Chapter Text
Adrien is having a day and a half.
His friend, his good, very good, very special and wonderful and oblivious and talented friend, circulates the cafeteria as student rep to collect classmates ideas and requests.
Marinette is wonderful.
She’s great. She’s amazing.
She’s his friend.
And only his friend.
No longer does he cause a seizure by touching her shoulder, nor does she form her words together like an accident in a bakery, and no longer can he relish in the pink puddle she becomes just by a few compliments or snide remarks from him.
He loathes it.
“Thanks Adrien!” is an expected response after someone regards the spectacularity of your hand-crafted dress. But from Marinette, he expects a little more composure-crumbling when he runs his fingers with the hem.
“That’s so kind of you!” being punctuated by a giggle (that lately makes his heart flutter) is respected, albeit odd after someone pours heart-eyes into yours while you’re slow dancing at Chloé’s birthday gathering and says “You’re beautiful” lowly - but what does Adrien know?
Yet it’s, “I love you, too! You’re such a good friend to me, Adrien,” that smashes his face in like a charging steam train; a very rude steam train of the karma express. Seconds after he practically pours his feelings to her on the bridge, she tosses them to the body of water, shattering his insides before his ice cream smacks the floor.
“Any changes in the school you want me to bring to Miss Bustier, Adrien?”
Her voice causes him to finch. She’s real and she’s right in front of him and - bonus - not breaking his heart right now. Nino nudges his shoulder.
“Oh! Uh, me? I- yeah. I mean, no. No I don’t, sorry. Thank you, Marinette.” And simply because he can’t help it, “You look nice today, by the way.”
And then she smiles.
Oh, how she smiles.
Her cheeks rise and her eyes close and her lips, so soft and pink, stretch.
And then she’s gone.
“You’re hopeless, dude.”
He saves his glare, letting his dignity fumble.
“I know.”
Adrien picks at his lunch, mentally adding to the tally of “Flirting with Marinette gone wrong” (today) as Nino mutters something about being too late…
Marinette hasn’t seen anyone so oblivious as Chat Noir.
Sure, Adrien was a hoot back when she was exhaustingly in love with him, even saying things like “You’re such a good friend” when she practically confessed to him (how socially inept do you have to be to pull that off?), but Chat—
Loveable Chat - Chat, who steps in the way of attacks for her sake, brings her flowers (well, used to) to their patrols, sings terrible sonnets to her.
Chat, who seemingly used to be in love with her as Ladybug.
Past-tense.
And now it’s her love that’s intense.
She is so, so dumb.
“Evening, M’lady!”
It hurts. Almost seems like the endearing term is out of pity, most days.
But Ladybug refuses to dwell on her feelings. She used to never see Chat that way, so how hard can it be losing the feelings? Besides, it seems every time she tries to verbalise any of her emotions to him, they’re conveniently intruded - almost like it’s fate she never gets it off her chest.
“I got us hot chocolates!”
He’s backlit by the city’s illume, the glow barely reaching half his smile as he offers the beverage. Chat Noir flops on the roof with her.
Yeah, no. She’s not getting over that.
Maybe… Maybe later. Maybe she can convince herself this whole ‘crushing on Chat’ thing is just something in her head, later - that it’s some figment to replace the hole of Adrien.
(Okay, so she may have liked them the same day once before getting over Adrien, but still.)
She greets Chat in the same bubbly manner as always. The drink fills her mouth warmly. They banter as usual, but it’s not the same. These cool nights beside each other aren’t the same.
Because she’s caught feelings, and Chat’s lost his.
But she’s Ladybug! She’s a superhero. She can get over it. They’re destined not to be together anyway - they don’t even know each other’s identities. It-
It doesn’t matter.
She’s okay.
She’s stupid, yeah, but she’s okay.
Marinette’s dwelling on these things, later, as she’s promised herself - that night on her balcony and only seconds after departing her partner’s presence.
“It’s stupid, Tikki,” she says over. “I’m so stupid. I’m so late.”
The moon laughs at her, dusting her figure in light for the hazed-over city. She’s hopeless.
She’s—
She’s paused. Her heart trips over itself when a faraway silhouette moves.
Tikki vanishes, Marinette’s blood runs ice,
And Chat Noir drops on her railing.