Alright, another installment in the collection is finally complete and ready to share with the community. The additions to the collection have always been sporadic, but there's good reason for it. Things have been chaotic and difficult of late -especially where my day job is concerned. I'll be frank -I have not been in the best shape mentally and so my motivation to write waxes and wanes depending on my mental health that week. Sometimes this helps me clear my mind and calm down after a high-stress twelve to fourteen hour day and other times even the things I usually enjoy feel more like a chore than what I know they are (a way to relieve stress). I hope that this story is enjoyable for the readers who have stuck with me since the beginning and thank you for continuing to follow my work. More is on the way.
Despite my struggles, I still had a good deal of fun writing this story. The inspiration for the basic idea of this story comes from the song "I Can't Help Falling in Love" as performed by Elvis Presley. The main focus, for me, is the same as usual -the beginning of a romance for Luka and Marinette- which means that I did not go into full detail regarding the sub-plot. I feel I touch on enough of what the readers need to know about the situation and therefore chose not to include all those details in the body of the story. However, if not completely clear, the context for the sub-plot is that an incident happened involving the music shop Luka owns and the insurance company refused to cover the resulting damages -as some insurance companies are known to do- and so he and Marinette enter the competition to win a cash prize to cover the costs of repairs he otherwise can't afford.
Below is the title of a video that can be found on Youtube of some of the swing moves I describe in this story. Time stamps 0:21 -0:27 and 1:12- 1:21 are a few of the moves the characters preform during their routine.
Real 1950s Rock Roll, Rockabilly dance from lindy hop !
'What a strange night,' Marinette has been unable to shift focus to any other subject matter all day long. Though, in truth, this has troubled her for longer than a single day. Her mind has been stuck on the idea of tonight for several weeks now. Her anxiety over the upcoming event is only more distinct as today is the day she's spent so much time prepping for. And she isn't the only one who's been stuck in one mental modality while getting prepared for today.
Her best friend is helping to fix her hair, more excitable than a child on Christmas morning. Alya has been here since early this afternoon, chatting the bluenette woman's ear off. The reporter has been practically bursting at the seams with enthusiasm for what she has been calling 'Marinette's date' tonight for the last several weeks. She hasn't let up one bit since she learned it would be happening and today is no exception -it might even be more exuberance than usual. Paying little heed to Marinette's constant reminders that this is a simple favor she's doing for someone who needs the help and not a date, today surely must top the list of times Alya's gregariousness has gone beyond the reasonable. After the latest attempt at polite correction, Marinette has given up on trying to reason with her friend.
While the redhead is hard at work carefully styling dark blue locks of hair into a classic pin-curl look, the designer eases her arms through the short sleeved denim button-up. She takes care to be mindful of the delicate nature of the work Alya is doing to get her hair just right, and avoids fidgeting and needless movement. Taking each hem in a hand, she fashions each side of the garment into a small knot along her left side to keep it from being in her way. Next, she smooths out the bunching of the red knee-length skirt just below it's meeting place with her baby blue tube top. A faux pearl necklace lays loosely over her collarbone and she decides to keep her red stud earrings in, as they fit nicely with the rest of her look. Hopefully this will be close enough to the aesthetic the dance hall is looking to see from attendees and participants in tonight's event.
Even now, as she stands before the full-length mirror in her room and examines her retro ensemble, the designer has trouble grasping how she's about to spend her evening. Mentally reviewing what is about to transpire seems to only make it feel more like some crazy fever dream. In spite of her own incredulity, it is happening. Tonight she is going dancing -and not in the sense that she's spending a night club hopping with the girls, either. With a deep breath to temper the unwelcome and erratic nervous energy, she lets her mind wonder as Alya continues to tease her hair into the desired arrangement.
Flashy events like this are very much not her usual chosen form of entertainment when free time does present itself these days. With Alya putting the word out there on her social media -or the Lady Blog, things had taken off almost immediately after her website went live. She's had orders left and right for weeks and though she is quite dedicated to her craft, she is only one person. Her gratitude that her humble design operation has taken off so quickly is not in short supply and at the same time, she does wish she'd had the opportunity to hire additional support before it got this chaotic. With all that being the case, time to oneself is a bit of a precious and rare commodity. A quiet night of binge watching Netflix or picking through design related vlogs on YouTube would be more her speed these days. Hanging out with friends is still great, but only provided she has the energy after putting in a full week.
For the last three months, her routine in any personal time she managed to find had consisted of relaxing with a movie or a book, spending time with a few friends on occasion and -more recently- meeting Alya every Saturday for the classes she'd agreed to take. If it had been left up to her own personal preference, that last one would not be included in this list. But it wasn't. She got involved in dance lessons when Alya's insistence she 'get out there more,' became too tiresome to respectfully dismiss even one more time. After fielding some version of the same complaint from her long-time friend for a number of months, she caved. If it would have made the nagging stop, she would have somewhat begrudgingly done just about anything. Thus, the classes at the dance hall became their regular thing.
But that's only laying the foundation for how exactly tonight's circumstances arose. The real reason she finds herself with these plans has more to do with a certain guitarist and can be traced back to about a month and a half ago. They'd been messaging back and forth about her parents catering an event at his music shop as another long and busy day came to a close. Once the arrangements for the event at his store had been confirmed, he moved on to other topics. Only one or two messages had been exchanged before the chime of incoming texts had ceased. While it was odd for the man to leave a conversation open-ended, she was so focused on her work that the idle thought disappeared from her mind soon after crossing it.
Only as she was finishing up with the last bit of work on a popular top, did her phone finally begin to sound again. This time, instead of a text message, it was a phone call. Picking up that call was the catalyst that set everything else into motion. All parties involved were launched with little warning into one of the more chaotic weeks of their lives before this evening's plans were ultimately arranged. Every moment since then, stress has been her constant and unwanted companion, with tonight bringing forth some of the most extreme anxiety she's suffered since agreeing to take part in this event.
Biting down on her lip as Alya affixes a decorative hair clip into her freshly styled locks, she examines the final result of their effort in the mirror. It looks cute enough. The colors suit her. Thanks to her own concerted efforts while creating the individual pieces, everything fits well and flatters her figure nicely. The outfit and accessories are well coordinated. Her hair is styled beautifully thanks to her excitable friend. The only thing that could use some improvement is her makeup.
"Do you think you could-" Alya is moving in the direction of her dresser and motioning for her to follow before the bluenette even manages to get all the words out.
After retouching some areas of her natural looking base and reapplying toner and contouring, Alya finishes her look with a crimson red lipstick. A final glance in the mirror helps her feel confident she is done prepping her look. Tossing a grateful grin Alya's way, the designer is satisfied their efforts today paid off.
Still, this anxiety is like a curse she can't escape.
Meeting up with Luka regularly for practice has managed to fill what little remained of her free time. Several hours out of each week have gone into perfecting her timing and precision for the routine the duo will preform. Any spare moment was dedicated to committing every facet, every minute detail and intricacy to muscle memory. On days off, practice would last from dawn until dusk, every hour spent running through this time and again until not a single misstep would be made -often forgetting to stop for food part way through. She's confident she now understands her part well. Yet even still, anxiety continues to plague the woman. There's more at steak tonight than winning a simple competition and with the added pressure of letting down someone in need, the nagging worry is impossible to stave off.
"Don't worry so much," Picking up on her friend's rising tension instantly, Alya makes an attempt to provide some encouragement, laying a hand on the bluenette woman's shoulder, "you got this!"
The half-hearted smile and small nod the bluenette offers in response to these comments does not impress Alya in the least. Marinette's troubled expression doesn't so much as dull. It's not like the young reporter doesn't understand where her best friend's abundance of concern comes from. After years of friendship, Alya knows better than almost anyone just how much the person before her dreads disappointing others. Honoring commitment and following through to support someone in need are both desirable qualities in any person, for sure. However, in the case of her friend here, there are times when those qualities cause her to feel undue stress. This would be one such time.
"Marinette," waiting until those blue bell eyes finally meet hers, she offers a another bit of reassurance, tone far more serious, "Luka won't be angry if you don't win. He's not that kind of guy. You know he's hella grateful you're trying to help."
"I know." Her attempt to sound as if she isn't consumed by her anxiety is futile. Alya's statement is correct. Luka won't get upset, nor will he blame her if this doesn't work out. Enough years have passed since they met that she is well aware of his character, and he is not the sort to take his stress out on others. Knowing this to be true doesn't make it better. If anything, she only feels worse about the possibility of letting him down when she imagines his gratitude and graciousness in response to the potentially negative outcome they could be facing.
"Look, it's true, okay? He has a reason he needs to win. Of course it matters if he does or not, but I don't think you need to stress over it like this." With these statements, she leans in and wraps her friend in a tight embrace, hoping this bit of assurance will be more effective than her previous try. To her dismay, as she shifts back slightly, even the fake cheer the blue-haired woman tried to muster up for her friend's sake has vanished. The tension in her posture continues to mount. The knot in her brow tightens.
Alya just can't stand seeing someone so good-natured looking so glum. So far, her attempts at offering support and reassurance have failed to produce any positive result. Perhaps a change of tactics is in order. If compassionate statements and friendly affection aren't going to do the trick, maybe a little clowning around will. With an arched eyebrow and a mischievous smirk, the reporter pulls away to the point where their contact is all but broken, leaving only her arm draped around her friend's shoulders.
Blue bell eyes turn in Alya's direction. Realizing what's about to happen before the redhead even begins to speak, Marinette opens her mouth to object but is beaten to the punch. If one thing is unwaveringly true of her best friend, it's that she is determined to complete any objective she sets her mind to.
"He's going to be happy no matter what happens, alright? You wanna know why? Because he's always happy to see you," The reporter's grin only widens in response to the dark blush that colors her friend's cheeks, "he'll be ecstatic to get a date out of the deal, even if you don't win!"
"Alya!" The reply seems caught half-way between being a scolding and being an embarrassed exclamation as the woman shakes her friend's arm from the place it had found around her shoulder. There is already enough fodder to keep the feedback loop from hell churning in her mind. An added layer of awkwardness at having attention drawn to the romantic feelings she has for her musician friend is not in the least bit helpful right now. It's obvious Alya is trying to ease the tension with humor and she honestly does appreciate it, but it's not producing the effect Alya is aiming for. The anxiety only seems more acutely concentrated with each unsuccessful attempt made. A rush of heat sweeps along the back of her neck as a kaleidoscope of memories from the last few weeks swirl around within her mind's eye. "I've told you over and over-"
Loud knocking on the front door startles both women and stops the verbal reprimand in its tracks.
