Over My Head

by UntitledFiction

In this story, the two of them meet for the first time as adults while on vacation and form an instantaneous connection. While they explore the depth of that connection and their feelings for each other, they are also doing their best to cope with trauma -both past and present. Very much Lukanette pairing, as always. The cover image is my own art.

1. A Peculiar Encounter

So, after another few months, I'm back again with more content. This time, I started writing something I believed would be short and ended up with roughly one hundred pages of material. *shrugs sheepishly* So instead of adding this to the collection of short stories as the latest chapter, I decided to upload it as a linear chapter story and stand-alone project, separate from the collection. I will still be adding to that group of short stories at the same time I upload new chapters for this. In my typical fashion, the characters are aged up and the story is set in a universe without miraculous/magic/super powers etc.

In this story, the two of them meet for the first time as adults while on vacation and form an instantaneous connection. While they explore the depth of that connection and their feelings for each other, they are also doing their best to cope with trauma -both past and present. Due to the nature of this story, I will place warnings on chapters which contain discussions or themes that may be troubling to some readers.

The theme of story draws inspiration from the song "Over My Head" by Fleetwood Mac and will be a reoccurring mention within.

I'm trying to do two main things with this story. 1- To have fun writing about a pairing I find cute. 2- I want to discuss the impact of abuse on the human pshyce, and explore how different people recover from trauma. So yes, there will be mentions of and discussions about specific sources of trama and abuse from both Marinette's and Luka's past. Forgive me if sometimes I meander. I'll try to stick to my my plot without getting hung up on random ideas too much.

*Forewarning for those unaware*

This is still very much a Luka X Marinette pairing story. Please enjoy if that's your thing and enjoy something else instead if it isn't.

Without further ado, I present:

Over My Head

Chapter One: A Peculiar Encounter

Having just settled down onto her air mattress for the evening, Marinette nuzzles into the pillow she's brought from home, pulling the unzipped sleeping bag up to her chin like a comforter. After the drive out and a full day of beach and trail activity, sinking into the well-insulated comfort of the second sleeping bag she has draped over the air mattress like a bedspread is just the ticket. She managed to get the volume of air in the mattress just right. 'This isn't as bad as I thought.' Honestly, she really didn't think that she'd end up enjoying this day quite so much.

When her friends had suggested several weeks ago that they go someplace together, camping was not at the top of her personal list. In fact, that's probably an understatement. She'd even tried suggesting that they visit the countryside vineyards instead -stay in a cozy resort and do wine tasting as an alternative when camping was brought up. Nature is beautiful to look at and all but dealing with biting insects and sleeping on the ground -well, let's face it, not fantastic selling points. In the end, she had been outvoted and now here they are.

However, since arriving and realizing they'd picked a rather luxurious campground, her opinion of this short vacation has begun to improve. The area is beautiful, with plenty of activities to keep them entertained. A veritable laundry list of outdoor sports was listed under the entertainment section of their brochure. Sight-seeing tours, themed events and even an amphitheater for movies and live shows. Way more activity than they could possibly hope to take part in during the three full nights they will be here. Their group had been busy the entire day. Hiking and exploring some of the trails in the late morning, archery before lunch, swimming and volleyball on the beach in the afternoon and dinner at the campground kitchen to round out the evening. In the end, it had been a wonderful day.

By six-thirty, the blue-haired designer was completely out of energy for any further activity. While everyone else chatted excitedly about going to see a movie this evening -some new release being screened at the on-site amphitheater- she had excused herself to the bathroom. Large, luxurious bath houses are what she finds and they are rather lovely for those residing in the middle of the forest. They are newly-built, sleek and it is clear the staff maintains them well. After a day of outdoor activity, nothing seems more inviting than cleaning up in one of the showers before settling down for the night. The perfect way to unwind after a long car ride with her rowdy friend group and a very active day. As expected, the shower she takes before climbing into her temporary bed tonight has her feeling refreshed, relaxed and ready for sleep.

The bluenette isn't normally one to head to bed this early. The smartphone clock display changes from seven fifty-nine to eight and for a split second it has her second guessing if she should be turning in for the night while there's still day light left. Ultimately, that idea ends up relegated to the penalty corner in her brain. It's just started to rain and that makes this the perfect time to get cozy and simply enjoy the alone time before drifting off into unconsciousness. There will be plenty of time to take advantage of the varied activities and have fun tomorrow.

Idle, her mind wonders to her group of friends whom she has come here with. Hopefully the movie is interesting and they're enjoying themselves. They had taken their leave earlier for the amphitheater, along with most of the other campers in this block. Though Alya had insisted it would be fun, Marinette had decided to give this evening's plans a miss. Since going into business for herself, things have gotten even more hectic than the baseline of life's average chaos and there's been almost no time to rest or relax. Few things sound better than an extra long night of uninterrupted sleep in this surprisingly serene environment.

