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“Five years,” Adrien says, as he sets two wine glasses on the kitchen counter.
Marinette glances up from the couch, where she’s curled in front of the television with a blanket spread over her legs. “Only five?” she asks, smiling. “It feels like it’s been longer.”
On the screen behind her, Nadja Chamack is reviewing clips of Ladybug and Chat Noir from the past five years, with videos taken from both akuma battles and interviews. Adrien laughs as he watches their teenage selves ride on the back of an enormous pigeon monster. “Longer?” he says. “Don’t tell me you’re having a midlife crisis at eighteen, buguinette.”
Marinette hums. “No. Just…it feels like you’ve been part of my life longer than that.”
Adrien’s cheeks warm as Marinette tugs the blanket up to her chin. The clumsy attempt at knitting had been his birthday gift to her the year before: a misshapen patchwork of pink and white, all uneven lines and loose stitches. He was so afraid it would fall apart that Marinette helped him block it and sew backing onto it, just to make sure the knitting didn’t shift. Even now, it’s imperfect—and to his embarrassment, Marinette insists on keeping it draped over the couch where everyone can see it.
I need it to be accessible, she once told him. It’s like cuddling with you when you’re not here.
Adrien wonders if she still thinks that, when she pulls the fabric over her nose and settles back against the couch, fingers curled into the yarn.
On the screen, Chat Noir violently sneezes and falls off the back of the pigeon. Lightning fast, Ladybug throws her yo-yo and wraps it around him, then yanks him back onto the monstrous bird.
Marinette cackles at the television. “You poor thing. I bet you wanted to stay on the ground.”
Adrien laughs, uncorking the bottle of Sauternes he bought earlier that evening. “Nonsense. I always want to be at my lady’s side.”
“Even when she’s riding a feathery fiend?”
“Even then.” Adrien tips the bottle and pours amber wine into each of the glasses. “Although, if we have to ride any giant animals in the future, I’d prefer something without feathers.”
“Aw,” Marinette says. “You know I’d protect you from your allergies, if I could.”
With the glasses in hand, Adrien makes his way over to the couch. “You protect me plenty, my lady.”
He hands Marinette her glass, then sinks onto the couch cushion next to her. The moment he does, Marinette sets her glass on the coffee table and nuzzles into his side instead, her hand resting lightly on his stomach.
Adrien smiles and takes a sip of the sweet wine. “Is cuddling with me really better than drinking your favorite wine?”
“Yes,” Marinette says, poking his side. “Do you even have to ask?”
“You could do both.”
“I don’t trust myself,” Marinette says. “And I won’t risk ruining this blanket.”
Sighing, Adrien sets his glass next to the physics textbook on the table, then winds his arm around Marinette’s shoulders. “I guess this is pretty nice.”
“Oh, look.” Marinette nods to the television, where a clip shows Glaciator lumbering down the streets of Paris. “I had no idea why you visited me on my balcony that night, but I guess it makes sense now.”
“Mm.” Adrien tightens his arm around Marinette, face burning as he watches Ladybug cling to Chat Noir’s arm and kiss his cheek. “Oh, I bet that killed you. Did you go get a cooties shot after that?”
Marinette snorts. “Did you wash your cheek after that?”
“Eventually.” Adrien playfully tugs on a strand of Marinette’s hair. “How awful, cuddling with that annoying cat. I bet you’d hate it if he tried that now.”
“Shut up,” Marinette grumbles. “I get it. You’re warm and give good cuddles. I’m persuaded.”
“This cat gives good kisses, too,” Adrien teases. “But my lady never asks for those.”
“For some reason, cuddling with you is more appealing than you licking my face,” Marinette says. “I have no idea why.”
Adrien laughs. He’s given her a few “kitty kisses” when she was particularly absorbed in a task—hunched over a textbook, squinting at a recipe—and every time he does, she squawks and blushes bright red, scolding him for distracting her.
But then she always smiles and ruffles his hair, mumbling about what a silly cat he is; and even when his saliva is glistening offensively on her hand or cheek, she never bothers to wipe it off.
Adrien sighs and lets his head fall against Marinette’s, his cheek tickled by her hair. Nothing could make him happier than this: being with his partner, the weight of her body against his, surrounded by the apartment they share.
Since moving in together, they’ve never bothered to define themselves beyond partners. But gradually, things have fallen into place, and now Adrien and Marinette—whatever they may be, exactly—are thoroughly entwined with each other.
They eat every meal together, even when their differing class schedules make it harder—and even when it means that Marinette stumbles into the kitchen at seven in the morning, squinting until Adrien dims the lights, and has dozed off at the kitchen counter by the time he leaves for his eight o’clock class.
And each night, they linger in each other’s rooms long after they’ve said good night, finding more stories to tell, more words to speak. When Marinette occasionally catches Adrien slipping outside to clear his head in the middle of the night, she transforms and joins him on the rooftops—and when he falls asleep in her arms, she carries him back home, lays him in bed, and sets his alarm for a half hour later.
Some nights, Adrien rouses enough to reach out and touch her hand; and then she stays with him, sleeping on top of the covers while he clings to her.
