Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It’s over the third or fourth cup of coffee a week out from exams that it first comes up. Alya, as always, instigates.

“We should do something after graduation,” she says, “Before we’re forced to part ways forever.”

All the energy Nino has goes into the three leaden blinks he sends her way. Adrien glances up over the edge of his physics book, eyes looking bloodshot behind his glasses, and translates.

“But we’re all staying in the city,” Adrien says, “We’ll get to hang out all the time.”

“If we live through this,” Marinette mutters. Hunched over her tablet, her vision sting from the outrageous shade of orange splashed across the skirt she’s designing. Tropic had seemed like such a great inspiration for the last few works in her portfolio. After two days on minimal sleep, though, it’s becoming a literal eyesore.

Alya tries again, but their brains are scattered, and she ends up trailing off in a meager stream of “Well even still…” and “Just think about it…”

…

Alya parades the idea out over drinks again, though this time it’s definitely not coffee in their cups. The survival of exams necessitated celebration, so for the night, Marinette puts on her cutest dress and the pair of Gabriel pumps Adrien and Alya had ‘secured’ for her birthday last year. Even Nino had found a button-up in his closet (It was Adrien’s; Marinette knew Agreste work when she saw it, and couldn't help wondering how long ago it must have been planted there). Some electro-disco blares over the night club’s loudspeakers, making it almost impossible to hear. Even Alya is drowned out when she and a sweaty Nino stumble off of the dancefloor.

“-should go-” she shouts, “together!”

Marinette glances to Adrien, one barstool over, to see if he caught what Alya had said. All he does is pull a ridiculous face. She bursts out laughing. Adrien echoes her a second later. She feels bubbly from the base of her neck up, the vodka cranberry she’d just finished beginning to kick in. It’s a shame Adrien’s swapped his glasses for contacts, given how handsomely they frame his face, but if that’s the price she has to pay to see his green eyes spark with laughter, so be it.

A few years had passed since just the sight of him put warm knots under her ribs, but it seems to be happening again now. Maybe it’s the vodka, or the lighting; maybe it’s the fact that she’s single again, for the first time in months, dumped by the “senior intern” at Agreste Fashions a few days ago; maybe it’s that Adrien has only gotten more attractive throughout lycée, and is now angling his body towards her. Regardless, Marinette doesn't catch the rest of what Alya tries to yell over the music, nor, she finds, does she really care.

…

…

With anything else, Adrien could ignore it long enough, and it would go away. His paternal angst, Nathalie, his undying affection for his partner, kale: poof, gone through the willful turning of a blind eye. But this is Alya, who puts the ‘nail’ in journalist, and that’s exactly what she’s doing right now.

Adrien knows he’s the soft flank of the group. Ever eager to spend time with his friends, he’s the easiest person to target when one of the other three doesn’t want to hear the word ‘no’ (it goes, in order: Adrien, Marinette, Nino. Alya is on a higher plane of existence when it comes to being bullheaded). Like a lion singling the weakest gazelle from the herd, Alya licks her lips and pins Adrien with a stare.

“So, Adrien, you tend to get more free time at the beginning of summer, right?”

Marinette and Nino both look up from their sandwiches. They watch with mild, glassy-eyed curiosity, audience to the savage hunt about to go down right in front of them. 

The lioness stalks low to the ground, attempting to sniff out weakness in her prey, Adrien narrates in his head.

“Yeah, sometimes,” he says, voice casual, “Things don't tend to pick up until late July in preparation for the fall line. Though, with me going off to school, my schedule might be packed earlier.”

Alya nods, smile confirming that his words were exactly what she was hoping to hear.

“Which means that in a few weeks after graduation, you’ll be pretty free?”

With a powerful leap, the lioness pounces, working her jaw deep into the gazelle’s fragile neck.

“Potentially,” Adrien says, but Alya’s already won.

Hunger unabated, she turns, next catch already in sight.

“And your internship will be over by then, right Marinette?”

Marinette takes a long sip of her bubble tea. From the metaphorical afterlife, Adrien lets himself admire the pout of her lips around the straw and the dip of her brow. It’s cute, how she tries to delay the inevitable.

“Should be,” she finally says, “I was going to go back for the summer, but Kalil is staying until September, and he’s already making things miserable.”

Marinette cups her cheek in a hand and stares past Alya’s shoulder, pout still in place. Adrien’s fortunate that she’s looking away, because his poker face is atrocious. There's no real reason for guilt to paint his face in such pale stripes, but his hands weren't totally clean of the split. Perhaps Adrien had been of the opinion that Marinette could do better than Kalil. And while he would certainly never question his father’s judgement in selecting interns (he’d hand-selected Marinette after all), he may have insinuated that, for being a rising sophomore at ESMOD, Kalil’s work wasn't quite on par with that of the younger interns. It wasn't his fault, per se, that Marinette’s entry for the Fall line was selected over Kalil’s. But Adrien would be lying if he said that somewhere, not all that deep in his chest, he wasn't pleased at their recent breakup.

And it could be his own personal, purely innocent, absolutely platonic , interpretation, but Marinette doesn't look all that upset about it. Her blue eyes roll towards the ceiling.

“Where are you going with this, Alya?” she asks, like Alya doesn't already have her teeth sunk in deep.

From across the table, Alya snags Marinette’s drink and mimics her eye-roll.

“Well if any of you ever listened to me, then maybe you'd know that I’ve been thinking of planning a trip!” Alya says, “Something fun, different, just the four of us right after graduation.”

“The only trip you're going to be taking it up to the counter to buy me another drink,” Marinette grumbles. She snatches back her drink and finishes it with a long slurp, then shakes the empty cup in front of Alya’s face.

