A/N: This is the first fic I've written for this fandom, and I'm so excited! I love these characters so much and have read so many fics that I couldn't help but throw my own into the mix. Hope you enjoy!

The first time Adrien Agreste ever heard of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, he was assured that the two were made for each other.

Granted, it was by her doting parents who he suspected loved to play matchmaker, but he liked to think that they were onto something from the start.

A week prior to this fateful interaction, he was thanking his lucky stars that his apartment neighbor across the hall had finally moved out. As much as he was used to loud, loud music played by his best friend, Nino, he wasn't fond of hearing it up until four in the morning. He had become so sleep-deprived that he even considered moving back in with his father for a split second.

Yeah. He was really, really tired.

Thankfully, the rest of the building seemed to agree. Probably a hundred noise complaints later, there was a bright yellow eviction notice on their front door. Adrien nearly wept at the sight. Room 405 was empty, and he could finally get the shut-eye he desperately needed to keep up with his college courses and tutoring side gig.

And then, just seven days after he had received the joyous news, he learned that someone new would be taking residence in 405.

This did not sit well with Adrien. He had finally achieved the peace and quiet he so much desired, only for it to be risked by a new person infiltrating the space. At least the first guy had good taste- what if the newbie played XY all night long? He would make like Van Gogh and take a knife to his ears.

So, the smart guy that he is, Adrien formed a plan. Listening carefully within the walls of his apartment, he would wait until he heard the telltale sounds of his neighbor moving in, take a "casual stroll" out of his apartment to take out the trash, strike up a friendly conversation, and subtly warn them that being excessively loud at night would lead to a swift eviction that he would wholeheartedly support. End it with a friendly slap on the back and an innocent smile, and he'd be on his way. Foolproof.

Then the day came. He was cooking a spinach and feta omelet on the stove- he was delighted that he was becoming a somewhat adept cook, despite his overly sheltered upbringing- when he heard noises out in the hall. Voices talking, shuffling of items, things being dragged, etc.

He checked the watch. 9:25. He had a little over half an hour to eat, "welcome" the new neighbor, and take off for his first tutoring session of the day.

Adrien smirked. Plenty of time.

At 9:45 he made his move. Whistling casually, he swung a half-full garbage bag over his shoulder and stepped out of his apartment, his jaunty tune and deliberately loud footsteps catching the attention of the two people in the hallway.

To his surprise, he locked eyes with a middle-aged couple. The man was as tall and as broad as his bodyguard growing up had been, but had a softness to him that made him less intimidating. He was lugging an armoire effortlessly across the hall, despite it being a large enough piece of furniture to warrant a helping hand or two. The woman was as petite as her husband was large, with kind eyes and a gentle smile as she guided him towards the door. They had both stopped what they were doing when Adrien left his room, glancing at him curiously.

His apartment was mostly filled with young adults in college or the early stages of their careers since it was so close to the university. It was rare that anyone of their age moved in. He hoped that this meant they were the "early to bed" type.

"Hi there," he finally spoke, flashing a brilliant grin. "You guys must be my new neighbors. I'm Adrien."

The man set down the armoire and extended a hand. It was at least three times the size of his own. "Tom Dupain. Nice to meet you. And this is my lovely wife, Sabine Dupain-Cheng."

Adrien shook his hand, surprised at the gentleness of his grip.

"It's nice to meet you, Adrien," Sabine said, smiling sweetly at him. "And actually, we're not your neighbors. Our daughter's the one moving in"

His eyebrows raised. "Your daughter?"

That makes a lot more sense, he thought. Her parents seem nice enough, so far. Hopefully, she takes after them.

Tom grinned broadly. "Yes, our daughter, Marinette. We'd introduce you, but…"

"... She's currently out at the store," Sabine finished. "She was carrying a box with all of her dishes and dropped it trying to load it in the car, so now she has no plates or bowls." She chuckled lightly, shaking her head.

"That's our little klutz," Tom agreed merrily. "Never a dull day with her around. I'm going to miss having her around all the time."

Out of nowhere, his eyes started filling with tears. His wife, apparently used to this behavior, quickly pulled out a hankie. He gratefully accepted it, dabbing at the corner of his eyes and blowing his nose loudly.

Adrien blinked. And instantly decided that he liked these people.

