Hey Stupid

by Veritas Found

When Marinette's makeup artist gets injured the day before her first Fashion Week, she's a little desperate. Luckily, Juleka knows just the guy to save the day, and Marinette is so relieved she doesn't question it – until she realizes she's spent the past week flirt…admiring Luka Couffaine and never even recognized him.

7. On a Monday, in a Café, I Watched it Beg

Notes: …so about that final chapter, huh. xD Y'all, I am SO SORRY about how long this has taken. If you're in the LBSC Disco or follow me on Tumblr, you know a bit about how much of a hurdle this has been. If not, Life has just…been Very Difficult this year. Work has been stressful and problematic, I was taking classes all of March and April, I had a massive tooth infection that literally tried to kill me, and my disabled mother has been in and out of the hospital since March and tried her best to kick it, too. I have not had the wherewithal to actually work on this beyond short bursts at a time, and I hate that it's so late, but I love this fic and didn't want to half-ass the final chapter. I wanted it to be the chapter the fic deserved, and I'm still anxious now that after all this time it's not going to be. But for better or worse, it's done. It's here. And I really hope it's the satisfying conclusion y'all've been waiting for.

The song used in this chapter (that Luka started writing in Ch5) is "Never Had" by Oscar Isaac & Alan Doyle. I refuse to link to the studio recording, because I will die on the hill that "And I hope this song I'm singing somehow finds you / Wherever you may be" is a much better line than "…finds you / My letter to Elise". The first link is a clip where Oscar & Alan are performing the song together; the song starts around 2:15, but you get the story of the song with it. The second clip is just Oscar singing and has slightly better audio, but I like the story and am a sucker for Alan. xP

watch?v=UNJFfu365wk

watch?v=IlY4JZPzJls

Hey Stupid

Chapter 6: On a Monday, in a Café, I watched it Begin Again

"…this was a horrible idea," Marinette groaned, reaching up to scrub at her face as she made another sharp turn in her living room. From the table pushed against the back of the sofa, nearly nineteen little kwamis watched her in various stages of amusement, concern, and excitement. The kwamis of her Miracle Box had been a part of her life for a very long time by now, after all: most of them were more than a little invested in her personal life. Tikki, sitting closer to the edge of the table near the center of the group, lowered the cookie she'd been nibbling on to smile encouragingly at her Chosen.

"No, it's not, Marinette!" she cheered. "It's a wonderful idea!"

Kaalki – one of the few kwami who hadn't joined the others in watching their Mistress pace for the past hour and a half (the other being Plagg, who had gotten bored after fifteen minutes and pulled up a bowl of camembert-flavored popcorn by the television) – sniffed derisively from where she hovered by the outfit Marinette had hung up on the back of her bedroom door shortly after she'd gotten home, which had been a little earlier than an hour and a half ago. That had been when she'd first charged into her closet to pull out an Appropriate Date Outfit, before the panic of Oh My God I'm Going On a Date With Luka Couffaine had fully set in (which was just before the confusion of But It's Not A Date So The Outfit Doesn't Matter But It's Luka And Who Are We Kidding It's Totally A Date hit). Beside the horse kwami, Duusu was twitching excitedly as he flitted here and there, chittering his own comments about how drab and pretty and we could add a flashy brooch here to spice it up but Mistress always has the perfect style except no no no not showy enough to land a hen the outfit was. Kaalki ignored him, as she usually did.

"I don't know if I'd say wonderful," she said, tapping a hoof against her muzzle. She cut her eyes back to Marinette, who was still pacing the stretch of room between the door and her balcony. "Is he still wearing that atrocious denim thing he used to love so much?"

That was enough to make Marinette stop dead in her tracks, her wide eyes blinking at Kaalki's scrutinizing gaze. She…actually wasn't sure? She hadn't seen the denim jacket, at least, but the faded navy hoodie he'd been wearing under his leather jacket all week had been awfully familiar, now that she actually thought about it…

"Don't inssssult the jacket," Sass said, looking up from where he was fiddling with Marinette's phone on the table. "It was warm and comfortable."

"It was tacky," Kaalki huffed. Marinette paused by the table to rub a finger along Sass's hood, and he leaned up into her touch.

"…Kaalki's not wrong, but I liked it, too," she whispered to him. His hoodie/jacket combo may not have been fashionable, but it had always been him. She looked back at the outfit she'd picked out – a simple pink dress with black edging and a soft gray sweater to keep the sleeveless dress warm – and bit her lip. There was nothing inherently bad about the dress – it was actually one of her favorites. Just casual enough that she could wear it to work while also being just nice enough that she could dress it up for a date.

…except that this wasn't a date. She had made that very clear to Luka, despite him saying it was – but even that was stupid and her reading entirely too much into things, because people said it's a date all the time without actually referring to a date, and just because it was Luka and she maybe wanted it to be a date-date didn't mean he wanted it to be a date-date, except that she was pretty sure that he did, except she was also probably reading too much into that, too, except Luka had kissed her knowing full well who she was and said he wasn't running anymore and…

Ugh, why hadn't she just agreed to meet him an hour and a half ago when he'd first suggested coffee? Why had she lied about a nonexistent work thing and agreed to meeting at five, giving herself a good three hours to Freak The Hell Out over their D…Not-a-Date?

She groaned – loudly and more scream-like than she probably should have, though her neighbors were used to her Spirals by now – and pressed her face back into her hands. The little eyes watching her shared a few looks, their concern growing.

"Marinette," Tikki called, putting her cookie down and flying over to her Chosen. Marinette sucked in a breath at the familiar, comforting weight that landed on her shoulder. "You're over-thinking things again."

"…he ran away, Tikki," Marinette mumbled around her hands, turning her head towards the kwami she would always consider her kwami, even if they were all technically hers now. Tikki smiled sadly at her, and Marinette sucked in a breath. "He kissed me and he ran away before we could even talk about it."

"He's not running now, Marinette," Tikki said softly. Marinette closed her eyes and hung her head, taking a few deep breaths. No, he wasn't. It had taken a little over a week for him to stop running, but…if she was being honest – if she was being fair – hadn't she run a little, too? She'd had his phone number, or at least access to it, the entire time, and she hadn't bothered reaching out before now. Or…she had tried, but hadn't found the courage or the words until Juleka had told her he was hurting, too.

…and if he was hurting, too, didn't that mean something? That maybe neither of them had to hurt anymore?

Marinette leapt nearly a foot out of her skin when music started blaring from her phone, Radiohead warbling out, "But I'm a creeeeep, I'm a weirdooooo!" She turned wide eyes on Sass, who just grinned at her.

"Ssssorry," the little snake hissed, "was that not appropriate?"

A choked laugh escaped her, and Marinette scooped him up to drop a kiss against his hood. He bumped his head against her nose, and she giggled.

"Thanks, Sass," she said, running her thumb along his back. He looked up at her, his yellow eyes gleaming.

"You have nothing to worry about, Misssstressss," he said, his tail flicking against her palm. "Masssster has never been one to wasssste a sssssecond chanccccce."

Marinette's smile felt easier when she bent her head back to the kwami, pressing another kiss to his hood. She looked back at her dress and bit her lip.

"…you're right," she said. "Of course you're right. This…this is going to be fine, right? Great, even. Everything's going to work out."

Kaalki snorted again, her tail flicking in agitation.

"I suppose," she said. "If all I have to worry about is a makeover, you could certainly do worse."

"She could've ended up with an Agreste," Nooroo mumbled from his spot by Wayzz. Plagg said nothing – he rarely said anything in Adrien's defense anymore – but he did cut sharp eyes to the butterfly.

"We just want you happy, Marinette," Tikki chirped from her shoulder, leaning against her neck to nuzzle her. "And Luka always made you really happy."

"He always made her really sad, too," Plagg grumbled, but Tikki shot him a dark look and he shoved more popcorn in his mouth before going back to his show.

"Just meet with him," Tikki said. "Talk. Have dinner. See where it goes."

Marinette took a deep breath and nodded. She glanced at her clock, then back to her dress. She still had over an hour before she was supposed to meet with Luka, but she wasn't going to accomplish anything sitting here worrying over what would happen on their Not-a-Date. The kwamis were right. Everything was going to be fine – wonderful, even! She crossed the room and took the dress off the door, turning to head into her room to change.

"You should pair it with the brown tights and black ankle boots," Kaalki called, following after her. "The ones that make your hind look so lovely. Make him realize he can't waste another ten years being…what were you calling him during fashion week? Stupid?"

