#the rancidity of some takes i've seen on him... unparalleled...

[paintalyx]

my mom said we can't be friends if you don't like wyll. yeah even if you don't care about him. no sorry i don't make the rules but she's right you know

[captainmeowvelwrites]

You Times Two (Ch.7)

Pairing: Marinette/Ladybug | Adrien/Chat Noir Words: 4065 Summary: Ladybug knew this was necessary. She was the Guardian. He had the Cat Miraculous. But when his suit evaporated in a glow of pale green, she sure hadn’t expected him to have something far more precious: her heart. Cross-posted: AO3 and FFN

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | ...

Recap: Previously, on You Times Two… In a startling twist of events, our dear, sweet boy realised he's not at all over Ladybug. (Who would've thought?) In search of open skies to tackle his racing thoughts, Kitty Noir somehow found himself on our favourite girl's balcony. With a delicious stroke of irony, our adorkable duo traded tidbits about their love lives. And before our wee cat in black left her balcony, his Very Good Friend imparted a few words of wisdom: Go for the girl that makes you happy. Will Golden Boy heed her advice? Or will he continue down this dangerous path? Read on to find out!

---

Chapter Seven

Adrien shifted on his bedroom sofa, the leather squeaking against his boxer briefs. After an awful sleep, he'd often drag himself from bed at first light. This morning was no exception. For three hours straight, he'd twisted his ring, stared out the window and admired the striking sunrise.

Golds, blues and pinks had danced across the Parisian sky, a reminder of that one time he'd tried out watercolour painting. It'd been a hobby of his mother's—one she'd been so patient, so supportive, so eager to teach him.

He'd been hopeless.

At ten, he'd been vaguely aware of that fact. Now, at nearly fifteen, Adrien was certain. He just hadn't inherited his parents' creative eye, and had immense respect for anyone patient enough to craft something with their bare hands.

Thoughts of a specific individual – and the advice she'd given him – flitted through his head for maybe the fifth time that morning. "Go for the girl that makes you happy," he breathed, a line etching between his brows.

Ladybug obviously made him happy. She was his partner, a beacon of joy in his life. Their bond was unparalleled, and their exchange last night had only reaffirmed his feelings for her, of that he couldn't deny. There was just one problem: she was in love with someone else. Was it really fair of him to keep his sights set on her?

His history with Kagami didn't run nearly as deep, but there'd certainly been a spark from day one. She'd enthralled him with her confidence, her beauty, and she related to the pressures that came with a protective parent and a family name to uphold—but did she make him happy?

Adrien planned to officialise things on their date tonight. Or rather, that had been his plan.

Honestly, he didn't know anymore.

He tipped his head into his awaiting palms, a groan rumbling in his throat. Being the son of Gabriel Agreste meant he was painfully accustomed to having no say. His father controlled his schedule, his conduct, his appearance, everything. Now, his relationship status was being controlled—and the most surprising thing at this point was that his father wasn't responsible.

If he officialised things with Kagami tonight, would that decision be driven by the desire to be with her? Or by a sense of obligation? What was the alternative? Tell her he hadn't thought they were official and wasn't entirely sure that he wanted them to be?

A melodramatic yawn stole Adrien's attention. He glanced right to find Plagg slothfully sprawled across the white sofa armrest, rounder from a morning spent gorging on artisan cheese. "As much as I'd love to laze around here all day," Plagg droned, "don't you have a get together to, y'know, get to?"

Oh no! Was it that late already?!

He was Kagami's ride and an Agreste was never late.

Adrien spent the next twenty-two minutes scurrying around his room, flinging clothes, styling his hair, ordering breakfast to go.

Plagg floated by, defiling the air with a rancid, cheesy burp. "Don't forget my camem—"

"Cologne!" He dashed toward the bathroom. "Thanks for the reminder!" Of course, his kwami then felt the need to list the many perks of smelling like cheese. (He ignored them all.)

Finally, Adrien was outside the Agreste Mansion, thanking The Gorilla for holding the passenger door open. He tossed his bag into the backseat of the bulletproof sedan, the familiar scent of leather lingering, and—

"Adrien," came an unmistakable voice.

When he spun half a circle, his shoulders squared, he was unsurprised to find a pair of pale blue eyes staring down at him. The owner of those eyes loomed from the front steps, his glasses glinting in the sunlight and his body framed by the imposing double doors of the mansion.

Gabriel threaded his fingers behind his back. "I've noticed some rather… excessive purchases you've made of late." His voice was level, as always. "One hundred and fifty euros on flowers? Double that on a rooftop venue?"

