A/N: It's been a while! But hopefully this longer chapter makes up for it. Also, I realize that I completely forgot to mention this in the very first chapter (the problems of cross-posting and writing different author's notes) but for all you perceptive readers who have been reviewing and messaging me, yes, this fic as a whole is very heavily inspired by Jenny Han's To All The Boys I've Loved Before :) we're taking a lot of our own twists and turns with it though, so don't expect the plot to lean too much on the book!

Chapter 4: Double the Trouble

Admittedly, Marinette's life since first meeting Adrien has been punctuated by late nights spent dreaming and thinking and hoping and dreaming. Sometimes she has felt an umbrella rest in the curve of her hand or his fingers slip across her wrist; others, the weight of his words on the tender shelf of her heart. Any hours that she's managed to remain awake past midnight can, without exception, stake their claim in one beautiful blond boy of fifteen, and yet—

—now that she's managed to close the space between them, Marinette has no idea what to do with herself. The hours of twilight aren't so much marked by dreams now as they are by memory. Memory of Adrien holding her hand as they walk down the school hallways; memory of Adrien giggle-whispering into her ear because he loves immensely to laugh. Tired sighs no longer entail sleep, only triggers to every imaginable motion of that day replaying right before the lids of her eyes.

A small sound of frustration escapes Marinette's lips, and she turns over in her sheets to get a good look at her clock. Midnight has already had the pleasure of settling in, but the moon makes no move to put a damper on its pearly glow. Unsure of how else to keep the memories of today from running endlessly through her mind, Marinette buries half of her face into her pillow and stares dismally out into the night. The pucker of his lips to her cheek is still mercilessly fresh, and she touches her fingers every now and then to the spot.

"Awake, are we, princess?" croons a more-than-familiar voice, its keeper flitting briefly in front of the glass of the balcony door. Marinette immediately closes her eyes in response, hopeful that her visitor might leave should he hear nothing more than the wind at his ear.

"Your heart is beating a mile a minute," Chat prods. "There's no use in hiding it, I can already tell."

Annoyed, but not left with many other options—sleep at this point is out of the question—Marinette throws back her covers and shuffles lazily into her slippers. Her hair hangs haphazardly about her cheekbones, but she doesn't bother pulling it back. If the dastardly Chat Noir really expects her to look like a princess worth wooing at this time of night, then he has another thing coming. Marinette has no time to be worried about appearances when it comes to this boy.

The leather-clad moonlighter perks his ears as soon as she opens the doors. His eyes are like gas lamps glimmering in the night, their lemon-lime green practically taking on the light surrounding him. Marinette stares at him for a moment, lips parted in a question that she can't quite put the words to.

"Why, " she groans eventually, rubbing her eyes, "are you here?"

Chat braces his elbows on his knees as he leans forward, grinning. "I think the better question is why you're here."

Marinette shoots him a flat look. "That doesn't even make sense. You're the one on my balcony. You're the one who woke me up!"

"That's an awful lot of animosity to be directed at one of Paris's protectors."

"So you saved my life a few times," grumbles Marinette. "And now, what, you're suddenly my all-time guardian angel?"

"Something like that," says Chat, but there's a hesitance behind the bravado, a shutter over the bright green eyes. Marinette thinks, briefly, of Manon—the little girl always pesters her more when she's trying to hide something. Chat, it seems, is no different.

"Where's Ladybug?" she asks, attempting to coax him out of whatever weird funk he's in.

"Don't know," he replies, turning his head to look out over the skyline. For a second, his profile seems almost regal. In fact, the golden, moon-dusted locks nestled atop his head could almost be mistaken for a crown in this limited light, though Marinette would never tell him so. "Wouldn't want to bother her, anyways," Chat continues. "She probably needs her beauty sleep."

"And I don't?"

The cat doesn't even deign to give her an answer, simply winking instead. The look in his eyes at this hour is what one could call 'far off.' He smiles at her easily and the dimples nestled at either end of his lips are pointed and cute (she wouldn't tell him this, either), but no means for revelation. Marinette looks at Chat and sees the Cheshire Cat of Wonderland staring back, his grin bright in the dark, the rest of his thoughts invisible. Curious, she starts to wonder if maybe she's been too harsh in batting away his advances on Ladybug, and if she can coax such a fact out of him.

