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Luka had his eyes closed and his head leaned back against the airport seat as he tapped his foot to the music blaring in his headphones. His flight back to Paris from… well, wherever the most recent tour had ended, had been delayed rather indefinitely. He didn’t mind the wait, although the chair underneath him was plastic and hard and small. He shifted to relieve the side of his butt that was asleep.
As he sighed and leaned forward to take his headphones off—the music was good, but he’d been listening to it on a loop for the past hour or so—cool hands slipped over his eyes and a warm, familiar scent wafted around him. Like baked sugar. Marinette.
“Guess who,” she said with a giggle. As if he didn’t know that melody anywhere.
“Jagged, is that you?” He grinned at his own joke.
She imitated a buzzer and moved to his other ear. “Guess again.”
“Uhhh… Penny?”
“Nope.”
She leaned in and kissed his cheek underneath her hands. He pulled her hands off his eyes and found her resting her cheek against his shoulder fondly. Her dark hair was longer now—it fell across the back of the seat next to him. He could still see the pink tipped ends from when she’d dyed it. God, that was forever ago. Back when they had first started dating. But her eyes were still the same beautiful, clear blue.
“I’m disappointed, Luka, really.” She pretended to pout. “Those headphones must be ruining your hearing.”
“What are you doing here?” he countered as he rubbed his thumb across hers. “I thought you were in London.”
“This is London, silly.” She kissed his cheek again and slid around him to sit next to him. “I thought you were in America.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m not.”
“Well, good we cleared that up.” He’d forgotten how devilish her grin could be when she wanted it to be. “I heard your tour went well.”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter when her thigh pressed against his. “Yeah, it did.”
“Well, how long are you in London?”
“Just…” He gestured to the flight board. “Just until my flight leaves. For Paris.”
“Oh. Me, too. Going home to see the folks, you know how it is.”
As they watched, the board changed. The flight wasn’t leaving until tomorrow. They shared a sideways glance.
“Coffee?” she asked, pointing over to the pitiful 24/7 kiosk that was set up near the gate.
“Sure.”
He stood and gathered his bag and his guitar case before she grabbed his hand and tugged him across the room.
He pressed his hand to his lips to hold his coffee in as he laughed mid-drink to Marinette’s story. Thankfully it didn’t come out his nose, but he still set the cup down as a precaution.
“So I’ve got this model, standing stark naked in the middle of everything, her hair and makeup completely done—like a bird’s nest, what was I even thinking?—and I’m hand sewing this hem like a madwoman, cursing everything in the near vicinity, and who should walk up, but poor, defenseless Adrien.”
“Oh, I bet that went well,” he muttered, grinning down at his cup as he pictured Adrien, the pure ray of sunshine, at the back end of Marinette’s unbridled stage rage. He had a tendency of making jokes when she was stressed, trying to lighten her mood, no doubt, but it almost always backfired on him.
“He chucked a fistful of glitter at me!” She mimed the action and Luka almost lost it again. “Like, stuck his hand in this box full of glitter—Heaven knows why he even had it—pulled it back out, and puff! A cloud just settles all over me. And more importantly, all over the gown.”
“And then he ran like hell?”
“And then he ran like hell.” Marinette agreed, grinning. “I have to admit, as far as defusing my moods goes, the glitter bomb was an unexpected win for him.”
Luka shifted forward and wrapped his hands around his cup, still chuckling. “Glad to see nothing’s changed.”
She paused, and when he glanced up she was watching him curiously. “What about you?” she asked, and there was an intensity behind her voice that he couldn’t place. “Has anything… changed?”
Ah. So that was it. He swirled his coffee in his cup and tried to ignore his hammering heart. “No, nothing’s changed,” he admitted quietly.
There was another pause between them. Luka focused on the steam still dwindling from his cup as he thought back to the last time he’d seen her. With tears in those beautiful blue eyes as she turned to wave at him before she boarded the plane. Nothing had changed for them. Not since they’d decided to break up almost three years ago.
