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Luka Couffaine was exhausted.
That…wasn’t entirely anything new.
He’d had a bad habit of…well. Not sleeping the best the past few years. Pushing himself too hard, staying up too late, giving a bit more of himself than was probably in his reserves to the hundreds – sometimes thousands – of people who showed up every night.
He was living the dream. At least that’s what his dad, manager, and dozens of reporters world over told him. What the friends and family back home who had spent too long supporting him from afar reminded him, every time he started to feel guilty about the time and space between.
Four years, a handful of world tours, and a solo record later…he wasn’t so sure.
It didn’t really feel like a dream anymore. He didn’t think he’d call it a nightmare, either, but…
The last leg had probably been the worst.
Back to back gigs, nonstop travel, a cursed bus that seemed to break down every single damn stop…he was just tired. He’d already talked to his manager, a woman with platinum blonde hair (at least for the past three months) and a pinched face that was maybe slightly more intimidating than Penny (at least when she was in a Mood), about taking some time off. Staci – and don’t you dare sing it, I mean it, I’ll drop you flatter than a pancake – had pushed back at first, until Penny had pulled her aside and explained things to her. She’d been…more agreeable, after that, so maybe she wasn’t more intimidating than Penny, in the end.
There was a reason she was the head of Jagged’s label, after all. Not many in the industry were more intimidating (scarier) than Penny Rolling-Stone.
He hadn’t been home in four years. And that had been intentional, at first: he had left Paris to protect…the entire city, he supposed, though he really wasn’t that noble. He had learned things he wasn’t supposed to, and in the end he had left to protect only one person.
Marinette.
Ladybug.
And if the entire city benefited from his protecting her, well…he supposed it was a win-win. In the end.
…she hadn’t wanted him to go. Had begged him not to. Hadn’t returned his calls for a few months after, when he’d first left, because she hadn’t agreed with his decision. Told him he was being stupid and a coward and every mean-spirited thing she could think of, because she hadn’t been able to see past her desire for him to stay. They were better now – they were always better, in the end – but…he still hadn’t gone back. He couldn’t, not until…except that Until had happened last year, and even then…his schedule just hadn’t worked out. It was supposed to, until Staci had seen the opportunity for one more last-minute show (and an extra paycheck) and had ruined everything. That…he still wasn’t sure Marinette had actually forgiven him for that one. She hadn’t really been answering too many of his calls lately to find out, and they didn’t talk about it the few times she did.
And it wasn’t like…Until Hawkmoth was Gone had also meant she couldn’t leave the city, and once he was…she had been busy with her own life, too. School. What she’d be doing after school. Working on her online boutique and portfolio. Making up for so much time missed over years of carrying the weight of the city on her shoulders. And he had been…he hadn’t been close enough to meet up, and it wasn’t fair to ask her to drop everything and come out to see him – like Staci would’ve left the time in his schedule for it, anyway – and…he closed his eyes and pushed out a breath.
Four years.
A lot could happen in four years.
…a lot could not happen, too.
Marinette wasn’t the only one he’d been missing, though it was maybe fair to say she was the one he’d been missing most.
His ma had come out to see him a few times, usually when he wasn’t touring with his dad, as had his sister, but…it wasn’t the same. He hadn’t been back to see them. Hadn’t felt the steady rock of the Seine beneath his feet, which he had learned the hard way he much preferred to the steady rolling of wheels. Hadn’t breathed in the fresh scent of croissants on the morning breeze (bagels in New York were not the same, no matter what Jay said). Hadn’t been able to lose himself in the rhythm of the one city he had always considered home.
It hadn’t been safe to, and then once it was…he had asked. He had, but it hadn’t mattered. Staci was nothing if not ambitious (a workaholic), and she had kept his schedule packed. She was a great manager, really, but…she was more of a slavedriver than Penny had ever been. Jay had once told him she reminded him of Penny in the early days, back when his guitar was his only family. Which was…great, he supposed, when he was starting out his career – but it wasn’t the first time Luka had wondered if he was really cut out for that pace. That life.
He had never wanted his guitar to be his family.
It was getting…old.
…it wasn’t supposed to be like this. After. He was supposed to go home, once…but last Christmas. Specifically. Spend the holidays with…but it hadn’t happened, and after Marinette had left a (kind of) drunk voicemail, crying over…he hadn’t been brave enough to reach out, at least at first. There was too much time and distance between them anymore, and he didn’t know how to fix it. He wasn’t really sure she wanted him to, from the way she’d stopped answering and hadn’t bothered reaching out herself.
God, he was so fucking tired…
And now that he’d actually been approved some time off – now that he was actually on his way back to Paris – everything was going wrong.
Again.
“Are they moving yet?” he called up to the front of the bus. Hank let out a low whistle.
“Remember that sign I told you about two hours ago?” the old driver called back.
