Archive of Our Own ^beta

It starts with an offhand comment on Tim’s birthday.

Tim has the night off from work to “get out of the house and celebrate a 21st birthday like a normal person”, or however Bruce puts it. Tim insists that there’s important work to finish, but Bruce hears none of it and (against his better judgement) appoints Jason to be his chaperone. 

Fifteen minutes and a few phone calls later, Jason drags him out the front door to meet up with some friends at a club downtown. With an extra coat in one hand and a sleek silver flask in the other, the second-youngest son doesn’t look very pleased about the arrangement. 

The youngest son, on the other hand, doesn’t think much of it. At 16, Damian is well aware of the socially-acceptable doings that customarily take place on an individual’s 21st birthday. An evening of celebration with friends, an exchange of presents, and rounds of libations were expected — nay, heralded — as markers of one’s official status into adulthood. Timothy’s surely wouldn’t be any different. 

What Damian doesn’t expect is to receive a video message ( “It’s called Snapchat ,” Stephanie explained one afternoon while she installed it on his phone. )  while he and Richard are in the middle of an evening workout. The video itself is dark and blurry, but they’re able to see grainy images of Tim hanging off of Jason’s shoulders with bright red cheeks and a wide smile. 

Through the club’s blaring music, they hear him exclaim, “ Wish you guys were hereeeee, the music’s amaaaazzzinngggg .” 

It ends immediately after that, leaving Damian with a slight frown and Richard with a bemused expression. The older son shakes his head and lightly nudges his younger brother. 

Richard says, “Well that looked pretty lit, didn’t it?”

Damian blinks. “It looked like what?”

“ Lit ,” he repeats. “Isn’t that what you kids call it, with the music and dancing…?”

“I don’t follow. The video had rather dim lighting, if you asked me.”

Richard pauses for a moment, his eyes wide as he scans to see if Damian is joking. When he realizes that there’s only confusion, Richard deeply sighs and pats him across the shoulder. 

“You definitely need more friends your age.”

That comment bothers Damian for several days until he decides to take action. 

No. He doesn’t need more friends — he needs a tutor. 

Someone highly versed in everything that the modern-day teenager would know. Someone who could teach him how to be more adept in everyday conversations. Someone with whom he could interact for the sole purpose of education, without the expectation of becoming anything more. 

Someone like...someone like her . 

Damian scours the internet for about thirty minutes when he finds a suitable candidate in a girl from France. Her account is trending on Instagram’s explore page, and it takes him all of ten seconds to assess that she would be the one. 

Not only is her Instagram moderately popular, but she seems to be around his age give or take a year. Between the posts that are centered around her sewing projects or sketchbooks, she seems rather popular with her peers judging by her photos of them — and there are many, many pictures of them. 

The girl appears decently tolerable, if a bit scatterbrained at times. But what stands out is her unshakeable positive attitude. No matter what obstacles she shares with her audience, she is filled with hope that things will take a turn for the better. Overall, she looks like someone who would be patient...someone who would be forgiving towards his current social ineptitude. 

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” he says to himself. “She’ll do just fine.” 

Instead of her usual morning alarm, Marinette wakes up to a ding from a simple email notification. 

What she reads next is probably the most bizarre message she has ever received. 

Dear Ms. Dupain-Cheng,

I will keep this message brief. My name is Damian Wayne (yes, that Damian Wayne), and I’m sending this to you with an exclusive offer to tutor me in pop-culture fads and references targeted to our generation. To be frank, this area of my being requires development and I am in need of a dedicated, qualified tutor for the job. 

Through my internet research, I found your character and talent to be ideal for this endeavour. Should you accept this offer, I will compensate you generously for your time. Feel free to contact me at any point through this e-mail or by my personal phone number (+1 (732) XXX - XXXX). 

Sincerely, D. Wayne. 

In any other instance, Marinette would have sent this message straight to her spam folder.

But, considering that the email address looks real (she’s not dumb after all, and a quick Google search verifies that it is legitimate) and well...she’s had her eyes on that expensive roll of pink silk at the fabric store for nearly two weeks…

Oh, what the hell. She’s done crazier things with less evidence before. And besides, she’s curious — just how sheltered is Bruce Wayne’s son if he needs a stranger to teach him a crash course on teen culture? 

Damian receives his response as soon as school lets out.

He knows exactly who it’s from, and resists the sudden urge to reply with an emoji; no sense getting ahead of himself when they hadn’t even had their first lesson. Instead, he sends back “ let’s begin in two hours ” and hopes that his reply doesn’t sound as stiff as it is.

[one]

Their first lesson doesn’t go quite as planned.

The first fifteen minutes of their Facetime call is spent detailing the curriculum. They agree upon twelve lessons, a set schedule, and an hourly rate for payment. Marinette raises her eyebrows when he proposes a number that’s ten times higher than she expected, but she doesn’t argue. At this rate, she’ll be able to buy the entire silk stock by the end of the school year.

Once all of the terms are written, she clears her throat and asks him, “Okay, so do you have any questions before we begin?”

“Just one,” Damian says, his eyes slightly glowering. “What is... yeet ?”

A beat falls. 

“It’s...a meme.”

“A what ?”

Oh no. It’s worse than she thought. 

--

The next morning, Marinette pretends to take notes during literature but instead draws up a syllabus plan. The entire school day, she is quiet as she studies her classmates, makes notes about where and how they inject certain turns of phrases, as well as the best situations to use them. She even finds the time to do some cross-reference research on the more popular ones. 

If Damian Wayne is paying her to be his tutor, she’ll make damn sure that she’s the best he can get. Her fabric supply is at stake, after all. 

Alya quirks an eyebrow at her bestie’s unusually reserved demeanor.

Marinette shrugs. “I’m tutoring someone online and I need to outline their course schedule.” 

It’s not a complete lie , Marinette reasons. And if Alya finds any fault with that excuse, she keeps it to herself.

 [two]

The second lesson starts with Marinette eagerly asking him how his week was, if he had the chance to use the new vocabulary, what his thoughts were on one of the videos she assigned.

“It was fine, thank you. I didn’t understand the purpose or humor of the Vine compilation, but I figured you would explain it as needed.” 

Her excitement dies.

Damian is looking at her like she’s a pedestrian slowly crossing the street — someone whom he’s obliging, but who’s also delaying him from going about his day. 

Marinette remembers his intentions ( “I want to make it clear that I’m not looking for friendship” he said rather callously. ), and her throat stings in embarrassment. Sure, her initial intentions weren’t entirely honorable either, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t open to the idea of being friends eventually. 

She covers her momentary sadness with a smile. “Let’s start with something easy tonight: how to ironically use the comic sans font.” 

--

That Friday evening, Marinette receives her first paycheck from Damian with a memo attached: 

Try not to spend it all in one place (that was intended as a joke) .

Marinette can’t bring herself to laugh. Even when she walks out of the fabric store on Saturday, arms full of the pink silk roll, it feels both heavy and empty. True, she’s able to buy what she wants now...but at what cost? 

That question plagues Marinette while she works to make a new blouse, a frilly thing that can get her thoughts on fixing the puckered seams instead of on a certain boy who can’t leave her head.

