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Day Eighteen: Memories

Life had entered a strange stage were nothing felt...right.

Spring was well and truly upon them now, and with spring came exams. Very important exams. Exams that would make or break their chances of getting into their preferred lycée.

Although for most of the class this meant the nearby lycée, the general one which offered a wide range of classes and subjects, a few students were hoping to be accepted into the arts lycée near the Louvre.

Among these was Marinette. And even though the lycée put more stock in students' portfolios and artistry, they still needed good marks to stand a chance at getting in. And so, with final exams fast approaching—where had the school year gone?—Marinette spent most of her free time holed up in her room, or the library, or at a park bench, studying. She only stopped to eat, to go to class, to defeat akumas, and occasionally to sleep.

It struck her, one afternoon in the library as resisted the urge to slam her face into a maths book, that she hadn't stopped to see Luka.

When was the last time she'd seen him? They'd texted at least a couple of times a day, usually in the evening to say goodnight. And she'd been around to the boat a few times to drop off a box of macarons, or to help Juleka with her history revision. But Luka was busy himself preparing for his exams, and as his exams involved practical assessments, a lot of his time was spent on his guitar, playing complicated tunes and riffs until his fingers bled.

But when was the last time they'd hung out, or been on a date? The last outing she could think of had been to Notre Dame when they'd been meandering around. When Mind Recesses had attacked, and Marinette felt the true weight of her responsibility as Ladybug. Of the rift that responsibility might cause. Might have already caused.

The thought made her feel sick.

Usually, he would be the one to suggest things, to initiate meet-ups, to pull her head up before she drowned in her work. Because her mind was like a tunnel: focused on one goal, blind to everything else. But Luka's was like a boat on the ocean: broad horizons, endless directions.

But since that day at Notre Dame, he'd pulled back. Maybe he was still feeling the effects, but Juleka said he was just tired. Maybe he was upset she'd abandoned him again, but he hadn't commented on it. Maybe he didn't love her as much as he used to.

She didn't have counter for that.

"How's that algebra coming along?"

Marinette jumped and dropped her book which landed with an impressive thud on the table. Alya stood behind her, one eyebrow arched, arm-in-arm with a giggling Lila.

"I hope we're not disturbing you, Marinette," Lila simpered. "You need to do really well on these tests to get into your lycée, don't you?"

Another oddity: Lila being nice to her.

Perhaps not nice. But she certainly put up an act whenever someone else was around. Not that Marinette ever sought out Lila on her own, or that she ever sought Lila out. But whenever the girl was around, instead of ignoring her as she usually did, Lila went out of her way to say something nice to Marinette, a facade of friendliness. It wasn't just for show, either. Lila knew what she was doing. The friendliness gave Marinette's claims of Lila's lies seem even more bitter because Lila was so nice and was so clearly trying to be her friend and Marinette was still being so horrible…

She knew because she'd heard Sabrina telling Chloé.

Marinette had very mixed feelings about Chloé's dismissive huff and reply of, "Lila's not nice."

Still, she made herself smile at Lila and Alya and nodded. "Yeah…"

"I'm surprised you have time revise when you have a boyfriend to juggle as well. But...you haven't been seeing him much lately, huh."

Marinette narrowed her gaze. "How would you know?"

"She's just concerned, Marinette. Chill." Alya rolled her eyes then tugged on lila's arm. "Come on, let's leave her to it. Remember, we've got class in ten minutes, Marinette."

They left, but a few seconds later Lila returned. Alone. She sat down opposite Marinette, chin resting on her fingers.

"Still fighting against me, I see," she commented. "But less now. I told you I'd crush your spirit, take your friends, isolate you."

"You haven't isolated me," Marientte spat. "I still have friends."

"For now. And if you want to keep it that way, then stop trying to be 'noble' and 'expose' me or whatever." Lila huffed and folded her arms.

Marinette scowled. "No. I won't stop fighting for the truth."

"Then I won't stop fighting you. You want a tip?"

