Work Text:
“That tickles!”
“Shhht, this part of your arm is the perfect place for flowers!!”
Marinette swiped the smooth paintbrush across her forearm, speckling colors and (accidentally) tickling Lila by touching around her inner elbow.
“Can you do daisies?” Lila looked at Marinette with puppy-eyes.
“You know I can’t say no.”
They both giggled and the painting continued.
Lila was, simply put, extremely grateful for Marinette’s help.
…
Help..?
Was she sick..? Was there something wrong with her?
.
“Lila,” Marinette stopped, “Lila are you there?”
Whoosh. Lila snapped out of her trance. “Yes… I’m sorry.”
Marinette’s face drooped. “You don’t have to say anything at all, Lila. You don’t need to apologize.”
She still felt like she had to apologize.
“I do this for a few reasons… but the main one to is to remind you that I care for you.” Her hand held Lila’s arm and stroked.
It was jagged.
“I care for you Lila.” She went back to painting the flowers.
“… Thank you, Marinette.”
She enjoyed the feeling of the brush, and the paint, and the distraction, and the and the and th
God. All she felt was guilt.
She wished Marinette never found out. She wished the girl never brought it up. She wished she didn’t do these things to herself she -
“Day or night sky?” Marinette asked.
Hm.
Lila gazed at the paints set up next to them. There was less dark blue than light blue.
She felt like… she was wasting Marinette.
Her supplies, her talent, her time.
Her love.
“Day, please.”
She was scared. She was so scared that after this she would start again. That it would be too much.
Her mom would come home and bring up work and life and dad. And things would go back to how they were.
She didn’t want to think about it at all.
“No matter what happens Lila,” Marinette dipped her brush into blue. “No matter what happens with your mom, with school, with your career.”
“I’ll be here for you, and I’ll paint as much as you’d like me to.”
…
Mmmmgh
Guilt. That was what she felt.
“Thank you again, Marinette. That’s all I can say…” She laid a small kiss on the painter’s forehead.
All she wanted was for things to get better.
Maybe they would.