Marinette dropped the dress on her bed, her hands clapping over her mouth as she choked on a laugh. Kaalki winked at her and flew over to the jewelry box on her dresser.

"Go change," she tutted, waving a hoof at her. "Leave the accessories to me. We'll have you looking fabulous, darling!"

– V –

Luka wasn't freaking out.

Really, he wasn't.

What did he have to be nervous about, anyway? The way he saw it, he couldn't fuck things up any more than he already had. He didn't have to worry about throwing an outfit together: Marinette had already seen him at his worst the first day of Fashion Week, so anything he wore would be an improvement (not that he still didn't want to try, because it was still Marinette and fashion had always been important to her, but he wasn't going to freak out over it). He didn't have to worry about…well, ok. He worried enough to grab a quick shower, but he was already shaved and presentable in the grooming department, so he wasn't really worried about that, either. He wasn't even entirely worried about what he was going to say. He knew he'd have to say something, but the heart of what he needed to say…he was bringing Devereaux with him. He was going to play her the new song.

He was hoping that would say enough.

Still, thanks to her work there were still a good four hours between when they had hung up and when he'd be meeting her at the café. He was already planning on heading over early – he didn't want to risk blowing this by something as avoidable and irresponsible as being late – but that still left hours between. Even if he was early, that would leave him anxiously waiting for her there instead of anxiously waiting here. And he wasn't nervous- he was not freaking out – but…the time and waiting didn't help.

It had been too long. Since he'd seen her, since they'd spoken, since…and a week had nothing on eight years, but it all still added up to too much time wasted. He was done wasting time. Four hours wasn't all that long, not in the scope of the lifetime he was hoping to start with her, but they were still torture when all he wanted was to see her again. To hold her. To know that everything was right between them, and that they…

He wasn't freaking out.

He was just…impatient.

So, after his shower, he threw on the first thing he found in his closet (jeans – only minimally ripped and in a stylish way, he hoped – and a plain black t-shirt), and set about Keeping Busy. Anything to distract himself from the time between the phone call and actually meeting her.

Juleka had been right: his flat was a mess. So, while some eclectic mix of Scottish rock blared in the background, he grabbed a binbag and set about cleaning up. Unfortunately, even that only took so long, and once he'd hauled the waste out to the chute in the hall he still found he had an obscene amount of time before him. Clearing out e-mails and confirming a few gigs for Penny – nothing big, just a few late-night performances and a show for the next month – took up a bit of time, but it wasn't long before he was on his back, staring at the ceiling as he noodled. That…didn't last very long, either.

He was maybe a bit more nervous than he should have been – than he was comfortable admitting – and nothing was coming out right. After the third jumbled, aimless tune, he was back on his feet and pacing. Devereaux ended up in his case and left by the door with his wallet – and then he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror Juleka had hung up in the entryway.

He…wasn't worried. He looked fine. Marinette wouldn't care. He had been right before: he couldn't possibly look worse than he had that first day. And yet…

He was back in his closet a moment later, rifling through for something a little better than jeans and a t-shirt. This was Marinette, after all, and he knew she wouldn't care, but…he wanted to look nice for her. He wanted her to notice he was trying. He wanted…

He sighed and hung his head.

"What the hell are you even doing, Couffaine?" he asked himself miserably, letting go of one of his nicer jackets to rub at his face.

He raised his head to stare miserably at his closet. A flash of color – different from his usual blues, blacks, and whites – caught his eye, and he pulled out a maroon sweater Juleka had given him for Christmas a few years back. He rubbed the material between his fingers and frowned. It was a good sweater – one of the nicest things in his closet, actually. She'd never told him where she got it from, but the craftsmanship was unmistakable. It was well-made, and warm, and Rose always gushed over how good he looked in it. She thought he looked dashing and needed to wear more colors outside his monochromatic staples.

Before he could overthink it any more, he shucked off the t-shirt and slipped the sweater on. And then he was back at the door and shrugging on his leather jacket. Without checking the time, he grabbed his guitar case and keys, stuffed his wallet in his back pocket, and made his way out the door and towards the café.

…with another two and a half hours to spare.

But he was totally not freaking out.

– V –

Marinette liked the café she'd agreed to meet Luka at. They made great coffee, served good food, and were conveniently located between her studio and flat. While the café was a short ten minute walk from the studio, it was only a mere five minutes from her flat – which made it the perfect place for a Help I'm Late pick-me-up when a show or meeting or project had run her late the night before.

That short, convenient distance did not, however, make it perfect when she still had an hour to kill before meeting her technically-not-really-schooldays 'sweetheart' for the first time in eight years (and only needed five minutes to get there).

…well.

Ok. It wasn't technically the first time they'd be meeting, but it was the first time they'd be meeting where both parties were fully aware of who the other was. Where she knew it was him and he knew she knew it. So…yeah. First time. In person. Because the phone call totally didn't count as talking, even if they had talked, because it was on the phone and not face-to-Stupid-face and…

She had a pretty good feeling she was going to be sick.

"I can't do this," she said, her hand shaking as it hovered over the doorknob. Tikki was at her side in an instant, nuzzling her cheek and cheering her on.

"Of course you can, Marinette!" she said. She gestured to her outfit: the pink dress, brown tights, and black boots that made her hindquarters look so lovely (because that was totally what she needed to be thinking about right now, what Luka thought about her ass, thanks, Kaalki). The warm, black, wool swing coat she'd thrown over it to keep out the winter chill. The little bag hanging at her hip, updated since lycée but still big enough to hide a kwami (or a few) and still monogrammed with her signature M. "You're already dressed – you just have to walk out the door!"

She made it sound a lot easier than it actually was.

"This is a mistake," Marinette insisted, her grip tightening on the handle. "He doesn't want this. He doesn't want me. He –"

"Said he wasn't running anymore," Tikki cut in, laying a paw on her shoulder. She frowned up at her. "Do you want me to come with you, Marinette?"

Tikki didn't travel with her as often as she used to. Since the fall of Hawkmoth, there hadn't really been any need. True, every now and then someone rose up to threaten the city, and Tikki would once again spend most of her time hidden in Marinette's purse. But for the most part, aside from the occasional patrol, Paris was safe. Tikki liked to stay at the flat with her fellow kwamis, and not having to constantly hide her in the fast-paced fashion world made things easier on Marinette. Still, every so often Tikki still enjoyed accompanying her chosen out of the flat – especially on days like today, when she needed the moral support.

"I…yes, please," Marinette breathed out on a sigh, closing her eyes and nodding. She held open her purse, and Tikki giggled as she flew inside. They shared a smile before Marinette snapped it shut.

"You've got this, Marinette!" Tikki cheered through the purse, and Marinette smiled when answering calls from the other kwamis followed her out the door.

Her confidence failed her again once she actually got there, though.

Five minutes was just long enough to fool herself into thinking everything would be fine, that Luka really did want to start…not again, maybe over, or…whatever the hell it was they would be doing here. Five minutes was just long enough to convince herself that this couldn't possibly be the biggest mistake of her life, as she had already made that mistake the day she let him get on that bus and leave and hadn't fought harder to get him to come home. Five minutes – extended to ten, then fifteen, as she walked halfway there and turned back then turned back again – was just long enough to remind herself that she was a fully capable, confident adult who kind of kicked ass, and what guy wouldn't want to make a life with her?

But then, all too soon, the café was in front of her, the lights from inside casting a warm glow on the street. The cheerful jingle of the bell as the door opened was jarring in her ears. The teenagers walking out brought with them a blast of warmth and muted chatter, things that should have been inviting in the cold February night.

Things that, to a Marinette who was suddenly second-guessing herself all over again, just felt like a panic attack.

"I can't do this, Tikki," she gasped, the words nearly choking her on their way out. She stood outside the large window at the front, her hands fisted so tight around her purse strap she was sure her knuckles were white under her gloves, and stared into the café without really registering anything. Luka could have been sitting at the table right in front of her (he wasn't, though the orange-haired girl on a date of her own kept shooting her concerned looks) and she never would have known. She swallowed against the lump in her throat and shook her head. "This is a mistake. This is…I can't…"

"You can, Marinette," Tikki said quietly from her purse. She felt the comforting presence of Tikki's weight pressing through the purse against her hip, and she took a breath to gather her frayed nerves. When she opened her eyes again, she was able to actually look around inside the café.

He wasn't there.

"…he's not coming," she choked out. "Tikki, I was right. He doesn't want…he's not coming. God, I'm so stu…dumb. He's been avoiding me for eight years – of course he's not going to –"

"Marinette!" Tikki snapped. She looked down at her purse to find Tikki glaring at her. "Look at your phone."

