Chapter Text
Adrien stared at the reflection in his bathroom mirror, trying to deduce what it was about his finely pressed tailored tuxedo that didn't look quite right.
His eyes scrutinized every inch of his outfit. But the bespoke material wasn't cheap by any means and the complexion of grays were easy on the eyes.
So why did it still feel off?
Maybe it was the unfamiliarity. After all, he hadn't worn this suit (or any other suit) since his fitting for the défilé de mode back in March — the one that had never happened due to his mother’s untimely death — and that had been months ago.
He fidgeted with his white bowtie, adamant to find the balance between loosening it enough to give his neck a little leeway to breathe, but not too much leeway that it sagged down unflatteringly. Having been a gift from Marinette, he would've hated to dishonor her handywork like that.
Something still wasn't working, but he unfortunately didn't have his father's eye when it came to design. Though he supposed he didn't have his father's eye when it came to a lot of things. And that was probably a good thing.
Adrien smirked halfheartedly. So did the reflection. As his face dropped back into a neutral expression, he realized what was so off-putting about his appearance.
The suit was fine. The problem was him. No suit could fix the decomposing pallid look that seemed to be permanently etched onto his features.
He tried to fix it anyway. He had a lifetime of practice when it came to feigning emotions, after all. Adrien pulled his shoulders back, lifted his chin, and let a semblance of enthusiasm slip over his face.
Now he looked slightly less like he belonged in a Tim Burton cartoon and more like an actual teenage boy. Slightly.
Giving up on his examination, Adrien left the bathroom and rejoined the madness that was currently his bedroom. Everything had been thoroughly Chloé-fied, from the aroma of guerlain rose staining the air to the discarded clothes thrown over every available surface. The two girls had certainly made themselves at home.
On his calendar — still hung up on the wall beside his bed — Chloé had scribbled out the red words ‘day 39’ and written above them in big fancy cursive, ‘Mascerade Ball :D’. (She'd flicked him on the ear when he pointed out she spelt it wrong.)
Mr Cuddly — Chloé's yellow teddybear — was snuggled up with Planetarium the cat plushie on the edge of his bed, and Sabrina's cashmere scarf had been draped over their shoulders like a blanket.
Chloé herself was settled on his ottoman, which she'd apparently dragged over from the corner of his room in order to sit in front of the full-length mirror, her honey gold chic dress spilling out over the sides.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, dragging an eyeliner pen across one of her lids with furious but impressively precise strokes, “Utterly ridiculous. I can't go to the ball looking like this.”
“Don't be so dramatic.” Sabrina turned from where she was fastening bobby pins into her hair at Adrien's desk. “You look fine.”
Chloé scoffed and switched to the other eyelid. “Exactly! ‘Fine’. No one's going to notice all my hard work if my hard work is mediocre.”
“I know how to make people notice you!” Plagg called out, in a tone far too derisive for Adrien's liking. He glided toward the blonde with a slab of pungent cheese in his tiny arms. “Just slather yourself in some of this.”
Chloé shrieked and recoiled away from the oncoming threat, narrowly avoiding the disaster that would've been smearing eyeliner all over her cheek. “Come any closer with that thing and I swear to god, I'll do something that'll make your cataclysm feel like a warm hug!”
And maybe Adrien was starting to regret his decision to tell her about his secret identity. Especially when it came with the addition of Plagg having free reign to be... well. Entirely himself.
“Threatening the god of destruction, eh?” The kwami backed up to shoot her a defiant glare, still protectively holding onto his cheese. “Bold move. But not a very wise one. My dear drama queen, have you ever wondered why the dinosaurs are extinct?”
“Oh please.” She turned back to the mirror, unimpressed. “Just because I wasn't blessed with a meticulous—”
“A miraculous.”
“—like Adrien was, doesn't mean I haven't dealt with my fair share of spiteful gremlins who act exactly like you.”
Plagg snickered. “Takes one to know one.”
She whipped back around. “I won't hesitate to douse your cheese cabinet with the sweetest, most nauseating perfume known to m—”
Adrien cleared his throat.
“Adrikins!” Chloé stood up to greet him with a beaming smile, her flared temper already forgotten. “You're dressed! Wait, don't move! Let me look at you.” She moved to stand in front of him, eyes sweeping over his physique like he was some sort of mosaic.
“See? What did I tell you?” She tugged the creases out of his lapels and adjusted his bowtie. “Now that we've had the suit taken in a bit, it fits like a cotton lace constantin glove! You look exquisite, Adrikins.”
Her gaze travelled upwards until it met his, and her perfectly plucked eyebrows creased into a slight frown. Then she rushed to grab something from the desk and started attacking his face with a buffing brush.
“Chloé!” he choked out, leaning backwards to avoid inhaling the stray dust particles. “Stop—”
“Now you look exquisite!” She threw the brush back down with a satisfied huff. “Perfectly presentable and ready to show up all those posers.”
Adrien coughed into his elbow as the last of the powder dissipated, but he couldn't refrain from grinning. “Thanks, Chlo. You've really... I— um... I don't know how I'd...”
