A note before we start. I am not a psychologist or a therapist. Any mentions of therapy are based on Google searches; please do not take any of it as legit medical advice because this is the wrong place to get that from. Not that I expect anyone reads fanfiction for medical advice, but still...
Thank you for all of your support and lovely reviews.
Day Nineteen: Faded Ink
"Why do you think you'll become your father?"
"How could I not? I read that people who were abused as a child are more likely to become abusers later in life."
"Not all. Childhood trauma from domestic abuse can create abusers, but only if that child has normalised that abusive relationship. Do you think it's a normal relationship dynamic?"
"No, of course not!"
"Good. I can also see you don't have anger management issues, and your ability to process and feel your own emotions, as well as those of others, is very good. Your meditation helped press those memories of your father down, but you didn't process them as you would your emotions. Something triggered those memories, which is why you feel this sudden paranoia about it. What you need to do is work on separating yourself from your father."
It had been two months. The day after Marinette had given him the card, Luka rang the therapist who managed to book him in the following week.
Of course, she hadn't cured him straight away. Therapy, after all, wasn't a quick fix, but rather an exploration to help process and understand what's going on inside one's head. The therapist, Mme. Abreu, had made it clear that Luka would have benefited from more appointments, but as she had to make a living too, she could only afford to give so many free sessions and they get booked very quickly. She did, however, promise to let him know if any of her pre-allocated free sessions opened up.
"If they're booked so far in advance," he'd asked on his way out of her office, "how come you were able to see me so quickly?"
"Ladybug came by and asked if I could squeeze you in sooner."
Again, his mind twinged with a connection not-yet made, a phantom bridge.
Despite having only had the one session, which had over-run a little bit, it had helped. He could still feel his father's sins covering him like a tattoo, but the ink was fading now. Fading again, like it had ten years ago.
But the worry, the guilt, the paranoia hadn't left him completely. They were at least weaker now, and he'd incorporated a mantra into his daily meditation.
I will not become my father. I will not become my father. I will not become my father.
He had also made sure to see more of Marinette. Although they still couldn't hang out as often as they once had, owing to their exams and Luka needing time to work on himself, Marinette made the effort to see him properly at least once a week. Although this usually comprised of sitting in one or the other's bedroom, doing their own study or practice with the odd smile across the room or cuddle-break, it was better than not seeing her at all.
Luka wondered, sometimes, whether he might not have driven himself to trying to break up with Marinette had he made more effort to talk to her after the incident at Notre Dame.
When his exams had finally finished a week ago, Luka decided to take up a new hobby: something with his hands that wasn't guitar. He still loved the instrument, but after spending all day, everyday practising, he felt he needed a slight break from it. And so he'd taken to his new hobby, usually late at night when the shadows lingering in the recesses of his mind kept him up, and his sister's sleeping breaths from the next room permeated the night's heavy silence.
On such a night, he watched the glimmer of moonlit water reflecting through his window. He imagined, across Paris, Marinette was also up, staring listlessly at her textbooks, revising for her final exam the next day. They'd made plans to meet up afterwards for a celebratory milkshake.
But before exams and milkshakes, Luka had to sleep. And before he slept, he had something to finish.
Click click click
It was an hour before her exam, and Marinette was trying not to freak out as she went through her checklist for the fifth time.
Gotten at least five hours sleep: check.
Eaten breakfast: check.
Studied: check.
Black pen, plus back-up pens: check.
Water bottle: check.
Lucky underwear: check.
Part of her wanted to spend her last hour doing last-minute revision, but she knew it would only stress her out more. So instead she sat at her desk, twiddling her thumbs, trying to keep her breathing steady.
Tikki sat in front of her, cookie in hand. "Are you feeling confident, Marinette?" she asked with a small spray of crumbs.
"Umm, yeah, sure, confident. That's it. Confident I'm going to fail." Groaning, Marinette let her head fall forward with a thunck. "I hate exams…"
"You'll do great, Marinette! But...maybe you shouldn't be hitting your head just before an exam…"
Marinette stopped banging her head against the desk and looked at Tikki. "I guess you're right. I should at least do something useful. Maybe tidy up. Clear my mind."
"Great idea!"
So, after setting an alarm on her phone to remind her to leave for school on time for the exam, Marinette began tidying up the piles of studying equipment littering the room: textbooks and notes and flashcards and doodles. Some went into drawers, some into her bookshelf, and the rest into the bin.
