The next two days pass like a kidney stone, which Adrien has heard is really unpleasant even if he's not going to investigate that matter too thoroughly.
As if they can sense the bitter tension that's fomenting between Lila, Marinette, Adrien himself, and their entire coterie of friends who are being split apart at the seams, the remainder of the class stays quiet, refusing to rise to Lila's increasingly outlandish provocations.
He hates the way that Marinette looks at him now; typically, there's a fondness when they're at a distance, glances in his direction to see if he's alright or even stares when he's really having a rough day.
Now, when she's not ignoring him, her gaze passing over his slouched figure as if he's a table or a chair, a random piece of furniture in the room, there's merely a flicker of acknowledgement – a momentary glance when her eyes flood with something and her cheeks crease with a flinching frown, gone in a mere moment.
...
Action figures are really great, though. He invests the free time that he can't spend with his friends admiring and rearranging his old collection: setting up a diorama of his Power Rangers figures, searching the internet for sales on some older pieces, either used to complete his loose collection or still mint because it might be nice to have a little display of mint-in-box items, or-
How is a really cheesy Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles action figure from the 90s with about five points of articulation worth nearly $1300 US?
This is a strange world.
Does he really want to be a part of it?
He thinks of his little Lady and how the real one and Marinette alike might – might smile at him and forgive him if he can just give them what they need, or just be what they need and not himself, show them that he's sorry.
Yes.
The answer is yes.
Finally, the day arrives. His package should be waiting for him when he gets home from school.
To keep himself from tearing the car door off its hinges as his foot pounds like a power hammer against the carpeted floor of his sedan while the Gorilla chauffeurs him and Nathalie back to the Agreste mansion, he compiles an itemized list of reasons that Marinette should be permitted, and indeed encouraged, to take up her mouse miraculous when appropriate to the situation.
It's composed while Nathalie drones on about his schedule for the upcoming week, listing off the various different appointments with his dietitian, hair stylists, production manager for the next photoshoot, and not a single dinner or even brunch or afternoon tea with his father. He's learnt that it's better never to ask about such things; just allow the waves to wash over and through him, lulled into a stupor by the even murmur of Nathalie's voice, and the grumble of the engine in their luxury car.
The list. That's what's important because Marinette is a vital part of his life, one of his first and best friends whose presence soothes and excites and wounds in equal measure with her fiery disposition, mousy meeps! and flustered bumbles, and that massive heart that's giving Chat Noir more than he deserves, and maybe – he blinks rapidly – maybe shutting out Adrien after what he said that wounded her so grievously, though he can't quite tell why.
Multimouse's identity was known only to Chat and Ladybug, both of whom could be trusted beyond measure, as mutual respect and faith formed the backbone for their partnership.
Multimouse was brilliantly effective, kicking butt like no one's business.
Marinette had proven herself time and time again as an "everyday ladybug" who fought for people, and with people in an effort to encourage them to become better versions of themselves, on a daily basis.
Chat can put in a good word for Adrien and make sure that Marinette's not endangering herself as a civilian by attempting to intercede on his behalf.
He can't share that one with Ladybug; can he?
Those puffy meatball hair-buns that he wants to nom on are really cu-
"Adrien, are you listening?" Nathalie growls from her passenger-side seat, setting her tablet down to her knee.
Well, yes. He was listening; his latest hearing tests suggested that his auditory senses were well above average. He just wasn't paying attention. When your schedule doesn't matter because you're a piece of luggage to be carted about and arranged into a back seat along with the other inanimate objects, you don't need to know where you're being taken. You just get there.
"Um. I have a photoshoot this week and a session with our design team to have new measurements taken?"
Nathalie arches a brow, adjusting her spectacles before a ghost of a smile flits by her face. "Good guess."
Within the rear-view mirror, the Gorilla flavors him with a unique expression of detached interest, eyes flicking off the road to assess traffic in order to merge into another lane, but for that single blissful second, there's a roll or a quirk, as much of an alteration to his typically stoic mien as Adrien ever sees from his silent guardian.
It means a lot.
More than he can really put into words as he struggles to split his attention between compiling the every growing list and Nathalie's equally extensive itemization of his responsibilities for the week.
One is as easy to populate as the other is difficult to stomach.
Far more so than his discovery when he arrives at home the mansion and tears his way to his room, expecting to find the package at his door.
It's been delayed.
He throws on a smile while slipping into his room so that he can stuff Plagg with enough cheese to butter him up for a jaunt this evening.
At least the second item in his plan is still possible.
Half-way through their post-patrol meeting, Ladybug does not appear to have been motivated to action by the well-constructed and formalized list that he has produced to lobby for More Multimouse!
Perhaps he should have included a power point presentation or arranged some form of strike action.
"Look, Chat," she says, pinching the bridge of her nose, palm concealing only half of the flush on her cheeks. His belt-tail bristles, then droops like an overcooked noodle. He hadn't meant to upset her. "I appreciate your input on this, but Multimouse isn't really someone we can call up regularly."
"It doesn't have to be a regular thing," he placates as he rolls his fingers together. Surely Multimouse had proven herself on her sole outing, even more so than any of their other teammates. Had the two girls, who clearly had some form of friendship based on Ladybug's insistence that he protect her from Evilustrator, gone through a falling out? "Even though she totally could handle it, and probably deserves it, too. We can just invite her out for a patrol every now and again."
"I like holding her back as a reserve, Chat," Ladybug prevaricates. The way her shoulders fall into that easy, effortless droop, butt sliding forward so that she's laying out flat on the roof, might suggest relaxation, but to him, it screams drop it. "For when times are at their roughest."
