Chapter Text
cover by Everlark by Design
On her very first day at her new job, two different guys ask Marinette out. She politely turns them both down and chalks it up to chance.
The next day, there are three.
By her second week working in the university dining hall, eight students make passes at her while she serves them their food.
"What is going on? " she mumbles as she slides a tray out of the giant oven.
Alya, already a fast friend despite their short acquaintance as coworkers, makes a sound of disbelief. "Are you serious, girl?" She snaps her gloves off and holds up a hand. "Let me break it down for you: one, you've got this sweet, innocent thing going on that drives men wild." She puts down one finger. "Two, you're feeding them, and everyone knows the way to a man's heart is through his stomach." Another finger. "And three, you're turning them all down. It's become a game now, to see who can snap you up."
Marinette makes a face and throws the croissants she’s just retrieved into their serving basket with a little more force than necessary. "Being seen as some kind of prize makes more sense than anything else you said. I looked like this in Dinan, and I was feeding people in my parents' bakery and nothing like this ever happened there."
Alya rests a hip on the sink and squirts a huge glob of pink soap into her hands. "Uh-huh. And what's the population in Dinan? Like three hundred? All those people grew up with you. You weren't a novelty there."
"More like ten thousand, thank you very much," Marinette sniffs dismissively. "Are you saying this will go away with time? Because it only seems to be ramping up in intensity right now."
"It will go away when you say yes to one of them. But I bet Luka wouldn't like that." Alya turns, eyes gleaming with mischief. She easily catches the wadded up napkin Marinette throws at her and uses it to dry her hands.
"Shut up! I told you, he's just my roommate. We've been friends since we were kids." One of the croissants has been mangled by her mishandling; Marinette sets it aside as a snack for later.
"Right, right. And that's why every afternoon when he picks you up, he brings up how many guys asked you out today…"
"It's an inside joke! Because the whole thing is ridiculous!"
"Mhmm. And what would happen, hypothetically," Alya tears a corner off the damaged croissant, "if you were to say yes to one of these beaus?"
Marinette slaps Alya's hand away from her treat and says belligerently, "Oh please, he wouldn't care. I dated in high school, and he didn't have any problem with it." One date, to be honest. With Nathaniel, who’d kissed her at the end and stuck his tongue in her mouth. He'd tasted like tacos.
"Five euro says he'd be jealous," Alya taunts, pulling on a new pair of gloves.
"You know, I'm broke enough to almost take you up on that."
"It's like I keep telling you, dude: you've gotta be more approachable."
Two weeks into his first semester as a real, on campus university student—no more online classes, no more boring discussion boards, no more being trapped in his father's house—and Adrien still hasn't made any friends besides Nino. And that in itself isn’t really an accomplishment; Nino is friends with everyone.
"It's not my fault," he says now. "I try! But everyone just sees me as the dean's son."
"It's not just that, man." Nino slaps a hand on Adrien's back, prepared to give it to him straight. "You're still walking on a glass ceiling above us all." This sentence is accompanied by a hand gesture, miming the flat surface over his head. "You take a private car to classes. You don't go to any events. You never eat in the dining hall—"
"Okay, I will." His father insists on the car and keeps his schedule packed, but Adrien can fix that last part. "Are you headed there now? Let's go."
Nino looks nonplussed, like he hadn't expected his advice to be taken so easily. "Yeah, um. I am. You really want to?"
"Sure. I mean, I don't mind. And hey, you wanna go to a movie tonight?" He has a fencing lesson, but it can be canceled…
"Really? It was that easy?"
"What?"
"Nothing, dude. Yeah, let's go see a movie."
"Great! I'll, uh, meet you at the dining hall, okay? I gotta run and grab something first."
No need for Nino to know that he has to slip away to let his driver know not to pick him up. The guy clearly already thinks he's out of touch with reality.
