A/N What's a game without multiple players?
Also y'all crack me up you're like on some pure high whenever you go through and add comments with your live reactions like it's genuinely my favourite thing
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The air was tight in the corridors the next day.
Adrien knew Marinette hadn't fumbled the drink over his jeans on purpose, though she had every reason to, and he knew she didn't palm the paper towels on his crotch on purpose, though he wouldn't blame her for wanting t— okay no, no, no more thinking of that. This was Marinette, sheesh. Just because he acted impulsively did not mean he could think as such if it meant imagining that moment over in a different setting.
See unlike the ponytailed, high-strung, merciless she-devil, Adrien could differentiate malintent from innocent-yet-compromising circumstances. You know, he was sure if someone looked like they had put gum on his seat—just as a random example—that by their stammering, doe-eyed and naive ensemble that perhaps they actually didn't do such a thing! Perhaps, if that situation were to ever happen, he'd give them a chance to explain themselves and their virtuous intentions instead of hanging him—uh, the random scenario person—by association to someone with a bad reputation. Just a thought. So he could be the bigger person and see the spill wasn't on purpose.
But Adrien would never confess—as with many, many other things—that if it weren't for Luka, he would've taken the spilt orange juice that left his thighs sticky as another crafty intention of Marinette's.
Yeah. About him. Don't think he hadn't crossed his mind.
Luka. Pfft, what was so distracting about him?
She'd glanced at the slender, shadowed figure faintly touched by the coloured stage lights a good handful of times. Too many times, Adrien reckoned, and as she glanced behind her shoulder to hand her "boyfriend" orange juice while knowing he preferred apple (they'd broken into a fight before about the now-sensitive subject), her clumsiness took charge and she missed passing the cup into his hand. So in some direct, distant way, his soiled designer jeans were the guitarist's fault, and Adrien decided just at that thought, the revelation justified whatever confusing anger he had towards Luka and his blue-tipped hair.
That's what he decided on the way to school, anyway, before seeing her again.
Adrien didn't know how to greet the spitfire when sharpened eyes fluttered up at him besides their lockers. It was good he had Ladybug tapped all over his (despite how Marinette shamelessly taunted him for it) because it was as if she were there beside him, reminding him that heroes didn't necessarily need to comment on villain's flaws in the morning or start a full-blown dispute about something minor – which, this morning, he felt in the mood to do.
In public, acting like a "couple" (which was more just acting like they didn't want to rip the others' throat out) meant their pent-up animosity could possibly explode during moments alone – depending on when the last argument was, thus having the saviour of Paris visibly beside him, fuelling imagined encouragement in his mind, helped his snark stay in check.
And that morning, he really needed to hear Ladybug's voice at that moment–
"Hey, asshole."
–Because of last night; because of Marinette's distraction with Luka; because she jeopardised their time to be shooting quiet jabs at the other and most importantly, appearing as a couple for the few classmates there, while instead she was off making eyes with the emo guitarist, who Adrien was mad at because– because he somewhat contributed to his sticky jeans!
So all things considered, having Ladybug slap him into sense before he let a few screws loose was duly needed.
Point was, he and Marinette had uprooted their game to torturous territories, and Adrien was feverish to begin. It was a game of chicken in public and wit in private; of suffocating pride, because of course it was about pride. It was about who could act better and who could corner the other into a worser state uncomfortability.
Jokes on Marinette, he'd been acting comfortable with his life for as long as he could remember.
"Hmm..." He touched his lip and pondered. "I prefer the name, 'babe', and seeing how your bland face scrunches up after you've said it."
Ice ran over her features. "Don't test yourself."
"But we're alone, sweetheart..." he crooned.
She pushed him away so he couldn't get any closer, then extended her finger to a blurry picture of Ladybug on his locker and dragged it down. "Careful who you're calling sweetheart, your imaginary girlfriend is listening."
"Great, so she can already do more than my fake girlfriend."
As her nail dragged a straight tear down the well-lit photo he'd printed from the Ladyblog, she feigned a gasp at what she'd done. "Oops! I hope Ladybug's cure can fix that for you, since it hasn't done much for the rest of your broken humour."
His brow lowered watching her turn on her heel and slam the locker shut on the way. "Kiss my ass!"
"Maybe later where people can see us!"
Speaking of their game, he was definitely looking forward to their first match.
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"En garde! Pret, allez!"
It came sooner than expected, but not in the way he had thought.
"Go on Marinette," he lifted his sabre mask, a crude, mocking insinuation on his lips, "you're supposed to touch me."
He couldn't see her roll her eyes but he was sure she did. "I know you'd like that too much."
Impatient with her lack of serve, he flicked the mask back over and readied his professional stance. "Then hurry and prove to me how much I'd like it."
