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Adrien locked his door, and he saw Marinette sprawled across his bed. She was reading one book or another, something she seemed to never stop doing.
"What colour are you?" She sat up on the bed, facing him. Her eyes never left the book she was reading, yet she seemed to be watching him.
"The deepest part of the ocean in the darkest hour of midnight." His voice was cracked and split, thick with tears he hadn't cried yet.
"Therapy was that bad, huh?" She marked her page and burned the number into her memory, knowing that talking about really anything in his past was difficult. Marinette saw him in this state of distress, hearing the tears he would only show to her, and beckoned him over. Her arms were thrown around him, warm like a sunrise in the midst of September, and everything he was holding back exploded in great heaving sobs, shaking his mind from his body. All he could focus on was the shocking, electric red of her hair ties, contrasting against the deep, flowing, midnight sky of her silky hair.
He awoke much later than midnight and much earlier than dawn, sad to see that once again, she was gone. She was always gone when he woke up.
He slid down the back of his door, not even bothering to lock it. He knew nobody would come in, anyway. He was home alone, with nobody but Marinette, again. On the other side of the house was his father's empty study, as usual he was away on a business trip taking with him the few staff of the house.
"Colour?" Marinette's voice comforted him, the way a hot chocolate feels in the coldest parts of winter, when it's raining and bleak with streaks of bright lightning shooting across the melancholy sky. He sighed for a moment, thinking of how to describe it.
"The last few moments of a sunset, the way it goes red to orange before fading into the dark of night." He covered his face with his hands, feeling the ring around his finger. It reminded him of everything he had once, everything that had slipped out of reach. His mother, his father's love, his freedom, is childhood innocence. There was almost nothing he wouldn't do to go back to being the naïve child he once was. Her arms were around him again, the only thing grounding him. He held on to her for dear life, before he sighed and nuzzled into her neck. She smelled of cinnamon and sugar and baking cupcakes, intoxicating him.
"Everyone keeps telling me you're not real." Silence thickened the air in the room, almost suffocating him, before she spoke.
"Who's everyone?" She shuffled around and he was scared that she would break their embrace, but she settled onto his lap and kept her warm arms around him. Her hands found their way to is hair, lightly tugging on the strands at the nape of his neck.
"My therapist, my 'father', Nathalie, the chef, everyone. Hell, even my own logic tells me you're not real."
"Who cares what everyone keeps telling you? Of course I'm real, you can feel me, hear me, see me, can't you? I'm here forever, I won't disappear." And once again, he cried into her embrace before waking in the early hours of the morning to find nothing but an empty bed and a chill in his heart.
"Adrien? Adrien? You're drifting again." Dr Kennedy sighed, having seen him every week for the past 13 or so years now. She was used to his drifting, but it still wasn't pleasant.
"Why am I the only who knows she's real?" He mused to his therapist, still not-all-there, not entirely sure what he wanted to hear.
"We've been over this Adrien, nobody else has met her. How can we believe you if we don't know her? There is nothing to prove she exists but your word." Her words ring through his head, and it was all he could think about.
He kicked over his dresser, not caring that the mirror shattered. Screaming furious nonsense, he punched the wall. Already feeling his tender knuckles bruising, yet he found he didn't care. Grabbing whatever was within arms reach, he threw it onto the floor and screamed. All Marinette could do was watch, as he broke down and destroyed whatever he could. It was scary when he got like this, the usually placid boy now a raging mess, hell-bent on destruction. A ghost of a smile played on her lips, and she couldn't take her eyes off him. He may have been terrifying, but it turned her on slightly.
