#iph

So. What else can I say other than: that I’m still unbearably fond of the idiot, even if he keeps an understandable distance away from me, that makes me despicably dejected and sometimes deeply resentful, the circumstances of which are all of my own making? I’m tired of it. I still want to believe we’re friends, but after it all - the emotional fallouts, the forcibly mutual withdrawing, the terrible ache of longing, the awkward and stilted greetings and exchanges, the need to keep a straight face when I see him twitch and hesitate the moment he notices my presence - I am so profoundly inclined to think otherwise, and that maybe I should just ignore him in his entirety, the goddamned buffoon. But yet, he’s still my friend. He’s still the guy that I was kinda (regrettably) into, and I still care, because that’s what a good person would do for their ex-first-love, the lack of mutual reciprocation notwithstanding.

All these words, and I still haven’t even written a name for him to be called. Let’s call him FL - he’d hate that, oh, he really would, but I think it’s cute, and I’m quite attached to the nickname. I would love to go on a prose-filled rant of our “deep and complicated history”, but for my sake and the sake of everyone else reading through this, I can say with certainty that our story can be concisely summarized as a basic lesson in what not to do when expectations don’t align with reality, and how to cope with it and the emotions that continue to roil in your chest even years after the devastating event. 

We were both idiots, is what I’m saying. It was a strange thing, certainly, to fall in love with FL, of all people. He was all soft sides and no muscle, chubby cheeks and priming acne setting in with the early onset of puberty. But it was his awkward laughter, his sickeningly sweet smiles, and wide, naive eyes that raptly gave so much attention to me that drew me in, inundating me in a bath of warm, childish fantasticals and the prospect of being loved and giving love. Of course, that’s probably what all first loves would be like for a teenager. At least, for those who can actually feel romantic love. It’s intoxicating, an almost detestable part of human nature that enslaves us all by collaring us and stringing us all along by our own feelings. Some people are strong enough to take that leash and rip it off - I wasn’t one of them, unfortunately for everyone involved.

It was the most stupid and sad confession ever, done in the middle of the night on the staircase near my room through Discord of all things, with the involvement of some other old friends (Some that I have my own… histories with) that I told to about my love for FL in excruciating detail (because of course 14 year old me did). And boy, did it end in an emotional hell. The next few weeks were a cluster of shame, regret, longing, and other insufferable feelings, the effects of which still ripple to this day. 

It was terrifying, most certainly. I didn’t know how to handle any of it, and I made many terrible decisions. And if I were to, once again, be asked if I would take it all back - I would. I’d give myself more constructive learning experiences that wouldn’t wreak havoc on me and my school life, and instead become the basis for learning how to become a better person - something that I’m somehow only learning to do now. And isn’t that so unbelievably sad? But what else can I say and do now, without the power to change the past, but only the future? I can look forward to that future. I can try to fix what’s become of our friendship, and perhaps make it anew. Maybe I don’t feel as strongly for him as I do now, but that’s a given. I just want him back in my life, outside of a specter that I sometimes pass by and say hi to. I just want the guy that I was kinda (regrettably) into, the guy I once knew as well as the back of my hand, as my friend again. And it’s all I’ll ever need from him now.

Illustration by me.

“Look at it this way, Ms. Mendeleiev, it could be a lot worse,” Adrien said, gesturing over to Chloe, who had been one of the first to be hit by a blast from The Librarian’s book. She sat hardly upright at her desk, her head barely supported by her left hand as she drifted in and out of sleep.

The Librarian – whose identity was still unknown as she was still running amuck throughout Paris – had been cursing innocent people all over the city with the fates of classic literary characters. Chloe, it seemed, was fated to keep dreaming until her supposed true love came along to wake her. No one was too eager to try.

A few hours after The Librarian’s rampage started, it became clear that some of the victims could be helped, as long as they played along with their stories. Such a solution was easy for people like Ivan and Mylene, who had been able to break Ivan’s beastly curse simply by being in each other’s presence. Since the Beast already had someone he loved who also loved him in return, the spell was broken immediately.

Some people had even been lucky enough to turn water into wine, or have everything they touched turned to gold. The story plaguing – or benefitting – each person was entirely random. Some had even been hit with a blast from the cursed book and noticed no side effects, leaving them to wait in paranoia to see if their siblings would turn wicked or notice that their shoes were all suddenly too small.