"What?"

A dangerous look spread across Lila's face; her eyes glittered like broken glass. "Break up with that musician of yours."

"Break up with Luka?" Marinette echoed, confused. She shook her head. "No. Why would I do that?"

"Because it's a lot less painful breaking up with someone than it is being dumped."

"You think he's going to dump me?"

"Oh, I know he is." Lila smirked. "I'll make him hate you."

Marinette snorted and picked up her maths book again. "Yeah, right. He doesn't believe your lies, Lila."

"He will."

"Do your worst."

"With pleasure."

Lila stood up and left. Marinette looked back at her book, but her eyes weren't seeing. She read words but she wasn't understanding them. Instead, worry trickled through her mind. Luka wouldn't believe Lila, of course he wouldn't. He hadn't in the past, and he wouldn't now.

So why was she so worried?


By the end of the school day, Marinette wanted to scream.

Lila was as good as her word. Somehow, over the span of two lessons, she had spread a rumour that Marinette was only dating Luka as a rebound after Adrien rejected her. And that they were having problems because Marinette's heart had never been in the relationship, that she was just using him as an emotional crutch with no concern for his own feelings.

And, because her classmates were idiots, they believed it. Some more so than others. Nathaniel believed she was having relationship issues, but wasn't convinced Luka was a rebound. Rose thought maybe the rebound could be true, but couldn't see Marinette using Luka like that. Kim believed it all shamelessly, and made some scathing remark about her lack of a heart.

And Alya…

Alya seemed to be having a crisis, and didn't speak to her for the rest of the day.

At least Juleka was on her side, and squeezed her hand reassuringly on the way out of class at the end of the day.

Usually, Marinette would go straight home to pull out revision notes and try to memorise dates in French history while cleaning her room. But today, she walked home with Juleka.

As usual, Luka was in his room. With a surge of déjà vu, Marinette edged into the room and found him meditating on the bed, legs crossed, fingers pinched and resting on his knees. She wondered if, like the first time they'd met, he already knew she was there.

Or not, because when she sat down next to him, the resulting squeak of the bed springs made him jump.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you…"

"That's okay, Marinette." He smiled at her, but it was a little strained, a little empty. "Are you okay?"

"I guess. It's just...ugh!" She fell sideways, plunging her face into the mattress, and groaned again in a dramatic fashion.

She heard Luka chuckle and felt him gently stroke the back of her head. "What happened?"

"Lila," she said, but the mattress swallowed her words so she sat up and repeated. "Lila. She's at it again with her ridiculous stories. This afternoon she spread a rumour that I'm only dating you as a rebound from my crush on Adrien, and that—" Marinette stopped herself short. She didn't want to voice the possible reality of issues in their relationship. "And people believe her! Not everyone this time, but enough. And—can you believe this—she threatened to isolate me again if I don't break up with you. As if I'm going to do that!"

She shook her head and twisted her body around so her back was to the wall and she was facing Luka. But instead of laughing, as she expected, or making some witticism about the situation, he just sat there, contemplative. Maybe a little sad.

"Luka?" she said, nudging him with her foot. "You...don't think you're just a rebound, do you?"

"No..." he replied, but she didn't like the way his voice flicked up slightly at the end, as though 'no' wasn't the full story. As though there was a bit of 'yes' in that no, or even just a 'but'. 'No, but I see why people think that.' 'No, but sometimes it feels like that.' 'No, but maybe we should break up anyway.'

"Is something wrong?" she asked. She could feel the nervousness trembling in her throat. "I know maybe I haven't been the best girlfriend lately, and I've been too focused on my studies, but I'll try harder. We can hang out this afternoon if you're not busy? I've missed you."

It was a nasty shock when he shifted his gaze to look at her, and she saw pain in his eyes. "Something is wrong," he said. "I'm wrong. This is wrong. I—we…" He shut his eyes, swallowed. "I can't give you what you want."

