AN: It seems to be a theme that my one-shots get too long and turn into two-shots. The next chapter will include more romance (and deserve the higher rating), I promise.

Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc

"It'll be fine," Marinette reassured herself, looking at the hotel in front of her. "I've already been paid, so even if they tell me to leave, I'm not broke."

Fresh out of university, finding a job had been hard. Marinette had lived with her parents originally for a few months, fiddling with the clothes she was making and updating a blog that had gained quite a following through the years. Eventually, her achievements and the popularity she'd acquired played in her favour; a local amusement park that was opening soon, planning to be all-year-round rather than just in the summer, had contacted her in hopes that she'd design fresh costumes for their employees that needed to dress up, and wanted her keen eye and creativity that had been shown in her own work. Naturally, she accepted the brilliant opportunity, and after speaking to the higher-ups and having her designs confirmed, she stitched them with dedication in her bedroom. She was paid handsomely per finished design and the money added up well.

After finishing the job, she scooped up the following offer for working for the amusement park, too. When a costume needed repairing they were going to pay her individually per, and she had a choice of different stations around the park to choose from. There was still a few weeks to decide, so she used her saved money to move into a quaint—but small—apartment nearby her upcoming job, and still close to her childhood home. Her university had been a good few hours away, and her parents were rejoicing openly about how happy they were that their daughter was staying local. She didn't bother much to decorate her home, only placing bright-coloured blankets on the furniture or adding pretty coasters and other such trinkets that weren't necessary, just so it would feel slightly homely.

A week before the grand-opening of the amusement park, Marinette was invited to a party that was being thrown for all of the confirmed employees that they currently had. She was handed a silly name-tag that stated her first name and her title (costume designer and blank, as she was undecided), and was told to mingle and enjoy herself. The location was a local hotel's bar, that included free beverages as long as they had their name-tags on for proof.

She smoothed out the material of her pastel blue-coloured dress to make sure she looked appropriate.

It was her first job that wouldn't be in the presence of her parents—she wanted to work with these people, and therefore her first impression needed to be better than her stuttering over her words and awkwardly attempting to bond with others. As long as she didn't consume too much alcohol, she doubted she'd blurt out their clothing sizes without any prompting.

She trailed in one direction for a quick check in the fancy-looking bathroom's mirror that her hair wasn't in a disarray and found that, thankfully, the ebony tresses were still neatly curled above her breasts, with a few wisps pushed aside as bangs that framed her hooded cerulean-coloured eyes. With the reassurance that she looked presentable, Marinette cautiously made her way

There was a middle-aged man with broad shoulders by the bar, who she assumed to be one of the managers from not remembering making a costume to those sort of proportions. She recognised the princesses that would be walking around at times, not quite able to tell them apart, and one who'd be working as a pirate (she'd been informed about their hearing aids beforehand). Sipping on a non-alcoholic beverage, Marinette amused herself by trying to guess each individual's job when she spied a name-tag, and the possibilities were vast by the time the bar had become crowded.

"Are you prowling for the evening?"

The sudden voice made her jump.

Marinette whipped her head around, scarlet rushing to her cheeks and portraying her embarrassment at having been caught staring. The newcomer an amused smile across his lips, indents on his cheeks showing that his emotions weren't faked, and golden-coloured hair that brushed against the tips of his ears. If it wasn't for the fact he was the only one beside her, she wouldn't have connected the insinuating words to him.

"N-no." She coughed into her hand, clearing her throat nervously. "I—I was trying to figure out everyone's positions."

"Well, that's no fun," he replied playfully, wide grin reaching his emerald eyes. With a dramatic bow, that certainly didn't match his jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt, he gently took hold of her hand and hovered his lips by her knuckles. "Adrien Agreste, vampire, at your service." His eyes flickered up to her through golden-tinged eyelashes, and he winked as his lips made contract to chastely kiss her hand.

He—Marinette flushed, withdrawing her hand and clutching it to her chest as though she'd been burned. She had wanted to meet her co-workers—but not to be asked if she was prowling for a one-night stand and then thoroughly embarrassed. Her expression must have been a mixture of incredulous and shy because he made a noise of amusement as he stepped back, allowing her space one more as he settled down on a stool.

Shaking head head, Marinette gathered her wits. "Marinette," she offered, eyes flickering down to her own name-tag. "I haven't decided my section yet."

He hummed in understanding. Although it didn't state vampire specifically, his name-tag did mention his first name along with haunted house. She had made a black cloak that could be worn as a cape if wanted, with a red-coloured lining that was soft and nice to touch.

"I'd suggest the haunted house," Adrien said, raising a hand to catch the bartender's attention. The sudden flirtation had disappeared, his appearance innocent once more. "I'm sure we could have a lot of fun between us."

Goodness, he had no shame. "I'll think about it," the dark-haired female replied coolly, unsure of how to take his attitude. It wasn't unwelcome, or considered creepy—just surprising. Marinette had prepared for the evening by imagining brief conversations with her to-be-co-workers, not shifting from embarrassment from an attractive male flirting with her.

"It'll be a pleasure to have you there," the blond commented, a lopsided smile playing across his lips. "With us two, I'm sure we could shock the guests with something other than our blood-stained clothing."

And with that said, he walked away.

Marinette watched his retreating form, utterly baffled, before she shook her head and promptly told herself to forget about it. He was friendly, yes, but it was probably from consuming one too many drinks as the night had gone on—it was still early, though, so there was a chance they would bump into each other once more, where he'd be uttering sweet words into someone else's ears.

As the evening progressed, Marinette had greeted most that she would be working with. The friendliest of the bunch turned out to be Alya, a curvy red-head who would be hopping between game stalls during the day. Alya had moved from her home-town a few hours away for the job opportunity, saying that her family had been driving her nuts recently, so she wanted to prove that she could make it on her own, or, rather; with her boyfriend that had moved in with her.

Their cheeks were coloured from the alcohol by the time they decided to leave. It was past midnight—though the hotel had employees walking around during all hours, to make sure the guests were okay—and the breeze outside was cold, refreshing, and wonderful as they walked together. Their arms were linked together, more for the stability than the sign of sudden friendship, and the noise of their laughter subdued the clicking of their heels.

"You have to meet Nino," Alya announced as she pushed the wide-rimmed spectacles up to the bridge of her nose. "We could have dinner sometime—he'd be head-over-heels that you two have the same music taste."

She raised her eyebrows, smiling. "And that's enough to warrant a friendship with him?"

"Are you kidding?" The red-head snorted loudly, almost stumbling as they turned a corner. "His friends are into completely different genres. I have to take the brunt of it and listen to him rave about new songs since no one else cares."

"You're a good girlfriend," Marinette replied cheekily.

Alya raised her nose in the air haughtily. "Damn right. We haven't been together for five years for nothing."

As it turned out, they lived in the same cheap apartment building. It wasn't a luxurious place to live—there were a lot of rowdy passers-by in the evening—but it suited their needs fine. They kept in contact during the week before they started work, the dark-haired female wandering around to their floor and spending evenings with the sweet couple. Nino was a sweetheart with tanned skin a few shades darker than Alya's, a head of black curls that were cut short, and thick spectacles much like his girlfriend's. He was working as a local radio host, hoping to become more popular and not have to broadcast at ridiculous hours, so Alya spent her time without him either alone, or bonding with Marinette.

The job positions that were left had dwindled done. The chefs had been taken, along with the remaining stalls slots, so the remaining ones were between dressing up guests and taking pictures of them, cleaning up the park, or, to her embarrassment, working in the haunted house. She chose the latter in the end, knowing that it would be the most fun for her there (and that it had downtime, unlike the other positions).

The higher-ups approved of her being a ghost; she knew it was open as the other costumes she'd made hadn't included it. Her pale skin would work in her favour, along with black-coloured hair that she'd inherited from her mother. As long as she wore a white dress that wasn't tight and allowed some of her hair to cover her face, they were fine. She stitched a dress that came to her knees, purposely ragged at the bottom with some parts greyer than the rest, and made the sleeves long in length, just to her wrist, and flair out for dramatic purposes.

It was like she was dressing up for a party—except it was her job to scare the wits out of guests.

The day before the park opened, all the employees had been called in to make sure everything was in order. Her first thoughts of the haunted house was that it looked hilarious; with tombstones covered in cobwebs that bobbed in the wind on the outside, the warning signs that were messily scrawled on with paint, and blood-stained bricks on the building that were darkened from the rain. The inside was just as cliché with skeletons hanging from the ceiling, a particularly creepy life-sized doll around one corner, and a room filled with mirrors. There would be fog billowing inside when the house was active, setting the atmosphere, along with soft background music that added to the eerie feeling.

When she met Adrien again, he was clad in a white button-up shirt that was tucked into a pair of black slacks—and if he was only wear those, he would've looked smart—completed by the silky-looking cape that was tied with a strong ribbon around his neck. The scarlet of the inside of the cloak was startling and stood out against the rest of his outfit.

He was busy musing the blond strands of his hair in the mirror and therefore hadn't noticed her arrival.

Marinette wetted her lips.

"...Adrien?" she called quietly.

If she hadn't been looking at him, she wouldn't have noticed his reaction. The blond paused mid-action for a moment, frozen as his hand was touching the tresses of his hair, before tilting his head and looking at her from the corner of his eyes. The smirk that appeared across his reddened lips was the main attraction upon his face, and she found herself staring for longer than necessary.

"Marinette," he replied slowly, as if tasting the name on his tongue. "This is a pleasant surprise."

Unsure of how to reply, her grip on the bag on her shoulder tightened. "I-I'm ready—I'm going to get ready," she stuttered through her words, heat rising to adorn her cheeks instantly. It was a natural reaction from embarrassment, but the fact that he remembered her from their brief meeting had her shy and uncertain of how to react.

Their break-room had a meeting room with a section to have free coffee from a machine, private toilets, a seating area to converse, lockers to keep their belongings, along with multiple changing rooms complete with mirrors to make sure their outfits were correct. It was located behind the haunted house, required a passcode into a machine to get past, so it was fine for them to arrive—and leave—work in everyday clothing.

Marinette fiddled with the dress in the mirror, already considering the multiple ones that she could make. The higher-ups were fine with fake blood (they specified fake to make sure), and make-up wounds as long as they didn't go too overboard since there would be young children visiting. So, with the ideas of making a bloody dress, she began to muse and ruffle her hair, making it so the collarbone-length strands were uneven and rumpled, giving her the appearance she desired.

Her lips were lightened with make-up, making them blend with the rest of her pale skin, and had black smudged underneath her eyes to make it appear as though she hadn't slept. It was an odd appearance, one that she hadn't quite thought she'd ever wear past the age of ten, yet there was she, preparing for her first day of work wearing it.