[three]

“Damian?” 

The boy in question looks up from his notebook, hiding the wince that comes with moving his neck for the first time in an hour. It’s their third week together, and Marinette was in the middle of explaining what “no cap” meant when she suddenly fell silent. Damian hadn’t bothered to look up — she’d taken quick breaks before to sip water and stretch — until she called his name.

From the glow of his phone screen, he sees Marinette thoughtfully biting her lower lip and leaning towards the camera. 

“Are you…” she begins. “Are you finding any value in our lessons?” 

What an odd question. Damian tilts back in his chair, as if he’s wary of her sudden prodding. 

His mouth is set in a firm, but not unkind line. “Thus far you’ve proven yourself to be an effective teacher, and my conversation skills have shown some improvement. In that regard, I guess one could say there’s value in what we’re doing.” 

“Oh.” 

Her question is soon ignored, scattered into the recesses of their minds like a leaf tumbling through the wind. Something about the way her shoulders dip, how her eyes momentarily flicker away from the screen, bugs him. Concerns him. 

But Damian returns to his notebook, content to let her voice drown those thoughts until they’re forgotten altogether.

--

“Nice work, Dudette!” 

Nino’s the first one to greet her on Monday, when the week feels fresh and her newly-finished blouse is still free from wrinkles. Marinette blushes under the attention while twirling to puff up the billowy sleeves. Alya gives a low whistle as she bounds down the stairs and appraises her besties’ handiwork. 

“This must have cost a fortune to make, girl!” Alya’s fingers brush over Marinette’s pressed cuffs, which are closed with pearl buttons. “I can barely see the stitches, and wait is this real silk?! ” 

“Yeah! I—” Marinette’s voice catches in her throat when she remembers how she got the money. “I used the money I’ve made from tutoring to buy the materials. No big deal.” 

Alya, for all that she felt excited over the blouse, notices Marinette falter. And she immediately takes a step back, her eyes narrowing slightly in a way that Marinette doesn’t like. Damn her journalist skills , she thinks. 

Because while Alya may not know the exact details, she still knows . 

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Alya says with her hand placed gently on a silk strap. “I think you did a great job putting it together.” 

“It really does look amazing, Marinette!” Adrien pipes from his seat. 

Marinette’s smile tightens. She didn’t even notice that Adrien was there in the first place, and barely registers his compliment now. Weeks ago, she would have been falling over herself if Adrien gave her half of a glance. And now…

Nothing. 

Marinette doesn’t know what to do with this new realization. All she can do is sit back in her seat, far enough back until her blouse is wrinkled beyond measure.

[four]

The next week begins the same way as the last. 

Marinette tries to perk up the lesson with anecdotes —  moments from her life where she or her friends have referenced memes or used slang — but she’s met with one-word responses and noncommittal grunts.

While she explains the key points of her lesson plan, Damian focuses squarely on his notebook. He jots down notes, takes sips of his tea, and only looks up when he wants to ask for clarification.

A good student, he is. A good conversationalist, he is not . 

Frankly, Marinette is going to go insane if the rest of their lessons are of her speaking to a brick wall for two hours, money be damned. 

It’s about thirty minutes before the end of the lesson when she shuts her notebook; the strength of the slam is enough to make him look up.

“How about we try something different?” 

“Something different?” he asks pointedly. 

“I’ve been thinking about some new ways to help you learn the material faster.” She’s lying between her teeth for the sake of her sanity and praying that it isn’t obvious. “Why don’t we try having practice conversations so that you feel more comfortable using it in everyday life?”

Damian shifts in his seat, his center of gravity falling onto his non-dominant side. “I’m not sure if that’s a very good idea.” 

It’s the first full sentence he’s said to her all night. 

“Why not? You’re trying to learn this to help you in real life, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but —”

“So why not try it out with me?” she asks quickly. “Learning on paper is...good, but understanding it through application is better for retention. Plus, my throat gets sore after talking so much for two hours.” 

Stillness passes between them. Damian looks at her as though she’s sprouted another head. Maybe two. Marinette starts to shrink under his intense gaze when he shifts again and clears his throat. 

“Very well, if we must. But I insist that you start off since this was your idea.” 

Marinette lets go of the breath she didn’t know she was holding. She jumps into character, makes up a scenario on the spot, and casually sprinkles slang in their conversation until he feels relaxed enough to reverse their roles.

When the time comes for them to end their session, Damian’s nearly mastered using yikes and bet when responding to someone’s story. And try as he might, even he can’t hide the way that the corners of his mouth upturn triumphantly.

Progress , she thinks while she signs off. We’re making progress .

--

Dick opens his arms to his daughter, whose cheeks are plump and pink from running around her kindergarten all day. He boops her nose with a kiss, hoists her above his shoulders, and asks how her day was at school. 

“....had so much fun during recess, daddy! Because, because Jordan and me —“

“Jordan and I ,” he gently corrects. 

“Jordan and I pretended to be superheroes saving the playground!” 

He pats her knee and asks her, “And who were you fighting?” 

“Sea monsters! They were making the playground all goopy and gross, so we picked up pine cones and tossed them at the monsters like this: YEET! ” 

Mar’i doesn’t notice the way that her dad tenses with confusion at the sound of that word. When he asks her where she learned it, she babbles excitedly, “Uncle Dami taught it to me last week, daddy!” 

Dozens of emotions cross his face in the span of five seconds, and Dick is so bewildered that he says nothing for the rest of the way home.

[five]

The word of the day for lesson five is “lit”.

“Interesting choice,” Damian observes. “I don’t believe I’ve mentioned it before, but that was the word that prompted me to find a tutor in the first place.” 

Huh. That’s something he didn’t intend to say out loud. They haven’t exchanged much (or really, any) personal information over the last month, so this tiny tidbit peaks her interest more than it should.

“Why don’t you tell me more about it?” she blurts before he has the chance to retreat again. 

Her eyes have a strange glint to them. For all that he’s stated before about not wanting to make friends, she sure is being insistent about getting him to talk. 

It’s a challenge that Marinette won’t back down from, he’s sure of it — and frankly, he kind of likes that. 

“My brother turned 21 last month,” he states, fully taking her bait. “A word of warning, the story isn’t very captivating.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Marinette replies. Her light giggle and teasing smile are embedded in his memory. “I think I’ll survive though.”

True to her word, she does survive. Though his delivery is as dry as toast, Marinette holds his gaze for the whole three minutes. She smiles when it’s appropriate, nods in understanding, and purses her lips when he rounds off the ending. But there’s more about her that Damian notices.

The sly curve of her mouth. The stray hairs falling out of her pigtails. The pink tinge on her cheeks when her laughter is a touch too hard. 

Damian swallows hard at the end of his story. He’s never noticed those things about her before.

--

The little brat scurries past him, huddling over his phone like it’s a sacred artifact and snickering at some video. His mood has been good lately, but that doesn’t mean that he still isn’t acting weird. 

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Whatcha got there?”

Damian halts. He tilts his head to the side, as if he’s really really thinking of a response, and then furiously types something into his phone. 

