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Adrien can always tell when Marinette enters the room.
He doesn’t mean to keep such an eye on her, but her aura especially calls to him, and a whisper of her magic can overpower the roar of everyone else’s.
It’s not even something he means to seek out; it somehow just finds him when he needs it. See, Marinette’s magic is like a big warm hug, like the smell of fresh-baked bread, like the taste of hot chocolate in the dead of winter. It’s like every comforting thing he can think of, all wrapped up in vaguely fond childhood memories.
Nino tells him he’s crazy. That, yeah, Marinette’s magic has some good vibes to it, but it doesn’t feel like an ultra-combo of the best things in the universe like Adrien describes it. To him, Marinette’s magic just feels like a walking bakery.
Granted, Adrien knows that everyone feels magic differently, but he’s beginning to think it’s all one big cosmic joke that no one can feel Marinette’s magic like he can. Seriously, how does no one know what he’s talking about when he brings it up? It can’t be that different for everyone else, right?
When Marinette comes to class, Adrien knows something’s wrong right away.
Her eyes are tired, but that’s nothing to be concerned about. They’ve had a lot of important projects recently, so it only makes sense that she’d be tired. Still, there’s something niggling at the back of his mind to reach out to her.
“Morning, Marinette!” he says, trying to keep his voice positive.
When Marinette looks at him, it’s clear that her eyes aren’t as sharp as they could be, and while her magic flares a little, it’s still not up to par with the usual exuberance she displays. “Morning,” she says, leaving it at that.
Adrien decides not to bother her for a while. It kind of reminds him of Father when he gets into one of his moods, so it’d probably be best to give her some space for the time being.
As a result, class moves a lot slower than it should. Half his mind is with the lesson, while the other half is with Mari. He may or may not be working on a plan to talk to her, away from the others just in case whatever’s bothering her is really personal.
Why she’d talk to him about that, when clearly someone like Alya or her other friends might be better suited to it, he won’t explain, but considering how much comfort her magic, her presence, brings to him, he wants some way to pay it forward.
As it turns out, he doesn’t have the chance. The second class lets out and it’s time for lunch, Marinette is on her feet and out the door. Marinette accidentally brushes his shoulder, and the magic that sparks against his skin nearly breaks his heart.
Touch is one of the easiest ways to access someone else’s magic. It’s like a glimpse into someone’s soul, no matter how brief. Some people try to keep as much distance from others as possible, seeing it as an act of intimacy, but he’s never known Marinette to withhold touch.
It’s like every ounce of anguish in her body floods into him at once, strong enough to almost bring tears to his eyes.
But more than anything, stronger than any other emotion, he feels loneliness. Aching, all-consuming loneliness, like she’s adrift in the world and not a single person could understand.
Part of him wonders how Mari can be so lonely when she’s surrounded by friends, but the answer hits him with the force of a train.
Because she’s like him.
Maybe not exactly the same, but the bones are the same. She’s going through something, something that other people wouldn’t understand even if she were to try and bring it up.
Adrien jerks his head in her direction, and she stammers an apology in response. For a brief second, he wonders how his magic feels to her, but it’s quickly blotted out by the fact that today her magic is different.
It’s curled in on itself, yes, but the feelings he gets from it are so much dimmer. The hot chocolate is lukewarm and rapidly cooling, the bread baked an hour ago, and the hug barely lasting a second.
Adrien glances over his shoulder, trying to get a look at Marinette without being obvious about it. Sometimes Nathalie’s magic gets like that, all dim around the edges, and it just means she needs a little extra cheering up.
It hangs around her like a storm cloud, but it’s controlled, almost like it’s careful to contain itself. If Adrien hadn’t been hit by it when they knocked shoulders, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed that things were that wrong.
Adrien knows it’s probably not right to follow her, but he really just wants to know she’s okay. With an aura like that… it doesn’t bode well for her mental health. Even if she just tells him to go away, it’s fine as long as he knows she’s doing alright.
She goes up to the roof, almost immediately slotting herself in a corner. The way she curls up, her arms curled almost defensively around her head and shoulders, adds a fresh layer of concern.
“Mari?” He cringes a second too late. He hadn’t meant for the nickname to slip out, but he’s been calling her that in his head for so long that the name comes naturally.
“I-I’m okay,” Marinette answers. She’s curled up in a tiny ball, her arms and hands preventing him from getting a good look at her face, but he doesn’t need that to know something is terribly wrong. The quiver in her voice is more than enough.
“Are you sure?” He lets the door close behind him, and he can’t help but notice the way Marinette’s eyes flash to possible exits. He knows his own time as Chat Noir has taught him to act similarly, but he wonders what’s happened to Marinette for her to learn the same tactics.
“Don’t worry about me,” Marinette says. It’s a deflection first and an excuse to swipe under her eyes second.
“Okay.” Adrien sits opposite of her, relieved to find that she relaxes a tick now that they’re on the same level. “Then do you mind if I sit here for a while?”
Marinette quirks her lips, but just like he suspected, she doesn’t have a viable reason to send him away. Call him crazy, but it feels like her aura flares, her magic almost reaching out to him like it doesn’t want him to go.