The amusement park was opening in half an hour.

Their co-workers had arrived, too. A tall girl with black-coloured hair that fell to her waist introduced herself as Juleka, and when she emerged from the dressing-room, the shy-looking appearance was once more. Her clothes were purposely tattered, fake blood splattered across the fabrics, and her hair was safely tucked away within a blonde-haired wig that was filled with tangles and blood, too. She tentatively explained that she was supposed to be a zombie, and told that she only had to grunt and walk slowly throughout the haunted house.

Mireille, a female that was only just taller than her, had enveloped Marinette into a hug on the spot and profusely thanked her for the wonderful outfit. As it turned out, the curvaceous newcomer was revealed to be the witch she'd designed for—instead of going with the traditional over-sized tunic that swamped her figure, the robe instead ended an inch above her ankle, allowing the shoes to be seen, and was pinched in at the waist. There was no cleavage on display, and the sleeves billowed much like Marinette's own, but it was the generic witch's hat that brought the outfit together; there was a ribbon wrapped around it that matched the handle of her broom that she'd be carrying around.

There were two more that she'd designed for—a skeleton and werewolf—but they were not scheduled to work the same days that she was assigned, so there was only a chance of bumping into them. Three of them would work together to direct, and scare, the guests throughout the haunted house, while one was selected to pass out sweets to passers-by and attempt to lure them into their section.

There was an unknown perk to the guests. The guests that entered their sections would be counted, and each half of the year there would be a winner for the most guests selected, meaning the staff for that ride—be it operating or actually involved with interacting with the guests—would receive a bonus.

Her nerves decreased after she'd encountered the first guest in the darkened hallway. The teenager had taken one look at her before shrieking, speeding away in the direction they were supposed to go.

"Oh," Marinette said, blinking in surprise that it was so easy. She'd jumped as well, a silent scream trapped within her mouth, and she wondered whether it would continue throughout her time there. If she was going to be continuously scared by the guests, then maybe it wasn't the right job for her.

The trick turned out to be listening to footsteps and the murmurs of their conversations. As she prowled through the well-ordered rooms, narrowing avoiding tripping over the creepy life-sized doll, the job had slowly become more fun. She still jumped sometimes when she wasn't expecting it, but most of the times she stayed lurking in a corner where guests were soon to turn, trying to contain her laughter when the children screamed and the parents shook their heads fondly. There was no inappropriate touching—that would've been crossing a line—so the most she did was clear her throat to draw attention to herself at times.

Then a new occurrence began during their shifts.

The first time she bumped into Adrien, it had been literally. She'd been searching through the rooms for a new spot for the incoming guests, musing her hair along the way. When she turned a corner, she'd collided with a hard body and it caused a chain-reaction of stumbling, a shocked gasp escaping her lightened lips, before she'd grasped onto the material of his shirt to attempt to stay upright.

There was a ripping sound, indicating that she'd torn the outfit.

"I-I'm so sorry," she stuttered, blood rushing to her cheeks immediately. Her grip loosened on his clothing, realising the situation with mortification. The tangled hair upon her hair was brushing against his chin from their closeness and height difference. "I didn't know you'd be here."

And it was true. Although there were only three of them inside the haunted house at any given time, usually they didn't run across each other, preferring to stay to their areas and not venture further in.

"It's not a problem," Adrien replied, voice soft and low.

Taking a step back, allowing some space between their bodies in the darkened room, her gaze flickered up to his. Adrien worked almost the same hours as she did, with the exception of Friday, so they had seen a lot of each other. Usually the blond wandered off to eat lunch by himself, and left without conversing with the others when the park was closing. They had been working together for two weeks, cycling through who was selected to attract guests every two days. The make-shift system worked well due to Marinette's schedule of working four days a week.

It was the closest she'd seen him since they'd began working.

His hands—which didn't have gloves on, as he should've—cupped hers in a comforting gesture. "I'm not going to complain about the creative greeting."

She blinked.

The smile across his reddened lips, which appeared to be the only make-up he'd used, showed his dimples and the tops of his cheeks contorted his eyes, showing that he was sincere. It was a strange meeting, no doubt, and the fact that they'd barely conversed since their first day made the situation even more bewildering.

So when he lifted one of her grasped hands and placed his lips against them in a chaste kiss once more, she stiffened in surprise.

And with that, he squeezed her hands once before letting go.

"I'll be with the mirrors," the male informed her, a lopsided smile tugging upon his lips. "Try not to fall into me too often, okay?"

Their interactions were brief after that. Even when they bumped into each other inside their break-room, Adrien averted his eyes and kept to himself. It was perplexing to see—he'd been so open, even flirtatious when they'd been together, and yet when it wasn't on his terms, if he didn't approach first, then there wouldn't be any interact at all. The blond merely nodded when co-workers attempted to talk to him, even going as far to politely smile and excuse himself with a soft mumble. It wasn't the picture that she'd conjured of the confident male she'd met previously, not at all.

One Friday, when Adrien was absent for his day off, Marinette caught idle chatter from other co-workers in the park during lunch. She'd quickly wiped the make-up off her lips, hoped that the smudges beneath her eyes passed as lack of sleep, and tied her tangled hair into a ponytail before venturing through the pair in casual wear to get fresh air. The previous times she'd attempted to take a breather outside in her uniform hadn't gone well, especially when children had flocked to her to ask what was wrong and whether they could take pictures.

They were questioning whether Adrien was a recluse, if it was his first job and he was uncertain on how to interact with others. It was baffling to hear, especially when they murmured that he had gained quite a reputation, especially when he was the one attracting guests to the haunted house—apparently, a visitor had posted a picture of the blond on a website and gained attention to his good looks. A few of the ticket-sellers at the front had been questioned whether the vampire would be working on some days, and a guest had even denied buying a ticket and said they'd be back when he was working.

It was a whole week until she bumped into him again, and it happened when she'd walked into the haunted house from the back entrance. After pressing the right buttons to allow access, she'd walked through into the darkened room, startled when her shoulder brushed against something hard.

A gasp escaped as she stumbled forward, hands positioned in front to brace her fall. There was a flash of panic before arms were curled around her waist, keeping her upright and unfortunately pressed against him in the process—for it had to be Adrien, as their other two co-workers had ample bosoms.

"Falling for me again, Marinette?" he asked with a laugh. Their close distance meant she could feel his chest vibrate with the noise, and she realised that she was standing upright with his arms around her still.

There were cameras inside, for goodness sake—what if the security guard questioned them? Although it wasn't forbidden for employees to have relationships, it was severely frowned upon, and unprofessional, for them to act on them within their working time.

"I—" Marinette swallowed, the sound louder than necessary. Making sure to distribute her weight to stand by herself, she awkwardly gathered his arms so they were no longer wrapped around her. "I didn't know you'd be here."

Raising his eyebrows, Adrien pointed out, "That's what you said last time, too." And if that wasn't embarrassing enough, he continued to say with a wide grin, "You don't have to resort to violence to get my attention."

This was not the male that avoided their co-workers, walking away to spend time by himself during their breaks. The male before her was utterly baffling and she couldn't quite understand his motives behind it all—he'd already gained the reputation as being the aloof, hard to approach employee.

"I could report you for harassment," the dark-haired female blurted, aware of how absurd she sounded.

Instead of being offended, he looked amused more than anything. "Sure," Adrien said easily, raising a hand and ruffling her already mused hair. "If that would make you happy."

He didn't kiss her hand before he disappeared that time.

They would bump into each other occasionally—not on an everyday basis—and each time she was inwardly infuriated that she became a mess of nerves and embarrassment, constantly stuttering and unsure of how to stand properly with him. Mireille had spied them interacting within the haunted house one afternoon and cornered her once their shifts were finished, demanding to know the details of their relationship. When Marinette tentatively explained that there was no sort of relationship between them, not even friendship, her co-worker had laughed and called her absurd for even thinking that.

By the fourth time they'd collided, without her falling over that time, Marinette was becoming suspicious of his motives. Adrien hadn't reached out to stop her from falling since she'd mentioned the harassment (meaning, the third time she'd slipped and ended up dirtying her dress more than usual), and he did nothing more than make eye contact with his infuriating smile that reached his eyes, and then walk away once it was clear that there was nothing wrong with her.

There weren't many conversation between them, not at all. The limited interactions they'd had after two months of working together had been the awkward flirty comments at the beginning.

Marinette had dressed in her casual clothes for her lunch break, having promised to meet Alya across the park to eat together. Apparently, the others that worked at the gaming stalls weren't very good company. Even though the two females saw each other often in their crappy apartment complex, it was still nice to spend lunches together, and occasionally walk home when Marinette finished late (and therefore ended the same time as the red-head).

"Alya!" she called, stretching a hand up high and waving to catch her bespectacled friend's attention. "Over here!"

"Oh, there you are," Alya replied, visibly relieved. She directed the two of them to a nearby bench, offering Marinette a to-go cup of coffee that tasted splendidly better than the free machine in her break-room—the food areas were closer to Alya's station. "I thought you forget about me there for a bit."

She snorted, holding the cup tightly for warmth. "As if I could ever do that. You'd bang on my door until it broke to get my attention."

"Why, you sound ungrateful for my friendship." It was the combination of her haughty expression and the steam from the coffee fogging up her wide-rim spectacles that caused Marinette to laugh aloud, the noise attracting attention their way. "I waited in line to get us these coffees; you should show me some respect."

An innocent smile appeared across her whitened lips. "You're my hero, babe."

Since getting to know Alya and her boyfriend, she noticed a tend that whenever Nino called Alya babe whenever he was sarcastic or half paying attention, the red-head would stubbornly cross her arms and refuse to talk to him until he apologised for the half-hearted name. It was silly, really—when he affectionately called her babe when Marinette was walking from the room or back in, there was no doubt that she liked the name.

"No!" Alya cried, eyes narrowing into slits and hiding their brown colour. "Just you want until you get a boyfriend—I'll be right there, mocking every single name."

"That's not very nice," she replied, a smirk tugging on the corner of her lips. "Perhaps I'll just never introduce you..."

Alya kept her eyes narrowed, not blinking, before making a noise of disapproval.

Then in a move that was almost too fast to see or comprehend, the red-head was attempting to take the coffee back from her cold hands, causing Marinette to shriek, "I take it back!"

"That's what I thought." The tanned female sniffed. "Now I'll move onto what I actually wanted to talk to you about."

