Archive of Our Own ^beta

“That could have been quicker,” Chat Noir says, leaning against his baton.

His messy hair glints in the afternoon light, begging for Ladybug to run her fingers through it—but there’s no time for that. Ever since an akuma alert interrupted their first period classes, they’ve been zigzagging across Paris for what feels like hours. Ladybug doesn’t know how late they are, exactly; she just knows that they’re in trouble.

“I’ll say,” Ladybug says. She checks the time on her yo-yo and curses. “We need to get back to class.”

Chat grimaces. “Um, which class? I feel like we probably missed the end of our first period.”

“You’re right,” Ladybug says, unwinding her yo-yo. “We’ve got three minutes until we’re late for history class.”

“Oh, I’m sure Monsieur Bernard won’t mind,” Chat says, twirling his baton. “We’ll just tell him that we were busy making history.”

“Adrien! This is the third time this month!”

“But the first time we’ve missed this class! Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Dawdle all you want,” Ladybug says, “but I’m going back. I can’t afford to get grounded again.”

With that, she swings her yo-yo and carries herself to the neighboring rooftop.

Ever since they reached lycée, it feels like Le Papillon and Mayura have doubled their efforts. As a result, Marinette and Adrien are running out of excuses for their increasingly frequent absences. It’s one thing when the akumas happen near the school—but when they’re on the other side of the city, it’s harder to slip away unnoticed.

“I’m coming!” Chat yelps from behind her.

As the two of them race back toward the school, jumbled questions rattle around Ladybug’s brain. How many people noticed their absences this time? What excuse did she use the last time she was fighting an akuma across town? Did Alya grab her books and bag from their first period classroom?

A minute later, Ladybug and Chat Noir touch down behind a line of bushes in the schoolyard, simultaneously calling out their detransformations.

Even after months of knowing that Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir, Marinette still marvels as green light washes over him, undoing his transformation. The sclerae fade from his eyes, and his hair goes back to its usual style, primly tucked behind his ears. Then his ring dissolves into silver metal, and black leather is replaced by jeans and a cobalt sweater—both nearly as snug as his suit, hugging the muscles of his arms and legs in a way that has Marinette blushing.

The soft smile on his face, though, remains the same.

“You know,” Adrien says, as Marinette plucks a leaf from his hair. “Maybe I should have stuck to homeschooling. It would be a lot easier to explain—”

“Philosophize later,” Marinette says. She grabs his wrist, her fingers brushing the charm bracelet he’s wearing, and tugs him toward the back entrance of the school. “We have class.”

His hand is warm in hers as they sneak up to the door. Not for the first time, Marinette wishes that they could just have a quiet moment to themselves—maybe sneak off to one of the trees in the yard, and lie down in the grass beneath it, and doze in each other’s arms for an hour or two. Marinette wants to press her cheek to Adrien’s warm chest, the pulse of his heartbeat in her ear, and feel Adrien wrap his arms around her, holding her tight against him as he sleepily mumbles anime lyrics.

But they can’t do that, because they can never find the time. Even if they could, they’re not dating each other—and Marinette knows Adrien would never do something that intimate with a person he’s not dating.

They creep inside the school, and Marinette carefully shuts the door behind them. Fortunately, there’s no one in sight, and they make it to the staircase without being seen.

“For the record,” Marinette whispers, bursting into a run, “I’m glad you go to public school with me. Or, well, all of us.”

She looks over at Adrien, who’s grinning at her as he takes the steps two at a time. “Me too. It’s nice to—oops!” He nearly slips as he skids around the corner, but he catches himself on the bannister at the last second. “Uh, it’s nice to…see you. At school.”

“What, don’t you like seeing me on rooftops in a skintight—” Marinette squeaks as she trips, banging her shin off the step. “Ow.” Adrien grabs her arm and guides her to the next landing. “I wish I had some of that Ladybug grace when I’m not transformed.”

“You do,” Adrien says, his hand slipping down to squeeze hers. “But we just fought an akuma for forty-five minutes, and now we’re in a hurry. I think some clumsiness is to be expected.”

“Maybe.” Marinette pauses, trying to catch her breath. “So, what are the chances that I can go to the nurse and take a nap?”

Adrien grips his chin in thought. “Mm, not good. You did that last week.”

“Ugh. You’re right.” Marinette smiles and nudges Adrien’s chest. “You could go take a nap, though.”

“I missed history class for a photoshoot yesterday,” Adrien says. “I probably shouldn’t miss twice in a row.”

“What, you don’t trust my notes?”

Adrien laughs. “After your last ones had drool stains on them? Afraid not, buguinette. I’m still not sure if you wrote Cortés or courtesan.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Marinette says, rolling her eyes.

“Get used to it,” Adrien says. “You want to be a famous fashion designer, don’t you?”

“Yes, and…” The bell rings, and Marinette’s eyes widen. “And we’re late for class!”

“Sorry,” Adrien says, as Marinette grabs his wrist again and sprints toward the classroom door. “When I’m around you, I kind of just forget my surroundings and…uh…”

They reach the door, and Marinette wrenches it open—and instantly, twenty pairs of eyes land on them.

Marinette freezes, giving the class an unnaturally wide smile. She spots Alya sitting in the row nearest the door, with Marinette’s bag and books on the desk in front of her. Frowning, Alya mouths, Where have you two been?

Before Marinette can respond, Monsieur Bernard speaks.

“Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng. Monsieur Agreste.” He makes a mark in his attendance binder. “I’d heard about your attendance issues from other teachers, but I hoped that maybe this class was more important to you.”

