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Chapter Text

It started the day of two things.

The day after Marinette Dupain-Cheng would last be just that: Marinette, the fashion-enthusiast and last one to class despite living a corner away in a bakery; a rosy-cheeked darling who knew little about superheros, stress, spite and any reason one might say, “Screw you, Agreste!”

But two things happened the day after.

One: She opened a box. Inside, of course, was an overtly perky ladybug god who informed her she’d now superintend every Parisian life there on out, all through the very unquestionable magic of earrings. But that was whatever, she supposed; Tikki was cool.

The second thing, she didn’t want to talk about.

Marinette wasn’t fond of Chloé Bourgeois—Mayor’s daughter, she’d make clear—for a few reasons. Besides the obvious tackiness of her steel-blue eyeshadow and the whine that could make Marinette’s last name rip her own ear canals, Chloé had a pattern of adding problems to her life. She managed to give the class detentions, headaches, and a reflexive flinch at the phrase, “I’m calling Daddy!”

So the day she announced, “Some boy I grew up with is joining our class,” as she inspected her crappy manicure, Marinette knew nothing good was about to walk through Miss Bustier’s room.

“A friend of Chloé’s? We must be in for a treat,” Alya, the new girl from the year before, jested, ribbing Marinette.

Chloé’s blonde half-do lurched as she whipped around to sneer at the bespectacled girl. “Excuse you, brat, but we’re hardly friends. Our parents just got along and are just richer than all of yours. He’s technically nothing but a business associate to me.”

That’s when Marinette scoffed loudly. “Business associate? You were like, kids.”

She angled her nose. “Oh get lost, Dupain-Cheng!”

A new student always interested the school year, but the ‘entertaining’ prospect of a snobby friend– uh, business associate of Chloé’s soon became the last of Marinette’s thoughts as she was thrust into the surely historical events an hour later that was 1) an akuma attack (don’t ask), 2) becoming Ladybug (she couldn’t even ask), and 3)

“Well hey there! Nice of you to drop in.”

That guy.

“I bet you’re the partner my kwami told me about.”

Some partner she was. She’d just gotten over the longer, red-striped ponytail and sparkly unwelcome of a skin-tight bodysuit that had replaced her ‘first-day-of-school fit’ Not to mention, she was surely just in her balcony no more than twenty seconds ago—and her and her clueless ass had gone ahead and barrelled into this grinning angel.  

And he was cool with it!

He introduced himself decidedly as “Chat Noir”, an effortless charm already about him, and Marinette had to blink as her tangled yoyo retracted (why was that her weapon?). The warm confidence in his voice surprised her – almost to the degree that hit her during the little yoyo accident of hers had them meet (bodies, hard) in the first place.

It didn’t help that the flailing yoyo assaulted his head during her own introduction – and that was when all her natural pride bent to the will of wanting to die.

 “Gah! I’m so sorry! I’m so– I’m so new to this, sorry.” She rubbed her gloved hands over her face, the magical material cool and grid textured. She missed his grin broaden. “I shouldn’t even be here.”

“Hey, hey! No sweat! I’m new to the ropes, too! But we’ll do fine,” he said, loudly announcing just how stressed he was, all while Marinette couldn’t even remember her name from the way he was smiling at her. He held her shoulder. “We’re in this together, okay?”

“Together,” she laughed, petrified, “okay.”

It went both downhill and uphill from there.

Not only was Chat Noir a sweetheart, but he was a risk-loving, spontaneous mess who didn’t know what he was doing. But after a tender rebuke to his ‘excitement’, they worked together in untraditional greatness as they figured out their powers and skills. Things went too fast then not at all and the next hour became rock and ‘what?’ and more rockand Stoneheart’s deflation at the breaking of his akumatised object: a love letter to Mylène.

But one of two things happened that day.

-

“What are you doing?”

The foreign mop of blond hair whipped around, sharp face ablaze in panic.

“Uh, I—” the boy who Marinette quickly realised was Chloé’s-whatever stammered, stupidly, and the uncanny cackles of Chloé and Sabrina down the class rows punctuated his fruitless word-bile.

Marinette stared at the gum his tan fingers stuck to – on her seat.

“I get it,” she sneered, “class prankster? Rich-privilege syndrome?”

“No, I–!”

“Save her the time, Adrien,” Chloé’s pitched voice cut him off. “It’s obvious what you were doing.”

That may have been the closest she’d ever gotten to defending Marinette.

Guess the Mayor’s daughter and Rich-boy seriously weren’t friends.

Adrien looked at her like spears could fly from his green gaze. A further defence went to steamroll out his mouth, but as his luck denied, a hapless-shaped rock monster crashed through the classroom with an eloquent uproar.

A re-akumatized Ivan had returned and sounded keen to find, “Mylène!”. There were thrown desks and cries and Kim’s high-pitched screams before the creature left just as boldly (ha) with the dread-locked girl in one grip and a wailing Chloé in another other.  

Under oblong furniture, there was a feverish clutch at the bag Tikki dwelled in.

The pitiful confidence from Chat’s strings of encouragement and earlier’s ‘success’ died within Marinette (or “Ladybug”, she’d finally decided) as she realised she’d forgotten to purify the butterfly that had akumatised Ivan. According to Tikki—the pretty cool ladybug god—she was now, in light terms, screwed.

Most of Paris were now rock monsters. And most of Marinette couldn’t move.

Suddenly, she was no longer Ladybug.

Because she could not do this.

 “Help!”

Cars flipped and Parisian street floorings frayed as stone masses trampled through and havocked chaos. Industrial smog reaped from the destruction burnt her lungs as she stood agape and supersuit-less. She was avidly still as a bone-deep cry tore from Alya’s throat; a Zag Mercedes slanted atop her body below the neck.

Marinette saw red.

She unclasped her purse and Tikki flew out. “I changed my mind! I need to be Ladybug!”

The pinkish creature smiled. “I knew you’d come around!”

And she became red.

By the time Chat greeted her, poking fun at her lateness and offering a playful flirt—unsurprisingly while in the confines of her yoyo string because that ‘weapon’ was too attracted to him—Ladybug knew then and there that they’d be a team longer than she had planned. She hadn’t planned any of this! But between a new year, new school bully, and new responsibilities, in the end she wouldn’t sit back and do nothing.

But she still had no plan.

Stoneheart poised on the Eiffel tower with a ring of police and blockades and akuma crowning the base. Ladybug had caught Chloé as she was javelined from the height (she sure could antagonise anyone), intent of going to the heart of the problem, but Officer Roger with his cast-bound arm recognised no authority of hers and let it be known.

“We’re clear to attack!”

“No, don’t attack them!” she cried, horrified at the implications of all the rock monsters enlarging. “You know it’ll only make it worse!”

“I have a new plan, unlike you, ponytail girl! Now move aside and let the pros do their thing! You’ve already failed once!”

Her lower lip fell and everything crumbled to pieces once more.

“I—”

“Don’t you dare talk to her like that!” Chat spat, pushing past her. “She’s done more than you! She’s trying!”

“And she’s had enough attempts!”

Marinette turned to him quietly. “He’s right you know,” she muttered, lashes timid. “If I’d captured Stoneheart’s akuma the first-time round, none of this would have happened! Gah! I knew I wasn’t the right one for this job!”

Without missing a beat, Chat grabbed her shoulder; a hold firmer than before, yet the connection felt affectionate. His eyes softened against hers.

“No. He’s wrong, because if it wasn’t for you—” he turned her Chloé’s direction and nodded, “—she would no longer be here. And because without us, they won’t make it.” He gripped both shoulders. “And we’ll prove that to them. Trust me on this.”

The tightness in her chest let go. Beneath the spotted mask her fair skin washed to a humble shade of pink. That look in his honest green gaze… it blew off any hesitation; any distrust – in both herself and her new partner. And that jitter—that little foreboding of colossal, intangible things—her heart did made her realise, once again,

she was screwed.

“O-Okay!”

But for a completely different reason.

“So by the time I biked to the Eiffel tower, Ladybug had already purified the butterfly things and told Hawk Moth to get lost! What’s a girl gotta do to get a decent scoop around here?”

Noticing Alya too fixated on swiping through blurry action shots of Ladybug, Marinette stepped in front to push their classroom door open. “You’ll get it soon, I’m sure.”

“You’re right! Next target, ‘Ladybug: An exclusive interview’!”

Marinette laughed and shrugged off her bag, slipping into the seat aisle they’d stolen back from Chloé that morning. “Good luck with tracking her down.” She retrieved her tablet and a magazine she handed to Alya. “And besides, what about Chat Noir?”

“Hm? Oh, I guess he’s cool, but Ladybug pulled a car off me!”

“Uh, she saved me, too.”

The girls blinked up at the sumptuous presence monopolising the space under the door frame, silver-belted hip cocked and an overtired Nathaniel trying to squish under her elbow.  

Marinette’s jaw hardened. “So?”

“Well it was way cooler than a car lift, for starters. I actually almost died!”

Alya flipped through her fashion magazine.

“What-ever. You’re lucky you even know someone who’s friends with a superhero. In fact, I’m in such a good mood I won’t even tell you losers to get out of my seat!”

“This was never your seat.”

“It was, but I’ll be gracious. Adrien’s also not coming back because his dad caught him sneaking out. How lucky am I today?!”

Marinette scrunched her nose as Chloé pranced to her chair. Sneaking out? Was he a lowlife prankster and rebellious pest?

“Hey dude, you came back!”

Oh.

A lean, surreptitious figure strolled in, an arresting green gaze with shuddering lashes looking everywhere but Marinette’s lifted chin. It seemed the rich boy didn’t want her to notice him after being caught red-handed putting gum on her seat.

Great. He came back.

Chloé stared onwards as he took his seat next to Nino, right in front of Marinette. A vivid indignation took over the blonde’s body language but a private gesture from Miss Bustier silenced whatever outrage would have come. The scene was all so confusing. He didn’t have more privileges than Chloé, right?

But Chloé, with folded arms, shrunk in her chair.

Marinette’s gaze sharpened.

“Hey!” Alya whispered, angling the La Mode 93 magazine her way. “You know how you were saying outside that you think you’ve seen that new kid somewhere before? This is why!”

Marinette and her pulled brow scanned over the ruinous advertisements that hid the fashion before the face of a certain model wearing the latest Agreste collection threw her heart up her throat.

Agreste.

“He’s– He’s Adrien Agreste! The son of my favourite fashion designer, Gabriel!”

Alya snatched back the issue. “Daddy’s boy, teen supermodel, and grew up in Chloé’s world? Ha!” She slapped it down. “Forget it: he totally put that gum on your seat on purpose.”

Marinette was inclined to agree.

Past the beige pillars that beheld the mouth of Françoise Dupont, the sky had bled into a wanton shade of sapphire and grey. Marinette stepped from the dry tile into wet light and held her palm to the rain, then slipped off her bag. She’d forgotten an umbrella in all the messes that were the things of the day. In fact, she questioned herself on whether she even knew the forecast.

Then a boy, tall with a white jacket, came from behind and greeted her.

“Hey!”

She faced away, squeezing her bag handle.

Adrien dropped his wave sullenly.

“I just wanted you to know,” he began away from her, opening his umbrella, “that I was only trying to take the gum off your seat. I swear.”

Her mouth tipped.

“I’ve never been to school before. I’ve never had friends. It’s all sort of… new to me.”

The rain sailed down her clothes; down her hair, darkening the dripping tip of her ponytail into a sleek black.

Adrien held out his umbrella.

Her bluebell eyes flickered, starstruck, to his hand then to his eyes, and her perishable breath hitched when she saw those eyes. They were sharp and intimately gorgeous, a kindness about them she knew, but beneath it she didn’t feel what she looked for; she still didn’t trust him…

Hesitantly, she bumped his hand, then took his umbrella.

…Then realised why she didn’t trust him.

“Ah!”

The umbrella closed on her head.

And all she heard were the audacious, heart-plummeting cackles of Adrien Agreste that fleeting moment as she registered what happened. And when she lifted the wing, all she saw was the deceitful eyes filling with mirth on the flawless face of Adrien Agreste.

Thunder clapped.

“Are you kidding me?!” she cried as she opened the umbrella. “Gum, now this?! Who do you think you are?!”

The warmness of his face fell and a new sort of expression took over. “What? No! I didn’t—”

“You think you can come in and act like you own the place just because your father is Gabriel Agreste?! That’s what this is, right? Another Chloé?!”

His brows furrowed and he raised his hands. “No! No, she was the one—"

“You make me look foolish twice, and both times you try to lie to get yourself out of it? And because you’re a model I’m supposed to fall weak at the knees and let you get away with everything?!”

Raw anger gripped him. “No! Listen—”

“I saw the fangirls today, Adrien. I know you’re used to it so don’t even try.” She shoved the object of embarrassment in his hands, gobsmacking him as humiliation burnt her eyes. “You’re a liar,” she muttered, taking off. He closed the umbrella. “I hate liars.”

“Hey–!” he called out as she trampled down the stairs. “Marinette, stop. Just listen—!” But he changed courses of what he was going to say when she stormed faster, wet from head-to-toe. “The only one that’s acting like they own the place is you!”

She skidded around the corner, now running, wiping her eyes.

His driver honked at the end of the road and Adrien raced down the steps, rage and hopelessness and indignation all heating within his chest at once. Hand tightened around the shortened umbrella, Adrien only made it to the end of the staircase before futilely set in.

She didn’t listen.

She didn’t cease running.

In one final, meaningless strive for a defence, he shouted to the figure dwarfed by the abundance of sapphire sky – or maybe to whoever could hear –, with the threat,  

“And don’t ever bring up my father again!”

Chapter Text

The second Adrien stepped into the real world, he realised perfection meant nothing.

Not that he was ever perfect; not that his father was ever right, because frankly the “epitome of perfection” label that had been slapped on him since a child—not to be confused with “major disappointment” which his father was also fond of using—held no balm against the absolute ray of sweetness that was Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Some other dot points he took about the real world: Innocence didn’t hold up in court. Genuity was a scam. And as long as the wealthy heaviness of the names “Agreste” and “Chloé Bourgeois” were associated with him, he’d be treated different.

“Eugh.”

Very different.

“Hey,” Nino hissed, noticing the crude shift of Marinette’s eyes on her way past, “what happened yesterday?”

Adrien rolled a pen between his index finger and thumb. “Ha, where do I even start?”

Nino leaned over more, headphones on his neck swinging. “Hang on—Dude, did you even explain to Marinette what happened with the gum?”

“Oh, I explained!” he started, shuffling up in his chair. “I’m never trying to get a word through that girl again. It’s almost as if she’s as thick-skulled as Chloé.”

Bafflement hit him. “What? Marinette?”

“Why is that so surprising?”

“Better question is: Why didn’t she hear you out?”

Well, there were a few reasons, actually.

Being caught beside the gum on Marinette’s seat wasn’t the best first introduction. Then Chloé and Ivan grating his defence to shreds with intrusions really didn’t help him either. And it certainly wasn’t the best look when the next time Marinette saw him he was shewing a hoard of fangirls asking for his autograph; an hour or two before he went to explain himself, again, and the umbrella closed on her head to conveniently set him up for another prank he didn’t do.

But still. She didn’t try to listen.

Adrien didn’t have time to discuss all that with his new friend. He was at school, the place of his wildest fantasies. His bodyguard was nowhere in sight, he was a superhero now, and he was in love with Ladybug, to sum it simply.

So what if he had a little enemy or two? He had a city to protect.

“It doesn’t matter, Nino. I’ve given up trying to be her friend.”

Subdued by the class bell chiming, Nino shrivelled in his chair.

The pleasantness of his and Marinette’s relationship did not fare well much after. Dirty looks were exchanged across cafeteria tables, through library shelves, at their side-by-side lockers (check out his luck) and every time her face unstuck to the floor after she’d tumbled into class late. (Except maybe he was smiling whenever the last one happened.)

Then there was that brief period, on the cusp of his seventeenth birthday, where Marinette tried talking to him – with a very apparent Alya behind a not-so-apparent bush. Key word being tried talking, because her scrunched up, sour-mouthed face took a while to get anything out.

“Uh… hey?” He waved, trying his best not to mock her inability to form words. After all he was like that once – when he was two– ‘okay Adrien stop be nice’.

“H-Hi, uh, I’m– I’d just like to—… Ugh! Nope! No, Alya! I can’t do this now!” Her ponytail almost struck his nose with the aggression she whipped around, stringing together some noisy excuses about who knows what. Maybe it was an apology or means to start afresh. Either way, he only really caught the words, “stupid”, “a note”, and “easier that way”. Oh, and “stupid” again.

“It’s fine?” He squinted, gripping his bag strap as he debated whether this interaction should improve or worsen his image of the dark-haired girl. “I have a photoshoot to get to, anyway.”

He never received a note.

Adrien did, however, receive an unprecedented birthday gift exclusively from his father: a hand-sewn scarf, sky colour, that he wore proudly the day after Nino’s akumatisation – a day wherein he and Ladybug were trapped in a bubble for five minutes, which was a whole birthday gift on its own.

Marinette, for one, did not like the scarf.

“Hey dude!” Showing off his newly improved warmed neck, he greeted Nino foremost as he got out his limo, racing to rehash the splendidness of his dad’s initiative before Alya, beside Marinette, called out,

“Yo! Nice scarf Adrien! Off the chain!”

“Yeah! Can you believe my Dad got this for me?” he said, buzzing, then barely missed the weak smile of Marinette’s that paled. “It’s so awesome! He’s gotten me the same lame pen four years in a row.”

“Seriously?” Marinette piped up; tone aggressive.

He looked at her oddly. “Yeah, it’s– He did.”

“‘He’ didn’t have a… letter with it?”

A letter? What, was she serious? And why did she say “he” like that? His father hadn’t ever invested time or thought into his birthday (he’d always left the duties to Adrien’s mum, who no longer was around) and now there was a gift around his neck and a teenage girl looking like she wanted to tighten it.

So what if the cold business dad too-busy-to-ever-come-for-dinner didn’t add the effort to write a birthday card?

How awful did one have to be to insist that he should?!

“Letters don’t mean anything,” he snapped, defensive of his joy.

She scaled up the stairs, inviting herself threatening distances from Adrien as sparks flew from her blue eyes.

Nino and Alya took that as their cue to leave.

“So you’re saying he didn’t write you any note?”

A violent heat expanded in his chest. His nails dug into his strap. “Maybe I am!”

“Well—!” she all but cried respectively. “I guess the rest of the gift doesn’t really count—!”

The air hit his neck instantly.

Under the rioting madness of Adrien’s stare, the silken gift of his father in its pastel blue beauty and hand-thought stitching lay, startled, atop the stairs littered with footprints and muck. Most striking in the brazen silence were the loose white threads of the modest slit where Marinette’s grip targeted most. His bottom lip hung, shaking a little as no appropriate abomination formed.

What…

…

What?!

Oh she. did. not.

“Let’s go, Alya.”

Already at the school opening with Nino, the head of curls didn’t have a chance to see what her friend left and hurried away to their first class, brief mutters of, “what happened?” and “I don’t want to talk about it”, but all that was white noise to the teen in the centre of the staircase.

His breakfast feeling like title waves in his stomach, Adrien picked up his father’s gift.

“You okay, dude?” Nino called out. “What did Marinette say?”

With grit teeth he shoved the scarf in his satchel, eyes blazing.  

“That witch just wanted me to know,” he marched up the stairs, “that we won’t be respecting each other any time soon.”

Oh, but the problems did not stop there.

Not long after he discovered Marinette’s new levels of insanity and began the trend of commenting on her lateness every class, he ran into yet another fault.

Or specifically, Marinette herself.

“Hey! Did you follow me in here?!”

“No! What are you talking about?!

He held the opening of his white coat in hopes that Plagg, who he hadn’t seen in a while, wasn’t peeking out.  “I was in here first!”

“No you were not!”

Uh, he so was.

And he was the one who needed to transform into Chat Noir while Rogercop was cuffing everyone up. His lady counted on him!

“Marinette, listen, I’m not very fond of you and I’d like to hide alone.”

“So then leave!”

“You’re the one that’s leaving this locker room, thief!”

She jabbed a nail into his chest, iridescent light rimming off her self-made Chat Noir hairclip. “I didn’t steal Chloé’s stupid bracelet!”

He mirrored her aggression and pointed his finger on her collar. The hair of space between them had made any attempts to jab at each other without touching fruitless. “Like you’ve given me any reason to believe you! I mean, why wouldn’t you ruin the gift from her dad – maybe pocket some wealth while you’re at it!? I guess that’s just what poor scum who spills croissants on the floor does.”

Her eyes bloomed with incredulity. “You wanna go down that road, buddy?! Why were you here all alone, anyway? Crying ‘cause your dad didn’t come to Parent’s Career Day?!”

He gasped and beared his teeth. “That’s enough!” he cried. “You wanna know what I think of you—?”

A high shrill behind the room’s doors cut him clean off, and as if a cold bucket of water fell, he was drenched in the realisations of his duties.

‘Rogercop. Ladybug. Chloé’s big mouth and entitlement.’

He could give Marinette a piece of his mind any day.

–Ladybug, however, was more than deserving of his respect.

“Whatever,” he spat, gathering his pride and pushing past her. “I’ll find somewhere else to hide.”

Chapter Text

Their rivalry became relentless proceeding that.

While trying to avoid akuma in creative places, they seemed to share one braincell and kept finding themselves squabbling in bathrooms, classrooms, behind walls, or any locker room in the school, demanding the other “get out”. Once, Marinette and Adrien bumped heads ducking behind a recycling bin in an empty park. Then they wasted two minutes threatening to sue the other in case they took on concussion (both probably had it with the intelligence that argument had).

It was by sheer luck (not his, undoubtedly) that Ladybug faced her own distractions and arrived similar times he. Her school must have been further away, he reasoned, or that pesky guy that caused her grief held her up.

“He sounds the literal worst.”

“Oh, he is,” the love of his life, the reason to breathe, the fragility of his knees, laughed dryly, and he caught that sad smile that tacked on. “But you just have to get over some things, right? That’s what you say about… her.”

Her compassion swelled his heart and her tolerance inspired him. Nothing could compare to peach skies above sun-bitten rooftops with his lady, the random gatherings of dinner snacks from street shops on their blanket they most definitely stole, and the gnawing reminder at the back of his mind that Nathalie could walk in on his phone doing his piano lesson for him at any minute.

But then she’d smile.

And he remembered being in love made every risk worth it.

The time she stood up to Hawk Moth’s butterfly incarnation – all fiery and brave and sure of herself – he couldn’t do anything but watch. Then by her creative genius and their meant-to-be teamwork she purified the akuma and caught Mylene’s fall, and as he onlooked the spotted parachute sailing to safety, he swore his heart was no longer his own.

They were friends, for now, and they were only getting closer.

“She’s a handful, but it’s good to remember that not everyone in life is going to like you.”

Ladybug leant forward, holding her cheeks. She blinked up at him, red ribbon and cowlicks of her dark ponytail falling past her shoulder. “How could they not, though?”

He laughed, quietly bashful. “I guess I’m just too good looking to not hate.”

“Oh, stop.”

That giggle could single-handedly fuel him for a week.

“I can’t wait until the day I get to meet that guy who tricked you all those times– then purposefully ignored your note asking to start over. I swear, I’m gonna cataclysm his as—”

“Chat.”

He looked over. The evening cast over them and her eyelashes glowed orange as she held out a Capri Sun drink from their assortments of snacks. He read the “all natural ingredients” label and took it from her eagerly.

“We’re better than that.” She shuffled up, digging through their food pile and retrieving a milk chocolate bar. “We’ve had out weekly vents. Now let’s forget about them.”

Ladybug was right.

Evenings with her were just… ahh. She was both a relieving consolation and distraction to the situations he faced at school. She kept him from wanting to punch a wall whenever Marinette told the class he was having “gastro issues” when he went to the bathroom (akuma victim check-up) more than once in a day. She gave him someone to think about during dinner, at the toe of the spiritless table, so he felt less lonely as he faced that empty chair. She gave him a reason to do better – be better – than what Marinette drove out of him.

…

But Marinette still sucked, though.

He could go on about that girl. Like that time she purposefully designed her derby hat entry with feathers so Adrien would have an allergic reaction modelling if she won – which she did, fantastically. Then when she kept ditching school and ignoring Alya – which got her akumatised, by the way (and led to the theory-debunk of Chloé being Ladybug (long story)). Oh! And don’t even get him started on the pure luck that got them:

“Places! Places, people! Mylene should be coming back any moment now!”

Nino said, knowing full-well she was not.

But a director must keep his crew calm in these situations, and although none of them looked close to giving a rat’s tail about what was going on, the dial for his leadership senses were cranked up so he ‘just knew’.

His co-director (oh right, he had a co) whispered close beside him. “Now that Chloé’s gone we don’t have a fill-in for Mylene anymore.”

“I know.” He rubbed his temple. “Who decided she should star in a horror movie? We need a replacement, pronto. Can you ask Marinette?”

“Marinette?” Alya’s whisper loudened with her laugh. “She’s the producer. You really think she’d fill in?”

“What other choice do we have?”

“I know, but Adrien would be her co-star. Don’t you think their weird… chemistry will translate on set?”

“Of course it will.” Nino feathered his adjusted script and smirked at the change. Adrien, not too far from the secretive huddle, perked a brow as Juleka applied foundation. “But we don’t have much time. Get her on stage!”

-

Temporary, they’d said.

Marinette only agreed for the use of the word temporary (plus juice from Rose).

And yet, standing in front of Adrien, eyes flickering over the script a million miles a second, it felt like the longest moment of her life–

“A kiss?” Alya’s indignation sprayed across the room.

–And then it got a lot longer.

“Who wrote this?!” Adrien raised his script in the air, noticing the same as Alya.

“Uh, I did!” Nino volunteered for execution. Alya stormed to the other side of the room. “You know, just a little tweak to move the story forward—”

“What?! You edited my script without even telling me?! That’s low.”

“Wait a minute, you mean our script!”

She waved the edited pages at his face. “Well our script now makes no sense story-wise! The character’s emotional journey—"

“It’s called intensity, Alya! It makes the story interesting!”

For a fleeting moment that may never repeat in time, Adrien and Marinette exchanged a mutual glance.

Max’s nasally voice cut the directors off. “Principal Damocles is only allowing us to use the school until six p.m. sharp!”  He rambled on about the deadline for the Parisian Student Short Film Festival and how they needed to finish filming literally that night. Marinette was near-ready to lose her mind. They still had editing, post-sound, sound tracking— not to mention filming.

“Great,” Alya muttered. “That leaves no time to change the script again.”

Nino beamed to the room. “You heard Max! Places, people! Again!”

Marinette really wished she hadn’t sent Chloé to look for that nurse outfit.

Adrien rubbed his neck. “Um, I don’t think—”

“Places, Officer Jones,” Nino reiterated. Adrien knifed a look his way.

“Get over yourself,” Marinette said under her breath. He blinked, then glared; one of the few and most dominated expressions she received from him.  She decided, internally while coming to terms that she’d probably have to wash her mouth with soap after this, that since there was no way of getting out of it, she may as well be the mature one. After all, Adrien wasn’t capable of that..

She was still going to kill Nino later, though.

“Horrificator, take sixteen.” Alix closed the clapperboard.

Marinette caught Adrien’s gaze relax.

Oh.

So they were really doing this?

(Not that she wasn’t mature enough to handle it— obviously. It was just a peck; it was supposedly nothing.)

(—So why was she now so nervous?)

“I’m not scared of that monster, Officer Jones.”

“Cut!” Nino cried. “What was that? Say it like you want to kiss him, Marinette. Not kill him!”

(Nervous, mixed with a little bit of spite.)

She frowned and pretended she didn’t notice how smug that made Adrien. “I can’t help it!”

“Get over yourself,” Adrien said quietly, grinning.

“I don’t care if you can’t help it! Just pretend he’s someone else! Adrien – you too. We have a tight schedule.”

‘Someone else, hey?’

“Horrificator, take seventeen.”

Oh, she’d pretend he was someone else alright. In fact, why hadn’t she thought of that before?

For this curse in time, maybe Adrien looking a little similar to him wouldn’t be the worst thing.

“I’m not scared of that monster, Officer Jones!”

With unhinged passion Marinette gripped the openings of his overshirt, imagining they were lapels of black, and closed her eyes before she could see the travesty of what she was about to do. His head went forward in the motion and their lips slammed in a brutal, fervent kiss. She imagined she could hear a cat bell tinkle and that Adrien’s groan was his – it was almost exactly how she’d pictured kissing Chat would feel. Teeth pulled her lower lip as her hand traced his face—his unfairly moulded cheeks and soft skin—and imagined a mask there instead. The sensation shot something electric down her chest and from one more small noise from Adrien, she ripped away remembering justwho it was that seemed so eager to open her mouth — and just how eager she should stop being.

“Cut!” Nino applauded. “Perfect! That was awesome, you guys! Short but passionate! Right, Alya?”

Alya just stared at the two, slack jawed.

Marinette’s heart retched.

Okay. Okay.

It was all fine.

But what in the name of Hawk Moth did she just do?

(And worse: she had tricked herself into enjoying it.)

“Your advice really worked, Nino. Thanks.” Marinette smiled over-sweetly, stepping back from Adrien as he wiped his mouth in a daze – not that glanced at him several times.

She felt her cheeks warm and turned towards the door. “Now,” she huffed, straightening her back, “ if we’re done with this nonsense, I think Chloé’s return is overdue. Who’s coming with me to find where they all went?”

Chapter Text

“You can’t just fly out of here then decide to make catcalls, Ladybug.”

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t cool.” Out of the corner of Chat’s eye, a blonde nuisance waltzed onto the terrace with her yellow Physics binder. Shoulders deflating, he prayed that whatever Ladybug had to tell him over the phone would take him any distance away from the Bourgeois hotel.

Because although Adrien Agreste wasn’t on Chloé’s favourites list, she was big fan of Chat Noir.

(Because of course she’d be that dumb.)

“But you can ditch Chloé.”

“Done in a heartbeat, but why? Where are you?”

“That doesn’t matter,” she said as Chloé tugged on his bicep. “I need you to protect this girl instead.”

An image blinked on his baton’s screen.

Dark hair. Cute smile. Big, deceiving blue-bell eyes.

Marinette.

“Her name is Marinette.” Oh, he knew. “Pretty, isn’t she?”

His gut sank.

He was now in charge of watching… her?

“If you say so,” he muttered, scowling at the picture and shoving Chloé off.

She didn’t catch it and spoke over him. “The Evillustrator’s in love with her and promises not to harm Chloé as long as Marinette comes to his birthday party. While he’s distracted, I need you to take him down.”

“…What?”

Okay, let him get this straight.

In exchange for Chloé’s wellbeing, he had to babysit Marinette. Not only that, but she had no idea that Chat Noir—the stylish, handsome, incredibly dressed, insanely hilarious and respected superhero of Paris—could not stand her.

Nor that he knew how fake she was. That was Adrien’s knowledge.

And by the sound of it, he’d be doing it alone.

“Is that really necessary?”

“Uh, yes? What’s the problem?”

At another pull on his arm, he snapped and turned Chloé the other way, shoving her off back inside while holding his staff between his ear and shoulder. “Well where are you? Why don’t you look after the girl?”

“I’m going on… a very important secret mission. Also, I heard she’s quite a fan of yours.”

He blinked.

“I’ll catch up with you later. Can you handle this alone?”

“Who? Me? Please! It’ll be a cinch!”

It was not, a “cinch”.

After waiting with gleeful satisfaction as Sabrina smothered Marinette in front of her house, perched nearby, he dropped with dutiful charm as he introduced himself.

And her face lit up.

“Of course I know who you are! You’re the best superhero in Paris!”

Both Chat and Adrien were used to praise from various people, but from Marinette? Startled, his tail he’d been so coolly swinging clinked on the ground.

“Uh—”                                            

“So what are you doing here?”

Small strings of disgust tugged at his features. Marinette was smiling.

At him.

Turned out Chloé wasn’t the only stupid one.

He knew Marinette was somewhat of a fan of “Chat”—he’d overheard a discussion or two and she had that themed hairclip after all—and yet it never bothered him enough because he didn’t expect to actually have to deal with the repercussions of her celebrity crush. But now that he thought about it…

Ew.

There was something seriously wrong about that. It just went to show how shallow she was with Adrien, judging him in a second and idolising Chat in the next. And because of what? She didn’t know Chat – Actually, she didn’t know either sides of him!

“That birthday boy date of yours is bad news. But don’t worry,” he rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms above his head, “I won’t let him harm you too much.”

But his stupid cat costume made him inclined to wink of all evils, and Marinette—the creature who depleted the reality of school being incredible—went giddy.

“Really?! You’re protecting me?”

He’d never seen Marinette giddy before. In fact, he’d only seen about three of her emotions: cold, mad, and smug. They were quite the repetitive trio.

The times where he’d catch her smiling were times he wasn’t supposed to at all. It’d be in corridors or gym, slight angles in the cafeteria – anywhere where he could catch a glimpse of the “Marinette” she sculpted for everyone else; the plastic, undrafted, tooth-rotting mess of ‘sweetness’ and ‘helpfulness’. She’d be with Alya maybe, homemade pastries amongst one plate and the Wednesday special on the other. Their giggles were muffled and the stretch of penniless joy on Marinette’s lips would brighten her face even from tables away – and Adrien would stare just a second longer in morbid curiosity.

Because that was the same girl who tore his first thoughtful birthday from his father.  

Although he’d never seen her brightness up close, he knew it was quite different to any raw Marinette he got front row seats for, so not for the first time that evening, he had to blink a few times to make sure he was talking to the right person.

“Uh– sure.” He twirled his tail, attempting a façade of coolness once again, yet hesitance laced his voice instead of confidence. “But I’m going to need a little help. Care to assist a… superhero?”

There was no way he was talking to the right person.

“Me?! And Chat Noir? Fighting crime together? Amazing! What do I do?!”

He winced.

‘That secret mission better be important, Ladybug.’

“Just… uh, get that pencil away from him,” he said, sliding off the hands on his chest with a tight grimace, “I’ll take care of the rest.”

And he left, fast, head spinning a million miles per second as he vaulted away from whatever that was –

Because what in living daylights was that?! 

What was worse (yeah, there was a ‘worse’) about teaming up with the reason he was late for akuma attacks, was that said temperamental nightmare was helpful at defeating akumas.

As in, she didn’t suck.

The one time he needed her to suck – She couldn’t have been a failure so his alter ego had some chance to openly dislike her, could she? Because she was awful and wouldn’t give him that satisfaction, even unintentionally. It was nature. Miss Oops-Dropped-Your-Croissant-On-The-Floor-And-No-One-Else’s had to successfully—not just almost—retrieve Evillustrator’s pen and throw it to him under the silky moonlight before they were trapped, together, drifting along the Seine in the confines of some cube, the stars glittering like his mother’s old jewellery before she, unprompted, took his staff and showed him how to escape, because he couldn’t figure it out himself!

The bloody audacity.

“I heard about your adventures with Chat Noir yesterday.”

An estimated cry, a locker slamming shut, and an overcooked glare served at his charming self and Marinette was back to normal.

“Would you stop doing that—”

“Which is shocking to me since, I didn’t think you could be any help to anyone but the asses you kiss,” he cut her off, “let alone a superhero.”

She turned her face, scowl easing. “And you were wrong, no surprise.”

He scoffed. Arms crossed and half leant against Alix’s locker, he tossed more bait. “So you actually helped Chat Noir? Or did your drool cause you to slip?”

“Hilarious, Agreste.”

“I’m serious. I’m sure Chat had to tell you how to do your job, right?”

Her lips pressed.

One, ‘I had to help him’ of the sorts was all he needed to take to ‘Chat Noir’ so he could fairly dislike her, and Marinette was no coward when it came to defending herself. This time, she wouldn’t let him down.

“Chat Noir is amazing,” she raised her chin. “I’m extremely lucky to work with him– uh, was lucky, that one time, I mean. We worked fine.”

“Is that so?”

She mimicked his pose, shouldering the locker adjacent to hers—the one covered with Ladybug idolatry and printed photos from the Ladyblog—, arms crossed and smile thin. “You expected otherwise?”

He glared at where her elbow bunted a certain favourite picture of his: the sunset and Eiffel tower behind the perfect “pound it” pose.

“I expected one of you to be lost, at least.”

Her brow lowered. “Why would Chat mess it up?”

‘There it is.’

If she wouldn’t admit he couldn’t do his own job, then he might as well switch to what he did best: rile her up.

“He’s clearly a stupid hero.”

“He clearly is not.” Her spine righted. Neither noticed everyone had gone to class. “What would you know about him?!”

“He’s a show-off, slack at his job, can’t purify akuma, all while Ladybug can do everything—”

“Not true!”

“—and make Chat look ugly in the process with how attractive she is by comparison.”

“What? Chat Noir’s even hotter than you!”

He leant in, head towering her. His grin curved wryly. “’Even’?”

She shrunk in on herself.

He just got closer. “You’re saying you don’t think he is by that much, then?”

“I never said that!” His shadow fell past her scrunched nose. The cream skin had rosed beneath her freckles. His looming smirk widened, his taste of delight swelling. “You’re just a model, so it’s hard.”

‘Oh?’

He saw her throat move with her swallow. She’d recognised her mistake.

“I think you’re only digging yourself deeper, princess.”

“You know what? I said what I said!” She leered up at him, composure belying the deepening colour on her cheeks. “That doesn’t matter, anyway! Chat’s the better looking one out of the duo.”

“Compared to Ladybug?” He laughed. “Please. I’d give her my full modelling career in a second. And don’t think I’ve finished interrogating you about yesterday. Where’s the truth, Marinette? I know you and Chat were no-doubt disasters.”

“He’s a great superhero!”

“Bull!”

She gripped the opening of his white overshirt. Right up in his business, she asked rather aggressively, “What’s your deal?! Do you have a problem with me working with Chat?!”

His gaze flickered over her as he lagged in response.

Noticing his sudden shift in smugness, she titled her head.

“Protective of me or something?” The corner of her lip quirked. “Don’t think just because I almost let you shove your tongue down my throat last week that I’m now yours.”

Heat exploded beneath his ribs. It soared straight to his face.

“Excuse me?!”

“Don’t tell me you forgot, Agreste. After all I know you enjoyed it.” Voice bordering a whisper, her lashes dragged to reveal the twinkle that’d sprung into the light blue eyes that looked him up suggestively. “If where your hands were going was any indication.”

“I was acting! And I did not enjoy it!” he cried, flustered to the point he forgot to deny their new distance and instead surged forward. Her stature was dwarfed by his, yet despite the height and domineering pose her confidence was closer to that of his earlier. Now he felt the glass beneath his feet.

“Oh you totally enjoyed it—”

He scoffed in her face. It blew on her dark bangs. “You were way more into it then I was.”

Gratified with herself, she tugged his shirt. “Then who was the one who pulled away?”

“The script never specified how long we were supposed to kiss!”

“Well you didn’t seem keen to stop anytime coming!” Colour filled her face. The further they went—the closer they got—the more an underlying control system of hers was being sent into a frenzy.

It was a game. It was all a game.

Her and her stupid games.

“I was in character!”

“You were in my mouth!”

“I put effort into acting, Marinette!”

“What are you trying to deny?!”

“Oh shut up!”

“Make me!”

That was déjà vu’s entrance.

The distance. The grip on his shirt. The positioning. The distance. The breath fanning his face. The wetted lips. The distance.

The overwhelming drive that flew up his veins to just grab her face.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

And as that déjà vu tipped ice water, his senses cleared.

He wouldn’t.

It was all the same last week except there were no cameras. There was no people. No script. No excuse.

Disgust cleansing him just as fast, Adrien couldn’t believe the fleeting urge even plagued him for a second. He swallowed and hauled his gaze from her glossed lips.

This was Marinette.

He tore her fingers from his shirt, jaw firm, and an uncanny stillness emptied into the room.

“You wish,” he sneered, turning away and not looking back.

Chapter Text

“Adrien called me hot.”

“He called Ladybug hot—”

“I am Ladybug!”

At a cursory, perhaps naïve glance, the reflection of the previous day’s ‘argument’ appeared to a source of stress for Marinette; her typically styled, wavy ponytail was haloed by dark wisps and her Chat Noir clip was lopsided and it hung off the side; her pacing an irritation to onlookers. And yet, a sort of confused ecstasy had plagued her instead – for she now had the upper hand (supposedly?), albeit a secret one.

“I thought he made a show of kinda liking Ladybug because I liked Chat Noir. I mean, have you seen his locker? How pathetic! He has an actual celebrity crush—”

“Marinette,” Tikki’s patient voice intruded, “I don’t think you’re focussing on the more important parts of yesterday.”

“Like what? I got my History homework in a little late? So did Kim—”

“No,” she rebuked. “You and Adrien’s spat.”

Mouth dry, Marinette squatted on her chaise.

“Yeah, he said he’d give me his modelling career.”

The floating kwami’s features drooped. “That’s not all that happened.”

Hair a shameless disarray, Marinette turned her face. Tikki had implied her true source of franticness.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? What about, “You were in my mouth—"”

“No! Nope! We’re not doing this! I remember!” She did not say that, did she?! “Don’t say any more… please.”

After a tender beat of silence, Tikki flew to Marinette and landed in her lap, patting her leg with the smallest hand consolingly. Her chosen just wetted her lips as she stared at her desk.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what? Nothing happened.”                                                

“But it almost did.”

Her upright heart racked against her ribs – cheeks, veins, bones reigned by fire and electricity. A certain bolt skated her spine when his eyes dipped.

“Make me,” she’d said.

And make her he almost did.

Or at least, at the time he seemed to lurch on that almost; like there was a slight weight added to his lean; a question in the shape of his lips; a new flame in his eyes. But considering the hypervigilant mess her brain was she was probably sensing wrong. Honestly, it all was stupid anyway. Tikki was making a fuss over nothing.

“So? We don’t even like each other. It would never happen.” She leant back on her palms, forcing a mirthless laugh. “He’s just an idiot.”

Tikki didn’t say anything.  

“Seriously, don’t worry about it. He was just messing with me. Drop it, Tikki.”

Her kwami ascended near her hair and kindly adjusted the Chat Noir clip Marinette hadn’t been bothered to fix. “Of course. But if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”

She smiled, holding the urge to argue there was nothing to talk about. “Thanks, Tikki.”

-

“You almost kissed Marinette~”

“I did not!”

“You think she’s pretty~!”

“Plagg!”

“You think she’s hot~”

“Stop it!”

“You wanna kiss her~!”

“No I don’t!”

Abruptly, Plagg stopped his chorus, flying into Adrien’s locker to look him dead-on. “You so do! I was there yesterday, you know. You two were so close I could’ve flown into her jacket instead!”

“Oh yeah?” he spat childishly, “did you miss the part where Marinette’s obsessed with Chat Noir? If you should be making fun of anyone, it’s her.”

Why Plagg decided to bring up the pesky “incident” that hadn’t left his brain all night at the lockers of all things, Adrien had every idea. That little brat lurking in his coat had been far too quiet all day, so of course, leave it to him to reserve the taunting until they reached the crime scene, alone, where no one was daring to walk in and shut the kwami up.

“Nah, I like her.”

Pff. He would.

The school day had washed out. His classmates were either at tutoring, art club, music club – all those things his father deemed Adrien “too good for”. But Nino was outside waiting for him so they could go to the new attraction at the Zoo together.

Nino didn’t tell him much else.

And he soon found out why.

“Psst!” came out of Adrien as he dragged his buddy behind a vertical bush. His voice hissed like a profanity, “Marinette’s here!”

“Hm, what?” Nino blinked. “Where?”

A glare embraced his features. Adrien knew his friend’s coyness like no other, and he could tell Nino knew Marinette was there. And if he was right—which Adrien always most certainly was—Nino’s feign-denseness indicated he had something to do with the reason for her and Alya being there.

“What’s your deal? You invited them, didn’t you?”

“Well– I– Eugh…”

“Nino!”

“I wanted all of us to hang out, okay dude!?” he relented. “You know, just so you and Marinette can get to know each other better…”

Adrien’s fist balled. “I know her just fine.”

“You really don’t, man. She’s so nice, like, I’m sure all your beef is just a misunderstanding. And I hate seeing you change so much when you’re near her! I mean, look at you! It’s like your about to rip my head off!”

Behind them, an animal growled.

“I wonder why.”

Nino foresighted the threat and had already stepped back. “You really crack me up, dude.” His laugh wobbled. But now his profile was visible to Alya, who, before the girl beside her could run away, grabbed Marinette’s arm and rushed over, curls bouncing.

“Hey guys!”

“H– Hey,” he croaked, trying not to die, but in a cool way.

Because Marinette did not look happy.

Huh. So she didn’t know about this either, then?

“Alya,” the grit-teeth gremlin said, chaining eye contact with Adrien. “Did you forget to tell me something on the way here?”

Indifferent to the way her arm had been cut from circulation, Alya shook off the new grip with a smile towards Nino. “Nope!”

She mimicked the expression, cheeks splitting painfully. With an overtly saccharine voice, Marinette said to no one in particular, “Hm! Okay, then!”

Alya nudged. “Are you going to say hello?”

Adrien just onlooked, sheepish.

“Nope!”

Honestly, such the child.

“Kim and Max just invited us to go look at the new panther, so while you guys hang out I’m just going to go find them. You’re better off without me, anyway.”

“True,” he said without missing a beat. He pocketed his hands and shouldered Nino with such a force his headphones swung. “But I think Nino wants you around. I’ll go find Kim and Max.”

Her gaze narrowed. “No. They invited me.”

“Yeah, but, you said no, didn’t you?”

“I said I’ll catch up with them later!” She lurched at him, readying into a typical arguing stance. They hadn’t even been at the Zoo long. “Now is later!”

“It really isn’t. Besides, I know they’d prefer my company more.”

Nino froze. “Uh guys—"

“Oh get off your high horse!”

But there was no horse.

Just giraffes, gorillas, elephants, birds, bears, all lead by a panther coming at them on the foot road with unhuman speed, but no horse.

The girls whipped around.

“Uh—"

Well, it wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d ever seen. Most life-threatening? Maybe. It could give the chow mien grease stains on the latest Gabriel winter launch prototype a run for its money.

Ha, run.

Speaking of which—

“We better ditch this place!”

-

Judge Marinette all you want, but Nino and Alya totally deserved to be locked in that panther cage with the surprise afternoon they tried to put her through.

‘Hey, Marinette, my best-est of friends, you wanna hang out at the Zoo four o’clock?’

What manipulative garbage.

But hey, seriously don’t judge her. She was encaging them with safety, and they couldn’t get mad at her because at the time she was Ladybug – who, seemingly, was a lot more likeable than Marinette.

According to some people…

“If we can destroy his bracelet, I can capture the akuma and everything will go back to normal.”

“Sounds like a good idea!” Chat beamed.

Not that Adrien’s opinion could affect her while he was around.

Sure, towards Marinette, Chat was admittedly indifferent. He was slow in response, not as quick-witted or marvellous with his puns – but he wasn’t friends with Marinette. Just best friends with Ladybug, who understood (and perhaps loved) him more than any civilian. Of course he behaved different.

Some nights she’d leave her trapdoor open to stargaze. She’d think and think and think. Most thoughts were about him. Others were unfinished homework she debated getting up for. But when she thought about him, a million realities slipped through and into her fingers. Chat was a civilian. He had another identity. He lived a life, surely an interesting one with his personality, and without a doubt got along with the civilians around him. She thought about what he may be doing those timeless, fragile nights when she blinked at silver spots in the abyss. Maybe he was sleeping? Gaming? Studying?

Thinking about her?

Ha. She wished.

Sometimes she pictured meeting him as a civilian. She thought about the reality of not knowing he was Chat. Thatone never failed to wrench her heart. Because what if she had? What if they were kids? What if she cut the conversation short? What if she was rude?

The rabbit hole would deepen. She’d guess tiny details about his life, imagine his appearance, his family, and she just knew he had infinite friends – How could anyone not get along with the angel?

But there was that underlying certainty. The million things she’d never know, never see, never understand – never express.

Whatever she offered him would never be enough—

Inside her parents’ bakery, something about a frame on the shelf took Chat captive; a raw blanket of remorse falling across his face.

—and she’d give him everything.

But enough about that! She was eaten by a dinosaur that day.

So much for a normal girl with a normal life. In the last week, she’d seen Chat Noir in heels, helped a superhero, almost kissed her enemy, was tricked into ‘hanging’ with said enemy, chased by a hundred zoo animals, eaten by Alya’s dad as a dinosaur, and to top it all off—

In fact, what was probably the worst part yet:

“Uh… we’re sort of… together now,” said Nino,

Beside Alya.

Hand in Alya’s.

And in Alya’s other hand was the knife she’d just used to stab Marinette in the back.

Chapter Text

“You’re dating?” Marinette cried, incredulous, bookbag slapping across on her desk Thursday morning as she steamrolled over Alya’s overly-chipper (for pre-emtive damage-control), ‘’sup girl!?” “Why?!”

Welcoming smile dropping, Alya rolled her eyes. “I explained this yesterday. I didn’t think you had much of a problem with it.”

Well how could she tell? Marinette didn’t speak for a good twenty seconds after the announcement before hauling forward with laughter until her sides ached. The serious expressions cut her off, then Marinette simply said, “I’ll just process this. Bye!” And shut her bakery door.

She’d processed it.

“You’re supposed to tell me it’s a joke.”

“No joke. I’m with Nino.”

But she couldn’t be. Sure, Marinette had no legitimate problem with Nino but Alya for sure did. They bickered, they didn’t talk much, uh… um, she made fun of his haircut that one time! Point was, they didn’t get along – so far, so what sparked it?”

“Ladybug locked us in a cage.”

Ah… right.

“We just kind of… got over our differences. Our arguments were stupid. He’s a really cool guy. Besides, I’ve sort of liked him for a while.”

“What?” echoed, causing three classmates to turn their heads.

Alya grabbed her hand and hunched so her friend would keep her voice down. “Shh! I never told you because I couldn’t even admit it myself, and I’m not too fond of telling everyone just yet.”

Marinette’s freckly nose scrunched. Indignation gripped her. “He’s best friends with him, Alya.”

She pushed up her glasses. “You know that’s a childish thing to—”

But she was cut off.

Quite loudly, for that matter.

“—No! No! I don’t believe you!” was the end of an indignant streamline from none other than Adrien Agreste—all tall and mighty with his gelled hair from a morning photoshoot and new designer shoes—as he pushed open the door with his back, not ceasing his stare-down with Nino, who walked in a second later with a brow of worry. Before he could utter anything back, Adrien’s head snapped towards the wide-eyed girls in the second row.

This time, the glare nailed them both.

“It’s the truth dude.” Nino took off his cap and carded a hand through his hair, head low. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but I didn’t know how you would react.”

Marinette, for one, sure knew how he’d react. In his horrified glory, she looked straight at how she’d predict his taking to the news; or rather, she stared into a mirror. It encompassed her raw crossness and betrayal.

Nino and Alya—their best friends—were dating.

She was fine with their relationship—they were happy (weird, but happy)—it was everything knew that would come after that caused the wound in both Adrien and Marinette’s backs.

Because consequently, they were going to seeing a lot more of each other.

And they knew this. Everyone knew it. No amount of time, energy, or love in a friendship could dare rival the sickly-giddy feeling that came with wanting to spend every moment with the person you Venmo-ed your care towards. Marinette explored new spots in the cafeteria when Adrien would beat her to Nino and Alya—after all, they both couldn’t be there (she had watched Kim skull three Vietnamese noodle soups that week because of Alix).

Pleading, blue-bell eyes lit by crusty science lab lights held no barrier against the heart that swelled for the guy who was convinced he’d invented chocolate toasties. Group work became of source of dread for the acquainted enemies. Nino and Alya just had to work together, roping them in fours.

“Please, girl! What if Nino and I do the tough parts?!”

Sure. But could they even do that while sucking off each other’s faces?

(And Marinette thought working with Chloé and Sabrina was bad.)

So against library shelves, she’d stare at the slump model fisting his cheek and blinking away his lack of sleep. As long as they worked silently, there would be no problem. Except having to be near him. And look at him. Without fail, the half-conscious dimwit would catch her idle gaze and cut it off with a practiced scowl.

It was odd—yet marvelling—how his picturesque, insufferably handsome expression with soft features, relaxed jaw, and heavy eyelids could just flee at her doing – Not even doing, because she really didn’t have to do much but exist. Adrien’s effortless attractiveness could transform into something most would be frightened to look directly at. Just that glare. The slick coarseness that could jolt anyone but her. It was reserved for her, even now; even if they hadn’t spoken all evening and could only think about Simpson’s Diversity Index.

Then there was that time even Nino and Alya had little to do with their pair-up.

She’d blame her competitive side.