“Wait a second!” She grabbed an item that Adrien quickly identified as his masquerade mask and then gently pressed it against the front of his face. When she was confident it had stuck, she took her hands away. “Okay, go on.”
“What I'm trying to say is...” He reached to rub at the hair on the back of his head. “I, uh... really appreciate your help. With— With the suit.” With everything.
She smiled, but there was something pained within her eyes. “It doesn't take much to please you, does it.”
He swallowed. “No, I mean—”
“I know what you mean.” She leaned upwards and kissed his cheek. Delicately, as to not muss the makeup on her face that Adrien had watched her spend hours on. “And it's whatever. You're welcome. Pay me back by having a good time tonight.”
“And done!” Sabrina announced, slamming down all her makeup utensils and racing to join the other two, lilac satin swishing around her calves. Adrien had never seen her without glasses before, and her eyes looked weirdly small without that magnification. “What do you guys think of my cat-eyes?”
Chloé mimicked a camera with her fingers and pretended to zoom in on the other girl's face. “Hmm. Glossy and subtle, with just a hint of flair. I'd say you nailed it.”
Sabrina lit up with glee. (And maybe Adrien was starting to understand what Chloé meant about him being too easy to please.)
“Alright then,” Chloé said, once both girls had fitted on their respective masks. “Let's get a move on. The ball awaits!” She slung her rhinestone handbag onto her shoulder and took hold of Sabrina's hand, pulling her onward.
Adrien made to follow after them, Plagg zipping across the room and disappearing into his suit's jetted pocket.
Then a spark of anxiety flickered to life in his gut and he hesitated, suddenly self-conscious. “W-Wait.”
The girls turned to watch him as he smoothed down the suit with his palms, like doing so would somehow alleviate the way his skin was itching. “You... You sure I look okay?”
He wasn't vain. Not really. And he knew Marinette wasn't going to care if he didn't look like the picturesque of perfection. But maybe a part of him believed she deserved to have slightly higher standards than... whatever the hell he was.
“I'm sure.” Chloé grabbed his hand with her free one and corralled both her friends toward the door. “You need to stop worrying. You're gonna be the second best-looking person there.”
Sabrina wilted. Adrien winced. And Chloé recalibrated very quickly. “Third best! The third best-looking person there. Because you, Adrikins, unfortunately don't have cat-eyes.”
He snickered. “Well, I could give it my best shot—”
“And we're leaving!”
As Adrien stepped through the large gaping doorway and into the grandiose building, he tried to remember the expression he'd perfected in the mirror earlier: the one that made it seem like he was convalescing at a normal rate and becoming a somewhat functional human being.
Then his facade almost immediately cracked when the lurid lights and overlapping voices filled his senses. He shrunk in on himself, struck by the feeling of scorching worms wriggling through all his tendons.
(And Adrien had to wonder how on earth he was the son of two socialites.)
Chloé's surprisingly strong grip on his arm was a great help at least. It certainly prevented him from turning around and bolting back the way he came, in the hopes that Pierre hadn't quite driven off yet.
But once his senses had adjusted to the chaos, Adrien realized the auditorium actually looked spectacular. Sculpted full columns towered far above him and neoclassical paintings garnished the walls.
Maybe it was a bit too fancy for a ninth-grade party, but he wasn't about to complain. The foyer was spacious enough to comfortably fit the entirety of his year group, without it feeling suffocating.
He stared at the disorienting crowd of formally dressed teenagers: faces hidden behind a constellation of colorful masks. And he couldn't help but feel glad about the theme chosen for this event; there was something nice about the small touch of anonymity that came with wearing masks.
For the first time in a long time, it felt like he was finally free of that very unflattering spotlight.
Chloé leaned in closer to be heard over the multitude of voices. “I wonder if they're serving gruyere and crab palmiers here.”
Adrien peered over the many heads to find the buffet on the far side of the room. Everything was still covered in foil. “This isn't a gala. But... I guess we'll find out later.”
“Shouldn't get my hopes up,” she said with a shrug. “I suppose I could settle for what our school classes as ‘pizza’. And maybe a pepsi since we're apparently still too young to be trusted with champagne.”
He smirked. “Maybe if you ask nicely, they'll even let you have it in a flute.”
“Pepsi in a flute? Oh Adrikins. Have I taught you nothing.”
Any witty remark Adrien could've come up with promptly died on his tongue, when he overheard a comment that crumpled his good mood and left the scattered dregs to fall onto the epoxy floor below.
“Who let Hawk Moth Junior in?”
To be fair, the girl was whispering. She probably hadn't intended for him to overhear. However, one of the benefits of embodying Chat Noir for so long was that he now had astute hearing abilities, even as a civilian. Not that it always felt like a benefit.
But Chloé was a lot closer than he was, and would therefore need significantly less super-hearing abilities to catch on.
He tugged on her arm, a little desperately. “Come on, Chlo, let's go find somewhere—”
“School is one thing, but this was meant to be a fun night,” the girl continued, barely even trying to whisper at this point. “My god, him being here is gonna make everyone so mad and he knows it. Watch out for butterflies, guys. This boy is out for revenge.”