Growing up, he was given a stern lecture and hefty punishment if he so much as chipped a glass, let alone smashed an entire box of dishes. He was instantly jealous of this Marinette girl, whose loving parents laughed off accidents and loved her so dearly.

"Well, I'm glad to have a new neighbor," Adrien said, smiling genuinely now. "The last one had a nasty habit of waking the entire building up with their music. One time I swear the floor was shaking from the vibrations of their speaker."

"You poor thing," Sabine clucked, patting his shoulder sympathetically. "You won't have to worry about that anymore. Marinette is very considerate. The loudest sound you'll hear on this side of the hall will likely be accidental trips and falls."

Adrien chuckled. This wasn't sounding so bad. He was almost looking forward to meeting this clumsy girl with awesome parents.

"Speaking of that," Tom interjected, stuffing the hankie in his pocket, "You seem like a fine young man, Adrien. Will you please look after our little girl? Make sure she doesn't accidentally fall off the fire escape or topple out a window?"

He wanted to laugh again, but he wasn't sure if Tom was joking or not. Just how clumsy was Marinette?

"Of course," he replied. Adrien was surprised at how sincere his voice was… and how sincere he genuinely felt. "I'll watch her back. You can count on me."

Mr. Dupain's entire body relaxed at Adrien's words. He clapped a massive hand on his back, causing him to stumble a step forward. "Good lad! I'm glad we ran into you, son."

"And such a handsome young man as well," Sabine added, a glint in her eye. She exchanged glances with her husband.

Despite having heard this his whole life, he flushed under the praise. "Thank you, ma'am."

She waved him off. "Oh, you don't have to be so formal. I'm sure we'll see you around, Adrien dear. Though not too much- we aren't going to stifle our daughter now that she's gaining some independence. Right Tom?" Sabine looked at him pointedly.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. "As long as she calls us every day."

"We agreed on a couple of times a week, dear."

"I never agreed to that!"

"Oh, and Adrien, please take some croissants from our bakery," Sabine added, quickly changing the subject. She momentarily disappeared into the apartment, popping back out with a small box. He could smell the buttery baked pastries even through the lid.

Yes, he had just eaten breakfast. Yes, his mouth was still watering an embarrassing amount.

"Oh, I couldn't do that," he weakly protested, his eyes locked on the box.

Sabine chuckled. "Nonsense. We brought extras so Marinette could give them to her new neighbors. Since we've run into you, it seems appropriate to give it to you now."

"I thought I was supposed to bring gifts to the new neighbors, not the other way around," he joked, but he still eagerly accepted the box. "Thank you so much, Mr. Dupain and Ms. Dupain-Cheng. And I'll be sure to thank Marinette when I meet her. I love baked goods. I can never get enough of them."

The couple exchanged knowing looks again. "Well, there'll be more where that came from. Marinette is a prodigy in the kitchen," Tom boasted, puffing out his already large chest. "She's the best macaron maker of the three of us. And she stress bakes, so she's always got extras."

Adrien was beaming now. He could not believe his luck. This had to be the biggest upgrade in the history of neighbor upgrades. If there was such a thing.

"Can I help you all move her stuff in? It's the least I can do to thank you for the croissants." He tried to sneakily glance at his watch to gauge how much time he had left before he had to leave for work.

Sabine waved him off. "Oh, we've held you up long enough. You've been holding your trash for a good five minutes while we've talked your ear off."

Adrien glanced over at the hand that wasn't holding the croissants. Oh yeah. I brought my garbage as an excuse. Should probably take that out.

After thanking them again and slipping the croissants on his counter with extra care, he headed out to quickly drop his trash. After he turned into the adjacent hall, just before hitting the fire escape down to the dumpster, he caught the tail end of the Dupain-Chengs' conversation.

"So it looks like our little girl has a handsome, well-mannered neighbor about her age who loves baked goods. How nice," Sabine said, the smile evident in her voice.

Tom, for his part, sounded ecstatic. "Right? It's like they were made for each other! It's about time Marinette settles down with a nice boy. We'll have to fix up that guest room soon, honey."

"What for?"

"When they come over with their two- no, three- children to stay for Christmas! We need to have plenty of space."

"Oh, Tom."

