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Luka growls as his fingers fumble with the strings of his guitar. It’s eight in the evening on Valentine’s Day, and he’s been practicing his song for Chat so much that he’s pretty sure his callouses now have callouses.
A few hours ago, his sister had quietly suggested that he should take a break. But Luka couldn’t do that—after all, the boy he liked could arrive any minute, and he still hadn’t decided if the suspended E-flat chord in the fourth section of the song should resolve to E-flat major or C minor. And he calls himself a musician? He should have had that figured out weeks ago.
Finally, Luka sets his guitar on the bed and flexes his fingers. He knows he’s being stupid. His emotions are getting away from him—and worse, because his music is the source of his stress for once, he doesn’t have anywhere for his messy feelings to go. They’re banging around his skull like a cymbal crash that won’t stop echoing, making his head hurt and his skin crawl.
He should have realized that his innocent feelings for Chat would get painful eventually. It kind of feels like Luka’s affection has grown claws, and now it’s pricking him, needling him, telling him that the real pain is yet to come.
All day, he’s been surrounded by stinging reminders of how romantic today is supposed to be. Earlier this evening, Juleka and Rose had gone to dinner together, and after exchanging gifts, they’d gone back to Rose’s place to spend the rest of the night with each other. Luka assumes that Juleka will stay overnight on the Lavillant futon that’s reserved for nights when she stays too late to walk home.
And although Luka doesn’t usually check social media, he’s made a habit of it ever since Adrien Agreste got an Instagram. Checking today, however, had been a mistake. As Luka lurked on his friends’ accounts, he was bombarded by pictures of couples: Alya and Nino sharing an ice cream from André, Ivan and Mylène snuggled on a quiet bench by the Seine, classmates and acquaintances all coupled and happy and in love.
It’s unlike Luka to be jealous or bitter. But he’s hinged his romantic hopes on a superhero who comes and goes, whose real name Luka doesn’t even know, whose real face Luka has never seen—and who might not even visit tonight, if the minutes ticking by are any indication. And it’s occurring to Luka that he’s been foolish.
Is there really any question that Ladybug and Chat Noir are made for each other? Luka doesn’t think that Chat has been toying with him, but at the same time, he’s not sure that Chat understands his own feelings all that well. He’s the sort of person to jump into a romance without bothering to see where it’s going, and Luka worries that Chat might be dragging him into a duet that he’ll leave halfway through.
That said, Luka wouldn’t be angry if Chat ended up with Ladybug, or anyone else for that matter. He’s a sweet guy, and he deserves to be happy. Luka won’t be upset about Chat finding happiness.
But as eight o’clock turns to nine, and nine to ten, all of Luka’s insecurities—usually so quiet—gradually drift to the surface.
He’s tried to be bold before. He’s put his heart on the line, confessed his love, and he’s been turned down. And it’s stupid, but Luka’s afraid that maybe he’s a bit too…boring.
It’s not necessarily low self-esteem. Luka has never been bothered by what he is, what he’s not, by what other people think of him or what they say. But with someone as magnetic as Chat, who’s a whirlwind personified—how could Luka possibly attract someone like him? Luka’s just not that exciting.
That never bothered him, until he started worrying about winning Chat’s affections.
Sighing, Luka pulls up Adrien’s Instagram on his phone. Adrien hasn’t posted anything about where he is or what he’s doing, and he’d never replied to Luka’s message from earlier that day asking what he thought about E-flat major versus C-minor. Luka had thought he was clever, asking Chat for advice about a song that’s for him…but what if Luka’s miscalculated? What if Adrien’s not Chat after all, and Luka has stupidly conflated two blonde boys with green eyes?
Sprawled on the living room couch with his guitar on the floor, Luka rolls onto his back and dangles an arm over his eyes. He’s a simple person. He doesn’t like puzzles or complicated games. It’s not that he can’t solve them—after all, he wouldn’t make a very good Snake holder if he couldn’t problem-solve—but he prefers to avoid the stress when he can.
Unfortunately for Luka, falling for Chat Noir (who might or might not be Adrien Agreste) is extremely stressful.
