Hi there! This story takes place right after Miracle Queen, the season 3 finale. It's all from Marinette's perspective. She has decided to give up on the idea of a romantic relationship with Adrien after realize things won't work out between them and he might actually have a shot at a healthy relationship with Kagami. This story is about the process of moving on from that heartbreaking decision. Lukanette. (P.S. The sorrow is the process of grieving, and the sap is what Luka brings to her life.)

Staring into those green eyes, I felt a new wave of heaviness. My chest constricted, and I realized again the weight of what was going on in my heart.

Siiiiiigh

I dug a fingernail underneath the tape on the corner of the paper and used the freed edge to pull this poster off my wall. I carefully folded the corners of the tape down onto the back of the picture; I wasn't willing to risk tearing the paper by pulling the tape all the way off. Then I stepped down from the chair I stood on in front of my desk.

I turned to cast my eyes over my bedroom. The furniture was all still there. My bed was still made. My sewing and design accoutrement was still neat and organized, each bobbin in its place. Taking down all the pictures of Adrien I'd accumulated over the past few months of pining after him hadn't changed any of that. Still, my room hadn't felt this empty in a while.

Heaving one more dramatic sigh, I slid the poster into a binder I'd gotten specifically for this and placed the whole, heavy thing into a desk drawer.

Giving up on Adrien wasn't as simple as realizing things weren't going to work out between us. I'd thought it would be. I'd thought, after the moment I'd seen him share an ice cream with Kagami and felt in my heart I should let him go, it would be as easy as telling myself I was letting him be happy. I'd felt good about it. I had gone home that day and helped my parents in the bakery. I'd worked on a new design for a crossbody handbag that evening after dinner. I hadn't even cried myself to sleep that night.

The next morning, though, I'd sat down in front of my computer to turn on the news while I practiced some needlework. When I typed in my password and was greeted by the giant picture of Adrien that was my screensaver, it really hit me. The pang in my chest was sudden and painful. Hot tears filled my eyes, blurred my vision, and streamed down my cheeks and nose. The fabric in my hands became heavy as lead. I didn't sob, but I wanted to.

It was just a wave of really intense sadness. It passed after a few minutes, and I foolishly thought it would be the worst thing I'd feel. The next wave came when Ayla texted me to say she and Nino were going to see a movie and were thinking of inviting Adrien but wanted to see if I was interested in joining them, too. I never even responded to her. I'd felt guilty about it, but I was shaking with sobs that time.

After I'd recovered from the second wave of sadness, I'd decided one of the best things I could do for myself at this point would be to take down all the obvious signs of Adrien in my home space. I'd changed my screensaver first, then set to taking down every picture I'd plastered on my walls. I'd bought the binder because, though I wanted to move past this infatuation as quickly as possible, it just didn't feel right to throw away all evidence of him at the drop of a hat. There will come a day when I will feel right getting rid of all this for good, I'd told myself. But not everything has to happen today.

And so I found myself sitting in my desk chair, staring at newly-blank walls and feeling some measure of relief. I felt like I could breath again. It felt good.

I still cried myself to sleep that night.

I went to school the next day. Alya asked about the text. I told her I'd been wrapped up in designing all weekend. She seemed put out, but I just didn't feel like telling her I felt like I was collapsing in on myself.

The next few weeks went by. I pretended nothing had changed. I pretended I still had it bad for Adrien. I pretended not to be drowning. I pretended the world wasn't cast in a hazy grey.

"Right, Marinette?" Alya asked all of a sudden. Except, apparently, it wasn't all of a sudden because I'd lost track of the conversation I was having a while ago.

My best friend looked at me expectantly. Rose, Mylene, and Alix looked right at me, too. Juleka narrowed her eyes a bit, cocking her head to the side at just the slightest angle. "We're all still going together to Kitty Section's practice after school, right?" Mylene asked, jogging my memory.

"Of course." The words left my smiling mouth automatically. Was it just me, or was everything going in slow motion?

"Marinette …" Juleka said so quietly I almost didn't hear her. She swept her bangs to one side nervously, and I saw her brows were knitted together. Before she could say whatever was on mind, though, the bell rang.

I jumped, then looked down. "Oh, I still have to take back my tray," I noticed aloud. "I'll see you girls in class!" I called over my shoulder as I rushed to the cafeteria tray return.

Sometime over the last few, hazy weeks, I'd taken to brining my sketchbook with me everywhere. I liked school and loved being with my friends, but all of the activities that had seemed so normal two weeks ago now had a tendency to be … too much for me. I'd found a new side to myself—an easily-overwhelmed side. Whenever things got too stimulating for me, it was a nice break to look over my sketches and make notes on them. I hadn't drawn anything new in a bit. Whenever I tried, I would take my pen to a new page in the notebook and feel instantly drained of all my energy. Even if I'd been inspired with a new idea just moments before, it was just … too hard to put it to paper. So I just made improvement notes on old designs.

I was doing just that, sitting on one of the deck chairs on the Liberty during Kitty Section's practice session. Muslin might be a nicer fabric for this flower than burlap, I thought, erasing what I'd written before and changing it to match my current temperament. The sun was beginning to set, and soon I had to strain my eyes to see what I was writing. I had run out of designs to look over, so I flipped back to the beginning of the sketchbook to start searching again. As I paged through my old ideas, however, I realized I didn't have anymore notes to make. Page after page was filled to the brim with my scrawled script, and I couldn't think of anything to add or change. Before I realized it, my heart was beating faster. My breath came in small, ragged puffs, and my fingers began to twitch outside of my control. Outside of my control. Everything. Everything was outside of my—

"Marinette?" A voice came from someone looming over me. I didn't look up. "Marinette," it called again, softer this time. A large hand reached out to steady my own.

