#oraolt

AO3

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | TBC

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!”

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

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | TBC

Luka Couffaine had made a mistake.

He couldn’t decide when it had happened– maybe following his ex-girlfriend’s father into their family bakery was where it all started to fall apart, or even putting the idea of part-time employment into Tom Dupain’s mind. 

Maybe it went even further back than that. In hindsight, waking up today didn’t seem like such a good idea.

“No, no, you need to feel the dough admit defeat,” Tom attempted to demonstrate the delicate kneading technique, “See, like this.”

Luka stared at the evidently undefeated beige mush on the counter and tried not to cringe as he imagined it growing two eyes, a mouth, and begin laughing at him. He’d never been particularly good at any non-musical extracurriculars, though he wished he’d taken pottery or something, just so he wouldn’t dig himself into an even deeper grave in front of Marinette’s father. And her best friend.

“Wow, Luka, you’re really showing that bread who’s boss,” Alya Cesaire teased from across the room, watching him massacre the flour-to-water ratio as she tapped away on her phone.

“We don’t seem to be in harmony,” he admitted, embarrassed by how quickly he was ready to quit. Forget harmony, they didn’t even seem to be playing the same note. How anyone could do this was beyond him. Marinette really was amazing.

“Maybe it’s better if I give up fighting the dough, altogether.”

“Nonsense!” Tom interrupted, visibly trying not to wince as he leaned in to examine the creation, “We were all beginners once. You just need a.. uh.. you just need a little more–“

Luka braced himself for what he was going to say. Skill? Patience? Humility-to-admit-you’ll-never-be-good-enough-for-certain-things-and-let-them-go-because-you’re-not-Adrien-Agreste– 

“Flour, dear. You just need a little more flour.”

Both Tom and Luka looked up to see Sabine Cheng enter the bakery, her arms filled with stacks of colourful flyers. 

Alya quickly tucked away her phone in her back pocket to lighten her load, sending a few papers scattering across the tiled floors. As Sabine thanked her, Luka watched a bright blue one float across the room and gently settle on the marble counter, inches away from his pile of mushy dough.

QIXI JIE PLAY: Tickets only available till XX/XX/XX (2 weeks left!)

“Sabine!” Marinette’s father seemed to (for lack of a better phrase) light up, eyes twinkling, as his wife proceeded to dust off her apron and join them; carefully holding a cup of flour. 

“I made the same mistake when I first learned to bake,” she said reassuringly, dumping the white powder over Luka’s hands, “Tom’s father wouldn’t let me live it down for weeks.”

“Of course!” Tom grinned, putting on an affected accent to his voice, “Two cups of water in the mixture, Sabine? That’s not how it’s done!”

“There,” Sabine smiled back, “Now try, Luka.”

He reluctantly replicated the kneading movements he’d been watching Tom make for the past twenty minutes, and was relieved to see that his watery creation had now solidified into a a more play-dough like consistency. The tightness in chest eased a little, seeing the progress he’d made. 

“Are you putting on a play, Mme. Cheng?” Alya interrupted, not waiting for a response as she plucked the final flyer off the counter and added it to her pile,

“I could drop a link in The Ladyblog if you’re having trouble selling tickets.”

“That’s kind of you, dear,” Sabine gestured for her to pass the flyers back which she did, “But it’s not my play. I’m doing this as a favour to a friend who wanted me to teach his actors the traditional art of Dunhuang.“

“The Chinese ribbon dance,” she clarified, when three pairs of eyes blinked at her bemusedly. Sabine sighed, tucking away the sheath of papers in a cabinet below the counter, and looked up at her husband with worry. 

“Unfortunately, it’s all very last minute so I can’t run the bakery and teach full-time. Tom and I were thinking of getting Marinette to help out but we don’t want to overwhelm her–“ 

“Maman? What did you need help with?”

Luka could feel his heart cartoonishly leap into his throat as her voice drifted down the wrought-iron staircase, and mentally pushed it down into the depths of his stomach, as the tap tap tap of ballet flats slapping the ground hurried to join them. 

Sure, it’d only been a week since he’d seen her but a lot could happen in a week. He could be perfectly fine in a week. Perfectly fine and completely over the breakup, and not at all thinking about how Jule took close ups of his face all week that she’d probably shown to all her friends and oh he was so going to disown his sister when he got home–

Marinette Dupain-Cheng entered the room and let out a sound that was somewhere between squeak and wheeze when she saw his face.

