they would never, ever talk about it. That was probably their worst mistake—not talking. It could have saved their marriage, their relationship. Or at least, it would have helped him remember why it had fallen apart, in the first place. They persevered, always. He thought there would always be Luka and Marinette. He knew he had hurt her. With Marinette, this type of thing had never been easy to notice after her parents died, but nothing gave her away more than the way her hand had shaken when she signed the divorce papers, or the tears in her eyes when she handed him back the earrings he had given them on their only happy anniversary, so many years ago.

He had never heard from her again, their friends never heard from her even and had it not been for the fact that his own heart had shattered at the sight of her walking out that door, he would have probably had the strength to run after her and beg her to come back. But he had been too blind at that time, too eager to put an end to the fights, the stress, the continuous emotional struggle; his feelings conflicted, he had made the worst mistake of his life—he had let her leave.

Then why didn't you look for her? a voice in his head mocked. Why didn't you search the Earth to find her? You should have gone crawling to her doorstep and apologized, because all this was your fault, in the first place.

Those thoughts plagued his mind constantly, making up all of his nightmares.

She must be happy now. That was his explanation. That was the reason why he had not run after her. He could have found her. He could have apologized. But he had chosen not to, because the last thing he wanted—the last thing he had ever wanted—was to make her suffer.

People wondered how two people so sync, so open and so loving to each other fell apart. It felt like those years had been a blur-but he can remember all the time he had been horrible to her. Never letting her speak, always yelling at her, always blaming her, even when he didn't say it outright, for everything that was happening.

It pained him so much, remembering it that the cheerful Marinette became a recluse to their relationship.

He had never quite realized when their roles changed.

And for that, he would never forgive himself.

Cadence tried hard to hold back his grin when he saw the familiar little red car pull up in front of the school. He looked down to hide the inevitable, upward tilt to his lips, swinging his legs back and forth on the bench he was currently sitting on.

"Cadence," his mother greeted, bending down to kiss his cheek as she cupped his face within her hands. "Sorry for being late. I—"

"Sorry? Is that all you can say to me?" he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

She shot him a bland look. "You know, that would have worked better if you weren't trying to hold back laughter—and failing. Just saying."

Cadence laughed, grinning up at her. "Fine," he gave in, hopping off the bench and taking her hand. "What took you so long, anyway?"

"I was detained at work. Complications—stuff you don't care about," she explained as they started to make their way towards the car.

True to the conclusion she had reached, the boy couldn't be less interested. "Can I watch a movie?"

Marinette rolled her eyes as she opened the door for him. "Of course you can watch a movie after you do your homework." She smiled meaningfully at him and heard his groan as she shut the door behind him.

Cadence was an excellent student—incredibly smart and ambitious; but he was also incredibly laid-back. She couldn't count the number of times his teachers had complained that his attention during classes was quite far. Always humming different melodies and tunes under his breath. Forgetting that Maths doesn't include tapping on the desk different beats. She learned not to question it, she knew deep down, her son is very much like his father.

As long as Cadence learned what he needed to learn, how he did it didn't matter.

As long as Cadence was happy, nothing else did.

Luka heaved a sigh as he came to a stop in front of a traffic light; leaning back in his seat, he raised his hand to rub his tired eyes. He couldn't even remember how long it had been since he'd last gotten a decent wink of sleep. He wondered why he had chosen to come home, of all the places, if that was the case, because he certainly wouldn't be resting here. The house was full of memories of her and nestling his head into her pillow wouldn't help him with his cause. And if he did manage to fall asleep, then he would dream of her—and the morning would be daunting.

But he couldn't stop himself. He needed to be here. He came here at least once a month, because he needed this. As painful as it was, this place was the only connection he had with her.

Opening his eyes, he ran a hand over his forehead, pushing his messy hair back. He glanced up at the traffic light, which was still red.

People continued to cross the street—couples and lovers and children. He cracked a small smile as he watched a young teenager—perhaps ten or eleven years old—running to make it to the other side before the light changed. He used to be like that, he remembered. They used to be like that. Young, happy, without a care in the world.

It was around that age that he met her. He fell in love with her. And he started to build his future around her. He had wanted to see her face beside him every time he woke up in the morning. He had wanted a family with her. He had never imagined all of those things would remain simply dreams.

Heaving yet another sigh, he set his hand back on the steering wheel and tried to force his mind to focus on getting him home safely. Sleep deprivation and thoughts of her were not a good combination, he knew that from experience.

It was because of that that when he saw the first flash of a very familiar midnight blue hair, he thought he was dreaming. His head snapped up, his eyes searching the scenery relentlessly despite the fact that everything in him told him to stop. They found what they were looking for on the side of the road, across the intersection. A woman wearing a simple white oxford shirt and red pencil cut skirt paired with black heeled pumps, walked around a car to slip in through the driver's side. The shade midnight blue was so much like hers, albeit a common one, but that shine was something so akin to her that his hands twitched on the steering wheel, and his mouth opened to speak—but no sound came out.

Suddenly, a torrent of horns began to blare from behind him, snapping him back to reality. The light had turned green. Hands shaking, he pressed the accelerator and crossed the intersection, only to come to a stop in the same parking space the mysterious red car had left.

His hand was reaching for his phone on the passenger's seat before his mind could even register what he was doing; long before it even realized, his heart had reached a conclusion.

He would search for her. He would use all of his relations to find her. If there was a Marinette Dupain-Cheng in Paris at that moment, he was going to know.