“The one that said Paris was still twenty kilometers away?”
“Yeeup,” Hank hummed. “We just passed it.”
Three layovers. An extra night in New York. A power outage that stopped the train from London while they were underwater. And now a massive accident just outside the city. When Hank had first told them about the sign, they were maybe three, five cars away from it. It had taken them two fucking hours to crawl the length of three, maybe five cars.
Luka dropped back on the bench, his dead phone sliding uselessly from his lap to clatter on the floor. In the bunks towards the back, he could hear Dingo snoring away. At least someone was enjoying himself.
“Jesus fucking Christ…” he groaned, reaching up to scrub at his face. At the front of the bus, Hank just hummed.
“Yeeup…”
– V –
They dropped Dingo off first – only because he lived along the way and Luka didn’t want to make Hank double back, knowing he had to be faring worse than all of them – and then Hank was finally rolling up outside the old building his sister was supposed to live in. He’d seen pictures, and he’d lowkey stalked it on Google (just to make sure it was safe), but it was the first time he’d ever actually been there. She’d moved off boat a year and a half ago, and she’d been living here with Rose ever since. It was a two bedroom flat near the top floor, from what they’d told him, and the second bedroom kind of doubled as a guest room and a craft room. It was also where he’d be crashing for the next few weeks, until he could…well.
He had a place of his own. He had secured it a few weeks back. The problem was there was still someone living in it, and then they had to clear it out once they’d moved out, so he wasn’t actually allowed to move in until next month.
Which was fine.
Jules had offered her couch. Guest room!
It was fine.
He had somewhere to crash that wasn’t a bus or a hotel room until it was ready, and that’s all that mattered.
And it was with family, which…ok. Mattered a little more.
He glanced up to the fourth floor as Hank pulled out. She had said it was the balcony to the left, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the lights were still on. He knew Rose’s labs meant she kept early hours, and he had been worried he’d wake them as the delays kept piling up. He pushed out a breath, hiked his guitar back onto his shoulder, and headed up the steps to the door.
He should have asked Ding to call them, he thought as he trudged up the steps. Or at least shoot Juleka a text explaining why he was so late. They’d been expecting him hours ago, and he was just bracing for the shit she’d be waiting to give him for rolling in at whatever o’clock in the morning it was with no heads up. He had lost his charger somewhere in New York, and he hadn’t been too concerned about it – until it kept getting later. Until his phone had died.
Until they were crawling over the city line at 2:15 in the fucking morning.
He was pretty sure he needed a shower. He was also pretty sure he didn’t entirely care by this point. Juleka would be lucky if he bothered kicking his shoes off before crashing.
How many damn steps did this building have?
When he finally made it to the top, it was easy to spot their door. He doubted anyone else would have a pink door decorated with roses and bats, at least. He wondered how they had gotten away with it with their landlord, and who had actually painted it. There was a cheery plaque on the door that declared it the home of the Couffaine-Lavillants, with a big-eyed bat near the C and a glittery rose by the S. The handwriting was painfully familiar in a way he didn’t want to look too close at.
…he still hadn’t called her. Even before his phone had died, he hadn’t…he’d wanted to. He should have. Some kind of warning that he’d be back in town, a desperate plea to meet up for coffee or something…groveling was in order, he was pretty sure, after last Christmas. He just wasn’t sure…he hadn’t known how. He’d heard somewhere that absence was supposed to make the heart grow fonder, but he wasn’t sure how true that was. Sometimes absence just rang of regrets. Sometimes…
He shook his head, clearing it of those thoughts as he reached up to fish around the recess in the upper frame of the door. Juleka had warned him that was where they kept the spare key – where most people (Rose included) were too short to reach, and he found it easily enough. There would be time for those thoughts later. After he had slept, and hopefully had downed a pot of coffee (or two).
The lights were still on when he got the door unlocked, though he didn’t immediately see anyone. The kitchen light was also on, and he could hear movement that way. He kicked his shoes off, mindlessly nudging them by the pair of pink flats sitting by the little table near the door, and yawned as he dropped his bags next to them. He leaned back to kick the door closed, then slid his guitar off to prop that against the wall, too.
“Jules?” he called, yawning again halfway through. He shook his head and blinked blearily at the door. He should probably lock it. It wasn’t supposed to be a bad neighborhood, but you could never be too careful, right? He shuffled back over to the door to fiddle with the locks, still waiting for an answer. “Rose? Anyone u–?”
He never saw it coming. He was pretty sure he cried out as a world of pain was cracking against the back of his skull – and the front as that pain slammed his head straight into the door. The world spun, or maybe that was just him. He wasn’t entirely sure as, the next thing he knew, everything had gone black.
– V –
“…you’re leaving?”
“I have to.”
“Says who?”
“You, for one.”
