A/N: I'm really sorry for the late update guys. I'm just so busy with life. There's hardly any time for me to even write. But don't worry. I do plan on continuing this story and I'll do my best to finish it. I apologise if that will be a long time coming, but I'll try.

But enough of my ramblings. For now, ladies and gentlemen, have a dose of Adrienette.


Adrien finally shows up when Monday rolls around, dressed to the nines in a green button-down, slim dark jeans, and white sneakers. Nino gives a whistle when he saunters into class and pats him hard on the shoulder.

"Well, well. Look at you. Who are we trying to impress today?"

Adrien smiles innocently. "What are you talking about? I just threw on whatever I saw hanging in my closet."

Nino chuckles. "Yeah. I know you're a model and all dude, but even I can see this took some effort."

"And after a terrible cold, too," Alya chimes in, grinning. Under the table, she nudges Marinette. "Someone's excited for school."

Adrien laughs lightly. "You guys. It's just an outfit."

He meets Marinette's eyes then, smiles. She is barely able to return it, being too mortified to have been caught staring. Adrien does look good today (although there has never been a day in Marinette's memory when he doesn't, but that's another story). The button-down is gorgeously cut to fit his form, matches his eyes, too, in colour. The jeans emphasize the length of his legs and his hair looks impeccably styled, though she knows Adrien rarely puts much effort in styling his hair, since it already falls perfectly on his head without being given the extra attention.

"Morning," he says softly. She may have been dreaming but the greeting seems to have been more for her than the rest.

She decides that yes, she is dreaming. (Maybe even hallucinating.)

There's quiet snickering coming from close to her ear. Without looking, she aims a kick at Alya underneath the table, who shirks away, grinning.

"Mornings with the two of you always make my day," the girl whispers over her tablet when Marinette turns to glare at her after Adrien had shifted his attention elsewhere.

"Alya!" She makes a frantic gesture with her eyes to tell her best friend that now is not the time, that he is too close to not be able to hear anything they say right behind his back.

Alya's smile softens. She reaches out pinches Marinette's cheeks fondly. "There's my girl. I'm so glad you've gotten over your slump."

Stunned, Marinette offers a sheepish smile. Trust Alya to note every difference in her mood and care for her like a sister.

At that moment, Adrien turns in his chair to face them. "So, uh, how was the fireworks? I'm really sorry I couldn't go." He looks thoroughly apologetic.

"Don't be," Alya remarks offhandedly. "Marinette wasn't there either."

Marinette has to bite down the shriek of horror building up in her throat. Really, Alya? Do you have to tell him that?

"Really? Why?"

Adrien's eyes are on her, concerned and politely inquiring. There's a weight to them that makes butterflies flutter in her stomach, a quiet curiosity of various layers that makes her want to look away.

She smiles tightly. "Wasn't feeling up to it."

"She was feeling down in the dumps, so Nino and I figured we should let her have some time on her own." Alya squeezes her hand to tell her that she has her back. Marinette's shoulders relax.

"Are you okay, Marinette?" Adrien asks. He tilts his head at her and light catches in his eyes. Something about the dancing colours look familiar, the way it plays on his hair and skims his jawline.

"Yeah," she tries to scrounge a bright smile from the pits of her misery, though she isn't sure if it's the truth or a lie.

Thankfully, Nino unknowingly comes to her rescue, remarking, "It's too bad you both missed it, man."

He leans back with a sigh, one arm draped over the back of his chair. His eyes look glazed, as though he's seeing the show replayed in his head. "All the colours and shapes! They were awesome."

"I'm surprised you even saw them," Alya comments wryly. "When you were too busy filming everyone else."

"Oh. So you two went together?" There's a twist to Adrien's lips now that Marinette decides she can come to like. He glances at her briefly, and it's contagiousness makes her plaster her own wide smile across her face.

Alya senses the vibe between them and her eyes go wide. "He insisted. Said he'll just look miserable going alone."

