Marinette’s heart lurches painfully at his question. In the past several months she’s become expert at the Art of Reading Adrien, and the way that he nervously fiddles with the scarf belies the even voice she hears. She hopes he doesn’t think she’s going to deny him this.
“Close your eyes.”
He complies, and as she twists off the couch to face him, she hears his restrained breathing.
Scratch nervous, he was terrified. She puts a hand between his shirt collar and his scarf, hoping to ease his nerves as she leans closer and takes him in.
Framed in the red sunlight and his eyelashes grazing his cheeks, he looked serene. Had she not known him, the assumption would have been fair.
Her eyes slide along the strange patches of light thrown across his face and drift down to his mouth.
…How long had she really wanted to do this when she wasn’t busy lying to herself? She tries to push the thought out of her mind as the centimeters between them compress and her bangs mingle with his.
She’d dedicated to memory his laughter at the first stupid meme she’d shown him, the pride in his compliment when she made a bad pun to his face, the way he’d bear hug her at the end of her shift and try to stop her from making it to his door, and the pain that the gesture did little to mask.
She does her best to etch into her memory the brief hitch in his breath as she gently touches her lips to his.