"Speak of the devil..." The temptation to squeeze in one final tease as she scoots quickly away from her friend is too strong to resist. Ducking out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the bi-speckled woman expresses her playful thought before disappearing from Marinette's view. "...sounds like your boyfriend is here. Can't have him waiting out there too long..."
The utterance of that one simple word has Marinette on her feet dashing out the door after her scoundrel of a friend in a flash, now all-the-more eager to issue another stern reprimand. Like she is letting her get away with such a cheap shot after all the other relentless teasing she's endured for the last few weeks. In the end though, Alya is far too quick with her head start, and is already pulling the front door open to greet their guest by the time Marinette makes it into the hall.
"Hey, Luka!" The greeting is intentionally issued in a louder and more exuberant way than it needs to be, sending the message loud and clear: can't do whatever you're planning with witnesses present. It is cute Alya would think Luka's arrival would prevent the retribution she's seeking. There isn't a single thing among the cosmos that's going to dissuade her from this metaphorical beatdown. Or, at least, that is her mindset as she tails her friend into the the next room. Everything changes once the front door swings fully ajar. As her eyes fall upon the handsome man standing on her doorstep, all irritation instantly vaporizes like moisture on a sunny day.
Okay, so there is one thing amongst the cosmos that will prevent this metaphorical beatdown after all. And he's standing on her front porch right now.
"Hey Alya..." he replies, tone uncharacteristically tentative -bordering on bashful- as he lingers in the doorway. But his demeanor is not what captures her attention at the moment.
In place of his usual converse are a comfortable looking pair of dark gray loafers. A black leather belt secures the jeans around his waist. A plain white tee-shirt meets the denim of his jeans, tucked in neatly along his waistline. A vintage leather jacket covers the majority of the tee-shirt. His hair has even been styled to match the greaser aesthetic of the 1950's. This man -as far as her personal opinion is concerned- is an objectively good-looking person in general. Tonight, with credit due to the effort and thought he'd obviously put in to this, he seems somehow more striking than usual. His masculine appeal is dialed way up.
"Wow! Looking good!" Alya's compliment reaches Marinette's ears, though she only just barely catches the words of praise.
"Thanks, I appreciate that. Juleka is the one who did most of the work though." Still idling in the doorway, Luka's eyes quickly shift between contact with Alya's gaze and the other woman who seems frozen in place in the background.
Her mind is stuck on his last comment regarding his sister's help. As siblings, the two of them have always looked out for one another. So when Luka declined Marinette's offer to make him an outfit suited for this evening, citing the fact that she was already helping him out enough by agreeing to this arrangement in the first place, Juleka had offered to assist her brother with preparing clothes. The mental image of Luka and his sister working together to get his attire just right is almost too sweet and brings a smile to Marinette's lips. Possessing her natural talent for design work, she was in her element the entire time with fashioning her wardrobe into exactly what she wants, but he and Juleka were not and still did a fantastic job. It is obvious a lot of effort and thought went into tonight and it is paying off, big time.
"Come in," Alya extends the invitation and shifts out of the way, allowing more space for him to pass by as he steps into the living room, "Marinette, you about ready?"
This comment goes ignored by both of Alya's friends and is lost to the silence of the room. Two sets of blue eyes, each set a different shade, align.
Her heart sets off at a wild gallop in her chest when a smile ghosts over the musician's lips. His smile -this one infinitesimal form of expressing emotion- is somehow both the earmark of a charming gentleman and the playful tease of a roguish flirt. So tiny, yet she reads so much from it.
"Hi, Luka!" Sputtering out an awkward greeting once she manages to shake off the surprise and delight at how this retro look unexpectedly really suits him, the woman fidgets anxiously with the knot she'd tied in her denim jacket.
"Hey..." He feels a rush of heat sweep along the back of his neck as a sudden realization crashes into him like a freight train. She isn't staring out of simple surprise at his altered appearance. There is more to it than that. Her admiring blue eyes make clear a deeper level of physical attraction. The way those eyes lingered on him while he chatted with the redheaded reporter who had greeted him at Marinette's door, as if taking in every fine detail, has him feeling more giddy than any time in recent memory. It is silly, looking back and remembering how much he'd agonized over whether or not the clothes he'd chosen would look stupid or unflattering as he and his sister had pieced things together. All those worries were obliterated instantaneously.
He too, finds himself admiring her current aesthetic. Really, he must admit that it's difficult to pretend he hasn't noticed how cute this vintage style looks on her. The outfit flatters the curves of her body well. The curls of her hair are a new look for the woman -not a style she often wears, yet it frames her facial features perfectly. Marinette is absolutely stunning in this classic look, as beautiful as ever with a few alterations accentuating her natural good looks. Knowing that this outfit is something she'd built from scratch is what stands out the most, though. Marinette is a truly gifted designer.
"Since it seems like ya'll forgot...I'm still here too, you know." Stepping into the space between them, Alya issues this reminder, grinning mischievously at the way they both jump reflexively. Her brown eyes linger for but a second or two on Luka before travelling in her best friend's direction and slowly shifting toward him yet again, a small gleam of mischief now bringing light to her dark brown eyes. "You're rockin' the look, girl! Like, if they were giving out prizes for best outfit, you'd win for sure! Right, Luka?"
The way his eyes convey his clear and obvious agreement with this opinion only fuels the compulsion to tease her friends. At first, it was difficult to resist such teases as she knew it would get a rise from them -all in good fun, of course. Now, though, it's just fun seeing Marinette enjoy the praise Alya manages to pull from Luka in these sorts of interactions -especially given that Marinette is not the sort to fish for positive feedback.
"Yeah," Though he felt a bit awkward at first in this outfit, taking in the positive responses from both women helps rid him of his hang-ups. He realizes that his companion for this evening is likely feeling a similar measure of anxiety over the itinerary to his own, so a small compliment could aide in taking the edge off. And that aside -she had just provided him with a major confidence boost, so it only makes sense for him to do the same. More than either of those reasons, he just wants to say what he's really thinking -no refining the thought or filtering it. With a gentle smile tugging up on one corner of his lip, Luka stuffs his hands into his pockets to prevent the impulse to run a hand through his newly-styled hair from automatically kicking in, "You look fantastic. You...did a great job."
Her ears turn a bright shade of red as the designer turns embarrassed gaze away from him, casting it instead toward the floor. As Marinette struggles to process and form a response to those words, mumbling awkwardly to herself all the while, Alya looks on with satisfaction. It's only when the redhead hears the guitarist clear his throat purposefully that she knows her entertainment must come to an end for now.
"So, are you about ready to go, Mari?" What a spoilsport this man is. Despite his own frequent teasing, he seems bent on ruining her fun.
"O-oh...r-right, uh yeah..." Stumbling over her words, the woman in question turns back in the direction of her bedroom and excuses herself. Better quit gawking at her good-looking companion and make sure to be prepared for leaving home for the next few hours. "...j-just a minute, I have to get some stuff!"
"Take your time. We're not in a rush," She is gone from view before he even gets all the words out. That retreat was awful hasty. Clearly, her friend has been up to her usual misbehavior -it would appear for much longer than just the few minutes he's been standing in the living room. Every bit as unimpressed with these antics as he knows his fashion designer friend likely is, Luka turns to the redhead. His eyes meet hers, the clear dismay in his aqua colored orbs earning him a somewhat playful eyeroll and a tongue click from the woman. "You really shouldn't tease her when she's already so worried about tonight."
"I was only trying to get her to relax," Letting out a small huff of indignation, she crosses her arms over her chest before continuing, "and you tease her just as much!"
"Fair enough, but I at least try not to when I know she's already stressed." He can tell Alya has already been chastised enough by Marinette tonight and is not in the mood for more of it from another person. He lets out a small sigh of defeat at the defiant glare she fixes him with. "I'm not here to lecture you. Just... asking you to go easy on her, okay?"
"Okay, okay...I admit you have a stupid point. But she still needs to freakin' chill out." Though she -sort of- concedes, her reply comes out in a rather obstinate tone. One hand finding her hip while the other adjusts her glasses, the redhead has to reluctantly accept the fact that Luka feels indebted to Marinette and is currently more highly incentivized to stick up for the bluenette than usual. It is also annoyingly true that she shouldn't be doing anything that causes her friend's stress to rise further. Still, she knows she none of her actions had come from a place of ill-intent, so she remains steadfast in believing she is not entirely in the wrong here, either. The nerves that plague the young designer won't do her a single favor this evening -her mind must be clear and focused.
"I know I don't need to say it, but take care of her and make sure she isn't a nervous wreck the whole time tonight, okay?" Maybe Luka will have better luck getting through to the anxious woman than she has had all night. Passing the torch of responsibility is the best and only option now.
"Sure thing." Despite all outward appearances at times, he can tell Alya cares deeply for her best friend and understanding the teasing she's been getting up to tonight is only her way of attempting to help brings a soft smile to his face. "I'll do what I can. I already think I get how she's feeling and I obviously don't want her feeling that way all night, either." The approving nod and smile tell him they've now moved completely past the small moment of being at odds. Gentle smile morphing into a full and playful grin, relief washes over him at the way her irritation instantly fades into nonexistence.
He glances down the hallway, noting that his companion for this evening is still missing in action. Conversation with Alya having trailed off, his companion's continued absence gives him a moment to think.
It might not be worth much, but he knows Marinette is at least not alone in feeling stressed out about tonight. For his part, mentally, he hasn't even made it to working himself up over the possibility of losing. His mind is still stuck on the part where he'll be dancing in front of other people. It's not like the routine they've practiced is something he has a high degree of confidence in his own ability to pull off. He's more suited to providing the soundtrack for others to enjoy than he is to be the one showing off dancing prowess -or lack thereof, as the case may be- to said soundtrack in public. Even without the fear he's going to end up with two left feet when the time comes to put the days and weeks spent learning and preparing to the ultimate test, there are other things that give him pause.
Like, for instance, the very real possibility the blue-haired woman who so graciously agreed to help by being his partner for this unusual event will be unable to stop mentally tearing herself down. Panicked and consumed by the fear of failure is not an acceptable way for her to spend the night. So add to the list of things troubling him tonight yet one more item: being good company and ensuring this whole evening doesn't end up being a suffocating mixture of stress and anxiety for her. If he can make it happen, he'd really like to show her a good time and help keep as much of her unpleasant feelings from eating her alive as is possible. It's the least he can do to show his appreciation for her kindness.