“No, it is!” Marinette says. “We were just, um…”

“Repeating history?” Monsieur Bernard says drily.

Adrien snorts, and Marinette jabs her elbow into his stomach. “No,” she says. “No, um…we…”

“I’ve noticed Adrien and Marinette always disappear together,” Lila says, from her spot in the back of the room. Her eyes glint with a malice that only Adrien and Marinette can detect. “It’s a pattern. Isn’t that odd?”

“No,” Marinette says, because apparently that’s the only word she knows now. “I mean, that’s just…because…there was an…um…”

Marinette grits her teeth, biting back a groan. When akumas attack the school, she and Adrien can lie and say that they got hit or captured—but everyone knows that this akuma was nowhere near the school, so Marinette can’t use that excuse.

“I hope you’re not going to tell me it was the akuma attack,” Monsieur Bernard says, adjusting his glasses. “I gather that’s your preferred excuse, but this akuma was on the other side of the city.”

“Of—of course not,” Marinette says. “It was just…”

Panic roars in her mind, turning her thoughts incoherent. This is the third time that she and Adrien have disappeared and reappeared at the exact same time…right after an akuma attack…looking like they just physically exerted themselves.

How is Marinette supposed to explain this?

“You don’t need to give me a reason,” Monsieur Bernard says. “But if you don’t, then I’ll have to involve your parents or the principal.”

“There’s no need for that!” Marinette says. “We were…um…”

Silence reigns, and the twenty pairs of eyes in the room narrow.

Marinette swallows. Her mind is still empty. “Um. We were…”

“We were making out in a storage closet!” Adrien says.

Marinette whips around so quickly that her neck hurts. “We were what?”

No one hears her, though, because the class instantly crumbles into chaos.

“Oh my god,” Alya says. “No way.”

“Dude,” Nino says, tugging on the bill of his cap.

“You mean they weren’t rollerblading in the empty hallways?” Kim asks.

Those are the last individual voices Marinette is able to pick out before she’s drowning in a wave of sound.

I knew it.

Aw, I think they’re a cute couple!

Gross. Can’t those two keep their hands to themselves?

Of course they’re hooking up. Have you seen the way he looks at her?

Marinette squeezes her eyes shut. Her face feels hot, and her body is slowly melting into a puddle of shame. “Adrien.”

Of all the things Adrien could have blurted out, why did he have to pick one of her most desperate fantasies?

Because yes, of course she daydreams about cuddling with Adrien, and holding his hand, and whispering sugary compliments in his ear. Marinette is a romantic at heart, and she’ll never stop dreaming of a stupid-sweet relationship like that.

But Marinette also wants to shove Adrien against a wall and kiss him until he’s a whining mess. She wants to ruin that neatly-styled hair of his, running her hands through it until it’s so tangled that he looks feral. She wants to wrap her legs around his waist and kiss his neck until he’s begging—and then she wants to grant him a slow kiss on the lips, one that makes his knees go so weak that the two of them tumble to the ground (where, of course, Marinette would climb on top of Adrien and keep kissing him).  

And she knows, without a doubt, that she can make Adrien whine and beg. He’s done it before when she brought treats to patrol and told him to wait until the end—and surely, surely her lips are more tempting than a croissant.

Or, well. Maybe.

Adrien’s nervous laugh interrupts her thoughts. “Ha, uh…no shame, Marinette,” he says, voice tense. “H-honesty is the best policy, right?”

At least it’s an easy sell. Marinette looks flustered, and Adrien sounds like he’s three seconds from running out the door. How could anyone doubt that they were making out in a closet?

“Class!” Monsieur Bernard says, and the chattering dies out. “Monsieur Agreste, I appreciate your honesty…although that’s a completely inappropriate reason to be late for class.”

“Yes, it is,” Marinette agrees, her teeth gritted.

“Since you’re only a minute late, though,” Monsieur Bernard adds, “and since this is the first time this has happened, I’ll give you two a pass. Take your seats?”

“Seats!” Marinette says, while Adrien accidentally says let’s sit in Mandarin. “Yes, uh—w-we’re very sorry, Monsieur Bernard. It won’t happen again.”

“I assumed that,” Monsieur Bernard says.

He turns back to the whiteboard, and Adrien and Marinette scramble toward their respective seats.

“Girl,” Alya whispers. “Seriously?”

Marinette says nothing, hunching forward in her seat.

For the first part of class, she and Adrien don’t look at each other. Marinette keeps her eyes glued to her notes, only hearing half the words Monsieur Bernard says.

She can’t believe Adrien told the entire class that they were making out with each other—except she can, because that’s exactly the sort of thing his addled brain would come up with.

Stupidly, Marinette wishes that they could make it true. Why should she suffer this embarrassment with no reward? Adrien at least owes her a hickey.

Monsieur Bernard’s history lectures fades into the background, and Marinette loses herself in fantasies of Adrien’s hair, his lips, his touch.

Halfway through class, when Monsieur Bernard’s back is turned to the room, Adrien slips a sheet of notebook paper onto her desk.

At the top is a doodle of a crying cat with pleading eyes, and below that: I AM SO SO SO SO SORRY. I WASN’T THINKING. Please forgive me, princesse?

I don’t want apologies! Marinette almost whispers. I want you to kiss me until I can’t remember how to spell macaron!

Instead, she glares at him, an eyebrow raised. Princesse? she mouths, unimpressed.

Adrien grins sheepishly. Yes?

Rolling her eyes, Marinette jots down a response. Pet names won’t get you anywhere. But there’s nothing to forgive, minou. We both panicked.