“Guess I’ll be coming over to practice,” Adrien said between his teeth; between both Mr Damocles and Miss Bustier (why did she keep looking at them like that?) after they’d finished their well-rounded lecture about his and Marinette’s high expectations for the UMS III tournament. “With… my new partner.”

Bleh.

She’d only joined the trials to beat Adrien for a little afternoon fun – completely forgetting that if she did, she’d have to represent the school in the Paris Ultimate Mecha Strike 3 tournament.

With him.

On the way to the bakery, Adrien’s presence impeding, she closed her purse to spare the handful of what Tikki had to say about her character there.

“This is not happening!”

“Marinette and I are finalists in Paris’ Ultimate Mecha Strike 3 tournament.”

When Adrien had hauled himself out from the silk sheets of his master king-sized bed, lemon water on his bedside table, and three-panelled computer system blinking his schedule that morning, his unfortunate life became that more difficult. The two cursed events that had slapped his day in the face were a) being partnered with Marinette for gaming, let alone anything, considering their repulsive chemistry, and b) standing in Marinette’s house, before her parents, talking to said parents like they weren’t the bearers of such a repellent creation.

“No way!” Tom – Marinette’s very, very big father who could definitely snap Adrien in half like a glowstick – marvelled from three heads above him. “Well, she did learn from the best. Tom style! Booyah!”

Adrien smiled tightly, ignoring the perfect technique of Tom’s fist as he posed.

“Marinette never told us about this tournament,” Sabine said.

“We were just paired up today.”

“You two are a pair, huh? I hope you work well together. I’m sorry to say but Marinette hasn’t talked about you before.”

Something about the way the bright-faced adults looked at him gave Adrien no trouble believing her.

“But you seem an exceptionally fine man, Adrien. I’m sure Marinette would love to get to know you more—"

“Mum!”

To his right, the ponytailed dame of his nightmares clung to the staircase, angling a warning look to her mother.

“Ha-ha,” she recovered, “come up, Adrien!”

Pink.

Her room was pink. It was the first, second, twentieth thing he saw. The inescapable shades blemished the walls, the desk lamp, the chaise, the bed, the trapdoor, and even the computer blinking the UMS III title screen. It had him pause, hands deep in his pockets and head low with the feeling he was trespassing. He never thought of Marinette to be someone as to prefer a colour so bright and chipper as pink – or live in such a tidy space, for that matter. It felt wrong for him to even know it now.

“If you’re done snooping around, we can get started.”

“I wasn’t—” then he decided not to bother.

“You can have that chair. It squeaks non-stop.”

He dusted his jeans and swivelled the hot pink seat towards him. “Why, how kind of you.”

Marinette said nothing. They sat, the apparent squeak of one’s chair doing little to help the awkwardness of the space. In unison, they reached for the controllers and jolted at the brush of the other’s hand. It was instinct that pushed a petty, tongue-heavy, “Sorry” from Marinette, and a muttered, “No, you go” from Adrien, before the scene repeated itself the second try. Warmth smarted her cheeks as Adrien’s hand seized hers. Again, they ripped away like the other was fire.

Denying eye contact, they began playing.

“Your parents seem nice. That was a surprise,” he spoke up.

“Yeah,” she said absently, fingers speeding over the buttons. “You’re just lucky I don’t talk about you.”

“I’m sure you’d have a lot to say.”

They side eyed.

“Everything going good?” Tom’s voice appeared. Adrien turned, his heart pushed against his ribs, to see Marinette’s father poking his head in the trap door with a tray of baked goods.

Oh, right. This was a bakery. He’d always wondered why Marinette always smelled good – Not that he smelt her! No! No, no, that was… No. He did not purposefully do that, but he’d get wafts; occasional drifts of a clean, slightly sweet, sometimes yeasty aroma. He’d noticed at the back of his mind since coming to her house that the smell he didn’t know he recognised now had a warm, stronger, and sugary quality to it.

“I thought just in case you wanted something to eat—”

Marinette caught the lift of Adrien’s face.

“No thanks, Papa.” The lift fell. “We’re training.”

“Well then, uh, maybe you need a few tips. You know, dad-style!”

Despite still scared-senseless of Marinette’s dad and his size, something about him was very endearing to Adrien. He giggled quietly.

“Thanks, but no thanks!”

While there was something very repulsive about her.

It didn’t help that she was definitely the reason they kept winning, all while continuously sending her parents away when they offered freshly baked, mouth-watering nourishment. He was trapped– hopeless, hungry, and indignant in Marinette’s cute little room. Alone. With Marinette. And her parents very obviously spying on them.

They were winning, though.

“That was practically all you again! You don’t even need me,” he moped, leaning on his squeaky chair as the ‘game over’ card bleared.

“You’re not wrong,” she muttered. “But we’re stuck together.”

“I’m well-aware.”

A beat of silence. Her controller clicked the desk when she set it.

Marinette’s sighed.

“Uh, actually, you know what?” She rummaged her jean pocket. His head perked as he gripped the desk to drag himself closer to it. “This is why I win.” Her hand opened and revealed a short red ribbon dotted with charms.

Pff. Was she serious?

“Good one,” he muttered. “I get it, you’re better than me.”

Her face screwed. “No! I’m trying to help you here. Do you want to play better for the tournament or not?”

“I… guess, yeah?”

“Then take this. It’s a good luck charm.”

Hesitance moving his hand, he did.

Her parents interrupted a tenth time a momenr after that. He never got to play a match with Marinette’s little undone bracelet since they relocated to a bench in the nearby park – to eat, finally, since Tom and Sabine recognised their daughter had been trying to starve him.

In resentful silence, the two chewed down their pies without so much as a relaxed expression to the other, before the people in the soccer game they were watching were sucked into pixelated cubes into some machine that looked awfully resemblant to a character in UMS.

A character that then headed straight towards them.

Marinette’s blood went cold.

“Please tell me this is some kind of publicity stunt for the tournament…”

“Well, well, Marinette,” the oversized machine said, its triangular head angling over her. “Let’s see who’s victorious this time!”

Max had been akumatised into the Gamer. And Marinette was his goal.

Adrien’s teeth grit. “Doesn’t look like a publicity stunt to me.”

The akuma’s pinnacle circle glowed as green pixels built up, ready to blast the two.

“Look out!”

In a fleeting breath, Adrien grabbed Marinette entirely and dived towards the grass before they could be sucked into the point system. She landed with his body bent over hers, shielding, and she looked over to see the park bench where they just were completely dissolved.

Adrenaline driving through him, he leapt up and pulled Marinette’s hand along with him.

“We better get out of here!”

Panic pushed open his lungs as they ran, the blasts of pixels fair metres afar. Max aimed for another bench just as their hands, gripping to each other for dear life, soared over it while they ran either side. The green discharge exploded the chair and disconnected their grips. Heated dread flooded down his arm as the final soft tips of Marinette’s fingers slipped from his hand.

They’d let go.

As the Gamer followed Marinette, Adrien in all his brazen and mismatched franticness from knowing he had lost her transformed behind a tree. He scaled a nearby building as Chat Noir, nails clinging to the concrete as he sought out that infuriating dark ponytail. But there was no sign of her nor Max in the park. She must’ve lured him into the street. What was wrong with her? Did she even try to hide for safety? Did she know the chaos akuma could cause in the street?! Where was she?!

He found Max blasting something in an avenue, his two neon-striped arms opposing the cars on the street sides as his character (that he was presumably controlling from the inside?) stomped along.

As he readied a great aim, Chat threw his baton to knock the triangle head.

“Game ov– Ah!”

“Not yet! Here comes a new challenger.”

He landed before the Gamer with a grin, relief clearing his veins not seeing Marinette in sight (but a different relief from usual) before a distinct, “Chat Noir! Hey! Over here!” had his head turning every direction.

He torpedoed out of another pixelated shot’s way and to behind the white car Marinette cried from, landing with his head between her knees. He dashed forward and picked her up, her body flying over cars in an immovable L-shape with his speed.

They made it atop a mid-class hotel, but before he could safely let her go, the person in his grip struggled rapidly. It caught him so off guard that he dropped her just as he jumped over the pool before landing. She yelped, figure disappearing in the water, the splash and reborn panic spraying over him.

“Marinette!”

He dove, slinging an arm around her back before she could go more than a metre deep, and hauled her above the water. He treaded with the limp girl in his arms for just a moment.

“Are you okay?”

She coughed thrice. In his face.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just shocked.” As she wiped her mouth, her eyes snapped open and something in him churned. He stared, mistakenly getting a clear look at her. Wet mascara bruised her lower lids, her wavy hair had flattened, and her white undershirt had begun to… oh.

He tore his eyes up. Fast.

“Thanks Chat,” she smiled. “Not for dropping me.”

He swam to the edge, placed her down, then dragged himself out. She gathered her wits and wrung out her ponytail.

“It’s on the house.” He shook out his hair and looked at her cockily. “I heard miss video game champ over here really ticked off the final boss.”

She crossed her arms under her chest. Bad move bad move— “Well it doesn’t give him extra points to go transforming everyone.”

He pried his gaze off her quickly and headed to leave.

“Wait! I left my… my partner Adrien at the park. He could be in danger!”

That stopped him in his tracks.

“Uh, don’t worry! Adrien’s not in danger. You’ll be safe here. Just stay put, maybe get some dry shirts– uh, dry set of clothes, in the meantime!” he stammered, eyes flickering like crazy between her face and transparent clothing. “It’ll be fine. Chat Noir will take care of it! Bye!”

After whatever that was, he couldn’t wait to see Ladybug.

Chapter Text

“Sorry I’m late! I didn’t break the macaroons on the way this time, though!”

“Where were you?” Alya asked with all the candour of someone very unsurprised by Marinette’s tardiness.

Sighing, she popped a soda amongst the ring of food and slanted besides Mylène on the picnic rug. “With Miss Bustier. She caught Adrien and I again.”

Juleka and Rose’s eyes lifted above their sandwiches midbite. Huh – Maybe she should have worded that different for people who weren’t Alya.

“What, making out?” supplied Alix, unphased as she chewed down a chicken wrap. The shock of that and Alix’s apparent lack of bother towards the idea had Marinette’s face blooming unkindly.

“Wh—No,” she huffed over Mylène’s giggle. Mylène had heard all about her vendetta towards Adrien Asshole that time she came to pick up her dad’s hat for his show. The same night Adrien arrived late to redeem a VIP spot (singular – for some reason he went alone?) to ‘The Mime’s Extraordinary Adventure’ and had to sit next to—you’ll never guess—Marinette.

Alya thought it was so funny she refused to swap seats. The show wasn’t worth fighting for the arm rest all night and hearing the subtle snark of, “There’s you” when the disfigured-masked mime came on.  

“We never showed up for the end of class because we were arguing in the lab. He accused me of “following” him since we both came out of the cupboards at the same time after Mr Pigeon calmed down – this is the third time this month, I may add. Not that I… take much notice of that stuff. Anyway. I know he follows me and argues about it just to piss me off.” She sipped the raspberry lemonade. “He does it all the time.”

Alya was tickled by a mix of humour and dubiety. “Does he though?”

“He does.”

“And what did Miss Bustier say?”

“She wasn’t ‘proud of our continuous tardy behaviour’ and seemed like she wanted to say something else, but didn’t. She walked in just as I was getting the budson burner ready, too.”

“Marinette!”

“I’m joking!” she eased Mylène. “I don’t even know how to safely use one of those, anyway. Point is I was held up for reasons other than forgetting. Rose, can you pass me the brownies, please?”

She obliged, but not without the comment, “Do you like Adrien, Marinette?”

“No.” She shoved a chocolate brownie in her mouth.

Rose looked to her left.

Juleka cleared her throat. “In, uh, what– in which way?”

“None. I like him many feet away from me, preferably trapped in a room with Chloé.”

“Hey! That happened the other day, didn’t it?” Alya mused, nodding to Alix for the napkins. When everyone eyed her, she explained. “With the akuma Pixelator. That was when our class went to Chloé’s hotel, remember? She put Adrien and I on trash duty. He made it sort of better telling jokes and stuff, but then there was that alligator—”

“Who wants macaroons!?” Marinette intruded, unleashing desserts from her tipped schoolbag when she noticed the crescent of expressions look increasingly concerned. One pinkish one rolled out, flattening the grass before hitting the toe of the Seine.

“Here I was thinking you and blondie were in some sort of love affair.”

Blushed crumbs flew from Marinette’s mouth as she downright choked. “What on earth gave you that idea?!”

Alix shrugged, silently regretting her seating position, brushing broken macaroon off her strawberry hair. “Your kiss in that film.”

Oh that.

Here she was, going day by day, totally not thinking of that and instead thinking how good it was that that had finally passed. Did all her class think of it? Maybe she had to feud with him more publicly.

“Ah yes!” Rose squealed. “That was so romantic!”

“They were acting,” Alya assisted.

Alix took a pause to chew more wrap. For such tempering words she was producing, her care level was zero. “Whatever. I totally thought the chemistry was there, but if you say so.”

Marinette did say so. She’d say so to all other picnickers dotted on the Seine’s edge, cry it to the heavens, announce it on assembly, go up to that two-gorgeous-faced, lying bastard and tell him just how much “acting” that was if he or anyone else implied otherwise.

“It was for the film,” she said simply, dawning a cloak of carelessness and dignity.

After all, she had to make it known that she despised him.

Just like Adrien despised her.

“L-Ladybug?”

Most of her.

Just as she had lost hold on Chat Noir at the TVi studio with Simon Says on the loose, to make up for his presence arrived the person Nino so-desperately was keen to find – his best bud Adrien, the literal son of the entire problem, Gabriel Agreste, who triggered Simon’s akumatisation.

He appeared walking out on the studio’s mezzanine platform.

“Adrien!” Nino leapt at him. “Dude, you okay?!”

“I’m fine.”

Stiff against Nino’s hug, he looked at her.

“H-hello,” the supposedly cocky, egotistical, self-aware, and reliably-rude boy said, blushing, and literally pushing Nino out of his way towards her – well,

Ladybug.

She swallowed tightly as he just… stared, enamoured.

“Uh, hi?” As the pennies of silence dropped, so did her gloved wave. “You sure you’re okay?”

After years of staring, he rubbed the back of his neck. Oh– so he was alive. “I’m fine, really.”

Holding her yo-yo, she cleared her throat, ignoring the depth of how his open green gaze poured into her. It was odd – she couldn’t insult him, insist he insult her, or turn him back to ‘normal’ all while tidal waves inside her urged that she do those exact things. Starstruck Adrien not looking ready to trash her outfit (and instead admiring?) was just… too weird.

Since when did she miss Adrien despising her?

Apparently, since his celebrity crush produced a frothing fanboy.

“We’ve got to get to your house, now. Your father’s in danger.”

By the way he ogled her, it seemed Adrien didn’t really care.

“Uh… okay.”

“Let’s go!” she hurried, prompting Nino into step. “Chat Noir will meet us there.”

It got worse a little after.

Simon Says was about his business and so was the blond pain who was supposed to be hiding safely. Well, apparently, he was so comfortable with his over-sized mansion’s security system, he decided to… relax?

“Where’s Adrien?” she asked Nino when realising they had to leave the premise.

“Taking a shower.”  

Wh–

What.

“Now?!”

“It’s the “model in him”.”

Oh that was so something he would say. How did Nino survive?

Frowning, she steered towards the bathroom door. “Go take Nino to the Atrium,” she told Nathalie. “I’ll take care of the handicap.”

With the others gone, she knocked twice, pressing her ear against the steel frame. Already unpleased at the lack of Chat Noir amidst this certain mission, impatiently, she shoved open the door once no one replied to her incessant, “Adrien!”s.

“Yeah?”

Until he did.

Hair lightly browned and damped—slicked so tresses keened above his brow—, Adrien’s head poked out, and the sound of water running finally made itself known.

The door shut behind her.

“Uh, um— Sorry?”

“You’re fine! What’s up?”

Something twitched in her chest. Adrien had never spoken to her like that before, let alone while looking like that.

As he ducked his head back, she said, quite eloquently considering the circumstances, “Do you need a… second?”

The shower shut off. An extra angle of his torso appeared as he leant, a towel now around his neck and a hand carding through his very Chat-like hair – She was sure if it was just that bit shorter it could fit the brief (then she didn’t dwell on that long). On the sliver of hip that prodded her sight was another expensive towel.

And while looking like that, he spoke like that again:

“Something up, little lady?”

Uh—

Now that he mentioned, her breakfast felt rather up her throat.

She became all too aware of all too little: him, her, and her lack of everything that made her identifiable as Marinette. He was terribly clueless. She couldn’t just– tell this ‘celebrity’ without whom she’d established anything more than eye contact with to, “put a shirt on, jackass” because that wasn’t the Ladybug-esk thing to do.

Instead she had to clear her throat, visibly take in the overtly tall, overtly fit idiot so obviously parading his assets to the local superhero, and remember being alone with Adrien in his bathroom not being about to rip his head off wasn’t something to drag out.

If only Chat could see the audacious flirt. He wouldn’t let Adrien wink at her like that for a second.

Not that her and Chat were a thing – or that he felt the same about her, or knew how funny, sensitive, kind, understanding, charming, or beautiful she believed him to be. Or that she’d come delicately close to admitting her forlorn love and ruining their partnership a few times already. But that was a whole thing.

Speaking of Chat, he’d fallen from her mind.

“It’s too dangerous here. We’ve gotta go, like, now.”

His brow softened and that grin appeared.

“Can I put on some clothes first?”

Um.

Was the guy serious?

It took some energy—far too much of her energy—to not slap him into sense with cries of, “I’m Marinette! Stop trying to seduce me, you bighead bastard!” because frankly whatever ‘this’ was, was weird.

So drawing a breath, Ladybug checked the time on her yoyo, blinking duly.

“Whatever. I’ll wait outside.”

“You don’t have t—”

“I’ll be outside!”

-

He wasn’t long. In fact, he scared the crap out of her just when her conscious talked her out of snooping around Adrien’s stuff. Not that she logically could if she wanted to – Where would she even start? The second story? The orchard of bookcases? Or the— was that a stripper pole?

Okay, she needed to revisit the place on second thought. His room, as Nino described, could’ve rivalled a stadium. But what truly soaked her attention just before Adrien walked out was the three-panelled monitor on his desk. A woman, his age seemingly, with golden ringlets and dazzling eyes looked straight back at her in a complementing royal blue.

“My mother on her seventeenth birthday,” a voice appeared, warm and casual. “She was pretty, no?”

Ladybug blinked. A prickly sensation spiked beneath the suit. She felt invasive. Her and Adrien weren’t supposed to discuss such normal things, let alone family. She didn’t know what to say but flicker attention between the blondes. Was this the part she had to say something nice?

“She’s… got your smile.”

They both said.

She looked back at Adrien, him sporting a similar surprise. Her mouth tipped.

And the door came down.

In burst a swarm of hypnotised civilians who’d finally breached the security system, arms in front and zombie-running their way. Prepared, Ladybug leapt at Adrien and landed them in the bathroom, turning her head to ignore the way he stared up at her. Her eye caught more controlled beings charging.

“Stay here!” she demanded, up and slamming the bathroom door.

—Hopefully, never having to deal with him like that again. Mutual hate was one thing, but he was somehow worse fawning all over her and acting... normal.

She just couldn’t.

Too much. Too weird. Too different.

But all would be ordinary once Chat decided to grace the battle. She could use the company of someone without two-faces.

Chapter Text

Today was the day.

The confession.

“I believe in you, Marinette! You’re finally going to do it!”

She seldom adored Valentine’s day for the prevalent pinks that fluttered Paris, the picnics with her friends, and the abysmal storytelling of Chloé’s that Marinette ripped apart until makeup-caked face was as red as the fake lover-letter she’d “received from XY”.

But this year would be different.

And ironically, the idea spawned from Adrien.

“Who could it be talking about?” She had gripped the note earlier that morning. “Hair as dark as night? Blue-bell eyes?”

For the record, she’d done a lot worse than pulling thrown-away love letters out of the trash. Besides, this was Adrien’s discarded letter that she’d fervently watched him scribble on during the discussion about fairy tales, and her curiosity was unbearable. And some fairy tale this was: If any person truly knew the delinquent, they’d want nothing to do with Paris’ most famous teen model. Marinette didn’t know whether to laugh at the poor excuse of poetry or be concerned that some unfortunate girl was being crushed on by Adrien.

Near the doorway of the classroom, every student out of sight, Tikki popped up. “Well, who does he know that looks like that?”

Marinette didn’t see what Tikki was getting at – or rather, ignored it. “Lots of girls in the school have dark hair and blue eyes.” If Adrien’s taste was as bad in chocolate as girls, then she’d have to be evil. Maybe rich, but entirely flavourless. Unless the fact he liked dark chocolate had no influence in his perception on whether a girl was worth his time (actually, were any girls?). Her mind spiralled with negative but sporadic thoughts that just engraved a deeper dislike for him.

“Yeah but… bluebell eyes?”

Said eyes narrowed to the kwami. Marinette’s lips thinned, the shrewd silence closing Tikki in on herself.

“What are you saying?”

“Uh… nothing.”

Pink-nailed fingers tightened on the note. Upcoming class forgotten, she stared at it. Hard.  

“But he could totally be writing it about you!”

Marinette blanched.

How could such an innocent, sweet voice suggest something so ghastly?

“Ha! Me?! Adrien would write me in his will before he wrote a love letter about me.”

“But Marinette!” Tikki insisted, hovering over the oddly neat handwriting and pathetic use of literary devices an elementary schooler could use better. “What if he’s been mean to you because he likes you!”

“Likes me?! Tikki—” she re-scrunched the note, cheeks dimpling with the incredulous smile that caused, and shook her head, “—Are you hearing yourself? I must’ve put something in those cookies because you’ve gone insane.” She flicked the kwami’s forehead. “If anything, he wrote it about me to give as a prank. You know him. This is silly.”

A bar of disappointment dropped in her voice. “Oh…”

Gaze thinned, Marinette knew she wasn’t finished.

“Hey! You should write a love letter to Chat Noir!”

Glancing at the bin, Marinette shoved the paper in her jeans, hair leaping as she snapped her neck around. “I can’t do that!”

“Why not?! You have nothing to lose!”

She had everything to lose.

A friendship, dignity, her role as Ladybug— Well, maybe. She hadn’t really considered the logistics of it in case her instincts were right and she was destined to never know who Chat really was.

“You have to confess eventually!”

“Eventually doesn’t have to be now!”

Seeing people file towards the classroom, Tikki said before slipping into her purse, “But it can be.”

But it wasn’t.

She tried. Really, she did. But Kim of all people got akumatised at the berating from Chloé. It was a morbid spectacle: an unlikely confession, the sweetest gift, and a picture of the pale-faced lovesick teen in the peak of embarrassment spread to social media. Dark Cupid loomed the city of love with his arrows turning people black-lipped and tongue-poisoned; dates in shambles due to harsh words from lovers, hatred thriving and broken-hearts galore.

“Falling for me already, M’lady?”

He really had a way of collapsing the stress of her afternoon.

When Ladybug met up with Chat, her tamed heart simmered in her throat ready to be poured out.

But his gloved finger upon her lip silenced that.

“I swore to myself that I’d tell you as soon as I saw you.”

The intimacy of the position made her cheeks flush. He balanced her upon his baton stuck in a crevice of a colonial building where they perched, faces a mere few breaths away. At distances like this she wondered if he were a model; the delicate shaping to his features and sharp, electric eyes that left her dreaming.

“Ladybug…” he started, a temperature to his voice akin to heaven, “I… l—look out!”

The scene shattered. They flipped stances, the sudden cradling of arms jolting her prepared heart down to her gut as something hit where her back just was – where his back became. A black gas emanated beneath her nose from his spine where Dark Cupid’s arrow had hit. The rims of her eyes stretched.  

“Chat Noir!”

His claws pressed.

“Ladybug, I… I loathe you!”

The sudden force to his hold sparked her flight senses and she writhed. Her voice bridged desperate and cracked a syllable. “Chat Noir, snap out of it!”

“You’re nothing, Ladybug! And nothing to me! I hate you!”

Her foot came hard down on his and she vaulted off his baton, leaving him an unbalanced, black-lipped mess.

Atop a building out of his sight, she collapsed.

It was stupid. So, so stupid. But the incident had unearthed a coarse, unthinkable nightmare that thwarted her ulterior Valentine’s mission.

She couldn’t confess. What if he turned into that?

He likely didn’t even feel the same! But instead of that gnawing possibility that he didn’t like her back being softened with the idea that, if so, he’d let her down easy, all she imagined… was him.

Adrien.

“Why did he… look so much like him?”

The voice. The glare – a gentle emerald kindled into a toxic green, staring so close and so familiar, the poison of words taken right out of someone else’s mouth and shoved into Chat’s. She couldn’t confess. She wouldn’t confess. Not after that.

Not after how… similar they were.

‘Get back on your feet,’ she knew Tikki was saying. ‘Forget about it. He’s not Adrien. He was just hit by Dark Cupid.’

True, but what if she confessed and he reacted like that? What if she finally overflowed with her feelings and Chat thought she was crazy – and he turned into him? That monster? It was just so… so surreal seeing him so hateful of her.

“Whatever.” She brushed her ponytail out of her face, feigning a sudden calm over the whole ordeal. Afterall, she was Ladybug and she had crap to take care of. “I’ll deal with Chloé first.”  

Dealing with all that didn’t take long enough. By the time she’d eliminated Chloé as Dark Cupid’s target, she became face-first with Chat again – the whole yoyo and baton clashing and corny line exchanging. Chat wasn’t relenting, and she wasn’t thinking quick enough.

“Why are you so full of hate Chat Noir?”

“Because hate conquers all!”

She tugged her weapon lassoed to his, snarling. “Hate doesn’t conquer all! Love does!”

‘Take a note from your own book, Marinette.’

Sometimes Tikki was a little too loud as her conscience.

Wait.

The fairy tale.

The spell breaking.

She gasped.

The kiss.

Oh, no no no no no—

She couldn’t– She couldn’t just kiss Chat! Not when he was under a curse, anyway. And especially not when that curse meant he hated her to pieces.

“You’re just buying time! Fight!”

She swallowed.

Okay, so maybe it was her only option.

No big deal. It was a kiss. She’d already wasted her first with Adrien, anyway. What did she have to lose? Not like Chat would remember.

“I’ll do better than that.”

And the chase to kiss him began.

Frightened at her unexpected advances, Chat waved her off with his split staffs, turning and racing away. It took an embarrassing amount of time just to tie him to a streetlamp, and even then Dark Cupid returned and stifled the attempt with more rose-shaped arrows flying her way.

Eventually, in the climax of the battle, her lucky charm distracted Kim into washing his bow, and as Chat—hand bubbling with his cataclysm—pinned her down so confidently to take her jewellery, she took his chiselled face and brought it down hard.

To her lips.

Their mouths crashed fast, lips melding, his power fizzing inches from her earrings as his eyes closed after hers. She kissed him to protrude past the hate, forcing her love for him into the one, two, six seconds she held his gradually obliging face to hers.

She kissed him in a way she’d never forget but Chat would.

They pulled apart. He awoke, upright and irises contracting.

“Huh? Wh– What am I doing here?”

“No time! The quiver pin, Chat Noir!”

She threw him to Dark Cupid in the fountain, his cataclysm striking the akumatised object. Their mission wrapped up with the de-evilising, checking on Kim (or more-so forgetting about Kim), and the avoidance of eye-contact – mainly on her part, and just as she was ready to sprint away and thrash her head into her pillow with screaming, the love of her life she’d just smacked mouths with called out,

“Wait! Ladybug—"

Her heart jumped. Did he… remember?

“About before,” she cut him off, feet still angled the other way. “Look, I– There was no other way to break the spell so I had to do it or—”

“Huh? Do what?” Chat’s eyes had returned to soft and confused. “No, I just wanted to say—”

Their accessories beeped.

They had to go.

“Looks like we’re about to turn into pumpkins,” she said lightly. “And personally, I think we better get out of here before that happens.”

She pushed ideas away of what he wanted to tell her until it completely slipped her mind. She had other things that wouldn’t leave her mind alone.

He didn’t remember, and she didn’t know whether to be happy about it or not.

Chapter Text

Before questions arise, Marinette was not stalking Adrien, because that would be weird and she despised him anyway. Crouching behind a green park bench eyeing off his book and the brown-haired witch protruding in his personal space constituted as watching over him – like the dutiful Parisian bug hero she strived to be.

Even losers like Adrien had to be looked after once and a while – especially when someone like Lila was around.

“Not only did Ladybug save my life, but we’ve become very close friends because we have something very special in common…”

Common? Common? With all her lies and deceit the utter rat of a human being paraded, Marinette would rather have something in common with Chloé. At least she actually was the Mayor’s daughter.

“It’s… what I wanted to tell you about.”

Adrien and with his crumpled brows and baby-soft hair regarded the voluptuous move towards him with distaste, his upper lip curling and hand gripping the bench behind him. Maybe it was good Lila was distracting him since Tikki managed to take his weird Guardian book without the pitiful duo noticing – but that was Tikki’s thing; she’d honestly forgot that was her technical “reason” for stalking– uh, watching Adrien be manipulated.

Speaking of the distance, did Lila have to get that close? Her chestnut hair tied off at her split ends was basically fawning the book bag on his jeans.

Adrien’s nostrils flared – He must have smelt her garbage perfume too! It was like– not tropical, but, almost like off oranges and— No, she was getting distracted again. 

“I’m a superhero myself. Volpina.”

Pff.

“Volpina?” Adrien’s voice was flat like he didn’t believe her either, but then his eyes lit. “Wait a minute, I think I read about her in my book—”

“Uh! Of course she’s in your book.” Meanwhile, Lila’s voice was just that ounce too much nasally for Marinette’s tolerance to take. She slapped Adrien’s bookbag and homed in on the no personal space thing again, angling her deceptive smile in the golden ratio of his gaze. “She’s one of the most important superheros– more powerful and celebrated than Ladybug. Between you and me, the bug doesn’t even make the top ten.”

Adrien’s exterior hardened.

“My grandmother gave me this necklace,” Lila powered on, noticing his blood pressure about to push him to argue. She held up a fox tail necklace, and that’s when Marinette about had it—

“Why do you want to transform, Marinette?” Tikki whispered, hiding with Adrien’s miraculous book as her welder darted to hide. “I thought you didn’t want Adrien liking Ladybug, anyway.”

“That’s not the problem!”

“But—”

“Tikki, spots on!”

Adrien had a few hunches that Lila was lying, but if anything confirmed his suspicions it was when Ladybug of all goddesses landed herself before the ‘I’m Volpina’ show—thankfully scaring Lila off his lap—and coming in with a violent monologue.

“Well hey Lila! How’s it going? Long-time no see. I saw your interview on the Ladyblog. I remember our instant connection when I saved your life, and we’ve been really good friends ever since. Practically bffs!”

Adrien looked between the girls. Lila had cowered, hands over her face as Ladybug lurched at her.

“Uh, actually, when did I save your life again, Lila? I don’t recall… Yes, of course! Now I remember!” She narrowed in. “Never!”

“Whoa, hey,” Adrien cut in. “Let’s just—”

But Ladybug upturned her nose and pretended he wasn’t there. “And we’re not friends either! Who are you even trying to impress, show off?! Stop lying to everyone around you!”

Lila’s fists clenched the tears falling past her palms, her thick bangs hiding the rest of her face. She choked sobs as Ladybug reeled back and took off her propped black-spotted leg that separated the two sitting.

His eyes fixed to the vehemence swimming in Ladybug’s – that kind, confident, brave gaze had been tainted, and reeked of a whole new person Adrien would rather never associate with her.

He cleared his throat. “So… I’m guessing you’re not the descendant of a superhero either?”

Ladybug smirked. “She’s more like a super-liar.”

Lila shot up with tear-smudged cheeks. “How dare you!”

As she bolted off, Adrien vainly called for her. When Lila kept sprinting he snapped around and glared Ladybug down – or whoever Ladybug had chosen to be that afternoon.

“Hey! What was that all about?! You were too harsh on her.”

Ladybug made no efforts to pick up the friendly atmosphere from their last interaction and bulldozed his dignity by raising her chin in blatant disregard to his reprimand. He supposed she only listened to Chat Noir when he pointed out that she went too far.

“You’d rather go on being manipulated by her?” she snapped back. “I don’t put up with lies, especially when they’re about me.”

Adrien stared at the red and black figure zipping away with brows pulled, hand clenched over his bookbag strap.

“What is with you, Ladybug?”

Turns out, Ladybug was right.

Lila was a brat. (And a few other words Adrien was a little to pretentious to say.)

‘Volpina’ introduced herself soon after the park incident – Lila’s akumatised form, but he and Ladybug didn’t know that early on. The cluelessness didn’t stop his bug from wearing the cold shoulder and lagging to accept her to the team, so when they found out this new ‘miraculous holder’ was causing illusions to manipulate them into giving up their jewellery, Ladybug certainly didn’t feel any better towards Lila.

In the Agreste mansion where the superheros found themselves, the view from the sky-reach windows struck terror upon them both.

“Chat Noir! She’s taken Adrien!”

He didn’t hesitate. “That’s an illusion too.”

Franticly, she turned and searched the room. “How are you so sure?!”

“Uh, my feline-sic sense, it’s legendary!”

But Ladybug had noticed his other identity wasn’t anywhere. Her state of panic visibly rose, hands gripping her hair and eyes rounded – maybe she wasn’t that mad at ‘Adrien’ for scolding her after all. “Really? You don’t say. He’s gone!”

After giving up trying to convince her, they discovered ‘Adrien’ dangling from the Eiffel tower by Volpina’s arm, which was a whole theatre on its own because Lila was issuing threats, Chat didn’t know what to say, and Ladybug was freaking out an unhealthy amount.

“I thought you loved him!”  

“Not as much as seeing you two defeated!” Volpina swung the illusion and said to it, “No hard feelings, right?”

“Don’t you dare harm—”

“You’re bluffing!” Chat laughed. “It’s another illusion.”

Volpina lifted one finger of her five-fingered-grip. “You wanna bet on that?!”

Ladybug looked deeply conflicted. She collapsed on the side of the Eiffel and drew a hand to the sparkling jewel in her ear, but didn’t touch it – she was deliberating, almost shaking; confused and terrified in every sense of the word. Chat wouldn’t let her give up her miraculous – this wasn’t actually some random civilian’s life of whom she barely knew. Wasn’t she thinking straight?! He was Adrien! He was fine! He might have just told her that then and there to be-rid her horrific stress.

“Don’t!” he shrieked, and speared his staff at the illusion until it faded as washed away smoke, Ladybug’s, “No!”scraping his ears.

The battle continued on for a little longer, but once defeating more illusions, using their powers to work out a plan, and bleaching the akuma, he had to race home so Ladybug could make sure ‘Adrien’ was okay (insisting she’d be the one to do it for some reason (likely because he flirted with her last time but that was just his ego’s idea))– yet he hadn’t transformed back.

So bathroom door shut and shower loudly running, she knocked.

“A-Adrien…” she said softly. “Uh, you there? Everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah! Yeah! Everything’s fine! I just had to grab a shower after all this excitement!”

He may have heard a mumble about ‘always showering’ but the steam blurred it.

“But I’m fine!”

Chat swallowed, hearing silence of consideration behind the thick door before Ladybug’s muffled voice came back.

“Good! I’m…” a sigh, “happy you’re okay.”

Even with heavy-pressure water lasting as the only noise, Adrien knew Ladybug still had her gloved hands up against their barrier. He pressed a cat ear closer, looking at where he guessed her face was, waiting for who-knows-what.

“And you’re sure you are, right? You’re—”

“I’m okay.” His smile was timid. He rested his forehead to the door, an inexpressible ache ripping through him. His escaped breath fell to the tile.

“Oh, haha! Uh, I’ll be off then, huh?”

Out of the million things he wanted to say and could have, his lips betrayed his heart and all that answered back was, “Thank you, Ladybug.”

His angst with giving up everything for Ladybug’s heart was a daily thing, and some days the pain of it hit harder than most. He thought about her pretty much the whole next hour. What if he had walked out as Chat? What if he transformed as Adrien? What if—

No. No, no. He had to stop allowing the fantasy to even get a say. Between his unrequited love, new enemy, and current enemies, he had enough problems to deal with.

Ha–

Speaking of.

What Adrien was currently distressed about after the fox akuma were the events of the next few days. The insanity of his life was still blooming.

The slip-up.

The lies.

And the worst convenience he found himself a part of.

“Babe! There you are!”

Marinette blinked. Her gaze frenzied, scanning every person in the courts before finally landing on him again.

“B-Babe?!”

Adrien smiled back with grit teeth.

Oh he was going to kill Lila Rossi.

Chapter Text

One of the many hair-pulling qualities of Adrien was his knack for surprises.

Whether it was lurching from the abyss to jump-scare her, replacing the beloved Chat décor in her locker with his modelling pics (that was fun to explain to Chloé when she walked past, who promptly announced their mutual discovery to all surrounding members so the damage control required tripled) – Oh! Or how about that time when Marinette was minding her business, and he decided to, you know, call out to her—

“Babe! There you are!”

A second. A long second: a second where there was confusion, conclusion, and confusion again. Marinette’s once-coolly leaning figure rested on the outskirts of their indoor basketball courts, hanging jaw formally chewing gum.

But now instead of watching a fan-made video about Chat Noir, she—under total fixation—watched Adrien approach her as a beguiling smile (there was no way that was directed at her) took over his face – with Miss Bustier of all mysteries a step behind.

“B-babe?!”

He slung an arm around her shoulders in a way like he had (never) done before, frosting Marinette’s body a further negative degree.

“Sorry, I didn’t tell her we were doing this,” he explained to their teacher, ignoring the gobsmacked expression to his left. “Look, Marinette, we’ve been caught.”

“Caught?!”

“Caught is right.” He construed the origin of her volume to match his sick role-play. “We’re not as subtle as we think. See, Miss Bustier keeps noticing us leaving together during akuma attacks and coming back at the same time from the same spots. Not to mention,” he said with a grin she had believed was saved to taunt her – then she realised that may as well be what he was doing (because what was he doing?!), “leaving for the ‘bathroom’ at the same time—”

He winked.

Marinette looked up at him, disgust tugging the corners of her mouth as her stomach inverted. The confusion wore off and her thoughts sprinted. Her lashes tremored at Miss Bustier as she read the placid expression, but there was only so much one can gage from a thin smile and clasped hands.

Then Adrien’s words caught up.

That– That was her running off to be Ladybug.

To save the world! That was all her crafted lies and scheduled escapes so she could capture akuma with her dearest partner! Not for school-closet runs with her despised foe! Just—

Yuck.

The situation didn’t make sense until the pin dropped. Adrien was confronted about his unreasonable tag-alongs to her escapades – and veiled it by the synthetic guise that they were dating. Those times where he followed her while she tried to transform and they’d argue to no end about who was stalking who.

She blinked; the stiff icicle she’d become defrosting.

Oh he was not going there.

“Well, actually—”

The fingers clipped to her waist pressed in warning, the soft pressure shooting adrenaline up her abdomen. She noticed the way his lean figure was taped to her in their mutually loathed side-hug like he was really trying to get Miss Bustier believing him.

Then he re-froze her by lowering his head, pushing a dark lock of hair past her ear and hovering his lips in a gesture that jolted her heart up her throat. There, beside her skin, a warm, threatening whisper sliced through her:

“Watch yourself. This benefits you.”

She swallowed.

“Marinette, you can talk about it with me,” Miss Bustier finally spoke. “I understand that your occasional arguments might be causing a dent in your relationship. It’s been something I seriously wanted to address with you both because I want to help you overcome this negative tension. You’re very compatible and work so well together.”

Ha!

Imagine having that little of an idea.

But before she could derail Adrien’s inexplainable wishes, Marinette’s world tilted.

If she denied this nightmare, what was left to make of their eerie timing in running off and coming back? The coincidences? The excuses?! How else could she explain walking out of a closet two minutes after Adrien or arguing with him until she was late to a picnic with her friends?

Although she didn’t understand Adrien’s reasons, there was no way she was about to unravel her superhero secret.

“Uh—” Marinette started, “—Yes, I, um, we just didn’t want anyone to know. Especially since we’ve been pretty rocky since the start. It’s been, uh, not too long? We’re quite new to this.” 

Miss Bustier nodded, a sympathetic look warming her face (she could at least act surprised). She rubbed the dark cloth of Marinette’s shoulder and smiled.

“And that’s okay! I know you two have a lot of potential to make this relationship work, and I’m here for you!” Her joy blindsided her to the cursory grimaces. “You know, after I got into yoga I did a lot of training for relationship therapy. I’d be happy to personally mentor you through these barriers without informing your other classmates. Similar to counselling sessions.”

This—

This literally couldn’t get worse.

Adrien’s grip on her waist squeezed, eliciting her to jerk a little closer in his side. They forced tight smiles back at their teacher.

“That would be really great, actually. I think we need it,” Adrien said politely, circling his thumb and pressing it just that deeper when he said, “Right, babe?”

She stifled the cough. “Yeah, uh, sweetie.”

“That’s wonderful! I know it’ll be worth it. Those arguments will be gone in no time! Have a good rest of your lunch, kids!”

Marinette squinted, relapsing what on earth just happened as their teacher waltzed away to scold some boys about throwing a basketball off the mezzanine floor. What was most horrifying about the scene were the lack of questioning eyes on their forbidden stance as if nothing about them was worth staring in horror. With no stares, it was just her, Adrien, and their lack of distance.

She leapt off.

“Why’d you tell her that?!”

“Hey! I was saving your ass, too,” he snapped. “Why do you even follow me everywhere in the first place!?”

“You follow me.”

“That is not true! I have reasons for where I go!”

“Oh yeah?” She rose on her tiptoes, threatened by their height difference. “Well so do I!”

“Name one!”

“You name one!”

They fell into a terrible silence. Their jaws hardened and their posture tensed. Surroundings blurred, their gazes entwined like an impossible knot.

A second. A long second.

“Come with me.”

Marinette’s body didn’t resist the pull.

Adrien dragged them to the auspiciousness of the library – the beady tension teeming the air only expanding as they trespassed, scurrying into some booth-like corner where only mechanic and engineering books mingled. It’d be an ideal study enclosure if not for the unforgiving musty aroma. If there were many others in the library, they cast a blind eye, wrapped up in their own turbulence as Adrien closed the door. Either way, they were alone.

“She approached me; I swear.” He carded his blond mane. “It’s nonsense, I know, but—”

“Then why didn’t you deny?!”

Adrien’s nostrils flared as his lips started to purse in an expression of mixed frustration and something else. He rested the outside of his fist upon a higher shelf and inclined his body.

“Why didn’t you?”

Jaw flexing, Marinette folded her arms. “You basically threatened me.”

“Threatened you?”

“You so did!”

“Ha, princess.” His lashes fluttered to look down at her condescendingly, and his voice lowered an octave as he purred, “You’d know if I was threatening you.”

Her ribcage began feeling a little tight. She cleared her throat, taking in his sore sight of careless charm (she’d given up wondering how he could effortlessly pose so well, like he was always prepared for a photo to be taken, because oh right: the pleb was a model) and angled her chin.

“Adrien,” she said. “I asked you first. Why did you go along with it?”

“Same reason you didn’t!”

She was quite sure it wasn’t the same reason.

“It benefitted me. Plus, I was covering for you, too. Unless you wanted me to tell her that you purposefully stalk me during akuma attacks to share hiding spaces, just so you can waste my time blaming me about it.”

‘Oh this guy.’

He knew he followed her to get in her grill, and if that wasn’t enough, he’d verbally deny it to the point he blamed her. When was he going to give up about it?

He was always there, too, lurking in the corner of the locker room or somewhere during an akuma attack, withering at Marinette like their reoccurring inauspicious meetings were her fault.

Like it was his attempts to save the city that were thwarted.

“We’re not arguing about this again!”

“Why?!” He leant in. “Have no more defences?!”

“For the last time! I just need to hide by myself!”

His face and entire being blew up with incredulity. “Oh of course you do, because you’re nothing but some entitled princess given everything she wants!”

She gasped. “Says you, Mr model and mansion!”

“I didn’t ask for that!”

“But you got it, didn’t you?” She pressed a nail into his dark tee. “You got everything!”

“You don’t understand what everything means!”

“Pfft! Let me guess!” Her arms flailed up. “You don’t have rollercoaster? An island named after you—?”

“Marinette—!”

“—A private jet? A lake-house?!” She vaulted closer with each snap. “A girlfriend?!”

“Shut up!”

“An indoor skate ramp isn’t a good enough present from daddy, is it?! Still need pathetic birthday scarfs!?”

His teeth grit like chalk, some supernatural force being the only thing stopping his arms from grabbing her to pin against to the academic poster wall to give a piece of his mind. The room could have shaken with the corrugated surface of their volumes.

“I said shut up!”

Light glittered off her pale eyes. “No! You dare call me entitled? You’re a prick, Adrien!”

He huffed and looked around, mouth twitching as he fought for something powerful to say. Seconds seduced by tension carried on until he looked down—facing the animated features—and exhaled.

“Call me a prick all you want. You’re stuck with me,” his hissed, voice as thin and sharp as the tip of a knife. The whisper stung more than any below. “So get used to “us”, babe.”

The room tightened and her body wracked with an adrenaline owed solely to Ladybug. Her eyelids twitched, smoulders blowing from her ears and nose as she did nothing but bathe in his gloating afterthought like it was the Dead Sea. Every fibre of her decided on one thing there and then:

She loathed Adrien Agreste.

“Also, your clip’s falling out.” He slid open the door, eyeing the cat-like hair piece. With one last piercing, green-coloured glance that looked back, Adrien gave her a few more reasons to hate him:

“See you at couples’ therapy, Marinette.”

Chapter Text

Adrien would like it to be known that whenever something bad happened, his intentions had nothing to do with it.

—His actions, however? Fully involved.

It had been a wild month in his defence (his entirely, self-worth-sized defence). Between pussing out on confessing to Ladybug, arguing with Marinette when trying to transform because she wouldn’t leave, and, you know, the whole Chat Noir by day, Ladyblog stalker by night wasn’t aiding his hopelessness either, so he’d just like mention he was stressedand— and that technically–! Technically, it was her fault.

Except, as one might assume from fifty percent of his angsty thoughts, ‘her’, wasn’t Marinette Dupain-Cheng; his dearest foe, whom just the day before, he’d endured an argument regarding which Jagged Stone album was better that got so heated they missed fifteen minutes of lunch until Miss Bustier (we’ll come back to her later) interrupted them.

No, Lila Rossi was no Marinette. In fact, she was worse.

Yet some would have the gall to argue he got himself into this mess.

“You got yourself into this mess, kid.”

Plagg was one of them.

“Seriously, if Marinette ever finds out—”

“She won’t find out,” Adrien hissed, the basketball’s rubber echoing as he dribbled in one spot, “And it doesn’t matter now. She agreed to it.”

Plagg, juggling a cube of camembert the size of his head, sat on the hoop as Adrien shot cleanly. “Agreed?! You practically forced her! Oh, and I can just imagine her face when she finds out it’s all your fault! Ha! You’re screwed, kid!”

Adrien let the ball bounce away on its own. He stared up, facing the god of bad luck as he panted – from exhaust or rage? He wouldn’t have given you a truthful answer.

“Blame Lila.”

“Did you forget I was there? I’m still blaming you.”

He wiped sweat off his brow and marched to the shower. “Not my fault!”

“Yes it was!”

It wasn’t.

Three days had wrinkled time since Marinette and Adrien first breathed as a fake couple, which according to ancient culture, legally confirmed the death of their respective joy. Like he presumed, Marinette treated him no different. Nor did he with her, as telling by his greeting the following day:

“I see you’re still getting people akumatised.”

And her retort:

“I see your daddy still dresses you.”

At least he knew how they still stood.

But back to Lila – back to the week after the new girl’s lies tangled her up into akumatisation. Some of those lies being to impress him. For what reason? Well, he supposed his looks made a fair argument. Except Lila actually knew little to nothing of the enigma that was Adrien Agreste. Sure – he was a celebrity with an amusingly incorrect Wikipedia page whose public interviews about which colour was his favourite and which chocolate he liked best (dark) were a few clicks away, but he wasn’t just that (*cough* Chat Noir *cough*). She seldom understood anything past his status and became obsessed there-on-out with becoming his girlfriend.

(Even after Volpina pretended to dangle an illusion of him off the Eiffel tower, but whatever; he was still irresistible.)

The first case occurred at lunchbreak the next day. Adrien and Kim loomed over the tragic chess board as Max and Nino opposed it – one nameless player adjusting his cap between moves so erratically the clip might’ve been causing a rash on his forehead, and the other with steepled fingers not breaking a sweat. Adrien was “paying attention to the game” with as much truth one might say he wasn’t “thinking back to Ladybug in his room”, but he probably had a better understanding of what was going on over Kim, who, like a puppy, would jolt upright and look around the library as if he saw something.

Which Adrien soon found out was because he did.  

“Gahh!”

“Shh,” Lila cooed, acting like stealing a literal person and shoving them behind a shelf was nothing. “I was just saving you.”

Adrien squinted, mad, searching through the modern history textbooks to see only Kim looking around and questioning his sanity. “Saving me?”

“Yes! You looked bored out of your brain watching that lame board game. I mean, who wastes their time staring at a checker—?”

“I love chess.”

Lila’s running mouth slowed, forming a guileless ‘o’ shape as her grip on Adrien’s arm loosened. “Oh. Yeah, um, actually I was trying to act cool because…” she covered her face with a hand, “—ah! This is so embarrassing, but… I really love chess and I used to be quite good at it. In fact when I was travelling in England to do missionary work they held a state competition and I won! The other competitors were so good though! I’m sure you’re much better than me, Adrien. In fact, would you help me brush up on my skills? What about at your place after school?”

It took quite a lot of his power not to snort.

“I have a photoshoot,” he said, lying, because she seemed to like that.

“Oh… that’s too bad. I know! What about tomorrow—?”

“Adrien!” A gusto sigh of relief came as his saviour. Adrien whipped around a second before Kim jumped him. “I thought some akuma had taken you! I need you to tell me who’s winning!”

“It’s Max.”

“Still? You gotta come look at the board now—”

“It’s Max,” he repeated, yanking his arm from Lila. “Let’s go back.”

“Can I come?”

Adrien looked down at her, producing a certain grating look especially reserved for Marinette, but it hindered not one sparkling ounce of keenness under those heavy bangs.

He should have known then that he wasn’t ridding her any time soon.

“Adrien!” she called a day later in morning greeting across the courtyard.

He averted his gaze and stormed to the bathroom, using Nino to shield him while blocking out questions about chess and how the mythical photoshoot went.

“Miss! I have a migraine again! It’s—ah, ow! Can Adrien take me to the nurse?”

She just had to choose Physics, didn’t she?

Adrien slapped his pen down, tearing his eyes off the second last step to an equation he was this close to finishing, and made a face at Marinette, who, on schedule, wore a smug smile while Lila trotted down the stairs behind her.

Honestly, the obsession had to end.

Adrien wasn’t stupid, okay? Others’ status may have meant nothing to him, but with accomplishments like Lila’s, he should have at least heard of her in his world before she came to the school. Between that and literally everything else, he knew Lila lied. Compulsively.

In fact, through some twinge of irony, Marinette appeared to be the only other individual who treated her with contempt as if she knew too (but then again, Marinette did have a knack for despising people unfairly).

Yet Lila never took the hint.

So after the fourth chess invitation, second nurse drop-off, and billionth cling to his poor, but muscular, arm, Adrien was ready to snap – Ladybug-style.

“Gah! Where did you—?”

“Fancy running into you here!” Usually, the phrase wasn’t literal.

Adrien squatted to gather his history worksheets as they swayed towards the greasy locker room tile. He feathered them, scowling at faux-leather boots as he rose, the ache of his chest where Lila hit him pulsing.

“You’ve been following me all day,” he said bluntly.

“Is that how you’ve seen it? I can’t even recall noticing you around. You must just notice me.”

His jaw locked. Not today. Not after a sewage akuma. “No. You’re following me.”

Her fake lashes fluttered. “Maybe I just like your company.”

“Well maybe you should stop liking my company.”

“Why? There’s no harm in a little game of cat and mouse…” A painted nail twiddled with his white overcoat’s button. Lila’s glossed lips curled.

He pushed past her to his locker. “I’m not playing your games.”

She huffed. “Is this about the Ladybug thing?” Her patent boots echoed as she stepped up onto a steel bench behind him. “See, I get memory attacks sometimes that make me think I’m someone else. It’s perfectly normal for someone with my condition. It’s also why I get so many migraines.”

His fingers twitched as he did his locker code. He’d had enough of focussing on the good in her. He went way too many years without calling out Chloé, then she brought up his mum the way she brought up everyone else.

