Chapter Text
Adrien had once believed love was supposed to feel like breathing easier. After a childhood built on schedules, silence, and being arranged into whatever shape pleased someone else, he thought loving Marinette would mean stepping into open air. She knew the parts of him no one else had known. She knew the boy who smiled for cameras, the son who apologized for things that were never his fault, the partner who joked too much on rooftops because joking was safer than honesty. For a while, being understood had felt close enough to freedom that he mistook the two.
Their apartment was beautiful in the way magazine spreads were beautiful. Warm lighting, tasteful furniture, plants by the windows, carefully chosen colors, and just enough clutter to make it look lived in, Marinette wanted their own little place away from his mansion and he agreed since he wanted a fresh start. The problem was that it was always Marinette's clutter and always Adrien's responsibility to maintain. Sketchbooks sprawled over the dining table, fabric over chairs, coffee mugs left in every room, shoes in hallways, pins glittering on counters like traps waiting for bare feet. Marinette moved through it all without noticing, while Adrien cleaned pathways through the mess so they could function like adults.
If he asked her to help, she never refused directly. She would glance up with tired eyes, rub at her temples, and say she had been working nonstop all day. Then she would smile softly and thank him for being so sweet, for understanding her, for always taking care of things when she was overwhelmed. By the time she kissed his cheek and returned to her designs, he was already carrying dishes to the sink. It was difficult to argue with someone who made using you sound like admiration.
"You're incredible," she told him one night as he scrubbed a pan she had burned beyond recognition.
"I'm washing carbon off cookware."
"You make everything better."
He almost said no, it makes everything easier for you, but the words never left his mouth.
There were names that had quietly disappeared from Adrien's life after they moved in together. Some faded naturally with time, others through distance, and some because mentioning them always seemed to sour the air in the room. Chloé Bourgeois belonged firmly to the last category. They had known each other since childhood, had weathered years of petty fights, ugly habits, old loyalties, and the strange bond that came from surviving the same lonely circles. Adrien knew Chloé could be cruel, selfish, and exhausting, but she had also been one of the only people who remembered the version of him that existed before everyone else wanted something.
At first, Marinette had only rolled her eyes whenever Chloé texted. Then came the jokes about toxic blond habits and comments about how interesting it was that Adrien still needed someone who treated others badly. After that came silences whenever he answered a message, then nights ruined by tears and hurt feelings because she did not understand why he needed someone like that in his life. Eventually, it became easier not to answer. Easier to let messages pile up unread. Easier to tell himself people outgrow friendships all the time.
One afternoon Adrien was unpacking groceries while Marinette sketched at the table. He held up a box of imported tea and smiled faintly. "Chloé used to make the staff hide this from me when we were kids so she could drink it all herself."
The room went still. Marinette did not look up right away. "Wow."
His smile faded. "What?"
The tension in the room grew as Marinette turned away her hands shaking. "Nothing." She set her pencil down with deliberate care. "It's just interesting."
"What is?" He repeated.
Marinette huffed. "That you still think about her enough to bring her up randomly."
"I was talking about tea," he said defensively.
"No, you were talking about Chloé." She finally met his eyes, visibly wounded now. "Again."
"I didn't mean anything by it." He stared at her incredulously.
"You never do."
Adrien felt heat crawl up his neck. "I'm sorry." He didn't know why he was apologizing, it was the only thing he knew how to do when he made people upset, even though he didn't understand the reason why people got mad at him.
Marinette gave a tiny shrug and returned to her sketchbook. "Forget it."
He put the tea away quickly. "Did you want pasta tonight? Or I could make that mushroom thing you like."
She sighed softly, as though dragging herself past pain. "Whatever you want."
He changed the subject so fast it made him feel ashamed.
The strangest part was how often Marinette spoke of promises he did not remember making. If Chloé's name appeared on his phone, Marinette would stare at the screen and ask why he was breaking his word. If he looked confused, she would remind him of long conversations where he had supposedly admitted Chloé was unhealthy and agreed to cut ties. Sometimes she quoted phrases he was certain he had never used. Other times she described moments so confidently that he wondered whether exhaustion had erased them from his memory.
"You told me yourself she only keeps you around to feel important," Marinette said one evening after seeing a missed call.
"I said that?" He honestly didn't remember but he was so busy he couldn't care.
"Yes, Adrien." Her tone was gentle, almost pitying. "We talked about this for hours."
He raised an eyebrow. "I don't remember that."
She leaned back in her chair and looked hurt. "You really don't remember promising me you were done letting her manipulate you?"
"I never promised you who I could talk to. Besides when did she manipulate me? We grew up together."
Marinette's eyes widened. "Wow."
"What?" He asked incredulously. "She knows we are dating and has never made a move on me."
"So now I'm controlling because I cared about you." She shook her head slowly. "That's honestly cruel."
"I didn't say you were controlling," he said carefully. Sometimes it was easier to just agree with people.
"You didn't have to," Marinette said. By the end of the conversation, he was apologizing for upsetting her and texting Chloé that he had been busy lately.
