As promised, this chapter is a bit longer than the previous ones. A fair amount happens...I could have made it longer but I skimmed a few sections I didn't have the energy to write fully. They weren't really important bits anyway, just scenes I had to get out the way.

Thanks for the support. I know I'm super rubbish when it comes to replying to reviews, but I love reading your thoughts so don't forgot to drop one if you've got the time and inclination.


Day Six: First Kiss

"Marinette! Girl, you look amazing!" Alya squealed, charging across the hall with her arms outstretched, Nino trailing behind. Her dress, bright orange and ruffled, looked like a flame under the lights. It suited her, Luka thought as Marinette met Alya in a tight embrace.

The hall had been nicely decked out with gold and red streamers. A large Christmas tree stood tall at one end where long tables piled with snacks and punch bowls were set up, and by the adjacent wall were several smaller tables and chairs. A disco ball hung above the dance floor, sending shards of light glittering on the students shimmying and swaying to the beat of the music. It was also quite hot, so Luka immediately shrugged off his jacked and looped it over his arm. But there was nothing he could do about the noise, the way the music seeped into his head, invaded his mind, buzzed and thrummed.

"Wow, Alya, I love that colour on you, it's gorgeous!" Marinette raved. "Hey, Nino! You look great too!"

Nino, wearing a green button-down and khaki trousers, grinned and rubbed the back of his neck. "Thanks, dudette."

"Luka, you sure clean up good," Alya remarked, smirking, one hip cocked. "I nearly didn't recognise you without your hoodie."

"Thanks," he said. "Marinette made it."

"I should've guessed! Come on, let's go sit down."

They found a free table to sit at in the corner, a safe distance from the dance floor, where Luka and Nino left the girls to chat while they went to grab drinks.

"Did you guys walk down with Juleka?" Nino asked, grabbing two paper cups from the stack by the punch bowl.

"Nah, she got ready at Rose's place. I think M. Lavillant gave them a lift down. I should probably find her at some point…"

"We haven't seen them, so they might not be here yet."

"In that case, she can find me," Luka said, grinning.

"Oh, dude, do you know Blaise?"

Luka furrowed his brow as he ladled suspiciously pink punch into two cups. "Blaise…?"

"I don't know his surname," Nino said. "He asked Lila to the dance? Apparently he goes to the same music lycée as you. Takes guitar and music mixing?"

"Music mixing?" Luka frowned. "I didn't know you could take music mixing. As a specific class, I mean. I don't know any guitarists called Blaise though. Maybe he's in another year?"

"Yeah, that must be it." Nino sighed. "I was hoping you'd know him. He sounds like a cool connection to have, you know. For my DJ stuff? But Lila won't tell me how to get hold of him…"

"Sorry, I can't help you there. But I know a few guys who are into that sort of stuff. I'm sure I could get you in contact with them."

"Really? Dude, you're the best!"

When they returned to the table, Marinette and Alya had been joined by another girl. Her long, brown hair was tied back from her face, and her olive green eyes had a boastful glint to them. Something about her felt out of tune, a chord played with a loose string.

Alya appeared quite happy to see her, body angled towards the newcomer. But Marinette sat with her face turned stubbornly away, mouth screwed to one side. Luka sat down next to her, leg pressed against hers, and leaned across to whisper, "You alright?"

"Yeah," Marinette mumbled back.

"Hey, Lila. You finally made it," Nino greeted, placing the two cups of punch he was holding on the table.

The girl, Lila, laughed loudly and stood up to spin around. She wore a long, rust-coloured jumpsuit with a cape-like skirt attached which fluttered around her. "Do you like my dress? I made it myself!"

Marinette huffed quietly and rolled her eyes, but said nothing. Luka passed her a cup.

"Wow, it's great!" Nino praised.

"Look at all this detailing on the sleeves," Alya gushed, poking the little flowers decorating the straps, each glinting with a tiny bead. "This must have taken you hours! Maybe you could teach Marinette a thing or two!"

"I'd be happy to teach her a few techniques," Lila said, her voice a touch too sweet. "That is, if she wants me to. I've been sewing since I was three so some of the techniques I use might be a little advanced… Oh! And you must be Marinette's date! The lycée boy! Wait, aren't you Juleka's older brother? Luke? Aw, it was so nice of you to take Marinette! She was so mopey when Adrien said he couldn't come—we thought she wouldn't come unless someone asked her!"