Adrien could predict what was going to happen next down to every pinpointed detail. And all it took was enough time for his heart to skip exactly one beat.
Chloé's entire body jerked as she spun to face the source of her anger, and Adrien — with his arm locked inside her vice-like grip — begrudgingly spun with her. A redhaired girl (one he vaguely recognized from his year) violently flinched as two new pairs of eyes fell on her, and the discussion among her group of friends came to an abrupt end.
“You do realize we can hear everything you're saying, right?!” Chloé seethed, her muscles tensing like an animal poised to attack (and since he was still attached to her, Adrien couldn't help but feel somewhat terrified at the thought.) “How about you shut your trap and take your ridiculous ramblings somewhere else!”
The auditorium was rife with music and voices, but Chloé's words still somehow managed to boom through its interior and ricochet off the walls. Several conversations in close proximity faded out, as more heads curiously turned to look at the commotion happening near the doorway.
As an alarming number of watchful eyes rained down on him, Adrien could feel his nerves tightening up. That horrific spotlight was slowly creeping back onto him, brighter than the lurid lights and hotter than the room's accumulated body heat. And with it came the paralysis that froze him to the bone.
He wished the masks were enough to hide their expressions, but Adrien was still painstakingly aware of each and every one.
He was no stranger to pity.
When he'd first returned to school way back in September, he remembered the sea of glazed eyes that had watched him from every direction.
And now, standing in this hall of decorum, he could still see them. The stares of wretched pity that never seemed to leave him alone. But they were a little more infrequent. Because far too many eyes were burning with hatred instead.
It made sense. People's opinions of him were a lot more nuanced now. He was no longer just a boy who'd lost his mom. Now he was the byproduct of something that had cast a dark curse over Paris. And even though the curse had since been lifted, it was bound to leave scars that lasted for a very long time.
(Adrien probably had a better idea than anyone else in this entire city just how long they might last.)
He supposed that also meant the mixed stares of pity and hatred were bound to follow him for a very long time, too.
And he understood. Completely. But as he knew all too well, understanding something never made it any easier to deal with.
By now, the only person who wasn't laser-focused on him was the redhaired girl. Her confidence was slowly deflating under the wrathful glare of his friend and she was so tight-lipped, it was bizarre to think she'd started this entire thing.
And of course, her lack of initiative only served to rile up Chloé even more.
“What's wrong with you?!” she snapped, taking a purposeful step forward. “Are you lost in thought? I'd be lost in thought too with that big of a fucking forehead—”
“Chloé, stop.” Maybe it was the fact she'd forced him to take a step forward too, but Adrien suddenly found the will to snap out of his paralysis. He used their interlinked arms to pull his friend backwards, away from the shell-shocked girl. Sabrina rushed to grab Chloé's other arm and helped him in his pursuit.
The three of them slipped further into the crowd, hoping to lose the audience they'd accidentally created. Adrien was glad Sabrina had taken the lead, because he was slowly falling into a maelstrom of despair.
Would it be so bad if one of the crystal chandeliers dangling far above suddenly decided to snap loose and smush him? Or maybe the ground could crack open and let him fall down into the creepy basement that a place like this no doubt had.
Anywhere was better than here.
“I'm not being mean!” Chloé snapped, once they'd all found a new area of space to occupy. She turned to glower at him, anger quickly dissolving into mild exasperation. “I'm just standing up for you. That's the opposite of being mean.”
“I know.” He tightened his hold around her arm, hoping it came off as affection and not as if he was using her as a tether to reality. “But you don't have to. It's okay.”
“It's not okay!” She yanked her arm away from him and he briefly staggered in its absence. “That sausage-haired freak had no right to—”
“Chloé, stop.”
It was Sabrina who'd spoken this time. Her voice, while quiet, was surprisingly assertive and it managed to cut off the other girl's furious rant in an instant.
Sabrina's soft eyes were locked on Adrien though. She was concerned, he realized. And he wondered just how terrible of a job he was doing at pretending his nerves weren't currently ripping themselves to pieces.
Then Chloé was looking at him, too. Really looking at him.
He watched the visible parts of her face crumple. And behind her gilded mask and blue eyeshadow, he could just about see a faint shimmer of mist clouding her eyes.
“Fuck, Adrien,” she said, voice rough with sudden emotion. “I... I keep doing it, don't I? I-I keep hurting you, and nothing I ever seem to do is...”
Adrien knew what spiraling looked like.
“Stop it.” He gently grabbed both her shoulders, forcing himself to be the anchor instead of the sinking ship. “You're not... You're doing great. And I don't need you to be perfect. I like you just the way you are, temper and all.”
She shook her head. “But you're—”
“Not perfect either,” he insisted. Then he drew in a deep, shaking breath. “You're right, Chlo — I do need to start standing up for myself. I wish I... found it as easy as you did.”
“Huh.” Chloé let out a short laugh, her eyes blinking in quick succession. “Playing into my ego, are we?” She sniffled furiously and patted one of Adrien's wrists. “I appreciate that.”
“You... You wanted us to have fun, remember?” Adrien tried to smile. He had a feeling it looked more like a grimace. “Maybe we can ignore all those people... just for tonight.”