He drew up his worksheets to stick in a binder in his locker.

“I don’t care.”

A quiet gasp.

“What?”

He turned, a metallic slam reverberating for a beat longer than normal. “I don’t care about the Ladybug thing.”

“Really? Why?” Lila said timidly, even though she had started her own conclusions. She walked along the bench slower. “Is there… Do you love someone else now?”

(See, this was where the story went south.)

(But Adrien did not recognise this in that moment, so he takes no responsibility for what happened next.)

Adrien didn’t stop to keep talking. He advanced to the door, correctly anticipating clicks of heels behind him as she stepped off the bench and followed.

“C’mon Adrien,” his forearm felt a dangerous stroke, “you can trust me.”

‘She wants to play by her rules? Fine.’

He’d play.

He half-opened the door and turned, expression never more resemblant to his father’s. “Yes.”

Her ivory eyes sparked a new degree of danger. It seemed that delighted her. As Adrien took no break, yanking his own body from her to exit to the halls, she said quickly, “Was it because of how Ladybug treated me?! And how heartless she was?! She didn’t even consider my condition! Can you believe that? I’m surprised it took you this long to realise your other, more possible options—"

“It’s not you, Lila,” he snapped, knowing where she was getting at (but not where he was getting at). He was so taut by rage he barely heard Plagg laughing at him and his chorus of lies that would have to end up somewhere.

And oh… the place they ended up.

“Who—?!” she cried, composure flaking, “What– Who is it?!”

When he trotted down the stairs, passing students from Ms Mendeleiev’s homeroom, Lila hastened beside him. “You hardly spend time with any girl but me!”

And he decided to dig himself deeper.

“We like to keep our relationship down-low.”

But in that moment (and soon to be only that moment), her expression was so worth it.

She stepped in front of him when they reached the toe of the grey staircase. Her brows had knotted together, an intense fury wrought behind her eyes; one so sublime, like she’d been handed a crescendo of outrageous defeat.

It was a fleeting look, though. Lila would never convey an emotion so raw longer than a second.

So her face softened; the plastic hardening.

“Adrien! You’re my closest friend here! You know all I wanna do is make friends!” A part of his heart jerked then. Just for a moment. “I can’t believe you tried to keep this from me… After I poured out all my truth to you! C’mon, you have to tell me who it is now!”

He swallowed.

Lila noticed.

“Unless… you’re lying,” her smirk turned wicked, “in that case, I can just tell everyone what you said.”

Adrien’s palms went warm. He stared ahead, cataloguing every student in the courtyard who wasn’t Lila. “Uh…”

She leant in, smile sickening.

“I’m… I’m dating…”

He had seconds, okay?

Less than that even. He had no words, no ideas, no time, and thus plenty of excuses for what he said next.

(Because someone looked back; someone who would hold that eye contact while he was in the presence of Lila just to convey that they knew he’d rather be anywhere else, and were pleased by that fact.)

“Who, Adrien?”

Adrien could think quickly but under such pressure and such angering field of view he practically blurted the only name invading his head.

“Marinette.”

Lila froze.

Ha.

Crap.

Chapter Text

“It’s a chance for you guys to make up!”

“Hilarious.” Marinette held up a blushed silk to herself, judging the shade to the almost-dress she’d been working on. “Hawk Moth will get his grimy hands on my earrings before that ever happens.”

“I think Miss Bustier’s right! There’s potential for you guys!”

“Tikki—” She sighed, pinching her forehead. “You’ve been talking non-stop about me being friends with Adrien ever since my principal turned into a Batman rip-off. What’s up? Is it the pretending-to-be-in-a-relationship thing? You know that’s not a big deal.”

The kwami folded her leg-looking things, floating as she said with gentle candour, “You have couples’ therapy today,Marinette.”

“Today?! What? That’s like—” Her arms and legs flailed, panic seeping deep in her chest. With Marinette’s relationship with organisation, her brazen body language and chipped fingernails latching her dark hair was nothing out of the ordinary. “—That’s like today! Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I told you yesterday!”

“That’s not enough warning!”

After the pigeon akuma (again), Marinette was rapt by some ditsy fantasy, believing she had gotten lucky enough to get an extended lunch wherein she could complete her latest formal dinner outfit –a cowl topped and tule skirted dress, and in need of some hemming. But that had to wait.

Now fighting for an imaginary inhaler, she realised she had brittle hours until being seated beside Asshole Agreste as they lied about how much they didn’t want to rip each other’s heads off.

“Marinette, just calm down, it’s okay!”

“I have until the end of the day to prepare what I’m going to say!” The loose, blushed fabric from the dress’s hoop sprayed out and formed rivulets as she spun, motiveless, grappling her drawings and sewing gear and likely messing up the workstation more than packing it away. A thimble bounced off the desk and hit the toe of her slipper.

“But…” Tikki started with that tone you just know means bad news, “didn’t she pen you in after lunch since you both have a spare lesson?”

Her footing was lost. Marinette slipped over the thimble and beseeched the heavens with a hoopla of woes. The tedious dress caught her fall but pricked a pin or two in her arm. Teeth pressed, she reached to the lip of the table where a tissue box peaked. Once it toppled, she cloaked the small portion of her arm before the pink dress could turn red.

“This is the worst….”

“Marinette!” Sabine, the under-worried voice of her mother, called from the staircase. “Are you alright? Someone’s waiting to see you!”

Alya, she thought, hiking the layers of fabric to her waist so she could stand. She’d mentioned she might come to bag a pastry for some extra lunch and could now help whatever seven situations she’d gotten herself into. The relief unlaced the tightness in her chest. Maybe her luck wasn’t too bad after all.

“Yeah I’m fine! Just send them up!”

Tikki shot into thin air as Marinette gathered her dignity in shell-pink bunches, her loose hair falling from behind her ears so she couldn’t see her feet, Alya’s steps resounding not too far off. Since the pins had readjusted themselves, the skirts’ layers were peeling and made its wearer’s balance ever the more delicate. The trapdoor unlatched.

Beneath her bangs toed the ends of orange converse.

“Gah!”

That danged thimble. Her head careened forward, hitting a solid, slightly rigid surface as two grips attempted to stable her during the fall, but both bodies were too far angled. When they hit the padded rug, the unnerving lack of pain caused her to blink three times at the face still grimacing—

The tan, sculpted planes of her fake boyfriend.

“Adrien?!”

Slits of green cracked open, his pearly teeth clenched. Man, his face really had no imperfections – even up close. “I didn’t think we were going to method-act in private too…”

Something about his brilliant smirk made her that little bit less remorseful for jumping him. Marinette lifted her torso, now practically siting, and slid down so she wasn’t crushing his ribs. Adrien gave a slight hiss again and looked away with a flush spread on his cheeks.

She crossed her arms. “What are you doing here?”

“Finding you!” He crossed his arms back, grasping to the imaginary, ever-present competition, not caring they were doing this in the positions they were. “We were supposed to make up our mind about details and our relationship issues so Miss Bustier can fix them quicker. I’ve been looking for you everywhere, you know. It’s been humiliating. But your mum gave me some food for my troubles.”

Sounded about right. One day Marinette ought to clue her parents in on just what kind of person Adrien was. She rolled her eyes and swung a leg off, patting his hip twice. “C’mon, stand up.”

“Maybe I like the view.”

Back turned, she dusted off and upturned her nose over satisfying him with a quip back. When they composed themselves—stretching out and standing soberly—, two sore sights in a world of pink and posters commenced some passive stare-down. The absurdity seemed to nullify the speed of Marinette’s mouth so she was left blinking, again, at the attractive face that appeared suspiciously fascinated in what it saw – Adrien gave a once-over to her outfit, then continued staring; to the trim-waisted design and silk layering, the pinned hem, and unique neckline.

Belying his expression, he said, “You look ridiculous.”

“I thought you liked the view.” She bit the inside of her cheek as Adrien flushed brighter.

Amidst switching his sight, the embarrassment visibly fell from something all-too intriguing. Marinette stared at him as she wondered what he’d seen.

“Do you have Chat Noir posters?”

Crap.

“You have… There’s so many…”

“There is not!”

“There is!” Adrien circled to her desk, ignoring the scattered needles and design sheets to face the shrine. His face resembled some electric glee as he held a picture frame with Chat peace-signing. “I knew you were obsessed with him!”

Swallowing her mortification, Marinette focussed on the two needles now stuck in her shoulder blades; they were at an angle just-so she couldn’t stretch to reach them. “You’re just jealous.”

“Oh, all I feel is jealously.” He visibly pretended to count the photos.

“Shut up! He’s most of my modelling inspiration. He poses without it being intentional, so it’s… it’s more fluid.”

He turned, eyebrows enigmatic but grin obvious. “I thought you only designed clothes.”

“I— He also gives inspiration for leather clothing, and– I don’t have to explain myself to you! I just like making Chat-styled clothes, okay?”

Adrien shrugged an acceptance that implied he’d definitely be bringing this up in the future. After some pensive consideration, twiddling a square of apple-green silk as Marinette kept vainly reaching for her other injury, he leant on the desk coolly and said,

“You know, I’m actually a model.”

She didn’t spare a glance. “That’s nice.”

But somehow that was intriguing enough for Adrien to step forward, an extra annulment of distance forcing mutual eye contact. With a sort of languid smugness, Adrien asked, “Do you ever study me?”

Marinette squinted. “No.”

He leaned forward.

“Are you lying?”                          

She blinked, rather quickly, but there was that heavy, magnetic second before she pushed him back by his chest, just a few degrees, as if rejecting whatever nervous game he was pulling.

“Okay! Nice to know the cat has some creepy fans.” Seemly, he was close enough and tall enough to see how material was sticking to her back unnaturally. “Marinette, are you—?”

Marinette scooted past him, nudging his side to retrieve the scattered tissues where they fell earlier. With three in hand she said to the legs of her desk, “Just pricked by a few pins! Ha-ha. Happens all the time. I wanted to see the dress’s progress on me.”

Adrien shoved a hand in his pocket. “Do you have a bandage?”

“I’ll find one.” But she was flustered and had forgotten she’d used the last of them a week earlier.

Something about the way she sifted through fruitless drawers, under the desk and how she smacked her head coming out, made Adrien realise this. “Are you sure?”

“No.”

Adrien fiddled in his pocket before emptying it, holding the band aid out to the lost cause rubbing her dark mop of wavy hair. “Here,” he said, and at the stunned pupils he added, “My mother always had me carry one on me. I was a clumsy kid.”

“So it is possible to grow out of…” she muttered.

“For you? No.”

Marinette shot him a look. She swiftly escaped, applying more tissues to herself

“Hey, turn around,” Adrien prompted, a step behind as she crossed her legs on the chaise and glared up at him. “You can’t reach the needles.”

“They unstuck themselves.” With an elegant motion resemblant to a tractor’s, she reached for the leak in her skin, hoping the tissues were in the right position to pale the chance of an impromptu dye. As always, Adrien didn’t listen to her and sat behind.

“I can do it,” she clipped.

His hands redirected the tissues. “You wish.” Rough fingertips along her skin strung a heart string and produced a light flinch. Adrien’s mouth curved.

“I can!” she insisted, ignoring the way she’d been relieved thinking Alya was available to help her out just before. “Adrien, honestly—”

“Fine!” he relented. “But remember I have the band aid!”

He could just imagine her expression – the pulled brow and thinned lips, the billows of smoke from the raised nose. It stoked his joy more than he could articulate. When Marinette’s pale little fingers danced over her cream skin, he made sure she could hear the tearing of the bandage packet.

He slid a finger under the sloped collar, unblind to the chill that skated her spine. “I think this unfinished hem here has turned a bit red.”

Feverishly, she reached again.

His upper lip quirked at her stubbornness. Oddly, it filled him with safety and amusement as if a familiarity about it was tainting how frustrated he should be.

“Marinette! It’s trickling off your arm too.”

“Still?!”

Adrien huffed. “That’s it!” Tissues in-hand, he locked her arm and padded down the puncture on her bicep (a lag in compliance on her behalf), then finished peeling the band aid to stick against the two weeping pricks on her shoulder blade. “Who wears something with open needles sticking everywhere?”

“I didn’t plan on falling!”

“It seems you fell before I arrived, too.”

Her silenced answered that suspicion. Appreciatively, since the pins had unstuck, the dress hung too low to rut against the small wound. While Adrien nurtured her humility Marinette just muttered intelligible mulishness in such a way that his grin lingered, even as she shot up once he’d announced he’d finished. She took the tissues and threw them in a waste basket.

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” He rolled his eyes as she headed to the other side of the pink maze.

“I have to get dressed.”

“Uh…” he said eloquently, now a towhead pillar onlooking Marinette strutting behind a Chinese folding screen. He blinked and the intricate layers of the dress were draping over it as the sound of fabric rustling recycled the silence, and before he could say anything else Marinette was back to Marinette – without the ponytail, which was in progress; fingers pulling tight on the thick locks of hair. He almost mourned the fleeting difference but remembered he had standards for himself.

For the final touch, she secured her hair with that Chat clip when reaching the oval mirror of her sink. Adrien, meanwhile, had forgotten this was where words were usually used. 

“Well, we better be going!” she announced, ushering him to the trap door. “Don’t want to be late for the worst experience of our lives!”

“I think she booked us in for once or twice a week,” he said helpfully.

“Great! Perfect!”

He let her descend first to sneak in one last look to her room – the spilt fabric rolls, scattered tissues from when the box had been stuck, the exhaustible variety of creativity and Chat Noir memorabilia. A mess, essentially. In some uncertain way, Adrien liked the feeling of it. “We can decide on a story there.”

Marinette nodded. Their trip down the stairs and to avoid all parental presence was brisk and uneventful, to the dissatisfaction of Adrien’s stomach, who’d expected a refill. As if she sensed this, she snatched a single croissant on her way out the Boulangerie door.

“Hey,” she started, with that hooking tone one does, “what did you mean about method acting before?”

Adrien grinned.

Chapter Text

“It’s called commitment, Marinette.”

As they moseyed the streets leading to the school, she reminded him most fussily, “We’re not in an actual relationship.”

“Commitment to our roles. Think about it, what are they going to say if they find out we’re lying?”

Marinette pondered a second, munching her pastry goods. She started impersonating what people may say, “’Wow, this is shocking news’.”

He looked at her.

“’I knew she was way out of his league’.”

“Marinette—”

“’He probably paid her to pretend’.”

“Marinette! You agreed to this. If you’re going to be a child about it we can call it off.”

But they couldn’t. Against her everything, their predicament was far too convenient. She could arrive late to class from an akuma, and instead of unearthing some bullocks excuse from her magic hat, she could palm it off to her breaking relationship. Miss Bustier loved love, to the point it could be her own demise someday – she wouldn’t let the two break up, not when to her, they were darling students who didn’t go at each other’s throats behind closed doors. As Ladybug, she needed this.

As Marinette, she hated it.

“No, I’m in.”

But whether she liked it or not, she was committed.

 “It’s just this whole… method acting thing. It’s just, I don’t know. I think I’d just prefer to drink bleach.” She shrugged.

“Go ahead,” he grumbled, eyes burning a hole into her croissant.

Adrien seemed to have his agenda made up: They were dating just over three months, or two—she honestly was paying more attention to the wrestling pigeons atop her neighbour’s house—and their relationship was threatened, ironically so, by their arguing, and a breakup was a silent possibility. Their objective for each session was to make Miss Bustier feel like she’d achieved a lot of damage control, before they went to the next session just as bad as before.

The school’s archway impending, she inquired, “Why three months?”

“Think about it,” he said speculatively.

Steps went under her feet as she slung her slender arm on the railing, sky reflecting off the eyes that idly cast its way. Her trained coolness was drenched in heat as she realised; her body stiffened as Adrien continued up the staircase.

The film festival.

“You’re going to tell her that we dated because we enjoyed kissing?”

“I never said that,” he announced over his shoulder. “I was going to say we had fun together that day and pursued our chemistry. But wow, Marinette.” As she caught up, his darning smirk turned to her. “I didn’t know you enjoyed it.”

A rapid succession of indignations hit her at once before she blurted, “I said we.”

Oh, wait. That’s not what she was supposed to argue with at all.

A damp gleam of surprise sprang into his light green eyes. It fleeted as that wretched grin appeared. “If that’s the case then maybe method acting isn’t too much of a stretch.”

Her stomach churned. He glanced at her food.

“Like maybe we could walk in sharing the croissant.”

“Nice try.” Her lips embraced the last chunk of pastry. His eyes dipped miserably to the stray crumbs that fell on her overcoat. “We haven’t been dating for that long."

The recess bell rang just as Adrien muttered something about “a terrible girlfriend” and the worst free period of their life became a reality.

Adrien wasn’t one for accusations—that was more Marinette and Chloé’s thing (though to be fair, Plagg actually had the bracelet)—but he hadn’t seen Lila since last disclosing his cover-up relationship with her. It was both most infuriating and relieving to not catch the heavy bangs and click of burgundy heels amongst François Dupont, because if this absence of hers was pre-empted, then he’d of never had to lie about being in a relationship with a literal snake.

So did… did Lila leave because of him?

His nerves had been fried since Nino informed him she’d left to someplace that totally wasn’t real. It added up in the worst way, and now he was stuck deliberating how many times a day he’d have to give Marinette gooey eyes. The class didn’t know about them; he was too embarrassed to tell Nino just yet.  

His rivalry with Marinette wasn’t soft news (their arguments carried in the ventilation systems, plus, he was sort of a celebrity), so when a few curious eyes tacked to the begrudged way they walked onto the school grounds together—heads high as to overshadow the other but glares inbuilt for moderation—he expected nothing less and just glared harder at whoever stared a second too long. He had physics homework, for crying out loud, and yet he was going to spend his spare period with Miss Bustier and Marinette probably picking apart all the mythical things he liked about the latter.

“I’m doing this for the rest of the class, too,” Miss Bustier was saying five minutes in. Marinette so far had not spoken and he’d taken lead. “The arguments are honestly disruptive. I’ve had a few complaints from fellow classmates.”

They side-eyed, an inaudible agreement of, “Chloé” passing through their glance.

“We could do a team building exercise today, just so I can see how you two handle your struggles together. And, they’re fun!”

Marinette smiled politely. “You really don’t have to do this, Miss Bustier. You probably have so many tests to mark, and assessments to write out, and classes to—”

“Nonsense!”

The forced tightness of her cheeks unwound. Marinette’s back slid down her chair.

“Nothing is more important in my job than my students’ wellbeing. Now, since there’s only two of you, it’ll be quite hard to do a game involving you both as a ‘team’. You’d have to be Chat Noir and Ladybug to be a true unstoppable team of two! Think of their team building exercises!”

Adrien’s gut flipped as his teacher laughed pointlessly. He just nodded, filling the room with artificial laughter as he flickered attention between the columns of filing cabinets and the way Marinette’s fingers fiddled on her lap – as if looking Bustier in the eye would give him away.

“So time for Jenga instead!”

Jenga.

Adrien clenched the edges of his seat base. He hadn’t played that game since…? Since… Oh. Since his mother left.

“Sounds fun!” Marinette lied baldly.

Once reaching under the desk, their teacher tipped over a withered caddy and bricks fell before them. Three fell on the carpet and Marinette and Adrien bumped heads reaching for it. The glares started to mould, but the silence of Bustier’s watching eyes had them relax their faces.

“Sorry… uh, dear.”

Heads bent beneath the table, Marinette hissed for his ear only, “Dear?!”

He honestly couldn’t explain that.

When they popped back up with the missing bricks, Miss Bustier suggested (“suggested”) that they might set up the game together while pushing the entire Jenga load to their side of the desk. As they constructed the tower, they rushed straight in without any word. This game was usually a competition, Adrien thought. In fact, he felt certain that it was.

Last time he played with his mum, he may have been thirteen – possibly younger. His mother was atrocious at the game until the next round when she clobbered him and he realised her ruse. When he asked how she did that, she simply said she topped her Physics class, and that had forever stuck with Adrien.

Jenga was bloodshed – but boy, he thought while Marinette took a surprising move, he sure missed it.

“Today, the goal isn’t to leave your partner hanging. It’s to leave the tower as thin as possible together. So watch the other’s moves carefully.”

All obvious moves were merely empty slots in the wooden tower. Marinette seemed intent in not letting the tower fall. Her brow creased and the bluebell eyes glowed as if she were quite determined during each one of her turns. It was endearing—possibly cute—the resolute yet pathetic attitude. Yet to him, the game was just for fun.  

“I’m surprised you both aren’t communicating your strategies.”

They didn’t need to – their synchronised moves were obvious to see. Marinette would take a middle brick from the bottom so he’d take one from the top. She balanced whatever he took from the right side with the left and vice versa. What did they have to talk about?

As if reading his mind, Marinette took a risky move he’d prayed she’d do. “I guess we know what we’re doing,” she muttered.

“Oh, you play Jenga often?”

“No,” they said in unison.

“Right. Well you’re doing…” the starved tower looked on the verge of collapsing; Marinette and Adrien never hesitated on their moves, as if they were testing the other, “really good! It seems you two make an incredible team!”

Marinette’s fingers twitched over the next brick.

“I can tell you must have a great bond.”

She pulled out the one from under it.

And the tower gave way.

The last of the desecrated bricks spat across the set-aside deskwork and bulletins, into their laps and over established wood piles. It made a loud clutter and two of three jumped; the third placid as she held the guilty piece. Miss Bustier gave a gasp and a few “oh no’s”, but tidied it with languid sigh, because “the fall was inevitable,” and “sometimes conversations fall” . Adrien had nothing to say and just began collecting the other remains off the carpet. Meanwhile, their teacher unfolded her plan and began explaining how Jenga is metaphor of a relationship – the more you take out, the more chances of collapse. Or something like that – Adrien was trying to find the last piece under fusses of paper.

The rest the session niggled at his hunger. In time, it went quickly, but with Marinette’s abhorrence it seemed to take the rest of the school day.

She asked how long their relationship had gone, and Adrien answered, then she was curious as to how it started, which Adrien, again, answered in a very business-like way (“We had fun filming Horrificator and got together after playing the love interests”); curtly and no extra details, as if he were outlining a tabloid. Miss Bustier would raise a brow here and there and Marinette would raise his blood pressure with inaudible scoffs and her conviction to keep quiet. Adrien believed her horrid acting skills would produce their teacher’s suspicions, so his pinkie finger crept along their chairs to interlock with hers very obviously. That made her puff her chest and fix her posture a little.

“Marinette, you’ve been awfully quiet.”

“Oh, sorry. There was a bug on the wall.”

Adrien rolled his eyes to himself and then said, “She hates bugs.”

The dainty hand took full grip with a rasping squeeze that fused his bones. Adrien’s jaw flexed.

“Well I think that was a nice start to this, don’t you think?”

He nodded with grit teeth just as the period bell announced their suffering’s end.

“What was that?”

“What?!”

“That was– That was the worst way it could’ve gone!”

Marinette continued bulldozing to the library where she flashed him a haughty expression at the door. “We did fine!”

“You said nothing.”

The fastidious nature of their body language dispelled as the palpable quiet hit them. A few heads jerked in the couple’s direction, but swivelled right back realising who they were; just Adrien and Marinette, as it shouldn’t be, yet as it always was. Employing his resolve, Adrien charged to the mechanics and engineering section, where he closed them in the blueish booth like he’d done a week or so before. That mildewed scent thickened but he didn’t care; he didn’t care when those royal eyes poured fire into his. Estranged with déjà vu and feeling the hot whips of panic he carried on their argument,

“Why didn’t you say anything, Marinette?”

“You had it covered! What’s the big deal?”

“You almost broke my hand for starters!”

“You grabbed it, for starters!”

Adrien felt knots of anger pull in his chest. He could not with this girl; with her tempering wit and reflective lips that had the power to make him think and say outlandish things. He gathered his composure by stabling a hand on a broken book cart adjacent to her hip and leaning forward slightly.

“Miss Bustier was looking at us like we’d never even spoken before. What would you have rather me do? Kiss you?”

Her face turned and dark bangs flounced across her brow, having her earing angle in such as way that blue light danced of it momentarily. “I would have rather been playing lacrosse with Kim and Alix.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. She hated lacrosse. “You could at least try.”

“I was trying!”

“You were not!”

“It’s not exactly easy to pretend like I’m in love with someone like you!”

“Oh yeah? Most girls in Paris are!”

Her teeth appeared and he felt instant regret; Adrien never sounded like that – he didn’t say things like that (maybe only Chat sometimes did).

“You are such a jerk!” She scoffed with thrilling scorn. “You love that you have everything, don’t you?”

He careened forward. “You are not going there!”

“I will go there! Because you and your everything are what make you such a jerk! You think you can force me to be your girlfriend and get me to admit you’re a good kisser, all while shoving in my face that you’re a model with everyone in love with you and that you’re so much better than me!”

Adrien blinked, his breath void of a combat.  

“You’re lucky I even agreed to this, Adrien! If this stupid idea didn’t work in my favour, imagine the messes you’d be cleaning up now!”

She didn’t even know the extent of messes he’d be cleaning. He wetted his lips.

“Yeah, but it does work out for you,” Adrien snapped. “And you know, we wouldn’t even be in this predicament if you didn’t follow me in akuma attacks, and if you were on-time for class just one time in your life! My life is busy; I actually have excuses—”

“You so do not!”

“—whereas you live beside the school with two parents who give you lunch on your way out the door!” he cried.

She shoved her face closer. Her neatly painted eyes thinned. “I’m almost always hiding there first and you know it! Also—! You’re late to class at your own fault, too – making this all of your stupid problem! Not mine!”

He was this close to pulling out his perfect golden hair and giving his father a heart attack. “At least my late excuses are true!”

“So are mine!”

“You couldn’t tell the truth to save your life!”

Her freckled nose flared. The tired, sapphire light of the room tremored as fervour filled her lips and venom tainted her eyes. “You know what?! Can’t you just– Just—”

“Just what?!”

“Shut your mouth!”

“Make me, princess!”

The tension had such a visceral, physical reaction so that two sets of eyes flickered downwards, gazes grazing tempting lips now parted and gleaming. Warmth rose to their cheeks. A need– a want apprehended him. Last these words were exchanged at the lockers that day he almost did something incredibly stupid but oh-so-Adrien – reckless. And today he’d be darned if he left this dysfunctional study nook without a win, so he didn’t cower; he didn’t shrink away – he wetted his lips and trained his eyes to the rueful passiveness of hers.

But Marinette was braver.

His neck was seized and jerked forward, locked by the sudden brace of tender fingers. Next he saw shimmering opals blink at him from merely an inch or two away. The hair over their foreheads fused and their noses bumped.

At this new distance, they probably touched from all areas but one – their lips.

Her nails pressed into the back of his neck and he shivered.

“You with your stupid games.” The warm breath kissed the tan skin under his nose. “I can play too,” her balmed rosy lip lent, skimming his hopeless mouth with all implication to go further but no intention to actually do so, “hot stuff.”

Adrien struggled to swallow.

“Then if you’re in,” he whispered, “act like it.”

She shoved him forward and their stupor snapped in half. The tip of his shoe knocked the broken book cart and the noise wiped his dull, fumbling brain.

“Fine! I will!”

He watched her steamroll her way out. “Good!”

“Good!”

“Good!”

“Great!”

“Fantastic!” she shouted, and he let her have the last word as to not face the wrath of the librarian.

Yeah, he thought, veins cooling and lungs catching up. Fantastic.

Chapter Text

“Do you ever think about our identities?”

Like, their superhero identities?

As in, secret identities?

Chat Noir heaved a scoff at the redundancy of her question. Of course he did. All the time.

Daily, he thought about de-transforming and giving all of him to her; to release every secret; every carnality; every beautifully personal thing.

He thought about her. Her. Her. Sometimes nothing but her. Ladybug! At the dinner table, alone with his plate of cheese and glass of milk – he imagined her opposing him with their children scattered somewhere amidst the seats of air causing a mess, any noise, any laughter. The ceilings wouldn’t be a looming darkness and she’d be without her mask but with that dashing smile, telling him about her day. Kind of like, a family, he supposed. Like the ones he saw in movies or those times he visited Marinette (hopefully his children won’t have any similarities to her, though).

Adrien imagined how their light skins would look and feel clasped together; the fruitless desperation to address his lady by her real, surely pretty, name, where he could sing sonnets with it and laugh until she covered her ears. They were so close yet knew nothing about the other.

He could even reiterate his exact dinner dream that night. Right then. He could point to the nearby perfume poster, wild grinning boy thinking of her, and say, “That’s me over there”. He could admit his desperation the day Ladybug cornered him in the bathroom to just say, “Chat’s okay! He’s fine! It’s me!”. (Though that would mean he took his shirt off on purpose, and he wasn’t about to expose himself as That Guy.)

But, “Yeah,” was all he said.

And, “Same,” was all she said.

So Chat decided on the brittle rooftop that he would say a little more. “Do you think we know each other?”

She chuckled. “I feel like I could recognise you anywhere. You’re just… you know, you. But then again, with the magic and lies, the possibility’s still there, right?”

Imagine that, he thought, imagine if he’d seen her before – talked to her, smiled at her, even if it was merely along the street banks of Paris. He’d surely kick himself if he were to ever find out he’d wasted some chance to talk to her, or if he did know her with no clue.

“You know me,” he smiled sadly, “but you don’t know me out of this suit. And as much as black suits me, I also rock orange.”

Her nose scrunched. “Ew.”

“You’re not a fan?”

Ladybug pushed the crimson ribbon in her curly ponytail off her shoulder as the wind greeted them. “I like pink, actually.”

He gave her a once-over as a ghost of a smirk touched his lips. “I’d expect that from you.”

She laughed as if he could know such a thing.

He couldn’t know her in real life, Adrien concluded. No one in his life was as perfect as her.

If Marinette had a dollar for every time she’d been someone’s fake girlfriend, she’d have two dollars, which isn’t a lot, but she made that two dollars in a month. One with Adrien, and two with Chat.

And it just had to be Adrien’s dollar that kept sparkling.

But honestly the story’s not as spellbinding as she’d like it to be. Chat and Ladybug were a duo; a team, and a professional one at that. So when news reporter Nadia Shamack hauled the superheros into a demanding interview where their “relationship status” was used to play chicken for views – going so far as to show footage of the two in compromising positions – Ladybug didn’t respond kindly. She remembered every moment played on the slideshow—to falling on each other, catching each other, sitting in his lap—and all but one Chat had no choice in forgetting.

“When did that happen?!”

Their kiss.

“I was saving you! Not kissing you!”

In fact she really was kissing him. Easily in the top-ten moments of her life. She remembered the glide of his black lips and manic fervour like no tomorrow – as if a piece of him was there, strenuously reaching for air; as if his obliging, passionate mouth was Chat desperate to sheath off the forced hate.

Chat’s current slack mouth and pea-sized irises, however, indicated he really had no recollection.

Panic pierced her. She couldn’t get a clue of what he thought of the idea of them, together. She’d been so clear throughout their partnership that they were friends and teammates – they didn’t know their private lives, and they should never know the others’ identity. They couldn’t be anything.

But her thrumming heart waited for a flirtatious remark, a comment to Nadia, a look towards her – anything as she longed for them to be anything.

She couldn’t know his opinions.

‘Say something’.

They couldn’t agree with Nadji.

‘Say you remember.’

This– She didn’t want to know what he was thinking.

‘Look at me, Kitty.’

Except she really, really had to.

But they denied. She was indignant, spluttering the truth—or perhaps fiction—about what they really were and the context of the pictures. “We’re not celebrities! We’re superheros!” Why couldn’t they be asked regular questions? The interview was invasive, and she never agreed to it – never mind the swelling hurt from how bastardly false it all was. She was in love with him for crying out loud! Of course there was something for her but nothing for them. And Chat couldn’t say anything but to tell her to calm down; they were on TV. The tantrum led them nowhere but a fired news reporter and fresh akuma on their hands.

That’s when they tricked Prime Queen that they were an “item” for approximately thirty seconds, where a close call kiss was purposefully cut off by the signal, and Alya got to live (long story).

Whoop-de-do. Another day.

Another reminder that Chat and her couldn’t happen.

Then between the heartbreak of that she was stuck with either Alya and Nino chained at the hip or Adrien, who, she was pretty sure had no idea how fake-dating worked, because couples didn’t usually write notes saying ‘buttface’ to the other in class without fear of the teacher being told – because she didn’t want to clue Miss Bustier in on their lie or go to another therapy session. It really was a clever move on his behalf.

On a Wednesday, she received a different letter than usual.

‘Chat Noir sucks.’

She bit the inside of her cheek, scribbling over the first words and replacing them with ‘Ladybug’ before slipping it back. It seemed he decided to push her that day into replying, which she never had, but he’d hit her soft spot.

He casually stretched as the edited letter wafted from his open hand and landed back on her desk. The pointed way her eyes narrowed to the surely sheepish blond mop of a head didn’t last when she opened it. Beneath the scribbled sentence he’d written a new line.

‘Come to Chloé’s party with me.’

Yeah, uh, she’d rather not.

See – no one knew about them and their idiotic agreement to save their own skin from getting detentions. And that wasn’t about to start to get around. They’d smile in unison at Miss Bustier, feign sheepish looks as they arrived late to class (at the same time darn it – the lie was more beneficial than Marinette would admit), or—probably the furthest they’ve gone—exchanged merry ‘good morning’s without a pinched face even when their teacher had stopped watching.

When Adrien noticed the note hadn’t made its way back, he tore another piece of Nino’s workbook page next to an amateur’s scribble of a DJ-set. His friend noticed that time and perked his head with indignation, but a calm wave of the hand from Adrien silenced him, stubbornly.

‘Chloé would hate that, wouldn’t she?’

Marinette wetted her lips and tasted strawberry lip balm.

Her father—the mayor, never forget—wasn’t too impressed by Chloé’s lack of friends and the counteractive amount of attitude. Marinette had reason to suspect Gabriel Agreste had confronted Mayor Bourgeois after noticing the way she spoke to his beloved, perfect, faultless, esteemed son at the hat-design competition. No one in the city could say no to Gabriel. Not even the mayor.

Guess that explained where Adrien got his idea of self-importance.

“What are you two talking about?” Alya hissed, jolting Marinette into dropping her pencil.

“Nothing!”

Her nose scrunched dubiously. “Yeah, exchanging love notes with the face of the perfume poster you’d throw darts at is nothing. Are they death threats or did I miss a chapter?”

Blue eyes shot to the teacher marking last class’s papers at her desk before switching back to Alya. Hiding the note, she hesitated before asking, “Are you going to Chloé’s party?”

Adrien shifted in his seat.

“Nino and I were thinking about it,” Alya bounced her tablet stylus, “since it’s nice she’s trying to be… inclusive, I guess, and apologising for getting that fireman to come in. Plus, you can never say no to free food.”

“That’s a good point.”

Adrien’s point was better, though. She couldn’t even imagine the expression on Chloé’s makeup-caked features if her most loathed classmates appeared at her own party arm-in-arm. Was this Adrien’s way of telling everyone the news or just to piss Chloé off? Did she care either way? People would find out eventually, right? Especially with the way Miss Bustier had a relentless eye clued to them.

Gah! If only she could talk to Chat about this.

But at that very thought she remembered the chance they had, and that maybe secrecy was the must for a reason.

Never forget her exchange in the library with Adrien the other day, either. Act like she was in, he’d sniped in that snooty voice, with his snooty above-it-all attitude – but worse she’d said she would, having no clue those words would be holding her at gunpoint as she thought of how her arm would fit in his through Le Grand Paris’s door.

Marinette swallowed her sigh and spun a pen through her fingers, flattening the crinkled note with the other.

If she was doing this, she was doing it right.

Chapter Text

When Adrien was a young boy, noosed to the commands of his father (still is), he’d be dragged into this palace of snobs where the marble would sparkle but the servants’ eyes wouldn’t, and those servants would plead with the noblewoman to get their name right (still doesn’t). Noblewoman-Chloé would play royalty with him on the crimson-carpeted stairs until he whined to be the dragon or anyone else that didn’t become her ‘true love’. The “King”—the in-and-out player—only appeared when Chloé made sure Adrien knew the answer to that was no, which led to his more preferred, single-player game he called ‘escape’ – where he’d sneak off and find his mother drinking the tea she liked least as the other adults talked.

Now, Adrien knew every elevator, fire escape, and dumbwaiter in Le Grand Paris. Also on the list of things he knew far too much about was the hotel’s life-long resident, Chloé, who he progressively became less tolerant for as he observed her behaviour towards anyone without the same appeared status, such as the kids that played in the lobby—Adrien and Chloé’s play space—as their parents booked visits or read the paper.

At first, having her as his only friend, he didn’t know he was allowed to call her out instead of just tricking her into giving the kid’s toy back.

“Hey, that’s mean,” some girl said, their age—six of seven maybe—once Chloé insulted her pink overalls.

Adrien was over at the Bourgeois’ again, occasionally dawdling over to his mother to inquire if the time until they could leave had been significantly shaven off – which it never was, because he dawdled to the private lounge every two minutes. ‘Can we please play with the other kids, Chloé?’ he’d beg. ‘Maybe one of them will be your prince.’

But Chloé only relented to gather more servants – and she let the lobby children know it.

This girl in particular, Adrien had suggested playing with simply because she was pretty and smelt good, yet it appeared she didn’t have the same effect on the Chloé.

The blonde girl’s glossed lips rounded in surprise. Jean-whatever-his-name-was had escaped to the kitchen to be out of range from the child’s shrilling complaints.

“You can’t speak back to me!” Chloé sniped to the piggy-tailed girl.

“You can’t speak like that to anyone! It's not kind!"

Adrien stood a good distance away as he had prepared to use this argument to play ‘escape’, but no one had held their guard against Chloé. She hadn’t even shed a tear yet, and the tragedy of her entire outfit had already been pointed out.

“Oh go back to your bakery!” Chloé waved the young guest off. “It’s enough I have to see your stupid face at school. You’re not welcome here.”

“Chloé! That’s rude!”

Her blonde ponytail whipped as she flashed his way, icy eyes as heated as ever. “Well she’s not!”

“Yes she is! It’s not your hotel!”

“Yeah!” the classmate chimed. “It’s all your daddy’s!”

The muscles of Chloé’s mouth bunched as indicative frustration rolled off in waves. A stomp of her tiny shoes almost echoed. “How dare you!”

Adrien stepped in between the girls just to fist his hips and look down at Chloé.

“Leave her alone or I won’t play with you anymore!”

His heart tendons fretted together and knocked against his stilled ribs. He liked telling Chloé off. He liked it a lot actually. And it only became easier with each visit.

A decade later, ripely seventeen, it’d be impossible for him to calculate which visit this was as Adrien took in the tremoring gusto of a party for people unliked by its host.

And attached to him was a whole new problem of her own.

They walked in together, that was enough—

“Whoa! Look at the DVS turntable! This party is off the chain!”

“Can you believe Chloé invited the whole class? She really must be sorry.”

“Is that a ball pit?!”

—And no one had noticed, thankfully.

Marinette kept her head low and her voice lower, rosed lips pursed as she touched her midnight hair every time the room went a little too quiet. Alya and Nino kept wandering off, and no matter the laps she did around the decorations she always ended up besides the stoic blonde pillar with a hand pocketed in his long, silk overshirt, posed in such a way you’d know he was a model without having to look at any poster ten feet away in the street. In the other hand, he’d always hold some food; each time something different.

“I like your dress,” he said, lids low to look at her. His gaze dawdled towards Kim convincing Alix to dance with him. “The bloodstain adds to it.”

Marinette locked her arms under her chest. She’d made amendments to the crimson edging from where the pin had pricked her, so she knew he was trying to throw her off. Remember the time the front of her body became momentarily acquainted with his; the slimy jokes he made thereafter; the first-aid assistance he provided– insisted upon, and rudely so? Because Marinette certainly didn’t remember – not with clarity, anyway.

Tonight, she could be comfortable in her new, handcrafted dress, confident Chloé’s heckling was in custody, and she didn’t need the other Chloé dragging her down.

She swirled the mocktail then said like she hadn’t followed him to the lounge, “Why don’t you hang around someone else?”

He scoffed. “Well, here, I can annoy multiple people at once. Because you occupy so many personalities.” Adrien then lent, perfectly, against the back of a red couch. “Why don’t you wander off? You’re the one with all the friends, Miss Popular.”

Her brows tensed with the hit of incredulity. “You’re one to talk about popular.”

Adrien just chewed his cheese tart with a stone glare, but it froze as he caught a blonde half-updo swishing closer to them.

Chloé was letting strings loose. The faux-fur coat of warmness the host had donned was shrivelling with each impudent request, and every time she had to see yet another pea-sized brained classmate decked in what she’d call a ‘disrespect to fashion’, her thorns bristled.

See, the problem was, well, everyone. Mylene required ice for her beverage, and Max—how dare he—asked where the bathroom was, and Rose, the imbecile, couldn’t have lactose and refused chocolate when Chloé passed the tray around, which was a big step for Chloé. And Nathaniel just… existed, and his hair pissed her off every time he was in her peripheral.  Too many of her guests became enunciating pricks in her side. And Jean-whatever his name was had been following her around with a cooing stuffed bear. Hence, the blonde vixon wasn’t exactly calm, cool, and collected currently.

So when her childhood enemy came into view besides the boy who’d humiliated her for years within the very walls of her hotel, wearing a dress that was brightly outshining Chloé’s, Marinette became the centre in her AK rifle’s sight.

She emptied a scoop of ice into Mylene’s glass and stomped over as cubes broke on the white, patterned tile.

Something about Adrien and Marinette together unnerved her to no end. Maybe it was because they were visually displeasing—mouths soured, brows low, and bodies always candidly modelled—, or that they were the only two known people to really, really stick it to her; the only ones who had managed to leave her heart-wrenchingly mortified. The only saving grace was that she was certain they hated each other, which was a relief. Now, by the influence of both rats, she had to throw this stupid “I’m sorry” party, as if there was even something she had to be forgiven for.

“Nice party Chloé,” Marinette said, but it was the way she said it – Chloé just knew she meant to pick a fight, as if she hadn’t charged all this way to do that herself.

Manicured nails latched to her hips. Two eyes heavy with blue eyeshadow roved up and down the layers of stitched pink. “And what are you supposed to be? A Bubblegum Princess? That dress is the most hideous thing I’ve ever seen in my life!”

Marinette stopped the drink from touching her lips and left them parted. “You told us to dress up.”

“Exactly! Not sew together some garbage bag and wear it in my hotel! This is my party and I refuse to have you making me look bad for letting you in!”

Before Marinette could answer, or even Adrien for that matter who had, for once, stopped eating, she ambushed on, putting her posture into it.

“And what are you two doing here together anyway!?”

“We came together,” Marinette said stiffly.

“Ha! And you expect me to believe that?! What kind of joke is this now?! You two are pathetic! What other reason would you have to come together besides being the two biggest losers in the class and wanting to embarrass me? And Marinette, you could’ve at least pretended to have some fashion taste instead of dressing like a rodent who thinks she’s going to be some designer one day.”

A large hand gripped Marinette’s ribcage and yanked her to side with Adrien’s hard body. She felt the cool silk of his overshirt on her burning cheeks and was lost for words.

The tall body lent, sneered mouth hissing out,

“Don’t you ever speak to my girlfriend like that.”

The heat in the air cut, Chloé’s fervour freezing as the animation on her face rippled away, replaced by a violent storm of confusion with clouds of anger blurring her once more as her needle-like brows pinched.

“You’re—”

Jaw hard, Marinette nodded.

“No… No you’re not…” she said more to herself, stepping back a little.

Adrien just grinned.

“That’s just… ew!” she screamed, a few unsurprised faces glancing over. She held the sides of her head as if to silence the unearthing of information she did not want to know. Honestly, Chloé couldn’t not believe it – it was so, so obvious the more she thought back, but the reality made her sick to her stomach.  “What even are you guys? You call that a relationship? You wouldn’t be able to keep each other from tearing your own hair out!”

Marinette felt some sick delight pool within her. “Does us being all over each other bother you?” She circled her arms around his taut waist and, like the absolute unthinking idiot she was, nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder, smiling pettily at Chloé. She ran a hand up his chest because… —yeah honestly, she doesn’t know why she did that—and felt his breathing shift under her fingers.

She waved her hands at them to shoo them off. “I don’t believe it. Not one bit. In fact—”

“Mademoiselle!”

Jean had the yellow bear, waving it over the ball pit in the distance. Chloé fisted her hands and stomped another scream before charging over to him on her second round of lashing out.

Marinette assumed that would be that, but the body she had seemingly almost fused to didn’t budge. The energy of the party seemed to tune back in as a sensual song swung in the air.

After some moment of mutual pondering, Adrien shifted to face her, still with a hand at her waist. Something very different she noticed instantly was that they were now very, very close.

“I hope you know how to dance, or Chloé will never believe us.” He said it with a corner of his mouth twitching, which stung out any maliciousness he’d otherwise carry. So Marinette accepted her fate—she just got brutally yelled at by the host, so what was slow dancing with the man she most detested going to do?—and took his other hand, her other falling on his shoulder.

He took the lead, waltzing the two of them easily between the other couples, wearing a stern face which she half-heartedly glared back at. The crease in her brow caused his perky grip to squeeze her waist into him, their upper ribs an inch apart. Her breathing hitched and the ghost of a smirk flittered by his mouth.

The nerve of him. As they danced, she reacted in what she deemed appropriate, which was sliding her palm on his shoulder up, creeping around the base of his neck, and carding nails through the short (extremely soft?!) tuffs of blond hair she found there. A muscle in his jaw jumped and she could tell by way he stiffened holding her that he’d had to suppress a shiver. He inhaled noticeably and tightened the grip on her waist once more so that time, their front halves met, eyes thinning at into each other and mouths pressed.

As they swayed, the DJ bar went unattended so Nino could join Alya for a song. Marinette caught the two waltzing around them, entirely clasped together – either snug into the crook of the others’ neck or too busy looking into each other’s eyes. In their own world, they probably didn’t notice anything else around them. Just... so, so happy. She couldn’t help but stare forlornly at the pair, and for the first time that glowing evening, she thought of Chat, and the pre-existing excitement in her belly sunk.

She could never have that.

She could never hold him like that; look at him without the bastard black veil or magic. She couldn’t ever be here with him or feel heat surge through her body like when Adrien’s hands pressed into her. She couldn’t ever dance with him or join their ungloved hands and just feel their skin tingle at each others’ touch.

There was a sudden push from the hand on her waist and she felt herself surging forward into Adrien, the side of her contoured cheek hitting his chest.                                                                                                                  
Her head snapped up in indignation, and she was ready with a snappish remark on her lips, but paused at the stare that Adrien levelled at her. It was so startlingly intense, almost warm.

“You’re dancing with me right now.” His voice sounded an octave lower, and the growl made something in her chest tingle. She became all too aware of how tight and close their bodies pressed, how his chest rose and fell with each breath, how she could feel the buckle of his belt rut into her waist, how close his face was suddenly. Were his lashes always this long? They fanned towards the edges of his eyes, maybe this was what made them look so sharp sometimes? Or perhaps that was just the glare thing. He was still talking, and she could feel the words vibrate from where her chin touched his chest. “Just look at me. Don’t pay any attention to them.”

And she did, although she had to fight the temptation to remark that staring at his hideous face made her eyes sick and she needed a break, but by staring, burning her eyes into him, she probably couldn’t look away if she wanted to. He rocked her as the music slewed.

”Your dress isn’t that bad.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thank you. Means a lot from an over-glorified model.”

His brow creased as if he was genuinely upset with her words. Maybe his comment wasn’t sarcasm. “Watch it, or else I’ll kiss you to add to our show.”

Marinette’s spine straightened. Oh, right; putting on the act for Chloé. There was too much she was feeling and thinking to remember this was half a show for her and half a competition between them (she wasn’t quite sure what they were competing, but every interaction with Adrien felt like a threat of a competition). Chloé’s appearance was why they were in the centre of the dancefloor. She cleared her throat and looked around for her, but couldn’t see a cantankerous head of blonde anywhere.

”Where is she, anyway?”

“Maybe she got akumatised.”

They chuckled momentarily, but the sound faded as reality dawned on them.

Screams rippled through the dancers.

As a black bear ran along the floor with Jean-whatever’s voice, Adrien and Marinette realised that although he wasn’t right, he was unfortunately close, meaning they’d have to let go of each other.

A relief, Marinette thought.

And she’d get to see Chat.

Even though, for some reason, she felt she’d rather be back in whatever that moment was…

Chapter Text

The problem wasn’t that they were failing couples’ therapy.

It was that they were excelling.

It’d be all bickering and nudges and mockery of nicknames until they sat before Miss Bustier in silence then dumbfounded her in their expertise during teambuilding exercises – which at first, Adrien attempted to do in riddled quiet so Marinette would fall behind in his unclear steps, but the uncanny part was that they kept up with each other, as if they had the same idea.

Adrien wouldn’t admit that was the case. Just as he wouldn’t admit a lot more.

“I hope this is the last time we have to do this, don’t you?”

Marinette and Adrien nodded, shoulders stiff.

“I’m amazed at the progress made.” Miss Bustier stared earnestly, seeking agreement as if even she had no clue what progress was made. “You’re a quiet two except for when it comes to arguing. Luckily, I haven’t seen any more blow ups in class. And I’ve seen how sweet you really are when it’s just you two.”

The ‘just them two’ were truthfully them and Miss Bustier whenever the feeling of her spying eyes stung them. If she were in the hallways, Adrien would flounce to Marinette’s side and take her bag as if they were always walking besides each other (he took her purse once, but she screamed and freaked out, as if his nose hadn’t already ratted her out to know that’s where she stored cookies to eat in class).

It wasn’t really a matter of jolting into a dating demeanour but more jolting out of a hysterical hate. Mid-argument in corridors they’d jump into normalcy if their teacher were in sight. Once, when Adrien noticed another Chat Noir film strip she’d printed out was angled an inch over his locker door, covering Ladybug’s face on a sunset picture, he was ready to lay qualms, since once again they were both already late to class after an akuma attack. But on Miss Bustier’s way to collect printing she’d seen them through the locker room window and was fast approaching, so in extremes Adrien threw his hands around Marinette and hugged her tight.

“It’ll be okay,” he had said, quite loudly for such soft words, so Bustier would hear and ‘understand their tardiness’, which the presented ‘emotional crisis’ also earnt them a few extra minutes– of which were more arguing anyway about Adrien’s indecency to not ‘warn her’ that they’d be touching fronts first.

Now, it sounded like they could finally put an end to this couples’ therapy thing.

“The arguing was over such silly things. I guess we had just skipped to the marriage phase,” Adrien jested, receiving a punctuated, sarcastic laugh besides him. “These sessions have been… great for our, um, communication skills.”

Miss Bustier feathered test papers and set them aside so she could steeple her hands in serious teacher-fashion. “Honestly, I can only gather so much from what you two share with me, and it seems you have an intense care for each other that you don’t articulate. But your chemistry and teamwork really come out during those exercises. In fact it’s unbelievable sometimes.” She chuckled and sipped her coffee. “I haven’t had any complaints about you two since Lila confronted me about the supposed toxicity your relationship creates in the classroom, and she’s on her missionary trip anyway.”

A muscle in Adrien’s jaw jumped.

“There’s also been no complaints from Mrs Mendeleiev about your heated debates in toastmasters, thankfully. So I believe we can put these sessions to a close, if—” she pointed, “—you two can manage to work together for your physics assignments well enough to get a good mark.”

He swallowed and inched forward in his seat. “But Miss Bustier, we haven’t been assigned partners for that task yet.”

She set her mug down. “Now you have.”

Adrien learnt three pieces of information that week that would ruin his mood for a year.

1. Lila McFreaking Rossi was the reason Miss Bustier had suspected their relationship and inserted herself in it to ‘fix it’, making him and Marinette lose their lunch breaks every so often instead of simply earning detention for their tardiness.

“I cannot believe that vixen little—”

“You know you started it, right?” Plagg so helpfully said, chewing cheese, because of course he was. “Like remember how you told Lila you and Marinette were dating. You know how that was you?”

“I know it was me, Plagg.”

“Yeah, and remember how you just kept digging yourself deeper.” He snorted. “You just blurted Marinette’s name out because you have a subconscious crush on her.”

Jaw clenched, Adrien simply picked up the half-eaten roll of camembert and threw it across the room cleanly in the trash.

Plagg’s pig-mouth hung open.

“Do you remember when Marinette deemed the first present I’ve ever gotten from my father worthless since he didn’t address a card, then she ripped the scarf right in front of me?” Arms folded, he leant on the wall under his basketball hoop, a harsh insinuation fixed in his eyes. “Do you remember that, Plagg?”

Plagg gulped and backed off to hide under the monitor at the desk.