Luka watched Marinette's face turn an interesting shade of pink that could have rivalled the punch, but beneath he knew she was a violent scarlet, like the clash of a cymbal or the shriek of a trumpet. He cleared his throat, derailing the conversation. "So, you're Lila," he said. "I've heard a lot about you from Juleka."

"Oh, really?" Lila giggled, one shoulder rising in a flirtatious manner. "How embarrassing!"

"Mmhmm, so what year is your friend Blaise?" he asked. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Marinette staring at him with an expression of irritation and defeat.

"O—Oh! You probably don't know him," Lila said, laughing awkwardly and waving her hand. "He goes to the music lycée…"

"So do I. Maybe I know him. What year is he?" Luka repeated.

Lila's smile flickered. "He's in the advanced class," she said. "So you won't have classes with him anyway."

"Oh, the advanced class." Luka nodded, but he knew there was no such thing as an advanced class. And she knew it too. But Alya didn't, and Nino didn't. And Marinette…

Marinette was staring into her half-finished cup; caught somewhere between despair and anger. He remembered now. She'd mentioned Lila before: a figure of grief, and he could see why. Every word she said was a lie—blatant and shameless. But Luka was not a confrontational person, so he did the only other thing he could think of. He downed the rest of his punch, grimacing at the sickly sweetness, and stood. His chair scraped across the ground.

"Dance with me?" he asked, offering her his hand.

Finally, a smile broke across her face. She shrugged off her jacket and draped it over the back of her chair then took his hand. He pulled her to her feet, guided her to the dance floor where a plethora of couples were already moving to the beat of the thundering music.

"I thought you didn't dance," Marinette teased as they weaved through the dancers, trying not to trip up on anyone's feet.

"You looked like you needed rescuing," he replied. "She's an interesting one…"

"That's one word for it... Been sewing since she was three, please. And she didn't make that dress; I saw it in a shop window two months ago."

"Why didn't you call her out on it? If you know she's lying?"

"Because whenever I do, she twists it into me being jealous and turns people against me…" She sighed, shut her eyes. "I don't want to talk about that right now though...I want to have a good time."

"Let's have a good time then."

He hid his nerves with his smile, tugged her closer, earning a laugh. She leaned up to rest her hands on his shoulders, grinned when he shyly dropped his to her waist, and they swayed.


Marinette should have known it was too good to last. Despite running into Lila and being subjected to more of her ridiculous lies, even that couldn't take away from the exhilaration of twirling around the dance floor with a handsome, older student whose soft smile was so infectious she knew her cheeks would be hurting for days afterwards.

Then Chloé had turned up, all yellow tulle and glittery eye-shadow, and made a ruckus by picking fights with every girl she came across.

Marinette had tried to remain positive, and grit her teeth when Chloé asked what garbage can she'd dug her dress out of.

"She's just jealous," Luka assured, leaning down to murmur in her ear, making her skin prickle. "She knows you made it yourself. Besides, something else is upsetting her. She came in looking to cause a scene."

His point was proved when, not five minutes later, they heard her shrieking at Max. "Excuse you, Kanté. The only reason I don't have a date is because Adrien's stupid dad wouldn't let him go! Now get me a drink or get out of my way!"

Still, she hadn't been expecting to suddenly feel a cold, sticky sensation run down her back as an entire cup of punch was dumped on her head.

"Whoops!" Chloé shrilled, chucking the empty cup over her shoulder. "Silly me! Don't look so upset, Dupain-Cheng. I improved that hideous rag you call a dress!"

She swaggered off, cackling, heels clicking on the ground. Someone yelled, "Hey!" and the hands on Marinette's waist tightened their grip slightly.

She blinked. Syrupy punch dripped down her skin, seeping deeper into her dress. She didn't want to know what the stain looked like; she already knew it wouldn't wash out. Tears pricked in the corner of her eyes. All those hours of sewing and embroidering, made for nothing in an instant.

"Are you okay, Marinette?" came Luka's soothing voice. She blinked again, harder to squash the tears, and looked at him, looked at the anger in his eyes melt into concern. She forced a nod.

"Yeah. I, um, I'm gonna go...clean up in the bathroom."

