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Juleka Couffaine was worried about her family.

Not just the idiot brother who’d spent every waking moment he had away from the Liberty to avoid their (new) rockstar father figure, but also the Captain who’d single-parented them for so long that she was determined to keep it way even if it killed Juleka’s one shot at getting to know her dad.

No– pause, calm.. calm.. She needed to calm down. Juleka took a deep breath and let the anger wash over her like a wave, awful and all consuming, and then retreat backwards, down down down into her core like Rose’s mother had taught her.

Inhale fire, exhale ice.

When she opened her eyes again, the frustration had quelled significantly.

Juleka flipped open her phone lock-screen to find the last fifteen messages she’d sent to her twin still unread and rolled her eyes. For all Luka’s misplaced-swagger and multiple assurances that he was completely over his breakup with Marinette Dupain-Cheng, she wouldn’t have bet ten million euros that she’d find him at her bakery.

Juleka felt the stirrings of anger rise within her again.

She couldn’t make either heads or tails of her brother’s infatuation with her clumsy classmate, especially after everything that had happened in New York.

Juleka had been there. She’d seen Marinette pick Adrien. Hell, their entire class had. She’d watched the girl chase Adrien through the Akuma-infested streets of New York on a bicycle.

But something had happened between then and the flight back home, because the very evening they’d touched foot on Parisian soil, Marinette was back in her brother’s arms.

Luka tried to play it off cool and insisted it wasn’t anything serious, but the lovestruck chords he played all night on the deck of the Liberty, said otherwise.

Juleka had tried to warn him, in her own roundabout way. She’d shown him the video of Marinette dancing with Adrien on the rooftop of their hotel. Recounted the infamous chase scene. But Luka wasn’t hearing any of it.

In fact, the only thing he seemed to take away from the matter was succinctly put into “You guys let her do something so dangerous, by herself?”

Juleka had flushed with guilt with at the time and dropped the matter. Luka would learn in his own time. (And perhaps there was a kernel of truth to him pointing out how Marinette was the only one chasing after their classmate in the cold, that she wasn’t entirely comfortable dealing with.)

Juleka’s fears only grew when they’d started “officially” dating and Marinette was suddenly too busy for her brother altogether.

She was surprised the akuma had taken as long as it had.

Luka may be composed– but he wasn’t aloof.

She was sure whatever he was doing in Marinette’s bakery, he was doing idiotically.

Sighing out the frustration, Juleka parked her bike next to one with Luka’s jacket hanging out of its straw basket, and used her bike-clasp to lock the cycles together. There. Try avoiding that, brother dearest.

She pursed her lips, repressing the smidgeon of satisfaction that bloomed in her chest and pressed ignore as her phone vibrated with another call from her not-official-but-kinda-sorta-girlfriend.

Ma Rose ♥ : 5 MISSED CALLS

Juleka had strong-armed the aforementioned not-official-but-kinda-sorta-girlfriend into giving her details about her brother’s whereabouts by promising her they’d go to the end of term school dance together and didn’t want to deal with the aftermath.

Of course, there was that small tiny itty-bitty fact that Juleka had actually planned on skipping the school dance altogether, but she had plenty of time to debate that with Rose later, once she’d dealt with her brother’s annoying disappearing act.

It had been a week since the events of the Truth akuma, and Luka had promised her he was going to talk to Jagged (calling him Dad was still too weird) today. She hadn’t wanted to meddle at first– she was still getting used to the strange family dynamic that having a father brought into her home and far be it for her to rush her brother into accepting something he was clearly uncomfortable with.

Especially since he’d always been the one to reassure her into taking her time when anxiety got the better of her.

So Juleka did what she’d always done– held her tongue and waited for the problem to resolve itself.

Except it didn’t. And not just that, it somehow managed to get worse.

After Luka’s emotionally charged outburst at Jagged, the world-renowned rockstar spent the night on the houseboat, trying to coax his two remaining family members into listening to his long-winded theory about how the music industry was a breeding ground for opportunistic nepotism and how no one cared about raw talent anymore.

Her mother, the Captain, had only rolled her eyes in disbelief and called for lights out, but Juleka snuck out to the deck much to Jagged’s delight, and the two spent the night giving Fang belly-rubs and pretending they didn’t hear her brother’s hushed crying downstairs.

Her father was a surprisingly good storyteller, and Juleka listened intently as he spun tales about people she’d never met – the older sister who put Jagged through music school, Croco-Duo’s backup drummer, his very first assistant – and tried to imagine what it must’ve been like for a younger version of the purple-haired musician.

The Captain rarely ever talked about her life before having her children (though she recounted pregnancy misadventures aplenty) and preferred to sweep it all ‘below deck, where dusty records belonged’ as she would say unperturbedly.

Luka had been the one to explain that Anarka had probably done it for their benefit, so the two of them wouldn’t feel like they’d derailed her life but Juleka couldn’t help but feel like there was a large part of her mother that was so out of reach, it would take crossing several seas just to find the map.

Jagged, on the other hand, was keen to share every other minute detail of his life, even stuff that she could’ve lived without knowing.

From Fang’s defecating schedule to exactly which chord bothered him in their school’s acapella version of Clara Nightingale’s chart topper ‘Miraculous’! It didn’t matter how much they’d already talked, Jagged never seemed to run out of things to tell her, and much to Juleka’s surprise, she never grew tired of listening. Though in part, no thanks to the Captain’s meddling.

Their unbalanced family dynamic seemed to have gotten to Anarka too; without her oldest’s voice to steady her rocking vessel, their mother walked around like she was waiting for someone to storm their ship. She seemed to take offence to Jagged’s mere existence, never mind that he was trying to makeup for all the time he’d lost with his children.

The noise permit only placated her for a day or three, by week’s end she was back to chasing him off the Liberty with a mop.

What was almost equally astounding was that the rockstar reluctantly began to let her!

Jagged interpreted Luka’s semi-permanent disappearance as a self-imposed exile (not the more obvious response, her brother’s deep rooted tendency to avoid conflict) and began to spend less and less time on the Liberty much to Juleka’s horror.

So she meddled a little.

She poked and prodded and needled her brother until he caved and agreed to have one conversation with their father– okay, only because you asked me Jule– but when the fated morning rolled around, Luka was already cancelling on her because he had to take even more job interviews so he could continue to run from his feelings.

Not on her watch. Juleka would put her foot down this time, for both their sakes, before Luka did something he’d regret forever like actually pushing their would-be father away for good.

She set her phone to ‘do not disturb’ and slipped it into her pocket before slamming open the bakery door.

Juleka almost hit the new girl in the face.

“Juleka, dear!”

“Juleka!”

“Jule?”

“Ow!”

A chorus of voices bounced around her from all corners of the bakery as Juleka let the door gently swing close behind her to see a blonde girl prostrated on the floor, a plethora of macarons (some crushed, some perfectly intact) scattered around her, like the open door had managed to both smack the treats out of her hand and somehow trip her up while doing so.

“Careful dearie,” Marinette’s mother, Sabine Cheng called from behind the counter.

“You should be more careful Juleka,” Alya tutted, putting her phone away to help the blonde girl up, who, to her credit looked more embarrassed by the attention than the accident. 

“You could’ve really hurt Zoé there.”

“No, it’s my fault everyone,” the blonde raised her hands in surrender, “I’m so clumsy, I’d trip over air if I could.”

“I wish I didn’t know exactly what you mean,” Marinette added good-naturedly from another corner, already reaching for a fresh paper bag, “Let me get you a new batch of macarons.”

Juleka exchanged a startled look with her brother, who was also on the other side of the counter, beside Mme. Cheng, his tan hands covered in powdery-white flour.

Luka’s brows were knitted with worry.

Sure, Juleka had almost hit the girl in the face, she would have if Zoé was any closer, but the door had swung open easily, without obstacle; not even a bump. But that didn’t make any sense.. why would someone pretend to fall over for no reason? Everything happened so fast– had she hit her?

For the first time in her life Juleka wished she and Luka shared the telepathic thing that all twins seemed to have on TV so she could read the SOS signal in her brother’s blue eyes– it seemed to her that Luka had also picked up on the strangeness of this new girl.

“Oh, I forgot you two haven’t met,” Marinette interjected, turning to her after handing Zoé the freshly filled paper bag.

“Juleka, this is Zoé Lee, she’s here from New York! Zoé, this is my friend Juleka. She’s the model I was telling you about– she’s also Luka’s sister.”

Juleka shifted back imperceptibly, though neither girl noticed. Ever since Marinette had broken up with her brother, Juleka’s friendship with the pig-tailed girl had become.. well, “strained” was an understatement.

“Hello, Juleka,” Zoé held out her hand with a smile, “I’ve heard so much about you, I feel like I know you already!”

“Uhh.. Nicetomeetyoutoo,” Juleka mumbled, shrinking away from the touch. This time, the girls exchanged a concerned look.

Alya joined them, putting one hand on Zoé’s shoulder, and reaching the other out towards her.

“You’re all pale. You okay, girl?”

Juleka bit down on her tongue.

Marinette herself hadn’t been around enough to clock the difference but the other girls in their class had watched Juleka tense up whenever the missing member of their group was mentioned.

Nobody brought it up; not even when she conveniently “broke” her phone and all the sad close-ups of her brother disappeared from the group chat (she deleted all of them when Alya said something about how Adrien would never), or just happened to “go for a walk” during Kitty Section’s routinely scheduled costume pick up.

In fact, she hadn’t even been around when the girls had ambushed Marinette and gotten akumatised into the “Gang of Secrets” this morning. Rose had yet to fill her in about it.

And though nobody had anything to say about her wavering allegiance, it was what they were saying instead that rubbed Juleka the the wrong way.

Even Chloé’s sniping didn’t get under her skin the way Alya’s off-handed remarks about Luka and Marinette not being destined to end up together, suddenly did. Juleka had been able to ignore stuff like that when it was about Nathaniel or Nino but this was her brother.

Her persistent, annoying brother who spent all his time strumming his emotional support guitar, in the morning, at noon, at breakfast, when she couldn’t sleep, quietly plinking notes into the night air regardless of how low the temperature dropped above deck.

The same guitar that he’d brought back home, dented, strings snapped after the suspicious possibly akuma-related blackout last month, and shoved under his bed without a second glance.

Her dumb, uncool brother who sounded nonchalant over the phone during her trip to New York, but nearly worried himself into a fever (according to the Captain), when he’d heard that their flight was attacked by supervillains.

Her stupid, crybaby brother who pretended to be allergic to the shampoo she’d used for years when she caught him trying to hide his puffy eyes and bright red nose the day after Jagged first came to the Liberty.

Her terrible, sensitive, overly-righteous brother who had the audacity to be born four minutes before her.

Her brother who loved her and the Captain more than anything. Her brother who deserved a happy ending, destiny be damned.

Juleka couldn’t handle the way they were talking about him like he was some kind of charity case; like they expected her to agree. Like she was supposed to smile and nod and go back home and look her twin in the eye after saying Poor Luka, how could he have known he was getting in destiny’s way by liking Marinette?

Poor Luka? Poor Luka?! Poor Marinette really if the Universe decided that she would be stuck trying to get Adrien to notice her for the rest of time.

She’d scoffed as much to Rose who gently pointed out that Marinette’s affection for Adrien was probably the only constant thing about her. At least, since the whole Socqueline Incident.

So Juleka begrudgingly chalked it up to Marinette’s inherent flakiness, and the creeping irritation grew and grew until she was convinced she wouldn’t be able to talk to her friend without letting her true feelings get in the way.

But looking at Marinette and Zoe now, Juleka felt all that itching frustration in her dissipate into cool confusion as she finally got a proper look at what was happening.

“Juleka?” Both girls asked in harmony.

Juleka crossed her arms reflexively, wondering if she was going crazy, or if everyone else saw it too.

She turned to Marinette. Then to Zoé again, and then back to her pig-tailed friend– the resemblance was too uncanny not to notice.

From the statement jackets, colourful denim pants cut off at precisely three-quarters-of-an-inch above the ankle, to the identically doe-eyed, puzzled look both girls wore on their faces, Juleka felt like she was getting whiplash just standing between them.

The only thing slightly unique about Zoé was her blonde hair being interwoven with a faded streak of pink, something Juleka could never picture Marinette doing.

Shooting another panicked look at her brother’s general direction, she stuck out her palm to belatedly shake Zoé’s, only to find it covered in a thin, white film that had already begun to harden and crack.

“What–“

“Sorry about that Juleka, the door’s been freshly painted,” Marinette’s father, Tom Dupain, sighed and handed her a paper towel from behind her. Juleka took it obediently noticing the faint white imprints on his own palms and down his blue apron.

“What’re you doing here, Jule?” Suddenly Luka was beside her, putting a comforting arm on her shoulder to lead her away from the Mari-ception, reminding her why she was here in the first place.

Focus, Juleka. You risked going to The Dance for this.

“I could ask you the same thing,” She tried to temper her tone through gritted teeth, “What’re you doing here, Luka?”

Exhale ice. Exhale.

Her brother shuffled her to an unattended corner, leaving floury fingerprints on her black mesh sleeves that she quickly shook off before rounding on him accusatorially.

“Weren’t you supposed to talk to someone today?” Her brother cocked his head in confusion. She mimicked Jagged’s obnoxious air guitar-playing.

Luka’s eyes hardened with clarity as he recalled the promise he’d made then shook his head.

“No, not today, Jule. I’ve got another job interview.”

“But–“ Juleka began.

“No, I can’t. Not yet. I need time.”

“But Jagged–“

“Juleka.” Luka’s voice rang with a sense of finality, “You’re not listening. I need more time.”

Juleka let out a breath, defeated. She hated how quickly the fight drained out of her but his stubbornness came straight from the Captain herself. Even a rock and a hard place would concede to the two of them.

“He means well, you know.” She mumbled finally, feeling her shoulders droop as she recalled her father’s forlorn face everytime she’d come to see him alone.

“I know,” Luka acknowledged, pointing to his temple with a twirling motion, “And I know you mean well too. It’s just.. it’s too loud in here to read the sheet music properly.”

Juleka cracked a wane smile. Only her brother could say something like that and make it make sense.

“Is everything okay?” Marinette’s voice (and only her voice this time) interrupted the siblings, and she watched as a flush of red climbed up her brother’s throat and scorched his pierced ears.

Speaking of things that didn’t make sense..

“Just reminding Luka about Kitty Section’s rehearsal next week,” Juleka lied, turning to her friend, “Rose said you couldn’t make it because you’re still working on that.. science project?”

“Actually, it’s almost done,” Marinette said, “And I was wondering if I could invite Zoé to the Liberty? She’s new to the city and it might help her make friends.”

The Couffaines exchanged a look.

“Um.. Marinette,” Juleka began, involuntarily scratching at her paint-flecked palm, “How long have you known Zoé?”

“Huh? Well,” Marinette counted on her fingers, “–an hour or two I guess! Isn’t she super nice? I feel like I’ve known her for forever.”

“She’s definitely.. familiar,” Juleka mumbled, “A little too familiar if you ask me.”

“So you don’t think there’s anything.. strange about her?” Luka interrupted, brows furrowing as he tried to gauge Marinette’s reaction.

“What? No! I mean, she’s a bit accident-prone like me but that’s hardly anything weird..”

She trailed off as she sensed the distrustful silence radiating from the siblings.

“Maybe it’s too soon,” Marinette corrected sheepishly, “I just thought it might be a nice gesture since she’s transferring into François Dupont after all, but if you guys don’t want her at the Liberty that’s totally fine, I’ll–“

“No it’s a great idea, Marinette!” Luka backtracked immediately, noticing the discomfort in her tone, “The more friends the merrier. We’re so glad you– both of you– can make it.”

