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Marinette isn’t sure where loving Adrien ends and needing him begins.
She tells herself that it’s okay to rely on other people. That trusting people, and equally so, letting them trust her, is okay. That she doesn’t have to shoulder the weight of the world alone (and besides, she likes “independent” better). Sometimes, Adrien tells her the same thing too.
She wonders if it’s just Ladybug that Adrien is in love with. What’s the difference between an infatuation and love, anyways? What if it’s just the immense admiration that makes him look at her like that , in the middle of class, or in between late night study sessions, or when Adrien is walking her home? It’s funny, she thinks, to feel like she has to compete with herself -- with Ladybug. She doesn’t think she can. Ladybug is daring and courageous and has an insatiable confidence that Marienette seems to lack. She’s a different person with the mask on, and an even more different person with the mask off.
When Adrien places himself next to her before their morning class starts, he gives her a gift. “It reminded me of us,” he says, quietly, like he’s trying to pretend that it didn’t mean anything to him. Us is enough to send small shivers down her body.
Marinette peers up, surprised at first. She unwraps it. It’s a keychain. More specifically, it’s a keychain of a black cat. She can’t hide the little gasp that escapes her lips. She’s completely floored by the idea that, at some point of the day, she crossed his mind and thought of her.
“I have one with a ladybug, too,” he murmurs. His face flushes pink. He raises his hand to rub the nape of his neck and pulls out his matching one. “I found them in some store yesterday,” he pauses and lets out a small laugh. “I just had to, y’know?”
And Marinette doesn’t know why, but suddenly she’s feels guilty.
“Do you like it?” he asks, hesitantly.
“Yeah,” she mutters. Her voice comes out quieter than she intended it to be.
She hammers herself for being so ungrateful. She’s never been more happy and yet -- here she is -- doubting him. And she can’t figure out why , for the life of her, why a ladybug keychain of all things? Why does she feel like she’s competing with Ladybug? Why does she feel like she’s losing?
“Pinky promise me that you like it,” he pouts.
“What?” She raises her eyebrows, surprised by his sudden suggestion.
“Pinky promise me.” he grins as he holds out his pinky. “Do you not know what a pinky promise is?” He teases, “come’on, pinky promise?”
And Marinette can’t help but encourage the gesture. “Fine,” she laughs. He looks like a petulant child and she smiles as she intertwines her pinky with his. “Pinky promise.”
Adrien has her under the name, “Buggy Boo” on his phone. Marinette pretends it doesn’t bother her when she’s scrolling through their texts.
“Tell me, kitty. What do you like the most about me?” she asks, unprompted. She sits herself next to Chat, on the edge of a roof, leaning forward on her palms that support her weight.
He’s taken back, at first, but then quickly retorts with a low chuckle. “Everything,” he says it like he’s sure of the answer.
Ladybug rolls her eyes and glances at him, leaning her chin on his shoulder. “I meant; if you had to pick one thing, what would it be?” Ladybug pretends that she doesn’t know that she’s testing him. For what, exactly, she isn’t sure.
He pauses for a moment, staring back into her eyes, trying to find an answer. Finally, he sighs, discouraged. “Princess, how am I supposed to pick just one ? This is a cat-astrophe.”
Ladybug offers a small smile to mask her disappointment. “Sure it is, kitty.”
Chat’s stare is almost challenging -- in a way. “Maybe,” he trails off for a moment, as if he’s recalling every moment he’s spent with Ladybug. “Maybe … I think it’s how brave you are.”
The answer doesn’t surprise her. He smiles at her, in a way that is so sweet it almost makes Ladybug feel guilty for her doubts. “Your courage -- ” he pauses, as if the words are stuck in the air and he’s trying to cling to them, “there’s something raw and different about it, but it’s absolutely stunning.” He smiles to himself, breaking their eye-contact as he looks towards the sky, “it’s thrilling, honestly.”
Brave . Who is he describing: Ladybug or Marinette? Are they really even the same person anymore? Brave . There’s no question that Ladybug isn’t brave, she jumps off of buildings to save people and leads her way through disasters. But what about Marinette? If you take away the suit, the mask, all of it -- is Marinette really brave? Is she really as brave as Ladybug?
Ladybug can’t seem to stomach the answer, it doesn’t sit well with her; but it’s always been easy for Ladybug to hide her own insecurities. She retorts with a quiet, but audible, “good answer.”
Adrien eventually starts to fall into the habit of calling her “love bug”. It’s short and it’s clever and it’s cute. At first. Because then, Marinette realizes that she begins to tense up even at the mere mention of bugs. And she’s trying to deny it all -- everything’s fine fine fine, nothing’s wrong with her. But denial only ever goes so far.