Marinette did.

The lockscreen told her it was barely four thirty.

"He's probably still on his way," Tikki told her, and a nervous laugh burbled past Marinette's lips. Tikki frowned as Marinette suddenly groaned, pressed her face into her palms, and spun on her heel to pace outside the window. The customers occupying the tables by the window were still watching her nervously. "Marinette, please. Everything's going to be fine. You both want this."

"Do we, though?" Marinette asked, looking up from her hands and anxiously scanning the sidewalk. She turned and looked the other way. Still no sign of him. "We're such a disaster, Tikki. I'm such a disaster. He can't possibly want –"

"I'm pretty sure he's wanted your disaster since you were kids, Marinette," Tikki said, sounding more than a little cross. Somehow, though, that didn't make Marinette feel any better.

It only made Marinette think of Adrien, of all people. Of the mess she was around her first crush, and how everything had been so much easier with Luka – but how, because of everything else, she had been too afraid to push for more. How she had wanted him since back then, too, but because of timing or the universe or whatever it had never worked out. How she had tried with other guys since him, but none of them had ever worked, either. How there was a part of her, even if it was just a small part, that honestly believed…maybe she wasn't meant for true love or happily ever after.

Maybe she wasn't meant for the fairy tale. Maybe she wasn't even meant for second best.

"…ok. Fine. I want this, but…I don't want to mess it up, either," she finally confessed. She felt Tikki press into her side again, and she swallowed against the lump forming in her throat. "It's…it's Luka, Tikki. If I can't make it work with him…"

"You're never going to get the chance to make anything work if you don't woman up and go inside, Marinette," Tikki reminded her, her voice too gentle and kind for the harsh words. Marinette snorted and clapped her hands back over her mouth, and her kwami grinned up at her. "You should at least grab a table. It looks a little busy in there."

"…you're right," Marinette sighed, bowing her head as she took a few more deep breaths. Of course Tikki was right. What was she freaking out over, anyway? They'd already been through the worst of it, right? Everything else from here on out was just…details. And, if she was honest with herself, she was really looking forward to finding out what those details were. "God, I'm so…"

"Stupid?" Tikki giggled, and Marinette grinned down at her. "Come on. I want a cookie."

"You have at least ten stuffed in there, I'm sure," Marinette teased, poking at Tikki's nose before snapping her purse shut. "Ok. You're right. Let's –"

"…Marinette?"

She squeaked and spun on her heel at the voice, thankful it wasn't icy when even just that nearly sent her on her ass. And then everything stopped, her breath catching in her throat as her heart fluttered in her chest, because standing in the doorway to the café…

…was Luka.

– V –

Meanwhile – inside the café, seated on a couch towards the back – Luka was still definitely not freaking out.

…except he'd been loitering around the café for the better part of two hours, trying to distract himself from totally not freaking out by scribbling in his songwriting notebook. At some point he'd pulled Devereaux from his case, but beyond testing out a few chords he wasn't really playing. He had given up entirely when he saw Marinette through the window, her hands fidgeting with her purse as she peered through the glass. Her eyes swept right over him, and then she looked up and down the sidewalk before she started pacing.

He watched her for a good five minutes before he realized she mustn't have seen him. He watched her for five more, muttering to herself and anxiously wringing her hands around her purse strap, before he realized she was totally freaking the hell out, too.

He swallowed thickly and fished his phone out of his pocket.

"Talk me out of doing something stupid," he said before Dingo could even say hello. A beat passed where his friend was uncharacteristically silent.

"…did you call the wrong number?" Dingo finally asked. Luka's lips twitched with a smile. "I'm pretty sure you called the wrong person. That's my line, mate."

"Marinette's outside," Luka said.

"…shit," Dingo said. There was a giggling on the other end, and Dingo clicked his tongue. "Don't you start saying that, bugger. Maman doesn't know you know that word."

"Shit!" Luka heard KK giggle, and he covered his mouth with a hand to muffle his snicker.

"We're supposed to have coffee," Luka continued, as if his nephew wasn't still chanting shit in the background of their call. He supposed he should just be glad the kid was obviously feeling better. "And talk. And…shit. I can't do this, Ding. I was going to play her the song, but…what the hell was I thinking? The song is garbage. She's going to hate it. She's –"

"Oi, stop that. It's a fucking amazing song and you know it. Could use more drums, but we can clean that up in the studio. She's gonna love it. And you were thinking that you love her and are tired of living without her – which, by the way, pretty sure the feeling's mutual," Dingo said. Luka groaned and popped his fist against his forehead. "Kurt, down."

"She doesn't…" he started to say, but he couldn't get the words she doesn't love me out of his throat. He knew that wasn't true, or at least he hoped it wasn't, and he couldn't convince himself of the lie. He honestly didn't think love had ever been their problem. Fear? Cowardice – especially on his part? He knew Marinette loved him – she had admitted to as much, back before she'd realized who he was – but he was also pretty sure she hated him, too. And he just wasn't sure if the love was still strong enough to outweigh the hate.

…she was still pacing outside, muttering to herself in a classic Marinette Spiral.

"I've already messed things up so much," he sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "Ding, this is my last shot. If I blow it again…"

"Then don't blow it," Dingo said. Luka's grip tightened on his phone at how serious he sounded. "Go out there, grovel your ass off, and sweep her off her feet like she's been waiting for you to do since you were eighteen."

Luka looked back out the window. Her back was to the café, but she was scanning the sidewalk again. Looking for him.

…she wanted to meet him. She had called him. She would listen, and she would understand. They would be ok.

"…you good?" Dingo asked. Luka nodded, even though he knew Dingo couldn't see it. "Because I totally already ordered the I'm With Stupid shirt for my best man suit. Just saying."

"We will elope and you are not invited to bear witness," Luka said automatically, though the idea of standing before an altar with Marinette wearing a beautiful white dress, surrounded by their family and friends as they exchanged vows, had him smiling a little stupidly. It was an image he could definitely get behind. "Thanks, Ding."

"Anytime, ma…Kurt King get down from –!" Dingo shouted, and there was distant laughter followed by louder crying and more swearing. "Shit, shit, shit! Lu, I gotta go – oh my God please don't be dead!"

Luka wanted to point out that if KK was still crying like that he couldn't actually be dead, but Dingo had already hung up. He shook his head and smiled as he stuffed his phone back in his pocket. He looked back at Marinette to find she had stopped pacing and was looking in her purse for something. He took a steadying breath and stood, shaking his hands to dispel some of the nervous energy that had been running through him since she'd first shouted "Don't!" through the phone earlier that afternoon.

It was now or never. He took one more breath and moved towards the door. His hands only shook a little when he pushed it open.

"Marinette?" he called, stepping out into the cold evening air. She leapt nearly a foot out of her skin at the sound of his voice, and he had to bite back a smile as she spun around to face him.

And promptly froze.

Her eyes had blown wide, and her mouth had dropped open a little, and she was just standing there…

Because Marinette had not at all been prepared to turn around and find herself face to face with Luka Couffaine.

He was standing in the entrance to the café, holding the door open and watching her in concern. And it was Luka, not Stupid. The beard was gone. His hair was dyed again. He was still dressed simply – a worn leather jacket over a dark sweater and jeans – but not like he'd just rolled out of bed and grabbed the first thing off his floor. His eyebrows furrowed as she continued to just stand there gawking at him. She noticed his fingers flex on the door – like he wanted to go to her but was unsure if he'd be welcomed. If it was allowed.

And wasn't that just stupid?

That was the whole point of meeting him, after all. Wasn't it? Because she wanted…he wanted…

"Are…are you coming inside?" he asked when she continued to just stand there. It was like time had slowed in those moments, and all of a sudden she was shoved back into the present. She sucked in a breath, the cold February air biting at her lungs, and shook her head – then squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. When she opened them again, he was still standing there uncertainly.

"I…I didn't…see you inside," she finally said, twisting her hands over her purse strap. She glanced up at his blue bangs and worried her lip. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and she couldn't help but notice the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Your…I was…I wasn't looking for…"

"…you didn't recognize me?" he supplied after another moment of floundering, inclining his head towards her, and a beat passed before she started laughing. His smile warmed, his entire posture relaxing as he stepped out of the way and gestured towards the open door. "It's a lot warmer in there, you know."

