Hey, and welcome to Melody of Melancholy!

Similar to the last fic I posted, this is something I wrote up over winter break. I started it at 2 am December 24th and didn't really finish until 5 am the same night. (High key scared my dad when he came out of his room because I was in the office while writing this). Then I got it beta'ed and y'know.

This is probably one of my more emotional projects, and to think it all started because my friend got a song stuck in my head. (This fic was inspired by the song Pet Cheetah by Twenty One Pilots, the chorus of which is featured at the end, in case anyone was wondering.)

TW for implied parental suicide and alcoholism

I hope you guys enjoy it!

Luka was pretty good at acting.

It was one of those skills he hadn't really acquired willingly. He'd gotten good at acting like everything was okay, acting like everything was all chill all the time - it was a skill that came as a consequence of something he really wished hadn't happened. He really just didn't want to worry anyone, so he'd found himself playing it cool all the time. He didn't want to be known as 'the kid whose dad died.'

His father had taught him how to dodge questions about how he was doing, whether he was okay or not. His father had leaned on alcohol to get by, drinking whenever he was sad, or angry, or any other emotion that wasn't happiness. Which only seemed to make him sadder and angrier after he'd finished a few bottles, or even in the few moments he was sober. Luka could barely even stand to look at a bottle now, and leaned on music instead. Some small part of his mind hoped he'd be able to find a note, a riff, a tune that would make him genuinely feel better again, make it feel like it wasn't just an act. Hadn't been lucky so far.

The inner teenage angst was apparently pretty good for writing songs, though. He had an entire notebook worth of songs, songs he'd made up when he was feeling particularly down, particularly at odds with his own mind. Not that he ever had the courage to show them to anyone. His mother and sister didn't even know he wrote songs - if he was lucky, they just thought he sat around the houseboat picking tunes and melodies to forget about later.

He lay on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He probably needed to go out more, make some friends. He scarcely had the first idea how to do that - for how cool he acted, he wasn't really all that cool. He could wear all the Jagged merch and leather boots he wanted to, he still didn't know how the fuck to talk to people. There were people at school, there were plenty of people at school, but they all had their own friends already. This wasn't preschool, where you could just walk up to anyone, declare your friendship, and everyone goes along with it. Luka… felt more like a ghost at school, if anything. Haunting the school halls; unseen, untouched, but whispered about behind cupped hands.

He remembered, later on, his father wouldn't get out of bed. Sometimes he stayed a few hours longer than he should have, sometimes he stayed under the covers for days. It was like, when he wasn't drinking, he was in his bed, almost as if he were hiding from the world. Isolating himself. Sitting in bed like this… Luka realized how harrowingly similar this was to his father's situation. Before it all ended.

He heard his sister's friends giggling upstairs, the boards creaking. Right. They were coming over today, to work on a homework assignment or something. That would be fine. They never bothered him too much - weren't really the kind of people one could find as a 'bother.' They were nice, and considerate for the most part, and most importantly close to his sister. Made her happy.

To say he wasn't a tiny bit jealous would be lying.

Somehow, he managed to doze off a bit, burrowed down in his blankets. He hadn't really even realized he'd fallen asleep until the door to his room opened and the floorboards creaking woke him up. He peeked out from his mound of covers to see Juleka's friend Marinette standing there, holding a cup of what looked like paint water, looking like she was trying to sneak out.

"Mmmm… Marinette?" he mumbled, barely hiding a smile as the girl turned to look his way. She grinned awkwardly and waved, standing stock still.

"Hiiii Luka! Uh, I was just bathroom the looking for - I mean looking for the bathroom!"

"Oh! I'll help you with that," he stood, stretching a moment as he wrapped his blanket around his shoulders to preserve the warmth. He sent Marinette the best smile he could manage at the moment, and she smiled back, though something seemed off. "Let's go, then." he lead her to the bathroom, where she dumped the paint water and rinsed out the cup.

Just as Luka was about to head back to his room, she stopped him. "Wait," she said. When he'd turned to face her, he was taken a bit aback by the… pure concern etched on her face. "Are you alright? You look a little down…"

"Me? I'm fine, Marinette, what made you think I'm-"

"I just - you looked sad. I-I don't know why I - I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude, I just-"

"No, no, you're fine, Marinette, really. It's nice you're worried. It's just-" he sighed, looking at the nearest wall as he let a few walls down for the first time in what felt like ages. "I… I just get sad sometimes. A lot of the time, maybe. You really don't need to worry about it though, I'll manage."

"Oh… L-Luka, if you want to talk about it, I'm here for you. Okay?"

Luka could tell by the look in her eyes that she was being real, genuine. This wasn't the fake, half-concern he'd let himself get used to. But yet...

"I… I don't want to weigh you down with my bullshit, Marinette."

"If you're worried about it weighing me down, then don't you think it's a bit much for one person to try and carry alone?" she reached out a hand, as if to take one of his, and sent him a soft smile. "Really, I want to be here for you, if you'll let me. Please?" she lowered her hand a bit as he hesitated, unsure what to do or say next.

God. He couldn't tell exactly what it was about Marinette, but every time she seemed to come around things just felt better. Safer. He could trust her with… it felt like anything. He let his shoulders sag a bit, let the blanket envelop him more.

"Okay," he said. "Just… don't tell mom. I don't want her worrying. My room?"

"Wherever you're comfortable,"

He nodded quietly, making his way to his bedroom again. He took a seat on his bed, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes a moment. Be still my beating heart. When he opened them again, Marinette was sitting at the desk across the room, smiling softly, patiently.

He took a breath and began.

No, I move slow

I want to stop time

I'll sit here till I find the problem

Hope you guys liked the story! I have some mild ideas for continuation if the interest is shown, but otherwise this'll just be a one-shot!

Thanks to wishfulina, tbehartoo, flautist4ever, and disorganizedkitten for beta'ing this story for me! These lovelies can all be found on Tumblr!

You can find me on Tumblr at anipwrites, or if you want to see some of my OC stuff try anip-ocs!

Have a nice day!