And then, after another beat, Damian reveals what’s on the screen: it’s a picture of an ostrich. 

“A smoothie,” is all he says before continuing down the hallway with a peculiar spring in his step.

Jason is rooted at his spot long after Damian rounds the corner. 

[six]

It’s their sixth session, and Damian nods when Marinette’s smile pops onto his screen that night. She presents him a full slideshow on the origins of the word shook , and he’s fascinated by all the examples.

She ends their lesson by giving him his first major homework assignment. Marinette has assigned him lists of things to watch during previous lessons, but this one will determine how much he’s understood the material: a three-page essay summarizing all of their lessons from the past month and a half, double-spaced, twelve-point font, and proper citations thank you very much.

Whether or not he’s conscious of it, Damian has a little pout — and as much as she doesn’t want to admit it, he looks adorable. 

--

During the end of the week, Marinette receives a silent notification in the middle of class.

She peeks down at her phone — Ms. Bustier is too wrapped up in A Midsummer Night’s Dream to notice — and sees that Damian forwarded her his essay. The paper is formatted just as she specified. 

It’s written entirely in comic sans, right down to the citations.

Marinette turns red because damn it Damian that’s actually pretty funny , and Alya taps her on the back because it looks like she’s about to have a coughing fit. Adrien turns around with a concerned look, but Marinette dismissively waves him off. 

I’m fine , she mouths, and it’s enough to get both of them off of her back.

Marinette’s decidedly not fine. Not when Damian is really starting to show some progress. The mental image of him working diligently on his essay makes her stomach flutter. She walks on cloud nine for the rest of the day and nothing brings her down. 

[seven]

“Did you like my essay?” Damian asks during lesson number seven.

“Ehh, it was alright.” Marinette replies while inspecting her nail polish for chips. “You summarized everything concisely, you had enough citations, but….”

“But?”

“Your submission wasn’t long enough. I said three pages not including the works cited section. Yours came out to be just under three pages with the references.” 

“You wound me.” Damian drapes a hand across his chest, though the shock isn’t all for show; part of him is genuinely offended that he won’t receive full marks. “How will I ever recover?”

“You’ll live. Try harder next time, and I’ll consider raising your grade.”  

She mischievously grins and sets down her phone. Despite the relatively narrow vantage point, Damian can see the bits and bobs at the corners of her room. Scraps of leftover fabric and near-empty spools are piled beneath a dress model. Said dress model is decorated with pins and tacks, which are holding up the beginnings of a skirt taking shape along the curves. The red fabric is gathered into pleats in some areas and ruffled in others, no doubt as an experiment of what textures would look better. 

It’s nice. And she’s...she’s very talented. That’s what Damian thinks for the rest of the lesson, even when the new vocabulary goes straight over his head. 

[eight]

“It just doesn’t make any sense, B.” 

“I’ll say. You wanna know what Demon Spawn showed me a few weeks ago? A picture of an ostrich — an ostrich .” 

“Oh please, don’t even get me started on what he’s been teaching Mar’i —“

“ Alright ,” Bruce grumbles. He pinches his nose bridge to ease the growing ache in his temple.

“You two stay for dinner. We can talk to him then, and calmly -” He gives his two older sons a warning glance with this word. “- ask him what he’s been up to. I’ll take a look at some of his accounts and see if there’s anything out of the ordinary.”

A huge sigh of relief sweeps through Jason and Dick. 

Slow footsteps echo down the hallway towards Bruce’s study. Tim stops at the entrance a minute later, his face a sickly green. It takes him another beat to muster enough energy to say what’s troubling him.

“You were right,” he gestures to Dick and Jason. “You guys were right about Damian, I mean. I took something from his room without asking, and…he called me a Boomer.”

Jason firmly clenches his jaw. “It’s worse than we thought.” 

--

Damian refuses to admit to himself how long he waits by the phone to get Marinette’s “ ready to call!” text. 

He receives nothing of the sort. 

Instead, she sends him a quick message saying how she’s sorry about the last minute change, she’s going to dinner for a friend’s birthday and that he understands, right? 

Lesson eight comes in the form of a PDF, an organized outline, and a single page of homework. It has everything he needs, but it’s definitely not what he wants. 

What do I want?  

This question haunts him all the way to dinner, where his father asks him another heavy-handed question.

Bruce folds his hands under his chin in a classic “ I’m-not-mad-I-just-want-to-understand ” move. “Son, I happened to look through your latest bank statement today, and I found something that surprised me.”

Damian tenses mid-chew. Jason, Tim, and Dick continue eating but slide their eyes carefully towards him.

His father finishes, “Do you want to explain why you’re sending hundreds of dollars to a girl in France every two weeks?” 

--

Across the world, the girl in question settles in her bed. The clock is about to strike midnight when she gets a text from Alya. 

A: I’m sorry about what happened tonight, girl.  

M: Don’t worry about it! I’m okay :)

She really is. 

It’s one of many consoling texts that Marinette's received since she’d gotten home an hour ago. Part of her feels a bit annoyed that her friends expected her to crumble because of the, er...unexpected events during Adrien's birthdat dinner. 

For one, it took place at a swanky new restaurant downtown. On a school night . And the mass-text invite was extremely last minute. How he was able to convince his strict father to let him do that, Marinette would never know. 

For two, he was holding hands with a pretty girl whom he introduced as “ Kagami, My Girlfriend ”. 

From the corners of her vision, Marinette could feel her friends’ collective gasps. Kagami the Girlfriend regarded her with a cool indifference, ready to turn away until Marinette warmly took her by the hand. 

“I’m Marinette,” she says with a full smile. “It’s nice to meet you!”  

Marinette doesn’t understand what the big deal is. It’s been such a long time since she’s thought of Adrien like that. In fact, she hasn’t had those feelings ever since...

Marinette tosses over in her bed and buries her head beneath the pillows — it’s way too late to have those thoughts running through her mind. At least, it should be too late to have those thoughts, except that her inner voice is running a mile a minute, practically begging her to finish the sentence that trailed off a moment ago. 

It’s going to be a long, long night. 

--

Tim’s whistle is low and steady. “Well, that definitely explains a lot.” 

“I just don’t see why you felt like you had to hide it from us,” Dick says, a hint of disappointment in his tone.

“Yeah.” Jason takes a sip from his glass and nods in agreement. “No shame in having an online girlfriend, squirt.” 

“Marinette is not my girlfriend, ” Damian seethes through clenched teeth . “She’s my —”

He wants to say “friend”, but somehow that doesn’t feel right. Like he would be infringing on territory without her permission. Like he needs her approval before putting that title on whatever is between them. 

“She’s just my tutor,” Damian finishes lamely. 

Whether through providence or sheer dumb luck, Damian’s phone cuts through the silence with a bright ring. 

It’s Marinette. 

Bruce holds up a hand to stop the inevitable onslaught of commentary from his sons. “Why don’t you go back to your room and take the call?” he suggests. “We’ll talk more about this later.”

“Thank you, Father.” 

‘Later’ means that they’ll have a long, awkward chat that will most likely be more invasive than necessary, but Damian bolts out of the dining room anyways and accepts the call. 