In her over-sized eight-person tent, surrounded by the dim and ambient lighting of a small battery-operated lantern hanging from a plastic clip on the roof, she is being lulled into a relaxed state by a beautiful natural soundtrack. Overhead, a light rain falls, hitting the tarp which protects her tent. It's better than any white noise she's ever tried to use back in her city home. A slight breeze adds in a natural accent to the soft rain and, as her eyes begin to drift closed, the faint sound of the chords of a guitar joins in this soothing chorus. It's like the pitter patter of the rain, the swaying of the breeze and the sound of this string instrument are meant to be together and for a moment, she is entirely at peace.

Gradually, the playing grows louder, the expert striking of the chords akin to a gentle lullaby.

Wait.

Her eyes open, widening in an instant as realization settles in.

A guitar?

Sitting bolt upright on her mattress, her head whips around in the direction of the sound. Craning her neck as if it might allow her to better trust what her ears already pick up confirms she is, in fact, listening to someone playing nearby. But…that shouldn't be possible. She saw their neighbors leave for the movie a short while before her friends had left. Right now, she should be the only one in this area. Which means one thing -there's someone on her site that shouldn't be here.

Throwing the covers aside and getting quickly to her feet, the woman slips into her shoes. Unhooking the lantern from the clip on the roof of her tent and compacting the device, she taps the button on the side to use the flashlight function. Rooting through her bag, she finds her raincoat, slipping quickly into it before grabbing a racket she'd brought for badminton in case self-defense becomes necessary. Unzipping the tent flap, her ears can better pick up the sound over the breeze and light rain. The mysterious source of the playing is coming from their covered picnic table, just on the other side of the overgrowth of tall shrubbery and other plant life next to her tent.

As quietly as possible, she climbs out of the tent and slowly makes her way around the overgrowth, preparing for an altercation with this trespasser.

The person begins to come into full view, and she tightens her grip around the racket in one hand, while the other moves to turn her flashlight on this unwelcome intruder.

The sight before her stays her hand and her body seems to freeze in place.

Sitting under the canopy at their picnic table with an acoustic guitar balanced atop his leg is a young man, roughly close in age to herself. Clad in a clearly soaked through hooded pullover bearing a Queen logo, jeans and a pair of converse, he sits, lost within the enjoyment of creating music. His eyes are closed as he plays, a clear love of his craft etched into the fine details of the man's facial features. His brow knots as he hits his desired notes, a content smile playing on his lips -one that seems to only grow richer and sweeter each time he finds the results of his playing pleasing. Dark hair, lightening into teal highlights at the ends clings to his skin in some places, presumably from being caught in the rain and the breeze toys with the stray locks spared from the elements. Droplets of water are speckled across his face, several streaks marking his skin where water has trailed down over his cheeks. One drop falls from his chin as she stands, frozen and unable to look away. Lit by the fading grayness of the evening light and the flickering flames of the candle on the tabletop, his figure is cast in an almost ethereal glow.

Her thoughts of confronting the strange trespasser playing music at her picnic table have almost entirely fled her. The fear is beginning to fade, though she knows she has good reason to be cautious. As she observes the scene playing out in front of her, she feels...strangely at ease. For someone she has only seen this one time in her twenty years, he sparks an instantaneous and unparalleled sense of peace within her. Without even trying, he sends out a peaceful vibe she can pick up on without one word of conversation yet uttered between them. It's as sudden as it is peculiar -something about the person before her is just so effortlessly allaying. The designer feels herself relaxing to the point where her thoughts begin to flow in a direction completely unrelated to the still present potential threat.

What an incredibly handsome man.

An incredibly handsome man who seems to possess equally incredible talent.

Where had he even come from?

This question triggers a chain reaction of thought, one which leads her mind right back onto the proper track. The fact remains that there's still a stranger in her campsite to deal with.

"H-hey!" Wits once again about her, she turns the flashlight on him, trying to keep the fright from her tone of voice. "What are you doing here?!"

His body gives a violent jolt as his playing comes to a grinding halt. Even despite the circumstances, she feels a slight pang of regret at so abruptly cutting off the beautiful melody he had been playing. Head whirling in her direction, his eyes finally open, revealing the most stunning blue alpine-colored irises she's ever seen. Eyebrows raised in surprise, he holds up a hand to block the light from his eyes and jumps up from the seat at the table that he'd helped himself to.

What will his next move be? Body braced, the hand holding the flashlight handle lifts to grip the badminton racket as well, preparing to strike out with the flimsy object if needed. It's not much in the way of defense, but it was the first thing that she came across, so it'll have to do.

Discarding the instrument on the table for the time being, he holds up both his hands to show he is cooperative and unarmed, before taking a slow step back from the bench. Just great. He'd gotten caught up in the rain coming back from the kitchen. All he'd wanted was a place to keep himself and his guitar dry until this shower passes. Instead, he's now being confronted by a strange and angry woman wielding a tennis racket as a weapon.

"Whoa…whoa…hang on now. That," nodding indication, those blue eyes trail along the racket in her hands, "what are you planning to do with that?"

"I don't know," in the best threatening tone the woman can conjure, she replies, "that depends on you. Who are you? What do you want?"