Chloé nodded and said nothing. Perhaps she wanted to, but her bottom lip had started trembling to an almost violent degree.
His chest tightened again, in realization that he must've said the wrong thing. “Hey, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—”
“Chloé, we have a situation!” Sabrina cut in front of Adrien, knocking his hands away. She frantically tugged on her friend's wrist. “There's a... a really bad knot in my hair, and I completely forgot to bring a comb. Please tell me you came prepared.”
“Like you even need to ask.” Chloé snapped her fingers. “Bathroom, now.”
As the two girls hurried away, Sabrina threw Adrien one last apologetic glance. “Everything's fine. We'll be back soon, okay?”
Adrien halfheartedly waved goodbye. “Take your time.”
He stared after them as they disappeared into the slew of bodies, his heart sinking into the abyss of his stomach.
So much for having fun tonight.
He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, trying not to think about how he was now stranded alone in a maze of chaotic bustle. But his eyes kept darting around the room anyway, showering the area with refined hypervigilance. Just in case the spotlight hadn't completely faded and someone was staring right back at him.
He couldn't help but feel like this was entirely his fault.
If he'd just stayed at home, no one would be upset over the fact he was here. Chloé wouldn't be crying in the bathroom. And he certainly wouldn't be standing in the middle of a packed reception hall, completely out of tethers to ground him to reality.
Adrien was struck with the overwhelming urge to just leave. But would Nathalie even agree to pick him up if he called her this early? How far away was his house from this place? Maybe he could just walk back himself. Or run.
Surely walking a couple of miles was still a better alternative than staying here and enduring the way his chest had started to clam up like a clockwork toy whose torsion spring had gotten stuck right before its big release, and the building pressure was burning, burning, burning—
“Adrien, my man!”
A hand landed on his shoulder and Adrien's clockwork heart burst open. He quickly turned around and to his delight, came face to face with Nino and Alya, both of them shrouded by masks that matched the colors of their attire.
“Oh hey!” he blurted, very casually and not at all deranged if he did say so himself. “When did you guys get here?”
“Just now.” Nino beamed at him from under his red cap (because apparently not even a formal dress code could convince him to take it off). “Looking really snazzy tonight, dude.”
Alya, adorned in a prussian tea length dress, rolled her eyes. “There you go again!”
“What?” He threw his girlfriend a glare. “He does look good!”
Adrien frowned, eyes flickering between them both. “What's going on?”
Alya snickered, but not unkindly. “Oh boy. Well, you see, Adrien — since Nino here seems to think that whenever I spend time with someone, there's a chance I might be into them—”
“I never said that!”
“—I've since decided to point out that overall, he is wayyy nicer to people than I am. You see, Nino?” She nudged her elbow into his arm, very clearly enjoying herself. “You're practically flirting with Adrien and I am in no way insecure about it.”
The splutter Nino let out was inhuman. “Y-You're blowing this way out of proportion!”
Adrien grinned, cheeks heating up. “Well, I think he looks snazzy, too,” he quipped with zero hesitation. “And so do you, Alya. I'm loving the curls.”
Her eyes softened. “Thanks, sunshine.” She jerked her thumb in the direction behind her. “We're going to the disco room if you wanna come.”
Adrien worried at his lip, apprehension carving its way through him. “Um... Shouldn't we wait for Marinette to get here?”
Something told him he'd find the booming, frenzied scenario of a disco easier to deal with if she was there to hold his hand.
Nino and Alya threw each other matching impish grins.
“Please.” Alya waved her hand in a swatting motion. “That girl won't be here for at least another half hour. I doubt she's even started getting ready yet.”
“She'll find us easily enough, I'm sure.” Nino bounced on his toes. “In the meantime, I'm dying to listen to some better music.”
“Oh. Alright.” Adrien gripped at the sleeve of his suit, linen crumpling under his sweating palm. “In that case, I, uh... I'm actually just gonna step outside for a minute. Y'know, for some fresh air.”
Nino tilted his head. “Want me to come with?”
“That's okay.” Adrien took a step back, fully aware he'd only been inside this building for all of ten minutes, and leaving so soon by default made him look a bit pathetic. “You guys have fun. I'll catch up with you later. Same as Marinette.”
He knew that leaving before Marinette even got here would be a lousy thing to do. But he didn't think she'd mind too much if he waited for her in a slightly less hectic environment.
“Alright, dude. Text if you need anything.” Nino threw him double finger guns and Adrien just about managed to throw an awkward thumbs-up back at him before the two of them turned to walk away.
He spun to leave in the other direction, catching the tail-end of his friends' conversation as their voices merged with the crowd.
“You totally just offered to tag along 'cause you wanted somewhere private to make out with him.”
“Alya!”
He laughed quietly, as he sought out the large exit door. He doubted the courtyard would be that popular on a night as cold as this; most people hated standing around in freezing temperatures.
Good thing he was used to it.
Adrien escaped through the backdoor, letting the thudding music and blaring voices sink into the background behind him.
He hoped he could leave behind the itching of his skin, too.
Marinette carefully shuffled her way out the backseat of her car, lifting her dress to make sure the hemline didn't touch the filthy gutter in her pursuit of stepping over it.
