Chapter Text
She looks kind of surprised to see him. Confused, if anything, though at least she’s aware that he has a gift bag in his hand.
“Adrien?” she asks, befuddled and lost.
“I’m so sorry I’m late.”
“Late?” she asks again, just as confused as before. “Late for what?”
“For… the party?” It’s today, right? It’s on her birthday? Nino wouldn’t lie to her about today not being her birthday, right? No, definitely not; though his friend loves elbowing him every chance he gets in an attempt to get him to confess his feelings to the girl in front of him, he never budges, but Nino wouldn’t go that far. Besides, besides, he knows that the party is today— she’d just asked if he wanted to stay for the birthday party. Well, she asked Mister Bug, but it’s fine. Close enough.
“The party isn’t until seven,” she tells him.
“Nino told me it was at two…?”
“Why would he do that?” Marinette asks, so simply, so genuinely, so endearingly.
The jerk! He set Adrien up. Oh, this man.
“Oh.” A beat passes. A second one. She’s holding so tightly against that door knob, not exactly gesturing to him to come inside, but not exactly sending him away, either. A third beat passes and Adrien… Adrien looses his cool. “I’ll just come back later, then.”
“Wait!” she allbut shouts, grabbing for his jacket sleeve. With a grin, she giggles, but he’s more focused on her small and slender fingers on his cuff to notice it. Polished nails dance along the back of his palm. “No, no, please stay. I’m actually super grateful you’re here, I could really use you right about now.”
“’Use’ me?” he chokes out.
“Your presence,” she explains, though not really. If she’s noticed how hard he’s blushing, she says nothing. “I’m so glad you’re here. My very own friend! And you got here so early, too,” she continues, slipping her fingers between his as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, “that’s so exciting! Come on in! Take off your shoes, follow me into the kitchen, I need help baking a birthday cake.”
He’s quick to fight his boots off, staring at the way skirt flutters when she spins on the wooden floorboards, beckoning him to follow her. They pass the living room, an enclave of what could be considered the foyer with a beautiful gauzy-glassed bifold door to keep it secluded and private. The breakfast nook is the first thing Adrien gets to see, taking notice of the tablecover covered with sparkles and glitter. There’s a cakestand, though the actual cake is missing; the usual array of doughnuts on cool-looking lazy susans are already there, as well as the huge tray of cookies and bread-related items from the bakery down below. Just to satisfy Tikki, he’ll take another one and slip it into his jacket, but his Kwami is most likely satisfied with the one he bought downstairs for her.
Marinette pays no attention to the confectionary sweets, too busy tossing off her jean jacket, showing off pale shoulders ribboned by a coupling of thin spaghetti straps. Taking a better look at her, Adrien can finally make out what all the tulle actually is: a flowing, baby-pink dress, embossed right at the bottom with large leaves and flowers. The spaghetti straps are velvet ribbons that match the leaves, a dark green that reminds Adrien of some of her plants she has in her room. A garland of flowers crosses the top part of her dress in a way that is whimsical, trying to break up the symmetry.
Did she make this dress on her own?
“Is that for me?” she asks politely, gesturing to the bag. He’s scrambling to get it out of his hands as if it’s burning, and she accepts it with a grateful smile. She’s fascinated by the tissue paper, delicately folding it out of the bag to peer inside.
“It’s just a little something,” he offers. “I’m not sure what you like… but I decided to get you a jewelry box.”
Nothing all that special, though he’d spent so long scrutinizing over the thing with Chloe before Lady Noire had shown up in Chloe’s room. It’s a music box, too; with a little finger-crank at the back, the box plays a song that he’s composed a long while ago. The box is just big enough to keep all the rings that Marinette keeps on her fingers safe, and that’s really all Adrien had intended it to be. Chloe had found it to be way too much for a simple birthday present, but he’d been dead-set on it ever since a few weeks ago. Lady Noire had mentioned in passing that she loved listening to him play the piano— if Noire liked something, maybe it’d make a good gift for Marinette?— and so that was that.