Although he can’t call up Ladybug and ask her where Chat is, Luka’s considered texting Marinette to ask if she knows what Adrien is up to. She tends to keep track of most of her friends’ activities, and if anyone could tell Luka why Adrien’s not responding to his text, it’s Marinette. But Luka has a feeling that asking Marinette about her former—current?—crush on Valentine’s Day is a bad idea for many reasons, chiefly that she might suspect that Luka has feelings for him.
At some point, Luka drifts off to sleep, and he wakes up some time later to Anarka patting his head. She’s dressed for bed, wearing an oversized t-shirt and threadbare plaid pants. “Your bed’s more comfortable, if you’re going to sleep,” she says. “Or are you off to woo some pretty lads and lasses?”
Luka squints up at her through the strands of hair hanging in his face. “At…” He pulls out his phone and glances at the time. His heart sinks when he realizes how late it is. “At eleven-thirty? No, maman. I’m heading to bed soon.”
Anarka ruffles his hair. “It’s a good song you’ve been working on. Your sweetheart is stupid if they don’t come by to hear it.”
Luka grunts noncommittally. Although his family has been shooting him knowing looks for the past several weeks, he refuses to admit that he has a love interest.
Anarka pads off to her bedroom, and Luka lets his eyes flutter shut. Sleep tugs at his brain, but not hard enough to pull him under; there are too many thoughts swirling around his head for that. He tries to cling to the positive ones, when they appear. Maybe Chat got held up. Maybe he’ll come by tomorrow, or the next day. After all, Valentine’s Day is just an arbitrary date. Luka can play him the song anytime.
Or he can just turn it into a song about heartbreak. His family is big on reduce, reuse, recycle.
Something thumps loudly on the deck above. Luka sits up and gropes around for his phone, which is wedged between the couch cushions. When he finally retrieves it, the screen reads 23:52.
Surely that’s not Juleka. She’s not that loud, and she’d texted earlier to say that she was staying over at Rose’s. So who—
The door swings open, and Chat Noir charges into the room. He’s panting, face red, and clutched in both his hands is a vase with some sort of bouquet in it.
Luka jumps to his feet. “Chat—”
“I’m so—so sorry,” Chat says, gasping for breath. “I…I didn’t get a chance to text you, and I—uh—I just got back to Paris.”
“Back to…Paris?” Luka repeats, his mind slow. He’d resigned himself to Chat not appearing, and now his brain’s not sure what to do with the boy standing in front of him. “You left the city?”
Luka hadn’t been aware that Ladybug or Chat Noir could do that. He kind of assumed that they were stuck in Paris in the event of an akuma attack—but then, that’s really no way to live, is it? Luka can’t imagine being tied down like that. He’s relieved that Chat has that tiny bit of freedom.
Coughing, Chat nods. “I had to,” he wheezes. “My father forced me to go on his business trip, and I asked him to let me stay home, but he said no, and…” He pauses, and Luka takes a tentative step forward, worried that Chat is going to pass out from lack of air. “I couldn’t tell him I’m Chat Noir, and I couldn’t tell him about you, and—and…”
“Chat,” Luka says. “It’s fine. Take your time.”
Shaking his head, Chat doubles over. His breaths are a bit deeper now, but they’re still far too quick. “I can’t,” he says. “I have to get back before they realize I left the airport. The plane just landed a few minutes ago. I didn’t even stop to grab my suitcase. Père will be mad, but I…” He stands up straight, green eyes fixed on Luka. “I wasn’t about to miss this holiday.”
Luka stands still, rooted to the spot. It occurs to him that when he told himself he didn’t care if Chat ended up with Ladybug, he was lying.
He does care. A lot.
“Chat,” Luka says. “I’m touched. You didn’t have to go out of your way like that.”
“I did!” Chat insists. “This was important, Luka. And if it gets me grounded, so be it.”
Although he’s trying to keep his composure, Luka can feel his face heating in a blush. These last two visits, there’s been something different about Chat’s demeanor—it’s more stripped-down, somehow. His flirting is more timid, his gestures more down-to-earth. Despite the fact that his eyes are still covered, it’s as if he’s taken off a mask.
On Valentine’s Day of all holidays, Luka expected Chat to be over-the-top. He hadn’t expected this level of sincerity.
“Oh, I—I’m sorry,” Chat says, shoulders hunching. Luka winces, realizing he should have said something instead of gawking silently at Chat. “I didn’t even ask. Did you already celebrate with someone? I guess it’s silly to assume that you didn’t, since someone like you—”
“I didn’t,” Luka says. “I was waiting for you.”
