Chapter Text
Lila Rossi. Cerise. Whatever. Ladybug honestly didn't care what she called herself. Not anymore.
Hawkmoth 2.0 was down. Done and arrested.
Marinette was done. Free. All the Miraculous safe where they belonged.
The moment the Police had taken the ex-Hawkmoth into custody, Ladybug had slipped away, dropped her transformation, and raced home, hugging her parents while the city still partied in the streets. It had only taken a moment to reunite poor Nooroo with the rest of the Kwami. Then, safe in her cozy pink room with the weight of the city off her shoulders, she immediately texted Luka. Time zones were finicky, but he had proven time and time again that for her, he was always available.
M: It's over. You can come home. I miss you.
🐍: Done?
M: Hawkmoth is finished. The city and all the miraculous holders are safe
M: . . .
M: I need to tell you something. Are you free on February 14th? Can you be in Paris?
🐍: that's Valentine's day
M: I know. Will you be my Valentine?
🐍: …
🐍: I'll be there
Luka stepped off the plane to venture into the city of lights on the first of February. There was no way he was going to wait another two weeks to see Marinette. He made his way to the metro, planning to go straight to the boulangerie. The difference between the soft, cloying warmth of Brazil and the sharp, cool light of Paris was nearly shocking. He pulled his coat from his suitcase and tugged it on in the crowded train. Once the train started moving, he watched the blurring tunnel walls through the windows while it sped him closer to Marinette. It had been nearly one month since Ladybug had defeated the second (and hopefully last) Hawkmoth. One month since Marinette set his heart racing. One month to pack up everything and plan his return to Paris, to his family, to Marinette.
The metro exited a few short blocks from the bakery, an easy walk with just his guitar and single duffel bag. The rest of his belongings had shipped before his flight and would likely arrive over the next few weeks. He felt light, hopeful. There was nothing between him and Marinette but a clear path and a few hurried strides.
He wasn't expecting to meet anyone on the way. He hadn't told Ma or Juleka exactly when he was going to arrive, only that he was headed home as soon as possible. It had actually taken longer than he wanted it to wrap up his life and tie off the ends of his commitments in South America. But now that he was back in France? He would surprise Marinette and his family. It was going to be the best reunion ever —
"Luka." Su-Han stood in the middle of the sidewalk, less than a block from T&S Boulangerie. Luka stopped, his stomach twisting in unpleasant ways. Su-Han had taught him a lot, but neither of them had ever fully relaxed around the other. Balance of power or something. The cool, bright sky seemed to grow dim. "She is a Guardian no longer. You do not need to concern yourself with her."
Luka, usually slow to anger, felt himself bristle. "Not my concern? Marinette is my friend! Your biggest problem in life, Su-Han, is that you forgot how to be human somewhere along the way. Marinette has always been so much more than one of your guardians!"
Su Han frowned, but didn't move, his face infuriatingly placid. "Well, you needn't worry. She no longer carries those burdens."
Ice trickled down Luka's spine. He had to work his jaw for a second to form the words. To ask a question he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to. "What do you mean?"
"Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a normal girl with a normal life. Except for the fact that she can't remember the last three years of that life."
Dodging around the monk, Luka ran the rest of the way to the bakery.
Marinette sat up in bed with a start and grabbed her dream journal to frantically write down everything she could remember.
Ever since she had hit her head in a freak accident and lost a concerning chunk of her memory, she had been recording everything in the hopes that she would recover some part of her life.
Marinette's hand came away from her head sticky with blood. Her vision swam, unable to focus on the blurry figure wearing yellow and orange in front of her.
"Are you alright? You saved my life, but hit your head in the process."
Marinette blinked, trying to see the speaker… hadn't she been in her room after school? "I did?" Unless— "was it the car?"
"No, after assisting me, you fell into the corner of the building." The man's voice bothered her, but she wasn't sure why. With a headache like hers, most noises would likely be annoying.
"Oh." She felt a little dizzy. She pivoted, but the building was her home. She turned back towards the door. Maman would take care of her.
"Do you require assistance?"
Marinette ignored the question. She needed to avoid old men in bright colors. They were dangerous. Hadn't she nearly been hit by a car just yesterday? She stumbled toward the door. Home was safe. "Papa? Maman?"
