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"I can't believe you," Marinette huffed, pouting and gently cleaning the dirt from Luka's arm.
He frowned sympathetically. "Marinette..."
She didn't respond, shaking with emotion on all the bruises and marks left on him. She knew it wasn't serious and it wasn't like it was his fault. She wasn't angry with him either, just confused.
Did all this really happen over pizza of all things?
She only really knew what he'd told her. Apparently, he'd been working at his part-time job and an adult thought they could just "take the pizza off his hands." Maybe they were in a bad mood, or they simply thought they could take advantage of a teenager, but Luka had gotten knocked off his bike and a scuffle ensued when he refused.
How adults were somehow less mature than half of the teenagers she knew, she had no idea.
Nevertheless, Luka was decently fit (he could lift an entire Marinette when ice skating and rode his bike around everywhere, after all) so he managed well enough, eventually ending up in Marinette's room. She'd forced him to sit on the chaise lounge despite his concerns about getting it dirty, his hoodie and jacket discarded so she could properly tend to him. His Jagged Stone t-shirt was sleeveless and allowed her easy access to his shoulders.
She glared, inspecting his arm once more to be certain it was clean, then got up and sat on his other side to inspect the opposite arm. Being clumsy, she'd gotten many injuries over the course of her life and thus was basically an expert at first aid. The fact that it was Luka she was tending to made her even more determined to do it right; she might've gotten a little lazy with it if she'd been doing it for herself.
"I'm sorry," he said genuinely. "I hate worrying you."
She shot him a look, but it crumbled at the sadness in his eyes. Sighing, she held his arm a little closer than necessary and retorted, "No, it's okay. I probably worry you all the time too." With a dramatic flair, she added, "So we're even."
He gave her that lopsided smile that always seemed reserved just for her, then let her continue in pleasant silence. Marinette, staring at his upper arm, noted that she'd never actually seen it before due to how often he wore hoodies and jackets. Just as she'd imagined, there was a bit of muscle there, and she wondered if she might've seen it if she'd gone below deck when she visited Juleka at the Liberty one night. Perhaps he would've been in his pajamas, and—
Marinette cleared her throat, forcing the thought out of her head. Catching his curious gaze, she hurried to say, "I-it's nothing. You're toned, that's all."
Her face flushed at the Freudian slip, but Luka took it in stride. With a tilt of his head, he asked playfully, "Because I like music?"
He'd known exactly what she meant, yet gave her an out. She squeezed her eyes shut, blushing deeper as her mind screamed, You're too good for me!
"Anyway," she carried on as casually as she could. She searched lower on his body and experimentally prodded at his ribcage, which she'd been planning on doing before but now served the purpose of an excuse not to make eye contact with him. "Does it hurt here?"
Bless him, he went along with it. "No."
She poked lower at his stomach. "Here?"
"No."
She peeked through the rips of his shirt just to be sure, but thankfully didn't see anything concerning. "What about over here?"
She gently pressed her fingers into his side and felt him tense, a startled hiss coming out of him. Carefully, she lifted his shirt and winced at the sight of the bruise forming there.
"Does it hurt normally?" she asked, trying to delicately feel around the bruise to confirm that nothing was actually damaged. Everything felt okay, but he took a sharp intake of breath like it wasn't. She looked up, surprised. "S-sorry! Was my hand cold?"
"Don't worry," he assured oddly quickly. His cheeks were a light shade of pink. "It's nice."
"Oh."
She turned to her phone briefly to text her parents about getting an ice pack from the freezer whenever they had a moment to spare, then set it aside to focus on Luka again. Figuring it was better than nothing, she kept his shirt raised and slid the back of her fingers along the bruising, appointing herself as a substitute for the time being. He shivered at the contact, but didn't complain.
They both weren't looking at each other now. She thought she'd gotten rid of her blush, but the mood in the room brought it back.
"Ah, so... were you that worried about your boss?" she asked, because the topic of the day appeared to be changing topics.
"Hm?"
She let the shirt fall, only supported by her fingers against his side, so she could grab his forearm and turn it over. Eyeing the place that'd clearly been scuffed when he caught himself against the pavement, she pointed out, "You could've handed the pizza over; it wouldn't have been that big of a deal." She paused, thinking it over. "Unless—maybe you were delivering to a really poor family? And that pizza was the only food they were going to get that day?"