"Okay," he said. She turned to flee, but chanced a quick glance over her shoulder and saw Luka's sympathy turn into a murderous rage as he marched in the direction Chloé had gone.

Hoping he wouldn't do anything silly, or turn into Silencer again, Marinette hurried to the bathroom with her head down, crashing into people as she went. The nearest bathroom was busy with girls redoing their makeup and giggling, so Marinette ran past and headed instead for the one upstairs.

Empty. Marinette flung herself at the nearest sink, breathing deep, fingers turning white against the porcelain. Gathering courage, she looked up. From the front, her dress looked okay, but her bun was falling down on one side and her makeup was smudged around her eyes. She gingerly untied her hair, wincing at the sticky ribbons, and sighed as the dark, wet locks fell lank around her face.

Then, slowly, she turned around, craning her neck to see the mirror. Dark pink sprawled across her back, wrinkling the delicate fabric, stretching down into the skirt. It would never come out; the dress would never be the same. At least, she thought bitterly as she grabbed handfuls of tissue from the dispenser, her parents had pictures to remember it by.

Marinette had managed to dab most of the punch from the exposed skin of her back, and was debating whether or not she should take off her dress to do the rest of her back or wait to get home first, when Tikki phased through the door in a panic.

"Marinette!" she cried. "Akuma!"

"Don't tell me it's…"

"It's not Luka. A girl. She called herself Belle of the Ball. You need to become Ladybug!"

Marinette cast another sad look in the mirror and nodded. "I needed to get changed anyway. Spots On!"


Ladybug rushed down the corridor, yoyo spinning at her side, looking for signs of the akumatized victim. People were in a panic, running and screaming, but a few whooped and hollered when they spotted her, however, and pointed to the dance hall.

"Ladybug!" someone called. It was Luka. "My friend Marinette! She—"

"She's safe," Ladybug assured quietly. "She's hiding in the bathroom."

Luka sighed in relief. "Good. I was worried."

"You thought she was the akuma?" Ladybug asked; her stomach flopped, but he shook his head.

"No, she's too strong for that. I'm just glad she's okay."

Ladybug smiled as something warm settled in her chest. "She's lucky to have a friend like you."

Suddenly, the doors to the dance hall were wrenched off their hinges by a blast of golden light, and Belle of the Ball emerged from the cloud of debris. Her dress, long and pale, shimmered like a diamond. "Where is Chloé?" she roared, dark hair rippling around her head as if caught in a phantom wind. She held a rose in one hand, and a mirror in the other. The akuma had to be in one of them, but which?

"Wow," someone said from a high window. "You sure are beautiful. It's a shame your beauty's only skin-deep!"

"Nice of you to join in, Chat Noir!" Ladybug called.

"I couldn't let you go to the ball by yourself, Cinderella." Chat Noir leapt down and performed a mock bow, head up to give her a smirk.

Belle of the Ball's powers at first seemed to be a simple point-and-shoot: she held up the mirror and destructive golden beams shot out to blast holes in the walls and ceiling. However, they quickly learned that she had a second power: the power to turn people into a large, hairy monsters via red beams from the rose.

The battle was long. With her legion of beasts growing ever larger, Ladybug and Chat Noir were grossly outnumbered. Lucky Charm provided another mirror, baffling them.

"You don't need that, m'lady. You look purr-fect as ever," Chat Noir cooed before being promptly blasted out of the air.

Eventually, they managed to use the mirror to direct one of Belle's red beams back at her, transfiguring her into a furry monster. In her despair, she accidentally smashed her own mirror and released the akuma. After purifying it, performing the miraculous cure, and warding off Chat Noir's advances, Ladybug swung out of the nearest window only to double back into the upstairs bathroom.

She had hoped that the miraculous cure might have fixed more than just the akuma's damage, but when she transformed back into Marinette she found the back of her dress was still sticky and stained.

"I'm sorry, Marinette," Tikki said sadly, collapsing in her outstretched hand. "I couldn't reach far back enough to fix your dress...is there anyway you can clean it?"

"Not without paying a small fortune at a dry cleaners," Marinette replied, twisting her other arm to touch the pink stain. She wasn't sure whether or not she was glad that it was mostly dry. Her skin felt less gross, but now even a dry cleaner might not be able to get it out. She sighed. "This whole evening as been a disaster."