Surprisingly, the pig-tailed girl seemed to deflate at his encouraging words.

Juleka raised an eyebrow when Marinette’s voice took on a forcedly higher pitch, “Right! Friends! Of course! We’re all friends here, right?”

“That depends, will Aaaaadrien be there?”

Ugh.

Juleka had to ball her fists to keep from crossing her arms as Alya snuck up behind Marinette and grabbed the latter’s shoulders, spooking her. She didn’t even need to look over at her twin to know the light in his eyes had dimmed at the mention of the name.

“He’s in the band, isn’t he?” Juleka couldn’t stop herself from lacing the mutter with an edge of derision.

“Woah, Tiger,” Alya put a hand to her chest in mock surprise, “What’s got you all worked up today?”

“Can’t you two give the Adrien thing a rest for once?” Juleka didn’t know what possessed her to say it, but instantly wished she could take it back when a guilty flush crept into Marinette’s cheeks.

Alya, on the other hand, became defensive.

“If you've got something to say–“ she began, crossing her arms, but was cut off when Luka put an arm on his twin’s shoulder to voice his opinion.

“I think what Jule meant,” Luka kept his voice light, to float over the feuding girls, “–was that we have no idea. We actually haven’t seen Adrien at a single rehearsal since you guys returned from New York.”

That was not at all what Juleka meant, but when she when she looked up at her brother, he had a painfully cheery smile plastered on his face. Damn your conflict avoidance-y.

She rolled her eyes, “Yeah, I guess his Dad must’ve freaked and put him under house arrest after the whole Hawk Moth thing on our school trip.”

Luka gratefully squeezed her shoulder as the tension dissipated between the four of them.

“Really?” Marinette’s guilt gave away to concern, “We should check on him. I’m the one who convinced Mr. Agreste to let him go in the first place– do any of you have his number?”

“Come to think of it,” Alya added thoughtfully, “Nino mentioned he hasn’t been answering his phone. We didn’t think it was this serious though.”

“Oh, duh. I’ll just ask Kagami,” Marinette smacked her temple at the mention of Adrien’s girlfriend,

“They’re dating! And go to the same fencing class! She must’ve seen him around.”

As Marinette reached into her pink, polka-dotted purse to pull out her phone, Juleka caught a glimpse of what she could swear was bright red eyes peeking back at her.

Alarmed, she looked around to see if Luka had seen it too but he was looking off to the side, watching a seemingly harmless conversation between Zoé and Mme. Cheng intently.

Juleka quickly turned back but her friend had already snapped her purse shut.

“Oh Marinette,” Alya clicked her tongue, “You haven’t heard? Adrien and Kagami broke up!”

“What? Are you serious?” Marinette’s eyes widened, “Alya you couldn’t have told me this sooner?”

Alya smirked, milking the anticipation for a few seconds like a reporter about to catch her biggest break yet, before shrugging to say,

“You haven’t been around for a while, Marinette. And don’t act like I’m the only one keeping secrets between us, y’know? You never told me you–”

“ALYA–“

Juleka nearly flinched when Marinette let out a high-pitched squeak, and the panicked girl slapped a hand over her best friend’s mouth to keep her from saying anything else.

Luka’s eyes snapped back to the scene in front of him and the siblings looked at each other in surprise. Okay, that was weird.

Juleka was used to Marinette’s shenanigans – they’d been friends for the better part of the year after all and they’d been classmates for basically their entire lives, so she’d seen her act in a myriad of strange ways; the girl screamed basically every chance she got.

If she tripped, stumbled, dropped something, pushed someone, broke something, even if she’d forgot something important. Her shriek would often draw attention to the offending mistake, making it even more obvious and even more embarrassing than normal. 

Juleka narrowed her brown eyes.

But she’d never sounded as terrified as she had just a few moments ago.

What had Alya been about to say?

“Mmff–“ Alya defended, but Marinette proceeded to yank her to the side, out of the earshot of the Couffaines before releasing her.

“Did you–“ Juleka began, turning to her brother.

“Yeah,” Luka nodded without missing a beat, “There’s something strange about all this.”

Huh. Juleka gently bumped her brother’s shoulder with her own. Maybe there was something to this twin telepathy thing after all.

...

Adrien Agreste wished, not for the first time that day, that his miraculous gave him the ability to read people’s minds. It would save him a lot of time, whether it came to interpreting his father’s haughty sniffs, Natalie’s tired sighs, Gorilla’s approving grunts. Especially now, as he tried to catch his ex-girlfriend’s eye from across the Bourgeoise Hotel Lobby.

It was impressive how unchanged Kagami Tsurugi’s face remained when she did, barely a ripple of expression over still water, but he knew she’d seen him. Her gaze burned like the sun. 

He didn’t blame her, their last interaction (over a week ago) had been so hopeless that Adrien had prayed the Truth akuma would somehow come back to life and zap him just so he’d be able to admit that he was Chat Noir to someone, anyone, without feeling guilty about it.  

When I’m ready to see you again, I’ll let you know.

It didn’t hit Adrien at first, not immediately. He figured she just needed a little space, and they’d be back in their usual groove in no time. That’s how it had always been with Ladybug. His lady had gotten short with him plenty of times (usually for good reasons) but she’d always come around. Even after New York. Even when he’d gone against every explicit order and let her down spectacularly.

Ladybug and Chat Noir were a team after all; she didn’t abandon her partner.

But Kagami didn’t seem to share this forgiving nature. 

Adrien hadn’t realized just how empty his life was until Kagami disappeared from it. Suddenly fencing lessons were private again, social events were all but impossible to sneak out of solo, and the silence in the car ride back to his empty house was incredibly loud.

Adrien couldn’t even count on Plagg to fill the silence; the little glutton was either in a food coma or a pre-food coma. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think his Kwami was avoiding having to talk to him after the events of New York. 

He tried to busy himself with patrols (his partner never showed) but Shadow-Moth seemed to be uncharacteristically leisurely with his new approach. Adrien had wondered if it was because creating both an akuma and a sentimonster to match took a lot more energy out of him than normal but never found the time to pitch this to the ever-absent Ladybug. 

Minutes crawled by like hours, seconds like centuries, the boredom so suffocating Adrien wished somebody would get akumatised, just so he’d have something to do; a sentiment he immediately felt guilty for as soon as he’d thought it. 

When I’m ready to see you again, I’ll let you know.

Kagami did not in fact let him know. Aside from being frustratingly AWOL, she ignored all his texts, his calls, so much so that Adrien began to leave flowers at her windowsill to check if she was alive. 

It was friendly, he reasoned with himself the first time he transformed into Chat to lay the rose by the window, his duty even. The poor girl had been akumatised an unfairly high proportion of times since arriving in Paris, he was just doing his due diligence as a hero to make sure she wasn’t in any immediate danger of turning into Lies, or Oni-chan or Riposte or-

His heart leapt into his throat as Kagami appeared at the glass, mid-toweling her hair when she glimpsed the rose. She picked it up confusedly, leaning out the window to spot the perpetrator and for reasons he couldn’t name, Adrien leaned back into the tree-cover darkness so she wouldn’t spot him.

Curiosity sufficiently quenched, she then gingerly held the rose to her chest and sniffed it, before turning away. He’d craned his neck to see her expression - was she smiling? - but mis-stepped and nearly tumbled off the tree, as the Parisian wind blew close her window and shut him out with a soft thud!

Adrien returned the next night. And the night after. But the forces of the universe seemed to be displeased with him since both times he was lulled off to slumber before he could see Kagami discover the flowers. One blink, the rose was there and the next, it was gone. Windows shut, curtains drawn, like he was being punished. 

Today was the first time he’d been looking forward to seeing Kagami in a social setting, the last being Prince Ali’s disastrous birthday, and he couldn’t help but feel the familiar flicker of motivation to win her over again. 

As friends, of course. Adrien would dazzle her so hard she wouldn’t be able to help but resume their friendship. Surely, she missed him just as much. Surely, she couldn’t resist his infamous Agreste charm for long. 

Though with the chill that settled over his skin now as he walked up to her, Adrien wondered if she’d somehow become immune. 

“Tsurugi-san,” Adrien greeted in Japanese, bowing to Kagami’s mother first before turning to her, “Kagami. How are you?”

The question was deceptively general, purposefully open-ended. How are you both? How are you doing? How are you feeling? How are you feeling about me?

Kagami met his eyes blankly, then dropped her gaze to his shoes as Tomoe huffed out a non-answer.

“We are well, child. Where is your father? Is he in attendance?”

“Father stayed back to take care of Natalie,” Adrien felt the lie roll off his tongue easily, like breathing. While it was true that Gabriel had stayed back, for what reason he couldn’t fathom. Perhaps he wanted to avoid Audrey Bourgeoise again.

“I apologize on his behalf. Tsurugi-san. May I escort the two of you to our table?”

Both women shifted not uncomfortably. Kagami still wouldn’t look at him. Somehow it was worse than the cold fury he’d expected.

“There is no need for that, Adrien,” Tomoe retorted, her words always toeing the line between flat irritation and condescension, “Keep my daughter company while I greet our hosts, will you?”

“Mother!” Kagami was so startled she said it in English, but Adrien pounced at the opportunity faster than Plagg on old camembert. 

“Of course, Tsurugi-san! This way Kagami; the rooftop- “

Adrien stopped as Tomoe’s cane whooshed in front of his torso.

“Adrien.”

“Y-Yes, Tsurugi-san?” he gulped as the shinai moved to rest just under his neck.

“Do not take my daughter away from this event. Am I clear?”

“Yes.”

The bamboo sword lightly poked his chest.

“Good boy. Kagami, stay with Adrien.”

Kagami mumbled her assent under her breath but as Tomoe disappeared into the crowd began to head the opposite way - towards the tables he had promised to escort her to, without so much as a backward glance. 

He would’ve been more offended by the snub if what she was wearing didn’t considerably slow her down. 

Adrien suppressed a smile, caught up to her in two quick strides and said, “You look pretty.” 

This earned him a sharp look, which he reveled in (she was looking at him again!) and a huff as she stopped to adjust her restrictive skirt. 

Kagami was decked out in a proper red-and-black gradient kimono, the black scaley-pattern lightening to a red as it crawled up her petite form, interrupted by a dark sash with Tsurugi family crest scrawled onto it in silvery-grey. 

Kagami tucked her hair behind her ears, revealing a delicate pearl earring but quickly dropped her hand when she realized he was staring at her. 

“Sorry about my mother,” she said, looking around uncomfortably. They had accidentally ended up in a corner of the lobby that was perfectly concealed from everyone else by a large plant. Perfect for confrontations.. and stolen kisses.

Just a week ago, the two teenagers would’ve been giggling over themselves with glee at the prospect, but now both stood a bit stiffly, unsure of their bodies, of all the negative space between them. 

“She’s been on edge since the last.. my akumatisation.”

Adrien’s shoulders drooped. The akumatisation he was directly responsible for. The mess he’d made Ladybug clean up for him yet again.

“Right,” Now that he had her attention he wasn’t entirely sure what to say, “Erm- how are you?”

Smooth. Adrien imagined Plagg snickering at him from inside his blazer pocket. Really laying on that Agreste charm aren’t ya, Adrien?  

“I’m fine,” If Kagami sensed the awkwardness she chose not to acknowledge it.

“Mother’s kept me under watch, so I haven’t been able to go out as often. She makes me fence with her and she doesn’t attend many social events.”

“Sounds like you need a getaway driver,” he joked. Kagami‘s brows furrowed in confusion.

“Our car is self-driving,” She stated flatly, “Why would I need–”

“It’s just a saying,” Adrien held up his hands in surrender and Kagami seemed to catch herself.

“Right,” she said finally, “I think she’s embarrassed.”

“Your mother?”

Kagami nodded, imperceptibly curling into herself.

“She thinks– It’s a weakness in her eyes. Getting akumatised so many times.”

 “What?” Adrien’s hackles rose, “That’s not true, Kagami. You’re not weak.”

“But she’s right,” Kagami's posture remained straight but he could sense the defeat in her voice, “I keep letting that monster in. I’m unable to control my anger when he calls.”

Adrien’s eyes narrowed.

“Kagami,” He grabbed her shoulders without thinking, “That isn’t your fault-”

“Let go of me, Adrien.”

The words stung more than he expected. Adrien pulled back like he’d been burnt. He’d forgotten just how direct Kagami could be. 

“Right, sorry,” He continued, “But you can’t fight off an akumatisation by controlling your emotions–”

“How do you know?” She pressed, “Have you ever been akumatised?”

Adrien fell silent at that. Kagami looked almost hurt by the implicit answer.

“No wonder Mother’s so insistent,” She intoned to herself, “How could I ever surpass Adrien Agreste? He’s never been akumatised.”

“You don’t have to surpass me, Kagami. You’re more than good enough.” Adrien tried to salvage the conversation but something had frozen behind Kagami’s still-water gaze.

“Please excuse me, Adrien,” she said, pushing past him, “I must go.”

Adrien wondered if he was imagining the wound in her voice.

“Wait, I–” he began, unthinkingly reaching for her again.

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Adrien!”

This time it was her tone that hit him like a slap. He flinched but didn’t move, looking into her face with doe-like bewilderment. Kagami’s eyes softened as she loosened her wrist from his grip.

“My world doesn’t– not anymore.”

“Kagami–”

“I’m not ready to be friends yet, I-” Kagami paused, as if she was weighing whether or not to say the words, “-I might never be.”

“You don’t mean that,” Adrien wondered too late if that sounded as desperate as he felt.

Kagami sighed and looked down. Adrien realised he’d intertwined his fingers with hers unconsciously. This time, he made the effort to let go. Her pearlescent ring, twin to his, stamped red with the Tsurugi family-crest winked up at him. 

“I’m sorry, Adrien.”

He was sorry too. He hadn’t realised it would get this far. Losing Kagami completely, losing the one person, maybe the only person who understood what his life was like. Well one of them at least.

“Well, I’ll– see you around? Or maybe not, that is..uh-”

As Adrien fumbled for an appropriate anticlimactic farewell, Kagami only gave him a curt nod, then a respectful bow. Adrien mimicked the gesture, but by the time he looked up, she was already gone, whisked into the prolific crowd of the rich and influential, no doubt finding harbour by her mother’s side. 

And Adrien was alone again.

No Mother. No Father. No Natalie. No Ladybug. No Kagami.

“Biiig deal, the broad doesn’t want you around!” he smelt Plagg before he appeared, a smoky combination of burnt cheese and something vaguely chemical (kerosene?) tickling the inside of his nose as the Kwami emerged with a pop!

Plagg rubbed his stomach anticipatorily, flying around Adrien’s face once, twice, before settling on the satin lapel of his grey blazer.

“Not like you have a shortage of options, pretty boy. You're the Adrien Agreste, aren't you?”

“I don’t know, Plagg,” Adrien was too worn out to riff, “Am I? Maybe being around me is bad luck.”

“Awe c’mon, Adrien,” the Kwami tried to comfort him by nuzzling against his neck, “You’re a fancy-pants model by day and Chat Noir by night. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

Adrien looked down at his miraculous instead of replying. He absent-mindedly twisted the obsidian ring round and round. The thought of balancing his double life had been weighing on him since his trip to New York.

It was the first time he’d had to confront just how selfish his actions were if he tried to live out either one of his lives to the fullest. Paris had been wrecked and that was entirely on him. All that carnage. All those innocent people in the hospital.

He’d been seized by the sudden panic to make a choice then. To either be Chat Noir or Adrien Agreste, to commit to one life and forego the other completely. He’d chosen the comfort of the familiar, only because, if Adrien was completely honest with himself, he wasn’t a very good superhero. 