The campus dining hall isn't what Adrien had imagined. It's a lot nicer, for one, and far more crowded. It seems like most of the students have already bought their food by the time he arrives, including Nino, who's waiting for him at a table in the corner. There's only a group of guys left in the line front of Adrien. They're a rowdy bunch, jostling each other and harassing the worker serving them their food. He doesn't pay them much attention, too focused on studying the chalkboard menu displaying today's selections. It's an impressive roundup.
"Are you ready?" a voice asks, and he realizes the loud group has gone.
"Oh, um, yes. Could you tell me, does the salad niçoise have potatoes in it?"
The server gives him a look like he's just asked her to hand over her firstborn child. "There should be no cooked vegetables in salad niçoise," she says firmly, adding a little wink.
Hearing that makes him laugh. "I agree. Unfortunately, the Americans don't. I had an unfortunate experience there last year."
She leans forward a little, interested. "You've been to the States? Was it awful?"
"No, no. Different, but not terrible."
She's cute, with her black hair pulled up into two buns under her hair net. Remembering her job, she asks, "So what will it be? The salad niçoise? Or if you did want potatoes, we have an excellent pommes Anna. Made it myself."
"I'm sure it's delicious, but I'm not a fan of potatoes in general. I'll take the salad, thank you."
While she prepares his food, he can't help thinking over Nino's advice. Here's someone who clearly doesn't know about his father, and she looks to be about his age. Maybe she could be his friend?
When he hands her his money, he clears his throat and stumbles through an invitation. "Would you, um— I was just wondering if maybe you'd like to, you know, go to a movie tonight?"
It was a lot easier to ask Nino.
Judging by her surprised and slightly annoyed expression, the answer is definitely going to be no. He's already pulling his tray away, wanting to go hide under a rock for the next century, when her face suddenly clears and she smiles.
"That'd be nice. I'm Marinette, by the way."
He hadn't even asked her name. What an idiot. "Oh! Hi, I'm Adrien." He sets the tray back down and extends a hand, watching with amusement as she struggles to remove her glove and complete the handshake.
"Here," she says, grabbing a napkin and pen. "This is my number. Just let me know where and when."
"Great! That's so great. Thanks." Truly, the words of a poet.
He's riding the high of this success all the way to Nino's table, where his friend is watching him with widened eyes.
"Dude. Did you just get the kitchen girl's number??"
"Um, yeah? I invited her to come with us tonight."
"What!" Nino slaps one hand down on the table, making his drink shake. "What did you say to her?"
Adrien gives him a confused look as he sets his tray down. "We talked about potatoes, and I asked if she wanted to go to the movies. You said I should be more approachable!"
Nino laughs in disbelief. "You got yourself a date that fast. I'm impressed!"
"What?" Adrien blanches. "It's not a date. You'll be there."
His friend shakes his head, grinning. "Uh-uh. I'm going to have something come up last minute. See? Now it's a date."
"But I didn't— that's not what I meant!"
"You don't understand, man. Every guy on this campus has been trying to get a date with kitchen girl. You do it, and you'll be a hero!"
"She has a name, you know."
"And no one else has gotten it from her." Nino whistles. "Seriously, potatoes?"
Adrien spears an olive and grouses, "It was just a normal conversation. I don't know why you're acting like I climbed Mount Everest."
Nino slaps him on the back again, like earlier, but this time it feels more congratulatory than sympathetic. "You'll understand soon, my friend."
Alya hasn't stopped grinning like a madwoman since the moment Adrien walked away.
"It's just a movie," Marinette says, starting the clean up process for the evening shift.
"You don't even know, do you? You don't even know who you just handed your number over to. Oh, this is fantastic."
"It'd be even more fantastic if you'd help me with these dishes."
“I’m coming, I’m coming. But listen to me: that’s the son of the dean. He’s, like, major loaded.” She sets a stack of dishes down with a loud clatter. “Do not, I repeat, do not pay for anything tonight.”