“When have I ever…?!”
“I’ve been akumatized three times, Marinette. What happens when it’s a fourth?”
“Then Ladybug saves you, just like she always does, and –”
Her voice cuts off.
It’s their first kiss.
…he had never wanted it to happen like this.
“What happens when she can’t, because I’ve unintentionally given Monarch all he needs to defeat her?”
“…I don’t care.”
“You do.”
“Please stay.”
“I can’t.”
His head was throbbing.
There was a buzzing off to the side.
Ken, that stupid golden retriever Rose had fallen in love with last year, was barking in the other room. Not just barking – it sounded like the mutt was trying to break down the damn door. He hadn’t thought Ken was that aggressive. Rose had never made him sound so, at least.
…his head was killing him.
“You’ve reached Marinette! You know what to do!”
“Are you ever going to forgive me? I love you. I miss you. I’m sorry.”
She never answers anymore.
It’s been weeks. Almost a month. And she hasn’t answered a single call. His texts have gone unread for just as long.
“You’ve reached Marinette! You know what to do!”
“Hey. I know it’s been a minute, but…Marinette. Please. Jules said your class is coming to New York. We were going to meet up for lunch. Can…can I see you? I need to see you.”
It’s two days before the trip when Juleka tells him Marinette’s come down with the flu and won’t be coming after all. Part of him isn’t surprised – of course she can’t leave the city, not after last time, of course she’ll miss the trip – but he can’t say it doesn’t sting when he walks into that Starbucks and it’s only Juleka and Rose at the table waiting for him.
“It’s Marinette. You know what to do. And…if it’s Luka, please…just stop.”
He hangs up before the beep.
He doesn’t try again.
The buzzing had settled into a rhythmic tap-tap-tapping, or maybe a pace-pace-pacing. It was sharper than the scuttle of nails on the hardwood down the hall – Ken, who had settled into an anxiety-ridden pacing – and closer. There was a sound off to the side, a door opening and muffled voices, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying.
He groaned as he was roughly grabbed and moved. His head smacked against something hard before he settled, making him groan again.
“Easy!” a familiar voice cried, one he knew he should know and yet…
“He’s in front of the door, mademoiselle,” a gruff voice said.
“It…I didn’t want to move him,” the first said. There was a snort.
“And you couldn’t move the bags, at least? We can’t really treat him if we can’t even reach him,” another voice scoffed. “Gonna break a leg in here…”
The pain was so bad…he was pretty sure he was about to get sick.
“Marinette?”
He hadn’t believed it, when he saw her name on the phone.
It’s been months.
“…I’m sorry.”
What the hell for?
“Why? I’m the one who left. Who…”
But she’s not having any of that.
“To keep me safe. To…I didn’t really give you much choice, did I? And then I treated you horribly just because you were following my own orders. Just because I didn’t want you to. So yeah, you dummy, I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry I found out. I’m sorry I put you in that position.”
He takes a breath. Swallows. Waits – hesitates – just a moment, just because he’s not really sure if what he’s about to say is true but knowing it needs to be said all the same, and then…
“…I’m sorry I kissed you.”
“Please don’t. Be sorry for everything else, but don’t be sorry for that. Never be sorry for that.”
Hope. It’s small, it’s flickering, but…it’s there.
“…yeah?”
“…yeah.”
“I still –”
“I know. But I can’t. Not…not now. Not yet. O-ok?”
He swallows. It isn’t what he wants to hear, but it’s better than he dared hope for – better than he deserves. He’s the one who left, after all. She’s the one who makes the rules. And he’ll take whatever she’s willing to give him, if it means…
“…ok.”
“Monsieur? Monsieur. Can you hear me?” the voice was so loud, and he groaned as he tried to move away from it. Something was holding him in place, though, and moving hurt maybe more than staying still. “Can you tell me your name?”
“…fuck off,” he bit. There was a manic, deranged kind of giggle off to the side.
He…he knew that giggle.
“I’m so sorry, he’s…he’s not normally like that,” Marinette…Marinette. That was Marinette – he’d know her voice anywhere. What the hell was she doing here? “Or…maybe he is? I…it’s been…but…oh my God. Did I break him?”
“Mademoiselle, please. I need you to step back,” the first voice said.
“He look kinda familiar to you?” another voice asked, deeper and gruffer. Hadn’t it just been bitching about his bags?
“Monsieur, can you tell me your name?” the first voice asked, ignoring the second’s question.
“Luka, please –” Marinette started, but the first voice cut her off again.
“Mademoiselle, we need him to answer to accurately gauge –” it was saying, and he grit his teeth against the headache.
“Fuck. Off,” he said again, maybe a bit more aggressively than he should have when one of them peeled his eye open to shine a penlight in it. He tried to lift his arm to bat them away, but it felt so damn heavy…
“Mademoiselle –!”