“It was already mostly empty,” Alya says, waving the cup away. Adrien would offer to buy Marinette another drink, but he knows better than to get between the two. Besides, it would result in the unscrunching of Marinette’s prettily scrunched face.

“But anyway,” Alya continues, “The four of us. Graduation trip.”

“What kind of trip, love?” Nino asks. He placates the only way he knows how - by giving in to whatever it is Alya wants. Alya grins.

The lioness lines up her final kill.

“Well… I was thinking… camping!”

Chaos erupts at the table; the herd scatters.

…

“Why can't we just do Disney, like everyone else?”

“Because everyone else is doing it, duh!”

“Forests don't have WiFi. Forests don't have anything .”

“Like we couldn't benefit from a bit of a disconnect.”

“Have you ever even set up a tent before?”

“That’s what you’re for.”

“I… I definitely don't think spending time in the wilderness falls under the parental checklist of approved activities.”

“Well, too bad, so sad, all of you need to buck up and suck up, because I've already booked the site. We’re going camping.”

…

There’s no real protocol for this.

In the years since he’s started this Chat Noir gig, he hasn't had to be away for so long - maybe part of a weekend here or there, something his father could reasonably work around Adrien’s school schedule. Of course, the work always came first, but living in Paris meant much of that work happened locally. But three nights and four days well away from the city?

His father had said yes, which had set off a whole chain of unexpected consequences and responsibilities, starting with the one right in front of him: Ladybug. Bringing the change up to Ladybug hadn't even been a consideration, given that Gabriel’s no was a near certainty. But as it turned out his father had a softer spot for Marinette than he presumably had for Adrien, and Adrien was 96% certain Gabriel expected him to come back from the trip married to the girl. Which was ridiculous. Because as far as his father was concerned, they were friends, was all. Like him and Ladybug, who abruptly stops a few feet ahead of him and pivots on her heel to face him.

“What is it, Chaton ?”

For a long second, Chat contemplates denying it, or changing the subject. He even has the bad joke lined up ( Well, I'm no grammarian, but I'm pretty sure it is a pronoun ). Ladybug has that look on her face, though. Her lips purse and she narrows her eyes, like she’s peering through his mask and straight into his brain. A diversion won't suffice, not after this many years.

Sighing, Chat stretches his arms over his head. They've stopped on a rooftop a few blocks from the Champs Elysée, and he leans against the raised façade of the storefront.

“Everything’s fine,” Chat starts, knowing the next question on his lady’s lips, “Actually quite purrfect, depending on one’s perspective. It’s just that I… am going to have to… take a break from the superhero business for a few days. For a graduation trip. If that’s okay.”

She squints her eyes at him and draws her mouth into a straight line. He’d tease her for looking like an old maid, if he didn't value his life so much. Her fists find familiar ground on her hips.

“Chat, are you asking for permission to go on vacation?”

Well when she puts it like that, it does make it seem like the case. And maybe it is, a smidge.

“More of a courtesy, My Lady,” Chat says, “I would hate for you to have to spend nearly a week fretting over where Paris’ most eligible tomcat has wandered off to.”

He straightens and flexes, twisting his torso for good measure. It works like a charm, and Ladybug’s giggle winds its way around his chest before nuzzling straight under his skin. As dark as it is, Ladybug is lit in cat’s eye green when her gaze flicks from his face, to his arms, to his well defined waist. Chat says nothing of it, but feels a little warm when she strolls over and leans up next to him. After all of this years, he was still such a sap.

“Eligible, huh?” she says, “What happened to your lady friend?”

Ladybug’s voice is gentle, teasing, but Chat tenses nonetheless. Never on a patrol had he mentioned Marinette. Sure, they talked about school, interests, and vaguely of their friends and families, but after Ladybug had off-handedly mentioned the ‘woes of dating an artist’ a year or so ago, Chat had kept anything about feelings or relationships close to the chest. Loving Ladybug was a bit of a raw nerve, even still.

And despite the girl not-quite in question, Chat’s pulse picks up when Ladybug places a single finger under his chin and pushes his jaw shut.

“Oh come on, like you thought I wouldn't notice?” she says, smirking up at him, “You don't have a monopoly on figuring out your partner’s feelings.”

Chat looks to the side and slips on a sheepish grin. All it had taken to spot Ladybug’s most recent breakup was her tense shoulders and the change in her hair from pigtails to a braid. She’d done the same thing with the artist a while back.

“We’re friends,” Chat starts. Ladybug’s smirk goes full-grin, and if it weren't for the whole Lady WiFi thing, he’d swear he was looking straight at Alya.

“Uh-huh, sure Minou . And of all your friends, there’s nothing special about the fact that you seem to be mentioning a girl - the same girl, I’d be willing to bet - all the time. And it’s just coincidence that you’ve dialed the flirt-o-meter down to seven these past few weeks, huh?”

Chat lets out a short, indignant yowl. He’d toned down his usual array of patrol flirtation out of respect for Ladybug’s recent breakup. He may have been hopeless, but he wasn't tasteless, and he certainly wasn't opportunistic.

“And there's no reason why you're blushing now, right?”

The smile on Ladybug's face is wicked. Even with her making a cat-kebob out of his feelings, her teasing warms his chest. There were so many things he'd dreamed of Ladybug being to him, some more intimate than others, but he'd never dreamed they'd become such good friends on top of partners.

Sighing, Chat stretches an arm over Ladybug’s shoulders and tugs her close. She clicks her teeth but doesn't pull away.

“Alright, alright, you caught me,” he says, looking down at her. “There might be a girl I've been friends with for a while, and maybe I have a bit of a thing for her…”

“Aaaaand…?” Ladybug drawls. Her bony elbow must have the map to his bottom ribs memorized. She leaves a few good jabs there until he starts talking again.

“And she’s going to be coming on the trip too.”