Adrien chuckled quietly to himself, slipping out the door. He thought they were just being playful, of course. Life doesn't work out like it does in the Hallmark movies.

It wasn't until he actually met Marinette that he realized just how wrong he was.

The first time Marinette Dupain-Cheng met Adrien Agreste, she had locked herself out of her new apartment.

Well, not really. That's what was so ridiculous about it. She had the key, she was jamming it in the doorknob, but the darned thing refused to budge. For a solid five minutes, she stood stuck outside in the hallway, jiggling it around and cursing under her breath. She even checked the number twelve times to make sure she had the right unit. What's worse, she was soaked to the bone from a horrible rainstorm that had seemed to come out of nowhere, and all she wanted to do was get inside, peel off her sopping wet clothes, and take a nice, hot shower.

Just before she decided to give up on all hope and crash at her parents' place instead, a hand reached over her shoulder, grabbed onto the key, and turned it with an easy 'click.'

The door swung open, as did her jaw. Was it seriously that easy this whole time?

"The secret is to push in halfway through the turn," her mysterious helper offered. "Sorry to jump in, it just looked like you were struggling."

"I was, actually. Thank y-" The word died on her lips as she turned around, facing him head-on.

Instantly, she knew he had to have been Adrien, the "handsome and very polite young man with the blonde hair and the love of baked goods," as her parents had described him. But handsome didn't nearly do him justice. He had the most brilliant emerald green eyes she had ever seen, and his skin was absolutely flawless like he was one of those statues carved from marble. His hair, also damp from the weather, was disheveled and perfect at the same time. It wasn't fair to be that attractive, really.

Adrien, for his part, seemed momentarily taken aback by her as well, blinking at her with wide eyes. "Uh…"

A crack of thunder snapped them back out of it. They both startled, and then laughed at themselves. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and she tried her best not to shuffle her feet.

"It's no problem," Adrien said quickly, smiling at her. "I, uh, promised your parents I'd look after you a bit while you got settled in. You must be Marinette." He stuck out a hand for her to shake.

"And you must be Adrien," she said smoothly, taking it. "Seriously, thank you. I've been stuck out here forever."

"Yeah, the doors get jammed every now and then. It's annoying, but you get used to it."

She nodded, smiling shyly at him. "So what's the trick to it again?"

"To push halfway through when you're turning the key," he clarified. "Yeah, took me a bit to figure it out.

"Well, that's inconvenient."

"You're telling me. I once slept outside my door because I couldn't get in. Unlocked it on my first try the next morning, funnily enough. I was so mad."

They laughed again. And then, realizing their hands were still linked from what was a rather long, drawn-out handshake (handhold?), quickly disentangled, taking a step back from one another.

"Right. Noted," she said, nodding more than was strictly necessary. "I really appreciate it. Uh, I guess I'll see you around then, Adrien."

"Definitely. See you around, Marinette." He took another step back but paused, his eyes lighting up. "Oh, and thanks for the croissants! I haven't had pastries that good in a long time. Maybe ever."

She waved a hand dismissively, but she felt heat crawl up her neck. "It's nothing. There'll be plenty more where that came from, trust me."

His eyes crinkled at the corners as his smile softened. "Looking forward to it."

She was a sticky pile of melted goo on the floor. He was adorable. Did he know how adorable he was?

With a final, brief wave, she stepped inside her door, closed it, and leaned against it with her eyes shut.

He probably thinks I'm so weird, she thought self-deprecatingly, chuckling to herself. Why was I holding onto his hand for so long? What an idiot.

Well, c'est la vie. At least she had a fun story to share with Alya later.

And maybe the beginnings of a new crush. But she wasn't one to get obsessed over a pretty set of eyes. It was probably nothing.

Why did I hold onto her hand for so long?

Adrien still couldn't get over his embarrassment from the day prior.

And yet, all he wanted was to find some excuse to run into her again.

The nice thing about living across the hall from someone is that strategic "running into them" is a splendidly easy task. The less nice thing was the sudden fear that he wouldn't be subtle, totally creep her out, and then Marinette would be living in fear of the stalker man in her building.

Adrien didn't want to be a stalker man. So he didn't lurk in the hallway in the hopes that he'd see her.

Even if he really, really wanted to.