But it's late—half past midnight—and Marinette is too tired for games.

"Why are you really here, Chat?" she asks again, fighting back the urge to question him any further.

"Couldn't sleep." He shrugs, voice soft.

And it's as simple as that. The Gossip Gazette can say what it wants, but Chat's clandestine visits to her balcony have few romantic undertones, if the very first one is anything to go by. Marinette remembers it clearly: a loud clatter on the rooftop, one broken flowerpot, one guilty superhero clad in black. He'd been vaulting from one house to the next with his staff on some insomniac jaunt through the city, and as luck would have it, he'd lost his balance while arcing over hers.

Marinette feels a slight pang of sympathy for the cat. In all honesty, his situation is no better than hers. It's just that Chat Noir is unafraid to throw himself wholeheartedly into his pursuit of Ladybug, regardless of the outcome, while Marinette can't even form a relationship with Adrien without it being backed by a lie. Maybe their weird, moonlit friendship makes sense, in a way. Something about Chat Noir's easygoing gait never fails to comfort her. A slight smile surfaces on her face as she remembers that the vigilante is the reason she's dating Adrien in the first place.

"I have a boyfriend," Marinette discloses, a strange thrill of excitement running over her as she announces it to someone who wasn't around to see the play-by-play of that one, fateful morning.

"Really, now." Surprisingly, Chat's grin widens.

She circles around to his perch at the end of the balcony, each footstep further inciting her to wakefulness. The late-night Paris breeze toys playfully with her hair, throws it across her face and splits Chat's into fragments. Marinette easily picks out his eyes, alight with the eagerness of listening to her story.

"Mmhmm," she answers, smirking. "And you'll never guess who."

"Oh, I have an idea."

"What? " Marinette exclaims, starting to smile. "Who?"

"Le Messieur Agreste," says Chat Noir with a flourish, waggling his eyebrows and dropping his voice to a low, seductive pitch. Marinette snorts and pushes his face away, but not before he manages to catch her bashful smile.

"You like him?" Chat asks.

"Of course! He's really kind and thoughtful, and—" Her eyes fly open wider. "And he wants your autograph!"

Chat's chest puffs out slightly, shoulders thrown back. "At least one of you two appreciates me," he says, watching as she disappears back down into her room to grab a pen and a piece of paper.

"Chat." Marinette's voice is sharp when she reemerges, stationary in hand. "I appreciate you, too."

Chat blinks, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. Not for the first time, Marinette feels guilty for not expressing her gratitude more frequently as Ladybug. What kind of partner is she, leaving her companion to wander the nights alone, aimless and aching for affirmation? She tries to make up for it now, eyes boring into Chat's as she hands over the paper, determined to show her sincerity.

Chat Noir breaks eye contact first, ducking his head slightly as he accepts her offering. "Thanks, princess," he says, voice slightly rough at the edges as he begins to scrawl his signature across the sheet. "Whom am I making this out to, again?" he asks, feigning innocence.

Marinette rolls her eyes, though the syllables roll sweetly off her tongue. "Adrien Agreste."

"Ah, that's right."

"How did you guess, anyways? That it was him?"

"The boy is Paris's third favorite face—after Ladybug and myself, of course," Chat says, head bent over his work, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. Marinette resists the sudden urge to touch one of his cat ears. "And I saw that interview with that Italian model, Raffaela." This last bit is confided nonchalantly.

A grin overtakes Marinette's face, bubbling out as a giggle.

Chat's head snaps up. "What?"

"I didn't think of you as the type to follow fashion news, Chat," she teases, even as another part of her bookmarks that information, adding it to the fascinating mosaic that is her masked partner.

Chat takes it in stride. "I have a very keen sense of fashion," he confides. "That way I know how best to accentuate my dashing good looks."

When he hands her pen back to her, the lazy, knowing grin is firmly back in place. There's a sparkle in Chat's eyes, half curiosity, half mischief.

"So," he starts, nodding to the paper now clenched in her hand. "Tell me more about you and Adrien Agreste."

*.*.*.*.*

Marinette knows full well when she wakes up that any drowsiness she feels can be attributed to herself alone. Although Chat Noir chose to grace her presence the past night, the fault of giving him company lies with her, that of staying up with him for two hours past midnight even more so.