"Just a guy that doesn't want to be rained on anymore." Though still raised, his arms do relax a bit, lowering down slowly as he begins to realize he's startled some poor woman alone at her campsite. She's not some crazy person picking a fight out of the blue, she's scared because her space has been invaded by a stranger. Being in a self-defense mode is completely understandable.

"That's it?" An air of suspicion hangs in her voice, suggesting doubt remains despite his explanation.

"That's it." The only thing he's got to offer her right now is his word. Then, hope like hell she believes him.

"This is someone else's campsite, you know." The lilt to her tone now comes off more as an admonishment for this disturbance rather than sounding outright threatening. A good sign indeed.

This is the moment his hands fall to his sides as he realizes the cold and angry edge to her tone is disappearing. With a bashful grin ghosting quickly over his features before disappearing once again, he slides one hand into one of his jean pockets.

"I know, but when it started raining, this canopy was the closest covered place." With a shrug, those oh-so-blue eyes trail down to the tabletop before shifting back up to look at her. "I thought everyone was down at the amphitheater and that I wouldn't be bothering anyone hiding out here for a bit…" voice tapering off into silence briefly, a thoughtful look crosses his features, "I should've thought it through a little more. I'm sorry that I scared you."

Obviously still on guard, she can't help but to acknowledge he does sound genuinely sorry about this incident. His eyes hold no ill-will, his features an open book. Sincerity colors his tone each time he speaks. For a moment, she stands, studying the man -attempting to determine if he's truly as straight-forward as he comes across or if he's simply a skilled liar. As she watches him, a small and undeniably alluring grin brightens his features. As much as she hates to admit it, this man has a natural charm to him. It compels her to afford him a small measure of trust, overriding the practical side of her that demands she not drop her defenses. Their eye contact remains linked as she considers what the next course of action should be.

Good sense demands that she remain wary.

Instinct conflicts with that knowledge.

After a long minute of contemplation, finally she resigns herself to the quiet voice in her head which urges her to trust his words. Whatever else might be the true of this person, he has acknowledged what he's done made her uncomfortable and apologized for it. In so far as his reason for being here, the story is plausible and rings true. Sighing, she switches the flashlight off, letting the hand holding it and the one still clinging to the badminton racket fall slack at her sides.

Her ears pick up the sound of his relieved sigh as she moves to get under the canopy as well, tiring of standing in the cold rain.

The bulk of the tension fades from his posture. On the inside, he's been in a bit of a panic, though it wasn't something he allowed himself to show outwardly. The woman may be small, but boy did she sound ferocious when she thought she'd been in danger. Now, her defenses seem to have lowered to the point that she's comfortable moving in closer. So he makes a request.

"Would it be alright if I stayed until the rain stops?"

The question isn't what stills her. It's the earnest look in his eyes that accompanies the request. Those clear oceanic eyes hold firm to her gaze as he waits her out for a response, no ulterior or shady motive to be found. Now that he knows another person is here, his immediate request for permission to remain in their space hits all the right markers for her. Though it would be preferable to wait this squall out under cover, he's prepared to go if she says the word.

Even so, it is risky to gamble on a stranger like this -especially given this is a strange man and she's all alone.

Briefly, she examines the guitar laid across the wooden table. It is well-crafted and bears no brand logo -telling her this was assembled, painted and polished by the hands of a single craftsman, not a company. It must have been expensive. It's also quite telling that while the young man seated across from her is soaked to the core, the instrument remains completely dry. She can't say she would want something she treasures as much as he obviously treasures this instrument getting damaged in the rain. Next, her eyes rise to look at him once again. Though beginning to dry, droplets of water can still be spotted dotting across his face when they catch reflections of the dancing candlelight. His hair still clings to his skin. His pullover is still soaked through around the shoulders and down the back, too.

It just seems unnecessarily mean to kick him out when all he asks is shelter from a short rain squall.

"Fine. Until the rain stops." Swinging one leg over the bench mounted to her side of the picnic table, she brings the other leg over the bench as well and settles in facing the table. Pointing the racket at him accusingly, her expression turns stern once again. "I've still got my eye on you, so you'd better just sit there and behave yourself."

"Sure thing." Comes his calm retort as he settles back down onto the bench, placing one leg on each side as if climbing onto a horse's back. Picking up his guitar and striking the chords once again, his eyes shift to her as he begins adjusting the tuning. "Would it bother you if I play?"

Only seconds ago, it seemed there was about to be a confrontation of sorts and this boy already appears relaxed again. He sure shakes things off easily. Where does one get nerves of steel like that? Meanwhile, here she sits, goosebumps raised beneath the sleeves of her rain jacket and her heart racing. Attempting with limited success to suppress the physiological response to having been in such a state of panic and fear, she nods her approval. His expertise with that instrument already brought about a state of relative peace once, and it wasn't even done intentionally. Perhaps he can do it again.

"That's…fine." The words tumble out in a sigh she wishes she could keep the shakiness from. Now that the only thing separating them by any measurable distance is the table, she knows it's near impossible he is unable to hear the fluctuations in her voice. Wary of giving her anxiety away in front of this strange man, she chances a glance at him, hoping to gauge his reaction.

