Chapter Text
Marinette entered the reception with a kind smile. Mrs. Hart returned it with the same warmth but looked slightly nervous. Marinette didn’t pay much attention, maybe she was stressed; it was the first day back and she had thousands of students to organize. Then, Marinette felt her phone vibrate. Adrien.
<<@adrienagreste: I’ve arrived at the apartment, starting to bring down all your instruments. Get ready for the best instant ramen of your life :flirtysmirk: >>
Marinette smiled and turned her attention back to the sweet older woman, who had already found the keys and the information she needed.
“Here you go, dear, you’re back at 3B.”
Marinette’s face fell. 3B. The damn 3B. She didn’t even need to check who her roommates were; she already knew perfectly well. Her ex-bandmates. Her ex-roommates. Her ex-best friends.
“This has to be a mistake, I moved out of 3B almost a year ago to one in Zone L, on the other side of campus.”
The kind woman knew Marinette would object. Everyone knew the general story of the big fall of the university’s most popular band and its reasons. But there was nothing she could do for the poor girl. The decision came from much higher up. Not that she would say that to her.
“I’m sorry, Marinette. Since your transfer was practically off the record, the system automatically reassigned you to your original room. And everything is full; your spot in the other apartment was already taken by another student.”
Marinette wanted to scream. To kick something. Even cry from frustration. But she simply thanked her and took the keys. She paused before leaving the office and pulled out her phone. Another message from Adrien.
<<@adrienagreste: Do you know why a freshman just came up to tell me he’s my new roommate? He brought a bagpipe, Mari. A BAGPIPE. >>
Marinette couldn’t help but let out a small, muffled laugh.
<<@marinetted.cheng: They reassigned me to 3B. :) I’ll stop by there first to take off the band-aid. I’ll come by to your apartment later to pick up my stuff. DON’T FORGET THE RAMEN YOU PROMISED. I’LL NEED IT MORE THAN EVER. >>
She put away her phone, gripped her two small suitcases tightly, and reluctantly set off down the path she hadn’t taken in almost a year. Since that last time she ran out of there with tears in her eyes and smeared makeup, feeling like she was drowning.
She walked down the hall until she found the door she was looking for. She opened it from memory, pressing exactly where she knew the lock was stuck and pushed it open gently.
The first one to notice her was Jon, who appeared barefoot from the kitchen, spatula in one hand, his glasses crooked on his face, and an old Metropolis t-shirt hanging off one shoulder.
“Hey! Mari!” he exclaimed warmly. “Did you realize you forgot something? I don’t blame you, it’s not like it was a whole-ass piano.”
Marinette couldn’t help but chuckle. Jonathan Kent. Member of Crimson Alley, the most popular band at the university. Which, at Gotham’s Arts School, was a title not given lightly. Jon is the drummer, a sweet soul with a farmboy’s heart, and someone Marinette had shared a room with during their first year.
On the sofa, relaxed with that calm and laid-back aura that always accompanied him, was Luka Couffaine. With perfectly black-painted nails, he had the bass resting on his legs and was distractedly moving his fingers along the strings, but his blue eyes tracked her deliberately. Luka is the bassist of Crimson Alley. An accidental poet, probably the reason she had to buy twice as much eyeliner when she lived there. Luka never needed many words to make her feel heard. He was always there, accompanying her with a soft melody, even on the darkest nights.
And of course, there he was.
The morning light spilled softly into the room, filtered through the gauzy curtains that swayed gently with the breeze. Damian stood by the open balcony window, the city stretching out behind him in muted colors. A black t-shirt clung to his frame, the sleeves pushed up carelessly, revealing forearms she once knew better than she should. In his hand, a mug of coffee sat untouched, the faint steam long gone,cold, just like the space between them.
He didn’t turn right away. He didn’t have to. That infuriating sixth sense of his, one she could never quite explain, always seemed to tell him when she was near. She hated how it worked both ways.
When he finally did turn to look at her, his eyes caught hers and lingered just a fraction of a second too long. The kind of second that carried years of history. He said nothing, and that silence weighed heavier than any words could.