“There it is!” Ladybug says. The elbow is immediately replaced by fingers, and he half-dances, half-squirms out away from her tickling. Laughter rises up between them, Ladybug’s tickles rebuffed when Chat’s tail wraps around her ankle and yanks her off of her feet. They devolve into a regular tickle-war-turned-playful-sparring, rolling, leaping, and occasionally crawling over the roof.

Chat doesn't quite best her this time, though he comes close enough to tally it as a victory in his head. He is only a few behind her, according to his own score keeping, though no doubt there’d be a few numerical discrepancies if he asked her. They collapse into a winded, giggling puddle and sit back-to-back on the roof.

“I'm happy for you,” Ladybug pants. She angles her head so she can half look over his shoulder, seeking his expression. Her hand covers his.

This close, gasping for breath, hot from exertion, it’s hard for anything but Ladybug to flit across Chat’s mind. Nonetheless, Marinette persists: how wide her eyes get when surprised, the crinkle of her nose when he or Alya teases her, the softness of her voice after he brings up his father. It’s a good sign, Chat thinks. He might just stand a chance.

“Thanks,” he says. And he means it.

…

…

“No no no no no, this isn’t going to work.”

Marinette should care more about being elbow deep in Adrien’s very personal belongings. She should definitely care about how he stammers and goes quite red when she pulls out a stack of his boxer briefs. They are well-folded, she’ll give him that, but the rest of his suitcase?

“This is a disaster,” she huffs.

On the couch across the room, Alya and Nino howl with laughter. Adrien shifts the pile of clothes Marinette had grabbed from his bag and dumped into his arms and tries to shoot them a pleading pout. It only makes them laugh harder.

“ Save me ,” he hisses at them. Marinette only shakes her head.

“I get that you've never gone camping before, Adrien, but have you ever heard of the term ‘packing lightly’? We’re going to the mountains, not the moon.”

With single-minded determination, Marinette hauls more clothing out onto the bed, as well as a few pairs of nice dress shoes. All designer, of course. Her fingers itch at letting the mountain of one-of-a-kind clothing slip away undissected, but she has a mission, after all.

“ Get me out of here, ” Adrien stage-whispers.

She whips his way with a glare, only to be met by a stunning Agreste smile. It didn't help in the slightest that Adrien had started worming his way back into her head. And with Chat being so nice recently-

Breaking off with a groan, Marinette turns back to the matter at hand: Adrien and his no-good, very-bad packing job.

“Complain all you want, Agreste,” Alya says, “But she’s doing you a favor by coming over and repacking your stuff.”

“No one packs better than Marinette,” Nino adds, “And it looks like you desperately need the help.”

Marinette smiles at the affirmation. She pulls out a heavy ski jacket - seriously, what did he think the weather was going to be like in June? - and adds it to Adrien’s stack. He’s still grinning at her over the clothes.

“You realize that you would have had to carry all of this stuff out to the campsite, right?” she asks.

“Well I am pretty strong,” he shoots back.

If she’s impressed by the way Adrien deftly slips the massive pile of clothes into one arm and flexes the other, showing off exactly how well-built he is, well, she tries not to let it show on her face. Given how Adrien’s smile sharpens to a grin that pierces her chest, Marinette doesn't think she succeeds.

“W-well then,” she says, “It should be no trouble for you to muscle the clothes I left in your bag into a smaller, more suitable pack for the trip. Think you can handle that, strong guy?”

This can't be Marinette’s reality, where Alya and Nino let out soft ‘ooooohs’ in the background as Adrien’s eyes rove over her blushing cheeks and he says, “Anything for you.”

…

Graduation passes in a flurried rush. It feels like a year’s worth of parties and dinners and tearful hugs get crammed into a single week, and Marinette loses track of which side is up. Her parents shut down the bakery for a day and hold massive celebration in the park across the street; everyone she’s ever known ever seems to be there including a rather out-of-place looking Gabriel Agreste, who nibbles on a macron before placing a hand on her elbow and steering her away to discuss the upcoming Fall line. A night or so later, at a party at Mylene’s, Adrien sways a little tipsily at her side and mentions something about his father and an offer. She wants to press the conversation a little more, but Adrien derails everything when he swings an arm around her waist. Instead, they watch as Juleka finally bends down and kisses Rose in the middle of the living room. Alya, having given herself the task of compiling their class’s graduation video, gets the whole thing on her phone.

The only moment Marinette gets for herself comes late in the week, on the last patrol before Chat leaves for his trip. She lets Tikki’s magic wash over her, breathes in the warm summer night, and loses herself to the pulse of the city.

With a bit of quiet reverie, she and Chat exchange graduation gifts on the top platform of the Eiffel Tower. Chat presents her with a single red rose. He then leads her to the side of the platform to point out the potted rose plant he had, in a surprising show of common sense, had declined to drag all the way up the side of the structure. Ladybug passes him a wrapped package, the sparkly green paper of which he shreds happily with his claws, revealing a scrapbook. He flips through it with large eyes, laughing or sighing as he pauses on pictures of them or articles about their exploits. Not one for scrapbooking, it had taken a while for Marinette to put together, but knowing the owner of the Ladyblog had its advantages. It's worth it, now, as she watches him page through it.

“You’re the best partner and friend a Ladybug could ask for,” Ladybug says as he looks up from the book.

Chat throws his arms around her and tugs her into a tight embrace.

“It’s purrfect,” he whispers into her ear.

…

And maybe it’s a bit of a pain to discreetly haul an entire plant across the city, but the hand-painted ladybugs and green and black pawprints on the pot find an easy home on her balcony and in her heart.

...

“Are we there yet?” Nino asks.

For the hundredth time, the rest of the car goes up in groans. Alya lets go of the steering wheel long enough to jab him in the arm.

