Chapter Text
Five years — give or take a few tear-stained days that Adrien couldn't quite recall — and maybe nothing had changed at all. There was still that same flutter in his chest when her contact photo lit up his phone. That same hardwired wonder as her named rolled off his tongue. And, strongest of all, that same etched-into-his-bones certainty that he would always come when she called.
"Yes," he breathed into the phone. Anything for you.
The line was silent long enough that he began to wonder if she'd hung up. Or if he hadn't just imagined the whole phone call. Then a stilted voice warmed his frozen heart back to life.
"Really?" Marinette asked. "You're sure?"
"Of course. I'm heading there anyway."
"Well, yeah, I know that technically—I mean, Alya said as much, but then I told her she was crazy, because you… you and I…" She barked a sound that couldn't quite be classified as a laugh. "Well, that's just it, isn't it? We're not a you and I, anymore. A-and I can't blame you for that. I don't blame you. But—"
"Marinette," he cut in, before her endearing rambling could make him do something absolutely delusional.
Like decide the first time he'd heard her voice in half a decade was an appropriate time to ask her to marry him.
"Sorry," she said. "You know me and… well, you know me."
At that, his smile faltered. Because what if that wasn't true, anymore?
Adrien knew how easy it was, when faced with an fragment of your old life, to fall into familiar patterns. Like how something seized up inside his chest whever he passed a Gabriel logo on the street.
But even if the Marinette on the phone sounded like the girl he'd known, even if she still stumbled over a word or two, like some relic of her old feelings for him might not have shattered into pieces too small to tape-and-glue together, well… that didn't mean she hadn't changed.
It didn't mean he'd even known her all that well in the first place. Her penchant for doing the unknown was as much a curse on his sanity as it was the thing that drew him in.
"I know you," he echoed back. Maybe saying the words aloud could imbue some truth in them.
Another silence. Long enough for five years of doubts to burn their way up his throat, threatening to yank the words he'd just uttered right back down where they'd come from. Where they probably belonged.
He was an idiot. A fool. An imbecile. A good for nothing—
"You're sure sure?" Marinette said.
Adrien took a deep breath. "I'll pick you up tomorrow morning at eight."
The London sky grumbled as Adrien pulled up outside of a modest brick apartment building at the edge of the city. He left the engine running, drumming his fingers rapidly against the steering wheel as he waited. And waited.
Fat drops of rain pounded against the windshield, dutifully cleared away by automatic wipers that flipped back and forth like a metronome. They kept time until the clouds' song faded to an unsteady patter, at which point Adrien, with a solemn look at the large, untouched coffee in the passenger-side cupholder, decided he'd contributed enough to the city's overpollution. He cut the engine, stomach rolling. His keys clanked together in the sudden silence.
Maybe it didn't matter if the coffee grew cold. Maybe Marinette wasn't coming.
An untimely airline strike had thrown a wrench in her initial travel plans, and last night she'd seemed pretty certain she wouldn't find another flight. But even amidst all the late summer travellers scrambling to find a way home, there were surely some trains that still had space. It was entirely possible she might have woken up midway through the night, realized what a colossal mistake she was on the verge of making, and chosen to dedicate the early hours of the morning to hunting down a suitable alternative.
Then again, she probably would have texted to let him know. And this was Marinette, who was practically allergic to waking up on time—she was probably just running late.
Biting his lip, Adrien pulled the keys from the ignition and stepped out of the car. He leaned an arm over the door and scanned the building before him, searching the windows for a clue that would identify Marinette's flat. All that stared back at him were nondescript white curtains.
He was about to sink back into the car when a door across the street swung open. A large pink suitcase rolled outside before its owner, and all it took was that flash of colour for Adrien's breath to catch.
It took a few seconds for Marinette to notice him, her head down as she forced her suitcase over the door jam. But when she looked up, their eyes met instantly. She drew stock-still, as did his heartbeat.
Adrien was the first to break the spell. His hand shot up in an awkward wave, and his cheeks forced their best approximation of a smile. In his his other hand, his fingers clenched his keys so tightly he feared might draw blood.
Marinette didn't wave back. She ducked her head instead, struggling to reorient her suitcase towards the stairs.
There were only three steps down to the sidewalk, which she surely could have managed herself no matter how many pages-thick contingency plans she'd crammed into that bag. But a large drop of rain chose that moment to plop down in the centre of Adrien's forehead, and something about the cold shocked him into motion. He was jogging across the street before he knew it, realizing only as he reached the opposite sidewalk that he hadn't even remembered to shut the car door.
"Hey!" he shouted.
Marinette's head jerked back up as he reached the base of the stairs. "H-hey."
"Why don't you let me—"
"Oh, no, don't worry about—"
Halfway up the steps, Adrien reached for her suitcase. Which, in retrospect, might have gone a little smoother if he'd managed to tear his eyes away from her face long enough to figure out where the handle actually was. And maybe he shouldn't have been smiling at her like an absolute maniac at just the moment she seemed to be letting go of the bag—he could hardly blame her if she practically shoved it at him. If it collided a bit too forcefully into his gut, if he lost his balance on the bottom step and tumbled to the ground.