Far from any judgement in his expression, all that can be found upon closer examination is concentration. His body language is relaxed, that same tranquil aura settling around him again. His eyes are soft, just barely peeking out from beneath dark eyelashes as he plucks each cord and adjusts the corresponding tuner on his instrument. Biting her lip as a rush of embarrassment courses through her body, her blue bell eyes dart down to glance at the racket her hand still rests over on the tabletop. Sitting before her is a man who only seconds ago she was so afraid had come here for the wrong reasons, she was prepared to defend herself by whatever means necessary. When she should be wary, the young woman keeps catching herself admiring him unconsciously, eyes lingering longer each time. This hyperawareness is going to be the thing that gives away thoughts she isn't ready to share if she lets it keep getting the better of her.

"I'm flattered and all, but maybe try not to ogle so hard after threatening me with that weapon in your hand, okay, Serena Williams?" This quip slips out. In lieu of anything insightful or creative to break the ice, he opts for old reliable. Somehow, teasing just feels like a slightly less awkward means to convey fondness where no relationship yet exists to base that fondness upon. Candlelight flickers in his amused crystalline eyes and a mischievous smile plays on his lips as he glances knowingly across the table at the woman. A small chuckle escapes him, an involuntary response to the absurdity of this entire situation he finds himself in.

He can't seem to help himself. This girl, man. Her bluebell eyes are full of expectations -she's practically on the edge of her seat. The way those eyes of hers follow his movements so intently does more for his ego than he is willing to admit. He isn't ready to accept he's really thinking such a thing...but the thought still slips out. 'The way she's looking at me is cute.' Moreover, it isn't just her expression that's cute. With the woman no longer on high alert and braced for self-defense, her delicate and pretty features are much more obvious to the eye. As he catches himself lingering on a few details, he clears his throat and shifts his gaze ever so slightly. None of that. If he isn't shameless enough to outright flirt with someone he's only just met, he certainly won't be gawking like that, either. Not given the circumstances of their meeting, among other reasons.

"W-what?!" Voice cracking as she meets his eyes, her tone is nothing if not aghast at the idea he feels this is the appropriate time for jokes. "I-I wasn't-" shame courses through her as her eyes fall to the table, a small hum of humiliation fading into the pitter-patter of rain. Her cheeks burn. It is dishonest to say she hadn't been eager to watch him play, however, that doesn't mean it's okay to tease her by calling attention to it. A second passes in which the only sound to be heard is that of the rain landing on the canopy over their heads.

Gathering up the remnants of her confidence, Marinette peeks up at him once again, finding that this time the way he looks at her is devoid of the humor that had just been there.

This young man's alpine eyes reflect a strong combination of regret and concern, his brows tenting with worry. A rueful frown pulls down at the corners of his mouth. A mixture of guilt and anxiety joins the regret tempering his features and his gaze trails briefly away from hers. A somewhat heavy sigh falls from his lips before he presses them together and re-establishes pointed eye contact.

That tease was a wrong move, obviously.

"S-sorry…I'm not as funny as I like to pretend I am," he strums the chords of his guitar, now focusing once again on it, rather than too closely on her "so just ignore me if I act dumb again."

This comment actually does draw a small huff of amusement from her. One corner of her mouth twitches up into something resembling a smile. Spying it from the edge of his field of view, he offers a smirk in response before his full attention returns to the instrument he has been tuning.

The right words seem to fail him often in situations like this, but music never does. Despite being frightened by his unexpected appearance, it's obvious she wants to hear him play. Words won't do, but it seems a live performance for one might. Before he realizes, his hands are fast at work, producing his own variant of a Fleetwood Mac song.

Just as before, she finds herself falling under the spell of his enchanting musical ability.

How is he doing this?

She's completely losing every ounce of inhibition while drinking in the sound of the music he's producing. It's a very gentle tune. The auditory equivalent to being wrapped up in a plush throw and handed a hot chocolate at the end of a long day. Dropping her hold on the racket and resting her chin in her hand, she watches him in content silence.

Vaguely, it occurs that she has heard this somewhere before. This melody is familiar, but she just can't put a name to it.

Curiosity begins to mount, and she considers questioning him on it just as his voice joins the sound of his guitar. It's a clear a beautiful tenor, as crisp and refreshing as the breeze rustling through the trees which tower above them. The young woman seems to melt into the table as she listens to the gorgeous vocals and takes in the soothing accompaniment of the string instrument. Not a single shred of the tension from just moments ago remains as she feels her body slip into complete relaxation more with each note. Soon, her head is resting atop her arms, crossed over one another on the table.

Once again absorbed in the making of music, the same ethereal glow from earlier seems to envelop the young musician. The light from the candle dances over his features, his frame just barely highlighted by the ever-dimming evening light. The last few drops of water that linger on his skin catch the reflections of the light, only serving to further enhance the beauty of his thin yet well-defined profile.

Lulled into an unguarded state, the young lady's thoughts seem to naturally drift back to similar patterns as the ones she'd tried to ignore from earlier.