There was silence between them as Marinette looked at her expectantly, and Alya simply remained silent, raising her drink up to take a sip that lasted longer than necessary. The dark-haired female scowled when she realised her friend was drawing it out for no good reason; she just wanted her full attention, and perhaps for Marinette to groan aloud and demand to know already.

It took almost a minute of silence and awkward staring until Alya gave up. "You're no fun," she grumbled, shooting her a dirty look. "I went looking for you yesterday, not realising that you don't work on Mondays."

She blinked. "Good story so far."

"Shut up." Alya stuck her tongue out in a childish action.

"It's not like we've been working together for two months, not at all."

Her friend glared once more. "Shut your yap before I post embarrassing pictures of you on our apartment complex's noticeboard."

At that, she cheekily thinned her lips out into a line, trying not to let her amusement leak through too much.

"Well, I met a pretty burly werewolf, but that's not really what I wanted to talk about either. His muscles were pretty impressive, though." They shared a laugh at that. "I bumped into a handsome vampire who seems to think you hate him."

Oh. "...I-I don't hate him—" It wasn't as if she liked him, though. If anyone else had made those remarks, she would've disliked it profusely. "Why would he tell you anyway?"

"I was asking for you, and he politely told me that you weren't working," Alya explained, waving a hand along with her words to show that she was interested in the topic. "He seems nice, so why haven't I heard about him before?"

Because she wanted to avoid the topic avidly. "You probably have," Marinette murmured, taking a sip of her drink to avoid answering immediately. "He's the one that someone posted pictures of online, remember? I mentioned it before, but I think you were a bit tipsy."

"Oh!" the red-head exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise. "The guy that Nino wouldn't let me look at?"

Well, she couldn't argue that. "...He was drunk and protective, but yes."

And with that, they continued to chat until their breaks were over, and they were needed back at work. Marinette kept a wary eye on Adrien when they'd spotted each other in the break-room, but all he did was smile softly before continuing on his way.

At least he wasn't kissing her hand any more. The first time could've been passed off as the atmosphere in the bar, but after that was a whole different matter. It was an unwanted advance, and he'd only laughed off the harassment threat—that was half-hearted—and avoided contact after that.

It wasn't how someone made friends, not at all. With Adrien, though, it seemed like he didn't have friends during the day. Their co-workers awkwardly spoke to him at times, only getting a few one-word responses before giving up, and the gossip around the park had picked up once more. One of the princesses had asked him out by the three month mark, only to be rejected stiffly, and he continued to attract guests to the park (more specifically to their section).

When he nodded his head in greeting one evening when they'd finished their shifts, something in her snapped. With a deep breath, Marinette kept her grip on her water bottle to avoid nervously palming her clothing.

"Adrien?" she called, voice higher-pitched then usual, though she was thankful she didn't stutter instead.

He'd just came out of the dressing-room in a t-shirt and dark-washed jeans, heading towards the exit and intending to go home. Rather than ignoring the call—much like he did if Mireille had been the one to request his presence—he stiffened and froze for a moment. It was quick, almost too fast to notice before his muscles relaxed once more, but she noticed it.

She wetted her lips.

The surprised reaction was much the same as he'd had a few months ago. Adrien turned on the spot, hovering by the doorway with a conflicted expression on his face. His eyebrows were furrowed slightly, inquisitively, before they smoothed out.

The smile didn't reach his eyes. It was polite, somewhat forced, and hadn't been directed at her before.

"Can we... I—can we talk?" Marinette winced, mortified that the stuttering was back. There was just—there was something about him that caused her to be nervous and uncertain constantly. Whether it was his attractive appearance or the confusing behaviour, she wasn't sure.

"Talk?" Adrien repeated, emerald eyes looking up to meet hers.

She nodded, unsure how to respond.

She'd never considered herself a shallow being. Marinette's past attractions had been for their personalities and sense of humours rather than their looks; once she was a teenager, she was certain that the child Marinette had been a shallow little girl that idolised good looking celebrities. It was the same with most children, however, and she'd grown out of it by the time she'd had her first boyfriend.

There was something disarming about the male before her. He was tall so she came up to his chin—though he wasn't as large as the rumoured werewolf—with a beauty about him that wasn't common. Perhaps it was the combination of blond hair, lashes that were stained at the ends, and the eyebrows that were only just darker than the strands upon his head. And even the dimples gave him a boyish charm that made him more approachable.

Yet, even with all those endearing qualities combined, there wasn't anything to add on. His beauty was a part of him, but not all—she didn't know what dumb jokes he would tell, which food he preferred, or even what music he liked to listen to. She knew next to nothing about him other than that he was astoundingly attractive; enough so that guests would visit the park just to catch a glimpse of him during his work hours.

But how would that make him feel? Did he feel like he was being used for his body, for his good looks?

She didn't hate him. There was not enough known about him to hate. Childish jealousy could persuade her to despise him for his good looks, but that tiny tinge of jealousy was smothered by the overall concern that she felt.

It wasn't normal to be treated like that.

"I—" Marinette cut herself off, clearing her throat with a grimace. It wasn't normal for her heart to be beating faster than usual just from the thought of talking to him either. Many thoughts of how to approach him were running through her mind, but all that came out softly was, "I don't know you."

His eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

Right. She wasn't being clear. "I-I know your name," she assured him quickly, blood rushing to her cheeks at just how dumb she was coming across. Of course she knew his name—she'd said it not even a minute ago! "I know that you work here but... I don't know you."

There was a smudge of red on his lips still.

"Therefore... I don't hate you, Adrien." She wetted her lips, hands gripping the bottle tighter. "How could I?"

"Oh." His voice was low, soft, and barely audible.

Shifting her weight upon her feet, Marinette's cerulean eyes flickered between the neutral line of his lips and the furrowed eyebrows in uncertainty. "I know this is sudden, I'm sorry."

"No, don't be," the blond reassured her, taking a step in her direction. "This is very unexpected, but I can't say that I'm disappointed." And with that said, a blinding smile appeared on his face, lightening his previously neutral expression and showing the dimples that she'd admired previously.

Her cheeks warmed from the thought. It wasn't right to ogle him—he deserved better.

"Would you like to get coffee together?" Adrien questioned. "It would give us some privacy to talk."

Eyes flickering to the changing rooms, she remembered that Juleka was still undressing and undoubtedly listening to their conversation. "I-I'm fine with this," the dark-haired female stuttered, raising her bottle to eye-level to convey her meaning.

A hum of understanding escaped him. Adrien nodded his head, the corners of his bright eyes contorted due to his wide smile. "If you like water, then you already like a large percent of me."

Any feeling of concern for his well-being from being constantly ogled at at work was shattered with that sentence. Marinette's hand clenched around the bottle, the plastic crinkling loudly in protest, and she couldn't restrain the frown from appearing across her lips. He—he was insufferable! It had been weeks since they'd spoken and she'd perhaps, maybe, thought that he'd grown out of the flirtatious comments that had her on edge. It wasn't right to treat her how most did to him.

"Stop that!" she retorted, grimacing. "Why can't you talk to me like a normal human being? Have I done something to offend you?"

An odd expression flickered across his face before it was gone, confusion dominating his features.

Her eyes felt hot as she took in his reaction, throat thickening and feeling uncomfortable as the seconds passed by, and to her utter mortification she could feel tears welling before long. Her lower lip trembled from her restrained anger, bottle still held far too tightly.

"Is it fun to see how uncomfortable you can make me?" Marinette continued, blinking rapidly to attempt to contain her overflowing emotions. "I—I just wanted to be your, well, friend."

"Marinette..." Adrien started, taking a step in her direction.

On instinct, she backed away, adamant that it wasn't wholly her fault when his features betrayed his hurt. "Please, just don't," she whispered, making sure her bag was on right before looking up to meet his eyes once more. "You're... I don't appreciate your advances."

He grimaced but made no move to reply.

It was clear that their conversation was over by his pained expression, and her anger was overflowing and intertwining with embarrassment and self-righteousness. She'd never asked to be treated like that, and he certainly didn't talk to every female that way. There would've been awful rumours if he had, not the ones that he was an awkward adult that wasn't good at communicating.

"If you want to be friends, treat me like your equal," Marinette murmured as she walked past, not looking over her shoulder to see his reaction.

Later that night, she complained avidly to Alya over a bottle of wine.

-x-

After the confrontation—which is what Alya had dubbed it as—Adrien froze up when they crossed paths. It made working quite awkward, especially when Mireille had been informed about their quarrel. Juleka was a kind-hearted girl that kept to herself, but the two were good friends, so they shared the information with each other. There had been a few attempts on Mireille's part to attempt to have Marinette and Adrien make up, involving saying someone had dropped their belongings in specific sections and asking if she could go collect them, only to walk into the blond on her way through.

She started to notice things about him, though. When he was thinking hard, he'd gnaw on the corner of his bottom lip absently. If he was feeling self-conscious or embarrassed, especially after being told how handsome he was by a guest—that had squealed in excitement rather than fear as he was working—he'd fiddle with hairs on the nape of his neck and avert his eyes. Sometimes, she caught him holding his elbow, too, but it was predominantly his neck that he touched when he was shy.

He rejected the male with the hearing aids who worked a pirate, politely telling him that he didn't have any feelings of attractions to his own gender. A few guests had asked Adrien out on dates, too, which had caused him to shuffle awkwardly and attempt to herd them outside.

On the days where he walked the park and attempted to lure guests to their section, he didn't eat lunch. When she wandered outside for fresh air to eat her packed food on a nearby bench, he was still walking the park and approaching guests with a polite smile. Then again, she wasn't certain that she'd ever seen him eat at the amusement park. Perhaps he was on a strict diet and preferred to eat breakfast and only dinner, or he was self-conscious about his eating habits in front of others. Whichever it was, it explained his lean physique that she happened a glance at one afternoon. A guest—who turned out to be intoxicated and was eventually removed by security—had ripped his shirt as they'd fallen over, revealing muscles that weren't obvious underneath his costume.

Alya left the amusement park as it entered the fifth month of being open. The red-head was pursuing her dream of being a journalist, and had been accepted for a position at a local newspaper. They still lived in the same cheap apartment building, though she was sure that the couple were going to be engaged soon. Nino had confessed that he was saving up the right amount of money for a larger home, be it an apartment or house, along with the ring.

The higher-ups had requested more uniforms, and some new ones for newcomers that had just been hired, so there was plenty of extra money to be earned. Marinette still ran her blog and sold some of her casual creations when she had time, and it was adding up nicely as time progressed. Soon, she was sure she'd be able to move to a better home, away from the noise from her current residence. Her parents had expressed how proud they were that she was self-sufficient, and knowing that they were happy for her made her mood brighter.

