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Marinette would kiss him. She would. She was smart, she was capable–-and she was allowed to, dammit. He was right there, dreamy as ever, looking at her with those big eyes, waiting for her-–waiting for her- –to make her move. Like he always was.
She chewed the inside of her cheek. It’s not that she didn’t want to. She really really wanted to. And she knew–-she knew-–she was allowed to. Allowed to. Allowed. He-–wanted–-her. He-–wanted–-her--to kiss him. But she shouldn’t. It really was not allowed.
Her head moved an inch closer. His eyes got bigger–-then smaller. She was further away again. This was supposed to be nice. This was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be relaxing. She had never been more tense in her life. He wanted her to kiss him. She was allowed to want to kiss him. But was she allowed to kiss him? She wasn’t allowed. She couldn’t be allowed. It simply was not possible.
He reached out and touched her arm, and she flinched. She took a deep breath, closing her own eyes. Maybe if she didn’t see him, he wouldn’t be there. She wanted him there. But he wasn’t allowed to be there. He wasn’t allowed to see her. He wasn’t allowed to look at her. He probably knew that. He shouldn’t be there. Why would he be there? Why did he want to be there? This was probably her last chance.
She felt a prickle of movement. He was getting closer to her. Yes. That would be easier. He would kiss her, and she would get kissed. No action on her part. No barrier for her to cross. She could stay where she was, and he would come rescue her. That was allowable. That seemed reasonable. Clearly he was more capable than she about this. He was allowed to. But he wasn’t allowed. It wasn’t allowed.
She tilted her chin down, hiding her lips from his. Not allowed not allowed not allowed. This wasn’t allowed. She would cry if he left without her kissing him. She had never kissed him. She would never kiss him. They would never kiss. They couldn’t kiss. They couldn’t ever kiss. Never. Ever. That made things easier. So they would never kiss. She would never kiss him. That made sense. Life could move on. But she needed to kiss him.
She tilted her head up again, feeling the phantom of his face already. Kiss him. Kiss him. It wouldn’t kill her. Things would be better if she kissed him. She needed to kiss him. He needed to know she could kiss him.
His exhale was soft-–as he snorted. He reached up, carefully, always carefully, and pulled her into a hug. Instead of his lips on her lips, she felt his cheek on her collar. His hands pressed her upper back. His hair pressed her chin.
“It’s okay, Marinette. I’ll wait.”
Tears soaked her face and she hugged him back.