It was Ladybug who came up with the plans, Ladybug with the butterfly-cleansing powers. It was Ladybug who could reverse the damage, undo the trauma. The most he could do to assist was keep the perpetrator occupied, minimise the damage they caused. 

It was Ladybug who had her head on straight. Without her, Adrien was no better than an akuma himself. 

The double life had been taking its toll on him, slowly, then all at once, like a cataclysm. Leaning too much into one life, letting himself get too attached to one sped up the destruction process of the other, back and forth, back and forth, light and dark until both of them collapsed.

“Hey, Plagg,” Adrien said suddenly. The Kwami looked up at him curiously.

“Back in New York–”

BOOM!

Before Adrien could finish his statement a crash resounded throughout the room. Adrien bit back a wave of frustration. Whatever it was he was about to ask, it would have to wait.  

“Claws, OUT!”

Can’t speak for everyone on the matter but personally I think it’s because Alya can be quite pushy when it comes to Marinette making any decisions at all. On one hand that makes sense for her character wise, but on the other it takes away a lot of Marinette’s autonomy in a show where her autonomy is already subject to the whims of the plot and the writers. It can be quite frustrating if Marinette is trying to process her feelings about something (i.e. the consequences of dating someone as a superhero) and Alya interrupts this to speed-track her friend into happiness. I’m not saying Alya doesn’t have good intentions, she clearly wants the best for Marinette, but it prevents Marinette from growing as a character when all her decisions become circumstantial and not an actual thoughtful choice, if that makes sense.

Bc of that it doesn’t really make a difference if Alya is pro Luka or pro Adrien. Her insistence on strong-arming Marinette into a choice acts as a naturally opposing force to Marinette choosing anything, which can come off antagonistic despite her good intentions.

In regards to my fic, the issue with Alya is largely from Juleka’s POV who is more likely to feel protective over her newly dumped twin. Juleka is mad at Marinette too for stringing him along, if that gives you any consolation.

AO3

Summary: For as long as Luka Couffaine could remember, he was a half. It was only when he turned fifteen, watching the dying sun set over the Seine, did he realise that the other half of him had only ever been other people’s secrets.

For as long as Luka Couffaine could remember, he was a half of something. 

It came with the territory of being a twin, his mother would tell him as much, but Luka’s melody sounded empty in a way Juleka’s never was. Every birthday, every anniversary, every time a neighbour cooed and fussed over how much of Anarka’s face her children had inherited, however infrequent that was. A houseboat rarely had anything resembling a neighbourhood, after all. 

‘Ma.. why didn’t Dad want us? 

At five, Luka had somehow gotten it into his head that his incompletion lied in the absence of a parent. His missing notes were hidden in the ever elusive tune of who his father was, and once his mother told him, he’d finally be able to complete his song. Anarka Couffaine only huffed in disbelief and switched off the Jagged Stone TV Special he’d been watching. 

Yer father was a real scallywag! Luka looked down at the acoustic guitar he’d held closer than any stuffed animal, and wondered if he too was half scallywag.

I don’t want to go.

His mother stiffened, one leg out the door of the gilded school gates. Juleka turned around in confusion as he dropped her hand and then slid off his backpack. Unzipping the blue-and-green printed fabric, Luka pulled out the ukulele he’d hidden and held it up triumphantly like it was some sort of prize. 

I want to go to music school. He panicked when Anarka crossed her arms in disbelief, and tried to find the words to promise how he’d learn every instrument and do all of his and Juleka’s chores everyday if she let him. 

Luka was only ten at the time, so he didn’t know how to tell his mother that he believed he was half music, that it was the one thing that made him feel whole. The tunes would echo off of the walls of his heart and fill up the empty parts of him until he could imagine them colliding, overflowing, and finally spilling out of him again.

His mother only sighed, ruffled his hair and picked up the discarded backpack, before turning to leave.

Luka ran after her, leaving his twin behind, a lone ship in the sea of melody. 

Jules, what’s wrong?

Even before Juleka rushed into his arms, her face already crumpled and stained with tears, Luka was half rage. 

She refused to tell him what exactly happened but clutched his fingers tightly all the way back to the Liberty. He could feel the anger bubbling under his skin as he took in her skinned knees and the bluntly chopped ends of hair she’d braided so carefully that very morning. The feeling was so all encompassing that when Anarka took his face in her hands, she pulled away almost immediately, claiming he’d contracted a fever.

Ow..

Luka was half fire the night he pierced his own ears. Juleka looked at him with wide eyes as he ran his bloody fingers under the faucet, and gave her a reassuring smile. Doesn’t it hurt?, she asked him unable to do much more than look at the black studs that would forever adorn his ears. 

Luka didn’t know how to tell her that he could simply pour whatever pain was left into the empty parts of himself until it fell so far down that he didn’t hear it anymore. So he shook his head instead. 

When he insisted on walking Juleka to François Dupont Elementary the next morning, Anarka sharply took his face in her hands again, so quickly that Luka winced. Her eyes grazed the new, round black dots on his ears that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday and met her son’s defiant blue eyes. Yer not burnin’ up anymore, was all she had to say about the matter.

Is that Juleka’s brother? He looks really scary!

Luka was half pride as he pushed through the crowd of fifth graders that had gathered around him despite themselves, their faces shining with admiration and envy, gold and green. 

It was a mixture of pride and justice, he would realise much later, that made him exaggeratedly stomp his way over to Juleka’s bullies and wave a threatening finger at their ringleader, a blonde Bourgeois who was so startled, she fell backwards into a puddle of sludge. He didn’t say anything but he hardly needed to open his mouth amidst the cruel laughter of forty kids to know his job was done. Relief shone in the corners of his sister’s eyes when she rushed out of school that evening.

Nice to meet you ma-ma-marinette.

Luka was half shame when he saw the girl’s face fall, her dollish blue eyes crinkling with tears. He hadn’t expected to feel something stirring in the empty parts of him when one of Juleka’s friends stumbled into his room, every emotion under the sun flickering on her face, and he’d been just as startled by her presence, as she was by his.

Sorry.. I tend to make more sense with this. 

Luka clutched his guitar closer even though he was the one that asked her to sit beside him, and braced himself. Sure enough, the hollowness inside him steadily filled with the flutter of a thousand beating, insect wings as Marinette carefully acquiesced, the ends of her ballet flats hovering inches above the ground. Ladybug wings. 

For once, it was the outside world that held its breath as Luka’s insides roared with a harmony he didn’t know how to play. He forced himself to remain composed as she blinked her secretive blue eyes up at him, concealing a question and a challenge of her own. 

How do you do that?

He’d hardly strummed a tune, but her face betrayed wonder as his fingers echoed the chords that clanged around in her own empty spaces, whatever he could hear over the clamour of newness in his own heart, anyway. She slipped away in the midst of his explanation, taking the white noise with her, to admire the Jagged Stone poster he’d spent hours gluing down, and the collection of guitar picks right below it. 

The silence in him returned, somehow louder than before now that he knew it could be filled.

You can have it if you like. 

He was beside her before he knew it, eyes glued to the guitar pick between her slender, calloused fingers. Marinette gasped in delight and the flutter-buzz returned, rising a notch, arresting Luka’s heart, as though the ladybugs that had overflowed his empty half had now begun to crawl into his lungs. But there, under all the white noise, when they were standing this close, he could almost taste it– one unmistakable beat, and then another and another; the morse code of her heart song.

You’re a funny girl, Marinette.

He didn’t want to go but Luka was afraid he’d completely lose his wits if he listened to the full force of the ladybug wings any longer. 

It was only when he was halfway up the stairs did he realise there was a lone buzzing bouncing off the walls of the vacant half of his heart. She’d left something behind.

Personally, I think a girl like you deserves to feel more like.. this.

Luka slipped off the deck chair to sit beside Marinette, guitar in hand. 

It had only been a week since they’d met but he’d found himself unable to enjoy sleep in its entirety. The lone ladybug she’d forgotten haunted his nights, humming a tune too faint for him to hear, and he would stay up, straining his ears to grasp a single note, as the light of dawn flooded through the portholes of the ship.

Luka liked the way Marinette always closed her eyes while she listened to him play. He pretended not to notice the slump of her shoulders, as she relaxed into the chords he strummed specially to catch her. He’d long since stopped wondering if people experienced the world the same way he did. He simply brought her peace, in exchange for a bit of her chaos.

And whoever made you feel this way, is nothing but a–

He played a slightly funky tune and she giggled, filling his chest with so much fluttering (an applause of wings) that he hardly dared to open his mouth for fear a ladybug might escape. And then how would he explain himself?

Say, are you free tomorrow..

For her? Luka was free for the rest of his life.

You should probably go over and talk to him.

The cavernous silence returned in the subway. 

Luka was half regret as he shifted on the blue polyester seat, trying his best to stare out of the window, to concentrate on something, anything, besides the bittersweet silence in his lungs. The ladybugs in his chest must’ve frozen to death hours ago, in the skating rink, where he’d watched Marinette watch Adrien with the unwavering focus of a musician bent on mastering an instrument. 

He told himself he didn’t mind, not really. Adrien filled her with wings of her own (butterflies maybe?) and he’d be too busy piecing together his new melody to do the same. It would be best to let her go, now, when the feelings were fresh enough that they’d wilt under the slightest pressure. 

It would be best to forget about the kiss. 

The quick peck. The obligatory press of Marinette’s soft lips to his cheek before she was whisked away, by the wind, by the universe. He breathed out slowly, catching a glimpse of himself on the dark glass of the of the subway car. Oh no. 

It could’ve been from the from the sudden drop in temperature in the skating rink, but the nape of his neck, the tips of his ears, and quite damningly, his cheeks– were a bright, unmistakable scarlet.

The ladybugs had found a new home.

Are ye blushing?

Luka was half mortification when he finally made it home and buried himself under ice packs and blankets, determined to be rid of the crimson flush if it killed him. 

Anarka didn’t need to take his face in her hands this time to know something was bothering him. He watched her quietly slip into his room and rob it of anything with sharp points, before gently closing the door. 

Still no news about the contest?

Luka meant it to be encouraging but when Marinette’s face fell he wished he could take it back immediately. He wished he could take everything back and never say another word again. While the blue-eyed girl fretted about wether her costumes influenced the reception Kitty Section’s audition tape received, he put an arm on her shoulder to stop her train of thought and remind her about the wonders of real-life paperwork. 

She smiled up at him gratefully but before the ladybugs under skin (he still hadn’t managed to get rid of them) sensed this opportunity, Ivan’s outraged yell from across the room, scared them back into hiding.

You’ll never have a future in this business, you’ll never make another costume, because as far as everyone’s concerned– you’ll be the ripoff artists!

Luka was half fury, a cold fire this time, as he watched Bob Roth’s sleazy grin drip with venom as he held Marinette’s hand in his vice-like grip. She shook him off quickly but his words hung in the air like a promise, threatening to choke them both permanently if they didn’t leave immediately like the good little children they were.

Hello Silencer..

He would’ve appreciated the irony if it were any other situation. Hawk moth couldn’t begin to imagine just how much the power of silence was befitting of someone like him. Luka put on the akumatised mask obediently as the supervillain’s monologue came to an end. 

He stopped fighting the darkness and for a while, Luka was half nothing.

Did you really mean those things you said when you were akumatised?

Luka knit his eyebrows in frustration, wracking his memory for some kind of indication of what he could’ve said to fluster Marinette so much. Had he said something about the ice-rink? Had he said something about the kiss? 

He took a deep breath and decided it was time for the speech he’d rehearsed over and over again in front of the mirror, since he’d returned from their not-date weeks ago. Clear as a musical note, Sincere as a melody, Luka couldn’t tear his gaze away from the pools of blue in her eyes, even as he had the sinking sensation that he’d already passed the threshold of no return. 

Luckily, the lights were so erratic, he was sure she couldn’t see the ladybugs huddled beneath his mask, but the buzzing was deafening, pop rocks in the back of his throat, leaving him so light-headed he’d promptly run from Marinette before she could figure out how to respond.

He hoped he hadn’t ruined everything by telling her.

Luka Couffaine, this is the Miraculous of the Snake.

He was half fear when The Hero of Paris held out a palm sized miracle box in her red and black-spotted hand. 

The emptiness in him leaned into the idea of using the superhero persona to fill the void but the other part of him, the only part of him worth listening to, quaked under the pressure. But Paris wasn’t his priority, saving his mother and Juleka was. So he took it. 

When the Kwami of Intuition, Sass, appeared, bowing his head formally, Luka wondered if those snake-like eyes could see right through him. From his cheeks filled with ladybugs, all the way through to his bottomless pit of emptiness that now held the aftermath of an affection, a wreckage of insect wings, wrong chords, and crumpled speeches.

The Kwami only smiled knowingly, and he felt a shiver of anticipation run down his spine. Still he said the words, and then Luka was half Viperion. 

What do you think?

Luka looked up from strumming the tune trying to gauge Marinette’s reaction from behind a tower of macaron boxes. Her eyes softened, but stayed open, and he immediately knew it was nowhere close to being good enough.

She was quick to praise his skill though, and he offered her a ride to Le Grand Paris for the Bourgeois’ 20th wedding Anniversary, on the back of his delivery bike. 

The ladybugs from Luka’s face swarmed back into his chest with vengeance as Marinette hugged his torso, her fingers clutching his jacket for dear life as he pedalled through Parisian traffic as quickly as he dared. 

This time, when she thanked him with a kiss, Luka was able to pinpoint the exact moment the crimson menaces overran his flushed cheeks. 

He turned away quickly, (hiding his face in her spare helmet), so quickly that he couldn’t hear the last thing she said to him over the sound of a million ladybugs taking flight.

Are you sure you want to hear it?

She knew what he was really asking her, of course. Are you sure this is what you want– that I am what you want? 

Marinette nodded, leaning into him and Luka held his breath, plucking out the perfect rhythm as the watery sunshine glinted off the slick, cobblestoned pavement across from them.

He’d listened carefully for the chords in her heart every time they’d talked, and painstakingly pieced together its melody but even though he’d double checked, triple-checked even, Luka felt the inescapable presence of doubt slither from out his stomach, curling its wicked tail around his half-empty heart. 

Marinette’s tune sounded just as incomplete as his.

Under the moonlight, by the sea– KISS ME!

He rubbed the back of his neck (where the ladybugs were gathered), embarrassed. It was the easiest question he knew, so he hadn’t counted on Marinette’s ridiculously competitive spirit when she’d yelled out the answer with her whole heart.

I mean, if you want to.

She did want to, and so did he. But even as Luka leaned in to press his lips to hers, to pray his kiss would somehow wake the sleeping butterflies in her chest, strain to hear the final note in her shrouded melody– he felt the interruption before it came.

The ceiling shook and Marinette ran off to get them something to drink, forgetting the white linoleum cup that she’d left beside him, filled to the brim with orange juice and disappointment.

He watched her go, like he’d done so often. Taking her secrets and her chaos with her.

The truth, Luka, is the only thing I can’t tell you.

He had never been half pain before, not like this. Not poisonous, acidic agony  that filled the empty parts of him so throughly that it flooded his lungs, burning the ladybugs, drowning the music out completely. 

It hurt to think, it hurt to breathe. 

Luka wasn’t surprised that the akuma found him so quickly, but he curled into himself as Marinette’s voice scrabbled for purchase in his mind, begging him to fight the temptation, fight the evil that would undoubtedly lead to more suffering. 

He couldn’t blame her. She didn’t understand how her voice was the thing that hurt him the most.

Why did you abandon me?

Jagged Stone’s lips were painted white with Truth’s compulsion power but Luka knew that whatever came out of his former hero's mouth now wouldn’t matter at all. 

