#dont mind the lines its my little pocket sketchbook i use at work

[exlimix1a]

And so it shall be done <3 @luluyamofficial

[angrylizardjacket]

ask your destiny to dance [17] {Roger Taylor}

[masterpost]

It takes Roger exactly two weeks to realise he doesn’t know Ash nearly as well as he thought he did. There’s a lot to glean about a person from their room, and what they say, but not everything, not even close to everything.

“So I guess you’re working tomorrow?” Roger asks, leaning against the bar as Ash polishes a glass. It comes as a surprise when she makes a face, shaking her head. “We’re going on a pub crawl, if you wanna come along then.” 

Ash takes her time before answering, hanging up the glass and pulling another from the rack before she finally speaks.

“I can’t, I’m busy, sorry.” And she sounds... uncomfortable about it. Roger’s never known her to be uncomfortable about anything that didn’t relate to her home life, and she can see the moment he jumps to that conclusion. “I’m going to Paris in the afternoon,” she says quickly, and Roger’s taken aback, “I don’t get home until late; train times, you know?” 

“A day trip to Paris?” He asks, and Maureen leans over to Ash with a small smile.

“Is that where you go on those Saturdays? That’s cute, Ash, little routine trips to France.” She flicks Ash with the end of her tea towel, to which Ash smiles despite herself, blushing and flicking Maureen back.

“Oi, I’m just going to Paris, nothing cute about it. I’m allowed to have hobbies, you know.” She argued back, and Maureen snickered, smiling fondly at the ginger before she tucked her tea towel into her back pocket and went back to cutting lime wedges. “I’m going to The Louvre.” Ash explained to Roger, cheeks still faintly pink.

“The Louvre?” There was a surprise in his voice that Ash had expected, and when she looks up at him, she still seems a bit defensive.

“There’s free entry once per month; first Saturday at six.” She pauses, and when his expression brightens, hers falls and she feels like she’s said too much.

“Do you go every month?” He sounds delighted at the prospect, and Ash wants to defend herself, but then he says, “you shouldn’t be catching the train so late, it’s dark even at six, love, you must get home at like midnight; just let me drive you.”

“Rog, you don’t need to do that,” but her grin is more relieved than anything else, the tension leaving her shoulders as she goes back to her work, “you guys are going out tomorrow, and besides, it’s not like I’ve never done it before.” 

“I can get on the piss with them any time; this only happens once a month.” And the way his words make Ash smile, quietly pleased, he’s already pretty sure it’s going to be worth it.

Things between them have been... weird. Good weird, sure, but that doesn’t make them less weird. They haven’t really had time for an actual date yet, they just sort of show up at each other’s homes and watch TV and make out whenever they don’t have work or rehearsals of a night. It’s been good, it’s felt safe. 

When Ash sits on the curb outside of her dorm, she feels nervous more than anything else. It’s not a feeling she’s used to; she’s never been nervous around Roger before; it takes her probably too long to realise how much she wants this to go well. When he shows up, just after midday, he’s beaming from the second hand station wagon that he’d gotten since recording the album. There’s a map in the passenger seat.

“I’ve driven there before, but not for a while, you’re going to have to direct me.” He advises as she buckles her seat belt, putting her sketchbook and thermos by her feet and unfolding the map.

It’s a long drive, just over five hours, and Ash is nervous for about three of them, which is only compounded by getting lost twice, and eventually Roger pulls over.

“You’ve been tense since I showed up; what’s wrong?” He asks, and Ash sighs heavily, picking up her thermos and pouring herself a small cup of tea.

“I don’t exactly go blabbing about the fact that I make semi-frequent trips to Paris, alright?” Ash admits, and she takes a sip of her drink, looking out through the windshield. Roger’s not sure what that means, how to respond, and after a minute, she adds, “Freddie doesn’t even really know.” And she finishes the tea, putting the thermos back, and Roger’s still quiet. When she finally looks at him, his expression is fondly amused.

“You’ve made me feel all special.” It’s far too genuine to be a joke, and Ash lets herself smile back, rolling her eyes at him.

“Don’t let it go to your head.” She warned, and Roger’s smile sharpened as he pulled back onto the road.