To top it all off, there is the final piece of the equation that has snuck unbidden into the jumble of thoughts swirling about in his head. Though he knows it isn't, tonight feels quite like a date. All the hallmarks are in play. They'd planned it ahead of time, gotten dressed up and now he's arrived at her home to pick her up and take her dancing for the evening. It's difficult to stamp down his desire for that illusion to be true and the idea sits in the back of his mind, like a true trouble-maker, fanning the flames of determination that demand he makes this a memorable time for both of them.
It escapes his notice when Marinette does finally emerge from her room, shutting off the light and closing the door behind her before heading back toward himself and Alya.
"Okay, I'm good. You ready Luka?" The question pulls him from his reverie and he nods before they all head to the front door.
"You two crazy kids have fun!" True to form, Alya must sneak in one last quip as she parts ways with her two friends along the roadside. "Enjoy your totally not a date, and try to be back before curfew!"
"Alya, stop saying-" But the person in question scampers off too quickly for Marinette to even begin to refute her. "Nope...she's gone..." Glancing warily up at the man beside her from the corner of her eyes, she can only hope the unnecessary comment didn't add to his obvious discomfiture. "I'm sorry Luka, I've been trying to get her to stop calling it that since the beginning, but she won't listen. I hope it doesn't make things more awkward..."
He can see the concern shining in her bluebell eyes as she studies him and he genuinely does feel gratitude for the attempt she's making to quell his hypothetical distress. But he feels no such emotion stemming from Alya's inappropriate comments. He hadn't planned to say anything about it at the start, but his feelings about their night out have been running along similar lines as Marinette's redheaded friend for some time now. He's spent enough time with Marinette lately to have acknowledged and come to terms with the maturing romantic inclinations he holds toward his designer friend. At this point, he's entirely smitten, though he hasn't said a single thing to her directly. As a matter of fact, forget any such bold assertions. There's barely been so much as a moment of allusion to romantic intent he hasn't convinced himself to dismiss or write off altogether.
"It's fine Marinette, really. You don't have to worry about Alya saying something that will bother me. I'm used to her humor by now." He isn't going to let the small flash of disappointment at Marinette's swift correction of her friend ruin the mood he wants to create. It takes some effort, but he snuffs out the flickering embers that glow with hints of resentment inside before they can cause him too much grief.
His feelings for her are something he's made sure to keep hidden, so it naturally follows that he experiences some guilt over his own bitterness at being treated as a friend. It's wholly unfair of him to be irritated she doesn't know something he made sure she wouldn't. Up until this point, he's been preparing himself for a conversation that -one way or another- will effectively end their friendship. It just hasn't happened yet, due to a combination of his own lack of readiness and the surrounding circumstances. The time for the conversation about feelings will come. He's fully intent on it. But he knows how high her stress levels are and there's no denying that helping him by taking part in this contest makes up most of the 'why' in that equation. So he will wait. Wait and maintain that same respectful distance, just as always. At least, for now.
At the same time, it can't hurt to acquiesce to his own wishes on the most superficial basis for the duration of this event. Just this once, surely it's acceptable to treat their time together tonight as if it is a date. As ever, Luka will remain a gentleman and show her a good time while they work together to win the contest. By the same token, he doesn't intend to hold back his honest thoughts on matters like Marinette's needless worry over her friend's light-heart taunting. When it is over, they will talk. Then, choices will need to be made.
But for right now easing her unfounded worries is what needs his attention the most.
"She's only stressing you out more by teasing, so I wish she wouldn't... but that's all that really bothers me. As far as her calling this a date...well...I can't change what she thinks about us going out together tonight and honestly I kind of consider it a compliment that she approves." With those words out, he makes his way in the direction of his car, only pausing to glance at her over his shoulder and gauge her reaction. "If you're not bothered by it, then neither am I."
"O-oh..." Her heart rate climbs as she gapes at him. "O-okay..." Those words were not spoken with the same joviality she expects to hear when they banter. He's also made it clear he does not find Alya's uncouth yet playful teases offensive. So, those were simply his honest feelings on the subject. It's a measure of directness that the woman simply isn't accustomed to, not that she's complaining. What a major confidence boost hearing a thing like this is! She can feel the flush creep over her skin reflexively as the idea begins to sink in.
Okay, clearly that was a well-received bit of honesty. Indulging his own ego, he makes a mental note of the pleasant surprise that slowly takes over her features. A barely-there smile flashes across her face as a blush colors her cheeks. Grinning with satisfaction at this positive response, he turns to face ahead once more before heading to his car and opening the passenger door for her. "Ready?"
"Y-yeah..." The response falls from her lips, shaky, "Let's go."
For the designer, the short drive to the dance hall is one she spends in the passenger seat in somewhat awkward silence, unable to get her mind to focus on anything aside from his last few remarks. 'honestly I kind of consider it a compliment,' in particular echoes inside her mind. He's honestly okay with it.
'Has my heart stopped beating out of control since he said that?' Her mind idles as she stares down at the phone in her hand. 'Luka's pretty easy-going, but even he would be bothered if someone were implying he's dating someone he's got no interest in, right?' It feels as though her feelings have been afforded a small amount of vindication. Those small, and nearly imperceptible moments during their weeks of practice are looking less and less like the figments of an overactive imagination and more like the first stirrings of feelings that extend beyond simple friendship. It's so new and occurred so suddenly that the premise seems too good to be true.
"Marinette!" Lost in her own thought, the shouting of her name only registers vaguely with the woman, as if called from some great distance.
"Hey...are you okay?" This time his question does fully register, though Marinette still only hears after Luka's third attempt. The razor sharp edge of worry carried in his tone of voice draws her out of her mental tailspin. Her bluebell orbs, for the first time since the car ride here, rise to meet the azure gaze of her concerned companion. The worry lines tenting his brow and the downward turn of those lips remind her that now is not the time to be lost in her thoughts. She's come here to help, not make him feel more stress. Though she offers a smile to the man hovering above her just outside the passenger door in a feeble attempt at reassurance, the worry lines in his expression only begin to fade as she reaches up and takes hold of his outstretched hand.
The venue is well decorated, matching the event's promotional aesthetic with expert precision. Everything is illuminated by period-appropriate fixtures. Miniature antique street lamps light the short pathway leading inside. It looks as though black and white checkered impermanent flooring has been brought in and placed over the everyday linoleum she is used to seeing here. Strings of lights are wound about the beams of structural support holding up the ceiling. Live instrumental music replaces the usual electronic sound system, enhancing the ambiance that envelops each guest as they arrive. The combination of all these things lends authenticity to the experience as a whole. The title given to it is 'A bygone Era', and it would appear no expense has been spared to match the appearance and feeling to said title. It is as though they just stepped through some sort of space-time anomaly which spit them out into the distant past.
Marinette is doing her best to concentrate on the sign-in process. It is quite the fight keeping the part of her brain that wishes to stray away from the task at hand from wondering. Effort that is wasted when the person passing the badge bearing her participatory numbers across the folding table interjects with their thoughts on the matter.
"You and your boyfriend did a great job on your outfits!" The cheerful voice of the young event staffer gives her a start and it takes a second or two before the reality of the statement begins to register with Marinette's mind, already consumed by so many other thoughts. Currently busy over-thinking everything, she barely notices her own hand reach out and take the badge from the staffer.
"O-oh! Well...I-I...uhm..." Though aware she was just complimented, her mind is currently the equivalent of a junk drawer -holding a seemly limitless assortment of useful and useless items within and she struggles to find what she needs when reaching in as a result.
"Thank you," Grabbing his badge from the young woman who passes it over the table in his direction, Luka steps in. His companion's dilemma becomes more clear, and he can't simply idle here while the bluenette designer appears distressed. "Though she deserves more credit than I do. She designed and put together everything she's wearing. I just went out and bought mine and then I still needed help."
Though the three of them share in a small moment of amusement at Luka's self deprecating humor, no one amongst them takes it all that seriously. The event staffer even shrugs off the comment before closing out the the short conversation.
"Either way, you guys look amazing! Have a good time tonight, and good luck!" The brunette staffer replies, motioning the next pair in line to step forward.
Swinging the lanyard holding the card which displays his number around his neck, his gaze shifts down to assess Marinette's reaction. Ultramarine eyes study the bashful expression tempering his friend's features as she dips her head down to lower her lanyard around her neck as well. The slightest shade of red can be seen creeping into her features as they make their way to the main dance floor.
Seeing the bluenette struggle to come up with a reply to the other young woman's assumptions had sparked a knee-jerk response from him. He can only hope his designer friend doesn't fault him for acting impulsively and failing to correct the misconception the stranger expressed about their relationship status. While leaving her house, she was clearly miffed and eager to correct Alya for calling this a date. Politely seeking clarification here will be beneficial for both of them.
"I just realized that I kinda jumped in there without thinking and I never told her I'm not your boyfriend," swallowing thickly as the realization that her response may be unpleasant to hear hits him, his blue eyes shift anxiously between the woman and watching the space ahead of them as to avoid running into others, "I hope you're not upset by that."
The brief silence in between the end of his remarks and when she responds is like a form of torture. Self-inflicted, yet torturous all the same.
"I'm not," a playful smile passes over her lips, just barely and somehow still noticeably turning the curve upward as she glances back up at him, catching his eyes, "like you said earlier, it doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you."
To put it bluntly, he's over the moon hearing her reflect his own sentiments. It is truly gratifying to know she holds him in such high regard. It also takes the weight of the corrections she'd levied at Alya off his shoulders. He'd been right to quash the bitterness that had threatened to build up inside at how vehemently against the concept she seemed to be when confronting her friend about the teasing. It is likely Marinette's reasoning on the matter had been the same as his was just a moment ago -she simply wanted to help keep him comfortable. She couldn't have known what was going on inside his head, so he can't fault her for insisting Alya stop.
"I see." It's rare for him display a sense of self-satisfaction in these situations, which makes it a pleasure to see now. When his ego does, on rare occasion, manage to get the better of him in response to a compliment, his poker-face fades for a short time. The way all his tension vanishes instantly and he relaxes enough to give in to the slightly haughty grin that touches the corners of his lips is satisfying and even oddly refreshing. Letting that self-satisfaction show only accentuates his handsome features.
The barely there flash of abject pride fades quickly into a more tender smile as they stop by the refreshments table and he grabs a water bottle to split between them. The contentment and pleasure playing in the man's expression fade only as he begins to take a drink, then reappear as he passes the beverage off to his companion. Marinette can't help but think to herself as she sees this expression, 'well...that's a good sign. All this time, I thought it was just me...'