'God, this man is beautiful.' The seemingly dangerous situation from just moments ago feels as though it happened lifetimes in the past, the anxiety and fear both dissolved into nothingness. Existing in this moment with him is too peaceful and lovely for words. It's that unparalleled sense of peace that allows her to let go of the reservations she's been holding on to. There's not enough fight left inside her to pretend she doesn't want to admire the physical aspects of him in addition to his voice and playing. Call it a small indulgence she allows herself.

This change in her demeanor has gone unnoticed. Until now, he's been intentionally avoiding looking her way.

Having just teased and upset her, his confidence is currently a bit lacking.

But…he has to know.

Until today, he's never sung in front of anyone but his closest friends and family and he's curious about how good his vocal work really is. She hasn't begged him to shut up yet, so it can't be too terrible. Well, at least, this is what he would like to believe is her reason for not offering an opinion. Chancing it, he peeks at the woman to gauge her reaction to his little performance.

Of all the things he might have been expecting to see, the sight that greets him is most assuredly not one. Breath catching in his throat for just a second, he counts his lucky stars he's in-between lyrics in the song. Head resting atop her crossed arms on the table, a deep adoration brings a sparkle to her summer sky-colored eyes as she watches him perform. Her expression is serene, completely wiping out any trace of the coldness from earlier. Her smile is content, genuine happiness now shining through, unobstructed. The knowledge that she is enjoying listening warms him through, helping to shake off some of the chill from sitting outside soaked in rainwater.

However, her enjoyment of this impromptu music show he's put on is not the only emotion plainly visible on her features. Also present in her eyes is an entirely different type of appreciation. This look is one that's been directed his way a handful of times in the past, so it is immediately recognizable. To what extent, he remains unsure, but he is certain she finds him physically attractive.

Unlike the gratitude he felt seeing her enjoying his music so openly, the notion that she might find him to be appealing in that sense sends a hot flush rushing up along the back of his neck. He's already caught himself getting distracted by her appearance -and indulging in lingering a bit too long on certain facial features. Then, he'd put his foot in his mouth after backtracking when he got cold feet about that sudden and far from insignificant attraction he felt. Toward someone whose name he doesn't even know, no less. Each of these things combined makes the truth as satisfying as it is relieving to realize. It's as if a colony of butterflies have been released in his stomach at the concept that this attraction -even simply on a physical level- is mutual.

As this small live performance draws to a close, the reverberations of the last few notes played echoing through the hollow space in the guitar and the air between them, he finds himself unable to break eye contact. Glacial eyes cling onto those blue pools as if influenced by a sudden spontaneous magnetization, unable to break apart for several more seconds.

The echoes fade off into the sound of the light rain trickling through the leaves and landing atop the canopy. Without being fully aware of what she is doing, the bluenette holds eye contact with the man, still captivated by the clear joy and contentment contained in his cerulean orbs. His love for the art of making music is a pleasure to witness, and she finds herself unconsciously matching his energy. More than that, she finds herself giving in and accepting this strange connection that seems to be developing between them.

Only after she has started to note certain details of his facial expression does she begin to realize what's happening here. From the disarming grin he wears to the way the affection in his eyes is now directed at her while the unintentionally heated eye contact continues, the reality only grows clearer by the second. Finally, her brain registers the idea that the focus has shifted. The expression cast upon her steals her breath. Electric eyes alight with warmth and tenderness are no longer concentrating on the making of music. They're concentrating on her. And she is reciprocating. Once realization settles in, everything is suddenly far less peaceful.

Her face burns as discomfiture floods her senses. Shifting in place on the bench, her eyes fall away from his shamefully.

"S-sorry…" the last thing she wants this stranger to have is the wrong impression of her intentions. "I-I wasn't trying to…" Anxiety wells up further, making her chest feel tight as she stumbles her way through an apology. She had let herself get caught up in the emotion of the moment, once again, and gave away thoughts she wasn't prepared to share. Seems to be the theme of the evening.

"It's okay," for the first time in years, the musician struggles to refrain from reaching out to offer reassurance through physical touch, "Don't apologize. There's no reason to be sorry." It used to be an inborn part of his love language, though he thought he'd long ago abandoned such impulses. For the urge to suddenly reappear at random with this stranger after all these years is disconcerting. Perhaps the increasingly agitated look she sports is what gives rise to such an odd desire.

His feelings over that out of place desire aside, that frustration and fear flashing across her expression hurts him. Even from his position as an outsider who only just barely became acquainted with her, the fear and regret mounting in her expression elicit strong surges of empathy and anger on her behalf. He doesn't know the details of her specific experience, but he recognizes the telltale signs of this trauma response. People feel reluctant to share emotions with others most often when they've had a string of bad experiences doing so in the past. He can't fathom the kind of malevolence a person needs to possess to do the harm that seems apparent here. Some kind of idiot with questionable judgement and an even worse disposition, at the very least.

"T-that was a pretty song." Feeling encouraged by the gentle assurance in his tone, she once again finds her voice. "You're a very talented guitarist. Your voice is nice, too."

Her kind words strike all the right chords in him, triggering a whole new rush of feelings he must push away and ignore as he speaks.