The official reason was they’d gone their separate ways to follow their separate dreams. His took him touring all over the world. Hers had her at the head of a major fashion house in London, traveling to various other fashion capitals and running shows with Adrien following like a lovesick puppy behind her the whole way. She’d called him jealous. He’d called her selfish. Those were words he could never take back.
When the smoke had cleared, they’d taken a long, even look at one another. And walked away.
He still loved her. Of course he did. He'd spent three years trying to get her out of his head unsuccessfully. And now she was in front of him and he was stuck in London for the night.
He glanced up at her again and she was contemplating her own coffee.
"Me, too," she murmured.
He didn't quite know how it happened. He'd walked her home, fully intending on finding himself a hotel for the night, and then his back was pushed up against her door and her lips were locked firmly on his as she pressed herself against him.
She broke away, panting. "Do you want to come in?"
As an answer, he leaned down to kiss her again and started stripping off his leather jacket.
He woke up the next morning alone in Marinette’s bed, although something from the direction of the kitchen smelled amazing. He tugged his jeans on and ventured out of her bedroom to find her at the stove, flipping an omelet expertly, wearing nothing but his shirt from last night. He drank in the image; the hemline fell just below the round curve of her ass and made her shapely legs look miles long. He’d missed this.
“Since when are you an early riser?” he asked before a yawn overtook him.
She started at his voice, then pouted. “I was hoping it’d be done by the time you got up.”
He dared to stand behind her and wrap his arms around her waist before he kissed her cheek fondly. “Mmm... I wake up faster when a home cooked meal is involved.”
“I thought you’d like some breakfast before our flight.” She giggled as he started to trail kisses down her neck and swatted him away playfully. “None of that, Rockstar. Hot things.” She gestured with her spatula to the stovetop and shooed him away. He laughed before he kissed her one more time behind her ear.
“Speaking of hot things…” he whispered in her ear. A shiver ran through her and he smiled against her skin. “My clothes always did look better on you.”
She turned her head to meet his lips over her shoulder. His hands wandered down her sides and tightened at her hips, pulling her backwards into him. She whined into his kiss before she turned fully around to wrap her arms around his neck. He leaned back against the counter and pulled her in between his legs, still kissing her fiercely. God, he’d missed her.
She broke away from him suddenly with a squeak and turned back to the stove to find her eggs curling at the sides of the pan as they overcooked. She tipped the omelet off onto a plate and shoved it at him, pouting.
“This one’s yours, since you’re responsible.”
“As if your overcooked eggs don’t still blow hotel food out of the water.” He smirked and took the plate and she handed him a fork. He stood behind her, eating quietly, as she worked on a second one for her.
“I’ve been thinking,” she started. He paused to look up at her. She was swirling the eggs around the pan thoughtfully, scrambling them for herself instead of making an omelet. “I mean, I know it’s been a while. But last night…”
“We don’t have to figure everything out, now, Mari,” he said gently.
“Well, it’s not like anything has really changed, has it? I’m still here and you’re still everywhere else.”
Even though she wasn’t facing him, he could practically hear her brow furrowing. He finished his eggs and set his plate down behind him before he crossed his arms. “It’s not impossible.”
“You say that like you’ve thought about it, too.”
He hummed and reached out to caress her hip again. “Maybe I have.”
She half-turned before she remembered herself and scraped her eggs out of the pan and turned the stove off.
“It’s been three years, Mari. I haven’t stopped thinking of you for one second.”
“I’m still working with Adrien.” She stabbed her fork into her eggs with a little more force than necessary and he winced at her bitter tone.
“I wasn’t jealous of him,” he said quietly.
“You could’ve fooled me.”
“Well, yes, I was, but not for the reason you might think.”
She paused and reached out to tap her bare foot against his. An old signal they’d used to tell each other they were listening, they were there for the other. He smiled at her acknowledgement and took her hands in his.
“I was jealous of how much time he had with you.” Her eyebrow quirked up in a silent question. He looked down at their joined hands as he continued. “Not that I thought he’d ever take advantage of that, or try anything. But I wanted to be here with you. You know that, right? I wanted to be the one backstage with you, standing by your side while you realized your dream. It hurt to think that someone else had that. Could be that.”