She’s doing a good job keeping it to herself, but still her magic pulses, just enough for him to get its feel in little waves.
The usual suspects are there—the hot chocolate and fresh bread and warm hugs and yeah, the feel of being alone in a crowded room—but there are new things, things he’s never felt from her.
The smell of a new stuffed animal right from the store, the feel of its fake fur against your cheek, warm blankets and a soft bubbly haze of quiet.
It calls to him like a siren song, like something he wanted to fold into let envelop him completely. It reminded him of his mom, of being safe and young and—
Wait a second. Did this mean Mari was like him?
Sometimes he regressed, although it never felt like he had enough time to really enjoy it, considering his schedule. Usually the most regressed he gets is playing a phone game meant for kids during car rides between school, his job, and his extracurriculars.
Still, it’s a similar vibe he gets from Mari. The fragility, the wariness, it all comes from the same place of vulnerability, and all he wants to do is find a way to help her through it.
He turns his head, careful to focus his attention on something other than her, just so she doesn’t feel too crowded, and lets the quiet wash over them. He tries reaching out with his own magic a couple times, moving with the gentle pulse of hers, but never enough for the two of them to really meet in the middle.
“It’s been a lot recently,” Marinette says slowly. Her eyes stay fixed on a point on the floor, moving in calculated paths like she’s trying to figure out how much she can say. Adrien isn’t sure what secrets are binding her, but he’ll do his best to heed those boundaries. “A lot of new responsibilities that I can’t really talk to anyone about.”
“You could talk to me,” Adrien offers, but from the way Marinette’s face immediately sours, he knows that for whatever reason, that’s not an option. “Or we could just keep sitting here.”
“That’s okay,” Marinette says softly. She scrubs at her face, even though there are no tears on her face. “You can go back to the others if you need to. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not leaving, Mari.” Adrien only realizes how bad that sounds afterward, and he scrambles to correct himself. “I mean, I’m not leaving if you don’t want me to—if you want me to, that’s fine. It just feels like you want me to go because you think I don’t wanna be here.”
Marinette looks up at him, finally making eye contact. He doesn’t know what he expected to see from her, but it’s certainly not the suspicion she regards him with. Does she really doubt that someone could want to comfort her that much?
“I can’t help you,” Marinette says, not without bitterness. “Whatever you need my help with, I’m sorry, but I can’t.” She wipes at her face again, with still no tears in sight. “I don’t think I can help anyone anymore.”
Adrien’s eyes widen. So that’s what this was about. It makes sense. Mari’s always helping her friends, to the point where she spreads herself pretty thin. The stress might be getting to her.
“Hey, I don’t need anything from you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Marinette’s face burns. “Right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to think the worst of you or…” She trails off, burying her face in her knees.
“Hey…” Adrien scrambles for the right words. He’s only faced this kind of situation a handful of times, usually with his father and Nathalie, and even then he knows he has to approach differently.
With his father, he has to tiptoe around things, because it could only take a moment for his father to lash out. And Nathalie was more likely to shut down, to ignore him completely if he pushed too much.
Words didn’t feel right, but it felt too dangerous to touch her too. Try as she might to look composed, Mari’s body was still taut, ready to flinch or fight at a second’s notice.
In a split second, Adrien picks the biggest social taboo his father ever discouraged him from and reaches out to her with magic. At home, everyone keeps their auras to themselves, so to reach out so freely feels like he’s breaking a thousand different rules at once.
But it’s odd. Instead of violently pulling back or shrinking away, Marinette’s magic meets his eagerly, almost clicking into place, and in that moment, he can see himself as Mari sees him.
To her, the touch of his magic feels like sunshine and smells like rare perfume, a breath of fresh air after being stuck inside all day. It’s comforting, with a trace of the stomach-dropping thrill of a rollercoaster about to make its first drop.
But there, underneath it all, curling back from him every so slightly, is the same teddy bears and warm milk vibes. Of phone games for kids played during a rainy-day car ride. Of running around on rooftops with your superhero partner.
Marinette is staring at him, eyes wide and terrified. “You…” She trails off. Adrien doesn’t blame her. It’s a lot to take in at once.
“Yeah,” he says, though he isn’t sure what part she’s referring to. That they both regress? That they now know each other’s secret identities? He doesn’t think it quite matters.
Before he can say anything else, Marinette launches herself at him, her arms tight around his neck like she never wants to let go. Maybe she doesn’t. Adrien doesn’t. He’d do anything to keep this moment locked in time, where the responsibilities of the outside world don’t matter and Mari doesn’t have to feel like her world is crumbling every other day.
“I’m sorry,” she whimpers. He feels a wetness on his shoulder, and it seems like the dam has finally burst.
“It’s okay.” He whispers, like there’s a chance someone might hear him, like this moment is a secret meant just for them.
Her grip gets tighter, and it takes everything in him not to make a quip about her strength training paying off. Any tighter and she might just strangle him.
The only thing he can do is hug her back just as tight. To give her the peace she needs so desperately, the same that she’s given him time and time again.
“Take as long as you need.”