"…yeah," she said, nodding as a smile snuck onto her lips. She went to walk inside, but she paused at the door. He lifted an eyebrow at her, nodding for her to keep going, but before she could second-guess herself any more she was throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her face against his shoulder, standing on her tiptoes and trying to tug him closer. He hesitated only a moment, but then his arms were around her, and it was like nothing had changed. No time had passed at all, and it was just…them. It was just Luka.

And she never wanted to let him go again.

Eventually, though, she had to: when another few customers coughed and shuffled their way past them, and she felt Luka shiver as a cold wind blew by and slipped around her into his open jacket, and he heard a customer near the door complain that they were letting all the warm air out. She smiled and gave him one more squeeze before stepping back, and the smile he gave her in reply as she tucked some hair behind her ear let her know she'd been freaking out over nothing.

He nodded towards the open door, and as she stepped past him she knew they were going to be ok.

Once they were inside, he led her to a small couch in the back where a guitar had been haphazardly left – she assumed when he'd come out to get her. She frowned when she got a better look at the guitar, though: it wasn't one she recognized. The face was a sleek black, and pink and white cherry blossoms – ones that looked suspiciously like her signature flower – were stenciled along the lower curve of the body. She turned back to him, raising an eyebrow, and his smile turned nervous.

"Ok, before you say anything…they were kinda busy when I got here," he said, picking the guitar up and placing it beside the couch, against a case she was only just noticing. "All the tables were taken. I…I had kinda hoped you wouldn't mind, but if it's too…"

"What? Oh, no, this is fine," she said, her cheeks warming with a blush when she realized he'd thought she was upset about having to share a couch with him. Yes, it was more…familiar than two chairs with a table separating them, but…she didn't think she minded. She nodded to his guitar and sat down on the couch. He hesitated only a moment, and she rolled her eyes before patting the cushion next to her. She smiled when he sat down beside her, turning and bending his leg between them. "Not the couch, Luka. The guitar."

"…oh," he said, glancing back at it. He fiddled with the cuffs of his jacket and nodded a bit nervously. "Right. Ah. I…there was something…" He paused, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. God, he was so nervous. It was kind of cute, and – if Marinette was completely honest with herself – a nice switch. She wasn't used to being the collected one. Not with anyone she'd ever been romantically interested in, really, but especially not with Luka.

…not that she was collected. Not by any means. She was plenty nervous herself. But…there was also a certainty. An assurance. She wasn't sure what was going to happen here, but she knew Luka had told her he wasn't running anymore. And if she didn't want to run, either…she had hope that this meeting – this date – would end with things moving in the right direction.

So…maybe she wasn't all that nervous after all.

She reached out and placed a hand on the knee he'd bent between them, and his eyes shot up from his hands to her.

"Relax, Luka," she said, smiling softly. "It's just me."

He swallowed again, and the look in his eyes seemed to say that's exactly the problem. She squeezed his knee. Before she could remove her hand, he reached out to hold it with his own. Once their fingers were linked together, a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. He slumped towards her, an easy smile curling his lips.

"There's never been anything just about you, Marinette," he sighed, squeezing her hand. A peaceful moment stretched between them, where they just watched their linked hands and smiled, before his words seemed to catch up with her. She coughed nervously and took her hand back, suddenly entirely too warm and needing to remove her coat. He blinked at her as she slid the heavy black coat off her shoulders, and then – as if he was following her lead, just like he'd said he would – he went to remove his, too.

"I-I meant the guitar," she said, avoiding looking at him by looking at the guitar again. "Not that you having a guitar is weird – you're Luka, of course you have your guitar – it's just…I don't know this one? Which isn't all that weird, I guess, with how long it's been, but you still play with Claire – I've seen her in concert footage and interview stills – so I guess I'm just…I thought you'd have George?"

That seemed to throw him, and he paused with his jacket halfway down his arms. He blinked slowly, staring at her with a dazed sort of expression that had her face flushing again. Her eyes dropped to her lap, and she fisted her hands on her knees when she saw how her fingers were twisting in her dress.

"You…you remember their names…?" he finally asked, his voice a little raspy. Breathless. She swallowed and glanced up at him, her expression softening at the dumbfounded look on his face.

"…of course I do, Luka," she said. "They were important to you. A part of you. So…they were important to me, too."

He looked back down, unable to hold her gaze, and anxiously rubbed his hands against his thighs. He was smiling, though, and that made Marinette smile.

"George…suffered an untimely fate a few years back," Luka said, wincing at the memory. Marinette's eyebrows rose. Luka started drumming his fingers against his knees. "We were on tour in America – New York, actually. Jagged's hometown. There's this deli that's been around since he was a kid, and he insisted we all had to go. Anyway…long story short, we were at the hotel later, and Jagged was being…well, Jagged. He had gotten some lox and was feeding Fang."

"Oh, no…" Marinette groaned, her hands coming up to cover her mouth. Luka grinned a little wryly and nodded.

"One thing led to another, and the next thing I knew there was fish inside George and a worked-up Fang was snapping him in half," he said. Marinette groaned again, and Luka chuckled as he gestured to the new guitar. "This is Devereaux. Jagged bought him as an apology. Technically speaking, he's amazing, but personally he's half the guitar George was. Still, he knows he's the best, and that's part of what makes him such a pain in the ass. I hate him."

Marinette snorted at the grin Luka shot her.

"But you still play him," she said. She leaned closer, lifting her eyebrows again as she smirked at him. "You still brought him with you to play for me."

She was close enough to hear the way his breath hitched at that. He blinked down at her, his cheeks darkening in a blush, and for a wild, crazy moment she thought he might kiss her again. She hoped he might kiss her again. But then the moment passed, and he was fiddling with his jacket again, unable to look at her. He coughed nervously and struggled, and she bit back her smile when she realized he was stuck.

"Here," she laughed, and he froze when she scooted closer and reached out for him. She could feel his eyes on her, but she busied herself with freeing his arms from his jacket and tried not to blush too hard under his gaze. She hummed once he was free, her smile warming as she ran her hands along his arms, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in the burgundy sweater he was wearing. It was a nice sweater – excellent quality. Good craftsmanship. Almost as good as…she paused, her hands stilling on his biceps, and considered the sweater. It was familiar…where did she know it from?

"Marinette?" he asked, snapping her attention back to him. She shook her head and smiled up at him, squeezing where her hands were still on his arms – and wasn't that something. She'd almost forgotten how strong he was under all the layers he always wore.

"Sorry," she said, though she didn't move away from him. "Just…your sweater. It's just…it's familiar. I feel like I've seen it before – have you had it long?"

"A few years," he said, shrugging. "Jules got it for me for Christmas one year. She made a big deal about it, but you know I've never been that particular about my clothes. Though…honestly, it's one of my favorites. Very comfortable and warm, and it's held up well. Not that I'd ever tell her that – I'd never hear the end of it."

She smiled as he chuckled, her fingers at his cuff and rubbing the woven material between them. She hummed, something tugging at her memory. She frowned and looked up at him.

"Wait, Juleka got it for you? Did…did she say where from?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Not really," he said. "It's just a sweater, Marinette. I mean…ok, for you I'm sure there's more to it than just a sweater, but honestly it's just a sweater. It's comfortable and warm and I like the color. I'm told I don't look awful in maroon."

"It's burgundy," she said absently, flipping the cuff over to check…she smiled when she saw her name hidden among the stitches in slightly darker thread. She remembered that Christmas, when Juleka came to her all squirrelly about a gift she wanted made but refused to tell her who for. She should have known back then… "Maroon is more purple. Less red."

"Ok, burgundy," he chuckled. He leaned towards her, and she bit her lip when his forehead pressed against hers. "…what's with the smile? Am I missing something here?"

"It's nothing," she said, letting go of his cuff and reaching for his hand instead. "It's just a nice sweater. It looks good on you. I like it."

"I'm glad," he said with another little laugh. "I…are you going to freak out if I say I was kind of trying?"

"What?" she asked, her face scrunching with a frown. His thumb rubbed along her finger absently.

"I figured I couldn't look any worse than I did that first day," he said, trying to sound nonchalant about it, "but I still…it's like the guitars. I don't really get the whole fashion thing, but it's important to you. I don't care what I'm wearing, but I wanted to look nice for you because I know you do. Fashion's important to you."

Her breath caught that time, and he opened his eyes and gave her a lazy smile and…damn, he was smoldering at her. That just wasn't fair.

"Too much?" he asked. The giggle that bubbled out of her almost sounded nervous.

"Just enough," she said, squeezing his hand. He was looking at their hands again, his thumb still absently stroking her skin. After a moment, he cleared his throat and nodded towards the counter.