As Sabine pushes back the door to the attic and enters her daughter's alcove, Marinette offers a greeting in the form of a drowsy groan. Her covers are pulled completely over her head, but the sunlight gleaming past her windows is simply too overwhelming. She shuts her eyes tight and makes a small, whimpering sound.

"Cramps, honey?" asks her mother, and Marinette almost replies, "If only. "

Nestled into the crook of her arm is a softly snickering Tikki, who possessed sense enough to skip out on her Kwami counterpart's surprise visit. Sensing Sabine's approaching footsteps, the strawberry-colored Kwami moves further out of view and eventually onto the balcony when the boulanger isn't looking. Her mornings are usually spent smelling the orchids that wrap around the wrought-iron fence while Marinette scrambles to get ready for school. Today, however, marks a different occasion.

"There's someone waiting for you downstairs," sing-songs Sabine, carefully peeling the covers away from her daughter's curled up body. Marinette, still in denial of the sun's rays, deigns only to open a single eye in question.

"Who?" she enquires, sounding suspicious.

Tikki watches as Sabine considers the question. Clearly, she's trying to determine if the answer will be enough to coax her daughter out of bed. The only visitor that Tikki can think of is Alya, and her name, the Kwami silently reasons, would be no trigger at all. Marinette knows the brunette would simply drag her out of bed herself lest she refuse to get up. And as for the rest of Marinette's classmates, there isn't anyone of too much importance to her save. . .

"Adrien," Sabine admits, and Marinette immediately jerks up.

"Adrien? " she whispers. Tikki nearly laughs.

"Yes, Adrien. "

Marinette makes an incoherent noise, then jumps out from under her covers before making a run for the bathroom. As she narrates a short list of things for her mother to do, such as offer him something to drink but please don't be too excited about it, Tikki chuckles and shakes her head. No number of intimate moments with Adrien will ever be able to quell the way Marinette's heart hammers in her chest when she hears his name. It's as if he's a trigger to every last nerve in her body, the rapture of his aura not once fading since their shared moment under an umbrella over a year ago.

"Do I look alright?" Marinette asks, stepping out into her room. She has on a black t-shirt under some pink overalls and struggles with the sleeves of a white cardigan, debating how best to tie it around her waist without looking frumpy. Sabine has long since gone downstairs, but Tikki flies out from her hiding place and over to Marinette's side. "You look just fine," she says, offering an encouraging wink for extra measure. No second call has come for Marinette to hasten downstairs, but the Kwami expects it'll be soon and decides to help gather up her partner's things.

"Do you have your report on Le Comte de Monte-Cristo?" she asks.

"Yeah," mumbles Marinette. The stapled jumble of papers gets stuffed into her backpack, along with her cell phone and clutch. Desperate to get ready before Adrien grows impatient and decides to join her up here himself, she runs about her room in a panic.

In the process, her foot collides with one of the wheels of her rolling chair, sending it skidding across the floor as she yelps.

"Marinette, honey, are you okay?" Sabine calls, and then, in a quieter murmur, "Maybe someone should go up and check on her. . ."

"I've got it," Marinette hears Adrien offer, the first floorboard of the staircase creaking as he begins his ascent.

"No!" she shouts, managing to snatch up her things as she half-hops, half-limps to the trap door in her floor, Tikki zooming into her purse while warning, "Slow down, Marinette, be careful—"

The Kwami's words are swallowed up by the sound of her owner tripping down the stairs, tumbling straight into her boyfriend's arms.

"Easy, there," laughs Adrien, hands warm around Marinette's forearms. Though reluctant to peel her cheek away from the soft cotton covering his chest, Marinette jerks back quickly with a sheepish grin.

She glances over his shoulder, making sure her mother isn't in the vicinity, and lowers her voice just to be sure. "I didn't think— you didn't have to come all the way here to meet me, that's not part of our contract."

"I know," says Adrien, letting go; Marinette tries not to mourn the loss too much. "But I figured now was as good a time as any to cash in on one of my discounts. Except, get this." He raises the flap of his messenger bag and pulls out a paper bag printed with the signature Dupain-Cheng logo. "Your mom gave me some pain au chocolat for free. "

The look on his face is one of pure, unadulterated joy. It takes all of Marinette's self control to tug him down the stairs, kiss her parents goodbye, and start walking to school like a normal person, ignoring the miniature Marinette in the back of her brain that wants nothing more than to throw her arms around Adrien and maybe make out with his face. (Just a little.)