“If you don't stop, I'll pull this car over and leave you on the side of the road,” she threatens, “And bears will eat you.”

Nino twists in his seat to look back at Marinette and Adrien. “Do you see what I have to deal with?” he asks.

Adrien rumbles in laughter and Marinette shakes her head. They’re wedged into the cramped backseat, bags at their feet and a large cooler between them. Three hours into the long drive out beyond the countryside, Marinette’s heart still hasn't stopped beating itself into a tizzy. She feels like she’s collége again.

Fifteen-year-old Marinette wouldn't believe her luck at being in a car with Adrien Agreste for over four hours, let alone going on a long weekend trip with him. Well, him and Alya and Nino. But still.

Freshly-graduated, eighteen-year-old Marinette shouldn’t have ladybugs fluttering in her stomach when she glances over at her backseat companion. Now that Nino’s complaining has (temporarily) died down, Adrien returns to his book. His glasses cling to the edge of his nose, precipitous cliff, as he angles his head down to read.

It’s unfair for him to have such an effect on her again. Marinette was sure she’d moved on, really moved on, ages ago. After realizing Adrien was both unattainable and a great friend, she’d made herself let go. She and Nathanael dated for almost a year, and though her couple of months with Kalil were as brief as they were fiery, Marinette had considered herself well beyond her first schoolgirl crush.

As if sensing her gaze, Adrien looks up. His soft smile is a hot jab to the gut.

“Alright?” he asks, voice matching his smile, “Not feeling carsick, are you?”

Marinette shakes her head and manages to smile back. Maybe collége feelings were coming back, but fumbling, stuttering Marinette was not .

“I'm fine,” she says, “I was just thinking of digging a snack out. Want anything?”

“Maybe in a bit, but I'm fine for now, thanks.”

Adrien turns back to his book. Marinette isn't hungry, but the deed is done. She lifts the lid off of the cooler, careful not to let the hard plastic top jostle him.

During a particularly hairy battle with a pet shop owner turned akuma, Marinette had learned that there were certain high-pitched frequencies outside of the range of human hearing, sounds so high that only dogs and cats could hear. She knew they were impossible for humans to hear. What she didn't know was that said sounds were very possible for humans to make. The noise, if it could be called that, escapes her throat as Marinette peers down into the cooler.

There, nestled between the fresh fruit and sodas and other food they’d packed in ice, sit two tiny creatures wrestling over a piece of cheese. They freeze. Two sets of eyes - green and blue - peer up at her with wide stares.

Tikki lets go of the piece of cheese to give Marinette a wave and a sheepish smile. The little black ball next to her cackles and snatches the cheese. It stuffs the entire chunk into its puffed up cheeks.

It is clearly a kwami. Not just any kwami.

A black cat kwami.

Chat Noir’s kwami.

Marinette feels another squeak leave her throat, this time a little closer to the spectrum of human hearing.

Two kwamis in the cooler. Four people in the car. Two of them had been akumatized years ago. One of them was Ladybug. Only one left. Which meant…

Marinette looks up from the cooler.

Adrien, still oblivious, leans over his book. Sharp profile, strong jaw, inhumanly bright green eyes. Blonde hair, well-coiffed now, but easy enough to whirl into disarray. Muscular arms under his plain V-neck shirt. Awful taste in jokes.

And, when he was feeling particularly comfortable, caught up in whatever teasing or joking the crew riled up, that grin. The shock of it jolts through her spine, and she slams the lid back on the cooler.

Adrien looks up.

…

…

His ears twitch the first time he hears it. A high keening just on the edge of his hearing, light enough to keep him from figuring out its location, steady enough to be obnoxious. It ends after a few seconds, then starts back up.

Adrien makes a note to himself to bring up the sound to Alya and suggest she get the car checked out. It doesn't sound like anything serious enough for him to mention now. Besides, he wanted to finish this chapter. It’ll stop soon, he’ll ignore it until then.

He can ignore it, and it does stop, and Adrien scans a few more lines of his book before a loud clatter startles him. The squeak that follows is adorable, and definitely from Marinette.

The sight that greets him when he looks up ranks as one of the stranger ones he’s encountered in his civilian form. Marinette is twisted in her seat to face him, her hands splayed out over lid of the cooler. Her lips are pulled into an odd grimace, baring her bottom teeth. She’s pale, and the wrinkle to her brow and nose isn't quite as cute as usual.

He opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, but her hand flies to her mouth violently. The finger over her lips and the near snarl behind it shuts him up. So instead of speaking, Adrien begins to mouth, as clearly as he can: What’s up?

Marinette’s eyes narrow to slits. She squints hard at him, and her lips purse. For the life of him, he has no idea what’s going on with the girl, but Adrien gets the very distinct sense that he’s in trouble. Had he done something wrong? His eyes flick from her to the rest of the car. His bag was secure at his feet, so there’s no way she’d have been privy to any of its contents. He’d been perfectly nice all morning, even siding with her in a debate over the merits of wine over beer (Alya had brought both), and she’d smiled sunnily at him when they’d gotten into the car.

Sunny is hardly how Adrien would describe her now. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and if he’d actually had a tail, it would likely do the same. Her hand drops from her lips and stabs at the top of the cooler.

He raises his hands, defensive against her glower. Puppy dog eyes weren't Adrien’s thing, but he could pull off clueless kitty. He blinks at her, eyes wide - What did I do?

Marinette jabs at the cooler lid, never breaking her glare. Uncertain, Adrien reaches out for the cooler. Her hands slide away and he lifts the top a crack.