--

Why did I do this to myself why did I do this to myself why did I do this to myself —

Marinette tried — she really tried — to fall asleep, but her mind refused to let her rest until she addressed those thoughts in some way; the mere image of him feeling disappointed made her stomach turn uneasily. She tried counting sheep, journaling on her phone, listening to music, and watching a video lecture on astrophysics but nothing, absolutely nothing, could relax her. Not until her impulse got the best of her and made her press his Facetime icon. 

And now, she’s dealing with the consequences of her lack of self-control since Damian picks up the phone at the third ring. Marinette hears him more than sees him at first, because she gets a shot of his feet padding through a carpeted hallway; distantly, she notes that this is the first time she’s getting a view of his mansion aside from his room. 

When he finally turns the camera towards his face, Marinette blinks from the bright light that floods her phone screen, completely forgetting that it’s still evening in Gotham. That doesn’t at all make this situation more embarrassing.  

“Marinette?” Damian asks, clearly confused by her sudden call. 

A sudden call that she now has to justify with a reasonable response, even though she has no idea why she pressed the dial in the first place. Shit . 

“Uhhh..hi.” Marinette wipes her eyes blearily. “How are you, Damian?”

“Fit as a fiddle,” he says, raising an eyebrow. The screen glows brighter as he switches on the lights for his room. “Though that might be because it’s only 7 p.m. here and not 1 a.m like in Paris.”

Marinette doesn’t know how to respond to that. 

He glances away and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry, that sounded better in my head. I was just having dinner with my family when I got your call and —”

“Oh. ” Her face burns because can this get any worse? Her stammer worsens as she says, “I’m so sorry, I had no idea. I should’ve known...You know, you should go back and eat, I’ll-I’ll just...just talk to you later.”

“No no really, I insist. It’s no trouble to me.”

His tone is a touch more frantic than she expected him to be. It’s probably because he doesn’t want to seem rude, she cringes inwardly. And yet, his reassurance, along with the familiarity of the space — from his dark wooden bookcase to the collection of pictures on his desk — soothe her racing heart. 

Marinette’s mouth runs dry when Damian decides to lounge on his bed instead of his desk chair. From this angle, it’s the most casual they’ve been in front of each other; if she concentrates hard enough (which she won’t, of course), it almost feels as if he’s sitting there next to her.

“So…” he drones, not unkindly. 

“So.” Marinette bites her lip. It’s almost 1:15 a.m., her eyes are starting to hurt from the brightness, and she still hasn’t come up with a reason to say why she called so late into the night. Double shit . “You’re probably wondering why I’m calling right now.”

“In so many words.”

“And,” she says, clicking her tongue to the back of her teeth. “I have an answer to that.”

Damian has the good grace to humor her and appear amused. He replies, “Well, I would hope so.”

“I...I couldn’t sleep just now.” Thankfully, that one isn’t a lie. “ I felt bad for cancelling our lesson tonight. And because of that...I had to tell you that I’m sorry!”

Between Damian’s dumbfounded expression and her unconvincing smile, Marinette figures this could be a moment from one of those bad rom coms she loves so much. 

Damian looks up, surprise etched clearly into his face. “That’s it?”

“Yep.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mmhmm.” 

“Marinette…,” he begins slowly. “You know that I was never going to get mad at you for postponing our lesson, right? It might have been a sudden change, but you needn’t feel guilty about it. You sent me the materials I needed to study anyways.”

“Right! I did do that,” she smiles weakly. “But I, uh, still needed to say it in person. Principle of the thing, and all that.”

The surprise in his eyes morphs into an unreadable emotion, which stays long after he says to her, “Apology accepted, I suppose?”

“Thanks.”

To fill in the hollow silence that follows, Damian reaches off screen to his nightstand. He comes back with his journal, peers at his newest notes, and clears his throat. “To reassure you of my goodwill, I’m going to try out this new phrase: ‘ it’s all Versace, fam .’” His nose wrinkles, and he flips through his notes again. “Wait, no that doesn’t sound right.”

“Do you mean ‘Gucci’ ?”

“That’s the one,” he affirms, straightening out his notes when he finally finds the phrase. “Forgive me for my misstep, I’m still learning the new set you gave me earlier.”

“I can see that.” Marinette stifles her giggle with a growing, genuine yawn. The clock reads 1:20 a.m., and she needs to be up in five hours to get ready for school. “I think I need to hit the hay now. Thanks for understanding, Damian.”

Damian stretches and adjusts his camera as he heads out of his room, no doubt to get back to the dinner she unwittingly interrupted. “No problem,” he says. The next bit comes after an uncertain look flashes through his gaze. “And one last thing: I hope you had fun tonight, Marinette.”

The call ends, and she’s blanketed by darkness once more. Marinette takes three deep breaths to calm her hammering heart, and falls asleep immediately.

--

That night, when it’s Damian’s turn to stay up late, the question from earlier comes back to bother him.

What do I want?

Luckily, he has an answer now. The thought of her hanging out with other people their age, the thought of her laughing easily at their jokes and celebrating their birthdays...All of it. He wants it. He needs it. He needs to be a part of it with her. 

Maybe Dick was right all those months ago. Maybe he does need more friends his age. 

“Friendship,” he breathes. The deep exhale warms him beneath the covers. “That’s what I want.”

(His subconscious knows there’s more to it than that.)

--

Despite the inviting warmth of her bed and the pull of exhaustion begging her to rest, Marinette rises before her alarm and begins to get ready for school. After bringing a cup of tea and a tartine up to her room, Marinette takes her time doing her makeup and hair. Instead of her normal pigtails, she fastens a ribbon over her ponytail and lets the ends fall over her shoulders in soft waves. It feels better that way. 

A light wind breezes through her open window, so she shrugs a cardigan over her satin camisole and black hose beneath her skirt. The pièce de résistance is the practical pair of heels she pulls from her closet, never worn except the day she got them. It takes a few minutes to adjust to the added height, but it’s a welcome change all the same. 

At school, she glides past her classmates, chin held high as she reaches her seat. The classroom is semi-filled at the moment and her girlfriends are chatting in the back. She has half a mind to join them when she hears Adrien’s voice cut through the noise. 

“Hey Marinette!”

He’s looking a little dopey, a little dreamy-eyed, and very freshly-kissed if his reddened lower lip and rumpled shirt are any indication. He probably just dropped Kagami off at her classroom. Seeing her friend look so happy brings a genuine smile to her face.

“Morning Adrien!” she calls back. “How was the rest of your birthday last night?”

“It was great! Kagami and I stopped by Andre’s after dinner, and then…”

Unbeknownst to them, her friends huddle closer together and watch them with a mixture of sympathy and concern. Rose, who holds Juleka’s hand a little tighter, is the first to speak up. “Poor Marinette. And I thought things were going so well between them.”

“I know,” Myelene adds. “I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for her to find out so suddenly.”

Alix, who’s privately relieved that this whole mess is over with, merely shrugs her shoulders. “I wouldn’t be too worried. She seems to be taking the rejection well.”

Among their group, Alya’s the only one who notices Marinette's new look, how comfortably she's speaking with Adrien, how utterly nonchalant her body language is.