Then she slips the note into his outstretched hand, still too mortified to meet his eyes for more than a few seconds at a time.

Somewhere behind her, someone whispers, “Are they passing inappropriate notes?”

Groaning, Marinette lets her forehead fall onto the desk with a thunk.

To pass the time—because she loves to torture herself—she makes a mental list of places she’d like to kiss Adrien. On her balcony, with his cat eyes gleaming at her in the fairy lights. On the Eiffel Tower, the sunset glowing in front of them. At a photoshoot, hiding in his dressing room while Nathalie calls for Adrien.

And, of course, in a storage closet at the school.

After class, as Marinette takes her time gathering her things, Alya touches her shoulder and whispers, “Is that really what happened?”

“Yeah,” Marinette mutters, eyes fixed on her daily planner. “That’s it.”

“Can you fill me in later?”

Marinette shuts her eyes, cheeks heating. “There’s nothing to fill in.”

“Really?” Alya says. “Because the last time I checked, you two weren’t even dating. I mean, of course you two are into each other, but it still seems kind of sudden.”

Marinette reluctantly opens her eyes. To her right, Nino asks Adrien, “So, are you two dating?”

Adrien glances at Marinette, and she grimaces. Are they really going to lie about that, too? It’s bad enough having to pretend that they were making out in a storage closet.

“Um,” Adrien says, “can we talk about this later?”

“Okay,” Alya says. She pats Marinette’s shoulder. “Don’t be late to literature, you two!”

The classroom empties, and then Adrien is the only one in the room with Marinette. He awkwardly clutches the strap of his messenger bag, his face bright red.

“I am so sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know what to say.”

Marinette sighs, slipping her textbook into her backpack. “And you decided to say that because…?”

“I was afraid they would guess what we were really doing!” Adrien says. “Monsieur Bernard mentioned akumas, and—what if that made people notice that we’re always leaving during akuma attacks?” Adrien runs a hand through his hair, deliciously tousling it. “Alya and Nino are smart. They could figure it out. And you weren’t saying anything, and our identities were on the line, s-so…I went with the most plausible explanation.”

“But it’s a lie!” Marinette says.

“What do you expect us to do?” Adrien asks, a tiny scowl etched into his features. “Go find a closet and make it true?”

“Yes!” Marinette says. “I mean—no. No!”

Adrien squints at her. “Wait, did you say that you do want us to go—”

“Anyway!” Marinette squeaks. “Couldn’t your straight-A brain have come up with anything else?”

“No!” Adrien says. “Why else would you and I consistently sneak off together during akuma attacks?”

“I don’t know! Maybe, um…”

Marinette thinks, and thinks—but every explanation she comes up with is less plausible, more suspicious. As much as she hates to admit it, Adrien’s excuse is pretty solid.

“Okay,” Marinette says. “Maybe you have a point.”

“I do?” Adrien says. “I mean, right! I do.”

He’s stuttering a bit, cheeks still glowing pink, and Marinette’s treacherous brain latches onto that. She imagines stepping closer with a smirk and whispering, But you know I don’t like liars. Adrien’s blush would deepen—she’s seen it happen whenever Ladybug flirts with Chat Noir—and then Marinette would trail a hand up his side and add, Maybe it shouldn’t be a lie.

Adrien would stare at her, speechless—and then he’d sit Marinette on one of the classroom desks and kiss her, years of love and desire burning between them.

“So…” Adrien bites his lip, which almost makes Marinette start fantasizing all over again. “Is everything okay, then?”

“N-no,” Marinette says. “Because now everyone is going to think we’re dating or something! Isn’t that kind of a problem?”  

“Oh.” Adrien rubs the back of his neck, and Marinette might be imagining it, but she thinks she hears Plagg laughing from inside Adrien’s bag. “I mean…is that really so bad?”

The question stalls Marinette’s brain all over again.

Is it bad if people think that Marinette and Adrien are dating?

There’s no question that Marinette is in love with Adrien. She fell for him once as Adrien, and again as Chat Noir—and now that she’s discovered that those two people are the same person, she’s accepted that she isn’t getting over him any time soon.

But does Adrien feel the same?

In the beginning, Chat Noir was never shy about declaring his love for Ladybug. Since collège, though, he hasn’t made any grand love confessions—and since they found each other’s identities, he hasn’t tried to ask her out. It’s very possible that he’s still in love with her, but Marinette has no way of knowing where he stands.

And Marinette isn’t about to assume anything and make a fool of herself, so for now, she’s shelved her fantasies of rooftop picnics and balcony kisses.

“Right!” Adrien says, his voice uncomfortably loud. Marinette realizes she still hasn’t answered him. “Um, it wouldn’t be bad for me—in fact, I wouldn’t mind, uh, not lying about dating…but of course you don’t want people to think you’re dating me! I mean, you probably have your eye on someone, and if they think you’re taken, that’s bad. Yeah. Um.” He winces, staring at the whiteboard to his right. “Maybe we could tell people that it’s just a physical thing?”

Mouth dry, Marinette stares at him. “T-tell people that—that we’re doing…physical things?”

“Or we could just let them think that!” Adrien says, voice cracking. “I mean, I’ve been told I’m attractive, and of course you’re gorgeous, and talented, and brave, and smart…so, um, maybe they’ll just think that we’re two hot people succumbing to our hormones and—mmph?”

“I get the idea,” Marinette says, her hand pressed to Adrien’s mouth. It almost feels like his soft lips are kissing her palm, so she yanks her hand away and adds, “Just—okay, yes. We won’t say anything, but we can let people think it’s a physical thing.” Her cheeks heat. “And for the record, I…I wouldn’t mind if people thought we were dating. That’s not a bad thing! I mean, anyone would be lucky to date you. Of course, I’m already lucky…b-but I guess I’d be even luckier!”  