At least, that was his best recollection of events as he sat there, stunned, with one of the sidewalk's many puddles soaking rapidly through his jeans.
"Adrien!" Marinette yanked the suitcase off of his legs. "Are you okay?"
Heart hammering, he took a moment to consider. Then he nodded. His palms stung a little where they'd hit the pavement, and his right elbow might be a bit sore by tomorrow, but their reunion could have gone worse.
Probably.
"I'm so sorry," Marinette hands carved indiscernible motions through the air. "I didn't mean t—"
"It's okay," Adrien said. "I can't say I wasn't expecting a nice trip."
"You…" Almost in slow motion, her expression went blank. "A nice trip."
"I mean, I thought it would be more of a vacation kind of trip, not the falling kind. But eh, what can you do? And, look, it's not like this is the first time I've fallen for you."
Marinette blinked at him. "Right. You… puns…"
"Yeah, I… puns…"
Okay, so their reunion could have gone better.
In the years since he'd left—or fled—Paris, Adrien must have imagined a million different ways he'd run into her again. And it wasn't like he'd expected her to be happy.
But he also hadn't expected her to stare like she didn't even recognize him.
Water inched further down his pant leg, and Adrien was tempted to keep sitting there and let it happen. Maybe if he waited long enough the rain would pick up again, and the puddle would swell up large enough to cover him whole. To be the next thing that drowned him.
The immortal being in his shirt pocket had other ideas. "Adrien," he hissed, "the cheese."
Age-old reflexes kicked in, and Adrien yanked the two sides of his jacket closed across his chest. Not that it did any good as Plagg flew out into the open.
"It's in your pocket, Adrien. It's going to get wet if you don't get your butt off the—"
"Okay!" He looked up nervously at Marinette, who—of course, now he remembered—already knew about his pain-in-the-ass kwami. She seemed even more frazzled than before.
Before either of them could think of anything else to say, a tiny black blur flew at Adrien and started pulling at his hair.
"Ow. Plagg, what have I told you about—YEOUCH. Okay, I'm going, I'm going." Adrien scrambled to his feet, wiping a stray piece of gravel from his jeans before angrily shoving his hands into the pockets of his rain coat. He pulled out the round of cheese, still dry in it's cardboard packaging, and glared. "See, you menace? It's fine."
With an indignant sound, Plagg plucked the cheese from Adrien's hand and flew away in the direction of the car. Which left Adrien and Marinette—and somewhere, probably in her purse, a much milder-mannered kwami—alone with their silence again.
Adrien rubbed his scraped palms together, trying to dispell dull pulses of pain as the plip-plop of rain picked up its tempo again. "Well, we should probably… head to the car."
Marinette nodded, not meeting his gaze. "Sure. Um…" Her eyes flitted back to the suitcase.
"I've got it," Adrien said.
"Okay…"
Neither of them actually moved. They stood there, staring at each other, as the sky grew angrier and rain soaked their shoes. Adrien's eyes tracked a drop down the length of Marinette's nose; she shivered as it fell off the end.
Adrien shoved his hands back into his pocket, looking for another something he always kept on hand these days—it was vital for his life in London. Almost as important as keeping snacks for Plagg.
He pulled out a small, retractable umbrella and held it out to Marinette. "Here."
Her brow furrowed, her expression seeming almost… pained?
Adrien scratched at the back of his neck. Maybe… maybe she didn't know what it was? It was all wrapped up in its case, not particularly umbrella-shaped. Maybe he ought to open it?
He tested the theory, unfolding the umbrella and stretching his arm towards her with a smile he could feel growing thinner by the second. Just as he was starting to reconsider his plan of drowning in a puddle, Marinette gave herself a small shake and finally managed a timid smile. She reached for the umbrella, fingers seeming to tremble, only to stop when she was maybe a centimetre away.
Her hand dropped abruptly to her side. "Y-you know what? Never mind. I don't need an umbrella, not agai—I mean, nothing! Don't even worry about it. Everything's fine, let's go!"
She grabbed her bag and rushed off, leaving Adrien gaping after her. The rain was really picking up again, but he lowered the umbrella, letting it hang upside down while he fiddled with the button to collapse it.
What was even the point anymore?
They made it into the car without further incident—and without another word. Adrien ran a hand through his dripping wet hair, wondering if he should tell Marinette about the coffee he'd brought her, or if she'd spurn that offering too. In the end he only re-queued the GPS on his phone and stuck his key back into the ignition.
He was just about to pull back onto the road when Marinette finally spoke again, echoing her questions from last night.
"Are you sure?"
Palms still stinging, Adrien grabbed hold of the wheel. He didn't need to ask what she meant.
"Of course I'm sure," he lied.