Marinette stared at him. Her heart stuttered. Why did this sound like a break up? "What?" she asked, hoping—praying—it wasn't.

"What you want," he repeated "I can't give it to you. I can't...I can't have it. I'm sorry, but—"

"Wait," she interjected. Because she knew it was coming now and she couldn't let him say it. Because once he said it, those words would be out and real and everything would have changed. And not in a way she wanted. "Don't."

"I'm sorry, Marinette."

She shook her head again; her pony tails bounced on her neck. "I don't understand." she said. "What do you mean you can't give me what I want? What I want is you."

He flinched—flinched—and turned his body away, curling in on himself. "I'm not a good person," he murmured.

"Of course you're a good person."

"I'm not. My father wasn't a good man and—"

"Y-your father?" Marinette blinked, furrowed her brow. He'd never spoken about his father. What had brought this up? "It doesn't matter if your father was a good man or not. You are."

"What if I hurt you?" He looked at her now; his eyes were darker, filled with shadows. "What if...what if in the future we—we had a kid? I…" His sigh shuddered. "I'd hurt them too," he whispered.

"No you wouldn't."

"I might!" he bit back. "You don't know the things my father was capable of. The things he did. What if I turn out like him?"

"But you won't," she replied. "Luka, you are the sweetest, kindest person I know. You would never hurt anyone."

"I hurt you."

"You…" Marinette frowned. "When?"

"I—" he faltered. Then, ashamed, "I yelled at you."

"I don't remember."

"We were at the fair. I yelled at you and you—you looked just like ma used to."

Like ma used to? Did that mean… She blinked hard; not the time. "At the fair…" she repeated, trying to think back. "You mean after the cotton candy akuma? Luka, that was ages ago. You were mad; I don't blame you. I was an idiot and you were worried. You're not a bad person because of that."

"You're not an idiot, Marinette," he said quickly, startled. "See, I made you think you were. That's hurting you too."

"But you didn't make me think I was an idiot." Marinette leaned forward to touch his knee, but he shied away from her. I know I was an idiot because I ran off and made you worry. If anything, I was the bad person."

"Marinette, please." He sounded agonised. "You're making this harder than it has to be."

"Good," she snapped. "I'm not letting you go without a fight, Luka. You're not going to hurt me. No offence, but you couldn't even hurt a fly if you wanted to."

"Now, maybe," he said. He looked away again, curled his knees against his chest, locked his wrists around his legs. "But what if I just...snap?" he mumbled, mouth against his jeans. "Lose control? There's a reason I meditate every day. I have to keep whatever's inside me down. Got to keep my father down."

"Luka, that's not going to happen."

"Everyone loses control at some point."

"Yeah, you did too. Remember Silencer?" Marinette asked, regretting it instantly as Luka winced.

"I remember it happened," he murmured.

Marinette bit her didn't want to bring up the memory; victims rarely wanted to talk about their akumatisation. And yet...

"When you were Silencer," she said quietly, "you were the least violent akuma I've ever met. You didn't try to hurt anyone, just bring justice. Protect me. Even when you lost control to the most evil man in Paris, you couldn't—wouldn't—hurt anyone."

Luka was quiet for a moment, mulling this over. He lifted his head slightly, and Marinette hoped it was with realisation or hope, but his eyes were still dark with pain. "That's not true. I did hurt you. I said something."

"What?"

"Afterwards," he clarified. "You said I told you something when I was Silencer and…" He trailed off, shoulders slumping. But when she laughed, he looked sharply back at her.

"Luka…" She smiled; it felt wrong on her mouth. "You told me the same thing you said later as yourself."

"What?"

"You know…" Marinette flushed and fidgeted her fingers. "Clear as a music note, sincere as a melody…"

"The music that's been playing in my head since the day we met," he finished. And finally, finally, his eyes lightened and he didn't look quite so lost and hopeless. "That's what I said?"

Marinette's smile softened, felt right. "Don't you see, Luka? You're not a bad person. You aren't capable of being a bad person."