His hand was suddenly warm. So warm. Something – knees? – pressed against his arm. He rolled his head towards the source, ignoring the indignant huff on his other side.
“It’s over.”
“…what?”
“It’s over. He’s dead.”
“…what?”
“Come home. Please.”
“…I’ll be there by Christmas.”
He forced his eyes open, his vision swimming a little before clearing to reveal…God, she was gorgeous. Had she always been that gorgeous? Before?
“Hey, you,” Marinette giggled, though it sounded weak and watery and nothing like he remembered. Maybe a little manic. But also maybe a little relieved? His lips curled, or tried to, in a weary smile.
“Hey,” he said, reaching his hand up for hers.
…she didn’t take it.
“You’re a liar, Luka Llewellyn Couf…Coughin, and I never want your stupid face again! Stay gone! See if I…hic…don’t care!”
He kept his hand up, his brow furrowing as she stared at it like it would bite her. The hope he hadn’t realized he’d let creep in started to shrink away, because she might be there but she was clearly still upset with him, and –
“Mademoiselle, please,” the first voice sighed, and his eyes drifted to the side – and then closed as the movement caused a wave of dizziness to sweep through him.
Not before he recognized what looked like a paramedic kneeling on his other side, though.
“He seems fine,” the second voice said. Another paramedic, presumably. “Mildly concussed if that. He should probably stay under observation for a few days, but –”
“I’ll do it,” Marinette said, and he sucked in a breath as her hand suddenly snatched at his and held it to her chest. He forced his eyes back to her, wincing against the nausea, and there was that stupid hope again as she smiled down at him. “I can watch him. I’ll bring him in if he gets worse, but…please.” She looked away from him, to the paramedics. “He hates hospitals.”
He really did.
“Love you,” he murmured, his eyes closing again. She sucked in a breath, and her grip tightened on his hand.
“Luka, shut up,” she hissed. “We…later, ok? Later.”
“No,” he grumped. He was so sick of later. Later always seemed to bite them in the ass. “Love you. Miss you. Sorry.”
“Monsieur, can you tell me what year it is, at least?” the first voice asked, trying to get his attention. He frowned.
“Four years too late,” he mumbled, and Marinette’s grip on his hand tightened as she sucked in a breath.
“Was this a domestic dispute, mademoiselle?” the second voice deadpanned.
“What? No!” Marinette squeaked. “He…I would never…I mean, I did, but…oh, this is all one big misunderstanding!”
“I’ll bet,” the first voice snorted. “Go around braining rock stars with frying pans often, do you?”
His eyes cracked open just in time to see the furious look of an enraged Ladybug steal over Marinette’s face, because what?
“…ok, I’m with Luka: fuck off,” she snarled. He laughed, or tried to – no sound actually came out. Except maybe another pained groan – Jesus fucking Christ, was that him??? She squeezed his hand as her gaze snapped back to him. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
“…stop,” he mumbled, his brow furrowing. “Not…what the fuck did he say you hit me with?”
“A frying pan,” the second voice quipped. He sounded cheery – cheeky – when he added: “Who knew, right?”
“Philippe,” the first voice hissed. “Sir. We can take you in if you want. We can also call the cops if you’d like.”
“Oh, I have Captain Raincomprix on speed dial,” Marinette huffed, making his lips twitch with a smile. So did he, actually. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Given you’re the attacker, mademoiselle, I really don’t think that’s up to you to say,” the first voice drawled, sounding completely unimpressed. Marinette squeezed his hand again, and he forced his eyes open to stare at her. She looked furious – it was…really hot.
“I did not attack him!” she snapped. “I mean…I did, but I didn’t know it was him! He’s my…he’s…why the hell would I attack him on purpose?”
He could think of a few reasons.
“…why…why not?” he asked. Her felt her jump, just a little jerk back, before she blinked and stared down at him, her eyes wide and…God, she was beautiful. Did she have any idea how beautiful she was? He blinked up at her, trying to rein his thoughts back in.
“Wh-what?” she asked, frowning. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against her knees. The room was too bright, and it was making his head hurt. Or maybe that had been the…holy shit. Had they said frying pan…???
“Deserve it…” he mumbled. He tried to squeeze her hand, but it didn’t feel like it worked very well. He looked up at her, trying to frown but just kind of grimacing instead. “Don’t…don’t I?”
“…maybe they should take you,” she said softly. One of her hands let go of his, but he was kind of ok with that when he felt her fingertips skimming along his temple. Brushing his hair back. He missed the way she touched him.
…heh. That sounded dirty. He wouldn’t mind it being dirty.
“Just lemme sleep,” he mumbled, leaning his head into her touch. “You’re being too nice for this to be real.”
“You probably shouldn’t sleep for a bit, monsieur,” the second guy said. “With the concussion.”