Instead, she distracts herself by teasing him, "You're so easily bought."

"See, I would deny it, but my mouth is currently occupied with an absolutely heavenly croissant."

"You're making a mess," Marinette says helplessly, reaching over to brush some buttery flakes from the corner of his mouth, before her mental brakes slam:whatareyoudoingohmyGOD ACT COOL ACT COOL

They've come to a stop on the other side of the crosswalk, and Marinette's stomach is bottoming out from the awkwardness of cleaning off her crush's face in what, upon reflection, now seems like a totally lame, totally mom move. (Another part of her may be considering not washing this hand for the rest of the day, but that's. . . irrelevant.) And just when Marinette thinks her heart can't take anymore, Adrien smirks—actually smirks! —at her. "Thanks."

The effect is jarring. She's no stranger to Adrien's attractiveness; she squeals over his modeling shots around five times a day. But the Adrien in his magazine spreads is always dreamy or contemplative or secretive, never sly. Sly is like Cha—

"You're welcome," blurts Marinette, mouth dry, mildly disturbed by where her train of thought is leading her. Something else quickly pops into her mind. "Oh! I have something for you, too."

With her free hand, she pulls the folded sheet of paper from her back pocket, handing it to Adrien.

"What's this?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Chat Noir's autograph," Marinette declares proudly, watching the way the corner of Adrien's mouth lifts as he studies the showy signature. He tucks the autograph away in the inner pocket of his white overshirt before looping his arm through hers and starting to walk again.

Marinette gapes. The assertiveness of the gesture throws her off. She's never thought about it before, but she realizes that she's used to taking charge: the initiation of the kiss turned fake-relationship, her strategic plans of attack with Chat. Having Adrien set the pace, shoulders buoyed by some newfound confidence akin to satisfaction, is strange, though not unwelcome, and she speeds up her stride, arm threaded through his.

Their walk continues in comfortable silence until Marinette nudges, "Well? You aren't going to ask me how I got it?"

"Honestly, Marinette, I feel like you have connections to half the famous people in this city. Ladybug, Jagged Stone, me. . ." jokes Adrien. "But fine, I'll bite. How'd you get Chat?"

"Well," Marinette begins, smiling a little haughtily, "I don't know if you remember, but Chat Noir happened to be the reason for this. . ." She throws her hand out in a nondescript circle, and Adrien laughs as she concludes, "Thing. "

"Funny, I thought I meant more to you that."

"Believe me, Adrien, if you didn't, then this"—she taps his chest where the autograph is tucked away—"wouldn't be in your hands today."

"Okay, okay," he laughs, "go on."

"Well. . ." A concentrated frown briefly flitters across Marinette's face. "I don't know how, but for some reason, he had no idea that the two of us had started 'dating'. He landed on my balcony last night as if everything was still the same."

Adrien's features reflect hers momentarily, and a guilty lump builds up in Marinette's throat. The subject matter of her relationship with Chat Noir, in her opinion, is still too awkward to properly discuss with Adrien, especially given how much of his own life and time he's chosen to give up for her. When his face finally smooths out and he nods for her to continue, Marinette can't help but breathe a small sigh of relief. Maybe they'll be ready to tackle that topic another day.

"So you think he still likes you?" Adrien prompts, unfortunately throwing her off-kilter anyway.

Marinette's heated blush couples with the rapid blinking of her eyes. "Oh! No, I— I don't know about that. I just think he enjoys having someone to talk to."

"I can definitely relate."

And there it is again—that awkward silence that Marinette has no idea how to approach. Though she's always known that Adrien Agreste was a little lonely, what with school and modeling and extracurriculars, it's never occurred to her that he might take that loneliness to heart. She wonders if he's hurt by the thought that she's dating him only out of convenience. She wonders if he knows that her reasons hold something more.

"He seemed pretty happy to know that I got a boyfriend," she finally manages to say. "And it helped when he found out it was you."

Adrien quirks an eyebrow. "So you're saying that I'm acceptable in the eyes of a Parisian hero?"

"Acceptable? " Marinette exclaims in disbelief. This boy has just got to start giving himself more credit. "I'm pretty sure he thinks you're absolutely exceptional , Mister I'm Good At Everything But Still Manage Not To Be A Jerkwad."