The damage had already been done. He’d seen the scars it’d left on his mother’s broken melody, his sister’s quiet song.

His own silent, silent heart.

It was hard to tell which part was him and which was the akuma, when he hurled his would-be father from the terrace of a several-story building and set off towards the Dupain-Cheng Bakery. 

You know, not seeing you is a hundred times worse than seeing you, Marinette.

The familiar rush of ladybugs filled his chest when she put her forgiving hand on his shoulder, as though they were flowing out of her and into him through the lightest of touches.

Luka swallowed the confession in his throat when she asked to be friends, much to the chagrin of a hundred scarlet wings beating in his ears, and pulled her in for a hug so she wouldn’t see it on his face, plain-as-day.

The milky white moonlight caressed his cheek fondly, like a mother would, as he breathed in Marinette’s rose perfume. He knew had to let her go, it was just a matter of time. 

Foolishly, he wished he’d kept the snake miraculous he’d borrowed weeks ago, just so he could have a second chance with her. A chance to do it again, do it right this time. A chance to sweep her off her feet; to put the butterflies under her skin before Adrien, before anyone.

But Luka understood with a sinking feeling that even that wouldn’t be enough. He’d watched the way his parents clawed at one another’s sanity mere hours ago, unable to see that their fighting was turning down Juleka’s quiet symphony even further into herself.

People like them, like him, didn’t get second chances. Not when it mattered, anyway.

Awesome! I always wanted to be the Knitting Fairy in real life!

Luka was half terror when he watched Paris’ bravest superhero transform into the love of his life. 

It transcended panic, surpassed horror. The worst thing in the world that could’ve happened just happened and he had no idea what to do about it.

Marinette? He said her name like a prayer, like a wish that hovered on his tongue ever so delicately, ready to disappear into the wind. But as the girl turned around and beamed at him, the happiest smile on her face, Luka finally felt the final piece of of her melody click into place.

Second chance!

He took the dread and stuffed it down, deep, deep down inside of him; somewhere under the graveyard of ladybugs, shredded posters and scales. The shock would have to wait, he could only be one thing at a time and right now he had to be Viperion.

When I was a kid, I always wanted to be what my parents wanted me to be!

Luka wished he hadn’t turned around. 

Where Chat Noir once stood, now Adrien Agreste took his place, looking vaguely cheery despite what he’d just said moments before. He didn’t even need to use his powers to know Chat Noir had gotten hit by the akuma on purpose. 

Marinette hadn’t noticed yet, too busy talking to a man whose childhood dream was to become a stuffed animal, and the anxiety rose up like bile in the back of his throat. He’d been half pain before but this was something new.

Luka was half pity, half hope. Half defeat. 

His heart seemed to be breaking over and over in his chest, the muscle spasming so violently that everything in him was instantly ground to dust. The walls, the silence, the ladybugs. All the pain he’d carried around with him since his very first akumatisation.  

Because nothing he was going through could ever compare to Marinette and Adrien being... to them being..

Second chance!

Viperion was wholly conviction when he reassured Ladybug that he’d make sure no one would discover their secret identities. If he were still Luka he’d wonder how he hadn’t seen it before– her strength, her determination, the way Marinette’s nose crinkled when she was focused on something, all of it matched the red and black-spotted superhero to a T. 

But he, much like the rest of Paris, had only ever seen what they wanted to see. And Luka hadn’t wanted to see her in pain.

Not even me- luckily Wishmaker never hit you or Chat Noir.

He expected the lie to sour his tongue, turn his skin blue with irony, but it came easily, almost too easily for his comfort. But Marinette (because she would only ever be Marinette to him) smiled like his word was more than enough for her to trust him forever and turned to leave, like she’d done so many times before.

Now he knew why. 

The ladybugs in chest (ha!) swarmed against his rib cage as she left, tiny wings beating furiously as though they were trying to break right through his skin and follow her back home. 

Before Luka could think to question why, he was already running after her, reading the fluttering inside him like a compass, leading him further and further away from the street, down the sidewalk, all the way to the only thing that ever made him whole. All the way to her– 

Luka! Thank you for hiding me in here!

He wanted it to be a dream, a really bad dream; a really awful, terrible dream he’d wake up from any second, but when she’d opened the door, a nanosecond before he’d knocked and smiled up at him, her shoulders slumped over with the weight of the world; all he could think was how lucky he was.

Lucky to have known her, lucky to have loved her. Lucky to be empty enough to carry her secret for now, for forever.

You guys are okay!

“We’re all okay,” Luka smiled, looking between his two friends, “Thanks to Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

He’d almost meant it this time, but as he watched the Ladybug and Chat Noir in front of him look into each other’s eyes, completely unaware of all the forces of the universe that had conspired to bring them both to this moment, Luka knew he would never be whole.

For as long as Luka Couffaine could remember, he was a half. It was only when he turned fifteen, watching the dying sun set over the Seine, did he realise that the other half of him had only ever been other people’s secrets. 

AO3

Summary: A little one-shot exploring the aftermath of Tonny's invitation to the bonfire Party.

The circus was a strange place for Julia Lazarett.

Painful in its unfamiliarity, every unexpected sound, every unwelcome color scraping at her already withering moral compass, paper cuts bleeding her of everything she’d once known. Everything she’d once been.

Julia mouthed the word into the mirror slowly so she wouldn’t have to say it out loud: alive. She’d once been alive. The girl in the reflection stared back at her in bemusement, brown hair hastily braided, loosely at the roots and far too tight at the ends as though the braider had tried to correct their mistake halfway through.

Light bounced off the glass, into her eyes and for a second a shadow loomed over her. The same heavy breathing, writhing, glowing mass that had found her in the attic; the smell of rotting fruit as it sighed into her mouth. The same eyes that chased her out of her dreams, silently reminding her how she’d signed her life away; reminding her the hourglass hadn’t yet stopped spilling, grains of borrowed time gradually trickling to the bottom.

Julia tugged the tresses free and tried to weave them into submission again. One year left; that’s why she’d agreed to attend the party. At least, that’s what she’d admit out loud anyway. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with the way she’d been serenaded into accepting the invitation.

“I’ve left you to deal with this madness by yourself.. I’m sorry..”

Tonny had sounded so sincere in his apology that Julia was sure she’d agreed only so he wouldn’t see how close she was to dissolving into tears. He’d been the only one to acknowledge her death, her loss, her mourning, while everyone else was quite content to sweep all this dying business under the rug when they’d welcomed her into the circus.

Julia’s hand slipped and the riotous curls tumbled around her shoulders. But it wasn’t just that, was it?

“I want to be there for all of you..”

How long had it been since someone had tried to take care of her? Shame overran her cheeks and washed down her neck, watercolor against her pallid nightgown; and she feebly bunched up her hair in an effort to hide it from the girl in the mirror.

Julia had always been good at taking care of herself, she didn’t see the need for any of that to change even after her mother disappeared. Her father had been content to accept her silent steadfastness, relied on it even during the months following the absence, as the warmth seeped out of the house just as steadily as the loneliness seeped in.

She hadn’t even noticed the switch until she’d met Kamille.

A quarter of a year had passed and her father had been away on one of his military trips, and nine-year-old Julia had convinced herself she could sew a loose button on one of her mother’s old dresses.

The house had remained eerily quiet all day, holding its breath as she bought the shiny new buttons, spare silk she threaded through the needle, and inevitably pricked her index finger with the sharp silver point.

A tiny red droplet blossomed onto the cuff of the ivory gown, blooming peony, and it was as though the room had momentarily become submerged under water. Isolation rushed through the open windows and Julia found she couldn’t hold her breath fast enough to keep the waves at bay.

Her heart spasmed with panic and she became aware of a sudden, painful tightness in her chest that seemed to have been there all along, waiting for her to notice. Her empty hands had begun to shake and the dress slipped onto the wooden floors; she couldn’t remember where she’d put the needle and half-heartedly wondered if she’d swallowed it.

The waves of seclusion threatened to overwhelm her, her father was gone and Julia was alone. Alone, alone, alone. She was all alone in this world, and she was drowning in an empty house and she was drowning and drowning, and nobody would find her because she was–

“Ow!”

The waves retreated momentarily as a voice drifted through the open windows. Her neighbour’s daughter had somehow wandered into the rosebushes, and was peering into her room with the doe-like confusion of someone who’d never lived in a flooding house.

Julia had managed to get Kamille untangled from the thorns and Kamille had offered to sew on her button. The two had been inseparable ever since; and the waves had stayed away.

But lately, Julia had begun to feel them steadily lapping at her feet, in sync with the rocking of the cart-ship-vehicular-monstrosity carrying the entire circus. Cold seeping through her socks as she crawled into bed, goose-pimples on flesh, she could feel them watching, lying in wait to take her to her mother. Even Dotty had remarked on the chill in her fingers before she’d quickly snatched them back.

Julia could always feel the water. Until she couldn’t.

“I can’t let you stay alone in this room every night... I’d like you to come to the bonfire party..”

It retreated under her bed when Tonny knocked, and sulked like a child as he fidgeted by the doorframe, unwilling to rob her of modesty. It stayed away the rest of the night too, long after he’d gone, and for once Julia’s bed had been blissfully warm.

Julia put on the fuzzy pink-and-yellow vest Plip had lent her and fastened the buttons, trying to ignore the rosy hue of the girl in the mirror. It must be the vest; pink had never been colour.

She couldn’t put a finger on what had tugged at her heartstrings (as Dotty would call it), the sincerity of the apology or how nervous Tonny was giving it.

Perhaps it was the way he sensed how Julia’s fate hadn’t been her choice, maybe even related to it a little, and was bent upon allowing her as much say as he could.

Perhaps it was even something as simple as shouldering her happiness, making it his responsibility. Offering a hand to help her up; and how she couldn’t remember the last time someone had done that for her unprompted.

“I want to be there for all of you..”

“–for all of you..”

for you.

Kamille had always needed taking care of; her naiveté had led her into more trouble than Julia had been able to get them out of, but Kamille was gentle in a way Julia had never been.

Gentle, trusting, kind.. too kind. Kind enough to be swindled by a Three– by someone like Sahed!

Julia shook her head in disbelief. That’s right, she’d never be Kamille. She’d always be Killjoy Lazarett (as her classmates kindly pointed out), but for a moment she imagined taking his words at face value.

She wondered how he’d react to the contract she signed, chicken scratch on golden paper; pondered how to bring up the conditions of her release. The girl in the mirror mouthed the words because she couldn’t. “–to kill you.”

Julia felt her chest stir as she recalled the softness in his dark, dark eyes; gentle with understanding. But would he truly understand, she wondered, if she’d said she had no choice? Would he understand what it felt like to be so wary, so afraid to take a breath for fear of it just being water? 

Would he understand if she told him the needle might still be in her throat?

I have to kill you.

Tonny hadn’t tried to scold her into submission; he hadn’t growled or grumbled or berated her for her purposefully shutting herself out from everyone else (even if some of her prejudices were warranted). He’d made her feel safe, feel wanted; even Kamille acted like she hadn't wanted Julia around lately.

Out of everyone in the circus, it had to be Anthonn Gremminger, the one person she was predestined to end. Though Julia occasionally wondered whether he had the capacity for unkindness, what with the way he let himself get pushed around by everyone- even children.

I have to kill you.

The girl in the mirror looked back at her sadly, hair undone and for the first time, Julia was struck by how much she felt like a puppet. Slick golden threads descending from above to wrap around her knees, her wrists, her neck; steadily guiding her knife to the ringmaster’s throat.

No– telling him was a stupid idea.

Julia pinched the blush out of her cheeks; who knew what these crazy circus people would do to her when they found out why she was actually here? They’d probably lock her up in the basement and perform some voodoo-magic nonsense on her until she lost all her memories and Kamille.

No, there was only one way out of this. Julia would just have to do something about it herself.

She gave herself a long, hard look in the mirror: This circus was the enemy; Tonny was the enemy; but she wasn’t about to kill him.

There must be some other way to get rid of the contract, some way to break the seal. She was sure Sahed was hiding something from her - she’d need a way to break into his room later.

Yes, there was only one way.

Julia half-heartedly smiled at her reflection and tried to ignore the ominous swooshing of water in the distance.

‘It's the wind,’ she told herself as she left to attend the bonfire party, ‘A storm must be brewing.’

Right, just the wind.

_______________________________________________________________________

AO3 Summary: an alternative ending to Un Monstre À Paris.

There was once a monster in Paris.

People whispered its stories across well-lit kitchen tables and around warm fireplaces. The tales told of a beast as black as the night sky, with eyes made from glowing red embers. With sharp teeth and talons that could rip you to shreds with a single swipe. 

Some say the beast was brought here from a hellish otherworld- to teach us a lesson that we had long forgotten. Others say that it was a lonesome sort of creature that traveled between towns, in search of a home it would never find. But all stories were quite clear on one thing— the monster had fallen in love with an angel.

Paris was a city of romantics at heart, and no other option made itself viable for why the creature had not harmed her, and so it came to be told that she was the reason it was ultimately slew. They say that she had seen the hideous face of the beast and had not flinched; had tempered its fury with her cool, lilting voice; tamed it— saved it— with her grace. And then they would give in to sleep knowing that all was right with the world, and that even monsters could be pardoned in the end.

But the stories were only half-truths dressed in white lies, failing to mention many things— things that, of course, the public would otherwise choose not to dwell on. For example, they failed to mention the sudden surge of reporters and citizens alike, flooding the doors of the Rare Bird Cabaret, vying for the chance to see the blessed angel in person.

They failed to mention that only melancholic music poured from her lips now, and that despite the ivory creams and powders that dusted her skin, the angel’s eyes were always rimmed red.

They failed to mention that the Hero of Paris (its once-illustrious mayor) was carted away into an asylum; his maniacal laughter haunting the ears of all who dared a glance at him when he was taken. 

They failed to mention the torn red scarf lying on the cobbled pavement, victim to the downpour, and the wheels and hooves of carriages alike. Or the man that reached out and gently folded it away into his coat— his tears bleeding into the raindrops that trickled down his cheeks.

They failed to mention that the monster had a name.

“Francoeur”

It was a breath in the wind; too quiet for any of the townspeople to hear, but too loud an echo in the angel’s barren heart. Lucille pressed her forehead against the window glass with a sigh and felt the cold leech into her skin. 

It was days like these where she wanted nothing more than to stand under the teary grey sky and feel the rain caress her face, her soul. And not for the first time that day, she wondered wether that is what it felt like to die.

“Lucille?”

The rain had not let up since his death, and it was not long before the people of Paris had begun to wonder wether they would have another flood on their hands. 

Alarms were raised and the Government had been alerted, but there seemed to be little they could do to prevent a disaster that had not yet occurred. It was one of the few long-running conversations she’d picked up from the patrons of the Cabaret— when they weren’t discussing the “monster” or the mayor’s sudden disappearance from the office, of course.

Paris, she knew, loved to gossip. Everyday (for the past few months now) people had come to hear her sing— her Aunt couldn’t have been more thrilled— and to ask her about the rumors. 

Did it hurt you? How did the monster die? You saw its face didn’t you? Did it have fangs? Claws that could rip you in half?

He was gentle, she would say to anyone who stayed long enough to listen. He was gentle and he was kind. He would never hurt anyone.

They would smile at her, pat her arm or nod sympathetically and then they would go home with tales of the angel’s famed forgiveness and how she couldn’t help but see the good in everyone— even a monster. They would hear her, but they would never listen.

She wore her mourning like she had all her life— blatantly upon her sleeve for all to gaze upon. If they chose to, that is. After all, people would only ever see what they wanted to see; and no one had wanted to see that the angel had loved the monster too.

“Darling?”