"Now that makes sense, but just because she's our secret weapon, doesn't mean that she can't practice a little bit every now and again." He's pressing forward through the dubious expression she levels at him; it's important for her to see and to say just how special Marinette actually is, even if he's not entirely sure why. "I mean, you saw how much butt she kicked when she was just starting out! Imagine how amazing she'd be if a few practice sessions and some time to get used to using her miraculous."
Ladybug scratches her cheek, then her jaw, coughing lightly while glancing downwards. "Well, she was pretty good, I guess, but, uh, you shouldn't oversell her, Chat."
"I don't know if that's possible," he gushes, rubbing his clawed hands together like a child about to dive into a smorgasbord of Christmas presents to uncover the hoard of action figures his parents had bought for him. "I mean, she's human and all, but you should see her in action, My Lady. It's almost like watching you when you're coming up with one of your plans, or bulldozing an akuma! Heck, with the way she's putting Lila Rossi in her place – I know you remember her from how many times she's been akumatized, or targeted by an akuma; Chloe levels right there, eh – it's just like that time you butted heads with Lila after she stole Adrien Agreste's book!"
His Lady cocks her head at his effusion of praise which, granted, may have gone overboard. A faint pink dusting of blush is a delight that he can so rarely pull from her, but it seems to have been caused by his recognition of Marinette's awesomeness.
That's distinctly odd, really. The only explanation that flutters in and out of his mind is that Ladybug, who clearly knew Marinette well enough to grant her a miraculous, might have a tiny girl-crush. If it was someone else, the thought might be enough to send him into a spitting-cat rage, ready to claw up said someone's face or launch into the poor soul like he did Theo Barbot who deserved it because he was a twenty-something creep thirsting after a teenager and ended up dating another teenager, Mirelle, just because she was of Asian descent and looked a bit like Ladybug.
And he thought the action figures were racist!
Totally beside the point.
It was possibly a tiny girl-crush on Marinette, if that blush is anything to go by.
Everyone in their class has had at least a little crush on Marinette – well, other than Chloe and Lila, but given the former's taste in makeup and the latter's hairstyle, they had no aesthetic sense anyways.
Yes. It's completely normal for people to crush on Marinette. Everyone other than him must have felt at least a sliver of affection or interest in her that went beyond the bounds of friendship.
"Wait, how do you know about Lila trying to steal Adrien's book?" Ladybug asks, calculating intellect surging over what might have been embarrassment to draw him back to the moment. Of course. He shouldn't be thinking about Marinette when his Lady is right in front of him. Right? "Actually, either of those things?"
"Oh, well... someone from her class told me."
"Who?" Twisting to peer around the edge of a chimney as her eyes blow wide and then narrow into unimpressed slits, Ladybug glances towards College Francois Dupont. "And for that matter when?"
"Uh." He coughs, drawing her suspicious gaze back to him. "I plead the fifth for secret identities?"
"Duh!" A palm collides with her forehead and it's all he can do not to chastise her for being so mean to his Lady. That delicate forehead should be touched by nothing other than the two blushing pilgrims of his lips.
"Of course. Sorry, Chat. I should have thought that one through... even though there were only two ... people..." A flurry of blinks wipe the confusion from her eyes, her head shaking viciously as if to try to clear the fog of a concussion, to no positive effect. "Nope. You're right. Let's drop that one."
"Anyways, you will think about her, right? She- she's been really, really good recently. Really trying to be a hero, because real heroes don't need super-powers." Oh, God, he's starting to ramble. Starting? Continuing. That's not a good look on him. "A firefighter or a police officer, a friend who sees something's wrong and steps in to make sure that you're alright. They're heroes too, and she makes a great one. Superpowers would just... give her another chance to be who she really is more often."
"Well, it sounds as if you're really taken with her," Ladybug snorts but there's no humour there, only a bursting of air, nearly manic, reaching out a hand to flick his bell as if by instinct – like she's operating by wrote or autopilot.
He had no idea that he could blush so hard that it burns while the sonorous echo of his thoroughly rung bell cascades down the corridors of his mind, but here he is. Being taken by – uh, with! Totally taken with Marinette!
That's not too hard to imagine, really. Not that he's unfaithful, by any means, and even if he does have feelings for her, which he totally doesn't because cats are faithful and don't go around lapping up milk from foreign neighbours' saucers, he'd completely blown his chance back when he got her father akumatized.
She'll never forgive Chat for that.
Although, she was still quite vociferous in his defence, so, maybe-
"Chat, you're... blushing," Ladybug gasps, leaning in to examine his flushed - and he only now realizes sweating – face, one long finger to his jawline in a heavenly stroke that stokes the fires even further. "Are you-" Her hand jerks back, leaving him to trail after her on instinct. "I'm sorry! I was just teasing. I didn't really mean anything by it."
"No, no." He waves her off feebly. "You're fine. I just didn't really expect to – uh. My love life's kind of private, so-" Yeah. Private because he doesn't have any. So private that it consists of one person.
"If you're sure."
He nods to placate her and himself alike. There's nothing else to do when confronted with such a ridiculous suggestion as him being taken with Marinette, who is totally and completely just a friend.
Seemingly having determined by mutual, silent agreement that they have no need for further conversion on the matter of Marinette, Multimouse, and the feelings that he doesn't have for her, they part ways for the night.
Maybe tomorrow, he'll be able to finally get hold of those painting supplies and work on what has now become, he realizes as he bounds home, nearly smacking into a wall when he mistimes a leap, more of an apology gift to Marinette than to Ladybug,
He doesn't think about what that means.