Chapter Text
A loud ting! rang from Marinette’s phone. Blearily, she eyed the time on her alarm clock. It was 3 AM. Who in the world could possibly be texting her? And why the hell did she even have her sound on?
When her fingers found the cord to her charger, she tugged it toward her face. The screen lit up to show she had a message from “L”.
In her half-conscious state, she couldn’t really remember who L was. Was it the L from work, or the one from her Fashion Through the Ages class? But of course, she had them under their full names. As she registered who the text was from, she sat up, completely awake.
The message was short and to the point:
you up?
While she appreciated he didn’t message in text speak, she sometimes found it annoying that he would never capitalize anything. Not even her name.
Another burst from her phone.
i’ll take that as a no.
Marinette let out a sigh.
She shouldn’t text him back. He was waking her up at 3 AM for a booty call! Her eyes took in the screen of messages from him. Not that it was so bad. Sometimes he made her genuinely laugh, he was sweet, and he always made her feel good about herself.
Her fingers typed out her answer before she had even fully realized she had made a real decision.
His response was quick.
i’ll bring your favorite ice cream.
Marinette didn’t clean up too much. He’d seen her place in shambles before, but at least it was mostly clean this time. She checked the mirror for the thousandth time before pacing back to her couch. No makeup, ‘cause he knows she was asleep and he knows she doesn’t sleep with makeup on, but she did change out of the polka dotted nightgown into a tank top and shorts. And she curled the ends of her hair. But he probably wouldn’t notice that.
The quiet knock on the door jarred her.
She had fallen asleep again on the couch. The clock above her fireplace said it was 3:36. Sure had taken him a while to get here.
This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence between the two of them, him coming over in the middle of the night. And yet, somehow, she still felt nervous, ladybugs flitting around in her stomach.
She stood at the door, took a deep breath, and swept it open.
He was standing with his back to her, coat pulled taut across a muscular back, long legs protected by blue jeans, and hair shining from her little porch light. In what felt like slow motion, he turned toward her, his hair swinging, and a bright grin plastered across that stupidly handsome face. Marinette took him in for half a second before she gestured for him to come in.
They settled into conversation easily, even with the ladybugs running around. He moved around her apartment, putting the ice cream into the freezer, making them both a glass of water (he’d stopped drinking over a year ago, so the wine always stayed untouched when he was there). She liked watching him make himself at home in her apartment. He’d been there countless times, as a friend, a party guest, a muse, and more often than not, as a lover.
He found his way over to her on the couch, where she sat with her legs tucked up close to her chest, arms around them, and her chin resting on her knees. Her eyes had been drooping for nearly 15 minutes. He had dominated the conversation by telling her all about the gig he had been at earlier, before he texted her. His bright eyes wrinkled at the corners when he smiled. Cold fingers brushed her hair from her eyes.
“You could have told me you were sleeping. I didn’t have to come over.”
She yawned. “But I wanted ice cream.”
He laughed, gesturing for her to stand up. Once they were both standing, he tugged her close, bracing an arm against her back and sweeping her legs out from under her. He carried her to her bedroom, then placed her gently down on the comforter. He helped her snuggle under the covers. But before he could pull away, she latched onto his shirt.
“Luka… please stay.”
A small smile graced his mouth.