“Phil, take our assailant here and get her info. M. Stone? I’m going to help you onto the couch, ok?” the first voice said. He heard Marinette growl above him, and damn, that was hot.
“How about I help you get him on the couch and you can get my info right here? I’m not leaving him,” Marinette bit. Her grip tightened on his hand, and he forced his eyes open when he felt…she had brought his hand up to her mouth and had kissed his knuckles. Her lips were still pressed against them, her eyes closed, and… “Not again, you assholes.”
“Mari…” he croaked. She looked down at him and smiled.
“It’s ok, Luka,” she said. “You’re ok.”
“Mademoiselle,” the paramedic beside him said, and it was the first time Luka hadn’t found him outright hostile. He laid a hand on Marinette’s shoulder. “Look. I know you’re worried. I understand. But I need to evaluate him, and I can’t do that with you distracting him like this. It’s good – he’s probably ok – but from what you told us he could have a very serious injury here, and I think we would all feel a lot better if he had a proper exam before we move out. Ok? So can you please go talk to Phil for a moment? I’ll make sure your friend’s ok, all right?”
She looked down at him, her eyes uncertain, and he tried to smile and squeeze her hand again. She glanced at their joined hands, and he felt like that time it was a bit more successful.
“Go…go on,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“…you better not, you jerk,” she huffed. She laid his hand down on his stomach and went to scoot back, but she seemed to think better of it after a moment and bent down. His eyes widened as her lips were suddenly against his, her hand gripping his again and squeezing so tight, and…it was their second kiss. He hadn’t meant for it to happen like this, either. “Don’t you dare die on me, Couff…Luka!”
The world spun as she pulled away – had he been breathing? He didn’t think he’d been breathing – and then, amid shouts from Marinette and the two paramedics, went black again.
– V –
After he had passed out again, there had been no arguing with the paramedics: they were taking Luka to the hospital, where he would be fully checked out. By a doctor.
And when Marinette had tried to fight them on that…well.
She was an assailant.
Even though the assault was perfectly justified – it had been nearly three in the morning, and no one had told her Luka was coming, and all she had seen was some hooded hooligan fiddling with the door she was perfectly within her rights to defend herself – she didn’t own or live at the flat, no one could reach the actual owners to confirm she should be there, and she wasn’t letting the paramedics do their damned job.
…and the hooligan she had assaulted just so happened to be a famous rockstar. A famous rockstar the one paramedic was a huge fan of.
So.
The police had been called.
And of course Uncle Roger wasn’t working that night, and the rookies that had cuffed her refused to call him (wake him – they had definitely been more afraid of waking him), and worst of all…Ken was still locked up in Rose’s craft room.
Marinette groaned as she slumped forward, her elbows digging into her knees and her face dropping into her hands.
According to Brielle…well. According to an old show Brielle liked, there was a special level of hell. Reserved for…she actually couldn’t remember how the quote originally went, and she was pretty sure it didn’t specifically target dumbasses named Dingo, but whoever it was reserved for Marinette was probably now one of them. She was definitely on her way to the Special Hell, the one reserved for dumbasses named Dingo and people who bludgeoned unsuspecting rockstars to death with…frying pans.
She really, really hoped Luka was ok. She had tried to send Juleka a text before the cops had gotten there, but reception at the hospital was horrible and she couldn’t be entirely the message had gotten through. And when they had arrived at the station and allowed her to make her phone call…well. It was probably close enough to morning that her parents would probably be up, but it wasn’t their kid being rushed to the hospital – so calling the Captain had seemed like the better idea. Except Anarka hadn’t answered her phone, either (probably because she was sleeping), and they hadn’t let her make another.
So now it was hours later, she was stuck in the drunk tank, nobody knew she was there, and nobody knew Luka was possibly dying of a brain bleed, and God only knew what Ken was going to that spare room, and –
“…Marinette?”
She jumped up at the shocked voice, her eyes widening when she saw Captain Raincomprix blinking at her from the doorway. One hand was holding the door open, and the other held a steaming mug. Probably coffee, given how late (early) it must be.
“Captain Roger!” she cried, leaping from the bench and running towards the bars. He blinked blearily at her, then reached up to rub at his eyes as he shook his head. He looked like he’d just woken up.
“Holy crap, kid…what are…Marinette Dupain-Cheng, you’re supposed to be the good one,” he groaned, shambling over to the cell as he rubbed at his eyes. His free hand went into his pocket, fishing out a tangled mess of keys. He tried to glare at her, but it looked more like when her papa was annoyed with her than how he usually looked at the people that ended up here. “What the heck did you do, Marinette?”
“Tried to murder my brother, apparently,” said a dry voice from the door, and Marinette looked up to see Juleka smirking at her. “What the hell, Marinette? I know you’re mad at him, but come on. Frying pans?”