“Really?” Adrien says, eyes widening. “So if I—”

“But that’s a really hard lie to pull off,” Marinette says. “And since we need a cover story that can last for the foreseeable future, I think simpler is better.”

“Right! We’ll just stick to making out in closets.” Adrien yelps. “But not actually! I mean…fictitiously.”

Why not actually? Marinette’s mind says. We should make out for real!

Fortunately, she keeps that thought to herself. “Great,” she says. “That’s settled. The next time we miss class for an akuma attack, we’ll…say we were doing that.”

“Looking forward to it!” Adrien says. His face darkens to scarlet, and he presses a hand to his forehead. “I—I mean, there’s nothing to look forward to. Obviously, if there was, uh—something…like that, that would be great! But, um, there isn’t, so…you know what I mean.”

Marinette, in fact, has no idea what he means—but she knows that she’d like this conversation to be over now. “We’d better head to class,” she says. “I don’t think we want to be late twice in a row.”

“At least we have an excuse now,” Adrien says, smiling. While his cheeks are still flushed, his voice has regained its steadiness. “But, good point. I’m pretty sure Alya and Nino are already planning to interrogate us later, so we probably shouldn’t add fuel to the flames.”

Marinette groans. “I’m not looking forward to that conversation.”

“It’ll be fine,” Adrien says. “Alya said we seem totally into each other, didn’t she? It should be easy to convince them.”

“She did say that,” Marinette murmurs.

Alya has been mistaken before…but is it possible? Could Adrien really return Marinette’s feelings, after all this time?

“Okay,” Marinette says, hope flickering in her chest. “Let’s go. We can figure that out later.”

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she leads Adrien out of the classroom—and as they walk past a storage closet in the hallway, she can’t help but fantasize about pulling him inside.

“At least it was close to lunch break this time,” Adrien says, as he sprints down the sidewalk alongside Marinette. Their transformations had dropped two blocks away from the school, and they figured that running was faster than recharging their kwamis. “We only missed the last few minutes of class.”

They missed almost all of lunch, though—and as a growing teenager with an enormous appetite, Adrien isn’t too pleased about that.

“Yes, that—” Marinette breaks off and narrowly dodges a man with a stroller, her purse banging against the stroller canopy. She yells an apology over her shoulder. “That’s nice. Now we get to have empty stomachs instead of being late to class.”

“I’m sure Madame Pereira will let us eat in class,” Adrien says. “She lets Nino listen to music during tests.”

“Maybe,” Marinette says. “But we’ll still have to tell our friends why we missed lunch.”

Despite the air whipping Adrien’s face as he runs, his cheeks burn. Thanks to his big mouth—or, as Plagg calls it, wishful thinking—their entire grade now thinks that Adrien and Marinette are sneaking around the school to make out with each other.

Which would be fine, if it were true. Instead, Adrien gets all of the notoriety, and none of the benefits.

He watches Marinette’s ponytail stream behind her as she runs. She still wears her signature pigtails as Ladybug, but these days, she’s been experimenting with different hairstyles more. Adrien still loves it best when she wears her hair down, because he can lose himself in daydreams of running his fingers through her soft hair—but he thinks she’s equally beautiful no matter how she wears it.

Groaning, Adrien squeezes his eyes shut. Hadn’t he called Marinette gorgeous when he was rambling about making out with her? He doesn’t remember what all he said, but Plagg had gleefully filled him in once he got home. Assuming that Plagg didn’t lie, Adrien told Marinette that he wants to date her, said he looked forward to making out in a closet with her, and then complimented her on her taste in nail clippers. (Adrien thinks that last one might be fake, and yet, he wouldn’t be surprised if that came out of his mouth while he was floundering.)

What if Marinette thinks Adrien is just some lecherous teenage boy who’s been eyeing her up all this time?

That’s far from the truth. Adrien has been head over heels for Marinette since both days they met—first as Ladybug and Chat Noir, and again as Adrien and Marinette. It may have taken him longer to figure out his feelings for Marinette, but he did, and now he can’t stop thinking about her. He’s dying to take her on fancy dates, and cuddle with her while they binge anime on Netflix, and nap together on rooftops during patrol; he wants to shower her in affection, and show her just how much she means to him.

It just so happens that he would also love to make out with her in a closet.

“Adrien!” Marinette calls.

She tugs him to the side a second before he collides with a pole, and he stumbles as he rights himself.

“S-sorry,” he says. “I was thinking.”

“Try to think about where you’re going,” Marinette says, eyes sparkling. “I’d rather not explain how you managed to lose a few teeth while we were making out.”

“I guess you’re just that enthusiastic,” Adrien says.

After that, his hormones cower at the thought of Marinette kissing him and somehow knocking out his teeth.

On their way to the school entrance, they manage to avoid the few students sitting outside. Adrien worries that Nathaniel and Marc will glance up as they sneak past—but they’re so absorbed in their writing and drawing that they don’t even notice.

We could be like that, Adrien thinks. We could sit in the grass outside the school, and I could hold you in my arms while you sketch designs.

But Adrien and Marinette aren’t like that.

Unseen, they slip inside the school and into an empty hallway. There’s no one in sight—which either means that Adrien and Marinette missed the bell, or that they got back early enough that everyone is still in classrooms or the cafeteria.

