Adrien is sleep-deprived.

Like most of his visits with Marinette – a curious detail, that there have been enough now to list them as a majority – he stayed out far too late.

They spoke at length, talking into the dark, early hours of the morning. Marinette was visibly tired, rubbing her heavy eyes as she ushered him toward her window. And though his body was equally weary, and he had a long day ahead of him, Adrien had found himself reluctant to leave her cozy space.

"You can't keep coming here like this," she had said, "Sooner or later, someone will see you."

Chat hummed thoughtfully, "Then we'll have to conduct our meetings in a more secure location."

"These visits are already shady enough without you suggesting we conduct some sort of business arrangement."

Her tone was admonishing, but the slant of her mouth spoke barely contained amusement.

He paused at the sill, snatching up her hand and giving it a chaste kiss before she could protest it. And then he was slipping out onto the rooftops, selectively oblivious to the flustered, hushed complaints that followed him from her open window. The smile it elicited clung to him throughout his trek – over the streets of Paris and into the keen hours of the morning when he finally dozed off.

Adrien can still feel it on his lips as he stretches, blinking past the light bleeding across his bedroom floor. He can hear Plagg's soft, rumbling breaths on the other side of his head, where the kwami undoubtedly has nestled into his blonde hair. It's a familiar weight, and one he's not unaccustomed to.

He squints blearily at his bedside table, face partially obscured by blankets and pillows. It's too early to be awake, but he knows Nathalie will be here soon to usher him toward the car. He doesn't want to get up, and his body protests knowingly at the thought. But if she finds him still in bed, it could mean a loss of his privilege to attend school, and he'd be hard-pressed to lose that.

Especially now.

His limbs feel leaden, and Adrien groans lowly as he rolls to his feet.

Paper crinkles under his toes, and he starts, verdant eyes blinking groggily toward the small shape on the floor. Scribbled writing in curved, curly loops stare back at him from the floor boards. He stoops to pick it up, stifling a yawn as he peers at the lettering.

He'd nearly forgotten.

Marinette had snatched something off her desk and scribbled on it quickly, pressing it into his palm before urging him toward her window. He'd been so caught in her chastising, in her rattled expression when he kissed her hand, that he'd nearly forgotten entirely about it.

555-0368

(Don't make me regret this!)

M

Adrien stares at the numbers for a solid beat, his smile growing impossibly wider. He rushes to his bag on unsteady legs, stuffing the note into an outside pocket before fishing around for his cell phone.

He opens a new message immediately.

[ princess,

take a deep breath and try talking to him today. I'm pawsitive he'll like it! :3

C.N. ]

Adrien adds the new number to his contacts, hesitating as he decides what to label her as. He draws a hand through his tousled hair, frowning uncertainly at the screen. After some flustered deliberation, he types her name.

Simple. Friendly.

His eyes are drawn to the little star next to her contact, and his finger hovers over it, heart rising in his throat.

Would that be weird?

No, he reasons, I have Nino on my favorites list – completely platonic.

He wavers.

Ding.

Adrien starts, fumbling as he nearly drops his phone. He scrambles to select the message notification.

- The car is waiting. -

Nathalie.

He sighs heavily, typing back a quick response before tossing the phone onto his bed.

Plagg is curled up, sleeping soundly on the pillows. It'd take an especially ripe piece of camembert to wake him up at this point, and Adrien doesn't have the time or patience this morning.

He scoops up the kwami gently, as he's done countless times before, and tucks him into his bag. The small creature nestles into the soft, blue fabric of his scarf, oblivious to the text books and school essentials.

Adrien's gaze lingers there.

His heart squeezes painfully, thoughts racing back to the revelation from the night before.

To Marinette's inadvertent confession to making it. To the realization that his father had never gifted it to him.

To the knowledge that this piece of hope for the man's humanity, for his love and affection, was as fragile and misguided as each one before had been. He'd worn it with naivety, flaunting a gesture of love that had never occurred, fantasizing over a parental figure that didn't exist. It had been another lie, another illusion.