She thought she heard a voice from the bull pen snort “Who knew, right?”, but it was too far away for her to be sure.
“Juleka!” she cried. “Oh, thank God. You got my message.”
“No,” she said, walking over to stand next to Roger as he searched through the keys. “I was on my out of the hospital to call you when I saw them wheeling Luka in. The paramedics filled me in. I would have been here sooner, but someone had to sign the papers while Luka got his brain scanned – and I wasn’t making Rose leave her dad.”
“How is he?” she asked, and Juleka smirked at him.
“As fine as he ever was,” she quipped. “I keep trying to tell you that idiot doesn’t have a brain.”
Marinette’s brow furrowed.
“What? No, Juleka, not…I meant M. Lavillant,” she said, and the smile slipped from Juleka’s face as a shadow flickered across it.
“…too soon to tell,” she said, her eyes dropping to the floor. “I’m heading back once we get you sorted. He’s…it was bad, Mari.”
“How’s Rose?” she asked. Juleka shrugged.
“About as well as you’d expect,” she said. “Terrified. Trying to help. Running on too much damned coffee for her own good.”
They shared a weak laugh, and Marinette shook her head as she reached up to wipe at her eyes.
“Sounds about right. And…and Luka?” she asked. “You said…he’s ok?”
Juleka snorted.
“He’s not dead, at least, despite your best efforts,” she said. Before Marinette could open her mouth to argue, she held up a hand. “He’s ok, Mari. He’s got a concussion, and someone has to monitor him for the next few days, but he’s fine. As soon as we get you out of here, his best bet is to sleep it off.”
Marinette frowned.
“I…I thought you weren’t supposed to sleep with a concussion?” she asked. Roger hummed as he finally found the right key and opened the cell.
“As long as he’s been cleared by the doctor, sleep is actually the best thing for it,” he said. “You should still keep an eye on him for a bit, though. Just to be safe.”
“I will,” Marinette said, maybe a bit too quickly from the way Juleka smirked at her. She rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest. “Lay off, Jules. It’s the least I can do, after…and you should be with Rose right now.”
“What? I didn’t say you were wrong,” she said as they turned for the door. Her smirk turned more wicked. “…you’ll probably come after me next if I do.”
“Juleka!” she whined as her friend cackled.
“Lay off, Jules,” a tired voice by the desk groaned. Marinette whipped around, her eyes widening when she saw Luka slouched against the counter. “She didn’t – oof!”
“Luka!” she cried as she bolted towards him, throwing herself at him as soon as she reached him. Her arms wrapped around him, and she pressed her cheek against his chest as she held him tight. “Thank God – are you ok? I’m so sorry!”
“Easy, easy,” he chuckled, his hands dropping to her shoulders and running along her arms. “I’m ok. I’m ok.”
“He told me what happened – what he could remember of it, at least – but I didn’t believe him,” Roger said, shaking his head. “You actually brained him with a frying pan?”
“That’s what the hospital said,” Luka said. Marinette groaned and pressed her face against his chest, hoping to hide the blush she could feel burning her cheeks. “I…don’t really remember, but my head definitely hurts enough.”
“…I had headphones in,” she said. “It was late, and no one said you were coming, and I didn’t hear you, and when I saw you…you had your hood up, Luka. I thought you were some whacko trying to break in!”
“See, brother dear?” Juleka quipped, smirking. “You’ve brought all this on yourself.”
“Never said I didn’t,” he said, but he had tucked himself around Marinette and was holding her close, his face pressed against her neck. His voice had been low, and she wondered if she was the only one who’d heard him. “…hey, you.”
“Hey,” she laughed, the sound only a little crazed. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said, shaking his head – and then stopping. She could feel his jaw tense as he bit back a pained noise. “I’m sorry.”
“You can both be sorry later,” Roger huffed as he drained his coffee. “Just get the heck outta my station already. I’m sure everyone could use some sleep – I could certainly use some more. Making me start my shift two hours early to haul the wrong Couffaine out of jail…you kids are gonna be the death of me, I swear.”
Luka tensed around her, but she held him fast as he tried to pull away. She peeked out from his chest to offer an apologetic smile at Roger.
“Sorry, Uncle Roger,” she said. He scoffed, but he was smiling behind his mug. “They really are horrible influences.”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t I know it,” he huffed, waving them off. “Just…get him to bed before he drops. I’ve already got enough paperwork this morning thanks to you guys.”
“Right away,” she said, smiling up at Luka before she moved to his side. He leaned a little heavily on her, and Juleka quickly moved to his other side to help.
“And hey, Luka,” Roger called as they turned to go. He was smiling when they looked back at him, despite his previous annoyance. “Welcome home, son.”
Luka just smiled and nodded, and then they were gone.