"I'm thinking coffee might be a bad idea now," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. He looked up at her and grinned. "Like either of us need to be any more jittery. Tea?"

"Please," she said. She tried to feel only a little disappointed when he released her hand and stood. "Green? Honey and a little cream?"

"I remember," he said absently, and she couldn't quite ignore the thrill that raced through her at that. "Anything else? I think you said something about a panini?"

"I said maybe a panini," she teased. He grinned at her when she swatted at him. "Start with the tea."

The queue wasn't very big, and their drinks weren't all that complicated, so it wasn't too long before Luka was handing her a mug – one of the big, sturdy ceramic ones that meant they were staying a while, she was pleased to note – and putting his own on the table. She glanced at his mug and noticed, despite what he'd said before getting the drinks, he'd still returned with coffee for himself. She idly wondered if it was decaf. She smiled and put her mug down beside his and nodded at his guitar.

"So…I have to ask. I'm curious," she said, smiling when he looked back at her. "The flowers. Was that Jagged, too?"

…he blushed. His cheeks turned a warm pink, and he took a long pull from his coffee to avoid answering her. Her eyebrows rose, and he finally shrugged. He nervously ran his thumb along the lip of his mug. His cheeks were still pink.

"Nah," he said. "That…that one was me. Painted 'em myself."

"They don't seem very rock-n-roll," she teased. He laughed and leaned over, bumping their shoulders together.

"Shut up," he said. "Flowers are very rock-n-roll. Ever heard of Guns N' Roses?"

She almost spilled her tea as a loud laugh escaped her. She quickly put her mug back on the table and clapped a hand over her mouth, shooting a half-hearted glare his way when he only smirked. He leaned back into the couch, folding one of his legs up and balancing his mug on his knee – making himself comfortable. She shook her head and scooted closer, reaching for her mug again before she leaned against him. She felt him tense for the briefest of moments before he took his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, as if he was still unsure she actually wanted this. She laid her head on his shoulder and looked up at him, smiling. Reassuring.

"You are still such a dork," she chided, still snickering. His lips quirked with a smile of his own. "I'm really glad that hasn't changed. I've always loved that about you, you know."

He didn't say anything, but before he took another sip of coffee she noticed his smile warm.

"I do like the flowers, though," she said. He hummed, glancing at her. "But that shouldn't surprise you. Considering they look just like my flowers."

"…they are your flowers, Marinette," he said, sighing. She gave him a knowing look, and he squeezed her shoulder. "C'mon. Is it really that surprising? I never…I wanted…it kept you close. Even if…if I couldn't…"

She laid a hand on his knee, the touch reminding him she was there and wasn't going anywhere, and he closed his eyes and took a breath. He had always been so bad with words, and now when he needed them most they were failing him completely. He took another breath and looked at her, hoping she understood.

"I once told you you've been the song stuck in my head since the day we met," he said, his voice low and thick. He swallowed against the nerves. "That never changed, Marinette. You've been stuck in my head for nearly ten years now. Of course I was going to paint your flowers on my guitar. Whose else would I have?"

…that stung more than she was sure he'd meant it to. She put her mug down and leaned forward, folding her hands between her knees and looking away from him. She blinked against the sudden burn in her eyes.

"…that sounded an awful lot like a love confession, Luka," she said quietly. He sat up a bit straighter, and she tightened her grip on her hands. "Stuck in your head for ten years, huh? But you never came back. So…what was it? I'm the song stuck in your head, but the song just wasn't good enough to stick around for?"

"That's not fair," he said. Her eyes snapped up to him in a glare.

"It's plenty fair," she bit. At the look on his face, she lost some of her fight. She sighed and reached up, rubbing at her face. "No, you're right. That…that wasn't…I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he said, reaching out but hesitating just shy of touching her. His hand fisted and he brought it back, turning to put his mug down and lean forward. "You're not the one who has anything to be sorry about, Marinette. You're right to be angry. You're right to want answers. I just…I wish the ones I had for you were better than what they are."

"You got scared and ran away," she said sarcastically. He frowned and shook his head, but after a moment's consideration nodded.

"…it was a bit more complicated than that, but…yeah," he said. He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the back a bit. "I let you down, Marinette. I let you down like…and I hated myself for it."

"…you never let me down, Luka," she said, frowning. "When did you…you left and didn't come home, sure, but…you were chasing your dream, just like I was chasing mine. We both got busy and lost touch. That's not the same thing as letting me down."

He pursed his lips, and she could tell he wanted to say more – like he didn't agree with her. But he glanced around the café, as if he was taking stock of where they were and who was around them, and shook his head.

"That's…not entirely what I meant," he said, tapping his fingers against his knees. "I should have been there, Marinette. When you needed me. And I wasn't. And I couldn't come back when I needed to, and then…and the more time passed, the worse it got. You…you deserved better than that. Better than –"

"Oh my God, Luka, if you dare say I deserved better than you like some self-flagellating…" she groaned, burying her face in her hands. She looked up at him to find him blinking at her, and it took a lot not to slap him. She settled for glaring at him instead. "I decide what's better for me. The least you could have done was given me the chance to decide if that was you. All this time…you really are so stupid."

He almost smiled at that, and she huffed as she grabbed at her tea again. They lapsed into a long, uncomfortable silence. She continued to glare into her tea, and he kept glancing back at Devereaux like he wanted nothing more than to pick him up and start playing. She supposed he did. Luka had always been like that, filtering his nervous energy into music. His fingers were tapping against his knees instead. She almost wished he would grab the stupid guitar.

After another tense moment had passed, she sighed and put her mug down. She closed her eyes, but she could feel him looking at her as she said, "…ok. Ok. Look. What happened back then…it's the past, Luka. I'm so sick of dwelling in our past. I'm much more interested in our future. So." She turned to face him, and she smiled at the hopeful look he was giving her. She reached for his hands, and he let her take them and thread their fingers together. She smiled when his thumb started brushing against her skin again. "What do you say, Stupid? Fresh start? I know we'll have to deal with the past eventually, but…for now, at least, we're both here. Can we just…be here and see where it goes?"

"I'd…I'd really like that, Marinette," he said. He glanced back at Devereaux again, and he chewed on his lip. She lifted an eyebrow at him. "I just…I don't know if it'll be that easy."

"It's as easy as we say it is, Luka," she said. She nodded towards Devereaux and grinned at him. "Soooo…did you just bring him for show, or were you actually going to play for me?"

He had let her hands go and was reaching for his coffee. Her question made him pause, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he shot another look at the guitar.

"Was I what?" he asked. She nodded at Devereaux.

"Were you going to play for me?" she asked again. He took a long sip of his coffee before putting the mug back on the table. His fingers flexed as he released the handle, and then he was sitting back and leaning against the couch.

"…I wanted to, yeah," he said. His hands were back on his knees, his fingers anxiously tapping out a beat she couldn't quite hear. It was strange, seeing him so jittery. "There's…I've been working on something. A song. For you. And I wanted to do it right this time – have you hear it first. Before…I messed up, Marinette. I messed up so bad."

"Luka –" she started, sighing in frustration. Hadn't they just been over this? Before she could reprimand him again, he held up a hand and shook his head.

"No, Marinette. I heard you. I did. But I still…please understand. I have so much to apologize for – so much I need to apologize for – and I'm hoping…I'm hoping once you hear the song…I'm hoping you'll understand," he continued. She opened her mouth to argue, but he shook his head. "I mean, it's not…it's just…I'll play it for you. I will. I just…" he paused, his smile turning a little wry, "…the last time you heard one of my songs, you almost had a panic attack. I don't really want to run you off that soon."

"I'm not running, Luka," she said, reaching out to grasp his hand. He flipped his hand over, pressing his palm against hers and holding tightly, and she smiled. "And I'd really love to hear your song." She leaned forward and winked at him. "Besides, I've always thought you sound better live. I've missed your private concerts."

His face flushed again, but he was smiling as he glanced back at the guitar. She squeezed his hand and let go, leaning around him to grab Devereaux's neck. Luka's eyebrows rose as she put the guitar in his lap and patted the flowers.

"Come on," she said softly. "I'll have you know Luke Stone is actually my favorite artist, and I'd love to hear a new song from him." He gave her an incredulous look, and she scooted closer to him. He swallowed thickly when she laid a hand on his shoulder, her touch sliding down his arm as she looked up at him from under thick lashes. "Please? Play for me? I promise I won't freak out this time."

