Work Text:
The hoodie was already too warm.
Marinette knew that.
She knew it before she stepped outside.
She knew it when the sunlight hit her face.
She knew it when the heat wrapped around her like a blanket far too heavy to carry.
And she knew it when her mother looked at her outfit that morning and went completely still.
“Marinette.”
She had stopped halfway down the stairs.
“...Yeah?”
Sabine’s eyes flicked from the black hoodie to the weather report murmuring from the kitchen television, then back to her daughter.
“Sweetheart… it’s supposed to reach thirty-nine degrees today.”
Marinette blinked.
She knew.
She had checked before she got dressed.
Over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit.
With humidity, the heat index would feel closer to forty-three degrees Celsius, one hundred and nine degrees Fahrenheit.
A day for hydration, shade, and light clothing.
Not a hoodie.
Especially not a black one.
“I’ll be okay,” she replied too quickly.
Tom frowned. “Are you sure you want to wear that, pumpkin?”
Her fingers tightened around the sleeves.
“Yes.”
A beat.
“It’s fine.”
It wasn’t.
But “fine” was the only word she seemed able to use anymore.
So she stepped outside.
And she kept walking.
Because the hoodie was more than a hoodie.
It was Luka.
— — —
The first time she saw the repair, she had snorted.
Not because it was bad.
Well… maybe a little because it was bad.
“Luka.”
He looked up, teal thread still looped around his fingers.
“Hm?”
She held the hoodie out, eyebrows raised.
The hole had been tiny.
The fix was… not.
The stitching wandered like a drunk caterpillar.
The teal stood out violently against the black fabric.
He had somehow managed to cover three times the area of the original tear.
“It looks like you tried to fight it.”
Luka grinned. “I won, didn’t I?”
“Stick to music,” she teased, laughing. “Bring it to me next time you destroy something.”
He lifted the hoodie, inspecting his chaotic teal stitches with a proud little nod.
“Hey, it survived. That’s what matters.”
She snorted. “Barely.”
Luka extended it toward her again, not just showing it, but offering it to her.
“Then you should keep it,” he suggested. “Since you care more about it than I do.”
She blinked.
“…You’re giving this to me?”
“You liked it,” he murmured simply. “It looks better on you anyway.”
He paused, a smile playing at his lips.
“And now you have something to wear when things feel too loud.”
That had stopped her.
Because Luka always said things like that. Gentle truths wrapped in simplicity. Like comfort was something she deserved without earning it.
“Wear it when you need a quiet place,” he’d added.
A small smile.
“When things feel like too much.”
Back then, she’d laughed.
Because things weren’t too much.
Not yet.
— — —
The Liberty wasn’t at the dock today.
Luka’s family had taken it upriver for a weekend gig, leaving him home alone with a quiet apartment and a borrowed fan humming in the living room.
Marinette was grateful for that.
She truly loved Juleka, but… Juleka was still part of the class, and lately anyone from the class made her stomach tighten.
The walk to Luka’s house wasn’t long.
Normally.
Today, every step felt heavier.
The fabric trapped heat against her skin.
Her hair stuck to the back of her neck.
Her breathing felt too warm.
She knew she should take it off.
She knew it wasn’t logical.
But logic wasn’t the reason she wore it.
The hoodie covered her.
The hoodie hid her.
The hoodie made her feel less visible.
And lately, being invisible felt safer.
At school, she had learned how easy it was for people to tear things apart.
Her drawings.
Her designs.
Her friendships.
Her.
She had spent an entire year trying to become smaller.
Quieter.
Someone people wouldn’t notice.
Someone Lila wouldn’t target.
Someone Alya wouldn’t turn against.
Someone nobody would have a reason to hurt.
The hoodie helped.
Even if it was ridiculous.
Even if she was sweating through it.
Even if the entire city was melting around her.
Luka opened the door before she could knock twice.
“Marinette?”
His voice wasn’t sharp, just surprised.
She managed a small smile. “Hi.”
His eyes flicked to the hoodie.
Not judgmental or prying.
Just… noticing.
“You’re wearing it,” he observed softly.
She looked down. “Yeah.”
“In July?”
The automatic answer rose in her throat. I’m fine. But Luka didn’t push. He didn’t tilt his head or narrow his eyes or ask the questions she couldn’t answer.
He simply stepped aside.
“Come on in. It’s cooler inside.”
And for the first time all day, she let herself breathe.
— — —
When she finally left hours later, the sun was lower.
The heat had eased slightly.
But not enough.
She walked home slower than she had walked there.
By the time she opened the bakery door, she was tired.
Too tired.
Tom froze mid-knead.
Sabine looked up from the counter.
Their eyes went straight to her. Flushed cheeks, damp hair, trembling hands, the black hoodie clinging to her like a second skin.
Marinette stopped in the doorway.
“I’m okay,” she blurted.
They exchanged a quiet, worried look. The kind of look parents shared when they didn’t want to scare their child by saying the truth out loud.
Guilt pressed against her ribs.
“I’m just tired,” she whispered.
Sabine stepped closer.
“Oh, Marinette…”
The softness in her voice almost broke her.
Because she wasn’t tired from walking.
From the heat.
From the weight of the hoodie.
From holding herself together all day.
From pretending she wasn’t unraveling.
She escaped to her room before either of them could say more.
The moment the door closed, she sagged against it.
The air inside was thick, the July heat trapped beneath the slanted roof.
Her fan whirred weakly in the corner, barely moving the air.
She tugged at the hoodie but couldn’t make herself pull it over her head.
Her skin was burning.
Her eyes stung.
Her breath felt too warm.
She sat on the edge of her bed, hoodie still on, sweat sticking the fabric to her arms.
The heat pressed in from all sides.
And for the first time, she wondered if maybe her parents had noticed the things she was trying so hard to keep invisible. Not just the hoodie, not just the exhaustion, but the way she was melting from the inside out.