Being perceived by outsiders as dating an incredible person like Luka is a compliment of the highest order as far as the bluenette is concerned. The idea that he was worried she'd taken offense as if the statement were some warped from of ridicule or an insult is almost a bit funny. Leaving aside the usual wonderment she feels when faced with both his skill as a musician and his ability to build his own instruments by hand, his personality in itself is something to behold. He's such a kind soul, possessing both compassion and patience unmatched by any other man Marinette has met. He's stood by her throughout the last several years, laughing at her lame humor, cheering her on in moments of success and comforting her in moments of anguish. He's quickly become one of the most important people in her life.
She takes a few slow sips of the water, feeling somewhat relaxed for the first time since this morning.
"Feeling any better?" The sudden question gets her attention. Turning, she gazes up at him curiously and he realizes that he phrased the question a little strangely. "Anxiety-wise, I mean...you seemed really stressed out back at your house."
A moment passes in which she considers her words.
"Well...actually, I'm still pretty nervous." Her eyes dart down toward the ground before coming back up to line up with Luka's. "But it's easy to relax around you."
"That's good. I'm glad you're...less stressed." Okay, fine. That was an awkward as hell response. What else can he say though? He's got a good poker face, but he's not immune to flattery. Her touching words couldn't possibly not make an impact when taking his feelings for her into consideration. He feels the heat of a flush run up along the back of his neck as she flashes him a bashful smile.
Though clearly the edge of anxious energy that had her paralyzed before has subsided, she still does look like the idea of letting him down is eating at her. Seeing this, in turn, causes a flash of guilt to stir within him. Is there really no way he can keep that from troubling her all night long? "Hey...I know that this is uncomfortable for you, but I'm really grateful you offered to help."
"You don't need to thank me. I'm just glad that I could do something to help you." A shadow falls over the bluenette's features for a moment as her gaze moves away from his. As it stands, she does still wish he hadn't declined the first offer of help she had extended. It would have likely meant a lot less stress for them both. As it turns out, even Luka can be unexpectedly stubborn at inconvenient times -a fact almost as endearing as it is annoying. "How are things going with the insurance, anyway?" Her eyes shift back in his direction as she asks this, sizing up his reaction which surprisingly doesn't seem too bad given his predicament. In all this time, she has purposefully avoided bringing up this topic. His situation at the shop isn't a truly delicate subject matter. However, quite frankly, too much time has gone in to dealing with this whole mess. It is pretty much the last thing she would think he wants to talk about when he doesn't need to.
"Pretty much the same." Heaving a frustrated sigh, he makes no immediate attempt to elaborate further and gestures toward the water bottle she holds. As she passes the drink container his way, she takes a moment to absorb the details of his expression. Usually, he is fairly stoic -giving away little to nothing of his inner thoughts. Such is not entirely the case tonight. Obvious stress is etched into his facial features as his brows knot in frustration -this is one of those times where though little bits of inner turmoil manage to work their way to the surface, a lot more is going on inside his head than he will speak of aloud. Wishing to forego a detailed discussion on the matter is perfectly valid in her mind considering how much of his time has been wrapped up in trying to settle things. Surprisingly, he does continue speaking after taking a brief swig from the water bottle she has just passed off. "I don't really think of myself as a good dancer, and part of the reason we had to do this is frustrating, but I'm still happy I could go out with you tonight."
Blue bell orbs widen at once before they seek out and line up with his. While he already made it clear that third-parities misunderstanding the nature of their relationship doesn't perturb him, it is still a surprise to hear him use language that blurs the lines when it comes to his own thoughts on the matter. Just seconds ago it seemed like he has been allowing more of his innermost thoughts and feelings to shine through in the course of their interactions tonight. Now, even if that is true, it is no longer enough for the woman to feel like she understands her companion's intentions.
The musician hasn't missed the questioning gaze and he makes a mental note that though she is clearly startled, she doesn't seem unhappy. If anything, the predominant look she wears is one comprised of curiosity -more or less. With a crooked grin and another small sip from the water bottle, he casts his gaze downward. On a deep, visceral level, it bothers him to refrain from practicing complete honesty when she clearly seeks clarity and understanding. The night is young and time remains on their side. Right now, there are tasks to complete -a competition to win. So, not only is there not a need to outline all the facts right now, it simply isn't the time.
'Baby steps, Luka. There's time. Don't rush it, especially not when she's still so anxious.' What pesky things internal monologues are. This in mind, he switches gears ever so slightly.
"I basically decided I'm using tonight as a 'get out of responsibility-free' card or something like that...for a while, anyway. I'm out of my element, but I can relax and forget the stressful stuff for a while, because I'm with you. I know you said you can relax more with me, but I'm almost sure you're worried about what might happen if we lose. I'm just hoping you can still have fun and enjoy tonight." Peeking from his peripheral vision, he delights in the bright smile that takes over her features.
"Luka, I..." The tentative tone of voice as she shifts her body slowly in his direction and glances up at him with those bashful baby blue eyes makes his heart skip a beat or two in his chest. But the moment is lost as the screech of microphone feedback cuts through whatever words she would have said.
The announcer, now having obtained the undivided attention of the entire room, begins their introduction.
"Good evening and welcome everyone," The speaker begins, tearing Luka and Marinette from the would be moment, commanding their attention to be on the run-down of the rules and guidelines for the competition they are taking part in, "Thanks for coming out tonight. Just a reminder of a few qualifiers: Only pairs who registered and checked in will be considered when the judges review the routines to determine a winner. Each pair of contestants will be considered only once. Anyone caught entering the competition as part of more than one pair will be disqualified. You will be judged based upon several factors and the judges will make their selection after every pair has completed their routine for the night. Be respectful of when another pair is on the floor and remember to have fun with it!" After a short round of courtesy applause, the first contestants are asked to come forward and the dance floor is cleared to make room.
It soon is clear that she and Luka are not the only ones who put a lot of effort into tonight's routine. Every pair that hits the dance floor before them clearly also set aside time to learn and perfect their routines. Everything from performer's renditions of the 1920's Charleston or Foxtrot to early 1960's disco is on display tonight. It is quite the sight to behold.
Their time as spectators is short-lived. Their numbers are called up and he turns to look at his partner, hoping that she isn't feeling too overwhelmed. Contrary to every expression he's seen her wear up until now, her mouth is set in a line. She doesn't look flustered or anxious. As her eyes line up with his for a split second, it seems a veil of fierce determination has fallen over her, wiping out all traces of her prior conflict. He feels a small smile cross his own features, relieved that at least she isn't crippled by anxiety right before showtime. Together, they head out to the center of the dance floor and pause as they wait for the band to begin playing their selected song.
For a few seconds, the idle chatter and squeaking of shoes against the floor are the only sounds to be heard as Luka and Marinette face one another. As they prepare themselves mentally, their eyes meet. Knowing how she's been feeling since agreeing to this and how anxious she's been so far tonight, he feels it fair to offer her one last out. If she wants to forfeit this venture, now is the time to speak up or act. 'You sure you're ready?' His azure eyes pass along this unspoken question.
An immeasurably small moment in time passes during which she absorbs her friend's concern. He's asking if she is still up for this and offering an escape if she isn't. It's a very sweet gesture, but now she's far too concentrated on the opening steps she'll be making to even feel the weight of the immense worry she'd been struggling with earlier. Blue eyes shine with determination and slowly, a confident smile begins to pull her lips upward. The last remaining bits of insecurity and doubt seem to melt away, replaced by a fiercely concentrated look -her mind is already rigidly focused on what needs to be done.
'Bring it on.'
Seeing her resolve helps him steel the remainder of the nerves he's been fighting and clear his mind to focus on the moment. If she's not backing down or having second thoughts, he won't either. The first set of movements runs through his mind's eye.
The band springs to life once more, music echoing through the hall and filling the space with the sounds of swing.
She reaches out, grabbing and squeezing the hand he extends in her direction. With a shared deep breath, they jump right in, surrendering to the rhythm. Their surroundings seemingly fade out of existence. For the next three minutes, all but their objective drops from the proverbial radar. The two of them and the music are all that makes up reality.
Here we go, quickly now! Tap, step, tap, step and keep up with the ebb and flow of the music. Every second matters. Somehow her movements seem faster than even their most recent practice as she leads the dance. A measured push from both parties creates a short distance between the pair while they each do a quarter turn -facing the same direction- and keep their tap-step in time with the tune. The short jive ends in only a beat or two and as they each whirl back to face one another and he pulls her in, lifting her into the air and supporting her weight with one hand easing around her waist and the other acting as a shelf just below her knees. Gently lowering her forces his arm to extend fully before a split-second flex of said arm guides her into a spin that brings her body closer once more. This completes the first and least complicated move in their set.
Rinse and repeat the leading movements. Tap, step. Hook and replace. Push back, pull in under the arm and wait for her to twist and brace. Heart pumping a million miles a minute, she pauses and holds. Their eyes meet. Confidence flashes in her clear blue eyes as she offers a barely visible nod. 'I got you. Go for it!' This is not an audible exclamation, but the message is received all the same. Now is the time to make the next move. Relying on muscle memory and her support to execute a somersault flip in the air, he surprises even himself as he sticks the landing without incident and moves right into the next segment.
The applause of some of the other participants falls on deaf ears as Luka catches Marinette's eyes again, honestly completely stunned by his own smooth execution. They exchange bemused glances, a small chuckle caught somewhere in-between a release of nerves and amusement also shared between the pair of contestants.
Again, the initial pattern of tap-step leads into another swing move, this time, Luka acting as her support as they draw near. As one complete unit, they work together to make sure the movement is fluid and streamlined. Grip firm on her partner's hands, she leaps into the stunt, trusting in Luka as he supports her once again, she trusts him to guide her into a quick roll up and over his back. The sense of victory she feels burns in her deep blue gaze as she sticks the landing and emulates his earlier action -searching out his ultramarine eyes in order to share her sense of accomplishment. He feels a flash of pride vicariously and it shows in the smile he offers her as the routine continues. Again, both people miss the applause and a few hoots of excitement from the onlookers.
Okay, two down. Three to go. Turn and face forward.
Swiveling on their heels creates a spring to their step as they shuffle forward and then back several steps. A few quick twists of the neck in time to the beat. She pulls him in and he shrinks low to the ground, allowing himself to be swung in a half circle around the front of her body before popping into a jump at the end of the swing. Less complicated than his first move, sticking this landing feels far less daunting. The same move is repeated a second time immediately following his jump, but the roles are reversed. The young fashion designer effortlessly copies his movements and lands her jump in place as well.