“Too late.” But he reaches over to rest his hand on her knee as she opens the map up again, and her heart grows warm, her anxiety easing. They turn up the radio for the rest of the trip; Ash hums along to the songs she only knows the tune of without too much hassle, yet somehow can’t seem to actually sing a note to save her life. She finishes butchering Elton’s Crocodile Rock at the top of her lungs, and Roger’s sides hurt from laughing, and she’s grinning in a way that means she knows exactly how terrible she is and how much it amuses Roger.

“I have other skills.” She says dismissively, grinning with her nose in the air as the radio host announces another song, and instead of answering, Roger sings along to the radio like he’d written the melody himself. “Showoff.” Ash laughed, and Roger’s eyes crease as he grins.

“I don’t have other skills, I gotta make use of this one.” He replied, lightly, and Ash’s expression softened.

“Oh shut it, you’ve got at least two other skills, probably.” She played along with his joke, watching him as he sings along to the rock song blaring from the radio, and it’s relaxed and easy, and she finds herself wondering why she’d been so worried just a few hours before. 

They hit Paris at a quarter to six, and grab some fast food before heading to the gallery. There’s people everywhere, and the line isn’t exactly short to get in, more than a few of them are uni students like them, looking to get in for free, and Ash says hi to a few; the fact that she goes here enough to know other people who do this regularly to is still something that baffles Roger a little. He’s worried she’s getting nervous again when she takes his hand - they’re not the sort of people who hold hands - but when he looks at her, her eyes are shinning and bright as she looks up at the building; she’s excited. 

Ash goes quiet in the gallery, looking around with wide-eyed reverence at the works around them. They move past the entrance slowly; Ash gazes at the works with their plaques memorised, while Roger reads them, fingers laced with hers. 

“Oh, hello.” Voice reverential, Ash greets a statue at the end of the hall like an old friend, and introduces Roger as such. “This is the Venus de Milo, she’s almost two thousand years old, god, look at that marble work, imagine how sharp it would have looked back then,” and then it’s like she’s opened a floodgate, and she’s tugging him along, rambling along the way about each piece they pass, little facts not on the plaques, things she can cite from the top of her head. Above everything, she’s passionate, pulling out of his grip to clutch her hands to her chest and looking up at headless sculpture of what Roger thinks is an angel, and what Ash clarifies to be The Winged Victory of Samothrace.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Ash’s moon-eyed gaze was focused on the statue’s marble garments, but Roger’s only got eyes for her. When he doesn’t answer, she looks to him, catches the way he’s smiling at her, and she feels her cheeks heat up. “What?”

“You really love this stuff, don’t you?” It’s a sincere question, and it’s as if he can see her responses flit through her mind, sarcastic, dismissive, an eye roll, flippant, she passes them all, takes a moment to really look at him, taking her time to breathe in the whole situation before responding.

“More than anything.” It’s a sincere answer, and it catches him off-guard. Ash is many things, but unapologetically enthusiastic is not one Roger’s familiar with.

Turning on her heel, Ash leads further in to the gallery, but it’s finally hits him how much this means to her, this place, these works, bringing him here. They’d been together for barely a fortnight, but they both know it’s felt so much longer than that; she’d taken a gamble, bringing him, he has no doubt she’d have left him in London if she didn’t want him to come along, and something tightens in his chest. 

He doesn’t dwell on it, he takes it in stride well enough, peppering her with questions along the way that she seems thrilled to answer. Tucking her arm into his, they make their way through the building, the babbling turning to banter easily as Roger provides his own commentary on each piece as they pass, which serves to make Ash laugh.

They get to a small painting on the top floor with a border that looks bigger than the picture itself, and Ash has gotten quiet again. 

“Who’s this?” Roger asks, the two of them stepping close to get a closer look.

“The Lacemaker.” Ash sounds a little awed, and when he looks down at her, Roger sees how fondly she’s smiling at the little painting. “She’s my favourite.” 

“’course she is, she’s like you.” Roger answers easily, and Ash makes a face, laughing a little self consciously.

“No she’s not, shut up.” She doesn’t sound like she believes him, a bit of a laugh in her words, but she’s resting her head against Roger’s shoulder and he wraps an arm around her.

