Marinette had evidently noticed his pause. Adrien fought a sudden urge to shake his head in an attempt to clear the lingering memories and forced himself to process her words. She was stuttering again, looking concerned.
"You, you don't have to tell me, I-I mean, if you want to but, but I just.. If you need anythingletmeknow!" Her sentence finished in a rush, as if she were forcing herself to finish before taking a breath, and she twisted a hand through her thick black hair.
Adrien smiled despite himself. He didn't understand Marinette most of the time - she'd gone from hating him, almost ripping his face off in front of the entire class on the first day of school (not that he could blame her), to barely speaking to him... Not that her tied tongue prevented her from crushing him when they played Mecha Strike III, of course. A thought rose from the back of his mind on occasion, pointing out his behavior around Ladybug was startlingly similar when he couldn't hide behind the confidence of Chat, but he pushed it away every time. Marinette had taken on Chloé, the queen of petty revenge, without batting an eye - he couldn't imagine her losing it over something as small as a crush. His bemusement had gradually fallen into the background, and he categorized her as 'eccentric' and continued on. She was his second ever friend, after all, and she did seem to genuinely enjoy his company. He wasn't exactly in a position to judge people for being weird.
"I'm fine. Really," he replied, realizing that it was true. The irrational panic had drained from his body, leaving a curiously light sensation that spread through his limbs. Adrien glanced at his watch, noting that he was due to be home in ten minutes. He would be on time to meet the car in front of the school if he ran. Instead of leaving, he sent a text to Nathalie, telling her that he was going home with Nino. Adrien trusted her to cover for him every once in a while, knowing from her occasional glances that she didn't fully agree with his father's utter control over his life.
Marinette still stood next to the bench, balanced on her toes, as if arguing with herself whether she should stay or go. He turned back to face her as he put his phone into his messenger bag, and his green eyes glinted in the fading sunlight as he grinned at her.
"You know what? I'm starving. Want to get something to eat?"
Her eyes widened for a moment and she appeared comically shocked, before a deep blush rose to her cheeks. Marinette nodded.
"So, you weren't allowed to tell anyone?" Ladybug asked, her blue eyes fixed on the fading sunset.
"No. My father thought it would be... inappropriate, and should stay within the family."
In fact, his father had expressly forbidden Adrien from speaking about gender, unwilling to divert any attention from clothing to his favorite model's actual life, to the extent of monitoring internet activity for connections to message boards and chat rooms for transgender youth. Chat Noir also couldn't tell Ladybug about how only three people - maybe two, now, he remembered with a jolt - excluding her, himself, and his doctor, had ever known for certain. Gabriel Agreste had chosen to reveal nothing about his child, even a name, to the public, despite Adrien's first appearance as a model taking place before his second birthday. Adrien secretly thought it was to avoid the inevitable backlash against dressing a "girl" in boy's clothes. As a baby, he'd been put in dresses and tiny suits, bows and pants and frills. He was equally happy in everything - it was fun to put on costume after costume, especially since it was one of the few times he was able to spend time with his dad.
Until, that was, he turned eleven and his father decided Adrien should wear only girls' fashion, and the photoshoots would move from kids' magazines to the Agreste advertising empire.
"Aren't you a pretty little lady?"
Every time the photographer said those words, Adrien would freeze, his thoughts deserting him, and his entire consciousness would revolt against the words, the clothes, the world. Without even knowing how to say what he was feeling, something inside him wanted to scream "I'm not a girl!"
His mother, who had begun to form an idea about the situation, had spent weeks tracking down counselors across France, and Adrien finally learned the words to begin to describe who he really was.