Around other people, Marinette praised him constantly. She called him thoughtful, patient, talented, dependable, and endlessly supportive. At first those compliments had embarrassed him in a pleasant way. Later he realized every story ended with him helping her, rescuing a deadline, cooking dinner, fixing a shelf, calming her nerves, driving her somewhere, carrying something heavy, making life smoother. Even her affection seemed to frame him as a tool polished until it shined.
At dinner with friends, Alya asked him whether he was still considering an offer in Milan.
"He is," Marinette answered immediately. "But only because people love flattering him."
Adrien looked up. "I'm considering it because the work interests me."
She laughed lightly and squeezed his wrist. "See what I mean? He gets all serious whenever someone says international."
"I said the design team was interesting," he said.
Marinette only grinned as if repeating something dear to her heart. "You hate being away from home longer than a week."
"I never said that."
Marinette turned to Alya with an affectionate smile. "Trust me, I speak fluent Adrien."
Everyone laughed. He smiled because it was easier. Deep down he always wondered why Marinette seemed to know a bit more about him than most people should, even for those that were dating. She always seemed prepared to answer questions related to his habits and hobbies even though he hadn't told her those things. At first he thought it was just her quirks, she had those same quirks when they were young when she would just always happen to be where he was with a perfect answer and gift in toe. Or the time she tried to kiss him thinking he was a wax statue, the image still haunted him occasionally.
When they got home, he tried to set a boundary anyway. "Can you stop answering for me?"
Marinette froze halfway through removing an earring. "Excuse me?"
"I can answer questions about my own future."
Her face changed instantly, hurt blooming so fast it made him doubt himself. "I was trying to help you feel included."
"I didn't need help."
She looked away. "Right. Sorry. I forgot everything I do is wrong lately."
"That's not what I said."
"No, you just made it clear I embarrass you," Marinette let out a half sob. "I thought you loved me? I was just making you feel appreciated."
He ended up apologizing while she quietly wiped tears from the corners of her eyes. That was how arguments often worked. He would begin with a simple request and somehow end by comforting Marinette for being wounded by it. If he wanted an evening alone, she wondered whether she bored him now. If he disagreed with her, she asked why he didn't appreciate her more. If he asked for boundaries, she looked stricken and asked why she was never enough. She rarely demanded anything directly. She simply made refusal feel like cruelty.
One night he came home after a campaign shoot followed by classes, drained to the bone. His shoulders ached, his head throbbed, and the train ride back had felt endless. When he opened the apartment door, the lights were dimmed, candles flickered across the room, and soft music played from the speakers. Marinette appeared in the hallway wearing silk, perfume, and that same smile she always had on her face when it came to him.
"There you are," she said, crossing to him and slipping her arms around his neck. "I missed you."
Adrien kissed her cheek weakly. "Hi."
She drew him farther inside. "Come shower. Then come back to bed."
"Mari." He let out a tired breath knowing where this was going. "I'm exhausted."
Her hands paused on his shoulders. "What?"
"I had a brutal day. I can barely stand." He slowly set his bag down and stretched.
The smile on her lips faded by careful degrees. "I spent all afternoon setting this up."
"I know, and it's sweet, but I'm so tired."
She stepped back. "So that's it."
"That's what?" He asked.
"You come home, look at everything I did, and reject me," She said with tears in her eyes. " I thought you loved me?"
He did a double take the smell of perfume suddenly smelled half rancid. "I'm not rejecting you. I'm tired."
She gave a small laugh that trembled at the edges. "Right. Convenient."
"Please don't do this."
"Do what, Adrien?" Her eyes were already shining. "Try to be wanted by my boyfriend?"
"That's not fair."
"What isn't fair is standing here feeling stupid because I thought you'd be happy to see me." Her voice cracked slightly. "I thought you loved me."
He closed his eyes for a moment. "I do care about you."
"Care." She repeated the word like an insult. "That's what you say when you pity someone." She cleaned her eyes and let out a half sob. "Would you rather it be someone else? Kagami? Or maybe Chloe?" Her tears began to smear her makeup and a pang hit his heart.
"Marinette please its not like that," he said. "I'm just tired and not in the mood."
"I put effort in. I wanted one night with you." Tears spilled over now, quick and bright. "I thought you loved me enough to want me."
"I am tired," he begged as the candles flickered in the room.
"You're always tired when it matters to me."
He looked at the candles, the carefully arranged room, the woman crying in front of him because he wanted sleep. Guilt moved through him on instinct, immediate and familiar.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
She turned away, wiping her cheeks. "Forget it."
He slept beside her rigid silence that night, staring into the dark and wondering why saying no felt like doing harm. Am I in the wrong for saying no to her?
A few weeks later, Marinette invited him to dinner at a restaurant he never would have chosen himself. Everything gleamed there: crystal glasses, polished silver, candlelight reflected across white linen, the kind he went to because his father like it. Marinette looked radiant in red, smiling to herself throughout the meal as though enjoying a secret. Whenever he asked what they were celebrating, she only told him to be patient.