“Same focus.” Roger muses, and when Ash looks to him, surprise and confusion on her face, he just grins. “When you sew, you’ve got the same look on your face, same focus.” He explains, and there’s something in Ash’s awed expression that he can’t place, and she pulls away from him too fast for him to really identify it.

She’s pretty sure she loves him.

It’s fucking terrifying.

She can’t look at him, stepping out of his grip as she feels tears well in her eyes as her emotions overwhelm her, not that it’s an uncommon occurrence, Ash has never set foot in an art gallery and not cried, but Roger didn’t need to know that. She’d really been doing well today, too. Usually she gets lost in the scope and detail of The Wedding at Cana, or even comes to obsess over the little details of The Lacemaker, but she’s also usually alone and can get away with it. 

“That’s- Rog, that’s really sweet of you to say.” And he can hear in her voice that she’s trying not to believe him, that she can’t let herself believe him. And when she turns back, she’s wiping at her eyes, and he wants to try and comfort her, but she’s already walking past him briskly, leading to the next painting.

“There’s something I’ve... well, I’ve always wanted to try here.” He hears her say, voice firm as if she’s trying to move quickly past whatever the moment she’d just had was. She leads not to the painting, but to one of the weirdly low, backless sofas that are scattered around for people to view the paintings from. This one’s empty; Ash looks around for security, and seeing none, steps up onto it. 

“And what’s that?” He asks with a smirk, the sofa giving her only about two inches of height on him. He doesn’t ask why she’d almost started crying, and for that she’s thankful. Instead, his hands come to rest on her hips, and he’s smiling at her in that way that sets her heart aflutter.

“Don’t ruin this.” She warns very quietly, amused smile on her lips, and Roger quirks an eyebrow.

“Ruin what?” He asks, shooting for innocent, a million different things running through his mind that could make her smile, but would definitely ruin the moment; he bites his tongue. 

Ash cups his face in her hands, and she can’t help but laugh as she leans in to kiss him. It starts sweet and tender, her lips soft against his, but he wraps his arms around her, pulling her close and deepening the kiss. There’s people moving around them, most ignoring them, some stare, but neither of them seem to care. She tastes mostly like the tea she’d sculled in the car when they’d arrived, and she’s got a hand in his hair when he presses kisses from her jaw, trailing down her neck, and she laughs, a little giddy. He pulls back, if only to see her bright eyed and blushing. 

“Let’s go home.” She says softly, and Roger’s never agreed to something so quickly, his heart elated to see Ash giggling and mischievous as they backtrack through the gallery, knowing that he and the art were the things that made her smile like that. 

“I didn’t ruin it.” He sounds a little smug when he says it as they walk through the streets of Paris back to his car, and Ash glances at him out of the corner of her eye, snorting.

“I could see you holding yourself back from a one-liner about pinning masterpieces to walls or something like that; I appreciate your discretion.” She tells him, deadpan, and Roger gives her a self-satisfied grin.

“It certainly wasn’t easy.” He agrees, but she still reaches out and takes his hand. When they get to his car, he goes to head around to the driver’s side, but she pulls him back for a moment, pressing a kiss to his lips. After a moment, he’s got a hand on her hips, pressing her against the side of the car, and she sighs against his lips, her arms around his neck. Her legs slide open easily as she pulls him closer, letting him slide a knee between her thighs.

“Christ,” Roger breaks away from the kiss, murmuring the word against her neck as her nails graze his scalp.

“Thank you for today.” She whispers softly, and he can hear the smile in her words. He presses a kiss to her shoulder.

“Any time, love.” He steps back from her, enough to see her fond smile, and to give one in return, before he heads around to the driver’s side and they both get in the car.

It’s well past midnight by the time they get back, and Ash follows Roger up to his flat with a yawn, flinching as the door opens and Brian, Freddie, and John all greet them with a cheer, obviously taking a pit stop in the middle of their pub crawl.

“I was starting to sober up; the walk between the last pub and the next is directly smack bang in the middle of here.” Freddie claims with a surprising amount of confidence considering his words make no sense.

“No- this place is on the way to the next pub.” John corrects, and Ash has to giggle at the sight and sound of a drunk John Deacon. It never fails to amuse her, he’s surprisingly confident and well spoken.