Damian Wayne. Leader of Crimson Alley. Frontman, vocalist, lead guitarist… and the reason Marinette Dupain-Cheng had been losing her balance since she was seventeen.
He had been the first to believe in her music, not just as a hobby, but as something worth showing to the world. It was Damian who had convinced her to play in public for the first time, his confidence in her unwavering and maddening. Together, they built Crimson Alley from scratch, chasing every late-night rehearsal and dive bar performance like it was oxygen. She became the band’s fourth member, keyboardist, second voice, the melody that wrapped around his raw edges.
For a while, it was perfect. Until it wasn’t.
They had never been able to keep their relationship separate from the music. The love, the fights, the way their eyes found each other in the middle of a song, it all bled into the band. Add to that the fact that they were roommates and academic rivals in the university’s elite music program, and it was only a matter of time before the pressure cracked them open.
The weeks after their last fight were suffocating. Words unspoken swirled in the air like smoke, and every shared space became a battlefield of stolen glances and clenched jaws.
So she made the only decision she thought would bring peace, to them, to the band, to herself. One afternoon, while they were in class, she packed everything she owned into two suitcases. She didn’t wait for him to come home. She didn’t even leave a note. Just a single message to the group chat: I’m quitting the band.
And that was it.
Damian never spoke to her again after that. No messages. No calls. Not even a half-hearted “Good luck.”
Still, on her worst nights, Marinette would hear his voice, low, raspy, almost vulnerable, echoing in her memory from one night long ago:
“We’re not complete without you.”
A part of her wished, against all reason, that maybe, just maybe, he still believed it.
They were her home. Her band. Her story. And even though she’d tried to start over, there was something about that apartment that made the world turn differently. And now, she was back.
“They reassigned me to 3B. I just found out twenty minutes ago.”
The three remained silent. Jonathan quickly tried to hide a playful smile, but his eyes gave him away. Luka looked happy but a bit nervous about how the dynamic might get heavy. And Damian, as always, tried not to show emotion, but Marinette noticed the slight clenching of his jaw and tension in his neck muscles.
“That’s great, Marbles! Between the famous rockstar’s son and the billionaire heir, we were desperately lacking some good ol’ down-to-earth energy in this apartment. Obviously, I’ve already claimed our old room, but don’t worry… I’ll just move my ‘don’t ask, won’t tell’ junk pile to the closet. I’ll make it work.”
Jon genuinely looked enthusiastic, which made Marinette let out a small sigh of relief. She could work with that. Thank God she used to share a room with Jon and not with… him.
Damian remained silent. He didn’t have to speak. Everyone knew what he thought about the situation. His hand subtly curled into a fist. Marinette could swear the veins in his neck hadn’t stood out like that a few minutes ago.
Luka, on the other hand, seemed calm. Without Jon’s enthusiasm but also without Damian’s coldness. He gave her a small smile and returned his attention to his bass.
An awkward silence quickly settled. None of the four were truly prepared to be face to face again. Marinette only knew one thing. She needed to get out of there. Think. Mentally prepare herself.
“Well, if that’s all, I’ll head to Adrien’s apartment. We both spent the summer at home, so we came back from Paris together. He has the rest of my stuff.”
She didn’t wait for any of them to respond, turned halfway around, and was ready to run when…
“No need to bother Agreste. Jon and Luka will help you carry everything.” His voice was authoritative and tried to sound distant, but everyone in that room knew Damian Wayne had never liked the friendship between Marinette and Adrien.
But before Jon could tease him, Damian left the living room and locked himself in his room.
“Well, looks like we’re in for a little trip together, all aboard the Rolling Fortress!”
The ‘Rolling Fortress,’ as Jon liked to call it, roared to life, releasing a deep sound that was more a groan than an engine. The blue paint was already dull, and the passenger door had a dent that, according to Jon, was “living history” and not something that should ever be fixed.
Marinette climbed into the passenger seat while Luka settled behind her, crossing one leg over the other with the ease of someone who could find comfort anywhere. Jon, behind the wheel, leaned forward, giving the dashboard a couple of affectionate taps.
