27. Their Poor Kwami
From his position on the study, Plagg's eyes tracked Adrien as his charge paced around his room, positive he was wearing an elongated hole into the carpet. The blond muttered to himself as he spun on his heel, clutching something small and cuboid in his hands.
Adrien had grown from a boy into a man, now towering over most people on the street, gangly limbs replaced by toned muscle filling out his larger frame. Baby fat had given way to chiseled cheekbones and angular jawline, shoulders had broadened to match his height. His modelling career had exploded into international status almost overnight, his popularity on the catwalk still showing no signs of slowing down over the recent years.
Despite all that, Plagg was not fooled. Adrien may look every inch the model of an adult man. But when it came to the crunch, his kitten was still just a kitten.
"Okay, the table has been booked, the one with the best view available. I've triple-checked the weather forecast reports, and it should be clear night, so we can see the moon and stars," Adrien muttered, passing Plagg for the fifty-second time. Not like he was keeping count.
"After dinner, I'll invite her for a short walk outside. We'll go to the Place du Trocadéro. It should be less crowded that hour. We'll have a clear view of the Eiffel Tower, lit up by that hour. The ring will be in the box in my right pants pocket. When the time comes, I'll take her hand, get down on my right knee, and ask—"
"'Princess Marinette, will you concede to be my queen?'" Plagg recited alongside Adrien, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, kid. I know it's not everyday you pop someone a marriage proposal, but if you repeat your 'grand plan' at me one more time—"
"Marinette isn't just 'someone', Plagg! For her, everything has to be perfect," said Adrien, running agitated hands through his hair. At least the carpet was safe from his pacing for now.
"Do you think that was phrased too cheesily? Should I say something else? Maybe I could say, 'Marinette, will you be my clawsome partner for the rest of our—'"
"If you went with that, I think she'd slap you," said Plagg, propping his head up on disproportionately tiny arms as his eyes slid closed.
Adrien continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Maybe I'm going about this all wrong. Maybe I should have just stuck to tradition. P-propose over dinner, then go to the Dupain-Cheng bakery and seek her parents' consent. Organise the fiançailles at the mansion, present the ring—"
"Relax," drawled Plagg, interrupting another ten-minute verbal plotting session. Flipping onto his back, Plagg opened one lazy eye to regard Adrien with a dull stare. "You've already gotten her parents' blessings last week, and they're over the moon about it. Your father's ready to host the fiançailles at a moment's notice. You've got this sorted down to the last detail, kid. You don't have anything to worry about."
Pausing, Adrien glanced down at the innocent blue velvet box lying open in his hands. Even from this distance, Plagg caught the glimmer of the diamond set in the delicate band of silver Adrien had painstakingly picked out after fishing Marinette's ring size from Alya.
"What if she says no?" he said, voice barely above a whisper as his fingers caressed the glittering stone, eyes glazed and unsure.
Shooting him a wide-eyed look of incredulity, Plagg swore he would strangle the boy if only he had hands.
"'If she says'—kid, are you even listening to yourself right now?" Darting through the air to hover before Adrien's face almost eyeball to eyeball, Plagg scowled. The blond started, taking a step back, but Plagg kept pace with him.
"Listen here, kid, and listen good. All your whining and pining and crying has led you up to this moment. That girl is just as hopelessly in love with you as you are with her and she'd be so darn happy to spend the rest of your lives making babies and goo-goo eyes at each other that she wouldn't care how or where you proposed to her. You could show up at her bakery tomorrow in nothing but metallic speedos and with a ring made of concrete and she'd be faint from joy. That you're going to start doubting now is pretty stupid and I swear on my Miraculous that if you screw this up for yourself, I'll—"
Plagg paused mid-tirade when Adrien's shell-shocked look melted into laughter, large hands coming up to cradle the cat kwami in his palms.
"I guess you're right," he said, settling down to sit on the edge of his bed. "I think I just needed to hear someone say it. Thank you, Plagg."
Biting back a retort, Plagg only snorted and turned away, a secret smile curling on his feline face.
Perhaps his kitten wasn't really a kitten anymore, after all.