𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 || MLB

EIGHTEEN

(translations at the end dw)

That evening, Marinette and Alya returned to the hotel in dull spirits, walking in on Mme. Bustier giving their peers a lecture.

Something about maintaining decorum and acting like the adults they were soon about to become.

Marinette ignored it. She felt a bit too much like an adult these days.

Adrien smiled up at her once Mme. Bustier left and Marinette let herself get drunk on the feeling of freedom it brought her, grasping greedily at it.

"Is your grandma okay now?" He asked, holding up a hand so she could help him get up.

"She is." Marinette said, effortlessly pulling him up.

They started their walk back to their adjacent rooms, Alya engaging the boys in mindless chatter so Marinette could have time to herself. And she was thankful for the few moments of respite, however small they were.

Because time was fickle, it slid from her hands like grains of sand, escaping her desperate grasp and fleeing away into the dark corners of Fate's lair.

The clock in her head counted every second to her hour of doom, as if it were mocking her.

She was getting used to it.

The passing moment of terror as the hour hand changed numbers, cackling gleefully. The cold fear in her chest, eating away at her insides and feeding off of her anxiety.

Liar.

Adrien's fingers in hers tightened and she found a concerned smile on his face, looking down at her in that gentle, soft way of his that tore her soul apart.

Because she could do nothing but lie, shake her head and give comforting smiles she didn't mean, never meant.

So that's what she did again, because she didn't know what else to do.

Alya pulled Nino away with her, perhaps she saw the glint in her best friend's eyes; the mad urge to do one last foolish thing before she threw it all to hell.

Marinette and Adrien stood outside her door, the corridor cold around them, the twilight sun falling through from a distant window.

"Adrien." She said, quietly, looking up at him as if she was about to rip his world apart and put it back together for him, if only he would let her.

He gave a soft hum in reply, placing a gentle finger under her chin as he turned her face this way and that.

He took in the concealer under her eyes, expertly covering dark circles. The slight slump in her shoulders, tensing at the smallest of movements. The faint crease between her brows that seemed to be becoming more visible everyday. Her weary gait, as if she were an injured huntress trying to make it out of a forest unscathed.

And he worried. Because that's all he could do.

Even Plagg had fallen silent in his pocket, his whines for cheese and protests of discomfort muted. And that was saying something.

He watched as she fought with herself, gritting her teeth against words that refused to leave her lips, a confession that wouldn't come.

"You've been tired." He said instead, thumb caressing her cheek as she leaned into him unconsciously.

Something painful tugged inside him as she looked away for a while, eyes suspiciously glassy as they focused on the setting sun shining through the window, gathering pieces of herself that he hadn't seen crumble away.