Chat pauses, lips parted, and blinks. He reminds Luka of a cat caught mid-lick. “I, uh, good. That’s good.” Chat glances down at the vase in his hands and makes a startled noise, as if he just remembered he was holding it. “I can’t stay long, but…I brought these.”
“Are those flowers?” Luka asks. He takes another step closer to Chat to look at them. They’re blue-green, shaped like flowers and connected to stems, but they seem to be made out of some strange material.
“Sort of,” Chat says. One of his fangs digs into his bottom lip. “Actually, now that I think about it, you probably think this is sacrilege, but—”
“They’re guitar picks,” Luka realizes, brushing a teal petal with his fingers.
“Right,” Chat says. His eyes dart around the room. “Some people are allergic to flowers, and flowers also die, and you have to keep them in water, which is a hassle—so I thought, why not give you fake ones? And then I had this idea, so I looked up a tutorial, and…well, I’m not very crafty, but I am good at following directions, so…” He clamps his mouth shut abruptly and holds the vase out to Luka. “Um, here.”
Cheeks burning once again, Luka accepts the vase from Chat. “Thank you, Chat,” he says, marvelling at the way the guitar picks are attached to each other to form different shapes of flowers.
A few are arranged in simple rings to form a sort of pansy shape, while others are layered so that they curve outward like lily petals. In the center of the bouquet is the most elaborate pattern of all, with several rings of picks that form a giant rose.
The green and blue picks are iridescent, glimmering in the light as Luka rotates the bouquet to observe it. It’s beautiful, and it’s just now occurring to Luka that no one has given him flowers before. The tempo of his heartbeat picks up at the thought.
He kind of enjoys being wooed. True, the pining and potential heartache make it a little less fun—but Chat’s brand of courtship is sweet and gentle, a welcome break from Luka’s past confusing romances.
“Sorry,” Chat says, wringing his hands. “You probably think that’s a waste of guitar picks, don’t you? I should have put more thought into—”
“Chat,” Luka says. He doesn’t usually interrupt people, but he can’t just stand there and watch Chat chastise himself when there’s nothing to apologize for. “You put plenty of thought into this. I’m sorry I didn’t say more. I…this is really sweet of you.”
“But?” Chat says.
Luka frowns. “Chat, there’s no but. I’m just not very good with words.”
“Right,” Chat says, grimacing. “Oh, I’m sorry. You’ve definitely said that before. I—I didn’t mean to imply that your reaction was inadequate, I was just—”
“Maybe it will help if I give you your gift?” Luka says. He sets the vase on the kitchen counter and crosses over to the couch to retrieve his guitar. “I don’t have anything physical to give you, and honestly, this is probably a little cliché…”
Chat wanders over to the couch. His tail is curled upward behind him. “Are you saying you, um…”
“I might have written a song,” Luka says. He sits and pulls the guitar onto his lap, then quickly checks the strings to make sure they’re still in tune. “But you probably guessed that.”
“N-not exactly,” Chat says. He lowers himself onto the cushion next to Luka, delicately perching on the edge. “I, um…I’ve never had someone write a song for me, so…”
Luka smiles, strumming the strings one last time to make sure they’re tuned. “I’ve never had someone give me flowers.”
“Technically they’re guitar picks,” Chat mumbles.
“Well,” Luka says, leaning forward with a smile. “I’ve never had someone give me that many guitar picks, either.”
Chat’s lips melt into a smile. “That’s good,” he says. His eyes flick down to Luka’s lips, then back up to his eyes. “Luka, I wish I could stay longer, because I…I kind of need to tell you that—well—but if I don’t get back soon, père will…”
Luka clears his throat. “Right. I’d better get playing.”
His fingers hover over the strings, and he hesitates again, just like he did back on Thanksgiving. What if Chat wanted something more romantic? What if a song isn’t enough of a grand gesture for him?
Luka sighs. He never used to be this anxious about affairs of the heart.
“Hey,” Chat says, fingers lightly resting on Luka’s thigh. “You know I’m going to love it, right?”
Nodding, Luka runs his fingers along the strings. “I hope so. Alright. It’s got a few parts, but since you have to leave soon, do you just want me to play one or two?”
“I can be late,” Chat says. “Let me hear the whole song, please.”