Once she was safely on the pavement, she looked up at the building in front of her, bright light emanating from its Georgian sash windows. Her fists bunched tighter around the material in excitement.
She knew she was very late — or fashionably late, as she liked to put it — which meant that all her friends were already inside. Which meant—
“See, sweetie? Sitting in the middle seat worked.” Her mother had gotten out of the car as well and was now fussing over the many layers of her skirt. “Everything is still intact.”
She anxiously peered over her own shoulder. “The wings aren't bent, are they?”
“Not a crease to be found,” Sabine confirmed, checking them herself. “You look absolutely gorgeous. A proper princess!”
Marinette snorted. “This necklace isn't even made of real pearls. I'm such a fraud.”
Her dad stuck his head out the car window, grinning wickedly. “Come back when you actually lift off from the floor and start flying around — then I'll be impressed.”
Sabine fondly rolled her eyes. “Tom, tell your daughter she looks beautiful.”
Tom gave her a thumbs-up. “You're gonna knock 'em all dead, cupcake.”
Her mom reached up to tuck Marinette's loose strands of hair behind her ears, and adjusted her domino mask. “We'll be back to pick you up later.”
She winced, far too aware of her parents' abhorrently rigid sleep schedule and early-bird tendencies. “But... not too early, right?”
Sabine smiled, gray eyes twinkling. “No, not too early. You've more than earned this night. We're not going to cut it short.” She squeezed her daughter's hand. “Go have fun! We love you.”
“Love you, too,” Marinette whispered. “Thanks for the ride.”
She watched her mom retreat back into the car and waved at her dad, before the two of them drove away. Then she was left with nothing but the vibrant moonlight and the fluctuating noises of traffic.
She took a deep breath and turned on her heel, embarking toward the tumult she could hear going on inside. As soon as she stepped through the doorway and joined the buzz of excited collège students, she felt a rush of broiling adrenaline fill her senses.
Marinette absolutely loved parties. Loved the idea of a group of people coming together in unanimous agreement to have a great time. No negativity, no stress; just dancing and laughter and fun.
On her journey through the heart of the crowd, several familiar classmates offered her a cheerful greeting. And the wide-eyed awe she could see on every face when they noticed her dress was causing rapids to rush through her stomach, in both delight and anxiety. But she didn't pause for any conversations. Her mission first and foremost was to track down her friends.
The next room she came across was darker in atmosphere and the music was a lot more funky. Blurs of twirling dresses and flailing limbs filled the rectangular wooden panel in the center. She could see Chloé and Sabrina among them, seemingly having the time of their lives. But not her friends.
Her eyes roved further and she finally caught sight of Alya and Nino standing in an alcove to the side of the room, watching the disc jockey with fascination. (Or at least, Nino certainly was.)
“Guys, hi!” She scurried over to them as fast as her dress's flared silhouette allowed, elbowing her way through the masses of teenagers.
“Marinette!” Alya leaned forward to air-kiss her friend once she was close enough. The partition wall provided a decent enough sound barrier for them to speak comfortably over the music. “You're a lot earlier than I expected actually. You haven't even missed the— Wow, your dress!”
“Ooh, classy!” Nino said, gesturing towards her outfit. Then he caught Alya's smug grin, and immediately blanched in horror. “I-I mean... that is the ugliest dress I've ever seen — you look like a homicidal Tinkerbell—”
“You know what? I give up.” Alya shook her head in disbelief and turned back to the very confused girl in front of her. “He doesn't mean that. You look amazing, Marinette.” Nino nodded in agreement.
“Thanks!” she squeaked, willing her body temperature to lower itself before she became noticeably red. “I... worked hard on it. You don't think it’s too much?”
“It's the perfect amount,” Alya said with conviction. “One of your best creations yet, hands down.”
Marinette grinned. Then her eyes once again flickered across her surroundings. And the running rapids within her grew cold again. “Is he... not coming?”
Adrien was never late. So if he wasn't here, there could only be one explanation.
“No no, he’s here,” Nino was quick to reassure her, before the rapids could start freezing over. “He's just... not with us.”
Marinette nodded. “Okay. Where is he then?”
She watched Alya and Nino share a wary glance, and she frowned. She'd been keeping secrets of her own long enough to know what the tell-tale signs looked like.
“Guys. Don't play games. If you know where he is, just tell me.”
“It's just...” Alya fiddled with a strand of her crimped hair. “I don't think he wants any company right now.”
“Oh.” Marinette blinked, insides churning back to their freezing temperature. “I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I came to say hi.”
At least, she hoped he wouldn't. Worst case scenario, if Adrien refused to listen to her, she figured she could just yank Tikki out her purse and aggressively wave the kwami in front of his face. (But that had to be a very last resort. Tikki had only just forgiven her for the milkshake incident.)
Her friends were still offering her nothing.
“Please,” she tried again, desperation building. She was five seconds away from storming off and rampantly searching through every square inch of this labyrinth until she found him herself. “It's important. I want to... I need to talk to him. About things.”
She let that last sentence hang in the air for a moment, praying Alya would figure out its true meaning.