"You're real! You have to be! You have to -" She pressed her lips against his, cutting him off, and he protested into the kiss. "Marinette I -"
"You can't, I know." She sighed dejectedly, bringing a hand to her lips. "It's just, you feel so nice. You're like a crystal clear dew drop hanging on for dear life to a serrated violet leaf. You're like the first flower blooming in the last days of winter that can't wait for spring. You're like a sunrise over a sleeping city with only a few, early risers to watch its magnificence. You're all the beauty in the world, and I'm not sure how you don't realise it. I want to take your pain away, and I want to bear it myself. You don't deserve anything you've been put through." He stared at her in awe, not realising everything he meant to her. "And me? I'm gluggy, cold, unflavoured oatmeal. I'm the way it feels to be half-asleep in a boring lecture with a teacher that couldn't care less about the subject. I'm nothing, so how could I compare to you? I understand why you can't. Why choose a weed when you could have a marigold?" He was shocked, his world would stop with out her and she thought of herself as unflavoured oatmeal?
"Marinette, you are the colour of a rose bud two days before it blooms, the slight pink you see through the emerald green of the leaves covering the beauty below. You are the feeling of jumping into a nice cold pool during the worst heatwaves of summer. You are the way strawberry icing falls over a chocolate cake, and the way sprinkles follow so perfectly. You are walking out into a forest at 6 in the morning for the fresh air not a single living being has breathed yet. You are so amazing, and I can't believe you think of yourself as unflavoured oatmeal. How you don't realise you're so much more? It confuses me so much, because you are more than anything I will ever be."
His lips were on hers, salted by their tears, their arms around each other and she was all he wanted.
"So, Adrien, how have things been recently?" Dr Kennedy didn't want to pry too much, but she needed to find out what was going on. She took a sip of her coffee, and waited for his response.
"Marinette loves me, and I love her too." Dr Kennedy choked for a second, the boy was in love with a figment of his imagination. She wasn't sure what to do with him any more, the 13 years of therapy seemingly have done him no good.
"Adrien, what -"
"I think I know my name, thank you." He said calmly, despite the way his anger shook around everything in his head.
"Sorry, old habits die hard. But, Ad-" she stopped herself, after a stern look. "But what made you think this way?"
"It was all she said, she screamed it all night. She kept saying she loved me, and I love her too. I love her so much." Adrien sighed dreamily, thinking about how her milky, smooth skin felt under his fingers. She was everything he dreamed she'd be and more.
"When you say 'all night', what do you mean by that?" She shifted in her seat, not sure if she wanted to think about what had happened between this boy and the girl he imagined.
"I was so deep in her, not just physically but mentally too. Our emotions were as much intertwined as our bodies were, and all that existed was love." He explained, and the doctor drew in a breath at the idea of this boy literally screwing with his emotions.
"Have you ever thought, just maybe she's not real?" It was a dangerous question and she spoke it quietly. She studied his expressions carefully, waiting for any signs of anger. All she saw was confusion.
"I've thought it, of course I have. Everyone keeps telling me she's not, but she's there when no one else is, and it's all just so... So..." He struggled with words, trying to find a way to describe how he felt. "Breathtaking."
"Adrien, I'm going to prescribe you eszopiclone, it'll help you sleep." She looked at her notes before looking back at the boy. "You look like you haven't slept since I last saw you." Mumbled words he wasn't supposed to hear but did.
He shrugged, since his mirror broke he hadn't looked at himself. Couldn't force himself to. "I feel fine."
"Time to leave, Adrien. I've been seeing you for 13 years of your 17, I know you well enough by now to know that you haven't been sleeping well. Go get some sleep, you really need it."
"Did she really say all that?" Marinette giggled, her laugh intoxicatingly happy. He loved it. It was late, later than normal. They should have slept over four hours ago, but neither wanted to leave the other. He bathed in her company, her mere presence a gift he couldn't believe he was blessed enough to have. He focused on her laughter, thinking about it, and just her in general. Laying down on his bed with her was magic, and the touch of their bodies electrifying. He stared into her eyes, the smile on her face indescribable. He sat bolt upright, a sudden realisation startling him and his sudden movement startling her.
"I've worked out what colour your laugh is." He was dead serious, but Marinette held a twinkle in her eye that spoke volumes of mischief, like the colour of running around in a playground as a kid. She shifted to be sitting to face him, and the slight smile on her lips was delicious. How he wanted to taste them again.