She's incredibly tempted to rise up on her toes and slobber his cheek with a kiss, but unfortunately (or not?), Adrien beats her to it. As his lips slant and part against her hairline, the only thing that keeps Marinette from melting into a puddle at his feet is the soft pressure of his thumb on the back of her hand. Her eyelids flutter shut, and she sinks into the moment, her heart treating the action as if it's entirely real.

"Mon cher, don't you know that this is what behind school is for?"

Marinette opens her eyes, only to be faced with a clearly irritated Chloe Bourgeois. The blonde stands alone at the foot of the stairs leading up to their lycée, and it doesn't take long to put two and two together. The radiant, teasing smile on Adrien's face is even more of a testament to the truth of it: that this endearing kiss she'd nearly melted into was nothing but a cleverly timed spectacle.

He replies, evidently enjoying himself, "I know, but I think it's more fun doing it out in the open, don't you?"

The genuine honesty in the statement surprises her. Marinette is reminded of how no matter the person, Adrien simply cannot bring himself to be cruel. "Only if it's something worth watching," Chloe retorts, and he laughs goodnaturedly, as if to further prove the fact. Before the conversation can go on any further, Marinette grabs his hand and motors them up the stairs and past the doors.

She's still a little flustered that her moment wasn't actually a 'moment', Adrien's genuineness of character aside. And although the giddy look on his face is pretty cute, it's not cute enough to regain her hearts-in-the-air fantasy. "So I'll see you during Econ?" Marinette asks, unnecessarily rushing the words.

"Yeah," Adrien replies, distracted, "I guess so."

"Okay."

She lets go of his hand, gives one last thought to the kiss before turning away.

*.*.*.*.*

"I'm not upset," Marinette says for the seventeenth time that day, and Alya can't help but scoff.

"Your forehead is doing that little pinchy thing," the brunette counters, "you know, the one where it's so scrunched up I can barely see your eyes?" She reaches over and takes the liberty of trying to smooth out the creases in Marinette's face, but not before her best friend irritably swaps her hand away.

"I'm fine!" Marinette whisper-shouts. "Really." They're headed to the cafeteria to get lunch, and if Adrien is going to be there (which he obviously will), she has to get this ridiculous look off of her face. She'd managed to keep it together for Economics, but only because the majority of her interaction with Adrien in class was the exchange of an exasperated look when Chloe tried to act like she did the reading (in confession, Marinette may have only skimmed, but at least she didn't even try to pretend she had all the answers).

An extended Adrien Session, which Marinette has started dubbing these in her head, requires a whole other level of calm and composure. Alya constantly bringing up earlier annoyances is not one way to do so.

"Oh," interjects a voice, and Marinette nearly jumps into the air at its next statement: "Are you stressed out about that, too?"

"What?" she nearly yells. "What am I stressed out about? I don't understand— I, I—"

"The history project."

Alya claps a hand to her face and shakes her head, watching as a wildly panting Marinette turns to properly face Nathanael, who appears to be oblivious to her ramblings. The redhead's tablet is in his hand, as always, and he stares at her unabashed, waiting for a response.

"Oh," Marinette murmurs. "Um, yeah. Yeah. I haven't even started. It's due tomorrow, right?" This last question is directed at Alya, who resignedly nods her head.

Nathanael shifts on his toes a little before clearing his throat. "Do you maybe. . . want to work on it together?" He looks up hopefully at Marinette, a hint of his crush on her still laden in the rise of his cheeks.

Marinette mentally runs through her schedule for the evening: do the history project, finish her competition entry for a redesign of the storefront of the boutique down the street, make a brief appearance as Ladybug on the evening broadcast of some kids' show. . .

"I'm sorry," she says, genuinely pained about having to turn him down, "but I just. . . have a lot on my plate."

Behind her, she can see Alya shifting in surprise; her friend may know about the history project and the boutique, but she doesn't know about Marinette's other obligation. Nathanael must pick up on Alya's reaction as well, because his smile is awkward as he says, "Oh, yeah, no worries."

And because she feels, now, that she has to justify herself to two people, because she doesn't want Alya and Nathanael to think that she's made up some halfhearted excuse just to avoid him, when Adrien finally joins them with a warm, "Hey, Nath; hey, Alya!" Marinette quickly seizes his arm and explains, "See, Adrien and I also have a date tonight, so between finishing up the project and getting ready for that. . ."