And apparently she did, because the other girl's eyes instantly widened in realization. Then her lips stretched into an elated grin, as if Le Parisien Tabloid had just requested to publish one of her stories.
“He's in the courtyard,” Alya said, barely holding back a squeal. She reached forward to gently squeeze her friend's shoulder. “It's... gonna be okay, girl. And no matter what happens, I'm really proud of you.”
Marinette swallowed, eyes simmering. “Thank you.”
“It's your funeral,” Nino said with a shrug, completely oblivious to their silent conversation. “But if you manage to drag him back inside, please do it soon. They're bringing out the cake in fifteen minutes.”
“Roger that,” Marinette grinned, blinking away her sudden bout of emotions. “See you in fifteen minutes!”
She rushed back out of the dance room and toward the aforementioned direction, clumsily weaving past herds of people and trying not to trip over anyone's dress, including her own.
Her heartbeat pulsed louder for every step she took, but she couldn't back out now. She had to tell him tonight. Right here, at their school's masquerade ball.
Not because this event held any sort of significance. This wasn't about it being some grand declaration of love. She just wanted him to associate this surprise with something fun. Something he could think back on and smile about. And what was more fun than a party?
Marinette pushed through the heavy exit door and entered the vestibule. The door slammed shut behind her, cutting off the buzz of chatter.
She rubbed at her arms and shivered. There wasn't any heating in this room, and frosted air was already filtering through her exposed skin.
She could see the courtyard through the glass sliding door, blanketed in a soft glow from the triad of baron vintage lampposts. The area was completely abandoned; frozen stiff like a photograph. The only things that broke the photo facade were the streams of water gushing down the cast stone fountain.
Adrien was nowhere in sight, so she could only assume he was standing somewhere on the other side of said fountain.
He's right through there, her brain oh so helpfully supplied. This is it. This is the moment you've been waiting for. This is actually happening.
She suddenly doubted that the goosebumps spreading across her arms had anything to do with the cold. And she was very glad Adrien couldn't see her right now, because it meant he wouldn't have to witness the complete mental breakdown she was about to have.
Marinette slumped backwards against the wall behind her, chest thudding like a stick of dynamite was ricocheting off the walls of her lungs and detonating little by little each time. Using her elbows so as not to crumple her wings, she slid down to the floor, trying to blink away the smudges and stars that pervaded her vision.
“Tikki.” Her voice felt oddly detached from the rest of her body. “I don't think I can do this.”
The little red kwami flew out of her purse to hover in front of her. “Marinette, it's okay. You have no reason to be anxious. It's just Adrien.”
Marinette numbly shook her head. How was she supposed to explain that it wasn't just anxiety thrumming through her veins? But also some weird culmination of anger and regret. Some vessel of pained hatred festering in the ugliest parts of her heart that she knew had no business existing.
Tikki settled down onto her knee. “What's wrong?”
“I don't know,” she whispered, eyes starting to well up. “I just know this is a really bad idea.”
“It isn't. You're just panicking.”
“Why would I be panicking?” She tried to laugh, but instead managed to expel a strangled choking noise from her throat. “All I'm doing is revealing my identity to him. Piece of cake! I've already done this once before, right?”
“Marinette—”
“He should've remembered the first time I told him!” Her face suddenly felt far too overheated and she ripped off her mask in frustration. “It's not my fault he forgot. Why is this on me?!”
Tikki's large eyes crinkled. “That's not fair.”
“I know.” Marinette refrained from burying her face in her hands. Instead she resorted to awkwardly fanning her eyes, because her mascara was not waterproof. “I know it's not. But it still sucks. I-I just...” Don't cry don't cry don't cry— “It really hurt. Wh-When I realized he didn't... remember anything.”
She sniffled furiously. “And, well... I guess I never really forgave him for that. Which is a horrible thing to say, I know! I... I don't know what's wrong with me.”
So much for having fun at this party. So much for trying to prioritize Adrien. So much for unveiling the last secret so that both of them could actually move on with their lives.
“I'm so...” Marinette blinked even more rapidly because the tears were seriously threatening to fall at this point. “I'm so tired of feeling stuck.”
Tikki sighed. “Okay, look. The problem isn't that you got hurt by what happened.” She flitted upwards and sat down on her shoulder with featherlight ease. “That's a perfectly normal reaction to have. But you've gotta learn to let some things go. That's what it means to love someone. You taught me that, Marinette.” The kwami shifted so she could lean her head against the girl's cheek. “He'll remember this time.”
Marinette huffed. “I know that, too.” She began chewing on her knuckle. “It's... It's why I'm still sat here like a fucking coward. I won't be able to take this back.”
“Marinette, you're still young,” Tikki said softly. “It's okay that you don't have everything completely figured out yet. But what you're doing right now? This is a good start.”
Marinette hesitated. She took a deep, steadying breath and waited for her racing heartbeat to find a healthier rhythm. Because she knew deep down that Tikki was right.
Maybe it was time to stop carrying her cesspool of nerves around like a badge of honor. Maybe it was okay to accept that not all these responsibilities she felt burdened with were hers to bear alone.