Marinette suspected that Lila could have easily been living out the story of the Boy Who Cried Wolf, and the class would be none-the-wiser, as her grandstanding ways hadn’t changed in the slightest. She thought of the girl getting cursed like Pinocchio instead, and instinctively went to stifle a soundless giggle.

Alya, ever the chatterbox, was one of the worse off. Evidently, she had been cursed to live out the fate of the Greek nymph Echo, who could only speak words that others spoke first. She’d been communicating almost entirely in shrugs, eyerolls, and frustrated gestures for two days now.

Marinette, however, would take a frustrating game of call-and-answer any day over complete silence.

She’d hoped that, since she’d been hit while transformed, the effects would wear off once her Miraculous timed out, but no dice. She resisted the urge to fidget with her earrings – plain black and utterly useless now that she couldn’t call out to Tikki to transform again. At least she’d already used her Lucky Charm before she was hit.

Had this attack happened six months prior, the idea of Chat Noir learning her identity in that moment would have mortified her more than any embarrassing curse. But Adrien had figured out who she truly was – and vice versa – right around the end of the previous school year.

Revealing their identities had made things a hell of a lot harder regarding juggling their personal relationships, but at least Chat Noir was able to see her de-transform and not make a huge deal out of it anymore.

It would still take her a while before watching Adrien turn into Chat stopping being completely weird.

Over half of the class had been afflicted, and the final excuse from Alix, who could now only speak the absolute truth (“Alix, are you ready to present today?” “You know, I could, but it probably won’t be that good.”) sent Ms. Mendeleiev over the edge. Class was dismissed until Ladybug and Chat Noir could set things straight. Whenever that may be.

Adrien hooked his arm around Marinette’s elbow as the students filed out of the classroom, ignoring the looks from Alya and Nino that they’d been getting for months now. Not that any of their speculations were true. After half a year, Adrien and Marinette still hadn’t talked about what would happen next, if anything was to be expected at all. Perhaps if she was cursed to be silent forever they’d never have to have that awkward conversation. Maybe this akuma wasn’t so bad.

“Let me walk you home,” Adrien said, smirking in a way that was all Chat Noir. “No, I insist. Really, it’s not a big deal at all, no need to protest.”

She mustered up her most annoyed glare and hoped it would get her point across clearly.

They entered through the back door, with Adrien giving her parents a quick greeting before whisking her off to her room.

(“That’s so nice of you to be helping Marinette in class,” Sabine gushed. “So polite and considerate!”

Marinette couldn’t even groan in response.)

She opened the trapdoor to her room slowly, careful not to scatter their notes even more. She and Adrien had spent hours trying to theorize ways to purify the akuma, with Marinette communicating entirely in written notes that she haphazardly tossed to the ground every time an idea didn’t work out.

Tikki and Plagg flew out from their respective hiding spots the moment the door shut behind them.

“We’re just lucky you didn’t get hit too,” Plagg muttered to Adrien as he curled up on Marinette’s pillow, Tikki following close behind. “You two had better think of something quick before the akuma comes back for another round.”

Meanwhile Marinette laid back onto her chaise, entirely too frustrated to even think of any new bright ideas.

“Hey,” Adrien said gently, nudging Marinette’s foot aside as he took a seat next to her. “Think of it this way, things could be worse. You might have turned into a scarecrow with no brains. Or had a wicked witch try to fatten you up with cookies.”

Marinette scrunched her nose, pointing downwards towards the general direction of the bakery.

Adrien’s cheeks pinked. “Right. My bad. But your mom and dad are still safe for now, which just means we have to figure out a way to get you back to your old self sooner rather than later. What have we already crossed off the list?”

Marinette sat upright, fetching a stray paper that had some of their better ideas written down.

Ladyblog(?) was the closest thing they’d found to a solution, but even though there were plenty of clips of Ladybug summoning a Lucky Charm, no one had ever caught Marinette on video or audio uttering her transformation phrase, so that was a bust.

Destroy the book was the next best idea, and Chat would have no issue doing so as long as he avoided getting hit by one of its blasts first; but setting the butterfly free without any way to purify it was dangerous. They didn’t want another Stoneheart situation on their hands.