Four glowing orbs peer out. He recognizes Plagg, but the other-

Adrien opens the cooler more, letting light in, and it hits him. Plagg, smug in black, grins. The kwami next to him is all bright blue eyes. All red with black spots. Undeniably a ladybug. It, at least, has the decency to look apologetic as Adrien gapes at it. His lips are no longer connected to his brain: they bend and push, but words don't come out. Plagg snickers, causing the ladybug kwami to shove him off of his soda can perch. Adrien shuts the lid on the cooler before he can see Plagg’s retaliation.

One-thousand years creep by in the time it takes Adrien to look up at Marinette. It must be long enough for much of the anger to drain from her face, leaving her dumbstruck. His face is a mirror of hers.

Ladybug.

Marinette is Ladybug.

And she had to be, right? Ladybug had been there when both Alya and Nino were akumatized, and it’s the only explanation for the look she’s giving him.

Blue eyes, black hair, athletic build, and sass for days. On the scene just as quickly as him when an akuma popped up at school. Dated Nathanael - the artist. Recent breakup - Kalil. The only other girl he’d felt any significant attraction to besides Ladybug in years. Which was the kicker. Because she was Ladybug, this whole time.

Before he can think it through, Adrien reaches across the cooler and grabs her hand in his. Once it’s done, though, he doesn't know what to do with it. Chat would pull her hand to his lips and ghost a kiss over her knuckles, but he’s not Chat. He’s Adrien, and it’s very much Adrien from whom Marinette snatches back her hand.

Marinette locks eyes with him, then glances very deliberately to their friends in the front. Nino, blessedly, has put on his ‘Fiyah Haat’ mix and cranked it up, making it impossible for them to hear what’s happening in the backseat. Alya begrudgingly taps the beat of the music out on the steering wheel and fixes her eyes on the road. They haven't noticed.

In the small backseat of Alya’s overloaded car, Marinette still manages to scoot as far away from him as possible. It apparently doesn't matter that she’s half-bent back over the backpack at her side, or the awkward angle her elbow is set at against the window. She looks mouse-like, working herself in a corner to escape her imminent demise at the sharp teeth of a housecat.

But… but it’s just him. Adrien frowns. Shouldn't they be happy? If they were going to find out each other’s identities, wasn't it better to learn that they were already friends? Wasn't this a good thing?

The iceberg that rises in his gut proves hope doesn't float for long. Just as quickly as Marinette had sunk from fight to flight, she snaps back. A scowl perches on her face, undermined only by a fierce blush as she snatches her phone from her purse. Adrien sits, motionless, still staring, as she forcefully punches a message out.

Given the time it takes Marinette to finish her message, as well as how many times she’d jabbed at the keyboard on her screen, Adrien is expecting more than the short “ YOU?!? ” he gets from her when his phone buzzes a few minutes later.

He frowns at the message and glances at her, who is, in turn, looking at him from the corner of her eye. The reply box waits, ready to be filled, but Adrien’s brain blanks. The first few attempts get cut short.

Your one and only My La-

Too strong?

Surprised?-

No, Adrien already knows the answer to that one.

I hope it’s oka-

But Dieu , he couldn’t handle any answer except in the affirmative; Adrien erases it rather than set himself up for torture.

Does this mean now we can-

Easy there, Agreste.

Adrien is starting to understand why it took Marinette so long to say so little. Between failed responses, he’s been playing a game of glance tag with Marinette. He looks over and she looks away, red now to the neck; he’s it.

Ha ha, yeah! I guess we’ve known each other this entire time. Can you believe it?

There. That sounds good. Positive, adequately surprised, but by no means disappointed - not too Adrien, not too Chat. Adrien sends it.

Marinette’s phone chimes, an 8-bit jingle of some anime he’d forced her to watch with him last summer. They’d binge watched it while Alya and Nino were on holiday with their families and his father was in Milan, leaving them both with far too much time on their hands. For an entire week he dodged Nathalie to stuff himself on croissants and fight with Marinette for control over the remote.

Marinette unlocks her phone, and reads his message with a look like he’s forced her to suck on a lemon. In that instant she looks so much like his Lady that it burns .

The groan is barely stifled, but Adrien still covers his face with his hands as he feels the heat rise to his face. Like a bad movie he’s suddenly living in flashbacks, each more embarrassing than the last with the dizzying reckoning that his best friend and the girl he’d been hoping to date (which was which, anymore?) were the same person: encouraging Nathanael to ask Marinette out, then helping orchestrate her most recent breakup; sending ugly selfie Snapchats to cheer her up or distract himself from homework; Ladybug teasing him over his crush on Marinette.

He’d put Ladybug in a headlock for jokingly cutting him off after his seventh croissant, and Ladybug had tickled her way out. His feet had been propped in Ladybug’s lap as they watched the finale; he’d fallen asleep on Ladybug’s couch, more than once. And just last week, Ladybug had dug around in his underwear while she was helping him pack. Had he snuck a feel on Marinette at Mylene’s? Adrien was going to die of boiled blood.

Unlocking his phone, he sees the scrolling ellipse next to Marinette’s icon. It starts. Stops. Her fingers move. Pause.

The message never comes. Marinette shoves her phone in her lap and turns from him, fixing her gaze on some distant point out the car window. Like him, Marinette swallows any sounds of shock, or distress, but it’s impossible not to read her emotions like a book when her shoulders slump and she squishes her face against the glass. It’d be cute, the way her cheeks and forehead press and slide down the window, were it not for how miserable she looks. Muffling a sigh, Adrien opens his book and stares down at the page he was on. He’d been hoping to finish the chapter, not expecting a new one to come out of nowhere.

He really, really hopes this one has a happy ending.

…

Alya’s enthusiasm over the whole venture is a blessing in disguise; she tears out of the car, issuing orders like drill sergeant so ferociously that neither she nor Nino have a moment to notice how out-of-sorts their friends are. Obedient, Adrien and Marinette shoulder their bags..