It sounded like something Luka would do, so she was already worrying over the fictional financially-challenged family she'd just made up in her head.
He chuckled. "No, it wasn't like that. My boss was upset about me getting beat up, but they would've had to take it out of my paycheck if I didn't deliver anything."
"But was it worth it?" She tried not to sound like she was scolding him. "Are you saving up for something?"
He didn't respond right away and she dared a peek at his face. Though his head was turned away from her, she could almost see the debate going on in his head over whether or not he should say anything.
"Luka?" she called, wondering if this involved a surprise of some sort. "Is it about someone's birthday or something? I won't tell—"
"Next week," he finally answered. The idea of her getting the wrong impression must've stirred him into action.
She blinked. "What about next..."
She trailed off as it clicked. While she didn't have extensive knowledge of Luka's schedule, she did know that Luka hadn't had plans next week aside from one thing, as they'd chosen that week together because neither of them had plans otherwise. They'd set up a big day together to just have for themselves: a trip to the aquarium, going to the cinema for a movie, picking a random place they'd never been to eat, and so much more that she couldn't even remember in her state of shock.
"We promised to split the cost," Luka confirmed, aware that she'd already come to the correct conclusion. "I wanted to make sure I had as much as possible, just in case."
Her mouth dropped open, heart wrenching while simultaneously picking up in pace. He knew - must've known - that she wouldn't have cared if he came up a little short. She would've been more relieved that he'd avoided a physical confrontation.
But it'd been important to him to have money he could spend on her, on the two of them together. Perhaps it was just how he felt, or some standard he was holding himself to even if he wasn't aware of it.
Her hands shot up, one to grasp at the strap of his shirt closest to her and the other at his face to turn his head towards her.
"Ah." He grimaced. "You didn't do anything wrong, Marinette. I was the one who—"
She pulled him in and kissed him with a vengeance. She kissed him for all the kindness he'd given her, all the time they'd spent together, how utterly stupid he could be around her while thinking that it was normal, and also because she desperately, deeply wanted to. He stayed frozen the whole time, entirely unlike the calm, melodic movements everyone knew him for.
There was a loud "popping" noise when she broke away from him, out of breath and face feeling hot enough that she thought she might start sweating. Her grip on Luka's shirt had been so tight that her nails left tiny impressions in her palms as she let go, the wrinkled strap falling loosely off his shoulder.
Luka was wide-eyed, staring unblinkingly at her.
"D...don't do that ever again. You're too precious to me," she murmured, the situation slowly catching up with her. She had to metaphorically drag the embarrassment out from the back of her mind or risk being totally lost to the euphoria of kissing the boy she loved. The words may have left a vague implication that he belonged to her and she didn't want anyone so much as laying a hand on him, but she didn't take it back or clarify any further.
Barely remembering to breathe, she tore her attention from him to his lap. She could only hope that he wouldn't be upset in any way. "I-I should, um... check here too. Pull your pant legs up."
She reached a tender hand out to touch his thigh, but Luka's hand was suddenly on her wrist, keeping it in place. She jumped, initially anxious, but noticed that his grip wasn't so tight as to hurt her.
"You don't have to do that," he said. Given the situation, it sounded like an odd thing to say.
"W-what?"
She met his gaze, confused, and saw in his eyes that he wasn't the least bit upset. In fact, his eyes were gleaming, his body turning towards her and his face closing the distance she made. She watched with captivated eyes and he raised her hand up, kissing her palm where the impression of her nails had been.
Somehow, she heard his voice over the pounding in her ears, soft and loving as he whispered, "You already kissed me better."
In a perfect mirroring of what she'd done a few seconds ago, his other hand cupped her cheek and pulled her back in. It brought their lips together once again and she melted, needing no further explanation to understand. She leaned back intentionally to fall back on the chaise lounge and let him on top of her mid-kiss, not wanting to risk the tempting urge to climb onto his lap when his legs might be hurt.
She couldn't bring herself to care if her parents showed up right then with an ice pack. The tiny part of her mind that could focus on anything but the kiss was too busy planning out a few extra "events" for next week.