With a deep breath, Luka launches into the first part of the song. It actually consists of three sections, which he’s mentally labeled as three flavors: peppermint, pumpkin, and chocolate. A different taste for each of the first three kisses Chat gave him.
Peppermint is Halloween: playful, jumping around different minor chords, occasionally dipping into Locrian mode for a haunting flair. As Luka plays a series of repeating minor seconds, he doesn’t think of the Jaws theme, but instead of the way his heart thumped when Chat fell asleep curled up against him: ba-dump, ba-dump, badump as Luka realized that he had a crush on the boy sitting beside him.
When Luka plays that part of the song, Chat’s fingers reach up to toy with the bell on his suit. Luka wonders if Chat’s heart is beating to the rhythm of those notes.
Then, pumpkin for Thanksgiving: simple major chords embellished with trills, grace notes, silly deviations. Because isn’t it absurd, that the boy Luka’s fallen for made him celebrate a holiday that France doesn’t even recognize, all in pursuit of a second kiss? And yet, Luka can’t blame Chat for playing that game, because Luka had been craving that second kiss just as much—so much, in fact, that he kissed Chat twice that evening.
Once Luka finishes playing the main pumpkin theme, he circles back and repeats the last four bars. He watches Chat’s face as he does, and judging by the blush and soft smile that overtake his face, Chat knows that the refrain refers to that second kiss Luka sneaked on Thanksgiving.
Finally, chocolate for Christmas: slow, full chords, warm and languid…and although it’s a bit heavy-handed, Luka sprinkles in a few bars from Christmas carols. Chat’s eyes light up when Luka plays a few notes from Tàladh Chriosda, which Luka seems to remember was his favorite one.
The song progresses, steadily building up to a climax—and then it stops abruptly, the last note falling away with a quick slide of Luka’s fingers. Chat snorts, because surely he knows what that refers to: the kiss that was interrupted by spilled hot chocolate.
That’s only the first part of the song, though. There’s another part that began on New Year’s—one that Luka couldn’t possibly finish yet, not when he and Chat are still in romantic limbo. And so it’s a song full of longing and tentative hopes, a daydream of where Luka and Chat could end up if they finally just sat down and figured out this thing between them.
Swallowing nervously, Luka plunges into that part of the song. It’s slow, hesitant, with single notes that fall into thirds and sustained chords. Luka’s channeled all of his uncertainties into this part of the song, and all of his optimism, too. The song is hand-holding, casual kisses on the cheek, fingers brushing an uncovered face. It’s whatever Chat will give him. It’s whatever Luka’s allowed to take.
As he plays the last section of the song, Luka doesn’t know how long he’s been playing, if he’s kept Chat too late, if it’s even Valentine’s Day anymore. All he cares about is that Chat is smiling, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling. Luka smiles back, though never for too long; whenever he holds Chat’s soft gaze, it’s all too tempting to just stop the song and kiss him.
But Chat said he wants to hear the whole thing, so Luka figures he should probably keep playing.
Finally, Luka’s fingers pluck the last few notes, returning to the dominant chord but leaving the song ringing on the second of the scale. It’s almost a resolution, but not quite—because Luka hopes there’s more to the song, another kiss, another memory Chat wants to add. Luka doesn’t want this to end yet.
He doesn’t want it to end ever, really.
Luka risks a glance at Chat. He’s staring at Luka with shining eyes, mouth slightly open, gaze flicking around Luka’s face as if he’s searching for something.
“Chat?” Luka says, setting aside his guitar. Seconds keep passing, and Chat hasn’t said anything. “Chat, was that—are you alright?”
Chat surges forward and presses his lips to Luka’s, sealing them with a kiss before Luka can think to breathe.
This kiss feels different from the others. It’s like a promise from Chat, a reassurance that he’ll finish this song with Luka, that he won’t leave him drowning in uncertainty. And oh, there’s certainty in the kiss—Chat’s hands firmly grip Luka’s arms, and his lips move careful and steady against Luka’s, no trace of hesitance in his touches.
Then Chat pulls back, and Luka leans forward slightly, chasing his lips. He catches himself at the last second and pauses, cheeks flushed.
Panting, Chat whispers, “That song—that’s how you feel?”
Luka nods, speechless. He’s already poured all his thoughts and feelings into Chat’s song; he doesn’t have enough left to form words.