“Oh, gross. You make me sound like a gold digger. Hand me the forks.”
“Of course you’re not a gold digger, Marinette. That’s not the point.” The heavy plastic container full of cutlery clinks as Alya lifts it onto the conveyer belt. “But, you know, if the gold asks you to go to a movie, well…”
Marinette doesn’t respond, choosing instead to dump the entire container into a washing tray all at once. The din drowns out her nerves for a few moments at least. Sure, she’d done a pretty good job of seeming to be casual, but on the inside she’d been a gibbering mess. She hadn’t agreed to the date because of Alya’s teasing or the offhanded bet they’d made. She’d agreed because the guy—Adrien—had been the first one out of all them to really look her in the eye and talk to her like a human being.
Also, he was really freaking hot. He looked like Apollo, all golden sunshine and charm. If his smile had made her stomach turn into hot soup, well, who could blame her? She pushes the tray into the commercial dishwasher with a little smile on her face.
The rest of her shift passes in a blur amidst Alya’s teasing and advice for the night to come. When they’re nearly finished, there’s a knock on the door leading out into the hallway. Through the little window, she can see Luka’s dark hair.
“Hope you’ve got that money ready,” she says over her shoulder, grabbing her purse from a hook on the wall.
“We’ll see,” Alya responds in a sing-song voice.
Marinette swings the door open and smiles at her oldest, closest friend. “Hey!” The greeting comes out with a little too much forced cheer. It's not that she believes Alya; they’ve had to deal with this kind of speculation their whole lives, and it gets old. But Luka is very protective of her, almost like an older brother. She wonders what he'll think of this.
He raises an eyebrow at her, already picking up on the strange mood in the room. "How many today?"
"Nine," she says with a disjointed laugh. "And, um, I only rejected eight of them."
She expects the other eyebrow to shoot up in incredulity, but instead his expression relaxes. "Well, one was bound to catch your eye eventually. Are you ready to go?"
Ha. She's owed five euro.
"Yep. See you tomorrow, Alya!" But when Marinette turns to give her coworker a triumphant smile, the little minx has one of her own. No way can she still be sticking to this absurd theory! They'll have it out on the next shift for sure.
"So," Luka asks on the walk home. "Who's the lucky guy?"
"The son of the dean, apparently. I didn't know that, of course. We're going to the movies tonight."
Luka gives her a worried look. "There's a storm coming. Will you be okay?"
Oh. She'd forgotten about that. She swallows and holds a fist to her chest. "I'll be brave. Gotta get over it sometime, right?"
The hand he places on her head is a comfort, a silent reassurance that she can do anything.
Several hours later, she stands at the door of their apartment holding her nearly-unused polka dot umbrella. Six months in Paris and she's managed to avoid the occasional inclement weather, only venturing out under gray skies if the report promises mere drizzles. The memory of Adrien's smile bolsters her courage, though. It's going to be fun, she tells herself.
He'd texted her not long after they got home, asking what kind of movie she'd prefer and which theater was closest to her. It was sweet and thoughtful and Luka had laughed at her dreamy expression. There had been a handful of outfit changes before she finally decided on something casual but flattering. Now all she has to do is get there.
"Let me know if you need me to come pick you up," Luka calls from the couch. "Don't be embarrassed."
"I could never be embarrassed with you," she teases back. "I saw you wet your pants in kindergarten."
He groans in mock indignation. "Go on, then, get out of here. Have fun!"
"I'll try."
The storm is building but doesn't start before she gets to the subway. All through the ride over, she listens carefully for thunder. None comes. She gets to the theater just as the rain begins and lets out a breath of relief. Safe. Maybe it will all pass over by the end of the movie.
"Hey, you're here!" Adrien jogs in, panting slightly. "I'm sorry, I thought I was going to be late." He's got an umbrella too, a plain black one.
"You didn't need to rush," she says. "I would have understood. We're early anyway."