Adrien could've kicked himself for being so forgetful. His father had always kept a close eye on his bank account, something he felt was a little unnecessary.

"You're a careless teenager," Gabriel had once claimed. "If you throw your money around frivolously, I need to know."

Thanks to his modelling, Adrien's savings were steadily climbing, and he'd never made much of a dent in them. It's not like he could get out of the house to even do so. In fact, his money mostly went to Ladybug merch and funnily enough, his father never questioned that.

His head dipped beneath the heightening weight of that scrutinising stare. "I've… organised dinner with a friend tonight." He fiddled with the cuff of his jet-black dress shirt, which peeked out from beneath the ironed sleeve of a white, fitted blazer.

"A rather extravagant dinner for a friend, don't you think?" His father cocked his head. "I've seen the news articles of your so-called relationship with Miss Tsurugi. Are they true?"

Adrien peered up from the ground, barely making eye contact. "She's"—of course, his voice cracked—"not my girlfriend."

"But I take it this dinner is for her?"

He managed a nod. "Yes, Father."

Gabriel frowned. Or rather, his perpetual frown deepened. "You should've consulted me before making such plans. Tomoe Tsurugi is one of my most valued partners. I don't wish to see that compromised."

Adrien's polished dress shoes scuffed the pavement with each fidget of his feet. "I'm sorry, Father." It took him far longer than it should've to meet that stare. "Should I… cancel?"

"This once, I will allow it."

Adrien expected the gratifying warmth of relief to wash over him. Instead, quiet apprehension crept in. Had he been hoping for an excuse to cancel the date?

"But," Gabriel added, "I expect you to tread carefully with Ms Tsurugi's daughter. Cleaning up the tabloids after you make a mess is not an effective use of my time." Pale eyes snapped to The Gorilla, who stood in wait on the driver's side of Adrien's ride. "Your bodyguard will pick you up from the venue at eight o'clock. No later. Do not push my good graces again."

Adrien pasted on his model smile. "Thank you, Father." He spun on his heel, ready to slip into the backseat of his ride, when a sudden thought had him re-facing the mansion.

Gabriel was just beyond the doorway that led to the opulent lobby, his white-suited back to Adrien.

"Father?"

Gabriel spared him an over the shoulder glance.

"I've been meaning to ask," he called, his tone now light and laced with hope, "how's Nathalie doing? I've hardly seen her all week?"

Gabriel surprised him with a smile, slight as it was. "She's improving. Slowly, but surely."

"I'm glad she's getting better. I've missed having her around." He met his father's gaze completely. "Will you tell her that?"

Gabriel gave a single nod, his smile remaining. With an echoing thud, the double doors shut behind him, and Adrien slid into the backseat of his lavish ride.

---

Spindly trees lined the cobbled street, their russet leaves rustling overhead, as Marinette scrambled down the sidewalk. "Gonna be late! Gonna be late!" It was a mantra she'd started two streets back, when she'd charged out of the bakery, a warm carton in hand. She still felt awful for nearly bowling over that elderly man—

"Marinette!" came Tikki's panicked voice.

She screeched to a halt at a pedestrian crossing, just as a car zoomed past and turned left. "Gosh! Thanks, Tikki!" Her eyes shot between the kwami in her purse and the pole across the street, where a tiny man glowed red. "I almost became roadkill!"

Tikki's brows creased. "You really need to be more careful!"

Another tiny man now glowed green up ahead, and Marinette raced over the crossing. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry for scaring you." She flipped open the carton, the sweet scent of macarons filling her senses. "Here." Tikki's face brightened as she slipped a brown one in her purse. "Consider it a thank you for being my eyes half the time."

The kwami smirked. "Only half the time?"

Marinette giggled, while Tikki seated herself in the purse and took a tiny bite. "Delicious," she said, crumbs dusting her lips. "Your dad would be proud!"

She smiled her kwami's way. "Let's hope my friends think so too—"

A familiar voice called out her name, and her eyes shot up from her purse to be greeted by the warmth of another's. A breath caught in her throat. The owner of those eyes whirred by in a flash of yellow and teal. Was that Luka?

She looked over her shoulder, staring after the passing bike.

Her feet tangled mid-step.

She stumbled forward, her arms flailing, and the carton slipped through her fingers. Colliding with the concrete wasn't half as painful as the thud of thin cardboard on the sidewalk. Macarons scattered. One even had the audacity to roll right past her face, off the curb and under the wheel of a passing car. Her left eye twitched. Her lower lip followed. Then, she slumped against the pavement, a self-pitying groan squeezing up her throat.