The image of fear caused a twinge of regret in his chest. Adrien held his head in his hands as he slid down the wall in an elongated sigh. Some luck this black cat thing was. He wondered if Ladybug ever got caught up in kerfuffles like his, but he doubted there was anyone as unlucky.

“Sometimes I just wish I could talk to my mother about these things…”

Lila was gone, that was a positive, even if she had somewhat started this side plot of craziness. But Plagg was (irritatingly) right – He started it. That also meant if Marinette ever found out he’d lied to Lila that they were dating to get the witch off his back, she might have an actual reason to hate him.

-

The second piece of information cancelled out his former excitement of “no more couples’ therapy”.

“You’re dating Marinette, dude?”

Not that information – he knew he was dating her, well, not-dating her. Not dating her but as in— Anyways, he was well-aware he had anointed a curse on himself to be tied to Marinette in a fake relationship but only for their teachers’ sake. Alya and Nino had been far too into… each other, lately, to notice that his artificial chumminess with Marinette could be interpreted as a kindling friendship or more.

So for Nino—who noticed nothing past the Top Charts, every spider in Paris, and whether the temperature of his water was perfect enough—to assume such extremes meant that something else was up.

“What do you mean am I dating her?”

Nino gripped his shoulders and pulled him behind a foundation beam. “I mean, that everyone’s talking about how you guys are finally a ‘thing’. I thought you were just hanging out to patch things up and because I’m always with Alya. But wow.”

Adrien blinked, searching around the courtyard for answers. “I—”

“And I mean to me that all makes sense because you guys have some serious chemistry going on all the time, so I got thinking and was like, brooo, he just says he doesn’t like her because he has a crush on her! It’s elementary school basics. So then—”

“Nino.”

“Yeah man?”

“Who told you that?”

“Er, from Alya, but she totally heard it from the girls. Rose heard it from Sabrina, who heard it from Chloé while she was having this big meltdown at her party the other day. Yooo! You were dancing with Marinette then! How did I not see it sooner!? Ha, wow… Love is blinding, am I right?”

“Yeah…” Adrien narrowed his gaze over at Chloé. “Uh, about that. I really should be honest—”

An arm slung around his and a dark head of hair slipped under his nose. He jostled, the scent alerting him of who it was.

“Guess our secret got out.” Blue, crystallin eyes glittered up at him. He gaped at Marinette who looked so cheery and unnatural he felt suddenly protective over his own life.

Alya was right behind her, containing her amusement. “Marinette is seriously bad at hiding stuff. I always knew there was something more to why she always glanced at you, Adrien. I’ll give it to you; you guys had us fooled for a while. But the best journalist is always on your case.” She winked, and Adrien made some high-pitched squeaking sound as Marinette finally unstuck to him.

How were their friends so clueless?

How didn’t they understand they holstered nothing but hatred for each other and were really stuck in a gossamer of lies while he was simultaneously in love with someone else?!

Either way, Marinette had seemingly taken the route to not be honest – typical – so he was stuck entertaining this… mess for a while longer. He wouldn’t admit it, but she had chosen the wiser move. Whatever the lie was with Marinette had somewhat aided his life as Chat Noir. Not by much, just for tardiness and synched absences. But… still.

“Um.”

“This dude’s still speechless.” Nino chortled, thumbing his direction. “At least you guys have made up. I always thought your rivalry back then was crazy.”

Marinette and Adrien both instinctively lurched to argue, but now…

They couldn’t.

Adrien bit the inside of his cheek and flicked his satchel to shut Plagg up so the others wouldn’t hear.

“Now you can bring a date to the opening concert tonight!” Alya jumped to Marinette, earning a snort in response.

“I wouldn’t exactly call the girls singing on a boat a concert.”

“If you heard Rose’s voice and saw the speakers Anarka has on her ship, you’d call it a concert.”

She squinted. “That just sounds like a community safety violation.”

“C’mon! You’re coming! And you’re bringing Adrien.” Alya smacked his arm so he could stop pretending he wasn’t listening. “He’d love Kitty Section’s music.”

“Yo!” Nino glared. “Why aren’t I invited?”

“Babe, you’re coming, remember? My sister's babysitting so we can.”

“Oh yeah.”

Marinette worried her lip. He knew, instantly, that her uneasiness wasn’t about a late night supporting Juleka, Rose, and Ivan’s Music start-up, but the fact she now had to go attached to him. He could say he couldn’t make it… but he had nothing on, for once, and he never got to hang with friends.

He debated with his conscience. Was that a good enough reason to not say he couldn’t make it? Just because he wanted to go and have some freedom? Maybe eat dinner with seats filled with people?

“A few others will be there, too,” Alya went on. “I’m not sure about Kim and Alix, but I know Mylène is, and there’s this tall guy Luka, Juleka's brother, that I don't really kn—”

“Yeah, we’ll go,” Adrien said quickly.

Marinette looked at him, eyes ablaze.

“Um. Yeah. We will.” Her brows lowered. “It’ll be fun to see the songs they’ve been working on all this time. I’ve heard the Couffaine’s are great musicians, too. We’ll enjoy it.”

And that led to the third, horrific discovery of the week:

Juleka had an older brother.

Chapter Text

“Hey M-M-M-Marinette.”

Tall. Mystical. Likely anaemic.

If her guard wasn’t already up making sure Adrien kept himself in check—though it had slipped her mind that he pretended to be an angel in public, and a menace all for her—, she may have taken the young man’s chuckle as an invitation to break the ice. But being so used to taking things as threats (considering her life was always under one), her needle-like brows pulled together as embarrassment flushed her face.

“Sorry,” he uttered quickly, “I tend to make more sense with this—”

He began to thread his ringed fingers against the cords of the VIP-bodied electric guitar.

She almost reminded him that she didn’t ask.

When she’d been sent to collect him before the show, he’d already frightened her by sitting cross-legged in a trance during some meditative spell, causing her to stammer out her name when he came back to life, and she wasn’t about to be serenaded of all things – not when she’d left her dinner alone beside Adrien where he could poison her at any moment.

“Uh, that’s nice, Luka? Is it? But your mum needs you urgently. Maybe save your skills for—”

“Hear me out, okay? I can feel you have a beautiful melody.”

Marinette swallowed, uncomfortably looking around the room stained with Jagged Stone merchandise. At least he had taste – but then again, even Adrien liked Jagged.

He continued plucking with a thin smile. The notes were soft and well-timed, as improvised and effortless as the song seemed to be. For a second, warmth surged through her chest, and she sat beside him, watching curiously. He was talented, she’d admit it.

“Wow, that was…” She cleared her throat. “How do you do that?”

“Music is often simpler than words.”

She scooted off his bed and took in the blearing Jagged Stone poster. Beneath were a layout of different guitar pics. A certain purple one intrigued her as she reached over and fiddled with it.

“He’s my favourite singer,” he said, coming behind her. “You can have it if you like. I’ve got plenty.”

“Oh!” Surprise burst through her features. She momentarily forgot she had no guitar to play it with, or any skill with one whatsoever. But it was a pleasant trinket. “That’s so nice, thank you!”

“I take it you’re a fan?”

“Who? Me! Oh, well. You’re pretty amazing– Ah, your music! Is uh! Um, it’s pretty amazing. I—”

“I meant of Jagged,” he said sheepishly.

She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from spewing any more garbage. A dyed-haired, vibey music man who played peoples’ ‘melodies’ on first introduction wasn’t allowed to embarrass her like this.

“Oh, well I like him, too.”

Luka’s blue eyes sparked for a second. “You’re a funny girl, Marinette.”

That made her smile a bit more, but her interest in another ceased her from letting the moment get too intimate.

“We really should get back to the group. I doubt Adrien will save my seat for much longer.”

“Adrien?”

-

“Who is he?”

“Luka. Six-foot something future rockstar, Juleka’s eighteen-year-old brother, with a record for attending Monoco’s Hair Styling every six weeks,” Alya said to him, graciously taking the drink Marinette offered her. She glanced at Adrien who for some reason wasn’t surprised that Marinette offered her a drink first before her own boyfriend.

Confusion passed through him at the information. “Why do you know so much?”

“Journalism.”

The blond squinted.

“Haha! Just kidding; I’ve been here a lot to see their rehearsals and document their inevitable rise to fame! Marinette has never been able to make it—I’m guessing because she was off on down-low dates with you on your rare free time—but she did incredibly with the promotional posters!”

Marinette wasn’t tuned into her friend and fake-boyfriend’s conversation. She absently handed Adrien his juice, eyes swerving to the stage to her left. At her distraction, she heard a gasp, then saw the blind exchange caused her to spill the cup over his designer jeans. Both took in a sharp breath as they recalibrated their circumstance.

“Oh!” she cried. “Babe, I’m so sorry.”

“Marinette, it’s fine—”

She flushed at her mistake; certain Luka had caught sight of the ordeal. After all, he was tuning his guitar right behind them. She could’ve sworn he kept glancing her way, too. Just thinking about it made her burn more red.

“I’ll go grab some paper towels from Anarka.”

She hurried back with two fistfuls of white cloth. Unthinking, she started palming the stains on his thighs as Nino walked past and cracked a joke at Adrien’s expense. Her ears filled with her heart beating; it was all fuzz. She was more distracting herself from turning back around and connecting eyes with Luka who surely couldn’t contain his chuckles at her embarrassment. She dabbed higher up, then wiped, frantic, soothing the darkness of the patches. She bet Adrien likely thought she’d spilt orange juice on his crotch on purpose, because his madness made the tips of his ears visibly warm.

“Uh, M-Marinette, I can do it—”

“No!” She beamed up at him, not looking at where she padded. “This was my fault!”

Adrien winced.

“I’m just so clumsy! Haha!” She scrubbed, unaware to the genuine bafflement flickering across his face. “Just clumsy old m—"

He lent forward and snatched her wrist.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.

She glanced down to where her hand was and her eyes blew open.

“Uh—"

A shout in the distance made both their heads snap.

“What do you mean it’s too loud?!”

“One-hundred and sixty decibels is louder than a Jet-engine! Are you crazy, Anarka?! It’s a music festival, not a noise festival!”

Marinette sighed. Couldn’t she enjoy one night out with friends without Adrien or Hawk Moth screwing it up for her?

-

Chat Noir was extra charismatic that day, which he often became when he was distracting himself from something in his own life – She had that boy figured out and memorised like the alphabet and yet she still didn’t know his name. Some days, the irony hit her more than others. But today, she was honestly too distracted herself to giggle at the way he was making one-sided banter with Captain Hardrock (akumatised Anarka) and treating the Boat House like some playground.

Though somehow, no matter how distracted, Ladybug always got caught up in the moments with him. His charm and humour; the impish grin and the way he bounced his eyebrows waiting for her to playfully scold him for his joke or inappropriately-timed coos of affection. He made her blush, laugh, and relax. It was a wonder he hadn’t caught onto her throbbing crush on him.

While the concert raged on after the battle, the image of his meretricious beauty fluttered under her heavy eyelids. She indulged just for a second – imagining how his short, silky hair fell over his mask and when he’d blow it away from his face, keeping that look of concentration as he battled. It was unfair just how attractive he carelessly was, and so himself along with it. Sometimes she felt she could talk to him about anything – except the two things she wished to. His identity and what their relationship could be.

And then there were those eyes that would zap her at contact. Emerald, glistening, and almost always on her; always soft and comforting, never malice or confronting. Feeling extra selfish, she imagined what it would be like to kiss him without the hatred spell. She imagined those eyes getting closer, drifting closed, and his lips forming shape as they steadied towards hers. Her hands coming to grip the broad shoulders; their shy, shallow, and synchronised breaths clouding together and causing warmth upon the others’ cheeks. They’d finally kiss! And he’d take her softly, then hungrily; the skin of his rough hands making her feel safe, and her true name would be a desperate whisper on his lips. She’d grip his white overcoat. They’d chase each other. They would be passion, desperation, pent-up release. Then she’d give as much energy back as if dominance was at war, then she’d curl her fingers up into Adrien’s hair and—

Marinette squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, zoning back to listen to Rose scream into the microphone. How long ago had that image switched to him? It must have been that awkward encounter with the jeans, earlier. She swallowed bile and crossed her legs, skilfully eyeing those beside her as if to check if she’d been caught.

From the corner of her eye Adrien shifted on their outdoor chaise, as if the stickiness on his lap still plagued him every so often. He turned his head her way and as the satin moonlight feathered his expression she realised he’d noticed her staring.

“I—It wasn’t on purpose… the spill! I mean. I swear,” she blurted.

His jaw tightened a little. He glanced to the tall guitarist, who had been looking at Marinette, then his eyes dipped to where she fiddled with her new purple guitar pic nervously. “I know.”

She had never felt so meek in front of him. He looked through her like a disappointed authority figure.

It was all because of their charade, she thought, and the fact that it had to prolong – that she couldn’t tell the truth to the girls when they all started hounding her with ‘I knew it!’ and ‘so happy for you!’. Or rather, they wouldn’t let her explain, until she froze and went along because, well, it seemed to explain why she hadn’t been able to see her friends as often (she was Ladybug, of course, but as violently repulsive as the cover was it was excusing her from a lot.)

Her brows furrowed. “If you don’t want to be here, always pretending to be with me, you don’t have to. You can back out or go whenever you like.”

The corner of his lip twitched sadistically as he looked straight at Luka again. Adrien turned his torso, leaning his whole body towards her on the two-person sofa Alya made them share. The warm sensation of his lips meeting behind the shell of her ear caused a surprised shiver to skate down her spine.

“Trust me Marinette,” she felt him grin on her skin, “you’re going to be the one wanting to back out.”

She locked her jaw and straightened her breathing. So he was going to be like that, hey? This was still some sick fun for him.

Marinette turned her face. She pulled forward the nape of his neck to angle the side of his head to her lips so she could whisper in his ear with the same, intimate gesture. The suddenness caused him to stumble forward for a second as he braced himself by reaching an arm over her lap to grip the couch’s wooden rest. To any onlookers, their position in the grey light may have appeared greatly suspicious.

But maybe that was how they were supposed to look.

Maybe there’d be some pride in who could make the other break out first.

She toyed with the hair on the nape of his neck and whispered on his skin right back.

“Game on.”

Chapter Text

The air was tight in the corridors the next day.

Adrien knew Marinette hadn’t fumbled the drink over his jeans on purpose, though she had every reason to, and he knew she didn’t palm the paper towels on his crotch on purpose, though he wouldn’t blame her for wanting t— okay no, no, no more thinking of that. This was Marinette, sheesh. Just because he acted impulsively did not mean he could think as such if it meant imagining that moment over in a different setting.

See unlike the ponytailed, high-strung, merciless she-devil, Adrien could differentiate malintent from innocent-yet-compromising circumstances. You know, he was sure if someone looked like they had put gum on his seat—just as a random example—that by their stammering, doe-eyed and naive ensemble that perhaps they actually didn’t do such a thing! Perhaps, if that situation were to ever happen, he’d give them a chance to explain themselves and their virtuous intentions instead of hanging him—uh, the random scenario person—by association to someone with a bad reputation. Just a thought. So he could be the bigger person and see the spill wasn’t on purpose.

But Adrien would never confess—as with many, many other things—that if it weren’t for Luka, he would’ve taken the spilt orange juice that left his thighs sticky as another crafty intention of Marinette’s.

Yeah. About him. Don’t think he hadn’t crossed his mind.

Luka. Pfft, what was so distracting about him?

She’d glanced at the slender, shadowed figure faintly touched by the coloured stage lights a good handful of times. Too many times, Adrien reckoned, and as she glanced behind her shoulder to hand her “boyfriend” orange juice while knowing he preferred apple (they’d broken into a fight before about the now-sensitive subject), her clumsiness took charge and she missed passing the cup into his hand. So in some direct, distant way, his soiled designer jeans were the guitarist’s fault, and Adrien decided just at that thought, the revelation justified whatever confusing anger he had towards Luka and his blue-tipped hair.

That’s what he decided on the way to school, anyway, before seeing her again.

Adrien didn’t know how to greet the spitfire when sharpened eyes fluttered up at him besides their lockers. It was good he had Ladybug tapped all over his (despite how Marinette shamelessly taunted him for it) because it was as if she were there beside him, reminding him that heroes didn’t necessarily need to comment on villain’s flaws in the morning or start a full-blown dispute about something minor – which, this morning, he felt in the mood to do.

In public, acting like a “couple” (which was more just acting like they didn’t want to rip the others’ throat out) meant their pent-up animosity could possibly explode during moments alone – depending on when the last argument was, thus having the saviour of Paris visibly beside him, fuelling imagined encouragement in his mind, helped his snark stay in check.

And that morning, he really needed to hear Ladybug’s voice at that moment–

“Hey, asshole.”

–Because of last night; because of Marinette’s distraction with Luka; because she jeopardised their time to be shooting quiet jabs at the other and most importantly, appearing as a couple for the few classmates there, while instead she was off making eyes with the emo guitarist, who Adrien was mad at because– because he somewhat contributed to his sticky jeans!

So all things considered, having Ladybug slap him into sense before he let a few screws loose was duly needed.

Point was, he and Marinette had uprooted their game to torturous territories, and Adrien was feverish to begin. It was a game of chicken in public and wit in private; of suffocating pride, because of course it was about pride. It was about who could act better and who could corner the other into a worser state uncomfortability.

Jokes on Marinette, he’d been acting comfortable with his life for as long as he could remember.

“Hmm…” He touched his lip and pondered. “I prefer the name, ‘babe’, and seeing how your bland face scrunches up after you’ve said it.”

Ice ran over her features. “Don’t test yourself.”

“But we’re alone, sweetheart…” he crooned.

She pushed him away so he couldn’t get any closer, then extended her finger to a blurry picture of Ladybug on his locker and dragged it down. “Careful who you’re calling sweetheart, your imaginary girlfriend is listening.”

“Great, so she can already do more than my fake girlfriend.”

As her nail dragged a straight tear down the well-lit photo he’d printed from the Ladyblog, she feigned a gasp at what she’d done. “Oops! I hope Ladybug’s cure can fix that for you, since it hasn’t done much for the rest of your broken humour.”

His brow lowered watching her turn on her heel and slam the locker shut on the way. “Kiss my ass!”

“Maybe later where people can see us!”

Speaking of their game, he was definitely looking forward to their first match.

“En garde! Pret, allez!”

It came sooner than expected, but not in the way he had thought.

“Go on Marinette,” he lifted his sabre mask, a crude, mocking insinuation on his lips, “you’re supposed to touch me.”

He couldn’t see her roll her eyes but he was sure she did. “I know you’d like that too much.”

Impatient with her lack of serve, he flicked the mask back over and readied his professional stance. “Then hurry and prove to me how much I’d like it.”

For someone who had never fenced Marinette was – he was going to say good, then remembered the paradox of her associated with that word, and decided on alright.

When he’d seen that Marinette was attempting to join D’Argentcourt Academy – and was paired with him no less – he didn’t even bother to rub his blade down with steel wool to remove any burrs since he didn’t think there’d be much of a game. He didn’t feel the need to explain the rules of sabre fencing to her either, like how the attacker doesn’t necessarily win the point if he touches his opponent first. Thus, when Marinette took the ‘initiative’ after he’d struck her, he didn’t mention that since she had priority and he could only pair her riposte, she had won the point. But she would’ve figured it out sooner or later, he supposed.

But she didn’t.

Only because someone attempting to enter the class took over the premise, clad in dangerous red, back and shoulders straight and their mask doing little to overshadow their confidence as they requested to duel the best fencer there to gain dramatic entry into the club.

His classmates pushed Adrien forward.  

Red Fencer were better than anyone he’d ever duelled; quick, unhesitant, lashing their sabre at his target areas and pushing him up their stairs of François Dupont’s courtyard as he dodged and aimed the button of his blade back. It was attack after remise after lunge after riposte, their lethality taking   Adrien aback in both senses of the word.

Marinette just had to be the one with the agility to dodge the proceeding madness of pushed library carts and classmates trampling over Master D'Argencourt when a sheep-like audience ensued. She chased after their dance until the very end where he and Red Fencer struck, and the fate of his possible new classmate rested on Marinette’s observation skills.

“Who touched first?! Tell us now!” D’Argentcourt cried as he finally crawled his way up the stairs.

“Uh… Uh… I don’t know…”

Adrien swore his opponent won the point the point, and if he’d properly informed Marinette of the rules about priority she might have been more able to make an educated decision. His jaw hardened. That didn’t matter anyway because she would never say that he—

“Adrien touched first.”

She seemed disgruntled as she spat her observation out, suggesting it was a disappointingly honest confession.

“But I’m really not s—"

“Wonderful! This victory is an honour to the D'Argencourt academy!”

It was also a victory to Hawk Moth.

Adrien sensed the akuma coming as soon as his handshake with his opponent felt unnecessarily tight. He chased after them to where a slick royal red car lurched at the front of the school, and she took off her helmet.

Oh.

He swallowed, taking the harsh girl in. “Let’s do a decisive match?”

She shook her bob of black hair and narrowed fittingly sharp brown eyes up at him. “There’s no such thing as a second chance in my family.”

Okay. Dramatic much.

(He was sure that internal snark was just Plagg talking.)

“Goodbye.”

Yeah, that akuma was for sure still on its way.  

The only good thing that came from “Riposte” was being able to tackle (and cradle!) Ladybug as Adrien during combat before Chat Noir could make an appearance. He saved her! As Adrien! Without his mask the blushing ravenette beneath him took his breath away much easier. He was sure he stammered, maybe apologised, maybe pinned her face between his arms on the Parisian concrete for a bit too long – it all went by too quick, but he was sure he added to his impression on Ladybug as his civilian self.

After all, what was planning a future with her going to be worth without her liking both sides of him.

(He was sure when she later put him in an Egyptian coffin to “keep him safe” that it was in her best interest, and that she had no clue about his claustrophobia, prior...)

Point was, he wasn’t finished with Kagami. She fascinated him. Possibly due to her physical colour scheme and boldness being so dashingly alike to that of the love of his life (Ladybug). He couldn’t let yet another pretty girl sprint headlong into hatred towards him for some silly miscommunication.

When the battle was over, he sought to give back her sabre and invite her to the academy.

“I’m sorry,” they said in unison after a pregnant pause.

Adrien’s mouth tipped. He was so used to never being apologised to.

He scratched his head and looked to the side. “I personally think the point was yours.”

“That’s not what your friend saw.”

His brow tensed. “Marinette’s not my friend. She gets confused and sees the wrong thing sometimes. But I didn’t do a good enough job explaining the rules to her, and I know she’d never cheat. Today was her first experience with fencing.”

Kagami was smirking. “There’s something about her you like, huh?”

“Marinette? No, of course not. She’s just a classmate. You might get to know her one day, but I pity the day you do.”

Little did he know a pair of narrowed, bluebell eyes held a curious look, judging the chemistry between the two fencers. Tikki was confused as to why they were bothering to hide behind a beam near the Louvre to watch, eavesdropping, perceiving what was happening, but Marinette didn’t respond to any questions.

She didn’t really know why, either.

Chapter Text

“For someone who hates Marinette, you sure get stuck with her a lot. Isn’t that funny?”

After a three-hour photoshoot near the park fountain with nothing but thick sunlight and Vincent’s “smile like your mother just gave you spaghetti” instructions getting under his skin (his photographer seemed to forget the… unknown about his mother), the last thing he needed was Plagg reciting the failures of his life.

As if his irony with Marinette weren’t already unspokenly obvious.

“It’s called bad luck, Plagg. I have you to blame for it.”

“That’s not how the miraculous works.”

Adrien’s eyes turned to slits. He chugged his water and slunk on the wooden bench. He loathed solitude more than anything, but sometimes he managed to loathe Plagg even more.

At least he got to see Ladybug that day. Granted, it was to chase an oversized baby terrorising the city, but they chased baby August together. She’d make a great mother in the future, he thought. She was firm and gentle at once and seemed to have a lot of babysitting experience. The chances of him being the father of her kids were so close to impossible it ached.

To think Plagg knew her identity after their principal got akumatised and he didn’t ached almost as much.

“Why can’t I know Ladybug’s identity?”

Plagg floated beside his head, nibbling his cubed yellow lunch. “Ugh, how many times do I have to tell you? That’s just the rules.”

“But why?!”

“Do I look like I study the rules? The guardian just said so. Something about it being dangerous if Hawk Moth catches one of you.” He swallowed the camembert whole, then irked his palm to request Adrien pass him another roll from his bag. “Just tell Ladybug you’re pathetically in love with her without mentioning your identity.”

Adrien passed him more cheese. “I’ve thought about it.”

To say he’d “thought” about that option was an understatement. He’d stewed, dreamt, slept on, imagined, and even practiced that idea. Excessively. He had the whole script right now, but not the motive – what did he want from it: to get it off his chest? to openly praise her in a way she knew he was serious? to know how she felt? a relationship?

“Then why not?”

Or did he want to ruin their partnership and face rejection?

Or even better, be completely shot down due to the fact they didn’t even know each other?

“I’m not sure,” Adrien said.

Maybe tomorrow he would, he decided, as he decided every day. But the great thing about ‘tomorrow’ was that it never came.

His internal spiral winded backwards as he observed the park dwellers – kids playing, the photoshoot camera crew packing away, and pairs of people posing like couples. Perhaps on any other day that would be wholesome to observe and add cheer to the end of his work and akuma-fighting day, but one couple stuck out like a sore thumb in his line of gaze.

The stirring of uneasiness proved his instincts recognised them before his mind could. His arm hair bristled as he took in the odd-coloured hair of the wiry male brushing shoulders with a girl that, if he didn’t already know, would otherwise catch his eye immediately with her rosiness and Ladybug-like facial features. They each held generous pilings of André’s ice cream. By the looks of it, the boy’s was blueberry and cherry, while the girl’s was strawberry and mint.

Marinette? And Luka?

Luka and Marinette were having ice cream.

Together. In a park. Walking. Together.

His gaze magnetised to them while his thoughts doubled over. Why were they together? What were they doing? They didn’t even know each other.

Even worse, she had a boyfriend. What did she think she was doing, appearing to be on a date, laughing at something Adrien was sure wasn’t as funny as any of his jokes?  What if their classmates saw her with a guy she was hardly friends with? He piggybacked a guitar and wore an oversized windcheater in the naked heat on a day like this, for goodness sake! Not to mention that cut in his eyebrow and those double ear piercings totally weren’t a part of Marinette’s type – which was him, as Chat Noir, he’d be burdened to remember.

Did she even still like Chat Noir? She was going on ‘dates’ with other boys! The unloyalty! He knew she was just infatuated. There was no way she really loved him like the little notes in her physics books suggested (he didn’t see much; her book fell open when their teacher reinstated their physics assignment partnership and she had to tear herself to Nino’s seat. She screamed and closed the book as if her crush on Chat Noir was any secret.)

How pathetic.

“What are you glaring at?”

Plagg’s smarmy voice was background noise to his analysations.

He watched Marinette toss her head back in laughter, a face so lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright, passionate smile, like the softening of her hard-cut face that didn’t pay him a twinkle was something that came natural to her. She held her hand on his shoulder (Unnecessary. She was clumsy but not that unstable) and Luka looked down at her as if he were watching her say her wedding vows to him.

The water bottle’s waist in his grip caved in.

“Nothing,” he spat, ignoring the gush of water that spilt through his fingers.

“Oh,” Plagg snickered. “I see. Your girlfriend’s on a date.”

“It wouldn’t be a date,” he said, as if he hadn’t just concluded that himself. “She wouldn’t jeopardise what we have.”

“What you have?”

“The arrangement.” He set his broken bottle down and didn’t alter the focus point of his view. “Luka is Juleka’s brother. He’d tell her if it was a date, and she’d tell the girls. Then we’d be over.”

Plagg hovered lowered to prepare to hide as the couple rounded the fountain closer to them. “But isn’t that what you want? To get out of this?”

Adrien’s mouth tipped.

“I—”

“Adrien?!”

Marinette had seen him. And Luka had seen that she had seen him and began steering them his way.

So Plagg had zipped into his bag before he could explain that as Adrien it was inconvenient, but as Chat Noir it was a lifesaver.

That’s what he convinced himself of, anyway.

Bumping into Juleka’s attractive brother was an accident.

Sure, agreeing to a riverside walk to the park near her house whereupon they stopped to get Andre’s romantically-connotated ice cream wasn’t an accident, but it was a pleasant after product of wandering around the riverbank after turning the Eiffel tower’s base into a baby crib for Gigantitan.

Luka had been playing friendly notes on his guitar in what he called, ‘the heart of the Seine’ when she walked past him. The spark of interest in his oddity that she’d had that other night reignited and she lingered, listening, like the true weirdo she was, before he invited her to listen beside him in a less creepy way.

Then they walked and chatted about Jagged Stone and other shared interests. In a bizarre way, his appearance didn’t fit him upon first meeting where she assumed he was closed off and possibly aggressive, but now knowing him as the complete opposite—soft-natured, attuned to people, and poisonously sweet—his appearance carried a whole different vibe, but suited him.

The blossoming friendship felt nice. Exchanging jokes and getting ice cream was enough to soothe the abundant stress of juggling lies and presences. The only time she really got to let it out was when she was with—

“Adrien?!”

Oh no. No, no. Not now. Not when she was with Luka. Not when he looked like that – clearly after some long photoshoot; that tight black tee and glow of heat, all of his rough body language glaring at her– Wait, not her, for once. At Luka.  

“Is that your friend?” Luka asked naively. “Let’s go say hi!”

She parted her lips wanting to articulate just how bad of an idea that was – especially since last time the three of them were in the same place she spilt juice all over Adrien and then agreed to a game of ‘who could fake date best’ (which right now, her points weren’t looking too good) – but Luka’s calloused fingers grabbed hers and pulled her along.

“H-Hi,” she said to Adrien’s hard face.

He cocked his head to the side a little in a microgesture that she knew meant, ‘what are you doing?’ to which she gave a tight, full-teethed smile back hoping he knew meant, ‘it’s not what it looks like’.

If she weren’t on the verge of panic, or if she fully assessed the situation and realised her current guilt was unjustified, she’d adopt the fact she didn’t owe him an explanation. They weren’t dating. Actually, they hated each other. But she didn’t think about that. Instead, she saw how forced Adrien’s buzzing warmth towards her new friend was and only felt unreasoned regret.

“Hey, I’m Luka.”

Adrien extended his hand back but not before wiping it off – she was guessing from sweat? – and shook hands. “Adrien. Awesome bass playing the other night.”

“Thanks! And it’s electric, actually,” Luka grinned, ignoring or perhaps not realising the insult – Adrien knew exactly what instrument he played. He was explaining to Nino the set-up before the band played. “Sorry I didn’t get to meet you. I didn’t see many people that night. I was trying to get in my element beforehand, and everything’s so bright on stage.”

“Hm, yeah.” Adrien smiled derisively. “I’m guessing you saw Marinette, though.”

At that moment, said Marinette would’ve liked nothing more than to not be seen. There was something so vial and awkward about this exchange – and only two parties were in on it. Luka had no idea about their animosity or dating arrangement, or that Adrien’s words were carefully laced with spite or accusation of his relationship with Marinette, done in such a way that if the ‘dating’ thing got back to Luka through Juleka, then the undertones of Adrien’s comments would add up.

She picked off her ice cream’s cherry. “I met him that night before he played. Just the once.”

Luka glanced at her as if finding her last sentence peculiar. “Then Marinette caught me playing music while she was on a walk near my house. I came along to drop her home.”

Adrien nodded slowly.

Luka picked up on the sliding tension in the conversation and put his spare hand in his pocket, clearing his throat. “So are you two in Juleka’s class?”

“Yep,” they said in unison.

Neither of them said anything more.

The trees bristled and the sun bore down. The silence wove itself between the three—Luka was probably grasping at straws figuring out what backstory was happening—until Marinette could no longer stand it.

“Ice skating!”

The boys looked at her.

“The poster, on– on that tree there. It says the ice rink could be closing soon! We should all go.”

What was actually wrong with her?

Who even licensed her to speak?

She saw Adrien’s firm jaw grate as his Adam’s apple hurdled. His mint eyes stared with such confused intensity.

“What a cool idea, Marinette.” Luka beamed. “You in, Adrien?”

“Uh…” he drawled, eyes roving between the two of them. A genuine wince filled out on his face “I… I’ve never ice skated before.”

Marinette blinked. She didn’t expect that. But then again, she sometimes forgot how different Adrien’s life was growing up compared to hers. He probably missed out on so many experiences…

Nope! No. No feeling sorry for him. He grew up to be an entitled jerk, anyway.

“Don’t worry, I’m not too good either.” Luka chuckled. “Come join us doing it once before the rink closes down.”

Adrien’s genuine embarrassment softened. “Uh, okay. I will then. I can bring my friend Kagami.”

Kagami?

The fencer?

Adrien was friends with her now?

Marinette swallowed almost a full scoop of her ice cream and her face went red.

“That sounds great! You’ll really enjoy it, Adrien. And it was nice meeting you.” Luka looked down and saw her stuffed cheeks and almost shaking body. “Uh, Marinette? You alright? You ready to head home?”

She nodded frantically. “Mhmph!”

No one could screw their own life up this much.

Chapter Text

Adrien took the ‘public relationship’ act a little too seriously when they were working on their collaborative physics report. But to be fair, she had challenged that he wouldn’t do exactly that, and getting caught in their lie would ruin both of their reputations.

Physics wasn’t her best subject, but it was by no means her worst like A-plus-asshole-Adrien made it  out to be while he spoke in that condescending, this-is-so-obvious voice reserved only for her –the only person he didn’t mind displaying the deepness of his unlikability to. Although their little ‘secret’ had somewhat trailed around the school, it didn’t stop the hoard of fangirls from younger grades occasionally asking her fake-boyfriend for his autograph, right in front of her! If only they knew, Marinette would think, that the sunshine poster child for Gabriel was no model for good behaviour and may as well be related to Hawk Moth.

Between seemingly challenging each other in silence to see whose portion of the Physic experiment analysis could be done the quickest, someone from their class would brush past the library shelves, and as smooth silk Adrien’s firm arm would slip under her hair, across her shoulders, and he’d carry on writing as her face heated up.

So when Alya came and picked her up for lunch, she leant over the table and kissed his jaw, which tensed up under her lingering lips, then falsely promised him that she’d see him later.

If they didn’t do well on the project, Miss Bustier would initiate couples’ therapy again. She didn’t want to work on the project with him, but she also didn’t want to audition for Ladybug in Clara Nightingale’s music video, but the girls dragged her to that anyway. She could blame her and Adrien’s ‘semi-public’ relationship all she wanted, but they probably would’ve managed to drag her there even without the whole “supporting your boyfriend” thing.

“I knew it,” Alix said slimily.

Marinette raised a brow. It took her a second. She blanched. “No, no, we still hated each other. You weren’t right about any of it.”

“You were so in love. That kiss. I knew it.”

“Alix, we’re not—weren’t in love then.”

“I knew you didn’t hate him!”

Marinette huffed and hate seared her senses. “No! He sucks! He—”

But she cut herself off that time. Who spoke about their own boyfriend like that?

“Man,” Alix clicked her tongue, letting an awkward beat pass as Marinette covered her own mouth “trouble in paradise?”

The plastic in her sudden smile glittered. “Of course not! No, I love Adrien. He’s so nice, and attractive, and, uh,” she struggled to conjure any ideas of good qualities for him, “um, he’s– he’s always around. For me! He’s always there. Somehow. Wherever I go. Yeah.”

Alix pulled a face. “Pfft, no wonder you’re always skipping class together. Gross.”

The sudden cringe that set deep into Marinette’s features agreed.

Adrien being handed Chat Noir’s roll in the music video on a silver platter was blasphemous and insulting. It’d be less of an embarrassment if literally anyone else in Paris got the roll. Adrien didn’t know it, and technically neither did Chat, but Chat Noir did not like Adrien. If he knew that the guy whose ass he threatened to cataclysm because he’d disrespected Ladybug in her civilian form was cast as him, he’d probably crash the music video and take care of Adrien himself. But maybe even Chat Noir wasn’t that attractively reckless.

Speaking of reckless, how unthinking do you have to be to help Clara Nightingale after she trips, and then get casted as yourself for a music video?

See with that part, even Chat Noir wasn’t that stupid. But she was.

Clara danced with glee, brown eyes warming at Marinette’s kindness as she twirled her around after the act of chivalry. “You did what Ladybug would have! Your heart is pure like hers.”

She caught Adrien scoff behind them.

It took many tries for Clara to drop her request for her to play Ladybug. All ended sourly, leading people-pleasing Marinette to hide her costume’s mask in her dressing room (unlike Adrien who somehow actually lost his) and confront her fake-boyfriend on stage as Clara taught them the choreography in rhymes – As if everything was fine and dandy and she wasn’t risking her identity right in front of her rival (who for some reason, couldn’t stop raking his eyes over her in the suit as if he couldn’t work something out).

Adrien likely wasn’t able to stand the fact his celebrity crush was being played by his arch nemesis. Maybe one day all would come crashing down and he’d realise they were the same person. Wow, she thought as the visual of his gobsmacked face came to mind. That would sure make him look like an idiot. Now the idea actually seemed tempting…

Ha. Yeah right. That could never happen.

“Your dance moves need to be synchronised if you can! So you’ll need to hold each other, by the hand!”

Adrien’s nose shot up a slight grimace as he took her spotted hand. “Okay.”

The material felt so real and his grip so much like Chat that a tingle went up her spine. His build and stature were like his, though his hair was longer, and his face was without the mask.

“Not like that! Don’t be shy! Like lovers do! Give it a try…”

Marinette looked down at their gloved hands and déjà vu shot through her like a bullet.

For Adrien and Chat Noir to blend even for a second made her head dizzy. They were the North and South poles of her life. Chat was who she loved, and who she loved herself to be when she was around him. Whereas with Adrien, she was the worst version of herself, and she blamed him for it while his company tore her peace to pieces – she was always literally, and metaphorically, without her mask with him.

She looked at Adrien, who stared at her with a similar expression of shock.

Clara asked them to put on their masks and Marinette’s heart lodged her throat when an assistant brought them out. Adrien and Marinette spluttered on their excuses as they held the retrieved items in shaking hands. She felt her pulse in her ears as the black-spotted mask looked back at her with vacant eyes. Would the magic save her? Or was Paris about to find out that she was Ladybug?

Turns out, magic didn’t save her, but Chloé did.

Touché.

As one of those superficial fangirls of Chat Noir, Choé shared her deep-set disgust at Adrien of all species being the face of the hero in the music video. So she simply called the mayor, as one does when they’re your weak-boned father, and had him bring the surely falsified paperwork that determined Clara had no permit anywhere in Paris to shoot her video.

Clara got akumatised. She and Chat Noir had to rhyme to stay alive. They fought in-sync. It was weird. But anyways. At least it gave her a day with Chat to cleanse from so much Adrien, and the extra time let her think of an alternative music video idea for Clara that allowed all her friends to be involved without risking her identity. That was likely the first idea she’d ever had that Adrien seemed enthusiastic about.

Speaking of the devil…

“Don’t forget about our little double date tomorrow, Marinette.”

After the music video premiere, she’d taken a little extra while to clean away any litter her classmates (Kim) may have left in the library, not knowing Tikki had been hiding because of arrogant green eyes tailing her from afar.

Retrieving the last protein bar packet, her eyes catalogued the empty rows, until she saw a crossed-arm, debonair figure candidly modelled against a rail guard, mouth sweetened as if itching to grin.

“Who says it’s a double date?” she said, approaching him.

“You and your new little blueberry boyfriend.”

She shoved the rubbish in the trash and crossed her arms back at him. “Luka is very nice.”

“I know he is. That’s why he’s too good for you.”

She scoffed. “You’re aware everyone thinks I’m dating you, right?”

“Right. But they also don’t know you’re a heinous fake.”

“If I’m fake,” her voice sliced, “you’re downright plastic.”

His brow lowered. A coolness took over the room. “How many people think we’re dating?”

“Too many.”

His jaw pressed as he turned on his heel. “Get ready to step up your game. Because as of tomorrow, there’s about to be two more.”

Chapter Text

Kagami was nice—to be around, not necessarily as a person.

But coldness in a woman was a thing you could never blame deeply. To Adrien her company was familiar; aspects of their childhood reflected each other, and the fierce boldness of her character reminded him of Ladybug in a deniable way, so fencing lessons became more tolerable despite losing more often. He’d learnt that morning that Kagami possibly had feelings for him – she wanted him to ‘change targets’ after he unsuccessfully tried to tell Ladybug about what he felt for her.

Kagami was drawn to something in him n and he allowed himself the new loyal friend, though a part of him considered it wise that perhaps—after many failed attempts to get his feelings out to Ladybug—he should consider seeing her as more than that; for her to be his new target.

Maybe that was why her name slipped out when Marinette—for some reason—suggested they all go ice skating. If she could indulge in flirtatious friendships, why couldn’t he?

Because you’re in love with Ladybug.

Because people think you’re dating your enemy.

Because you can’t make sense of your feelings with anyone.

Right.

A few reasons.

So although he’d inferred to Marinette that they had to let Luka and Kagami in on their dating lie, after stewing on Kagami’s hint of a confession all morning, he was almost hoping Marinette forgot he said that just so he could make sense of himself.

Could Kagami be his new target? Could he really let Ladybug go?

“It was really cool of you to bring Kagami, Adrien,” the usual cause of his bad mood said as she laced her ice skates. He could recognise that pretentious sneer in Marinette’s tone from the sweetest of her sentences.

She would take every chance while the others couldn’t hear to reaffirm their toxic dynamic. And he couldn’t blame her – especially since yesterday’s show of faking chemistry as Ladybug and Chat Noir for Clara’s music video, knowing how much the other loathed their own character: Marinette degraded Ladybug’s marvellousness, and she thought Adrien hated Chat Noir. But little did she know, he’d been forced to dressed as his stylish alter ego and almost risk his identity by his father, then watch his biggest foe imitate the love of his life whom she insulted daily.

Not only that, but she looked dang good while doing it.

Adrien had always described Marinette in his head to be “a whole lot of prettiness wasted”, and he’d since learnt the depth of that fact when she wore Ladybug’s—his lady’s—suit. That was downright criminal.

“Of course,” his smugness replied, “that’s what friends are for!”

He glanced up and saw Luka dart his eyes away bashfully. Something was troubling him, and a selfish, undefined part of Adrien hoped it was him.

“Remember. Don’t let her fall.” Marinette stood up, and the severe way she looked at him communicated the second meaning of her words: Don’t let Kagami fall for you.

Honestly, she was right for a few reasons, but this was his enemy – which reason was saying? Don’t let her fall for him because she deserved better? Marinette didn’t have a problem with Kagami; she had a problem with him. But maybe she didn’t want Kagami’s feelings to be toyed with because she was planning on letting the others in on their messed-up charade.

He looked over to Kagami a few blue chairs down, who forced herself to purse her lips sweetly. Her inability to smile amused Adrien and Marinette’s words were casually forgotten.

“Gah!”

But then Marinette was falling. Into Luka’s arms.

He instinctively turned back and threw his arms out to catch her but (un)thankfully, Luka’ steadied her waist before she could bruise her backside.

“Try to be natural,” he said in that calming voice he had. “Go with the flow and listen to the rhythm. Just follow my lead.”

Adrien blinked.

Look, he was sure Luka was a cool guy—despite being an obvious simp for literal scum—but what on earth did that mean?

Luka crouched to tighten Marinette’s laces then extended his hand to take her onto the ice. Adrien mourned being able to closely inspect their presence and looked down to his white skates whose shoe laces dragged on the ground. How did his Father manage to teach him how to fake happiness for years but not how to tie shoes?

“I won’t tell anyone you don’t know how to tie laces.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, surrendering to Kagami’s attempts to tie them for him.

Marinette no longer knew the game plan.

Her belittled partner-in-crime seemed doe-eyed and distracted by the cut-throat fencer that someone softened him with her scratchy exterior.

Adrien had been adamant that they were finally telling their new friends the truth—no! The… lie. By letting them believe the truth—that her and Adrien weren’t dating (and never, ever, ever would be), they’d be misleading them. But by cluing them in to what their close friends believed, they’d just be misleading them again. It was messy, and Luka didn’t deserve either side of that coin.

By cutting off her and Luka’s blossoming relationship early, it might hurt him less before he showed any more interest in her. But then again, she didn’t want to not consider him an option in the future. He was nice, gentle, and safe. And then there was Chat Noir! She was in love with him! But then again, she couldn’t date a superhero and especially not when he didn’t even know her real name. But then again—

No. Nope. Focus. She had to figure out what her and Adrien were doing and which front they were putting up for their friends.

But Adrien gave her nothing.

He was skating on the other side of the rink with Kagami, letting her teach him tricks she wouldn’t be surprised if Adrien already knew. Kagami then grabbed his gloved hand to skate beside him and Adrien let her.

Oh. So, that’s the game they were playing?

Marinette wobbled a little and Luka’s hand stabilised her. Despite previously denying any skill for skating, the guitarist was proving himself to be an apt liar as he spun around her and glided, insisting he was just following the “flow” or “rhythm” or whatever he was saying earlier. Luka came in front of her and held her hands, skating backwards, and smiled as if he was asking for something.

Marinette piqued a brow before she was hauled over his head and imitating a move from Dirty Dancing.

The air-lift felt amazing. It was exhilarating and scary and yet Luka’s grip calmed her with safety, but she made the mistake of cracking her eyes open during her bliss. At the sight of Kagami spinning Adrien, that calm feeling shape-shifted and fell to her gut like a bag of bricks. In plain sight, he was jeopardising their lie.

Adrien caught her gaze cruelly as if he noticed she was doing the same thing. A glare carved into both of their features.

Jaw firmed, he took Kagami’s hand and twirled her back.

Noticing, Luka brought Marinette down and dipped her like they were slow dancing.

Adrien spun with Kagami as their skates pierced and marked the ice – a surface that seemed kin to Kagami.

So Marinette spun with Luka.

Then Kagami began teaching Adrien a new move.

And Luka intertwined their gloved fingers.

It was innocent, if you didn’t count the continuous side-eyes from Adrien and Marinette ensuring that they were matching the others’ level of appeared infidelity, or the ice rink manager—Phillipe—intruding to ask if they wanted to sign up for private lessons. It was the grotesque image of two teens at stoking a petty war, switching between the threat of maintaining or worsening the truth – that was covering the lie. That was everyone else’s truth. It made no sense, and it was starting to get to Marinette.

Phillipe skated off and Marinette zoned in on the pair of entwined hands on the other side of the rink. A vile feeling tightened in her throat and the rest of the world blurred, seemingly, because the next thing she knew she’d lost Luka’s hand to drift into the wall safeguard and was now nursing a sore butt.

“Are you alright?”

Two outreached hands came into view. Reality slid in and Luka and Adrien’s faces were suddenly in above her, awaiting her answer. Was she supposed to grab Luka’s hand to provoke Adrien, or her fake-boyfriend’s hand? Was he offering his help because he’d finally committed to his own word? Were they dating now? What was the game anymore?!

Note to self: Never team up with your rival.

But Phillipe interrupted her anyway to bargain with Adrien so he’d sign up. Between the startlement, Kagami skated over and hauled Marinette off the ice shards herself.

“Get up,” the downturned lips said coldly. Marinette blinked, the ache in her backside throbbing at how fast she went upright, and stiffened as Kagami neared her ear to whisper, “The only reason you can’t stay on your feet is your hesitation. I never hesitate.”

The ice hissed as she turned and took Adrien with her for another lap.

Never hesitate?

The only people she knew who refused to hesitate were Chat—when he was reckless and acted fast in battle to sacrifice himself for her—or Adrien, but only when he had to come up with the lies to aid their greater hoax. This whole time Adrien had been pulling the strings, making the decisions of what was best, and acting without thought. Meanwhile, she’d be in anxious anticipation to see what he would do: Would he put his arm around her in the library? Would he call her pretty in front of Nino? Would he effortlessly say they were on a date or tell Miss Bustier they were late because he had to help her with something?

She’d told him she could play that game too. Then why had she been hesitating?

Luka would find out: Juleka was his sister. They talked (well, actually now thinking about it, did Juleka talk?). She couldn’t let him profess that he may have a “new song to write” (obviously implying it was about her) and be all gushy and giddy like she didn’t have a (fake) boyfriend.

Kagami was right. She could no longer hesitate.

So she didn’t.

—After the akuma had passed, of course.

Because immediately after, Phillipe reacted to his ice rink being turned into a gym by turning all of Paris into an ice rink. It was kind of a power move against the mayor.

Then Chat Noir very much almost distracted her from her upcoming mission with Adrien by looking like that in his power-upped frozen suit. But she remembered her new plan (and was sure she would stick by it) when the akuma was over and they were back at the soon-to-be-closed rink.

Well, three of them. Adrien was nowhere in sight.

“I had a really nice time with you, Marinette,” Luka began as he untied his laces. “It was cool to meet your other friends, too.”

He went to assist her with her skates before she smiled sweetly and did them herself. “I had a great time too Luka.” Tell him. Tell him. Do the plan. “I—”

“It was very nice to make your acquaintance,” Kagami interrupted.

Marinette’s jaw flexed. ‘Don’t hesitate’ she says, then goes and cuts her off?

“Though I’m worried about Adrien,” she continued, ignoring the way Luka’s mouth opened in an abortive attempt to regard her farewell. “He disappeared to the bathrooms when the ice glazed over. He’s claustrophobic so I hope he’s not stuck in one of the stalls.”

“Wait, what?!” Marinette’s brows furrowed, a searing sense of fear distracting her from her previous mindset. She whipped around to face Luka. “Did you see him?”

He shook his head. “I never saw him in the stalls.”

Panic expanded in her chest. “Then where did—?!”

“Hey guys!”

Adrien’s outline emerged from the hall’s darkness. He waved with one hand as the other carried his skates and the girls blew sighs of relief. That wasn’t part of the plan. But neither was the next scene.

Kagami lurched to greet him—

Don’t. Hesitate.

—So Marinette marked her territory.

“Adrien!”

She sprinted, then lunged at him. In commercial haste, Marinette took his face into her, piecing her lips harshly together with the ones tipped open with startlement. The metal clank of his skates’ blades hitting the ground were the sound of the life leaving his hands and transporting to his mouth as he kissed her back, and fiercely. Delicious fire danced on her skin as she held his cheeks to steer the pace of their mouths. Five intense, tension-explosive seconds went on for an eternity before Marinette prized herself off, but lingered in the circle of space Adrien had made for them by holding a pressing a hand on her back during the heat of it all.

“I’m so glad you’re okay…”

Adrien’s brow twitched as a million questions lit his eyes once the dazed looked passed. He glanced to Luka and Kagami’s shocked expressions and realised no damage control could be done anymore.

He blinked and his new resolve came to life.

“I’m perfectly fine,” he assured, then leaning forward, he rested his forehead against hers and mustered a cocky look. “Thank you for being so concerned about me.”

Even though she distantly knew that no one could see her face but Adrien, a cheesy smile broke out on her face nonetheless.

“Juleka was right…” Luka said under his breath and Marinette’s almost didn’t catch it.

Adrien addressed the others. “Are you guys okay after the akuma?”

“We’re fine,” Kagami said curtly, and Adrien’s smugness faded a little. She somehow straightened her posture even more and marched towards the exit with her bag and farewell over her shoulder.

But Luka lingered. The steel blue eyes rimmed with eyeliner fixed with Adrien’s gaze, scepticism tightening the look. Adrien didn’t cower his stare. His arm held Marinette beside him like she was always his.

The expression broke and Luka smiled at them. “I’m going to take the subway. Have a safe trip home, guys! Nice seeing you again, Adrien.”

The towhead nodded. “I’ve going to talk to talk to Phillipe about his ice rink with Marinette. See you later!”

Luka’s eyes darted to her. It was a cursory glance so fleeting yet intense Marinette almost questioned if she’d seen right.

But from that—from the temperature of his look—she knew.

Luka was definitely on their case.

Chapter Text

“Radient… Carefree... Dreamy…”

Marinette had stitches – the kind of ones that were sewed tight under your ribs after what felt like hours of giggling, of which were loud enough to drown out your kwami’s ‘reminders’ that ‘laughing at Adrien wasn’t nice’.

On a pink desk chair was a pyjama-clad, hauled over seventeen-year-old fighting harder for her breath than she did in any akuma battle as Gabriel’s newest perfume ad featured Adrien frolicking (did you hear her? He was frolicking) off a building (not a real one unfortunately) basically dressed as a tampon. The wispy chimes and commercial smile on his face were just a bonus for the piling dirt she now had on him, but what did it for Marinette was his mid-air running-pose before “dreamy” that she cackled so hard at the first (of fifty) times she saw it, her parents had to rush in when hearing a hard body fall off a chair.