After all, why would she need to keep notes about covalent bonds or trigonometry?
She'd all but tidied up—her room hadn't been that messy to begin with—when she stumbled across a familiar, crumpled piece of paper.
Your hair black as night
Your pretty bluebell eyes
I wonder who you are beneath your disguise
The poem Adrien had written a couple of years ago. Marinette couldn't believe she still had it; she couldn't believe she'd fished it out of the bin in the first place with no clue who it was really for; couldn't believe how neurotic she had been in those days. The her that used to do crazy things was written on her heart like the words of Adrien's poem: faded ink.
Marinette put the poem aside. Luka had written a new poem on her heart now with fresh ink, repenned every day, better and more beautiful than anything she could have dreamed of back then, like a tattoo on her soul.
She still had ten minutes before she had to leave. Marinette sat down at her desk, grabbed a fresh piece of notepaper from a drawer along with a pen, and began to write.
"Girl, how did you do?" Alya asked as they headed out of their literature exam. "That last question was evil; they told us Dumas probably wouldn't be in it!"
"Yeah, that was pretty annoying," Marinette agreed. "I'm just glad it's all over now…No more stressing myself out studying."
"Now you can stress yourself out waiting for your results," Alya said with a wink. She laughed when Marinette groaned. "Nino and I are going to grab ice cream from André's. You coming with?"
"No, I told Luka I'd meet him here. He should be here soon…"
Alya gave her an odd, guarded look, but nodded. "Okay, I'll see you later then. Remember our girls' movie night on Saturday!"
"I won't! Have a good time." They shared a quick hug then Alya went on her way to find Nino. Marinette sat down on the steps, to one side so as not to get in the way of other students leaving exams, and pulled a piece of paper from her bag.
Luka was running late. A last-minute chore from Anarka that couldn't wait, one of his shoes going missing, and then nearly forgetting his wallet...it all added up.
And so, twenty minutes after he was meant to meet Marinette, he was charging down the street towards the school. He was relieved to find she was still there, seemingly quite content as she was smiling softly and sketching something on a piece of paper.
As he drew nearer, he realised that she wasn't sketching, but writing. Quietly so as not to disturb her, he took a seat on the step next to her and waited for her to notice him.
She did so a few minutes later, when she glanced up expectantly and found Luka's face next to hers. Her startled yelp made him chuckle.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said as she took a deep breath and clutched her chest. Her face had turned raspberry pink. "But you looked pretty engrossed with whatever it is you're doing, I didn't want to disturb."
"Oh, that's okay. This isn't anything important…" Marinette put the paper aside then leaned in to hug him. He eagerly returned the embrace, resisting the temptation to pull her onto his lap. Instead, he settled for burrowing his face into the side of her neck and grinned when she giggled.
Luka pulled back enough to kiss her cheek. "How was your exam? Did it go okay?"
"It was fine, I guess."
"Doesn't sound very fine," he commented. "Come on, let's get those milkshakes. There's a nice café that my friend Remy swears by."
"Well," she said, standing. "If it's good enough for Remy…" Marinette scooped up her paper and pen and stuffed them in her bag then took Luka's outstretched hand. He led her down the street, past her house—they waved to her parents through the window—and towards a little café tucked away from the main road.
"I've been here before," she said as Luka held the door open for her. They were greeted by a cozy, low-ceiling room with dark tables and squashy armchairs. There were only a few people inside, sitting near the window with white mugs and plates of pastries. "Alya took me here with Nino and Adrien."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, just after New Years. But we had hot chocolate then, not milkshakes…"
"Maybe we'll come back when it's cold," he said. They found a little table for two at the back, where Luka motioned for her to sit. "I'll get the drinks. What flavour do you want?"
"Hmm…" Marinette craned back in her chair and frowned at the wall behind Luka, which he soon realised displayed the drinks menu. "Blueberry."
"Alright, I'll be back in a bit." He made his way to the counter and placed his order: one blueberry milkshake, one cherry. Then, as he waited for the drinks to be made—the café made each milkshake from scratch behind the till with real ice cream—he leaned on the counter and glanced back at Marinette. She had that piece of paper out again, and was chewing thoughtfully on the end of her pen, and every now and then would cross something out or scribble a few words. Then, just as the milkshakes were ready, she looked up and smiled.
Luka was glad every day that Marinette had persuaded him to stay with her. But somehow, in that moment, in that delighted smile, he was even more so.