"I'd say thanks…but…I have no idea to whom I owe the pleasure of that compliment. If you don't mind, what is your name? I know for sure it isn't Serena." Using his elbow to prop his head up, he rests his chin in his palm and grins at her expectantly. She doesn't have to tell him, but he really hopes she does.

This request for introductions surprises the woman. For a moment, all she seems capable of are instinctual blinks as she stares at him, too surprised to manage any other response.

That inappropriately intense eye contact she'd taken part in didn't turn him off? She thought for sure that she'd overstepped. His expression and his body language are relaxed as he waits in patient silence, not so much as a hint of agitation to be found. She can't believe she ever felt intimidated by someone with such a gentle spirit.

"Uhm…I uh…I'm uhm M-Ma-Ma-Marinette," in her startled state, she slips right back into the nervous habit she thought she'd worked through so many years ago and stutters her way through her own name. Skin set ablaze with shame, her troubled gaze falls to her hands as she balls them into frustrated fists. "S-Sorry…my name is Marinette."

"A very nice name, Ma-ma-marinette." Her nervous stutter is so cute that he can't help the small chuckle that comes bubbling out along with his reply. Truthfully, he's also still feeling a bit euphoric from all this positive attention. From the way she seemed to derive genuine enjoyment and pleasure from his music to the way those sweet periwinkle eyes had lingered on him at the end of the song. The pleasure response center in his brain is going absolutely berserk right now. "I'm really happy you enjoyed listening to me perform. It means a lot."

She knows the stutter isn't the most attractive feature in the world, but he didn't have to laugh at her. She's had her fill of people who find it amusing to poke fun at her for this nervous habit. Her shoulders slump a little and she lowers her gaze to the table, unsure what to say in response to the ridicule.

"Hey…" The seriousness in his tone draws her eyes back in his direction and when their gazes line up, the look he sports only further reinforces the tone he'd taken. "I know you don't know me, so I feel like I should explain myself. Sometimes I don't use my words very well. I wasn't trying to make fun of you for stuttering. I swear."

Well, that's a new one.

"Why did you laugh at me then?"

He claims his laughter wasn't directed at her. If he wants her to believe him, his explanation needs to be a bit more complete.

At this question, he snaps his mouth shut. For the second time this evening, his skin flushes while looking into her expectant eyes, this time the heat of it way more intense than the first. Whenever possible, he believes honesty is a good thing to practice. But when taking into consideration how recently they became acquainted, in what circumstances it happened and her reaction to other moments of unexpected intimacy, he must question if it's truly best practice right now. How truthful is too truthful? How much will she be comfortable being told? He has no idea where that line is.

"Are you sure you want me to answer that?" All he can do is ask.

Her response comes in the form of a short yet affirming nod. Though he can spy the slightest hints of resentment over the thought of being made fun of hanging in her eyes, there is no wavering when it comes to hearing what his motivations had been. Alright, then.

"I thought it was cute…that you were cute because of it. I will apologize if you feel it's demeaning or inappropriate, but you asked for honesty, so I'm giving it." He will accept anything she chooses to express in her reply. Still, it surely is acceptable to hope she doesn't get upset. Right? It's strange. He knows next to nothing of her, yet he already finds the idea of causing her any distress to be loathsome.

"A-ah…" This comes tumbling reflexively out before she can even process what she feels about his statement.

Is that single word remark a good reaction, or a bad one?

Though he attempts to read her expression, he can't make out anything definitive. Right now, she mostly appears somewhat taken aback, so she may not even know yet just what she thinks of his opinion. Practically on the edge of his seat the young man waits for her to consider her feelings and add any thought she has on the subject to the mix.

Wait...

Cute, huh?

It wasn't meant to be mocking or malicious. It was a compliment. Those alpine eyes don't waver once while holding her gaze and though he appears maybe mildly nervous, she can see nothing but sincerity as the man watches her. He...really thinks that? Oh, gosh. He really thinks that.

"Oh." Red blooms like a rose across her nose and cheeks. She can feel her heart rate begin to slowly climb. Her small hand tucks a lock of hair back behind her pink-tinged ear. A bashful grin tugs one corner of her mouth upward as she fidgets with the handle of the racket laying in front of her on the table.

That's, at the very least, not a negative reaction.

"Well…I guess now I should ask to whom I owe thanks for that compliment." Turning his own words back on him with an amused laugh, her bluebell eyes catch the reflections of the flickering candle.

His heart rate quickens as he realizes what this response entails. In so far as he is able to tell, the remarks were pleasing to hear, not offensive. Her noticeable favorability of his opinions lends his faltering confidence a much needed boost -given his guilt over making her uncomfortable with teasing, this is sorely needed.

"Luka," he offers with that same kind smile, "My name is Luka Couffaine. It's nice to meet you." At this point, he stands, slinging his guitar over his shoulder. All seems to have gone quiet around them. Pity. He was becoming invested in this interaction. "But I should get going now."

Confused, she scrambles to her feet as well.

"Why are you leaving?" Just when she was starting to think things were going well, too.