Adrien glances at a clock on the wall, confirming that it’s the latter. “Oh,” he says. “We’ve actually got six minutes to—”

Marinette grabs his wrist and yanks him to the side. The bright hallway is replaced by a small, damp room, and then a door clicks shut behind Adrien, turning the world dark.

“Um,” Adrien says. “I can’t see anything.”

“Right!” Marinette says. “I, uh—one second.”

With one hand braced against Adrien’s chest, she reaches behind him. Adrien hears a switch being flipped, and a second later, a dim fluorescent light flickers to life above them, buzzing quietly in the space.

Adrien scans the room. It’s large enough to take maybe eight steps to either side—not spacious, but not cramped enough to make him feel claustrophobic, either. A few metal shelves stand against the walls, filled with rags, cardboard boxes, various cleaning agents. The air tastes dusty and vaguely lemony.

Vaguely—because what Adrien really smells is Marinette, coconut lotion and fruity shampoo filling his lungs as she hovers close to him.

“M-Marinette?” Adrien says. Her body is warm and soft against his, and he’s having trouble finding words. “What are we doing in here?”

Marinette looks up at him, her eyes electric in the fluorescent light. “Well, I—I thought that, with what you said last time—m-maybe you—we should…”

Make out? Adrien wants to say. Great idea!

“We should…hide?” Adrien tries. “Talk?”

“No!” Marinette says. Her other hand comes to rest on his chest, sending sparks of heat across his skin. “No, we…um…”

Adrien waits, even as his heart pounds frantically beneath Marinette’s palms. “What exactly are we doing, buguinette?”

Marinette takes a deep breath, then says, “We’re going to make out.”

“Yes,” Adrien says. “Absolutely. I’ve been—wait.”

It sounds too good to be true—and Marinette says it firmly, steadily, like a plan of attack rather than a proposition.

She squeaks and jumps back, withdrawing her hands. “Not actually make out!”

“Oh,” Adrien says. He hopes he doesn’t sound too disappointed. “Right. So…what are we going to do?”

“Pr-pretend to make out,” Marinette says. She fiddles with the yellow and blue beads of her charm bracelet, her eyes fixed on a spray bottle to Adrien’s right. “People probably think this whole thing came out of nowhere, and I’m not sure they’re convinced. Especially Alya and Nino.”

“Well,” Adrien says, “maybe we were really into each other for a while, and recently realized that our feelings are reciprocated? That’s plausible, right?”

He winces. If only that was what happened. Instead, he and Marinette have inhabited the same gray territory for years.

Adrien thinks she might like him. Marinette hasn’t shown any interest in dating anyone else, and he knows there are things unique to her and him: hours-long conversations on patrol, pastry bags and coffees shared at school in the morning, late-night video game tournaments where they keep the volume low so her parents won’t hear. Marinette doesn’t do those things with anyone else, and Adrien thinks that maybe that’s because he’s special to her.

But special doesn’t mean she wants to date him.

Still, there’s the fact that she once kept pictures of him on her wall and under her mattress. Plagg assures Adrien that counts for something, and after years of denial, Adrien is inclined to agree.

Collège crushes fade, though. It’s very possible that Adrien missed his chance.

“Oh!” Marinette says. One of her teeth digs into her bottom lip. “I was just thinking, um—we should probably provide some evidence to convince people. I mean, fake evidence! Like, wait here, and when we hear people outside…”

“Smart,” Adrien says. “But…won’t it be weird if we walk out looking put-together? Make-outs are usually kind of…you know…”

“Good point,” Marinette says. “Um, so…”

They both stand still for a moment, and then Marinette reaches down and undoes the top button of her cardigan. Baby blue fabric parts to reveal a collarbone, and Adrien swallows, averting his eyes.

“Can I touch your hair?” Marinette asks.

It’s not the context Adrien would like—ideally, he’d be lying on her lap in the springtime shade of a tree, dozing as she runs her fingers through his hair—but he nods. “Sure.”

Marinette reaches up, her touch featherlight, and ruffles Adrien’s hair. “Let’s see…”

“Not too much,” Adrien says, smiling down at her. “We don’t want them to realize I’m Chat Noir, remember?”

Marinette frowns. She’s standing close enough that Adrien could tilt his head and kiss her, if he tried. “So how should I do it?”

“Um…” Adrien’s cheeks burn. “Try to make it look like you were, uh—tugging on it, I guess.”

“Okay,” Marinette murmurs.

Her fingers sift through Adrien’s hair, tangling in the strands—and then she tugs lightly, making Adrien’s stomach flutter. He closes his eyes, certain that if he were transformed right now, he’d be purring.

Marinette pauses. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah. Why?”

“You kind of…gasped.”

“Oh, uh, I—I thought I needed to sneeze,” Adrien says. “It’s a little dusty in here.”

“Okay,” Marinette says, laughing. “Well, if you feel like you’re going to sneeze again, warn me so that I can get out of the way.”

Adrien tilts his head back and stares at the paneled ceiling, wishing that he could disappear. Standing in close quarters with the girl he loves, wanting to kiss her—and he told her that he almost sneezed on her.

How romantic.

Marinette tugs at Adrien’s hair some more, sending a shiver through him each time. It doesn’t matter that her movements are precise and calculated, devoid of heated passion—because it’s Marinette, and her touch is soft, and those two things are enough to make Adrien melt.

“There we go,” Marinette says. “Now for mine…”

She reaches back toward her ponytail, and Adrien surges forward, his fingers wrapping around her wrists. “Wait!”

Marinette pauses, her raised elbows brushing his chest. “What?”

“Um…allow me?”

Face pink like her favorite sweater, Marinette slowly lowers her hands. “Y-yes. Sure.”