His fingers had already started to pick out a few random notes on the strings, but as she continued to watch him the song began to take form. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized parts of the melody: it was a song she hadn't heard in almost ten years. It was…

"I've been gone for so long now, chasing everything that's new. And I have forgotten how I got here…" he began to sing, his voice low and rough. Shaky and unsure – as if he still wasn't certain she'd actually want to hear it. He lifted his eyes from the strings and caught her own, and she felt her heart stutter at the look there. "…but I have not forgotten you."

Her breath caught in her throat. Her grip tightened on his arm. He looked back at Devereaux, unable to hold her gaze.

"We were just children, but our eyes opened and you were all that I could see. You came close enough to know my heartbeat…but still not close enough for me," he sang. Her own eyes closed as her other hand fisted on her knees, the words bringing back memories of missed chances and wasted opportunities. Of a desperate hug before she practically shoved him on that bus, of… "Through the good times and the bad, you were the best I never had – the only chance I wish I had to take."

His fingers fumbled on the strings as she laid her head on his shoulder, her eyes still shut tight against the sting of tears. He found the melody again soon enough, and she took a deep, shaky breath as he bent his head towards hers.

"But there was no writing on the wall, no warning signs to follow…I know now, and I just can't forget," he continued, his voice so low it was practically a whisper. She felt his lips brush against her hair, and her heart stuttered again. "You're the best I never had…"

"L-Luka…" she whispered, her fingers reaching out and twisting in the hem of his sweater. He kept playing, his voice a bit stronger as he started the next verse.

"In this motel, well past midnight, when I'm bluer than a bruise…you come drifting in through the half-light, in your polka-dotted shoes," he sang, and she couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up in her. He definitely kissed her head that time, then bent closer to her ear. A shiver raced down her spine at the feeling of his warm breath against her skin, his low crooning feeling like a caress. "And I hope that's you standing at my doorway…that's the scratching of your key. And I hope this song I'm singing someday finds you, wherever you may be…"

He sang the chorus again, his voice still low and his head still bent towards hers, and Marinette felt her heart twist as he told her again and again how she was his big regret, his missed chance, the best he never had. And, really, wasn't it the same for her? He had always been her first real love, the one she could never get over, and she knew it wouldn't be as easy as she was telling herself – as she had told him – but that didn't mean she didn't want to try. For Luka? She thought it would be worth it. She still loved him, even after all this time, and hearing him sing for her let her know he still loved her. And she knew – she knew – it wasn't really all that simple, but…couldn't it be? If they were both willing to try? To put in the work?

"…you're the best I never had," Luka sighed, leaning his head on her own as his fingers stilled on the guitar. The final notes faded out, echoing in her heart even after he laid his hand flat against the strings to silence them. Her fingers twisted in his sweater, and he sighed as he shifted, pressing his forehead against the crown of her head. There was a polite smattering of applause from the other patrons, but Marinette was barely aware of them. "I still love you, Marinette. I always have, and I think I always will. There's never…I mean, Penny and Jagged tried, publicity dates and stuff…but it never worked out. No one was ever you. I'm so sorry I wasted so much time, but if you're will –"

"Shut up," she said, and then she was grabbing his face and tugging his mouth to her own. She barely caught a look of his surprised expression before she was screwing her eyes shut, and then she heard Devereaux clang to the ground – good, he probably deserved it – as Luka's hands came up to cup her own face. There was an awkward, almost desperate moment of scrabbling before they settled into the kiss, his hands sliding from her face to tangle in her hair as her fingers pressed into his neck, her thumbs stroking along his jaw. They were both still painfully aware of how public they were, and so maybe the kiss stayed more tame than the ones they'd shared in the back of her car barely a week ago, but that didn't mean it was any less. She was still panting when she finally pulled away from him, her heart thundering in her ears. He still looked dazed as his eyes flicked from her own to her lips and back, then back again. She watched him swallow before pulling her back to him. The next kiss was softer and shorter, but it still sent her heart racing. He pressed his forehead to her own when he pulled back, keeping close. "You…same."

"…same?" he asked, chuckling a little breathlessly. His hands were still in her hair. Hers were still on his neck. They should probably let go, but…she didn't really want to.

"I won't lie and say I haven't dated, Luka," she said. She looked up at him, a bittersweet smile on her face. "But my longest relationship…I don't think anything lasted longer than a week or two. See, there was this guy I knew a long time ago. A really great guy. And maybe it was never very fair of me, but…I always seemed to compare every other guy to him. And if they couldn't be him, I couldn't make it work."

He swallowed, and she smiled as she reached up to take one of his hands out of her hair. She threaded their fingers together and brought his hand to her chest, where she held it over her heart.

"Yeah," he sighed, squeezing her hand. "Same. I always had my heart set on someone else. Never seemed fair to force something to work when I was never fully in it."

She giggled and brought his hand up to her mouth, kissing his knuckles. She grinned up at him and said, "What a pair we make. Completely hopeless."

"Completely stupid," he corrected, and she laughed before moving away. She reached down to pick up Devereaux, and he gave her a thankful smile as he set him aside.

"I love the song, Luka," she said. She pulled her knees up on the couch and snuggled into his side, smiling when he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. "It might be your best yet."

"I don't care who else likes it," he said, rubbing her shoulder. "As long as you do."

"I do," she said, smiling at him. She couldn't remember the last time she'd smiled so much. When he returned her grin, he realized he couldn't, either. It was a nice change. She reached for her tea and took a sip before nodding. "Ok. So. I know Luke Stone hasn't been touring lately, and you said the makeup thing wasn't full-time, soooo…ten years. Catch me up. What've you been busy with, Luka?"

So he filled her in. He told her of life on the road, of touring around the world first in Jagged's band, then as his opening act, and then as an artist in his own right. He told her how he'd loved it, but it had never been quite what he'd expected. The world was great, but it had never been Paris. It had never been home. He told her how he had burnt out after the massive success of Sunlight, and how he hadn't been able to write anything since. How mostly he'd been playing backup for the label and fiddling with half-formed ideas for songs that had never really amounted to much. (He also told her about the stint he'd done actually fiddling, when one of his Scottish cousins had come through town with their band and asked him to join them for a few gigs. She told him she wished she could have seen that: she knew he played many instruments, but somehow she just couldn't picture him as a fiddler.)

"I teach sometimes, too," he said, staring thoughtfully into his nearly-empty mug. "It started as a charity thing for Heroes' Day one year, but I kinda kept it up? I work with a lot of at-risk youth, doing camps and lessons. It gives them something to keep busy, to keep them off the streets. It's actually really rewarding."

"I bet you're great at it," she said, smiling as she imagined Luka helping a dark-haired boy learn how to hold a guitar, or cheering as a girl with her eyes and his smile learned their first chord progression – and then she shut that door firmly. It was entirely too soon to start thinking about…

"Better than Jagged was, at least," Luka chuckled, pulling her away from Those Thoughts. "He's great with his fans, but he doesn't exactly have the…patience. For kids. They all love Fang, though." She laughed, and he grinned as he finished his coffee. "What about you, huh? Anything interesting besides taking over the fashion world?"

She scoffed at that, saying, "I don't know if I'm taking over – Audrey's still the Style Queen around here."

"That last show of yours was a huge success, Marinette," he said, inclining his head towards her and giving her a knowing look. "They're going nuts over you."

"Like you'd know," she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"My sister's a famous model and photographer in your field," he said. "And we live in Paris. It's not like it's easy to avoid the fashion talk or magazines. It may not be my thing, but I still hear things. Especially when those things involve you. They love you, Marinette."

She hummed thoughtfully, knowing he was right but not quite wanting to admit it yet. It was all still so new, so uncertain, that she was afraid of jinxing it – so she told him about Audrey, her time with Gabriel (skating over the more painful parts of Gabriel's collapse and the secrets she didn't feel she was at liberty to discuss in such a public place) and then Bourgeois and how she'd been trying to…not conquer the fashion world, not exactly, but at least make a name for herself since she was sixteen. She respected the hell out of Audrey, but Audrey's way had never been her way. Marinette wanted her work known and wanted people to wear and love her designs, but she had never been concerned with creating the fashion empire that people like Gabriel Agreste and Audrey Bourgeois had. New York had been great, and she loved her time in Milan, but…well, it was like he'd said: the world wasn't Paris, and she would always love her home first. She had enjoyed working at the big fashion houses, but she had had more fun in the past year working on her own label than she'd ever had at Bourgeois. She was thriving at MDC Designs.

