Wanted ✘ Luka Couffaine

chapter ten

After a while of sitting and talking, I can't help but let my eyes wander around the room. The walls are washed with a bright pink. Photos line the space above her desk, of friends and family. I even spot one of her and Luka. They look genuinely happy and also slightly younger than they are now. I guess they had to have been happy with each other in the first place if they thought it would be a good idea to start a relationship.

My gaze fixes to a long cat soft toy having off the side of her bed and I immediately get up and walk over to it. Before anyone asks what I'm doing, I tentatively lift it up and hug it to my chest.

As I do this, I catch Rose looking over. Excitement sparks in her eyes and she instantly reaches for her phone in her jeans pocket. "(Y/n), can I take a picture of you?"

"Oh, yeah," I say shyly, averting my eyes for a second. I've never had any friends to take pictures with. The only photos I have of myself are the family portraits hanging up around the house, but all of them have stone-cold expressions.

Just as she gets her phone up in front of her though, she sighs. "I don't have any storage left. Can I use your phone? That way you'll be able to have it with you as well."

I slip my hand into my coat pocket and grab my phone, unlocking it. As I extend my hand to her, careful not to move, she takes it thankfully and positions herself to take the photo.

Being that I have no experience, I don't really know how to hold myself during these photos, so I just look into the camera and tighten my grip on the long cat.

After a few photos are taken, Rose pauses and retreats to the recently taken photos, commenting, "These are so cute, (Y/n)!"

"Thank you," I mumble under my breath as a light blush makes itself noticeable across my cheeks. My eyes subconsciously look away, unable to deal with the slight compliment.

That's when they land on such a stunning dress. The moment they do, I wonder how I missed it. It clings to the waist of a familiar torso mannequin, the one always used on Marinette's blog.

Apart from Marinette, the others are too busy to realise what I'm doing. She stands from the place on the floor she had parked herself upon coming up here and treads over to me. I lightly trace the white collar of the piece. It's a pink bouffant dress with accenting white lace. Tiny flower patterns are hand sewn, into the shoulder and down the front, with very fine thread, so well done that it appears machine-made. Obviously, her work is always like this, always so lovely and intricate.

However, a little sadness pulses through me as I notice the hints of Father's style in her work. I already knew he was an influence on her since she got into fashion, but it still hurts to know she looks up to him. Maybe not morally, but it hurts because I used to as well.

Still, I push that aside and focus on the differences. Although I hate to admit it, Father's work is beautiful but more... cold, in a way. Marinette's is driven by passion. Both are incredible, but I have to say I prefer Marinette's approach.

"Is this your latest one?" I ask, running feather-light finger tips over the fabric. It's only then I realise what I'm doing and my eyes widen. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking. I know how special your works are to you. I shouldn't be touching it like this."

I withdraw my hand and cradle it in my other, nervously looking to Marinette for her response.

"Don't be sorry. I feel a little protective of them but you were being so gentle," she says, smiling at me, "And yes, this is my latest."

"It's just... wow." The beauty of this dress renders me speechless, because I can't seem to let her know the extent of what it is. "I love all your work, but this is my favourite."