In answer, Chat throws himself at Luka, knocking him onto his back. Then his lips are on Luka’s again, and this time, the kiss isn’t careful; it’s frantic, heated, fervent. Chat’s teeth dig into Luka’s lip by accident, and Luka hisses in pain, but he doesn’t dare let Chat pull away. Instead, he wraps his arms around Chat’s back and keeps their bodies pressed together, kissing back just as desperately.
It’s bruising, and heady, and Luka’s never felt this dizzy. Chat’s body is warm and heavy on top of his, his tail curled around one of Luka’s legs, his claws pricking Luka’s hips. Some animal part of Luka’s brain urges Chat to slip those fingers underneath his shirt and run them across his skin—but Chat’s innocent hands leave a layer of cloth between them, even as the kiss makes Luka forget how to breathe.
Chat’s arms move to wrap around Luka’s neck, one hand cradling his head, and Luka wants to move, too, wants to hold Chat closer somehow—except his legs are caged in by Chat’s, and all he can really do is move his hips, which seems like a bad idea.
No, it’s a great idea, his muddled brain says. Touch all of him.
Chat’s lips slip away from Luka’s mouth to his jaw, pressing light kisses along his face and neck. Luka tangles his fingers in Chat’s hair and hums. He’s quickly losing his resolve to stay still underneath Chat, when all his body wants to do is take things farther and turn the kiss into something more.
And then Chat’s baton starts ringing with a standard phone ringtone, and he pulls back from Luka suddenly, eyes wide. “I—oh, no.” He groans. “I…I’m sorry. It’s my civilian phone.”
He sits up, now perched on Luka’s torso. Luka lets his head fall back onto the couch cushion, chest heaving as he tries to ignore the fact that the boy he likes is sitting on top of him.
“Salut, Na—yes, I’m sorry,” Chat says. His voice is strangely subdued, words tenser and crisper than when he speaks to Luka. “I’m fine. Uh, some people saw me, and I had to run—right, and then I…I got a little turned around.” Luka glances up and sees that Chat is frowning as he listens to whoever’s on the other end. “I know, I would have texted, but I…I lost service until now. I have to go to the bathroom, but I’ll meet you and père by the entrance as soon as I’m done.” He chews on his lip as the other person responds. “I’m sorry for worrying you. It won’t happen again. Right. Bye.”
Luka’s fingers stroke Chat’s knee. “Everything alright?”
Chat sighs, reattaching his baton to his back. “I have to leave. I’m dead if I don’t get back to my father and his assistant in the next three minutes.”
“Is that who was on the phone?” Luka asks. “His assistant?”
Chat glances away, mouth tugged down in a frown. “You didn’t think père would actually bother to call, did you?”
“I don’t know,” Luka says, carefully. “Do I know your father?”
Eyes wide, Chat clambers off Luka’s lap. “N-no, you—I—I’m sorry, I forgot that…” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I need to get going.”
He starts toward the door, but Luka reaches out and grabs his wrist before he can leave. “Chat,” Luka says, sitting up. “Do you think you could come back before the next holiday?”
Chat blinks. “Oh. I, um…I can do that.” He bends down and brushes his lips against Luka’s one last time, so gently that Luka barely feels his touch. Knuckles brushing Luka’s cheek, Chat adds, “A bientôt, Luka.”
Heart thumping, Luka watches as Chat scampers out the door and pulls it shut behind himself.
Alone on the couch, Luka stares at the door Chat just disappeared through. It occurs to him that this is the first time they’ve kissed each other without an excuse—the first time they’ve kissed when it wasn’t some sort of game.
Blushing, Luka touches his lips, then his jaw and neck. Chat had kissed him there, in each of those places. And he’d probably have kissed him more, if they hadn’t been interrupted.
Luka glances at the bouquet of guitar pick flowers. It’s such a sweet gesture; he can tell it probably took Chat hours to make. And the kiss—the kisses…even if Chat still hasn’t told Luka how he feels, those kisses said something.
Chat isn’t just teasing Luka, not if he gave him a gift and kissed him on Valentine’s Day. Those are things people do when they’re a couple. While Luka and Chat aren’t exactly dating, and still haven’t agreed on what they are, they’re at least something.
Luka wonders how many more holidays it will take for Chat to tell him what that something is.