If Adrien recognizes her death grip on his arm, he doesn't comment. The only nod to their facade is the single eyebrow he raises at her, a silent what have you gotten into this time? before he reiterates, the picture of a proud boyfriend, "Yeah, Marinette and I have a date."

Marinette exhales in relief, even as a part of her thinks, mournfully, I really have to stop putting him on the spot like this.

"You guys are going on another date and you didn't tell me?" asks Alya, her betrayal directed more towards Marinette than Adrien. Marinette meets her best friend's eyes guiltily, about to mouth, I'll explain later, but Adrien beats her to the punch. Again.

"Only because you and Nino so rudely crashed our other one," he teases.

"Good thing, too, because you were about to do something embarrassingly corny."

"Come on, Marinette likes it. Don't you, Mari?" asks Adrien, drawing her closer to his side and looking innocently at Alya.

"Uh. . ." Marinette manages, eyes darting between Alya and Adrien, who are staring each other down from across her, twin expressions of mirth on their faces. They are having way too much fun with this.

"I get it," Nathanael speaks up again, and the genuine warmth in his voice makes Marinette look at him fondly. "That's. . . really great, about you two. Congratulations." He smiles, this time directly at Marinette, and for a beat her heart thumps fast (can he sense — ? Does he know?). His mop of red hair bends as he turns and walks away, scribbling something on his tablet. Marinette mumbles a soft goodbye.

"Well," Alya declares, eyeing her with a pointed look, "someone's got to keep Nino company, so I'll meet you guys over in the courtyard."

"Will do," Adrien agrees easily.

"Don't take too long!" Alya calls over her shoulder. Marinette glares and makes a slicing motion with her free hand, before walking in the other direction with her 'boyfriend'.

Once it's just the two of them, Adrien slides his arm out of her grip, draping it across her shoulders instead as he guides them somewhere less conspicuous.

"So, do we really have a date tonight?" he asks lightly, gaze pointed straight ahead as they walk.

"Um, no, sorry about that," Marinette says, resisting the urge to squirm. "Not that I wouldn't like it if— if we did, it's just I've got other engagements—"

"That's a relief, actually," Adrien confesses, "because I was trying to figure out a nice way to tell you that I'm also super busy tonight so it might not be the best time—"

"Oh, no, I totally understand! Is it another photo shoot?"

"Among other things," he answers, tilting his head as he looks down at her out of the corner of his eye.

They're in an empty hallway now, removed from any curious gazes they might have had to face in the school cafeteria. Adrien drops his arm and steps away from her to lean against one of the columns, his golden hair bright against the white stone. He's not looking at her anymore; rather, he stares at some invisible fixed point down the hallway, his arms crossed. He'd make a perfect statue like this, Marinette thinks, if any sculptor could capture the soft line of his left cheek, his jaw.

"Can I ask you something?" Adrien questions, eyes sliding towards her and then back away.

"Of course."

"Why me? Why not Nino or Nathanael or something?"

Marinette grapples with Adrien's question, because it's so far from what she expected. This is different from his teasing but prodding comparisons with Chat Noir. He's not asking this time out of some misplaced sense of inadequacy; there's genuine puzzlement in his tone, as if he's just now realized that Marinette could have easily picked someone else to go along with her plans. Because that's who Adrien is, Marinette thinks with a smile. It doesn't occur to him that maybe for her there couldn't have been anyone else.

But she can't tell him that.

"Because it wouldn't be fair to them," she answers eventually. "Nino, because of Alya, and Nathanael, because he's had feelings for me before and I— I don't know if they're gone, to be honest. But you. . . you've never thought of me that way, so I knew," she swallows, staring down at her feet and mustering the courage to go on, "I knew it'd be a safe bet."

Adrien is quiet for a long time, and Marinette's heart squeezes. It isn't like she's expecting him to vehemently deny her statement, to blurt, "You're wrong and I've liked you all this time and I agreed so I could win your heart," but it still hurts that he takes so long to answer.

"Marinette," he starts, stops. Tries again. "Marinette, I— I think you're great. You're smart and funny and talented and— and you're one of my closest friends, which is why I want to tell you something I haven't told anyone else."