"But I would," Nino chimes in unwisely, rather oblivious to the situation, namely, Alya's death glare to both Marinette and Adrien. "I mean, there were all those couples there…"

As Nino trails off, Marinette's grin could've split her face. Below, Adrien's expression is getting increasingly amused. Alya smacks her palm against her forehead and sinks down with a groan.

She's saved however, because the teacher chooses that moment to walk into the class.

"Must have been romantic," Marinette whispers teasingly once both Adrien and Nino had turned back to face the board.

Alya glances at her exasperatedly from underneath her hand, but then it dissipates into a soft smile. "It would've been romantic too, for you and Adrien," she says, with no particular teasing note.

Marinette smiles, squeezes her hand. Her heart feels heavy all of a sudden. Alya's right: it was romantic. It's just that instead of Adrien, she had shared the moment with Chat, and it strikes her hard the realisation that then, she hadn't felt the least bit guilty.


Marinette is blasting music in her earbuds when she walks into the library later that evening. Under her breath, she hums the tune, one of the many songs of Nino's weekly recommendations that he always insists she and Alya listen to, and far be it for Marinette to refuse; Nino's ear for music has always been solid and reliable.

She's walking with her head in her sketchpad, which, according to Alya, is never a good idea as there has never been a time when Marinette is on steady feet. But inspiration is a fleeting thing and it's always an ongoing battle to not let the best slip away, so Marinette has overlooked her motherly admonishments many times in favour of stitching notes and sketching the perfect hemline.

She doesn't quite notice the sound of the crash until she catches the tail end of a soft curse, floating from the shelf next to her.

Her first instinct, of course, given the record of her clumsiness, is to immediately wonder whom she had crashed into this time. She whirls around and finds nothing but an empty door swinging harmlessly behind her.

It's just about then that she catches sight of a familiar blonde head sprawled by the shelves, half buried in books with a slightly dazed look in his eyes.

She gapes.

"You should watch where you're going, boy," a slightly gruff, disapproving voice floats over from the librarian's desk. "Or else I'm going to have to ban you from the library. Books ain't cheap. Neither do they come rolling by your feet every time you need 'em."

Adrien rises, his eyes slightly wide, golden hair falling into uncharacteristic disarray about his head. Both his cheeks and ears are pink. "Sorry, sir. I truly am."

The old man scoffs, descends to his post behind the oak desk with very audible mutterings of "Kids these days. Never in my day do we run into oak shelves for no apparent reason."

Adrien is on his knees, picking up the books he'd dropped. Marinette, having regained some semblance of sense after the shock of witnessing the entire scene, scrambles over to help. She tucks her pencil behind her ear and leaves her sketchbook on the floor as she picks up the volumes Adrien had missed, the ones too far for him to reach.

"Are you okay?" she asks softly, aware of the eyes that had turned to stare. Thankfully, after a grunt or two of expressed annoyance, most of them have turned back towards their work.

"Yeah, yeah." He sounds a bit breathless, and, to be honest, a more pinker on the cheeks than before. "I guess I wasn't looking where I was going."

She takes a brown leather bound book and gently smooths down it's crumpled pages. She offers it to him with a smile, a little surprised over how heavy it weighs. "We all have our off days. Mine's pretty much every day."

Adrien stifles a laugh against his sleeve, his eyes crinkling up in a beautiful smile. "I guess we do."

"I never expected you to have one though." It takes a while for the words she'd blurted out to actually sink in her head and her eyes widen in horror. "Oh, I didn't mean -you always looked so cool-um..."

Adrien's still chuckling, and even under the soft library lights she can make out the twinkle in his eyes, the warmth of his expression.

Marinette blanks out at that point.

"We should, uh, talk outside?" she says, functioning on autopilot.

"Yes, we should," he agrees, adjusting the books in his arms. He dumps them all in the trolley and mutters another quick apology to the old librarian.

She's still in too much of a transfixed state to properly register Adrien coming back to where she's standing stock still, kneeling, and picking up the pink and black polka dotted sketchbook she had left lying on the floor.