So much for them remaining intact.

Luka's bike clattered on the sidewalk, guitar chords cutting through the air, his shoes pounding on concrete. "Marinette! Are you all right?" His black nail polish caught the sunlight as he settled his hands on her shoulders and eased her to her knees. "You're not hurt, are you?"

Their eyes met. And just like that, a blush crept up her neck. Not from embarrassment. Never from embarrassment. At least, not around Luka. His presence was soothing like that.

No, her blush had another source.

Concern coated every inch of those teal eyes, framed by bangs the very same shade. His hands were still on her shoulders, their warmth seeping through her cardigan as he held her.

Just like the warmth of gloved hands on her balcony… hands that had swept goosebumps from her bare arms, shielding her from the cold.

His gloves were made of leather. His claws were razor sharp. Yet, his hands on her skin—they'd been so gentle, so comforting, so warm.

They always were.

But so were Luka's.

"Marinette?"

When she blinked back to the present, Marinette was sure her whole face had flushed scarlet. She threw him her most convincing smile. "I – I'm fine. Yeah. Totally fine." His sigh of relief wasn't lost on her. "Sorry, I was completely spaced out when you called and I—" Her eyes flew wide. "The macarons!" She scanned the treats that scattered the sidewalk, plucked one off the ground, and her shoulders sagged. "What a disaster."

"Don't worry," Luka piped up beside her, eyes smiling. "Not all of them ended up on the ground." He flourished the carton toward her, five macarons wobbling within it. "Besides, I'm happy to eat the ones that did if no one else will."

Of course, he would. "Thanks, Luka!" It was then that she spied a yellow smoosh near her foot. "Passionfruit!" Her hands flew to her scalp, eyes darting about the sidewalk. "Are they all on the ground?!"

"You mean the yellow ones?" Luka glanced at the carton, then back at her. "No, there are still a few in here."

Time slowed, all else fading to black as she laid eyes upon those three macarons. So help her, she would guard those bad boys with her life.

Luka chuckled. "With your life?"

She froze. Had she said that out loud?

"The passionfruit ones must be delicious if you're willing to go that far."

Marinette tugged at her cardigan collar. "Uh – Yeah. They're very special. I mean – err – delicious. They're very delicious."

In a matter of moments, Luka had helped her to collect the stray macarons. (And as it turned out, the paper lining in the carton made a decent divider between the tainted and untainted ones.)

Marinette beamed up at him, the carton clutched in one hand as she dusted her pants with her other. "Thanks for your help, Luka. And sorry I'm such a clutz." She held up the carton. "Why don't you try one? You can tell me what you think of them."

One look at his eager smile had her heart thrumming fast in her chest. He reached for a macaron on the tainted side. A yellow one. Luka's eyes slid shut as he took his first bite. "Wow." His eyes opened a second later, and he downed the rest of the macaron in one go. "The flavours. The texture. They make the perfect harmony. It's incredible." He met her gaze. "Just like you."

Her breath hitched as she scanned every inch of his smile—so warm and fond and… and she should probably be making words happen right now. "Tha – Thanks, Luk-uka." That counted as words, right? "Hopefully everyone else—" A gasp shot from her lips, her face twisting in horror. "Oh no, I'm late!"

Luka gathered his guitar from the sidewalk. "If you like, I can give you a lift." He scooped up his bike, nestled the instrument in the front basket and retrieved a yellow helmet from that same basket, extending it to her. "I've got a few deliveries near Alya's anyway. And it's probably a safer mode of transport for your macarons."

"Well, you're not wrong there." She tucked the carton under one arm and accepted the helmet. "Marinette Airways is neither fast nor safe." (Fortunately, the Ladybug Express made up for that.) She plonked on the helmet, but struggled as the strap proved stubborn to adjust.

"Here." Luka worked his magic and she tried not to linger on the fingertips that brushed her jawline.

Soon enough, she was holding onto him like a fuzzless koala, as they zoomed down the narrow street, bound for Alya's apartment.

---

Adrien tugged at the strap of his shoulder bag as he rounded the sleek sedan. He reached for the car door handle, Kagami's silhouette shifting behind the tinted glass. "Careful." Their fingers threaded together as he guided her onto the sidewalk, familiar clogs wrapped around her feet. "I know how tricky those things are to walk in."

Kagami quirked a brow.