“This is gorgeous,” Marinette says with a gasp. A look up and her eyes are so wide, so blue, that Adrien wonders if she’s looking at him or just tearing up in a cry. “You— got me a jewelry box?”
“You have a lot of rings, so I thought—”
“It’s so precious,” she cuts him off. It’s bigger than her hand, though not his. When he shows her how to wind up the crank, she’s stunned silent, staring at the box intently, peering at the mirrored surface with intensity. “Thank you,” she says sincerely. He’s never seen Marinette so quiet before. Is this a good sign? “I— I don’t know what to say.” And she’s grinning. She’s grinning. Grinning and teasing him with how she reaches over and squeezes his fingers, those very rings that plague every dream he has of her, glittering under the kitchen lights. “I’m actually really glad Nino called you over earlier than everyone else. I love hanging out with you, I’m so thankful I get to do it now for a little while longer before everyone shows up.”
Adrien’s blush deepens.
Or at least, it feels like it.
“S-so,” he tries, as smoothly and cool as possible, “what happened that you’re making your own birthday cake today?”
Something friendly sparkles in her eyes as they look at one another, choosing to follow along with him instead of asking why his face is so red.
“Well, it’s not like I had much of a choice, honestly. There was this really cool bakery I saw a few months ago a few blocks away that had these gorgeous cakes on display, and I ended up asking for that to be my present. Us bakers, we know what it’s like to have someone buy from us, you know? That type of cake needs to be bought. It can’t just sit in the vitrine for the rest of its life. So I asked my family to buy me the cake.”
The fact that she’s in the middle of taking out a cake pan says all.
“Too much money?” he asks. “I can go buy it, if you’d like. It could be my other birthday present to you. If you’d like.”
She blushes herself, a pretty pink for a pretty girl. “No, no that’s okay. I’d much rather make a cake with you than spend so much money on it. Besides, it happens. He just forgot, so I’m okay with making my own cake.”
“Sorry, who forgot?” he asks.
A voice comes from the living room. “I apologized!”
“That’s fine, Felix,” she says in a sing-song voice, “but I just wish you had decided to actually apologize with the cake in your hands.”
Felix? Adrien doesn’t know a Felix. The voice isn’t all that recognizable, but then again, most likely he doesn’t know them. It’s her birthday, and at her house, so it must be someone from her family. During school, she’s always talking about all the aunts and uncles she has… her extended family must be so large that she may not actually know everyone’s names. It must be hard to keep track of everyone. Adrien’s wondering if he’ll ever have a problem like that, though the chances are probably slim. His father was an only child, and all contact with his mother’s side just dwindled into an absolute nothing after she…
After…
Either way, contact with her family had been to a minimum. He has an aunt somewhere. Maybe an uncle. They’re most likely back in Brazil; just like his mom, his aunt is an actress, working on popular TV shows. He tends to avoid the channels and the news articles about it, because the perks of having an identical-twin as a mother is that he sees her even though she’s not alive. She’s like a ghost. A living one. It hurts so badly to see his aunt’s face and wish, just for a brief moment, that it was his mother instead.
Felix, though Adrien hasn’t seen him just yet, replies from somewhere out of the kitchen: “I couldn’t, I really wanted to.”
“You know how much it meant for me to have someone who could get the cake instead of me— I’m always doing it, always getting everything ready, and you begged to help me this year because you’re trying to show off that you’re a family man so I let you and you didn’t—”
“I am a family man!”