The moment the bell jingled overhead, she knew she would be alright. Her parents were the best.
There had been a lot of blood, but the cut was shallow. Once the pain had dimmed, the dizziness had dissipated, leaving the doctors confused about her subsequent memory loss. They had ruled out even a minor concussion. Her brain was a medical mystery.
In her dream, there had been a party. Nino and Kim were there. They showed up a lot because she had known them forever. She remembered them without the dreams. The "new girl," Alya, had been in the background along with Nathaniel and Marc… one an old classmate, and one a new friend from the forgotten years of her life. There had also been blurry, faceless strangers and a tall boy smudged in blue. She used a blue colored pencil to draw music notes around her scrawled thoughts. The music had been the most memorable part of the dream. But it didn't fit the party. It wasn't like anything Nino liked to play. It was… fading. She set her pen aside with a sigh, unsure if it was even worth it to try.
The last few pages of her journal were similarly useless. Friends or classmates all mixed up with family as well as unknown faces, in a variety of situations. Some were normal, like the party; others were bizarre. Unimaginable scenarios, like flying through the city on some kind of superhero grapple, or sitting high in the sky on some famous landmark, surrounded by masked people in bright colors. The teal one glowed around the edges like a fragment of something important.
Marinette didn't have many memories of Alya, other than meeting her on the first day of school three years prior (to Marinette, she was just Nino's girlfriend), but the girl seemed to know her. It was frustrating when Alya made assumptions based on what she thought Marinette should want. It wasn't fair for anyone to act as if they knew her better than she knew herself.
"Mari, girl! I know you can beat this. You're amazing."
Frankly, it had been exhausting more often than not.
"Check out our old class photo! It's because of you that it turned out at all!"
"Uhhhh—"
She pointed out a blond classmate. "So, tell me. What do you think of Adrien? He's cute, right? You certainly used to think so… Anyway! He's Nino's BFF and we always thought you two would end up together. Too bad he had to move to London when his dad… anyway."
"I really don't remember any of this—"
"Girl! Do you know you stood up to the first Hawkmoth? You did! Because Adrien's dad was the O.G. villain in all of our stories, and you used to advocate for Adrien all of the time. That practically makes you a hero!"
"Alya… I hardly think I can be considered a hero for being nice to a classmate."
"Well, you'll always be a hero to me."
Still, the girl had been both devastated for her when she heard the news and incredibly helpful, sharing anything she found about memory recovery and organizing study groups (which was challenging considering they didn't even attend the same Lycée), so Marinette could try to fit years of knowledge into months and maybe return to school before everyone took the BAC without her.
It was tempting to pull back, to gather herself and start over, regardless of her forgotten past. But the part of her that wanted to make everyone happy had survived whatever had destroyed her memories. So she ploughed on, trying to catch up to a finish line she didn't remember aiming for.
On top of everything else, what bothered Marinette more than the school work, more than the sketches and finished designs, more than the names and faces of her parents' customers who had all been lost from her mind, was the feeling that she had forgotten something or someone crucial. There was a hollowed-out feeling in her gut that made her feel sick sometimes, but nobody had hinted at what it could be. It hit when shadow and sunlight flitted across her room, when she spotted a bright patch of blue sky, or when she heard music near the river. The only thing she knew for sure was that it was important and that it was gone.
Luka all but fell into the bakery in his haste to… he wasn't sure what. He stopped short just past the door. The bell rang its familiar welcome while the scent of yeast, sugar, and vanilla wrapped him in a slew of memories. Marinette was behind the counter. Hair in twin tails, a smile on her face. But the smile wasn't one he was familiar with. He watched as Manon waved goodbye, a grin overtaking her features and a pastry box in her hands, while Marinette watched her retreating back with a look of friendly confusion. She shook her head before shifting her focus to him.
"Bonjour! Welcome to Tom and Sabine's. What can I get for you?" Her smile was friendly, but it was empty of even the confused familiarity she'd held for Manon.
Luka bit back the urge to grab hold of her and beg her to remember him. He stared at her, hoping against everything he knew for a hint of recognition. The silence stretched across the room, growing taut and painful with everything it should hold but didn't. Not for her, at least.