Their eyes meet only once, when Alya calls for the cooler to be brought from the car and they both duck back in to get it. Now that Marinette is Ladybug, it’s impossible not to see her thoughts, clear as day, etched out across her face. He’s been watching Ladybug for years, each minute press of lips and arch of brow turning into a language they’d come to share. Marinette looks up through her lashes with a stare that could cut glass: Don’t even try . Adrien raises his eyebrows and glances away. Understood . With next to no effort, Marinette hauls the heavy cooler out of the backseat. Adrien huffs and grabs the bag with the chips in it.

The next half hour is a flurry of unpacking the car at the campsite. They won’t actually be allowed to keep the car there, instead having to leave it at the entrance to the reserve and hike back. While Alya doesn’t catch on, Adrien has no doubts as to the intent behind Marinette’s little groans of displeasure every time moving the car is mentioned. Even further from my only escape , those sounds say.

And isn’t that just his luck? To have finally found Ladybug in the girl he’d been wanting, only to have her shut down on him. In the middle of a remote forest. At the beginning of what promised to be a long, secluded camping trip. Just once, Adrien mimics Marinette’s groan.

“Suck it up, babies!” Alya barks, startling them all. She grabs the last bag from the trunk, slams it shut, and lets out a victorious whoop. Birds scatter from a nearby tree, squawking in protest.

“Aaaand that’s the last one,” she continues, “It’s starting to get late, and I’d like to get the car parked and get back before sundown.” Alya turns to look at Marinette, then swings to Adrien, who stands awkwardly on the opposite side of the campsite. “Nino and I are going to go drop off the car. Think you two can handle tent setup while we’re gone?”

He doesn’t dare turn to see Marinette, just nods.

“Yeah,” Marinette grumbles.

“Alrighty then! We should be back within the hour - if not, we’ve probably been eaten by wolves,” Alya says with a smile. Nino, strangely quiet through the unpacking stage, chuckles nervously and follows his girlfriend to the car. A minute later, the cars pulls out through the trees and down the gravel path back to the front of the reserve. Adrien stares after it until the dust settles, until he can no longer hear the jostle and crunch of rocks.

And then it is just them.

He’s absorbed in his feet, the way they disrupt the dirt below when he toes at the ground. Adrien should set down his backpack, grab a tent, look at her, anything . Plagg, who had wormed his way out of the cooler and back under his collar, sighs, annoyed. There’s a high giggle from the other side of camp, but it’s not Marinette.

Something touches his back.

Whipping around, Adrien barely avoids elbowing Marinette in the face. But of course, she dodges, slipping out of his range with the type of suavity he supposes Marinette no longer has to hide.

Her cheeks blare red, and she doesn’t quite meet his eyes, but the small smile she fights off wins out.

“Tent time, Ki- kid.”

Marinette offers the bag with the tent, the end of which she must have used to tap him. He takes it, opening his mouth to say something, but no words come out.

“This is going to be a pain, isn’t it?” Plagg groans. He darts out from Adrien’s side and hovers around Marinette’s head, spinning tight circles until the ladybug kwami pops out from somewhere - Marinette’s backpack, maybe, and joins him. Marinette watches them both with wide eyes.

“Give them time, Plagg ,” the kwami scolds. It’s voice is high, feminine, sugar-sweet.

“It’s been years, Tikki ,” Plagg shoots back, “These two doofs should have been hashing this out years ago.”

“You two knew?”

Adrien and Marinette speak in unison, then startle and stare at one another. Marinette is the first to break eye contact, looking abashed as she lowers her gaze to the ground and swallows audibly.

“I'm sorry, Marinette,” Tikki says, “I wanted to respect your wishes.”

When Adrien stares Plagg down in silent demand, the kwami just shrugs. “I thought it was funny.”

Well, someone is getting his cheese rationed this week.

“B-but all this time?” Marinette starts, her voice raising in frantic tightness, “You're telling me that all this time -” she cuts off with an anguished shriek.

Tikki spirals down to Marinette's shoulder and gently pats her cheek.

“It was hard, knowing Adrien was Chat and not telling you, especially with your c-”

“Tikki stop!” Marinette hisses.

“Oh come on,” Plagg says, “Like it wasn't painfully obvious.”

“What was?” Adrien asks. He should be trying harder to follow the kwamis’ conversation, but Marinette has gone now from angry to distressed, and he can't tell which is worse.

Plagg opens his mouth, but Marinette cuts him off.

“Tikki, Plagg, why don't you two go somewhere and catch up,” she says, still sounding strained, “There’s like, zero chance of an akuma popping up in a empty forest. Right?”

“But Mari-” Tikki starts.

Adrien’s not sure what Marinette is avoiding, but he catches her intent and will do anything, at this point, to gain her approval. Hell, he’d do anything to get her to look at him.

“Please,” he says, “Go catch up.”

Plagg rolls his shoulders in a shrug. “Whatever, better than sticking around and listening to you two dummies.”

Giant blue eyes full of worry, Tikki drifts over to Plagg. She hesitates, but a moment later the two kwamis zip down one of the trails from the campsite into the forest.

It hits him that they’re alone as they’ll ever be, no people, no kwamis. Adrien and Marinette. The thud coming from his chest is painful all the way up to his ears. He has to do something.

“Well… Seems like you lucked out with Tikki,” he says.

Marinette quirks an eyebrow. “She’s not high on my good list right now.”

“Do… Do you want to talk? About…?”

“You're not very high on my good list either, right now,” she says, voice flat.

It stings. Adrien had done nothing more than be him, be Chat. This was not the reaction he'd hoped would come from Ladybug, and certainly not one he would have expected from Marinette.

“That’s. That’s not fair, M-Marinette.” The words feel like peanut butter, clinging uncomfortably to his tongue.