They’d decided on a drama over text message. She'd confessed to being a big baby about horror movies and secretly thought a romance would be awkward. Now they buy their tickets and head in, stopping along the way to get popcorn and drinks. Adrien offers to pay, and, per Alya's instructions, Marinette lets him. It feels surprisingly nice to chat with him as they wait in the various lines; their conversation comes naturally despite the way her heart won't stop racing every time he looks at her.
Things go very well right up until the moment they take their seats. Even over the trailer for some action movie with lots of fight scenes, she can hear the first loud crack of thunder outside. Adrien notices it too and makes an offhanded comment, not noticing yet that she's stopped responding. In the space between one trailer and the next, there's another low rumbling, on omen of things to come. Marinette grips her drink tightly. Maybe it won't last long.
The movie starts, and it's a good distraction. The clothes are gorgeous; she makes a mental note to look up who the costume director was later. She's caught up in admiring every cut and fabric, looking over at Adrien occasionally to smile at some plot point or other, until the entire building shakes with an enormous clap of thunder. The lightning must have been just outside, and in the next moment, all the power goes out, plunging the room into darkness. Only the exit lights stay on, casting things in an eerie glow. Someone screams a few aisles back. Adrien lets out a little surprised yelp, but Marinette is absolutely silent.
She's caught in a memory, pulled down into the undertow of her remembered panic. The drink is cold in her hand, but she doesn't feel it. Her arms are numb, and her heart feels like a heavy stone in her chest.
"The movie was just getting good, too. Maybe they'll get things up and running again soon. You'd think they'd have backup power…" Adrien is still casual next to her. This is only a minor inconvenience to him, and she's dreading the moment he'll realize it's something more for her.
The thing about these episodes, for lack of a better term, is that they're so humiliating. She knows logically that she's safe right now. She knows why her body is having this reaction and that everything will be okay eventually. But at the same time, she can't prevent it from happening. It's a total loss of control, which feels shameful.
"What do you think?" Adrien is asking. "Do you want to stick around and see what happens? Or we could go get something to eat if you want. Well, besides popcorn."
She still can't answer. The numbness is fading, but another thunderous tumult sets her heart to racing. It always goes like this: first she's frozen, then she's off like a scared rabbit, shaking and hyperventilating.
He's not going to be able to miss this part, she thinks.
And he doesn’t.
"Hey, are you okay?" In her periphery, his demeanor changes, turning to concern. "What's wrong? Is it the storm?" Then he takes her trembling hand in his and rubs it gently, talking in a soothing tone. "It's okay. You're safe. I've got you."
It's exactly what Luka does, exactly what she needs. His gentle care loosens up the panic, gives her enough control over herself to turn to him with grateful tears. "I feel like I can't breathe," she gasps.
"You can, I promise. Just focus on me. Follow my breathing." He inhales in an exaggerated manner, and she struggles to do the same. His cheeks puff out as he exhales; he looks ridiculous, and noticing that clears her head by a tiny degree.
The floor vibrates with a long, rolling burst of thunder, and all of Marinette's progress goes down the drain. She whimpers—which is mortifying—while yanking her feet off the floor and curling into a ball. The theater seats aren't built for this position. The plastic armrest digs into her back, but the pain serves as a grounding point.
Beside her, Adrien isn't dissolving into hysterics or glaring with skepticism like other people have in the past. He's a solid, comforting presence, murmuring kind things and reaching out tentatively to stroke her back.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I should have noticed sooner."
A shudder rolls down her body, and in its wake her tightened muscles finally loosen. She slumps toward Adrien, and he reaches out instantly to support her.
"Um, is this okay?" he asks. He's warm and smells like some kind of expensive cologne she can't name. When there's more thunder and her breath comes out in a shaky groan, he pulls her closer without waiting for an answer.
It takes less time than usual for her to calm down. Maybe because she can't hear the rain as well, or maybe because underneath the cologne smell, there's another, more human scent that seems to be radiating safety into her overtired brain.