Hitting the finale of the set, both people reach out and lock their free hands with one another. Grip tight on both hands, they wind themselves into a quick spin maneuver that melds into twirling in opposite directions as they drop their hold on each other's hand. Then, reversing direction, they come together again. Taking hold of her hand one last time, she ducks under his arm. Then he under hers. As the band strikes their last note, he guides her body into a low dip, planting his feet firmly and settling into place with precise timing.
Both panting, their gazes hold fast while they process the fact that they'd just managed to make that whole series of events happen. It had seemed like such an insurmountable task only thirty minutes ago. Now here they are, having successfully gone through the complete routine. A kaleidoscope of emotions plays in the expressions of both people as they come back down to Earth after that adrenaline rush. The astonished grins on each person's face end up soon replaced by a mixture of pride and relief. 'We managed to do that well, but I'm still happy it's over.' This sentiment passes between them as they share a short exasperated laugh.
Still caught within each other's surprised and somewhat fatigued gazes, each individual plays witness as the focus in the eyes of their counterpart shifts from the task they had just completed to the person before them. All thoughts related to timing, precision, execution and dance movements are soon too vacate the premises. Left behind is a slowly forming thought that has nothing at all to do with dancing as he supports her body with one arm and holds onto her hand, gently squeezing her slender fingers with his other hand. Those bluebell eyes shine with a burning intrigue as they trail away from their alignment with his to focus on his mouth. Then, she licks her lips before tentatively locking eyes with the man once more. His teeth sink into his lower lip at the sight. That, just now, was one hell of an invitation and Luka must exercise great refrain to not accept it. Tempting as it is, he simply can't abide taking this action at this particular moment. No, this would-be kiss deserves to be built on something deeper than a heat of the moment whim in front of a gawking crowd.
Consider for a moment: time, place, occasion.
At last, reality rushes back in as the applause of their peers resounds within the large hall. The dance they had been so preoccupied with for weeks is over now. A few whistles and hoots of excitement come from the crowd of contestants and other onlookers that has formed around them during their short show. The applause continues for another several seconds before trailing off into the excitable chatter of the strangers around them. He helps the woman into a standing position and the two of them break apart, now embarrassed at having been so caught up by the moment in front of this room full of people.
Sheepish, both of them scurry off the dancefloor as the next pair is called upon, making a hasty retreat to the refreshments table for the remainder of the competition.
The stars twinkle overhead on this moonless night as the first place prize winners hop into the guitarist's car and begin the short drive back to Marinette's apartment. They had shared in the celebration with the rest of the group back at the venue, so it seems unnecessary to rehash all those things now that they have some privacy. Slight smile gracing her lips, her eyes trail in his direction as he focuses on the road ahead of them. She is very happy for the musician. With the cash prize secured, he can now take care of repairs at the music shop without the help of insurance and his fight with the company can end before he switches.
However, she must admit that being pleased about the positive outcome for Luka isn't the topic which consumes the majority of her thoughts at the moment. No, the majority of her mental energy is dedicated to replaying that moment they shared on the dance floor. It's undeniable. She saw the change in his eyes and noticed the way his gaze followed her tongue as she licked her dry lips while being held in his arms. In that moment, he wanted to kiss her and she had been eager to engage.
Though she can't know why, he did not ultimately act upon his inclination. They ended their time together at the venue without bringing it up again and now here they are sharing space as he chauffeurs them both back to her home through the dark of the night.
'What made him hold back?' The thought is unavoidable, so she doesn't even attempt to stave it off. Luka may be introverted, but shy he is not. Surely the opinions of strangers would not have dissuaded him if he had truly wanted it. By the same token, she doesn't take offense or feel the need to work herself into a frenzy with worry. Merely the knowledge that he had been considering it is enough to make her chest swell to near bursting with elation.
When this short drive does eventually end, she hopes he will be okay with hanging out at her place for a bit. The look of intense and concentrated interest he had worn at the moment she made clear her desire to kiss him had given her the information she needs. On some level, he returns her feelings. She doesn't know if whatever emotions he holds are entirely akin to hers, but there is an uncomplicated way to ascertain that information. Once they arrive at her place, she'll invite him to stay for a while. This is perhaps the swiftest method to get the answer to the most pressing question of the night: 'Do we have the same feelings for each other?' She will know shortly.
As he drives, he quietly contemplates his situation and does his best to focus on the road. It has been a part of his plans to talk with her about his feelings and sort out the state of things for a while. While he's aware of what he risks by doing so, he can't be dishonest by withholding this information from her any longer. From his perspective, every indication she's given about her feelings toward him through the years came across as entirely platonic up until not more than fifty minutes ago. His mind had constructed this idea that any feelings of the romantic variety were strictly one-sided, little more than fanciful dreams of a man with a hopeless crush on one of his best friends.
It would certainly seem as though this is no longer the case. That moment on the dance floor meant something. Actually, scratch that. It meant more than just something. It's frankly a bit of a challenge to think clearly when his head is still swimming, and mentally he can't move past of the glimmer of heat in her eyes as they travelled between holding his gaze and a sultry examination of his mouth. The mental image still sends a shiver along his spine. He'd never felt more weak to another person's actions than he had in that moment. Marinette could not have made her desires any more obvious. She wanted that kiss to happen. She wanted him to kiss her.
A monumental shift in their relationship dynamic has occurred tonight, making it all the more crucial to address things. His grip on the wheel tightens until his knuckles turn a bit white as he considers how to ask if he is welcome to spend more time with her once they reach their destination.
Pulling the car over along the curb outside her home and putting it in park, he finds himself freezing up and completely losing his words as he opens his mouth to ask if he can stay for a while. This isn't the first time he's asked another person permission to stay after the end of a date. It's just a single question. Not a difficult one to ask, either: "Is it alright if I stay for a while?" So simplistic and also so very overawing.
A sudden jolt of dread runs through him as the gravity of what he stands to lose settles in entirely and, for the first time since deciding he would confront this issue head-on, he feels deeply intimidated. This is a long-standing and -until tonight- strictly platonic relationship. If there is even a small possibility he has misconstrued the signals he thought he recognized earlier then making a move like this could destroy something wonderful. With the uncertainty hanging above his head like an anvil about to crush him, Luka finds himself at an impasse within his own head.
"So...vintage wine," Marinette is the one who breaks the silence, turning and offering an encouraging smile to her companion when she notices his troubled demeanor, "I have some that the bride gave to me at this wedding I went to recently. If you want, you can come in and celebrate the win." Clearly, they each have things they want to discuss and she is positive they each want to address the same concern. No time like the present to rip off the Band-Aid and have a real talk about feelings, as much as no adult ever really wants to.
"Sure, sounds good..." Both happy she has saved him some embarrassment by extending the offer herself and that it seems she wasn't adverse to the idea to begin with, he feels the stiffness in his posture begin to melt away and finally a small smile brightens his expression.
She pauses by the front door when her phone goes off, diverting her attention for a moment. Holding the key in one hand and pulling her phone out of her pocket with the other, she can see that the sender is Alya. At the same moment she takes her first couple steps inside, she has her phone unlocked and is taking a peek at whatever thoughts her friend has shared with her.
(Alya Cesaire 10:01pm: hope you two had
a fun time ;) I got
a little surprise ready for after your date)
By the time it hits her that this surprise will be -in typical Alya fashion- a bit more embarrassing than enjoyable, it is already too late. The light that she'd just turned on after entering her home and stepping aside to allow Luka room to follow her in dims considerably. She has just stepped into the kitchen to find the wine she'd promised when Alexa's robotic voice rings through the living room. As she turns to listen to what the electronic assistant is notifying them of, her eyes pass over Luka, who has frozen next to the entryway, halfway through the process of shrugging off his leather jacket. The two blue gazes align uncertainly for a split second before shifting in the direction of the words dictated by the machine. Well, this can't be anything good.
(Now playing: Post date mix.)
The first song in this 'playlist' no one had informed the homeowner would begin right after walking in the door launches. Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get it On", of course. Because what other track would her best friend choose? What a great way to enhance the innate awkwardness of a moment where she must address her romantic feelings for the man standing in her doorway. Throw in a dash Alya's wildly inappropriate sense of humor, add a layer of awkward romantic tension and top with a sprinkling of less-than-wholesome undertones and you've got one social disaster on your hands. Does Alya's love of teasing really know no bounds? Not even currently present, she can somehow still manage to make a situation more awkward for her shy friend.
Complexion quickly turning downright pallor, her eyes shift back in Luka's direction as he stands next to the entryway and when he arches an eyebrow at her, she then feels her skin burn with the heat of a blush. As Luka snorts and attempts to stifle his laugher, the flustered woman sputters out a command for the device to stop the song.
(Alright, what else would you like me to play?) The device questions.
"Whatever...I don't care..." Setting aside the wine, bottle opener and the two wine glasses she'd just taken from the kitchen, she slumps into a chair at her dining table with a long sigh and plants her palm onto her forehead. When she sees Alya next, she may just kill her.
(Okay.) With that final response, the playlist shuffles through before landing on Redbone's "Come and get Your Love." Not a complete change of pace, but still a vast tonal improvement.
"Marvin Gaye..." Luka lowers himself into the seat across from the other person at the table, still struggling to control his amusement at what clearly is another one of Alya's pranks, "A confident choice of background music for a glass of wine with a friend after a night out dancing. I like it." His small and light-hearted dig at Alya brings a wry smile to Marinette's lips and he grins reflexively, happy the joke landed as intended. He may be able to find the humor in this awkward situation, but his considerably more bashful companion might not have seen this as something laughable. Peering across the table at Marinette, they share in a laugh which seems to drain any remaining tension from the air.
"Alya likes to keep it classy." Though she still feels some mild embarrassment over that little stunt her friend pulled, looking across the table at this wonderful person and seeing that airy laughter and gentle smile of his makes it easier to let go of the stress and embarrassment.
Reaching out across the table, the young man takes the wine and bottle opener and makes quick work of getting the container open and pouring them each a glass. They share a few sips of the aged wine in the now dimly-lit room, both enjoying the comfort of the other person's presence. The music fills the silence of the night as they wordlessly enjoy the alcohol.