He released her hand to click the car door shut behind them. "That is"—he dipped his chin—"I've, uhh… seen a few photoshoots end in stumbles and sprains thanks to them."

"I never stumble."

Adrien shook his head, smiling. Kagami certainly wasn't wrong. There was an irrefutable grace in the way she moved, rivalled only by a certain little bug—but today was about Kagami, not Ladybug! And this morning, his father had expressed his views quite clearly.

Adrien refused to mess this up. He couldn't disappoint his father. And he wouldn't disappoint Kagami.

As their ride rolled off, he found himself admiring her outfit. "You look really nice." Her grandmother's shoes were accompanied by a black and red jumpsuit, her waist cinched by a white belt. He recognised it from the movie premiere. She'd looked nice then, too.

The corner of her mouth lifted. "As do you, Adrien," she said, the pink sheen of her lips catching the sunlight. Was she wearing makeup today? Or did she always look that pretty?

Out the corner of his eye, Adrien glimpsed bubblegum pink. Those pants were as familiar as their owner, who was perched upon the seat of a bright yellow bike, behind Luka. The wind weaved through her pigtails, poking out from beneath her helmet.

Adrien clutched Kagami's hand, his face alight. "Look! It's Marinette!" He launched his free hand in the air, waving their way.

Marinette threw back a cheery wave of her own. "Hey, Adrien, Kagami," she called down the street, her words a little muffled by the hum of a passing car.

The bike eased to a stop in front of them, and Adrien watched as she untwined her arms from around Luka's waist. Had they been riding like that the whole time? His brows furrowed. Maybe it was safer than it looked?

She scooched off the seat. "So, are you guys excited for—" Her left foot met the pavement, but before her right could join it, she lost her footing and stumbled forward.

A gasp lodged itself in Adrien's throat. He lunged forward, his free hand outstretched and ready to catch her.

Luka beat him to it.

Pretty impressive—he was still on his bike, after all. He'd planted his left foot, enclosed in his signature converse, firmly on the sidewalk, while his right remained on the bike pedal.

Adrien blinked, his eyes widening, as Luka's fingers took their time travelling from Marinette's shoulders to rest on his handlebars.

She beamed up at her saviour. "Thank you, Luka."

"Ye-ah." Adrien's voice cracked. After a brief clear of his throat, he tried again. "Nice reflexes!"

"Hello, Marinette," said Kagami, and he was reminded of the warm hand he still held. Her focus turned to Luka, her dark bob swaying with the movement. "It's nice to see you again."

"Always a pleasure, Kagami!" Luka's lips lifted. "You too, Adrien," he acknowledged with a nod of his head.

Adrien returned the nod. "I didn't know you'd be coming." Everyone went silent, Kagami shot him a side glance, and his lips curled to one side. Had he said something wrong?

Marinette spoke up first. "Oh! Um." She pressed her pointer fingers together. "Did I forget to mention that?" Her eyes jumped between his and the ground. "Sorry, it's been a crazy week and my brain's a bit—"

"No no, Marinette. Don't apologise!" Adrien rubbed at the nape of his neck. "It's cool that you're joining us, Luka!"

And it was.

He seemed like an awesome guy. There was a reason Adrien had picked him to wield a Miraculous, after all.

Luka nodded toward the yellow box on the back of his bike. "I just have to get through my shift first." He glanced between his three companions. "I haven't played many video games, but I'm looking forward to spending time with everyone."

"Don't worry, Luka." Marinette's pink-dusted cheeks puffed up as she smiled his way, and pulled a double thumbs up. "You'll be a pro in no time!"

"Definitely!" Adrien coaxed his hand from Kagami's to give his own double thumbs up. "With Marinette's help, you'll be a gaming champ before the day is over."

Pleasant memories filled his mind. Puns, deep-and-meaningfuls and her amazing advice.

Last night, Adrien had leaped from one slated roof to the next as though on autopilot. When he'd glimpsed his classmate from afar, tending to her rooftop plants, his legs had carried him the rest of the way of their own volition. And boy, was he thankful for that.

Clad in his catsuit, he'd told Marinette she'd helped him far more than she'd probably ever know. And well, he hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said those two boys, whoever they were, were lucky she cared so much about them.

Clearly, Luka was one of those boys. It was obvious by the way she beamed at him.

So who was the other?

Did he know him?

Kagami leaned in close, her arms looping around his bicep. "Shall we head upstairs, Adrien?"

