Chapter Text
Sleepy in the warm morning sun, Luka tangled his fingers with Marinette under the covers and squirmed until he could kiss her hair. Mornings like this, Luka was glad Marinette was scrappy and fierce enough to claw her way up a year, working past pale skin and sunken eyes, the quiet trembling in her hands from coffee and concern. It was a selfish pleasure, he knew, one that came with Marinette’s voice running hoarse trying to convince the professors and her falling asleep over her books far later than Luka stayed awake to carry her back.
But having her in his year meant sharing classes. It meant peering over the same textbooks and doodling on each other’s notes and tossing reference materials across tables for essays. It meant sharing head dorms, and waking up to Marinette’s hair in his mouth, or walking in at night to see her curled up on the commons couch. It meant spending every day together, every night together, and best of all, it meant they would graduate together.
So Luka swallowed down the guilt, studied a little harder so she wouldn’t have to, and hoped he didn’t wake her up even as he held her closer to his chest.
Which, of course, woke her up.
“Mmmm… mornin’ Luka,” she mumbled into his chest. Marinette peeked up at him with her bright blue eyes still heavy with sleep. Most of her face was tucked under blankets and nuzzled into his shirt, but fondness shone clear on her features. With her hair mussed and her eyes soft and heavy, Luka felt compelled to kiss her: a charm, tugging at his heartstrings, more potent than any potion.
Their lips met and it was the rush of sparks through his wand that first day at Ollivander’s, then suddenly she was clutching at the collar of his shirt and yanking him down, her long fingers in his hair, leaving him breathless and scrambling for purchase on the bed, in the kiss. This… this was far and beyond the best part of having his best friend, his favorite person in the world, as his girlfriend and his roommate (his very own‼).
Just as quickly as it began, Marinette was pulling away, brighter eyed now and slipping merrily off the bed. His t-shirt hung low on her frame, slipping down off of one slender shoulder and falling gently around her thighs. It rode up higher as she stretched and shimmied life into her body, and Luka’s mouth went dry. Marinette, irritatingly observant, caught his eye long enough to shake her hair back and blow him a kiss; then as he lay dumbstruck in the bed, she raced off into the bathroom.
“I call first shower‼” Her laughter echoed on the bathroom tiles and Luka grinned in spite of himself.
“I woke up before you!” he called back but didn’t move to grab her. Instead, he padded softly into the bathroom after her, reaching for his brush as she did. It was still a thrill to see himself in the mirror, casually resting his chin on her head (she was still so tiny!), or the two of them side by side bumping hips and brushing teeth.
Months into living with her, and his face still flamed when Marinette shimmied out of his shirt. Luka leaned his forehead onto the cool glass and shut his eyes, hoping she wouldn’t notice, trying not to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. Instead, amidst the rustle of clothing and rummaging for shower supplies, he heard her quiet giggles and then his shirt hit the back of his head. Luka groaned, and her laughter brightened.
Worth it.
When the shower started, Luka started counting down in his mind (three hundred, two ninety nine, two ninety eight) and started piling books on the commons table (charms in the morning, and then transfiguration; she wanted to finish her defense homework over lunch). Her potions kit and bookbag got tucked neatly by the door next to his (two twenty three, two twenty two, two twenty one), key to the potions room nicked from the key rack tucked into her bag with a protein bar (staying late for experimental potions means she’ll get hungry—and thirsty, oh!) and a water bottle. Eighty seven, eighty six, eighty five had Luka laying out her outfit on the bed, and he slipped back into the bathroom at three, two, one: just in time to shoot a warming charm at her towel and turn his back when Marinette stepped out, cloaked by nothing but the steam drifting gently through the room and the now-warm towel.
“Thank you, sweet Luka,” she pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, pink again, then slipped out of the bathroom only to squeal at the clothes laid out. It rang through the rooms and injected its effusive joy straight into Luka’s heart, pulsed through his bloodstream.
Luka took his shower cold.
“Luka, where’s my potions ki—” Ten minutes ‘till breakfast, and Marinette was frantic as she realized she fell asleep before packing up all her supplies. Luka cut in, not worrying about interrupting. Marinette would smile, he knew.
“Next to the door, my love.”
“Oh! Thank you. Where’s the keys?”
“Tucked in your bag.” Luka finished styling his hair and walked out to meet Marinette looking lost, picking up their bags on the way to the door.
“And where’s my bag?” She spun towards him, skirt flaring out and making Luka stutter at the exposed skin.
“R-right here, Mari.” Her eyes lit up at the bags dangling from his fingers. As she reached out for hers, he ducked past her and quickly slipped both across his body, darting out into the hall. When she reached for the straps again, he caught her fingers in his and kissed them gently. “Let me take them, please? Your sketchbook is in your potions kit.” She blushed a pretty pink and Luka tried not to let his pleasure show too obviously.
“…alright, Luka.” But she didn’t let go of his hand until they made it to the Great Hall. Luka started to let go, assuming she would want some time with her housemates on her own, but she tightened her grip and tugged him closer. Luka stumbled and nearly fell, righting himself quickly before he crashed into her. He’d take the bruise before he ever let her crash like that.
She led him over to her table, decked out in Slytherin green, and stole his plate with a playful wink before he even got a chance to consider the spread of breakfast foods. Luka settled in, absolutely assured she’d take care of him, make sure he eats before class. Marinette knew how much harder it gets for him to get the food into his body once finals start looming, and this year, NEWT year, his heart races just thinking about his homework, drops so low in his stomach he can’t fathom there being space for food besides it.
But Marinette never gave him his plate back. She decked it out in strawberries and croissants, and drizzled melted chocolate over the whole plate, then filled her own with honey nut oatmeal and yogurt mixed in with granola, draped avocado in pretty slices over toast and scattered pepper over it in pretty starlike patterns. She held up a strawberry to his lips, dripping in rich, dark chocolate over her fingers, and winked.
Luka nearly choked, and it’s only the fond, expectant, hopeful look in her eyes that got him to swallow it down.
Then, of course, Marinette sucked the chocolate off her fingers and offered him a bite of her oatmeal, and by the time he was stumbling dazed to class, Luka wasn’t sure whether he ate or if breakfast was little more than another dream.
If it was, he hoped he dreams it every morning.
But his stomach was full and warm like his hand holding hers, so he figured the raging blush on his cheeks was the truth and wondered if this could be every morning with her, forever, and how soon he could make that happen.