Adrien had decided that instead of splitting rooms or beds, Marinette could have his bed while he claimed the couch. It wasn't as if this was a permanent arrangement anyway…

Exactly one week had passed—not a day over—and while it was very clear Marinette had left the hospital much earlier, he let her settle back down and rest from the hassle of it all. But she'd had plenty of time now. Granted, this would be more hassle and more stress—although he did try his best to reduce the amount of stress as much as he could—but ultimately this was for her benefit. Hopefully she would understand.

He'd been at her front door since the sun first peeked over the horizon, leaving the sky half gray. He didn't expect her to be up this early. Truth was, he'd come early only for himself. The crowds of fans weren't worth it and he was able to avoid them by leaving before dawn. Marinette lived in a small house snug enough for one or two people in an area that, while still near her parents' bakery, wasn't densely populated. This meant he wasn't necessarily hidden, but he wasn't drawing much attention by being here.

He was willing to wait a few more hours. There wasn't a shadow of a doubt that she was resting and the last thing he wanted was to tire her out more than she already was. He also mentally prepared himself for the possibility that…she wouldn't be waking up. If the doctors had no idea how long she had left to live, his mind translated that to Marinette dying at any given moment.

He waited until he saw movement behind mostly closed blinds in the window. It could've been her partner, but he was willing to take the risk and rang her doorbell.

She must've been expecting someone because it wasn't over ten seconds that the door flung wide open with Marinette standing right in the middle, looking energetic and cheery. The exact opposite of what he expected—a frail creature hunched over, trembling, coughing, eyes half-lidded, wrapped in two blankets.

Her initial reaction turned into something more…neutral. Maybe even a little perplexed.

"Adrien…" she said with a confused smile, a rather underwhelming greeting.

She moved aside and gestured for him to come in, which he hesitantly did. Things were already not going to plan… She was supposed to be really sick and fragile and she just wasn't. She was supposed to be happy to see him again and she wasn't. Then again, he couldn't really blame her. He'd shown up unannounced at her doorstep when she was obviously expecting someone else. Maybe that horrible partner of hers…

"So, um, what brings you here?" she politely asked as she shut the door behind her.

It was a pretty standard question but it also stung a bit. He was her friend, why did he need an excuse to drop by? But…apparently she assumed he needed her for something. That was usually a question people asked strangers or acquaintances. Was that what he'd become over the years? A friendly acquaintance? Had he really let her drift that far away from him?

"Oh. Right. I just wanted to check up on you, make sure—"

She cut him off with a huge gasp and clasped her hands over her mouth.

"The designs!" she shrieked. "You're here for— Okay, okay, so they're almost done, I know I'm super late, I've been so distracted lately, and I know it's not an excuse, your dad's been on my case about this for a while, I-I'll get them out as soon as I can, okay? They need a little tweaking and I already have the fabric ready—"

She continued to spiral down her spiel about how soon she would be done with her work, about how this season's line would be better than the last, about everything he didn't care about. And that hurt even worse. She was acting like he was her boss or something, maybe indirectly sucking up to his dad who he would definitely have a discussion with later. Honestly he wasn't even keeping up with her deadlines… He modeled her designs but he never actually kept track of often he did so. Every once in a while maybe but still…

He waited for her to stop, hoping to get a word in edgewise, but when she finally did, she ran off to a different room. His plan was really derailing now… Maybe if she hadn't fallen behind on work, which was no doubt due to her hospital visits and probably procrastinating in an attempt to refuel her energy, she would have time to sit down and talk to him normally instead of panicking before she even knew why he was here.

Before he knew it, she came back and shoved a binder in his arms.

"Okay," she continued, picking up from where she left off. "So, these are categorized per clothing article. I always go top to bottom, head to toe, so hats are always first. Some have scribbles on top but don't worry, they're not part of the original designs or edits, they're just notes for later, and I'll send in a different portfolio in a few days with the final—"

He put a hand on her mouth. Some things about this woman had clearly remained consistent and one of those was jabbering. She could go on and on, for hours on end if nobody stopped her, about anything she was passionate about. Missing a deadline in the fashion field gave her plenty to talk about.

"That's not why I'm here," he told her. "And…this season's line isn't really a big deal anyway. My dad loves to exaggerate this kind of thing."

Not that he would know, he hadn't talked to his dad in possibly half a year now. Not even professionally. But a perk of being the boss' son was that he did have some authority over how hard his designers could work, and how much work they had to do. So it was time for Marinette to catch a break despite doing so well and being so punctual up to this point.

He released her mouth just as a look of slight beffudlement crept over her face.

"Then…what do you need?"

Maybe it would be better if he asked the questions. If things between Marinette and him had gotten to the point where she immediately assumed he only came by because he needed something from her, he had a lot of bridge repair to do.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing. We never talk anymore and I can't remember the last time I came by for a visit—"

"You never did." She frowned. "Not since I moved out of my parents' anyway."

"Right. Well, still, we haven't really talked talked in a long time and I thought I'd change that," he replied. "If you're up for it, maybe we could go out somewhere."

