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“Remember when you used to think you were in love with me?”
The question cuts through the pleasant buzz of cuddles and alcohol that had been lulling Adrien into a warm cocoon of relaxation.
He sits up abruptly and Marinette grumbles as she loses the support of his shoulder and has to right herself.
“What?”
“What, you’re going to pretend you didn’t used to profess your love for me three times a week?” she scoffs, not looking at him.
Her words are a cold weight in the middle of his gut.
They don’t talk about this. Not ever. They don’t talk about the fact that Adrien’s madly in love with her, and she’s never seen him as more than a friend.
They don’t talk about it.
(Not since the reveal anyway. Not since he’d discovered that his fiery Ladybug was also the girl who was so uncomfortable around him. Not since he’d had to wonder if he made Ladybug just as uncomfortable and she was only better at hiding it in the suit.
Not since he’d realized that, if he didn’t cut it out, he risked making her even more uncomfortable, and possibly losing her entirely.)
She’s never been so callous about his feelings before though, and it stings.
“You, what, think my feelings aren’t real?”
She shrugs carelessly, standing from the couch and beginning to gather her wine glass and the bowls from their little movie night. The light from the television flickers over her face as she still refuses to look at him.
“Marinette,” he prompts, but she ignores him, walking away towards the kitchen with their dishes.
Adrien picks up his glass—there’s still a little left in it, but the idea of alcohol softening his reactions no longer appeals—and follows.
“Marinette,” he prompts again.
She fusses around the kitchen, and he knows her well enough to know she’s avoiding him rather than truly concerned with the kitchen’s cleanliness.
“Well, what am I supposed to think?” she asks as she wipes down the counter. “You were so sure you were in love with me until you realized that I’m me.”
He frowns, pouring the dregs of his drink down the drain, and setting the glass in the sink. “I know who you are.”
“Yeah, now. But the second you realized I’m Marinette, bam, everything stopped. All your flirting, the confessions… You don’t even call me your Lady anymore!” she finishes, tossing the sponge in the sink with more force than necessary.
“You’re mad at me,” he blurts in realization.
“I’m not mad!” she snaps.
He raises an eyebrow at that blatant contradiction, but she’s still not looking at him.
“I just think,” she says as she gathers the plates from the drip tray, each plate clacking loudly as she stacks them in her arms, “it’s pretty funny how you thought you were in love with Ladybug, and then you learned I was Marinette, and suddenly you weren’t in love with me anymore.”
“Funny,” he echoes incredulously.
“Funny,” she repeats.
Adrien crosses his arms across his chest, staring at her evenly.
He doesn’t understand why she’s so upset, but it bothers him. Hadn’t he done everything in his power to respect her boundaries? Hadn’t he fought the desperate urge to lean in and kiss her every time she tilted her face up to him in what his hopeful heart was only too willing to consider an invitation? Hadn’t he ignored the way his heartbeat picked up and his whole body warmed every time she cuddled into his side? Hadn’t he shoved his feelings down so that he could be the friend she deserved?
Hadn’t she told him that she didn’t want to lead him on when she was in love with another boy?
She doesn’t love him back, but she still wants him to be in love with her?
(He is, but that’s not the point.)
How is that fair?
When he doesn’t say anything she grunts, “Right,” and goes back to putting away the dishes, tossing the cutlery into the drawer carelessly and completely unlike herself.
He watches her, trying to figure out where this fit of pique is coming from. She doesn’t see him like that, so why would she be upset at the idea of him not still being in love with her? (If he wasn’t so annoyed with her, he might correct her assumption, but…)
“Is this an ego thing?” he asks.
She whirls to glare at him. “Excuse me?” she bites out, pointing at him with a fistful of forks.
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset with me when you don’t even see me that way.” He pauses. “Did something happen with that boy, is that it?”
Her cheeks redden.
“No,” she says, turning away from him to resume tossing cutlery into the drawer. The sound of metal on metal is harsh to his sensitive ears. “He’s an idiot. Just as stupid as you.”
Adrien stumbles, taken aback by her vitriol despite knowing she’s upset with him. “Me? What did I do?”
“Nothing!” She slams the drawer shut, then turns back to the sink and begins scrubbing the few dishes furiously. “That’s the problem.”