The conversation was easy from there, flowing between them like no time had passed at all. They talked about everything and anything, from work to their families to the young couple sitting by the window to the gangly teen with the beat-up acoustic in the corner. He had been surprised when he'd told her about Dingo marrying Brielle and spawning and she'd informed him she already knew – that she had even designed Bri's wedding dress. He had almost forgotten that they had become her friends, too, and neither had ever mentioned that they'd kept in touch over the years. Sometimes they talked about nothing at all, choosing to forgo the conversation and simply enjoy the other's presence. It was one of those moments, when they had lapsed into a comfortable silence and were nursing their next round of drinks, that Marinette tipped her head back onto his shoulder and looked up, smiling as she considered him. He was halfway through a drink when he noticed, and he quirked his eyebrows at her.

"What?" he asked, and she hummed as she reached up to brush her fingers along his jaw. She felt him tense for a moment before relaxing, and she smiled when his arm squeezed her shoulders.

"What was up with the beard, anyway?" she asked. At the look he gave her, she shrugged. "It's just…I guess I never really pictured you with a beard? Even now, seeing you like this…you look like you again. I know I would have recognized you in a heartbeat if you'd shown up like this."

"I'm sure you would have," he said, his smile turning bittersweet as he put his coffee down. "It wasn't intentional, Marinette. Lying to you about who I was…or…I guess I didn't really lie, but at the least not telling you…that wasn't my plan. I didn't really have a plan."

"That was always more my department," she giggled, and he grinned at her before bending to kiss her forehead. Her hand came up to grasp the one still on her shoulder.

"Jules said you needed help, and I didn't even think. Honestly, you're lucky I remembered to put pants on," he chuckled. She snorted, turning her face into his sweater to muffle her laugh. "I was just as likely to show up in my underwear as soon as she said it was you. Marinette needs help? Got it. I'm there. Barely took the time to shower and throw pants on before I was out the door."

"Dork," she snickered, though there was no meanness in it. He smiled and hummed, holding her just a bit closer.

"It really wasn't the plan, and I'm sorry for…everything," he said. "I meant to tell you, but when you didn't recognize me…it just seemed easier, I guess. I had myself so convinced you would freak out if you knew it was me."

"Technically I kinda did," she pointed out, but he shook his head.

"No more than I did," he said. "I just wanted to help, and if you knew it was me…"

"Still being stupid," she sighed, sipping her tea. "Anyway. That's not what matters anymore, right? I'm just glad the beard's gone."

"Not a fan?" he chuckled. At the look she shot him, and shrugged. "You're not the only one who hates it. I don't even like it – makes me look too much like Jagged. I'm just…a little superstitious, I guess. I was in the middle of writing a song, and it was actually going well for a change. I didn't want to shave and jinx it until it was done."

"Good to know," she said, nodding as she put her mug on the table before settling back against him. "No, I just…don't really like kissing guys with facial hair. Mustaches are worse than beards, but they all kinda make me feel like I'm kissing my dad. It's weird."

He grew silent at that, and she looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. There was a definite blush on his cheeks, and though it was faint it was still…odd. She had expected him to laugh her comment off, not look at her like…

"…thinking about kissing me again so soon?" he asked, his voice low, and her brain seemed to short-circuit at the look – the smolder – he was giving her. Her mouth shut with a nearly-audible click of her teeth, her eyes dropping down to his lips. She felt herself swallow, her tongue darting out to lick at her suddenly dry lips, and his eyes dropped to follow the motion. His hand tightened on her shoulder, and for the second time that night – or maybe third, or fourth, or… – she felt time slow. She glanced up at his eyes, saw the question before he leaned in, felt her own eyes closing as she rose to meet him…and immediately jerked back at the uncomfortable clearing of a throat. She blinked hazy eyes at him before she realized he was looking to their side, and she followed his gaze to see a young barista nervously twiddling her thumbs as she looked at anywhere but them.

"S-sorry to...um, I don't mean to interrupt, it's just…" the poor girl started, her eyes darting to them quickly before looking away with a blush. "We're closing? Actually. We closed. Like five minutes ago? And. Um. Not to rush, or anything, it's just…are you…um…done? W-with your drinks! I can…I can put them in carryout cups if not? That is…um…"

"No, we were…" Luka started, smiling in a way Marinette was sure was meant to reassure the poor girl but just ended up flustering her even more (and she had to bite down on her smile at that, because how many times had she been on the receiving end of that smile?), but he glanced back at her and the smile faltered a little. "…just…finishing up?"

"I was done with my tea," she said, squeezing the hand on her shoulder again. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, pausing by his ear to whisper, "…I'm not done with you, though."

She smiled when his hand moved from her shoulder to the back of her head, pulling her closer as he firmly pressed his lips against her hair. His smile was easier when he looked back at the barista.

"Sorry," he said, tapping his fingers against Marinette's head before he stood. He took the mugs and handed them to the barista, who still seemed flustered. "We'll get out of your hair. Sorry for everything."

"I-it's fine, M. Stone," the girl mumbled, and Luka's eyebrows shot up. He glanced back at Marinette, a little smirk on his face as if to say see she recognized me, and she kicked at his feet. He chuckled and turned back to the barista, who squeaked and nearly dropped the mugs, and Marinette clapped a hand over her mouth to smother her giggles. "I-I-I mean have a night good! Good night! Oh my God kill me now!"

Luka blinked as the girl turned on her heels and fled, staring after her as she disappeared into the back and her coworkers snickered after her. He didn't move until Marinette stepped up behind him, sliding his coat over his arms. He finally looked back at her, rolling his eyes at her grin.

"If I wasn't suffering from such second-hand teenage embarrassment, I'd say it was cute that she recognized you, M. Stone," Marinette giggled. He rolled his eyes again and shrugged his coat the rest of the way on, smiling when she turned to reach for her own coat. His eyes moved appreciatively over her ass when her back was turned, and despite knowing she'd need the coat outside he couldn't help but think it was a shame she'd be covering up. She looked amazing in that dress.

"Shut up," he chuckled, packing up Devereaux as she put her coat on. He slung the guitar case on his back and turned back to her, reaching out his hand and wiggling his fingers. He was a little disappointed when he saw the gloves she'd donned, despite knowing how cold it was outside. "Or do I need to remind you that you didn't? Besides, M. Stone is my father."

"You did say the beard made you look like your dad," she giggled as she took his hand, and he heaved a longsuffering sigh as he led her towards the door.

"And you said you didn't like the beard," he said, holding the door open and following her out into the cold February night. She started heading down the sidewalk, their linked hands tugging him along after her. She stepped closer when he was beside her again, pressing herself against his side for extra warmth. "Something about kissing your dad? Something about how I should probably stick with no beard, if I want to kiss you again?"

"You seem awfully confident I'll let you," she teased, resting her head on his shoulder. "What makes you think you're going to kiss me again, hmm?"

"You kissed me first," he reminded her softly, squeezing her hand. "And it kinda seemed like you were going to let me, back there…y'know. Before the barista kicked us out."

"You mean before your fan got jealous," she teased, and he chuckled as they stopped, waiting for the light to tell them it was safe to cross the street. He rested his head on her own, breathing in the scent of her shampoo and the cold.

"You're killing me, Marinette," he laughed. She smiled, but she didn't answer. She didn't move away from him, either, so he considered that a little victory.

They continued on in a comfortable silence, away from the shops and cafés and into a more residential area, until they were standing outside an apartment building, the warm light shining through the glass doors of the lobby illuminating them. He gave her a curious look when she stopped. She looked up the steps, nervously fiddling with their joined hands. She took a deep breath, as if preparing herself, and he suddenly felt nervous again.

He'd thought they'd been having a nice night.

He was suddenly terrified he'd thought wrong.

"…this is me," she said, both of her hands tightly holding his own. She pulled her lip between her teeth, chewing on it a moment before she turned back to him.

"…oh," he said, glancing up at the door. "I…I really don't want to say goodnight yet, Marinette."

"Same," she said, shuffling closer. She swallowed, her gaze dropping to their hands, and he watched as she rubbed her thumb along the side of his hand. Her glove felt soft against his chilled skin. "Luka…I meant it. When I said I didn't want to dwell in the past and let that ruin our future. But…"

He waited, knowing she was gathering her words and willing to give her the time to find them. He'd wait forever for her, if he was honest. She took another deep breath and looked up at him.

"I don't regret letting you go to chase your dream," she finally said, squeezing his hand tight. His lips pressed together, and he swallowed when she smiled at him. "I don't regret chasing my own. I just…"

"Marinette…" he sighed, reaching up to brush some hair out of her face. She leaned into his touch, pressing her cheek into his palm as her hands came up to hold his wrist in place.