Lucille peeled herself away from the soothing chill and turned to find her Aunt Carlotta beaming at her as though she had just won the loterie. In her hand was a crisply folded piece of paper to which she kept glancing.

“What’s wrong?” Lucille asked finally, turning towards the dressing table to grab the most cumbersome portion of her costume— the snow-white wings. Somehow they had never felt heavier. 

“What’s wrong? No my dear girl— what’s right! What is absolutely right!” Her aunt said excitedly as she tucked the piece of paper away and reached over to help her into her getup.

“Indeed?”

“There’s a man outsi-“

“Oh Aunt Carlotta, not this again—” the girl groaned. 

Since the disastrous proposal from the mayor, Carlotta had been actively seeking a husband for her niece; her search consisting of only the most influential men in France. Lucille had rejected every suitor that had come her way so far— even Raoul hadn’t dared yet approach her.

“Ma chérie, I know that you’re not willing to be married yet, but this man is a Duke! He would make sure you want for nothing!”

‘Or so he says’, Lucille thought peevishly.

They all had promised the same thing; fortune, security, a loyal heart that would not stray, but Lucille was no fool. She had seen the way their eyes had lingered a little too long on her waist or the curve of her chest— and had made sure they knew where she thought rats, like them, belonged. But dismissing the hope in her aunt’s eyes was too heavy a burden this time.

“Very well, Aunty,” she caved, “I shall give him a chance.”

Carlotta nearly shrieked, pressing a quick kiss on her niece’s forehead before she lead Lucille out by the hand; exchanging sly smiles with the waiters going in the opposite direction. 

The Rare Bird Cabaret was swathed in red silk and darkness— making it seem like perpetual nighttime— lit only by the warm glow of the candles that lined the stage and dotted each table. A heavy velvet curtain was draped across the stage, signaling that the show had not yet begun and Lucille repressed a bone-deep shudder at the sight of it.

Lately, she had been losing her desire to sing or even set foot on stage again. Its worth had begun to wear thin, or perhaps Lucille had not quite realized how vast the stage was; or how empty. She refrained from telling her aunt for fear of causing her any more worry, but waking up each morning to stand in front of the crowd had become a trial in itself.

Her next show began in five-and-ten minutes, so she wasn’t all surprised to see the numerous tables already filled with men and women from the farthest corners of the country, trading smiles and stories alike. Everyone, from shifty-looking reporters to even shiftier-looking politicians were there.

Carlotta led her backstage, pressing another kiss on her niece’s forehead with the promise of meeting the elusive “Duke” after the show. 

“He wants to hear you sing,” her aunt grinned. Lucille tried her best not to roll her eyes. Of course he did.

Then the rich, crimson curtains sprung open and the angel stepped forward and began to sing.

…

The audience hardly stirred as the song came to a close, their eyes limned with tears and Lucille took a small bow as the curtains swept back into place and hid her from view. 

Hastily drying her own stained cheeks with the sleeves of her ivory gown, Lucille shrugged off the wings and mentally prepared herself to meet her suitor. One of the waiters ushered her down the stage and up the stairs, into one of the more private balconies, informing her that her mother would meet her here— apparently with her choice for Lucille’s husband-to-be.

The guests had begun shifting, talking amongst themselves again, and Lucille peered over the balcony, hands firmly clutching the rail, trying to happen upon anyone she recognized. She thought she saw Emile’s trademark olive-green top hat and Maud’s luscious black curls, but before she could get a closer look, a voice startled her from behind.

“Careful,” it sounded distinctly masculine, “you don’t have your wings”

Lucille pursed her lips and turned, ready to scold him for sneaking up on her like that, but when she beheld the figure her heart very nearly stopped. A man ducked under the balustrade entryway; dressed in a white three-piece suit with a soft blue scarf around his neck, a broad white hat covering most of his face. He almost looked like—

“Francoeur?!”

The figure stopped for a second, bemused, before carefully removing his hat from his head and pressing it to his heart with a small bow; revealing a strong-jawed, dark-eyed, and entirely human face. Any ember of hope Lucille had been harboring, flickered out in her chest.

“You know my name,” he sounded surprised, raising from his bow to meet her defeated gaze. 

“I- uh.. of course!” Lucille fumbled, gripping the balcony railing in order to steady both her heart and her legs, the latter which showed signs of giving out from underneath her.

“Who wouldn’t recognize the Duke of.. umm—“

“Sauville” he cut in smoothly, the twitch of his lips betraying amusement.

“Right, of course,” she managed to choke out, quickly pulling out a chair to sink into. It felt as though her lungs were collapsing under the weight of her whole body at that moment.

“Please!” she gestured, a little too enthusiastically, “have a seat!”

He sat gracefully, his brown eyes studying her, like a cat, as she composed herself. 

He was not her Francoeur. Her Francoeur was dead. The thought alone drove the redness from her cheeks and the flutter from her heart. Cautiously, Lucille returned his gaze. 

Now that the initial shock had worn off, she was able to make out an olive-toned complexion and a head full of night-dark hair. The Duke was quite handsome. 

“Forgive me,” he said, once the silence wore thin, “It was rude of me to startle you so”

And, apparently, a gentleman.

Lucille waved away his apology as gracefully as she could; she was glad he couldn’t see her legs quaking under the table.

“A curious ensemble for a Duke,” she pointed out, finally getting a grip on her voice. The man— Francoeur— smiled, as though they were sharing a secret. 

“Well, I do have a soft spot for the theatrical” 

Was he teasing her?

“What brings you here, Monsieur?”

“The same as everyone else, I suppose.”

A glint of mischief in those dark eyes. Oh, he was most definitely teasing her.

Lucille frowned.

“And what might that be?”

“I came to see the Angel of Montmartre,” he tilted his head ever so slightly, as if daring her to ask. So she did.

“And?”

“She is beautiful” he said simply.

Lucille couldn’t stop the heat from rising into her cheeks now. Suddenly glad for the dark ambience of the Cabaret, she hid her embarrassment behind a cloth napkin, dabbing uselessly at her mouth in an attempt to get her bearings.

“I hope you do not intend to propose, Monsieur”

“Whatever gave you that idea, Mademoiselle?” He seemed to be trying very hard to suppress a smile.

“Just a hunch”

“How wonderful,” Carlotta barged in before he could reply, “You two have already met!”

“Madame!”

“Aunt Carlotta!” 

Both of them rose at the same time to greet her aunt, who gestured for them to sit down for heaven’s sake, and hurried away, insisting that the staff uncork their best bottle of champagne because Lucille hadn’t spent more than five minutes with any of the other suitors and he was the one, I’m sure!

The couple exchanged glances and Lucille was pleasantly surprised to find Francoeur noticeably pink, akin to a scolded child. 

“Aunty can be little too enthusiastic sometimes,” Lucille smiled, easing away the tension as they both resumed their seats. Francoeur ducked his head gratefully, relieved from the task of replying. For the first time since he arrived, Lucille looked past him and caught a glimpse of an instrument lounging against the rouge wallpaper.

“Forgive me for asking,” Lucille ventured, “but do you play?”

Francoeur caught her pointed glance at the guitar behind him and smiled.

“Not for everyone”

Lucille had to keep her lips from twitching at that and leaned a little closer to her white-clad companion. 

“Will you play for the Angel of Montmartre?”

He met her gaze with one of equal playfulness, and winked.

“For you, Mademoiselle? Anything.”

“But first—“ her grin faltered, “I think this belongs to you”

Lucille gaped as the man pulled out a bedraggled red scarf, worn thin by rain and Parisian streets, from inside his white coat. She hardly dared to breath, as he held it out to her under the buttery glow of the candle.

It was the scarf Francoeur— her Francoeur— was wearing when she first met him; and the same one he had on when he died. Tears lined Lucille’s eyes and for a brief, terrible moment, she thought she was going to cry.

“Where..” She couldn’t finish her sentence.

Francoeur’s eyes twinkled again.

“Mademoiselle,” he began, placing the red piece of cloth on the table between them.

AO3

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | TBC

Luka Couffaine hadn’t meant to end up at the Dupain-Cheng Bakery on purpose.

He’d bombed his first three interviews, for a bartender (too young), beekeeper (they seemed to be allergic to him) and bassist (he took one look at the bloodstained chipmunk costume and refused to get in), and found himself with a some time to kill before the final one at Le Grand Paris hotel. 

So he aimlessly cycled around the cobblestoned pathways of Paris instead, following musical notes scattered all around city like a giant melodic puzzle, before traitorous muscle memory kicked in, taking him to the one place he was sure he’d be turned away from. 

The bakery was right in the heart of the city; a beautiful, five-story building fortified with an eggshell-white composite of brick and wood, the delicious aroma of bread weaving in and around the neighbouring streets. 

Luka felt his insides curl, the twang! of a broken guitar string, as he stopped his bike outside its freshly-painted doors, and tried to pedal back the way he came.

But his legs stalled as he caught sight of a girl on the rooftop balcony of the building, pacing back and forth in her trademark pink jeans and grey blazer, exaggeratedly waving her arms as though she was in an argument with herself. 

Luka bit his lip to keep from smiling at the sight.

Now, it was no secret Marinette Dupain-Cheng was avoiding him. 

He’d deduced as much when she noticeably stopped coming to Kitty Section’s rehearsals, started pitching her new designs on the group chat instead of actually showing up to their meetings, and even having The Girl Squad deliver the first draft of the clothes she’d sewn. 

But what was a secret was that he’d been avoiding her just as much. 

No one knew besides Jule (because no one knew anything about him besides Juleka), but Luka had found himself taking every precaution to avoid the Dupain-Chengs, from cancelling inner-city deliveries to pulling admittedly dangerous 180s on a busy Parisian street, just because the light hit just right and the girl walking his way could’ve been Marinette with extensions (it was not).

He knew the strain of avoiding both his father and his ex-girlfriend was bound to put him in a tight spot eventually, and karma reared its head one fine day when Luka heard the inevitable click of a door opening and found himself face-to-chest with the broad-shouldered Tom Dupain. 

“Luka,” if Tom noticed how he’d turned three shades whiter, he didn’t say anything, “You must be here for Marinette. Marine–”

“NO!” He yelled hastily, before clamping his mouth shut, much to Tom’s bewilderment.

“Uhm, I mean–” Luka held up his hands in surrender, resisting the urge to glance up at the balcony, “This isn’t.. about Marinette.. at all.”

“Then, did you come to buy a croissant?” Tom asked, arms crossed, curiously casting a glance at the several HELP WANTED flyers filling up his bike’s wicker-basket.

“Uh,” He swallowed, uncomfortable with lying to this hulk of a man, “You wouldn’t happen to be hiring?”

It was a deliberate trap. Luka already knew that the Dupain-Cheng’s bakery was a family-owned business, and as a result they almost never outsourced any work, not even for national holidays like Galette’s Day. So it was a pretty safe bet that the next few moves would proceed like this: they’d kindly (they did everything kindly) offer him a rejection, he would graciously accept it, promise to return for a galette in a few weeks, and cycle away, never to show his face here again. 

“Oh no, we’re not–“ Tom looked ready to refuse, but a strange look came over his face, “–actually, hold on, Sabine’s going to be busy for a few weeks and Marinette’s always drowning in schoolwork these days..”

But it seemed like karma wasn’t done with him quite yet.

“Riiight,” Luka leaned back, not liking where this train of thought was going, “I’ll get out of your hair then, sir.”

Tom opened the door wider with one arm, placing the other on Luka’s shoulder before giving him a vaguely threatening smile.

“Why don’t you come in for a bit, son?”

He paled.

...

“That was way too close, Marinette!”

“I know, Tikki.”

“You know no one can find out about you being Ladybug!”

“I know, Tikki.”

“Were you actually going to tell Alya?”

“I don’t know, Tikki.”

“What do you know, Marinette?”

Marinette Dupain-Cheng stopped her pacing to raise an eyebrow at the red and black-spotted bug’s uncharacteristically hostile tone, which she quickly felt guilty for. 

Tikki was just being cautious; losing Master Fu had a visceral effect on all the kwamis; some more intense than others (Wayzz hadn’t come out of the box once), and she could hardly fault her closest companion for being stiff with her when she didn’t exactly tell her what she was planning on doing.

“I’m sorry,” Tikki said first, flying up from her perch on the balcony railing to nuzzle Marinette’s face, “If you think Alya can be trusted with this kind of secret, I won’t stop you.”

“I know it was hard for you to lose Master Fu,” Marinette sighed accepting the apology with a gentle poke between her antennae, “And I’m nowhere ready to being as good of a Guardian he was, but I need you to trust me, okay?”

“I can’t do this alone, and I can’t tell Chat Noir, in case one of us gets akumatised. I can’t be a full-time Guardian and Ladybug, Tikki. We need a new permanent hero, and Alya is my only choice.”

“But didn’t she reveal her secret identity to you a little too quickly?” 

Marinette pursed her lips at that; her kwami had a point. 

Alya had told her she was Rena Rouge not just with excitement and some air of false pride– like she was a veteran in a field that Marinette had only just been exposed to, but also with resignation. Like she’d given up on Ladybug visiting her at all.

“Well I guess.. if she can’t be Rena Rouge anymore, I’ll just have to give her another miraculous!”

“Won’t she be just as likely to rely on you as before, Marinette?”

“Hmm..” Marinette narrowed her eyes. When she and Chat Noir had first gotten their miraculouses, it was without the safety net of being a ‘temporary holder’. They were forced to make their own decisions, learn their own lessons, and keep their own secrets close to their hearts; from friends, even from family. Master Fu had only joined them when it was clear that they’d fallen into their own rhythm of doing things, and once he was sure they weren’t going to quit on him anytime soon.

“You know, Marinette,” Tikki began, catching onto the idea that was already forming in her holder’s mind, “Nobody knows that Ladybug is the new Guardian of the Miracle Box... or that there is a guardian in the first place.”

It was true; thanks to Queen Wasp’s city-wide akumatisation a month ago, no one had been spared to cover the highlights of Master Fu’s sacrifice in HD clarity. It was as close to a blackout as the city’d gotten to since.. its last mind-wiping akuma?

“You’re right Tikki.. but what if she just tries to return the miraculous to me when she’s done with it?”

“You can always fib a little.”

Marinette gasped exaggeratedly, and the kwami rolled her round, blue eyes. 

“I don’t mean lie, Marinette. You can just tell Alya that if and when the Guardian of the Miraculous decides to hand out a new one to a permanent hero, it’s not your business to interfere in the matter.. or to know their identity.”

“You’re a genius, Tikki!” She said with a smile, “That way, Alya can decide wether or not to accept the miraculous on her own terms, but if she chooses to quit, I’ll still be able to get it back from her!”

As Marinette reached into her sling bag to give her kwami a macaron as a reward, she heard a sudden shout come from below her. Before she could reach over to see who was making a fuss at the bakery so early in the day, Tikki flew into her line of sight to give her a strict look.

“But ShadowMoth knows Alya’s identity now. What if he’s tailing her to see if you give her the miraculous again?”

Marinette felt the grimace before it twisted her mouth. Of course. She’d been so focused on keeping the miraculous safe, that she’d forgotten to consider keeping their temporary holders safe too. And for all she knew, ShadowMoth might just be hiding more information he’d stolen from Master Fu and waiting it out to surprise her in some way. She couldn’t take any unnecessary risks.

“You’ll have to find some way to slip it into her bag in your civilian form,” Tikki continued, “But Marinette, are you really, really sure she can be–“

A buzz interrupted the kwami’s heartfelt warning, and she looked down to see her phone flash with a new message from her bff:

@alya.ladyblogger: guess who’s already waiting for u downstairs??