Another shred of evidence that Gabriel Agreste was an image and a name, and not the father that Adrien desperately wanted to paint him as.

He fingers the material, brows knitting. Plagg's short, warm breaths fan across his knuckles, and Adrien rubs the kwami's ear fondly. He straightens, tugging the zipper closed.

No more naivety.

No more empty expectations.

He doesn't hesitate this time when he taps the star next to Marinette's name. And there's a tender, expanding sense of satisfaction that settles in his stomach as her name pops up on the favorites list.

Above Nathalie.

Above his father.


Admittedly, Adrien has attended school while exhausted on many occasions. Leading an alternate life as Chat Noir has stretched into long, sleepless nights before. The patrols were tireless, the akumas were exceptionally more difficult, or he simply couldn't bring himself to go back home. He'd indulged in fatigue more than once.

But this is the first time that he doesn't care.

Nino lifts his head when his friend enters the classroom, his arms folded behind his hat and feet propped up on the desk. He waves at Adrien, and the model returns it, smiling widely in greeting before his eyes drift up.

Alya is on her phone, scrolling absently before class starts. No doubt she's checking the Ladyblog, where she recently posted a candid shot of the scarlet hero soaring over Paris' night skyline – Adrien would know, since he has the photo saved as his desktop screen.

To her right, Marinette slumps wearily over their shared desk.

The boy approaches with exaggerated nonchalance, making an effort of greeting Nino, then Alya, before sinking down in front of her.

She doesn't rouse at first, and Adrien waits with bated breath for the stuttered hello, that awkward little wave of hers. But it doesn't come, and as the seconds move forward, his chest tightens.

Did she read the message?

With each passing minute, he grows increasingly uncertain.

"Nino Lahiffe, get your feet off that desk."

Madame Bustier throws the boy a pointed look as she enters the classroom, crossing to the board. The flutter of papers and the hush of voices indicate the start of the school day, and Adrien presses his lips into a thin line, his heart giving a squeeze of disappointment.

She didn't see it, or she chose to ignore it.

His hand is at his bag, reaching for a notebook, when he hears her voice.

"Adrien?" she whispers.

His head whips up, gaze darting to her face.

"Yes?"

She pauses when their eyes meet, and Adrien can feel the seconds tangibly. Her eyes are rimmed with dark circles, a rosy imprint on her face from where she'd been laying on her notebook. Marinette's mouth parts, and he can see the hesitation, the warring indecision in her features as she stares back at him.

Say it.

He offers her a slow, encouraging smile. It must jar her momentarily, because he can see the indecision cave, giving way to flustered embarrassment.

"How are me? I mean, you! How are…you?"

The words tumble from her all at once, and she stumbles over them, flushing darkly.

"Tired," he admits, "How are you?"

She sucks in a breath, and his eyes are drawn to her lips – her chest rising, inhaling deeply. His mind flashes back to the text he'd sent.

Take a deep breath.

"I'm okay," she says evenly.

He continues to stare, forgetting himself. Forgetting his casual disposition, the classroom that they're sitting in, and their friends sitting beside them. Marinette's face deepens in hue, and it brings him back to the present.

She hurriedly adds, "Thank you for asking."

As though he'd been staring at her because she forgot to thank him. As though he had thought her impolite.

Ladybug wasn't wrong; you are an idiot.

"No, thank you!" he blurts.

Real smooth, Agreste.

"Adrien and Marinette," Madame Bustier says loudly.

Their heads snap up.

"I have a class to teach. Would you care to join us?"

Adrien turns around, Nino chuckling softly beside him as heat crawls up his neck.


Class is unbearably slow, and Adrien is drove to distraction. He only manages to catch one, maybe two glimpses of Marinette before lunch, having to use the excuse of rummaging in his bag in both instances. Plagg levels him with a critical, knowing look each time, and Nino watches him closely after that, so he doesn't try again for the rest of the day.

By the time the last bell chimes, his nerves are frayed.

Adrien throws his bag over his shoulder, pausing to glance up as his best friend ducks out of class. Fencing is today, and Nino has learned not to wait up on practice days.