– V –
They were out of the precinct, down the steps, and halfway to the corner before Luka seemed to snap out of it. Marinette was still tucked against his side, her arm wrapped around his waist and one of his across her shoulders. Juleka had looped her arm through his other – to steady him, she swore, because he still kinda looked like he was about to drop any second. He blinked as they came to a stop to wait for the light.
“…he called you Couffaine,” he said, shaking his head in wonder. Marinette peeked up at him, a slight smile on her face.
“He did, yeah,” she said, squeezing him closer. He shook his head and looked down at her. He looked…dazed. She wondered if– worried – that was the concussion.
“You didn’t correct him,” he said, staring at her in wonder. She felt her face warming under that stare and nodded.
“I didn’t,” she said softly. On his other side, Juleka snorted. Neither were paying her much mind, though.
“…you’re…not still mad at me?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “About…about Christmas?”
She hesitated, glancing at the light as her teeth pressed into her lip, and his hand squeezed her shoulder.
“Marinette,” he said, his voice sounding a little…she swallowed and looked back up at him as the timer clicked closer to zero.
“You came home, Luka,” she finally said. He shook his head.
“No, I didn’t,” he huffed. “That was the problem. I should have been here, and I wasn’t.”
“But you’re here now,” she said, reaching up to lay a hand on his cheek. He leaned into her touch, his eyes closing, and she sighed. “Can…we can talk about it later. It hurt, yeah, but you’re here now. That’s what I want to focus on, ok?”
“…ok,” he said, turning his head to press a kiss against her palm. He chuckled weakly, cracking an eye open to grin at her. “You sure you didn’t kill me? Feels an awful lot like heaven right now.”
“I don’t think heaven is supposed to hurt so much, dumbass,” Juleka snorted. “Come on – the light’s green, and the doctor said you need to be resting. We need to get you settled and off your feet.”
They made it about another block before Marinette realized they were going in the wrong direction.
“…Juleka, isn’t your flat back that way?” she asked, leaning around Luka to frown at her.
“Yep, but we’re not going to my flat,” she said. She looked at her, grinning. “We’re going to yours.”
Marinette blinked at her.
“…mine?” she asked. “But…”
“Ken broke my bed,” Luka mumbled, huffing out a little laugh as they walked. He looked at Marinette, the grin on his face…slightly concerning, if she was being honest. They really needed to get him to sleep. “So she said it’s only fair I use yours.”
“…what?” she squeaked, her eyes popping wide as she looked back at Juleka.
“You left the damn dog in the craft room, Marinette,” Juleka huffed. “In what universe did that seem like a good idea? I’m going to be cleaning glitter out of that bed for years.”
“Oh no…” Marinette groaned.
“Exactly,” she sniffed. “Ma’s coming over to take him to the boat until we get home. You get to deal with this disaster, though. Don’t worry – his flat should be ready by next month.”
“N-next…what?!” Marinette squeaked as they stopped for another light. She looked back at Luka, but she paused when she saw the way his head had just sorta…dropped forward. She swallowed and reached up, touching his face. “Hey. Hey, no sleeping yet, ok? We’re almost there.”
“…sorry,” he mumbled. “Keep…messing everything up.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” she said. “You…you got a flat. Luka. You got a flat?”
He blinked tired eyes at her, but then he was smiling as he nodded.
“…yeah,” he said, his eyes closing as his head drooped again. He bent a little, and Juleka grumbled as he kinda tugged her after him – until his forehead was touching Marinette’s. “I got a flat. S’not ready yet, though.”
“You’re staying,” she said. He hummed.
“M’staying,” he murmured. He frowned and straightened a little, turning back towards Juleka. “Do you mind? We’re having a moment here.”
“Have your moment later, asshole – I don’t want you making out while I’m trying to keep you standing!” she grumped. Marinette squeaked again and pushed him up a little.
“We’re not making out!” she cried, tugging them forward as the light changed. He looked back at her, frowning.
“…we’re not?” he asked. “You kissed me, though.”
“And then you fainted,” she huffed. A strangled choking, snorting sound came from his other side, and Marinette groaned as Juleka leaned over to grin at her.
“He what?” she cackled. “Oh my God, Lu, you are such a…” Her grin turned evil. “You’re a Lu-ser.”
“Juleka…” Marinette groaned, but Luka was just staring at his sister as he blinked…and then he snorted, his head dropping again as his shoulders bobbed with a laugh.
“That was awful,” he laughed. “Ok. That’s…ok.”
Marinette sighed and looked ahead of them. She could see her building in the distance, the fairy lights still illuminated on her balcony. One more light and they’d be home free.
“Just come on,” she said, tugging them along. “Let’s get him to bed before he blacks out again. You need to get back to Rose.”
Juleka just grinned at her as they walked.