@alya.ladyblogger: (totally not trying to get u to come faster or anything)

@alya.ladyblogger: hint - he’s vv hot and vv into superheroes (like u!!!)

Marinette ignored the twist of dread in her stomach as she headed down to her room to grab the bee miraculous from a black, egg-shaped slot in the miracle box. 

She wasn’t making a mistake.. right?

...

“You couldn’t have picked a better place! This is the best bakery in Paris– my kids adore their croissants!”

Zoé Lee stepped out of the hired cab, letting the doe-eyed look she’d given the driver, slip off her face to reveal a sly smile. 

The best bakery in Paris, huh? Of course, anything less for the newest Bourgeois princess would be ridiculous.. utterly ridiculous, to quote the saying her mother and Chloé often butchered. 

She knelt down, adjusting the laces on her colourful sneakers so they’d conveniently trip her up when the time came, running a finger over the slightly smudged red-and-black letters she’d scribbled onto the left one last minute. 

I ♥ U. 

What a joke.

But self-deprecating enough to tug at the heartstrings of anyone who had a semblance of sympathy– and there were a few people in particular Zoé planned on tugging. Into her own orbit, or out of Chloé’s, she wasn’t really picky. But her plans began with these sneakers and one delightfully oblivious baker girl. 

Marinette Dupain-Cheng. 

Zoé Lee-Bourgeois pushed open the bakery door with a soft chime. Her half-of-a-sister couldn’t even begin to guess what was coming her way.

______________________________________________________________

END NOTES:

Luka: The risk i took was calculated, but man.. am i bad at math.

AO3

Summary: Loke has a dream. tw: mentions of abuse.

prologue | 1 | 2 | TBC

The first thing Loke the Celestial Spirit noticed was that his pants were missing.

Now, this on its own wasn’t too alarming. In fact, he’d go so far as to say that it was a common occurrence early in his playboy-days, where he habitually drowned his guilt in women and liquor– but rarely did he stir from such a night with a hospital gown in its place. 

He woke exactly like he’d collapsed; violently and without warning, his eyes flying open the same time as his lungs heaved for air. 

“AQUA– HAH–– HAH–– AQUARIUS–“ he gasped out, bolting upright in the infirmary bed much to his nurse’s horror; cat-like pupils dilating under the fluorescent lighting.

“Shh, it’s okay, Loke. Loke, look at me.”

The second thing he noticed was that his nurse looked a lot like the love of his life: renowned celestial mage and once-heir to a multimillion-jewel corporation, Lucy Heartfilia. 

“Lucy?” He wheezed.

“Mhm,” the nurse’s blurry face swam across his vision but he’d recognise that sunshine-blonde hair anywhere. 

“Don’t over-exert yourself okay? Master Makarov said it would take you a few minutes to adjust to Porlyusica’s healing elixir since you’re part celestial spirit and all.” 

As Lucy gently took his his face in her hands Loke felt his breathing regulate and panic recede, gasps giving way to steady respiration as she eased him back against the wooden bed-frame. 

By the time she’d replaced the cold towel on his forehead, Loke had recovered most of his eyesight and found himself clearly staring into two large, worried brown eyes.

He bit the inside of his cheek to not let something embarrassing (like I love you) slip out; Lucy didn’t really respond well to advances, his or others, and the last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable. Especially on top of everything else he had to tell her.

“You look.. Wow..”

Real smooth.  

Lucy to her credit, looked more sheepish than anything at the mention of her appearance. She was still in her travelling gear, face and hair streaked with grime and dirt; it had only been a few hours since they’d returned from Edolas for her, after all. 

“Oh, I know. I’m a real mess,” She huffed, “Didn’t have time to change out of anything but at least Natsu’s cloak keeps me from catching anything serious– Loke!“

Loke had opened his mouth to disagree, she looked beautiful to him either way, but choked at the mention of the pink-haired dragon-slayer. The tiny hiccup of jealousy turned into a full blown cough and suddenly he was keeled over hacking into his gown as she rushed to pour him some water.

“Natsu’s.. cloak..?” He tried to croak out once he’d set down the glass, but Lucy waved it away.

“It doesn’t matter. Now, what’s wrong with Aquarius?”

“It’s a long story,” he sighed, “but the crux of it is that she’s missing.”

“Missing?” Lucy looked horrified, “You mean, I left her key behind in Edolas?”

“No,” Loke shook his head, “Even if that were the case she’d simply reappear back in the Spirit Realm– but she never did.

“My working theory is that the anima must have interfered with her travel between worlds somehow. I wanted to see if you could summon her from your side, but it seems like whatever blocked her return, destroyed her celestial contract as a result.”

“What are you saying?” Lucy’s voice became very small and her eyes began to well up. 

“You can’t mean.. you don’t think..”

Watching the colour rapidly drain from her face Loke grabbed her arm quickly to keep her from assuming the worst possible outcome.

His time as a spirit had not only desensitised him to the whiplash of emotions that came with being a human, but also how hasty they were in considering their own death. Celestial Spirits almost never died before their time (though they were by no means eternal), but she had no way of knowing that.

“Don’t worry, Lucy,” He shook his head again, “Celestial Spirits aren’t bound by the same rules humans are. If their key is broken it just means that the spirit has accidentally ended up in a closed-pocket realm and involuntarily broken their contract.”

This momentarily put a stop to the tears.  

“A closed what?”

“It’s like an Edolas, but for spirits,” Loke frowned aloud, absentmindedly still holding her arm, “Essentially a realm that nullifies their magic.”

“In the rare occasion that this happens, it’s usually the Celestial Spirit King’s responsibility to find them and bring them back, but since there are an endless number of pocket dimensions they could’ve fallen into, it takes a while to locate them.”

“But aren’t Celestial Spirits made of magic?” Lucy asked, squeezing his hand back in concern.

“Not anymore than you or anyone else from Fairy Tail. Our magic can be shut down under the right circumstances.”

“So Aquarius is––“

“Out of commission, yes. But only briefly,” Loke added reassuringly, “Once I return, I’ll make sure we find her and reinstate her contract right away.”

“I see,” Lucy nodded, brows furrowing. She then dropped his hand in favour of standing up to pace the length of the room.

Watching her walk back and forth and back forth, pondering the temporary absence of her oldest spirit companion, Loke tried not to wince in pain as a dull throbbing began at the base of his skull; the cause of which could’ve been his depletion of magic energy, or just plain guilt. 

He hadn’t lied to Lucy exactly– he’d just omitted to tell her certain crucial details that might alarm her; like, for example, that the search for Aquarius was already underway, or how he hadn’t slept in over a month (in celestial days) and used up the final dregs of his power to transport himself here in the hopes that she could summon her friend herself. 

The truth was that no matter how lost Aquarius might’ve gotten in the Spirit Realm, her key wasn’t supposed to go missing. The contract with her Celestial Wizard should’ve remained unaffected regardless of the location of the spirit, since the key was made with the sole intention of being an anchor, in both their worlds.

Loke wasn’t sure he could tell her the whole truth until he got some answers himself; as the Leader of the Twelve Zodiac Houses, Aquarius’ disappearance weighed hard on him more-so than normal. He’d only just been back in the Spirit Realm for a few months now but the backlog of centuries’ worth of responsibilities had nearly run him into the ground, so much so that he’d underperformed each time Lucy had needed him in the past month. 

As if the humiliation at the hands of the Oración Seis wasn’t enough (he hadn’t expected to see Aries on the battlefield so soon), Loke cringed to think how he’d been so overworked he’d blatantly flirted with and subsequently gotten rejected by Lucy’s Edolas counterpart, mere hours ago.

“Loke? Hello? Earth to Leo?” He snapped back to reality.

Lucy had stopped pacing and had returned to hover over him, hands on her waist, shrewdly giving him a once-over. Loke held his breath, wondering if she could tell that he was hiding something; Lucy was smarter than people gave her credit for.

“Sorry milady,” he faked an easy grin, leaning in closer to distract her, “I got lost in your beautiful eyes for a second there.” 

Lucy blinked once, twice then rolled those same eyes in disbelief, breaking the spell.

“Someone’s confident today,” she huffed, resuming her seat, “How’d your little date go, by the way? Virgo told me all about it.”

Loke made a mental note to never joke with Virgo about dating his workload ever again.

“Terribly,” he pretended to pout, wondering if Lucy would take the bait.

“And why’s that?” She did.

“Well, to start with, she wasn’t you,” He said, reaching over to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, sure the classic Loke move would leave her in pieces. It was a little cheesy but it worked in a pinch. 

Lucy only smacked his hand away, her exasperation bleeding into irritation.

“Loke, you can’t keep doing this,” She said, crossing her arms, “What’s going on with you?”

“You were exhausted even before the Edolas fight.. when was the last time you slept?”

Loke blinked in surprise. Much smarter than people gave her credit for.

“Not for a while,” He admitted, shoulders slumping and leaning back into the pillows, “Not since the run in with Aries.”

“Loke!” Lucy’s worried gasp had him ducking his head with something like shame, “That was weeks ago!”

Between the overwhelming amount of paperwork on his table, attending every Spirit World event he’d been absent for, and now Aquarius’ disappearance, Loke counted himself lucky that he didn’t have silly human needs to tend to anymore like eating or sleeping, but his body seemed to think otherwise. The Celestial Spirit King had warned him that readjusting would take some time, of course, but Loke hadn’t listened; he couldn’t just throw away the second (and last) chance he’d been given at the expense of Lucy’s dignity–  he’d break his own key before letting her suffer for him again.

“Celestial spirits don’t need all that y’know–“ He said, trying his best to sound nonchalant about it, but she quickly cut him off.

“But you haven’t been a spirit for that long!” Lucy scolded, “Remember what the Spirit King said about–“

“I know, Lucy,” He sighed, unable to meet her eyes, “I just.. didn’t want to let yo- uh everybody down.”

“Oh..”

“You know,” He added, only half joking, “-can’t have people saying I wasn’t worth all the trouble, after all you did for me.”

At this, Lucy reached out and grabbed his hand, forcing him to look up at her.

“Loke, you’re my friend,” She said sternly, “I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

Loke wondered how she could look at him like that, like she would defend him to the ends of the Earthland, and expect him not to fall in love with her.

“Ah,” He put his other hand on his heart in mock despair, lightening the mood instantly, “You shouldn’t get my hopes up like that, Lucy.”

“W-What?”

“Just friends?” He pulled her hand to his chest then, “I thought we had something special, milady.”

“Yeah right,” Lucy smiled, relaxing a little, “Me and every girl within a five-mile radius." 

“Don’t you think for a minute that I’ve forgotten what happened with my Edolas doppelgänger, you flirt!” 

“I see, does that mean you only want me to flirt with you, Lucy?” He teased, leaning in to see the sudden influx of colour that rushed to Lucy’s face.

“I- I never-“ He tried not to enjoy it too much as she floundered around for a comeback and settled for pulling her hands away in protest.

Although Loke did his best to keep his foot out of his mouth, he constantly found himself toeing the line between cheeky and tongue-in-cheek with his flirting, mostly because he had no idea how to talk to Lucy otherwise. 

Addressing her formally (like he’d been accustomed to with Karen), felt foreign and ill-fitting and it definitely didn’t help that Lucy herself often blurred the line between spirit and friend herself– insisting everyone call her by her first name, and being determined to fight on equal footing as though they were partners. But even he knew better than to delude himself into hoping that anything might come of it.

Before Lucy could reply, however, they were interrupted by a sharp, sarcastic rap on the door. 

“Break it up ya lovebirds, the Master wants to see ‘er.”

“Gajeel!”

Loke tensed up. 

Though it had been well over four months since the iron dragon-slayer had joined the guild, along with Juvia Lockser, his popularity (unlike Juvia’s) hadn’t skyrocketed in the least. While this had, in some part, to do with Gajeel’s prickly personality, the greater blame lay in his mistreatment of the Fairy Tail members during the guild war with Phantom Lord, and, among the casualties, a certain celestial mage with sunshine blonde hair.

Loke glowered at the red-eyed wizard, still bedridden but now imperceptibly shifting his torso to shield Lucy from whatever would come next.

Gajeel only snorted, no doubt considering the implications of starting a fight with a guy in a hospital gown, and pointed over Loke’s shoulder instead.

“Just ya, Blondie,” He crossed his arms, “Somethin’ about losin' his keys or whatever.”

“Oh,” Lucy got up to leave but Loke involuntarily grabbed her hand and shook his head. Gajeel threw them another withering look.

“Look, I don’t wanna be here either, alright? Got better things to do than run around playing errand boy to that old man. I’ve got an exceed to feed y’know.”

It was only then that they noticed the animal on his shoulder. Bearing a striking resemblance to Happy and Carla, this one was covered in black fur, with stark white wings and a scar running across one eye. 

Both Lucy and Loke jumped a little when the exceed opened it’s mouth to say “Hello, I’m Panther Lily,” with the voice of a fifty-year-old war veteran.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hello,” Lucy replied bravely, not to be deterred, “I’m Lucy Heartf- uh just Lucy! Welcome to Fairy Tail!”

Loke tried not to look up at her then; he knew how self conscious Lucy had become after her run in with her father, especially about her name. The other guild members had teased her about her ‘princessy’ demeanour for months on end, and though she’d laughed it off in good faith, Loke had heard from Virgo that she’d marched down to the Magic Council to have Heartfilia removed from all her legal documents.

“Loke,” he grunted reluctantly when the exceed turned to him. He didn’t want to tell Gajeel’s pet anything but his rudeness wouldn’t reflect well on Lucy.

“You’re a Celestial spirit,” The Exceed noted, fixing him with a strange look. 

“Is that a problem?” Loke raised an eyebrow.

“But not a full one. Interesting..”

Loke’s hackles raised, and he opened his mouth to ask just what exactly the little bear-cat-like creature meant before he felt the squeeze on his arm and realised Lucy was looking at him.

“I’ll be right back,” She’d already dropped his hand before he could voice his objection, so instead he watched her leave, deliberately narrowing his eyes as Gajeel made to close the door.

“If you touch one hair on her head..” He gritted his teeth.

“Yeah, yeah,” Gajeel said carelessly, scratching at his jaw, “Word of advice? Get it together before ya go off makin’ threats loverboy.”

The door slammed shut with a THUD!

Loke released a breath into the air and pressed his hand to his temples. What was he doing? 

Gajeel was right, he wasn’t in any place to sit around and growl at people like Lucy’s lapdog. Karen had loved seeing him do it, almost as much as she’d loved to torment Aries to get a rise out of him.

“Aren’t I lucky,” The green-haired, green-eyed (in more ways than one) Karen Lilica had crowed, brandishing her chain-whip, “I have both the strongest and the weakest spirits of all the Zodiac.”

Before he could realise what was happening, Loke had already slipped into the dream. 

The familiar periwinkle and gold interior of the Blue Pegasus guild hall rose up to swallow him and suddenly Loke wasn’t Loke anymore. Now he was Leo, confident and glowing as he reached out to shake the hand of the sweet, green-haired girl who’d summoned him.

“Oh wow!” She gasped, shaking his hand with both of her own, “I’m so honoured to meet a member of the Zodiac! I’m Karen by the way!”

The ground fell away under him and suddenly Loke was crouched at the foot of a plush red sofa as an older Karen lovingly stroked his head; teary mascara streaking down her face. Gone was the youthful girlishness, now replaced by a garish lipsticked smile.

“You know I didn’t mean it right, Leo? I just got so angry– I don’t know what came over me.”

He looked on dumbly as Karen cooed and fussed over the large gash above his right eyelid.

If only he had known sooner. If only he had seen it coming. If only, if only, if only.

The roar of a waterfall cascaded from somewhere inside him and Loke looked around, confused, before the ceiling opened up and released a flood of water down on him, drowning, drowning, drowning and then.. not.

