Chapter Text
It’s there again. Pulsating sharply to scream for any type of consideration.
It’s there when her heels click down the stairs and the silk of her dress smoothly glides over the marble stone; trailing behind like a gray shadow unable to reverberate down the hall and yet demanding its presence to be acknowledged.
It’s there when her song travels from the kitchen to his bedroom, along with the scent of whatever recipe she decides to experiment with today. Occasionally it’s accompanied by chatter emerging from multiple voices – one lilted and sweet, the other monotone but lovely nonetheless – and a call of his name asking to try out her newest creation.
It’s even there in the luminous garden. With the backdrop of roses unable to beautify her embellished existence any further, it’s another reminder that their domestic perfection emulates the essence of a painting come to life.
It’s unreal and he’s so lucky.
Should he rejoice when the two of them isolate themselves on cold evenings in front of the fireplace, and his mother allows him a sip of her champagne since Nathalie isn’t looking?
Should he dismally gaze upon the silver titanium statue erected in the center of the city that poses proudly, threateningly – like an anomaly belonging to another script in a non-existent record that’s scrapped from the archives?
Should he slacken his jaw instead of tensely twisting the representations of love and freedom on his finger that clank together with each eye-twitching thought?
It’s a little odd to Adrien.
And he takes great pleasure in the strangeness of it all, because what else is there to do? He’s certainly not going to complain. Not when the greatest gift in the entire universe is nothing more than plain reality.
Which he continues to escape for some reason.
This morning is no different.
Breakfast time. His mother asks about his upcoming day. With school fast approaching, he’s taking whatever free moment he has to spend with his friends or cousin or Marinette. In other words, people, experiences and influences he should love to share with the other person that means the world to him.
But he’s running.
After a weak excuse of not wanting to be tardy, he slips through the front gate of a home that has never felt so warm before. It’s amazing and wonderful. It’s stifling and burning.
Which is where the confusion begins to form. After all, why do these vile sentiments suddenly surface when nothing is out of order? Nothing to grieve or question.
There’s no point in mourning something that never was.
But there’s a battle within him that refuses to be contained.
Well, he hardheadedly refuses to give it any attention. See how it maintains its shape then.
He’s late. She’s even later.
Clink-clink. Clink-clink.
The park is quite packed this afternoon. Many picnic blankets spread out along the fields of grass, dogs chase each other with playful barks, and the kids enjoying themselves in the fountain attempt to splash each other. The fresh cold water sprays a faint dust on his face.
It’s nice.
“There you are, mon amour!”
Adrien spots her sprinting towards him from the other side of the park, her voice unabashedly whipping through the trees. Marinette clumsily stumbles, stretches and dances in impossible ways during her short trek to keep her balance within all her excited steps.
He’s learned to not be concerned any longer. He doesn’t have to catch her; she’s more than capable of doing that herself.
Her arms encircle his waist before her labored breaths reach his ears. He rests his palms on her back, one hand on the side of her hip, one caressing her shoulder blade.
“Sorry I’m late, mon coeur,” Adrien mumbles in her hair, nose pressed to her scalp. “I would say ‘I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long’, but I’m sensing I was the one waiting over here.” He takes on a teasing tone as he keeps her at arms’ length, considering her with a raised brow.
“Psh, like there’s any force that could keep me from you.” She challenges him back with a smirk, but her pink stained cheeks betray her. “Oh! Here.”
Marinette digs out of the small tote bag on her shoulder an even smaller paper bag with an all too familiar logo. Whether she does this to change the topic, Adrien doesn’t bother to ask, because he’s hungry. Admittedly, even if he wasn’t hungry he would still let her get away with it.
“Is that–?”
“Papa has a new dough recipe with the sustainable flour from Madame– Uhm, Mayor Bustier’s campaign. He would never let these make the windows without his allotted taste tester taking a bite first though.”
She hands him the open bag of croissants, the steam erupting from it causing his eyes to water and his mouth to salivate.
“He’s still up for teaching you, by the way. I know you find the ovens intimidating, but he’s not letting it go until you try at least once.” Marinette ends with a gentle laugh once she notes his lack of response, his own mind too focused on the contents of the little piece of heaven he holds in his hands. “You’re welcome,” she offers with a swift peck to his lips, her fingers squeezing his elbows. “There’s butter, too. But you’ll have to eat it now unless you want it to melt.”
Now, why would he let that happen? Guess he has to sacrifice himself and commit to the horrid task of finishing these pastries before they turn cold, or the supplementary butter goes beyond its peak solidness.
“Pick a tree,” Adrien murmurs over the first taste of croissant and calories on his tongue. He allows himself to get dragged by her cool and callused hand. A contrast to his mother’s dainty skin and somehow just as inviting. Maybe even more so.
Marinette plops herself down near a tree that provides a decent amount of shade, and bonks her head against the trunk with a tired groan. Adrien takes a seat on her left and wordlessly places the paper bag of dreams in her lap. She takes a croissant out of it and chomps down. It’s like he would do as a kid with the bear-shaped gummy candies he brutally ripped the heads off.
“Busy morning?” Adrien asks. He doesn’t have to, but it’s such a small gesture for him to do to let her speak her mind freely, so he does. Marinette requires a little coaxing sometimes, despite their progress.
“Not even that. Slept funny, I suppose.” She pinches the skin in her forehead, sighing. “I’m fine. Maybe I just stay up too late past my bedtime.”