“And now I’m baking a cake for my own birthday.” Oh, Marinette sounds so stressed. If Adrien knew how to comfort her without having words get stuck in his throat, he’d do it without question. That level-headed confidence she’d shown just a second ago is starting to melt away. “I don’t know what to do. I think I’m panicking. People are going to be here any hour now and it’s not ready and I can’t let this burn but I also can’t just ignore the guests…”
“’Nieta is sick, gatinha. I can’t carry her and the cake at the same time, but I told you, I could have my wife—”
“No. No, no, it’s okay. It’s just…” Marinette stops whisking. “I don’t like asking for help. You know that. I never ask for help. But I don’t have time to bake— I can’t even pick out a flavour— every time I ask someone to pick they tell me to pick because they want me to pick because it’s my birthday, and—”
“—because we know you and we know that you’d complain about any flavour someone actually picked for you because it wasn’t what you wanted.” The dismembered voice floats into the kitchen much louder as Marinette pivots on her heel and goes grumbling back into her batter. Socks slide against the floor and Adrien is so taken aback by a man just slightly taller than himself come in, bleach-blonde curls bobbing. “How about this, I’ll go get Sabine to watch ’Nieta while I go get the cake and—”
And…?
The man gapes at Adrien.
A few things to note right off the bat. Firstly, his eyes are very blue. They’re almost grey with how light they are, though they definitely catch the light at different angles and change hues, but still safely in the blue area. Secondly, his hair is blonde, more platinum and more bleach than Adrien’s own which is more golden. He’s going for platinum. A beige. Almost a grey as well, washed out but still definitely blonde. It reminds Adrien of his mother, with her ashy blonde hair always swept up into a ponytail of some kind, playing on the angles of lights in TV shows to make her look more gold than she actually was. Thirdly, this man stares and stares and stares. If he knew Felix better, he’d say the man has glitched, standing right underneath the doorframe with a visible buffer wheel above his head as he thinks.
A couple more things: Felix is undoubtedly tall. More spindly than actual muscle, Adrien is immediately given the impression that he’s a book-nerd, which Adrien can definitely relate to. There’s a look to him that reads he’s well-read, well-educated, and consistently hides behind pillars every time there’s a fight. As Mister Bug, he’s met this type of person before many times; many citizens in the city do their best to hide in any corner or crevice they can find, just to avoid getting targeted by an Akuma.
“Hi,” Adrien tries. “Uhm, sorry, hello.”
“You’re from the billboards, right?” Felix asks.
“Ah, yeah.” Adrien finds himself rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s me.”
“Marinette, why is the perfume guy in your house?”
“This is Adrien. He is my friend.”
There’s a look on Felix’s face, one he doesn’t recognize. “Friend?”
“Friend,” she emphasizes. Suddenly fiercely protective, Marinette grabs Adrien’s elbow and stares. “I thought you knew he went to my school? I’ve talked about him so much.”
Adrien can’t help but blurt out: “You talk about me?”
“Do you know how many Adriens there are in Paris alone?” Felix frowns. “How was I supposed to know you meant the perfume boy?”
“I’ve shown you pictures!”
“You show me pictures of Mister Bug,” he deadpans.
“You show pictures of me?” Adrien blurts out again, slightly higher pitched.
“Of course I do,” Marinette says, smooth as butter and not at all paying attention to how Adrien malfunctions himself. “Felix always wants to know more about you; all of my friends, really. Every time he comes over, he’s asking about how our plans for graduation are going. Anytime he gets, he wants to help. This and that and everything. You’re just so nosy, Felix.”
“I care about you.”
All she does is scrunch her nose. “Anyway, yes. This is Adrien Agreste. My friend.”
It’s not apparent to anyone— at least, no one makes a big deal out of it— but Felix’s eyes are steadily watering. Grey eyes hide behind a film of unshed tears, though he tries desperately to bat them away with long lashes that give him such a poetic look. The man truly is pretty, in an unassuming way. His lips aren’t symmetrical, and the very tips of his ears poke out from box-dyed hair… the color he’s picked is just a shade too light for his warm skin tone, similar to Adrien’s own.
And he looks like he’s crying.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Felix croaks out. He looks overwhelmed. “I never thought I’d ever get to… this is a surprise. Who would’ve thought that my gata-porrada would end up being your—”
“—Felix,” she warns.
