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"Adrien, everyone's dying to know — are you and Marinette Dupain-Cheng really official?"
Nadja Chammack almost had the microphone knocking his chin.
It wasn't Adrien's politeness that made him smile.
In fact, maybe Nathalie would berate him for his stupor later on — for the dopey grin he let loose on live television.
But Adrien was thinking of Marinette — warm, soft Marinette, and dreams of her arms and her lips were salvation enough for him.
The shape of her spine when she sat up in bed, a peninsula amongst the duvet, to hand-sew a little side-project before going to sleep.
How her breaths changed as she dozed off, and how she'd blindly reach for his hands in the middle of the night.
Her laughter — oh , her laughter — whenever he pulled her into his chest and embraced her, all flushed cheeks and wide grins that she muffled against his mouth in a kiss.
Soft sighs. Soft smiles. Nose kisses under thick blankets and giggling into his neck while he chuckled into hers.
Sitting there, spotlights beating down on him, a microphone stuffed in his face, Adrien could have melted back into the couch just thinking of Marinette.
Her smile.
Her eyes.
The smell of her blazer when she emerged from the bakery with a tray full of treats that they'd hand-feed each other.
How she scooped her loose hair off her shoulder and into her pigtails, and how she always teased him for watching so intently.
Her fingers trailing down his jaw absentmindedly, before tilting his head back, and lowering her mouth to his.
Marinette. Marinette. Marinette.
Oh, what had the question been again?
Nadja Chammack was almost half off her seat. He could almost hear the breath she was holding caught in her throat.
"Yeah," Adrien said, breathier than intended. "Yeah, Marinette and I are official. I love her very much."
Nadja beamed, then turned back to the camera. "It's official! Paris's dream boy is off the market — and totally smitten by Marinette Dupain-Cheng."
Marinette Dupain-Cheng .
Adrien flushed.
How he loved her.