He brushes his fingers over the cover. They linger, soft and light over the handmade felt cover, fond. Then, he passes it back to her, prodding her gently on the arm when she doesn't immediately take it. She snaps back to reality, flushes, and accepts it.

"Thanks," she whispers as she passes by, Adrien holding open the door. He lets it close behind them as realisation hits and she frowns, digging a hand through her bag and muttering, "Where's my pencil?"

Adrien smiles, leans forwards, and plucks something from her hair. He holds the sneaky thing out to her, his eyes soft.

"Oh, um, there it is!" she laughs, awkward as she quickly takes it from his fingers.

They trail off; she shuffles on her feet and looks down at the floor, wondering what else to say. Speaking to Adrien is overwhelming to say the very least; it's hard to see him as anything else other than the perfect boy who is good at everything, kind to most, and is both introspective and mild-mannered.

She takes a deep breath to collect her thoughts and begins, "Look, I -I better get back in there. Same as reason as before. Work, work, work." She smiles ruefully up at him, but all is forgotten when her lips turn down in a frown and she leans closer, trying to get a better look at his forehead. "Oh, dear. Adrien, I think you should go to the nurse. There's a bump on your forehead."

Absently, she reaches up to brush his hair out of his eyes to get a better look. She freezes mid-motion though, when it dawns on her exactly what she is doing.

She leaps back and draws back her hand quickly. Adrien isn't exactly moving; his eyes are wide and staring.

She tries to salvage her dignity with a smile that is both pained and mortified —nothing close to the effect she'd hoped for, which leans somewhere between the mix of comfort and sympathy. "It —ah, ahem —looks really bad."

"Nah," Adrien mutters. He's looking away, rubbing his palm against the back of his head. "I have fencing soon, so it'll be fine. It'll be hidden under the mask, anyway."

"Are you sure you'll be fine?" she asks, frowning. "You seem a bit red. And forehead was… warm. Your fever's not coming back again, is it?"

She can see him swallowing.

"Yeah, don't worry, Marinette." He smiles brightly, though it looks a bit strained on the edges. "I'll be as right as rain."

"If you say so," she mutters, a little concerned. "I better get going then."

He glances at her sketchbook. "So you should. Lots to do, right?"

"Yes," she nods, smiles. "Too much to do, actually."

He laughs, musical. "Me too."

They turn at the same time. She hears the sound of his footsteps walking away as she places her hand on the knob. Before she can slip back in though, he calls her name. "Marinette?"

She pauses, raises her face to look at him. "Yeah?"

"I'll be finishing at five, just so you know." He smiles, shy, still with a little bit of pink on his ears. "If you'd like company on your way home…"

"I'll keep that in mind." She slips between the door, pokes her head out to smile. "Thanks, Adrien."


She actually forgets Adrien's shy offer after she had lost herself deep enough in her work. There's a lot to do: homework to finish and a quiz to study for. Tikki sits in the open purse on her lap and smiles every time Marinette turns to her for encouragement. Occasionally, she would float out discreetly to pat her on the thigh or whisper a quiet word or two so Marinette won't get bored.

She concludes the session the same way she started it: with a sketchbook in hand, wandering between the shelves and out the door to get started on the walk home. She bumps into a few ex-classmates along the way; Juleka playfully tickles her side and Rose bends over to marvel at her sketches. Marinette smiles along with their praises and mutters sincere thank yous as she turns the knob on the door and slips outside.

A shadow detaches itself from the wall beside her, tall and lean. She shrieks out of surprise and the shadow darts forwards, becomes a boy with his hands held out, placating.

Adrien looks thoroughly apologetic, running his fingers through his hair as she stares. Post-practice Adrien has damp hair, curling in flicks, and a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, heavy with equipment. He sticks his hands in his pockets and shuffles on his feet.

"So… walk home with me?"

For a moment, she isn't quite sure what to say, having yet to to get over the initial shock of having him wait for her. But then, as though fate has decided it's time for it to have a hand in the entire situation, thunder rumbles and raindrops fall.