The hope and joy that had grown and blossomed in his chest since her first text a month ago withered and crumbled to dust under her empty gaze.
One week. He'd lost contact one week ago in the middle of the last of his packing and prep. She had mentioned a million things on her plate, so he'd chalked it up to both of them being busy and satisfied himself with the knowledge that he'd see her soon. Clearly, he had been wrong.
Marinette fidgeted. Cocked her head at him. Waiting. Quiet and polite. Kind but growing impatient.
Luka took a big step forward, over the broken pieces of his heart where they lay invisible on the ground. "Sorry. Uh… Good morning." It was after noon. Time held no meaning. "Do you have any marshmallow macarons today?"
"I- yes! Such a strange flavor, but Papa said they are popular."
Luka tried to keep it light, tightening and loosening his hold on his guitar case to release some of the tension. "Why strange? You don't like marshmallow?"
Her laugh was light, pleasant. Customer service polite. "No! I do. It just took me a while to wrap my head around the idea. We already have vanilla macarons, and marshmallows are flavored with vanilla…" She shrugged.
Luka understood. She had argued the same thing with him before she'd invented them. But it was the toasting that made the difference. She had never told him how she managed to achieve the flavor in the macarons, just told him that he'd always have a reason to come to her if she kept her secrets. Apparently, Tom knew, though. How many of the recipes in the family cookbook had been improved by Marinette—the stories behind their creation now lost?
"You're right, it doesn't make sense, but I think that's part of what makes them special."
She nodded. "I guess things that are hard to understand can be a little magical…" she winced, "or frustrating."
Luka released a strangled chuckle that lodged in his dry throat, reality slamming into him again. "Yeah. That's true." Tears pricked at his eyes, further tightening his throat.
He sucked in a few calming breaths and added a few sweets for Ma and Jules. Black licorice for the Captain. Something purple for Jules. He found it hard to linger nearly invisible in her politely distant presence, but when he turned to leave, it was just as painful. Luka walked out with a lump in his throat and a stone in his chest.
They say home is where the heart is. Luka wondered where that left him.
Marinette sighed behind the counter. Helping out at the bakery was the only thing that felt familiar in her new reality. But even the bakery had changed. New recipes. New customers. Adjusting to her new normal was hard. Regular customers greeted her by name, but she couldn't remember meeting them. Manon had seemingly grown thirty centimeters overnight. She wasn't the same little girl Marinette remembered babysitting. She was nearly ten.
Then there were the people who stared at her. People she had met but hadn't known well, acquaintances who kept trying to place her. Or perhaps someone who had read or seen one of the articles about her designs—designs she didn't remember making. She had read her own interviews like a stranger.
The blue-haired man who had asked for marshmallow macarons had reminded her of one of her dreams, unrecognizable, but noticeable. He'd had a nice smile until it turned sad. Somehow, when he'd spoken, she'd gotten the feeling that he felt each and every word he spoke. As if his responses were so much deeper than small talk or shop banter. She should have asked his name. There had been a moment, just barely, but she craved the feeling. The connection. That sense of something new made her realize how lonely she was. How much she wanted a friend who could grow to know the Marinette she was, instead of the one she had been only a week ago.
Three days after the interaction, Marinette found the bulletin board. Maybe what she needed was something, someone new.
A lot of people had been affected by the Akuma war in a lot of different ways. Was there anyone who would understand her? Here she had a way to find out.
Luka paused in front of a bulletin board he'd never noticed before. At the top was a photo of the Eiffel Tower, flanked by snapshots of Chat Noir and Ladybug. He reached up and traced the image of Ladybug. Paris' hero didn't even know what she'd done for the city.
He sighed, deep and slow. The banner read, Lost After the Miraculous War? Find a Friend here! It was half-littered with envelopes, each with a vague clue as to their writer pinned haphazardly over half the board.
Divorced over my Akumatization
Looking for a friend who understands
I miss feeling powerful
Finally our kids are safe but parenting is still hard
I missed it all
Now what?
Is it bad that I'm bored?
The other half of the board also boasted a few envelopes, but they were addressed to what looked like specific pseudonyms: Blueberry Writes, Shop Girl, NY 152, and For the Birds.
The half-page description under the photo said that anyone could take a letter and answer it in the hope of a connection, of finding someone who understood or shared their feelings. Miraculous Pen Pals.