The vintage label is more potent that other wines he's tried and he must admit he's feeling the buzz from his drink. Glancing across the table, it's obvious he is not the only one. His companion's somewhat lax posture and dazed expression make it clear she is also feeling a pleasant wave of euphoria from the fermented fruit beverage. Jacket now removed and tossed haphazardly over the seat, she leans back into the fabric. Her pin-curled hair bounces around her shoulders as she lifts the glass to her lips and enjoys another small sip. In the background, he hears Rupert Holmes' "Escape" trail off into nothingness before a new song begins. This time, the tender melody and smooth, rich sound of Elvis Presley's voice fills his ears, triggering the formulation of an idea.
'I wonder if she'd want to?' He's come here tonight with a purpose in mind, but as yet hasn't found a good starting point for the conversation he knows they need to have. Their wordless communication on that dance floor had proven to be quite effective once already. Maybe whatever synchronicity they experienced there can be the catalyst that helps him find and utilize his words now.
Absently, she realizes that the song currently providing the ambient backdrop for this scene is one of her favorite oldies. Though able to hear it all along, this is the first time since the Marvin Gaye song that she has really listened to what plays in the background. She's been too caught up in the buzz from the drink to concentrate on such details until she notes the prolonged and somewhat curious alpine gaze directed at her from across the table. Mustering up all the ability to focus she currently possesses, the young woman studies those glacial pools of his for any hint about what action he might take next. Unable to assign just the right adjective to everything found therein, the expression he currently sports is at least identifiable as one nearly identical to what she'd seen from him during that moment on the dance floor. She feels her pulse begin to rise as heat travels up her neck.
Time is ticking away while the guitarist sits here trying to decide on phrasing. Nothing will progress unless one of them takes initiative and it appears the one to do so will have to be him. Downing the remaining bit of wine, he brings himself to his feet and comes around to her side of the table before extending a hand her way. Fixing the blue haired woman with a hopeful grin, he finds himself working through a small rush of giddiness before he asks a single question.
"One last dance to end the night?"
Also polishing off the remainder of her drink, Marinette takes his hand with a short nod.
Moving away from the table and toward the more open area between the kitchen and living room, Luka stops and turns to face her. Her imploring blue eyes and shy smile warm him from the inside out. Elvis' smooth voice continues to serenade the pair as they exchange a set of requests and permissions with only eye contact. Reaching out with tentative fingers, the musician takes hold of her other hand and guides both of her arms up and over his shoulders. Leaving her to adjust the positioning as she sees fit, he carefully chooses a placement for his hands on each side of her waist. With every move deepening their physical contact, his eyes remain aligned with his partner's, allowing him to continually check in with her, ensuring each touch is still welcomed and wanted.
The dance begins with a few awkward steps before they fall into a natural rhythm and begin to sway in time with the notes. That same imploring gleam held in the deep blue of her irises seems to intensify further the longer they remain locked with his. With his heart rate now picking up, he finds he can no longer stave off his curiosity.
"What is it?" His voice seems to come out a shade or two lighter than usual, tone soft and almost even a bit bashful.
"There's something I wanna know." Her teeth sink into her lower lip as she breaks the eye contact for the first time for a short few seconds. When he offers a low hum and a nod of encouragement, he can feel her one hands clamp down tightly around her opposite wrist behind his neck just before her eyes rise once more to meet his. It's almost as if the yellow-orange tint of the dim lighting has set her blue eyes ablaze. "Earlier...at the hall...you wanted to kiss me..." The tone seems caught halfway between a question and a statement as she studies her companion, anxiously awaiting his reply.
A smile tugs his lip upward at the expression she has put on -a look somehow just as hopeful as it is fraught with worry. Sure, it is always best to not to act on assumptions when it comes to the feelings of others but it truly is a bit surprising to know she doesn't entirely accept the idea that he would want to kiss her. She is a wonderful person in a number of ways -no need to make some exhaustive list of adjectives. The more time he's spent with her, the more examples of reasons to love her he's found. But he's had no reason to think she harbored similar inclinations toward him. If anything, he is the one who should be feeling disbelief about the idea that she would want to participate in -let alone initiate- a kiss. Tonight is the first time she's ever openly expressed such a desire in his presence.
"Yes, I did," Unable to draw his eyes away from hers, he sees the emotion in her gaze shift from hesitant curiosity to joy and relief, "and...so did you..." the words fall from his lips, tone quite similar to hers was as she'd stated an identical idea just seconds prior. At this assertion, the woman's eyes widen.
Marinette says nothing for a moment, mouth agape as she studies the man before her in silent awe. There's no reason he wouldn't have noticed, so she isn't quite sure why his response surprises her. In that moment just after he dipped her back and the dance ended, the intent had been to leave no room for misinterpretation.
"Yeah...I did." Heat rushes up along the back of her neck and scorches her ears at her own words. After what seems like a long period of eye contact, her gaze finally falls away from his. Embarrassed and honestly at little overwhelmed by her own admission she leans in, burying her head and shoulder against his chest. It's as though saying it aloud for the first time makes the truth more real than ever before. Though still nothing more than friends by their own definition, it is obvious they both now desire a different kind of relationship. Frankly, it is a scary prospect. Their confessions may have been healthy and cathartic, but they have also altered the fabric of everything between them on a fundamental level.
Once the small rush of excitement subsides, he becomes acutely aware of the tension in her upper body as she nestles in against his chest. At such a infinitesimal level it could almost be missed, a tremor runs through her body as she hides within his embrace. At once the man realizes that she's probably experiencing something similar to what he had gone through on the car ride here. Admitting the truth is unavoidable: a mild fear of change not unlike her own dwells within his mind as well. But that fear isn't going to stop him. He may want to be with her as a romantic partner, but he still loves her dearly as his friend. He has to believe that no matter how things develop from here on, that this fact will remain constant. His hands leave their resting places on either side of her waist, travelling around behind her back and enfolding her small body in a full embrace.
"If you're scared of this changing things, I get it. I'd be lying if I didn't say 'me too'." The quiet reassurance is offered as the song draws to a close and the motion of the dance ceases. He gives her small form an affectionate and almost needy squeeze. "But I'm not so scared that I don't want to try this and see where it takes us. You're the only one who can make me back off. If you aren't ready or you just don't want to, all you need to do is say so. Tell me to stop and I will. Ask for space, I'll give it. I'll respect whatever you decide."
The words are spoken as if she ever had any reason to doubt he will practice his usual good form. Of course he will. That's who Luka is. Ever the respectful gentlemen she knows, he holds her so tenderly as he speaks the words that should go without saying. Clinging to his neck while nestled close to the sound of his rapidly beating heart is strangely soothing. Held within his calming warmth, the cumulative reservations she'd picked up along the way begin to dissipate.
The next song in the line up begins, another vintage tune. This time, it is Paul Anka's "Put Your Head on my Shoulder" that provides the musical backdrop for the moment.
Thirty seconds pass as she gathers herself together again. Luka's naturally calming energy and unwavering gentleness both aid her as she reaches for that courage she thought had fled her. Her eyes catch hold of his when he shifts back just enough to allow for it. The melted alpine pools that gaze into hers are alight with more passion than she's ever seen him display before and she feels the butterflies flutter wildly in her stomach in response.
"I'm not gonna say any of that." She finds the words are tumbling out before she's really thought them over. "I'm...pretty sure I'm falling in love with you, Luka."
"Just pretty sure?" He doesn't mean to tease. The flirty question just slips out, a byproduct of the rush of giddiness surging through him at his companion's words. It's stupefying and exciting to know now that these emotions were not always entirely one-sided. After a few seconds, Marinette fixes him with the same unimpressed dead-pan expression she gives Alya every once in a while and he feels the last of the giddiness at her reply fade. He simply forgot to filter his thoughts for a moment as his own elation and excitement had gotten the better of him. Annoying her in the same manner Alya had been doing earlier was not anywhere on the agenda.
It's not until he opens his mouth to apologize that he notices the mischievousness that flickers in her periwinkle eyes.
"Pfff!" This is a small precursor to a short bout of laughter at his expense. "I guess that look works better when I use it on you!"
It takes a moment to get a reaction from the man holding her, but when the makings of a pout work their way into his expression, the young designer can't resist the affection that wells up within. Seeing the person before her openly pout is rather rare and it's beyond just endearing. It's downright precious. The slight downward turn of the corners of his mouth and the furrow in his brow are incredibly enticing. She thought the urge to kiss him had been powerful back at the venue, but even that is a pittance compared to what she feels right now. However, she refrains from acting on this impulse and instead chooses to wait for him to solicit affection before acting. He is always shelving his agenda for her sake, so it simply feels like the decent thing to do.
Though he doesn't entirely enjoy her teasing, that fake irritation act was earned. He'd made his fair share of playful comments, so this sort of mild prank in return is only fair.
Joking aside, all rational thought seems to slowly abandon him as the urge to collect that which he had refused earlier is reignited like the last embers of a dying fire. His eyes trail down to glance at her lips, mirroring what she had done to him during the competition. He'd held back in the dance hall for the sake of upholding the privacy he feels their first intimate moment deserves, should they have one. They now stand alone in her living room, wrapped up in the tender embrace of the other person, lulled into a relaxed state by the charm of the vintage music and the buzz from the wine. With the emotional weight of their admissions fresh in his mind, he surrenders himself to the longing that builds up within. There is nothing to prevent the natural progression of things barring a withdrawal of consent on her part. This reality hits like a freighter -he craves this intimacy with almost unbearable intensity. How will it feel to give in and let it happen after all this time? Kissing the person he loves the most. Being kissed in return. The satisfaction of understanding via her responses that she enjoys whatever affection he does have to offer. These are things he needs to experience. Provided she is enthusiastic and willing to take part, of course.
"Do you still want to?" Emphasis naturally falls on the word 'want' as this question tumbles out. Alpine eyes bore down on the woman once he moves his gaze back into alignment with hers, struck by a sudden and acute onset of desperation for her reply.
"Want to what?" This innocent query suggests she has already lost sight of the fact that they were just discussing kissing less than two minutes ago. She's moved past that portion of their talk almost a little too quickly for his liking.
'What do you think?' Replying aloud seems unnecessary to clear things up here. Leaning in and resting his forehead against hers with a soft yet pointed sigh, he hopes that his exasperated display will take care of the explanation for him.
Realization doesn't take long to occur. Oh.
Luka's crystalline eyes remain unwavering, locked on hers, a fervid yearning building in those electric blue orbs that makes her insides turn to jello. No further elaboration needed.