"I just wish we could have found a way to chase them together," she whispered. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, a hesitant smile on her face as she covered his hand with her own. "Do…do you think we can do that this time, Luka? Can we figure this out…can we figure us out this time?"

He swallowed and nodded, his throat and eyes burning as he watched her. His other hand came up to cup her face, and instead of answering he bent his head to kiss her – though maybe that was an answer in itself. He had meant it to be brief, sweet and gentle – a simple confirmation that yes, he was more than willing to figure them out with her – but he should have known better. She made a little noise that had him stepping closer, and the next thing they knew she was pressed against the railing as he bent over her, kissing her like he never wanted to stop. Which…was true, he supposed. He was growing awfully fond of kissing her, especially when she tangled her fingers in his hair like that and licked at his lips, slipping her tongue into his mouth to brush against his own like…

"M-Marinette," he gasped after a moment, tearing his mouth from hers to press his face against her shoulder. When had his hands found her waist? When had she wrapped hers around his neck? "You're killing me, beautiful."

"…do you want to come upstairs?" she asked, her fingers still brushing through his hair. He raised his head to blink stupidly at her. Her face was flushed, and he was pretty sure it wasn't because of the cold. She was biting her lip again, and he groaned as he bent to kiss her, teasing that lip from between her teeth with his own. She smiled as he pulled away. "It's a lot warmer in there, you know."

"I don't know if that's the best idea," he sighed, leaning his forehead against her own. "I mean…yes. Hell yes. But…"

"I'm not saying no, and I'm not saying that anything has to happen," she said, kissing his cheek. "I'm just saying I've missed you, and I've been having a really good time tonight, and I don't want to say goodnight yet. So…I'm asking if you want to come up. Because I don't want to say goodbye yet."

"I never want to say goodbye again," he sighed, kissing her again. "You have to realize that, Marinette. If we do this…I'm not giving you up without a fight."

"The feeling is quite mutual," she said, making him laugh. "Now come on. It's cold, and I have cocoa, and I want you to warm me up."

"Why do I have the feeling I'm going to do something really stupid if I go up with you?" he laughed, and she giggled as she stepped away from him. She took his hand again and tugged him after her, leading him up the steps with a smile that nearly turned his knees to jelly.

"You already did the stupid thing, Stupid," she said, pushing the door open and pulling him inside. "This…this is the smart thing."

"Nah," he said, wrapping his arms around her as they waited for the lift. He nudged her ear with his nose, pressing a kiss against her neck. "Everything's the stupid thing when it comes to you. I'm ok with that, though. I like being stupid for you."

She smiled, remembering what Juleka had said about the bridal party wearing I'm With Stupid t-shirts. The lift doors dinged open, and she giggled as they stepped inside. She had absolutely no doubt Juleka would make good on that threat, and it was enough to make her wonder what Luka's opinions on eloping were.

"What?" he asked, kissing her neck again.

"Nothing," she smiled as the doors slid closed. "Just…I think I like you being stupid, too."

– V –

Luka woke up the next morning to warm sunlight on his face, Marinette's messy hair tickling his nose, and feeling better than he had in about eight years. As he started to crawl his way towards consciousness, he pressed his face into her bare shoulder and breathed deep. Her skin held the lingering scent of her perfume, of the duvet wrapped around their warm bodies, of…he smiled and kissed her shoulder, gently squeezing the hand that was curled around her ribs. She shifted in her sleep, burrowing closer to him, and he sighed as his fingers stroked her side.

He was so happy. So completely, unbelievably, stupidly happy.

He took another deep breath and lifted his head, skimming his nose along her neck on the way. He blinked open sleepy eyes and smiled down at her before laying his head back against the pillow.

And coming face-to-face with a grinning Sass.

"Sssssnakelet," the little shit hissed, smirking at him. He was sitting in Marinette's hair, his tail curled around his crossed legs and lazily flicking her head. Luka was still so blissed out he couldn't even find it in himself to be annoyed with the little guy. He lifted his arm and flicked at Sass's hood, making the kwami chuckle.

"I haven't been a snakelet for a long time, mister," he whispered. Marinette squirmed, and he shot Sass a warning look. "…shhh. Don't wake her."

"Ssssshe is a rather deep ssssleeper," Sass said, waving a flipper dismissively. Luka wasn't so sure about that, but he figured Sass would know better than he would. He was looking forward to finding out, though.

Marinette had hesitated the night before, pausing just shy of opening the door of her flat as she'd turned to him.

"…ok, I know I said the past wasn't as important as…but there's something you should know. Because I didn't warn them, and they've all been really excited about…especially…and they're all out," she said. He lifted an eyebrow at her, and she sighed as she shook her head. "Just…don't freak out?"

"I won't freak out if you don't freak out," he said, chuckling as he bent to peck at her lips. She whined and pushed him back, shaking her head.

"I'm serious, Luka," she said. His smile dimmed, and he nodded at her.

"I am, too, Marinette," he said. He reached out and placed a hand on her hip, right above her purse, and tugged her closer. He kissed her again, pulling away before she was ready for him to and smiling when she pouted at him. "I'm not going anywhere. Nothing's going to change that."

She smiled nervously, as if she didn't believe him, and turned to open the door. She pulled him through, shutting it quickly behind them, and called out a greeting – just as seventeen pairs of eyes turned to greet him and a teal blur slammed into his chest.

Marinette had been floored when he'd just laughed, catching his old kwami and lifting him to his head to bump their foreheads together. And he'd just smiled at Marinette as a red kwami had zipped out of her purse and landed on her shoulder, nudging her cheek and saying, "I told you so, Marinette." The kissing had stopped as he'd come clean, telling her he'd known for a long time now – it was a consequence of bearing the Snake. And as she'd gawked at him and Sass had nuzzled into his hair, he'd confessed that that was why he had stayed away – that was how he had failed her. He'd left to tour while Hawkmoth was still at large, and he'd left her to handle all of that on her own, and he'd…

"You have that look on your facccce again," Sass hummed, flicking at his head with his tail. Luka looked back at him to find he wasn't smirking anymore. "Ssssshe sssssaid sssssshe doesn't blame you, massssster."

It was true. She didn't blame him – if anything, his confession had only started her crying because she'd blamed herself. She should have called him, she'd said. She should have trusted him more. She had assured him that he had nothing to feel guilty of – that she had shut a lot of people out during that time, and it had taken a while to realize she could just live again.

"I shouldn't have done that to you, though," she said, her breath hitching on a sob as his arms tightened around her. She pressed her face into his neck, swallowing against the burn of tears. "You were always there for me, Luka, but…I didn't want to be the reason you didn't chase your dream. I knew if I called…if I told you…I knew you'd come back. I knew you'd drop everything for me. And I couldn't live with myself if I did that."

"I still blame myself, buddy," he sighed, shaking his head against the memories. He looked back at Marinette's sleeping face – the peaceful, contented smile she'd been wearing since he first woke up – and bent to kiss her shoulder. "If I hadn't left…Sass, if I had been there…Adrien would have…"

"Adrien is sssstill alive," Sass said, and Luka's eyes snapped up to him in surprise. "He merely changed his name and left the country. I believe you have experiencccce with that."

…Luka reached up and flicked the little shit hard enough to topple him off Marinette's head. If that hadn't made Marinette groan and shift in his arms, he probably would've tossed him across the room. Maybe even out the window.

Sass just hissed out a chuckle as he floated up and nestled in Luka's hair instead. He tugged on a few strands and tapped his tail against Luka's forehead.

"For all your years, you are ssssstill jussst a ssssnakelet," the kwami chided. "You carry guilt over nothing. Even if you had sssstayed, there is no guarantee sssshe would have used you in that battle. In the end, it was only the misssstresss and the cat. It was too dangerousss – sssshe was unwilling to risssssk any of the others."

"I still should have been –" Luka tried, but Sass's flipper pressing into his head made him pause.

"You are not Fluff," he said firmly. "You cannot change the passsst. Be there for her now. Do not wasssste thissss chancccce, ssssnakelet."

Marinette shifted again, rolling over to burrow against his chest. She pressed her face above his heart, her mouth open and her breath hot against his skin. He curled around her, smiling when her leg moved to hook around his hips.

"I have no intention to, buddy," he whispered, pressing a kiss against the juncture of her neck and hiding his face there. He smiled into her skin and mumbled, "I'm not that stupid."

His kwami merely laughed.