And if Adrien finds Marinette asleep at her desk past her bedtime, he gently nudges her awake and sets a pair of pajamas on the foot of her bed. Sometimes her fingers are too clumsy with sleep to undress, and so he at least helps her get rid of layers—hoodies, jackets, sweaters—to make sure she sleeps more comfortably. He’ll gently remind her to brush her teeth, only for her to sluggishly swat him away and faceplant on the bed, leaving him to maneuver her under the covers.
When one of them is watching television, the other joins them: Marinette tucks herself into Adrien’s side, or Adrien collapses onto her lap, dozing as Marinette’s fingers stroke his hair. They’re almost always in the same room as each other—with the exception of the bathroom they share, but even then, Marinette has been known to oversleep and frantically brush her teeth while Adrien is showering.
She takes sips from Adrien’s coffee once she’s finished her own, because both of them like it with the same amount of sugar; and any time Adrien sees her eating a candy bar, she breaks off a piece and gives it to him. Adrien’s closet is full of scarves he’s borrowed from Marinette, and her drawers are packed with sweaters that Adrien hasn’t bothered to take back.
Really, Adrien can think of few things in the apartment that are wholly his or hers—it feels like almost everything belongs to both of them.
His eyes fall to the blue and yellow bracelet on Marinette’s wrist, the one accessory he hasn’t tried to borrow from her. Smiling, Adrien rests his hand on hers, rubbing his thumb across the beads. “This thing is ugly,” he says. “You could get a better one custom-made.”
Marinette gasps. “Excuse you! This was custom-made. And it’s beautiful.” She huffs. “I love the things you’ve made for me. Why are you always insulting them?”
“I don’t know,” Adrien says. “I guess I can’t believe you like them that much.”
“I love them,” Marinette repeats.
On the television in front of them, an interview clip from their second year of lycée is playing. Yet again, the interviewer asks Ladybug and Chat Noir if they’re dating—and Chat Noir, ears flattened, tells the interviewer that they’ve already answered no several times.
“They’ve stopped asking that,” Marinette notes.
“I think most people have made up their mind one way or the other,” Adrien says.
The show cuts to a series of clips with Ladybug and Chat Noir calling each other increasingly obnoxious pet names.
“Mon chouchou-chaton,” Ladybug says, batting her eyes while a giant robot rampages in the background. “Will you go distract that big, scary akuma for me?”
“Of course, mon sucre d’orge,” Chat Noir replies, and plants a wet kiss on her cheek. “How could I refuse a request from my sweet baby bug?”
Marinette bursts out laughing, and Adrien shakes against her with laughter. “Oh, my gosh,” she says. “I forgot we started doing that after the hundredth time they asked.”
“I wonder if they’ll play my favorite—” Adrien shouts happily when the show switches to a clip of Chat Noir kneeling in front of Ladybug. “Yes!”
Marinette covers her eyes with one hand. “I can’t watch.”
“But you can listen,” Adrien says, grabbing the remote to turn up the volume.
“Oh, Ladybug,” Chat Noir cries, waving a realistic mouse toy in the air. “Accept my mouse of proposal as a symbol of my love. And take me to be yours, in hairballs and in shiny coats, until butterflies do us part—”
“No!” Marinette screeches. “Turn it off!”
She buries her face against his arm and halfheartedly hits his chest, her body trembling with laughter as the clip keeps playing.
“Mon loulou-chouchou-chaton-de-mon-cœur,” Ladybug declares, with a completely straight face. “If you agree to be mine, I’ll feed you tasty tuna every night, and give you head scratches so good that all of Paris hears you purr. We’ll defeat Le Papillon with the power of our passionate love!”
Chat Noir leaps to his feet and dips her in his arms. “Be my bugababy,” he says.
Then they turn away from the camera and fake a kiss, with smooching sounds so loud and obnoxious that the camera picks them up. Adrien remembers how the media debated the veracity of the kiss for days, until someone sent in a phone video taken from a different angle.
“That was the best kiss of my life,” Adrien remarks, as Marinette groans into her hands.
“I—you—we didn’t even kiss!” she says.
Smirking, Adrien wraps his arms around her and asks, in a deep voice, “Be my bugababy?”
“No!” she says, even as her shrieks give way to giggles. “Absolutely not! I—I’m no one’s—bugababy—”
The two of them dissolve into helpless laughter, rolling on the couch as the television continues to play clips in the background.
Eventually, when Adrien is lying on top of Marinette with her hand smushing his cheek, their laughter dies down.
Marinette stares up at him, her eyes sparkling. “To be fair,” she says, as she drops her hand, “that proposal was almost believable. You can be over-the-top sometimes.”
Adrien raises an eyebrow. “Do you want me to lick your hand again?”
“No!” Marinette says, laughing. “Why are you so gross?”
“Well, you can’t expect a cat to have perfect manners all the time,” Adrien says. He glances at the television. “I wonder what…oh.”
He recognizes the forest green suit Nadja Chamack is wearing in the interview clip.