Marinette begins to find that, sometimes, during late nights and early mornings, Adrien will call her. At first, it worries her, because who’s even awake at 3am in the morning? And they simply talk: about how Chloe tried to trip Marinette for the umpteenth time that day, how Alya managed to upload three wordy posts about her adulation for Ladybug within a one-hour period, the gossip that Nino blabbed to Adrien about the teacher having a steamy affair with a student’s father. But certain nights when he calls her, his voice seems to never steady, his words sound tired, and the way he talks just feels empty. She doesn’t know how it’s possible to sound that … broken; but he does and she can’t voice about how much it worries her.
Those are the nights where Marinette quietly slips out of her window and makes her way towards his home, as Ladybug. And it’s not like she thinks that he’ll like (she isn’t even sure if “like” is the right word; approve of her more, perhaps) her more if she’s playing the part of Ladybug, but she still certainly feels that way. She knows it’s irrational; but when Adrien calls her that night and when his voice starts to break at the subject of his father, she arrives within minutes -- with the suit on; with a mask to hide behind. Marinette doesn’t feel like she can face him without it, anyways.
She spends the entire night -- as Ladybug -- with Adrien on the floor of his bedroom. They sit across from each other, his hand is tightly intertwined with hers. He’s looking at the sight of their hands as if he believes that they were meant to be like this; that they were destined to be together, simply like this. This is where he was always supposed to be, with her. Just her.
And Ladybug wonders if she would have come if she didn’t have the suit.
“Y’know, up until now, I was always alone.” He starts, his gaze is still locked on their hands. He feels like if he lets go, he’ll die. “It’s not like I was alone. Nino is, and always has been, a good friend, but…” his face darkens. The moment fills Ladybug with dread and uncertainty, and she wonders if she would still be able to handle Adrien like this, if she didn’t have the mask on. “I just -- I always felt so alone.” He laughs lightly, sensing the tension in the air. “I guess, ‘abandoned’ is a better word for it, though.” He peers up at her, his green eyes meeting her blue ones, “but then you came along.” He shifts his hands so that now both of their hands are flat against each other.
“And you made it -- everything -- better,” he smiles at her, she doesn’t think that she’s ever felt anything like this. She doesn’t know what she’s feeling, exactly; only that she feels warm and safe and it numbs her entire body. “You … you’re amazing,” he leans in to kiss her cheek, right below where her mask meets the apple of her cheeks. “So amazing,” he murmurs, kissing her other cheek; he bends his fingers to intertwine with hers again. “What did I ever do to deserve someone as amazing as you?” He whispers it like it’s only for her to hear. He kisses her forehead, right above the rim of her mask. She doesn’t want this moment to end. “I think,” he pauses, as if he needs to make this moment mean something, for it to matter. “I think I’m the luckiest guy in the world, Ladybug.”
Ladybug tenses up, just for a moment. It isn’t noticeable, she hopes. He kisses her lips, and it’s sweet and it’s meaningful and she wants herself to love the moment, urges herself to; but she can’t.
She thinks it’s unfair. She thinks she doesn’t deserve to be Ladybug. She thinks she doesn’t deserve Adrien. She thinks she hates Ladybug.
And in that moment, she decides that, no, Marinette wouldn’t have been able to handle this -- all of this -- if she came as herself, and not Ladybug. In that moment, she decides that, no, Marinette is not as brave as Ladybug.
The first time Adrien says I love you, he’s a mishmash of fear and panic and guilt and regret.
It’s funny, she thinks, normally he’s the one that always sacrifices his own life for hers. And yet, she’s the one who pushes Chat Noir out of harm’s way; just in time for the akuma’s bat to hit her instead of him. She realizes that if she had a choice every time, she would sacrifice herself again and again if it meant that he would remain unscathed.
She’s hit so hard that her breath is knocked out from her stomach, it feels like a hand has shoved its way down her throat and plucked the life out of her.
She doesn’t know how long she’s out, only that it’s enough time for the akuma to be gone when her vision steadies again, and all she can feel is a shooting pain that runs down her left side. Chat holds her so tightly that he almost cuts off her circulation. Someone’s trembling; she can't discern who. She thinks it’s the both of them.
He’s full of oh god ’s, and don’t do that ever again . What he says last is what hits her harder than the bat did: please, I love you, Ladybug. And it’s barely audible and he says it with a shaky breath, but she hears it. It’s the sort of pain that will never be tantamount to the bruising of a bat.
The strain on her left side is a petty excuse for the way she’s gritting her teeth and balling her hands. She starts to cry before she realizes it. There’s a chasm between Ladybug and Marinette, and it’s widening. And Marinette is standing on the cliff, toes curling around the edge; not quite falling, but not quite steady, either. She doesn’t know who she wants to be, who she’s supposed to be, anymore.