Amidst the fifty-first replay of her new favourite video (not including Ladyblog clips of Chat Noir looking adorable, obviously) her phone buzzed with the contact ‘Nino’s Girlfriend’ (Alya had named it herself during their everlasting honeymoon phase).

Violently rubbing the mirth from her eyes, she shut off the computer and answered the face-call as Tikki ducked.

“Marinette! I’ve been waiting for you for fifteen minutes! Where are you, girl?”

Oh.

Oh. Oh. Oh. The pool!

“Uh– I was deciding which swimsuit to wear!”

Something clicked from behind and the computer lit up.

“Radient. Carefree—”

She squeaked as Alya’s face turned sly recognising the add.

“Uh-huh,” Alya said. “And the Adrien ad helps you pick out a swimsuit, girl? I have to admit, that’s pretty cute that he’s distracted you this long.”

Out of frame, the rest of the girls giggled.

Marinette looked up as if watching her pride float away, then scratched her head awkwardly. “Eh-heh, um yeah! I’ll be right there!”

As the face-call shut off, Tikki’s round eyes stared into Marinette’s humiliation.

She folded her arms. “I know you turned the computer back on.”

“It’s not nice to make fun of something Adrien had no choice in doing,” the high-pitched lecturer said back.

“Pfft, yeah, as if he’d choose not to be a model. He loves the attention.” She reached for her duffle bag and a foreboding feeling settled in her gut as if she knew that wasn’t true, but she didn’t pursue the thought.

Even while racing out the door with a half-opened swim bag flying over her shoulder, Tikki decided she wasn’t done. “You’re just trying to remind yourself you don’t like him after you kissed him out of nowhere the other day.”

“Hey! I don’t like him! And it wasn’t out of nowhere!” Now outside the bakery, the wind splattered harshly against her cheeks that were still sore from laughing. “They were going to find out eventually! Do you seriously expect me to let my boyfriend flirt with Kagami right in front of me?”

“Fake-boyfriend.”

“That’s what I said.”

Tikki rolled her eyes. “You were just as bad with Luka.”

She spat out the hair that kept flying into her mouth. “Bleh! You know what, Tikki? Just – Let’s have a silent sprint to the local pool, shall we?”

Those were her last words before realising, a block later, that she was still wearing her pyjamas. Outside. In public. During the early afternoon of Sunday.

“Argh!” She froze, glanced down, and turned to bolt back the other way. “Tikki! Why didn’t you tell me I’d forgotten to change?”

“You wanted a silent sprint.”

Yeah, she walked straight into that one.

Speaking of walking into things—

“Gah! Adrien?!”

“Marinette!?”

Or– you know, running into problems, same difference.

She hadn’t seen him since smashing her lips into his. Now her cheeks were flushed, ponytail disarray (from laughing on the carpet), and the breeze sifted through her attire. Out of all the upcoming snide remarks she could’ve braced for, nothing left her prepared to handle Adrien quickly blurting,

“You live near here! Can I hide out at your place?”

His brows were arched with plead and panic, palms pressed together in a praying gesture. It was a sight she wasn’t trained for but the phrase ‘hide out’ sounded a sense of alarm.

“Uh, at my place? Hide out? What’s going on?”

A screaming crowd steamrolled past the outer bridge beams they had found themselves behind. “Adrien!”

He seized up. “Too late.”

Someone in the stampede carrying a cardboard-cut of Adrien in his napkin outfit from the ad halted when he caught them. “There he is!”

Ladybug-mode activated itself.

“Come with me!”

The frantic locals screaming his name ploughed into the park with them. Marinette noticed the empty fountain and threw them in to hide, wiping her hand against her sweats after having to hold his to drag him along.  They remained lying on their sides, curled into themselves as more screams rolled past.

Adrien cleared his throat. “Um. Thank you. For saving me. People are going crazy over… um… my ad.”

She feigned a gasp. “What! You stared in an ad?! I had no idea!” A giggle punctuated her words. “It seems—” hilarity bubbled in her throat, “it seems—hehe—it seems it hasn’t really left you carefree—bahaha!”

Adrien’s face didn’t find it as funny.

“Oh c’mon,” she said, a fist pressed to the corner of her mouth to stifle the noise of her lingering outburst, “what happened to that radiant smile?”

He blinked, slowly, mouth thin.

She crossed her arms. “You were more dreamy in the video.”

“Ha. Ha. Yeah, whatever, it’s embarrassing.” His unimpressed eyes shifted down her figure, taking in her sleepwear apparel.

She squeaked and shot up. “Okay! All good now. I really should get going—”

Her arm felt a sharp tug. Adrien had cowered behind her, pulling her down as his shield while his terror-stricken eyes peered past her ponytail.

“Huh?” she noticed a sleek grey Mercedes crawl near a bus stop. “Isn’t that your bodyguard?”

Adrien looked up sheepishly. “Actually I, heh, I stuck out. Without permission. I’m supposed to be at home right now and—”

A bright flash.

Her neck snapped to the direction of a park cleaner with his phone extended.

“Adrien and his girlfriend in the fountain!” He said along as he formed a caption for a public post.

Well. That wasn’t good.

“Great,” Adrien muttered with a kind a gloom that read ‘my day could not get any worse’. “Now all of Paris thinks we’re dating.”

Marinette’s mind reeled with all there was to take in. 1) Adrien had snuck out. That wouldn’t have surprised her months ago. After all, his father banishing him from school for being a ‘rebellious pest’ by sneaking out was one of the first descriptions of him she heard. Yet… an unbiased gut-feeling sensed there was a lot more to this story than she knew. 2) A picture of her in pyjamas with Adrien was not floating around online and she didn’t even have her hair brushed. And 3)

“We have to run!”

-

For a model, fencer, basketballer, lacrosse player, and master at running away from reality, Adrien was not in great shape. In his defence, he’d been running from Wayhem (a fan who could fit a cardboard cut-out of Adrien in his pocket, apparently) all day. Plus, sprinting from one subway station to the next would just about do anyone in.

Needing a break, him and Marinette hauled over to catch their breaths beside a panel of his latest ad—Ugh. That thing. He just knew from the moment the director explained the pitch that Marinette was going to have a field day when it came out. He wasn’t going to hear the end of it. And he hadn’t When they’d first entered the subway tunnel, she’d made endless comments about why he wasn’t, “walking on air” or “just frolicking away”. Worse part was, his hard expression almost cracked few times. Her laugh was contagious, and if it wasn’t directed at him (and if it wasn’t even hers), he might consider it cute. Notice the word ‘if’.

Perhaps—invertedly—dragging her into his escape from fans was a fitting revenge for her blatant bullying. Even though the whole running-through-Paris thing wasn’t even in his agenda after he snuck out from an emotional eruption caused by his father.

“I’m so sorry I got you into this crazy mess, Marinette,” he said honestly. Though she was his enemy, he wouldn’t wish the consequences of his ‘life of fame and family angst’ upon anyone. “Plus now everyone we know thinks you’re my girlfriend.”

She caught her breath and straightened up. “Oh that’s terrible! Yeah! Imagine making people think we’re a couple. That would literally be the worst. Why would we want that?”

He rolled his eyes. “Point is, it’s going to travel back to our parents.”

She dropped the character, a level of seriousness taking over her face. “Do you think it’s going to be okay between you and your father?”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a colourful charm. He knew didn’t why Marinette gave it to him as much as he knew why he actually kept it. Regardless, he always kept it on his person in wishful thinking that maybe the luckiness of her homelife and stability could seep into his.

“How could anything bad happen? I have my Marinette-lucky-charm!”

Surprise sprang into her light blue eyes. He had meant to lighten the mood and detract from the looming stress about his father, but Marinette stared at him like her soul had been touched without warning.

Before he could add another joke on top of it about how clearly the charm was useless because they were stuck alone together again, another stampede entered the tunnel when a loud woman recognised him.

He grabbed her hand took off again, but his bodyguard faced him at the subway stairwell. He turned, Marinette yelping with his indecision, then he noticed the train doors were still open. In a beat, he’d circled her body with his arms and launched towards it, a hand bracing her head to avoid a nasty collision.

It wasn’t until they had gotten off at Concorde, stolen a helmet, and entered a near-empty movie theatre, that he realised he’d lost the lucky charm. The fifth wave of panic of the day hit him. When all of this was over, he’d have to scour all of Paris as Chat Noir to find it.

“Good thinking, Marinette. Without these disguises we never would’ve made it here,” he said to the picture-worthy sight of his fake-girlfriend in googles and a polka-dot towel on her head. “I mean you went all out. Pyjamas?! Genuis!”

Her lip curled against her control. “I was just feeling carefree this morning. This new perfume ad came out and I had to laugh at it a few thousand times.” She wriggled in the cinema chair. “But it was your idea to duck into the Star Theatre. That was smart. I guess. Some people might say that, anyway.”

“Actually, this was where I was heading when those crazed fans suddenly showed up. Thanks to you, my father won’t ever find out!”

Marinette’s expression dropped. “Wait, you weren’t allowed to go to the movies?!”

Adrien suddenly felt he’d said too much. “I am! With my bodyguard or Nathalie, of course. But I’m not sure my father would have let me watch this particular movie.”

As if noticing his demeanour, she opted to lighten the mood. “What, is it PG-13?”

He chuckled. “No, it’s a very rare movie I haven’t been able to see. It’s not on the internet and my Father’s hidden the DVD somewhere at home. See,” he hesitated to extrapolate, rethinking to share this with Marinette, but the excitement of what they were about to watch caused him to ramble on, “my mother played the leading roll. It’s only being showed once, in this theatre. I couldn’t talk to my Father about it, so I decided to sneak out unnoticed.” He cracked her a grin. “Bet you assumed I was pulling some rebellion act to be cool, huh?”

“Uh, um,” she turned away, ashamed. “Maybe I’ve thought that before. In the past.”

The word ‘past’ hung in the air like an abused piñata. The remnants of the original quarrels had scattered through their relationship like candy. A lot of assumptions from the past had carried on in their characters and came up in memories as reminders not to let their respective guards down. They stared, the word thickening the air as if both realising these facts. But before their eye contact could burgeon into anything else—

“Radient…. Carefree…”

“Oh you have got to be kidd—”

“Hahahaha!”

Marinette was hauled forward, punching the empty seat in front of her as her broken laughs morphed into wheezes as the cinema ad kept going. The few people in the theatre looked at her oddly while he felt like melting into his chair.

He never got to watch the movie.

Fans found him. His bodyguard had been akumatised (with his Marinette-lucky-charm). And now his identity was at risk because the 20-foot blue Gorilla akuma had Ladybug in one fist while he soared off a skyscraper building. To his death.

What. A. Day.

His back slammed against something and he turned his head. Ladybug had escaped Gorizilla’s grasp and was beaming at him with glittering eyes and a smile that could probably be the death of him anyway.

Safe. The expression read, filling his entire entity. He was safe.

The pace of his fall slewed as she lowered them with her yoyo to the ground. His knees wobbled from the adrenaline and Ladybug’s arm lurched to stabilise him.  

“I knew I could count on you, Milad—uh, Ladybug.”

Most people wouldn’t be grateful that the battle didn’t end there, but because it did, he got to be carried by Ladybug (oh he would so be squealing into his pillow when he got home) and hear her express concern over him and his safety. Then, of course, as Chat he fought beside her after turning Wayhem into ‘Adrien’ to distract the akuma.

Well, there was also the part where Ladybug fingergunned and told him to “stay dreamy” when leaving him to hide. Which he’d otherwise fangirl about if not for the snicker of giggles that echoed from her yoyo-ing away. But he’d pretend that part didn’t happen.

Ladybug didn’t see him in his civilian form after the battle.

But Marinette did.

“Adrien!”

She’d lost the towel and goggles, now sprinting at him before he could make it to the mouth of the subway tunnel. Cheeks flushed, outfit adorable, she pressed a finger to his chest.

“I—I’ve looked all over the city for you. Are you okay? Where have you been?!”

“Oh, you know, jumping off buildings and stuff.”

“Yeah, and then hiding from Ladybug when she told you to stay put!”

He didn’t know what she’d witnessed to make that conclusion, but she sounded concerned for him. He instantly noticed he liked it. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was the power trip of it all.

“If I didn’t know any better, it sounds like you care about me.”

“Well good thing you do know better.”

He shrugged, corners of his lips upturning. “I really don’t. Sounds like you care.”

She wasn’t amused. “Just… don’t be so reckless.”

“Ha! Says the girl who kissed me spontaneously the other day.”

Marinette stiffened up as the colour in her cheeks saturated. Surely feigning confidence, she crossed her arms. “Says the guy who enjoyed it.”

He tilted forward. “And you didn’t?”

She turned so his breath wouldn’t fan so close to her mouth, dark lashes low. He straightened out her cowardliness by sharply grabbing her jaw and yanking it back. Her frazzled eyes stared at his like her brain had short-circuited.

He grinned. “You didn’t answer my question, princess.”

She hated that nickname. And he loved that she hated it.

The was a tremor in her bottom lip as if the array of insults she had in inventory refused to leave her throat. Before he could lean in any further Marinette’s phone buzzed and she whipped it out instantly.

“Alya! Hi—”

“Ok Marinette, we saw your pics online but we are totally lost!” Adrien popped his head over Marinette’s shoulder to see all their female classmates squishing their heads into frame. “Oh, hey Adrien! You really weren’t kidding about him helping you choose a swimsuit, huh girl?”

Marinette chuckled nervously and rubbed her neck. “Aha… I—!”

“I couldn’t pick my favourite,” Adrien chimed in. “She looks cute in all of them.”

He heard the chorus of ‘aww’s from the girls and relished in the quick glance Marinette shot him that read ‘shut your face before I shut it for you’.

“I’ll go home and change then be right there. See you guys!” She hung up the phone after the round of ‘byes!’, and they stood on the subway step with a lingering scent of the tension.

Adrien mourned the realisation that they were about to part ways. Despite the weird day, it was fun. Marinette just happened to… be there.

She cleared her throat and spun the other direction on the staircase to leave.

“Next time you jump off a building,” she said, “make sure it’s only in perfume ads.”

He smiled, genuinely. “Can’t make any promises!”

Chapter Text

Months ago, if you told Marinette that she would reject a date with Chat Noir to go on a triple date with Adrien, she probably would’ve turned over her miraculous because no one with that limited number of brain cells should ever be deemed sane enough to take care of Paris.

But in the present, there were new stakes; new lies; new gut-wrenching acts of tarnishing morale where she had to give a tight-lipped smile to Alya agreeing to look for André’s sweetheart ice cream that evening beside her “boyfriend” Adrien, and the other happy couples.

And if Marinette and Adrien had any similarities, it was their flakiness.

Marinette had her excuses—being an overworked superhero and all that jazz—but just had a big celebrity schedule and no backbone to stand up to his father. A shocker that was because he had no trouble acting as if he had balls when it came to giving her a piece of his mind. Nonetheless, that first day they met when she accused him of doing as he pleased being a result of nepotism hadn’t escaped her. It was etched deep like an explicit carving with reckless linework into her memory – that bone-chilling tone when he told her to “never bring up” his father again wouldn’t be forgotten, and likely, it was the climax of his simple desire to prank and pester her sharpening to fine hatred.  

For months she assumed the outburst was a trigger from finally being called out; that maybe he liked to believe he achieved his status, popularity, and conceitedness out of his own hard work, and he ran away as the token famous-kid rebellion act. But the other day her world spun on its head and she learnt too much about him: He was a shackled animal that craved an escape from whatever fancy doghouse booked him five appointments a day (aka a home-schooled kid that had never been to the movies).

Either way, it still held an explanation for the ill-manneredness of Adrien Agreste.

And she wasn’t about to be thrown in the same boat. She’d raised enough suspicions about her relationship with Adrien and Alya had been insisting they go on a date to ‘rekindle the fire’ they once (never) had - since there was no evidence of Adrien and Marinette hanging out by themselves on purpose. Romantically.

So she promised Alya she’d go with the group of actual lovers, and she would not be the one that would continue her flaking-streak unless hero duty called. Especially if inevitably, Adrien would get stood up and she’d be the terrible girlfriend who, that time, actually had no excuse – as much as Chat’s doe-eyed plea was just about a pretty good one.

“So uh, Ladybug. What would you say if you and I met up for… a little dinner. Rooftop style.”

No. No. No. No!

Well, yes (multiplied by a thousand) but no! Why tonight?! As if she hadn’t dreamed of him asking her questions along similar lines like, “for a date?”, and “by the way do you want to get married?”.

“Dinner?” She hoped he didn’t hear her heart jumping up her throat. “As superheroes?”

“Yeah, that’s right. We’re only with each other when we’re saving Paris.” As he let people off the bus they’d just caught from crashing, he grinned brilliantly. “I mean, wouldn’t you actually like to get to know each other better?”

“I….” would. She most certainly would. “That’s so thoughtful of you, but I… I can’t. I already have plans with some friends.”

Adding, 'and fake-boyfriend” just didn’t sit right on the tongue. Plus, Chat somewhat knew about the nameless nuisance in her life, and he had one of his own too. They’d bond over having to deal with their civilian enemies often when a fight beside the lockers left her real up. So, she was never going to tell Chat—the love her of life, the skip between heartbeats, the greatest view in Paris—that she had deigned to fake-date her foe (for the sake of her identity, but still).

As Chat readied himself to leapt away, he winked. “Well, if your plans end early, come and join me.”

She really, really wished the plans would.

“Adrien’s dad isn’t letting him go out.”

Especially since Adrien never bothered showing.

Alya held her shoulders consolingly as she retold Nino’s text, and now Marinette stood alone with four other people on the Trocadéro pavement, swallowing her scream.

She skipped a date-like evening with the man she’d die instantly for, for a fake date with the guy who made her want to instantly die, who never ended up showing, because, as it seemed, she wasn’t a good enough excuse to escape his house for – although every other time he was fine with it! And she was his girlfriend! His fake girlfriend, but still. Didn’t he care about how that looked? Not making an effort to sneak out for her even though he could at least try? Ugh. And he always gave her talk for not “acting” well enough. He’d be impossible to date in real life.

“So he’s not coming?”

“Sorry, girl. I know it must be hard having a boyfriend you don’t get to hang out with much outside of school.” Oh, she saw him enough. “But it’s still going to be so fun looking for André’s magical ice cream. They say couples that eat ice cream at Andre’s will stay in love forever.” Alya stilled realising her mistake and rubbed the back of her neck. “I mean, that’s just a rumour. I’m sure Adrien not being here will affect anything.”

Well, she wasn’t going to stick around long for some bogus ice cream she’d have to traipse half of Paris for while fifth-wheeling Nino, Alya, Myléne, and Ivan.

Once they found the cart, she sadly received a peach and mint ice cream, and when the choruses of “your love will materialise” and “Andre’s ice cream never fails” grated her ear, someone ran past and knocked her ice cream out of her hands. And that just about did it. She left with a grilling note hoping and praying she could catch Chat Noir in time.

Turns out, André was pretty sensitive about people calling his creations “just ice cream”.

“She loves me… She loves me not… She loves me…”

Chat Noir’s eyes shallowed upon the pale, merciless glow of the last candle he had to blow out.

Frankly, Adrien didn’t even know he was supposed to be going out with his friends until Nino literally only remembered to tell him that evening – after the mental war he experienced preparing to ask Ladybug to a candlelit rooftop date the same night. Now it looked like he’d ditched Marinette and a premonition that she would not be happy with that came upon him. But he didn’t spend a penny longer thinking about it.

He had asked Ladybug on a date—Well, a dinner. But if he played his cards right, the evening could fall somewhere between a hang-out and the best night of his life. Maybe he would confess. Maybe they would reveal their identities and get married. Maybe not. If all else, he just wanted to spend time with her. His stomach had been tying knots all afternoon.

And for what? She didn’t even show.

For once in his life, maybe he should’ve listened to Plagg. She did say she had plans and seemed skittish when he’d invited her. Perhaps it did come across as a date and she got scared because she hated his guts and only bantered with him to make light of the job she was forced to do beside him!

He steeled his breath, gripping the cool rail and scanning his eyes across the opal city.

Pink light on a familiar rooftop caused his heart to hiccup.  

Before he could rationally think, which seemed to be a pattern that day, he leapt over with his baton as Marinette emerged from her sky window.

“Spots—!”

“Hello.”

“Ahh!”

(Stealth was sort of his thing with Marinette. Even as Adrien.)

Panic scattered across her blanched face, she took in the black figure perched on the chimney. “Chat Noir?”

Honestly, he was just as surprised that he was there. He got rejected by Ladybug so he stumbled on Marinette’s roof minutes later? That wasn’t very hates-Marinette’s-guts of him. What was he expecting visiting her? Validation because he was her superhero crush to make him feel better?

No. He really just wanted company. Even if it was Marinette’s.

“What are you doing here? Don’t you have… superhero-y things to do?”

He landed with all fours on her sunburst railing. “No… I don’t feel like being a superhero tonight. And I also…” he swallowed his pride, thickly, “I don’t feel like being alone tonight. Would you mind if I hung out here for a little bit?”

A quality of “no way is this happening right now” sprang into her blue eyes and she blinked. “Uh, I’m—yeah. Yeah of course. I’d love that.”

Pfft. Marinette liking his company.

He turned his back and sat facing the remaining moonlight that fell over Paris houses like silk blankets. “Marinette, right? We’ve met each other before.”

He heard a little squeak.

“Yeah! A bunch of times. Uh—I mean, yes, we have. One time a supervillain fell in love with me. Talk about bad luck.”

He wanted to joke about how a supervillain was the only, and most suitable thing to fall in love with her, but he couldn’t banter because he wasn’t Adrien.

“Seriously.” He sighed. “My luck is terrible. Especially in the…” Love department, he wanted to say, to get the whole Ladybug angst off his chest, rant about how he had a special surprise for her where he’d finally tell her that for all his flirting he was genuinely, helplessly in love with her.

But Marinette didn’t deserve to hear her celebrity crush (whose face was everywhere in her room) admit to her personally that he was in love with someone that wasn’t her.

—Not to spare her feelings or anything. He knew she didn’t have those.

 “I don’t know what I was trying to say. It’s just– I had this whole dinner thing set up for Ladybug. Just because I wanted to… hang out… as friends with her.”

A hunter’s moon hovered in the Parisian sky; the lavish embrace of light overhead the rooftops reminding Chat of how perfect the elegant evening would have been.  

A small voice was behind him, “You wanted to hang out as… friends?”

His jaw tightened, head hanging low as he stared at nothing in particular. “That’s all we are, anyway.” He sighed. “But it doesn’t matter. She never showed. She told me she might not make it but I had my fingers crossed.”

Marinette toed over and rested her elbows on the railing as they both watched the moon in sober silence. He never expected such a moment with Marinette – for one, both of them were quiet—no jabs, arguments, or murder threats—and especially not after he had just held the burnt fantasy of his and Ladybug’s relationship potential and watched the ashes fade.

“Sometimes people just don’t show up whether we know why or not,” she said softly, the end curls of her ponytail falling on her shoulder. His gut fell like a brick. He never showed up. “It sounds like we both need some cheering up.”

He looked at her carefully. Her dark lashes fluttered as she took in the deep colour pooling on the horizon, appearing as down as he felt. Her side profile was so beautiful. Goodness, how he hated her inexplicitly.

“You… You were stood up tonight, too?"

Her full lips pressed. “I had other plans. Ones I really wanted to go to. But I’d already promised to be somewhere else. For him. But he didn’t even show up.” She bent forward to rest her delicate face over her crossed arms, beholding the city with eyes that tried not to look hurt. “Turns out the other plans didn’t end up being what I had hoped, anyway… Saved me the embarrassment. But going on a triple date alone is embarrassing enough.”

Chat held onto their stillness a little too long. There were a lot of reasons he hated Marinette, but her unintentionally wracking him with hives of guilt now made the top three. He didn’t know about the triple date until he’d already bought candles and rose petals for the night and practised ten variants of the confessing-his-love speech.

“Date?” he mustered. “Your… boyfriend stood you up?”

“I’m sure it wasn’t his fault.”

Chat Noir squinted. Marinette would give anything to not give him the benefit of the doubt; to misconstrue any situation to paint him as the heartless supervillain just to add to her eternal list of reasons not to grant him a second chance. If there was ever a miscommunication, she’d milk it to his disfavour.

“Well,” Chat rolled his shoulders back, “it sounds like it was his fault. Who abandons their girlfriend? He sounds pretty terrible.”

A muscle in her jaw ticked. Oh, the words she would’ve been fighting at that moment.

“His dad didn’t let him out.”

Chat stared, hard, preying on the silence so she’d say more.

“I don’t know much about his family – it’s a sensitive topic. I’m sure he would’ve easily been able to sneak out… He’s done it a lot before. But… I understand why he wouldn’t do it for me.”

A glare moulded into his mask. “Why not?”

She exhaled. A breeze stirred through her hair before passing. “I just kind of realised that I never know someone else’s situation. You never know why Ladybug didn’t show up. Maybe she just… couldn’t. Maybe she had a really good reason for not coming. Like… a problem or something.”

Chat chewed on that. All day, the ineffable masses of diverse emotions had spun themselves out in his brain and taken hold of his body – so much so, maybe at one point he stopped being rational. Maybe Ladybug simply couldn’t come. Maybe it wasn’t because she was scared that he’d meant a date and had no feelings for him. Maybe he did still have a chance with Ladybug.

“Maybe.” He faced her, wagging his eyebrows. “Or maybe she was on a date with your boyfriend because he’s cheating on you.”

Marinette’s stunned face carried absolutely nothing for a sliver of a second before erupting in laughter. She gripped the rail for dear life like she had been pleasantly tickled. “Hahahaha!” Oh, wow. Marinette’s laugh was even cuter when he caused it. That felt morbidly wrong. “Trust me, Ladybug wouldn’t give him a shot in a million years.”

Chat frowned, opened his mouth, and then closed it. After an appropriate silence of him swallowing a gallon of pride, he opened it again. “Marinette?” He squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry your boyfriend stood you up.”

“Why? It’s not your fault.”

“No. Yeah. I mean–! What I mean is, I’m very sorry for you, because he embarrassed you in front of the rest of your friends by looking like a pretty bad boyfriend.”

Marinette’s eyes looked like they wanted to say more. She curled up in the quiet again.

A stupid idea hit Adrien.

“Hey.” He spun off the railing and stood, extending his clawed hand. “Come with me.”

Chapter Text

His enemy blinked those crystalline eyes at him with giddy disbelief. Before her excitement left a bad taste in his mouth and changed his mind, he pulled her into his arms bridal style.

“Close your eyes and hold on… tight, I guess. I don’t want you to fall.”

She did as he said and he leapt over townhouses, finding his makeshift dinner spot that was as miserable as he’d left it. In his head, a small voice – a loud voice actually, and quite a lot of them, were wondering what he was doing. He told Marinette, and the voices, to remain put as he re-lit a few candles and swept the scattered petals away so she wouldn’t suspect the scene was intentionally romantic for Ladybug.

“Oh wow… Chat Noir. This is beautiful. I can’t imagine with all this for a hang out what a date would look like for you.”

The pins in his heart pressed. “It’s nothing. Just a regular dinner rooftop for friends. But, hey, why put it to waste? Your boyfriend stood you up on your date, so why not enjoy a seat?”

He’d be getting a long lecture from Plagg, later.

Marinette scanned her surroundings, then squatted on a white pillow on the picnic rug. She spluttered some agreement; cheeks tinged a colour he could only rise out of her in their most heated arguments and closest moments. Yet here, her eyes didn’t carry fire – they were lit with child-like excitement, and suddenly this wasn’t Marinette – his commoner rival he’d never elicited happiness from – this was Marinette, the cute, stumbling-over-her-words civilian that he never got to see.

Besides, he wasn’t technically Adrien, so it wasn’t like he was losing his dignity by giving Marinette a sort-of-date with her celebrity crush… as if, to ‘make up’ for her ‘boyfriend’ embarrassing her. So, his conscience was doing just fine. He could be embarrassed later.

“I wish Ladybug could’ve seen this.”

“Oh her, pshh, it’s whatever.” He took a seat beside her. “At least I’m not alone anymore.”

Marinette giggled. His chest ached.

What was he doing?!

‘Gotten himself stuck’ was a phrase that might undermine the whole ‘this was not part of the script!’ vibe he was getting from a part of his brain not getting enough attention. Well, he’d gotten himself stuck now; stuck with a version of Marinette he hadn’t earnt the right to see. Maybe that was it. Morbid curiosity. What was she like outside of being evil? How did she treat the people she wouldn’t sell for a bag of pastries?

And then finally, everything made sense: He just needed a distraction from Ladybug and wanted to exercise his nosiness about the other side of Marinette, all with a healthy dose of pride – Because come on, being there as Chat, knowing she was a giggling mess for her enemy Adrien, was—in an understatement—absolutely hilarious. Of course anyone would capitalise off of that.

(Not usually while on a date-like picnic rug beside a date-like picnic basket besides very date-like rose petals he’d missed disposing of earlier.)

(But it wasn’t a date as far as either of them knew: He had told Marinette the dinner set up was for his friend – good friend Ladybug, whom she did not need to know his love for.)

“So…” he started, grinning sheepishly as he admired the joyful glow of her face he was about to destroy, “this boyfriend of yours. Is he cute?”

Marinette’s complexion exploded red.

He didn’t know what he wished she’d say. There was some sick desire to hear her badmouth him to his alter-ego (whom she crushed on); perhaps it was the irony, or how painful it looked for her to pretend to not hate “her boyfriend”, all while he sat in the superiority of knowing her biggest secret.

She faced the city sharply, the moonlight sliding over her Chat Noir hairpin. Suddenly she appeared like the one who dreaded being there. He could see the fine selection of possible answers (“yes”, “very yes”, and “he’s the most beautiful man I know but I’m too stubborn to admit it”) churning behind her blue gaze.

“He’s… He’s very attractive. In a… textbook way.”

A pitched feeling behind his ribs almost made him squeal like a teenage girl.

He rested his cheek on his hand. “Oh do go on.”

She crossed her arms and gave him a snide look. “Why are you so curious?”

“Well, he must be insanely good-looking to bail on a date and you still seem head over heels for him.”

Her brows pulled together, eyes sharpening. There was the Marinette he had exclusive rights to. “Since when do I seem head over heels for him?”

“You just do.”

Marinette’s jaw firmed. She couldn’t argue. Ha! She couldn’t argue!

For someone who was just fifth guessing himself on whether this could possibly be a good idea, Chat Noir magically had the resolve of staying there the whole night. How much could he torture her with questions about Adrien? How did she lie when her friends asked about him?

“Well then… are you in love with your boyfriend?”

He couldn’t possibly imagine the explicit cringe wracking through her body at that moment and how her little evening with her celebrity crush was turning into a nightmare. Although most of her body language had walled up—mouth taut, posture stiff, gaze unimpressed—there was a fallible, fleeting moment where the question seemed to strike a fragile chord, and she covered it up with a loud sigh as she lay down on the pillows.  

“Honestly… I don’t kn—Look out!”

She should’ve guessed her meltdown earlier would send Andre into his own.

“Marinette! Party pooper! You’re looking so sad and surly—”

Ok, harsh.

Now a mega-giant snowman with shooting waffle-cone hands stomped around the city aggravated by the lack of romance, as Chat leapt in front of her to barricade the vanilla artillery. Because being stood up by Adrien and friend-zoned by Chat was not enough to ruin her day!

“I’m Glaciator! The mean ice cream man!” he sang off-key, firing ice cream at anything in the dim-lit streets to turn them into coloured statues.

“The sweethearts’ ice cream guy?” Chat said as he took her into his arms bridal style (again!). His mask indented at his eyebrows with feral frustration looking at their evening’s disruption. “What does he want with you?”

“Long story.”

Chat scoffed as if that didn’t surprise him and leapt over buildings back to her balcony. He set her down with the gentleness of fine China and opened her trapdoor.

“Go inside Marinette.” He used his claws to push her hair behind her ear where the wind had loosened her hair pin. “I’m going to lead him away from you.”

“Wait, Chat Noir!”

She caught his tail before he could vault away.

“Thanks for cheering me up tonight.”

He smiled sadly. “It was the least I could do.”

Less than thirty seconds later Chat was tangled up in her yoyo string she’d set up to catch him falling from the sky.

“Hello kitty, did the bad guys leave you cold?”

“No, but a dinner alone did. How was your evening with friends?”

There was a hidden bite to his tone and a lack of eye contact, as if the question was trying to be genuine with as much success as Hawk Moth’s life choices. Her response cut off as Glaciator’s firearms and ice cream puns found them.

After a few minutes of silent fighting, the pair realised the akuma was in the ice cream scoop. Then when Glaciator spared two teenagers clinging to each other in fear, Ladybug realised something else.

“That’s weird. It looks like he’s leaving the couples alone.”

Beside her, Chat crouched on the rooftop, observing the streets dotted with ice cream flavours. “Too bad for us.”

Her heart twanged. “Well if he doesn’t attack couples, we could pretend… to be in love…”

“Pretend?”

“Look, I know the very idea of that is crazy,” she snapped, a burning sensation almost closing up her throat, “since we’re strictly 'good friends’ and partners and all, but it’s how we’re going to beat him.”

Chat stared with astonished eyes that marred into her soul. His bottom lip hung as he processed her idea. Every second he calculated the seeming terribleness of them even looking like a couple was another hot whip to her chest.

“We won’t have to. I’ll think of a different idea,” he said sharply before taking off and slicing Glaciator in half with his baton – vainly, as the four-storey tall creature merged back instantly and welded a strawberry-flavoured ball aiming at Chat.

Her yoyo became a shield as she landed, her back toward him. “Are you mad at me because I didn’t show up?”

“Just disappointed, M’lady. But since it was only a dinner for two ‘good friends’ I can’t be that upset, can I?”

There it was. Cementing the fact that it wasn’t a date, and would never be a date. That time to Ladybug directly. Her heart pulled itself together after quickly being shredded right there and then and she turned her cheek to see him.

“I really wanted to come, but I—”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I get it now,” he said.

Her jaw firmed as blasts of ice cream hit her spinning yoyo. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

Glaciator melted over to another street as they rushed to hide behind a horizontal Ford focus.

“Show yourselves, cowards!”

Chat ducked his head. “I think we better try your idea.”

‘Her idea’ went more painfully than predicted.

It was one thing to be romantic with the man you love, and it was another to be forced into it with the man who had just unknowingly rejected you. Nonetheless, she took Chat’s hand, curled into his side, and kissed his cheek as they approached the akuma cooing at their romance. It proved a fruitful distraction as they were dismembering and melting the monster with a makeshift fan a moment later and retrieving Andre and the akumatised object inside.

Even with her suit, her skin buzzed from his close touch and faraway heart.

She needed to tell him. Her heart could heal faster if it was properly broken sooner. So she insisted they visit his dinner set-up after the battle.

“It’s beautiful, Chat Noir.”

“Aren’t you glad you finally came?”

Her hands toyed together. This was it. She’d say it. Get it all out, so he could know how she felt, reject her promptly, and she could move on. As impossible as that notion was.  

“Chat, listen, I—"

“Don’t worry. I know what you’re going to say, so I’m just going to put it out there,” Chat started, sweeping some rose petals away with his boot. He moved to the railing and spoke to the moon which became increasingly hidden by clouds. “I know that you thought this was a romantic date. I’m sorry you got that idea. We’re just friends and we can’t… be in love, or ever be together. I understand how you feel, and I’m sorry it looks like this.”

Oh.

“Oh,” she said – was all she could say. The hurt climbed her throat and burned her eyes, veins through her body cording in anguish. His words pierced through her like a thousand glass shards.

She knew it. She’d suspected it. Heck, he’d said it to her twice already today. To him, they were strictly friends and nothing more.

Stupidity. That was how she got there – by clinging onto the ‘almost’, the ‘what-if’, the speckle of hope that glimmered in the piling dirt. The fact that the night may have been a romantic date was stupid. She was stupid.

Her eyes tipped to the soiled rose petals.

At least now she knew for sure, and Chat saw right through her the whole night. He figured out she had thought this was a date and rejected her tentatively three words into her confession. She should have forgone the plan and taken the other two implications of his feelings before making a fool out of herself on a random rooftop.

“You’re right.” She sighed. “We can’t ever be together. Identities and danger and whatnot. I… I can’t love you.”

Chat Noir turned around slowly and took her delicate face in. With a burdened sigh, his grip on the railing tightened as he hung his head, clueless to the way the last splinter of moonlight caught on the thickening glaze of her eyes.

“Thank you for, um, bringing this up for me,” she said when he didn’t speak. “I didn’t know how to tell you how I felt about it.”

There was a painful sort of comfort in the trepid smile he forced when he finally dragged his eyes up to hers and took two steps towards her. “Whatever you wish, M’lady.” His thumb brushed her jaw as he held her face momentarily. “I’m glad we both clarified ourselves. Your friendship means everything to me.”

He leaned in and kissed her cheek before leaping off into the blackening sky.

“Yeah,” she choked, “our friendship…”

The only thing they had.

Her dampened pillow was covered in mascara stains the next morning.

Chapter Text

Plagg gave him less than 24 hours to grieve.

“I don’t see what the big deal is. Just get with that fencer girl. She liked you.”

Adrien snapped his towel on the bathroom rack and stormed out. “Really? After Marinette kissed me in front of her and Luka?! I told Kagami she was just a classmate I don’t even like. I haven’t brought myself to see her at fencing since. Gah!”

He huffed and pulled a black tee over himself. “Besides, I have to keep dating Marinette. It’s too convenient of an excuse for my double life – you know, that you’re responsible for. Nathalie doesn’t even question my whereabouts anymore since the tabloids found out about our relationship two weeks ago.” Retrieving his school bag, he set it open on his bed and searched for his tablet. He had to have his things ready for school after fencing practice. What a good day for a long day. “Father’s also happy I’ve found a hobby that stops me from pestering him.”

Plagg shrugged and threw a prism of cheese into his fat mouth. “Then what’s the problem? Seems like you’re living the sweet life to me.”

He straightened up and began a list on his fingers. “I can’t have the girl I love. Everyone thinks I love the girl I hate. And I hate myself for upsetting the girl I hate, which just makes me angry, because that makes no sense!”

Within one night, he had managed to stand Marinette up, betrayed himself by hanging out with Marinette, and was rejected by Ladybug after she admitted she didn’t attend the dinner because she assumed it was a date. Oh, and he successfully battled an ice cream villain.

As Adrien got older, his optimism and naivety dwindled like a sunflower in the evening. All internal systems fought for the hope that he still had a chance; that one day he could win Ladybug over, share his identity, and escape his intransigent father and billboard-posters-for-a-life to run away with her.

A young boy in him thought that if he tried enough, he could earn a family.

But if Ladybug wasn’t interested, she wasn’t interested. And that fact weighed in his gut like a clump of molten rocks.

Plagg floated before him as he stared at his half-empty school bag.

“Is that why you went on a date with Marinette as Chat Noir? You know she wasn’t really stood up by her boyfriend right?”

“Chat Noir didn’t know that. He would’ve done it for any civilian.”

Plagg made a face. “Taken them to a candlelit dinner?”

Adrien crossed his arms. “I can’t have a bias outside my mask.”

“It sounds like you just care what Marinette thinks of you.”

“I— don’t. If she believes that Chat has a grudge against her, she’d get… suspicious.”

Plagg grinned. “You mean sad.”

“No, I mean she would get suspicious that I’m Chat Noir.”

“Didn’t you want a reasonable excuse for Chat Noir to dislike Marinette a few months ago?”

Adrien ignored him and packed three fewer rolls of cheese in his bag than usual. “He’s her celebrity crush. That would just be… mean.”

“Oh wow.”

He lifted his head. “What?”

“You so like her.”

“What?”

“You so like her.”

“Marinette?”

“Oh for cheese heavens, I’m not sure how much longer I can live with you stuck in denial.”

Plagg had dedicatedly teased him about being in love with the girl he was the least in love with all year, but Adrien’s face contorted as he realised for the first time, that Plagg sounded serious.

“Plagg, you can’t possibly think after everything—”

“Blah, blah, blah. I’ve heard it all. You guys are oblivious. Point is, you may have put Chat Noir higher in Marinette’s books, but she’s still mad at Adrien. And she has every right to be. Not only is it your fault that you’re pretending to date, but you stood her up on the only date you ever had.”

For a fraction of time and space, Plagg might have been right.

He was suggesting he should apologise, (cue recoil) to Marinette. As if the day after his rejection couldn’t get any worse.

Adrien brought a pillow to his face and screamed.

“Hey, Kagami,” Adrien choked out as he imagined the way he’d kill himself later.

“You warned me that you had no relationship with Marinette.” A metallic clang rang in the room. Footsteps came closer to the locker he stood at. “You even fooled me to believe you didn’t like anything about her. Is she aware of the way you talk about her behind her back? Or that she’s just a classmate to you? Explain yourself, Adrien. I’m sick of watching you be a coward and avoid me.”

For clarification, he’d missed a fencing lesson due to an akuma attack. The other two… he was in fact a coward and avoiding her.

“I… Heh, see – Kagami – it’s complicated,” Adrien ran his sabre blade down with steel wool while committing to the theory that if he didn’t look into her eyes, they couldn’t hurt him. “Our relationship is complicated. We were having a fight.”

“When?”

Consistently.

“The day you met me. That’s how you know she genuinely thought I won the point. Marinette has a lot of integrity, unlike me.” He could’ve sworn he had to swallow bile to get that out. Yet, the next words flowed suspiciously simply. “I was bitter and didn’t explain the rules to her properly. But yes, you were right, despite our… our complicated, and perhaps odd relationship, there is something I like about her, and you saw right through me.”

Kagami looked at him with a mix of scepticism and serious interest.

His situational messes cuffed him like a noose. They dragged him through his day-to-day as he covered up one lie with the next. Kagami never deserved to be a victim of his social terrorism.

“I should’ve been more candid with you and never brought you into our mess. I’m sorry. I do think you’re really cool.”

She bristled. “I’m not the one you should be apologising to.”

He set down his blade, crossed his arms, and glared at the locker room floor. Usually, his internal monologue consisted of his hilarious self-narration, Plagg’s idioms, or “wow something smells delicious”. Yet today, this fossil of a phrase—deeply buried since she first screamed at him—had come back alive and hadn’t stopped haunting him.

“Apologise to Marinette.”

He had to. Not as Chat Noir trying to make up on behalf of Marinette’s sucky boyfriend. So much of this was his fault, and Adrien had accepted defeat. Besides maintaining both excelling grades and the entire safety of Paris, he fought with Marinette every day, had to manage this spiralling fake-dating idea, and he had brought her into the gossamer of lies in the first place – so yes, he was tired. He’d just chug some pride and get it over with.  

“Yeah. I do need to apologise to her.” He felt tension ascend from his body. “I was confused. I— She’s not just a classmate. Or just a friend. She’s…”

Kagami quirked her head, black bob tilting, trying to get him to look up at her. “Do you know how you feel about her?”

His jaw hardened. “No.”

With a light sigh, Kagami straightened up and adjusted the wrists of her gloves, heading towards the courtyard to find her mask.

“I do.”

He came into homeroom later than he’d planned.

Marinette’s cheek had fused to her desk, science workbook testing the jump to Adrien’s seat as it was pushed by the unkempt mound that was her hair. Alya blogged beside her seemingly unbothered, and for some reason that made him dislike Alya just for a little at that moment.

“Don’t worry. She’s just had a bad sleep.” She peered over her glasses catching Adrien shamelessly glaring in their direction.

He’d seen Marinette unruly and tired many times before (she came late because she slept in a lot for starters), but the threat of it being his fault was… it was just different.

As he slid in his row, Nino turned and leant into Marinette’s sleepy face, side-eyed Adrien, then blew viciously at her closed eyes. The blue orbs sputtered open and her body jolted up.

“Argh, Nino…” She rubbed an eye, mascara smearing the skin underneath her bottom lashes. As she rested her head back on her desk, she blinked again when realising how close she now became to Adrien’s sudden presence. Her mouth tipped, and then her gaze tacked onto the paper bag in his hand coming toward her.

He set it on the desk, pushed it towards her, and then lightly kissed her forehead. “Good morning, princess.”

“Why are you giving me a damp paper bag?”

“They’re maple mascarpone eclairs,” he said offhandedly. “From your bakery.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“You know, the one your family runs?” Immediately, he had to bite his cheek from being snarky. “I stopped by this morning to walk you to school, but you weren’t there so I just brought you your favourite dessert. Hope that wakes you up.”

He had wanted to walk her to school to apologise on their way, but when Tom and Sabine—who were thorough supporters of their relationship since Alya told them—let him know she’d already left in an odd mood, he requested her favourite dessert and ended up late himself.

“Aw!” Alya crooned, no longer pretending she wasn’t listening. “Talk about boyfriend-of-the-year. Nino, why don’t you ever get me anything from Marinette’s bakery?”

“He does,” Marinette chimed. “But he always eats it all before it gets to you.”

“What?”

Sheepishly, Nino faced the front of the classroom.

“Hey, uh, Marinette.” Adrien reached over and put his hand over hers, silently satisfied by the sudden startlement in her expression. He lowered his voice. “Can we hang out? Spend some time together after school?”

“Huh?”

“Please?”

The corner of her lip quirked up, just a little, as if her disbelief was seasoned with humour.

So she wouldn’t feel the interaction was a power in her court, he rubbed her wrist with his thumb, titling his head just-so as he blinked slowly. “Marinette… Please, baby? I miss you.”

The rosiness of her cheeks darkened and she yanked her hand away. “Yeah. Fine, whatever. We— Yes. You can. With me.”

Hiding his giggles, he turned to the front. Maybe it was her fatigue. Maybe it was the lingering daze from being around Chat. But that stutter definitely wasn’t common in his Marinette.

“What’s your game now?”

“My game?”

Marinette wasn’t in the mood for his build-up, bribery-based, beat-around-the-bush apology. But in his defence, she had a hard character to apologise to – He’d been there before, many months and fights ago. Yet unlike the gum and umbrella, he had committed the assumed crime by not attending their date (aka: finally had something to apologise for). Also, he was the cause of the disaster which was their fake-dating situation (as per Lila's manipulation). He wasn’t going to mention that, though.

“Eclairs? Going to my house? Acting like a– A…”

“Boyfriend?”

Her face came alive with disgust.

He watched her dark ponytail sway like a pendulum while she walked a step ahead. As they passed the white cake of town shops into the park gates, she didn’t bother turning her head to snap, “Don’t start making claims you can’t keep.”

He bit the inside of his cheek.

The school day had passed with tedium. For all hours, Adrien carried his Ladybug (love of his life) rejection grief on his shoulders alongside Plagg’s mutterings of ‘get over it’ every time he winced at the pictures on his locker. Meanwhile, Marinette moped around like existing was a jail sentence. What virus had gotten under her skin? He’d thought Chat had lifted her spirits last night by some portion; she’d even been lifting his.

In silence, they took a bench near the water fountain, shaded by enough trees that less of the public would see them willingly together. Ladybug had kissed him besides that water fountain once. He wished he’d been there. But perhaps it was for the best, because if he were there, he might have never stopped kissing her.

He cleared his throat and peered at the greying sky. “How did you sleep?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

He’d focussed so much on Marinette’s unkempt look that he forwent his own. Besides some straggled strands of hair and pillowed eyes, he didn’t fare much worse.

He sighed loudly and rubbed his hands together. They ached from fencing. “I had a bad night.”

She turned to him like she was about to say something, but didn’t.

He bit the bullet.

“I’m sorry I left you stranded last night.”

Her eyebrows jumped. “Are you apologising to me?”

Bitterness tightened up in his jaw. He looked around, assuring their solitude. “Yes. I shouldn’t have stood you up. Nino only told me about the date that afternoon when I’d made time for something else. The other thing went terrible anyway.” His chest felt lighter. When he observed her reaction, her face was blank. “Honestly, I wish I joined you.”

“You’re apologising?”

“Yes.”

A grin peeked at the edges of her mouth. Her genuine shock had fizzled to an elated cockiness. Adrien was rapidly realising that apologies required a bachelor’s degree of sorts.

“You’re saying sorry to me?”

His sigh weighed a tonne. “Yes…”

“To me. You are.” A beat. “To me.”

“Marinette, don’t test yourself.”

Swollen clouds were slowly clustering above them.

“Fine. Fine… but, why do you care that you stood me up?”

“Marinette, I’m not as bad as you think I am.” His tone veered venomously.  

She had no clue he’d seen her last night, as Chat, and talked her through her grief until he felt it in his bones. Adrien didn’t know she’d also had other plans that evening. Adrien didn’t know that Marinette gave him the benefit of the doubt even though she had every reason – and habit – not to. Adrien didn’t know the way her laugh could turn one’s heart to goo.

“Look. It wasn’t cool of me. And just because I was having a rough night shouldn’t excuse me giving you a rough night. I mean,” he said tentatively and leant in. She smelt like the eclairs he’d bought her. “What if there were better things you had planned to do, but you didn’t… for me?”

Marinette turned her delicate face away as the sky roared.

“I know you could have been anywhere having fun, with anyone else, with someone you actually really like and likes you, but instead—"

She crammed her palms into her eyes, the burgeoning breeze stirring her ponytail. Her chest shook. A tight breath punched out of her lips.

Awful emotion spread through him like poison. Had he made her cry? She seemed still and raw. He had a duty to comfort her, right? He didn’t know if he should touch her. A sort of searing protectiveness twitched in his body telling him he should. With featherlight fingers, he tucked her bangs behind her ear. A water droplet fell on her nose. Panic threatened, and then Adrien felt a dampness at his neck. Then his hand, head, and hair. He looked around.

Rain. And now lots of it.

Chapter Text

The sky had beaten her to a breakdown by mere seconds. From zero to a hundred the area became a soppy water park, but since she and Adrien had been in their own dystopian world, families and dog walkers wisely vacated earlier.

Adrien slid off his overcoat as he stood and threw it around Marinette, pulling her up and tugging her out of the park. They sprinted through the streets dotted with hurrying shopkeepers to the Boulangerie bakery. The bell chimed as they rushed in past her surprised parents before they could greet them. Violent emotions clashing inside her head, she took the lead and tugged on Adrien’s hand to follow her up to her room hoping the hominess would ground her.

But when the trapdoor clicked, the turmoil unravelled off her suffocating heart.

“I was rejected last night.”

Adrien stared at her, a little winded, a little wet. Water beads slid off the ends of his browning hair. “What?”

“This boy. I… I…”

He stepped forward. “There’s a boy?” An unfriendly heat started in his eyes.

“I— He… I had this whole speech but— Oh why would you care!” She tossed her hands and looked down at the puddle they were forming. “I’m just tired and saying nonsense to anyone, apparently.”

With a swelling heart, she tried to blink away the glossy film over her eyes. The world lifted as she’d let out her grief – her other friends couldn’t know, Alya was all Nino’s anyway since they’d both gotten “boyfriends”, and the build-up had been eating her from the inside out. But why would she admit her rejection to Adrien of all people? Who would load an enemy’s gun with bullets?

“No, I get it,” he finally spoke. His hair was damp but in a way you’d think it was styled for a rugged commercial. Goodness, how could he still look like that after being drenched? She was sure her mascara ran and she felt her ponytail sticking to the back of her neck. It would make the upcoming bullying more humiliating. Yet instead he said, “I was… I was rejected, too.”

“I’m not talking about art club, Adrien.”

He bristled. More firmly, more vulnerably, he said, “I was rejected by the girl I’m in love with last night.”

Anger seized her. “Wow. Very funny. Very funny, Adrien. Thank you, dear fake boyfriend, for your empathy—"

“Marinette, I’m serious.” He gripped her shoulder, looking down at her. “She stood me up, then rejected me. That was my night.”

She stared harshly back waiting for him to admit he was pranking her. The severe look softened frame by frame until she whispered, “That’s so pathetic.”

His brows lowered. “Thanks.”

“No, I mean – Well, I do mean pathetic. For her.” An intense loathing bubbled within her against Adrien’s g. It sickened her stomach and she didn’t want to think about why.  “It’s just, the chances. You’re you. You’re a model. And you just… what? Poured your heart out for her? And she must be… crazy…”

A lopsided grin stretched over his mouth as he realised the equation she was working out.  “Are you surprised someone rejected me?”

“Yes. No.” She squinted, confused with herself. “Yes? I’m just… I’m sorry.”

A spark danced in his eyes. He poked her ribs. “Are you apologising to me?”

“No. Yes. I mean– Gah!” When had she become such a stutterer? “I’m sorry she did that. And I understand why you couldn’t come to our, uh, fake date. Instead, we both got rejected. So I guess that is pathetic.” What were the chances? She and Adrien both got their hearts stabbed instead of spending the evening together with friends. But of course, the whole ordeal seemed fitting for their luck – They might have had little in common, but their bad luck was atrocious.

The weather knocked louder against her windows. She looked at him, a mirrored reflection of herself.