Marinette took out her phone and quickly sent a message to Adrien.
<<@marinetted.cheng: Cancel the ramen. I’m being chaperoned :) We’ll be there in 10. >>
“Come on, girl, don’t let me down in front of Marbles,” Jon murmured, as if the truck had a will of its own.
As they pulled out of the parking lot, the initial silence was charged with a light but undeniable awkwardness. Marinette could feel Jon holding back from speaking, as if pressure was building inside him, and Luka, from the back, knew him perfectly well and was internally betting on how long he’d last.
“Jon,” Marinette said with an amused voice and raised eyebrow, “just say it already.”
“Or not,” Luka replied, casually spinning a guitar pick between his fingers. “I’m betting he holds out till the end of the corner.”
“Ha, ha, very funny, you two.” Jon huffed, but his smile betrayed how much he enjoyed the game. “It’s just that… this is amazing! The queen of keys is back.”
Marinette twisted a bit in her seat to look at him, and Jon took advantage of the moment to spill it all at once.
“We could be what Crimson Alley was again. I mean, Damian would never admit it; he’d probably rather slit his throat with one of those weird katanas hanging in his room, but since you left it hasn’t been easy for us to find our sound.”
“Jon…” Luka stretched the name as a warning but stayed calm.
“No, no, don’t look at me like that.” Jon insisted, pointing with one finger while keeping the other hand on the wheel. “You know it as well as I do. And don’t come at me with ‘everything’s fine’ because it’s not. Mari was the spark.”
She let out a nervous laugh, shaking her head.
“You know that’s not going to happen, Jon. Damian’s been very clear about that.”
Luka then intervened, his voice low but sure.
“Maybe he’s been clear… but not always honest.”
That phrase made her turn completely toward him. Luka was leaning back, with a slight smile that wasn’t quite a smirk, but hinted that he knew more than he said.
“And what does that mean?” Marinette asked, genuine curiosity mixed with a hint of caution.
“That sometimes people say things to convince others… and themselves. Damian’s good at pretending he doesn’t feel something, but terrible at hiding it.” Luka looked back out the window, as if the conversation wasn’t that important. “Especially when it comes to you.”
Jon chuckled and shook his head.
“Thanks for ruining my big reveal, Luk.”
“I’m just telling the truth,” Luka replied calmly, focusing his attention back to the dance between his fingers.
Marinette felt her chest tighten a little and didn’t want to think too much about why. She leaned against the window, watching the streets go by while trying not to let those words stick.
“So?” Jon asked, in that tone of someone who doesn’t know when to drop a subject. “What do you think about coming back?”
“I think…” Marinette took a breath. “…you guys are dreaming. And I just want to survive the semester.”
Jon let out an exaggerated “pfff” and turned up the music a little, letting an old playlist take over, which, to top it off, was full of Crimson Alley songs. Luka said nothing, but she felt his gaze resting on the back of her neck from time to time, calm but alert.
Suddenly, the Rolling Fortress gave a small jolt going over a hole, and Jon had to grip the wheel.
“Relax, this is part of the experience,” he said, as if he were a guided tour.
Marinette couldn’t help but smile. For a moment, she almost felt like how things were… until she remembered the destination was Adrien’s apartment and that sooner or later, she’d have to go back to 3B and face Damian.
The ‘Rolling Fortress’ roared as it stopped in front of the building where Adrien lived. Marinette got out first, stretching after the long day and preparing mentally to see her worlds collide. Jon and Luka followed her with excitement to see a little of how Marinette’s life’s being the last year.
Adrien was waiting for them at the door with that calm, slightly tense smile. He knew this day was more than just moving boxes; it was the beginning of a complicated chapter for Marinette.
“Thanks for helping me get everything down,” Adrien said as he opened the door. “I know this situation isn’t easy for anyone.”
“Don’t worry,” Jon replied with a smile. “Nobody was going to leave our queen of keys alone on this mission.”
