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The rain beat down hard against her umbrella as she waited for the lights to change from red to green. Someone came up behind her, panting as Marinette could hear them rustling around in their jacket pockets.
Must be without an umbrella.
Turning around, carefully so as to not splash the stranger further, she took a step towards him, lifting the umbrella higher to cover both of them.
“Need a hand?” she offered, fixing her position so they were both out of the rain.
“Thanks,” he said, still preoccupied sifting through their jacket. When his eyes lifted to meet hers, he seemed to do a double take before settling himself.
“I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she introduced with a smile.
*.*.*.*
“I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she said as she hugged Chat, tears streaming down both of their faces. “I know you’ll find me,” she choked out through the tears.
*.*.*.*
“Adrien Agreste,” he responded after a brief pause. “Thank you, again. Went out without my umbrella this morning.” He let out a wistful laugh as Marinette shook some rainwater off of her shoes.
“Oh!” she cried, turning to face him as they crossed the road, “I love your work! I love fashion, if you couldn’t tell,” she admitted, pointing at her bag, bursting with fabric scraps. They had been a great find in the fabric shop, costing her pennies.
“I bet you’re a brilliant designer,” he replied.
She hadn’t told him that she designed.
He can probably see your sketchbook, she thought, correcting herself.
“Thank you!” she said happily while rifling through her bag. “I probably have some tissues if you want to get dry… here they are,” she muttered as she pulled out the packet from the tote.
“You were always sketching when we were… we were in physics,” he chuckled with a shake of his head.
*.*.*.*
“Give me that back!” she yelled with no real bite, chasing Chat across the Parisian rooftops, sporadic lights here and there casting a golden glow on his silhouette.
“Not gonna happen until you say yes!” he shouted, running and vaulting further and further away.
“Fine!... Fine! I’ll go to the stupid movies! Now give me back my sketchbook!” she replied, out of breath, laughing until her ribs ached.
*.*.*.*
“Sorry?”
“We… we went to lycée together?”
They turned the corner, drains overflowing as they tried to maneuver around the deep puddles. The grey clouds loomed over them, ripples on the floor wetting the cuffs of her jeans. Trying to fit the both of them under the cover wasn’t an easy feat, but they managed it with a couple of elbow bumbings.
He watched her smile fade, her eyes lose some sparkle until she responded, “I- I was in an accident a couple of months back. I basically have no memory from age 14 onwards.”
“I’m so sorry, Mari, I shouldn't have-”
“Don’t worry about it!” she interjected, fixing her smile and her tone lifting, “You didn’t know. No harm done,” she explained as they crossed the road. It was about 8 P.M. now, shops shutting up and raindrops battering down. She peered into the boutique with its blinds half closed, analysing the garments and making mental notes and drawing inspiration. “I’m sorry to hear about your father. I- I don’t remember much about him, or you, if I’m honest,” she confided, “but I think we were good friends.”
*.*.*.*
“Say it!” he yelled, his hands running up and down her sides.
“Y-you’re my best- best friend!” she squealed, “Now stop t-tickling me!”
“That wasn’t that hard, was it? He asked with a devilish grin.
He was met with Ladybug playfully hitting him while both of them laughed.
*.*.*.*
“We were,” he answered, not looking to meet her eyes.
She hasn’t changed.
Her laugh was still contagious, her cheeks reddening slightly every time she let the urge get the best of her. Her eyes still drew his focus, as bright and blue as ever. And she still held that brutal honesty without apologising for it.
She ripped a page from the back of the book stuffed into her bag, uncapping a black fine liner with her teeth, scribbling down digits, “Here’s my number.”
He didn't know how to tell her that he could remember that number a hundred years from now.
Standing here, with the person he loved most in the world looking at his face and not even realising the extent of his admiration was killing him inside.
But he had to be strong.
For Marinette.
For his Lady.
“This is my stop,” she remarked as they came to a quaint town house, flower boxes in the window sills downtrodden with the pelting hailike drops. She pressed the varnished handle of the umbrella into Adriens hand, “and keep the umbrella. I’ve had it forever,” she assured, packing stray cuts back into her tote.
*.*.*.*
“Keep the umbrella,” Adrien replied.
“Adrien!” the girl yelled from the steps of the school, “I’m glad we’re friends!”
“Me too!” he cried, walking towards the car.
Ducking into the car, Natalie looked at him, “Have a good first day?”
“Yeah!” he answered with more enthusiasm the assistant had even known him to possess, “I made a friend,” he added with a tired smile.
*.*.*.*
The ornate “A.A.” etched into the handle broke the dam, tears blending with the rain.
“It was good seeing you again!” she called from the poarch, prodding the keys into the door.
“It was lovely to see you too,” he responded, wiping the tears off his face. Quieting as so she wouldn’t hear the coveted name, “my Lady.”