To his delight, it turned out he didn't have to wait long to see her again. Being the somewhat well-adjusted adult man he was, Adrien routinely hit the grocery store every three weeks to avoid the temptation of eating out constantly. Today was shopping day. So, as he often did every other Friday evening, Adrien struggled to open the door to his apartment while juggling a comically large number of grocery bags slung over his arms.

Bracing himself against the wall, he tried sticking the key in without dropping anything. After missing a couple of times, he finally stuck it in, but then found that it was refusing to turn.

"Are you kidding me?" He mumbled, trying to get close enough to shove the door without squashing his more fragile items. He preferred to scramble his eggs in the pan, not in the brown paper bag he was carrying them in.

And then someone reached over his shoulder, expertly turning the key and applying the perfect amount of pressure to pop his door right open.

He swiveled around. Marinette grinned at him.

"You have to push halfway through turning the key," she recited back to him smoothly.

This confident version of the girl across the hall was even more magnetic than the flustered, rain-soaked Marinette from before. He found himself looking forward to unlocking new versions of her.

"So I'm told. You've been practicing." Her smile was contagious. He was practically beaming at her.

Take it down a notch, Adrien.

"I learned from the best. You need help bringing those in?"

Don't inconvenience her. "No, I'm fine."

Right on cue, the sack of apples that was already tipping precariously fell out of his bag completely. It burst open, freeing the bright green granny smiths to roll all over the floor.

She was clenching her jaw hard. To his mortification, he realized she was trying to hold in a laugh. He hoped the burning of his cheeks wasn't too noticeable under the fluorescent hallway lights.

"... Maybe I need a little help," he admitted sheepishly.

She nodded at him, eyes sparkling in amusement. Wordlessly, she grabbed two of the bags from his arms.

"I'll catch the runaway apples in a minute," he said, praying to anyone who could hear him that he remembered to clean up his apartment earlier that day.

He did. Mostly. He kicked a heap of dirty laundry into a closet when he thought she wasn't looking.

"This is trippy," Marinette said, setting the bags on the counter. "It's the same layout as mine, but it's like a mirror image."

"Really?"

"Mhm." She started taking things out of the bags.

"You don't have to do all that," he protested as she began transferring cold items to the fridge.

She smiled kindly at him and his stomach did a little somersault. "It's the least I can do for you saving me yesterday. Plus you have some apples to track down."

"True. But what if you judge my grocery purchases while I'm gone? I don't think I could bear the humiliation."

She raised her eyebrows. "Are you kidding me? I've gone through one bag and already you have twice as much produce as most guys I know our age."

He fought off the strange urge to ask if one of said "guys" was a boyfriend of hers. "And what age would that be exactly?"

"Twenty-two. But I'm about to be really embarrassed if you're one of those young-looking thirty-year-olds."

"Or mature-looking teenagers. For all you know, I'm thirteen and tall for my age."

"Pretty impressive to have an apartment on your own at thirteen."

"Thanks. Just don't rat me out for the bottle of Merlot I bought."

"Perish the thought."

And just like that, they were bantering. He was leaning casually against the wall, hands in his pockets, and she was leaning her elbows on the counter, chin resting on the tops of her hands. It was so… relaxed. And right. It just felt right.

"But seriously, how old are you? I'm assuming at least twenty-one," she said, eyeing the aforementioned bottle of wine with exaggerated suspicion. She was too cute.

"Twenty-three."

"Ancient. Are those gray hairs?"

"Ha ha. I'm going after the apples. I'll let you know if I fall and break a hip."

He heard her giggle as he left, and his heart soared.

Marinette had not meant to spend her entire evening with Adrien. Not that she was complaining.

Her thoughts had been straying to him all day, to the point where she had accidentally given his name instead of hers to the barista at Starbucks. When they called for a grande caramel latte with skim for Adrien, she knew she was a goner.

She was crushing hard. And she barely knew the guy.

And this evening only served to stoke the flames.

After rescuing his apples, Adrien said that the least he could do was invite her to join him for dinner. "I'm making spaghetti and meatballs. You're not a vegetarian, are you?"

She shook her head, grinning. "That sounds great. I don't want to put you out, though."

"You wouldn't be," he said quickly. Then, perhaps embarrassed by his eagerness, he leaned back against the wall, a flush spreading across his face. "I mean, I'll have plenty of food. But only if you want to. I understand if you're busy."

