Notes scribbled half heartily,
words left with meaning
yet blank with everything else.
She pretends sometimes
that there is a reason for these barely scribbled words,
and wonders if he has any sort of addiction like this,
as cold and cruel as it is.
Her pencil drops
on her desk;
she's just Marinette right now,
and Alya's looking at her like she lost her mind,
and Nino's picking up her pencil,
Adrien doesn't say a word just watches her.
She hates herself sometimes
in the way that a dog may lose its cool around a cat,
or the hungry, aggressive way a cat goes to feast on a mouse
She's not confident to say the words that eat away at her,
not confident enough to let her heart shine,
and she doubts for a moment that he's ever like this.
One day,
she finds that her doodles, hearts messily scrawled,
are not around Adrien's name in her notebook,
but rather around a cat face with piercing green eyes,
and Alya's looking over her shoulder curiously,
and she has no honest explanation to counter it despite herself,
nothing that doesn't say more than she can say.
Marinette doesn't remember when she breaks down in tears,
doesn't remember how she comes to find Cat Noir there,
or how she doesn't say the words that bite her tongue.