Because what if he just loves Ladybug? What if he’s just with her simply because she’s Ladybug? What if there’s no other reason to why he’s with her? What if --
Marinette doesn’t dare let herself think further.
Marinette looks like she’s stuck in a state of vertigo and has yet to right herself. Something feels off and she knows it and Adrien knows it and Alya knows it and, hell, even Nino knows it.
“What’s the point of being best friends if you won’t tell me anything?” Alya asks her, frustrated. It stings to see Marinette like this. Marinette’s eyes are red and just shy of being swollen, her lips are bitten raw and she’s been in a haze ever since they met up this morning. Does she really not trust Alya enough to tell her what’s been bugging her?
“It’s not like that, Alya.” Marinette refuses to meet Alya’s formidable gaze.
“I’m all-ears. Always. You know that.” Alya steps in front of her shorter friend abrupptly, with her hands placed on her hips. She hates it when people avoid her, and hates it even more that the person who’s avoiding her is Marinette -- of all people. She resents that she feels like Marinette doesn’t trust her enough to tell her whatever the hell is wrong.
“I know. I’m sorry. Thanks,” is all Marinette says before she brushes past Alya, with a little too much haste; like she’s desperate to be alone. It isn’t like that , Marinette tries to convince herself. She hasn’t even told Alya that she’s Ladybug yet, how is she supposed to tell Alya that she feels guilty for being Ladybug? How is she supposed to expect Alya to handle it, all at once?
But Alya’s always been there. Marinette knows that. They’re best friends, after all. It’s okay to hide this, right? Marinette’s protecting her.
Or maybe, Marinette’s just protecting Alya from herself. From Ladybug, from being Ladybug, from feeling like she doesn’t deserve to be Ladybug.
The moment only makes Marinette feel all the more guilty.
So she avoids everyone -- especially Adrien. For a while, Tikki is the only one who she talks to. But their conversations are trivial, like have you eaten yet? and are you okay and where’s Adrien?
And she thinks, just thinks . Thinks that maybe if she ignores it long enough, that it will go away. Thinks that somehow, if she doesn’t acknowledge that it ’s there, that it exists, that it ’ll get tired and pack up its things and leave. Thinks that everything’s easier this way. For her.
Marinette doesn’t know how many days she’s been like this. It has to be more than a week before Adrien suddenly declares that he’s going to walk home with his girlfriend. She doesn’t know what part of his exclamation makes her feel the most unsettled.
He doesn’t bring up anything until they’re settled in Marinette’s room. She’s sitting at her desk, hunched over -- of what he assumes to be -- her homework. He’s sitting on her bed, bobbing his leg up and down so unsteadily that Marinette can practically feel the ground shake with it.
“I thought I should give you some space, you seemed really …” Adrien pauses, as if he’s searching for the right word. Tired? Stressed? Overwhelmed? “... out of it,” he finishes. He stands up and pats his way towards her. He shoves his hands in his jacket’s pockets forcefully; if he’s trying to be casual about this, it certainly doesn’t look like it. Adrien was never the type to keep his concerns well-hidden. Marinette is similar to Adrien in that way.
“Oh, I do?” Marinette questions, feigning ignorance. She thinks she can handle lying to Adrien. She’s fine and she’s calm and she’s collected. Besides, it’s not a big deal. One lie won’t hurt. She’s Ladybug -- for Christ’s sake. But Marinette has a tremble that chases its way down her shoulders and runs across her hands. Maybe she isn’t fine or calm or by any means collected. Maybe she can still convince him, anyways. “I’m fine,” she says, unsteadily. She doesn’t look up from her paper.
“Are you?” Adrien’s voice is wavering, but it’s challenging enough for her to snap back with a quick nod and a small smile to match.
“I’m just a little stressed over this dumb homework we have to do. Physics isn’t really my thing,” she lets out a small laugh. Seems convincing enough, she thinks. “It’s nothing, I swear.”
He sighs and takes a hand out of his pocket to rub the nape of his neck. “Look, you just …” he trails off for a moment, not knowing how to continue. “You just … don’t seem okay. I mean -- even as Ladybug, you don’t seem --”
Adrien is interrupted by the light slam of Marinette’s pencil on her desk. He notes that her hands are gripping the edges of her desk so hard that her knuckles are oozing white. “Even as Ladybug?” She echoes his words, her voice comes out more sharp than she imagined it would be.
“W-what?”
“Adrien,” her voice softens, if just for a moment. “Be honest, do you like Ladybug or do you like me?”