Adrien's eyes flicker towards the clouds; his expression edges on worry. He unzips his bag, rummages through it, and draws out an umbrella which he holds out between them, his smile shy.

"I have an umbrella."

Marinette stares at him a little longer, then breaks out into relieved giggles. "This is familiar."

He smiles wider, though a red flush is creeping up his collar. He looks abashed, his eyes wandering away.

"Open it then, and let's get going." She taps it lightly with her pencil.

It's quite the show, watching Adrien struggle with opening a simple umbrella. His fingers must have been cold, she thinks, for them to fumble so clumsily over the flapping nylon. It seems to take herculean effort to straighten the skeleton, click everything into place.

He holds it up over his head with a strained, awkward smile. "Uh, I promise it won't snap back."

This time, Marinette's giggles turn to laughter, and shaking her head, she slips under the umbrella beside him, nudging him gently on the arm to get him moving.

"What about Nathalie?" she asks softly as they hop down the steps. "Is she alright with you not taking the car?"

"I managed to convince my dad to forgo the car." He shrugs lightly. "The chauffeur thing is starting to get... excessive, and I'm old enough to get by on my own. Now, they only come to pick me up if I have a shoot straight after school."

She casts him a sidelong glance. "So you spoke to him?"

It takes a while for the answer to come, and when it does, it's breathy and soft. "Yes, I did." He shakes his head, trains his gaze ahead, eyes squinted as though he's trying to make out something in the far distance. "Let's just forget about that. Talk about something else."

She pats his arm consolingly, respecting his wishes. "How's the fever? Did it act up again?"

He stares at her blankly for a while, and then coughs, brings up a sleeve to muffle it against. "Oh, uh, yeah. It's better. Practice went along smoothly." He peeks at her beneath his soft, curling bangs. "How was the studying?"

"Better than the last few times." She sighs, contented. "Got in a few minutes of designing too."

"The designs." He leans to her in interest. "Can I see them?"

For a while, she balks. Showing her designs had always been a terrifying notion, especially to persons of consequence. But Adrien is not a person of consequence so much as he is her friend, one who has seen her designs many times at that. She deliberates the thought, makes up her mind. Silently, she passes the book to Adrien's waiting hands and takes the umbrella from him.

"These are amazing!" He gushes, ardently flipping through the pages. She'd managed to fill up about half or so of the sketchbook, some she has yet to revise but most being her pride and joy. "You could be hired if you showed this to companies, I swear."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," she says, smiling. Adrien's enthusiasm is contagious.

"I'm not joking, Marinette. I would do it myself, but my father rarely listens to me." His smile is both sharp and sad as he hands it back to her. "You're very talented, Marinette. I've no idea how many times I've told you that."

"These are actually some of the designs I was going to show to Alya. She's going to pick the ones that are going in the new line in our online shopping mall."

He nods, rapt in attention. "Ah, the one under the Ladyblog, right?"

She shrugs, laughs lightly. "Alya wouldn't leave me alone about the idea. I couldn't say no."

"It's good that you didn't," Adrien interjects. "I've browsed through. They were all great. They were all… you."

Something bumps her lightly on the leg: Tikki, agreeing and encouraging.

Soft rumbling above make them both look up. With some dismay, they discover that it's pouring heavier. The hem of Adrien's jeans look wet and heavy; she realises then that the right sleeve of his shirt is pretty much soaked too from the way he'd tilted the umbrella, favouring her instead of his right side.

Without thinking, she grabs his hand and rights the angle. He jumps a little; she can feel it in his fingers.

When she looks up at him though, he only smiles down at her, shrugs with a laugh.

"Those designs looked too precious to get wet," he clarifies, eyes shifting away.

"You shouldn't have let yourself get wet because of it."

"It didn't seem right to let you get wet," he says quietly.

She's about to sputter something back about the notion being silly while still trying to process everything he'd just said when she hears the softest of mews, lost in the drum of the rain. She pauses. He does too, cocking his head to the side as though to hear better.