Hands shaking slightly, Adrien reaches behind Marinette’s head and tugs on the band holding her hair back. He drags it down slowly, savoring the way her soft hair brushes against his skin, and praying that she can’t hear his heart thudding in his chest.

Finally, her hair falls loose, and Adrien pulls his hand back, slipping the hair tie over his fingers and around his wrist. Marinette’s dark hair falls like silk over her shoulders, stark against her skin—and not for the first time, Adrien marvels at how beautiful she is.

Instinctively, he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Th-there. How’s that?”

Marinette smiles, fiddling with a lock of hair. “I guess you were more careful with my hair than I was with yours.”

“Of course! I’m a gentleman,” Adrien says, face hot. His eyes flick down to her cardigan. “I guess I was shy with your cardigan, too. Only the top button!”

He immediately regrets the words. Did he just ask Marinette to unbutton her cardigan more? Well, that isn’t very gentlemanly.

“Great observation!” Marinette says, before Adrien can retract the words. She slips a few more buttons free, until the white lace trim of her camisole peeks through. “Better?”

“Fantastic!” Adrien says, starting to sweat. Belatedly, he is realizing that this is all probably a terrible idea. “B-because…before, it just looked like the button accidentally came undone, or you got a little warm.”

“W-well, it does feel a bit warm in here,” Marinette says. She peers down at her chest, and Adrien wills his eyes not to follow. “Ooh, maybe I can mismatch the buttons! Then it will look like I hastily redid them.” Smiling to herself, Marinette quickly unbuttons the cardigan the rest of the way.

Adrien lets out a suave whimper.

At least he didn’t offer to unbutton her clothes for her. Then Marinette would definitely think that he’s coming on to her.

Marinette’s hands pause, hovering in front of her open cardigan. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Adrien says. “I mean, yes! Just…wondering what to do with my clothes.”

Marinette hums. “Well, unzipping your fly is probably going too far—”

“Right!” Adrien says, voice cracking. “Let’s not do that.”

“We could rumple your shirt a little,” Marinette says. She gestures to Adrien’s chest. “Do you mind if I…”

“Not at all!” Adrien says. “Touch me wherever you want! I—I mean—yes. That’s fine.”

Forehead creased, Marinette curls her fingers in Adrien’s henley and scrunches the fabric with her hands. She’s close, and warm, and sweet, and Adrien feels his breath speeding up from her proximity. Doesn’t she realize that he’s losing his mind? What did he do to deserve this torture?

After a moment, Marinette steps back, hands on her hips. “How’s that?”

Adrien doesn’t even glance down at his shirt. “Great.”

“Okay,” Marinette says. “So…anything else?”

“I guess not,” Adrien says, frowning. Their hair is messy, their clothes unkempt—although Marinette still hasn’t rebuttoned her cardigan, since she got distracted by Adrien’s shirt. “All that’s left to do is, um…sprint to class and act embarrassed?”  

Marinette nods, mirroring Adrien’s frown. “Are you sure?”

Short of actually making out, Adrien isn’t sure how they can make themselves look any more convincing. And yet, he hates the thought of leaving this closet like nothing happened. The first few seconds after Marinette closed that door behind them, when she touched his chest and looked up at him with gleaming eyes, he felt something. A possibility.

And now it feels like it’s slipping away.

“Well,” Adrien says, “we look pretty good.” He tries to casually prop his foot against the door behind him, and ends up kicking a mop instead. It whooshes past him and hits the metal shelves with a bang. “B-but our lips don’t look like they’ve been busy.”

Marinette raises an eyebrow, the way she does whenever he makes a poorly-timed pun during battle. “And how do you propose we fix that?”

Kiss me, Adrien thinks. But what he says is, “I—I guess I was joking.”

“Oh!” Marinette says. She slips her purse off her shoulder and sets it on one of the shelves, rooting around inside. “Let me…that’s weird. Tikki’s gone.”

Adrien pats his pockets, even though he can already feel that Plagg isn’t there. “Plagg is, too. He must’ve gone back to hide in my bag. Or find food.”

“Hm.” Marinette peers into her purse again, and then she pulls out a thin tube of lip gloss. “Here!” She crosses over to Adrien and holds up the tube. “Stay still. I’ll put some of this on the corner of your mouth.”

When she uncaps the lip gloss, the scent of strawberry and vanilla—her scent—wafts to Adrien’s nose. His knees buckle, and he leans back against the door for support.

“Is—isn’t this kind of wasteful?” Adrien asks, as Marinette delicately lifts the lip gloss toward his face. Her other hand is touching his arm, and it doesn’t need to be, but it is. “I—I’m sure people will be convinced without you wasting your lip gloss on me.”

Marinette pulls her hand back slightly, a smirk tugging at her lips. “How else am I supposed to make our lips look convincing?”

Adrien knows that tone.

After years of being her friend and partner, he’s picked up on a few things. He knows how Marinette stutters when she’s nervous about something. He knows how she blushes when he compliments her—a dusting of pink across her cheeks, the tips of her ears glowing. He knows how she snorts at the puns she actually finds funny.

And he knows exactly how she smirks when she says, I dare you.

Gaze sparkling, Marinette moves the lip gloss so that it’s hovering in front of Adrien’s cheek instead. “Hm,” she says. “Well, if you don’t have any better ideas, then…let’s see. Where’s the best place for this?”

Hesitantly, Adrien lets his fingers trail along Marinette’s hip, brushing the skin where her camisole has ridden up. “You could just share the lip gloss you’re wearing,” he says, the hem of her cardigan tickling his hand. “That’s less wasteful.”

