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Adrien starts visiting Marinette because he can’t stop.
He knows it’s wrong, especially when he’s been so distant with her, but it’s beyond him to stop himself. if Plagg refused to transform him, he’d probably risk his father finding out and buy himself a Chat Noir costume just to be able to visit her.
But how is he supposed to keep himself away, if Marinette, his lady, has been there all along? Right behind him, offering him blushing smiles and kind (if fumbling) words. He can’t trust himself with Marinette, not with the way his throat gets clogged up with all the things he wants to tell her whenever he’s near her (I’m Chat Noir look at me I’m here I’m Chat Noir I’m Chat Noir I’ve liked you for so long I’m Chat Noir).
He barely lasts a week before he’s racing himself across the rooftops to her bakery, thanking the stars that she actually lives so close to his house. He arrives on her balcony with such stealth that Plagg makes a noise of approval in the back of his mind, commenting on the way his skills are improving. He’s a bit disappointed to find she’s not out on her balcony, but then she wouldn’t have a reason to be.
After knocking on her trapdoor, Marinette rushes out her room to greet him. She seems surprised but not unhappy to see him. There’s understandable suspicion in her eyes that he’d cave under were he not wearing his mask, but he gives her a flirty line as greeting and her eyes soften with the trust of long nights roaming the roofs of Paris together.
“What are you doing here, Chat Noir?” she asks, disappearing once again into her room. Chat Noir fears she’s choosing to ignore him, the sting of rejection pressing a weight on his chest. He has half a mind to follow her in -but no; she didn’t invite him, and he’s already intruded too much upon her privacy. There are some lines you can’t uncross. Thankfully, a few seconds later she’s back out again, a long bundle of cloth topped with more fabric and a few needles and threads on her arms.
“What’s that, Princess?” he asks curiously, poking his head around her shoulders as she passes by him in the direction of her lounge chair. She drops herself on it unceremoniously, picking up the needle and thread and starting to sew some of the fabric on the bundle of cloth. She gives him a calculating look as he stands in front of her.
“You haven’t answered my question, Chat Noir.” She says, her eyes flitting between himself and her rapidly working fingers. “But I’m making a blanket.”
Intrigued, he scoots closer to see her work. Turning a bucket upside down to sit upon, Chat Noir places himself beside her, admiring the way the Christmas lights strewn about cast shadows around her, bringing out her slightly pink lips and the blue of her eyes.
Adrien’s always known Marinette is pretty, adorable even; but seeing her here in her balcony where she’s most comfortable, doing what she knows and loves and knowing that there’s a side of her that would risk her life for each and every citizen of this beautiful city they both have the chance to call home, he can’t help the blush that stains his cheeks as the thought that she’s gorgeous (beautiful, stunning) crosses his mind.
He keeps her silent company for a while, enjoying her quiet humming as she works, too flustered with himself to think of anything witty or funny to said even if he tried.
Marinette stops waiting for him to justify his presence in her house after a while, choosing instead to make idle conversation as she works. She tells him about her classmates’ Kim and Alix new bet (which he already knows about, but is still interested to hear her thoughts on nevertheless), musing about the banner she might make for it. beneath his mask, Adrien is delighted to see this side of Marinette: the cheerful way her eyes light up when she speaks about her friends, how she gestures with her hands when she gets a little too excited, the way she purses her lips in mock-annoyance when he jokes about the cat-like reflexes of Alix.
Two hours later (or maybe two seconds, who knows really?), his princess is chattering on about Alya’s upcoming birthday and other important dates -amongst which, he notices with delight, is his next fencing tournament-, when she interrupts herself by yawning. She’s as surprised about it as he is, and with a bashful smile he admits he might have overstayed his welcome.
“Of course not.” Marinette dismisses immediately, waving a hand to emphasize her point. “But I do have school tomorrow.” So do I, Chat Noir thinks, nodding to the girl before taking her hand to hover his mouth over her knuckles.
“Sweet dreams, princess.” He tells her as his staff extends to take him away from her balcony.
That night Plagg gorges himself with enough cheese to open a small stand on a street, and Adrien has the best three hours of sleep he’s had in a while.