“Yes! Deaky is right! You two can join us!” Freddie brandishes and subsequently spills on Brian, who’s sitting beside him.

“Go if you want, I’m knackered.” Ash yawns, giving Roger’s shoulder a nudge, moving past him to his room.

“Actually, I think I’m right, I’ve been driving for a while,” Roger says, making to follow Ash, only to hear Freddie boo loudly, and John call out after them.

“Where’d you guys go?” He asks, and Roger answers over his shoulder.

“Art gallery.” He answers, and he hears Ash snort from his bedroom.

“That’s... Rog, that’s surprisingly cute, didn’t know you had it in you.” Brian smiles at him, and Roger feels a little patronised by the pride in his flatmate’s voice. He flips Brian off, along with the rest of them, since John was grinning like the cat who got the cream and Freddie looked like he was three seconds away from actually ‘awe’ing. 

“Did you kids have fun?” Freddie calls, sounding nothing so much like his own mother, wearing a shiteating grin, which only got wider as Roger told him to piss off, slamming the door once he got into his room. 

Ash was standing by his bed, pulling off the shorts she’d been wearing all day, already wearing one of his shirts. Roger can hear the others on the other side of the door already laughing and talking about something else, all three of them trying to convince themselves to get up and move on to the next pub. She gives him an amused smile and Roger just rolls his eyes at his friends’ whole situation.

They don’t speak, though Ash’s yawn triggers one in Roger, and when he’s stripped down to his boxers, she’s waiting for him beneath the covers. When he kisses her, it’s a thank you for the day, and she hums a soft, contented noise against his lips. They’re too tired to even fool around, and Ash wraps her arm around him as he turns to lay on his side, pressing her chest to his back, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade before they fall asleep.

the ususal suspects: @deakydickfanpage @hollyissuchahoe @laueecakee @smittyjaws @crystalshines2909 @i-am-sarah @legendsaresooftenwarnings @2ptonpt @benhardy24-7 @maiilovely @mickey-yr-a-goner @butter-times @heyyouitskay @tired-eyes-fairy-lights @yepimthatperson @missieluvsmurder @ironqueen98 @ceruleanrainblues @banhbao329 @fantasticchaoticwho @ko-kitty @seven-seas-of-hi @mimisfangirlfantasy @aadjuric @rogmobile @cardybenhardy @snacfu @perriwiinkle @the-strange-fan-girl @finite-incantatem-7 @tapetayloe @florencewelchismybiggod

[sadrien]

prince of cats

chapter five: to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss

on ao3 || on ffnet 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 

hey everyone, how was your week!

posting wise, we've passed the halfway point of what i currently have written (i have through ch9 written at the moment). i'll hopefully write most of the rest of the fic in august, just at the moment my productivity writing wise is down because i've been drawing a lot and listening to taz!

enjoy!

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess      just letting u kno that i hate my boyfriend

From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful      Thats a lie and you know it      Whats he making you do

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess      >:(      hes making us go out to dinner with his moms

From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful      Oh THIS dinner

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess      yup

From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful      First of all I talked to Nino about it last time you brought it up and its just a normal dinner      His moms just want to spend time with you two From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess      ur sure From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful      Absolutely      Alya you love Ninos moms      Theyve basically adopted you

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess      ur right      im just tired      ninos really excited so i was worried im missing something or am gonna be surprised by something

From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful      As far as I can tell its just a normal dinner      No surprises just Nino being Nino      And the answer is to take a nap when you get home from work      Did you not sleep much last night?

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess      nah i was working on a project      until like 3 cause i hate myself      nino had to drag me to bed

From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful      Thank god for Nino

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess      yeah he haaated me last night      speaking of cute boys tho

From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful      Alya oh my god

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess      im sorry uve been friends w adrien for how long now??      3 weeks??? more than a month?? literal years!?!!?!??!?!      u talk about him all the time when r we gonna meet him

From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful      Eventually!!!!!      I promise I just dont want you scaring him away

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess      nino and i r great we dont scare ppl

From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful      uh huh

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess      shut up      also get me his last name

✦ ✦ ✦

Marinette puts down her sketch book. “Let’s go to the store.”

Adrien looks up from his laptop in surprise. “What?”