“We can always try to figure out the story you’ve been cursed with,” Adrien uttered the very words Marinette was regretting.

Because they both already knew exactly what story she was living. And it had already been two days.

Once upon a time a little mermaid signed her voice away to a sea witch, desperate to live on land with the prince she had fallen for. If she got him to fall in love with her in three days, she would regain her voice and live out her happily ever after.

No, Marinette thought. That couldn’t be the version she was living.

Ever since the moment they revealed themselves, they’d danced around this conversation, but the facts were clear as day: something much bigger than friendship laid between them. The mere thought of it now brought blood rushing to both of their faces.

Chat Noir had professed his love for Ladybug more times than she could count. Adrien had owned Marinette’s heart since he first gave her his umbrella. The two of them had managed to fall in love with each other without even realizing it.

And regardless of whether or not romance was involved, they were partners. The level of trust, respect, and care they held for each other was unprecedented. They were best friends. No words were needed to understand that.

Love wasn’t the stipulation here. Otherwise, the curse would already be broken.

No. The Librarian had a different idea in mind for them.

In this version of the fairytale, the prince has to kiss the princess in three days’ time to break the spell.

Marinette wanted to take her pillow and scream into it, even though no sound would come out.

It wouldn’t be either one’s first kiss, not even with each other. They had Dislocœur and Oblivio to thank for those instances. But both of those times had been hidden behind the masks and secret identities. This time they’d just be Marientte and Adrien. Friends. Partners. Something more?

Marinette risked a glance at Adrien. He looked back, a small sad smile on his face. Unmasked and honest and looking just as vulnerable as she felt.

“It’s okay. We can think of another way,” he tried to reassure her. “We’ve always found our way out of sticky situations before so. . .”

Marinette placed her hand over his. Slowly, she shook her head.

He stared back at her. Then blinked once, twice. “No?”

She shook her head again.

“You don’t think we can find a solution, do you?”

Marinette sighed and broke eye contact.

Adrien moved to kneel in front of her, making her look at him again.

“Listen,” he took both of her hands into his, effectively making her forget how to breathe for a moment as he spoke. “I have an idea. And I think you do too. Right?”

It took her a few moments to work up the courage to nod.

“But we can always try to think of something else, if you want,” he said gently.

Another moment passed. This time, she shook her head firmly. No. There was no time to sit around avoiding this.

At that, Adrien’s eyes widened. He glanced down at their intertwined fingers and smiled softly, almost laughing.

“I’ll be honest, my lady, this isn’t exactly what I thought of when I pictured this moment.”

He rose to his feet, pulling Marinette up with him. She let herself rise effortlessly, entirely too focused on the words that just left his mouth. He’s thought about this before. She couldn’t stop staring into his eyes. She never thought she’d hear him say those words.

“I thought maybe if I was lucky enough that we’d get to this point someday, I could make some kind of grand gesture. To make up for all of the times we’ve missed the mark before.”

Oh. Right. Chat Noir couldn’t remember either time they’d kissed. So that meant - Marinette realized - that for Adrien, this would be the first.

Adrien’s voice dropped even lower. “If you don’t want things to change, I understand. This doesn’t have to make things any different if you don’t want to. But if you don’t mind me saying this. . . I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time that I really, really want to kiss you. Is that okay?”

If only she could tell him that she’d always wanted things to be different. That for half a year, she’d been waiting for things to change. She’d just never had the courage to say it, all because of the fear of not knowing how he felt. And now she didn’t need to say any words at all to finally express what she’d been wanting to say all along.

Releasing her hold on his left hand, she touched his cheek lightly and pressed her forehead to his, hoping that the gesture was just as clear as a verbal confirmation.

Her eyes fluttered shut as he closed the distance between them, pressing his lips against hers.

She didn’t need to be living a fairytale to feel like she was floating on air. She’d go through years worth of Chat’s incessant flirting and her pent up nervousness over Adrien all over again if she knew it would lead up to this moment. There was no need for a sea witch or a final epic battle, just the relieving feeling of the weight being lifted off her shoulders to tell her that they were heading towards a happy ending.

Ever the gentleman, he pulled away mere seconds later, eyes opening slowly, the pink flush on his face refusing to budge.

“Was that alright?” he frowned slightly at his own question before rephrasing, “Did it work?”