Alya narrows her eyes and says to no one, “Yeah...a little too well.”

[nine]

Marinette is about to call Damian for lesson nine when Alya barges into her room, a toothbrush and a bag of extra clothes stuffed under her arm. “I had a realization,” she declares. “And I need to talk to you, like, now .”

“Okay, firstly: how did you get in my house? And secondly: how did you convince your parents to let you leave yours?”

Alya holds two fingers up in order to answer her questions. “One, I told your parents that you invited me for a sleepover. Two, I may have told my parents the same thing, along with the fact that we have a project to work on. It was perfect!”

“As rousing as this conversation is, can’t this wait? I’m a little busy —” Her phone dings. Damian just sent her a text that reads ‘ is everything alright? ’ “ — Shoot. See, Alya? I need to start my tutoring session.”

“But that’s exactly what I need to talk to you about.” Alya dumps her things on the floor and wildly gestures between Marinette and her screen. “You. Him. This! The whole tutoring thing is what we need to discuss!” 

“I don’t know what you mean by that.” Marinette quickly texts back ‘ yeah! I’ll call in a few minutes, still setting up my notes lol!’ “But you need to go. I don’t think Damian —” 

“Wait, who?”

“Damian,” she repeats firmly. “The guy I’m tutoring? I don’t think he’d like it if we had an audience. I promised him a distraction-free environment during our sessions, and I don’t intend to break that promise anytime soon.”

In her true Alya nature, she sits on the furthest corner of Marinette’s chaise where she’s almost hidden from the camera. Her fingers run across her lips in a ‘zipper-up’ motion. “And I promise to stay here until you’re done, no talking whatsoever, because I intend to talk to you as soon as your session’s over. This Damian guy will barely know I’m here!”

Marinette doesn’t have enough energy to groan at her friend’s antics, so she settles for slumping her head against the desk. “ Fine . But no interruptions from you, and I mean it!”

“Scout’s honor!” Alya crosses her heart in an x-pattern. She reaches into her pocket for her phone and squints when she spies the time; specifically, when it dawns on her how late it is. “Marinette, one last question: where exactly did you say your student’s from?”

Marinette is fully engrossed in her lesson plan to bother turning around. “He’s American, somewhere on the East Coast. Why?”

Alya pauses. “No reason.” 

--

“Hey!”

Her smile is enough to brighten an otherwise boring day for him. His brothers had bothered him for a half-hour ( “But Damian,” Dick whined.“We want to meet your girlfriend!” “Oh for the love of - she’s not my girlfriend .” ), and he was more than happy to get them out of his hair.

“Hey yourself.” Smiling still feels foreign to him, so he composes a mild smirk. The smirk fades slightly when he spies another figure at the corner of her screen. “Who’s your friend?”

“That’s Alya ,” Marinette says in a grating tone; apparently, she wasn’t expecting her guest either. “She’s my best friend! We, uh, wanted to have a sleepover tonight. A study sleepover. For...studying things. We have a chemistry test tomorrow, don’t we?”

He hears her friend’s distant voice cry out “Roger that! ”

“Do you mind that she’s here, Damian?” Marinette asks; her voice catches at the end of the question in a rather cute manner. “We promise there won’t be any interruptions, but we totally get it if you’re not comfortable.” 

Damian almost wants to say ‘no’ because it’s his and Marinette’s time together. Having a watchful eye feels wrong. But with the way that her lips pinch into a frown and her bright blue eyes widen like gems, how can he possibly say no to that?

He straightens his posture and says, “It’s fine. If anything, I’m just glad we’re talking now and not past midnight like last week.”

Marinette’s composure crumbles under embarrassment, and she buries her face behind her hands. “Ugh, don’t remind me,” she groans. “About that, I’m really really sorry again —”

“Don’t be,” Damian insists. “I didn’t mind. I liked talking with you.” 

He swallows, and for a long moment, neither of them moves. 

“I liked talking with you too,” she finally says. “Anyways, um...a-are you ready to start?”

“Definitely.”

--

“It’s fine. If anything, I’m just glad we’re talking now and not past midnight like last week.”

Alya rapidly texts Marinette when she hears the guy say that. She had no idea that happened. Before this, she thought their set-up was strictly business. 

A: wtf, what does he mean by that???? did you seriously CALL HIM IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT and NOT tell me about it???

M: i was hoping he wouldn’t mention that. I’ll tell you more later.  

Alya flops onto the chaise and pulls out her notebook. If Marinette’s story was that they were studying for a test, she might as well play her part convincingly. And what a shame too, since she can’t even see the guy from her angle. 

But Alya’s a journalist-in-training. She knows when to jump on a story and when to wait for details to surface. So she waits. And she waits. And, an hour into the lesson, her opportunity comes in the guise of a bathroom break. 

On her way towards the hatch door, Alya quickly steals at Marinette’s phone screen — the two of them are too engrossed in a mock conversation to notice — and practically falls through the door. 

No. Freaking. Way.

Alya instantly recognizes his sharp green eyes and widow’s peak. She had some vague suspicions who Marinette’s student was, but never in her wildest dreams did she expect them to come true. 

One thing’s for sure: her bestie has a lot to explain. 

--

Two hours later, Alya pounces off the chaise as soon as Marinette ends the call. 

“Okay, wow.” Alya’s eyes are all but bursting out of its sockets. “I should have known that it was him. Him . I mean, I knew that Tutor Guy had something to do with you acting differently, but like, wow .” 

“Alya, what are you even —?” 

“It all makes sense now. Oh my god, it all makes sense. The body language, the habits, the expensive fabric-”

Alya rambles incoherently whilst pacing across Marinette’s bedroom, like she’s cracked the case to an unsolvable mystery. “ You .” She charges towards Marinette now. “And Damian Wayne. For two months, you’ve been tutoring Damian-freaking-Wayne! You called him in the middle of the night! And I can’t even get mad at you for hiding it, because I should have figured it out ages ago!”

“Yes, because me hiding his identity had nothing to do with respecting his privacy,” Marinette says dryly. 

Alya steps back, a disbelieving laugh running through her. “Oh this is too much, and it all makes so much sense .” 

“You’ve been saying that, but I still don’t know what you mean.” It’s Marinette’s turn to be in disbelief, though she knows it probably for different reasons than Alya’s. “What makes sense? What are you even talking about?” 

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? You have a crush on him!” 

“WHAT. NO! ” 

“Yes?”

“Yes! Uh, I mean, wait, no—?”

Alya mistakes her bafflement for a confirmation, which makes her squeal in excitement. “See, you totally do! No wonder why you stopped liking Adrien!”

She looks so proud of her supposed discovery that Marinette doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream. 

“Damian had nothing to do with my feelings for Adrien!” Marinette huffs. “It went away on its own!”

“Really? Then riddle me this: why did your interest in him wane around the same time that you started tutoring?” 

“...coincidence.”

Alya nods pensively. “Right. I’m so sure that was what happened.”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.” 

“Come on, Marinette! Have I ever been wrong about anything before?”

A poignant pause falls. 