Someone knocked on the door. "Marinette? Are you in there?"

"Luka?" Marinette looked quickly in the mirror then grabbed a paper towel to hastily wipe away the smudged make-up under her eyes. It half-worked; there were still black flecks under her eyelash line, but it would have to do. After checking Tikki was hiding, she hurried to open the door and came face-to-face with a pale Luka.

"Are you okay?" he asked. He was holding her jacket, and had his own draped over one shoulder. "That akuma seemed dangerous."

"I'm fine," she replied. "Ladybug told me to hide in here, so I didn't even see it."

It wasn't a lie. Not really. Marinette never saw the akuma.

"Good." He smiled; it was small and sad. "Do you want to go back down?"

Marinette glanced down at her dress, at the limp hair slithering in front of her shoulder, and shook her head. "Honestly, I just want to go home."

"Sure? Your jacket would probably cover most of that stain…"

"I'm sure."

"I understand." He opened up her jacket, inviting her to slip into it. "Let's get you home, then."

They headed down and bypassed the dance hall, which once again thundered with music. As they walked, Marinette discreetly checked her inside pocket; Tikki's sympathetic face stared back.


The cool, December air was refreshing on Luka's face as they stepped out of the stuffy school. He breathed deeply through his nose, relishing the cold, sharp sting in his nostrils and lungs. For the first time since entering, his head stopped buzzing and shrilling and whining like an orchestra tuning up.

Marinette's broken expression was a solo cello in an empty room. He nearly wrapped an arm around her shoulders, but he stopped himself. "You sure you're okay?"

"I will be," she mumbled, her toes dragging across the ground with every step. "I just...it's all too much, sometimes. I can deal with Chloé. And I can deal with Lila. And I can deal with akuma attacks and everything else but…" She sniffed and rubbed her eyes. "But tonight I just, I can't." With a noise somewhere between a sigh and a sob, she leaned sideways, pressing her face into Luka's arm. "This is stupid! This is so stupid! It's just a dance and a dress. Why am I so upset?"

Luka awkwardly tried to worm his arm out from under her head to gently drape it around her body in what he hoped was a comforting manner. "Dances, dresses...those things are important at your age."

She snorted, but didn't pull away. "At my age? You're only two years older," she said, voice still thick with emotion.

"In body, perhaps. But my soul is about eighty."

"Okay, grandpa."

"Okay, ma-ma-Marinette."

She moved her head slightly to wipe her eyes again. A small part of Luka was pleased she hadn't moved out of his light embrace, and another part of him felt guilty for being pleased.

I'm sorry about tonight," she murmured. "This must have been such a waste of time for you…"

"You don't have to apologise. Hanging out with you is never a waste of time."

"I'm just...I'm sorry you went through all that trouble, picking me up, dealing with my parents, just to dance for five minutes then leave!"

"It really wasn't that much trouble," he assured her. "And even if it had been, it would have been worth it for those five minutes dancing with you. It's not every night a guy gets to dance with the most beautiful girl at the ball."

Marinette turned a brilliant shade of scarlet, but at least a smile crept its way across her. "I, you don't mean that…"

"Of course I do," he replied. He meant it, and he hoped she knew it too.

It was dark inside the flat when they returned. Marinette peered through the window in the door then rolled off her tip-toes and tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Not sure if they've gone to bed, or hiding…"

"Well, only one way to find out."

She grinned and turned to him. "Thanks for everything today. I wish it had gone better…"

"Hey, every evening's a good one when I'm with you."

"Yeah, okay…" she laughed, rolling her eyes. "Goodnight, grandpa."

The wind pushed her hair in front of her face, so he reached out to brush it away. "Goodnight, ma-ma-Marinette," he murmured back.

Her smile slowly dropped. Her eyes were so close now he could nearly see stars written across them. "Goodnight, Luka," she whispered.

He wasn't sure if he moved first, or if she did, or if they both did. Or if the universe had simply moved them closer together. But her lips were soft, tentative against his, and her hand was on his shoulder, and his fingers were caught in her hair, and the world felt right. Righter than it had felt in a long while.

Marinette pulled back, the misty wonder in her eyes fading quickly into alarm. "I, well, thank you! And, err, g-goodnight!" she stammered then bolted through the door, leaving Luka alone with the street lamps and stars.

And the tingling on his lips.