"I'm sorry," she says in a hoarse voice when she can finally speak. "I thought it would be okay. This is so embarrassing."
"Hey, don't be embarrassed. It could happen to anyone. Do you…do you want to talk about it?"
Letting go of his hand to wipe at her face, she considers it. It's not really something she needs to get off her chest—she's discussed it with Luka many times—but maybe Adrien deserves an explanation so he doesn't think she's a toddler who cries over thunderstorms.
"My family is in Dinan." She's calmer now but still doesn't want to move out of his embrace, simply because it feels nice. "Before we lived there, I grew up in Morlaix." He tenses, and she wonders if he remembers reading about this in the news. "There was a big storm, and the whole town flooded. We evacuated, but there were some close calls.”
She’d slipped and fallen while they were loading up the van they used for catering deliveries. Months’ worth of rain fell within hours during that storm, creating rivers and riptides out of dry ground. Their driveway had become a waterfall, and she was underneath it for a few seconds, water pounding over her head at an incredible rate.
Her small child body couldn't withstand the current, and she'd been dragged along, choking and drowning.
It took long seconds for her father to realize what had happened and sprint down the driveway to pull her up. During those seconds, she'd been alone in the world, abandoned and left for dead. That’s what she goes back to when she hears the rain: the certainty that she was going to die and no one would even notice.
She doesn't say these things to Adrien.
“We lost everything. Our home, the bakery, all our belongings…” They’d built it all back up over the years, yet the scars remained. “I just can't stand rain now. I'm always afraid it's going to happen again, even though I know that's irrational."
He squeezes her in consolation. "It's not stupid, if that's what you think. Your brain is just trying to protect you. I'm sorry you had to go through that."
She shrugs a little, trying to play it off. "It was years ago, and Dinan is the best home anyone could ask for.”
“What’s brought you to Paris, then?”
In the wake of the panic attack, her body feels tingly and alive. Or maybe that’s because of his arms around her. She looks up into his eyes, barely visible in the dark room. Her voice comes out soft and reverent. “What brings anyone to Paris? I have a dream.”
A dream that feels further away with every passing month, crumbling at the edges every time she gets a rejection letter. Here is something real and close and present, though. She’s starting to think this date was a very good idea, and his expression in the glow of the emergency lights makes her want to try kissing again. He starts to ask something, probably about her dream, but stops when she leans forward, staring at his lips. His mouth parts open in anticipation, and he drifts forward as well, as if drawn in by a magnet. Her eyes drift shut just as their lips meet and—
“Attention!” calls a strident voice. Marinette and Adrien jump apart guiltily. “Pardon the inconvenience,” says an employee of the movie theater, standing with arms crossed under the giant screen. When did he get there? “Unfortunately the power will be out for the foreseeable future as the storm continues. If you will please remain calm and exit in an orderly fashion, refunds will be issued.”
Marinette is struggling to catch up, still stuck at the brief kiss they’d shared, so short she hadn’t even had a chance to enjoy it. Adrien extricates himself from his chair, gathering up their concessions then holding out his hand to help her up. She takes it eagerly, wondering when they’ll get a chance to pick up where they left off.
If someone had told Adrien twenty-four hours ago that by the next day he'd be going on his first date and getting his first kiss, he would have been awash with nerves. And he had been—nervous, that is. Part of him hadn't really believed Nino when his friend had said Marinette would consider this a date.
"Look,” Nino had advised. “If she shows up in jeans, then it's just a hangout. But if she's wearing a skirt, it's a date. And if she wears a dress, it's really a date."
No word on what he was supposed to wear, though, so he'd gone with something suitable for one of the casual dinners his father sometimes had with business acquaintances. That had seemed like the right level of formality. And, lo and behold, Adrien had arrived at the theater to find Marinette in nothing other than a dress. One of those breezy sundresses girls like to wear in the summer, but it was a dress and it was also a little too cool on a September night for such a thing. Which meant she'd chosen looks over comfort, right? That had to be a good sign.