Alya adds, “I mean, whenever the situation’s important!”

Marinette stalks past her, careful to bump shoulders along the way, and snatches her pajamas off her dresser with more force than necessary. “Let me set something straight: if I did have a crush on Damian — which I don’t —  I wouldn’t have the chance to ever tell him that. Things are...different between me and him. We aren’t even friends for crying out loud! Plus, he said in the beginning that he wasn’t looking for friendship, and I doubt that he’s changed his mind. End of discussion.”

“But Marinette -”

“End of discussion .”

At this, Alya’s conspiratorial nature dissolves into sympathy for her bestie. The eye bags, the worn posture, and the instinctive curl of her shoulders are all tell-tale signs that this has been taking more of a toll on Marinette than she knows. 

Alya sighs and opens her arms for a hug. “C’mere.”

Marinette falls into her hug instantly.

“I’m sorry for pushing the topic on you,” Alya murmurs. “I know I shouldn’t have, but it’s just hard for me to imagine a guy not falling head over heels for you. Like, I wanted to ship you and Adrien for the longest time, and when that didn’t pan out, I couldn’t help but have a change of heart when your mystery guy came on the scene.”

“Student, not mystery guy,” Marinette corrects.

“Same difference. In any case, like it or not, you’ve changed since working with Damian.”

“What do you mean?” Marinette asks, not breaking away from Alya’s embrace.

“Well, it’s not because of the clothes or anything. It’s, like...how do I put this?” Alya bites her lower lip as she thinks of examples. “It’s like you’ve grown into yourself more, if that makes sense. Everything that makes you ‘you’ has been amplified by a hundred, like you’re a more quintessential version of yourself. When I was beginning to put the pieces together, I just wondered if he had anything to do with it.”

She lets go of Marinette’s hold and ruefully rubs her arms. “I think I got a little carried away with the idea though.”

“You think?” Marinette says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Look, can we not do this right now? I know that there’s a lot I need to tell you and I will, but...I need some time to think it over myself.”

“Alright, but we will eventually talk about this,” Alya sighs deeply. She picks up her toiletries and, before descending towards the bathroom, gives Marinette a final deadpanned glance. “All I’m saying is that I think there might be something more between you two, and it wouldn’t hurt to explore that territory if you wanted.”

“The only thing between me and Damian is the Atlantic Ocean,” Marinette replies. “Seriously Alya, Damian would never think of me like that.” 

Alya’s expression softens. “That’s where you’re wrong, hon,” she says gently. “When I passed by, you should’ve seen the way he looked at you.” 

The hatch door closes, leaving Marinette in silence and with more questions than answers. 

[ten]

Damian squints when Alfred isn’t parked at the curb. Instead, Dick and Tim wave at him from the front seats of the car, while Jason grins at him from the back. The hairs on the back of Damian’s neck stand up for one reason: they never pick him up from school.

“Where’s Alfred?” he demands, his feet firmly planted six feet away from the door.

“What, no ‘hello’ or ‘good afternoon’ to your chauffeurs?” Tim’s hair depressingly flops over his eyes. “Bruce would be so disappointed in your lack of manners.” 

It’s 3:10 p.m, it takes around fifteen minutes to get home, and Damian‘s expecting to start their tenth lesson in twenty minutes. He doesn’t have time to humor them. “Cut the crap and tell me why you’re here before I tell Father that you three made me walk through Crime Alley to get home.” 

“Relax, Demon Spawn,” Jason drawls. “Is it that hard to believe that we’re doing this out of the goodness of our hearts?” 

“Yes.”

“Ouch.” 

Dick reaches through Tim’s open window and beckons him forward. “C’mon Damian, let’s go.” 

Damian takes one uncertain step forward. 3:12 p.m. flashes on his phone. He asks, “Why are you here? Don’t you have your family to get back to?”

“When I explained the situation to Kori, she understood perfectly,” Dick says, smirking. “Now get in the car so we can take you home. I’m sure we wouldn’t want to keep Marinette waiting.”

Damian scowls as he slides through Jason’s open door. “What’s the catch? There has to be a catch." 

“No catch whatsoever,” Jason hums, locking the door tightly behind him. “Just a tiny favor we want to ask of you.” 

--

Marinette fluffs her hair and straightens the ribbons on her ponytail one last time before hitting the FaceTime icon. Her phone buzzes a few seconds longer than normal when the call finally goes through. 

“Hey Dami —! Oh, uh, hello there!”

It’s not one face that greets her on the other end. It’s four. 

“Sorry,” Damian says, his face squished in between two sets of shoulders and an arm. “We have an audience again.” 

Marinette recognizes the other three instantly. They’ve been on advertisements for Wayne Enterprises and countless magazine covers ever since she was little, looking every bit as handsome and charming as they do now in person. She gulps. 

The oldest ( Richard, she thinks it is? ) is the first to speak.

“So this is the famous Marinette Dupain-Cheng!” he exclaims with a small wave. “Glad we can finally meet this wonderful tutor that we’ve heard so much about. Don’t mind us, we’re only curious about what our dear widdle baby brother -” He pinches Damian’s cheek none too gently for emphasis “- does during his lessons.”

“It’s no trouble, is it?” asks Tim. He flashes her a subtle wink that says ‘roll with it ’. 

Damian gives her a hurried glance that pleads her to send them away. 

Silently, Marinette understands how he must have felt with Alya being present at last week’s lesson; with all of their meetings being private until now, it feels unnatural having others watching them. Still, she can’t say she isn’t grateful for the new distractions. The past seven days have been nothing but periods of over-analyzing all of their interactions and asking questions to herself late into the night. 

With his brothers around, at least she can focus more on the lesson and less on the gruffness in his voice. And so, in no uncertain terms, she answers in turn. 

“It’s no trouble at all!” Marinette says, trying not to let her grin falter. “So long as there’s no distractions, I don’t have any problem. In fact -” She picks up a small stack of papers with red ink marked all over. “His most recent assignment was a paper comparing and contrasting the cultural impact of the Cars and Shrek franchises. You can help me review it!”

“We would love that,” Jason says, his arm wrapping tightly around Damian’s shoulders. 

From beneath his brother’s arm, the boy in question shoots her a murderous glare. It’s even more adorable than his pout. 

--

“Okay, no looking at your notes for this. Here’s the scenario: It’s November 1st. The weather is turning cold. Cuddling with another person sounds awfully nice. What is the appropriate response when someone asks you what season it is?”

Silence. A thoughtful hum, followed by tapping on his desk. His brothers, who are lounging behind his chair, lean forward in anticipation.

“It’s cuffing season,” Damian finally states. 

“Correct!”

Damian’s room erupts in congratulations and claps on his back from all different directions, with one of them going so far as to ruffle his hair in pride. He slaps their hand away and fixes his hairstyle, though not without the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. A part of her aches to see him restraining himself like that, especially when she knows he probably has such a nice smile…

Marinette coughs to bring them (and herself) to attention. “Alright,” she says authoritatively. “Let’s move onto the next scenario: one of your siblings tells you some shocking news. What do you say to them afterwards?”

This one is a no brainer. Damian cocks his head back and says, “I’m shook.”