It was nearing the mid-year guest count when she noticed something peculiar. Marinette's usual day entailed looking at Adrien from the corner of her eyes, taking in the small ministrations that he usually did and wonder if there was anything different. He still kept to himself, barely making conversation, and that fact caused guilt to course through her even more so.

Maybe he was bad at talking to others—perhaps he'd blurted those flirtatious things in an attempt to befriend her without realising that she was uncomfortable or that she'd not enjoy them. As time had gone on, she'd felt mortified at her reaction; the raised voice, tears in her eyes and even crushing the bottle from frustrations. It was an ugly side of her that she'd prefer no one saw again.

He was paler than usual. The only make-up he wore was the red-coloured lipstick that was usually smeared to not appear pristine, and when they'd passed each other in the break-room after dressing she'd been close enough to see that there was no foundation involved. There were slight dark marks underneath his eyes, too, though not as bad as the smeared make-up that Marinette wore for her costume.

The colour didn't go back to his cheeks. He appeared to be losing weight as time went on, too, which worried her greatly.

It was okay to worry about her co-workers, she repeatedly told herself when it became somewhat more than a habit to inspect his well-being without being too obvious.

So what if they weren't friends? There was nothing stopping her from approaching and asking him if he was feeling okay, questioning if he was eating well—

Except all she could think about when they were near to each other was the hurt expression that had been on his face the last time they'd spoken.

"It wasn't my fault," Marinette muttered to herself. It—it was a joint effort, surely.

The feelings of guilt built up as he continuously looked worse. Within a week, the bags beneath his eyes were more pronounced, eyelids drooping constantly and making him appear as though he was going to fall over. His movements were becoming sluggish, taking a longer period of time to appear from the dressing-rooms every time.

She waited until their co-workers had left their break-room before attempting to approach him.

Marinette was seated nervously, eyes trained on the door that he would be emerging from with casual clothing on. Her clammy hands were constantly rubbed against the material of her jeans in an attempt to calm down, but the beating of her heart was still consistent.

He had every right to tell her to leave him alone.

When he emerged, his sleepy eyes were focused on making sure his bag was shut. Therefore, when the blond walked forward slowly and went to raise his hand to grasp the doorknob, she decided to awkwardly clear her throat to catch his attention.

Much like before, he froze briefly before his hand dropped down to his side.

"Hello," the dark-haired female started cautiously, taking his presence as a sign that she didn't have to leave immediately. "I—I was wondering whether you're okay."

His lips opened, but no sound came out.

"You don't look so well," she continued, wincing when she realised it could be taken as an insult. "I-I mean..."

With furrowed eyebrows, Adrien asked quietly, "Why?"

Why did she care? It would've been rude not to be concerned about his sudden change. "I'm sorry for before," Marinette said instead, fiddling with her fingers nervously. "It was a mistake to lash out at you, and you didn't deserve it."

"No." In a nervous habit that she'd seen from a distance, Adrien ran his hand through his golden tresses of hair. "I was out of line. You had every right to get angry at me."

The reaction was unexpected. Marinette openly showed her surprise at his sudden understanding, wondering whether he connected the dots and realised that he'd been talking to her like his fans did to him. It was strange, really, that he wasn't offended or even angry at her sudden concern when they hadn't interacted for months. They'd been awkwardly walking past each other without communication, baffling their co-workers at the sudden behaviour.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly.

"I'd say I'm fine," Adrien started quietly, hand dropping to cup the nape of his neck, "but that would be a lie. I apologise for my unwelcome advances, too."

Blinking, she took in the pale skin, dark shadows underneath his usually bright eyes and the half-lidded eyelids from exhaustion. "Are you having trouble sleeping?" It was the only conclusion to grasp at; his appetite was unknown, and there weren't any bruises visible from his short-sleeved t-shirt to hint at any kind of abuse.

"Unfortunately," he confirmed.

She couldn't exactly help with that—there was no medicine that caused drowsiness on hand, and she certainly couldn't punch him so he'd pass out, as that would've been awfully wrong on multiple levels. So, all she could do in the end was nod in understanding, not able to offer words of comfort.

He seemed to pick up on the sudden silence meaning she was at a loss on what to say. "Is there a chance you'd still try and be my friend?"

It wasn't what she was expecting at all. Marinette stilled, eyes opening wide in surprise, lips parting without a sound. "You—really?" was all she could utter, the words quick and high-pitched at the end. "You still want to be my friend after I was a total bitch?"

He made a noise of amusement, and it was the closest she'd heard to him laughing in weeks. "I was an ogre right back at you."

"I wouldn't say that..."

"Just tell me what to avoid doing," the blond advised with a sheepish smile. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable in the future."

And she didn't want to make him feel awkward in turn. Marinette tentatively explained that she didn't want to hear bad pick-up lines, flirtatious comments that were out of line (although sexual jokes would be fine if they weren't too extreme), and he simply nodded his head, agreeing with each.

When she asked what he wanted her to avoid doing, he softly replied, "How you treat me already is fine. It's... different."

It would've been a lie to say that her face hadn't turned red.

-x-

The mid-year guest count was near. All the employees had been invited out for dinner with a weeks notice, and just under half had confirmed that they could attend. By the time the dinner party came to be, which was almost the seventh month instead of sixth, Marinette could proudly say they were friends by that point. It had been awkward at first, the two of them caught between opening their mouths to talk or simply stare at each other without attempting to further the contact. When she'd burst into laughter from their behaviour during their shifts—startling guests from the abrupt, and loud, noise—he'd responded in kind and let out a low chuckle that complimented his appearance. Marinette was avidly trying to squash her quickened heartbeat when he was around, fully intending to treat him like Nino—a friend, one who she wouldn't hit on despite their attractiveness.

He had a silly sense of humour. The jokes had appeared when they started to spend their lunches together, even the ones where his shifts had been spent attracting guests to their section. Marinette had been concerned at first when she noticed that he really didn't eat lunch, but he explained it away by nerves, proclaiming that he ate any food he could when he was home and away from prying eyes. Adrien was more than happy to say what food he preferred, even asking her own favourites and questioning why she liked them. It was strange at first, but she decided it was just a quirk that he had.

The lack of sleep was still obvious, however. The dark marks underneath his eyes had grown worse, he yawned constantly when they were working or spending time together, and when she asked whether he was okay a sad expression would flicker across his face before it was smothered and replaced by a polite smile that was there to say he wasn't going to lie and say he was fine.

So, she didn't ask. There was no need for him to explain that he was not okay, and she avoided the topic avidly. If he wanted to confess his troubles then he was more than welcome to, but pushing him to do it would get them nowhere. Instead of watching him from afar as she had done in the past, he gravitated towards her when they had the time, making silly comments that made her laugh and slowly grow fond of him.

She could proudly say that she most definitely did not hate him. The Adrien she'd come to know was kind, sweet when he questioned how she'd slept and whether she had plans for later that evening, and was wholly charming when he wasn't uttering flirtatious comments.

They were friends.

The dinner party was held in the restaurant of the hotel they'd had free drinks at before—the amusement park owner was a friend of the hotel's owner, it turned out—and the space was just as luxurious and beautifully decorated as the rest of the hotel. There were drapes over the curtains, quiet instrumental music setting the mood, and different sets of cutlery that had Marinette baffled for a moment before she realised what they were for. The employees that attended were each separated into different tables—per section—and Marinette had the pleasure of meeting the burly werewolf that worked on her days off.

Their food was ordered for them already since they'd filed their allergies with their résumés previously. Marinette enjoyed the main course, making appreciative noises along with the rest of the table, and only noticed that something was amiss when the chatter of the other tables was the only noise she could hear.

Placing her cutlery down, she tilted her head curiously as she looked at the blond seated beside her. Adrien was pushing the food absent-mindedly around his plate, never raising the utensil to his mouth. The bags underneath his eyes were more prominent in the lighting, even more so with the shadows of his golden-tinged eyelashes cast over them. She looked at him concern, noting that his cheeks had started to thin out.

"Adrien?" she asked softly.

The fork clattered onto the plate, startling their table momentarily. "Excuse me," he choked out, sounding uncomfortable. "I... I need fresh air."

With that said, he navigated through the room to the doors decorated by drape curtains that led to the beautiful patio outside, complete with a seating area for sunny afternoons. Marinette watched as he got slowly smaller, wondering whether he would complain about her company.

He was a gentle person. Adrien avoided conflict to the best of his ability; when a guest became defensive and insisted he was the reason that their child had fallen over, he calmly explained that they could talk to the manager with any complaints, and personally apologised to the offended party. Through the time where they'd become closer, he had never snapped in frustration, never portrayed his annoyance from anything at all. If she hadn't seen that he was capable of being hurt or able to wear a perfectly neutral expression, there would've been concern that he was far too happy.

He was hurting at that moment, even more so than usual from his lack of sleep.

With her mind made up, Marinette excused herself softly and walked through to the patio, crossing her arms to stay warm from the chilly breeze. All of the other guests were inside the restaurant—no one outside even for a cigarette—so it was easy to spot him sat down on a bench in the corner, elbows on his knees and resting his forehead in his palm. It was a defeated pose that didn't suit him at all; the Adrien she knew was a positive fellow that enjoyed puns, made her day brighter with a dumb comment that had her shaking her head, and one that didn't lie about his troubles, just preferred not to talk about them.

She wetted her lips.

Instead of drawing attention to herself, Marinette settled down beside him, leaning against the back of the bench and waited. She admired the night sky, smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress, inspected her short nails, and even counted to twenty in her head until it seemed an adequate amount of time to interrupt him.

"I won't ask how you are," she started, glancing at him from the corner of her cerulean eyes. "I'll ask if this is how you want to be instead."

Even with the golden strands of hair obscuring her vision of his face, she could see the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. "That's very like you."

She smiled despite knowing he couldn't see it. "Do you think you know me so well already?"

"I know your favourite foods, drinks, and colours—so, yes, I think so." There was amusement in his tone, though he didn't laugh. "I don't know what to tell you, Marinette."

That had been clear from the beginning. "Then don't tell me anything," the dark-haired female suggested quietly, scooting closer to bump her shoulder against his in an affectionate gesture. "Just let me be here for you until you feel better, then we'll face the horrors of our haunted table together."

The silence between them grew, but it wasn't awkward. Marinette allowed their bodies to continue touching as she looked at the sky once more, hands clasped patiently in her lap. The sounds of the restaurant were muffled almost, not quite distinguishable from their distance; Adrien had picked the furthest seating area he could away from the door, meaning they were beside a large stone with a built-in ashtray upon the top.

She didn't push him for answers, or even to say anything at all as the time passed.

