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For some people, it might be concerning to hear Marinette say that with Luka, she feels his love more when he isn’t around.
When Luka’s around, like those times he invites her to come and watch him perform with his band, he’ll prioritise getting her a place at the very front, making it easy for him to see her in a crowd. And once he finds her, as soon as the song ends, he’ll request to retire the guitar for the night and take hold of the mic, taking centre stage to sing a song just for her. He’ll walk directly in front of Marinette on the stage, singing the entire song to her on his knees, before she has to remind him that he still has an audience to entertain. Anyone who’s seen this before are well aware of this, so they don’t really mind and just either watch the couple have a moment together or mingle among themselves.
But when she’s too busy working on her designs and things start getting a little too frustrating, she’ll turn on the speaker and start the playlist that Luka made and continues to update for her. She pulls away from her work and listens to the songs that he thinks is enough to calm her down, and they do, and just closes her eyes. She closes her eyes and imagines that he’s in the studio with her, asking her to dance with him like the times he gets a little too happy and his notebook and guitar aren’t enough to handle his energy. She hums along to the songs and taps her feet along to the beat, and she imagines that she can hear him belting out the lyrics, smiles, and goes back to her work with a lighter feeling.
When Luka’s around, like those times when they greet each other at home or meeting up for dates, he makes it a habit to kiss her. He’ll brush her bangs up to make way for a kiss or two on her forehead, or grab hold of her cheeks and kiss her cute little nose. He’ll hug her tight and kiss her on the neck where she’s slightly ticklish, or hug her from behind and kiss her pair of irresistibly soft cheeks that reminds him too much of dough. He does it so much and so often that Marinette just offers her cheeks up to him, or bumps her forehead against his back, or nuzzles his arm to ask him first.
But when she’s left on her own, whether she’s sleeping in too late or she has to catch an early appointment, he manages to sneak in letters in places she never expects to find them. She’ll most likely find them taped on the back of their bedroom door, so she can easily spot them as soon as she wakes up; she’ll most likely find them hiding in her bag when she reaches in for her purse, so she can have something to hold onto for the entire day she’s outside. But what makes it better is how he’ll pick different shades of lipstick from his own makeup collection for different days, painting his lips bright or dark, and leaves at least five marks for each page.
When Luka’s around, like those times when they just lie down in bed or are watching something together, him caging her close to him, he has this habit (a very recent one, too) of holding onto her hand and sroking her fingers, especially from the knuckle down. She doesn’t think too much of the strange habit he’s suddenly doing, but she doesn’t mind it too much. To Marinette, she just thinks it’s his own new way of holding hands with her. She smiles whenever she feels his hand slowly crawling down her arm and onto her fingers, and just gives in to him and his strange little ways and wonderful little things.
But when she’s left on her own as soon as she wakes up, the other side of the bed growing cold, she’ll just find strings or paper rings sitting on a finger or two. Those mornings are her favourites, because even if he’s no longer around to greet her ‘good morning,’ she still feels the warm touch she remembers falling asleep to.
But today seems to be quite special, judging from the sight of a small box sitting innocently in the middle of the kitchen table. Thinking from the top of her head, Marinette doesn’t recall any important dates or occasions marked on their calendar, so she crosses off the worry of missing something. A little chilly from the morning breeze, she secures her cardigan closed and crosses her arms together, her fluffy sock and ladybug slipper covered feet shuffling closer to the kitchen. Still a little sleepy, she decides to make her tea first, puts enough in a mug, and stands in front of the window to bask in the glory of the morning sun. And once she’s more awake and aware, she comes back to the table and stares at the box.
She stares at it like an unknown specimen, making her stand in front of it for almost five minutes, before she finally succumbs to curiosity. Placing her empty mug beside it, she opens the box and sees…a hairpin.