"Really?" He nodded. "So tell me. What colour is my laugh?"
"Your laugh is the orange right before the sun rises, the way it stains the clouds before turning into a the beautiful baby blue, like your eyes. It's the colour of cherry blossoms falling around us in the springtime, and the way they get caught in your hair and contrast so beautifully, the ballet slipper blush pink against your royal navy blue locks too gorgeous to fathom. I love you, Marinette, and that's the colour of your laugh." She tried to laugh but it died in her throat, and she choked up a little. She loved him.
Tears streamed down her porcelain face and she kissed him again. And again. And again. Her lips on his were ecstasy, and he couldn't get enough. Her fingers traced the outlines of his muscles, and he fell for her all over again.
"She just feels so good, she's warm. She's the colour of the sun on a not-so-warm winter's day, she just shines so bright and, wow, she's amazing." He breathed out, remembering the nights spent loving her. And by the power of all good, did he love her.
"Adrien, I really think you need to start accepting the fact that this girl, she isn't real. Nobody has seen her except you, and you can't tell me her last name. I don't want to pump you full of anti-hallucinogens, but if I have to I will." He sat in silence for a moment, not sure how to respond.
"I just want what's best for you, Adrien. Our session is over for today." He left.
Marinette was on top of him again, so tangled in him and he felt himself come undone. He was so madly in love, and he felt his heart swelling because of this beautiful girl. He loved her so much he let himself fall apart so she might complete herself with his pieces, and fall apart he did. Before he knew what was going on, he was crying, desperately clinging onto this girl. He wasn't even sure if she was real, but she was all he wanted, and he wasn't even sure if he could have her.
"What's wrong? Please talk to me. Adrien? Please, I want to help, let me help." Marinette brushed away his tears with a single swipe of her thumb, and everything was the colour of the sun melting snow until it evaporated on the high peaks of the mountain ranges.
"W-what if you're not real? What if I made you up?" He hiccupped, his voice the colour of dying leaves in autumn, such bright tones of orange until they dulled to brown and crunched under foot. Marinette stiffened, and he waited for the onslaught of yelling and curses.
"Not real in what way?" She knew the answer, and she hated asking it, but she had to hear it in his words from his mouth. His enticing mouth.
"Not real in the way th-that it's all in my head." He hated saying the words, they left the colour of regret in his mouth. It tasted bad, but the words were spoken now, and there was nothing he could do.
"How could you say that?" Her whisper entered his ears, and echoed around for moment before she continued. "Do you want to know what 'real' is for me? Home for me is the colour of wet cement, and I can't draw in it or make an imprint because it always levels out. It's the colour of uninspired essays you write at two in the morning for your English teacher, because it was due last week but you didn't do it. It's the colour of bland porridge that you can't add cinnamon to, and mashed potato without any seasonings or other food to change it up. So when you came around and you added a hand print to the cement, you re-wrote the essay with so much more vitality, you added honey to the porridge and salt and pepper to the mashed potato, of course I wanted to stay around you! How could I not?" She was shouting now, something Adrien had never heard her do.
"Shut up! I don't want to hear about your home life because you don't have one! You're not real!"
"I am real! Look at me, you can feel my heart beating under your hand, right? Right? Even if I am only in your head, how does that make me any less real?" He flinched, her heartbeat was there but he was full of the colour of inky darkness, an all-consuming power he was terrified of.
"Hallucinations, Marinette! That's all you are!"
"Then explain the way I feel about you, explain how I'm the colour of a dying sunset, explain how everything is just a hallucination when it's so fucking real!" She slapped him, the contact searing him with her open palm, and his cheek burned. It was the colour of betrayal, a burning fire within him so hot he was scared of burning himself. He was the colour of a match, and he'd just been struck. The hand she used against him was brought up to her mouth, and she was shocked into being the colour of an empty piece of paper, and he was the colour of a flaming, raging beast hidden with the colour of a chartreuse forest.