Things had gone shockingly well from there. He’d been sure at any minute he'd commit some dating faux pas and ruin everything, yet it never happened. Marinette was funny and relaxed; she made everything easy, even letting him pay for her food and drink like Nino had told him to. And the movie was good, too. He could tell she was enjoying it…right up until she wasn't.
What awful luck, he'd thought when the power went out. It wasn't the end of the world, though. They could still hang out for the rest of his allotted time—he'd had to call his father and Armand and make up some last minute extra credit project to get out of his fencing lesson. Thinking of that lie made him feel a little guilty, but it was worth it for this.
Marinette hadn’t answered when he'd asked her about getting something to eat together, and he'd thought maybe he'd crossed a line somehow until she'd started shaking and gasping. It had been second nature to comfort her, and had only occurred to him in the aftermath that it may have seemed like he'd used her fear as an excuse to hold her.
Now, as they wait in the line for refunds, he reviews everything that just happened with a baffled kind of awe. He'd helped her feel better, and then she'd kissed him. An older couple at the front of the line is arguing with the cashier because she can only offer written rainchecks while the computers are still down. He sighs and gives Marinette a rueful look.
“I’m sorry this kind of turned into a disaster.” It’s not entirely a true statement; he’s only trying to find out how she feels about the turn of events.
“Don’t be!” she says, seeming genuine. “I…I’ve had a great time. Even when I was crying all over you.”
There’s a flash, lightning showing its presence through the glass doors of the theater, and she steps closer to him.
“Are you going to be okay getting home?” Getting something to eat doesn’t seem promising in this weather. “I could go with you.”
“Oh.” She fidgets with the strap of her umbrella. “I wouldn’t want you to have to do that. I was going to call my roommate to come ride the subway with me.”
“I don’t mind at all. It’d mean getting to spend more time with you.” Oops. That was probably a bit much. Her soft little smile at the floor wipes away any worry he has, though. They’re finally at the front of the line, and as the cashier hands over their rainchecks, he says, “We’ll have to come back together to finish the movie some other night. When the weather is better.”
That, of course, would be a second date, which is even more mind-blowing than a first one. Marinette grins and holds up a pinky. “It’s a promise.”
He twines his pinky with hers and doesn’t let go even after the promise is made. “You ready to go brave the waters?”
“Oh yeah, for sure. No problem,” she replies with false bravado. “Let’s do this.”
They open their umbrellas under the overhang, rain already lashing at their feet, and he gives her an encouraging smile. But the second they step out into the fierce wind, Marinette’s flimsy umbrella flips inside out and several of the metal ribs snap with audible crunches.
“Crap!” she yells, immediately ducking back under the shelter of the theater.
He follows, laughing despite himself, and holds up his much sturdier specimen. “Come on, I’ll shelter us both.” The words feel oddly portentous once they’re out, like another promise being made, one he’s not sure he’ll be worthy of. For now, though, he is. She squeezes next to him, nervously eyeing the sky, and they scuttle back out into the storm together.
An umbrella only does so much, even when there’s only one person under it. With two, they both end up fairly soaked just on the short run to the subway stairs. Without pausing to second guess, he grabs her hand to hold her steady as they descend the slippery steps, and she purses her lips to hold back an amused smile. There’s an awkward moment when they get to the turnstiles, though.
Earlier, when Nino was delivering his lecture on things to do and not do, he’d ended it by pulling something out of his wallet and handing it to Adrien. “This,” he’d said, “is a lucky token. Keep it in your wallet, don’t lose it.”
Adrien’s face had flamed when he realized what it was: a silver-foiled condom. “What the hell,” he’d said, pushing it back into Nino’s hand. “That is so inappropriate.”
But his friend had insisted. “You don’t have to use it, dude. Like I said, it’s just for luck. I’ve had it since high school, and now I’m bequeathing it to you.”