But she knew he still didn't accept it because he hugged his legs tighter, the shadows grew in his eyes again. She wanted nothing more than to hold him in her arms, to chase away his demons, stroke his hair until he remembered how to smile.

"When we were at Notre Dame," he said suddenly. He pulled at his jeans, yanking on the loose threads in the rips. Marinette silently leaned across to his desk and found a plectrum which she dropped next to him. He picked it up to fidget with as he continued. "There was that dark mist. I...saw things, felt things, did things. To ma, to Juleka, to you. I can't take that chance. I'm sorry, but—"

Marinette shook her head, dug her fingers into the mattress. Her heart punched her ribs. "Luka, don't do this," she whispered. Her voice cracked. "Please. Luka, I love you."

He whimpered, clasped his hands over his face. "Don't say that," he mumbled.

Lips drawn tight, Marinette clambered across the bed. She gently grasped his hands and prised them away from his face. "I love you," she said again, smiling when his eyes glimmered. She felt tears collect in her own and placed her palm on his cheek. "Luka, I love you."

"Damn it, Marinette," he hissed, but brought his hand to hers, holding it on his face, leaning into it. He blinked hard, spread tears before they called fall, but one managed to escape and ran down to the tip of her finger. "I love you too."

"Then stay."

He slumped; the tension left his body like a sigh. Luka turned his head to kiss her palm. "Promise me something," he said. "If...if I ever hurt you. Even once. Promise you'll leave. You'll go. You'll take everything—kids, if we have them—and you'll go far away."

"If you promise me something," she replied. She removed her hand from his face and picked up her purse from the ground. After rooting around, she pulled out a card and offered it to him. "Promise me you'll phone this number, talk to her."

Luka accepted the card and flipped it over. "Who's this?"

"She's a therapist. Chat Noir and Ladybug suggest her to akuma victims sometimes. It's on the Ladyblog too. She specialises in trauma and PTSD, and she began offering free therapy sessions to people to help stop akumatisations." She smiled and wrapped her hands around his, curling his fingers around the card. "Please, Luka. I want to help you, and I promise I will do everything I can, but you need more than me. Please, at least talk to her."

His face crumpled. Disappointed, perhaps. Or ashamed. "There is something wrong with me," he said. "You can see it too."

Her sharp intake of breath was like ice in her lungs. "Not like that," she said. "There is something...wrong. But it's not that you're a bad person. It's that you've been hurt. I just, I don't want you to hurt anymore. I want you to get better, to move past this. I...I want you. I don't want you to leave me because you're afraid you'll do something that I know you'd never do. To me or...or anyone else. I love you."

She withdrew her hand and he uncurled his fist, stared at the paper. Then he pursed his lips and nodded. "Will you come with me?"

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes. I...I need you with me."

"Then I'll be with you," she said. "Always."


Marinette didn't leave for some time. When Luka had managed to pull himself together and rub his eyes dry, she'd arranged the blanket and pillows into a nest. Luka settled next to her, and allowed his head to be guided onto her lap where she stroked his hair and hummed little tunes under her breath.

He was exhausted. The mental fatigue had seemed into his body, rendering him unable to do anything but lie there, idly tracing shapes on Marinette's ankle, trying not to fall asleep. He knew she wouldn't mind if he fell asleep, she might even welcome it, but he didn't want to. He didn't want to miss any moment with her. With the girl who somehow managed to love him despite…

Despite everything.

He swallowed thickly. A guilty flower bloomed in his heart. She didn't deserve to be put through this, to be subject to his issues, to be endangered by something he would become.

Could become, he reminded himself. She had faith he was good; he would match that faith with his own.

But still, he shouldn't have told her he loved her. Should have known that the moment those words left his heart she would take it as an incentive to stay.

And yet…

The card with the therapist's number was sitting on his desk, propped against a stack of music books. When he glanced up at Marinette, she had her eyes closed, still humming. A tune he recognised. Played on Heartstrings.

The chasm in his heart felt a little smaller.