She shook her head, excitement bubbling inside her at the realization that he wanted to hang out with her just as much as she did with him. "I'm not busy. Let's do it."

His whole face relaxed as he smiled at her. "Great."

And then she was sitting at his counter, chatting about anything and everything while he cooked. She had tried in vain to get him to let her help but to no avail.

"I'm kind of a baby adult," he explained sheepishly, "and I'm trying to learn to cook all the basics by myself. Plus I never get the opportunity to cook for other people. For all I know, everything I make tastes horrible and I just don't remember the taste of real food. You'll be my guinea pig."

"I prefer hamsters, actually," she said, sitting back down in compliance. It had been a while since anyone other than her parents cooked for her. She found herself looking forward to it. "As long as you promise not to poison me. And baby adult? What's that mean, exactly?"

He grimaced, looking down into the sauce he was stirring with apparent sudden interest. "I, ah, I sort of… grew up with a lot of means. I was taken care of a lot, and didn't have the chance to experience things for myself."

"So you were crazy rich?"

She balked at her own words. Wow, Marinette. What a way you have with words.

He choked out a laugh, and she covered her face with her hands. "Sorry, I don't always think when I speak," she groaned.

"It's alright," he said, his voice tight with restrained laughter. "I mean, that was one way of putting it."

"But it's true?"

"Yeah," he admitted, his green eyes locking on hers. "I hope you don't think of me differently because of it. I try not to live up to the spoiled rich kid stereotype."

"You don't at all," she assured, smiling warmly. Sure she barely knew the guy, but already she could tell he had a good heart. "So what if you came from wealth? It's your actions that matter regardless of your background.

He smiled back at her. "Thank you. You're a really kind person, you know?" A few strands of his blonde hair had fallen into his eyes, and he pushed them back, the smile still on his face. It struck her as humorously picture-perfect, like a catalog ad.

Then it clicked.

"Oh my God. You're Adrien Agreste, aren't you?"

And now he was blushing furiously. He dropped his hand, staring at it accusingly.

She cringed inwardly. Should she not have said that? Did that make her sound like a creep?

"Yeah. You caught me," he said sheepishly, refusing to meet her gaze now. "It's been years since I did modeling for my father- most people have forgotten me by now. It's so embarrassing."

She floundered for the right words to put him at ease. "Well, I had a lot of pictures of you in my room. That's why I recognized you."

Silence.

And now she was the one blushing furiously. "I-I mean-"

And there was his laugh again, this time even louder and more unrestrained. The spoon fell from his hand straight into the bowl, splattering his white shirt with sauce, and he didn't even seem to care.

"Adrien," she whined, trying (and failing) not to laugh with him. "It's not funny!"

He couldn't answer, too busy howling with laughter.

"I was really into fashion," she protested, crossing her arms. "It wasn't about you!"

"You were totally a fan girl!" He pointed at her accusingly, a wicked grin on his face. "Marinette Dupain-Cheng had the hots for tween heartthrob Adrien Agreste!"

"I so did not!"

"You so did too!"

"I just had a lot of your pictures, okay! For the clothes your father designed!"

He stared at her with an eyebrow raised. "Really? That was it?"

His eyes were piercing into hers. She bit her lip. Sighed. "Maybe I kept up with a couple of fan blogs too," she admitted in a small voice.

His jaw dropped open. "Oh my gosh. I was just kidding. Really?"

She violently threw a pillow at him.

He did finish making dinner, eventually. In the meantime, she was able to tell him all about her design internship- "See? I told you I was into fashion!"- and he confessed to leaving his father's house (with his reluctant blessing) to pursue adult independence and an education in physics. He promised to show his father her designs with her permission, to which she insisted they were nowhere near good enough for the likes of Gabriel Agreste, to which he insisted she was probably being modest.

All too soon, she was looking down at an empty plate. "That was so good, Adrien. And I'm not just saying that."

"Thank YouTube Food Network," he joked, but she could tell he had brightened at her compliment.

"I can help with dishes!" She was on her feet and had grabbed his own empty plate before he could protest.

Really, cleaning was just an excuse to stick around longer. To her surprise, she felt a pit in her stomach at the thought of leaving so soon.

