Chapter Six
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
His fingers curled even more tightly in the soft fabric. He opened his eyes marginally, taking in the beautiful shade of blue.
The same color as her eyes.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
With his vastly enhanced sense of smell from his time as Chat Noir, even the passing of two years was not enough to erase her scent. It was the only thing keeping him together. The only thing protecting him from his father's control.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Honey and vanilla, with accents of chocolate and cinnamon and just the faintest hint of freshly baked bread.
The scent that inexplicably meant "home".
Marinette's scent.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
He wasn't sure when that had started, when he had begun thinking of Marinette as home. He'd felt guilty at first; shouldn't his Lady be home? Shouldn't she hold his loyalty first and foremost? But he couldn't deny the strange sense of calm, of peace that washed over him every time he stepped into her room. It had confused him, but also intrigued him. That was why he'd started visiting her more often as Chat Noir, since she didn't seem comfortable around Adrien, trying to figure out just what it was about Marinette that made him feel that way.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
It wasn't long after that when he'd first noticed her scent lingering on his scarf. That had confused him, too; why would Marinette have handled his father's birthday gift? He couldn't easily ask Marinette about it, so instead he'd gone to Alya, trying to find the connection between the sweet, shy designer and his favorite scarf.
What he found out had floored him.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Marinette had made this for him. She had tried to give it to him. Somehow there was a mixup. And she hadn't said a word, simply because she had wanted him to be happy.
No one had been that considerate of him, of Adrien, since his mother had disappeared. No one had cared enough to see a lonely boy, desperate for his father's affection, buried behind a model's plastered smile.
No one, except for her. Somehow, she had recognized it, and as shy as she was of him, she had tried to help him smile for real.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
He'd never managed to work up the courage to thank her, but he'd tried to compensate in other ways, working hard to help her be more comfortable around him. It had been making a difference, too. She'd finally stopped stuttering, although a faint blush often touched her cheeks when they interacted.
He'd only recently admitted to himself that it was kind of cute.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
He tried not to wonder what she must think of him, now that she knew the truth. He cared about her opinion of him a lot more than he wanted to admit.
Heck, he cared about her a lot more than he wanted to admit.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
He couldn't let his father know that he had given her the ring. Even if she had passed it off to Ladybug by now - and he hadn't the slightest doubt that she had, resourceful girl that she was - he would never forgive himself if she became a target.
So he would lie here, smothering his fears in honey, and drowning his sorrows in vanilla, burying his emotions under a soil of chocolate and cinnamon, somewhere too deep for his father to manipulate them.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
So long as he had the scent of home to sustain him, he would make it through.