"It stopped raining," one hand indicates the distinct lack of rainfall in the space around them while the other clings to the strap of the guitar flung over his shoulder "I go when it stops -that was the deal."

"I guess it was..." The reluctance to let him leave that currently plays in her features is a much more powerful force than he could have expected. It takes him aback a little just how affected he is. It won't take much to get him to break the agreement they'd made when she first confronted him. Of course, it's not like he's going to admit that and ask permission to linger without some sort of signal from her that it's okay. Or the extension of an explicit invitation. Given the disappointed expression she wears, it seems possible she might do just that. But the ball is in her court. The curiosity eats at him as he watches her blow out the candle before making her way around the long table and toward him.

When she first approached the strange man playing music at her camp's picnic table, she did not envision things ending like this. For a brief period of time, things seemed like they were going to escalate into real confrontation. Instead, the interaction has softened to a point where both people feel a measure of relaxation and even hope for an expansion of this time together.

She won't dare to say it aloud but for her, this acquaintanceship has been incredibly short-lived, but already so impactful. So far, she's listened to some of the finest guitar work she's heard in her life, had a relatively pleasant and open conversation with someone new and felt more at peace than she has in months. At this point, she finds herself more smitten than she'd like to admit and is driven to request he stay longer. After a moment of indecision and anxious fidgeting, she reaches out with tentative fingers, hesitating slightly before halting the movement of her arm entirely.

"Is it...okay?"

A moment of silence passes between them as he stiffens in place. He hadn't thought about it until this request for permission, but he surprisingly doesn't have the strong reservations about the contact he assumed he would. Caught off guard by the realization, he offers a nod of approval before giving it much more thought.

As she watches the emotions play on his features, she can't figure out if he is truly okay with it or simply doesn't want to appear rude. Still...he had given permission. With a healthy amount of heed paid to the uncertainty in his expression, she slowly lowers her fingers onto the fabric of his hoodie.

He shifts his weight as her hand makes contact with him, hoping to disguise the small start his body reflexively gives. If she were going to get this close, which he had thought unlikely until now, Luka would not have expected her touch to be so warm or gentle as this. Her eyes focus on her hand as it rests over his shoulder for a few long seconds. Even through the chill he tries to ignore, the light pressure and warmth of her fingers through the fabric of his clothing feels...normal. Not like the unwelcome or uncomfortable advance of a stranger but instead like average and platonic contact of someone he knows well and trusts. In itself, that is more than a little surprising -but what's more is how quickly the simple act of laying her hand on his shoulder begins to draw out feelings of happiness and enjoyment. Her touch is nice, comforting even. Is this normal to feel in regards to someone he doesn't know? Is it okay? He can't remember a situation like this coming up in the past, so really, he doesn't know what to do -or expect- next. His shoulders stiffen and his back begins to tense as he studies her expression carefully. 'What are you up to?'

She frowns, her hand falling away in response to the reaction of discomfort. Though briefly puzzled by the stark contrast between this behavior and his playful teases from earlier in their conversation, she finds those worries quickly relegated to a back burner in her brain. A more pressing concern is at hand. All this time he's been sitting out here drenched like this. Honestly, a little guilt flares up inside as she realizes that this is a little late in the game for this information to only now be sinking in.

"Your clothes are still a mess," the woman observes, displeasure darkening her voice, "I don't feel good about you leaving in the dark, soaked like this."

"I'll be fine…you know…something, something macho mumbo jumbo…big, tough man and all that." With a nod and a wink, he adjusts where the guitar strap rests on his shoulder before moving to walk away. Even as he prepares to take his leave, his mind replays the details of this unusual meeting. Almost unconsciously, he finds himself hoping for the chance to stay and find out more about what differentiates this meeting from others. Why is this somehow special?

"You could get sick walking around like that though…" this isn't simply about really hoping he will choose to stay a while longer, there is also genuine concern about his well-being involved.

His heart rate picks up as he turns his head back in her direction. A rush of feel-good chemicals is again released in his brain as the implication of her words settles in. She doesn't want him to go, though she has avoided phrasing it in that specific way. Meaning ultimately that her hopes are similar to his. A slight pang of surprise follows a strong rush of desire to hear her speak the request she's trying to avoid. How could hearing a request from a woman he hardly knows be something he wants with this kind of intensity?

Still...

'Please stay.' Imagining the hypothetical words inside his mind provokes his innate mischievousness. An impish grin lights up his features.

'Is this really different? How different? Why? I'm actually kinda curious...' His mind sorts through these and many similar thoughts as he opens his mouth to speak.

"I think that ship probably sailed." Placing one hand down on the corner of the wooden table he now stands next to allows him to lean in closer to her, still wearing that rather devious-looking smile. Even as he opens his mouth to speak, he can't overstate how stunning his own intentions are -even as he's about to follow through on them with action. Right now, he's actually about to flirt with someone. "This all seems suspiciously like you're asking me to stay. It...wouldn't happen to be that you are asking...would it?"