Tim shakes his head, biting back a barking laugh. “I never thought I’d live to see the day where he’d say that.”

--

Ten minutes before the end of the lesson, Jason, Tim, and Dick peace out to help cook dinner. They take turns saying goodbye to her with different variations on the phrase “hope to see you again! ”. 

Once they shut the door, Damian immediately turns on Marinette, his scowl very evident but not reeking of any genuine loathing; she feels like she could tell if it did. 

“You’re terrible”, he says. “That was the worst two hours of my life.”

She snorts. “You have my sympathy, Your Highness. Two hours sitting in your bedroom in a giant mansion must have taken such a toll on your lifespan!” 

“Hey!”

“I’m just saying,” she shrugs, letting her voice trail off in a sing-song pattern.

Damian holds her gaze for a long moment before cracking with a light laugh. It starts from top to bottom like a set of dominoes: his scowl, then his shoulders, and finally his seriosity. The minute flash of a smile sends her pulse racing, her breath shortened. 

The ensuing silence is long and comfortable before he admits, “Fine, it wasn’t that bad. But it’s only because I had you as my tutor. I’m glad I chose you, Marinette."

She gapes at him. He’s never complimented her before. “Do you really mean that?”

“I do.”

--

M: pls tell me you’re up

A: i am now

M: thank god. you know that...issue? the one from last week?

A: oh no

M: it’s a problem. i have a problem. please help .

A: calling you rn, don’t worry

--

After bidding Marinette goodnight, he hears knocks on his door. He has three guesses who it might be. 

“Go away,” Damian orders.

The knocks grow louder. 

“Haven’t you bothered me enough for one day?” he growls. 

The knocks grow incessant . 

Damian storms over and wrenches the door open. “ What could you possibly want? ” 

The Three Stooges are staring at him with various levels of amusement. Tim flutters his eyes and says in a faint voice, “ I’m glad I chose you, Marinette. Because you’re the only girl in the whole wide world who can tolerate my butthurt attitude!” 

“Is that seriously the best you could say to her, Little D?” Dick smirks. 

Jason rolls his eyes, slightly annoyed by the whole situation. “Sing her to sleep, why don’t you. That line was drier than a biscuit from Popeyes.” 

Damian slams the door shut. He doesn’t come out of his room for the rest of the night. 

[eleven]

The goal of week eleven is to attempt to be Marinette’s friend. The last two weeks were thwarted by unforeseen guests but this time — this time for sure — Damian has it all planned out: their lesson is going to begin as planned. He’ll swallow any hesitation he feels and admit that he wants to retract his earlier stipulation of their contract regarding the “no-friendship” policy. 

It sounds awfully like a legal battle. He hopes it isn’t anything like that.

What makes it worse is how his family kindly sticks their noses in his business.

On Saturday afternoon, his father (the traitor) asks how his lessons are going. 

On Sunday, Alfred commends him for his improved attitude. “No doubt due to that young lady, I’m sure,” he comments off-handedly. 

When Dick and his family join them for dinner on Monday, Mar’i pipes up during the third course to ask Kori “if Uncle Dami’s going to learn more from that nice girl he talks about a lot”.  

Throughout the week, he’s also bombarded by texts from his siblings, who keep adding him to new group chats no matter how much he tries to leave them. The exchange that sticks out the most comes on Tuesday night:

J: you have a problem, brat

D2: I do not

T: keep telling yourself that

He does. He’ll keep saying it for however long he likes because he really, truly does not have a problem other than wanting to ask for her friendship. It’s - it’s not like it’s a bad thing to want that, he assures himself. Marinette has affected him more than he anticipated, and he’d be a fool to deny himself room to change.

--

All of that is thrown out the window when Marinette accepts his call later that night. 

Her hair is down, save for a single red barrette that swoops back one side. The skirt — the same red skirt that he spotted her working on weeks ago — cinches at her waist and flutters around her legs like a new spring blossom. 

Red is his favorite color, and it happens to look fantastic on her. 

Damian’s mouth reacts before his mind has the chance to catch him, which is why he blurts out, “You look different, Marinette.” 

Marinette’s stunned for a moment, her cheeks dusting into a light pink. “Oh, yeah! I,uh, wanted to try out a new look. The weather’s getting warmer here, and I didn’t feel like keeping my hair up...Um, i-is different okay?”

“Different is great,” he answers. “Your fit is fire.” 

Damian realizes what he says ten minutes later. He’s absolutely mortified into silence for the rest of the lesson. 

--

D2: i have a problem. i don’t want to be ‘just friends’

J: we know

D1: thank god you’re finally admitting it. it was starting to get old.

T: my room’s open. come over if you want to talk

--

Aside from the hollow fluttering in his stomach, Damian feels fine. Well, he thinks so. 

His older brothers take turns encouraging him to express his...feelings (it still feels foreign to admit that out loud). He uses up nearly three hours overcoming his, as Dick eloquently terms, “emotional constipation”. 

Gross. Feelings are gross. 

“Things were so much easier when this wasn’t happening,” Damian mutters into Tim’s pillowcase.

“I know bud,” Tim says, patting his back affectionately. “I know.”

The next morning isn’t nearly as bad, save for the fact that he couldn’t get her out of his head. His insides feel both dense and empty, and his heart squeezes at the mere mention of her name. It’s like a dam has burst inside his mind, and every sight, every sound, every infinitesimally small thing triggers a “Marinette Response” in him.

At breakfast, Damian’s nausea subsides enough for him to hold down a piece of toast and some tea. 

“Are you going to tell her?” Bruce asks casually. “Didn’t you say that your last lesson will be next week?”

Damn it all. They did agree to only twelve lessons, didn’t they?

Damian feels his meager breakfast starting to turn. He sinks in his seat and mutters, “I don’t know.” 

--

It’s the next day when Marinette finally gets the advice she needs to hear. 

She spent the last two weeks flipping between wild denial and meek acceptance of her feelings — and if she had any feelings to begin with — before settling on a tired acceptance, if only to quiet the storm.

Alya, for all of her supportiveness and encouragement, was ultimately at a loss for words. She and Nino have never been anything but in sync, so this territory was just as unfamiliar to her as it was to Marinette. 

Talking about it with the rest of the girls helped, a little, but none of them could give her the feedback Marinette needed; she suspected that they were too starstruck by her truth to provide any meaningful replies. 

It comes as a shock that her source of wisdom is none other than her former crush’s new girlfriend.

She, Adrien, and Kagami are the last ones from their study group still working in her parent’s bakery that night, the three of them huddled over an empty table and an emptier pile of plates. Once Nino and Alya left to grab dinner and a movie ( “Screw finals! Self care, baby!” she winked. ), the rest of their class slowly paired off in two’s and three’s until it was just them. 

Adrien’s chauffeur pulls in front of the bakery. The message is clear without needing any words: his father wants him home immediately. Adrien sighs, but Marinette smiles at him in understanding; she met Gabriel once, and she would never dare to be on that man’s bad side. 

Adrien kisses Kagami goodbye, pauses to give Marinette a warm side hug, and says, “Thanks again for having us over, Marinette!”

