Chapter Text
“A-A-Adrien!?”
Marinette’s voice is somewhere between a squeak and a scream, and Adrien’s lips quiver with the urge to turn his gentle smile into a full blown smirk.
She’s staring at him, blue eyes wide as saucers. Her pink lips are slightly parted in a way that makes Adrien want to take her to a dark corridor and not ever let her leave. With the restraint that comes with years and years of having to hold a pose, he waves a hand at her and nods at Alya in recognition before turning around to take his seat.
His satisfaction is short lived, because a few seconds later he hears a shuffling behind him, then feels a small hand place itself upon his forearm.
“A-Adrien?” she calls, and when he looks over to her she’s impossibly close, cheeks pink with embarrassment in spite of the steely decision in her eyes. “May I talk to you, in private?”
Absentmindedly, Adrien thinks this is the first time in a while that she utters a completely straight sentence at him, and feeling mischievous, he replies: “I don’t think your physics grade can stand a little chat, my Lady.” Marinette lets out a quiet gasp, and the lingering doubts in her expression vanish at his choice of words. So do Adrien’s, but it’s possible that she may not be quite as elated as he feels at the fact.
Right as if on cue, Madame Mendeleiev crosses the threshold of the classroom, greeting her students with her usual severe face. Adrien offers Marinette a smirk as he lays his cheek on a waiting hand. But as always, she takes him by surprise.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing you’re so good at physics, kitty.” She mutters right as takes his hand and yanks him upright, pulling him out of the classroom before he can even protest. As they get away, the class’ stares follow them to the corridor and throughout the school.
Marinette doesn’t stop walking until they reach a deserted corridor towards the back of the collège. It’s far enough from the front that a light shadow is spread around the place, making it the ideal setting for Adrien to make his earlier thoughts about dark corridors come true, but his lovely companion beats every light-hearted thing off his mind with her heavy, cautiously uttered words.
“Adrien” she says, her bright blue eyes fleeting between his face and the kitty on his beanie. “Where… did you get that hat?”
Even though his inner Chat Noir is begging him to take the opportunity to tease her, Adrien looks straight into her eyes, green eyes just as serious as her.
“I think you know, Marinette.”
“B-but you… But if you’re…” she babbles, her hands clutching her cheeks in a panicked frenzy. She half turns away, looking torn between running away and staying to grind more answers out of him. Adrien’s hands are twitching to reach out and wrap themselves around her petite frame while she processes things, but Marinette, this girl that he so long believed was shy, wears her heart on her sleeve, and right now her heart seems to need some space. “I-if you’re Chat Noir then… then we… oh my god!” she squeaks as her fingers reach up to partially cover her eyes. “How did you find out?”
“Your brooches.” He replies without missing a beat. She’s already too overwhelmed as it is, Adrien doesn’t want to put her through more than she can bear. And if she’s going to dump me, he thinks, I hope she’ll be gentle. Adrien knows that is a ridiculous thought in more ways than one, knows Marinette’s feelings for Chat Noir and that even if she didn’t want to be with Adrien, she would never be mean about it, but years and years of being brushed off by his father and the way she always clams up when she’s around him gnaw at him from the pit of his stomach. “They didn’t disappear when you transformed.”
Gasping, Marinette reaches up to her pigtails, where once again the brooches are adorning her hair. Adrien wonders if she’s regretting accepting them in the first place. She keeps quiet for a while, and even though he doesn’t want to pressure her into saying anything she may or may not mean, the uncertainty of it all is killing him; his fists clench and unclench with anxiety, and the words leave his mouth before he can stop them.
“Are you… disappointed?” Marinette rises her gaze from the floor to meet his eyes, her brow furrowed in annoyance despite the storm in her eyes.
“Disappointed? W-why would I be disappointed?”
“You never talk to me when I’m not Chat Noir. I mean… you’re always stuttering and avoiding me… I thought maybe you didn’t like me.” He admits, feeling the tips of his ears burn as he acknowledges just how whiny his words sound and how Marinette’s annoyed expression won’t leave her face. In fact, she brings a hand to her face in what is very evidently a facepalm, a slight groan escaping her mouth.
“I… Adrien…” suddenly the flush he’s so accustomed to seeing in the mornings makes an appearance, taking over his princess’ face as she takes a deep breath and reaches for his hand. “I never… I never could speak to you properly because I liked you, Adrien.”
Oh. Well, that surely explained a lot. Like Nino’s constant eyebrow-wiggling in her direction, and his best friend’s silent conversations with Alya. But if she liked him…
“And you gave up on me.” He whispers, eyes downcast.
“W-well… you didn’t seem to like me back… and when Chat- when you started showing up in my balcony, looking for me, not for Ladybug, but for silly Marinette…” she trails off, the flush still present. Adrien thought this was going to be a day of revelations for her but he’s now just as overwhelmed as his partner in fighting crime.
“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, Marinette.” He says softly, reaching for the hand she let go of in order to take a few steps back to recompose herself, a purpose for which she finds little success, apparently. “And, Marinette, my lady… don’t belittle yourself like that.” He takes her other hand to bring both of them to his chest, the action bringing them close enough for him to smell her sweet perfume.
“A-Adrien… Chat Noir… does this mean that you –that because I am Ladybug-”
“I’ve been kissing Marinette all this time, haven’t I?” Adrien interrupts before she can go on any further. His lady has a thing for picturing the worst-case-scenarios all of the time, and while he usually finds it endearing, he needs to clear away her doubts at the moment. “I didn’t know you were Ladybug until yesterday. I did –I do have a crush on Ladybug, but Marinette, you stole my heart.” He declares, fighting the rising blush on his cheeks. His heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest and throw itself into her hands, but Adrien finds he wouldn’t even be mad at it if it did.
Marinette untangles one of her hands from his to bring it up to his face, the tips of her fingers caressing his straw blond bangs. Adrien leans into her touch, drinking in the awed expression on her face, the way the blush brings out the constellation of freckles that dust her nose and cheeks, how her eyes are bright enough to outshine the sun and all of the stars.
“Say something.” He pleads like the needy cat he is. As a gust of cold wind crosses the corridor, Marinette brushes her thumb across his lower lip, and he’s grateful to have an excuse for the shiver it elicits. Suddenly she’s pulling her hands from him so she can encircle him in her arms, hiding her face in his coat. Adrien feels a relieved breath escape his lips; she’s not rejecting him. “Princess?”
“We’re not very bright people, are we?” she muses, her voice muffled by his coat; Adrien takes the opportunity to return the embrace, hands rubbing soothing patterns on her back. When she looks up, her bangs are a little askew, and though he’s seen her flushed to the roots of her hair and breathless and thoroughly kissed, she’s never been this beautiful and real and his before.
“We’re going to be okay.” He assures, squeezing her against him. Their faces are centimeters apart. “Marinette,” he says slowly, looking her square in the eyes. “May I kiss you?”
She nods so hard she hits him on the nose, making him chuckle despite the pain, putting a hand on her cheek to guide her wanting mouth to his.
Adrien spends New Year’s Eve with Marinette too, but this time, he goes through the front door of the boulangerie.