Inside the box is a hairpin, a Chinese hairpin. But she remembers her mother telling her it has different names for different situations or context, so she’s not quite sure what to call this one but a regular hairpin.1
The pin’s long and slender body appears to be made out of carved wood and coated with silver. The top is decorated with an apple blossom at the very centre, mostly white with its petals pinkish on their ends. Below it is a much smaller flower, but dusty pink with golden hints. Two more of the smaller flowers crown the centre flower, both of them also pink with a golden outline. In the back of the flowers are what appears to be branches, a few of their ends with leaves attached to them. Almost hidden behind the flowers and right below the last branch is a small ring, a tassel hanging down from it: one large pink bead on the top, followed by a white bead encased in a golden circle, and finishes off with two strings of transparent and golden beads. But as beautiful as the entire thing is, what truly catches her attention is the small silver chain also hanging beside the tassel; attached to the end of the chain is a ring.
Her breath hitches and she has to catch herself from dropping the pin. She handles the delicate accessory with great care, as if it’ll melt like butter and break like glass at the slightest pressure from her hands. Behind her, she hears the jingling of keys and quickly turns around, witnesses the door open and reveals Luka with an armful of still steaming bread, the front of the paper bag wearing the print of her parents’ bakery.
“Hi.” He greets her.
“Hi.” she greets him back, her voice as quiet as a mouse.
Luka nods at the hairpin, his hold on the paper bag as casual as he can be. “I see you finally looked at it.”
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
He takes off his shoes and places them on the shoe rack, puts on his fluffy fish slippers, and places the bag on the table, taking out one warm bread after the other. He’s almost acting as if he’s ignoring the stare that Marinette’s giving him.
“How do you like it?”
“It’s…it’s very beautiful.”
“That’s good to hear. I wanted it to be as beautiful as the woman wearing it.”
Marinette’s heart flutters and she feels herself getting warmer than at the tips of her ears.
“And where exactly…” her eyes drop down on the floor, unable to look at him even when he’s too busy preparing them breakfast. “What kind of occasion are you thinking I should wear this in?”
“Hm…” He walks up to their fridge and takes out two jars of jam. “I would really like to see it glitter under the sun as you wear it, but seeing it glow in the night is also nice. I’d want to watch you walk in front of me, so I can admire it securely placed on your hair. But seeing you walk towards me is also a good visual, so I can just imagine that you’re wearing a crown, as you rightfully deserve to have.”
“And what exactly am I wearing?”
“You can wear it with something casual, but formal might be best. I can see you wearing it with something flowy, because it matches the way the tassels move as you turn and shake your head.”
“And what will you say when I reach you?”
“I will say that like my mother, sister, Rose, and Penny, I am lucky enough to have one of the most beautiful people in the world in my life.” He walks to the utensil drawers and takes out a butter knife, and then reaches up to the cupboards for some plates and drinking glasses. “ I will say that you look absolutely beautiful in your dress, or perhaps a red xiuhefu if you want to honour your and your mother’s side.”2
“And what else? What else do you see?”
“I see myself wearing something formal and waiting for you at the front.” He goes back to the fridge to take out a pitcher of juice. “With a priest, or my dad if he’s really serious about being ordained to officiate.”
“Officiate what?”
He finally turns around, his face free of any expression, but his hands holding tight onto the back of the dining chair.
“Weddings.”
“And whose wedding is Jagged supposed to officiate?”
“Ours.”
A few seconds pass as they stare at each other, but Marinette breaks the silence first when she can no longer keep her tears at bay and her mouth breaks open to cry out. With one hand still holding onto the hairpin securely, she makes a grab for Luka, who quickly lets go of the chair and pulls her closer to him. He nuzzles at her messily brushed hair, the smell of last night’s shampoo still lingering, and wipes away her tears on her still pillow-printed cheeks.
“Does that mean I should stop putting those paper rings on you?”
“No, no! I want you to keep giving me them.”
“Even the string ones?”
Even the string ones.”
“Are you sure? It might get a little too crowded on your hands.”
“It won’t, I promise. In fact, I think they’ll look great with each other”
“Then I promise to keep making them for you.”