She’s gotten used to weekends with Adrien. He doesn’t expect her to look nice or even all that presentable, and she doesn’t expect him to, they just sit on the couch or in the kitchen and do their own thing. Adrien usually works, because he literally never stops working, and Marinette designs. She forces him to watch her favorite shows with her, even if it means that she has to explain to him who every single character is and the entire plot. In return, he’s managed to get her to watch some of his favorite movies. He randomly shows up throughout the week if he needs something from her kitchen because he always seems to be short something. Marinette is genuinely considering giving him a key to her apartment. Even if it’s just so he can steal from her fridge and cabinets.

“The store.” She pulls her hair up into a messy bun and grabs her purse off the back of her chair.

Adrien stares at her like she’s grown another head.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want, but if you need anything, you should.” She gestures toward the door.

“What do you need?” he asks, apparently having found his voice.

“Fabric,” she says, ticking things off on her fingers, “some thread, ribbon, watercolor paper, brush markers if they have any, and pizza.”

He laughs and runs his hands through his hair. “I do like pizza.”

Marinette picks up her keys. “So are you coming? Because if you aren’t I should probably kick you out.”

“What?” Adrien asks as he stands. “You don’t trust me?”

“You might steal my Jagged Stone poster,” she says with a shrug of her shoulder.

“Fair enough.” He pulls on his coat. “Show me the way.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Marinette opts to walk to most of the stores. She asks Adrien if he minds and he just shakes his head and pulls his phone out of his pocket, sending a few quick texts as they make their way down the stairs and out of the apartment building.

“Where are we going exactly?” Adrien asks, pulling the door open.

“Fabric store first,” Marinette says, stuffing her phone into her purse.

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you have fabric at work?”

“Yes, but you’re missing the point— turn here. I don’t have fabric at home. At work, I do stuff for the head designer and my boss. I have much more creative freedom when I’m at home.”

“Huh.” Adrien flips his phone over in his hand. “Interesting. I know nothing about fashion so…”

Marinette smiles. “I sort of figured.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know much about how any sort of normal jobs work. I’ve got it relatively easy.”

“Working from your apartment and living off of take out?” she asks innocently.

Adrien rolls his eyes. “Yes exactly.”

Marinette elbows him lightly. “You’re very lucky you have me to teach you how to bake.”

It’s a nice day, not too hot and not too cold, without too many people walking around the streets. She finds herself wishing that she had more free time to spend outside, that she still had a balcony like she did when she was growing up. She misses having time to herself, where she could garden and sit outside and sew. It’s too nice to be stuck inside all the time.

Adrien accuses her of taking the long way and she doesn’t defend herself.

She holds the door open for Adrien when they get to the store, letting the far too cold airconditioning billow out onto the sidewalk.

Adrien wanders around in a sort of daze as Marinette pulls out her sketchbook and meticulously looks for the exact shade of blue that she needs.

“You needed ribbon?” Adrien asks, suddenly popping out of nowhere.

Marinette squeaks and jumps back with a start, dropping her sketchbook in surprise.

“Sorry about that,” he says sheepishly before bending over to pick up her sketchbook. He hands it back to her, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She takes a few deep breaths before taking the sketchbook from him. “It’s fine, you just surprised me. Easy to do when I’m concentrating.”

“What are you looking for?” Adrien asks, leaning closer, tilting his head to look at the page she has her sketchbook flipped open to.

“A blue,” Marinette murmurs, pointing to a swatch of fabric she stole from work and taped onto the page. “I mean obviously I have a type of fabric in my mind, I’m just really desperate for this shade of blue because—” Well…she doesn’t actually have a reason. She’s just attached. And that’s silly.

Adrien hums to himself. “Okay,” he says after a moment. And then he vanishes into another aisle.  

Marinette stares at the space he was occupying for a long moment before shrugging and moving on. She decides she’ll find the blue later and starts looking for white lining. She pulls a bolt from the shelf, feeling the fabric between her fingers. It’s a little heavier than she would like, but if she can’t find anything else, she can make it work.

Adrien steps out from around the corner. “Would this work?” he asks, holding out a bolt of blue fabric.

Marinette blinks and takes it from him, running her fingers over the satin-like fabric. “This is…this is perfect, actually.”

He shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets. “I have a lot of experience with lots of types of fabrics.” He ignores the confused look Marinette gives him. She has questions, but mostly she’s just glad she doesn’t have to rethink the entire color scheme of this outfit.

Adrien watches over her shoulder as she chooses ribbon and nods as she rambles on about what she’s making. He doesn’t look like he understands what she’s saying to him, but he’s listening and that’s enough.

Marinette estimates how much fabric she needs and Adrien hums to himself as they get the fabric cut and check out.

“What did you think?” Marinette asks as he pushes the door open for her.

Adrien blinks in the bright sunlight and glances down the street before looking back to Marinette. “It was nice,” he says. “Overwhelming, but strangely calming.”

Marinette laughs. “That sounds about right.”

“Where to next?” Adrien asks with a tilt of his head.

✦ ✦ ✦

“Know anything about art?” Marinette asks as she pulls open the door to the art store.

“Hardly,” Adrien says with a crooked smile. “I don’t know anything about most creative things. I know music and that’s kind of where my creative talents end.”

“Music?” Marinette asks. He’s never mentioned anything about music before, though he hasn’t mentioned many hobbies or talents in general.

“Piano,” he specifies. “Took lessons for years, my parents insisted.”

Marinette leads him toward the markers and paints. “So you must be pretty good, huh?”

“Eh.” He shrugs. “Nowhere as good as my father would like me to be, but I’m passable.”

She rolls her eyes. “So that means you’re fantastic.”

“It really doesn’t,” Adrien says with a laugh. “But thanks for your faith in me.”

Marinette studies the brush markers, trying to decide what brand to get and how much money she’s willing to shell out today. Adrien amuses himself by uncapping some of the markers and trying out the testing markers while she Googles reviews on the internet. He’s flipping through an anatomy book when she decides on a set of markers and moves on to paper. She’s running low.

Marinette wanders further down the aisle where the sketchbooks and papers are. She feels someone’s eyes on her, but when she looks up, she sees a worker at the entrance. Marinette picks up a pack of watercolor paper and hums to herself. She still isn’t sure if she likes this paper, but she has very few options she can afford.

Adrien holds up a copic marker. “Why is this seven euros?”

She blinks at him. “Because it is?”

He squints at it. “It’s just a marker?”

“It’s a copic marker,” she says, like that will explain everything. Judging by the expression on his face, it doesn’t help at all. Marinette takes the marker from him and puts it back with the others. “It’s alcohol based and fancy, that’s why it’s expensive.”

Adrien looks at the case of copics in wonder. “Why would you spend so much on a marker?”

“I don’t know,” Marinette says. Adrien raises his eyebrows and she just shrugs. “I don’t usually use them. I don’t need nice markers and I don’t exactly have a lot of money to be spending on things I don’t need.”

“Fair enough,” he murmurs. He narrows his eyes at the copic. “That better be one magical marker if I’m paying seven euros for it.”

Marinette snorts. “Lucky for you, you’re not.”

Adrien gives her a lopsided smile. “Yeah, that’s true. I’m no Picasso. I think the best I can do is a stick figure.”

She elbows him lightly. “I’m sure you draw beautiful stick figures.”

Adrien laughs and for that moment, Marinette’s world gets a little brighter and her heart starts to sing.

✦ ✦ ✦

“Have you ever had pizza here?” Marinette asks as her and Adrien wait in line to order.

“Mostly I just get whatever will deliver,” he admits.

“You don’t leave the apartment much, do you?” she teases.

Adrien rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t usually need to.”

“Do you know what you want or do you just want the same as me?”

“Let’s go with the latter.”

Marinette orders her usual and pays before Adrien can offer, rejecting it when it does come. “My treat,” she says with a smile.

They sit in a booth by the window with their pizza and bags.

“Careful, it’s hot—” Marinette warns, just as Adrien burns his tongue.

“Ahhhh—” He sticks his tongue out and makes a pained expression.

She hides her smile behind her slice, but Adrien catches it and glares at her. She just shrugs. “I tried to warn you.” As she picks up her slice, someone catches her eye.

They’re watching her and Adrien out of the corner of their eye. They make eye contact with her and quickly go back to whatever they were doing on their phone. Adrien hisses in pain, bringing Marinette’s attention back to their table. “That was a mistake.”