“You had a dream, too, Luka. I couldn’t have stood in the way of that. You would’ve hated me.”
“I could never hate you.”
“Still.” She tipped his chin back up to look in his eyes. “You deserve to have your dream, too.”
“It hasn’t been what I thought it was,” he admitted. “The music, that’s all I ever wanted. The touring, the fans, the hotels, the planes… it gets to be a little too much sometimes.”
“You sound like Adrien, now.” A smile was tugging at her lips. At the irony, he supposed. “That’s why he wanted to be behind the scenes. Out of the public eye, while he recovered from… well, you know.” She dropped her eyes and took a deep breath. “Turns out he’s really good at it. Besides throwing glitter and making awful puns… he’s really good at it.”
“I’m glad he’s been there for you.”
“Liar,” she said, her grin becoming devilish again. “You can’t tell me you’re suddenly okay with him being my right hand man.”
“I’ve had three years to think about it, Mari. Three years to wish I could take back everything I said.” He sighed. “Even if it wasn’t me, I’m glad you had someone there for you. And that’s the truth.”
She hummed and swung their hands between them before she turned to start eating her cooling plate of eggs. He waited, leaned back against her counter, arms crossed across his chest, for her to consider.
“So, if it’s not impossible,” she started in between bites. “What would this look like, do you think?”
“This?”
“Us. You and me. Trying again. You with your touring and me with my shows. You said you’ve thought about it. How do you think it would work?”
His breath left him and he ran his hand through his hair. This was the last thing he’d expected when he booked this flight. “Um, I book every possible tour in London.”
She nodded. “That’s a good start.”
“Video chats whenever I’m away. Every night if we can manage it.”
She tapped her fork against her lips as she hummed in thought. “What about my parents?”
“What about your parents?”
“Well, they’ll want to know, and I’m sure Juleka will, too, if not the Captain, why we should do this again after all the heartbreak from the first time around.”
A shard of glass spiked through his heart thinking of Marinette being heartbroken because of him. She was right, though, Juleka would tear him a new one when she found out he was dumb enough to put himself through this again. And the death glare he would no doubt get from Tom—scratch that, Sabine— was shudder-inducing. An idea struck him and he stepped forward to put his hands on her hips.
“You said you’re going to see them?”
“That’s the plan.”
“How about I come with you?” Her back stiffened before she turned to face him again. He shrugged. “Let’s face it head on, together.”
“If you’re coming to see my parents, there had better be a baby or a ring on my finger before they’ll even consider letting you off the hook.”
“Well, one of those is doable before we get on our flight.” He raised his eyebrows. She shoved his shoulder and blushed. He laughed and corrected himself. “The ring. We can get you a ring.”
Her blush hadn’t faded, but she rolled her eyes and she was giving him that smile that meant she was trying not to be pleased. “You did not just propose to me like that.”
“Technically, you proposed for me.” He smirked and leaned down close enough to kiss her, although he held back, pausing an inch or so away from her lips, waiting for her to meet him. “It was your idea, after all,” he whispered.
He didn’t have to wait long before she pushed up on her toes to press her lips to his. He wrapped his arms around her back to support her, leaning back against the counter to let her fall into him before she broke away and slid down to touch her toes back to the floor.
“This is crazy,” she muttered, grinning. “It’ll never work.”
“Well, maybe it’s a little too soon to know if it’ll work or not.”
He laughed as she trod on his foot a little harder than necessary. “You weren’t supposed to agree with me, you jerk!”
He was still laughing, but he managed to wrangle his expression back to a halfway serious one. “Look, all I know, is you look amazing in my shirt.” He ran his fingers along the hem behind her to prove his point and she flushed a bright crimson. “And I’d love to see you in it every morning from now on.” He raised his eyebrows and the grin she was giving him rivaled his own. “Marry me, Marinette. Make an honest rock star out of me.”
She rolled her eyes at him again. “That’s impossible,” she said. Her grin slid sideways and became that devilish one that turned him into jello in her hands. “But I can certainly try.”