“Are you… okay?”

It was such an odd thing to ask of Adrien, but it just came out. His gentle, humoured eyes softened at her words. Their reddened corners and rubbed-at skin suggested how similar his night had been to hers. His small grin fell, but in an instant the mask returned.

“I’m doing fine, Marinette.”

Her eyebrows creased. A sigh escaped her heart. As she stared into Adrien’s tired gaze, a foreign sensation scraped up her throat, like a warning, that by speaking there’d be consequences. She wasn’t about to test what those consequences could be.

His eyes rounded when she took his hand. It had been hanging close to her side anyway. There was a question in the way she held it, as if she could will him to break out of his character. He’d done the first mile of trying to make it up to her, so she could at least initiate this.

“Adrien, please.”

His lips quivered. The light caught on the rims of his eyes. As she pulled his hand behind her and leaned in, he finished her movement by engulfing her in a hug. The pressure of his demanding embrace unwound her from the inside out. Her face pressed against his damp shoulder. Delicate droplets from their clothes sounded against the puddle and Marinette idly thought about how they may as well be her tears.

When Adrien closed his arms tighter around her, the last of Marinette’s pride melted from the heat of his skin. All grief with Chat Noir—his sweetness on her rooftop, the gentleness in the way he let her down, the way he didn’t let her be embarrassed—constricted in her chest and spilt onto Adrien’s shoulder in quiet sobs. Chat Noir was her everything. Where would another man so caring and perfect ever be?

Thunder clapped.

Adrien cradled the back of her head while she heard him swallow the sounds of his own grief. Their fleshed-out pain twisted together like shattered dancers in a beautiful piece. At that moment, it didn’t matter what Adrien was to her; he was hurting too. For all their anger, bitterness, and bad luck, they’d experienced most of it in tandem, and no one else but each other could know about it.

Together, their loneliness burned.

They stood long enough—the beating rain meeting the tempo of their entwined heartbeats—so that the social instinct to pull away kicked in. But as she shifted an inch, Adrien squeezed her harder. She almost didn’t recognise the frail voice as his when said hoarsely, “Another minute. I’m not letting you see me cry.”

Her choked sob came out as a laugh. She curled her hand into the hair at the nape of his neck, causing him to sigh. His breath on her ear felt unfairly comforting. He fisted the white overcoat where it rested at the small of her back, and she felt his nose snake up the column of her throat—the touch sent goose bumps rippling up her arms—then under her jawbone, until it was inches from her face.

The distance meant she could take in vulnerable Adrien: his hard-cut features weren’t sharp, they were hurt, tired like hers, as if someone were tugging strings down on his expression. He was a pretty crier, because life was unfair, but the image broke her nonetheless as he stared into her with such intensity beneath those wet lashes.

Their bated breaths were heavy as they collided with the thin space between them, fanning on each other’s skin; heavy as if waiting for the other to do something; to break something.

His head drooped, nose bumping her wet cheek. He clenched his eyes shut with an internal war. She felt the warm heart beside hers accelerate and she pressed into him further, feeling his ridged chest. Attentively, his breathing went ragged while his lips feathered upon the hollow of her cheekbone and stopped there. Searing heat shot up her fingertips. Her nails pressed into his skin and a deep gasp tore out of him.

As her eyes fluttered in suspense, his mouth dragged to the corner of hers, and her reddened lips suddenly felt parched. The rain cried outside but the pounding in her ears and Adrien’s pants consumed her hearing. Her body no longer was her own. He had staked ownership so it would yield to his touch. It yearned, burned, desired something to snap, fogging her brain and hastening her blood flow. The labour and increasing volume of Adrien’s breath worked up her impatience.

She tilted her head up, just a bit.

Adrien caught himself and clenched his teeth, hanging his head low as he mentally shook out of his carnal stupor. Their chests heaved. 

With a frustrated noise Marinette moved her face and sealed their lips together.

Their electricity almost made her short circuit, but Adrien chased her mouth like a starved man, derailing any chance for her to pull away and curse herself forever. Her mounted irritation spilt out as his warm lips slid over hers. He kissed her. And again. And again. And she kissed hard back. Selfishly, her fingers slid up into his damp mane, drawing stirrings of pleasure to pass as warm noise between them. Heat exploded up her body as the ends of her frayed nerves crackled and fizzed. His lips hurried after hers like he was scared she would retreat at any moment

The internal pocket of rejection welling within her had the air struck out of it with every coarse claim of his mouth and feverish possession of his hands; down her back, in her hair, around her waist, cupping her jaw. His thumb brushed over the drying tears on her freckles as her nails dragged against his scalp. Her ability to breathe felt like tightening elastic he kept tugging on and the urgency of his mouth slanting against hers like he wanted more access made her brain lightheaded.

Marinette was right earlier – it was pathetic. They were rejected messes, clinging to any intimacy they had to drown the roaring beast of loneliness.

And she didn’t want to let go.

She didn’t want to remember what they really were and how far Chat was and would always be. She craved to smother her pain with superficial closeness and Adrien’s domineering hands. They held her like she meant something. They touched her like she was an addiction. They pressed her into him like her absence was a threat.

And a minute hadn’t even passed.

The ground beneath their entanglement jolted, and reality crashed over them like ice buckets. Adrien and Marinette jumped away from each other as Tom lifted the trapdoor to Marinette’s room.

“Ah, one of you must have been standing on the door.” Her dad’s head popped up, a brilliant, clueless smile on his bearded face. “Marinette, your mother is about to serve some bouillabaisse for you and your guest for dinner. Oh! Well look at the both of you. Really didn’t beat the rain, huh? Marinette, please find Adrien some fresh clothes from your collections and show him the shower before dinner.”

“Mr Dupain, I—”

“Ah!” he interjected. “You two have already been dating long enough without having dinner with your new family, Adrien. You wanted to cheer our little girl up this morning, well I’m sure your company will do just that. And remember to call me Tom.”

Marinette shook her head at her father, not noticing the new mix of emotions Adrien was displaying. “Dad—”

“You’re going to get sick if you continue to stand in those cold wet clothes! Don’t make me tell your mother you’ll be late for dinner!”

The trapdoor clicked close.

Marinette blew air from her cheeks, feeling quite the opposite of cold.

What in the name of Hawk Moth had she done?

Chapter Text

Time was an unfair concept.

1; because it ran out, and so Adrien was no longer smothered by his (fake!) girlfriend’s mouth counting the seconds until he’d pass out.

And 2; because it went on forever, so Adrien’s mind would, for eternity, carry the double-edged memory of being smothered by his (very real!) enemy’s mouth.

Some would describe it as bittersweet – but it wasn’t. Just very, very sweet, and every sensation in his body—bar his brain screaming why did you just do that—reminded him with a prickling intensity that he thought so. Now he had to grasp he’d soon be attending a ‘family’ dinner—wherein ‘family’ would show up—and pretend to some of the nicest people he’d ever met that he was smitten by their daughter (and not ever making it his mission to mess with her sanity).

He could do that. He could be calm, cool, and collected as he stood panicking, hot, and without words.

“Uh…”

Hot whips of reality took over as he stared into the mirror of horror: Her cheeks flushed so deep her freckles were indistinct, and her freshly-polished lips tremored with lingering laboured breaths.

Cool. He’d done that to her. It was fine; he’d done that. He’d done that.

He did not just do that.

They did not just do that.

A light shaking in his jean pocket held Plagg, condensing his laughter, reminding him they did in fact just do that. And he had, in fact, really, really enjoyed it. His own lips tingled with the memory’s stain as his veins cooled down. Every inch of his body was an alarming, hot reminder he had just kissed Marinette Dupain-Cheng and so, so disastrously willingly, and suddenly all the mental gymnastics to calm himself had retired.

He opened his mouth – the one so animatedly obsessed with hers a second ago – and rubbed the back of his neck – remember the one she was near-clawing at earlier?

“Um so—”

“Clothes! Our– Your clothes. To take off. I mean! To get changed. Out of. Into. Into the ones… I… I’ll go get.”

Adrien watched as Marinette hurried around her pink room, tipping over boxes. “My…clothes…?”

“I practice sewing all sorts of clothes. So whatever I find in your size might not be finished.”

She spoke better now with her back to him, fists on her hips as she stared down the collection of many-coloured disarray. Mourning the collapse of her composure, he slunk behind, catching the brilliant sight of his frame dwarfing her in a full-length mirror – Even more delightfully, the way her eyes blew open at his beating chest ghosting her back.

“Do you know my size?” he said, speaking into her neck innocently.

Her hands deep in fabrics stilled. “N-no…”

He titled forward. “Do you need to check?”

She spun around, blessing him with the deer-in-headlights look, like she too simultaneously realised what they were doing last time they’d been this close. Instead of the distance jarring Marinette, she remained in his caging-frame and blinked. He lingered in suspense hoping she was about to address the elephant in the room or go on like his presence didn’t affect her.

A forest-green shirt hung off her hand. With the other, her fingers started at his shoulder, tracing the jut of his collarbone until reaching his left arm. Then, like she couldn’t help herself, her palm pressed down his chest and roamed there for a second. If his skin hadn’t been so prepped by her touch, he would’ve gotten goosebumps.

“I could just tell you,” he said lowly.

“I know.”

She glanced at him fleetingly and back down like it was dangerous.

Rationality slipped through his fingers. He physically felt his body shun the trained thoughts of animosity and disgust at himself. Touching Marinette was drugging. No inch, sliver, or even cell of his body denied the drug’s stimulation and its absence emptied him. He missed it. He missed kissing Marinette and it was killing him – worse, it was killing every part of his instinct that knew the dangers of that. He missed when the sheets of pain weren’t crashing over him, when instead her lips were, over and over again, drowning the memory of Ladybug.

She brought the shirt up and held it against him like this situation was the most casual thing in the world. “This one will do. I think I have some pants your size I was planning on embroidering, but they’re more like pyjamas.”

“So we’re finally having a sleepover?” he joked, and her silence as she rummaged for pants sucker-punched him.

She forced the clothes into his hands. “Here.”

“Marinette—”

“The bathroom’s down a level, to the left of the staircase. I’m not as drenched because you lent me your overcoat, so I’ll just change clothes. Also, the shower tap can be finicky but if you—”

“Marinette.”

She finally faced him, and they stood once again in a battle of their pride, and Marinette’s defiant gaze began weakening each time it flickered to his lips.

He lost his resolve.

The clothes in his hands hit the floor and his palms were quickly filled with her hot cheeks. The mouth struggling to find the words to address his angst covered hers instead in a blazing, soul-quenching kiss of resumed passion and no hesitance. She kissed him back with and elongated sigh like her stress had released, but just as quickly as it started, she ripped away.

“We– The–” she panted. “The dinner could be ready at any moment.”

“Marinette, are you serious?” A new heat surged up his chest. “We’re not going to address this at all?”

She waved her hand, face flushed. “We kiss all the time,” she choked. “You should shower.”

He wanted to pull at his hair in disbelief. She was acting like she wasn’t even there. Well, Adrien can attest that she certainly was and with severe, willing participation.

“So we just shouldn’t talk about it?”

She pressed her palms against her eyes. “No.”

“Why?!”

“It didn’t mean anything!”

Adrien’s heart turned back to glass. “It… What?”  

Marinette huffed and turned her back, staring at the window stressfully as if collecting herself. He knew the war with her stubbornness would be in full turmoil. Midnight hair messily sat at her neck, his soiled overcoat fallen to her elbows, and hands on her hips, then hair, then face – an artistic, whirring image of his doing. Adrien Agreste had an effect on her, whether she liked that fact or not.

Adrien liked that fact.

“You think it didn’t mean anything? Don’t give me that, Marinette. Do not act like that wasn’t the best kiss of your life just because you hate me. I don’t care. I’d do it again! Kiss me like you hate me. Kiss me until you’re over that asshole that rejected you. Hate me all you want! Just don’t lie to me. That meant something to you and I know that because you kissed me first.”

Marinette whipped her head around in a fleeting image of crystal emotion and oncoming, blistering rage.

“I did— I did not.”

His eyes blazed. “Yes you did.”

“You tried to kiss me first.”

“I pulled back! You initiated it.”

“You just kissed me then!”

“Because you wouldn’t talk about it, Marinette!”

“Do you see why?!”

They were back to fighting.

This stark resurrection tightened in Adrien’s throbbing chest, and after turning a blind eye to any fault he had to the volume of their argument, he decided she wasn’t mature enough to handle this topic at the moment, and let it go, wiping the taste of her off his mouth.

“I cannot believe you,” he almost gritted, and a part of him was starting to remember the blearing ‘WARNING: ENEMY. DO NOT KISS” label he’d mentally put on her the first time he almost kissed her in that locker room.

He picked up the sweatpants, missing the shirt, but by the time he realised, he’d already decided that he was about to start walking to the bathroom (ten metres away) any second now – so walking (one metre) to pick up the shirt was out of the question.

Adrien gathered his wits and crumbling dignity to head to the bathroom where he quickly washed off the cold rain and any mud that had reached his ankles. The time was a pleasant chance to debate his next steps. Apologise? Vomit? Do it again? Drown himself?

By the time he came back, Marinette had thrown on her pj’s—the same ones she ran around Paris with him in—, pacing the room and cutting off her voice when he approached like she’d been caught talking to herself. Before he could tease her about it, she squeaked an incorrigible sound when she noticed him.

Ah. Right.

“Um. You left your shirt here,” she said with eyes darting everywhere, tossing him the green garment.

He half smiled, admiring the changed look of her hair down. “I did. Thanks.”

No point in not making a show of putting it on. She clearly lacked any composure to tell him not to.

Tugging at the collar and seeking her gaze, he asked. “It's almost like it was made for me. Do you think it fits well?”

“No. You look terrible,” she said through a beet-red, lying face, fist to her mouth.

It fitted snuggly, like the design with small pawprints up his shoulder had been made to his tailor. It was probably a product of her Chat Noir obsession – maybe even for him (however she guessed his build so well). The thought sent his ego giddy. If only he could throw that at her face next time she denied any attraction to him. He’d point to the printed photos of his masked self from the Ladyblog that were pinned all around the— oh.

They were gone.

“Chat Noir would love knowing he has fans that make clothes for him.”

“Good thing he’ll never know,” she snipped, combing a brush through her dark hair and tossing it on her desk with a clank. On one of the residing chairs—the one that squeaked—reclined his soppy overcoat.

“I’m sure you’ll meet your celebrity crush again one day.”

The look she shot him was a whole bullet ream.

What did he say?

Adrien glared right back. “What is your prob—?”

“Marinette! Adrien! Dinner’s ready!”

-

The nerve.

The nerve.

Of herself. She kissed him first and blooming-well knew it from the titillation of her skin to the thwacking on her seated ribs. She’d had friends betray her—Alya constantly left her alone with Adrien, Alix told Adrien that Marinette was gazing (glaring) at his magazine too long, and Nino was, well, friends with Adrien—but now she had betrayed herself, and so, so criminally. As the cutlery and cups clinked in mocking laughter, she was ready to leave this family dinner and hand herself in to authorities.

“Can you pass the rouille sauce, son?”

After a beat Adrien’s head shot up like he’d been kicked, which he had, by Marinette’s foot.

“Oh, uh, sure Mr Du— Tom.” He set down his spoon and found the red pepper rouille sauce. Once innocently handing it over his expression darkened towards Marinette, like every ounce of golden-boy joviality drew out of him, and his foot nudged hers back childishly.

A sudden ‘Hey!’ climbed up her chest and was swallowed down by a bite of baguette.

“Marinette never told us how this relationship started. So who told the other they were interested first?”

“Adrien.”

“Marinette.”

Their glares deepened.

Sabine’s motion of shaking pepper into her bouillabaisse halted mid-air, and she looked at Tom.

“Well, go on, tell us the story,” his jolly voice said.

“There really isn’t any story, Dad. It just happened.”

“It did not ‘just happen’.” Adrien pointed his spoon. Dang it, he looked amazing in the shirt she’d intended for civilian Chat. Of course he’d have a superhero’s figure. “You initiated it.”

“What about everything before? That was all you.”

Adrien’s brows creased. “Now that’s not fair. Everything before it was both of us.”

“You almost initiated it first.”

He tossed his hands up. “But I didn’t!”

Marinette set her palms on the table. “Meaning you clearly wanted to first.”

“Not any more than you did.”

“Oh please!” With a fake laugh, a slap on the table had her bowl clanking. To distract herself from her exasperation, she started buttering a crusty baguette slice with rouille sauce. “Who initiated it the second time?”

“Because you were too prideful to admit that it—” His eyes darted mid-realisation to her parents watching, feverishly interested, like they were in a soap opera, “—That we, did– do, work together!”

Adrien’s expression was pained as his knuckles whitened around his spoon, staring at her with angry, mutilated vulnerability like she’d been the one to stab it. A lump of red sauce slid off her knife amidst the silence and bloodied the tablecloth.

Although she knew Adrien’s words were a metaphor for enjoying their kiss, it screamed reality in her face – what she’d been running away from since she’d pulled him into that drugging moment. She couldn’t admit it wasn’t a mistake because of the bigger picture. What if she and Adrien did work?

But that was t thing! They couldn’t— Uh, didn’t. They did not work. Never would. She loathed him, as almost comical as that constant ragging, meaningless reminder was.

This was about Chat. As much as she longed to fill that void of the perfect man with the broken shell of one, she couldn’t. Because it would become too hard to keep lying to herself.

“Oh. Sorry, Mum. I’ll clean that up.”

As she scrubbed the stain with a napkin severely, her dad let out a much-needed sound of humour. “Wow! Oh boy, do you two have a story to tell our grandkids.”

Adrien choked on his next mouthful of bouillabaisse.

“You argue like an old married couple.” Sabine grinned sheepishly, passing Marinette more napkins that weren’t doing anything to get the spot out. “Are you alright, Adrien? Are you enjoying the food?”

“I am.” He coughed. “Really. Just got some stuck in my throat. And sorry for uh, yelling at your daughter. Our arguments are always silly.”

Marinette stared at him with her jaw falling at the absolute understatement that ‘yelling’ and ‘silly arguments’ actually entailed over the course of forever.

“Yeah, we really never fight,” she muttered.

He rolled his eyes and sipped some water.

Her phone buzzed.

“Marinette, you have a guest. No phones at the table.”

“Yeah, princess, you never ignore me.” Adrien’s glare over his cup could’ve scared ghosts.

“Sorry, Mum. It’s Alya.” As she glanced at her phone to try to shut off the ringer, her eyes followed Alya’s message. Lots of exclamation marks. Excitement. Confetti emoji.

—The completely inappropriate tone for the message that drop-kicked her heart to her gut.

“Oh no.”

Her mother, mid-collecting the used napkins, searched for Marinette’s gaze. “Honey? What’s wrong?”

She held out her phone to Adrien, then watched as his expression went through the same turmoil hers did a second ago, paling until he mustered the voice to read it aloud.

“Lila’s coming back…”

Chapter Text

“What’s your deal with Lila, bro? Ever since we found out she was coming back you haven’t been excited at all.”

“She’s—”

A two-faced lying, predatory witch that sent him hiding in his own grave, making it technically her fault he’d had to walk into school with a complaining Marinette on his arm for the last few months.

So technically, it was Lila’s fault the pattern of Marinette’s heartbeat and hot breath replayed on his mind all night as he clung to his new shirt; Lila’s fault the memory of rosy lips latching to his like magnets couldn’t be burned; Lila’s fault the soppy, sweetened smell behind Marinette’s ears were phantom wafts in the stainless air of his room. It was all Lila’s fault he was still thinking about Marinette.

Adrien hated Lila.

“She just wouldn’t leave me alone last semester.” Passing Nino the last of his orange juice, his knee bounced under the desk. In front of him, there was a clean view of the “Welcome back Lila!” whiteboard beside chemical formulas – no stumbling girl through the door, no nails behind him tapping to Jagged Stone’s latest album, or cookies somehow falling near his shoe.

It was Lila’s fault that Marinette would, for once, have a pretty good reason to hate him if she ever found out what he’d done.

He really hated Lila.

“Hey! I remember Marinette didn’t get along with her, somehow.” Nino noticed him watching the empty seat in front of him. “Is that why she didn’t come today? That’s a bit drastic...”

“No.”

She didn’t come to school because Adrien was there.

And they had kissed last night. A… healthy amount.

(She could’ve just been late, but growing up with a projecting father didn’t teach him to ever not take things personally.)

“Didn’t you go to her place yesterday?”

“Yeah, after the park. We got caught in the rain and then went to hers for dinner. After all that she probably got cold feet.”

“You mean a cold?

“Ah. Yeah, that.”

His knee bounced more vigorously.

“Hey Nino, I wanna be honest with you about something—"

“Hi everyone!”

“Hi, Lila!”

Adrien’s jaw hardened as Lila’s shrill voice rattled the peace. Nino and other classmates leapt out of their seats to greet the vixen with amorous praise and questions about her trip to Achu, or whatever she’d told the masses.

“Adrien! I’ve missed you so much!”

Sadly, she saw him before he could jump out the window to his death, and soon the cold bangles on her wrists zapped his face as she held his head to French-greet him. His mouth was too busy fighting a sour look to kiss her cheeks back. He hadn’t felt as raw anger as this since his first feud with Marinette.

“Did you miss me?!” she squealed, squishing him into Nino’s spot that he’d vacated to greet her. “Since you’re such an excellent student, you can help me catch up on all the schoolwork I’ve missed since traveling with my parents! Would you do that for me?”

Adrien wasn’t fifteen anymore. He’d since learnt that others were allowed to be aware he had boundaries. Years of fangirls, stalkers, and intense personal invasions granted him a lot of patience but not a lot of tolerance for obvious acts of attention. Lila didn’t like him – she liked his last name, and any connection to him meant some of her lies could come true.

“I’m super busy actually.” His eyes dropped to her handful of books on his desk. Finger extended, he pushed the clutter back like he’d contract germs. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding a tutor. Everyone here,” he nodded to the rest of the class gathered near the door, “has missed you and your… stories a lot.”

“Oh! I see how I could be such an inconvenience to you, with you being a famous model and all. I can’t imagine your schedule with fans. You must think so lowly of me! I’m so embarrassed that I even asked you—”

“Adrien, c’mon.” Alya was glaring his way. Wait, Alya? Right, ok. Anger management might be on the table after this.

He sighed. “Lila, I just said I’m busy. Please respect that.”

“Dude,” now Nino was looking at him nastily, “she’s just been doing missionary work and saving lives. It’s the least you could do.”

“So you want to help her then?” he snapped.

“You know my grades aren’t nearly as good as yours!”

Lila broke out with a hurt noise. “My return is causing so much trouble! Maybe I should have just stayed on the other side of the world…”

“Lila,” he gritted, “don’t say nonsense like that.” Of course she should’ve stayed on the other side of the world – Adrien wasn’t stupid, however, and knew she’d likely never even left the district.

“Aw! Adrien…”

She took his words as sympathy and invited herself to snuggle into his side just as the door crashed down with someone’s tardy – and theatrical – entrance. Never before had the sight of a dishevelled, huffing Marinette with her hair half-falling out and croissant hanging out her mouth sent his heart flying so high.

“Marinette!”

“Marinette,” Lila’s voice spat at the same time.

“I’m so sorry I’m late! I’m—Wait Chemistry hasn’t started has it? Why is everyone—?” Stepping past the people clogging the front, Marinette caught his wide-eyed, helpless victim look as Lila glared, disgusted, hands buried in the collar of his shirt.

She blinked.

“—The heck is that?”

“Lila’s come home,” Chloé muttered from her desk, blowing filed nails.

“Marinette!” Alya nudged her. “Lila’s back today, remember? How great is that!”

Adrien—and only Adrien—noticed her mouth, “Not that great” while Lila’s purchase of his clothes tightened. Her ten-inch volumed bangs beneath his nose made him want to sneeze and then shower ten times. Nothing about his face read, “I don’t want to die right now,” as Marinette examined him.

“Lila was just asking Adrien to help her catch up with schoolwork. You know, since that’d be something really nice he would do, right?”

Was Alya trying to use Marinette to convince him to help her?

“Adrien’s busy,” she deadpanned.

Oh. Thank. Everything.

Adrien shrugged, unapologetic. “I’m busy.”

“Well Marinette, you should help her then—”

“No!” the girl in his ear shrieked at the same time as Marinette.

“I mean,” Lila corrected, “I see I’m just causing so much trouble, so no one worry about me. I’ll just have to join detention to stay back to catch up since you all have so many things going on… I guess I’ll have to cancel on all the disabled kids I take care of after school.”

Adrien and Marinette didn’t budge as the few spectators looked onward in shock.

“Oh, I can just help you, Lila,” Max chimed as he headed up the stairwell to his seat. He’d arrived to catch the last of the disruption. “I’ve finished working on my robot, Markov, so there’s an 80% chance I could help you whenever you’re free.”

Before Lila could reject or accept, Adrien shouted a loud, “Thanks Max! Means a lot,” and he felt the body reeking of cheap perfume shrink next to him. “Marinette and I have plans tonight, anyway.”

Repulsion swerved. “Marinette?”

“Yeah, me. And by the way,” they looked up to see Marinette careening at Lila, fist on hip and half-eaten croissant used to point at Lila’s spot, “that’s my boyfriend’s seat.”

“Oh?” Her voice snapped to a forced high-octave and she looked between them with a stretched smile. “You two are still dating? Wow! All those little arguments must have just been for show. I can’t believe…”

"What? That we lasted?" Adrien's vision narrowed into hers. Her whole master plan to complain her way to a 'breakup' didn't work—namely, because a real breakup was a paradox for a fake-relationship. "Miss Bustier helped us work through some stuff, actually, after a few people... spoke to her about us. Thanks to whoever they were, we're more in love than ever."

Really, they had learnt to argue more privately, and pretending to be in love over time… ok it naturally became easier, he could testify, along with all that painstaking practice. They still caught each other trying to hide in the same spot during akuma attacks and had found creative ways to argue discreetly (glances, note exchanges, kicking under tables, locker vandalism). Adrien knew how to wear a mask. It was a full-time job – in a superhero suit, and without.

“Well! Isn’t that great news!” Lila chirped, clasping her hands. “I’m so sorry though, Nino. I’m not sure if Miss Bustier reminded you about my hearing condition. I have to sit up the front. Do you mind if I sit here and Adrien sits in your seat?”

“Hey, no biggie!” Nino grinned, already sitting atop Marinette’s desk beside his girlfriend. “I’m chill here. If Mylene sits with Ivan, and Alix with Nate, there’s a spare desk up the back for Marinette if she’s cool with that.”

“Oh! Really? You guys are so kind and wonderful. Thank you so much for being so considerate.”

The students hurried to rearrange themselves without a glance of acknowledgement towards Marinette standing like a pillar on the stairwell. Her brow creased while the rest of her froze trying not to look hurt. It was all brazen… rudeness. Was it weird he was upset that people were treating Marinette how he’d once dreamed they’d treat her? (No: Because in this case it wasn’t justified. Hashtag ‘in-denial’ logic.) He didn’t dwell on it. In fact, Adrien hadn’t been thinking through a lot of things in the past week.

He frowned, feeling his body stand up on its own and push past Lila. His bag proudly nudged her on his way.

“Hey, where are you going?!”

Now behind Marinette, his hand slipped on the curve of her back ready to guide her to their new seating arrangement. “With her.”

And before they could ascend, Marinette whipped around and kissed him hastily. She pressed deeper so their lips slotted and brought every second and craving from yesterday rapidly returning frame-by-frame. Hers were buttery and tasted of croissants and relief.

Before pulling off, Marinette sided a glance to Lila and carried herself up the stairs with Adrien’s firmer hand still around her.

Miss Bustier finally arrived and no commotion could be made after that.

Where anyone could hear, anyway.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“You just kissed me—.”

“I know. I was there.”

Adrien held his face in his hands, grinning ear-to-ear. He may as well be kicking his feet giddily under the desk.

After Marinette’s vindication yesterday, who could blame Adrien for floating on the upper hand she’d passed on a silver platter? She’d be lucky if he ever let this one go. It was a miracle they’d even made it this far without him bringing it up – Miss Bustier had taught a class and given worksheets for everyone to complete, and Adrien had been respectfully shut up until this point. Marinette was almost sure she’d make it the whole lesson, but then his stupid grin swerved her way.

“—You know who else was there? Everyone.”

Marinette crossed her arms and slumped. “So?”

“Lila was there. Like wow! That was amazing! Did you see her face?”

A smile crept as if fighting the ecstasy. Adrenaline and hypertension lingered in her system. The adrenaline from the kiss, and hypertension from banging her face in her pillow all night hoping Adrien would get out of it.  “I did. It made it worth it.”

He shook his head and tapped the rubber of his pencil on his formula sheet. “I always thought I’d be the one to crack first and make a public scene.”

Marinette felt blood rush up her cheeks to her ears. She framed it as anger with a tight tone. “What do you mean, crack first?”

His face was so proud and incredulous it was pitying. “Marinette, unlike you, I’ve let go of the hot-headed pride that stops me from admitting I like kissing you. You think yesterday just happened without me imagining it already countless times, in countless ways, in front of countless different people? I’d happily be rejected by my dream girl again just so you’ll make me shut up, and then I’d feel you physically fight yourself from pulling away, which you’ll also never admit you do.”

Oh man.

Oh. man.

Her entire resolve today would be cataclysmed just by Adrien’s boldness. How come the events of yesterday could turn him into a sappy, wide-toothed idiot out to fluster her instead of provoke her, while she was sweating with every recall of their fight, their kiss, their other kiss – their other fight? How was he calm?! How wasn’t he picking a fight, bleaching his mouth, spitting on the ground, reminding her that she was the scum of the earth and that every ‘poor guy’ she confessed to should reject her?!

How come Adrien­—her worst enemy—seemed to… to be more into her than Chat Noir? – Her best friend. Her partner. The guy she’d actually been flirting with for most of the year.

Why. Why. WHY.

Why didn’t she care more? Why didn’t Adrien!

Why wasn’t Chat Noir on her mind more? Why did the rejection stop stinging as soon as her dearly despised pushed open her lips and whispered sweet lies of nothing? Why did it feel so dang good when she was in love and heartbroken over the complete antitheses of who Adrien was as a person?!

No. No she couldn’t think about it anymore now or she would just puke on Ivan’s head.

“All I hear is your ego.” She looked over him with trulucent eyes. “I’m not stopping myself from admitting anything.”

“Oh yeah? You stopped yourself from admitting a lot last night.”

“Did not.”

“Did so. At least your mouth ended up admitting it all, anyway.”

“Would you—” She stopped herself from groaning, fisting her bangs and shutting her eyes. “If you don’t shut up, we’re going to cause a scene.”

“Oh because we never do that.”

“Adrien,” she hissed. “We have to start being more careful. After last night at the table, my parents are probably suspicious.”

“You mean the parents that are expecting me to bear their grandchildren?” he smirked. “I bet if we were honest with your parents anyway, they’d be on my side.”

“They would not.”

His grin somehow got wider. “I’d tell them all about how their daughter always comes onto me, even though she hates my guts, then blabbers on about how I don’t affect her—”

“Adrien.”

“—how it doesn’t mean anything to her, that she’ll never do it again – then miraculously, she does it again—”

Her fingers slammed on the desk, voice sharp as a tack. “Are you really doing this here?”

“I’d argue with you anywhere baby.”

She hated when he called her that and he knew it.

“I know why you’re really late to class,” he volleyed.

“I’m always late to class.”

He crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back. Now that they were beside the windows, the sun softened the already gloating warmth of his green eyes looking at her. Who looked at people like that? Criminal. “You couldn’t stop thinking about yesterday, could you?”

She flashed her face away. “I was fine.”

“You were so thinking about it.”

“Pff...”

“All night you were thinking about me. My lips.” He puckered and made smooching noises. “Kissing you over and over.” Dang. It was like he’d been inside her mind last night – but she only re-imagined the day, repeatedly, to analyse where she went wrong and instil regret (it didn’t work).

“When you didn’t push me away.”

As she shoved him back half-heartedly with giggles he invited himself to make exaggerated kissing noises near her ear and neck. After three or four they slowly became real tender presses, and something electric shot up her spine. Then at one point, his mouth covered her earring and her smothered laughter stopped with a plummeting gut.

What?

Wait, no.

She wasn’t supposed to like this guy. What was happening.

He pulled away, smug. “Just admit you were thinking about it. Even a little.”

“Are you trying to tell me you couldn’t stop thinking about it?” she snapped, thinking she’d gotten him.

“Ha! Absolutely. I smelt you on my clothes for hours and couldn’t stop replaying the feeling of having little air to share between us.” He stared, powerfully, watching her cower into a beet-red slouch. “I’d glance at the clock and wonder if you were up this late remembering how I spun you around on your desk until that guy left your mind.”

She had been.

Maybe for even longer than he.

“Then I’d think if you were still trying to convince yourself it didn’t mean anything.” His features softened with the delicacy of a watercolour splash. “Remember saying that?”

The walls in her throat were closing abruptly. “Adrien…”

He turned and began his worksheet like he hadn’t just been inches from her face. He breezed through the first equation like it was grade-school work. “I was convinced you wouldn’t come to school so you wouldn’t have to see me.”

She had considered it. Especially with Lila’s arrival. But she… wanted to see him? Wanted to fight? Wanted to act like nothing happened? Wanted to explain herself and commit to a truce? She’d thought long and hard about a solution to her madness. (As long and hard as you can shooting awake and running to school with a croissant because the epiphany of the arrangement you’d had while asleep woke you up.)

“I wanted to see you. I actually something wanted to tell you. Ah, wanted to tell you something! I want to tell you something, Adrien.”

The pencil tripped out of his fingers and scattered on the floor.

She cleared her throat. “So… we don’t get along well.”

He blinked. “Really.”

“Let me finish. Gah, you always speak over me—”

“Well you never get to the point and annoying you is just so easy.”

“Can you give me five seconds to speak!”

“If you admit you were thinking about me last night.”

She stared. He stared back.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” His teeth peered.

“Fine. Fine. I was thinking about it. It meant something to me, okay? I couldn’t convince myself otherwise. Which is what I wanted to talk to you about, because I— I realise why it meant something to me…”

Something in the air changed. Adrien’s face turned tender and breakable – like he was standing at the cliff of her words in anticipation. His pencil was lost and he couldn’t even blink as he waited for her to choke the words out.

“I might be really crazy for saying this but—”

“No no just say it Marinette, say it please.”

She swallowed. “Obviously, after being rejected by that guy, I was… I wasn’t… doing well. And you weren’t either, with that dumb girl and all. And I admit we have great chemistry in certain areas.”

“Yes.”

“So, I—  Well it took a lot of the pain away – being something I wasn’t with you. Pretending not to hate you for a second. I just took out my hurt on you and you took it out on me. And honestly, you look a little like… him. That’s probably why it felt so relieving. I don’t know if that’s healthy but after yesterday I… I don’t mind doing it again. If it just so happens, I guess…”

The light in Adrien’s face faded.

“You…”

“I didn’t regret it. You caught me! I don’t regret anything.”

For a man so quick-witted nothing came out of his mouth for a good, long time.

“I know we’re not destined to partner up in anything with how we are,” she tried to say humorously, “but I think we could use this fake-dating thing to help each other get over the other people. Since we can’t tell anyone else. Besides, we need a truce on something.”

“You’re right.” He brought a closed fist to the desk and stared down at the incomplete formulas. “We’re not ever destined to be together.”

Marinette tried to see his face, but he turned it. She swallowed.

“Sorry for bringing her up. I didn’t mean to remind you—”

“Of being rejected?” He faced her. “It happens. All the time. So yeah, I say we make the most out of our sucky situations. I’ll try anything to get Lila to leave me alone at this point. Besides, we might get caught arguing less and lower Luka’s suspicion,” he said with a light smile. “Is he still asking you about me?”

“Yep. Every time you don’t come to the Kitty Section practice, and every time you do he catches us screaming at each other, like he knows we would be.”

Luka seemed the type of guy to have senses outside the human form, and around him, Marinette was paranoid that he had suspicions about the legitimacy of Adrien and Marinette’s feelings towards each other – as he should, because there weren’t any. Besides black rage.

"Well, I'll be there next time to get him off your back, and maybe that other jerk off your mind."

Sharing a rare smile, Marinette brought out an extra pencil in her bag and passed it. “Deal.”

Chapter Text

“But I looked so good.”

“We’re not swapping miraculous again! That was dangerous and we had no other choice.”

Chat Noir held out his wrists. “Red just felt like my colour for a moment there.”

“Oh yeah, Buga-boy? The other week you said black made your eyes stand out.”

He planted his hands on his hips. “It’s not my fault I look good in everything.”

“How about you start looking more for who could be a good Hawk Moth?  As much as I loved that time you saw how hard being Ladybug is, we have to use this time off to do our job.”

Chat scoffed and a piece of his short hair blew out of his eyes. The afternoon sun dipped between buildings and spread their makeshift workplace atop East Avenue with clean light, which bounced off Chat’s black suit in her peripheral as she paced.

The last time they had free time together, he was pausing her life-altering confession to – in the most perfect-masculine-gentlemanly way – fire an AK-47 at her hopes of a romantic pursuit of him. Add “friend-zoned by a hot furry superhero” on her achievement list under, “eaten by a dinosaur”, “swam through Paris” and, “aggressively made out with her (non-superhero-related) enemy”. That last one, no comment.

Chat Noir saw her as a friend and nothing more. Maybe forever. She hadn’t debated how times could change. What if one day they shared identities? What if he was actually some despicable person she ended up loathing, then she could heal, and realise his perfection came with the mask?

Honestly, even if he was a nightmare as a civilian, she betted that her idiot self would find a way to fall in love with him again regardless.

For now, the charming smile and absence of nicknames would distract her from remembering the vermin that came to school today, the too-short a kiss, and the fact she’d be meeting Adrien at Luka’s house an hour from now. Or two, since being late came more naturally than getting herself into inhumane situations.

All teens had stress. Some had slipping grades. Some were named Kim. Some were in love with and rejected by their superhero partner while nursing a burgeoning temptation towards their enemy-slash-fake-boyfriend-slash-new-deskmate-slash-maybe-friend? And was also responsible for everyone’s lives in Paris, daily.

Despite everything, she had an unpaid job to do. Investigating the leads, motives, and likely drugs to do with Hawk Moth could get them closer to the final goal of his capture. That way, she just so happened to never have to see Chat again… which had nothing to do with her being a responsible Ladybug!

“I say we rule him as an underground nutcase and call it a day.” Chat shook his short mane. “I gotta be somewhere in an hour.”

“What? That’s plenty of time.”

He extended his staff discreetly and it caught up under her feet, causing her to yelp and faceplant on the roof before a cackle filled her reality. “I like to be early. Late people always get tripped up,” he giggled.

Cheek to the cement, seeing his bright face reminded her that this idiot somehow managed to woo her. Once upon a time. “That was so lame it’s not even funny.”

“I know,” he laughed. “I’ve just been waiting for a good time to do that. You haven’t stopped walking in circles for thirty minutes now.”

She groaned getting up. “It’s important we unmask him, that’s all. We have no leads. Gabriel Agreste got akumatised and now we have nothing!”

Chat twirled a pen and stared at the single white sheet between them. They’d accomplished nothing but avoiding the existence of their midnight interaction and getting distracted reminiscing about old battles while ‘sifting for evidence’.

“Don’t worry M’l- Ladybug. We’re not detectives. We do our jobs the best we can and fight the same pigeon guy twice a week. Though it’s not pretty on my allergies, we make a great team and stop Hawk Moth every time!”

She smiled sadly. “Yeah, we do.”

“But really,” he continued, “I can’t think of anything besides anyone who hasn’t been akumatised yet. Like some lonely dude who needs to get a life. I mean, what old man sends vulnerable people out to fight teenagers for him? That’s beyond sad. No way that guy doesn’t have a massive leaving-the-house problem.”

“Hey! That’s a good start,” she said, like they hadn’t already been discussing ‘good starts’ for half an hour that lead to, ‘Hey! Remember that time in battle when…’

“Write that down Chat. We’ll start looking into creepy recluses with a jewellery fetish.”

“Purrr-fect…” he muttered as he scribbled. When he looked up, she was no longer pacing, but sitting before the city with her long, red-streaked ponytail stirring behind.

“Hey,” he tilted his head, “you feeling okay?”

She smiled weakly because he always knew. “Unfortunately yes. My health is fantastic. So I still gotta go to school every day.”

His claws against the brick scratched as he came closer. He swung his feet off the ledge and beheld the city’s unchaotic abyss beside her. “Is it about that guy who keeps pestering you? You haven’t brought him up in a while.”

She just looked at him.

“Ok ‘pestering’ was putting it lightly. The prankster? Gaslighter? Terroriser? Stalker?”

“No, no, stop. It’s—” Agh. Those names. She really described him as all that? Adrien? The same Adrien…

Chat’s words were like gasoline to a hurting flame.

“—I don’t know. Sorry. Yeah. It’s sort of about him…”

“Oh,” he said eloquently.

Ladybug let go of her yoyo off the five-foot building, then brought it back up.

“Is he giving you more trouble? Because you know L-B, I will cataclysm your school if I have to. His house. Anything. Just tell me what’s going on.”

She drew a long sigh while her yoyo came back into her hand. “I hate not being able to tell you everything.”

He set his hand on her shoulder. A gesture like that used to give her butterflies. Why not now? “Same. You have no idea.”

He swung his legs like a kid, just sitting beside her, before she asked tentatively. “Uh, that girl? Is she still the bane of your existence?”

The liveliness of his expression evaporated, like some harsh reality crashed over him. She didn’t mean to remind him of her – The way he used to go on and on about this cretin of a woman that followed him around then denied it, that publicly destroyed a present his family gave him, and tampered with all his stuff. Oh goodness, she sounded like a nightmare that could rival a character like Lila. But since with all their saving the city and stuff, they had less time to vent to each other about their respective civilian lives. At least, that’s why she’d assumed he hadn’t brought her up for a while.

“She’s… well, she’s…”

Confusion crossed her face. “Worse? Better?”

He held his face in his hands. “Both. Evidently.”

“So… she’s changed?”

He fell silent a long while. “Maybe I just have. All I know is, we’re not what we used to be, and I intend to keep it that way. I don’t want to go back to it all. But it sounds like she may have other plans.”

Ladybug made a disgusted noise. “Wow. Like I thought, she’s deciding to stay horrible. Good thing you’re trying to change your way of going about her. That’s a big thing to do. Keep at it until she realises what a tragic mistake it is not being able to be civil with you.”

He laughed dryly. “So what about Mr. Evil?”

“Still evil. Now trying to be Mr. Nice guy.”

“No way!”

“Yeah, he even gave me food the other day after trying to walk me to school.”

“I hope you didn’t fall for that.”

She stretched her shoulders. “Yeah, I didn’t know whether to believe it either. Like, it was a gradual change, but any change from him seems impossible. Then I thought it was just my trust issues but…”

“Ladybug, if all the previous stuff you’ve told me about this guy is true, then I wouldn’t believe he’s one-hundred percent genuine either. I mean, what if it’s leading to a big prank?”

The yoyo caught in her hand and she flashed her face to him. “No. No he wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh. Are you sure?”

Was she?

“He’s been different lately. Apologising for stuff, less hostile – we still argue like crazy! – but he’s… what’s the word? Softer…”

Chat furrowed his brows. “Sounds suspish. I say you keep your guard up. He could be trying to weaken you – don’t let him do that. Remember all those stunts he pulled? You never know when he’s going to go back to that and catch you when you’re being vulnerable.”

She didn’t want to believe a word Chat said.

“Wow. I guess that’s true…” she mumbled, her lips buzzing at a memory. “Thanks Chat, I’ll keep doing that. We have strict agreements so just in case he’s forgotten, I’ll let him know I’m not changing what I think of him.”

He nodded. “Queen behaviour. Make sure he knows who he’s dealing with.”

Yeah - Ladybug. Adrien was trying to have an effect on Ladybug it was working.

Chat Noir had good advice. And hair. And smile when he reminded her (more or less) that she had no feelings for Adrien – It was just euphoria because it burnt the rest of the world away. It burnt the memory of Chat away. By kissing her enemy, she was neutralising her angst with her greatest love. It was just science! Or math, or… bullocks, honestly.

Glowing from Chat Noir’s pep-talk and untraceable delicious scent, Marinette was going to attend Juleka’s house with two motives.

1. Remind herself and Adrien what they were.

And 2. Get Chat Noir off her mind.

Time to kill two birds with one stone.

Adrien had been to Juleka’s… boat? houseboat? twice already. It was a grand mass beside the Seine with bulls-eye windows, a stage on deck, and a domestic interior.

And Juleka’s brother. He lived there.

Last visit, he’d hung with Nino while Alya babysat and Marinette occupied herself with literally anyone else, all bubbly and spry, occasionally coming over to give him (possibly poisoned) food and drink followed by a kiss on the cheek. Minimal and safe interactions – they had seemed like the perfect couple, to everyone except –

“Luka! Great to see you again.”

After that last visit, Marinette mentioned that Luka was asking about them like he didn’t believe their story. Juleka had – evidently – never told Luka they were dating, but long beforehand, often complained about their bickering and ‘palpable romantic tension’. This proved a) Juleka did actually speak, and b) Luka knew their history and seemed to think he knew how compatible they were.

“Adrien!” He shook his hand, taking a crocodile guitar pick out of his mouth with the other. “Hey man. Is Marinette with you?”

“She is.”

His slit brows furrowed. He looked over his shoulder to streets bathed in the golden hour. “I can’t see her.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah, she’s—” he rubbed his neck, “she’s going to be with me later. She’s running late. You know how my girl is.”

The guitarist looked at him for a beat. “Right.”

Adrien cleared his throat. One would think home-schooling made awkwardness imperceptible to him – No. He could tell Luka did not like him. “Are you guys practising any new music tonight?”

“I’d like to,” he half-smiled. “I write a lot but it’s hard to get the whole group in on it. I mean, could you imagine Rose’s voice screaming about a sweet girl with midnight hair?”

The breeze stirred.

A slight crack formed in Adrien’s polite demeanour. “I think I’d like to hear that one.”

Luka shrugged, tuning his electric guitar. “The lyrics could be upsetting to some.”

Adrien leant closer. “I’d like to hear them anyway.”

He set down his equipment and hid a shy gaze behind drapes of blue-tipped hair. As he stood off his stool and commented about feeling thirsty and if Adrien wanted a drink, he’d planned not to let the emo-boy slink away so quickly. But an excited chorus of his name had him whipping around on the dock.

“Adrien!” Marinette leapt into his arms before he had time to adopt his character, then started peppering his frozen face with a few kisses. “You’re here!”

“ You’re here? On-time?” The glow on her face – real or not – was enough to deteriorate Luka from his peripheral.

“One minute late, but who’s counting? I just couldn’t wait to see you.” She planted glossed lips on his cheek again. Luka was two steps into his escape behind him.

“Luka! How’s that songwriting you were telling me about going?” she said.

Adrien snapped his head back around.

“Oh, it’s… I’m trying to find the right melody. I know one—” he hopped off the elevated stage platform and added quietly as he strolled off, “but I think the wrong song’s already using it.”

Wrong song?

Adrien wouldn’t forget he said that.

And he’d make sure Luka didn’t either.

Chapter Text

Marinette was supposed to be late – really, she had planned it and everything, in the name of fashion – but to leave Adrien and Luka alone when… Adrien and Luka would be alone. Yeah. Yeah she sprinted.

Besides, being with Chat Noir and the unspoken rejection hanging in the air like a dead body had gone on long enough. So after a professional and strictly-platonic discussion, they parted ways, and she just maybe used the spotted super-suit for transport to see Adrien quicker. She could admit to herself with grave humility that he helped clear her mind, but that was all. (And maybe the term ‘clear’ was more like ‘intoxicate’, ‘satiate’, or ‘relieve’, but those words made it sound like she enjoyed smushing mouths with her on-hold enemy a little too much. So she’d stick with ‘clear’.)

Don’t forget that Adrien could turn back on her any moment, too. She – Marinette Dupain-Cheng/kickass superhero – wasn’t letting her guard down that easy just because they’d, what, changed a little? Grown? Hadn’t accidentally met up before akuma attacks or bit each other’s heads off lately? Perhaps it all made up his master plan to conquer her. Perhaps he’d internally repented for his vice. Or perhaps she helped him get over the girl he was rejected by, just like he did for her.

So decidedly, Marinette would enjoy him – uh, their interactions where she could while her heart remained in hospital.

Even the little things, like having him pass her the drink flavour she liked that he used to argue with her about, and taking the cup to the trash when she was done, all wordlessly, just made that inner ache turn marvellously positive. Not that she could enjoy it in full considering their closeness was a spectacle; an act, and people were paying admission.

More of their classmates entered the dock as golden hour watched over them, along with another set of eyes that were less warm.

“Luka’s looking over here again.”

Adrien’s hand slid to the small of her back as he sipped the latest beverage Nino had invented (no one before him had ever mixed orange and pineapple juice with soda water). “Must be because of how lovely your hair is today. Did you wash it?” He leant and inhaled near her ear. “Smells like lavender. It’s nice.” When she just looked down, hoping a blush didn’t appear, he added, “Don’t worry about him. I’m here.”

A constriction of betrayal in her chest expected him to care a little more about Luka. Not that she wanted Adrien to think she was, you know, ‘his’ or anything. That was crazy. Just like she’d have no problem if some random girl wouldn’t stop staring at him, or played songs for him, or—

Dang it.

Her sweat glands opened. Every part of her cared.

“No way! You guys came?”

Alix was setting down matching water flasks as Kim engulfed her and Adrien in a meaty hug. She pushed the sticking pink hair from her forehead and beamed. “Sure did! We were finishing a run in the area together. Wouldn’t pass all of you guys.”

“Together?” she blurted.

“No competition?” Adrien said, likely to save her.

“Maybe a little at the start,” Alix ribbed Kim, “before someone stopped letting me win.”

Marinette’s cheeks blew open as she covered her mouth from laughing. She knew him since elementary – Kim didn’t let people win.

“Yeah, well, I liked running beside you a little. Is that so bad?”

With a smile Alix rolled her eyes, and almost 7-foot Kim ruffled Alix’s 5-foot head before exclaiming that he was “so hungry he could eat a Nino” before promptly heading to Max and Nino playing cards at the bow of the ship. Alix’s expression changed noticing Marinette’s bafflement.

“Don’t look at us like you’re surprised. You guys are totally what convinced me that Kim and I would be good together.”

“Huh?” Marinette blurted, but well-spoken this time.

“Yeah, the whole bickering, competition, secret flirting stuff. If you guys could let go of all that pride, then so could I! Now it’s awesome. We can just be ourselves.”

Adrien’s hand fell off Marinette’s back to scratch the nape of his neck. “Wow. That would’ve been… nice.”

“Totally. When you’re friends – heck, rivals even – and trying not to be perfect around each other, you know all their good and bad sides already. It feels more natural and genuine. And any arguments are just so silly once you know you really just like each other. But why am I telling you guys this when you already know? You’re the blueprint. A perfect couple! And see, Marinette still gets red around you, Adrien! It’s the cutest.”

Marinette could think of a lot of words to describe it and “cute” wasn’t one of them.

“Ah, sorry. Kim’s got me a dinner roll and is trying to sneak chilli peppers onto it. Gotta run!”

“See you later, Alix!” Adrien called out, then said contemplatively, “Chilli peppers. Never thought of that.”

“I would handle them anyway,” Marinette snipped.

“You would not.”

“I would!”

“Look at you. You can’t handle spice – you’d be running to splash milk over your face screaming, ‘Ah it burns! Ahh! My mouth! Adrien kiss it better—' Ow!”

Adrien’s bridging laughter got lodged in his throat when Marinette elbowed him. Had they been closer to the railing, she would’ve shoved him off with no remorse and smiled at the splash.  Anything to take her mind off what Alix said would be nice – anything to take her mind off everything, actually, would be a dream.

Because Alix was just talking nonsense. It wasn’t the same, at all.

“I guess it is sort of the same though.”

She penetrated Adrien with a glare for not only reading her thoughts, but having the nerve to disagree with them. “Don’t tell me you bought any of that. We,” she gestured between them harshly, “are not why they got together.”

He sighed whimsically. “Our romance was just so inspiring!”

“Agreste, I swear—”

“Princess,” he implored, and the tone and face and softness and just him made her shut up instantly. “When are you going to stop being so prideful?”

Pride? Pff, yeah, like she had that.

Adrien just filled in her time.

“Oh no…”

Adrien’s hands took the pain of Chat away.

“What?”

Adrien’s mouth nullified the rejection.

“Luka just saw us arguing.”

Adrien’s touch was a distraction.

“He’s coming over here…”

Adrien’s eyes were beautiful.