There is neither time nor cause to psych herself out over the man's request. They both want it and one quick peck on the lips is a great way to sample the terrain of this as yet uncharted territory. Leaning in quickly, her lips press against his, touch at first light as a feather. Purely experimental, this minute bit of physical contact serves one purpose -to gain an understanding of the depth of her feelings for him.
This plan does not end up comporting with how reality plays out. The realization is instantaneous: any thoughts of a short-lived and chaste kiss were folly. The contact instantly sends a surge of ecstasy through her body -one so achingly sweet that she knows at once that she wants more from him. It's clear now. She isn't just curious about the prospect of being with him. This isn't her blowing a crush out of proportion or riling herself up in response to spending more time with him lately. No. The truth is far simpler than any possible explanation her anxious mind can dream up. She genuinely cares for him. She's fallen hard for one of her closest friends and she wants him. Her hand, still looped around his neck and gripping her opposite wrist tightly finally releases that hold, her now free fingers travelling up into the hair at the base of his skull as her eyes drift to a close.
The kiss itself when coupled with the quick progression of events results in his mind essentially short-circuiting. Her lips move over his with rapidly intensifying urgency as she clings to him and he is rendered practically incapable of taking any responsive action. This moment may be reality now, but it remained a seemingly unattainable and hopeless wish for so long that his brain has trouble grappling with the fact that this isn't some daydream. It is only natural that processing this takes him some time.
About a minute passes them by. Her movements slow to a stop before she breaks the contact, lips hovering millimeters away from his. Worry mars her expression, clouding those smoky bluebell eyes. Within his grasp, her body stiffens and only now he realizes his reaction is coming off as rejection. The regret that flashes across her expression is the trigger that jumpstarts his stalled mind. She is beginning to doubt that he wants this -that he wants her. He can't let that stand. He won't let it stand. Nothing could be farther from the truth.
Leaning in only slightly, he easily reinitiates the kiss, earning the pleasure of hearing the small sound that falls from her lips -a hum which somehow both expresses relief and conveys her enjoyment. The small sound seems to thrum through his body, piercing him to the core and raising goosebumps along his arms. The rush of endorphins that fires between the receptors in his brain triggers a feeling of euphoria unlike he's felt from any other kiss in his life. It is unbelievably fantastic. His hands press into the small of her back, bringing her body impossibly closer. His self-control has abandoned him. Every bit of the yearning he's kept to himself until now flows openly into the way his lips move against hers.
Wanton kisses continue, exploratory caresses growing more sensual as the two of them lose themselves in the heat of this incredible moment. Everything about this is so good and so right -every small touch, sound or movement from the other person fanning the flames of the shared passion. Each time he begins to believe they've had their fill and their lips part, it turns out to be only a short moment to take a breath before they dive right back in for more.
After some time, the impassioned explorations do cease and this time when they lean in, they do so for support, allowing their foreheads to rest gently against the other person's.
"L-Luka..." His name tumbles from Marinette's mouth, nothing more than a wispy little huff of a sound as she shifts dazedly within his grasp.
'Christ...' The man's breath hitches as a shock wave travels through his body at her tone. A guttural hum containing both satisfaction and desire follows. It is the very first time he's ever heard her call to him using such a tone. Thick and sweet like honey, yet still nothing more than a soft and trembling whimper, the four letters of his name have never seemed so devastatingly powerful before. He doesn't mean to let it overpower his senses so completely, but the rush of pleasure is automatic and beyond his control. He can only manage to think of one way to respond.
"It's probably obvious by now, but I still need to say it..." Pulling his hand out of the nest of soft blue curls that is her hair, he hesitates before dropping his fingers onto the curve of her cheek, his thumb lightly brushing across her slightly swollen lips. His jaw falls agape as she leans into his touch and sighs contentedly. "I'm in love with you. I have been for a long time now..." For just a split second he trails off into silence, taking a second to choose his next words before he completes his thoughts, "I've wanted to talk about this for the last couple months. I'd like to be your boyfriend, if you'll have me."
"You don't seriously expect I'll turn you down now, do you?" Her blue bell eyes sparkle with amusement.
With a playful grin, the man shrugs in response.
"You know how I am." He's got her there. It's true -Luka is not the sort of man who could want something so much he'd limit another person's choices. It does rank pretty high among the admirable things about him and is probably the factor most responsible for her falling this deeply in love.
"Finding out where this takes us sounds nice to me." The callback to his encouraging comments from moments ago draws a short laugh from Luka, one she shares in. Her hand rises to rest over the large fingers pressed against the curve of her cheek, a warm smile lighting up her features and completing her thoughts without need of verbalizing them.
It is only after they finally part and share another glass of wine that he checks his phone and realizes how late it has gotten. It's about time to call it a day and get ready to sleep. Picking himself up from his seat at the table, he takes the glass over to the sink and washes it before lowering it onto the drying rack. This is the point at which the implication of drinking alcohol tonight actually settles in fully. It's been so long since the last time he drank anything with even mild alcohol content that it didn't even register that motor vehicles and judgement impairing chemicals like wine are not compatible. Certainly, he's not going to be driving anywhere tonight. The best and now only option is to request permission to stay over.
"I hadn't really thought about it before, but now that you had alcohol, you should just stay over." This offer is extended before he can even open his mouth to ask. "And Luka?"
"Yeah?"
"You can say no, of course but I'm kind of...freaking out on the inside and I think it would help. If...I asked you to sleep in my room with me tonight...would it make you uncomfortable?" The way her mouth sets itself in an embarrassed grimace as she watches him with hesitation in her eyes makes clear a certain level of candor. She isn't joking and she didn't misspeak. This request is serious and was considered carefully prior to giving voice to it.
Astonished by this request, all he can do is follow her movements with his eyes as she rises from the kitchen table and washes up her own wine glass after reaching the sink. Several seconds pass as he processes her question. Someone who has been one of his best friends for so long -and just tonight admitted to feeling more than friendship toward him- is asking him to share a bed with her. Immediately following a first date, a first kiss and a couple of glasses of wine no less. This is almost too much to absorb all at one time and it's making his mind foggy. What he needs is a better understanding of her reasons before he gives her an answer.
"Don't take this the wrong way...I just want to know...that's all. So...uh...why?" Amongst the jumble of thoughts he could piece together, these are the first ones to feel semi-coherent inside his mind before they reach his lips, though they are barely even two complete thoughts. He's far too flustered to produce anything better.
"Well...part of it is because I still just want to be with you..." Immediately appearing as flustered as the musician feels, she presses her fingers together in that familiar nervous habit, "...but also...tonight is a lot to unpack...all at once. Ya know? You help keep me grounded when other big stuff happens. It's just...I feel like I'll be calmer if I can be close to you. Like always. But only if it's okay with you. You're probably freaking out on the inside too...so..."
Dear God. What a pure-hearted rationale. She even hit the nail on the head regarding his inner turmoil. Ordinarily, Luka would find himself experiencing some trepidation over approving a request like this from any prospective partner. The thing is- these circumstances are not entirely ordinary. Not when considering the individual asking and their reasons for doing so. Unable to imagine a single reason to refuse, he offers his clearly embarrassed companion a nod.
"If this is what you think will help calm you down, then I will." Though agreeing to this proposition is for her sake, it would be a lie to pretend like he doesn't also want to be by her side right now.
They each take turns getting cleaned up and changed for bed. He had not started this night with the intention of staying over, so it is pure luck that Marinette has a pair of her dad's athletic shorts and a tee-shirt that were left behind after one of her parent's recent visits.
Pulling the comforter up over his body, he sinks down against the silky bedsheets and slides one arm under his pillow, feeling more or less completely at peace. What he thought was a one-sided and hopeless crush turned out to be mutual. The night of dancing he had felt uncomfortable with turned out to be a lot more fun than he thought. He now has the funds -thanks to their win tonight- to fix the damages at his shop, so the fight with the insurance company is more or less null and void. He can drop it and he then he can look into switching down the line. Satisfied with the outcome and still feeling fuzzy from the wine, his eyes finally drift to a close.
Marinette, still far from peaceful rest, just can't seem to settle. As wonderful as a lot of this evening was, it has left her feeling a bit overwhelmed. It all began with what basically amounts to mild anxiety attacks over the outcome of the competition. As she'd stepped onto the dance floor with him, adrenaline completely took over and they'd rocked the routine. In the end, they had won. Winning was awesome, but the rollercoaster of emotions surrounding all of these events has been a little much.
Not to mention everything that followed. Recalling the image -now forever burned into her mind's eye- of the longing in his alpine eyes as he slowly realized what she was thinking about at the end of their routine at the dance hall makes her squirm in place. The memory of the intense heat of his kisses and gentle caresses makes her flush with delight. Restlessness consuming her, she changes positions in the hopes it will help. It doesn't and so she ends up changing positions several more times.
Not yet quite relaxed enough to sleep, he can't pretend to not notice her mounting discomfort and restlessness.
"Is me being here too much? I can go and sleep on the couch if you changed your mind." Though already worried she's feeling uncomfortable as a result of his presence, a surge of pure dread rushes through him when she jumps in response to the sound of his voice. It's hard not to feel like agreeing to sleep here was a mistake. At least, from his perspective. Stifling a sigh, he shifts carefully in an attempt to get off the bed without disturbing the woman beside him.
Just as he is about to swing his feet over the side of the mattress, a small hand wraps around his wrist, stilling him. Puzzled, he turns to look Marinette, who now lays curled up on her opposite side facing him. Even in the dark of the night, the dark red color adoring her cheeks is visible. She bites down on her lip as her blue bell eyes slowly rise to align with his.
She honestly hadn't meant to make him feel unwelcome or unwanted. Her tension comes from a place of being caught up in the multitude of thoughts and feelings swirling inside. The possibility of Luka misinterpreting her change in demeanor wasn't a consideration that even so much as crossed her mind. It's by way of her own request the man is even here with her now and he's not made a single move in her direction since settling into the sheets beside her. How can he think he's done something to make her feel uncomfortable by simply being present right now? If anything, it's the opposite. Truth be told, the thought that they are currently laying together in her bed didn't cross her mind once amidst her spiraling thoughts. Almost as though sharing a space this intimate is natural -something that already feels so innately correct that the novelty of the situation never occurred to her.
The look of worry and mild hurt he wears strikes a chord in her heart and compels more prompt action on her part.
"Don't go..." Guilt flares up within the woman as she mutters this quiet plea, fingers pressing down into the flesh of his forearm. 'Why am I so bad at things like this? I made him think he needs to leave.' Being alone is the last thing Marinette wants right now. "Luka...please..."
