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For a roommate with literally no other job than staying in their apartment, Marinette was never around often.
The first few days after the fiasco with his takeout boxes, the only times Adrien ever really saw her were when he came home from uni to find her rearranging one of his kitchen cabinets or perusing his work-in-progress bookshelf. Everytime, she would snap her head around to the sound of the front door, disappear, then reappear with a sheepish hello , then disappear again. It was a stark contrast to their first meeting. The girl that stood in his kitchen staring at the yellow styrofoam boxes on his dining table with all the confidence of a real roommate was suddenly nowhere to be found.
After a while, Adrien learned that calling her would bring her about.
"Marinette?"
She had appeared cross-legged on the floor, sitting with her elbows on the coffee table and holding two pieces of half-stitched brocade fabric. The needle and spool of red thread Adrien had seen when he had sat down on the couch made a lot more sense after seeing them by Marinette's hand.
"Yeah?" she had said.
They held each other's gazes for what had felt like much too long.
"Uh…" he started. "How are you?"
She had given him a quizzical look that made him want to pull the throw pillow beside him into his arms and bury his face into it.
"I'm… good." Marinette watched him carefully. "How are you?"
"I'm good. Great, actually."
"Cool."
"Yeah."
Marinette undid her thread, and continued sewing. "Was that all?"
"Uh, yeah, I guess so."
"Okay."
And then she had disappeared again. After a while, the spool of thread and sewing needle did, too.
Perhaps, for some, it would be a dream come true to have a roommate that kept out of their way. No awkward conversations over breakfast cereal, or having to organise cleaning rotas, or worrying about speaking too loud on the phone in case they were studying.
Maybe Adrien would have liked that, under circumstances where his roommate wasn't:
- A ghost
- Very pretty
- An old friend whom he had most definitely been in love with for at least a week.
He just wanted to talk to her. It had been five years, after all.
Switching off his study break alarm, Adrien reclined back in his desk chair and sighed. Where had his old stamina gone? Four years ago, he’d be restless by evening if he had nothing to do. Now, it was only midday, and Adrien would rather die than input another equation into his calculator.
He marked his page with a pen and closed his uni binder. This would usually be his doner kebab break, but Marinette had made her disdain for the multitude of styrofoam boxes more than clear.
"Hey, Marinette?"
"Yeah?"
He turned in his desk chair. Marinette was sitting with her legs up on the couch, a paperback book in her hands.
When she met his gaze, she began closing the book.
"I'm bored," he said simply.
"Ah." She fiddled with the book. "Uh… sorry?"
"Do you wanna do something?"
"Like what?"
"Uh… we could…" He racked his brain. His go-to with Nino was video games, but he was yet to set up his new console here. "Go out for a little while?"
Marinette shook her head. "That's sweet of you to ask, but I can't exactly go out anywhere."
Adrien looked at her, puzzled.
She shrugged. "You know… I'm dead? As in, not meant to be walking around amongst the living?"
"Oh." His cheeks warmed. "Right, right, of course."
And, just like that, she was gone again, not even the book left behind.
He sighed. “Marinette?”
She reappeared, but this time fixed him with a raised eyebrow and nothing to say.
Adrien fiddled with his hands. Who knew making friends with a dead roommate could be so hard?
“Could you maybe… stick around more often?” he asked.
Marinette blinked at him. “‘Stick around’?”
“Yeah, like… you live here, too. You don’t have to stay invisible.”
They fell into a tense silence. Marinette didn’t lower her eyebrow.
“I-I mean, if that’s something you’re comfortable with,” he added hastily. “I totally get it if you need your alone time, and stuff. Everyone needs alone time! But I just don’t want you to feel like you have to be alone all the time, because you don’t. I mean, I’m sure you know that, but—“
“Adrien.”
His flush had reached the tips of his ears. “—I just wanted you to know that I wouldn’t be annoyed or anything if you wanted to stick around a little more. Actually, I’d… I’d really like it, because…”
He trailed off. Marinette was staring at him, bemused, legs tucked up tight on the sofa.
Adrien half-turned himself away from her. “...because I used to be so lonely back at home. And… I know I didn’t expect a roommate when I got this place, but I was so excited to finally have someone around when I met you. Especially because it's you.”
Her expression softened. “Adrien…”
“I’m sorry. Father always said I get a little carried away, sometimes.”
“No, no, don’t apologise.” Marinette checked her bookmark (a pink, veined sticky note) was in place, then shuffled over to the arm rest, closer to Adrien. “I get lonely too. I’m just… not really used to being around people anymore, I guess.”
Adrien’s shoulders slumped.
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be,” she said. “I do. I really do. I miss being able to sit with people and just… talk to them. I’m just worried I don’t remember how.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” he said, “I still have no idea. Father never really let me hang out with friends when I was younger.”
Marinette laughed, but it was unsure. A bit like his awkward laughter whenever she made a joke about being dead.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll stick around. Maybe we could learn how to do this sitting and talking thing together.”
“Okay.” Adrien smiled. “Yeah. I’d like that.”