Now Loke was kneeling on a rocky outcropping overlooking a great waterfall, in front of Karen’s grave, but the grave was empty and Karen was standing next to him, all pretense of love leaving her eyes as she dug the sharp tip of her heel into his shoulder.

“Why won’t you just leave me alone? Go. Back. Go back, go back, go back!” She shrieked, shoving him backward. Loke caught his balance before he tumbled into the hole and finally found the words to defend himself.

“What.. happened to you?” He choked out as Karen proceeded to loop her chain-whip around his neck and pull.

She laughed as he fought for air, grasping at the rusted metal in vain.

“What’re you on about?” She taunted, leaning in to press a kiss right above his eye, “You turned me into this, Leo.”

Her kisses felt like acid.

“It’s all your fault,” She whispered as his face began to burn and his vision began to darken, “And now you’ve gone and dragged that poor girl into it too.”

Loke turned around in horror to see Lucy now lying inside Karen’s empty grave, eyes closed, clutching his key to her chest like a lifeline. 

“Gate.. of the lion.. close.. gate..”

“Lucy! LUCY!”

Loke reached out to grab her, but it was too late. The ground closed over the hole, as he started to disappear, grass and flowers sprouting beneath the gravestone and sealing Lucy away forever - his name the last words on her lips.

“Leo.”

Another fainter voice overlapped with hers, originating from somewhere at the back of his skull; a voice that sounded suspiciously like Aquarius’. 

“Leo,” Lucy-Aquarius repeated, quiet and urgent, like she didn’t have much time, “You need to be careful.”

“The Eclipse is coming.”

Loke woke for the second time that day to a pair of worried brown eyes.

This time, however, they belonged to his long-time friend and confidante, Aries. As though dreaming about their former master had summoned her to his side, the pink-haired, Ram Spirit hovered over him anxiously, mumbling something to herself.

“Leo!” She repeated, relieved as he sat up a little straighter.

“Aries..” He replied, not fully able to process what was happening, “Did Lucy summon you? What’re you doing here?”

“Mhm,” She shook her head, “I came on my own. I learned how to after.. well..”

Loke winced as he recalled the phantom abuse in his dream, involuntarily feeling his throat to check for burn marks.

“The Celestial Spirit King wanted to know if Lucy-san still had the Aquarius key?” Aries asked hopefully.

The disappearance had left everyone in the Spirit World on edge, their monarch included. Loke had a feeling it was because it had been millennia since they were forced to confront their potential demise. That and because Scorpio kept giving everyone hell for losing Aquarius; Loke had to physically restrain his friend to keep him from ambushing Lucy on his own. 

“No,” Aries’ face fell as he continued, “For some reason, the key’s gone too. We don’t have any hint for where we should begin searching, and the closed-pocket realms are endless.”

“We can only hope she hasn’t fallen into any of the Disgraced dimensions.”

Aries’ eyes got wide at the mention of the Red-Key Spirits, former inhabitants of the Celestial Spirit Realm, exiled for breaking the code of conduct that all spirits were required to abide under. No decent spirit would be caught whispering about The Disgraced Ones within the earshot of Loke– after all, if Karen had been any less of a villain, he would’ve shared their fate. 

It was another thing he’d carefully kept from Lucy. His banishment to the human world was an act of mercy, only granted to him for his eons of unwavering loyalty to the Celestial Spirit King, and when it came down to it, Loke would pick dying in the human world over the twisted solitude of the Disgraced dimensions. At least he would die as himself.

“Do you suppose it was taken?” Aries said finally, her usual jumpiness replaced by uncharacteristic conviction, “Maybe someone stole it off Lucy-san when she wasn’t looking?”

“Maybe,” Loke shrugged, unconvinced, “But it’s unlikely. From what Lucy told me, they just returned from Edolas a few hours ago.”

“If anyone wanted to steal the key, it’d have to be from within Fairy Tail.”

“But–“

“No, Aries,” She looked hurt when he cut her off, “The people here aren’t like that. You should just go home– I’ll handle it.”

Loke tried to feign indifference as her big doll eyes began to well up with tears. He hated doing it but drawing boundaries between himself and the rest of the Zodiac had become a necessity when he returned. Aries, who’d arguably been the happiest of them all, quickly came to the realisation that her friend had become a completely different person in all their time apart.

Time worked differently in the Celestial Spirit Realm; sometimes it would go faster, sometimes slower, and there were even periods where it simply wouldn’t move at all. For the three years Loke had been in Earthland, time had spun like a roulette table and separated him from his friends by a whopping three hundred years, suddenly making him the youngest of his former team-mates. 

He lost the respect and acclaim that came with being the Leader of the Zodiac, the title going to Aquarius in his absence; no longer the notorious lion spirit, now just a cub with claws too big and too sharp for his feet. 

“I wish you would let me help,” Aries’ lip wobbled, still she rubbed at her eyes defiantly, “We used to do everything together, Leo.”

Loke clutched his hospital gown tightly, his mouth set in a thin, hard line.

After a few seconds of strained silence, where he pretended he didn’t see her shoulders quietly shaking, Aries said,

“I know you blame me for Karen’s death.”

He glanced up, surprised.

“I thought about it for years,” She frowned, not meeting his eyes, “‘Leo must hate me’. After all, you were only trying to protect me.”

“If I had just been better at standing up for myself, you wouldn’t have been punished so severely!”

“I don’t blame you,” He said gently, her tears had gotten to him, “But this is my job Aries, I can’t drag you into it.”

“But Karen–“ 

“Karen was a monster,” Loke bared his teeth, not an ounce of regret in his voice, “–and she got what she deserved.”

“She was so kind when we first met her,” Aries insisted weakly, “I can’t help but wonder if we had helped her more maybe–“

“Maybe she would’ve turned on us faster,” He snapped, “Maybe she would’ve done worse! You didn’t see her those last few weeks, Aries, I did.”

“She was unhinged– the girl I made a contract with died a long time ago.”

Loke refrained himself from adding ‘And it was all my fault.’ to the end of that sentence, because he knew Aries would never understand. She would want to share the blame for their former master’s descent into madness, but the cruel truth was that despite what Aries said, she simply couldn’t handle the pain that came with that realisation. Karen knew it too, its why she saved all the especially harrowing punishments for him. It was much more fun for her to watch him slowly begin to resent the friend he’d tried so desperately to save. 

“I don’t blame you,” Loke repeated, almost as though he was trying to convince himself, “And besides, getting banished was the best thing that ever happened to me. I wouldn’t have met Lucy, otherwise.”

“Then let me help you,” Aries refuted stubbornly, “Aquarius is my friend too!”

“And my responsibility,” He countered, “–as the Leader of the Zodiac–“

“If what happens to Aquarius starts spreading, there won’t be a Zodiac left to lead, Leo!”

Loke started at her tone. He didn’t think he’d ever heard Aries’ voice rise higher than 40 decibels.

“You’re not the only one suffering here! Remember how bad it was when we lost Capricorn– you wouldn’t even let us help you then! You had to ‘do it yourself’, well a whole lot of good that did you!”

“So just stop being so– so– pig-headed!” Even Aries looked surprised by her sudden burst of rebelliousness, and clamped both her hands over her mouth in horror.

The sight was so odd and unexpected that, try as he might, Loke couldn’t hold back the snort that spilled out from somewhere deep inside him. 

He was in tears within seconds, clutching the sides of his stomach as he keeled over with laughter, and, after a few seconds, Aries joined him; the two of them snickering like middle-schoolers over a dumb joke.

“Pig-headed?” He wheezed.

Stars, it had been a while since they’d laughed together. Truth be told, Loke wasn’t sure they’d even be able to talk normally again without the ghost of Karen hovering between them, but here they were. Stranger things had happened.

“I’m glad,” Aries said finally, as she paused to catch their breath, “I haven’t seen you smile once since you came home.”

Loke opened his mouth to protest but she held up a finger to stop him, “No, talking about Lucy-san doesn’t count.”

“Killjoy.” He huffed. Aries giggled.

“How is she taking the news, by the way?”

“Better than I expected,” He admitted, “She’s tougher than she looks, m–“

Loke caught himself just in time. 

He didn’t know what would be worse, actually slipping up and saying the words “my Lucy”, or watching his friend’s face scrunch up with pity as she hears it. Even Aries (the most optimistic of all the spirits) would click her tongue in disbelief if she found out just how deep his loyalties lay. 

Celestial Spirits don’t fall in love with humans. Capricorn had drilled it into his head since he was a boy. Especially not their bright-eyed, lavender-shampooed, beautiful, beautiful masters. 

“That’s good,” Aries affirmed, blissfully oblivious to his mental gymnastics as she rose from her seat, “I’d better head off then.”

“Is there anything you wanted me to look into while you’re.. taking your mandatory rest?”

Loke was about to shake his head and send her on her way, but a tiny voice in the back of his head made him pause, the lightness in his chest temporarily soaking in an inexplicable sense of dread.

“Actually,” he began, “There is one thing.”

She blinked expectantly.

“What can you tell me about the Eclipse?”

AO3

Summary: Syrah holds an impromptu group therapy session to take everyone's minds off the curse-curing crystal. Somehow the topic drifts to First Loves i.e. first portraits, and Whitney is peer pressured into revealing the truth of the first colourful picture he'd ever laid eyes on.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

“All right, that’s enough– get in the therapy bubble, all of you!”

Whitney languidly opened one eye to witness the debacle unfolding before him. 

It was a perfectly normal day for the Cursed Princess Club, the birds were twittering and the weather in the Haunted Forest behind the Pastel Kingdom was uncharacteristically pleasant, enough so that Syrah had scheduled an impromptu tea party (much to poor Curtis’ chagrin) complete with picnic blankets, freshly baked goods, and the most motherly attitude she could muster up in the wake of Prez’s absence. 

Whitney wasn’t sure where exactly Calpernia had gone but had taken one look at the withering glare Curtis’ shot Syrah behind a tray of slightly steaming muffins and realised he’d probably be safer not knowing. 

It must be something to do with the gala anyway, everything did these days. 

Syrah had intended on lightening the mood after the disaster that was Gwen’s Dinner Party, but the impending introduction of a curse-breaking crystal had soured everyone’s appetites for the usual fluffy gossip that doubled as a means of relieving tension in the club. Dragging a begrudging Saffron along, the Pinocchio-fied princess held a mandatory sit down to discuss the pros and cons of portraits being used to arrange marriages (a topic she’d found in one of Prez’s abandoned lecture portfolios). 

Whitney happened to be meditating nearby when the first sign of disagreement began. 

Thermidora knocked over a cup of tea onto Abbi’s new dress, but instead of getting angry, the 80-year-old teenager tutted, shook her head and said something along the lines of ‘-see, this is why you need the crystal more than I do.’ 

This simple, offhand comment set off a chain reaction across the entire tea party and within a matter of minutes everyone was at each other’s throats about why a curse-breaking crystal would be the worst thing that’s ever happened to them. 

Pillows were thrown, names were called and it looked like it was going to turn into a real brawl until Syrah picked up a metal tray and banged on it loudly with a pair of dessert tongs.

“That’s enough!” She repeated, setting down the tray, “Bubble. Now. You too, Whitney!”

Whitney started as she stabbed the dessert tongs in his direction accusatorially, but obliged. Everyone at the CPC was a force to be reckoned with, in their own way, and he had no intention of having more than one member be angry at him. 

Once they were all sitting in a circle, Whitney sandwiched between Saffron and Monika, Syrah (on the other side of Saffron) released a breath. 

“Now we all agreed that we’d wait till Prez got back to talk about the crystal didn’t we?”

“Yes Syrah,” a chorus of girls, and Saffron, echoed obediently. Whitney pretended to be deeply interested in the red-and-white fibres of the picnic blanket to avoid meeting her eyes. 

Nobody had asked him what he thought about the whole curse-breaking crystal situation, but of course, why would they? Whatever claim he had on the item was likely lower than even Frederick; not that he coveted it of course. As far as he was concerned his curse wasn’t a curse at all but the consequences of his behaviour. A punishment that had slowly begun to flare up more and more since he’d gotten here. 

“Great! Then let’s forget about all this woe-is-she business and get back to talking about what really matters!”

“But the history of portraiture is so bo-Oring,” Abbi whined, draping herself across a tired looking Renée, who sighed in agreement. A murmur of assent seemed to ripple through the Bubble as the princesses looked at one another and winced.

“You know Prez’s lectures never fail to put me to sleep, Syrah.”

“Yes, that’s why we won’t be doing history but your-story instead!” Syrah replied, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Forget about the ‘Olden Days’– this group discussion is going to be all about your very first portrait-crush!”

A chorus of oohs and aahs filled the glade, as the prospect of a fun, shared experience, temporarily overshadowed the gloom of a cure. Whitney must have looked confused, because both Saffron and Monika simultaneously leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“Its like your first crush-“ Monika began.

“-but only from seeing their portrait.” Saffron finished.

“I had mine when I was only twelve,” Syrah grinned, eyes sparkling, “What can I say, I was a pretty popular child.”

“Yeah,” Saffron scoffed, “Or your parents just wanted to get rid of you as soon as possible.”

She smacked his uncursed arm and he yelped. 

“Wait, aren’t portrait crushes usually the result of a marriage proposal.. or an impending one?” Monika asked, anxiously twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

“Don’t tell me you got proposed to when you were–”

“Mm, yeah,” Syrah’s momentary preening turned tart, her lips curling into something like disgust, “–and he was well into his twenties too. Luckily my father saw right through his charade.”

“He hired a man to paint him ten years younger, but the artist did his job too well and my parents insisted on meeting him in person. Long story short, there’s a reason I don’t wear chevron.”

Saffron fell strangely silent and Monika turned a greenish purple colour, looking like she was either about to choke or vomit or both. Even Whitney felt a twinge of pity stirring in his chest for the once tween-aged girl; therapy bubble indeed.

“Anyway,” Syrah continued, completely oblivious to her friends discomfort, “Who’s next?”

“I haven’t had mine yet,” Abbi sighed, catching only the tail-end of the mildly horrifying conversation, “Though I don’t think it’ll ever happen.”

“Oh don’t say that, Abbi,” Syrah frowned, pulling the girl in for a hug, “It just means that when it finally happens, it’ll be all the more special won’t it?”

“I guess so,” Abbi huffed, turning to the lobster princess on her right, “What about you, Thermidora?”

“Lobsters are excellent portrait-connoisseurs,” Thermidora replied easily, waving her large, clawed  arms inches away from Monika’s face, “I had many a suitor in my day, but none ever caught my eye quite like Benedict did.”

“Was there something different about his portrait?” Syrah prompted as Monika burst into a puff of feathers and landed in Whitney’s claws. He steadied the quaking magpie on his other shoulder to keep her out of harms way.

“Oh yes,” Thermidora resumed, unbothered, “He had the most well-kept moustache I’d ever seen, on a man or a lobster. It was quite the fad at the time!”

“Hear that Saffron,” Syrah snickered, elbowing her friend, “Lobster or man..”

“Oh, lay off would ya.”

“I- I haven't had mine yet either-” Monika twittered once she’d recovered her breath. 

“But I can’t really sit still long enough to get one. Sitting still means I have to keep quiet, keeping quiet means all I can listen to are the thoughts in my head, and one thing leads to another and I get so anxious about it all that I just–“

The magpie squeaked as if to make her point and slumped unto herself.

“You could try listening to some relaxing music while they paint,” Jolie chimed in from across the circle.

“Or Read A Book.” Renée scribbled on her pad of paper.

“It shows that you have hobbies and interests!”

“Sorry.. um.. am I interrupting?” 