If she remembered correctly, that's exactly why she'd been given a partner in the first place.
“Okay... I hear you loud and clear.” She gently tickled her tiny companion on the side of her face. “Thanks for putting up with my madness, Tikki. When we get home, I'll find you some extra raspberry macarons.”
“Or you can make it up to me right now,” Tikki giggled, circling the space above her head. “By walking out there and telling that boy exactly who you are. I'm sick of having to hide every time he's around.”
Marinette laughed and slowly pulled herself to her feet. She shoved her mask into her purse for safe-keeping and Tikki followed after it. “Alright. If that's what it takes to make it up to you. I'll tell him.”
Head held high, she pulled open the sliding door and went to do exactly that.
Adrien stared down at his hands, absentmindedly twisting the silver ring on his finger. Through his periphery, he could see a blur of black energetically buzzing around, zipping in and out of the fountain's pressurized stream with little bursting splashes.
He smirked. “What are you so happy about?”
“Hmm? Oh, nothing! Absolutely nothing at all.”
“Plagg.”
The kwami slowed to a stop in front of him, seemingly still vibrating with energy. “Alright, fine. If you must know... I skimmed over the buffet earlier — just to see what the options were! — and I saw limburger on the charcuterie board.”
Adrien winced, already sensing the potential disaster. “Okay, listen. I will buy you an entire plate of limburger if you promise not to eat anything from my school's party.”
His little cat-ears perked up. “With brown mustard?”
“With brown mustard.”
“You're a real one, kid.” Plagg dove forward to affectionately headbutt his holder’s cheekbone. “Things are gonna work out for you. Just wait.”
Adrien rolled his eyes and leaned back against the fountain's cement wall, ignoring the rime that seeped through his suit jacket. “Why is everyone so sure things will work out?”
“Because that's what you deserve.”
His twisting of the ring ceased, but he kept it firmly in his grasp. “Doesn't mean it'll happen.”
“Will you just trust me on this?”
“I mean... I want to.” Adrien let his shoulders sag. “Believe me, I want to. But I trusted Ladybug, too and... well. Look where that’s gotten me.” He felt his serene mood once again dripping away in favor of that familiar ache.
“Maybe it's time I just accept that... she's never coming back.” He gripped his ring tighter, focusing on the pressure against his dented flesh. “I think... I think we both know that would be the best path for me to take.”
Plagg's ears wilted. “Kid... It's different this time.”
He shook his head, the speed of the blood blazing through his chest rivaling that of the rushing water behind him. “Look. If I don't move on, it's going to drive me insane. And then I'll end up exactly like—”
“You're wrong.” The kwami narrowed his eyes, tail swishing indignantly. “Ladybug isn't a lost cause. And if you give up hope, then that would be true insanity.”
Adrien paused. He waited for Plagg's words to have some sort of effect on him; waited for that lone spark of optimism he'd always relied on to come bulldozing through.
Instead, those words merely bounced off a web of deflection. One that he knew had been building up inside him for quite some time now.
Hope might've been the leading factor in his ability to punch through all the obstacles life had thrown at him. But punching wasn't painless. And Adrien couldn't blame his heart for not wanting to go through something like that a third time.
“Well.” He folded his arms and shrugged, eyes burning holes into the empty air. “Maybe there are worse things than insanity then.”
Plagg opened his mouth to retaliate. Then his green eyes widened and he ducked into Adrien's pocket, as if he suddenly had a reason to hide.
“Chat Noir?”
Adrien flinched at the familiar voice and spun around, heartbeat frantic.
Because the only people who knew about his secret identity were Fu, Ladybug, Nathalie, Chloé, Sabrina, Nino, Alya at a stretch (given Nino's track record for ‘keeping’ secrets), and it wasn't too far out the realm of possibility to also assume that—
Marinette Dupain-Cheng was slowly approaching him with wringing hands.
And his heartbeat stopped altogether.
A scarlet red bouffant dress adorned her figure, the skirt flared out by its many flouncing layers and trailing just above her ankles. A spatter of white dots decorated the hemline, and her short sleeves were woven together with thin sheaths of lace.
Gone were her signature pigtails and in their place was a French twist updo. The reflective glass door allowed him to also see her from behind; specifically the delicate fairy wings that hung off the back of her gown.
He knew she'd designed the entire dress herself, down to the hand-embroidered flower motif trailing across the neckline and bodice with pinprick precision and detail.
It was beautiful. It was so very Marinette. And he was tempted to fall in love all over again.
An aureole of moonlight haloed the space above her hair, highlighting its ebony shine and enhancing the intricate pattern of freckles painted across her cheeks. It also enhanced her smile: endearingly crooked and creasing at the corners. He'd never been able to see it quite so vividly before.
He couldn't help but feel like her timely arrival was a sign. Like this was the universe's way of saying: maybe you don't have Ladybug anymore, but look at what you DO have.
She drew closer step by step until she was standing directly in front of him. And Adrien wondered if the ringing in his head was loud enough for her to hear as well.
Still caught dead to rights in the middle of a paralysis attack, he realized he should at least try to say something.
“M-Marinette?”