“I know, I'm sorry,” she says. She sweeps her hand over her hair and tugs and the ends. Her eyes squeeze shut. “This is all just - it’s just, it’s just all incredibly overwhelming and it’s not- it’s not you, but you are ...”

The rest of her frustrations go unvocalized, taken out on the dirt instead. Bullish, she scrapes a heel across the ground, digging furrows where she stands. He isn't wearing red but suspects she’d still charge with the slightest provocation.

So of course that's what he decides to do. Angry Ladybug, Adrien can handle. Annoyed Marinette, piece of cake. But her frantic jumble of sharp and uncertain is dragging him back to an Adrien he has been fighting off for years. Adrien prior to Chat Noir is not a look he’d like to revisit, so he lets Chat slide into place, hoping it brings the same defense even without the mask.

“I am… even more handsome than you expected?” he suggests, “Making you feel lightheaded, just from my presence? More purrfection than you ever thought could be crammed into one body?”

Brow softening, the hard line of Marinette’s lips quiver. Her foot stops going at the dirt. Is that the hint of a smile? The pinch of a frown? Blue eyes find his for a heartbeat, then skitter away.

“You are just as ridiculous on one side of the mask as the other,” she says, “I don't know why I didn't see it earlier.”

That feels familiar. He opens his mouth to retort, but she cuts him off.

“And you are also going to put this tent up before Alya and Nino get back. The last thing I need right now is Alya…”

Marinette trails off, the statement feeling intentional. She slides the tent she was holding off of her shoulder and sets it on the ground. Pursing her lips, she scans the campsite.

“There,” she says, pointing to a spot about six feet away from where they stand, “That should be a good place to set up the other tent.”

She nods, and starts to turn back to her tent. If Marinette can read him half as well as he reads her (and he’s betting she can), then Adrien’s lost look must be what gives her pause.

“You've… probably never set up a tent before.”

“I’ve watched makeup and changing tents get put up during photoshoots.”

There’s no reason for why he gets so defensive - it’s no secret he’s never been camping before. Marinette rolls her eyes, but a smile finally cracks through.

“So, no. Fortunately for you, it’s easy. Just lay the tent out, set the poles across, and stick them through the loops.”

Adrien nods, as if he’d processed any of that.

“Sounds simple enough,” he says, “Nothing I can't handle.”

Marinette makes a very convinced sounding hum and nods. “Sure thing.”

She sets about unpacking her tent from its bag and laying it out. Adrien follows her lead a few feet away.

The fabric rolls out of the bag and hits the ground with a soft thud and the tinny rattle of metal. Adrien kneels over to grab an edge, unfurling the soon-to-be tent. Poles shake out as he lifts up the edge, trying to determine if the shape of the thing is triangular or… rectangular or… whatever. The nylon is smooth under his fingers. He glances down at the bag, abandoned on the ground, trying to determine what the end product should look like. The tent in the picture looks significantly more elaborate than what he’s got in front of him.

Okay. He’s a bright guy. There’s no way won’t figure this thing out. All he has to do is find the zipper. Adrien runs his fingers along the edge of the tent until he finds the edge of a zipper, only to find a second zipper behind the first - a flap? Does he start from the inside, or the outside? The tent spins through his hands a few times as he rotates the large, billowing shelter. Abandoning the tent itself, he turns to the poles. He picks one up, a foot-long piece of light metal with a string through the center, connected to a number of similar metal tubes. It doesn't seem sturdy enough, in all of those pieces, to hold a roof above his head. Maybe Nino would be content with sleeping under the stars.

He glances back at Marinette. Maybe she’s having the same problem.

She’s not. Her tent is spread out beautifully before her, corners lined up in a neat square. With expert precision she snaps the pieces of a pole into a whole and begins threading it through a cloth loop. And as if to add insult to injury, Marinette bends over as she does it, back and backside facing him.

Adrien is an idiot. Covered in sturdy, dark denim shorts, Marinette’s ass looks exactly as good as it does in red spandex. He’d been admiring that side of Marinette for a few months now; the same held true for Ladybug, but for years . Now's probably not the time for Adrien to be gawking, but he’s got so many wires crossed that the switch controlling ‘propriety’ isn't getting any power.

He might make a sound, or maybe Marinette’s been sneaking glances the same as him and has now caught him leering at her; whichever it is, it causes her to turn around and anchor a fist to her hip.

“Problem?”

She’s off-keel, expression firm but voice wobbly, like she hasn't figured out who she’s supposed to be yet - Marinette or Ladybug.

Yes. Adrien has a number of problems, starting with the fact that he was really just starting to get over Ladybug and ending with the fact that Marinette looks incredible in shorts and is struggling to meet his eyes for the first time since collége. And also, he doesn’t know how to set up a tent. He supposes there’s only one of those he can safely bring up.

“The tent is making fun of me.”

Marinette walks over and studies the uncooperative fabric. Shaking her head, she kneels down and picks up one of the edges. She waves him over with her free hand. He drops down into a squat next to her and watches as she adjusts the tent into something more square-like.

“Well,” she says, “You are pretty easy to make fun of.”

It’s not perfect, but it feels a little closer to right as she giggles and shows him how to snap the pieces of a pole together.

…

“Hey, we lived, guys!”

He hears Nino before he sees him, voice carrying from down one of the paths from the forest - fortunately not the one their kwamis had taken. Alya chimes in a moment later, not much quieter than when they left.

“Well, Nino did almost lose his life to a squirrel.”

“Dude, that squirrel was vicious and, like, on squirrel steroids or something.”

The two emerge from the forest just in time to see Nino give Alya a light shove in the shoulder. She dissolves into laughter as they approach Adrien and Marinette. Nino walks the whole of the campsite and grabs his bag, but Alya stops at Adrien’s side.