“Haven’t heard that one before.” He pats her knee to extend some comfort alongside his jab. “What’s the subject of passion this time?”
“I’m… making jewelry.”
“Oh, that’s fun. Do you want to display them on your website? Alya said she was almost finished with that, right?”
“Right.”
The sun is bright, encompassing him like a soft blanket, and the appealing breeze kisses the blond tufts on his arms. A mere touch but he’s basking in it. He closes his eyes with a low hum.
“It’s honestly so cool what you’re able to do, Marinette. I could never be that creative.”
Clink-clink. Clink-clink. Clink-clink. Clink–
“You have always been gifted in anything you put your mind to.” Her thin digits intertwine with his own on the grass, gripping firmly and stopping his nervous habit. “There’s nothing you need to be but yourself.”
A smile on his part. He connects the top of her head with his cheek and lifts their entangled hands to press his lips to her knuckles. “Thank you. You know what to say without fail.”
“Liar,” Marinette spits out loudly, laughing. “That’s absolutely not true, you can ask anyone that. My reputation precedes me.”
Adrien chuckles along with her and takes a moment to rub his cheekbone against her hair. He turns the hand laying under her palm, fingers lightly tracing the bones of her wrist.
“You’re like a cat,” she giggles, nuzzling him back in the neck, then inhaling shortly.
Ironic choice of words.
“If I’m a cat then you’re… I don’t know. Something.”
“Yeah, something.” Marinette abruptly lets go of him to clutch the paper bag that’s squished between their legs now. She retrieves a second croissant to munch on silently.
He opts to grab another one as well. Can’t let Tom’s renowned baking go to waste.
They sit there for a while, reveling in the thrum of the background noise and their rhythmic chewing. The blazing sun continues to share its warm message. Marinette lowers her chin and squints her eyes, hiding them behind the dark strands of her bangs. Once more, she takes a thumb and index finger to massage the muscle above her brow.
Adrien frowns. “Are you sure you’re fine?” Marinette is far from fragile, but he’s getting a tad concerned now.
“A bit of a headache. Nothing to worry about.” Marinette twists at the neck, granting him the most radiant smile. “Like I said, adhering to my sleep schedule would’ve prevented this.”
“Getting enough sleep is important.” He impishly taps her nose with his own. “And you’re important to me. So you should do that… which is… important?” His voice takes on a timid tone as he realizes he doesn’t really follow what he’s saying, so least of all her.
“Hm, I see.”
“Instead of mocking my attempt at poetry, just sleep more for me?”
Marinette hugs his arm tightly, propping her chin on his shoulder to look up at him. “If you’ll stick to jokes instead of lyrically-toned advice.”
“Deal.”
Adrien kisses her, long and tender and without regard of who might be watching. Not that any passersby would deem their romantic rendezvous noteworthy enough to care about – not anymore.
Paparazzi has died down to a minimum (after requesting some comments on his father’s self-sacrifice, but that’s to be expected). Being a public figure never was up his alley, and he’s glad his mother understands that at last. She felt his unhappiness growing and was kind enough to see his lack of aspiration as a sign to change course.
He vividly recalls that conversation. It took place in the sitting room of their mansion. He was nervous, unsurprisingly, but knew that he could count on her affectionate heart to choose what is right for him.
When she entered the room, he swallowed roughly from his spot on the plush sofa. The scorching liquid of strawberry tea tumbled down his throat as he restlessly bounced a foot and scraped his nails on the porcelain teacup.
He opened his mouth, ready to tell her–
…Ready to tell her that…
Huh.
Curiously, he can’t remember.
“…Adrien? Adrien!”
“W-what? Yes?”
They parted a little bit ago, it seems. Marinette is now tucked under his arm, cuddling his torso right below his chest. She blinks from under her long lashes, pouting cutely. “Zoning out on me?
It shouldn’t be such a big deal. Even so, it’s something that’ll most likely gnaw at him. Like a short tune getting played on repeat in his head, belonging to a certain memory but he just can’t place what it is or when it occurred and yet the feelings the sounds evoke are as profuse as the seemingly endless stream of the Seine.
“Just daydreaming,” he whispers. Marinette snuggles back into him with a content exhale.
It’s there again. And the frustration is unbearable.
Why doesn’t he remember?
Somewhere, there’s someone floating in some time in some space that’s weirdly reminiscent of all that is ordinary and everything that’s so unlike what she knows to be true.
There’s nothing to see yet so much to take in; time cascading down in a waterfall of colors she wasn’t aware that existed; sounds that seem mythical droning on like a choir of magic; the taste of the future dazzled with the scent of nothingness overwhelmingly engulfing her senses to the point she feels powerful enough to take on every possible dimension and as tiny as a mere speck of glitter in the vastness of the universe.
It’s grounding and terrifying and so much more than that.
After initial fear took a hold of her, it was replaced by the strong desire to figure out what this place is and what there is to learn from it.
She’ll take anything that can aid in her quest. To seize what she deserves to have.
The small surprise of a gasp emitted behind her causes her to swivel in the air
“Ah, a visitor. Been a while since I had one of those.” They eye her up and down, scrutinizing the deepest part of her soul, leaving a heavy brick to rest within her. “Are you afraid?”
There it is.
An opportunity.
“Not in the slightest,” she lets out confidently, a puff of air added for good measure. “I’m merely in awe at the magnificence of this place. I have so many questions.”
“So do I, actually.” They stare once again, withholding so many truths and granting her everything she wishes to understand. “Go ahead and ask away, Miss Lila.”