Chapter 11 – Just Us
Marinette's POV:
The second I slammed the trapdoor shut, I didn't walk...I sprinted.
"Tikki!" I whisper-yelled, eyes wild.
She popped out of my pillow like a sleepy popcorn kernel, blinking at me. "Marinette? What—what's happening?"
"Adrien's here! He just climbed onto my balcony like some burglar!"
"Wait—now?!" Tikki blinked harder.
"Yes, now!" I whisper-shrieked, arms flailing.
"And I look like I just got dragged through a tornado! My notes are everywhere! My conspiracy board is out! I'm literally one panic attack away from dying!"
Like a Greek chorus from hell, the Kwamis chose that moment to start rustling around again. Little voices bickering, wings flapping, the smell of stale macarons floating through the room like a crime scene.
"Silence mode, NOW," I hissed, pointing to the floor like a teacher.
Tikki shooting out orders like a commander as the other Kwamis scattered into the Miracle Box with all the grace of glitter in a wind tunnel.
I swept my red-stringed map of villain suspects off the wall and crammed it into my closet, knocked a whole pen cup onto the floor, stubbed my toe on the chair leg which is very painful if I'm being honest.
This is fine. I'm fine.
Everything's fine.
Just a normal room with normal teenage girl stuff.
No trace of Kwamis or Plans to uncover shadowmoth identity.
I exhaled shakily and opened the trapdoor, trying to act like I wasn't internally freaking out.
"Come in," I called, voice miraculously steady.
I froze.
Yeah. Crap.
I forgot to change!!!!
Tank top. Sleep shorts. Zero bra.
Kill me now!!!
And I already called him in. If I ask him to stay outside a little longer now, what will I say?
'Sorry Adrien, can you give me a minute? I was busy hiding some magical creatures and the multi-colored map of Paris villains and forgot to change my clothes'
Nope. Can't do that.
And I saw it in real-time: Adrien descending the ladder like this was just another Tuesday. His jacket slung over his shoulder, windblown hair that made him look like he stepped out of a dream. And his eyes
God, those eyes.
Soft. Searching. A storm and a lullaby all at once.
I clutched a pillow to my chest like it could somehow hide the fact that I was spiraling.
And then he sat on my bed.
My bed.
Like it was his.
"Adrien—"
"Whatever I did," he cut in quietly, eyes not leaving mine,
"I'm sorry."
"What?" I blinked
"I don't know what I said or did," he continued, voice low and breaking in all the wrong places,
"But you've been different. Distant. Like there's a wall between us. And if that's because of me… I'm sorry, Marinette. I swear I didn't mean to hurt you. Whatever I did just tell me"
And just like that, the guilt hit me like a train.
Because it wasn't him.
It was me.
Every time I shut him out.
Every time I convinced myself I had to change to be good enough.
"It's not your fault," I whispered, lowering the pillow and hugging it instead.
"Then what happened?" he asked, voice gentler now but edged with something else.
Frustration? Hurt? Worry? Or all three
"What made you pull away like that? What made you stop being you? What made you change like this? You shut me out. You stopped ranting about weird dreams and about the stray cats you fed. You won't even look at me half the time. What's going on, Marinette?" His eyes were on me, his tone shifting. Gentle still, but… firmer. Like he was trying to keep his own emotions from unraveling.
I couldn't meet his eyes. I turned away, pressing my hand over my mouth. The words were caught in my throat, barbed and tangled and painful. But I had to say them. He deserved that.
"I just…" I swallowed thickly.
"I wanted to be more reliable." I tried to control my tears by blinking them away.
"What does that mean?" He frowned, confused.
"I w-wanted to be better," I said, voice cracking despite my best efforts.
And God, it hurt. To admit this. To say it out loud.
"To not just be the girl who trips on her shoelaces and gets stuck in lockers and stumbles through words like she's got a mouth full of marbles. I didn't want to be the comic relief anymore. I-I...I wanted to be someone you could lean on. Someone useful. Not just someone who makes you laugh." The tears rolled down as I wiped them quickly.
There. It was out. My stupid, messy, raw truth.
His face changed.
I don't know how to explain it, just that something in him broke. Not in a bad way, but like something inside him cracked open and all the light came pouring out.
"Marinette…" he whispered.
"You don't even realize, do you?" He grabbed the pillow I was clutching and set it aside.
"You think I laugh at you? I laugh because you're my favorite part of the day. You make me feel normal, Marinette. You make me happy. You remind me of who I am when everything else, the cameras, the rules, the pressure starts closing in. I rely on you. On your smile. Your stories. Your chaos."
"I rely on you more than you think Marinette" he wiped my tears and let his fingers linger on my cheeks as he stroked them gently.
"I rely on your smile. Your angry rants. Our stupid arguments about video games. You're the only person who makes me feel like myself. And I hate that I made you feel like you weren't enough."
He cupped my face in his hands which was tender but grounding, like he knew I'd float away if he didn't.
I couldn't speak. My throat was tight and my chest felt like it was caving in.
"You're not comic relief, You're my home." he said softly, forehead gently leaning against mine.
And something inside me broke too.
"I missed you," he whispered, so close I could feel the breath of it brush my lips. "So much. You have no idea." His voice held that desperate tone.
I closed my eyes. My heart was thudding, wild, loud, and terrified.
"I missed you too," I whispered back.
And that's when he leaned in.
Slow. Careful.
Like he wanted me to feel every breath. Every millimeter closed. Every second of hesitation and heat.
His lips brushed mine once. A feather-light touch that still managed to set my skin on fire.
He pulled back a little, eyes searching mine.
Asking.
I nodded, breath shaking.
Then he kissed me again.
Properly.
It was slow at first, achingly slow like he wanted to savor it. His lips moving gently against mine, his hands framing my face as if I'd shatter if he pressed too hard.
But it didn't stay slow.
Not for long.
Because he missed me.
And it showed.
His hands slid down to my waist, pulling me closer towards him, and his mouth grew urgent and starved, like he was making up for every moment we spent apart.
My hands tangled in his hair, tugging just a little, making him groan into my mouth, a low, desperate sound that made my knees go weak.
Every brush of his tongue against mine sent sparks racing down my spine.
Every breathless gasp between kisses.
Every tiny noise he made.
"God, I wanted this all week," he murmured against my lips, mouth trailing kisses down my jaw, to my neck, his voice hoarse and wrecked.
"You were so distant, and I didn't know if I'd lost you."
"You didn't," I gasped, curling my fingers tighter in his shirt.
"I'm sorry Adrien." I said but instead of replying he kissed me again, harder this time.
And when he pulled me gently down onto the bed, lips still moving against mine. I found myself straddling his hips, I didn't hesitate. I didn't think.
I felt.
His hands slid under the hem of my tank top, warm against my skin, and I gasped again, body arching toward his like it had a mind of its own.
We kissed like we were falling apart and holding each other together at the same time.
Like every second without each other had built to this.
There was no going back.
No more fear.
No more pretending.
Just us.