He can’t follow the conversation at all. Is this some kind of drunken ramble? Maybe she’ll wake up in the morning and wave the whole thing off as some alcohol-induced rant with no basis in reality. He tries to remember how much she had to drink. Was it two glasses of wine? No, wait, there had definitely been a third. She hadn’t had four, had she?
Or maybe it had been the movie? A romantic comedy had seemed like a good, light choice for their movie night, but maybe seeing another couple get their happy ending had stirred bitter feelings.
He can certainly relate.
Still doesn’t explain what any of that has to do with him, though. He’d gladly give her a movie perfect happily ever after if only she’d let him. It’s not his fault that she’s stuck on some moron who doesn’t even realize that the most amazing girl in the world is in love with him.
He sighs before approaching her where she stands at the sink, scrubbing and scrubbing at a perfectly clean bowl. Gently, he takes it from her, saying “I think that’s clean enough,” and putting it in the drip tray to dry. He shuts off the faucet and, taking her by the shoulders, turns her around so he can look at her.
When she finally turns, he can see the tears streaking down her cheeks, and he crushes her to his chest, his frustration and annoyance forgotten in the face of her tears.
“Oh Marinette,” he murmurs.
“I’m sorry,” she sniffles against his chest. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t deserve me snapping at you.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not! I’m just frustrated, but it’s not your fault. I’m just mad at myself because I had my chance and I blew it.”
Ah, so something did happen with the boy.
“It’s okay,” he says again, rubbing her back soothingly. “If he doesn’t realize how amazing you are, then it’s his loss.”
“Stop it,” she chokes, fisting her hands in his shirt. “You’re not allowed to say things like that. Not now.”
“What do you mean? It’s true.”
She shakes her head, rubbing her face against his chest. “No, it’s not,” she insists stubbornly. “You’ve never even considered Marinette that way.”
He sighs. This again? “So you, what, think I was lying about my feelings?”
She pauses, considering. “Well, no,” she says at last. “But then you found out I was your very good friend Marinette.”
“And it was the best day of my life.”
She pulls back to look at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes. “Really?” she asks in a small voice.
“Of course,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear tenderly. “Marinette, that was the day I found out that the two most amazing girls I knew were the same girl. I was over the moon, of course I was. You can’t think that your identity was a disappointment to me?”
She shrugs, dropping her gaze to the wet spot on his chest. “A little. You acted so different around me after that.”
“Marinette was never really very comfortable around Adrien,” he explains. “I didn’t want to make you uneasy if I could help it.”
“You didn’t make me uncomfortable.”
“I did.”
“You didn’t,” she insists.
“Of course I did, Marinette. You could barely stand to talk to me half the time.”
“Only because I was so in love with you I couldn’t think straight!”
His whole body goes tense, his fingers spasming against her back. “What?” he croaks.
“Sorry,” she mumbles and he’s sure she’s going to take it back, explain that she misspoke. “I wasn’t going to say anything. I know you don’t feel that way about me anymore.”
“What?” he asks again, uselessly.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything. Ugh, I’m so stupid. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot or make you feel uncomfortable. Although I guess now you can understand why I was so upset, at least,” she finishes with an awkward little laugh.
“You’re in love with me?” he breathes. He cups her cheeks tilting her face up so he can look at her.
Her eyes won’t meet his as she gives a tiny jerk of a nod.
“Marinette, am I the boy?”
Another jerky nod. Then, quietly, “Yes, it was you the whole time.”
He kisses her, softly, warmly, his whole body suffused with the joy of finally, finally kissing the love of his life.
He ends the kiss far sooner than he wants to.
“I love you,” he tells her, and watches her eyes flutter open, her gaze finally meeting his. He recognizes the emotion in her eyes, and it fills him with wonder: hope.
“But after the reveal—”
“I only loved you more. I just didn’t think you wanted that from me.”
This time, she kisses him, surging up onto her tiptoes to press her mouth to his, tasting first his upper lip, then the lower, and then tracing the seam of his lips with her tongue until Adrien opens for her, welcoming her tongue into his mouth, relishing in the slick slide of her, her taste, her enthusiasm. They trade kisses back and forth until he’s dizzy with it.
When she breaks away, it’s to say the words Adrien’s been waiting years to hear.
“I love you, too.”