“’Friend’,” he emphasizes. With his hand out, Adrien can only assume he’s going for a handshake. There’s a ring on his hand. A gold one. Simple, sleek, thin. Unassuming. Adrien clasps his hand and gives his friendliest of smiles.
“It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“You’ve grown up,” Felix remarks.
Adrien blinks slowly. “I… I guess you’re not wrong? Wait, have you seen me before?”
“No,” Felix replies, far too quickly. “I’m— I specifically meant— it’s just that those billboards give you a lot of baby face, which you don’t have anymore. Practically. You’ve got your father’s jawline, now. I didn’t imagine that, but it’s… it fits you.”
Billboards? Oh. Billboards.
“Oh, those! Yeah, a lot of them are from when I was thirteen. I’ve done a few shoots to redo them since, but they never really do as much work as the original. I guess the baby face makes it more… angelic-like?” At some point early on in his mother’s death, Adrien’s dad had become obsessed with religious motifs. He remembers those days where he’d be left alone in the house during breakfast, mourning one parent and missing another, because Gabriel had decided to go to a church. A priest. The clothes and items that released the months and few years following his mother’s death had been full of angel iconography.
“I guess it didn’t register that you would… grow up so quickly.” Felix deflates. “You grew up so fast.”
They’re still holding hands. Adrien doesn’t remark on it. “Well, it’s been a few years since those billboards. Five, actually.”
“Actually,” Marinette interrupts, “it’s been four. You’re not eighteen, yet.”
Whatever trance Felix was in is quickly pulled back, turning to Marinette with a snort. “Does that matter?”
“Yes. It’s the principle.”
“What principle?”
“The principle that I’m older than Adrien by a few months.” The glint in her eyes is so familiar, but Adrien just can’t place it… “Anyway, I should properly introduce you two. Adrien, this is my cousin’s husband: Felix,” Marinette explains, most likely trying to fill in the gaps between this blonde man being a part of the family in a sea of brunettes. He’s definitely not asian. “Yes, the distinction is important. No, Felix, I will never not introduce you any other way. You are Bridgette’s husband. That’s your nomenclature.”
“This woman,” Felix mumbles, “is full of audacity all the time. We don’t want to mention how I’m her favorite cousin? No? We don’t want to talk about how I’ve raised you as my own little sister? Also no?”
Marinette continues, barely batting an eye as he rambles to himself: “I’m not related to him by blood, as you can clearly guess. But who cares. Before he’d married in, he’d been around the family for a long while. I can’t remember when he wasn’t around. He’s like family to me. An uncle. A… brother. Something. An annoyance?”
Felix shrugs. Trying to look sane. He has yet to let go of Adrien’s hand. “Highschool transfer student, fell in love with a classmate, fifteen years later I’m married with the same girl. It’s the problem with the Cheng family, you know. You fall in love with one of them and you’re screwed for the rest of your life. It’s hard to let go. Be careful.”
There’s a kitchen towel in Marinette’s hand, being twisted up into a fine point. “Felix!”
“I’m just warning him,” the older man retorts as Adrien’s face bursts into flames. “You two might fall in love and it’ll bring disaster.”
“Felix!”
Felix shrieks and lets go of Adrien’s hand when she whips him at the elbow. “Okay, okay—”
“—leave, now! Your kitchen privileges have been removed, you’re being weird. Out!”
“Out!” he parrots, hands up, still shrieking. “I’m out! Here I am, leaving, just like you asked! Put the towel away, gata porrada, I’m leaving—”
“Faster before I go for the eyes!”
“I’ve left! I’m gone! No peeps from me, I’m good!”
“—I’m so sorry about him, he likes embarrassing me any time he gets. Just don’t listen to him. Ignore everything he’s said,” Marinette begs, waiting for the living room doors to close again. “Let’s just… make the cake. God, how miserable, I live with a family of bakers and I don’t even have a single cake ready,” she whines. “Oh, god. I can feel the tears forming.”