"—hate to be responsible for any cold pizzas," Luka was saying, his sights still set on Marinette. "Speaking of which"—his hand dipped into the box behind his bicycle seat—"these are under Alya's name." He procured a stack of three pizza boxes, his hands splayed beneath them.

Kagami's arms slipped from Adrien's bicep as he stepped forward. "Thanks, Luka. I'll take them off your hands." As he did just that, the tantalising aroma of spicy pepperoni teased his tastebuds. "We'll be sure to save a few slices for you."

Marinette plucked a carton from the basket latched to the front of Luka's bike, and Adrien heard something – or rather, several somethings – rattling around inside it. "And, of course"—she brandished the carton between two petite hands—"we'll be sure to save you some macarons!" She winked at Luka.

Adrien's stomach clenched. Maybe the sandwich he'd downed on the drive here hadn't filled him up. Though to be fair, the Dupain-Cheng macarons were so good they'd make a stuffed stomach grumble.

With a laugh, Luka pushed off the pavement and his bike rolled into motion. "See you all around three, then!" And with that, he was off.

Adrien's sights shifted between Kagami and Marinette. "Shall we?" With his hands preoccupied by the pizza boxes, he instead nudged his head toward the square-pillared entrance of an aged apartment complex, five stories high and built with weather-worn bricks.

To his side, Kagami's clogs clicked on the sidewalk as they approached an iron gate. And Marinette, two steps ahead, tapped on her phone as she shouldered the gate aside. "It's never locked," she said, as they passed by a row of beige mailboxes, fixed to the wall in the entrance corridor. "I'll let Alya know we're here with the pizzas."

He heard the phone ring twice, then Alya's voice blared through the speaker.

"Hey, M! Let me guess. Your gerbil ate your favourite sweater and your lucky socks have done a runner?"

Marinette snorted, something he wasn't sure he'd ever heard her do. "For your information," she announced, slapping her free hand to her hip, "it'd be a hamster, not a gerbil. We've been through this. And I'll have you know I'm right downstairs. Adrien and Kagami are here, too."

"Come again?" Amusement was thick in Alya's voice. "My phone must be acting up 'cause it almost sounded like you said you're downstairs. As in, on time."

"Yes. Thanks, Captain Obvious, for your keen observation."

"What can I say? It's the journalist in me."

Marinette glanced between him and Kagami, a cheeky smirk sliding across her rosy lips. "Say, guys. We've got three free pizzas. That's one whole pizza each. What say we backtrack to Places des Vosges to eat these bad boys without Alya's help?"

Despite her threats, she led them through a nearby door, into an artificially lit stairwell, and they commenced their five-storey climb—with her up front and Kagami beside him.

"Did you hear that, babe? My girl's threatening to deprive you of your margherita pizza—"

"What?!" came Nino's muffled outcry, followed by the rushed thumps of footsteps. "I dipped into my savings to get triple cheese!" He was louder now; probably right beside Alya. "She can't do this to me!"

Marinette stole a glance back at him and Kagami as they trekked up the stairs. Her lips were pursed and by the twinkle in her eye, she must've been biting back laughter. He couldn't help but grin to himself. He kind of liked her being sassy like this.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet boy," Alya was saying. "Didn't you only have, what, four euros left in your savings? And you spent it on extra cheese?"

"Sacrilege!" Adrien chipped in, his voice teeming with faux horror. "Alya, tell Nino we can't be friends anymore." He felt Plagg writhe inside his shirt and could simply imagine the kwami's outrage at the shade he'd just thrown on his precious cheese.

Up ahead, Marinette's shoulders shook in sync with a giggle.

"Ha! Tell him yourself, Pretty Boy."

"Okay okay," Marinette piped in. Even with her back to him, he could hear the smile in her voice. "Be there in just a sec, Al."

"Can't wait!"

With that, the call ended, and all he heard was the echoing taps of their feet on wooden steps. Then, Marinette stopped on a stair landing like the three they'd just passed and knocked on the second of three doors, its surface riddled with dents of varying sizes.

When the scent of spicy pepperoni again floated through the air, Adrien's eyes flicked to Kagami. "Guess it's a good thing pizza's not on the menu tonight, huh?"

"Two of my favourite foods in one day?" Kagami's mouth quirked up. "That sounds perfect, Adrien."

Perfect.

It sounded perfect.

Adrien looked to Marinette, a grateful smile at the ready. It'd been her perfect suggestion, after all.

But she didn't smile back.

Those blue eyes had fallen to her ballerina flats—and this time, when his stomach clenched, Adrien had to wonder if hunger was truly to blame.