The higher-ups had already informed their employees which section had won before the dinner. Unsurprisingly, the haunted house had won by a few hundred, beating the princesses that played and posed with children throughout the day. The prize was a rise in their monthly pay and a handsome bonus, so there wasn't anything to complain about. The guest count would happen again when the amusement park hit a year old, and Marinette idly wondered whether she'd still be employed by that point.

It was a dream to sell her own clothing for a job, but she was realistic enough to realise that that would be hard to come by. The amusement park was already a miracle chance for her to display her skills and design a various amount of designs, and the blog she ran in her free time allowed her some small internet fame.

The weight against her side increased. She blinked in surprise, looking to the side quizzically before realising that Adrien had slumped over, hand fallen from his pale face, and was resting against her instead. His breaths were steady and deep, eyes closed with shadows of his eyelashes displayed across his defined cheekbones. There wasn't a freckle upon his skin at such a distance, nor did he have any moles on that part of his body.

Carefully, Marinette raised her hand and brushed the hair away from his face where it was pressed against her. She shuffled slightly, adjusting his position into a marginally more comfortable one.

He was sleeping, no visible worries on his face; gone were the furrowed brows and neutral line to his lips. He looked—he was peaceful as he was at that moment. With the night sky above, the outdoor lights illuminating them in their far corner, and no sign of the smudged red lipstick that he sported for more than half of the week.

She fidgeted, adjusting her numbing muscles and limbs, trying not to awake him in the process. Eventually, the solution came to be her tentatively cradling his head and moving him onto her lap, meaning he was no longer awkwardly hunched. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but it was better for his back than the previous one.

Over time, it wasn't that good for her, however. Marinette winced at her rapidly numbing legs once more, wiggling every few minutes to try and counteract the sensation, and occupied herself by gently running her fingers through his hair as she leaned back and looked at the sky above.

The need to protect him was flaring up again. He was vulnerable, asleep, and breathing quietly without any interruptions. Even though it would only be a short period of time, she hoped that it would ease his stress from lack of sleep.

Playing with her cell phone—after setting the device to silent—Marinette winced when she noted that it was nearing eleven in the evening. The dinner had requested the restaurant to stay open until midnight for their event, but she knew that they would be pushing their luck soon. Although the hotel had employees working throughout the night, she highly doubted they'd appreciate finding the two of them outside in the late hours of the evening.

The bare skin of her legs beneath the knees and her hands was freezing, her cheeks and nose surely red from the temperature. It was a surprise that her nose wasn't running at all.

The decision to let him sleep until half past wasn't ruined by a newcomer. Adrien had awoken with a start, shuddering from his position on her lap as he groaned softly from the feeling of waking up. She bit into her lower lip and glanced at look at his disgruntled face, noting the frown and his furrowed eyebrows that hadn't been there previously for the past hour or so. He had yet to open his eyes, instead shuffling and readjusting his position as if to become comfortable again.

With a gasp, his eyes shot open—his wide emerald ones meeting hers—and he looked visibly stunned before comprehending the situation. Marinette tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, unsure of how to start the conversation, as he recoiled away and almost fell to the floor.

"I—" Adrien started, starting to sit up properly before a panicked expression became apparent. With an audible noise, he slapped a hand over his mouth, leaning back the furthest he could against the bench.

She wasn't offended by the action. "Worried about morning breath?"

He kept eye contact with an unfathomable expression, pale hand still covering his mouth.

"You didn't drool, if that was also a concern," the dark-haired female reassured him. "It wasn't that long, but it seemed like you needed that."

Adrien visibly panicked. One moment he had been asleep on her lap, and the next he was shaking and standing up with his mouth still covered before bolting away without a word.

Marinette watched with wide confused eyes as he disappeared into the distance, sprinting through the restaurant and to the exist without explaining to their co-workers. He already had his possessions on hand, they both did, but that wasn't the point.

Running a hand through her hair, she wondered what she'd done wrong.

He had a problem with eating in public; could that mean he avoided sleeping in front of others, too? It wasn't as though anyone else had wandered in. It had been the two of them quietly in the dark, yet that didn't mean he was comfortable with her more than anyone else when it came to those subjects.

"He still doesn't eat in front of me," she muttered, sighing.

When she'd given her thanks to the higher-ups and excused herself from the hotel, declining the offer of staying for drinks at the bar to bond further, and started to wander back to her apartment complex. Her legs had long since recovered from the numbness—thankfully, she hadn't tripped when standing up from the bench—and the cold air caused her to shudder as she searched for her cell phone.

Due to the area they lived in, Alya and Marinette made sure they called each other when they were walking outside and it was late. It was a safety precaution, and she knew that the red-head would be awake at that time since Nino's job had him coming back early in the morning.

The cell phone took a few rings to connect. When the muffled noise of her best friend came through the speaker, Marinette smiled happily. Even after Alya had left her job at the amusement park, they continued to spend time together when they could. The breaks she used to spend with Alya had been replaced with Adrien, but she hadn't a clue where the blond lived, so they had never walked home together.

Alya was mentioning a particularly petulant co-worker that she shared an office with at the newspaper, ranting and raving about their despicable attitude and lack of research that tainted their whole department, capturing the dark-haired female's attention away from the dark streets. She avoided the shortcuts that had no lights to illuminate the way, talking softly as to not draw attention to herself.

There had been reports of a tall figure dressed in black the past few weeks. The newspaper had covered it after the police had rejected the case, saying there was nothing they could do as no crimes had been committed, but it still put their neighbourhoods on edge. The culprit was said to lurk in the shadows by himself, watching intently at those that walked past alone, and sometimes fell into step behind and followed them, even if they went an obscure way.

It wasn't classed as stalking, apparently. There were theories that it was a shady drug dealer, perhaps someone that was intoxicated and out of his mind, but none of them had ever been proven. All the newspaper had published was that they were tall, wore black clothing purposely, a hood to cover their face, and had gloves on.

"Alya?" Marinette questioned, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "Hello, are you there?"

The noise was gone. She pulled her cell phone away, groaning in frustration when it became clear that her battery had died. The device was set to silent still, explaining the lack of warning. The games she'd played while Adrien had been sleeping had drained the device, though she was only a few streets away from home. Hopefully, Alya wouldn't overreact and call the police and assume the worse because of a battery problem.

When she'd turned a corner, a movement down an alley caught her attention. Marinette stilled in shock, knowing full well that she should've ran away rather than become rooted to the spot, but all that was floating through her mind was that it wasn't black that she'd seen.

The flash of something light had piqued her curiosity, especially when a muffled noise was combined.

It wasn't smart of her. She argued with herself that if she was injured, she'd like it if a stranger came to inspect her, too. So with that in mind, Marinette safely tucked her cell phone away, aware of her shivering as she started down the alley.

There was a body slumped beside a bundle of cardboard boxes. A pair of shoes were sticking out, black-coloured trousers pushed up and showing white socks that she'd caught from the street. She approached cautiously, unsure whether they were in need of assistance from an injury or from alcohol. Before she could make noise to attract their attention, the figure stiffened visibly in the dark lighting.

"D-do you need—"

Marinette wasn't able to finish the sentence. The stranger suddenly jumped on with a low groan, bolting to the other side of the alley without turning back or seeing what she wanted. There was no black clothing other than the trousers, but the shirt and the golden-coloured strands of hair that fell to brush the tops of his ears had her staring at the retreating figure in confusion once more.

"Adrien?" she whispered, perplexed.

-x-

She sincerely hoped that Adrien wasn't the individual terrorising the streets at night. There had been sightings since the night she'd seen him slumped against an alley wall, but no one had caught a glimpse of their face or been attacked.

When they'd seen each other at work the next day, he didn't offer any explanations for his behaviour. Marinette had been wary at first, unsure of how to tentatively ask whether he'd collapsed from lack of sleep or if he was secretly an aspiring criminal. Instead of avoiding her—as she would've done if their positions were reversed—Adrien continued to spend time talking with her in their break-rooms, taking lunches together and asking what she'd packed for herself that afternoon, and still sending messages when they were at home or when they weren't scheduled for work.

Mireille had expressed her jealousy that Marinette had managed to befriend the blond, then it had turned into Mireille wanting to be seen with him around the park, so her picture would be shared on the internet, too. There were still multiple guests visiting to catch a glimpse of him after all that time, and he confessed one afternoon that even though it was flattering, he felt uncertain and embarrassed whenever they praised him.

His health was still decreasing, though. There was a noticeable difference in his cheeks, arms when he rolled up his sleeves in their free time, and his sleeping hadn't much improved either.

When she'd questioned what the doctors thought of his condition, he'd neutrally responded, "They aren't too sure how to treat me correctly."

He rejected sleeping medicine saying it didn't work. Any advice for his diet was explained away that he preferred to eat in private away from the prying eyes, but when Marinette asked in concern whether he needed to drink more, only then did it click that she'd never seen him consume anything. Not at the bar when they'd met, even though he'd flagged down a bartender and ordered one. He hadn't used the coffee machine in the break-room (when Marinette had asked him to make one for her, he'd been lost and confused until she'd explained it), nor had he opened and drank from a bottle in their time together.

Eight months was a long time not to see someone eat or drink.

"This is absurd," Marinette muttered to herself as she sat on her bed, jotting down in a notebook the things she'd noticed about her friend. She had been planning on researching herbal remedies or any type of treatment other than medicine that would help his condition, but the more she looked at her notes, the more she convinced that something was wrong.

When she packed her lunch for the next day, she made one for him, too. Even if he wouldn't eat it in front of her, taking home the bundle filled with food would do a lot of good for him.

"This is for me?" Adrien asked, eyes wide as he stared at the container in his hands. The foods were separated, and the plastic was coloured and non-transparent. At her nod, the smile reached his eyes as he profusely thanked her. "I've never had anyone make me lunch before—well, dinner, I guess."

"It's no problem," she replied softly, very much aware of the increased speed of her heart. There was something disarming about his happiness that always had her smiling right back, appreciating his sincerity. Without the awkward flirting, he was quite charming when he didn't try to be. "I hope you get some rest later, too."

The next day he returned the container, expressing his thanks and saying he'd already washed it from gratitude. "The food was great—very sweet," he said, fingers running through the hairs at his nape in a tell-tale gesture. "Thanks again, Marinette."

It hadn't been sweet, however. None of the ingredients had been remotely sugary, and half had spices that had her nose running at times. She'd pushed aside the suspicion, not adding it to her list that had been originally of his ailments, and had since turned into a page filled with his oddities. He could've meant that the gesture itself was sweet, rather than the food.