With the milkshakes freezing his hands, he made his way back to the table and placed the glasses carefully in front of her.
"Blueberry for madame."
"Madame?" she repeated, pouting as she dragged her milkshake closer. "I'm not an old lady."
"Well, you'll be in lycée next year. I think that qualifies a madame."
"If I get into lycée…" she mumbled, plucking one of the blueberries from the nest of whipped cream on her milkshake and popping it into her mouth.
Luka chuckled and grasped one of her hands. "Of course you'll get in," he said. "You're smart, talented, and a hard-worker. They'd be mad not to accept you."
Marinette flushed and busied herself swirling her whipped cream into the milkshake with a straw. "We'll see when I get my results back…"
"And they'll be great." Luka grinned and nudged her leg under the table whilst rubbing little circles on the back of her thumb. "I know you'll do fine. You certainly studied enough."
She grunted noncommittally and shoved the straw in her mouth. Her eyes flickered briefly to the piece of paper and her face crumpled slightly, as though nervous.
Luka picked the glacé cherry from on top of his milkshake and dropped it into Marinette's because he knew she loved them. "So, what's that?" he asked, nodding at the paper. "An idea for something?"
Marinette flushed again, darker this time, and snatched her hand away from his to grab the paper. "It's, uh...umm…"
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
"I kind of do. It's, uhh, for you…" As red as the cherry floating in her milkshake, Marinette handed him the paper then grabbed her glass with both hands and held it up to cover her face.
Surprised, Luka accepted the paper. It was a little crinkled around the edges, and the writing was marred with crossing-outs and words squeezed between lines.
Hair stained with twilight's ocean
Eyes lit with nigh stars and moon
Your laugh is dusk, your smile is dawn
Your voice is the sigh of a guitar's tune
Whenever I'm with you,
the world is safe and right
The air is sweet, the light is soft,
like cherry blossom at midnight
He read it once, then again with a sort of reverence. His chest fluttered, like a burst of feathers in a gale. "You wrote this for me?" he ventured softly.
Marinette, swirling her milkshake furiously, nodded. "I, well, um. You see, this morning I found a-a poem and I thought, maybe, it would be nice to, uhh…"
It had been a while since she'd stuttered like that. It had been cute before, endearing. But within the capacity of dating, it made him a little sad. His thoughts were beginning to roll back into the dark; the tattoos strengthened. Was she afraid of him?
Luka took a long sip of the milkshake. The cold in his throat distracted his mind long enough to remind himself that he wasn't going to hurt her and she knew that. "Why are you so nervous?" he asked, pleased he'd kept his voice steady. She froze and dropped her straw into her drink.
"I...well...You're good at this sort of thing, you know? Your lyrics are so beautiful and, I mean, I'm no poet, so…"
"Marinette." She stopped rambling. "I love it. This is far better than anything I could come up with."
"That's not true!" she cried, then, quieter, "Did...did you really like it?"
Luka smiled and reached across to take her hand again, this time pulling it into the centre of the table. "I really did. You know, this is the first time anyone's ever written a poem for me. Thank you."
"You're welcome," she murmured.
"Oh. I have something for you too...I'm afraid it's not as good as your poem." Feeling his face warm up, Luka manoeuvred himself so he could reach his bag with one hand while still holding Marinette's. Eventually, with Marinette giggling, he managed to pull out his offering and—he felt his cheeks grow darker—held it out to her. "I finished it last night. It's not as good as anything you could do but, well, it was therapeutic to make so I figured I would dedicate it to you. As an apology for everything. And a thank you for everything else.
Marinette let go of his hand to unfurl the pale pink, crocheted fabric. Her eyes grew wide in wonder then filled quite suddenly with tears. "You made me a scarf?"
"Well, I tried." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Some of the stitches went a bit wrong, but…"
Marinette suddenly launched herself forward, practically standing up to lean over the table and smash her lips against his. Before he could even think about kissing her back, she pulled back and sat back in her chair. She wound the scarf around her neck despite how warm it was and nestled into it, grinning as though she had just received something far more spectacular than a dodgy piece of crochet.
"This is the first time anyone's ever made something for me!" she sighed. "Well, apart from that charm…But this is so good for a first try! I love it. And I love you."
Luka could still feel the faint tattoos of his father lingering in his skin. But, under Marinette's blue, cleansing gaze, the ink faded, like waves smoothing lines in the sand. He reached for her hands again, taking both in his, and inclined his body forward.
"And I love you," he said.