He waits several seconds, feigning interest in something on the board as the rest of the students file out. Chloe blows him a kiss as she hustles out the door, and he offers her a polite smile.
Alya left earlier than Nino today, elbowing his friend sharply and whispering something about 'date planning'. Adrien had thought it better not to question it.

Madam Bustier has already collected her things, advising him to hurry off to his after-school activities before she steps out of the room.

It's seconds later when he turns around, surprised that Marinette still hasn't left.

She's fallen asleep again, somewhere between Alya slipping out and the bell going off. Dark hair spills across the desk surface, pooling over her notebook like ink. He can see the curve of her cheek, mouth brushing her knuckles as she breathes deeply.

Adrien holds his breath, and he glances at the door, eyes searching for any lingering students.

Lingering here will make him late for fencing; he's never been late before. There's a small voice at the back of his head, the voice that has been carefully clipped and shaped into an obedient son, that urges him to leave her here and rush to practice. Give her a gentle shake, maybe.

Don't stay, it says, Be rational.

Adrien is always rational.

He can feel it protesting as his bag slides from his shoulder, smacking the top of his desk. It shouts warily at him as he leans over the back of his seat.

His elbows rest on the cool wood, so close he can see the flour in her hair – a faint splash of freckles, spotted across her cheeks and nose. Every detail, indistinguishable before, despite the many months they'd shared together here in this classroom.

Her lids flutter, a strand of hair falling loosely over her lashes. Before he's even thought it through, his fingertips are grazing her brow, brushing her bangs away from her eyes, and his chest clenches involuntarily. He can smell the shampoo she uses, can see the individual, dark lashes fanned over her cheekbones.

The last time they were this close…

Don't.

He drags a feather-light touch over her cheek, knuckles grazing her chin, and her warm breath stirs against his wrist. Adrien hesitates.

He draws his hand back, heart hammering against his ribs.

What would she do, if she woke to this?

Would she be angry, scared, uncomfortable?

He inwardly curses his impulsiveness and reaches for his bag. He's hardly taken a few steps toward the door when he hears paper shift.

Adrien stiffens, pausing mid-step.

"Where is everyone?" she whispers groggily.

He turns, breath caught in his throat as he drinks in her sleep-mussed appearance. Disheveled hair and half-lidded eyes, a hint of smeared drool on her cheek.

Adorable.

"They've left," he says quietly.

She stares at him for a few beats, eyes unfocused.

"You're still here," she points out dazedly.

"I am."

Marinette looks down at her scattered books, appearing to collect her surroundings. She lifts a hand hastily and drags her sleeve over her mouth, swiping the dribble off her chin with a mortified flush. She rises to her feet, shoving her things into her bag.
When Adrien crosses back to her, the little voice in his head huffs reproachfully.

"Are you alright?"

She blinks owlishly, lifting a hand to smother a yawn.

"You seem tired," he clarifies, adjusting his bag.

It's several seconds before she processes his words, and when she does, her face reddens. He finds his attention enraptured by it momentarily.
She's never like this with Chat Noir, and their contrasting interactions bewilder him. How he could have been so oblivious to it before is baffling.

"That's not to say that you look bad," he blunders.

She pauses on the steps, reaching for her things as her eyes lift to his face.

Adrien swallows, "You look very nice! Pretty, actually."

The reaction is instantaneous, and his heart leaps into his throat.

Her response is stammered and incoherent as she grabs for her bag, foot catching on the step as she fumbles for the table. Marinette throws out a hand to steady herself, missing entirely and slipping as she pitches backward on the steps. A high-pitched yelp escapes her as Adrien lunges forward, bag dropping to the floor.

The edge of a step connects with his chest, and the air rushes out of him.

His nose is in her hair, arm pillowing her head. When he pulls the air back into his lungs, it's painful and halting. It smells like baked goods and floral soap.
Adrien draws back, acutely aware of her tensed, stiff weight in his grasp. She stares up at him, nose to nose, azure eyes round with astonishment.

Close enough to forget that he's wearing civilian clothes, and not spandex.