It was two days later when she made more food. It wasn't intentional until she realised that there were more leftovers than needed, so the container was packed and set aside for the following day, even though he was set to be off overmorrow.

Adrien reacted in much the same manner; wide smile, sincerity and happily accepted the offered container and said that he'd return it on Tuesday, rather than leaving it in their break-room where it could've been mistaken as rubbish.

He was busy that day attracting guests to their section, so Marinette scouted through the park to find him and settled down on a nearby bench to eat her lunch. It was enjoyable watching him interact with guests, so she didn't interrupt.

"Oh," she muttered, grimacing. There was far too much salt in her food, almost inedible, and she assumed she'd knocked something over, as mistakes weren't common for her any longer. Her parents had raised her well, teaching her to cook and bake from a young age, so the sour taste in her mouth was from the food along with the failure.

Marinette waved at the blond briefly to signal that she was going back to work—laughing when he pulled a displeased face from not realising she was there—and forgot to warn him about the food.

So, when Tuesday came and he gave her the clean container and exclaimed that it was wonderful, she was suspicious.

"Really?" Marinette enquired, looking at him through narrowed eyes. "Or are you just saying this to make me feel better?"

"Oh, no!" he protested, hands moving with his words to emphasise his point. "I'm new to this whole someone cooking for me thing, but I absolutely loved it. It had the perfect balance of flavours."

Either he was throwing the food away discreetly, or his sense of taste was atrocious. Marinette deduced that it was the first, and that he preferred to stick to his own food and diet, so she didn't pack any leftovers for him in the future. When they spent their lunches together, Marinette was still the only one eating, no matter where they were sat in the park, and she felt increasingly awkward as time went on.

She licked her lips. "What do you do if you have a girlfriend?"

"Eh?"

"Or boyfriend," Marinette corrected with a shrug, leaning back against the bench as the breeze caressed her face. "You're not comfortable eating in front of people, right? So I imagine it would be awkward to sit in separate rooms for dinner."

"You make me sound ridiculous," he muttered, slouching forward and leaning his chin into his palm. "I'm not some scientific experiment, you know."

Fondly, she reached over and ruffled his golden hair, glad that he didn't gel it back as the higher-ups had originally suggested (he'd gotten out of it by claiming to be allergic to the substance, he'd eventually told her). "I'm not making fun of you here, I'm truly curious."

"Well," the male started awkwardly, glaring at her from the corner of his eyes. "I... I haven't really had to deal with it. I've never dated anyone."

Oh. "You—really? You?" Marinette spluttered, words not quite coherent as she processed the thought. Eventually, she was able to mumble, "Well, that's shocking." They were near to each other in age; Adrien was only a few months older than she was. "I would've thought everyone would be all over you, just like those rude guests we sometimes get."

"I guess." He shrugged half-heartedly. "It's not from lack of trying on my part, I can assure you."

She blinked. "If you're going to give me a sob story about being rejected..."

"I'll save you the tears for another day, then." His eyes were still narrowed, but she could see the smile across his reddened lips. "My mother taught me to look for someone I just click with, if you understand what I mean."

Fiddling with her container, Marinette tilted her head curiously. "Yes, sure. I think I get it." It was the first time he was mentioning his family to her. Marinette had heartedly told him about her own during their time together, and had never pushed for any information about his. He was open about how he spent his free time, so she assumed they were either not close or no longer around.

"Right." He cleared his throat, a hand running nervously through his hair. "It didn't go too well."

"This is starting to sound like a soap opera," she remarked dryly.

Turning his head to glare at her with both eyes, Marinette wisely pressed her lips into a thin line (trying to quell the twitching that meant she was close to laughter).

"As it turned out, I'm awful at trying to express myself like that." She tried not to laugh, she really did, but the curl of distaste of his upper lip caused her to erupt into hearty bursts of laughter as she recalled just how atrocious he really was. "I don't need your input on this; I'm well aware."

Smiling, Marinette bumped her shoulder against his affectionately. "It's just a matter of sincerity, I'm telling you. The pick-up lines and comments won't work most of the time unless you're friends first, or they're intoxicated. Just be yourself, Adrien."

"Are you giving me love advice?" he questioned incredulously. "Really?"

She stuck her tongue out childishly. "Is there something wrong with me?"

Rather than replying instantly, Adrien made a noise of disapproval and fiddled with the hairs on the nape of his neck nervously. "You're the one I'm talking about here."

She blinked. "Oh."

It was an understandable reaction, it had to be. Her body stiffened unintentionally, unable to mask her surprise, and by the sigh that escaped his lips as he rested his chin upon his palm once more, it was clear that he thought her reaction was one of disapproval.

It was... flattering. Her cheeks flooded with warmth, much like they did during their conversations usually, and she was suddenly conscious of how they were sitting, with their cloth-clad thighs brushing against each other.

"That doesn't make much sense, though," the female murmured, clutching the container tightly. "You were flirtatious the first time we met—in the bar, remember?" She certainly did. The night was a source of embarrassment, even months later. "If you wanted to follow your mother's advice, you would've gotten to know me."

"Seeing you was enough," he responded quietly.

Their conversation was absurd, there was no other way to describe it. Marinette's heart was beating violently in her chest, pulse loud and demanding in her head, and she was close to gripping the roots of her hair in frustration from the sudden topic. It was—it was too soon. The flirtatious comments had been shoved aside for their budding friendship, and by the point of knowing each other for eight months, she could proudly say he was her closest male friend (beating Nino, who'd achieved that title in record time).

The soft-hearted, sometimes silly, and definitely goofy male that she'd come to known was the one who held the feelings of her affections; the Adrien before, the awkward one that made her stutter and retort hotly from being objectified, hadn't been able to befriend her at all.

She swallowed. "That's lust, Adrien."

"I don't think so." Looking at him from the corner of her eyes, she noticed his eyes were closed and his face was contorted into a grimace. "Let's pretend I never mentioned this, then."

That was going to be troubling. "D-do you still feel the same?"

The murmurs of guests walking past, their loud laughter and footsteps from racing to catch up to each other, filled the silence that was growing between them. Marinette felt stiff, awkward, and as she clutched the container far tighter than was necessary, she wondered whether she would feel different about his advances.

His voice was hoarse when he tentatively whispered, "Yes."

Her heartbeat was louder than his reply, surely. Marinette's limbs stiffened in surprise, eyes flickering between the side-profile of his face that was void of the usual smile or dimples, instead making him appear sicker than usual from the hollowing cheeks, darkness underneath his eyes and the negative expression. It didn't suit him, yet she didn't know how to correct any of it. Her pulse fluttered in concern once more.

"Oh," was all that escaped, however, and she was mortified that the dumb response was popping up more often than not.

"I'm not asking you for an answer now, or even ever," Adrien continued softly, ruffling his hair once more. "Just know that if you ever feel anything more than friendship for me, I'd very much reciprocate it."

Bewildered, Marinette didn't get time to respond before he was standing up, offering a hand to pull her from the bench, with a small smile that showed his dimples.

"Come on, Marinette," he coaxed, wiggling his fingers with a laugh. "We've got to get back to work."

There was no point denying that her heartbeat picked up.

-x-

Adrien hadn't changed his behaviour towards her, even after the make-shift confession. She had been flustered at first when they'd messaged each other that evening after work, and then embarrassed for herself when he wasn't replying any differently. No awkward pick-up lines, no flirtatious comments, and no kisses onto her hand when they said good-bye to each other.

Just like when they'd first met, Marinette was a bundle of nervousness and constantly stuttered or blushed at the worst moments when they were talking. He never made fun of her, though, and smiled and continued on with their conversations as if nothing had happened.

Her resolve for their friendship was to treat him differently to the guests that constantly fawned over him; the protective urge that spiked whenever he was uncomfortable with being flirted with had made sure of that. So, she'd promptly ignored the growing feelings that hadn't been of friendship, convinced that his happiness was more important that the swell of her heart when he smiled brightly.

Even with his thinned cheeks and lack of sleep, there was something unobtainable and attractive about the blond male; when he smiled that quality of his intensified, and her heart would pick up as she'd grin right back at him. The Adrien she had come to know—the sincere, kind-hearted individual that liked to look at pictures of baby animals—wasn't just a pretty face; if anything, he was more beautiful on the inside.

So, when he emerged from a dressing-room after their shifts one day, Marinette was settled down on a chair and staring intently as he wobbled from his lack of sleep. Wetting her lips, she questioned, "Do you like me?"

He didn't miss a beat as he adjusted the bag on his shoulder. "I think that should be fairly obvious."

Making a noise of frustration, she tried her best to word her sentence so she wouldn't come across as a naïve teenager. "D-do you like me?"

Emerald eyes met her own as he raised his eyebrows with a smile tugging at his lips. "I'd say I love you, but you'd probably hit me."

Warmth blossomed along her cheeks. "...Why?"

"Because you're a violent being?" he responded innocently, grin causing the corner of his eyes to crinkle. "And because everything about you is attractive, Marinette—yes, I do mean your personality, too."

"I cry when I'm mad," she blurted, shifting in her seat. "I'm quick to make assumptions, and I'm too stubborn."

Closing the distance between them, Adrien's feet were almost brushing against her own as she looked up to see him breathe a noise of amusement. "I'm not putting you on a pedestal and expecting you to be perfect—it's nice that you're human."

She blinked.

"I like you for, well, you. That means your stubbornness and everything else included," he continued, sounding amused. "I'll still keep my word and not try and woo you awkwardly."

"...It was really awkward."

He laughed. "Looking up advice online didn't work too well, as you can tell."

Shaking her head fondly, Marinette agreed and added, "I think you've managed to seduce me better during these months without trying than you did before."

"I said before not for lack of trying," the blond pointed out, shifting the weight upon his feet.

Licking her lips to buy time, she took in his tall figure, taking notice that he'd flicked his eyes away from hers to gaze at the blank wall. "Do you think you could hold back from those awful pick-up lines if we went on a date?" she asked softly, approaching the subject as gently as possible.

He still stiffened, though. "What?" Adrien questioned eloquently.

"Yes?" She tilted her head slightly to the side, a small smile across her whitened lips. "Did you forget I said that you'd managed to seduce me?"

"I wasn't sure what you meant," he pointed out, eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at her. "Are you teasing me right now?"

Shuffling, Marinette stood up, the flowing material of her casual shirt pressing against him from their closeness. Their shoes were touching by that point, meaning she had to tilt her head up slightly to look at him. She tentatively reached forward to grasp his hand (that wasn't curled around his bag), nervous fingers threading through his and noticing the hardened skin by his knuckles.

"No," the dark-haired female whispered, squeezing his fingers and wishing that he wasn't frozen in shock. "I'd like to go on a date with you."