For someone who had never fenced Marinette was – he was going to say good, then remembered the paradox of her associated with that word, and decided on alright.
When he'd seen that Marinette was attempting to join D'Argentcourt Academy – and was paired with him no less – he didn't even bother to rub his blade down with steel wool to remove any burrs since he didn't think there'd be much of a game. He didn't feel the need to explain the rules of sabre fencing to her either, like how the attacker doesn't necessarily win the point if he touches his opponent first. Thus, when Marinette took the 'initiative' after he'd struck her, he didn't mention that since she had priority and he could only pair her riposte, she had won the point. But she would've figured it out sooner or later, he supposed.
But she didn't.
Only because someone attempting to enter the class took over the premise, clad in dangerous red, back and shoulders straight and their mask doing little to overshadow their confidence as they requested to duel the best fencer there to gain dramatic entry into the club.
His classmates pushed Adrien forward.
Red Fencer were better than anyone he'd ever duelled; quick, unhesitant, lashing their sabre at his target areas and pushing him up their stairs of François Dupont's courtyard as he dodged and aimed the button of his blade back. It was attack after remise after lunge after riposte, their lethality taking Adrien aback in both senses of the word.
Marinette just had to be the one with the agility to dodge the proceeding madness of pushed library carts and classmates trampling over Master D'Argencourt when a sheep-like audience ensued. She chased after their dance until the very end where he and Red Fencer struck, and the fate of his possible new classmate rested on Marinette's observation skills.
"Who touched first?! Tell us now!" D'Argentcourt cried as he finally crawled his way up the stairs.
"Uh... Uh... I don't know..."
Adrien swore his opponent won the point the point, and if he'd properly informed Marinette of the rules about priority she might have been more able to make an educated decision. His jaw hardened. That didn't matter anyway because she would never say that he—
"Adrien touched first."
She seemed disgruntled as she spat her observation out, suggesting it was a disappointingly honest confession.
"But I'm really not s—"
"Wonderful! This victory is an honour to the D'Argencourt academy!"
It was also a victory to Hawk Moth.
Adrien sensed the akuma coming as soon as his handshake with his opponent felt unnecessarily tight. He chased after them to where a slick royal red car lurched at the front of the school, and she took off her helmet.
Oh.
He swallowed, taking the harsh girl in. "Let's do a decisive match?"
She shook her bob of black hair and narrowed fittingly sharp brown eyes up at him. "There's no such thing as a second chance in my family."
Okay. Dramatic much.
(He was sure that internal snark was just Plagg talking.)
"Goodbye."
Yeah, that akuma was for sure still on its way.
The only good thing that came from "Riposte" was being able to tackle (and cradle!) Ladybug as Adrien during combat before Chat Noir could make an appearance. He saved her! As Adrien! Without his mask the blushing ravenette beneath him took his breath away much easier. He was sure he stammered, maybe apologised, maybe pinned her face between his arms on the Parisian concrete for a bit too long – it all went by too quick, but he was sure he added to his impression on Ladybug as his civilian self.
After all, what was planning a future with her going to be worth without her liking both sides of him.
(He was sure when she later put him in an Egyptian coffin to "keep him safe" that it was in her best interest, and that she had no clue about his claustrophobia, prior...)
Point was, he wasn't finished with Kagami. She fascinated him. Possibly due to her physical colour scheme and boldness being so dashingly alike to that of the love of his life (Ladybug). He couldn't let yet another pretty girl sprint headlong into hatred towards him for some silly miscommunication.
When the battle was over, he sought to give back her sabre and invite her to the academy.
"I'm sorry," they said in unison after a pregnant pause.
Adrien's mouth tipped. He was so used to never being apologised to.
He scratched his head and looked to the side. "I personally think the point was yours."
"That's not what your friend saw."
His brow tensed. "Marinette's not my friend. She gets confused and sees the wrong thing sometimes. But I didn't do a good enough job explaining the rules to her, and I know she'd never cheat. Today was her first experience with fencing."
Kagami was smirking. "There's something about her you like, huh?"
"Marinette? No, of course not. She's just a classmate. You might get to know her one day, but I pity the day you do."
Little did he know a pair of narrowed, bluebell eyes held a curious look, judging the chemistry between the two fencers. Tikki was confused as to why they were bothering to hide behind a beam near the Louvre to watch, eavesdropping, perceiving what was happening, but Marinette didn't respond to any questions.
She didn't really know why, either.
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A/N: ik ik, youre probs like, where's the sauce? we're just getting the ingredients for the sauce. the sauce is coming. jealously is coming. false revelations are coming. DRAMA is coming. and ik you guys are coming back to see all that unfold ;)
(also reminder more art for the fic is on my instagram (snacc_noir))