“Take it easy,” Adrien tries. Her eyes are so shiny when she looks back up, staring at him with such expectation glimmering in those sparkling blue eyes. “We can do this. Need me to ask for backup?”
“Luka will be here soon,” she mumbles. “He always shows up early. Maybe I can get him to do the actual baking so you and I can get the place ready. Lord knows I offload all of my problems onto that man any time I get.”
He perks up. “Luka will be here?”
“Any moment now.”
He likes Luka. It’d been a few years since they’d officially given him the snake Miraculous to keep it on him permanently, which Adrien considers to be a good idea; Luka’s dependable. He’s smart, too, and probably has fussed around with his Miraculous far more times than should be allowed, because he wields it with such grace. Of course, no matter how hard he tries, Viperion and Lady Noire bicker to hell’s end about anything and everything— side-effects of the Miraculous, it seems, or at least that’s what he was told by Master Fu about putting two predator Miraculouses together.
Don’t.
Unless you have to.
They work fine. But it’s not advisable to leave them alone without someone keeping a close eye on them. Mister Bug can handle them just fine (Adrien isn’t really sure just how he’s capable of doing it, considering that it’s like taking care of two toddlers while also battling an Akuma. One of the toddlers has sharp claws. The other can go back in time. The Miraculouses are amazing, but god, would it be great to have a break one day.) and he refuses to let them work on a plan together. It’s not worth the headache.
The two are capable. Efficient. Just not… necessarily worth putting together.
So Luka is a good friend. Both him and Lady Noire had handpicked him during a battle, actually, someone that had absolutely nothing to do with them. A third party that didn’t know each of their identities, until… until he did. For whatever reason, Luka knows about their identities, and it’s been a bit of a blessing.
If anything ever goes to hell, Luka’s right there to talk to.
The cake is nearly done baking by the time that the man actually arrives, throwing a hastily taped present onto the counter before stealing something in the fridge. He walks like he’s at home, teasing Marinette like he’s her older brother, and when Adrien finally manages to make eye contact with him, Luka’s face visibly softens and melts into something genuine and kind.
“So you’re Adrien,” he says, pretending to not know him.
Marinette is cutting strawberries with the tiniest looking knife possible, yet Adrien worries for her fingers regardless. A fitting glare follows as she looks up. “Have you two met before?”
“I know he’s Juleka’s older brother?” Adrien tries, clearly doing his best to sell the innocent act. “I think I’ve seen him a few times when I was on the Liberty. But we’ve never talked.”
“It’s nice to officially meet you.”
“Likewise,” is all Adrien can muster up to say, shuffling on his feet and trying to come up with conversation. “Are you two… friends?”
Luka’s shrugging something small while Marinette barely looks over. “The Couffaines have been family friends since the beginning of time, practically.”
Luka couples it with: “I’ve known Marinette since we were toddlers. Nowadays, I work at the bakery part-time.”
Oh. The two of them have spent that long together… “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Weekends are usually for me and my band so we can practice— meanwhile, I’m just trying to save up some money.”
Which doesn’t make sense, not really, because Luka’s dad isn’t just some nobody. Adrien’s known about the Couffaines ever since he was able to remember listening to music; one of his few memories with his dad is listening to Jean Couffaine on the radio under the title Jagged Stone while he played in his dad’s office. Gabriel was always so busy, but Adrien always had a spot on the rug to play with expensive toy car models before it was time for school— once in a while he’d be able to see what his dad was working on, sitting on his dad’s knee while that tinny little speaker on the shelf played an extension selection of Jagged Stone music. Upon finding out that Luka was his son, Adrien had fangirled so hard that it’d been embarrassing, but Luka had never found it strange. A little funny, maybe. It’s hard to tell. Adrien’s not as close to Luka as Marinette clearly is, so he can’t exactly read that ever-present smile ghosting on his face.