There were shadows of his eyelashes over the tips of his thin cheeks, emphasised by the dark marks permanently smudged there, and her eyes flickered to the reddened lips once more.

She licked her own. "What do you say?"

The expression that had been previously stuck between neutral and shocked changed; his eyes widened, allowing her to see the viridian-coloured irides at a close range, and feel his breath against her skin as he smiled widely. "I think you're remarkable," Adrien murmured, dimples showing with his soft tone.

The warmth of her face wasn't just from his breaths. "Thank you for remarking on it, then," she replied shyly, aware that her hands were becoming clammy from nervousness.

As if he knew her thoughts, the stiffened hand relaxed and gently squeezed her own, his thumb finding the back of her hand and starting to trace a soft circle on her skin. "Are you free this Saturday?"

"Sure," she breathed.

Her pulse had quickened, thunderous and demanding from their close distance, and his reddened lips seemed just so inviting and ever-so-close, but she wasn't going to make him uncomfortable. Marinette used her free hand, that wasn't intertwined with his, to grip onto his arm for stability and raised herself up to place a chaste kiss against his cheek. The skin was cool, not the burning temperature that her own cheeks were.

The hand was retracted from hers in an instance, and the blond took a unsteady step back to create space between them. And in a move that was reminiscent to their night at the restaurant, Adrien covered his mouth and looked at her with a panicked expression—wide eyes and raised eyebrows that looked horrified—before stumbling away.

"I-I've got to—" Adrien started, sounding winded and terrified. "Bye."

It was too similar. One moment he had been there, soft smiles and an endearing expression, and then he'd sprinted off into the distance and left her with multiple questions running through her head. Had she done something wrong again?

Her curiosity got the best of her, however. Marinette placed her bag on her bag, kept the cell phone in her hand as she walked through the darkening streets, taking in the shadows and movements of others. As she passed alleyways, she peered in to see whether there'd be a collapsed figure once more, worried that he'd had a panic attack of some sort.

If she knew where he lived, it would've been easier, too. They hadn't sorted out their date at all due to the sudden disturbance.

With an idea in mind, Marinette dialled his number as she pressed the cold device to her ear with a shaking hand, listening to the rings.

There was no answer the first two times. The dark-haired female had almost given up when she turned a corner, and noticed a faint ringing in the distance.

She stilled, disconnecting the call.

It was the song he'd specifically chosen for her. Marinette called his cell phone again, holding it warily in her hand as she peered down the nearest alley to see whether he was there.

The music lead her down to the other end, where a shop's door came out beside a bin, and what she saw had her covering her mouth in horror.

His cell phone was on the ground, screen partially cracked and illuminated, showing a picture of her as her call continued.

It—it was dark. There had been no reported attacks, yet the worst case scenario was flowing through her mind. What if the black-clad culprit had finally struck and had chosen Adrien as his target?

"No," she whispered, kneeling to collect his damaged device. "He could've dropped this."

And despite her mumbled reassurances, her eyes felt hot and incredibly dry, throat thick, and she hastily wiped her face in denial.

-x-

Alya had been the one to convince her not to go to the police—it was just a lost cell phone, after all. Marinette had been a worried mess when she'd gotten back to her apartment building, instantly rushing to her best friend's door and knocking without the usual rhythm. One look at her had the couple inside reaching for their bottles of alcohol, and she'd readily accept them without complaint.

It was Adrien's day off the following day, but she still took the cell phone along to work. The higher-ups wouldn't release their personal information without authorisation, so there was no point going to them to ask for his address.

He did turn up, though. When she'd emerged after her shift with casual clothing on once more, only some of the make-up wiped off and her hair secured in a plait, Marinette had taken one took at the blond sat at the table and flown across the room and wrapped her arms around his neck. The embrace was a surprise to them both—especially him, as she heard his loud breath—and she squeezed, babbling nonsense that wasn't quite coherent and probably made him worried for her sanity.

She was ecstatic he was fine, no bruises other than the ones from lack of sleep, and as she had her arms wrapped around him she could feel the weight loss, definitely.

Awkwardly, from being sat down, Adrien placed his arms around her waist and returned the gesture in confusion. "Marinette?" he questioned, interrupting her incoherent rambling. "What's wrong?"

"I-I'm just—" To her embarrassment, she felt her eyes growing hot once more as her voice hitched, reminiscent to how to was whenever she tried to talk to someone while crying. Blinking rapidly, she tightened her hold, pulling his face further into his clothing, causing him to turn his head to the side to breathe properly. "I'm so relieved."

He made a noise of agreement. "Rough day, then?"

Goodness, he had no idea—a bubble of laughter escaped as she realised he had no inkling that she'd tossed and turned, regretting not visiting each other's homes and sharing other such details that could've soothed her worries. Yet seeing him before her, unharmed other than the illnesses he was battling, made her soothingly run her fingers through his soft strands of hair in a comforting gesture.

He wasn't questioning her odd behaviour, surprisingly. "I came to figure out the details of our date tomorrow," Adrien clarified, clearing his throat. "Somehow my phone got misplaced, so I thought it would be a good idea to come here and find you. Sorry I didn't time it during your lunch break."

"Oh, right," she murmured, reluctantly releasing her hold on him and stepping back with flushed cheeks. Searching through her bag, she retrieved the damaged device and held it uncertainly in her hands. "I-I found this last night."

He blinked, not comprehending that it was his until he sighed at the crack in the screen. "That's really convenient," the blond remarked, taking it from her hands. "Thank you, Marinette."

There were questions on her tongue—why had he collapsed in an alley before, and was it for the same reason that he'd run off the previous day? No matter how much she thought, she couldn't connect the two events together, not understanding what she'd done to cause his reaction (if it had ever been her fault).

Licking her lips, Marinette clasped her clammy hands together and fiddled with her thumbs. "Adrien," she started quietly, gulping. "...I saw you before."

He froze, hand clutching the device too tight as his eyes flickered away to stare at her shoes instead. Their positions were the opposite of the previous day, and he wouldn't have a clear path to run away if the time came for it.

"You can tell me, you know?" she whispered, taking a step forward so their shoes were lightly pressing against each other. "I wouldn't stop liking you because of it. You said it before—we're human because of our flaws, right?"

Somehow, those words only made his reaction worse. Adrien visibly flinched, recoiling away to press his back against the chair, causing her to furrow her eyebrows in confusion. She took in the averted eyes, tightened hold that caused his knuckles to turn whiter where they were visible, and wondered whether he was going to have an attack of sorts again.

"I'm not asking for an answer," the dark-haired female pointed out, trying to soothe his worries the best she could, "not unless you want to."

Lowering his head and running a hand over his facial features in frustration, Adrien gritted out, "You don't know what you're talking about."

"You went to an alleyway again, didn't you?" she responded, shifting her feet. "That's why you lost your phone, yes?"

There was no reply.

"It's okay, Adrien."

His hand fell, and the glimpse of his expression had guilt coursing though her. His features were scrunched together in what seemed to be a mixture of irritation and pain, and all she could think was that it was because of her that it was happening at all. This wasn't how she'd imagined it going at all—even though she'd barely had time to think about it.

Dropping to her knees, she peered up at him with wide and worried cerulean eyes as she steadied herself on his legs. "I'm sorry," Marinette offered quietly.

"...You saw," he croaked, voice barely audible.

His eyes were closed, so she couldn't convey her sincerity of her regret for making him feel as he was. "It's nothing to be ashamed about."

"You don't understand."

She traced her thumb on the material of his trousers. "Then help me."

A frustrated sigh left him, face contorting into a grimace. "I'm not like you."

"Well, yes," Marinette agreed cautiously. "We're very different people—it's impossible to find your clone."

The grimace didn't diminish or disappear at that, so she licked her lips nervously. The attempt at humour was out, and certainly didn't help the situation.

Tentatively, she reached up to cup his cheek softly, thumb resting on his pronounced jawline. "The Adrien I know has a problem with conversing with others, eating in the presence of company, and sleeping." He made a noise at that, a hum that wasn't quite clear. "He's also a pretty neat person who's taking me on a date tomorrow, and if all goes well, I wouldn't mind being his girlfriend. Am I missing anything here?"

She didn't stiffen when his hand covered hers on his face. His eyes opened, eyebrows still furrowed, and looked into hers before his lips twisted into a mocking smile that looked more akin to a grimace, if it wasn't for the bitter laugh that escaped.

"You don't get it, Marinette," he stressed, baring his teeth in a pained expression. "I'm not—I-I'm—"

In a move that surprised her, Adrien stumbled and climbed out of the seat to stand up beside her and ran his hands through is hair frantically, fingers gripping painfully at the roots as he produced another breathy laugh that didn't suit him at all. Marinette stood up with shaking legs, a hand raised uncertainly how to approach or comfort the distressed male in front of her, but all that she could do was stand there pathetically and watch as he had some sort of a breakdown.

"I'm not human," Adrien hissed, a hysterical laugh escaping his lips.

She was glad they were far apart enough so he couldn't feel her increased heartbeat. The mere fact that she was considering his maniacal words for truth proved that she needed to take a step back and realise that he was having a moment of self-loathing and definitely not alluding to the fact that he wasn't the same species as she. Countless fantasy stories that authors had wrote floated through her mind, but they were all fiction—the panicking male before her was not.

So, with a deep breath, Marinette stepped closer and laid a clammy hand onto his chest. There, beneath her shaking hand, was the subtle beating of his heart that she'd been looking for.

"You're alive," she whispered. "This beating right here is all I need to prove you're human enough."

His hands fell from his hair, no longer gripping and almost pulling the golden strands out, and he opened his eyes with the pained expression still. "I could hurt you."

No, she didn't think he could intentionally. "So could anyone else."

His voice was low. "I could kill you in mere minutes."

"Again, so could others." Was he going to continuously attempt to convince her he wasn't right for her? Flexing her fingers upon his beating heart, noting the quickened pace that matched hers, Marinette asked, "If you're going to continue to convince me you're dangerous, I'd rather skip past that. I'm not going to believe you."

He had to be having a delusion of sorts. There were odd things about him, certainly, but that didn't equate to him being a different species out of nowhere. When he released a shaky laugh—thankfully not tinged with a hysterical edge any longer—and ran a hand through his messy hair, she couldn't help but smile softly at the familiar movement.

"You're going to run," Adrien started. "I'm going to show you something, and you'll flee."

"No," Marinette retorted, narrowing her eyes as her hand fell from his chest to play with her other one again. "You're going to show me something, and I'll stay right here."