Adrien appeared behind her, grabbing one of the soapy plates to rinse and dry. "This has been really fun, Marinette," he said, his voice soft. "Truly. Thanks for coming over." And was she making this up, or did he sound kinda sad too?

"No, thank you. It's nice to have a friend across the hall." She nudged him with her elbow, and he cracked a smile.

"We're friends?"

"Well we're not strangers anymore," she insisted. "You know about the pictures in my bedroom."

"Are they still there?"

This time she grabbed his drying towel and whacked him with it.

Somehow this turned into her showing him her apartment.

"See? No pictures of teen model Adrien Agreste," she said, dramatically spreading her arms as she led him inside.

True to her word, her place was a mirror image of his own. Her kitchen and living room were accented with more pops of color, however, and adorned with cozy furniture covered in throw pillows and blankets. It wasn't messy, but it was definitely lived in. Marinette hated sterile spaces. She absently thought of Adrien and the mansion he must've grown up in. Had it been a homey environment, or something more harsh and severe?

"I love the way you've decorated. It's very you," he commented pleasantly.

"Thanks." She felt giddy at the idea of him already knowing what was 'her.'

"But how do I know there are no pictures of me in your bedroom?"

She whipped her head towards him, staring at him in shock. As soon as she reacted, his whole face went white.

She bit back a laugh. His reaction was too pure.

"N-no, oh my gosh, no, no, I didn't mean- I-I just meant because you said y-you used to have the pictures in your room-"

"Adrien Agreste-"

"Seriously that's not what I meant-"

"You absolute scoundrel-"

"Marinette!"

This went on for a while. She was finally able to calm him down after vehemently insisting she knew what he meant and suspected no ill-intentions, and then followed it up by saying she'd make them dessert.

Was that a ploy so their night together wouldn't end quite yet? Possibly.

He absently flipped through her design sketchbook while she mixed up the batter for chocolate chip cookies- as the daughter of bakers, she made sure she was always prepared to bake cookies at a moment's notice- and then she joined him on the couch when they were in the oven.

So entranced by her designs, he didn't seem to notice her presence until she nudged him with her knee. "Hey."

"Hey yourself. Don't argue with me on this, okay?

"Argue about what?"

"I need to show these to my father sometime."

She flushed. "Huh?"

His eyes softened with sincerity. "Marinette, these are amazing. You have an amazing eye for texture, color, detail-"

"You're just being nice."

"No, I'm being dead honest. I was a model for a while, you may remember," he joked, quirking an eyebrow at her. She laughed. "And I've been watching my father design my entire life. I know fashion, and these are sensational."

She was as red as a fire engine, she was sure of it. "Wow. Thanks, Adrien. Really. I'd appreciate that."

Adrien seemed satisfied by her answer, grinning excitedly. He handed her back her design sketchbook, glancing back to the kitchen. "The cookies already smell amazing, too. Is there anything you can't do?"

"Take three steps without tripping."

He laughed, setting her sketchbook on the coffee table and leaning back into the couch. "Yeah, your parents mentioned you were clumsy."

"How long did you end up talking to them, exactly?" A knowing smile lingered on his face. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Okay, how did they embarrass me this time?"

He raised up his hands defensively. "They didn't embarrass you! They were so nice. Honestly, Marinette."

"And?"

He squirmed under the weight of her stare. "And what?"

She waited. He scratched his jaw, averting his gaze.

"...Aaaaand I may have overheard your parents declaring that we were perfect for each other. And that we'd have three kids," he admitted, still not meeting her eyes.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Don't blush don't blush don't blush. "Yeah, that sounds like them," she groaned.

"But they gave me croissants! Unless that was supposed to be some kind of barter? A box of pastries for a marriage proposal to our daughter?"

She opened her eyes, glaring at him. He was unphased, laughing at his own joke.

Her oven alarm beeped. The smug grin was wiped off his face.

"You're not going to withhold cookies from me for that joke, are you?"

She wasn't that cruel. "Come on, model man. Just don't burn your mouth."

When he took his first bite, he didn't burn his tongue, but his eyes did widen significantly. When she asked if he was okay, he simply dropped down to one knee, lovingly took her hand, and begged for her hand in marriage.

She flicked his forehead in response, and he started cracking up.

She'd be lying if she said her heart wasn't beating a little faster after that, though.