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“Luka? W-what are you doing here?” Marinette’s voice was like a soft melody to his ears. Her appearance was slightly unkempt, and he wondered if she was taking care of herself. She was a bit thinner than he last remembered.
“I wanted to check on you.” Luka leaned casually against the doorframe, a gentle smile on his face. “I heard what happened and–”
“--Don’t. Just… stop there.” Marinette frowned at him, gauging his intentions as he looked at her as calmly as ever. He wasn’t the first person to appear at her door unannounced and unexpected; though, the other visitors were often also unwanted. “Why are you really here, Luka?”
He sighed, wishing he had his guitar in his hands. If he did, he might have been able to put his thoughts and feelings into music… but his hands were empty, and his heart was too full. “I’m here to check on you. Just like I said. If I’d known sooner, I would have been here before…”
“Before…” She echoed his unfinished thought. Closing her eyes, she steadied herself. “Do you want to come in?” Marinette opened the door further for him, gesturing to her apartment.
Luka nodded. “Thank you.” Then followed her in. He, regrettably, hadn’t visited her since she’d moved in. In fact, he hadn’t seen her in over a year. It had been difficult for him to face her. Seeing Marinette often brought a sour note to his music. Years ago she used to make the melodies soar.
The apartment wasn’t bare, but it lacked much of Marinette’s typical charm. He could see some boxes in the corner, still yet to be unpacked. A few pictures frames held pictures of family and friends, and Luka was grateful that she had people to rely on – a hope for the future.
“Can I get you some tea?” She asked, moving towards the kitchenette tucked to the side. Small, cozy, but definitely not big enough for the daughter of a baker. Luka could just imagine the uproar Tom Dupain must have given upon seeing his daughter’s apartment.
“Yes, please.” He replied, still turning to look at the space. He found it strange that Adrien would allow Marinette to live in such a small place, even with how everything had ended.
“How was your tour?” Marinette asked, her back still to him as she prepared the tea.
The customary small talk. Awkward. She wasn’t really interested, but he appeased her questions. “It was good to see all the different people. I couldn’t speak most of the languages, and I probably would have enjoyed it more if I could have talked to the fans. Some spoke French. Others spoke English – but you know that my English isn’t what it used to be. I haven’t practiced in a long time.”
She nodded, turning with two cups of herbal tea in her hands. “But you enjoyed spending time with your dad?”
Luka grinned at that. “Let’s just say that there seem to be no language barriers with Jagged. He has no idea what people are saying, but he talks to them anyway. You know my dad. He polarizes people. Everyone either comes out of the conversation loving him or hating him.”
Marinette chuckled, “Yes. I do remember. How did the outfits work? For the tour?” She handed him one of the cups of tea before settling in on the end of the couch furthest from the door. The way the couch dented in slightly there, Luka could tell that it was her usual place. A book rested open and upside-down on the end table. He couldn’t make out the title from where he stood.
He sat on the other end of the couch, putting a cushion of space between them. “They were amazing, Mari! Jagged bragged about them often, sometimes on stage. You really should create a website to sell your designs. It was good branding, and Jagged would gladly be the first to sign on permanently.” He encouraged her.
But she frowned at him. “I’m not ready for that. I’m still trying to break away from Agreste. I don’t want to start anything until I’ve had time for things to die down.”
“That’s understandable. How has the media been?”
“It has been.” She said simply, as if that would answer all his questions.
“I didn’t see any paparazzi stationed outside your apartment building.” He commented, sipping the tea and letting it soothe its way through him.
“They will be there in the morning. There aren’t as many as before, but they still stop by to snag a quick picture or ask unnecessary questions.” She paused. “It’s always worse when Adrien stops by.”
“So he still visits?” Luka’s eyes narrowed.
“We ended this amicably. I think he wants to stay friends. So he checks on me occasionally. He hates the apartment.” She answered, glancing around the space.
“I can’t believe he kept the house. He doesn’t need it. His father has more than enough money and the mansion–” Luka’s voice lowered as he felt a moment of anger at his rival.
“--he did give me the house.” She quickly interjected before he could continue that line of thought. “he gave me all of it. The house. The land… everything. I just didn’t want it. I sold it all.”
“Why would you…?”
“I didn’t want the memories. Or his charity. I can take care of myself. I don’t want to live my life in debt to the Agrestes.” Marinette said with finality.
“I can understand that. So all the money from the house…?”
“Donated. Adrien and I had discussed several charities we had wanted to start supporting. I gave the money to them.” Marinette watched Luka intently, and he glanced her way. The look on his face was solemn, but she recognized the sea of emotions in his eyes. “I can do this on my own.”
“Do you not have anyone helping you? Alya? Nino?”
“Luka… I…” She took a breath, gathering her thoughts. “It hasn’t been easy. People picked sides when everything happened. And none of it was private, no matter how hard we tried. He’s famous. People talk. The only ones who know the truth of what really happened are Adrien and myself. Rumors spread quickly.”
He felt her pain, though in a different way. Living the life of a celebrity had taken a toll on him. It had been much simpler before joining his father on tour. When he was a local musician, crafting instruments and playing guitar in Kitty Section. Luka was still surprised when he saw his face plastered in some tabloid. Rarely was there any truth to the stories.
He could only imagine what life must be like for her own friends to be swayed by rumors. No one knowing the truth. Everyone believing some version of a lie…
“Luka. I really appreciate you stopping by, and it was nice to see you. But I don’t want your pity.”
“It has nothing to do with pity.” He shook his head. “I just want you to know… that somebody still loves you.”
She stared at him, eyes widening in surprise at his words. He could see her hands shake as she held the cup of tea.
“Marinette…” Luka reached over and took the cup from her hands, setting both his and hers on the end table. “I’m not asking for a relationship. I know how you feel about me. You made that clear years ago. And I know that you are still hurting. The divorce was all over the news. But I also want you to know that I’m here for you. No strings attached.”