Marinette pokes his cheek with the bottom of the lip gloss tube. “What, chaton? Don’t you have faith in your acting abilities? You played a cartoon version of yourself three times.”

“Mm.” Adrien leans a bit closer, his heartbeat speeding up. “I could be better. I’ve been thinking of trying method acting, actually.”

Marinette’s fingers trace up his arm to his shoulder, and she lightly tugs on a lock of his hair. “And what makes you think I’ll help?”

“Well.” Adrien wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. “You’ve kissed me for an akuma. You almost kissed me for a film project.” And you kissed me when neither of us had our memories, he silently adds. “You could kiss me now.”

Marinette’s eyes flick down to his lips. “I could.”

Suddenly, Adrien thinks of a dozen things he should have said instead. He should have told her that he loves her, and wants to be with her, and that he actually thinks her nail clippers look clunky and industrial.

He opens his mouth to say one of those three things—and then Marinette kisses him.

Adrien melts against her, his mind turning fuzzy. He doesn’t feel the door against his back, or the chilly air of the closet, or the tacky floor beneath his shoes. What he feels is Marinette: her soft touch as she cups his face, the brush of her body against his, the heat each time she exhales against his lips.

She’s close, so close, and Adrien can’t remember what it was like to breathe air that isn’t hers.

He slips his hand beneath her cardigan and runs it up her back, feeling the thin material of her camisole beneath his palm. Without breaking the kiss, Marinette moves closer, bringing her chest flush against his.

Soft. She’s soft.

Adrien shudders as Marinette presses tiny kisses along his jaw. He’s gripping her waist with his free hand to steady himself, but it’s not enough—Marinette tugs sharply at his hair, and he gasps, nearly collapsing against her.

He should have known that his lady would undo him within seconds.

Her lips brush against his throat, and Adrien gives up trying to resist. He lets out a breathy whine, and his hand slides farther up her back, feeling soft fabric turn to warm skin.

Marinette inhales sharply. “Cold,” she murmurs.

Adrien glances down at her. “What?”

“Your ring.”

Adrien mumbles an apology, but Marinette merely shoves her cardigan off her shoulders in response. Face hot, Adrien brushes her hair aside and dives forward, pressing kisses to her bared skin.

After all, he refuses to be the only one who’s undone.

As Adrien drags his lips across the strap of Marinette’s camisole, he’s interrupted by her knuckles. He pauses and peers up at her, an eyebrow raised.

Cheeks red, Marinette brushes the camisole strap out of the way, letting it slink down her arm.

Driven by instinct, Adrien kisses every centimeter of skin he can find: the jut of her collarbone, the spot behind her ear, the patch of freckles on her shoulder. He ducks his head, moving lower—and then something tickles his lips.

Adrien dimly registers that he’s reached the lace trim on Marinette’s camisole. The fabric is dimpled from the fallen strap, lace dipping low on her chest, dangerously close to indecent.

Face burning, Adrien presses a kiss to where Marinette’s heart is, and then he slips the strap back onto her shoulder.

“What a gentleman,” Marinette mumbles, as Adrien kisses her behind the ear.

When he pulls away, his nose brushes against the metal of her earring, and a zing ripples across his skin. Maybe it’s the magic of the Miraculous, of his other half—or maybe it’s Marinette’s hand creeping under his shirt, her warm fingers ghosting across his skin.

Adrien shivers, half-formed thoughts bumbling around his head. He still hasn’t spit out the words he needs to say: I love you, I want to be with you, I’m yours. And now, he’s not coherent enough to say them—not with Marinette’s lips against his once again, scattering the words like dust being blown off a shelf.

His fingers become tangled in Marinette’s hair, and he worries that there will be knots when they’re done; but he also doesn’t care, because this is what kissing Marinette really feels like. This is how her hair spills across his fingers, how her skin grows hot beneath his touch, how her cardigan slips off one arm and onto the floor. Dozens of questions that Adrien has asked for years, dozens of things he hasn’t even dared to imagine, and they’re all happening in one dizzying moment.

Adrien surges forward, circling an arm around Marinette and pulling her as close as he can. His foot gets tangled in something soft—her cardigan, he thinks—and he stumbles a bit before kicking it away.

He doesn’t break the kiss, though. He’s pretty sure an earthquake couldn’t tear his lips from hers.

One of Marinette’s legs hooks around Adrien’s, and he moves automatically, his hands dropping to her thighs. Then she jumps and wraps her legs around his waist—and even though he’s anticipating it, he still staggers backward a step.

Something crunches under Adrien’s shoe. He tries to glance downward, but Marinette is clinging to his face again, anchoring his lips to hers like their lives depend on it.

Adrien adjusts his grip, hands splayed over the back pockets of Marinette’s jeans. With a hum, she presses her hips tight against his, deepening the kiss.

He’s been hit countless times during akuma attacks, but never has Adrien felt so utterly wrecked.

Fingers digging into Marinette’s jeans, he spins and pushes her against the wall—except he miscalculates, and ends up ramming her against one of the metal shelves instead.

Marinette squeaks and covers her head as sponges and rolls of electrical tape rain down on them. One of them conks Adrien in the skull, but the pain is dull compared to the embarrassment coursing through his veins.

“I’m so sorry!” he says. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good.” Marinette laughs and slings her arms around Adrien’s neck. “You’re not going to let that stop you, right?”

“W-well, um…”

Adrien’s eyes rove across her figure, taking in her mussed hair, shiny lips, and the marks—marks—on her neck and shoulders. Both of her camisole straps have sunk down her arms, mere centimeters from baring more than Adrien can handle.