“L-Luka?!”

Luka couldn’t recall what he’d said in reply, if he’d said anything at all or wether he was even breathing because Marinette.. because her hair..

Her hair was down; out of its trademark style and spilling down her shoulders, the ends thick and black.

The idea that Luka had never seen Marinette with her hair down was laughable as it was strangely poetic. They’d hung out together so often - they’d dated! - but seeing her like this seemed much more vulnerable somehow. Like he was getting a glimpse of all the things she couldn’t tell him when they were together. All the things he couldn’t bring himself to ask. 

Not that she wasn’t beautiful. She was always beautiful. 

It was only when Marinette blushed and pulled her hair into its usual twin ponytails, that he was able to tear his gaze away from her and back to the mound of dough in front of him. Don’t lose your cool, don’t lose your cool, don’t–

“Hey, Marinette,” he said easily, though his voice wavered in a way that no one but Jule would’ve noticed.

“I didn’t expect– I mean– You look– Your jacket–“ she floundered her reply, earning a laugh from her best friend. 

Luka looked around him in surprise; he’d taken off his jacket to keep it from getting in the way. He felt a little naked without it but hadn’t wondered if it made him look weird until now. Great, now she thinks I’m weird and a stalker.

“Real smooth, girl.” After a pointed glare in Alya’s direction, Marinette turned back to him, finally noticing the dough in his hands. 

Her lips broke into shy smile. 

“What are you making?” She asked curiously, skirting around the awkwardness of him being here, in her house, when both of them knew she’d been avoiding him.

“Just bread,” he said, almost apologetically covering it with the flat of his palms, “–but I think Baking might not be the right instrument for me.“

“Here, let me see.”

Luka moved back in surprise as she came to stand beside beside him, dusting her own hands in flour. He’d expected her to be nervous and uncomfortable around him now that they’d broken up (for reasons neither of them could articulate), but Marinette only furrowed her brow in concentration, pulling the baking sheet towards herself, and got to work. 

“There,” she beamed up at him, barely ten minutes later, “All done.”

Marinette had managed to pummel his sickly-beige, barely-dough concoction into the dusky brown colour of before-bread with only a few shakes of flour and the twist of her wrist. 

“O-oh, wait,” She mumbled when he’d stared at her in awe instead of replying, “I didn’t mean– I wasn’t trying to show off or anything–“

“You’re amazing, Marinette,” It escaped his mouth before he could fully realise what he’d said, and now she was looking at him with big eyes. Crap. That was probably a bit too strong. 

“I.. am?” 

“–at baking!” He added quickly, not meeting her gaze, “A real magician, Marinette!”

Why couldn’t he stop saying her name? The awkwardness and the lingering effect of his words seemed to envelop the two of them and Luka had to force himself not to react to the spark of electricity that shot through his nerves when their forearms accidentally brushed. 

“That’s right, my daughter’s a genius!” Tom swooped in between them to examine the dough, and Luka moved back, relieved. 

If this kept up, he would start pulling out the finger-guns before lunch; and absolutely, under no circumstances, could he have Marinette realising that the ex-boyfriend she thought was cool and mature, was actually a huge dorkasaurus. He’d done enough damage already.

Tom swept the dough into a tray and lovingly placed it into the oven as Sabine handed them both a wet towelette. He tried to look at Marinette out of the corner of his eye, and found her gaze already transfixed on her best friend’s phone.

“We gotta leave soon if we want to make it before André splits,” Alya said matter-of-factly, pointing at something on her screen, “It’ll take us at least 20 minutes to get there on foot.”

“And guess who’s going to be there because of the Bourgeois’ anniversary party?”

Luka didn’t need to turn around to see Alya shake her friend’s shoulders and quietly mouth ‘Adrien’ to know who it was. 

To know who it always would be, with Marinette.

“Marinette, could you be a dear and get the apples I left out by the door before you leave?”

“Sure, Maman!”

Luka smiled at her retreating back as she pushed open the bakery door, and stored the sorrow somewhere deep inside him instead. 

He’d meant it when he said he’d be happy for her when they got together. Not ‘if’ but ‘when.’ Because that was yet another curse he carried by remembering the events that he’d lived through, akumatised as Truth– Marinette’s secret was that all her roads ended up at Adrien Agreste, wether she wanted them to or not. 

All of Paris seemed to know that it was only a matter of when. 