“Sure thing,” she said, her tone too easy for Marinette to trust. She glanced back at her, and Juleka was smirking again. “Lu-sers.”
Luka started laughing again, and Marinette just groaned. It really wasn’t that funny…
– V –
He was out before Marinette had finished tucking him into her bed. Or…well. Sort of.
“No…” he mumbled as she went to stand, his hand slipping out from the covers to catch the wrist closest to his face. “Stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss his forehead. His brow furrowed at the touch – and the lingering pain still dully throbbing in the background – and she sighed. “I’m just going to say bye to Juleka, and then I’ll be right back.”
She had left the lights off the entire time, because the brightness when they’d first come in and she’d flipped them on had made him recoil with a hiss. Juleka had just laughed at him (“Ha – and you call me a vampire!”), but Marinette had been quick to cover his eyes and guide him to the darkness of her bedroom. He cracked his eyes open now, watching her as she retreated to the rectangle of light that was the door, and she smiled back at him as she closed it almost all the way.
He took that smile with him into his dreams, and when he woke up a few hours later…sure enough, she was curled up against his chest, sleeping soundly. He drifted back off without getting up, and when he woke again she was gone.
He could hear her in the other room, though, talking softly. Probably on the phone. She sounded happy – relieved – though, and that was about all he could parse before he was out again. He wasn’t sure how long he slept that time, but when he next woke she was back in his arms. She wasn’t asleep, though, and when she saw his open eyes she offered up a shy smile.
“Hey, you,” she whispered, and he realized she was running her fingers through his hair. Brushing his bangs back. Gently brushing her thumb against a tender spot above his brow and steadfastly ignoring what was probably a pretty gnarly lump in the back.
“Hey,” he croaked out. He cleared his throat, wincing against how scratchy it felt. “…sorry.”
“Do you need some water?” she asked. “You’ve been out almost all day.”
“I was up almost all day,” he said.
“Dingo said,” she said. His brow furrowed, and she made a soothing, hushing sound as she smoothed it out with her thumb. “He called Jules to check on you. When you wouldn’t answer your phone.”
“It’s dead,” he said. “Lost the charger…before the flight. New York, I think.”
“And when she told him…well. She told him you were here, so he called me,” she said. She sounded nervous, and he frowned as he opened his eyes to look at her. The light wasn’t hurting as much, he was relieved to note. “I tried to preserve as much of your dignity as I could. He’s still probably gonna give you hell for it, though.”
“Wouldn’t be Ding if he didn’t,” he said. He sighed and let his head sink back into the pillow, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of her fingers in his hair. Her head was resting on his bicep, and his other arm was wrapped tight around her – but had somehow slipped under her shirt in his sleep? His thumb moved slowly, and she shivered as it brushed against her skin. “You stayed.”
“I told you I would,” she said, smiling up at him.
“Would’ve deserved it if you hadn’t,” he mumbled. She sighed and leaned up, and his brow furrowed as she pressed her lips to his.
…it was their third kiss.
It still wasn’t how he had imagined any of them would go, but it was definitely better than the last two.
“Knock it off, or I’ll start calling you a Lu-ser, too,” she chided gently. He opened his eyes, but then she was kissing him again and he felt them drifting back shut. Her hand slipped from his hair to skim her fingertips along his jaw, and he idly noted that he probably needed a shave. He wondered if she minded. She wasn’t kissing him like she minded… “You’re the one who stopped calling me, Lu.”
“Didn’t think you’d want to hear from me,” he sighed. “Nothing…nothing had changed.”
“Until it did,” she said, pulling him back into another kiss. “You’re here now. You’re home now.”
“…yeah?” he asked, opening his eyes to find that smile he loved so much beaming up at him.
“Yeah,” she said, kissing him again. “Penny’s going to have your things sent here instead of to Juleka’s. And…if you want. I mean. There’s enough room here. You don’t need your own flat, Luka. You could…you know. Stay. Here. With me.”
His eyes opened slowly. She was looking up at him, her lip between her teeth and looking entirely too nervous for someone as brave as Ladybug, but…he was reminded of their second kiss. Of the dizziness that had stolen over him before he’d blacked out, kind of because of the concussion but mostly because she’d kissed him and he’d stopped breathing. Was he still breathing? He wasn’t sure.
“Say something, Luka,” she said. He swallowed. His hand was shaking as it came up to her face, and he ran his thumb along her lip, pulling it from her teeth.
“You…you mean it?” he whispered. She nodded, and he swallowed thickly before crushing her against him. “…ok.”
His voice was muffled, what with how his face was tucked against her shoulder, but he could tell she heard him from the way her arms tightened around him.
“Ok,” she said, pressing her face against his neck. He shivered when she dropped a kiss there, or maybe that was just the feeling of her breath on his skin. Or… “Welcome home, Luka.”
He was home.