Close enough to see the dark strands of hair that wisp across her forehead, catching in her lashes.

Close enough for his eyes to drop to her mouth, where he can see a pearled glimpse of teeth catch on her bottom lip.

Close enough that he can feel her pulse against his arm, and it's nearly as erratic as his own heartbeat.

And close enough for him to remember that they shouldn't be this close at all.

He jolts away from her as though he's been shocked, and maybe he has. Marinette lets out a hard, breathless noise, as though finally seizing the opportunity to release it.
When he reaches down to offer a hesitant hand, she takes it, rising to her feet on shaky legs.

He clears his throat, "Are you okay?"

She withdraws her hand hastily, scooping up her bag. Her face burns a shade darker than before, eyes slanting away in embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry," she says, "I should have been more careful! You just surprised took me– I mean took me surprised by! Ah, no! I mean, you took me by surprise– Not to say it was your fault! Because it wasn't. I–"

"No, please! It's okay."

Her hands twist the strap of her bag, and Adrien desperately searches for something to say.

"A few weeks from now there's this fashion show, and Nino was talking about inviting Alya to it. He mentioned you coming…"

Marinette's head snaps up, her gaze still guarded, but lit with an uncertain interest.

"A show?"

His brows lift, "Yeah, it's one I'm participating in, actually."

She stares at him openly.

"I would have thought she said something to you by now," he grimaces, "I hope I didn't ruin a surprise."

Marinette shifts her weight, fingers tugging at the band thoughtfully. When she pauses, lips pursing, he fumbles for words.

"I know it's coming up in a few weeks, but I was hoping you'd come–"

Her eyes grow round, something akin to fear passing over her features. The noise that escapes her, choked and uncertain, startles him.

He knows that expression, the panic and uncertainty. It strikes him with guilt – the thought that he could have said or done something to make her uncomfortable.

With Chat Noir, she's straightforward and unyielding. It's a dance he's increasingly grown accustomed to – interacting with Marinette in that dark room above the bakery.
But here, he's Adrien. And this is uncharted territory that he's unfamiliar with.

He doesn't know the lance of anxiety that flashes behind those blue eyes, or the appropriate response to it. To touch her, when she hardly knows him beyond friendly acquaintance, could heighten her discomfort. He was already reckless enough to encroach her space moments before, when she could have woken at any moment and caught him.

Adrien has hardly collected his thoughts when she brushes past him, shoulder grazing his elbow, an incoherent and breathless apology escaping her. He catches sight of the tail of her jacket disappearing around the corner, and then she's gone, and he's left standing in an empty classroom.


Adrien is good at fencing, but today is different. Today he can't focus.

Today his posture is sloppy, and his footwork is incompetent at best. Today his thoughts are aimless and unreserved, crippling his concentration and weighing his actions. His instructor scolds him, letting out a noise of disapproval as Adrien requests a visit to the locker room. He says he's feeling under the weather, and it's partially true.

He scared her away.

The apprehension in her eyes festers sourly in his stomach, and Adrien kicks his locker, dropping his headgear onto the bench.

Damn it.

He should have listened to the little voice in his head. He should have been a gentleman and kept his distance.

Chat Noir can afford to be thoughtless, but Adrien? Adrien has an image to uphold. He has a part to play, and he should have known better than to stray from it.

He opens his locker, resting his head on the door as he rummages through his bag for a water bottle. The scent of cheese permeates his nose, and Adrien frowns at it as a pair of bright, slit green eyes peer up at him.

"Your phone went off."

The kwami nudges it toward his outstretched hand, and Adrien's gaze drifts toward the screen as it lights up. A message.

He snatches it up.

"When was this sent?"

"How would I know?" Plagg sniffs.

The boy swipes the lock screen, eyes searching as he selects his messages. And there's her name, in bold.

{ I tried talking to him today. }

One sentence, but it's enough to toss his apprehension out from under him. Adrien glances toward the door, then around the room. Confirming his privacy, he taps out a response.

[ how did it go? ]

He sets his phone on the bench, retrieving a towel and a water bottle from the locker before sinking down next to it. Plagg settles back into the bag, likely to return to his nap.