It’s very, very tempting to keep going.

But shouldn’t they stop? Isn’t there a reason Adrien wanted to pause and clear his head?

He frowns, and then it hits him. “Right!” he says. “I’m in love with you.”

Marinette’s eyes widen, her legs going lax around Adrien’s waist. Her mouth moves wordlessly, and Adrien is tempted to snatch his hands back and hide his face in shame—except then he would end up dropping her, which would be even worse than slamming her into a shelf.

When several seconds of silence have passed, Adrien adds, “And, uh—I realize that’s a dumb thing to say when you’re almost shirtless, and we’ve been making out for, um…a while.” His eyes dip down to Marinette exposed skin, and he wonders if his face could possibly get any hotter. “But I meant to say that before you kissed me.”

Grimacing, he stares at the floor. Marinette still hasn’t said anything, and he feels a bit like the crushed tube of lip gloss beside his shoe.

“I—I’m in love with you, too?” Marinette says.

Adrien’s eyes snap back to her face. “You’re what?”

One of Marinette’s hands toys with Adrien’s hair, and his skin tingles from her light touch. “I’m in love with you, too.”

Oh.

“Sorry about your lip gloss,” Adrien blurts out.

Marinette frowns. “Sorry about your…um…concealer supply?” Her knuckles brush Adrien’s throat, making him shiver. “I left a few marks.”

“Y-yeah,” Adrien says. “Um, I mean, I did, too.”

And he wants to leave more. Why are they still talking? He’s pretty sure he said what he needed to say. They should go back to kissing now.

Marinette presses her palms to Adrien’s cheeks. “Adrien…”

Heart skipping, Adrien turns his head and kisses one of her thumbs. The longer his confession lingers in the air, the more he wants to run—but he can’t do that, not when he’s suspending Marinette above the ground.

“I’ve wanted to be with you for a while,” Marinette says. “I—I actually fell in love with you twice. But after we found out each other’s identities, our friendship was comfortable, and…you…I didn’t know if you still felt that way.”

Adrien feels like miraculous ladybugs are zooming through his veins, making every centimeter of him glow. Marinette loves him. She returns his feelings. She wants to be with him.

It takes him a moment to find words. “I love you,” he says, voice trembling slightly. “And I didn’t just fall for you twice. I—I fall for you every time I see you.” Eyes stinging, he moves his lips to kiss the bracelet resting against Marinette’s wrist. “I’ve wanted to be with you so badly, but I was afraid to ask and ruin things.”

“S-so you kissed me instead?” Marinette asks.

Adrien smiles as a tear slips down his cheek. “Well, um…actions speak louder than words?”

Marinette laughs. “Those actions were pretty loud.” She leans forward and kisses the tear trail on Adrien’s cheek. “I hope mine were just as clear?”

Adrien nods. “Y-yeah. You, um…” He swallows, his skin still burning everywhere that Marinette has touched him. “You got your point across.”

“Go out with me?” Marinette says. “That seems like so little, after all that we’ve been through—”

“Yes,” Adrien says. “I’ll date you. Or marry you, or—or whatever you want, Marinette. I’m yours.”

Marinette inhales, her breath hitching slightly. “Yes. Okay. Um. We’ll start with dating?”

Groaning, Adrien lets his head fall forward onto her shoulder. Cheek pressed to her skin, he mumbles, “Was that too much?”

“No,” Marinette says. She strokes the nape of his neck, and Adrien worries that he’ll go boneless and drop her. “You’re the one. I wouldn’t have made out with you in a closet if you weren’t.”

“Me neither.” Adrien smiles and kisses Marinette’s neck, his forehead tickled by her hair. “And since we’re dating now…you know, if you wanted to make this a regular thing…”

Marinette snorts. “Are you trying to land us in detention?”

“Depends. Can we make out there?”

“I think it would be easier if you sneak into my room as Chat Noir.”

“How scandalous!” Adrien says. He feels Marinette shake with laughter against him. “Sneak into a lady’s room after hours? What do you take me for?”

“A horny tomcat. Am I wrong?”

Adrien feigns a gasp. “Alas! One closet make-out, and my reputation is already in shambles.” Smirking, he trails a line of kisses up Marinette’s neck. “But I wouldn’t object to a few late-night trysts.”

“Just as I suspected! Horny tomcat.”

“Marinette,” Adrien whines. He presses his lips to her ear. “I also want to hold your hand, and go on walks in the park, and have rooftop picnics, and spoil you like the princess you are. Kissing you is just a bonus.”

“Oh, it’s not that important, then?” Marinette asks. “In that case, we should probably get back to class.”

“We should…”  Adrien takes a step to the side, moving so that Marinette is pressed to the wall instead of the wire shelf. “But I didn’t get to do this.” He captures her lips in a slow kiss, heart fluttering when Marinette hums against him. “Or this.” Carefully, he removes a hand from Marinette’s thigh and trails it upward, skimming the side of her chest. “Or—”

“Or this?” Marinette asks, rolling her hips against his. Fireworks spark in Adrien’s abdomen. “Because I wanted to do that earlier, but I was worried you couldn’t handle—”

Adrien stops her with a kiss. “I’m your partner, my lady,” he murmurs. “You know I can handle it.”

And as they tangle themselves in each other, and bang their limbs off shelves, and spill bottles of detergent, Adrien doesn’t care if they miss one class or five. Somehow, his stupid lie came true, and he and Marinette can finally make up for years of pining.

In the end, they only get a half hour before the custodian finds them—but Adrien still considers that a good start.