“Anytime! See you tomorrow,” Marinette grins. Once his car fades into the distance, she turns to her last study partner. “And then there were two.”

“So it would seem,” Kagami replies in a neutral tone. She opens her mouth as if to say something, then changes her mind. 

Their silence is companionable, and with the lingering scents of pastries and chocolates, the environment verges on friendly. Almost. Several times in the next half hour, Kagami looks like she wants to share something, but a force is holding her back.

Marinette knows that if she wants that to change, then she needs to act first.

“I’m glad you decided to come over,” Marinette says. She is, truly. “I didn’t know if you wanted to, but I’m happy you did.” 

The air between them stills. 

“I’ve been...meaning to thank you for doing so,” Kagami admits, slightly abashed. The stoic girl brushes her bangs away from her eyes and continues, “Truthfully, I wasn’t expecting an invitation. I was surprised when Adrien asked me to come with him, and even more so when I wasn’t just his ‘plus-one’.”

Marinette’s heart tugs. 

“You’re more than just Adrien’s girlfriend,” she says gently. “You’re always welcome here, with or without him.”

Kagami’s smile is slow, but amiable. “I’ll remember that.”

Marinette is struck by how the vibe feels so similar to her first few lessons with Damian. It’s as if she’s playing the role of archaeologist again: equal parts curious and determined to dig up the treasure below the surface. She wonders if Adrien, then, was in her shoes before he and Kagami got together.

In fact, the more she thinks about it, the more the similarities are too uncanny to go unnoticed. 

“Kagami, I have something to ask you,” she says lightly. “When did you notice a change in Adrien's feelings towards you?”

The other girl eyes her carefully, and without changing her neutral tone, says, “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

Marinette doesn’t mean to — she and Kagami are on good terms, yet they’re not really friends friends — but she’s too tired to guard her heart anymore. She shifts her seat closer to Kagami and begins with, “There’s this guy…”

By the time her story is over, the sun has already set and the streetlamps are beginning to glow. Kagami hasn’t moved once except for the occasional nod and hum, even when Marinette confessed about her old crush on Adrien. From the back of her mind, Marinette figures that it was no wonder why Kagami is a great fencer: she studies her target until she learns everything about them.  

“What do you think?” Marinette asks, her voice falling on the last syllable. 

Kagami shrugs. Her reply is simple: “You’re both acting dumb.”

It hits her like a slap in the face.

“Pardon?” Marinette gapes. 

“It’s clear that you guys want to be more than friends, isn’t it?” 

“Well, but Damian said-”

“Forget about whatever silly rules he said in the beginning,” Kagami states. “I respect you too much to sugarcoat this: he’s complimented you multiple times and he said that he likes your company. What more is there to understand?”

Marinette tugs on her bottom lip, searching for a solid response to that. She mutters, “Maybe he’s being nice?”

“Nice people hold doors open and help old people cross the street,” Kagami retorts sardonically. “The boy answered your phone call while he was with his family — the same family that’s heard him speak highly of you. He’s not just ‘being nice’.”

"That...that's not absolutely true."

Kagami pushes her chair back suddenly and says, “Look, Marinette. You’ve been wasting your time thinking about all of these hypotheticals when you could have acted and gotten your answer already. A good fencer analyzes their target, but a great fencer -” She points her finger straight to Marinette’s heart. “ - strikes when they have the chance.”

“Is that what you told yourself when you confessed to Adrien?” comes out of Marinette’s mouth before she can think twice. It’s cold, it’s catty, and it’s a product of her pent-up frustration combined with her current annoyance at being called out so accurately.

Kagami doesn’t take her bait. She steps forward and says, “It is. I knew how I felt, and I knew that I wanted closure from him. It was that simple. And furthermore —”

Kagami’s cell phone rings. Turning around to take her call, she misses how Marinette exhales in relief.

“My mother is here,” Kagami states simply while reaching to pack up her things. 

“Thanks for listening anyways,” Marinette sighs. 

Kagami sends a final look over her shoulder, her eyebrows raised until they’ve disappeared beneath her bangs. “I’ll leave you with this: the only reason why your relationship wasn’t progressing before is because of your hesitation. I never hesitate .”

Marinette assesses her, as if it's the first time she's seeing Kagami. “I...I won’t either. Not anymore”

For the tiniest moment, Kagami smiles. “Good.”

[twelve]

It’s their last lesson together, and of course that’s when things go haywire. 

Neither of their internet connections seem to be working. Marinette lags every other minute, and she completely cuts out every five. Damian tries to use the few seconds of uninterrupted air time to say something very important to her, but each time Marinette squints her eyes and cups her hands to her ears. 

“I can’t hear you ” she mouths over and over and over. 

The fifth time she says it, that’s when their connection seems to stabilize. 

“Try it now!” she exclaims with a bright smile. “I think I finally got it to work.”

Damian’s heart threatens to jump out of his chest by how fast it’s racing. It’s now or never , he thinks. 

“Alright. I have something to tell you. I —”

“Hold on a sec? Sorry, your volume’s low again, I think I need to adjust something…”

Marinette’s hand moves to increase the volume when Damian suddenly exclaims, “I like you, alright? I really, really like you.” 

This time. This time she hears him. 

He adds as an afterthought, “No cap.” 

Marinette’s slackened jaw slowly comes back to life. She inhales deeply and, with her hands clasped by her lips, channels her thoughts. 

“That is, like... the least romantic way you could have ever said that. But I’ll let you off the hook since I feel the same way.” 

Damian smiles. 

[six months later]

Damian excuses himself from the living room the second he gets her text.

M: hi dove! can I call you rn before I go to bed?

D: of course

Happiness fills his chest when her pretty smile lights up his screen. He asks, “How was your day, Angel?” 

“Interesting, to say the least,” she giggles. “We got a transfer student from Italy. Her name’s Lila Rossi, and she had some amazing stories to tell. Did you know she saved Jagged Stone’s pet kitten from being run over by an airplane?” 

Damian smirks. He might be behind the times still with music, but even he knows that Jagged Stone would never own a cat. “Really?” he replies, crossing his arms. “Tell me more about her.”

Marinette goes on to list a number of the girl’s impossible claims and an absurd amount of celebrity name-dropping when she finally gets to the icing on the cake. 

She pouts, slumping her shoulders for emphasis. “I just feel so bad for her though. Lila said she’s still getting over a bad break-up. You never told me that you two had a fling in Prague this summer!”

Damian strokes his chin. “Must have slipped my mind.”

“Understandable.”

They hold each others’ gazes momentarily until laughter tears through them. 

“I bet you had a few choice words to say to her.” 

“Only a couple,” Marinette shrugs. “No one believed her, of course, so it wasn’t a big deal. I comforted her, asked her how she was holding up, and showed her one of our selfies on Bastille Day. That shut her up pretty quickly.” 

Damian snickers. Leave it to his girlfriend to embody the phrase “kill ‘em with kindness”. “That’s terrible of you,” he quips. “And I love it.”

“And you love me,” Marinette adds, tucking her hair back. 

“I do,” Damian says, the pit of his stomach warming in agreement. “I really do.”