The CPC looked up to see a familiar golden head hover at the edge of the glade, his bright green getup easily marking him out from the trees and foliage. 

“Frederick!” Syrah exclaimed, waving over the young prince, “Not at all! Are you looking for Gwen?”

Whitney held up a hand in greeting which he mimicked, albeit hesitantly, once he caught his eye. Though the dinner was almost a catastrophe, Whitney remembered feeling relief burst in his chest when Frederick had called him his friend and saved their cover. 

“Uhm.. yes. Is she- is Gwen- uh- around?” 

“No, she’s probably busy getting ready for the gala,” Syrah huffed, “-but you’re welcome to join us.”

“Yes! Come, come!” Thermidora echoed.

Frederick looked like he’d rather pull a llama uphill in a makeshift cart again but swallowed his disappointment like a champ and reluctantly walked over to take Monika’s place.

“We’re talking about first portrait-crushes,” Syrah explained quickly and watched as the young boy brightened but then immediately turned pale.

“O- oh, I see.”

“So,” Abbi nudged after an uncomfortable pause, “Was Gwen your first?”

“My family doesn’t have the best reputation with portraits,” Frederick admitted, beads of sweat forming on both sides of his temple as the rest of the club members fell silent to hear his story.

“Our castle was haunted for years, and Father didn’t see the value in paying for an exorcism so all the pictures we commissioned were.. interesting, to say the least.”

“Oh! A friend of mine had the same problem!” Jolie interrupted, popping open her eye sockets to dig around for a picture. Whitney watched Frederick’s face turn two shades lighter; some curses would definitely take a while to get used to. 

“Here!” 

Everyone leaned in to see the palm-sized sketch the princess had dug out from her eyeless void; though barely qualifying as a portrait, the distinct silhouettes of a king, a queen and a young princess with green hair was overshadowed by a looming maw of darkness punctuated by two sharp jewels of red light, burning like coals.

“No matter where they went, the shadow seemed to follow them!” Jolie explained cheerily. Now it was Saffron’s turn to look perturbed.

“In the end, they gave in and had the exorcism. Good thing they did too, apparently the medium had foreseen that my friend only had three days left to live..”

“Did they... ahem.. ever find out what it was that was haunting them?” Saffron asked gruffly, trying to hide the shakiness in his voice by coughing. 

Jolie turned her sightless eyes on him then, a wicked grin spreading over her features as she leaned in to finish her tale.

“No,” She didn't budge an inch, “But the king and queen had it released into a haunted forest right behind their castle.. a forest just... like... this.. one..”

“BOO!”

Saffron screeched as two glowing red orbs lit up inside her eye sockets, and toppled backwards into Syrah taking the both of them down in panic. Frederick clung to Whitney in fear, temporarily displacing Monika from his shoulder, the latter squawking and spluttering as she launched herself onto Renée’s head and hid in her soft blonde hair.  

Jolie giggled amidst all the hysteria and knocked on her temples with the flat of her palm a few times until the small, unmistakable form of a mouse popped out into her palm, blinked in surprise, then took one look at Whitney and scurried away for its life.

“Everyone’s a critic.” She shrugged noncommittally. He almost snorted.

“Get. Off.” Syrah huffed, extricating herself from Saffron as she tried to maintain a semblance of dignity but it proved to be a struggle since he’d already passed out cold from all the excitement. Frederick sheepishly dusted off his friend’s shoulder and scooted away, embarrassed.

The sun had begun to inch towards the horizon, smearing the sky in yolky oranges and browns, studded with milky white stars.

“Alright,” Syrah began once everyone’s heart rates had returned to normal, “Where were we?”

“Maybe we should call it a day, Syrah,” Monika quipped, peeking out from under Renée’s hair. 

“Nonsense,” She frowned, gesturing for Curtis to pass her a butter-knife, “We haven’t heard Whitney’s story yet!”

Whitney blanched as all eyes now turned to him curiously. Even Curtis, who’d been appearing and disappearing from this conversation at whim paused to flick the cutlery right at Whitney’s face. 

“I’m sure you must’ve received tons!” Syrah said, snatching it out out of the air, a hair’s width away from his eyeball.

“I don’t-“ Whitney gulped, pretending to remain unaffected by the attempted assassination that no one else had noticed.

“Don’t be shy,” Renée held up her sketchpad comfortingly. 

“Yeahmmff, we’re all ears, cat-man,” Abbi mumbled sarcastically, mouth filled with macarons. It seemed that she wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about Whitney’s status as a club member, though she commended his effort to help out. 

He looked around helplessly but even Frederick had perked up now, intrigued by the idea of discovering more about his strange friend and his foreign mannerisms. 

“Portraiture was difficult for my family as well,” Whitney caved in and began when he realised there was no getting out of this one, “-but our reasons were not supernatural, at least, not as far as was told.”

“The Monochrome Kingdom has a very particular relationship with colour; it was both a treasure and a taboo. Nothing in the kingdom naturally produces colour on its own, from the grass to the cloud cover, everything came in shades of either grey, white or black - so any products that did require other hues had to be imported. Raw dyes and paints were especially reserved for the nobility and only brought out during the most important occasions, and even then what was left was quite muted and dull.”

A blanket of silence descended over the CPC as they watched the former prince recall his home with a mixture of guilt and pity. 

“I myself hadn’t seen a single bright colour till I turned 17,” Whitney continued in his usual flat manner, but Frederick thought he could hear something like wistfulness in his friend’s tone. 

“And much like everything else - it came from outside the kingdom.”

“But the Monochrome Kingdom is very well-renowned,” Thermidora mused, claw on chin, “Even under the sea, it was quite the popular subject of debate– surely you must have gotten far more alliance-based proposals.”

“One would assume as much,” Whitney agreed, “-but if there’s anything the King and Queen loved more than their wealth, it was their privacy. Before Blacquelyn was born, they didn’t even bother attending galas or parties.”

“I’m embarrassed to admit, I was ignorant to the outside world for much of my youth. Perhaps that was why I was so hasty to get married.”

“Oh right! I was wondering that too!” Monika chirped, fluttering back to his shoulder, “You got engaged to Prez awfully quick!”

“R-right.”

Frederick raised an eyebrow as Whitney’s demeanour shifted minutely; if he didn’t know better, his friend almost seemed.. flustered?

“As I was saying,” Whitney cleared his throat, “My parents valued their privacy and our obedience, so any portraits that were sent in were burned before either Greyden or I laid eyes on them.”

“It was the eve of my seventeenth birthday when everything changed.”

“Well don’t keep us on edge! Get on with it!” Abbi huffed; despite herself, she was starting to enjoy the story.

“Very well,” He acquiesced, “We had just finished one of our violent gladiator-style fights to win Father’s approval that week when a courtier came in to announce an invitation to a ball–“

“Woah woah woah– a WHAT?!” Syrah gasped.

He trailed away in bemusement as the CPC exchanged horrified looks between themselves.

“Wait, like actual fights, with real weapons?” Monika ruffled her feathers in alarm.

“Yes? But it was strictly torso and below the belt,” He added quickly, as though that made it any less appalling, “I nicked Greyden’s face once and my Father had me thrown in the Tiger Pit for three days.”

“Three.. days..”  Saffron, rising from his fainting spell, looked at Whitney as though he’d just confessed to murder.

“You must have a lot of scars!” Jolie gasped; he nodded.

“Are you.. okay?” Renée volunteered, making way for Saffron to return to the circle, and Whitney shrugged.

“It was a long time ago,” He said, “And I learned to make peace with my experiences, different though they may be.”

“We’re always here if you wanna talk, ‘bout it, bud’,” Saffron sighed, passing him a pillow, which Whitney took bewildered.

“I- uh- Thank you, Saffron.”

“The courtier came in..” Frederick prompted finally, as a mixed silence descended on the group.

“Right- my parents had been invited to a ball being held the next day,” Whitney began again, stumbling over the newfound support he was unused to receiving, “It was a debutante ball.”

“A princess from a neighbouring kingdom had reached a marriageable age and they were holding a party to introduce her into society. Since it was such short notice, my father declined, but it was too late. I had already caught sight of him by then, and hunted the courtier down after supper.”

“I’m ashamed to say my methods weren’t the friendliest,” He admitted, knuckles tightening as he recalled an undoubtably violent memory, “-but after a lot of.. persuading.. I managed to convince him to tell me the whereabouts of the portrait that came with the invitation.”

“The stars must have aligned for me that day, because they hadn’t defaced it yet. The courtier led me straight it, and that’s when I saw her.”

The CPC was once again at the edge of their seat, now because Whitney’s tone had taken on a kind of softness, his claw-like nails relaxing for the first time since he sat in the circle. 

“She had hair the colour of a sky I wasn’t born under, and eyes like a sun I’d never seen. It was the first time I’d ever seen someone so.. full of life. At that moment, I knew I had to have her.”

Whitney winced as he realised what he’d said.

“In hindsight, I realise that those were the whims of a spoiled, selfish prince who had never understood how to correctly treat another human being, but at the time, all I could think of was that if I met her, somehow my life would get better, even marginally.”

Frederick listened to all this, wide-eyed; why did Whitney’s story sound so familiar? Could it be that both of them shared a need for escape from their respective toxic family dramas– perhaps the former prince was a lot more like him than he’d assumed.

“So, what happened?” Syrah demanded, restless for the reveal, “Who was the princess?”

“I took the portrait to my father and insisted on getting married,” Whitney replied.

“AND?” Renée held up the pad of paper.

“He said no and had it burned.” He finished, “So I never found out who the princess was.”

The CPC groaned collectively, completely unsatisfied with the ending of the story but Frederick knew better than to give up hope. He’d noticed that his friend’s shoulders were tense– a tell. 

Whitney was lying.. but why?

“Well,” Frederick rose, dusting off his trousers, “This has been really fun but I’ve got to get back before my Father notices I’m missing. Coming Whit?”

Whitney looked up puzzled, but then noticed Frederick subtle attempt at winking and hurried to his feet as well.

“Oh- yes- I’ll make sure you get home safely.”

Syrah narrowed her eyes at the two newest members of the club and crossed her arms, but before she could point out how suspicious they were being, Curtis appeared once more, now looking a little more mellow than before.

“If you’ll excuse me princess, it’s well after twilight and I need these dishes to entertain the rest of the club members tomorrow. I trust you’re finished with your therapy group?”

“Oh, Curtis–”

Whitney didn’t end up hearing the rest of her sentence, since Frederick hastily bowed a goodbye and yanked him out of the glade, much to the disappointment of the other princesses, who were only starting to get used to the strange striped, tiger-man. 

Once they were far enough that he was sure they couldn’t be overheard, Frederick turned to his friend and gave him an awkward, one-armed hug.

“What–“ Whitney seemed to freeze at the touch until Frederick pulled back (it was like hugging a rock anyway), and shook his head knowingly.

“I don’t know why you lied about the portrait,” Frederick began, watching as Whitney’s claws involuntarily curled into fists, “-but you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“I just want you to know, I consider you one of my closest friends.”

“Thank you,” Whitney’s shoulders slumped, and Frederick nodded, turning back to the path at hand. 

After a few moments of reflective silence, only punctuated by the occasional cicada chirping, the former prince released a long, drawn out breath. 

“I lied so they wouldn’t discover the truth,” Whitney said finally, “I didn’t want Calpernia to pity me– she was the princess in the story.”

Frederick had guessed as much. He offered him an encouraging look, prompting him to continue. 

“My father burned the portrait, yes, but only after I had found out who the princess was. The courtier informed me that it was a neighbouring princess, from the polygon kingdom. So I hid it in my room and approached my father with a marriage proposal the very next day.”

“He laughed in my face first,” Whitney said ruefully, “But I kept asking, the next day and the next and the next, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He had the guards search my room and found Calpernia’s portrait and burned it right in front of me.”

“That’s awful,” Frederick couldn’t help himself. He was usually good at keeping his emotions well hidden but the monochrome prince’s tales always had a way of eliciting a reaction from him.

“I still refused to give up,” Whitney nodded, “My obsession with marriage, and Calpernia, heightened tenfold. I became convinced that she was the only way out of the hell that had become my home.”

“I studied and fought relentlessly, and met every morsel of praise my father offered me with ‘let me marry her.’ This displeased him to no end. He had me take ten lashes for each time I mentioned her name. Still, I kept at it. Eventually my mother caved and began accepting portraits from influential families both within and outside the kingdom in an attempt to placate the monster I was becoming.”

“But even then I didn’t budge,” He shook his head, “My fixation with Calpernia’s burnt picture had grown so intense that the rest of the women looked paltry and lacklustre in comparison. It would be three years of constant quarrelling with my parents before an artist was brought in to paint my portrait, for the sake of a proposal.”

“They gave in?” Frederick asked, surprised.

“Not exactly,” Whitney frowned, “My parents didn’t care what I wanted, they’d sooner have me wed to a daughter of monochrome nobility, so they could still have control over their oldest son.”

“But every time they invited one over, I’d find a way to miss the event. Pleasing them no longer mattered, nothing mattered, except getting what I’d been denied for so long. I’d lock myself in and when my father had the doors removed, sneak myself out. I’d send Greyden in my place, cause a scene, sabotage the food, even hide out in the Tiger Pit to avoid these events.”

“I got punished, of course, but it all seemed worth it when my parents finally, finally yielded, realising they couldn’t stamp the insubordination out of me no matter how hard they tried. So they sent my portrait to the Polygon Kingdom, along with a proposal to marry their oldest daughter.”

“Nearly four years later, on my twenty-first birthday,” He stopped suddenly, forcing Frederick to turn around, “-I saw her again.”

“No longer a portrait in my mind, but a person of flesh and blood; Calpernia was beau- um.. she exceeded my expectations.”

Whitney was now completely flustered, and Frederick realised he’d never seen his friend blush before, even the edges of his tiger stripes seemed to glow with a reddish hue.

“I was drunk with power, dizzy with winning for the first time in my life,” Whitney said sheepishly, almost like he’d forgotten anyone else was there, “-that when Calpernia confessed to me that she might be in love with a male nurse.. I reacted rather poorly.”

“The rest is history.”

“Why didn’t you tell her any of this when you apologised?” Frederick asked, leaning against a nearby tree.

“Because it wouldn’t have made a difference,” He replied matter-of-factly, “None of it could erase all the hurt and suffering I’d caused Calpernia.”

“But don’t you think it’s unfair–“

“It was unfair to make her the object of my salvation, when she isn’t an object at all,” Whitney interrupted without malice, “She wasn't and will never be responsible for my unwarranted affection. It isn’t her obligation to care about me.”

“I- I see,” Frederick’s mind was so abuzz he wondered if he imagined his hair twitching with all the thoughts inside it.

“If I was worth forgiving-“ Whitney continued, “-it should be based purely on my actions alone. Not on any excuses regarding my upbringing.”

“Do you still love her?” Frederick blurted out, expecting his friend to revert to mortification but the former prince’s face remained indifferent, perhaps even a little sad.

“I don’t think what I felt was love as much as it was desperation,” Whitney admitted.

“I don’t think I could ever love Calpernia as much as she– oh. Spider.”

Frederick jolted back as Whitney reached over and easily plucked a small, black arachnid from what was indisputably his blonde hair, and tried to stay calm as his friend released it back onto the tree. 

He immediately put several steps between him and the bark of the old oak, watching it crawl onto the lowest branch before disappearing into its leafy folds– Frederick could’ve sworn the little insect winked at him as it vanished.

“D-Do you think it was there the whole time,” Frederick stuttered, forgetting their conversation as he now imagined the spider crawling around in his hair for hours without him knowing.

Whitney did snort then, and clapped the young prince’s shoulder reassuringly.

“Let’s get you back home.” He said, with a small smile.