He straightens and moves away from the column to stand before her. As Adrien takes both of her hands in his and looks her dead in the eye, Marinette's heart leaps into her throat.

"I'm in love with Ladybug."

"L— Ladybug?" Marinette stutters, momentarily stunned.

"I know what it's going to sound like," Adrien says urgently, squeezing her fingers. "Like hero worship, or whatever, but it's not. I can't— I can't explain all of it to you right now, but I know— I know there's more to her than what we see on the television. I was there when—" he breaks off, clearing his throat. "I mean, I've just. . . I've been following her for a long time. And I want to figure out who she really is behind the mask."

I'm in love with Ladybug.

Behind the mask.

The mask —

"Adrien—"

"Sorry," he says, releasing her hands suddenly, as if burned. "I didn't mean— it's unfair of me to spring it on you like that. But I thought you should know as soon as possible, because of our. . ." he trails off. "Arrangement."

"Arrangement," Marinette echoes, and the word is cold again, clinical.

"So that's me, in a nutshell," Adrien shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "Just your average teenage boy with a big, dumb, unrequited crush." He smiles a little ruefully. "Guess I'm not good at every thing."

There's a lump in Marinette's throat, and she doesn't even know what it's from anymore: the fact that Adrien's faith in Ladybug might as well be written in stone? The fact that this boy could think that anyone could know him and not care for him in return? The fact that this, in entirety, is turning out to be far messier than she'd even imagined?

"But enough about me," Adrien is saying. "The point is, I just wanted you to know that it's okay if you have someone else. When this is all over, I promise I'll support you."

Marinette almost laughs. Oh, Adrien, she laments numbly. How can you be so blind?

"Should we add that to our contract?" she jests, in an attempt to remove herself from it all. Adrien makes a move as if to draw something out of his pocket, then fakes an air pencil and paper with his hands. He seals the deal with a kiss to his fingertips. "There, it's set in stone."

"I'm glad we can say we're on the same page." Marinette laughs, finally, unable to wallow in a mood for too long what with Adrien at her side. Her model 'boyfriend' really is like the sun, taking on the warmth of others before emitting it back to them. She can't even say that she's annoyed about this morning anymore; his hand on her waist as they walk back to the courtyard is too much of a comfort.

"Thank you, by the way, for trusting me with this."

"No," Adrien answers, "thank you . It's nice to finally get that off of my shoulders."

Ah, the irony. "I imagine," murmurs Marinette. As the courtyard comes into view, she spots Alya rambling to a helpless Nino, who, despite having to duck out of the way of Alya's wild gesturing, seems to be enjoying hearing her voice. Apparently Adrien has been walking his best friend through how to woo the eccentric blogger all over again. Marinette doesn't doubt that his efforts will pull through; he seems to be doing a pretty good job with his own 'girlfriend', after all.

"Oh, thank God," Nino breathes when they finally make it over, "I thought she'd never stop." He laughs when Alya punches him in the shoulder.

"Says the guy who posts videos of himself blabbing every week!"

Yeah, she thinks it'll pan out alright.

*.*.*.*.*

Although Marinette is stressed out as it is when she finally makes it back home (the broadcast took a little longer than expected, and she still has some finishing touches to put on her history project), nothing can keep her from mentally replaying Adrien's words: It's nice to finally get that off of my shoulders.

It feels wrong not to tell him the truth, because here he is, laying his whole heart bare to her, and she can't even muster the courage to tell Adrien that she's had a crush on him for two years. She feels like a fraud.

"You could just tell him who you are. . ." suggests Tikki, easily sensing her partner's apprehension.

"I can't, though! " Marinette takes a breath, heart beating fast. "It's. . . I know you're worried that it's because I don't believe I'm as good as when I'm Ladybug but that's not it, I just— I have to win him over from this end, too. Like this. Me, Marinette." She presses a hand to her chest, thinks of Adrien saying, I know there's more.

This is more; the question is whether Adrien will even realize it, if he'll see her for who she is. "Or it doesn't count," Marinette finishes softly.

"So what are you going to do?" Tikki asks, the doubt clear in her voice.

Marinette looks at the calendar, tallying up the days until the date she and Adrien agreed to terminate their relationship.

A month and a half. Forty six days.

That's how long she has left to win over Adrien.