"You're making me nervous," he admitted once dessert menus arrived.
Marinette grinned in that silly way that she always did when she was giving him a surprise. "That's dramatic."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're being mysterious."
"Maybe I like surprising you."
When the plates were cleared, Marinette reached into her handbag and placed a velvet box between them. She nudged it toward him with calm casualness.
Adrien stared. "What is that?"
"Open it," she said with a wide grin.
Inside were two rings. One simple platinum band and one diamond ring bright enough to sting his eyes beneath the candlelight. For a moment he could not breathe his jaw slowly dropped as he stared at them. He blinked thinking he was seeing things while his heart raced so fast he thought it would leap out of his chest as his world slowly began to fall around him.
Marinette smiled warmly and with a hint of pride. "I had them custom made."
"Y-You bought rings?" He managed to ask.
"For us!" Marinette declared.
"You bought engagement rings?" He asked as he slowly processed what was happening.
"Well, yes." She laughed softly. "Adrien."
His heartbeat pounded in his ears. "Why?"
"Because we've been together for years." Her tone was patient, almost indulgent. "I thought it was time."
He did a double take. "Time for what?"
Marinette froze her smile twitching at the end. "For the next step."
He quickly took a sip of wine. "You did this before asking me?"
"I know how overwhelmed you get with big decisions." She reached for his hand but he moved away. "I wanted to make it easy."
He looked at the ring chosen for him, the ring chosen for her, the future boxed neatly in velvet and presented like something inevitable. The room felt smaller by the second. Every table around them seemed too close, every polite conversation another wall pressing inward.
"You picked my ring." His gaze focused on the box as his entire life with Marinette flashed in the reflection of the rings.
"Of course! I know your taste better than anyone else!" Marinette declared.
Better than anyone. He thought of all the times Marinette just happened to be around him, how she would always have the perfect gifts and plans for him. Now looking at the ring something inside of him was screaming for him to run the other way. "You picked yours too."
She laughed again. "Obviously."
He swallowed the lump in his throat, he could feel the sweat began to form on his body. "How did you pay for these?"
Marinette shrugged. "With our credit card."
You mean my credit card. Something snapped in his mind. "You assumed I'd say yes."
"Well you love me and I was just doing the obvious," Marinette said incredulously.
There it was, soft as silk and just as binding.
"You made plans beyond this, didn't you?" His insides were numb as he looked at the rings his entire life flashed before him. All the arguments and the passive aggressive comments along with the times she didn't respect his personal space along with the times she always happened to be around him slowly bubbled to the surface of his consciousness.
Her lashes lowered modestly. "Just ideas."
"A venue?"
Marinette nodded. "Yeah I was thinking of Milan and then Switzerland." She then took out a photo. "I found these floral arrangements, they only cost fifty thousand Euros."
He did a double take. "Fifty thousand Euros for flowers? That's a little too much don't you think."
"Why we can afford it," Marinette shrugged as if it were nothing. "I want my wedding to be the best."
You mean I can afford it. A part of him considered snapping, he could not stand wasteful spending and the way she casually said it made his blood boil. No offense but she didn't have the money for a fifty thousand Euro flower arrangement so he'd end up paying for it all. He swallowed the indignation in his throat. "A guest list too I imagine?"
Marinette frowned. "Adrien." Her eyes glistened instantly. "Why are you turning something beautiful into an interrogation?"
"You planned an expensive wedding without me and bought two expensive rings with my money," he said slowly.
"Well its obvious I planned a future with the man I love." Tears gathered at the edges of her eyes. "I thought you loved me too."
He looked at her and suddenly saw every argument in perfect order. The tears when he wanted space. The hurt when he wanted boundaries. The guilt when he said no. The sweetness whenever she needed something done. Every invisible string tied carefully around him until he could barely move without hurting her. Then his mind snapped and suddenly her sweetness wasn't so sweet.
"Adrien?" she whispered. "Say something."
He stood, his body reacting on instinct. Nearby diners glanced over. Marinette's face flickered from wounded to alarmed. "No," he said his voice echoing louder than he intended.
Her lips parted, she covered her mouth as tears formed in her eyes. "What?"
His heart raced as he looked down at the box. "No. I'm not marrying you."
Marinette stared at him as if he had slapped her and tears spilled immediately. "You can't mean that."
"I do," he said firmly.
"Please." She rose halfway from her chair, voice shaking. "You're scared; just sit down. We can talk."
He picked up the ring box and played with it in his hands. "I said no," he said firmly. "That is my answer."
Marinette stared at him in shock tears falling down her face. "Don't do this to me."
For once, the words did not catch in him as he set the velvet box beside her untouched dessert, turned, and walked toward the exit.
"Adrien!"
He did not look back as he fought the emotions inside of him. He pushed through the restaurant doors into the cold Paris night. His phone began vibrating before he reached the curb, Marinette's name flashing again and again across the screen. He broke into a run down the street, lungs burning, heart hammering, feeling terrified and lighter than he had in years. He had no plan at all, and for the first time in a long time, that felt like freedom.