This time around, his expression gives him away. The bluenette understands to exactly what degree he wishes for a certain set of words. He's teased her a few times just in the short conversation they had sitting at the picnic table and frankly, she's happy to have the upper hand for once. She will not be giving up those words so easily.

"I'm just trying to be a decent person." Careful to inject a healthy amount of indignation into her tone, she eyes him curiously.

If this phases him, it doesn't show.

"Which I appreciate, for sure. I just get the distinct impression that it's about more than that." He can be obstinate too, if she wishes to play it that way.

A nonchalant shrug is her reaction to this. Her eyes say 'maybe, maybe not' but a definitive answer never comes verbally.

"Do you want it to be about more than that?" Arching an eyebrow in question, she has difficulty managing her own rush of giddiness at the clear excitement in those icy blue irises. "Cause that's how it sounds to me..."

Alright, there can be no mistaking it. Her tone and her body language make it obvious. She's reciprocating with her own flirtations now. He's not necessarily a stranger to this behavior from others but the rush of giddiness and warmth kicked up within as a result is very new to him. Add it to the list of firsts he's apparently compiling this evening. Carefully, he takes a step toward her, nearly bridging the small gap which remains between the two of them. The faintest hints of hesitation linger in his cautious movement - a detail which goes unnoticed by his companion who is more or less trying not to appear as taken with his charm on the outside as she truly is. He, on the other hand, doesn't miss the fine details in her physical response. This one miniscule movement -one which he briefly hesitated to even execute- stirs a heightened awareness of him which shows clearly in her eyes as she gazes up at him. His lower jaw falls slack as he absorbs this idea that he has continued to enjoy each aspect of this encounter as it plays out. Thoroughly. After a myriad of lived experiences, it's sort of a big deal that such a thing is still possible for him.

He is careful to hang back just far enough to maintain some reasonable amount of personal space as he ponders her flirtatious question and makes a decision about how to reply. That single, playful question dances in her eyes as she grins up at him expectantly, managing at last to chase the last of his indecision away.

"What if I answer 'yes'?" This is one of those times where answering a question with a question is extremely satisfying. They're no longer in a stage of getting to know one another where he's worried flirting openly will upset her. She started this, and he is apparently nothing if not eager to play along to a certian extent. He could lose himself completely in the heat of her playful gaze alone, but it's the smile that plays on her lips -a perfect mixture of dissipating shyness and rising confidence- that draws his focus right now.

"If you said 'yes' then I might be tempted to tell you 'maybe.' Only if you said 'yes', though." Quite possibly the most affirmative not-a-direct-yes answer he's heard a person utter.

"Maybe isn't yes." It is important that he knows he's welcome to stay whether he means this as a tease or not. Hearing directly from her that she approves of keeping his company is essential.

"I do like that you want to be sure you have permission." A very attractive feature indeed. "Still…you can consider that 'maybe' an invitation."

"Because I'm just that special?" Though it's spoken like a punchline, he can't help but think it would be nice if it were the case.

"Maybe." She can't resist dragging out her teasing in the form of withholding the words she is well aware he wants to hear. It has been earned in right, at least from her perspective. Something in his expression betrays him, revealing this wish he harbors but doesn't share aloud. So, she takes advantage of the small glimmer of vulnerability in this one, specific circumstance. However, payback isn't the only reason for her actions. His playful attitude is catching.

"You're sure you're not still afraid of me?" These are the words he uses in place of the thought that pops into his brain first. 'Okay, I admit it. You're cute.'

'Oh, come on! Sure, I was worried and afraid at first, but your entire presence screams non-threatening. No, I'm not afraid of you.' Her thoughts are a lot more blunt than she dares to be on the surface, but they are right, nevertheless. This is someone who was able to put her at ease without speaking a word or even looking at her. There's something very profound about that. She may not know much about the man before her, but she trusts her instincts -those which tell her he is not to be treated as a threat.

"Even as scary as you are, somehow I think I'll manage to contain my terror." Laughing through this comment, she sees Luka also begin to chuckle.

"Then I guess I'll hang out for a bit. But only because you really want me to." It seems like each time he jests, her smile only grows brighter.

"Good…I'll make some warm drinks and get you something dry to wear." She honestly can't believe he really agreed to stay. It makes her feel warm all over to think that he actually wants to. "Come on…I have all the stuff I need in my tent, if you're comfortable with that. I'd prefer not to come back out here until I have to…it's cold."

"I'm even being invited in? You sure you don't want the racket?" This he is genuinely surprised by. His eyes dart back in the direction of where the item in question lays atop the table. She's affording him a remarkable level of trust for how little she knows about him. Of course, he has already resolved to not refuse her invite, so the same is applicable in reverse.

"That's right, you are, and no I don't." She forgot it in her earlier panic, but she does have an army knife Nino gave her earlier in the day in her backpack. "Let's say I have options available to me."

"That's…promising." Obvious sardonicism colors his tone.

"Well, then, let's hope my instincts are right and there's no reason I need it in the first place. Now come on, it's getting colder." Without further delay, the woman moves off in the direction of her tent. Leaving Luka to linger behind next to the table while he makes a decision.