“W-wha -- I-I don’t know what --”
She pushes herself off of her chair, standing to face him. But she won’t look at him, because she feels just as afraid as Adrien is.
“Because there’s a difference. I don’t -- Ladybug doesn’t --” Her voice falters for a second, because she isn’t used to any of this. “Why are you even with me?”
It takes a moment for Adrien to register her words, takes even several more for him to sputter up the words he wants to say. “I … I’m with you because it’s you. It’s always been you.” He says it like he knows he isn’t wrong.
It doesn’t help. “Me?” This time, Marinette stares at him. Her eyes are watering and they’re starting to burn but she forces herself to harden. “Me,” she echos herself, “or Ladybug?”
“I don’t get -- they’re -- she’s -- she’s the same person. You’re the same person. She’s you. I-I don’t --”
“Why me, though?” Marinette steps closer to him. It feels like she’s retching up every ugly feeling she’s ever had. About Ladybug. About herself. “If you knew that I wasn’t Ladybug, would you still be here ?” She stops when she’s close enough for her to look up at him. “If you knew that I wasn’t Ladybug, would you still be with me?”
Her expression softens; she’s sick of the whole thing, sick of feeling like this, sick of herself. She hesitates. “Would you still love me, even if I wasn’t Ladybug?”
And up until now, Adrien thought he’s had Marinette all figured out. But now, she’s staring at him in this enigmatic way and he realizes that he doesn’t.
“Why … Why wouldn’t I?” Now, it’s his expression that softens and he places his arms around her. She pulls back at first, in shock, but eases into the hug quickly. “It’s always been you,” he repeats. “Just you. Ladybug or not. Just you.”
It’s always been easy for Marinette to cry, but even now -- even when her hands are clutched tightly to the back of his shirt and she’s shaking like the world’s about to end -- Marinette still feels … steady. Adrien thinks she’s amazing, to be so torn down but still so solid and present.
“And look,” his voice is soft and they both feel vulnerable. “Ladybug -- she may be the reason why we got together, but she’s not the reason why I stayed.”
It’s all she needs to hear, it’s really all she wanted to hear. She can’t believe her own idiocy, how easy that all was and yet she let herself wallow up in her own self-pity for weeks.
But it’s okay, though. Because she knows Adrien understands. That’s the way he is, the way he’s always ever been. He might even know her better than she knows herself. She tells herself not to go soft for other people, but it’s different with him. And she doesn’t mind that.
She looks up at him, letting her chin lightly rest against his chest. Her eyes are probably red and her face feels hot and she probably looks ridiculous, but it doesn't matter. “Pinky promise?”
“Yeah,” he lets out a small laugh and kisses the top of her forehead. “Pinky promise.”
Whenever Adrien visits her parents’ bakery, he always orders a raspberry tart and an eclair; specifically asking for a coffee cream filling. Marinette has heard the order so many times she thinks she can recite it in her sleep. He likes to pretend that he’s “hopelessly enamored” with her treats, but she knows it’s just a silly excuse to visit her on the days they have school off.
Afterwards, she’ll pull him upstairs and they spend the rest of the day together. And because the both of them have never been big on elaborate dates, the day is always spent with lazy hugs and gentle kisses. But it's days like those that quickly become her favorite.
When she thinks of him, she thinks of his eyes. It’s the same color as the thin line between the glass of the ocean and a setting sun; and she thinks she loves it. His arms, and how it feels when he wraps them around her -- how it feels like a home that she’s never seen, a home that she’s never lived in, but a home that she knows by heart. His voice and how it reminds her of how it feels to find an lost object that you’ve been looking for forever -- the feeling of relief and jubilation all-in-one.
She thinks that he’s going to ruin all the other kisses from all the other boys for her. Because every kiss she shares with him still feels like her first. And there’s no fireworks or sparks like the movies say, there’s just warmth. She feels safe. She feels comfortable.
And he is neither her sun nor her moon; he’s the hand that’s clasped tightly around hers, leading her to a place where the stars above them are like ships lost at sea. He’s the ruined cake batters and spilled flour on the countertop because he doesn’t know how to bake to save his life and she can’t teach him how, to save hers. He’s the book recommendations and the movies that they see together, his arm always loosely slung around her shoulders or wrapped tightly around her waist. He’s the kisses that come by surprise: after they finish defeating an akuma, after ace-ing a test, after failing another, after she’s snitched her 6th scarf of that month, and after she gives all of those scarfs to him.
He’s hers. That’s the way it’s always been from the start.
Later, in between messy sheets and fluttering hands and nervous breaths, he whispers, “you’re mine.”
And there’s no hesitance. Not anymore. She feels breathless and her heart is beating all too fast for her to count; but she whispers it back anyways. “I’m yours.”