Chapter Text
“…Chat Noir.”
Adrien’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his hairline. The thousand-yard stare that Alya fixed on her from over his shoulder was only dimly registered beneath a mental waterfall of 'oh shit'.
Well, there was no way this could possibly get any worse.
“Wh… Really?” asked Adrien incredulously. He blinked down at her, lips parted in confusion. They really were such nice lips, thought Marinette. What a shame.
“Yes,” a strange chaos-inducing being in control of her vocal chords replied.
Oh. Never mind. This was definitely worse.
For some reason far beyond her comprehension Adrien’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. His shoulders jumped as his hands snapped up to curl themselves into the hem of his tshirt, eyes flicking between hers, the floor, and some spot off to his right. Ordinarily, Marinette might’ve found this behaviour odd (given that it was she who’d just thrown herself head-first into the deepest pit of shame that Hell had to offer) but her mental facilities had since ground to a complete halt. So she simply stood there, stiff as a board with her mouth in a hard line, as Adrien Agreste twisted a designer shirt into ruin.
“U-uh, I…” He sounded out of breath. “So- so why’re you, um… Telling me about this?”
Yes Marinette. Why. Why, why, why. Why, oh why, did you open your mouth today. Why are you continuing to do so-
“Because,” she ground out. “I need help.”
That much was obvious.
Adrien blinked owlishly at her. His cheeks had yet to lose their flare, and it was adorable-
“M-my help? Why my… Me?“
“You’re a guy, and-“ the love of my life “-a friend. Maybe you could give me-” a chance to start this disasterous attempt at a confession all over again “-some advice?“
A muffled slap: Alya had dropped her head into her hands.
Some of the tension seemed to drain from Adrien’s shoulders as they suddenly shook with breathy laughter.
“Oh,” he grinned sheepishly at her, one hand dropping the bottom of the creased-far-beyond-Agreste-company-standards shirt and trailing it’s way up his front (Marinette didn’t even bother trying not to track it) and curving to rest behind his neck. “Oh y-yeah! Of course! Sure thing Marinette, whatever you need- I mean-I’ll see what I can do, it’s like I know him very well or anything b-but I’d be happy to try..?”
“Great,” Marinette murmured. “T-thank you, perfect.”
---
“Perfect? Really? Because I think ‘perfect’ was a bit of a strong word to use in this case. How about ‘complete disaster’ or ‘absoute wreckage’?”
Marinette, from her place face-down on the chaise, groaned into the upholstery. But Alya wasn’t letting her off easy. Said friend paused in her pacing to drop beside Marinette.
“We’ve been rehearsing that for weeks, I cannot believe how biblically you managed to fuck it up.”
“Gee, thanks…”
“You’re welcome.” Alya buried her fingers in Marinette’s hair, petting her absent-mindedly.
“Although, on the bright side, you hardly stuttered at all-”
Alya had a point, that was a good thing.
"-when you told your future husband that you were in love with someone else.”
Marinette howled in agony, rolling off the chaise lounge and into Alya’s lap. She beat her fists against her friend’s ribs, who responded with maniacal laughter.
“Noooo,” she cried. “You call yourself my best friend? Betrayer! Betrayer most foul!”
“You have done this to yourself!” declared Alya in a brief state of sobriety, before dissolving into cackles once again. “Seriously girl, what a mess.”
Marinette sighed, assault abandoned in favour of draping her arms over her face.
“Tell me about it.”
Alya frowned down at her.
“Hey,” she said after a moment, poking Marinette’s crossed forearms. “Hey, you know it’s not the end of the world, right?”
She was answered with an extremely skeptical-sounding raspberry.
“I mean we’re going to have to adapt our strategy, but I think we can make this work. As per your catastrophic agreement with one Adrien Agreste, you’re meeting him in the library tomorrow after school to talk about your undying love for one half of Paris’ crime-fighting duo, are you not?”
Marinette lowered her arms to uncover a glare. Alya grinned. Easing herself onto the floor, Marinette sat up to blink warily at her friend.
“…where are you going with this, Alya.”
“Oh I’m going nowhere with this, just thought that you’re going to be alone. With Adrien. For an extensive period of time. Maybe multiple extensive periods of time. Talking about… Fluffy romantic things, and other such notions. Did I mention: alone.”
Marinette blushed.
“Sooo,” pressed Alya, whipping out her phone and twirling a stylus between her fingers. “Given that we’ve established that we can turn this around, we’d better get started on a battle plan.
“…and if it all goes sideways at least you’ll have piles of advice on how to win over Chat Noir: that’s one hell of a consolation prize.”
“ALYA!”