“Look at that, all setup and everything!” Alya says. She drops an arm over Adrien’s shoulder and eyes the tents with a smile. “Who would have thought all of those summers Marinette spent in wilderness camp would pay off?”

“Literally anyone, Alya,” Marinette says.

She waves Marinette off and continues, grinning up at Adrien. “Lemme guess, she did all of the work while you lounged around and communed with nature?” Alya shakes her head. “You're such a trophy husband!”

“I set up a tent!” Adrien protests, at the exact moment that Marinette pipes up with a, “He helped .”

Across the campsite, Alya and Nino exchange a look. Nino nods and strolls over to the tent Adrien set up… With Marinette’s help.

“The important thing is that they’re done,” Nino says, “Which means…”

When it comes to the Nino and Alya dynamic, Nino is not typically the one to proverbially ‘start shit’. However the key word tends to be typically , and it’s with hard dread in his gut that Adrien sizes up the look on his best friend’s face. Nino’s grin stretches across the whole of his face as he circles the tent.

“Ahh, yeah, looks good,” he says with the air of someone appraising a fine antique, rather than camping gear, “Looks pretty sturdy. Good protection from the elements, nice coverage with the rain flap… this should do nicely, bro.”

Alya swoops in behind Nino, examining the tent with unnecessary intensity. She nods with each observation, throwing in her own comments from time to time.

“Good ground, soft, spongy but not damp,” she adds.

“Facing the right direction, no need to worry about sun in the eyes in the early morning,” Nino says.

Uncertain, Adrien looks over at Marinette. Like him, she frowns and watches the other two with a wary eye. Neither seems to like where this is going.

Alya and Nino nod in striking unison.

“Thinking what I'm thinking?” Alya asks with a wink. Nino cups her hand in his and squeezes.

“You know it, girl.”

Squatting down at the entrance of the tent, Alya finds the zipper and starts to pull it open. Nino turns and grabs two of the sleeping bags. As soon as the front flap is undone, Alya starts climbing in, and she’s joined a moment later by Nino and the sleeping bags. Marinette's jaw drops.

“You wouldn't-” she starts.

Unperturbed, Nino begins rolling the sleeping bags out as Alya wiggles around the inside, arranging things.

Adrien and Marinette watch in dumb shock as sleeping bags are unzipped and hats and glasses are removed. Nino leans out of the tent entrance and smiles, maybe just a smidge chagrined. Alya wraps her arms around his neck and leans heavily on him.

“So this is our tent,” she says. When she smiles, she smiles with teeth. Alya points to the other tent. “And you guys can share that tent.”

From the clear blue sky overhead, lightning strikes Adrien down. His entire body overheats, skin tingling, knees shaking. Share a tent with-

Adrien looks at Marinette again, who can't look back at him because she's buried her head in her hands. It could be the light of the setting sun, but what sliver of skin he can see at her neck looks very red.

“Are you serious?” she squeaks.

“One-hundred percent,” Alya says, “What did you expect? That'd I was going to spend four whole days in the middle of nowhere and not be all over this wild man?”

Her teeth snare the lobe of Nino’s ear and he lets out a purr. Like that, the air is electrified with an energy Adrien has no intention of being a part of. A blessing, Alya’s mouth comes free of Nino’s skin a moment later.

“You have no idea how hot it was, watching Nino fight off those rabid squirrels,” Alya says.

“I hate you all,” Marinette whines.

The buzz of a zipper grinds against his ears as Alya or Nino starts zipping the flap to the tent back up.

Conflicted doesn't even begin to describe it. On one hand, sharing a tent with Marinette. On the other hand, sharing a tent with Marinette . Marinette starts groaning behind her hands, either too upset or dumbstruck to respond. He has to try, has to stand up for her and what she’s comfortable with, even if it’s not what he wants.

“Really man?” Adrien chokes out, a last ditch attempt at appealing to Nino’s bro code, “You know my dad would lose his mind if he found out we were changing sleeping arrangements. This wasn't the deal.”

“I've altered the deal,” Alya says, already sounding breathless. Adrien is infinitely glad that the cloth sides of the tent are opaque. “Pray I don't alter it further.”

“Sorry bro, not going to argue with that,” Nino says.

The rustling of clothes and the smacking of lips rise into the cool evening air. Marinette’s hands slide from her face, but she still looks utterly mortified. The tent shudders with the motion inside.

“If a girl comes in a forest and no one is around to hear it,” Alya sighs, “Does she still make a sound?”

That must be what pushes them both over the edge: Marinette’s head snaps up and she gives him a long look and Adrien lets out a miserable whine.

“L-let's not find out,” Marinette says.

Color still high on her cheeks, Marinette stomps over, grabs him by the wrist, and drags him down a path from the campsite and into the forest.

“Don’t start getting any ideas, you two! Be sure to save some of that appetite for dinner!” Alya calls from the tent. Nino cackles in a tone reminiscent of Plagg from earlier.

“The only idea I’m getting right now,” Marinette shouts, “Is about filming a sequel to the Blair Witch Project!”

She’s pulling him further from the campsite; he’s not even sure if she knows where she’s leading them. They’re too far to hear away to hear what Nino yells back. It’s for the better; Marinette’s grip on his wrist is approaching bone-crushing. Unexpected consequences of hauling oneself across Paris via yo-yo for so long. He can hear her muttering under her breath.

“I’m pretty sure there already is a sequel,” Adrien says.

His chest shouldn’t loosen when she leverages such a potent glare on him, but it does. Adrien bites his lips to hold back a smile.

“Does the pretty blond die in it?” she snaps, “Because you’re looking like a great candidate right now, Chaton .”

Adrien’s stomach does somersaults at the very name. He’s tempted to push his luck - So you do think I’m pretty - but he resists, this time, and lets her guide him deeper into the forest.