A bit grossed out, Adrien had taken it nonetheless. And now here he is, having to root around in his wallet for the Metropass he’s only used once or twice before, and he’s terrified Marinette might see the condom and get the wrong idea about his expectations.
“Pardon,” he says, pink-cheeked. “Can’t remember where I put it exactly.”
She waits patiently, and eventually he’s able to remove the intended card without exposing anything else. Crisis averted.
On the train, there are plenty of open seats. Not many people venturing out in this downpour, he guesses. And yet, Marinette leads him to one of the two-person bench seats in a corner and, once they’re settled in, shyly says that she’s cold and scoots closer to him. He takes that as his cue to wrap an arm around her shoulders, an instinct that serves him well as she immediately snuggles in.
This morning, he didn’t know she existed. And now, it’s as if they’ve always been just like this, side by side.
The ride doesn’t last nearly long enough. He’d purposely asked which theater was closest to her apartment, he recalls, a decision he almost regrets. She sighs a little when they get up, as if she regrets it, too. From there it’s only a short distance to her apartment building, the rain chasing them all the way into the front entrance. They crash through the doorway, giggling when his umbrella gets caught in the narrow frame. It pops through with a wet splash, which makes Marinette squeal softly.
“Well, we survived,” she says, still a little out of breath from the run, and there’s a sparkle in her eyes that he could dare to call fondness. “Thank you for coming with me. I hope you’re not too miserable on your way home.”
He’ll call his driver to come pick him up, but Nino said not to mention things like that. “I won’t,” he says instead. He should say goodbye now, should turn around and walk out the door. He should let her go get warmed up. They’re both shivering slightly in the cold hallway, and yet neither of them makes a move to go.
“Adrien?”
“Yes?”
“I had a really great time.” And then she takes the lead once more, stepping forward to place one hand on his wet shirt. He meets her halfway, and this time no one interrupts them. He’d thought kissing was a static thing, a pressing of lips together, but this is more rhythmic. They move together instinctually, and the motion makes his skin feel hot. Even more than the physical contact, the thought that she wants to do this with him sends his heart galloping into overdrive.
When they part, he tries to find the right words for what he’s feeling.
“I—”
A door opens, and Adrien glances over her shoulder to see a guy carrying a garbage bag. The man quirks an eyebrow at him, then says, “Marinette, you made it home safely.”
Flustered, Marinette turns and gestures at Adrien. “Yes! Adrien came with me. Um, Adrien, this is my roommate, Luka. Luka, this is Adrien.”
Her roommate is a guy? Is that normal? He feels a little off balance as he steps forward to shake Luka’s hand. Luka shifts the full garbage bag into his other hand and grips Adrien’s in a clasp that’s tighter than it might look to Marinette. There’s an implicit warning in that grip, though Adrien can’t tell if it’s more of a friendly don’t hurt her or a threatening she’s mine.
He’ll probably find out soon.
“It’s nice to meet you, Adrien.” Luka’s voice is more mellow than his handshake, his expression relaxed and amicable.
“Nice to, uh, meet you, too, Luka.” He curses himself internally for stammering. “It’s pretty bad out there. I could take that for you?” he suggests, indicating the trash bag.
The offer visibly raises him in Luka’s estimation. “Thank you, but we have trash valet. I just came to put it outside the door.”
“Ah, okay. Marinette, do you work tomorrow? Will I see you?”
She’s been watching the exchange silently, obviously trying to catch every subtle maneuver. She smiles at him now, looking relieved. “Yes! I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you again, Adrien. It was wonderful.”
Then he ducks back out into the stormy night, struggling to open the umbrella again and pulling out his phone to text the driver. There’s a lightness in his chest that can’t be dragged down by his father’s impending disapproval or his soggy clothes or her imposing roommate.
He’ll see her tomorrow and, hopefully, many days after that.