Chapter Text
“Why won’t you let me do it?”
“Because," she said, her voice failing her, "I’m afraid of bloodlust.”
Adrien thought that was a ridiculous thing to say. Bloodlust only occurs if romantic — or sexual — feelings are involved. Of course there were exceptions to the rule, he’d heard about it in Parisian gossip but even then he sometimes doubted the stories were true. It was easy to dismiss it as a one in a million when personal feeling and strong emotions were involved. Just like humans and witches, vampires were deep down very sensitive beings. No one wants to confess they are secretly crushing on their donor.
Apart from vampires, for obvious reasons, witches too needed fresh blood, just in much smaller dosage than the latter kind. They needed it while sick or injured and sometimes during rituals, though that was purely for keeping tradition alive. To think about it, it was actually closer to how humans needed it, after a car accident or for laboratory research for example.
There were some stories about werewolves that still lurked in catacombs under the city but the boy doubted there was any truth to it. He’d met some half-werewolves and they were nothing like those stories. In fact, they were sweeter than most humans; and needed no blood too.
Not that it meant he was afraid of vampires. He didn’t need a drop of vampire blood rushing up his veins to understand that.
He’d never seen Marinette as a violent, evil, blood-thirsty beast like some other humans depicted them.
How his Father depicted them.
For Adrien she was the kindest, most generous and warm-hearted person he had ever met. She was smart and determent and from time to time clumsy, yet that just made her that much more adorable.
That was why he couldn’t understand why was she so against about his suggestion.
When her previous donor died (not because of her, the lady was simply too old), his immediate response was to volunteer to be her substitute; at least for a time being till they find a better one. He knew his blood might not have been perfect because of his strict and modest diet, but it was the same diet that made his blood run clean. In his nineteen years of living he had never touched a cigarette or took a sip of alcohol. He was physically active almost every day, practicing fencing or going for a nice little run on crisp Saturday morning when everyone was still asleep.
The blond didn’t want to bring it up too quickly. There was a possibility that Dupain-Chengs had already had someone in mind and he didn’t want to cross their boundaries.
He knew it wasn’t just about the blood. There had to be mutual trust. Adrien might’ve been close to Marinette but that didn’t mean she would agree. She had already rejected both Alya and Nino, who were (besides Adrien) the only other people outside the family who knew about Marinette’s situation. She chose to keep it private since she was afraid what Chloé and Lila might do if that would get out.
Still, it had been over a month since Marinette drank some actual blood and her parents couldn’t afford another package from a blood bank. Even if they did, it didn’t satisfied her. Mari had a strong appetite which was already completely normal for a growing and evolving teenager, however, adding the strong vampire gene — the same one that made her an ‘almost’ pure blood — no amount of pastries or pickled beetroot could mild her hunger.
Adrien saw her struggle to concentrate during class. He noticed how she asked the cafeteria chef to give her a medium-fried steak despite her general dislike for it. And he was the one who helped her get to the nurses office when she blacked out during P.E.
Normally he would say he is a dumbass when it comes to social clues but this time he knew without a doubt Marinette was hurting and she needed some blood.
Fresh blood.
Adrien’s blood.
“It’s not going to happen, Mari,” he tried to reassure her, “We’re friends. We can trust one another.”
She avoided his gaze, looking at the two mannequins in her bedroom and the half-done dress designs on them. If it was any other time, Adrien would love to admire their precise cut and decor.
Instead he searched her face, trying to unravel what was hiding behind those ice-blue eyes. She was biting her bottom lip, her fangs leaving two little crimson marks. Her face was pale, which was typical for vampires, yet her cheeks were slightly pink like she was embarrassed about something.
Was it because she didn’t want to ask for help?
It was impossible to tell and Adrien hated himself for his disappointing social skills.
The raven haired girl opened her mouth but closed it, then opened it again yet nothing came out of it.
“I just want to help,” he tried. “We don’t like one another, not like … you know?” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “We are friend, not lovers, so nothing bad’s going to happen.”
His words made Marinette find hers and finally she looked at him. “I know that, it’s just …” she traded off.
“Just what?” he asked softly, stepping closer.
“It still might happen. The bloodlust. And I don’t want to hurt you, Adrien.”
“Hey, it’s okay …”
“N-no, it’s not,” her voice trembled.
Seeing her like this broke his heart little by little.
In attempt to fix it he said, “Oh, no, you don’t have to worry about me," he chuckled nervously, "Truly, I’m fine. I can take a little blood sucking. And I promise you I don’t have a crush on you, Marinette. I love you and care about you, but just as a friend.”
He tried to smile but failed and he was afraid he might have made the situation even worse.
He wanted to just jump from a cliff and die.
“Why are you so worried about the bloodlust anyway?” Adrien tried, hoping to figure out a solution.
She curled her fingers into tight fists, tiltting her head to properly look into his radiant green eyes for the first time in hours. Her own were watery, barely holding back the heavy tears.
“Why do you think?”
Oh.
Oh.
He fucked up.
Now would be a good time to jump from a cliff while tied to a rock.
“S-shit, I’m so sorry, Adrien, I—”
“How?” he heard himself saying, “I thought …”
He wasn’t sure what he thought. All he knew was that he just hurt one of his dearest friends.
This was all his fault.
“I didn’t want you to learn like this.” Her voice was barely a whisper yet it rang in his ears. “I know you are in love with someone else so I didn’t want to tell you.”
He was, wasn’t he?
But that didn’t mean he wanted to hurt Marinette like this.
“You are one of my closest friends. I don’t want to lose you just because I have …” she struggled to continue, “… feelings for you.”
Her words hit him like a hot ocean wave. Adrien had had a fair share of love confessions over the years of his modeling career but it was never like this. It had never made him want to go back in time and take back the things he said.
He just rejected the most beautiful, kindest and sweetest girl he knew. He worded it so terribly and hurt her feeling simply because he believed there was no chance someone as perfect as her could ever love him.
There was noting he could do, wasn’t there?
He couldn’t play it off, say he didn’t mean it like that.
And even if he somehow did it, he would be lying to the one person who deserved the truth.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t know.”
A sad smile appeared on her wet cheeks. “You weren’t supposed to.”
Silence feel over them but only for a moment.
“You should go now.”
“Marinette …”
“Please.” The word was loud but desperate. Pleading.
He wanted to hug her. Tell her it’s okay.
But how do you do that when you just broke someone’s heart?
He was already on the first step when she called after him, making his neck snap at the sound of her voice.
“I still want us to be friends. If that’s okay?”
Gods, her bottom lip was trembling and heavy tears ran down her freckled nose and cheeks.
“Of course,” he hurried, trying his best to give her a reassuring smile (it probably looked awful), “Our friendship means a lot to me too. It’ll call you — or maybe text you? Would that be better?”
She nodded eagerly, hope glittering in her eyes. “Yeah,” she sniffled, “That would be nice.”
He was about to disappear into the kitchen but it felt like he should say something before leaving.
“I really sorry, Marinette,” he apologized, “I never meant to hurt you. I—”
He couldn't bring himself to say what he really wanted to.
Though true, it would be cruel.
“I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?” he said instead, allowing all his softness to slip into the words, “I really hope you find the right donor.”