"God, Mari..." Heart pounding in his chest as he slides back down into a laying position, he sets his cheek in his hand and uses his elbow as a base for support. A playful smirk stretches across his face as he watches the woman before him, crystalline eyes alight with incredulity. How unaffected does she believe him to be? He does not consider himself an impulsive person by nature, but he is by no means immune to the sheer power of her appeal in this moment. Crushed between the conflicted expression she wears and the tone in her voice, the will to remove himself from this situation leaves him altogether. "Even I'm going to get riled up when you ask me to stay like that. I'm not made of stone, you know."
Blush darkening several shades, she yanks her hand back as if bitten, returning to her anxious fidgeting. Stirring up romantic tension had not been the intention here. Right now, she merely seeks the comforting presence of her friend. "S-sorry..." Is all the bluenette can manage before trailing off into silence once more.
"I'm glad you told me you didn't want me to leave. I'm here now. I won't leave. But I need to know what I can do. When you're ready, please tell me." Something needs to be done here. He doesn't know how to help when she can't express what her concern is. At the same time, he can't force it. For a moment or two he hangs back and simply observes. Her entire appearance -from the knot in her brow to the way her body seems to curl in on itself- makes it clear how rife with conflict the woman before him is feeling.
"W-well...I uh...I guess I j-just...I'm still feeling overwhelmed. Tonight was a lot," This reply finally tumbles out of her after what feels like a prolonged silence, "I got caught up in thinking about all the things...but you being here right now isn't part of why I'm like this. I'm not uncomfortable with having you with me at all and I want you to stay. Actually..." A bashful look falling over the woman's features, she once again trails off without completing her thoughts. That deep-seeded anxiety is tripping her up again as she stares down at the sheets in the space between their bodies.
"It's alright Marinette...you don't need to be scared to tell me the truth." Adjusting his position slightly, the guitarist offers this bit of encouragement.
"Right. But...then what about what you just said...about not being made of stone? I feel like I'm already coming on a little strong..." Broken though it may be, this explanation does convey enough that he has a better picture of the motivations driving her mismatched behaviors.
"I didn't mean to make you think you're forcing something on me. You're absolutely not, so I'm sorry for that. I wouldn't have agreed to this if I didn't want to be with you." His brow furrows in concentration as he considers his words. Lifting her head so their eyes may meet, those bluebell orbs of hers gleam sharply with interest. Though too shy to articulate her thoughts in their entirety, she is quite keen on hearing his. "It was mostly just a joke...though I guess some of it was also me trying to be upfront with you. I'm very serious about us, which is why I want you to know what's on my mind as these types of situations come up more. If I were to misread something you said or did and acted in a way that hurt you, I might not be able to forgive myself for it."
Her mouth falls agape as she stares at the young man laying on her bed before her. A truly staggering surge of affection for him overtakes her being. It would be selling his finer qualities short to simply call him a good man. He's a profoundly kind, gentle and patient person -someone who consistently does his best to respect the boundaries of the people around him. His altruism, honesty and integrity constantly leave her in awe. As romantic partners go, having his love and commitment feels just a bit like winning a lottery.
Suddenly, the way she had fretted over making this request seems almost comical.
"If it doesn't feel weird for you, I would really like it if you held me. Will you?" Though asking for someone to show her affection does feel weird, the impulse to be as close to him as he'll allow does not.
'Oh, fucking absolutely I will.' The words, even as ecstatic as they are echoing through his mind, are not ones he chooses to share aloud. Instead, he simply shoots her a pleased smile and beckons her in his direction with a few quick twists of his wrist.
Wasting no time, she shimmies toward him, bringing the front of her body flush against his. Her legs brush against his he shifts in place. Her chest presses against his midsection and the warmth of his body is enticing enough that her first unconscious physical response causes her to nestle into it. Her free arm snakes around his back, clinging tightly to both the physical firmness of his form and his naturally soothing energy. Using the other arm folded under her body as a makeshift pillow, she relaxes. It takes less than five seconds to notice his heart rate -spiked high and the reverberations from the expansion and contraction of the muscle are similar to the thudding of a drum. Hearing just how much more affected he is by this moment than he shows warms her to the core like hot chocolate on a cold winter night.
He drapes the arm he isn't using to prop himself up around her upper back, his fingers clutching tightly to the fabric of the woman's loose tee-shirt. Holding her like this is even nicer than he could have hoped. The way the bluenette snuggles into his body, as if she can't quite get close enough, obliterates any worries he may have been harboring about overstepping or rushing into too much at once. Her contentedness brings about his own peace of mind, at least on that front.
Other factors do remain in play that cause more excitement on his part than he wants to allow. Her body is incredibly warm and rests comfortably against his own, as if fitting a mold designed for it. The perfume of her shampoo and soap from her earlier shower surrounds him. And of course, thanks to this closeness, he can't help but notice the missing article of clothing under her shirt and...well now he realizes just exactly how true the thoughts he'd expressed just moments ago are. He is not made of stone. Far from it in fact, Luka is just as enraptured by this moment as any person in his position might be.
Though it takes time to work through the dopamine and oxytocin high each person is experiencing, they do eventually manage to drift off to sleep.
The next morning dawns bright and clear, sun shining in through the gap in the curtains as the pair wakes up slowly and lingers in the remnants of last night's blissful charm. They both make and share in a pleasant breakfast before he gathers his things. Once all the breakfast mess is cleaned up and put away, she sees him to the front door.
"Marinette," He speaks up first, fixing her with a charming smile before continuing, "When's the next time you're going to have some free time?"
"Uhm...well, I don't really know off the top of my head. I probably have a ton of pending orders, stuff that needs prepped for shipping, materials that need bought...jeez, just thinking about it is stressing me out. I can check and get back to you. Why?" The worries that had seemed so far away last night begin to pile right back up as she imagines the literal mountain of work that awaits.
"Well," Shrugging into the leather jacket he'd been wearing last night, he explains, "I want another chance. Sort of a...do-over, I guess."
"A do-over? Why?" It's impossible to prevent oneself from speculating. Had some part of last night had left him feeling dissatisfied?
"Don't get me wrong, I had a great time last night. You have no idea how ecstatic I am that I finally got the chance to explore the idea of being more than friends...that you were open to it, too..." His voice drops an octave or two as the young man steps in closer to her, reaching out and taking her hand. Those azure eyes of his are alight with intent, the same heat she'd seen last night once again creeping to the surface. "But, for me, treating last night as if it were a date isn't good enough anymore. At the time, you were helping me as my friend. If you're willing, next time, I'd like to have a real date...as lovers."
"O-oh," A flush rushes up along the back of her neck as she stares up into his eyes, "Yeah. I'd love to. I'll figure something out for time off."
"Great! Just text or call me when you know and we can talk about what we want to do then," Flashing another bright smile, he leans in as if he's about to kiss her, but pauses before his lips touch hers, "May I?"
"Luka..." Her eyes flick quickly down to his mouth and then realign with his. "I'm not expecting you to ask for permission every time, you know."
With a small huff of amusement and a playful grin ghosting across his features, he leans in and places a tender kiss against her lips. The subtle display of affection lasts only seconds before the man shifts back, breaking the contact between their lips. An almost bashful smile passes over his expression before he speaks again.
"Just being friends...I feel like I knew my limitations and your boundaries pretty well," Volume reduced to something of a whisper, an apparent hesitancy hangs in his voice, suggesting there is some level of reluctance to say the words that come next, "It...it'll probably be a while before I feel confident doing anything physical without being sure I have consent."
The degree of consideration he affords to the concept of consent must be truly astronomical. It never fails to completely floor the young fashion designer and, as she is at a loss for words, all she can do to convey her admiration and gratitude is pull him into a tight hug. They linger in the embrace for a couple of minutes before Luka backs away. Reluctant goodbyes are exchanged and the musician takes his leave.
It isn't long after this that a knock comes at her door, and when she answers it, Alya stands before her, practically beaming.
"So...I saw Luka leaving when I got here. I guess things went pretty well, huh?" The redhead invites herself in, plopping down on the couch and patting the spot beside her expectantly. "Tell me everything! I need details!"
Giving the door a measured shove shuts the barrier with ease and Marinette hurries over, settling down next to Alya, feigning her best excited look.
"You're never gonna believe it! Luka's actually ta time traveler from the future. He took me back to early nineteen-hundreds for a culinary tour of Italy! Too bad we were interrupted by aliens..."
The dead-pan glare Alya fixes her friend with makes it clear she's not keen on the obviously bogus story and poor humor.
"Nice try, but you aren't getting out of this. Seriously, tell me the truth!" Alya pleads, as desperate as ever for all the personal details she doesn't need.
"What do you think happened? We danced in the competition, we won, he drove me home, we had a couple glasses of wine, we danced..." Speaking of the dance calls to mind the memory of Alya's little stunt from last night. "...which reminds me...you're lucky I don't kill you for that playlist bullshit of yours from last night! Do you realize how awkward that made things for me?"
"Not too awkward, obvs. Luka was leaving when I got here this morning. So I think what you mean to say is 'thank you', to which I of course will say 'you're welcome'. So, can we get back to the important stuff now?" That triumphant look the bespectacled reporter wears is infuriating, but her statement is nevertheless correct. All Marinette can manage is a short, exasperated shake of her head before bringing her fingers to up to gently massage her forehead. Though she has more words for her friend, attempting to redirect this conversation is pointless.
"There's not much more to tell." At this point, it isn't a desire for privacy that keeps her from spilling the proverbial tea so much as it is spite. "Like I said, we danced, we drank, we talked, he confessed, then we went to sleep. End of story." As soon as she spies the excitement flooding Alya's expression, she realizes she included a detail she hadn't meant to.
"He what?!" The redhead exclaims, shuffling toward her with the trademark information-hungry grin domaining her features. "Now you really gotta give me details!" Crossing one leg over the other, she plants both elbows onto her knee and rests her chin her hands. "Go on...and don't leave anything out."
Though she still feels her friend is taking too much license by asking for these private details, Marinette knows she is not going to relent. There's no chance of getting out of this now that she's basically dug her own grave by letting that little detail slip. Alya may be imagining a more exaggerated version of last night than the one that truly unfolded, but that's fine. For once, there is a bit of a story to tell and she actually finds herself eager to share some of it with her friend. "Well...I might have kissed him, too..."
"I totally called it!" The squeal of excitement and the sparkle in her friend's eyes make it clear Marinette is in for a long discussion this afternoon. Only now does she wish she and Luka had not finished the wine last night.