It was partly the reason why Mister Bug was so open to picking Luka as Viperion. Secrets like word-famous rockstars or models don’t seem to phase someone as easy-going like him, so Adrien hadn’t seen a reason why he would be a bad choice. He doesn’t regret the decision.
So, he’s been Viperion for a long while, now. Probably a year or two after Adrien became Mister Bug, but he’s only on reserve. Sparingly used. If Hawkmoth ever found out that there were more superheroes crawling through Paris alleyways, it would be devastation for everyone involved; he’s convinced that Luka is perfect for the job of secrecy. He’s hidden in the shadows, only ever used out of range during battles that are too complicated, resetting time for everyone involved in the battle until Hawkmoth is defeated for that day.
Adrien hadn’t meant for that to mean that Viperion would know his identity… but things like that happen, after many, many second-chances. Viperion is the only one who knows his and Lady Noire’s true identity.
He’s perfect at keeping his mouth shut. But that means that Luka had never told him that he knew Marinette so closely; Adrien pivots the conversation before he’s able to sour himself on that idea. “I had no idea you were that close to Juleka.”
She’s licking frosting off her fingertips as she nods. “Oh, yeah! Juleka and I used to take the metro together to school when we were younger! Inseparable. I would do homework in the Liberty when my parents were busy at a catering event.”
Marinette is still opening and closing all the cabinetry in the kitchen like she’s lost in a maze, and Adrien doesn’t have the heart to even try to understand what she’s looking for. Besides, his heart just won’t stop beating erratically every time they make eye contact, attempting to leave his chest, and it just worsens every time he’s in contact with her. Looking at her in the eyes is almost impossible. Not to mention whenever their hands touch… good god, he’s just useless.
Luka can’t stand it for any longer than he has to, giving him a slippery smile that Adrien has no chance in understanding.
“Alright, we’ll be back. Adrien’s been pacing around for a bit so I’m showing him to the bathroom before he forgets to ask,” Luka announces.
“Fine,” she shoos them both away, though wary of their departure. “Don’t say anything weird to him. Felix already was super weird to him.”
“I promise, I won’t say anything weird.” Luka gives her a little shrug just to sell it, too. With a tug on his sleeve, Luka guides him out of the kitchen, and they creep along from the living room— there’s Felix with a little toddler playing in front of him on the rug as they watch a children’s cartoon— making their way down the hallway in the other direction.
The hallway is full of pictures taken with the family, with more people in the photo than the previous one. There are collages of so many get-togethers, and Felix’s bleach-blonde hair stands out like a flare in every photo. He’s always in the middle of the group, smiling as if he belongs, though fifteen years does that to a person. Baby pictures of Adrien can only assume is Marinette also dot the hallway; little toddler photos of her in one-piece bathing suits, little buns in her hair, smiling to the camera with the silliest sunglasses he’s ever seen. Luka and Juleka are both in a few of these, or at least Adrien can only assume, given that Juleka still has that young little baby face…
Does he even have a photo like this somewhere? Did his parents ever take a photo like this?
Luka ends up taking him out of his thoughts with a giant bear-hug. Adrien finds himself sinking into it. Hiding into it.
“That’s better,” Luka mumbles. “Easy.”
It’s a good hug. A necessary one. It’s not exactly from the person that he’d want it from— surprisingly, a pair of dazzling-white fangs come to mind when he thinks about which arms he’d actually rather be in— but this is something just as safe and warm.
“How’d you know I needed the hug?”
“Clairvoyance,” Luka drawls. “You don’t look like you’re doing so well.”
“I had a rough night,” he admits. When Luka pulls away to look at him in the eye, Adrien shies a bit, breaking eye contact to look at the floor. “Not completely. It started out horrible. Everything’s better now.”
“Mmmm. How are you doing?” Luka asks, hands never leaving Adrien’s polo. “You both had me worried yesterday.”