I looked up. "Luka," I said, vaguely startled. There was worry clear in his teal eyes. I smiled, then chuckled a bit awkwardly. "I didn't realize … you guys had stopped playing." Most of my class had shown up to Kitty Section's Friday night practice/after-party. Adrien wasn't here, thank goodness. Alya'd told me with some disappointment that his dad had him studying all weekend. Now practice was apparently over, and there was music coming from some speakers hooked up to Nino's laptop. Everyone was talking and dancing in small groups around the Liberty's deck.

"We finished practice a little while ago," he answered, not returning my smile.

"O-oh," I said and blushed, moving my hands away from his in an attempt to withdraw a bit.

He sat down in the chair next to me. "What's new with you?" he asked slowly. He seemed strangely unsure of himself. "You looked pretty absorbed in your sketchbook there for a while. Working on a new design?"

"Oh, no," I said, waving my arms in front of me to indicate negatively. "Just … going over some of my old ones."

"Mind if I take a look?" he asked, finally smiling his usual, tender smile.

"Um, sure." I handed over my sketchbook. He could look at whatever he wanted in there; I didn't mind.

He flipped through the pages, stopping to admire each one. "Wow, Marinette," he said after a few minutes. "These are incredible." He stopped to look up and make eye contact with me. "You're a really skilled designer."

He just seemed so … sincere. It made me feel guilty for not having produced anything new in weeks. "Thanks." I looked away, unable to meet his steady gaze. Sometimes, when Luka looked at me … I felt like he could see right through to my soul. It was unsettling.

"Hey, I mean it," he said, and I could hear the frown in his voice. "With work like this, you'll have no trouble making a career for yourself."

"Yeah, well," I started, not wanting to expound on why I wasn't receiving his compliments more gracefully but also feeling compelled to correct his too-high view of me. "I haven't really done anything worthwhile lately."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean …" My eyes flicked back to his for a split second before I looked away again. "I just … I haven't designed anything new. In a while."

"Why not?"

Tears pricked painfully at my eyes. Why not? I don't know. Maybe because it feels like my heart has been turned to stone. Ever since … I felt overwhelmed again. Luka was trying to be nice, like always, but I just couldn't handle him right now. It was too much. "I don't know." With that statement, a backstabbing tear broke free from its duct and slid down my right cheek.

Luka put his hand on my arm this time. It was warm. I hadn't even realized I was cold. I turned to look up at him. He was still frowning. "Hey, Marinette," he said, softly enough that no one else could hear. Not that they would have heard anyway; the music was pretty loud on the other side of the deck. "Are you doing okay?"

Anger rose up in my chest. I wanted to punch him. But I also wanted to rush into his arms and burst into tears on his shoulder. It's not like he didn't know I was going through kind of a lot. He didn't know specifics, but I'd broken down in his arms once a couple weeks ago, after all.

"I—" I got one word out before I gasped, sobs trying really hard to break out of my lungs. My stomach felt like a sinking pit.

"You know," Luka said, voice still soft. "It's okay to not be okay." I looked at him for a hard moment, and another tear ran down my cheek. "You don't have to tell me anything. I care about you and what's going on with you, but you don't owe me any explanation. If you'd rather not talk about it, we don't have to talk about it."

His words took the edge off my tears, and I didn't feel so urgently like my eyes were about to turn into waterfalls. I felt myself start to calm down. "Thank you," I managed quietly. "You're nice." I said it before I really thought about it.

He blushed and looked away. "You're really nice, too." He took his hand off my arm and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.

I sniffed once before I asked, "Tired?"

"Meditating," he answered without opening his eyes. "I love it when everyone can get together, but sometimes big crowds make me feel anxious. Taking a break to center myself for a few minutes helps me."

"You feel anxious?" I asked. Anxious seemed like a strong word. I didn't know someone like calm, tranquil Luka ever felt anxious.

"Sometimes," he answered. "But it's not so big a deal if you know how to cope with it. It doesn't have to be a bad thing." He waited a few beats before he asked, "What about you? Do you ever feel anxious?"

"Oh, I don't know." I chuckled. He didn't press anymore. Glancing down at my sketchbook, I recalled the overwhelmed feeling I'd had a few minutes ago. "Maybe. Sometimes," I said, more to myself than to him.

He hummed a bit in response. He looked serene, sitting there against the back of the chair, his hands palms-up by his side.

I bit my lip, staring down at him. Then, tentatively, I reached out for the hand closest to me. I held it as I realigned myself to mirror his sitting position. Once settled, I peeked over at him, but his face didn't change. He didn't move his hand out of my grasp, so I kept it as I closed my eyes.

I wondered what I was supposed to be thinking of. Meditating—what is that supposed to look like? "Steady breathing," I heard Luka say after a moment, breaking my nervous silence. "Inhale five counts, exhale five counts." I did as he said, counting to five as I inhaled and doing the same as I exhaled. Concentrating on counting and breathing, I felt myself relax the slightest bit.

We stayed like that for a couple of minutes. Then I felt him squeeze my hand, and I opened my eyes. Luka sat up, so I did the same, releasing his hand and blushing. I turned to face him, but he didn't say anything.

He jerked his head in the direction of the more active side of the deck. "Want to join everyone else?" he asked with a smile.

I smiled back and nodded.