Luka, putting an arm around Marinette’s shoulder, nodded silently and followed them inside.
Adrien’s apartment was as tidy and peaceful as always, with a subtle lavender scent filling the air, but the tension in the atmosphere was palpable. Marinette glanced around for a moment, as if wanting to memorize this little refuge before it disappeared from her daily routine. The boys started moving everything Adrien left already in the lounge to pick up. Her keyboard, guitar, sewing machine, and some other personal items she’d left at Adrien’s place over the summer.
Jon carefully handled the sewing machine, looking for the best place to secure it without damage. Meanwhile, Marinette arranged her keyboard, and Luka took care of the guitar.
“Careful with that box,” Adrien warned when Jon placed it on the edge of the seat. “That can’t fall!”
“Don’t worry, this thing can take more than a piano,” Jon joked, smiling as he secured it with his hands.
At that moment, one of the boxes of clothes Jon was carrying accidentally opened, and a couple of stress balls rolled onto the floor of the truck. Luka tried to catch them but lost his balance and almost fell on Marinette, who caught him just in time.
“Luka!” she laughed nervously. “You almost took me down!”
Adrien chuckled while Jon leaned on the door of the vehicle with a playful grin.
“This definitely won’t be a boring semester,” Luka commented, recovering with a calm smile.
Marinette laughed, and for a moment, the weight of the day felt a little lighter.
Once everything was loaded, Adrien approached Marinette and gave her a small squeeze on the shoulder.
“You’re not alone,” he said sincerely. “We’ll get through this together.”
The ‘Rolling Fortress’ cruised through the streets, the old stereo blasting the notes of “Love Story.” Jon was the first to jump in with a strong, energetic voice:
“Romeo, save me, I’ve been feeling so alone…”
From the back seat, Luka smiled and took over, joining with a soft but confident voice:
“I keep waiting for you, but you never come…”
Marinette, sitting next to Jon, couldn’t hold back and joined in with all her might:
“Is this in my head? I don’t know what to think…”
Jon, keeping the rhythm, continued enthusiastically, almost shouting with his usual passion:
“He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring…”
Luka accompanied him with a melodic tone that sent chills:
“And said, ‘Marry me, Juliet…”
Marinette closed her eyes for a moment, immersed in the song, then sang loudly:
“You’ll never have to be alone…”
The three were already singing in chorus, their voices blending and filling the ‘Rolling Fortress’ with contagious energy:
“I love you and that’s all I really know…”
“‘I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress…”
“It’s a love story, baby, just say, ‘Yes’…”
The final notes were unanimous, almost shouted with all the contained emotion:
“Oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh, oh
‘Cause we were both young when I first saw you…”
The silence that followed was filled with stifled laughter and bright glances.
“That was… amazing,” Luka said, wearing a smile that wouldn’t fade.
“We definitely needed something like that,” Marinette agreed, feeling the tension melt away.
Jon leaned back in his seat with a triumphant grin and switched the radio to a softer song. “Alright, I’m feeling already this will be one hell of a journey.”
Back at 3B, Jon and Luka were on a full mission to clear Marinette’s half from Jon’s mess. Meanwhile, Marinette sat on the living room couch with a cup of tea, trying to calm her nerves. She set the cup down with a heavy sigh. Just as she began to relax, a door from the hallway suddenly swung open and there he was: Damian, eyes fixed and brows furrowed, as if he’d been holding in everything he was about to unleash for months.
“Do you really think this is going to be easy?” His voice was sharp, almost cutting, but charged with a tension that made the air between them vibrate. “That after everything that happened, we’re just going to act like nothing?”
She studied him carefully, noticing every line of frustration on his face, every shadow of pain in his dark green eyes. It wasn’t simple resentment there, but a deep conflict a battle within him that seemed fiercer than anything else.
“I didn’t come here expecting a hug, Damian,” she answered firmly, though a slight tremor she couldn’t fully hide betrayed her. “But I’m not running away either.”
He stepped forward; the air thickened with static electricity. His presence was imposing, yet there was a subtle vulnerability in his rigid posture.
