Disclaimer: I don't own Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Author's Note: This is last chapter!

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Chapter 14

It was already nightfall when Luka made up his mind, driven by the realization that he could not leave—not like this; not after having left her in tears, so broken, so desperate, practically unable to grasp what was really happening to her. Had there ever been a moment in the past when he believed that she did not want this, that she did not want him, the sole look she had given him when he announced that he was leaving had dissipated all of his doubts. She wanted him in his life. She wanted him, and yet, she did not.

She wanted the relationship they had once had—the strong connection, the peaceful atmosphere, the soothing words whispered softly in the darkness of the night. She did not want to doubt; she did not want to be reminded, each and every time she thought back to the past five years, that he had once told her he didn't want to marry her.

Under any other circumstances, he would have felt like a jerk for even thinking about leaving her again. But not now. Because, this time, he knew he was doing the right thing. Marinette was right: there was too much of a history between them, so maybe their relationship would never work out. Either way, it was now impossible for him to find out.

She had shut him out from the very first moment he came back into her life, only allowing herself the briefest moments of weakness—and even those, she had allowed because she knew it was the only way she could make him leave. He had lost count of how many times she had openly told him that.

And despite all that… He didn't know, really. He didn't know what had driven him to do this. He had known where Chloe's wedding would take place, and maybe that had been the woman's only mistake—letting him know. Because there was nothing in this world that could have stopped him from going there to see her—one last time; in that dress; smiling, laughing; happy and content. Just like she should have always been. And maybe he was being a selfish bastard, risking being seen, risking causing her even more pain, but he knew that, if he denied himself this, he would never have the heart to board onto that plane.

Slamming the car door shut, he had no plan whatsoever to speak of. He would just… go there. He would search for her with his gaze, hidden behind a door, a wall, anything that could shelter him from her trained eyes, and he would watch her. For how long, he did not know. It could be minutes, it could be hours; it could be mere seconds before pain started to ripple through him. But there was no rush—his plane left at midnight.

His hands in his pockets—something that seemed to have become his signature pose—he made his way through the lanes of cars, heading towards the elevator. The sounds of hurried footsteps reached his ears, heels clinking on the concrete floor, echoing in the enclosed space, but he refused to look up, instead choosing to keep his eyes on the ground. It was only when a flash of pale yellow suddenly appeared before him that his head snapped up, his light blue aqua eyes immediately locking with a pair of all-too-familiar bluebell ones.

"Marinette…" he whispered, stopping dead in his track. She looked stunning, more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. Her flawless features were accentuated by light make-up, dark eyeliner bringing out her eyes, while a light pink lipstick toned down the sophisticated look. Her hair was wavy, tumbling down her back and shoulders in loose, perfectly styled curls. And the dress… God, never in a million years could he have managed to conjure up the image of it fitting her so perfectly. The light yellow hue complemented her creamy complexion, and her silky skin glowed in what little light protruded into the parking lot; the crystals it was decorated with shone like little diamonds, discrete and elegant, yet glamorous in their own way. She looked exquisite—there was no other way to say it.

She had stopped abruptly upon seeing him, the rhythmic sound of heels clicking against the pavement coming to a halt. Mouth slightly opened, eyes widened in shock, she stared at him as though he was an illusion of some sort, an illusion her mind had trouble grasping. But in spite of that, the relief was obvious in her posture.

"It's not what it looks like, I swear," he scrambled to defend himself, "I'm not following you around—or anything like that. I just…" he trailed off, trying to find a suitable explanation, trying to convey his feelings through words. "Well, truth to be told, I just wanted to see you one last time, in that dress," he eventually confessed, somewhat shamefully. "I wouldn't have made my presence known, I—"

"Shut up," she snapped, interrupting him. Determined, she walked the remaining distance between them; Luka watched her, confusion showing clearly in his eyes. After a moment, she came to a stop before him, and he flinched instinctively, squeezing his eyes shut as he waited for her to hit him. The blow never came. Instead, he felt a small body throwing itself at him, slim arms wrapping around his neck in a manner that was so familiar that it would have sent pain rippling through every inch of his body, had the shock of her actions not numbed it beforehand.

Blinking, he stared at the spot where she had once been standing, confused. "Huh?"

"Thank God," she whispered, and she sounded so delicate and fragile, so damn easy to break, that it was practically a no-brainer when he wrapped his arms around her slim waist, bringing her closer to his toned body. He had no idea what was going on, what had triggered this sudden change in attitude, but if this was a dream, if he was already on the plane—on that plane that was taking him away from her—and his mind had decided to play a twisted trick on him, then he preferred not to wake up—ever again.

"Marinette…" he breathed as he buried his face into her silky hair, inhaling her sweet, unique scent. His arms tightened around her, and he almost lifted her off the ground in his desperation; he wanted to be as close as humanly possible to her, to pull her right through his skin if he could.

"I was scared you'd already left," she confessed in a meek whisper, her face hidden in the crook of his neck. "I know it's taken me quite a while to realize this, but…" she trailed off, pulling back to look at him as much as she could, for his embrace refused to loosen. "I want that second chance," she finally said, biting down on her lower lip as she gazed deep into his eyes. "Really badly."

Unable to believe, to fully comprehend what she had just told him, Luka could only smile. "Okay," he agreed easily, looking at her with such adoration in his eyes that it made her insides melt.

"But I don't want to go back to Paris," she said.

Luka continued to smile. "Okay," he agreed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"And I want to get married," she continued.

A small laugh born of true happiness escaped his lips. "Okay," he answered simply.

"And if you ever hurt me again, so help me God, I will murder you with my bare hands," she finished, her bluebell eyes failing to convey the threat her words were supposed to.

"Okay," he laughed. Cupping her face within his hands, he lovingly rested his forehead against hers. "I love you so much," he whispered, gazing adoringly down at her. "I won't ever leave you alone again. I promise. You won't regret this. I will make everything worth it, Marinette—everything."

Smiling, she stood on her tiptoes, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "You'd better," she whispered softly, before pressing her lips to his, sealing their reunion with a kiss.

A/N: And that's done! I hope you all enjoyed it and I hope you'll read some of my future works. Leave a review! ÷