Half the board was dedicated to outgoing letters, the other set aside for responses. Luka reached out and carefully untacked the pink envelope labeled "I missed it all". He hadn't missed everything, but he had been out of the country and knew what it was like to be distanced from the situation. Maybe, since he'd failed at everything else, failed Marinette, he could offer comfort to someone. And to be honest with himself, he could use a friend.
He dropped onto the next empty bench he saw to open the letter.
Dear friend (I hope!)
I feel out of touch because everyone in the city has stories about Hawkmoth and the heroes, but I don't. I don't fit into my city anymore. Did anyone else miss everything?
I don't want to be lost and lonely anymore.
~Design Girl
Luka rummaged through his guitar case until he came up with a lightly crumpled sheet of lined staff paper and a pencil stub. He tapped the pencil against his lips while he thought about how to respond.
Design Girl,
Hi. I might understand how you feel. At least a little. I didn't miss everything, but I was out of the country for the last couple of years, and being back now that everything is over, it feels like I was on another planet. It's hard to connect to the people I knew and just as hard to make new friends when everyone is still talking about all the things (like the akumas and the final battle) that I missed.
I would appreciate a friend who understands.
~Somewhere on the Seine
He folded it, scrawled Design Girl across the outside, and jogged back to pin it up with the answers. He felt as if he had failed everyone that mattered to him. Maybe he could make a difference to someone in the city. Even if it was simply to help them understand that they weren't alone.
Marinette pulled the folded paper off the board with a furtive look around. Her parents and friends had been trying so hard to help, but they didn't get it. They didn't understand how she felt so alone, even when surrounded by people who cared and were willing to do almost anything for her. She couldn't identify with anyone in the city… But that didn't mean she wanted them to know that she felt lost. The last thing she wanted was for her family to try harder to fix something that couldn't be fixed.
A weird blend of sympathy and satisfaction stole over her as she read the letter. She wasn't alone. There was another Parisian who had missed some of the conflict, and they wanted a friend! She ran home to write another letter.
Dear Somewhere on the Seine,
I'm so sorry that you're going through this too! I am also really glad I'm not alone. Does that make sense? No matter how helpful people have tried to be, they don't understand that it feels like being a babysitter at a table full of mothers while they talk about their birth stories — and I don't have one. It's like I don't belong.
It's not just the Akuma thing either. There's new music by my favorite artist, and so many changes around the city, and people who think they know me because they know people who knew me…
And I'm trying to catch up, to fit in, but I don't know if it's worth it. Sometimes I just want to start over, choose a different path or something. But I do have people who care, even if they don't understand, and I don't want to hurt their feelings.
~Design Girl
Her dreams took a turn for the weird that night. The strange, brightly colored characters from her earlier dreams had solidified into the heroes from video footage she'd seen. In her dream, she had been dressed in a blur of pink and red, but the snake hero—Viperion—had approached her with a smile.
"You and me against the world, right, Melody?"
She had wanted to agree, but it all felt off. The words were wrong and the name didn't make sense. "Who's Melody?"
When she awoke, it was with a tune in her head and fuzzy visions of pink and blue and a feeling of longing.
It was hard to find the words before the visions faded away. Her journal simply read, "Viperion's melody."
Luka watched as Juleka left the boat to meet Rose without a backward glance. His homecoming had been tense. Despite the baked goods and their initial excitement to see him, things had quickly gone downhill. Juleka was mad that he'd left. Hurt by his absence and currently unwilling to alter any of her plans to rebuild the connection they had once shared.
Ma was Ma. The Captain rarely changed. "Ye need to be patient with the lass. She'll come 'round when she's good an' ready. Now see iffin' you can get the engine sorted for me. I've saved a few chores fer ye."
"Do you think I did the right thing?"
She leveled him with a look. She had spent their whole lives teaching them to think for themselves. "Do you?"
"Yeah."
"There ye go, then. And Luka? Remember, just because sommat is hard, disna mean it's no right."
"Thanks, Ma. Think I'll go for a walk."
"The engine?"
Luka rolled his eyes, but laughed. "You left the wrench on the deck and it got knocked into the river. I'll pick one up while I'm out.”