Silence fell between them. There were no guests outside to fill in the gap of the lack of noise, nor were their co-workers chattering happily together. Instead, she could hear their breaths and count the moments that passed by, worrying about the upcoming reveal that surely couldn't be enough to make her bolt and run away.

It had to be something to do with his mouth. Perhaps he'd been teased about a small feature when he was younger, and had grown with a complex about it that had led to anxiety attacks.

Adrien stared, expression conflicted and uncertain as his lips pressed into a small line. In response, she smiled in what she hoped to be a reassuring way, attempting to ease his worries.

"I won't blame you," he whispered.

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not going anywhere."

Somehow, she stuck to that. Adrien had gulped visibly—the protrusion of his neck bobbing with the movement—before opening his mouth for her to peer inside with a confused expression. At first, she wasn't quite comprehending what she was seeing, then the disbelief set in and her wide eyes openly displayed her shock at the sight.

His top canine teeth had become elongated, pointier, and she knew they certainly hadn't been like that before. Although looking at teeth wasn't a hobby of hers, it was obvious when there was a gap, chip, or anything of the sort; Adrien's had been, well, normalwith no sign of the sharp teeth in sight.

All that came out was, "You don't wear fangs to work." Because there wasn't much else she could call them.

"No," he confirmed. Adrien had rejected them, saying they were too uncomfortable and chaffed his gums after pointing out his costume made it obvious what creature he was supposed to be.

She wanted to shake her head and deny that they had been there at all, but after talking the blond opened his mouth once more, and she watched as the two teeth retracted, resembling the usual teeth again and settling in perfectly as if nothing had been amiss.

There was still the expectation for her to leave, though. Struggling through her disbelief, denial, and shock, Marinette reached out and grasped onto the front of his t-shirt. "I'm not going," she whispered, eyes wide, voice breathy in what she assumed to be muted panic.

If it were true—because she was not condoning the idea that he wasn't as human as she—then there still wasn't reason to distrust him. He'd had countless chances to hurt her in the past, and just because he'd revealed the secret didn't mean that he was suddenly going to attack her, especially not when there was trust built between them.

She was trying not to shatter that cherished trust and friendship as she looked up into his pained eyes. "You could've hurt me long ago, but you didn't."

"No," he murmured lowly, "I didn't."

What was he expecting of her? Adrien was looking at her as though she was a wounded animal, uncertain how to approach or even move her in case of worsening the injury.

She licked her lips.

"I—what are you trying to tell me?"

Slowly, he placed his hand upon hers that was clutching his shirt, prying it from the fabric and tentatively lacing their fingers together. "I've told you before," the blond confessed quietly. "It's—think of how I first introduced myself to you, Marinette."

The memory was hazy at best. Marinette had smothered the awful impression to the back of her mind, and as she furrowed her brows in an attempt to remember, she idly recalled that he'd introduced himself with his job position.

Her throat felt tight. "Y-you said your costume."

The hand within hers squeezed softly in what she hoped to be reassurance. "It's not just a costume."

It—it was ridiculous. What sort of vampire would hide themselves in society by taking a job mocking what they were? They were a work of fiction that each author liked to add or changes aspects to, but the usual idea was that they consumed the blood of innocents and terrorised cities if they wished to, even with the awful side-effects to their conditions.

It felt like her heart was going to burst through her chest with how fast it was beating. There was nothing to say that the different works of fiction were absolute; there was no telling the actual side-effects to being one. She'd witnessed the health deterioration of the male before her, even the astounding display of being able to manipulate his teeth, and couldn't deny that there was something not quite right about him.

"Okay." She let a small smile curl at her lips. "Do you still want to talk about our date, then?"

The hand within hers tightened as he looked visibly surprised. "...What?" Adrien questioned, baffled.

She knew he wouldn't hurt her. "We're going out tomorrow, remember?"

Looking as though he'd eaten something too sour, Adrien blinked rapidly. "I can't eat food, Marinette."

Well, it wasn't much of a thought to jump to. If he had been eating in front of her previously, she would've been more surprised. "Okay," she agreed easily, sounding somewhat dazed. "What do you eat, then?"

He stared, much like before, as if trying to deduce whether she really wanted the answer. "...Blood." The eventual answer was low, almost inaudible.

"Not very much of it, obviously," the dark-haired female remarked, heart still beating violently within her chest. The hand within his was clammy from her nervous, but not fear. Just like with her argument that he hadn't hurt her before, when she said that he hadn't drained her aloud, he was visibly baffled.

Adrien shook his head in disbelief, not believing her reaction. There was no point asking if he needed sleep; the yawns, bags underneath his eyes and the nap he'd taken upon her had proved that his body was compatible with it. When she expressed her confusion that he'd disappeared while covering his mouth, the blond self-consciously fiddled with the hairs on his nape as she squeezed their intertwined fingers in reassurance. As it turned out, when he was asleep or his emotions got the better of him, the control of his fangs was hard to control.

The alleyway part was what caused her the most panic. When she brought it up once more, stating that she'd found him slumped against the wall after hearing a suspicious noise, the terror she was feeling must've shown on her face. Adrien grimaced, looking wholly in pain as he tried to separate their intertwined hands and create distance between them from what he probably assumed to be disgust rather than concern. She—she'd thought he'd been hurt because of the discarded cell phone when she'd been purposefully strolling through the streets to catch a glimpse of him like the last night.

His hand dropped from hers as he took a step back after he'd asked what she was afraid of. Without realising the implications of his previous words, the dark-haired female fearfully explained the reports of the lurker that hadn't upgraded to assault, yet still instilled fear in the hearts of those that walked the streets late at night.

"Think about it, Marinette," he whispered in a strained voice. "I—I need blood to survive, and hospitals aren't going to just supply it to me."

Her throat felt thick. "No," she choked out, face becoming as pale as her smeared lips. "T-there's been no attacks."

No attacks because none had been successful; either he hadn't been able to complete the deed, instead lurked the night and felt too guilty to act upon his survival instincts, but surely it was hurting. The deterioration of his health proved that—he wasn't consuming the intended amount and weakening himself, stalking the streets in an attempt to stay alive.

"Have..." Marinette sucked in a pained breath, lips curling downwards without her permission as her eyes began to feel dry once more. "I-I need to know. Have you—" She was so close to exploding into loud sobs that she couldn't control, denial running through her thoughts and wanting to forgot that he'd proposed the awful idea at all. The sweet male that she'd come to care for, he—he couldn't be the one instilling terror in the hearts of citizens, even her own when she walked the streets late at night.

"No," Adrien breathed, and she felt her heart beat painfully in her chest. "Not yet."

Tears of distress filled her vision, blurring the view of his pained and ashamed expression as he looked away and self-consciously clasped his elbow. Even from the endearing gesture couldn't distract her from his words—not yet—and she wanted to scream, shout, demand that it wasn't the right thing to do and that he just couldn't succumb to the evil deed, but—

He had to.

Fuck, she was not condoning murder—she couldn't even watch a neighbour's cat eat a mouse without feeling sorry for the poor thing. She could see how choked up and pained Adrien was about the subject but telling him not to would solve nothing. He was already starving himself, most likely that was what was causing his sleep pattern to be so poor, too.

"You were healthy." His eyes flickered to connect with hers for a moment before looking away once more, avoiding contact. "When we started working together, you—you were fine. What happened?"

His eyes closed as a the pained expression became more pronounced. "I... I had someone who cared for me." His voice was hoarse, low, and utterly defeated. "My mother."

It was the second time he'd ever mentioned her.

"She passed away around the time you were angry at me," Adrien whispered. "I—she stored her blood away for me, so I wouldn't have to bite her."

It was unclear whether it was considered an intimate action or if he'd kill her in some way. Adrien was not a monster, and the mere though that his mother had protected him, sheltered him from a life of bloody messes and murder by opening her own vein, had the tears flowing freely from her eyes. Marinette hastily wiped them, keeping the sobs or the sounds of heavy breathing from escaping her frowning lips.

"It's ran out," she stated with a shaking voice. "You've been rationing yourself, and trying to take the step of finding another source."

Rather than reply verbally, Adrien nodded with an expression of self-loathing.

His mother couldn't have died of blood loss. The lack of murders or the bodies in the hospitals with their blood missing, proved that he didn't know what he was doing, meaning she'd cared for him for his whole life until she'd passed away. There had been love and understanding in their relationship, and the fact that he was revealing all of this to her and expecting her to flee and run away meant that he wanted to trust her.

He was reaching out uncertainly to his best ability.

Marinette wiped her tears forcefully, nose red and cheeks flushed from the noise of her sniffling, and took a step in his direction.

As expected, Adrien backed away, walking backwards and avoiding her gaze until he connected with the table behind him.

She stepped forward until their shoes were touching, blinking to keep the liquid at bay. "Adrien," she breathed, trying to coax him to look at her. When he adamantly kept his gaze away, Marinette raised a shaking hand to his jaw, forcefully turning his head and repeated, "Adrien."

The self-loathing was clear across his expression. There was no sign of the kind-hearted smile that was usually across his lips, and the sunken cheeks and darkened skin beneath his eyes made him appear terribly unhealthy.

"I'm not going anywhere."

She could barely hear him swallow audibly over the noise of her rapidly beating heart.

"You can have mine," Marinette proclaimed, nervously licking her lips. "I—if I do this, you won't have to hurt anyone."

A sigh escaped his lips as he gently shook his head. "No."

Pushing his face to face her once more, Marinette narrowed her watery eyes. "I'm not saying this because I feel like I have to—I want to."

His expression was conflicted. His viridian-coloured eyes stayed focused on hers, and she hoped somehow that her sincerity was being displayed. "Why?"

"Well, we can't have you collapsing before our date." The humour fell flat, not even a twitch of his lips from her words, but she wasn't surprised. "I know you; I trust you," Marinette confessed softly, fingertips brushing across his skin as she dropped her hand. "You wouldn't hurt me."

The question he asked had her biting her lower lip. "Why aren't you scared of me?"

It would've been a lie to say she wasn't afraid, but he wasn't of him; he'd had multiple chances to do so in the past, and it was the thought of opening her vein, either extracting the blood with a tube or allowing it to drip into a container that had her feeling nauseous. There was bound to be pain—perhaps a lot—if he pierced her skin with the teeth he could control at will.

"Living in fear wouldn't get me very far," she replied quietly, sniffing loudly and wishing for a tissue. "You trusted me with this, and I'm not going to betray that by freaking out."

"You should be running away," the blond murmured.

Her lips stretched into a half smile. "And shouldn't you be draining multiple victims? No one does what you expect them to, Adrien."

There was fondness in his expression as he looked at her. "I'm beginning to see that."