Marinette opens her mouth to reply. The strange feeling of someone’s eyes on her passes through her and makes her freeze up and she looks back to the person who was watching them. They’re packing up their things and heading out the door.

“What is it?” Adrien asks.

Marinette shakes her head. “Sorry, I thought I saw someone I knew. I was wrong.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Been there, done that. I’ve walked up to people thinking I knew them before. I did not.” She winces. “It was incredibly embarrassing.”

“I can imagine,” she says, taking a careful bite of her pizza.

Adrien eyes her. “Am I going to burn my face off this time?”

Marinette snorts and lowers her slice. “I think you’re okay now.”

“If I die, my blood is on your hands,” he says seriously.

She rolls her eyes. “Pizza isn’t going to kill you, I promise.”  

✦ ✦ ✦

Adrien trails behind Marinette on the stairs, writing a quick email and carrying one of her bags.

“Come in for a minute?” Marinette asks as she pulls out her keys.

“Hm?” Adrien asks. He glances up from his phone. “Oh! Oh yeah, sure. I left my laptop on your table, anyway.”

She shakes her head as she unlocks her apartment. “You have to have more of your stuff at my apartment than your own.”

“It’s called minimalism,” Adrien says seriously.

Marinette frowns as the door swings open. She glances over her shoulder to Adrien. “I didn’t leave the TV on, did I?”

Adrien shakes his head. “We didn’t have it—”

“Hey!” Alya shouts from the couch.

“—on…” He trails off and hangs back by the door.

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, it’s one of my friends. Trust me, I regret letting her have a key to this place,” she stage whispers. She shuts the door once Adrien has stepped inside after a bit of hesitation. She leaves her bags on the table before joining Alya, and apparently Nino, in front of the TV.

Nino pauses whatever show they’re watching and returns to the Netflix home screen.

Marinette crosses her arms and leans over the back of the couch. “Why are you in my house?”

“Apartment,” Nino corrects lightly.

Adrien snorts from where he’s standing awkwardly in the kitchen. He puts Marinette’s bags down on the counter and closes his laptop before holding it to his chest.

“I’ve got a present,” Alya sings, holding up a box.

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Is this payment for breaking and entering?”

“It’s not breaking if you have the key,” Nino points out. He continues to flip through Netflix. “Can’t argue the entering though.”

Alya smiles brightly at Adrien, but Marinette doesn’t miss the way Alya’s eyes sweep over him, taking in as many details as she can. “Hey, stranger!”

Adrien lifts a hand awkwardly, still hanging back by the door.

Nino leans back and nods at Adrien. “Yo, join the party.”

“I should—” Adrien gestures to the door.

Alya jumps up from the couch and hops of the back. She grabs Marinette’s arm as she breezes by, dragging her over to Adrien.

“Alya,” Marinette hisses, attempting to dig her heels into the ground as Alya pulls her along.

“I’m Alya!” she announces, holding out her hand to Adrien. “Marinette’s best friend.”

Adrien hesitates for a long moment before he shakes Alya’s hand. “Adrien. Marinette’s…” his gaze slides to Marinette before snapping back to Alya. “Her neighbor.”

Marinette tries to keep her blush from burning too brightly.

Alya shakes his hand eagerly. “Great to meet you!”

“Nino!” he shouts from the couch. “But I was working all day and I’m tired so sorry, dude, I’m staying put.”  

“It’s fine,” Adrien promises. “I really should be getting back. Plagg needs to be fed.”

Marinette nods and pulls away from Alya. “Yeah, of course! Let me just— I’ll show you out.” Alya puts the box into Marinette’s hands winks. Marinette gives her a little shove toward the couch as Adrien pulls open the door.

“You didn’t have to show me out,” Adrien insists as Marinette quickly closes the door once they’re in the hallway. She leans against it so Alya can’t look out the peephole. “I’m sure I won’t get lost on the way home.” He gives her a small smile.

“I wanted the chance to apologize for…them.” Marinette waves at the door behind her. “Mostly Alya, but both of them. They can be a lot.”

“They seem nice,” Adrien says, and Marinette still can’t read him well enough to know if he’s being sincere or not. “What did they get you?” He gestures to the box Marinette is awkwardly holding.