He would be happy, He would be happy, he would be happy. Even if the stars fell from the sky and the moon broke into a thousand pieces. Even if every instrument he’d ever made went up in flames. Even if Shadowmoth won and all of Paris became a wasteland.

If Marinette loved Adrien, he’d be happy for her even if it killed him.

...

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was going to kill her best friend. 

Not only would she have appreciated knowing about her frickin’ ex-boyfriend baking bread with her father, Alya also had the gall to laugh in her face when she’d nearly fallen to pieces in front of him. 

She sighed as she curled her fingers around the crate of apples; Marinette could hardly blame her bff for the latter. Her heart had spontaneously combusted when she’d walked in to see Luka Couffaine of all people, behind the counter without his jacket, up to his elbows in flour, clearly out of his element and did she mention without his jacket??

In all the time that she’d known him, she hadn’t ever seen him jacket-less, and she hadn’t expected to feel so flustered by the strange intimacy of seeing Luka’s tanned forearms for the first time. Or those same arms baking bread.

Well..trying anyway.

Marinette stifled a smile at the thought. Luka was normally so calm and collected, there was something almost gratifying about knowing that he could be just as much as a fish out of water as her, even if it was just while kneading dough.

She felt the her cheeks flush as she recalled his awestruck expression ‘You’re amazing, Marinette.’ Alya had cackled knowingly and Marinette’s back pocket had buzzed with a text from the brunette. She didn’t even need to open it to know what it said.

@alya.ladyblogger: tryna impress someone r we

( ͡° ᴗ ͡°)

Marinette shook her head to clear away the blush. 

Alya had it all wrong; she wasn’t trying to impress Luka with her bread-making skills. If anything, she was trying to impress.. uh.. herself! That’s right, it’d been so long since she’d helped out her parents at the bakery that she started to wonder if her baking had become a little rusty. Yeah, that was definitely it.

Not seeing Luka in over a week had momentarily made her forget why she was avoiding him in the first place, and now Marinette wondered how he was handling the after-effects of the Truth akuma. 

She’d wanted to ask him about Jagged, about his mom; she’d wanted to ask him if he could ever forgive her for getting him akumatised, for any of it, but for once, she was afraid the answer might be exactly what she’d expected.

So she settled for Juleka’s mumbling and the close up pictures on her purple-haired-friend’s phone, telling herself it was for the best, it was for the best, it was for the best. Unlucky girls like her didn’t get to fall in love, and besides, Luka couldn’t get akumatised if she wasn’t around to let him down. Again. 

Marinette tried not to sigh, as the memory of the last time she talked to Luka rose up in the back of her mind: she’d broken up with him over the same bridge he’d taken her to that very evening, because it was easier than telling him the truth. 

No, not easier– safer. It was safer for the both of them if she stayed away. Or at least, she hoped it was. Oh, and Adrien too, of course. 

Though, she supposed, Adrien was hardly in danger with the way her words twisted themselves into pretzels around him. In fact, the only chance he’d ever become akumatised because of Marinette, is if he completely misunderstood everything she’d said– like Marianne.

And after everything that’d happened on French-American friendship week, even her feelings about Adrien had become pretzel-shaped; the inextricable threads of shame and disappointment weaving their way into the “love” she’d been so sure she held for him, less than a month ago.

Marinette took a breath and hoisted the crate up to her hip, trying not to recall that final night in New York, the cold shards of rain that peppered her face as she pedalled as hard as her burning calfs would let her. Hot tears rolling down her cheeks as she screamed and screamed after the car, only for Adrien to leave without even turning once. 

What a mess.

As Marinette was about to push open the bakery door a single apple fell from the crate and rolled backwards.

She tried to reach for the runaway fruit with one arm while balancing the crate in the other, and ended up losing her balance and toppling over instead, spilling the apples onto the sidewalk and earning sympathetic glances from the pedestrians on the street as she fell. 

“Are you okay, Marinette?” Tikki flitted out of her purse as if on cue, perching on top of an apple, as her big bug eyes widened with concern. Marinette could see herself reflected back in the glassy blue tint, from the shadows under her own eyes all the way to the the defeated slump of her shoulders.

She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d gotten a good night’s sleep– mess was an understatement. 

“I’m fine, Tikki,” she sighed rather than said, gathering the fruit back into the crate. 

“Just the same old, klutzy Marinette.”

The kwami frowned up at the mouse miraculous pendant hanging at her neck.

“Maybe you shouldn’t..” 