Marinette goes still beneath him, and they watch as Nadja speaks. “Ladybug. During the last battle, Chat Noir took a hit to protect you. That’s happened several times before, since you need to survive to purify the akuma. Have his sacrifices ever affected you during a battle?”
The Ladybug on the screen is silent, tightly gripping her knees. After a moment of silence, Chat Noir shifts next to her. “Oh, my lady doesn’t let that get to her. She—”
“Every time,” Ladybug says, her voice shaky. Her head is bowed, but the camera still captures the tear tracing down her cheek. “Every time I lose him, there’s a moment where I feel like I can’t do it.”
“That must be very difficult,” Nadja says.
Beneath Adrien, Marinette squeezes her eyes shut. “I don’t…”
Adrien immediately grabs the remote and turns the television off, plunging the apartment into silence.
“Marinette,” he murmurs. “Are you alright?”
She takes a deep breath. “I—it’s just…” Shaking her head, she wraps her arms around his neck and tugs him close.
Carefully, Adrien shifts so that he’s lying on the couch with Marinette on top of him, her cheek resting on his shoulder. She melts against him, one of her hands cradling his heartbeat.
“Take your time,” Adrien says. He smooths her hair with his hand, then presses a light kiss to her head. “I’m here.”
In the beginning of their friendship, he never knew how to comfort Marinette when she was upset. He grew up in a household where his father delivered comfort like a Hallmark condolence card; so whenever Marinette crumpled in front of Adrien, he felt like any words he said would be useless.
With time, though, Adrien learned. Now he knows that Marinette doesn’t need words for comfort: just touch, and warmth, and the feeling of Adrien’s heartbeat beneath her fingertips.
Minutes pass. Marinette moves slightly, her bare foot skimming Adrien’s calf. Her patchwork blanket is tangled around their legs, almost like it’s fastening them together. Despite the awkward position, Adrien does his best to tuck the blanket around their bodies, cocooning them in softness.
Finally, Marinette murmurs, “It’s our anniversary.”
Adrien waits for her to elaborate. When she doesn’t, he says, “It is.”
“Five years,” Marinette says. She speaks slowly, precisely, like threading a needle. “That’s five years of having you in my life, but—it’s also five years of worrying that I could lose you.” She presses her face to his neck and sniffles in his ear. “The longer I’m with you, the more it hurts to imagine living without you.”
“I’m here,” Adrien says, running his fingers through her hair. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’d better not,” Marinette mutters.
Adrien takes a deep breath. “Marinette,” he says. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. You and me—it—it’s always been us. And it’s always going to be.” He wraps his arms tightly around her and smiles, even as tears prick his eyes. “And if…if something ever happens to me…well, I’ll still be here.” Marinette doesn’t respond, and he adds, “Or I might just haunt you as a ghost. Your cookies are too good to resist.”
Marinette barks out a laugh, her breath warm against Adrien’s neck. “Ghosts can’t eat cookies.”
“You don’t know that,” Adrien says. “I bet they can, if they’re determined enough.”
Marinette sighs. “Maybe.”
“Hey,” Adrien says. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m here, with you. And that’s the only place I want to be. No matter what happens, I’ll always fight my hardest to come back to you.”
Marinette props an elbow against Adrien’s chest, resting her chin in her hand. The position is slightly uncomfortable, with her elbow digging into his chest, but Adrien doesn’t say anything. “You know,” she says, “it kind of sounds like you’re threatening to come back as a vengeful ghost.”
“Oh, for the love of…” Adrien laughs and shakes his head. “That wasn’t my point.”
Marinette smiles up at him. “I know.” She reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, tousling it. “I feel the same. It seems like nothing in the world could keep us apart.”
“Maybe…” Adrien swallows. “Maybe that’s because nothing can.”
Marinette’s smile brightens, and her hand slides down to cup Adrien’s cheek. “I think you’re right.”
Adrien leans forward, drawn to Marinette’s smile, and then her lips meet his.
There’s no confession. There’s no question. This is what naturally follows, from sharing everything else: a kiss.
Adrien drags his thumb across the tears on Marinette’s cheek, tastes the softness of her mouth, floats in her warmth. Kissing her feels like the lipstick she leaves on the rim of his coffee mug, or the indentation she leaves whenever she sleeps on his covers—as if she’s breathing a piece of herself into him, and writing her name on his lungs.
He’s hers. She’s his. And really, that’s the way it’s been ever since they met.
“Marinette,” Adrien murmurs, pulling back slightly. “Five years is just a very small fraction of the time I’ll be with you.” He smiles and traces his thumb along her lips. “Well, I mean. If you can divide by infinity, that is.”
Marinette laughs, her fingers trailing along Adrien’s jaw. “Can you?”
“I don’t know,” Adrien says. “I’ll have to ask my math professor.” He leans forward, brushing his nose against hers. “The point is, I’m staying by your side forever, no matter what.”
“I believe you.” A fresh tear slips from Marinette’s eye and falls onto Adrien’s hand. “Happy anniversary, Adrien.”
“Happy anniversary,” Adrien whispers.
Then they kiss again—and the five years feel like a fraction and forever all at once.