He kept in mind that she might not feel like going anywhere right now. She seemed energetic and she didn't sound like her throat was hurting her. She didn't groan or speak in an insanely low, soft voice. But she did look sicker than she was letting on. She was paler—thankfully not as pale as the last time he saw her though, and her lips had color again—and had slight bags under her eyes. The cuts on her face hadn't completely healed yet but thankfully he didn't have to see traces of blood in her mouth as he had before. Her eyes didn't have the same gleam that a pair of healthy eyes did. Then there was her hair. She'd stopped styling it a long time ago and even still it hung straight, feathered and framing her face. It was beautiful as always. But it was evident that she'd been sweating from the dirty way it looked along her forehead and hair parting, probably in her sleep since her face wasn't glistening meaning she'd had enough time to somewhat freshen up before he interrupted her. So she probably had chills. He didn't see goosebumps on her right now—or, what he could see of her since her clothes were long-sleeves and pants.

"I, um…" She ran a hand up to her forearm and held it there nervously.

"We don't have to. I know you're not feeling great right now, it's fine if you want to stay here and rest up."

Before she had a better place to rest, with better company and care.

"I'm fine, I just haven't been sleeping well lately," she said.

His brows furrowed as he watched her turn around and walk towards her kitchen. Maybe he was overthinking it but her balance seemed a little…off. Not by much, but she had a very slight sway in her step. And she walked a little slower than a truly energetic person would. Like Ladybug, he noted. And that same excuse, like Ladybug. He really did have black cat luck, going through similar situations with the love of his life and now his best friend.

Well, former…by his own fault.

"Haven't heard that one before…" he sarcastically muttered under his breath.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" she asked from inside her kitchen.

"Uh, just water, if you don't mind," he answered.

He heard her chuckle as he followed her and sat down at a table just outside the kitchen, wondering how exactly to approach his big question with his original and only plan thrown out the window. In hindsight he should've prepared a backup plan… He had all week…

"Every model's favorite drink," she joked. "You know, it's okay to have a cheat day once a year. I have fruit punch, milk, apple juice, or red wine if you're feeling fancy."

She poured him a glass of water anyway and sat down at the other end of the table. She reached out to give it to him, he took it, and then a silence fell over the place. A really awkward silence… He couldn't just randomly ask her to move in with him. At the same time he didn't know how to ease into that question.

"So, um, what did you want to talk about?" she finally asked.

"I heard you were in the hospital…" he started.

She immediately smiled. "Yeah, there was an akuma attack and I was just caught up in a storm it made. Nothing really happened though. They let me go after a couple of days, told me to keep warm and get plenty of rest. It's really nothing to worry about."

"I came to visit you, actually, I don't know if you remember," he said. He didn't fail to notice her perky smile suddenly drop.

"You visited me?"

Every single time she did something like that it just hurt worse and worse, like this news came as such a surprise rather than something to be expected.

"I came as soon as I heard," he…sort of lied. Chat Noir didn't necessarily hear about it so much as followed her to see her condition for himself, something he occasionally wished he hadn't done. "You were unconscious. The doctors said you were hypothermic from the storm."

"Well, sure, I was a little cold and I got a little banged up from some of the debris, but I feel like they may have exaggerated on the 'hypothermia' part."

No. Any other time he would've believed her, but he'd been the very first to see her by pure luck. That memory was still burned into his mind. So cold she couldn't shiver. Totally unresponsive. The shallowest of breaths. A failing heartbeat. Not to mention the kind of bleeding that only ever suggested a hard hit to the head, which probably knocked her out long before the storm even had the chance. Those doctors weren't exaggerating at all and he was witness to it, she couldn't downplay this no matter how hard she tried—and he could already tell she was prepared to fight him on the severity of what happened.

"I saw you," he said. "You didn't look too good."

"Thanks, just what every girl wants to hear."

"And I overheard some of the doctors talking…"

"They like to blow things out of proportion," Marinette hummed her interruptions.

"They said you were in hospitals a lot…"

"Wayyy out of proportion."

"And they were talking about how you were…you know…"

At this, she looked him in the eye, challenging him to finish the sentence. Ready to beat him down if he did. To deny what came next. Tell him he was wrong, the doctors were wrong, or perhaps he misheard. Maybe some sort of miscommunication. A different patient with a similar name.

"Listen," he said. "I know you're sick—"

"I told you, I haven't been sleeping well," she interrupted.

This must be the same line every girl dropped if she wanted to avoid admitting she was ill because it sounded like he was listening to a broken record.

"I just have a little something I'd like to ask you."

She suddenly stood up and turned the other way. His first thought was that she was going to kick him out for this little talk. But instead she took a deep breath and headed back into her kitchen. He watched her rummage through her refrigerator and pull out a white gatorade. It led him to believe she was constantly dehydrated, perhaps from sweating or an upset stomach. He took a mental note to keep hydrating drinks around his apartment. White gatorade in specific, since she might not like orange or whatever else.

She uncapped it, pressed it to her lips, and sipped on it. Maybe her stomach was upset right now and she was doing an impressive job of not letting on. Or maybe she just got over that and was thirsty now. Or maybe not even thirsty, maybe she just knew she had to rehydrate.

He decided he'd waited long enough and that no matter what, convincing her to move in with him wasn't a topic he could fluidly move into.

"So what was your question?" Marinette asked as she sat down at the table again, gatorade still in hand.

He waited for her to take one last swing to avoid making her choke on this question.

"Will you move in with me?"

A/N

This was still written on mobile Word. Thank you for all the support! Have fun with this cliffhanger now. :)

Will Marinette be convinced? What will she say? How will she say it? Even more so, how will she REACT?