{ He was nice. Really nice, actually. Ugh, it was a disaster }

[ how so? ]

Adrien drapes the towel over his neck, taking a long drink as he stares at the screen.

{ Where do I even start? }

He frowns, rubbing at his neck thoughtfully.

[ it couldn't have been that bad… ]

Could she have been awake, in that moment before she stirred?

The thought of her lying there, too frightened to say anything, makes Adrien's breath short. She may have been too kind, or too worried, to tell him to stop. And he wouldn't have known, because he acted thoughtlessly.

{ 'Not that bad' is managing two or three words coherently. No, I made an absolute fool of myself. }

[ ? ]

{ I couldn't talk to him without sounding like a blabbering idiot, and then I passed out halfway through class and drooled all over my desk. So attractive! }

Adrien smiles softly. She looked unbearably cute, unkempt and ruffled from sleep. Cheek pressed to her hand, notebook lines and bleary eyes. He'd seen it before, in the warm light of her bedroom on that first night he knocked on her window.

Somehow, it's become increasingly more endearing now than it was then.

[ did the prince wake sleeping beauty? :D ]

If he woke her, this is the way to find out. But Adrien can't help but feel guilty for gaining information like this; it almost feels like cheating.

{ No. -_-

But he did invite me to a fashion show. }

[ that's good! right? ]

{ He said something nice to me, and I tripped. I fell and took him down with me. Chat, it was mortifying. }

"Adrien?"

He hastily slips the phone under his leg, eyes snapping to the figure in the doorway. Another student, still dressed for their fencing lesson.

"Yes?"

The boy peers at Adrien thoughtfully.

"How are you feeling? Monsieur D'Argencourt asked me to come check on you."

Adrien swallows thickly, lifting a hand to his forehead.

"A little clammy, but I think I'll be okay. My schedule has been hectic, so I might just need a minute to breathe."

The boy frowns, eyes moving from the model's hand to his leg. There's suspicion there, in the slope of his brows. Possibly because he's cut a few corners himself, ditched classes or lessons on occasion, and so he knows how to spot an amateur attempt.

But he doesn't threaten to tell the teacher, and he doesn't scold Adrien.

"Do you need an ice pack?"

Adrien shakes his head, "No, thank you. I'll be back in a minute."

The boy glances over his shoulder before flashing a thumbs up and ducking out. Adrien stares after him for a beat before remembering the phone and fishing it back out.

{ I panicked and ran. He asked me to go to a fashion show – a Gabriel Agreste fashion show, and I ran. }

[ why don't you say yes? ]

She was scared.

But maybe not for the reason he had initially feared.

{ I don't know. I mean, would that be weird? }

[ he asked you. do you really think it's weird for you to say yes when he obviously wants you to go? ]

{ …no? }

[ no. ]

Adrien takes a long draw of water, swishing it between his cheeks thoughtfully.

{ Meet me tonight. }

[ I thought we exchanged numbers so we wouldn't have to meet in purrson? ;) ]

{ It'll be somewhere else, and this time I'll pick. }

[ a secret business meeting? :D ]

Her response doesn't come immediately, and Adrien checks the time. Fencing will end in fifteen minutes, and then he'll be driven to a scheduled photoshoot. If he spends too long in the locker room, the instructor might inform Nathalie that he's feeling ill.

Then he'll find it hard-pressed to squeeze free of his room to go to school, or anywhere else.

Adrien crosses to his locker, tucking away his things. The phone buzzes as he's about to close the metal latch. The message is short, and he glimpses it as it lights the screen.

{ 9 p.m. in front of La Pagode.

Don't dress like a thug this time. }


Hello, everyone.

Bless each and every one of you for your patience with me! Life has been crazy, between getting sick and Office expiring on me. Honestly, I don't know how I feel about this chapter, but I needed to get it out.
On the bright side, the outline is completed and there should be some big pieces falling into place soon. I'm so amazed at how diligently you've been sticking with this story. So thank you! :)

Feedback is appreciated!