“Kiss me,” she breathed, enamoured with how he looked down at her. “Slow. Then a little harder, then—”

“I know what to do.”

His thumbs were already pushing her hair behind her ears when he spoke, then he leaned down to kiss her – a smiling mouth taking her in delicately, with pace, like she was a sensual new flavour. The absence of aggression, of built-up anger, of surprise – like she could take her time and enjoy this instead of her body chasing what she’d always thought would be the last time pressed against Adrien. It all just, just–

“Adrien—”

Caused that.

His lips grinned against her mouth, adding that delectable acceleration she pleaded for with her twitching fingers at his neck.

Kissing him should have felt mechanical already, maybe boring, but as the breath shot out his nose with a butterfly-inducing noise when she tilted to kiss him, nothing was boring. The difference was she hadn’t the fear this would be the last time, and she could learn. She knew more now; she knew he tensed whenever her nails curled in his hair and that he’d touch his tongue to hers after five kisses. She knew he liked to be chest-to-chest and pull her against him when her arms wrapped around his neck; she knew Adrien always tasted good, clean – mostly minty with velvet lips, never chapped. She liked fast, shallow kissing, and he liked deep, slow resuscitation, and they’d perform a medley that would leave the touch, the taste, and the torment all replaying in her mind for hours after.

She liked learning these things.

She liked kissing Adrien.

She liked—

(Wait. No, no don’t think about that too hard.)

Whenever she initiated a kiss, he liked to cup her face and eat her alive like her dominance was a lit match to patient gasoline. That fierce hand would run down her back – up, and back down, then fist itself at the dip. His eyes would be moony and ill with a glint of arrogance like he’d proved something to her whenever they pulled away, but that look swelled too many foreign things in her, so she’d usually take back his mouth to avoid exploring the excavating feeling of that.

To the idle glance, it was a romantic, long kiss with a modest amount of heat on the outskirts of a gathering.

To Marinette, it was a painkiller that seared her senses and left her hot, dizzy, and a lifebuoy digging into her back.

She blinked up at the fuzzy shape of him and his cheeks were split from his wild smile, gleeful like he so often was when he saw her crumble at his doing.

“Do you think he remembers seeing us argue?”

Huh?

Oh. Oh Luka. Luka.

That’s what that was for. Haha! Silly, forgetful Marinette…

“Had he been watching?” She tried discreetly peering behind Adrien.

He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

Did it?

“He’s a cool guy, Marinette.” His lingering hand rubbed her shoulder. “We can convince him before he starts spreading rumours or overhearing something he shouldn’t. I’ll go have a civil conversation with him now so he’s not scared of me or my intentions with you. You save us some seats next to Alix before the set starts. I want to hear more about her and Kim.”

She swallowed the taste of mint and croissants down. “Sure do – Uh, will do sure! I mean, oomf—"

He lowered his head and softly kissed her. Painfully tearing away, he smiled, illegally, and headed off towards a peeping Luka like they were some friends.

Right.

Luka saw all of it.

Adrien made sure Luka would see all of it. He looked straight up at Luka while he kissed Marinette before turning her around, pressing her against the safety device taped to the side of the ship possessively.

Seeing Adrien approach, Luka glanced around the deck, and without finding an escape, raised his shoulders for battle and set his electric guitar down.

“Hey man.” Adrien leant on the railing beside him.

Luka looked down. “Hey.”

“You going to play that new song tonight?” It wasn’t farfetched – music jams at the Couffaine’s boat weren’t just about collective dinner snacking and hearing Rose scream through turned-down speakers. There’d be soft playing in the background, mainly from Luka, and others occasionally trying their hand at some instruments or singing together.

From what Nino had told him (when he’d missed out by being his father’s slave), the wholesome evening bred community and friendships like no other. Luka had no excuse not to express some new material in front of his trusted friends after Kitty Section had practised their set.  

“Do you think I should?” Luka said impassively.

“I’ve heard you’re very talented.”

A ray of hope sprung in his light blue eyes. “Did Marinette tell you that?”

“Sure,” he humoured, then watched the sunline. “But be honest with me. You care about her a lot, huh?”

After a long, careful second, Luka nodded. “She’s an extraordinary girl. Clear as a music note, sincere as a melody. She’s been the song I hear in my head since we first met.” Glass eyes piercing him as the sun slid away, Luka turned his whole body towards Adrien. Something like determination darkened his face. “And I don’t plan on letting anyone hurt her.”

He didn’t flinch. “Neither.”

“You used to hate her,” Luka snapped. “People have told me about you two.”

Adrien folded his arms. “And you chose not to hear the part that we’re dating?”

Luka’s gaze ran colder. Despite his dyed hair and piercings, the intense glare didn’t suit him, nor intimidate Adrien. “I don’t plan to stand back and watch you mess with her or cause fights. Your melody is all off.”

It was an effort to not roll his eyes. “We’re not one of your songs. Real relationships have up and downs.”

His head titled. “And when is it going to start being real?”

Adrien could hear his own heartbeat.

A new intensity clung to his expression. Luka’s jaw tightened when Adrien’s breath fell darkly upon him with a raw warning, “You better watch that mouth, because what I feel for her,” he seethed, “is real.”

Luka pulled away an inch and didn’t let the silence talk for long. “There’s something wrong between you two. I know there’s no harmony. She’s hiding something from you.”

“Oh?” Adrien said, patronisingly. “Is it that she’s in love with you instead?”

Luka’s expression didn’t speak. “She’s not in love with you.”

“Well,” he shrugged, unoffended, “sure, if you’re that desperate to make it a competition.” He nodded in Marinette’s direction, who was talking to Alix and Ivan with a bright, lovely face. “But considering that’s my girlfriend blueberry boy—"

Adrien slipped his hand into his coat then rose it an inch from Luka’s face – revealing a dangling lucky charm clutched in a fist

“—I’d say I’ve got a pretty good head start.”

Chapter Text

The commotions of Kitty Section travelled along the Seine as the sun became a flattening teardrop on the horizon. This looming darkness mirrored the inner workings of Adrien Agreste while he sat amongst his friends, the sight of Luka over his shoulder like a speck in the corner of his eye he couldn’t rub away. He didn’t know how much longer he could pretend to be present in the news of the Mecha-Strike-Four release while his girlfriend who hated him watched an emo-guitarist try to make gooey eyes at her.

Each time he wanted to look over his shoulder – check if Marinette was throwing her head back in laughter with a bright, lovely face at Alya’s joke, or had finally turned her attention towards the stage – he took a sip of his juice instead. He’d had three cups now.

“I wanted to buy it for Alix as a surprise but I don’t know if she’s into those gestures.”

“Of course she’d like it!” roared Nino, who prided himself on being an expert in women. “Girls love surprises. Every time I get Alya food and don’t eat it all before getting to her, she’s in love with me all over again.”

Kim fiddled with the sweatband on his wrist. “But you guys are really romantic. Alix and I haven’t been dating long and I’m just… I’m—”

“What, scared?” Nino laughed, ribbing him.

“No!”

“It’s one hundred percent normal to be nervous about it, Kim,” Max spoke up, and Kim hung his head low defeatedly. “Love is a really challenging concept, theoretically and actually. But since Alix really likes you and is also your good friend, you can be confident that she’s going to like whatever nice thing you do for her as well!”

Confidence arrested his posture. “You’re right, Max! I just need to find out what to do for her. Adrien—” His eyes flicked up, “—What kind of stuff do you do for Marinette?”

“Pff,” Nino scoffed, “why not ask me? I’ve been dating Alya longer. No offence, dude.” He slung his arm around Adrien. “But I’m sort of the love expert. I know women, okay? I’m a certified matchmaker. I even helped Adrien and Marinette get together.”

Adrien squinted, “You did?”

All details of the fake-dating lore stumbled out of his brain. Nothing rang a bell – in fact, even in his most desperate state he didn’t think he would put Nino in his story. He loved Nino, of course, but… yeah.

“Duh! When Alya and I started dating, the two had to spend all this time together. And it was my idea to write them kissing for the film festival. Now they call me Doctor Love.”

Adrien’s gaze sharpened. “No one calls you that.”

Nino reclined on the beach chair. “You will.” He grinned. “When you finally thank me.”

“Actually,” Max was looking at Adrien, who shifted in his seat, self-conscience that this conversation would involve more of Marinette and the lie that made his stomach flip when it was brought up, “how did you and Marinette finally resolve all those arguments?”

“Yeah! Did you do a grand romantic gesture? Like a surprise?” Kim shot up eagerly. “I need pointers. Because Alix is so cool but I just worry so much about not making her happy. How did you get Marinette to like you after all those times you guys fought?”

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck. Since sitting with his friends at the bow of the ship, he’d never quite still; there was always a tapping foot somewhere or the impatient opening and closing of a hand. “Uh,” he looked idly at the swaying sea beside the railing and tried to recall how fast he could swim. “It was tough. Very tough. Took a while.”

“What changed?”

What changed.

What could change, was the better question, because what the boys were wondering was what Adrien had been trying to figure out himself. Before he could concoct some stammered lie, Nino chimed in.

“Nothing changed, they just realised they were meant to be. They only fought because they liked each other and didn’t want to admit it, isn’t that right Adrien?” Adrien felt a nudge in his side, but the rest of him felt numb. “So when they spent real time together all the bickering just fell away. All it is is time together.”

Dang, ok. Maybe he would call Nino ‘Doctor Love’ because he just saved his ass.

“When Ladybug locked me in a cage with Alya, it was like, ‘whoa, scary’, but then it was like, ‘whoa, this dudette is my soulmate’. Getting trapped was the best thing that could’ve happened for us.”

Kim looked confused. “I don’t want to lock Alix in a cage.”

“I’m not saying—” Nino facepalmed, “It’s about whether you’re in the cage with her.”

“No! No, it isn’t,” Max cried. “Although I understand your metaphors, Nino, your phrasing could confuse Kim into locking Alix in a cage with him to spend quality time with her. Which, as much as Alix likes you Kim, I don’t think she will be as enthusiastic about your relationship if you do that.”

Kim nodded attentively. “Okay, no cages. But, I already spend time with her. What’s that going to do?”

“There’s time, then there’s special time. You know, that you set aside just for her and do something.”

“Like a date?”

“Yeah!” Nino took off his backward cap. “That’s when you can surprise her. Girls love that stuff.”

What Nino neglected to mention, was that he was as predictable as the sun rising in the east. Alya knew Nino and being a practised journalist, she could piece together every secret date and activity he’d ever planned – then, she’d act surprised and delighted, when a lot of joy was from the fact she’d correctly guessed. Adrien remembered laughing earnestly when Marinette had let this little titbit of information out and made him swear not to tell Nino.

“Nino does a lot of surprises for Alya.” Adrien nodded.

“It’s true, I’m great at them.”

“So I should surprise her with a date?”

Max patted his best friend’s shoulder. “If you want to, but don’t stress yourself out over it. Remember it’s about your connection and not just your actions. You have a virtuous motive and elevated chemistry.”

He stared blankly. “I miss Markov being here to translate you for me.”

“Go for it, Kim!” Nino pumped his fist. “We’ll help you with whatever you need. We at least know she likes Mecha Strike, so let’s go off that. Create a masterplan.”

Kim beamed and his legs bounced like an excited little kid’s. “You guys are the best.”

“It’s that simple?” When three pairs of eyes looked at him, Adrien realised he hadn’t mumbled. “The thing about spending time, that is. That’s your weapon, Nino?”

“Well, my amazing good looks and personality are my real weapon with Alya but yeah, I love spending time with her, man. Just us. Don’t tell me you haven’t taken Marinette on a date yet?”

Adrien’s jaw opened, and closed, then he said, “Not… conventionally?”

Nino blinked at him.

“I guess I’m very busy. But I apologised for missing that triple date with you and Ivan. I felt terrible.”

“That’s a date with others around,” Max pointed out. “What about just the two of you?”

Adrien cleared his throat. “We’ve hung out.”

He threw his head back and cast a laugh to the blackening sky. “That’s not the same. You gotta woo her. Surprise her. Make her feel special!” Nino’s enthusiasm dropped noticing the increasing tension seizing Adrien. More gently, he grabbed his friend’s shoulder and smiled assuredly. “She’s your girl. You’ll know what to do.”

Adrien only felt the tension worsen, but his face softened at the kindness of his friend.

“Thanks, Doctor Love.”

“I can barely stand it, Plagg.”

“I love it.”

“My holder is so torn.”

“Mine’s just an idiot.”

Plagg and Tikki sat behind some fishing gear with their treats, onlooking the humans dabble in drama, despair, and dancing. Their own humans also dabbled in stupidity, but Plagg decided that was none of his business.

“They’re both hurting themselves so much! And each other!”

“Right? How poetic! It’s a masterpiece. We’ve seen so much of history and nothing has been more entertaining than this. It’s like watching cheese ferment into a beautiful, lush roll of camembert!”

They didn’t get to debrief often but collected the others’ frustrations in glances through coats or inside of bags. Eyerolls, worried glances, sometimes delight from Plagg. They knew more than what was good for them and couldn’t tell a soul. They had no one but each other—

“Don’t you love it, sugarcube?”

—Tikki didn’t know if that was worse.

“Stop calling me that. You know there’s nothing to enjoy about this. I hate seeing my owner suffer. She’s already got so much on her plate!”

“Then she shouldn’t have gotten into this mess,” Plagg deadpanned.

“Your owner helped get her into this mess.”

“Only because she couldn’t admit she loved looking into those sparkling eyes of his. And last I checked, she seems to be enjoying herself.”

Tikki’s wide eyes glared. “What they’re doing isn’t healthy. But my holder isn’t listening to me. She’s in denial about... a lot of things.” She caught Marinette gazing forlornly at Adrien laughing with his friends, like she wanted to be there, or wanted him to be with her. Tikki knew the look. “Have you talked to your holder about it?”

“I just laugh at him.”

Tikki slapped the cheese out of his hand.

“Hey! What do you want me to do?!” he whined, catching the roll before it fell onto a fishing net. “He’s so sappy. I’m not his therapist.”

“Plagg. I know you care about him. A lot.”

Plagg chewed silently.

“They don’t know what we know, so for them it’s very hard. Just… be there for him. Don’t rub it in his nose that you were right about him having a crush. Be mindful of his feelings.”

“But there’s so many of the feelings.” He threw up his tiny paws. “They just ooze out of him. Like it’ll never end. I don’t know how his heart has the room.”

The Siene splashed against the edges of the ship. Noticing the way Plagg hung his head, Tikki smiled. Plagg had pride, but above that, he carried a soft spot for Adrien. “I’m really glad he’s your holder, Plagg.”

“Yeah,” he tried hiding his grin in the cheese, “I am too.”

The Seine splashed again. Plagg couldn't leave it there.

"He's still an idiot, though."

The trilling noises of youth outsung the music as Kitty Section’s set list ended with the member’s presence on stage. Rose and Ivan instantly leapt to hug their friends and dug into the food. The excitement of the night stretched along the boat and Marinette noticed, amidst the dancing and Kim and Alix’s hot-sauce drinking competition, that Adrien had escaped her peripheral a while ago.

She’d be lying to herself (which she was good at) if she didn’t admit her gaze had been babysitting Adrien during the night. Somehow, he was calm about kissing her against the ship railing. Somehow, he was calm about talking to Luka like a friend. Somehow, he was calm to leave her at the edge of the stage watching Luka privately play a melody – a new song soley of his she hadn’t heard –while blue eyes flickered up to see if she was watching.

She was, but only because the song kept her in place. Luka may have known his guitar’s stirrings travelled through her to maintain her attendance, but the action of playing it had nothing to do with her – is what she was sure of.

“Kind face with midnight hair…” A mumble, if that. A soft thrum in Luka’s throat. “She doesn’t know how much I care…”

She couldn’t listen. This was his private practice; only playing because the rest of their friends were in choruses of commotion. They weren’t meant to hear, but she was too close to the stage to ignore the realisation dawning on her with each chord.

“Eyes of the sky, eyes of the disguise…”

Her heart pounded in her ears. Goosebumps rose on her skin with the closeness of another body now behind her – likely moving around in the joviality and colourful voices. The air was alive with chatter and laughter and the opera of voices pitched a key higher as Kim’s anguish burst out in the distance.

Luka looked up at her and strummed, a confident smirk appearing on his lips like one who had done something they were wickedly proud of. Only then did the body from behind press against the plane of her back firm enough that she knew it was intentional, and before she could question them, a hand latched onto her shoulder, and she knew then it was Adrien. Her heart pounded louder.

Luka continued earnestly playing for her attention, his gaze raw, proud, and all things angering to Adrien. Her fake boyfriend rose his other hand and secured them over her eyes to stop her from giving the guitarist attention.

“Hey!” she cried, nimbly waving him off, but she wasn’t that surprised or all that disturbed. In fact, it was a relief to finally tear her sight and hearing off Luka – She might have not done it herself out of curiosity about where the song was going.

“The show’s over,” he grumbled, his voice at an octave that swelled her heart.

He turned them the other direction, and defiantly staring up at him, the tips of her ears warmed with anger – but not because he’d turned her from Luka’s serenade (which Adrien had been there long enough to recognise it was to her), but because she’d been visually searching for him to no avail. And, for some unscientific reason, she preferred knowing he was in her radius, or better, her company.

But before she could tear into him, his unimpressed face came down and kissed her roughly, hand on her arm tightening, stabilising, securing her, while the other pressed against the hollowing back as she dipped into him, full admission, fully fusing her frame to his.

They were amongst a sea of jovial comradery that swelled with the enthusiasm of innocent adolescence – not that Marinette could pay attention to exactly what was happening there anymore; if Nino had the hot sauce or if Juleka had turned the stage lights to the deck, or if that colour-scatter behind her closed eyes was just the fireworks of her heart.

The kiss was probably 3 seconds but left Marinette near-gasping, nonetheless.

“What did you do that for?” Her dazed expression that read, ‘Please do that again’ belied her accusatory tone.

“You watched his show, he can watch mine.”

She scoffed, humour covering the rush his words gave her, and rolled her eyes. “Well, next time don’t go off to leave me alone with him. He’ll get more suspicious.” Adrien’s gaze hardened, but he didn’t argue. “What did you talk to him about, anyway?”

Adrien’s cheeks dimpled with his closed-mouth smile. “Nothing important.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What!”

He leant forward. “Why so curious?”

“I just—” She blew frustration out of her cheeks. “I’m not curious, I just need to know if you went off making things worse. Who knows what that big mouth will do.”

“You like what this big mouth can do.”

She stilled.

Would he ever just not.

“Yeah,” she said, willing the blush away, “like shutting up.”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t know how to do that.” Then he nudged her shoulder. “But don’t worry, the conversation went fine. I couldn’t get rid of his suspicions entirely but I definitely think I made an impression.”

Cackles resounded, the ever-present reminder that their presence was public and the pressure to be a certain way was everywhere. Marinette couldn’t detach and join the fun, there was too much… everything inside her.

“What type of impression?”

Adrien looked over her shoulder like he couldn’t hear her. The booming noise rose like a flooding deck, and something grabbed her hand. She looked down. It was his.

He pulled.

He darted past the various statures with her tailing. He moved smoothly, walked confidently, and divided them from the cohort slowly. No one noticed or perhaps didn’t call out to question them, not daring to pull themselves from the bubble of fun keeping them rapt.  

“Where are we going?”

“Off the boat.”

“Why?!”

He tossed a look over his shoulder; a skilfully impish look that promised nothing but trouble. “To hang out.”

“We’re hanging out here,” she said, yet wordlessly let Adrien grab her waist to help her off the boat.

“Here? With Luka’s songs about you? Funny.” Then, taking her hand back and striding down the cool road, he said, “I’m taking my girlfriend on a date.”

Oh, this was so people would think they were going off together. He probably was taking her home having noticed her increased anxiety from being around so many people.

“Ah, is that what you told the boys? Clever. The only time they think we’re alone is when we’re arguing in the hallways. This is good for appearances. You should’ve told Luka, too, then he would think we’re going to hang out when we’re just going home.”

“Marinette,” his hand squeezed, “for once I mean this politely, but shut up. We’re not going home.”

She halted them in their tracks.

“What?”

With the wind grazing his hair and winking stars and streetlights over them, he beamed, a genuine, Adrien Agreste model smile.

“I’m taking you to fall in love with me.”

Chapter Text

Marinette tripped over nothing.

It wasn’t a first – certainly wouldn’t be the last – but the reason for the fall was like no other.

Adrien’s strong, resolved, butterfly-inducing (she wasn’t going to elaborate on that) hands scooped her up before her paralysed face could grate against the concrete as fast as her heart almost threw up out of her throat. He secured her waist to hold her against him (because that was surely helping her mind right now) as if he didn’t think she had any control over her body (she didn’t) to be stable enough not to face-plant again.  

Which she just might, because Adrien Agreste was taking her on a date.

And he was acting like it was real!

“…You okay?”

“You’re what?!”

He pulled her back beside him, confidently taking her hand in his again and leading them. Each step was further away from the boat; further away from Luka; further away from anyone being a witness.

“C’mon, we don’t have all night.”

“Adrien, no one can see us hanging out if we leave.”

His smile couldn’t have been cockier. “So?”

Something flipped in her stomach. She hated the feeling because she loved it; she loved whatever was happening so her mind was impossibly mad.

“Why are you still holding my hand?

“That’s what you do on dates.”

“But there’s no one around.”

“I know.”

Another stomach flip. Marinette couldn’t say anything.

He bumped her shoulder with his. “Do you care if people see us?”

She puffed her chest arrogantly. A blockage unstuck in her throat, releasing a pride-stricken, rubbish torrent. “Of course I do, that’s the whole point of fake dating! – So people believe us, you know? I take this seriously. That’s why we need people to see us hanging out otherwise, well, the whole thing is just— See the principle, we just, it’s the whole point. Of course. Yeah. Yes, I care.”

For a moment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection upon his glowing face, and now twilight bathed the length of Pont des Arts as they strode.

“So why haven’t you let go, Marinette?”

Her cheeks burst red.

She faced away. Across the river, the long white cake of buildings dazzled with little lights in a farewell to the sun. Momentarily, she imagined jumping in the Seine to never have to see Adrien’s smug expression again.

She looked down at their clasped hands occasionally knocking their sides, but still didn’t let go. “It’s a uh, safety thing.”

“Oh, of course,” he grinned, nodding. “Because you still think we’re supposed to hate each other.”

That almost made her stop in her tracks. Had he just forgotten the past few months?

(Because she nearly had.)

Or did he only associate her with the new, longing glances in the halls; the elbow brushing that led to playful jabs in class while they worked side-by-side; the heated banter tarrying closer to flirting than arguing; the, well, kissing?

(Because she was beginning to.)

“After whatever this is, you’ll soon remember why I think that.”

“And after our romantic date,” he specified, like those words could make her believe it any more than she didn’t, “you’ll realise why you’re wrong. Why we both have been.”

She didn’t know where they were going, but Adrien’s stride and fixed gaze suggested he did. Was whatever this was spontaneous, or had he planned it? Was it all a big joke? A set-up? Was, “I’m taking you to fall in love with me” an ironic code where he’d get back at her? Prank her again?

Adrien wasn’t… into her,

Right?

Adrien?

The name swirled in her brain, like she was tasting a bittersweet candy, because nothing about his name was supposed to bring her delightful memories, a sense of safety and trust, or this increasingly worrying feeling of pure giddiness that began at her hand he held, shooting up her arm and pounding at her heart – Almost as if knocking, begging to be let in, as if Adrien Agreste (why didn’t that name vex her anymore?!) had a place there beside Chat Noir.

Andre had set up his Sweetheart’s Ice-cream on the Pont des Arts stretch, and the reality that maybe this was a date – a real one – erupted akumas in her gut.

After lining up behind another couple (wait, not another couple – just a couple), Adrien addressed Andre cheerily while Marinette forgot every greeting variation ever.

“Blackberry and peppermint. An explosive mix and that’s a fact! But oftentimes, it’s the opposites that attract.”

Adrien slid a victorious look to her. She pretended to ignore it.

Explosive mix. Opposites attract.

Yeah, right.

Her ponderings drowned the time and soon they were at the toe of the bank, and the firm ground beneath them softened and sand spilled in her sneakers. Past beach changing rooms stood an oblong statue, whose broad base obscured the further view. Marinette didn’t know why he’d brought her there until, tugging her hand, they rounded the structure and she forgot how to breathe.

“My lady,” he said, bowing towards the picnic rug covered in rose petals, clueless to the sentimental weight of that name – clueless to the sting of Chat Noir. “Take a seat.”

But she couldn’t move. If anyone nudged her at that moment, her ice cream would’ve splattered in the sand. She didn’t know what to take in first: Adrien’s charm, the petals, the strung fairy lights on carefully arranged beach umbrellas circling the rug, or how this was almost the date she imagined with Chat Noir – just to learn he’d wanted to hang out as friends.

But this?

This was real. 

And Adrien had done it all for her.

“When… when did you do all this?”

Adrien had seated himself on the rug cheerfully with his dessert, seemingly unbothered if she sat or not – like he was just happy she was there. “During Kitty Section’s set practice. I had lots of ideas but not enough time, so it’s not as grand or romantic as I’d like. And clearly I wasn’t fast enough, because my girlfriend was flirting with the emo guitarist.”

‘My girlfriend’.

In the haze of gratitude, Marinette couldn’t find it in herself to correct him that time.

“I was not flirting.” She finally crossed her legs beside him filling his spoon. “He wasn’t even flirting.”

Without warning, he extended his spoon to stop at her lips. Eyebrows flexed, she took his bait to make her shut up for a moment and sweet blackberry exploded on her tongue.

“Yeah right, I saw those bedroom eyes he was giving you.”

She wiped off her mouth. Indignation rose in her voice. “He so was not!”

“He so was!”

“He was… friendly!”

Adrien broke out in harsh laughter. “Oh that is rubbish.” He poked his spoon. “That guy knew you were listening and made the most of it. He was serenading you.”

“Says who?”

“Says him to me earlier.” Adrien—in another confusing twist of events—inhaled the entire ice cream and (edible?) cone, only taking a moment to swallow. Who was this dude. “He made it seem pretty clear that song was for you.”

She squinted and prodded his chest. “You’re lying.”

“I’m serious! And those lyrics were totally about you!”

She tossed her hands up. The peppermint scoop almost shot in the air. “Lots of girls have dark hair!”

Adrien looked incredulous. “So you’re telling me you don’t think he’s into you?”

She glanced away. “I— Just, shut up!”

“Make me!”

Her face swerved back. His face was daring, like he wanted her to do something.

She closed in. “Maybe I will.”

He leant forward right back, smirk appearing, eyes taunting. “Go on.”

His voice wasn’t as loud that time.

Unable to hold in her nervousness, giggles bubbled out of her as she pushed Adrien’s cheek away, but that didn’t stop him. He bowed into her hand and his surge anchored her backwards. She momentarily tried to push him—and he let her think she could for a second—but his strength suddenly overpowered her, and her back hit the mat as alight emerald eyes poured down into hers.

She laughed again, mainly at herself, and her hand half-heartedly reached to push his face back again, but he dodged it and dipped closer into her.

“I’ll happily wait.”

He took the ice cream out of her spare hand and set it far out of reach, and his expression melted her.

“Not so confident now, huh princess?”

With arms caging her, she almost wanted to giggle with him again, but it was like the air shifted and the moment ripened into something intensely intimate, and they weren’t even kissing – which reminded Marinette, as her gaze fell to the half-grinning mouth inches from hers, below the playful eyes pooling warmth inside of her, she realised, tragically,

She really wanted to kiss Adrien.

—To shut him up! She really wanted him to shut up so he would stop looking at her like that with the fairy lights above them; with the rose smell wafting; with his chest hovering over the one beginning to rise at a quicker pace.

(But also, she just really wanted to kiss Adrien.

And she wasn’t supposed to really want that.)

His head titled, just that micromovement, and Marinette had unwillingly studied him enough before such a moment as these that she knew that was the side-tilt he did before kissing her; before they’d embark on their one free act of meaningless intimacy to help them get over the pain from those that rejected them.

Funnily, Chat hadn’t been on her mind lately.

But as Adrien’s eyes raked over her, all of her—like she was something most mesmerising and inspectable to him—his moony expression shifted to something unclear when his mouth bowed closer to hers. His tan skin was unfairly pretty. The tips of his eyelashes faded blond. She’d seen his face a thousand times but never like this – never with the ache of such desire and admiration and feeling so cherished. She wanted to angle her chin and meet him halfway, but before she could, his head tipped forward so his cheek slid down against hers.

His breaths were heavy with resistance and warm against her ear. His bottom lip grazed her earlobe and goosebumps erupted along her arms. Yet she couldn’t help but feel the intense disappointment that she wasn’t the one losing her breath for a completely different reason.

The rug bunched in his stressed fists. He inhaled loudly, his body a loathed sliver above hers. Marinette nose was graced by expensive, oakmass cologne on his neck. If she just tilted an inch to the left, she could inhale it better. Maybe even press her lips there.

“Adrien…?” she whispered, and he made a pained noise.

“I can’t. We can’t.” He rose himself. Just to look down at her again. “I want to connect with you. I want to know you. I want you to know me without just kissing.”

“But… our deal?” she said, not knowing if she was hurt or confused or relieved.

“Screw the deal! Why do you want us to hate each other?!”

“I—”

Did she?

Should she?

Because… she didn’t think she did. But she did think she should.

Her brain became overloaded with denial and pride and responsibility, while her turbulent heart enacted a firmer war against her guarded mind. Chat and Adrien and the weight of being Ladybug all came to the surface and she shot up, holding either side of her spinning head.

“Because that’s all we’re good at!”

Adrien looked like his soul had been stabbed.

“What if I don’t want to be good at that anymore!?” he cried. “I want us not to be screaming at each other over nothing. I want you to admit there’s not just entirely animosity and we can get along! I want you to realise that we’re wildly attracted to each other and, if we had it our way, maybe those lies about us being late to class for other reasons would be true! I want you to stop lying to yourself because you don’t think we can’t change! I want you to laugh with me. I want you to smile at me. I want you happy. I want you peaceful. I want…”

You.

Her bluebell eyes stared, starstruck, and her perishable breath hitched at the intimate gorgeousness of his gaze; a kindness about them she knew; something about them she, over grating time, trusted.

“Don’t you get it, Marinette?” I want you, she imagined his silence said. But he didn’t.

She watched the yellow windows across the river. He watched her.

She sighed. “Why are we here, Adrien? We’re even arguing now. You know we don’t get along, and we never have.”

So in her mind, they never would.

He scoffed. “You’re never going to stop with that, are you? Who cares if we run into each other before akuma attacks? Who cares if we’ve screwed each other over in the past?” Then he leaned into her. “Doesn’t stop you from feeling me up when I’m pressing you against the ship railing so your little guitarist friend can see just how much we ‘get along’.”

Vicious warmth soared through her veins like his Adrien-charm had been injected straight into her. The image, the feeling, and the sounds of hours ago flickered behind her sight like a movie flashback as Adrien gazed at her with a mix of hurt, seriousness, and an almost fed-up cadence.

No valued argument shaped her lips.

“We’re… we’re enemies…”

It was almost said as a question, but it would be one to herself. She didn’t think ‘screwed each other over’ did justice to the episodes of grief he caused; the gum, the umbrella, the scarf, the insults, the arguments, the beginning of akuma attacks, the roping her into fake dating— if she just forgot about that… well, it would be weak of her, wouldn’t it? As Ladybug, she couldn’t just be weak and trust anyone. And as Chat said in his wisdom, Adrien had proved himself to be bad news, and he could go back to old habits.

Except in that case, she just didn’t know if her glass heart could handle him screwing her over again if… if maybe she did like Adrien.

“Is that all we are to you?”

The breeze stirred. Her head pounded.

The glow of the fairy lights stuttered over them and Adrien’s expression broke her.

It was all just… too much.

“No. No. No. No!” She shook her head, stood up, and carded her fingers through her hair, surely ruining her ponytail. “You can’t! You can’t just be like this all of a sudden.”

“All of a sudden? Marinette, I’ve been trying with you!”

“And that’s supposed to be it, then?! What happened when I was trying? When I reached out to reconcile and ask to be your friend?”

Because that wasn’t fair.

Why did she have to give him a shot when he’d already pulverised hers?

“What are you talking about?!”

She took a step back, shaking her head, horrified. “I can’t believe you….  Still? You’re still going to pretend I never did that?”

“Marinette, what do you mean?”

His expression was desperate, searching, begging her to explain like he didn’t already know. But how couldn’t he have known? She gave him the birthday present with the note asking for forgiveness and reconciliation as a last-ditch effort for her anger. She put it in the mail chute. He– he wore the scarf the next day! He said letters didn’t mean anything!

He knew!

He had to!

“Clearly you haven’t changed.” Her face was mad, but her throat with caving in with another emotion. “It stung when you first ignored my peace offering to be friends, but now it’s just pathetic considering your kissing habits, and now saying you’re the one trying?” She scoffed, staring up at the opal sky so gravity wouldn’t spill anything down her cheeks. “What a set-up. I knew writing you that apology note on your birthday was a stupid idea—"

“Marinette.” His voice was like an echoing clang. She blinked at him, raw anger covering her pain, but it faltered a little when Adrien – out of all things – looked incensed himself between that confusion, which to anyone else, may have been believable.

“What note?”

What note.

Like a bucket of ice, it then crashed over Marinette, that Adrien may not have been lying.

She froze.

Chapter Text

“Marinette, what note?”

Panic clawed through her.  “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying.”

No.

No.

“You never got the note?”

“No! I never got any note from you besides the ones in class we’ve passed.”

The air around them stilled. Marinette’s hands covered her mouth, the tide of grief in her eyes rising.

“Are you being serious?”

“Yes! Since when did you want to be friends!? You never gave me anything!”

Oh no oh no oh no oh no.

“You… actually thought your dad gave you that scarf?”

You could hear a pin drop.

Adrien went white.

His frame stiffened, eyes wide and as still as the billboard print of him in the distance. She could visibly see something dreadful come alive and reveal itself to him.

“The one… for my birthday? The blue one?” His face went brittle. “That you… stomped on?”

“That I gave you!”

“That—”

Oh. No.

After a fretted silence, Adrien’s voice emerged at a new, wavering octave. “…You gave me that scarf?”

Marinette felt like someone was playing a sick joke on her. She held her arms close to her chest in self-consciousness and stared at the ground. “I… I made you that scarf.”

“What?!”

She stared.

“Marinette, are you serious? You made me that scarf?!”

She nodded, weakly.

Adrien’s exasperation featherly lifted. He now, too, had realised something that neither of them could put into the words.

She clustered further into herself. “I wrote you a letter with the present. I wanted to start afresh in case the umbrella really was an accident. Your dad’s assistant told me to put it in the mail chute, and then—"

The scene flashed. She’d stormed, yelled, and ripped the hand-sewn scarf out of his hands and threw it to the mucky ground, symbolising the retraction of the peace offering he’d rejected.

“’He’ didn’t have a letter with it?”

“Letters don’t mean anything!” he’d said, and she grated him about the worthlessness of the rest of the gift – speaking in metaphors, but Adrien would’ve thought…– oh boy. The things he would’ve thought…

“You made me that scarf?” he cried again, like it would help him believe it, or like she would admit that this was joke. Adrien surged forward. “You – And I said… But Nathalie— But!” He gripped his hair like he could pull it out. “Ah, they lied to me. I was told that it was— Man. She must have gotten rid of your letter and told me it was from my father, and I was… I was the hopeful kid that believed it…” The silence put on a few pounds and a new, trepid light entered Adrien’s sovereign eyes. “My Father didn’t…”

His father didn’t give him a present.

He gave him another reason to hate her.

Marinette wanted to break out in sobs.

“Ahh! I’m such an idiot! I should’ve known that wasn’t like him.” Adrien drove the heels of his hands into his eyes. “And you were so mad… and I thought… Ahh! This is… this is just…”

Realisations were circling them. Too many; spinning and sending them spiralling. Marinette thought about Adrien’s behaviour after that day and how, with her own animosity and unhinged meanness, it all made vile, awful sense – how that anchored them deeper into a caustic vat of rivalry and piling contention for months; how that coloured any other jab, snark, and disagreement from that point.

And yet all she could say was, “I’m sorry your father didn’t get you a present.”

On a surface level, his eyes were sad but behind them was something terribly frantic.

“That’s nothing compared to what’s happening right now. He can disappoint me my whole life but one thing is I don’t want to disappoint you anymore, Marinette. This rivalry is stupid. How many times have we fought for reasons that weren’t real? That we just didn’t talk about? I mean, are you still mad about the gum because—” he pinched his nose, heaving a sigh like he was on the verge on an aneurysm, “—I was only trying to get the gum off your seat. I swear. Chloe put it there and blamed it on me. I wanted to explain myself but there was that akuma, and since then I know we’ve said some questionable things to each other but please, Marinette. That wasn’t on purpose. Please believe me so we can—”

She leapt.

Never before had she been so shameless in hugging someone, latching herself, instantly, to him like he was a long-time friend she hadn’t seen in years. An inexplicable, interchangeable whelming coursed through the body that had dissolved her into a sniffing girl buried in his chest. Her arms tightly wound him like he was something most precious to her.

“I believe you…” she whispered. “I’m so sorry … I’m so sorry…”

She hugged him tight, because she’d finally let go of something horrible.

Overcome by the billions of feelings exploding within, Adrien hugged Marinette, cradling her sobbing head. She mumbled an incoherent chorus about how sorry she was about not believing him and tearing the scarf and creating a mess for them to live through. Inside, he wept bitterly, but his mouth uttered nothing. His glazed-over eyes sought console from the glimmering sky with questions about how. How did they do this to themselves? How could they be so stubborn?

Had he gotten the note, where would they be now?

But their towering thoughts were soon knocked over.

A crash.

A scream.

An akuma.

An akuma! Now! Out of all nights!

The distant cries weren’t their internal monologues, or hearts, or resolves. It came from the dark hole of their unwanted responsibility that crept up on them like a plague. Marinette’s skin went cold realising that an akuma had broken loose close by and Ladybug – stupid Ladybug! – was due to show up, just as things were finally being cleared with Adrien.

Like the same fear had struck him down, Adrien wrenched her into him. “Akuma. We’re getting to safety.”

Her badass Ladybug mode sucker-punched emotional-Marinette out of the way, and quickly she was jumping out of Adrien’s grip and thinking of ways to split up.

But still being fazed meant she didn’t think fast enough, so now she’d just pushed Adrien away and was staring at him, frozen, cold lines on her cheek from the wind hitting the tears’ paths. And just like that she’d already hurt him again.

“I—”

She what? Needed to go transform into a superhero to fight beside the man she was supposed to be in love with?

“Marinette, I understand you may be conflicted about how you feel about me right now and—”

“No that’s not—”

“—and want some time away from me but I need to get you to safety.” Adrien’s eyes were brimming against his serious expression. “Please.”

She nodded, swallowing something tight. “The beach cubicles.” Taking his hand, she pulled him the direction of the single booths. Under the building or any hidden crevice would’ve made more safety sense for any other two people, but one of these people was a begrudged superhero who wanted nothing more than to go home, eat too many pastries, and draft out every interaction with Adrien from his perspective then feel horrible about herself. But instead, she had to fight an innocent pawn of Hawk Moth’s while Adrien waited in a toilet for her.

Even worse (better), he complied wordlessly to being split because now he thought she needed space from him!

-

Thank goodness they’d split up so he could turn into some faux-leather clad clown with cat ears. Just what he needed tonight, amongst tactfully avoiding Lila, being caught-out by Luka, and realising he’d been an absolute douche this whole time to Marinette.

(Okay, he knew that – more so that a fat chunk of why suddenly didn’t exist.)

Also, his dad, really did just turn out to be ‘Gabriel Agreste’. And nothing more.

“He couldn’t even design you a scarf?” Plagg was muttering as Adrien fashionably smacked his head against the cubicle wall. “I would’ve at least ripped some cloth off those sheets at the warehouse and stuck a cheap card on it.”

His face was a turmoil of red, strain, and dried tears as he sliced a look to his kwami. “Plagg…”

“What? I’m trying to talk you through it.”

Adrien held his fists to his forehead. The screams outside worsened as if his brain had escaped and was crawling around the city.

“Your dad sucks,” Plagg corrected. “Is what I’m trying to say.”

“Thank you, Plagg.” He exhaled, slinking to the floor and covering his head – Just for a moment, he promised Ladybug to himself.

“So it’s not your fault.”

Adrien cracked open his gaze feeling Plagg’s magical paw on his shoulder.

“It’s not your fault, you know?”

His jaw hardened.

“Adrien. None of this is your fault.”

“It is a little bit.”

“You didn’t know. And if you never tried to talk it out with Marinette, neither of you would’ve found out.”

Adrien swallowed.

“You didn’t know, Adrien,” Plagg affirmed harsher. “If you had, you would’ve fallen in love with her a lot sooner.”

“I’m not—!”

Plagg’s unimpressed expression was there as his head shot up.

Adrien turned away, gripping his knees and silently wondering what excuse he still had not to be  irrevocably in love with Marinette.

More cries rippled along the riverbank and filled Adrien’s clenched fists with sweat.

“Ladybug!” a citizen cried, alarming his sulky-pants to his responsibility.

Plagg nudged him. “Ladybug needs you.”

As Adrien transformed, he cynically wondered just how untrue that was.

-

As Chat Noir, one of the best and worst parts about his job was figuring out what led to an akuma’s tantrum and what the heck their given power was. It was more fun below baby blue skies, missing history class, and especially not right after an emotional revelation that made reality seem pale and far away.

So for now, he couldn’t care who, what, or why this akuma was what it was. His main priority was getting back in time for Marinette not to think he’d ditched her and consequently, ruin all the fresh grounds they’d made – if they made any. What if she still needed time to hate him? What if she found him gone during the attack and assumed their conversation just became all too much for him?

Not that he could think about that now. Not when half of Paris was being… digested?

“Why is it eating everything?!”

“Less questions, Chat! More helping!”

“I am helping!”

Ladybug’s yoyo flew by him as she whipped through the street, marking each corner to wrap the magic string around the– the…

“Why does it look like that!?”

“It’s an akuma, do you think it’s supposed to look conventional?”

“Well It doesn’t look ventional either!”

Ladybug facepalmed as a freakishly large tongue lurched at him, and his jaw dropped in horror. There was no way this was an akuma. Out of every miraculous-hungry villain, why did it have a mouth that big? Why did it have to actually want to eat him? Why? Why tonight? Why was he alive? What was this life for?

“Chat Noir!”

He was so, so out of it.

For as much as he was dazed and disgusted, Ladybug was reckless and frustrated. Their banter lacked a light-hearted touch and her face sat like stone. Her moves were jagged, fast, and followed by groans, like she couldn’t wait to leave – like she couldn’t stand working beside him tonight. She had an attitude and Chat Noir didn’t need that right now. He didn’t want Ladybug chastising him and spewing orders because he kept zoning out.

What he wanted, was Marinette.

Compared to the rest of the night, Master Fu steering a bike towards ‘Feast’ in a Hawaiian shirt retelling all sorts of lore (that somehow Ladybug already knew) didn’t even surprise him. He didn’t care for it. Whatever miraculous plot progression this was, he was out. He didn’t need to know. He’d let it play in the far background. He may have been strapped in a magical suit, shorter hair caught by the wind, and shooting ice cream at the sentimonster (he knew this one wasn’t an akuma) on the pedalling back of André’s cart, but tonight he was still Adrien. He didn’t feel like Chat Noir.

“I am not in the mood today, Feast thing! Go find a lollie-ring instead!”

When ice cream ran out, the trio led the creature to the Eiffel Tower, where Chat could cover for Ladybug as the others discussed something probably helpful. She and Fu hid behind a slanted bus with his ridiculous model face postered on it. He noticed the angle made it appear the grinning idiot was eating the dirt and felt the display was pretty apt for the situation.

Meanwhile, he was dodging a 10-foot tongue that was increasingly long, increasingly persistent and— Yeah, there went his staff.

Of course that was when Ladybug tuned back in.

“Chat!”

“He just swallowed it whole! That wasn’t my fault!”

She leapt toward him, and if she wasn’t also dodging a 10-foot tongue, she would’ve stomped crankily. “What is with you tonight?”

“Me? Me? You’re barely thinking before you act! You’re missing half the time!”

“At least I’m aware I’m in a battle and not in la-la land!”

Heat surged up his neck. He stood slack-jawed with indignant brows like an outraged child.  “La-la land?”

“Look out!”

He was eaten.

He was eaten, it was a whole thing. No big deal – Ladybug joined him willingly. Some internal battle with her lucky-charm metal detector and yada-yada happened. As they swam inside (inside! its! body!), they searched for the amok in control of its sentience until destroying the master staff and exploding Feast into bubbles.

Fighting a new Hawk Moth play tonight? Just what he needed! Just. What. He needed.

“That took too long,” Ladybug sighed with her head low. Their jewellery had already taken half its warning beeps.

Oh, and ladybug’s attitude. Also just what he needed.

“L-B, please.” He pinched his brow.

“You were out of it, Chat. We’re superheroes. We have a responsibility. We have to keep each other accountable.”

She was pacing, fingers carding through unkempt bangs while her ponytail, long and streaked red, swung with each stride.

As if this visual of her wasn’t enough, he pointed out, “You’re out of it too.”

“At least I didn’t zone out and get eaten!”

“What do you mean?! It was part of your plan.”

“But you didn’t know that!”

“You know why? Because you never let me in on your plans! You just expect me to trust you every time! That’s why I wasn’t worried when Feast got me.”

Ladybug smacked her hands to her face. “That doesn’t mean you can just get captured by the enemy all the time, Chat! It’s careless. You keep getting caught by akuma.”

“They’re sacrifices to help the battle!”

“They’re not always!”

He stepped back, hurt. Hurt and tired and not in the mood. Their miraculouses beeped.

His boots scraped against the gravel and a lamppost hit his back as he watched Ladybug mutter through bitter breaths. He could attach her demeanour to five synonyms of stressed as she paced before the Eiffel Tower, the soft lights belying the inner torment rippling through her.

“Chat. Look. I’m just struggling right now with the idea of letting you go. And… and so many other things…”

“Ladybug.” He took some strides to approach her, then held her shoulders like that first battle; that first time he looked at her like something more than a friend. They were in the same spot under the Eiffel Tower, him beholding the same, brittle girl unsure of herself. But the sky was dark now, and her hard-cut face had seen more of the broken world. “I’m still here, aren’t I? I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will!”

“I won’t!”

She fought with her emotions. “You don’t know what I’m saying…”

His claws pressed into her spotted fabric while he sighed. “Ladybug, you always bring me back. You always do, okay? We’re a team. We’re superheroes. Superheroes.”

“Ugh! Exactly! We’re just superheroes!”

He didn’t know how to calm her. “Ladybug—"

“I keep watching you sacrifice yourself, Chat! And it’s a constant reminder that our partnership won’t last forever! That one day you won’t be by my side!”

“I’ll always be by your side, M’l– Ladybug.”

She looked like she’d been stung. Her gloves fell over her scrunched-up face. “Dang it Chat, that’s not what I’m talking about!”

He stared, befuddled.

“I’m just– I have to remember I’ll lose you one day. That we’ll go our separate ways when this is all done. I’ll never know you.  And I’ve already got a lot on my plate right now, so maybe I’m spewing nonsense—”

“Ladybug.”

“—or maybe it’s not about that. Maybe it’s because I know I’m just a partner to you, maybe even a good friend, but I’m still just–” She clenched her teeth and screwed her eyes shut. “I’m still just accepting that it’s all we’ll be, okay?”

She moved back, marching away and holding her head as if to herd the explosive thoughts back inside.

“Ladybug.” He surged forward. “Ladybug! Ladybug—!” She wouldn’t turn around. He was far too emotionally exhausted to process whatever this was; her words sat in his brain like a foreign object, taking him so aback that he couldn’t for a second process the pulsing predictability of her meaning. He needed an elaboration. He needed more words, more expressions, more sanity on his own behalf to deal with this. “Slow down! Please. What are you saying?”

“I don’t know!”

He chased her. “What did you mean by that?”

“Ugh, nothing! It’s nothing!”

“What did you mean you’re accepting that we’re only good friends?”

What did she mean.

What did she mean.

“I just…!”

“Ladybug!” His voice had been raised, but that time the still area echoed with a genuine cry, the laces of panic straining it in a noise that finally made her turn. “Please! What do you mean you’re just a partner to me?!”

Her earrings beeped imperatively. She shook her head, backed up, and then readied her yoyo.

“I’m sorry, Chat. I wasn’t supposed to bring this up again. I’m… I’m just sorry.”

Then just like that, she zipped off into the black abyss.

“LADYBUG!”

His ring beeped one last time.

And Adrien’s knees hit the ground a second before his tears.

Chapter Text

“He’s not here!”

“Don’t panic, Marinette.” Slam. “I’m sure he’s in one of these stalls.” Slam. “Or a safer place.” Slam. “He’s probably along the Seine looking for you!” Slam. “Marinette, you know don’t have to kick down every door? You’ve already used the lucky charm. This is just the destruction of public property.”

The last beach stall went down like a tree as Marinette caught her breath. “He’s not here.”

“I know,” Tikki mumbled.

She faced every which way. “He’s got to be! What if he’s left?! What if he’s mad?! Tikki, I had no idea I was so much of a jerk! What if he still hates me?!”

“I thought you wanted him to still hate you.”

A gale spread across the river and flailed the face-framing of her hair. Her Chat clip would’ve been really useful to have back, but she’d never bothered to put it back in. “That was before I knew he never got my apology, or left the gum, or closed the umbrella.” She held down the erratic hair. “Or before I realised him trying to make amends recently was genuine – even when he thought I did all those horrid things! Oh, no, Tikki, what have I done!?”

Her breath thinned. Her clarity withered. Something was pulsing behind her foggy eyes and different parts of her felt like they were burning. The panic whipped its vicious teeth and Marinette crumbled to the floor in a defeated heap.

She’d yelled at Chat Noir for rejecting her. And now she’d likely lost Adrien, too.

“Hey, Marinette, listen to me.” Tikki’s little paws held Marinette’s cheek. “If Adrien was willing to take a chance on you when he thought you’d wronged him, why wouldn’t he take a chance on you when he’s learnt you never did?”

“But I did Tikki!”

“No, you were misinformed! You had silly fights! It’s okay, just breathe. Just breathe.”

Battling villains daily and remaining a top student couldn’t compare to the difficulty of trying to think straight at that moment. Marinette cradled her kwami with tearful breaths and felt the tightness in her lungs cool down.

“I’m just…” she sighed, releasing what it was all really about. “I’m just struggling to let him go…”

“I know.”

“He’s such a great partner. And yet I can’t even know him! It would’ve never worked! So why do I care so much!?” She buried her face in her hands. “Ugh, I can’t believe I yelled at him… And then I yelled at Adrien tonight, too! After he set up this beautiful date and sounded… real about having feelings for me! Yet after all these weeks of his efforts I’ve been cold, and- and rude! And acting like I can’t trust him! When he never even… he never even tried to hurt me the first time I saw him. Ugh, what is wrong with me?!”

Tikki sat with Marinette’s long-winded torrent stirring the air between them. After enough silence, she said firmly, “Marinette.”

“What?”

“You’re only hanging onto Chat Noir because you’re in denial about Adrien.”

Her previously loud expression blanked. “Huh.” She squinted. “In denial about what?”

“You know what.” Tikki rolled her eyes.

Marinette blinked strangely.

Tikki sighed, body language turning solemn. With a serious voice she said, more as a statement than a question,

“Being in love with Adrien?”

Her jaw dropped. “What?! I— That’s—”

“Marinette!” A throaty cry from beyond her eye line, perhaps smuggled behind the tower of abused beach stalls, spurred Tikki out of existence. “You’re still here! You’re okay!”

Adrien’s athletic stride charged her and filled her bones with a comforting warmth now that she could see him. He threw himself at her and clutched the back of her neck, breathing heavily from his race. She spewed some words like, “of course,” and “I’m glad you’re okay too”, but something messed up her speech and some garbled nonsense muttered out of her like she was fourteen again. He didn’t seem to pay any attention to that as he stepped away and inspected her for injuries.

“Did the akuma get ever get to you?” he asked.

It ate me, she thought.

“Not at all.” She patted herself down. “Where did you hide?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Further along the river. I’m sorry that the whole attack, you know, interrupted what we were talking about. But I hope you got the, um, space you needed for a bit. I’m sorry I didn’t even think of that when I rushed back over here.” He swallowed, realising. “Maybe I should just le—"

“No! No, that whole. Um. The space thing? Oh, that, I—” needed to transform and didn’t mean to shove you away panickedly. “I wasn’t thinking, sorry. I didn’t want you to leave. It was an accident.”