Whatever Tikki was going to say was immediately interrupted by the hum of a motor as a black taxi pulled up in front of the bakery, and a blonde girl, about her age, got out. 

The kwami quickly flew out of sight as the girl promised the driver she’d only be a few minutes, oblivious to the disarray Marinette herself was sitting in the middle of–  and the single red apple that had rolled to wait right under the girl’s colourful sneaker.

“Wait, WATCH OUT–“

But it was too late. 

A slip and a stumble later, the girl found herself right beside Marinette on the pavement, her fall jostling the blue beanie she was wearing off of her head, so Marinette could see a faded streak of pink hair peeking out of the blonde. 

“Oh my, is everyone alright?” The bakery door swung open to reveal a concerned Sabine, holding her purse tightly, with a bemused Tom in tow. 

The girl gave Marinette a weak smile as if to say ‘oh, clumsy me,’ and the idea that there was someone out there in the world who was just as uncoordinated and graceless as her was so silly that she grinned right back, and the two were soon in stitches on the floor outside the bakery. 

“Here, let me help you.. uh..”

“Zoé,” the girl smiled, taking Marinette’s outstretched arm, “I’m Zoé Lee.”

“Hello Zoé,” Marinette smiled, dusting herself off, “I’m Miss-Walking-Disaster, but everyone calls me Marinette. Please let me spot you some of our macarons to makeup for all this.”

“Oh, that’s not necessar–”

“I insist,” Marinette interrupted bending over to put away the last of the apples, “It’s the least I could do after introducing you to our lovely Parisian pavements.”

Before Zoé could reply however, Sabine sighed and took the crate off of the ground and handed it to her husband, who dutifully retreated back into the bakery.

“Maybe that’s enough excitement for the day, dear,” Sabine added, not unkindly, “Why don’t you let your father handle the macarons, hmm?”

“Yes Maman.”

“Wow!”

Zoé glanced down as Marinette got an eyeful of the bright sneakers and looked up at her with sparkling blue eyes.

“Your sneakers are awesome! Did you decorate them yourself?”

If there was anything Marinette loved more than designing, it was seeing other people’s designs. Particularly DIY ones. There was just something so inspiring about them.

“Yeah,” Zoe agreed tucking a lock of hair behind her ear sheepishly, “I’ve written down every nice thing that anyone’s ever said to me.”

“To keep them with me all the time.”

A single I ♥ U, was scribbled on to the toe cap of the left shoe.

Marinette frowned, “But there’s only one message.”

“I.. uh.. only had one friend.”

Both Sabine and Marinette let out an ‘oh’ sound, the sound wavering somewhere between pity and second-hand embarrassment. Zoe shifted on her feet, suddenly uncomfortable. 

“Why don’t you two come inside?” Sabine smoothly changed the topic, holding out an arm to help her daughter up, “And you can show your new friend around the bakery, Marinette.”

“That’s a great idea, Maman!”

“I mean..,” Marinette held up her hands apologetically, “Only if you’re free Zoé.. I don’t want to keep you from anything.”

Zoé shrugged, “I’m not in a rush.”

Sabine looked back and forth between the two girls fondly, smiled and turned to leave. Marinette quickly checked the left pocket of her pink jeans to make sure the bee miraculous was still where she’d left it and missed the strange glance Zoé gave her. 

“By the way,” Marinette added over her shoulder, as the two of them followed her mother back into the bakery, “–where’s your accent from? It’s really pretty.”

“New York,” the other girl replied, bending over slightly to tie her shoelace, “I’m from New York.”

“Wow! How exciting– I was just there on a class trip!”

“No way!”

“Yeah– so what brings you to Paris?”

“I’m here..“ the light in Zoé’s eyes darkened.

“...to see my family.”

______________________________________________________________

END NOTES:

This chapter was basically: Luka on the inside: asdfghjsjdjhbjhrwkjefehfhrgbkrhIstillloveyou Luka on the outside: oh hi marinette Mari on the inside: *Mari.exe stopped functioning after seeing jacket-less exboyfriend* Mari on the outside: *baking to not process feelings*

AO3

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | TBC

Summary: Marinette is about to tell her best friend the truth after a full year of lying: she is Ladybug. But the forces of the universe don't seem to like this idea. [Starts off right at the end of Gang of Secrets.]

“If I tell you things will never be the same between us again! It’ll mess up everything— maybe even destroy it!"

"Marinette.. I'm your very best friend.."

"And I— I’m.. Multimouse."