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Cold rain falls down upon Paris in sheets outside, but in Marinette’s room, fuzzy socks on his feet and surrounded by an army of stuffed animals, Adrien is the warmest he’s ever been.
Marinette is busy crocheting at her desk, entirely focused on the project in front of her. Adrien, sprawled across her bed, is free to entirely focus on her.
Strung up around the walls of her room, fairy lights cast a soft glow on her face; her lashes throw off bits of light every time she blinks, a beacon to draw his attention. She bites her lip as she works, a crease between her eyebrows, and all he wants to do is reach out and smooth it away with his fingers.
They’ve been spending time here together more often than not lately, ever since Hawk Moth was defeated. It’s easier to think of their enemy as Hawk Moth, instead of the name of the face that hid underneath the mask.
The shock of identities being revealed between him and his lady has faded away, leaving nothing behind but warmth and trust and something else. Something they haven’t put words to, something that feels a whole lot stronger than anything Adrien has ever felt before.
It’s as though he’s drawn to her now more than ever. Wherever she goes, he follows — and, much to his pleasure, she seems to welcome his presence.
Afternoons are spent with her — out for a walk, maybe, or on a hunt for André. Adrien’s favorite moments, though, are here: just the two of them in her room, where he’s free to watch her to his heart’s content.
And as he watches, he picks out facts, things about her he can collect and hoard and treasure, just as deftly as she picks through the strands of thread between her fingers. He’d been shocked to learn of her identity at first. But now, he wonders how he ever could have missed it.
Her hands, which once conjured up a Lucky Charm, now create scarves and hats out of nothing. Her voice is quieter, her face uncovered — but her smile is the same. Her touch is the same. Her eyes, her hair. Her heart that beats in her chest, he would recognize even amongst thousands of others.
Does she see Chat Noir, he wonders, in him? Does she hear cheesy puns, see theatrical poses, catlike grins? Or does she see right through him too?
Marinette glances up at him, and then away: the first indication that she’s not as at ease under his scrutiny as she appears to be.
“Are you gonna say something?” she asks. “Or just stare at me all day?”
He leans back from his place on her bed, grinning. “Well, if you’re giving me permission…”
Laughing, she considers him thoughtfully. “Sorry, kitty cat, but I don’t take freeloaders. If you’re gonna be here, make yourself useful and hold this.”
“I live to serve, my lady.”
She kicks her chair over, rolling it until she’s by the bed. Close enough that he could reach out and touch her, if he wanted to. He focuses all of his energy on what she’s asking of him, on her words, on anything that’s not her proximity to him.
Marinette holds the tail end of her yarn out to him; Adrien gingerly holds it between two fingers and watches as she does something complicated with her crochet hook, weaving it over and under and through until everything is tied up into a neat little knot.
“That looks complicated,” he comments.
“Just takes practice,” replies Marinette, humble as always. She looks at him, a familiar glint in her eye. He knows what that means: there’s some kind of plan that’s made its way into her head. His thoughts are only confirmed when she asks, “Want to try?”
“I don’t know if I—“
“I’ll teach you,” she says softly, and then Adrien’s hands are in hers and he can’t find it in himself to refuse even if he wanted to.
The yarn winds around their fingers, binding them together like the string of her yoyo. Marinette presses a crochet hook into his hand, and he prays she can’t feel how sweaty he is. She explains the terms involved to him — a slip knot, she says; a chain stitch, a single crochet — but it’s all in one ear and out the other.
He’s a quick learner, though — or perhaps more likely is that Marinette is a good teacher. She guides his hands through the repetitive motions, which are surprisingly soothing, and they end up with a row of stitches. They’re not perfect; even his untrained eye can see how uneven they are, how sloppy.
But it’s something they made together.
“Now just do that about a thousand more times and you’ll have a scarf,” says Marinette. To his regret, she leans back, leans away from him. His hands, useless without her, fall to his lap.
“Why would I do that,” he says, “when I have you to make one for me?”
“And what would I get in return for something like that?”
“Whatever my lady desires,” says Adrien. It’s only then that he realizes how his voice has lowered, how he’s leaning toward her, and he jerks himself back. “How about I teach you something in return?”
Marinette perks up. “Really? The great Chat Noir deems me worthy enough to teach?”
“I doubt you’ll be anywhere near my level of expertise,” he says, playing along with a smirk, “but I guess I’ll give it a try.”
“What are you gonna teach me?”
He responds with the only thing he’s good at: modeling.
The equipment he has is nowhere near professional — just his phone camera — but the lighting in the room is pretty and Marinette is even prettier. She protests at first, a soft pink flush to her cheeks, but relents easily enough.
“That’s not fair,” she grumbles. “You know I’m not immune to those eyes.”
“No one is!” sings Adrien.
The one thing he hadn’t considered is that he has to touch her to guide her into the proper poses. But she, to his relief, doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, it’s the opposite — she leans into his touch, asks him to readjust her limbs over and over again. Each time, Adrien is happy to comply.
Her hair, loose around her shoulders as he’s never seen before, makes his throat so dry that no words come. He’s draped fairy lights around her — he doesn’t usually have an eye for artistic settings like this, but he’d had a similar photoshoot not more than a few months ago.
But he’s never had a photoshoot like this one before.
His camera is silent as he takes pictures, and Marinette, too, shifts from pose to pose silently. And effortlessly, he can’t help but notice. He knew she would be a natural at this.
The sound of the rain, a steady beat against the window, sounds like the pounding in Adrien’s heart. She stares directly at the camera, the lens — through it, directly into his eyes. She looks at him so softly, a look meant just for him, and it’s like there is no distance between them.
In that one moment, they’re everywhere. Soaring up above the streets of Paris. Sitting next to each other in class. Fighting an akuma, and protecting each other as though it is as easy as breathing.
Who are they right now, he wonders. Is this Chat Noir taking a picture of Ladybug? Or is this Marinette posing for Adrien?
He’s never been on this side of the camera before, the one seeing instead of being seen. It’s like a whole new world from here; he can see things he’s never seen before, things he’s never known to look for before.
Is this how she always looks at him? What he’d wanted for so long, but been too blind to see?
He hadn’t even noticed he’d lowered his phone until Marinette gives him a questioning look. “All done?” she asks.
Not trusting his voice, Adrien nods. He wonders if she knows what he’s seen in her — if it’s what she wanted him to see. Either way, she gives no indication of being uncomfortable.
She gestures him over, beaming. “Let’s take one together now,” she says, and when Ladybug calls, Chat Noir answers.
“Marinette,” he says quietly once he’s seated next to her, “I…”
Her smile drops, concern replacing it. “What’s wrong?”
And the look is still there. He hadn’t imagined it. He hadn’t imagined any of it.
“Nothing,” says Adrien. “The pictures came out really good.”
She bites her lip; his nails dig into his palms.
“This one is gonna be better,” she says. “You’ll see.”
“I trust you, Bug.”
He lifts his phone, changes the camera view. Marinette moves close to him, so close, until her cheek is pressing against his. He was wrong before, he thinks; this is the warmest he’s ever been.
“Smile!” she says, and Adrien does.