“Pastries. They’re from my parents’ bakery,” Marinette says quickly. “Tom and Sabine’s— they’re my parents. That’s me, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, daughter of Tom and Sabine.” She swallows and glances down at her feet. That was a little too much rambling.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Adrien repeats softly. “You have a beautiful name.” He’s smiling when Marinette looks up at him.

She bites her lip. “Th-thank you. What about you, what’s your last name?”

“Kersey,” Adrien says, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smirk. “Adrien Kersey.”

“A nice name,” Marinette says, running it over in her mind. Alya will kill her if she forgets it, but Marinette is fairly certain it’s burned into her brain forever.

“Thanks, my parents chose it,” Adrien jokes. “I’m just stuck with it.” He pushes open his door. “You’ll have to take me to your parents’ bakery sometime. I bet it’s great.”

“Sounds good,” Marinette murmurs as Adrien lifts a hand and disappears into his apartment. When the door clicks shut behind him, she sags against her own door and lets out a sigh.

She really doesn’t know how to handle this boy.

Alya and Nino are staring at her when she reenters the apartment. Marinette feels her face burn as she closes and locks the door.

“Not a word,” she says, putting the box from the bakery down on the kitchen counter.

Nino mimes zipping his lips shut.

“No words?” Alya asks. “Are you sure? Because I have so many words.”

“Yeah, he’s hot,” Nino says.

Marinette glares at him. “Thanks for not saying anything.”

“Alright, now that we are saying things,” Alya says, twisting around on the couch, “where were you? You don’t leave the house without us.”

“I leave the house!” Marinette protests.

Nino raises his eyebrows. “To have fun?”

Marinette turns away to put her keys back.

“Oooo,” Alya drawls. “Silent treatment.”

“It wasn’t fun, anyway,” Marinette says. “I had errands to run.”

“That you decided to run with a cute boy,” Alya points out.

“That sounds like fun to me,” Nino muses.

Marinette glances over her shoulder at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side here?”

Alya gives her an offended look. “I’m his girlfriend.”

“I’ve known him longer.”

“Touché, Dupain-Cheng,” she says, narrowing her eyes.

Marinette sighs. “Speaking of last names…”

“You got it!” Alya shouts, jumping up from the couch. Nino tries to shush her, and she grabs a pillow and covers his face with it. “Tell me tell me tell me— I want to Facebook stalk him.”

Nino pulls the pillow away. “Who uses Facebook anymore?”

Alya turns to Marinette with wide eyes. “Is he secretly a wine mom?”

Marinette stares at her for a long moment. “Why are we friends.”

Alya throws the pillow across the room.

Marinette bats it away and says, “If you want Adrien’s last name, maybe you shouldn’t be throwing things at me.”

“She has a point, babe,” Nino agrees.

Alya sticks her tongue out at him before patting the cushion next to her eagerly. “Come on, Mar! I’ve waited a literal month for this.”

“Hm…” Marinette taps a finger against her lips. “Maybe I should keep you waiting.”

“Marinette!”

“Fine!” She drops down between Alya and the arm of the couch. “His last name is Kersey.”

Alya yanks her phone out of her pocket and starts typing rapidly.

Nino leans forward to look Marinette in the eye. “How long do you think she’s going to be at this?”

“A long time,” Marinette admits.

“Wanna see what Disney movies are on Netflix?” he asks, picking the remote back up. “We put some takeout in your fridge for later tonight.”

“Sounds good to me,” Marinette says. “I need to do a lot of nothing before work tomorrow.”

Nino types in Disney and starts scrolling through the results. “Are Zoé and Dorian still arguing about that thing?”

“If you’re talking about that jacket thing from a few weeks ago, they’re over that. If you’re talking about fake leather, they spent like an hour ‘debating’ that on Friday.”

“Fake leather,” Nino says in wonder. “Why were they debating that? I thought this collection was all like…dresses and stuff. Flowy soft things. What does fake leather have to do with that?”

“Nothing.”

Nino stops clicking through movies for a second. “I don’t understand you people.”

Marinette sighs and sinks against the back of the couch, pulling a pillow to her chest. “Neither do I,” she murmurs.