Instead of responding, she reached up toward his mask and gently pried the faux leather away from his face, her touch softer than a ghost's. Cold air flushed across his newly exposed skin, and he forgot how to breathe entirely.
It seemed that she had almost forgotten, too. He watched her inhale deeply, eyelashes fluttering as her gaze dropped away from his.
Adrien's gaze hadn't moved though. He was still far too perplexed by what was happening. He'd spent months trying to crack the enigma that was Marinette; to make sense of her many thoughts and feelings and actions. But in this very moment, the thrill of uncertainty was intoxicating.
“Or you can call me...” Hesitating only slightly, she pressed his sleek black mask against her own face and then looked back up at him. Through the framed sockets, her limpid blue eyes bore directly into his, throwing his soul into a dizzying euphoria. “...Ladybug.”
Adrien froze.
His heart thrummed like a sustain pedal, stuck on one never-ending note that trilled and vibrated unsteadily the longer it went on.
He still didn't know how to breathe. Still didn’t know how to think through the ringing in his head.
Ladybug.
Could he have heard that correctly? And if he had, was it too good to be true?
He stared into her eyes; encased in a mask as black as the sky, hoping to find some confirmation that her words were real and whole.
And whatever he was looking for, he must've found it.
The quantum masking shattered like a mirror dropped off a fifty-foot cliff. Suddenly, he'd never been more sure of anything in his life than the fact that Ladybug was standing right in front of him.
That she'd been standing right in front of him this whole time.
Marinette pulled off the mask and threw it to one side with a nervous laugh, her grin wide once more. The enigma finally fell away and he knew he was seeing her face in all its entirety, with no guard to be found. No lies and no secrets.
Warmth began to suffuse through the tangled web inside of him, like melodies wrapping around his core. It washed away all his apprehension, and he was left with nothing but the feeling of walking on air and a smile he couldn't gain control of.
His eyes welled up, causing her soft facial features to blur. But for the first time in so long, the tears weren't due to the sharp stabbing sensation in his chest.
When was the last time he'd cried from happiness?
Adrien blinked the tears away and let them fall down his cheeks. Because he didn't want anything obstructing his vision right now. Not when her brilliant blue eyes were right there in front of him.
Azure blue. Crystalline blue.
Within them, he could see a conglomerate mix of everything all at once. Of bravery, generosity, heroism, clumsiness, creativity, humor, courage, imperfection, kindness, passion, Ladybug, Marinette — the girl he loved with his entire heart twice over.
He could feel the chrysalis of his lacquered heart cracking, shedding the layer of protection it no longer needed. Could feel it rejuvenating back to life and vigorously beating with all the emotions he'd been keeping locked away.
A part of him wondered if these feelings were deserved. Maybe it made more sense to be angry right now. Or upset. After all, she'd withheld the truth from him for so long.
But Adrien simply didn't have any room left inside of him. He was already bursting at the seams with closure and relief and love. Pure unadulterated love for the girl who stood before him. For his lady.
He'd found her. He'd finally found her. And nothing in the world could ever convince him to let her go again.
His shaking hand was drawn toward her face like a magnet and he let the backs of his fingers gently brush against her cheek, worried that even such a delicate touch might cause her to disintegrate into dust.
But her skin was soft. Flushed. So real and whole.
She reached up to cradle his hand in hers, and he watched her blue eyes start to swim with tears of their own. But under the reflections of luminous moonlight and a sky full of stars, he could've sworn those eyes were swimming with galaxies. All the galaxies he could ever want or need.
He'd always been able to read Ladybug; mind and soul, so he knew exactly what her eyes were asking him.
Are you ready?
Marinette had done her part; she'd given him the final puzzle piece he'd been missing. And now she was leaving it up to him to decide what he did with the finished product.
Adrien considered it. He let the question parry around in his heart for a moment, weighing up the pros and cons like stacks of dominos and testing which way they'd fall if given a light push.
But he'd been careful what he wished for this time. He knew there wasn’t enough of a force to upset the balance and he knew it was steady. Like his heartbeat. Like the hand he was holding. And it didn't take him long to find an answer.
Now that there was nothing holding him back, he'd never been more ready.
Ready for the worst year of his life to end on the highest note it possibly could. To still go out with a bang; in an explosive firework of beauty and enrichment. With someone right by his side to experience the entire display with him.
His fingers fell from her cheek so that both his hands were free to encircle her waist, the soft fibers of velvet brushing against his palms. Marinette's eyes lit up like tidal waves under the sun, and he knew she'd correctly deciphered his very affirmative ‘yes’.
Her own hands found purchase on his shoulders and she gently tugged him toward herself. He gladly complied, just as desperate to fit into the embrace that had been exclusively molded for the two of them.
With Marinette in his arms — the creation to his destruction — nothing had ever felt more right.
So far, they'd tried to kiss each other twice. Both times had been disasters. Maybe it was true what people said about the third time being the charm. Adrien hoped so, at least.
He adjusted his grip around her waist, and in response she carefully locked her hands around the nape of his neck. Electricity danced in the space between them. She inclined her head up toward him, so he in turn leaned down.
And their lips met somewhere in the middle.