They’re talking about the same thing. He knows it. Luka has that look in his eye that carries in the way his shaved brow raises at the lack of a response, his thumb rubbing at the Miraculous hidden on Adrien’s polo as a little tiny broach on the collar. He’s the only person that Adrien can feel comfortable touching the area; at least, it’s surprisingly calming, not harrowing, to have him touch and whisper in the hallway that leads to the guest bathroom while everyone else in the apartment is getting the place ready for Marinette’s birthday.
Adrien can feel his shoulders dropping by the second.
“Could be doing better.”
“Lady Noire didn’t handle it?”
“She did.” He licks his lips. “A little bit too much.”
Luka says nothing, though his eyes are glittering with questions. Instead, he pivots to something more blasé, something that wouldn’t alarm anyone should they come across the conversation. “Did you need any help last night?”
“No,” Adrien chirps, surprising them both. “It was a little rough, sure, but it was... doable.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t even know what to say about it,” he admits. “It was just... that Akuma was pretty worrisome.”
“I’d heard that the Agreste Mansion got leveled flat.”
“You know? That wasn’t the Akumas fault,” Adrien puts lightly. “Well, it was, but that place actually getting destroyed wasn’t his fault. The sentimonster, too, that thing has no blame. Kitty... uh, Lady Noire’s been tense this whole week; I have no idea why, but she’d…” Luka knows better than to fill in the gap of his words, just letting Adrien talk. “She looked terrified yesterday. Like something was starting to spill out of her. That poor Akuma got the absolute brunt of it.”
And the house.
Marinette comes out of nowhere, just in time for Adrien to snap his mouth shut. “What’s going on there?”
“Nothing,” Luka replies, swift and dead and his expression morphs into one reminiscent of a man who likes to rile someone up. Expressive blue eyes turn almost teasing in her direction when Marinette comes closer to see Luka still petting at Adrien’s neck. Her face is starting to scrunch. Adrien finds that nose crinkle endearing. “Can’t two men talk in a hallway in hushed voices in peace?”
“You can, but what are you doing to Adrien? Why are you touching him?” she asks, pressing in, because Marinette has a habit of touching and touching and touching until someone breaks. “It’s my birthday, you have to tell me. Birthday rules dictate I get what I want.”
“Oh, that. Don’t worry, we were just making out a bit. His lips are really soft, Mari, you really should give it a try one day.” A beat passes, because Marinette doesn’t believe him, face not making a single effort to change shape, and Luka’s smile goes nearly feral. “Hey, miss Birthday Girl, Adrien and I are smooching and you’re intruding. Either scram or wait your turn.”
“Liar.”
“I don’t lie,” Luka lies. “You think I’m bluffing? I’m not bluffing. What’s that face for? You’re not being homophobic, are you?”
If she believes this, Adrien has no chance in proving that he actually has the word’s most ridiculous crush on her.
Marinette makes a noise, taking the bait, because Adrien is pretty positive that whenever Marinette sees Luka in particular, she sees red. Genuine aggression pools off of her in waves, different than that joking manner she’d been with Felix. Here, she looks like she’d kick him out at the earliest convenience, and Adrien has to wonder, why is he here in the first place if Marinette doesn’t like him at all?
“As if!” she squeaks out. “You’re such a liar! You’re not kissing!”
“No?”
“No!”
“Want me to prove it?” There’s a thumb on Adrien’s mouth. “I know just how to kiss lips this soft.”
Huh. Okay. He’ll pack this away for later, but Adrien has the inexplicable, impulsive urge to find out what it’s like to kiss someone with snake bites. Thank god it’s not fed into by having the Cat Miraculous; if Lady Noire were here, she’d probably jump at the opportunity without a single thought.
Marinette growls. “I know you don’t like blondes.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is true.” She’s poking him on the bicep. Luka looks noncommital to the act. He even goes so far as to drag a hand through his hair, rolling his eyes. “You tried flirting with Felix and stopped when he dyed his hair.”
