It's the soft pitter patter on her window that she hears first. Then it's the sound of breathing, slow and steady, behind her. She feels his warmth against her back, and the coolness of her sheets in the front. Actually, the air is rather cold against her nose and she scrunches, trying to huddle into herself reflexively. But the arm at her waist holds her still. So she lays there, listening to him breathe softly, being still.

She wants to fall backwards into his warmth, back into the sleep and the dream she'd been in. But there is a pressure in her abdomen, it's uncomfortable and it sort of stings if she moves too much. She knows exactly what it is because it wakes her up more days than not. She sighs because she knows that falling back is not an option anymore and instead has to rise up.

So Marinette finally opens her eyes and becomes actually awake to her extreme disappointment. Her eyes clear after a couple of moments, and the sight of the rain on her window makes her smile. There were few things she loved more than being indoors during a thunderstorm. It gave her a sense of chrysalism. It was tranquilizing, the sound of the rain battering against the roof of her home, or the windows of her room. She doesn't want to get up or move because at this moment, she feels so calm.

But the pressure is increasing and so does the urge and Marinette knows that it will soon be a now or never games she does not want to play. It's not a risk she should take, especially with him in her bed. Her legs slide to the edge of her bed, peek out from under the duvet to the cold air. With a face scrunched in disappointment, Marinette pulls herself away from the warmth of her bed. She doesn't wait to see if she woke him up, instead struggles quickly across her room to another door already opened for her. Marinette does try to close it silently in case he hasn't.

The pressure disappears quickly, and she lets out a small sigh of relief when it does. But the relief is short and sweet because there's another feeling, this one unknown to her. Marinette shifts from one side to the other, trying to ease it, but it doesn't. It's uncomfortable, maybe a little painful, but not enough for her take a pill for it.

When she stands, that seems to help it a bit, but she still waddles over to the sink to wash her hands. Marinette looks at herself in the mirror and catches herself smiling slightly. Smiling from the memories of last night, the cause of her mild pain. Her cheeks redden with the thoughts and she has to pull her long hair into a bun on the top of her hair to cool her neck off. She'll have to tell Alya that it hurt for a bit for her too, but that it was actually more fun than not. And that while she felt a little different today, she definitely didn't look different. Marinette looked the same as she had yesterday and the day before that.

She flicks the water off her hands once she's done, specking the sink with droplets. Her legs shift up and down once more, to try and maybe numb the feeling, but it is in vain. So Marinette forces herself not to waddle back out of her bathroom to her bed, and instead walk like a normal person.

He's awake, rubbing the sleep out of one eye, the sheet settling on his lap. "Marinette," he says her name in that deep voice of his, and it causes her to shiver slightly. That and the sight of his toned, bare chest. Her partner had grown up well.

"No stay, come back," she tells him, pushing him backwards onto the bed where she then slides back down under the sheet and duvet. Back to his warmth.

"Mmmm okay," he says softly, still half in the realm of sleep. She giggles and kisses him softly on his lips. His arm goes back around her, pulling her closely to him. His body turns to her as he does it, and she turns towards him. "Are you okay?" he asks her, his eyes fluttering between open and closed. She thinks it's sweet how her Kitten cares enough to battle sleep for her.

"A little sore," she tells him truthfully because there aren't any secrets between them. There haven't been for years now. "But I'll be okay," she reassures him. She pecks him until his frown turns into something else. But sleep has definitely left him at her words.

"I'm sorry it hurt my Lady," he whispers in her ear, followed by a kiss much longer than the others.

"Don't be," she whispers back. "It's a good sore." And it is, for her. She feels lighter today, her heart filled with an emotion she can only describe to be love. That and the small victory of knowing she'll have a piece of him forever, just as he will have a piece of her. "It was good."

The smile on Adrien's face grows, but she can't tell if it's from her words or the rose in her cheeks. Maybe it's both. "It was good," he repeats. "It was fun." She laughs, remembering, agreeing.

He presses her forehead against his, and his eyes close for a moment. Her nose slides against his, and his lips hover above hers. He wants to thank her, for last night, for her relationship, for their partnership. But the words don't come out because he doesn't know how to put all these feelings into words.

But she knows. She can sense it, and her hand runs through his hair to reassure him that she knows. The kiss again, slow and long, each one savoring the moment. And they pull apart, their breathing both heavy and matching smiles on their lips.

And then Adrien looks at her, really looks at her, for the first time that morning. He catches the freckles on her face, the curve of her lips, the delicate slope of her nose. He sees the kindness in her eyes, and the strength she gets from the mask. And suddenly, he knows the right words to say.

"I love you Marinette."

His words cause her to blush, and a surge of emotions flood her. Shock, relief, happiness all mingle together until it's too much that she hides her face against his bare shoulder. He chuckles slightly because it's such a Marinette thing to do.

"I love you too Adrien," Marinette says against his shoulder. But he feels her words in his heart, knowing that they're true. So Adrien kisses the top of her head and holds her to him, feeling happy and at peace. More so than he has in a while. He watches the rain pitter patter against her window, and he can't help but smile, imagining each drop as a clap of congratulations from the sky.

A/N: So apparently all my ML fanfics have to do with rain. Inspired by the Tumblr ML Fluff Challenge week. Monday's cahllege was watching the weather from inside. Does this count as watching the rain?