“That’s not what you said last time. You left without saying goodbye, without explanation.” His tone was a mix of reproach and pain, as if those words cost him to get out. “Like everything we built meant nothing.”
Marinette looked down for a moment, feeling the weight of each word, but then lifted her head with determination. “I left because I couldn’t keep pretending everything was okay. Because pretending it didn’t hurt was driving me slowly insane. And you? What did you do all this time? Wait for everything to fix itself?”
Their eyes met, and the silence between them grew almost unbearable. Damian clenched his fists, knuckles white, as if trying to hold back not only his words but also his feelings.
“It’s not that simple. It’s not for either of us,” he said, lowering his voice to almost a whisper that echoed in the room. “I lost you. And I don’t know how to get you back without losing myself in the process.”
Marinette felt her heart pounding hard; each word cut deep, but she wasn’t about to give in. She stepped forward, closing the distance without fear.
“So, what do you want? For us to fight until we break? Or for us to try not to destroy each other in the process?” Her voice was a challenge, a risky bet, but also an offer.
Time seemed to stop. They both breathed in the same rhythm, each second loaded with memories, broken promises, and fragile hopes.
Finally, Damian closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering strength. When he opened them, his voice was softer, though still firm.
“I don’t know. But this time, I’m not giving up so easily.”
Marinette felt something inside her stir, a mix of fear and possibility. She didn’t know where this path would take them, but she was willing to walk it, even if step by step, carefully.
“Then we’ll have to see how far we’re willing to go,” she said, with a small smile barely touching her lips, but carrying a world of meaning.
They looked at each other silently. The space between them became one full of promises and challenges, a perfect stage for a new beginning or the hardest battle they’d ever face.
In the hallway, Jon shouted: “MARBLES, COME SEE HOW YOUR HALF OF THE ROOM TURNED OUT!”
Luka added playfully, “Don’t worry, I made sure it looks decent. And I found the perfect spot for your keyboard!”
Marinette set the cup down on the table. “I guess I better go.”
Damian didn’t reply, but as she stood up, his voice reached her, deep and low.
“Welcome back, Marinette.”
She didn’t turn around. If she did, maybe she’d see something in his eyes she wasn’t ready to face.
“Goodnight, Damian.”
The air in the hallway was lighter, but only just. Jon immediately hooked an arm around her shoulder and guided her toward their shared room.
“You are going to freak out, Marbles,” he said, grinning like a kid about to reveal a surprise birthday cake.
The further she got down the hall, the more the apartment seemed to come alive again. Jon was already swinging the door to her room open, stepping aside dramatically as if unveiling a grand stage. Marinette smiled despite herself at his ridiculous flourish and stepped inside.
The room was cozy, warm, touched with little details she recognized as Luka’s doing , neat stacks of music sheets, her favorite blanket folded just right, the keyboard stand set perfectly by the window.
She opened her mouth to thank them.
And then it happened.
From the other end of the hallway, an electric guitar roared to life.
The sound sliced through the air, raw and unfiltered, every note carrying an ache and defiance that pulled at her chest. It was Damian’s playing, she would know it anywhere, and it was furious, the kind of playing that didn’t just echo through the walls but burned through them.
Jon frowned, leaning on the doorframe. “What did you do to him?”
Marinette blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
“I’m serious,” Jon said, eyes narrowing in exaggerated suspicion. “He hasn’t played that song in months. And now he’s blasting it like he’s trying to send a message to the entire building.”
Her brows knit. “What song?”
Luka’s voice was quieter when he spoke, but there was no mistaking the weight in it. “The one he wrote for you.”
She turned toward him, stunned. “What are you talking about?”
His gaze held hers for a moment, then flicked toward the floor, like maybe this was something Damian should have been the one to say but it was too late now. “Back when you left… he wrote a song. Powerful, but sad in that way only he can make it. It’s this mix of pop rock like, it makes you want to scream and cry at the same time.”
The guitar kept tearing through the air, each chord a punch to the gut.
Luka finally met her eyes again. “It’s literally called Marinette.”