---
Paris always felt softer after a supervillain attack — like the city was sighing with relief. The sun filtered gently through Ha Joon's window the next morning, golden and forgiving. His face was still warm from the memory of Luka's voice, low and melodic, cutting through the leftover noise of Adrien's birthday like a private performance meant just for him.
He'd spent hours after the party pacing around his apartment, replaying the conversation on loop, dissecting every smile, every glance, every awkward pause that shouldn't have felt so electric. His manager had walked in mid-rant to hear him breathlessly declaring, "His hands—his fingers are like art. His voice is like... cinnamon-dusted velvet. I'm going to throw myself into the Seine."
Kyle hadn't even blinked. "Please do. But wait until I can livestream it for fan engagement."
Now, with his thoughts still tangled in Luka's eyes — eyes that had seemed to see straight through him — Ha Joon sat at his kitchen table, staring blankly at a croissant he hadn't touched. A knock came at the door. Then a second, louder one. He didn't need to ask.
Kyle barged in with a triumphant smirk and a folded magazine in his hand.
"Congratulations, superstar. You've been scouted."
Ha Joon blinked. "For... what? A pigeon-themed movie?"
"No," Kyle said, tossing the magazine onto the table. "A fashion contest. More specifically — The Gabriel Agreste Hat Competition. They're looking for fresh faces, and after Adrien's party, your name's been passed around like gossip at a rich auntie's wedding."
Ha Joon looked down. A glossy spread featured Adrien in one of his father's suits beside another model he didn't recognize. In the background, just barely visible, was Ha Joon himself — mid-laugh, champagne flute in hand, eyes turned toward something out of frame. His jaw was sharp, expression soft. Beautiful.
He sighed. "I was trying to hide at that party."
"Yeah, and you accidentally seduced Paris."
---
The event was set for that afternoon in the park — a public, flashy fashion moment meant to dazzle the press and showcase the Agreste brand's next line of avant-garde accessories. Kyle called in a stylist. Ha Joon called in courage.
By the time they arrived at the park, a small crowd had gathered. Adrien was already there, surrounded by crew members adjusting lights and fussing over fabric. And beside him was—
Marinette.
Ha Joon felt his stomach lurch.
She looked flustered, overwhelmed, already babbling too quickly to the contest coordinator. Her hair was messier than usual, her hands twitching nervously as she held out a velvet box. Ha Joon watched her with a strange weight pressing down on his chest.
In this world, she was still just a teenage girl — gifted, insecure, not yet weighed down by the war of hearts and masks that would someday break her down.
He reminded himself that he wasn't here to judge her. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of sharp heels clacking toward him.
Chloé.
Flanked, as usual, by Sabrina.
"Oh you're the last-minute replacement?" she scoffed, arms folded, eyes sliding over him with irritation. "I swear, if your cheekbones steal the camera from Adrien, I will ruin you."
"Good morning to you too," Ha Joon said lightly, lips curling. "Don't worry. I'm a professional at standing still and looking like a decoration."
Sabrina snorted before slapping a hand over her mouth. Chloé narrowed her eyes at both of them, then flipped her hair with a huff. "Well. At least your jawline is decent."
Kyle, standing just behind Ha Joon, whispered, "That's rich-girl for 'You're allowed to live.'"
---
The first half of the event went surprisingly well. Ha Joon found himself posing beside Adrien under an elaborate hat shaped like a golden swan. There was laughter, applause, even a few camera flashes that didn't make him flinch. Marinette fumbled adorably every time Adrien looked her way. And Chloé made it her mission to mock everyone in heels shorter than hers — which was everyone.
But peace never lasted in Paris.
Because in the middle of the contest, the sky darkened with a storm of feathers and cooing. Dozens of pigeons descended in a frenzy of wings, scattering models and shattering display tables. People screamed. Photographers ran. And then came the villain — Mr. Pigeon, hat askew, fury in his eyes.
"NO ONE BANS ME FROM FEEDING MY PRECIOUS BABIES!"
Ha Joon sighed. "Here we go again."
As chaos erupted, he ducked behind a tent, yanking Kyle with him.
"I should've brought snacks," Kyle muttered, watching the pigeons lift a mannequin into the sky.
"We're in the snack aisle," Ha Joon deadpanned. "We're covered in feathers and carbs."
Then he heard it — a voice cutting through the madness.
"Juleka, move! Stay behind me!"
Ha Joon turned just in time to see Luka pushing his sister out of harm's way, his guitar still strapped across his back. His face was flushed, hair wind-tossed, and for a second, time froze again.
Ha Joon didn't even realize he was smiling until Kyle said, "Wow. That's not your usual 'I want to kiss him' smile. That's your 'I'd delete all my social media for him' smile."
"I'm fine," Ha Joon lied.
"Sure. And pigeons don't poop."
---
Later, after Ladybug and Chat Noir had saved the day (again), the crowd had mostly cleared. The photoshoot was postponed. Models gathered their things. Ha Joon lingered.
He saw Luka crouched by the fountain, re-tuning his guitar. Quiet, calm, a small smile on his lips.
Ha Joon hesitated, then approached.
"You were brave today," he said gently. "Shielding your sister like that."
Luka looked up, eyes meeting his. "Family first," he replied. "Always."
Their eyes held.
Ha Joon's throat went dry. "I like that," he murmured. "Family first."
Luka tilted his head. "Have we met before?"
"Sort of," Ha Joon said, smiling faintly. "I've... seen you. Around. You play at the Couffaine gigs, right?"
Luka nodded, still watching him like he was trying to read sheet music written in smoke.
"You look like you hear the music in everything," Luka said.
Ha Joon blinked. "What?"
"The way you stand. Listen. Move. You don't just exist. You... listen."
Ha Joon didn't know what to say. So he just smiled, a little crooked, a little awed.
"I hope I see you again," Luka said softly, then stood and walked away, guitar swinging behind him.
Ha Joon stood there long after he was gone.
---
That night, back in his apartment, Ha Joon curled up on the couch, still dressed in his half-buttoned shirt from the shoot, his sleeves rolled up, the events of the day replaying in his head on a maddening loop. Luka's words — you look like you hear the music in everything — kept echoing. It wasn't a pickup line. It was worse. It was real.
He let out a long, unintentional sigh.
Kyle, sitting on the other end of the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a half-dead phone charger hanging from his mouth, side-eyed him with all the grace of a feral cat.
"That's the seventh sigh in ten minutes," he said, dry. "You're either falling in love or having indigestion."
Ha Joon didn't look at him. "Do I talk about your crushes like this?"
"You never ask about my crushes," Kyle said. "You just assume I like chaos and unmedicated people. Which is not always true. Sometimes I like hot, emotionally unavailable ones too."
Ha Joon cracked a tired smile and shook his head.
Kyle leaned forward, watching him closely now. "So... mystery boy from the party?"
Ha Joon pretended to be more interested in adjusting the cushions. "What about him?"
"You're... different since that night," Kyle said. "I mean, you were already weird, but this is sentimental weird. Like, the type where you stare into your coffee cup and sigh like it holds the answer to life."
Ha Joon turned to him slowly. "He just... has this way of seeing people. Like he's not looking at you, but into you. And it doesn't feel invasive. It feels like he hears things no one else picks up on."
Kyle whistled. "That poetic description either means you're in love or you've been possessed by an indie songwriter from the '90s."
Ha Joon didn't reply. He just leaned his head back against the couch, eyes drifting to the ceiling.
After a beat, he murmured, "I think I want to see him again."
Kyle, softer now, said, "Then maybe you should."
---
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