"I s'pose I'll allow it."
Luka took off into the city, found his wrench, and meandered his way back to the bulletin board.
More pink stationery. Luka took the envelope with his pseudonym written across it and headed home, stopping by a shop to grab a package of blue envelopes. He had loads of staff paper, but it might be better to have a little security if he was going to be writing to his new friend regularly.
Dear Design Girl,
I'm glad you have people who care about you. Even if they don't know how to go about it. I left my mom and sister behind while I was out of the country, and it's been hard. They were here. They love me, but I know they felt like I abandoned them. They had to go through some really hard stuff and I wasn't here for them, so I don't even blame them. I don't think they understand how hard it was to be away, or how weird it is to feel like I'm still gone, stuck on the outside looking in.
Maybe we could catch up together? Who's your favorite artist? I love music — I can help you find the must-know tracks and secret gems. You know, the songs that are never as popular, but have a deeper meaning to the artist or musicphiles?
I'm trying to figure out my next steps too! I've always wanted to do something with music, but I don't know what that looks like anymore. I'd love to walk a journey of rediscovery with you if that's what you decide to do.
~Somewhere on the Seine
Luka wasn't sure why his pen pal had missed out on the last few years; she hadn't said, but he imagined she had been traveling like him, or perhaps sick — stuck in a hospital room overcoming cancer or something while the world moved on without her. He tried not to think about how Marinette might share the same feelings of loss. Lost and alone in her confusion, hopefully, her family and friends were walking the path beside her.
A sense of longing filled him at the thought of her. He thought of her empty smile behind the counter at the Bakery and wondered if he could go back. If he could see her without the light in her eyes brought by friendship and familiarity. He wondered if he could start over, or if his knowledge of her lost years would be too great a burden. Then he wondered if he was protecting her, or himself.
Marinette studied the letter with her code name on it. She had almost missed it because of the envelope. It was easy to imagine the first letter as a chance meeting out of the blue, striking up a conversation with a stranger, then the second one, with its blue envelope, was more like they had met up intentionally. It was a nice thought. She pulled a sheet of paper out to answer.
Somewhere on the Seine,
Jagged is one of my favorite musicians ever! Apparently, he visited my parents' business for some kind of promotional event and I missed the whole thing. I would love to chat about music anytime. I like to draw and make things, and I'm always listening to something in the background. What kind of music do you do? One of my old friends is a DJ, so I'm kept in the loop.
Sorry you feel so distanced from your family—my family is super supportive and helpful, but they can't understand what it's like to have missed three years of life. Even when I'm in the same room I feel alone, but I can't tell them that, because they would feel bad. Then I would feel bad for making them feel bad… it's a whole messy spiral.
Anyway. I'm into baking and video games too. What else makes you, you?
~Design Girl
She grabbed her jacket, sketchbook, and the letter to head out into the cold sunshine. Maybe a break from the bakery would help her discover who she was, instead of trying to get back to being who everyone thought she should be.
She pinned up her letter and walked to the park, but veered past her old favorite bench and kept moving. After a longer walk than she had planned for, she found herself at the Seine. She followed the river walk for a while, lost in the way the water flowed, always the same and always different. It was different than the places she usually worked, so she grabbed a seat on a step away from the crowded bridges and busy riverside walk.
After a few frustrating attempts at translating her mood into clothes, she flipped a page and tried to capture what she could see. The lines of the river came easily, the curve of a distant bridge settled onto her page as if she'd drawn it before. Muscle memory was a strange thing. It seemed like her hands remembered things her mind had forgotten. She sketched in a couple of boats and the vague shapes of people walking alongside the river.
She spotted her old classmates, Juleka and Rose, but didn't call out. They were holding hands and she didn't want to interrupt anything. Faint strains of a guitar could be heard from the odd houseboat barge that Juleka called home, so she worked the boat into her landscape. Buildings rose from the other side of the river, partially obscuring the Eiffel Tower's reach into the sky.
By the time the sun had dipped far enough past the pinnacle of the tower to cast long shadows over her step, she had captured everything she could see in varying degrees of detail. It was an afternoon, a memory, captured through her own lens and saved by her hand. By the time she made her way home, she felt like she knew herself just a little bit better, even if she didn't know how to put any of it into words.