"Adrien I -"
"Leave." He growled, yet somehow stayed the colour of a still pool. Marinette could see that she had just dropped a stone into him, and she didn't want to stay and see the ripples.
"I-I'm sorry. If you want to see me again, I'll be at the Eiffel Tower, eleven o'clock every night, waiting. I love you." Her voice was timid and thick with tears, not filled with the usual confidence he liked. She hurriedly put on her clothes and took one last melancholy glance back at the blonde boy before heading out the window. She was barely gone and he already missed her warmth.
"We fought last night." Adrien shuffled in his seat, uncomfortable with the fact he and Marinette disagreed on something. Of course, the disagreement was based on her very existence.
"Maybe this is a good thing, it gives you a chance to think about her and the entire situation differently. Maybe a break from Marinette is a good thing." She was careful not to address him by name, as the already fragile boy would break if pushed too far.
"Maybe." He couldn't wait to get away from Dr Kennedy, everything she said contradicted everything he felt, and he couldn't talk in colours the way he did with Marinette. He couldn't tell her he felt like the colour of the first day at a new school, the total abandonment and isolation fading his colour to the bone.
The boy knew in his heart he wouldn't take a break from her, he was too in love with her for that to happen. He would miss her too much. He thought about what Dr Kennedy said on the way to the Eiffel Tower, before dismissing it. Marinette was waiting. Marinette was the only one who would be waiting.
He scanned the lookout he was standing on for the girl of his dreams, and he didn't see her. Checking the time, he saw it was midnight. Too late for her. He choked back tears with a wry laugh, he was always too late. All he felt was the colour of a dark room that hadn't seen light in his 17 years of life, the dark alienation overpowering any other possible colours in his mind at that moment.
He stepped over the edge of the rail, holding on to the pole behind his back. All he felt was the colour of sadness, and then the excitement took over. He radiated a perfect storm of fireworks, bright colours all around him. Finally, he felt all the colours he wanted to be all at once.
"Adrien?" The quiet voice could only belong to Marinette, and the colours he felt were replaced with the indigo azure waves of her hair, and the cerulean glass ponds of her eyes.
"Adrien, I'm going to come up behind you and pull you back over the edge, okay?" Her tiny arm wound around his toned torso, holding him close. Her hands stretched over his chest, pulling him closer to her, away from danger. She permeated the colour of baking cookies, the melting chocolate chips oozing over the tan of the cookie dough. She heaved him over the rail, falling backwards with him landing on top of her.
He laughed for a quiet second before choking on it, and he started sobbing. She let him cry, and gave him something to hold on to. The colour of winter surrounded them, frosty and dangerous, with a tinge of exhilaration neither of the two would admit.
It was hours later, and Adrien had stopped crying. He sat up from her lap and kissed her, sweetly at first before the colour of an untameable beast named lust reared its head. The kiss grew more heated, and Adrien wanted to feel her again. He needed to feel her again.
He watched from his laying down position on the ground as Marinette walked over to the edge, and she leaned against the safety rail. He could see everything he wanted to, and he was content with his life, if only for the moment. He felt the colour of the rising sun he could see in Paris' early morning sky.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" She mused, watching as the clouds absorbed the colour around them. She was talking about the sunrise, but all he could see was her.
"Not as beautiful as you." He shuffled around, trying hard to get comfortable on the harsh, unforgiving metal floor. She smiled at him by way of response, and walked back over to him to pick up her clothes. Planting a kiss on his lips, she put on her underwear before moving to her pants. She slipped on her brassiere, before groaning for a moment then looking to Adrien.
"Help?" She smiled, her head titled and hair wild. He obliged, sitting up and clasping it for her as she sipped on her shirt.
"I want you to remember me this way," She said, walking over to the barrier once again. "Beautiful and smiling, the colour of a juicy peach in summertime. I'm real, Adrien, and I always have been." She smiled at him once again, before leaning back and disappearing over the edge of the Eiffel Tower.