Marinette steps out of the umbrella, mindless of the rain, of the exclamation of surprise uttered by Adrien as water drips onto her hair, down her neck. Quickly, she stuffs her sketchbook into her book bag, walks swiftly across the glistening sidewalk to a dank alleyway. There, a small box leans against the wall, soaked with running water. She crouches and frowns down at it.

"What is it?" Adrien calls, right above her. She realises that he'd been following her with the umbrella, making sure she stays dry as she wanders.

She reaches in and picks it up: a little bundle of soft black fur and the gleaming green eyes of Chat Noir.

"A kitten," she says, turning to him, frown still set on her lips. She brings it to her face, looks into those unblinking eyes as she murmurs, "How'd you end up there, sweetie?"

"It's abandoned."

There's something soft and sad about Adrien's tone, about his eyes when he reaches out a hand to the kitten's ears, runs it through the fur. His head is tilted down; she can see his hair brushing into his eyes, dark gold from the rain.

"You poor angel," she says. The kitten's purr builds up in its chest, vibrates against her touch. "I want to take you with me, I really do, but I can't keep you. My parents won't allow it." Morosely, she brushes her fingers against its soft face, watching it lean, beg for more.

Softly, he says, "I will."

She looks up, surprised. His eyes are dark and solemn, the green of moss, of a forest in the night. Calmly, he holds his hand out. She hands him the kitten, takes the umbrella he passes to her, and watches as he fumbles with the zipper and gently, carefully, deposits it inside.

"Are you sure your father won't mind?" she asks, worried.

"It's just for a while. I'll take it to the shelter when I can. Besides," his voice grows soft, "what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

She grips the umbrella tight, unsure what to say.

Adrien smiles at her discomfort, plucks the umbrella out of her hand, and gazes at her with the same eyes, she just realises, as the kitten she'd held.

"Shall we?" He makes a small gesture towards the path before them.

She's about to respond when the kitten mews from his bag, muffled by layers of cloth. Together, they laugh, rain pattering against the umbrella, onto their path, the glistening Parisian streets.


"You stupid boy."

Adrien takes the insult with only half a mind, more concerned with the kitten in his hands than a bothered Kwami. He dumps the cotton wad into the bin on his way out, smeared with concealer. The scar from the sword is a white slash over his neck, healing.

"Shut up, Plagg. He had no place to go."

He saunters out of the bathroom, the little black thing wrapped in a towel. Plagg is zipping about the empty air, considerably disgruntled.

Adrien raises a brow. "Shouldn't you be more considerate? You and he are practically one and the same. You even look similar."

Plays scowls magnificently. "I represent his species, but I am not part of his species. I don't appreciate having to share my space with a big bundle of fur that keeps trying to rub itself against me to leech off my warmth."

Adrien frowns. "Plagg, be nice. He was cold."

Plagg pretends not hear him. "And my precious Camembert! He'll eat them all."

"Plagg." Adrien's patience is wearing very thin. He sets the kitten down on the couch. "Cats don't eat cheese. Their food palate is far classier than yours."

"Oh, so smelly fish counts as a classy food palate?"

Adrien groans. "I never thought you could be this selfish. I'll send him to the shelter in a few days, so just bear with him all right? In fact, I'm pretty much sure it's the other way round: he has to bear with you."

"I can't believe you took him because you wanted to impress the girl."

The statement takes him by surprise, makes him freeze, stand amidst the vast room in solid stillness. Plagg's eyes are green and fixed on him, heavy with perceptiveness, with wisdom Adrien can never seem to get used to from his cavalier Kwami.

"I didn't take it because I wanted to impress Marinette," he says, lips tight.

"Why then?"

He looks away, refusing to answer.

He hears a sigh, the soft swish of parting air as Plagg zooms away. Towards his cheese stash, probably, which Adrien had indulgently let him keep in one of his cupboards (provided that its far far away from where he does his work.)

"You're a mess, kid," Plagg's voice floats over to him.

Adrien's knees give away, and he drops onto the couch where he lounges for the rest of the night, petting the kitten as it snuggles on his chest.