“He has a daughter!”
“Didn’t stop you when he got married to my auntie Bri,” she accuses. “Whatever, anyway, you don’t even like Mister Bug.”
“I’ve told you I like Lady Noire more.”
“Who doesn’t like Mister Bug?” she continues, completely unaware that Adrien is breathing wrong. “He’s the hottest man ever.”
“Sure.” Luka manages to sneak in a wink to Adrien when Marinette starts to spin on her feet, raving about how Mister Bug’s abs are perfect for laundry. A broad shoulder leans against the wall, something fond on his face as he regards Marinette, pulling away from Adrien. “But I don’t know. Something about Lady Noire is just more appealing to me. I’ve had a crush on her since I was fourteen, that’s not something I can just stop, you know?”
Marinette stops moving. “What?”
“What?” Luka parrots, clearly teasing.
“Wait, really?” Adrien finds himself replying as well.
Glass-like eyes slide back in his direction. Is he joking or not? It’s hard to read Luka when he’s like this. It doesn’t help that Adrien doesn’t know him as much as he should. “I think Lady Noire is cute. She’s a spitfire. And very much an adult, now.”
“You— you like Lady Noire?” she wheezes. “You’re not pulling on my leg?”
“Why would I lie?”
“So you weren’t kissing Adrien.”
“You’re well aware that bisexuality exists.”
Her eyes are thinning into slits, reminiscent of Lady Noire’s claws. “You—”
Luka cuts her off with a quacking motion of his hand. “What’s wrong with liking her while kissing another guy? Also, ‘like’ is an understatement: I’m in absolute love with her and it’s miserable. It’s loserish how much I like her, she’s just so cute. That woman is someone I’d willingly get a concussion for. Have you seen her? Looked at her?”
“Not recently, no!”
“God,” Luka groans, going back to crossing his arms. Well-made muscle peaks from that short sleeved shirt of his, making the snake tattoos on his arms look massive. “She’s gorgeous. If she knew how much of a crush I’ve had on her since I was a teenager, I’d be embarrassed. I’m not the only man in Paris that likes her, I know, but…”
Marinette looks confused. “But... but you…”
“I agree—” Adrien almost inhales his tongue when she looks his way and looks slapped. “I mean— about the— about the uhm… gorgeous part. Lady Noire is just... she’s so pretty.”
If Kitty ever found out that Mister Bug was talking about her like this, she’d have an aneurysm. What would happen if he told her to her face that she’s gorgeous? Would she turn pink like Marinette now, who seems embarrassed to have heard something from two guys? Or is she embarrassed because she’s been convinced that the two of them were kissing? Luka managed to completely spin the truth way out of reach, hiding away the real conversation, and Adrien is so, so thankful.
“She’s hot.” Luka tacks on, like a garnish. Adrien has the proper sense to wish to bonk his head into the wall, but there are too many picture frames of a happy family to do that. He’d break glass. Maybe it’s worth it? “That mouth of hers is kissable. And other things.”
“It’s the fangs,” Adrien blurts out. “The— the— kissing. Very nice.”
In fact, that smile she’d given her before leaving his bed earlier today— soft, gentle, loving emotions swimming in her eyes; that’d been everything to him, hadn’t it? When was the last time someone cared to brush hair out of his eyes? Had given him a kiss on the cheek? She’d given in to becoming a weighted blanket for him, purring under his chin throughout the night. Adrien had found himself miserable at the idea of watching her leave through the window she’s always crawling through and wondered, even briefly, if there was any way to keep her permanently in his arms.
Marinette goes back into the living room when she hears Felix call for her, looking over her shoulder as if she’s waiting for either of them to give up the bit. Luka refuses to. Adrien can’t quite meet her in the eye, heart pounding at the revelation he’s had over Lady Noire.