He nodded, smiling lightly and not damaging the issue further. She finally got a clean look at him with the streetlamps overhead. His hair looked swept through and his eyes, oddly, were heavier, and a tinge red.

“Are you okay?” Wow, last week she would’ve gagged before mustering up those words to Adrien.

“Me? Oh, yeah. I was super safe. Super okay.”

She squinted. She never remembered Adrien trekking her path during Feast’s capture, so she had to take his word.

“You don’t seem okay, Adrien.”

He stretched and donned a wide, plastic smile. “I’m great! Just super tired, you know. Big night!”

An impending sense of doom struck her. Before she could think she asked, “Did I do something? Or say something? Adrien,” she reached for his hand, “again, I’m really sorry for everything and frankly, I don’t know what to do anymore! I have no idea where we go from here! I’m having trouble realising how much of a jerk I was and how misguided we were.”

“No… No, Marinette. I was the jerk. I’ve realised that a lot tonight, and there’s just some things on my mind that…” He groaned. “Man, so many things that just don’t make sense.” He straightened up with a fake joviality and clapped his hands. “You know what! I think we should go home and sleep. Forever.”

She knew he was joking, but it wasn’t a half-bad idea.

-

Hawk Moth could get cataclysmed.

The one time Adrien wanted an akuma – and he’d stress one time – there wasn’t a screaming civilian in sight. On this lazy weekend, that would be the sound to his ears! Maybe then he could get some answers so he wasn’t couch-ridden, days later, with his second tub of ice cream, repeatedly asking the lonely air,

“Does Ladybug have feelings for me!?”

And the one creature he’d been cursed with, usually stuffed in some bin with his ears plugged whenever the topic came up, would mope, “We’re not having this conversation again.” Because that was all Adrien could achieve – conversations with Plagg that led to the same conclusion every time: Maybe. All he got was maybe.

But one would think that wouldn’t matter, because he had expressed affection for Marinette. So just how legitimately pissed at himself could he be – if it was the case – if him not knowing Ladybug liked him lead to him realising he was a literal, royal jerk-face who’d antagonised Marinette into hating him out of sheer dramatics and cluelessness (thank you fashion mogul, Gabriel Agreste), but (but!) also finally cleared things with Marinette… and maybe possibly meant she liked him now. Maybe. Hopefully.

So really, did it matter?

“Yes, Plagg! Because I’ve been trying to win Ladybug over all year!”

“So what? You sucked at it.”

Adrien groaned. “Something must have happened I can’t remember. Something to make Ladybug upset. And I just know it was my fault.”

Plagg didn’t even dignify him with a response.

For an odd piece of history, Adrien and Marinette were quiet at school; tame, confused, like they didn’t know what to do. They weren’t violently trying to flirt or trying to flirt with the idea of violence towards each other. They’d unspokenly agreed to be civil but didn’t know to what degree they were still fake dating, and Adrien of last week would’ve jumped at this opportunity to ask her on a proper date, without all the games. But Adrien of the present was still processing what the heck Ladybug was talking about and if her heartbreak was because of her affection for him.

And if she had affection for him this whole time, he would probably go into a coma.

‘What excuse did he have for not being in love with Marinette?’

It seemed he may’ve now had one.

“Look,” Plagg appeared, likely to shut up his groaning noises, “it doesn’t take a genius to realise Ladybug was upset last night because she can’t accept you’ll only ever be partners… and not…” He waved his paw coercingly.

“Good friends?”

He blinked. “No.”

Adrien shook his head. “There’s no way. She made it clear that night I set up a date for her that she wasn’t interested.”

Plagg huffed, throwing his hands in the air like he had finally let go of some dragging moral restraint. “Did she Adrien?! Did she?!”

His voice went small. “What… what do you mean?”

“Think!” he snapped. “You’re Ladybug. You’re in love with Chat Noir. You show up late for a hang-out and just maybe you’re hoping it’s like a date. Now – I can’t believe I’m even being this obvious – remember that night and just—! Think!”

He thought.

Oh, he thought.

In every detail he would’ve never fathomed otherwise.

Oh.

OHHHHH.

 Adrien shot up, ice cream splatting against the floor.

“Oh my word. I rejected Ladybug.”

“Woo,” Plagg cheered in monotone, sitting on the coffee table and flicking through a food magazine, “ten points to the boy who figured it out weeks later.”

Adrien stood, motionless, mouth agape. “You knew?!”

Plagg shrugged.

“I’ve been stressed out of my brain trying to remember what happened and you knew?”

“I mean, I had an educated guess, but I have to keep my education a secret. There are times when you’re so dumb I don’t know the ethics of spelling it out for you.”

Was now a good time to go into that coma?

“I… am the biggest idiot,” Adrien said. “Like in every degree. In every facet, I have been a literal idiot. And you just, like, watched me.”

“It was really hard.”

“And I just kept—! Being an idiot!”

“You really did.”

“Like I’ve just been, all the time, actively so stupid. I don’t even… How am I still alive?”

“There’s been some close calls.”

“Plagg,” his hands slammed on the coffee table, and the magazine jumped out of his paws, “tell me now if there’s anything else blindingly obvious that I’ve never realised. Please. Spare me the grief.”

Plagg made an oddly frightened look, like such a question was something dangerous for him to answer. Keeping his wide eyes on Adrien, he slowly backed up. “I’m… uh, I have a thing.”

“You don’t have a thing!”

“I have…” he floated further, “things to do.”

“No you don’t!”

“I’ve done all I can! I’m having some me time far away don’t talk to me goodbye!”

Great. Well. At least the important messes were cleared up. Oh, except for what he did now, and whether Marinette had fallen for him yet, and whether the Ladybug situation changed anything, and whether they were any closer to unmasking Hawk Moth. He’d have to designate some 50/50 screaming slash processing time into his busy schedule. Thankfully, the household patriarch wasn’t around to see that he attended his various prisons.

“Adrien?” Nathalie knocked on the door. “Are you there? Your father’s home from his trip.”

An impudent spirit ceased him. He straightened up, turning with his arms crossed from the door. “That’s nice.”

“Adrien,” she said again.

He faced the door, which was now slightly ajar with the side of Nathalie’s face. “Okay, what does that have to do with me?”

“Are you going to welcome him?”

“I will at dinner. If he ever decides to show up.” That way, he didn’t have to see him at all, even if Adrien went.

Nathalie adjusted her glasses and widened the door gap so she could step in. “I understand your attitude, but you know your father is a very busy man.”

“Yeah, and never busy being a parent. Now if you’ll excuse me, Nathalie, I have anything else to attend to.”

With her head hung low, Nathalie closed the door. “I’ll let your father know…”

-

Since fake dating became natural, Adrien and Marinette hadn’t noticed how much they wilfully hung out. Sure, before they’d glare every five minutes and spare a moment before shedding the pride to ask the other for help on a maths equation, but there was a natural comradery in how they both didn’t want to be there, but always found themselves there, so ever since Adrien began flirting, and it became a game for her to flirt back, it may have been a little more fun. This stunt went on for varying degrees as Nino and Alya’s romance blossomed, and they found themselves familiar with each other’s company.

But now, it was just quiet. No flirting. No fighting. It was like they didn’t know what to do.

Well, at least Adrien didn’t.

“Do you want one?”

“Hm? Oh, yes please. Thank you.” He took a pastry from her container. He chewed silently under the stairs beside her, as they painfully drew out their lonely lunch time.

Usually, Adrien would be intentional about getting close to her: scooching closer, putting his arm over her, just natural habits she’d coached herself through getting used to (she still wasn’t). But now her heart was thudding because he wasn’t doing all those things, like that night had stunted his shameless, charismatic, ruthlessly flirty persona she ‘couldn’t stand’. But as his dead eyes pointed at the floor, she realised that she missed that side of Adrien.

But she couldn’t say that – they’d just reached a friendship from an intense – albeit miscommunicated – rivalry. At first, she longed to release herself in his arms and admit all the things her heart couldn’t say, but as each day progressed of Adrien becoming a shell of a person, she realised that idea was crazy. She didn’t… love Adrien, no! Just because Tikki accused her of such a thing. It was ludicrous, given the rawness. And this fractured excitement was just the newness of finally having Adrien as a friend.

Just a friend.

And the thriving disappointment? Well, she couldn’t explain that.

“The weather is nice today.” She immediately wanted to kill herself as the words left her mouth. “I mean, in that it's empty of the city being, you know, destroyed. That’s nice.”

He nodded. “That is nice.” Then he stared more intensely at her, something spinning behind his eyes. Adrien had never looked at her in such a way – so innocently, and confused, like he was trying to work out something secret to him. “You don’t wear your Chat Noir clip anymore.”

“Oh? Oh! No, I guess I don’t.” It fell out when Adrien ran his fingers through her hair during their kissing, the night in her room after escaping the rain, but she left out that detail.

“Do you still like him?”

“Huh?”

“Chat Noir? You really liked him, do you still like him?”

Either perspective was bad. She didn’t want to talk about the guy she used to be in love with to the guy now stealing her affections. And from his point of view, she didn’t want to talk about her ‘celebrity crush’ to him, when her body teamed with the anticipation of him making a thoughtful move on her (which she didn’t care at all whether he did or not – it just seemed out of character for him… not to, that was all).

She giggled nervously. “Does it matter?”

His lips pressed. Something dark plagued him.

“Don’t worry. I was just. Anyway.”

It seemed to mean something to Adrien, so she shifted closer and said, “Do you really want to know?” Because she did as well, maybe then she could understand herself – maybe then she could contemplate more openly upon the words Tikki spoke.

He nodded feverishly, so she spoke from the heart, regardless if it ruined her last chances with Adrien.

“Yeah, I do.” And oddly, his face brightened. “He’s incredibly special to me. He always will be. He’s the most brave, selfless person I know, and I would hate to not have him by my—uh, have him protecting me.”

“But, you don’t know him well?”

Forgetting she was talking to Adrien for a moment and not a therapist, she sighed as a long-winded torrent fell through the cracks of her broken psyche, “I used to think that mattered, but I don’t need to know who he is. I know him. I just know I do. Like, you can tell how much he cares, even for civilians he hardly knows. There’s this gentleness about him, and oh my goodness! He can be so funny sometimes! You don’t have to know him well at all to know he is someone to admire. I look up to him a lot because even with the stress of being a superhero – which I don’t think anyone realises is probably killing him – he still is always cheerful and serving. At least, from the public eye it’s obvious anyway. I guess, the biggest thing I’ve learnt recently is that it’s okay if I– we never know who’s behind the mask. I’ll always admire him from a distance, or in memory…”

She swallowed the tightness of her throat as the silence stole her from her stupor. Adrien’s eyes seemed glossy and he was leaning in.

Lightly, he leaned in and kissed her cheek. So, achingly close to where she wanted it.

“That was really beautiful, Marinette,” his withered voice said. “There should be more people like you who appreciate our heroes.”

“I agree. Sorry I kept going on about him, I just don’t get asked about my opinion of him often. Guess it was an unlocked safe.”

His hand rubbed hers. “I’m glad I unlocked it.”

Goodness, how she wanted to kiss him.

“And I’m glad we’re friends now.”

“Friends?”

“Yeah. Unless, you, uh—”

“No, friends is good! I want to be friends with you!” she blurted, thinking he was going to go backwards to animosity.

“Oh,” he said. “Good.”

“Yeah.”

“I guess it makes this whole ‘being stuck together all the time’ easier. Being, um, friends now.”

Okay but hypothetically, what if she didn’t want to be just friends?

Yet she couldn’t voice those thoughts. That would be humiliating – to admit at that moment, by expressing her distant affection for Chat Noir, she had come to peace with letting her curiosity go and simply remembering him as her first love. And in accepting, finally, that Chat did not love her back and she could never be with him regardless, she could let her heart boast with vigour for the boy beside her. But no, she couldn’t voice those thoughts. That would indeed be humiliating.

So they were quiet for the rest of lunch.

Adrien would sigh at indiscernible times while in his own head, or occasionally carding fingers through his hair laboriously, and Marinette would nibble her pastries or nails while wondering how ethical it was to just pull him into a real kiss and leave Chat Noir behind. And during this all, they sat together.

As just friends.

And they both seemed fine with that.

Chapter Text

Marinette was not fine with being just friends.

“What if I make him presents? What if I try to join his fencing class again? What if I’m the one who asks him on a date?”

Marinette had a new dilemma, because of course she did, which was, Operation: Real Date Fake Boyfriend Whom She Used to Hate.

She should’ve been ecstatic that Adrien wasn’t turning her bright red with a chaste flirt or touch in public, but this wasn’t a week ago, and she was a whole new head-over-heels girl who’d shed the stubbornness keeping her from admitting she was whipped for Adrien Agreste.

But she was still classy, even a little traditional, so while Adrien stayed home from school – as being grounded (some repeated attitude problem with his father) meant he couldn’t attend his favourite place: school (absolute nerd, what was she thinking) – she conjured ways to subtly, finally, let Adrien know she was on board with him. Without too much pride shed.

Because he was into her before… right?

And now with their rivalry sceptically out of the way, she could relax about enjoying his company, his touch, his effect on her – even the teasing. She could earnestly crave it and wait for him to come back to school to make her new resolve loudly known. And when she said ‘loudly known’ she really meant hinted at because any idea of a direct, unprompted confession would have her mouth verbaging incomprehensible noise, and her stubbornness irritable.

But despite all that, she’d still made commitments to Kitty Section, so her plan took a break as she waited with her friends to see if their music video, with Marinette’s costume designs, won the city competition. She considered it somewhat of a masterpiece that should’ve won, and yet,

“XY stole our original design?!”

The public showing of plagiarism, the fruitless confrontation with Bob Roth (the agent that stole their idea), and a personal dig at her, were all enough to break Hawk Moth out of his holiday for the tormented artist Luka Couffaine.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no.” She backed up towards the stage as ‘Silencer’ stole XY’s voice. This was why she should just stop leaving the house!

Bob Roth and XY fled as the purple and black akuma approached her, miming with his hand as words became audible. “Don’t worry Marinette, I would never hurt you. I will use the power Hawk Moth has given me to restore justice. I will force Bob Roth to admit what he’s done to you and Kitty Section.”

Marinette sighed, forgetting to feel fear. Of course, she was now back to trying to mediate with akumas.

“Don’t do that, Luka! That’s revenge, not justice! And you’ll have to face off with Ladybug and Chat Noir!”

“Ladybug and Chat Noir? Where were they when we needed them?” Well, one was tearing into Bob Roth for a band she wasn’t even in, for starters. “As of now, Silencer is laying down the law of silence.”

Okay, new plan: Get out and transform.

But Silencer hadn’t finished.

“You're the most extraordinary girl, Marinette. As clear as a musical note and as sincere as a melody. You're the music that's been playing inside my head since the day we first met. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Marinette blinked.

Wow, that would’ve been really sweet if she didn’t miss Adrien a whole bunch right now.

She shrewd in on herself as Silencer fled, coming to terms with what she just learnt. Thank goodness that wasn’t Luka’s real feelings (probably, likely, hopefully). She ran to transform hoping that Luka didn’t share the same sentiment as his villain counterpart.

-

As Chat raced to the scene his heart jumped with the sight of Ladybug waiting for him, the stomping pace and screwed expression bringing an old flutter to his chest. Nervous, relieved, and stupid, the perspirations of Adrien’s long-suffering left his mouth before Ladybug could even greet him back.

“Ladybug! Long time, no see. How’s the akuma going? Oh speaking of what you were talking about the other day! What did you mean?”

But she just looked over her shoulder and scowled, swinging over a building to point him to the fight in the studio building far ahead. He crouched next to her. “Hm. Interesting. Haven’t had an akuma recently. Or answers, either. Hey, you know what we should talk about before we jump into action? What you meant the other day, you know when you were talking about letting me go? Since I didn’t catch your drift then, did you uh, happen to mean romantically? Because—”

Ladybug was violently shaking her head. Oh, she didn’t?

“Oh, in that case never mind. I thought that maybe—” More head shakes. “No, you’re right. I must be confused, so if you could just tell me what you meant then that would be great.” So she didn’t love him? So she didn’t mean more than just partners? Inside of him was exploding with confusion but he kept his signature Chat-charisma, fluttering his eyes so just maybe he was handsome enough for her to spare him some grief.

Ladybug’s face was scrunched, her fingers hastily typing on her yoyo to him. He opened his baton’s screen and noticed all the messages he’d missed. Varying degrees of, “Get over here”, “Hurry up”, “Where are you??”, “The akuma stole my voice”, “I can’t call my lucky charm or miraculous ladybug” and – hey! That one wasn’t very nice.

“Oh...” he laughed nervously. “This makes a lot more sense.”

Then a new text popped in.

“Forget about the other night, I’m over it?” Oh, he thought as he read the text aloud. Maybe he’d been mistaken after all. Or maybe she’d just gotten over him. That was… fine.

He read over it twice more and a nasty heat throbbed under his nerves. “Forget it?” he said harshly before reason could hold him back. “You don’t just say things like that to someone and screw with their head, Ladybug! It’s not nice to play with people’s feelings.”

The picture of Ladybug’s surprise before him, literally speechless, rendered the memory of her cries to him that night and suddenly a morose regret was chastising him for snapping. If he’d ‘rejected’ her, like he’d deliberated, then perhaps the other night was her outburst of hurt that she wanted to forget.

“Sorry, I mean. If you like me, you know, like that, then, well, I wanted to – actually I don’t know what I wanted to do. I guess just be sure that’s what it was, because I’m really sorry. Like, really sorry. I didn’t say things right that night, and…”

Ladybug’s tolerance slipped through her speedy, typing fingers as she urgently willed for the conversation to be wrapped up. So when her message beeped through the apologetic chorus he’d practised (unnoticeably), he scanned her impatient body language, felt the extra ‘sorry’ lodge in his throat, and began skimming the message. Then he properly read the message. Then he read it again, slower:

“Don’t apologise for your feelings, it’s okay. You don’t have to worry about me anymore. I’ve finally moved on. There’s another boy.”

“There’s another boy?” he said, unsure whether he should be disappointed or relieved.

She nodded, cheeks red, and he realised that feeling in his stomach definitely wasn’t relief.

“Oh. Okay.” No point clarifying he’d been in love with her that night too. No harm, no foul, no crushing weight of pain for what could’ve been over the months. “Congrats.”

It didn’t matter, he reasoned, closing his baton and remembering his conversation with Marinette the other day. Ladybug didn’t know Adrien, but Marinette knew Adrien, and she respected Chat Noir, too. He almost kissed her as she raved on about him but remembered they hadn’t established boundaries on that, now that things were… weird? Different? Unspoken? He’d assumed after their ‘date’ and the death of their rivalry, she’d realise she was so obviously in love with him, fall in his arms, and they’d be everything he couldn’t be with Ladybug.

Then he screwed up.

Because he thought Ladybug was in love with him.

And that cracked piece of his heart lit up, and old feelings rushed back superficially, and his stupid stupid curiosity stopped him from committing to Marinette. But it seemed she wanted to be friends, anyway, he just wasn’t sure if that was his fault…

So as Ladybug’s pink cheeks turned away, the lonely boy in him cried.

But he wasn’t that kid, anymore. He was the ultra-charming, stylish superhero, Chat Noir, who outwardly straightened up with his new revelation – He’d already come to terms with letting Ladybug go thanks to his messed-up situation with Marinette, but the sudden rejection again stung an old wound.

Ah well, at least the akuma meant some fun from being grounded—

Oh ew—

In the studio’s corridors, Chat’s brows furrowed as he read Ladybug’s akuma background.

“Luka?!”

No way. No way was he saving Luka right now.

Ladybug nodded, then quirked her head as if asking what the big deal was. He couldn’t exactly say that he was more pissed that Bob Roth stole Marinette’s costumes, that she made for Luka, meaning she also still hung out with Luka. So Chat scowled and didn’t comment, beginning the rest of their plan and kicking the Studio door down to find Silencer.

“Fine. We have to save him. Come on!” he cried as he leapt into action, swinging his baton and side-stepping Silencer’s attacks. The akuma was his size, allowing apt hand-to-hand combat, or hand-to-face combat (sometimes Chat missed).“We’ve got all the time in the world! We might as well have a bit of fun!”

“Keep your nose out of other people’s business Kitty, or else I’ll silence you!”

“That would be a shame considering how hilarious I am!”

He swung his weapon as Ladybug escorted the akuma’s target, Bob Roth, to safety (she tied him to a chair), a flood of pride hitting him every time he could battle Silencer (aka Luka) earnestly and dodge his attacks. He’d grin and make a joke with every frustrated surge his opposition made.

After some schemes and throwing the akuma off, Ladybug finally had a lucky charm, and Chat found himself back in the studio with black bubbling from his hand ready to touch Luka – uh, his akumatised object, is what he meant. After they’d pulled off their plans and reclaimed everyone’s voices, the purple magic washed over Silencer and brought back a confused emo boy with terror from his latest memory.

And cue Bob Roth rolling in strapped to a chair.

“The Ladybug and Chat and got you, huh?” the old man gloated at Luka. “Serves you right. What did you think, kid? That I was just going to admit I stole Kitty Section’s song and your girlfriend’s costumes—?”

“Wait, what?” Chat muttered behind the camera.

“—So I could give them to my untalented son? You didn’t think superheroes would come to save me, did ya? That’s right! They work for me now.” Bob Roth’s expression faltered as Luka and Ladybug exchanged glances. “What’s up with you guys? Why are you smiling like that?

“We’re smiling because you’re on the air, Mr Roth. Everything you just said was broadcast live.”

Heat exploded in the wiley man’s face as he stuttered, immediately he tried to cover his tracks to his awaiting audience. Chat made a puzzled look, joking to Ladybug that ‘this one’ was probably akumatised too, but somehow she knew him well enough to attest he was always like that before sprinting off to de-transform. He had some extra minutes so he stayed back to untie the shady con artist. He supposed he had to do the akuma check-in too, or whatever.

Yet somehow Marinette beat him to it. He tried to not look too interested in seeing her.

“Luka! Are you alright?”

His smile was coy. “I’m fine, Marinette.”

She looked down nervously, and before Luka could leave, she grabbed his hand. “I just wanted to ask, did you really mean those things you said when you were akumatised?”

Chat’s cat ears perked up.

“I’m sorry, Marinette, but I don’t remember. What did I say?”

“Oh! Nothing. It was nothing at all. You were akumatised by Hawk Moth.”

Chat stood straight. “Hey, Cat boy,” Bob said. “Have you never untied a knot before? Some lousy superhero you are. You’re just making them tighter—”

“Shh!” he hissed.

Luka looked sorrowful. “I don’t know what I possibly could’ve said. I just hope it wasn’t anything mean.” Chat’s claws latched out. The sight of Luka leaning in towards her and holding her shoulder throbbed in the superhero’s peripheral. “Because you're the most extraordinary girl, Marinette. As clear as a musical note and as sincere as a melody. You're the music that's been playing inside my head since the day we first met.”

“OW!” The room looked at Bob as he glared at Chat’s untying skills.

“Sorry Mr Roth,” the ropes fell, “you’re free to go now.”

Before he could think, Chat began his way over to Marinette and Luka on the stage.

“Luka, right?” he smised, checking his claws. “Funnily enough I couldn’t help overhearing. See, Luka… Marinette – my good friend here – actually has a boyfriend already. Right Marinette?” He nudged her as he crossed his arms.

Her face was startled and a little pink. “Um. Yeah. I do.”

“You do.”

“Tell him his name Marinette.”

“Hm?”

“His name.”

Luka looked between them, unamused. Adrien already knew Luka lacked the respect to back off a taken woman, being fully aware Marinette had a boyfriend, but since Chat ‘didn’t know that’, there was no reason that he – good superhero friend of Marinette’s – shouldn’t have the heart to let Luka know. Out of politeness. Just to help out Marinette let Luka down. To be nice.

“Uh, Adrien,” she said. “Adrien Agreste.”

“Oh wow!” Chat turned to her with fake surprise. “You never told me you were dating that famous model!” He side-eyed Luka, just to check his reaction.

“I appreciate you stepping in for Marinette, Chat Noir. But I’m not expecting anything. I just want her to know she’s a beautiful melody that needs the right song. She deserves everything.” Then, his face darkened, and he held Marinette’s hands speaking only to her. “And I hope she knows I’ll be here if she ever wants something genuine.”

Indignance blew up in his chest and almost flew him forward, but within the confines of his suit and the eyes of Marinette he could only stand, head tilted. “Genuine? What do mean genuine—”

But Marinette saved him, lightly placing her palm on his bicep. “Luka. Your words are beautiful. But Adrien is one of the best things that has ever happened to me. I mean,” she giggled, “he cares so much for people, and puts a lot of effort into our relationship that I… I’ve taken for granted, recently.”

Chat knew of the possibility of Marinette being a great actor, but the pulsating of his heart would ignore those odds.

“I know you’re my friend and want the best for me, and I really appreciate that. But as my friend, never ever talk about my boyfriend like that.”

The air in the studio stiffened, but didn’t shake Luka’s calm. He had a bizarre, committed way of being unphased, which probably added to Adrien’s dislike of him, who in opposition was fatally emotional – like his mum, his father would scorn.

The musician’s eyes narrowed, but his defiance softened. “Marinette, you know you can always tell me the truth right?””

Marinette blinked.

“I see what’s really going on with you two, and if it’s not real, you know can just tell me.”

“Huh? What’s… not real?

He crossed his arms. “Your relationship with Adrien.”

Her eyes widened, demeanour snapping. She’d had no clue Luka suspected their relationship was entirely fake and judging by her composure flipping, Adrien saw the exact reasons he kept that from her come to light.

“Fake? What? Bahaha, that’s crazy! I love Adrien. He’s my boyfriend. I can’t believe– I don’t get how someone would think it’s not real haha…”

Chat’s ring beeped and horror tore through him. No no no! Not now!

“Gotta run!” He felt sweat down his back as Marinette exploded red, dreading further accusations. “Hope that rejection doesn’t get you akumatised, Luke!”

“It’s Luka,” he deadpanned as Chat leapt away –

Away from Marinette bursting at the seams with their lie.

Crap.

What was the worst that could happen?

Chapter Text

One of Luka’s favourite poets once said, “You can ignore reality, but you can’t ignore the consequences of ignoring reality,” and while he stood before a jittery Marinette in the Studio, he decided that today—

He was going to have to be those consequences.

“Marinette, you’re not going to let some superhero pressure you into staying with Adrien, right?”

Her startlement snapped off. “Some superhero?!”

“Sorry, Chat Noir.”

“Chat Noir isn’t pressuring me to do anything. You know, he actually helped me during a tough time with my relationship with Adrien. Which is real, by the way, absolutely real and not not genuine, at all. Or did I say too many ‘not’s? Gah! Why can’t I speak!?”

“Marinette, for the love of Hawk Moth if you just would please look in front of you.” Luka knew he wasn’t the heartthrob model printed on half the city’s walls, but he was real! He wasn’t the fake smiles, the misleading charisma, the jovial show boy so sweet in public it hurt your teeth. He didn’t have anyone but himself to offer. And no other hidden sides.

“I’m here. I am here and I wish for you something genuine and special. And the music we could play can be so much lighter. I feel your energy when he’s around, how you tense up and stress out.”

Marinette worried her lip like there were excuses she couldn’t say.

“And Juleka, by most peoples’ surprise, talks at home. I’ve heard stories of the detentions you got each other into; the pranks in the lockers; the screaming matches in the library—you can’t look me in the eye and tell me that what you and Adrien are doing now—whatever it is—isn’t stressing you out.”

The eyes he could get lost looking into hesitated to touch his. Her shoulders had slumped like some part of her had given up, and the staff cleaning the studio bustling by didn’t distract her at all. Her lashes lifted.

“Why do you think it’s not real?”

The sadness weighing in her tone struck a chord in his heart. “I just…”

“Do you think he doesn’t love me?”

It wasn’t that. Well, partly. Luka wouldn’t deny that Adrien bore his own lethal dose of feelings, but his theory of them being selfish and jealous was a dire admission that Marinette’s paling face didn’t seem to deserve. But he would admit what he had always hoped was true.

“Marinette,” he sighed, “do you even love him?”

“Yes.” – was dropped, like shattering glass, stuffing itself where a moment of silence was supposed to be, where Marinette was supposed to look at him and see him and realise that the kind of love she deserved stood before her and she was supposed to confront the fact that she… that she…

But she did.

She did love Adrien.

Luka stepped back, horror blinding him, the music of them becoming tangled. Adrien had been right – he’d gotten a head-start and that manipulative… that– that—

“Wait, but—"

“I do, Luka! I do!”

“But the fighting?”

“It was from some misunderstandings! He’s changed! We’ve forgiven each other.”

A coldness veiled him. “How do you know he’s changed?”

She blushed, and his heart stiffened.

“Ok fine,” he relented, “I won’t make any more comments about Adrien. But please understand Marinette, that the melody you bring to me is so beautiful and resounding that I want to hear it for the rest of my life and wherever I go. You and Adrien… there’s something… it’s just… the sound is all wrong.”

“Luka,” Marinette sniffled, looking to her feet forlornly, “It won’t work. I can’t even understand your music metaphors. I quit piano when I was five and this jargon is really confusing to me.”

“I’m saying he’s using you, Marinette!”

Her face didn’t make it any easier to admit. But the truth lurched out of him like a prisoner. He loved her too much for her to be trapped in what he knew wasn’t good for her.

“Marinette, I know. I know it’s not real.”

“You don’t know anything!”

Luka swallowed his resolve.

“Lila told me.”

Adrien’s lungs hurt.

Which – why? He did cardio more than any teen in the city. So, he chalked it up to the flaming panic carrying his civilian body across Parisian streets moreso than his athletic ability. Speaking of athletic ability, was Luka into sports? Was Marinette into him being into sports? Maybe Adrien needed to work-out more. Maybe basketball, lacrosse, and fencing were a beginner thing. Maybe… dang it! Nothing could beat that confession! What was he even thinking?

Marinette would crumble, finally giving in their secret, and Luka would be her relief, and she could let it all out, remember his sickening confession, then go gallivanting around Paris without burning lungs. Man. Adrien couldn’t wait to stop running.

See, he’d de-transformed in some random alleyway with the objective to find flowers quick and give them to Marinette and hopefully kiss her all over her cute little face in front of Luka, because good grief had he been craving her since— goodness, when was the last time he didn’t want to kiss her?.

He’d then take her away ASAP before she broke down anymore. You know, their little affection-to-get-out-of-bad-moments thing, and while alone he’d calm her down and become her solo confidant. Maybe they’d watch Kitty Section’s concert together. They’d be friends! Nothing more! Or even maybe—hear him out—maybe he’d casually drop a better confession than Luka and live happily ever after with Marinette.

And Ladybug? She didn’t know Adrien. No one knew Adrien like Marinette did. She saw him at his worst – vulnerable, spiteful, and broken. And that’s what made him so sure their future would last. Ladybug had moved on – and she was right, superheros wouldn’t work, not when they didn’t even know each other’s identities. But hearing the woman he’d once loved had lost feelings when he didn’t even know she had them did make him ponder what could’ve been – classic lapse in judgement by the infamous, socially-stunted goon Adrien Agreste everyone.

But since the fight, since he realised Ladybug had once loved him, he wasn’t afraid to admit it anymore: He was in love with Marinette.

He loved Marinette! And no one could tell him otherwise.

“Uh, I’ve always told you, you loved Marinette.”

“Shut up Plagg,” he huffed.

So he was scouring the streets for bloomy-smelling vendors. But the season wasn’t right and the flowers weren’t her, and thanks to this perfectionism he was running back to the studio empty-handed, feeling anything but perfect, and now his feet were screeching to a halt.

The door.

Five storeys away past the door.

And it dawned on him.

‘Adrien’ had no idea Marinette was here. It would be a dead give-away to his identity. Chat leaves when Adrien is mentioned, Adrien arrives to defend his honour. He had no reason to be there – he didn’t even know about the celebratory concert!

…Now he really wished he’d bought a bouquet to smash against his head.

“Lila told me.”

An explosion rang out on her face and carried throughout her body. Her hands flayed.

“Lila?!”

“She approached me after a practice,” he said, holding out his hand to pause the torrent of ‘why would you listen to anything she says?’. “And I know, I know you said you don’t get along. But she has a point about Adrien using you. He doesn’t have to deal with so many fangirls if he has a girlfriend. The tabloids know now. And if he ever wants to escape the fame and appointments, he just has to say he’s with you!”

“So?” she snapped, seemingly not absorbing the offense to her his words carried. “They’re just benefits. It doesn’t mean that’s why he’s dating me, and that doesn’t make it fake, you know, at all. It’s real now.”

He blinked. “Now?”

Her fists drove into her eyes as she let out a full-body groan. “Yes! Okay, yes! I’m the liar, you win! It was fake, sort of then not, then, ugh! I don’t know what it is anymore! But my feelings are real now, okay? And Lila doesn’t— what does she even—why would she know anything?! Why would she care?”

“She wanted me to help you out!”

“Help me? Are you crazy? Think about it – she’s only been to one practice.” Marinette crossed her arms. “She clearly only came to tell you that. She’s manipulative, Luka. She lies all the time. She’s– She’s nothing but a snake! She just wants Adrien to herself.”

He’d drawn a wearisome feeling from the girl, but not enough to warrant such an attitude. “We can’t be calling her that.”

“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter now, does it? Because she was right in that it wasn’t real. I’ve been hiding this– this thing in my life for so long and… well it’s a relief. And I’m the liar. You deserve better than that, Luka.”

With his head hung, Luka carded his fingers through his hair, fisting the bleached blue ends. For months, he’d suspected this was some twisted PR stunt that stole Marinette from a normal life and affection that she deserved, and the selfish part of him wanted it to be true. However, the part that longed for it to be “true” had also longed for time to be kind; for Marinette to never fall for Adrien.

Now it was him who could no longer ignore reality.  

He sighed and brought his face back to the baffled young woman.

“Marinette,” a crescendo of anxieties started, “is it worth it all? This– the dating thing. You may have feelings now, but are you happy? Does it have to still go on? Does he… love you for real?”

She paused. “I don’t know.”

“And why all this drama? Did he propose the scheme?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” His eyes, pained and earnest, met hers glistening. “For a normal life? For what? And you fought all the time – why would he think you of all people would say yes?! There are so many parts I don’t understand, Marinette. And it scares me what he could be up to.”

She looked panicked. “I… I can’t remember why…”

“Okay,” he exhaled. “But what could you have possibly gained? Status? That’s not you. That’ll never be you. So why? You used to hate the guy!”

He was desperate for answers, and it showed. She clamped up. “I’m sorry. I can’t… I just can’t tell you that.”

“When will the lies stop, Marinette?”

The glisten became wetter, tears walking the tightrope of her eyeline.

“I don’t know.”

The studio became silent like all the staff had stopped to listen.

“Marinette… this back and forth with Adrien… I just wanted you to have something better and peaceful. I didn’t know if it was unhealthy or just fake, and I wanted to let you know that I’d be happy to help you get out of it. Thank you for telling me some of the truth.”

“I’m sorry, Luka.”

A fragility was clear in his smile. Accepting his fate, Luka stepped forward and covered her frame with his. His voice was calm as he said,

“When you’re ready, I’ll be here for you, Marinette.”

Chapter Text

“But your identity!”

“I have a plan,” Adrien lied, back on his hunt for flowers and now a chilled bottle of water. “Kitty Section’s concert is on tonight.”

“It’s a live set, not a concert. And how would Adrien know that?”

“I have connections, they won’t even question it. Adrien Agreste knows everything. My Father even talked about making an AI out of me.”

“Ah, the famous prostituted teen whose nose bleeds at every dark-haired girl he meets. Let’s ask him the deepest questions of the universe!”

Adrien gripped the tiny magical burden and shoved him in his coat. “Don’t make me renounce you.”

“Pff. And don’t make me laugh.” They passed another food vendor. “Hey, when are we going to stop walking?”

“”We’?” he scoffed. “Sorry, is effortlessly floating and teleporting too much for you?!”

“I’m hungry! You’ve given me, like, two cheese pieces. Barely fermented.”

Adrien sneered at Plagg as the afternoon sun leant over them. “I hope your next holder is poor.”

“Master wouldn’t do that to me.”

“Who?”

“Uh,” he stuttered. “My… dad.”

Adrien now had many questions.

“Wait, whoa! You have one of those?”

“Uh, well it’s more like a legal guardian. On the millennia occasion.”

Adrien frowned. “I thought I was your guardian. Wait, am I your dad?”

“Please, you can’t even look after yourself.”

“I—” Adrien almost walked into a poll but recovered, “—I practically raised myself after 14.”

“So you’re almost 4 years old. Seems about right.”

The sound of patience deflated out of Adrien in a sigh.

“Can the next street be the last?” Plagg continued to whine. “I hope the next street is the last. Seriously, I know there’s less suspicion now that we’re coming later to the concert – which is still a stretch by the way – but can’t we just sit and wait? Enjoy the grand, uh, urban design of the… park benches?”

But Adrien wasn’t listening. “I wonder if she’ll believe that I’m there for model reasons. Would that work? ‘Hey Marinette, my… love. Was just in the area. The studio areas, rehearsing for a fashion show. Oh I know, right?! Always putting me to work my Father is! Hey, I got you these flowers, just casually, because I’m your boyfriend and boyfriends do that. They do modelling and give flowers.’ Yes,” he decided. “That’s very smooth. She’ll be swooned, I’m sure. Unless she just wants to be friends. Oh man, what if I’ve interpreted it all wrong—”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Okay. If you’re sure she likes me back. The right flowers will do the trick. Wait, she won’t believe I was at a fashion show if I’ve bought flowers for her. Ahh I’ll make something up on the spot,” he said, like he had any skill in doing that.

Adrien looked at the sky while he imagined what flowers would look best with her. “Oh! I’ll buy white lotuses at Jardin des Plantes.”

The mystic yellow eyes blew open. “That’s blocks away!”

“Well, I could transform—”

“No.”

“Then we’re walking.”

Plagg grumbled in his front pocket the rest of the way there.

Marinette wanted to go home. The rehearsing strobe lights made her eyes throb, Rose’s voice kept her mind restless, and Luka’s words lingered on her skin; the light sweat sticking loose hair strands to her brow. Mindlessly, her thumb circled over an earring as if she could rub off this curse. She hated lying to Luka. Lying to Adrien. Using Adrien to lie to Luka. And everyone.

And herself.

Why did Luka have to be so curious?

Well, he wouldn’t have to be if she could live with a shred of honesty.

As she restlessly awaited the live set to come, the cherry leather couch noisily moved under her. She was looking at the unmoving, blue-panelled wall, but what she saw was the turbulent foreboding cataclysm of her future and any relationship she could possibly have. She’d continue losing trust and eventually friends and even family.  Seriously, how was someone like her able to have a boyfriend? It would just accelerate this disaster. What if she dated Adrien, and he asked why she was actually late to class? Why she actually accepted to fake-date him?

‘I just can’t tell you,’ she’d said to Luka.

If she dated Adrien, for real, how many more times would she have to say that? To lie? To hurt him? To stand him up on dates? To reverse all their progress until he hated her once again…?

Not that there’d be anything with how distant Adrien had been, anyway. He just wanted to be friends, and although that’d been a pain in her side all week – one she’d been determined to prove false – she bittersweetly realised, right there in the studio, the blessing on her huge heart that was.

“Some luck,” she mumbled to Tikki, who out of sight was leaning against her holder’s other hand. Tikki had exhausted all her sappy encouragement and resorted to sitting with Marinette, feeling her holder’s waves of pain.

She gritted her jaw.

Having the fate of Paris hanging onto her earlobes before the age of 18 was a curse.

But before she could dwell more on that, the studio’s doors flung open.

“Adrien!?” she bolted up, surprised that 1) Adrien was here, 2) Adrien was beelining towards her, and 3) he was carrying water and… flowers?

“Why are you here?”

Panic. Panic. Panic.

“I missed you.”

Oh.

His golden cheeks melted her mind with his smile.

White flowers. They were for her. Her hand trembled when she took them from his, the skin of his knuckles warm and shooting electricity down her spine.

Excitement. But still panic.

Wait, flowers. Luka. Here.

More panic.

The beautiful bastard just had to casually greet her with an aesthetic bouquet after her outburst to Luka, right in the eyeline of Kitty Section as they began their live set. How could she tell Adrien her screw-up? How could she question him about why this all started, and what they were doing now? Pink split over her face. She felt Luka’s sticky gaze as she thanked Adrien profusely for how beautiful they were.

“How did you know I was here?” And why was he back into acting after radio silence?

“The um,” he looked around, then nodded at Luka’s death stare. “The concert.”

She laughed. “I’m not a part of the band.”

“Yeah, but, you were helping with the costumes, right?”

She squinted. “You knew that?”

“Yeah… Nino… told me that, and so I figured you’d be here. Uh, like, with the band.”

“Oh.” She looked at the flowers as Adrien took a large gulp of water. “I figured you’d just saw me in the announcement on the air.”

“Right!” He slapped his forehead. “And it was on TV!” he shouted like he’d won the lottery. “Yeah! Yes. It was on TV. Bob Roth called you Luka’s girlfriend, so I thought, well, she must be there. And I don’t want Luka to get any ideas from someone calling you his girlfriend.” He was still huffing like he’d finished a marathon. Where had he come from? Where did he get the flowers? “And... And I’ve missed you, Marinette.”

The hollers of Kitty Section tailored to every wall of the studio. She could’ve sworn Luka’s guitar was more aggressive than usual. The band’s cords, thrums, and screeches squeezed its way into the pause Marinette reserved to compile her thoughts. She had to ease her way into telling Adrien what she’d done. Very cautiously. You know, in like a light, gradual tap sort of way.

“I told Luka our relationship is fake.”

Not a car crash.

“I’m really sorry Adrien. He just kept asking questions like he—” her hands loomed her head, “—like he knew something. He kept confronting me that our relationship wasn’t real!”

“He what?”

She felt so bad, and so confused, and also so in love because dang those flowers were beautiful. Honestly, it weakened her recent resolve not to ask Adrien on a date anymore. But it didn’t weaken it enough.

“I’m sorry, Adrien. I’m so, so sorry. He broke me. I don’t know how he knew. And now, well he can see you giving me flowers.” Adrien’s head snapped to the icy gaze on stage. “And he knows they’re just for show…”

She expected him to panic, groan, lament, or show aggravation towards Luka for figuring it out. Maybe even her forever for real for blowing their cover. But instead, he wiped the bottle’s condensation off his hands and rubbed her back with a reassuring smile.

“Marinette, I wanted to give you these flowers for real. Not for show.”

Suddenly, her future didn’t feel like it was exploding anymore. The corners of her lips raised.

“Really?”

He held her shoulder; a secure hold, yet the connection felt affectionate. His eyes softened against hers, and a rattling breeze of déjà vu shot through her. “Don’t be sorry for telling Luka. Trust me. If it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” Her heart drummed with more weight than before. “After all I’ve put you through, the stress of keeping up this lie, the miscommunication, and just, you know, missing you, I genuinely mean this gift. You’re awesome, Marinette, and you’re such a great friend.”

The strings that had slowly been upturning her mouth dropped, just like that.

Adrien winced as if something had jabbed his side.

“And girlfriend!”

Her thumb brushed over the white petals. “Right, fake girlfriend.”

Adrien’s hand flew through his hair as he looked around, distressed. He sighed, hissed, and then crushed the plastic bottle in his fist. “Can we talk about that?”

“What?”

“Our relationship.”

“Our… what?”

Her heart pounded for this man so hard the racketing ribs could make blisters on her chest. And as much as she wished he’d sweep her off her feet in front of Luka and prove to her he wasn’t using her, the surroundings were too much. She’d been on the verge of an anxiety attack all evening and she had too many questions! Too much stress! Too much love!

And that was dangerous. Because the vibrant yearning in Adrien’s eyes spoke into that desperate void within her wanting all of her to be his. He wasn’t just her fanboy anymore – he was an intricate bond, a soul who knew her when she was angry, tear-stained, even vindictive! Their misunderstandings brought them to see the worst sides of themselves. And somehow, for some stupid reason, she now stood before this frantic man, flowers limp at her side, truly, incorrigibly in love with him.

With that one bit of not having to lie to someone, she found refuge from her double life. But Adrien didn’t know everything. He couldn’t. For him to have “all” of her carried impossible weight.

Whatever he had to say, she wanted it to be just them. Just real. Just… Ladybug-less.

But that last part was impossible.

“Marinette, I’m… I’m not as good at confessions as Luka. And I say the wrong thing all the time.” He laughed bitterly. “As you know. But,” he held his forehead, the other hand gesturing to the flowers, a sort of helplessness about him as he raised his voice over the music, “I’m trying to show you how I feel, Marinette. Man, why is it so loud in here?!”

She took his hand, it was clammy. She dragged them out of the studio room – away from Luka and cameramen and a grumbling Bob Roth. He disposed his bottle on the way out of the hall maze then climbed until fresh air hit her face and the sweat on her skin felt cool. There on the roof she could see Adrien in the natural light – a waning sun painting them orange. Her sanity refreshed as she noticed the Eiffel Tower in her peripheral and remembered the peace she so often felt there.

“Sorry, I had to get out of that room. So we could breathe.” She leant against the railing, feigning a smile, still holding the flowers. “It’s been… a big day.”

Starstruck. Mouth tipped. Breeze stirring his blond ends. Adrien was a sight to never forget, but a sight that would never know her.

“Sorry, you were going to say something important down there and I just completely interrupted you. Haha, silly me! Always ruining the moment and—

“I love you, Marinette.”

The wind stilled.

“You…”

He…

He… couldn’t.

“I love you, Marinette. I have been sickly in love with you before I realised what true love was! Your sugary scent drives me crazy, I freak out every akuma attack when I don’t know you’re safe, and– and every time ever you’re scorching with justice, defending your friends, or yelling at me I just want to grab your face and kiss you. Somehow I become more attracted to you with every argument. And yes I know we’re a mess!” his eyes were shimmering, “I know we aren’t the perfect couple, I know our melody or whatever doesn’t sound nice sometimes, but I– I just crave you. Even on your bad and big days. I don’t care how dysfunctional the world thinks we are. I love you.”

Well.

There was that.

The pain in her side was gone, a relief sweeping over her as a foreboding, more chilling pain readied itself as she took in the pleading face of the most beautiful man on earth.

A confession sat heavy on her tongue. She wanted to say it back. She really really did.

But needles pricked her throat. Circulation had stopped in her hands. Her mouth was as dry as her skin.

Her voice tentatively broke, “Adrien…”

He winced, shutting his eyes like he knew it was over.

“Adrien. I, I just. There are reasons I can’t…”

A part of her wanted to strangle herself. Shout. Cry. Scream ‘STOP’ and ‘LET YOURSELF HAVE THIS’. But if she followed that selfish blood in her heart, Paris would be in flames. She had to make decisions that she in no way felt qualified for.

Days ago, Marinette would be jumping in his arms singing her praises back. But if that had happened, she’d be in the present, lying, dealing with the consequences of having a boyfriend as Ladybug and losing all trust.

No. That was worse.

She knew that now.

She had to crack his heart now to not shatter it in the future.

“Marinette.” He held her hands, massaging the circulation back to her palms. The flowers fell to the ground. “I know I’m an idiot. I know I’m clueless. But I know you have feelings for me back.”

The pace in her chest sped up. 

“I’m… I’m not saying I don’t—”

He sprang up. “Then be with me!”

“It’s complicated!”

He rolled his eyes with a smile, so desperately committed to talking her out of this. “Because we’ve never been complicated before. Look, I like complicated. I like you.”

“I like you too! But it’s not that. I just have realised… It’s… It’s not fair to you.”

“Why? Because you’re way out of my league?” He grinned. “I’m used to you crushing my ego.”

“No, no. It’s because…” she sniffled, parasitical emotion lurching through the cracks of her mask, “no one will ever truly know me.”

He let her have a moment to weep.

“You know,” he started, squeezing her hands and searching her damp eyes, “not a lot of people don’t know who I really am either. What people know of me is just an advertising image. But you and me,” he grinned with perfect teeth, “we could be different! We could really get to know each other! In fact,” his fingers threaded through hers, and she finally looked up at him, “You’re the only one who really does know me, Marinette.”

The sun gave one last wink on the horizon. “Do I?”

He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She dropped his hands and shook her head. “I… can’t let anyone really love me. Even if he was patient, generous, wonderful. Even if he were you!”

He sighed quietly. “I’m sure I could understand if you would just explain things to me.”

Frustration bubbled in her like a burning cauldron. “I want to explain! But no one can understand what I’m going through. Please believe me.”

“Marinette. You can tell me anything! Before anything else, I will always be your friend.”

His words were perfect, like sparkling sharp knives slicing through her sensible determination.

“And I before anything else, I will always be… living a lie.”

Adrien's voice was breaking. “It doesn’t have to be a lie, Marinette! I want us to be together without all that!”

“That’s not what I’m talking about…”

“Then what are you talking about?! Please! You can trust me!”

She was trying so so hard to do the right thing. Fighting tooth and nail to cling to her willpower. And Adrien’s loving frustration kept charging, combating each forceful word that tore out of her last wits.

“It doesn’t matter! Our relationship was built on lies.”

“I don’t care, Marinette!” He groaned. “I still fell for you when you despised me and showed me your worst! Doesn’t that sound like destiny? Either that, or I’m crazy. And I’m okay with being crazy for you. I love you just the way you are!”

“You don’t know how I am!”

“But I want to! Please!”

She swallowed the tightness in her throat. Her fingers fused to the railing, tears cutting her freckled cheeks. Adrien’s turbulent presence behind her, yearning, had her mind reeling with just how much she wanted him back.

“But what if… what if there was more to me.”

‘Marinette,’ a voice hissed in her mind.

“I would be okay with that!” He cried. “Of course! Anything.”

“Anything?” she muttered to herself, glaring at her white knuckles and picturing them covered in polka-dotted spandex.  

‘He doesn’t know what he’s asking.’

“Yes!”

Her mouth tipped.

“You really want to know?”

‘He can’t know.”

Her mouth dried. He caught her hesitation.

“Marinette. You can tell me.” A hand found itself on her shoulder. “You can trust me. Your word stays with me. Everything you tell me. It stays right here, okay?”

She swallowed.

“It stays with you?”

‘Stop.’

“Of course.”

“It’s too big…”

“Nothing is too big. I fell in love with you when I was supposed to hate you, remember? I’ll accept you. Whoever you are. I want to know you.”

‘No. Stop.’

“I mean…”

‘Marinette.’

“It’s just…”

‘No. No. No.’

“I’m…”

She rubbed her earring and looked towards the calm city entering the night. Chat Noir hid himself as a civilian, going about his life and trusting her irrevocably. Dozens of lights twinkled in the scape. Hundreds of cars teemed the streets like ants. Thousands of people with lives and children lived under the brutal unknown awaiting monstrous attacks. One careless move could result in her atop the same studio tower, looking instead at a mass of fire and brimstone.

And it would be her fault.

“I... can’t.”

“But—”

“I’ve made up my mind, Adrien.” Shaking off the temptation, she faced him, crystal-eyed and mouth stern. “This is just something I have to keep with me. It’s too much for anyone to accept... even you.”

Adrien’s face hardened – that worn look of angered defeat she’d seen from him many times. But instead of pride, she felt a deep sting.

“I understand,” he said half-truthfully.

She wanted to cry.

Not feign this defiance.

Something simmered in her chest—anger, defeat, something unfinished. She couldn’t pinpoint it, but it reached its boiling point when Adrien's view turned away to the stairs, registering panic.

“Wait!”

He perked up, flashing back around.

“I wish I could be with you. I do. But this thing is just bigger. I… I must be responsible.”

His shoulders dropped again, like he was ready to turn back to the stairs. “I know.”

“But!”

He froze.

“We could still… pretend, right? We have no reason to ‘break up’.” ‘Why am I still talking?’ “It’s like… we’ll just continue how we were. Like whatever we do won’t even count…”

What was she saying?! Her mouth was running before her brain could catch up, her poor heart salvaging anything it could to have any piece of him before the Ladybug side of her could slap her selfishness silly. Her mortification began to chew her on the inside as she awaited Adrien to look at her in disgust.

But the next few seconds were a blur. Because Adrien’s brain seemed in a similar paralysis while his heart pushed him towards her.

Adrien, poor hopeless desperate Adrien, had surged back forward and began nodding before Marinette could take her words back. His blond lashes had already accumulated pearls of tears from the few seconds he’d been walking away.

“Yes. Yes we can do that.”

“It doesn’t count?”

He was lurching for her, hands outstretched, face relieved. He grasped her face as her heartbeat and blood flow hurried in anxious anticipation, as the last whisper from his impatient mouth hovered over hers,

“It doesn’t count.”

His lips slammed against hers.