Adrien

The sharp flash of red from the thermometer's light jolted Adrien back to the present. He frowned, moving the device to Emily's other ear for confirmation. The second reading was no better—a matching red glow. A high temperature.

The worry in his chest grew, but his mind, stubborn and unruly, kept slipping back to the previous days. He had been stuck in a singular focus since then. Marinette. Everything about yesterday had been exactly what they needed—not just individually, but for them as them. Master Fu's words still echoed in his head, like a soothing balm on their long-unspoken wounds. He'd been right. They would find their way back together. They were finding their way back together.

The walls between them were crumbling, and for the first time in years, it felt like they were on the same page.

Emily's harsh, throaty cough jolted him back to the present, pulling him out of the Marinette haze that had been clouding his brain all day. He needed to focus. Emily wasn't well, and whatever illness was brewing inside her needed his full attention.

'Here,' Adrien murmured, grabbing the syringe applicator and carefully measuring out the paracetamol. He placed it beside Emily and lifted her into a sitting position. Her little body shook as another round of coughs rattled her chest, each one rougher than the last.

'Do you want me to do it?' he asked softly.

She shook her head, which only triggered another coughing fit. Adrien felt helpless as he watched her small hand reach for the syringe. Determined, Emily squirted the medicine into her mouth with a precision and independence that both impressed and worried him. She handed the empty applicator back to him, then burrowed deeper under her Encanto blanket, clutching her bugaboo tightly to her chest.

He sat beside her for a moment, rubbing her back gently, as she settled. No matter how much his mind wanted to drift back to Marinette—her laugh, her words, her hold—right now, Emily was all that mattered.

He reached out, gently brushing a damp strand of hair from her flushed face. The small whimper she let out tugged at his heart, twisting it in ways he couldn't bear. He hated seeing her like this—so fragile, so vulnerable. The fear that came with her being ill struck him deep, coiling in his chest and refusing to let go.

Emily had never been able to fight off viruses as easily as other kids. Her chest issues always left her on the back foot, every illness turning into a battle that required constant vigilance. His gaze flickered to the thermometer, his jaw tightening. Her temperature needed to be monitored closely—one spike could mean a trip to the hospital. It was a weight he carried every time she so much as sneezed, but one he would bear a thousand times over if it meant keeping her safe.

'The world's greatest babysitters are here!'

The sound of laughter echoed through the mansion's hallway as Alya and Nino entered the lounge. He had completely forgotten they were coming to look after Emily today, so he could get fitted for his suit. But there was no way he was leaving her, not with her temperature soaring so high she was on the verge of a hospital visit.

'I've got Candyland.' Nino's face appeared in the doorway, his smile wide, only for it to fade into a look of immediate concern. He moved forward, crouching beside the sofa, his eyes searching for answers from Adrien. 'What's her temperature?'

He appreciated that he didn't have to explain everything to his friends. They knew her, they knew him, and they knew the history. If Emily was on the sofa, not dancing around like usual, it was a sign something was seriously wrong.

'Thirty-eight point seven.'

Nino winced, understanding the gravity of the situation.

'I'm sorry I didn't contact you earlier. I was so caught up with Emily, I completely forgot you were coming over,' he said, rubbing the back of his neck in anxiety.

'Don't worry about it, Buttercup. We're here now. Let us take over, and you can go get your glad rags sorted for the ball,' Alya said as she walked in, dropping bags onto the sofa and moving closer. 'How's my favourite girl?' she asked, gently pushing Nino aside to get closer to Emily.

'I sick.' Emily's voice was weak, barely above a whisper.

Alya knelt beside her. 'Would you like anything? Tell me what you want, and Uncle Nino will go and get it for you.'

Nino gasped in exaggerated shock, standing up quickly. 'It's snowing out there! It's freezing!'

Alya turned to face him, and despite the worry tightening Adrien's chest, he couldn't help but smile.

'Well, it's a good thing you have your hat, then, isn't it?'

Nino muttered under his breath as he moved away, but Adrien knew he didn't mean it. His friends would do anything for his sister.

'It's alright,' Adrien said, pushing himself up from his position beside Emily. He looked down at her, so small and fragile. It was moments like this that reminded him of her youth—of the little girl who, just a few hours ago, had been her usual sassy self. The confident, playful three-year-old he was used to spending his days with. But now, seeing her so vulnerable, so helpless, all Adrien wanted to do was scoop her up in his arms and never let go. He couldn't shake the feeling that, in this state, she seemed so much younger than her age. His sister, the one who had became the light of his life, now seemed so fragile, like she might slip away if he wasn't careful.

Alya's tender hand stroked Emily's head, her movements slow and gentle, soothing the feverish girl to sleep. He watched them both, his heart heavy.

Nino stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. 'Man, seriously. You never go out. I promise! We'll look after her like our own. You know that. Go and get your suit fitted, and we'll stay here with Emily on Thursday night.'

Adrien looked between his friends, torn. On one hand, he should stay. Emily was his sister—his responsibility. He had to be here, watching over her, especially now when she was so sick. But then, there was Marinette. The thought of her made his heart ache. This could be his last chance to make things right, to show her that staying with him, with them, was worth it. His mind wandered back to the months after their breakup, to the raw ache in his chest when she left, a feeling that had never fully faded. It had been so hard to let her go, and now, after everything that had happened, he was still desperate to make her see him, see them, the way he had once hoped she would.

But as much as the thought of Marinette pulled at him, another, much stronger emotion gripped his chest. What if something happens to Emily? The fear squeezed his heart so tightly it hurt to breathe. He couldn't risk being away from her, not now. Not when she was sick. Emily was his priority, always had been. From the moment she was born, he had promised himself that he would protect her, that no matter what else happened in his life, she would always come first. He couldn't break that promise.

His gaze shifted back to Emily, her small chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. She was his only family. His little sister. He had to stay with her. The choice was clear, even if it tore at his heart in ways he couldn't explain.

'I'll just call Mar—my date—and tell her I won't be going to the gala. That she can go without me.'

Alya's hand stilled, and Adrien could feel the weight of her gaze even before he met it. He was sure she'd caught the slip.

'A date?' she asked, Adrien unsure whether to answer or not.

He shifted uncomfortably on the spot. 'Um, yeah.'

Alya glanced at Nino before looking back to Adrien. 'You never have a date.'

The silence between the three of them was nothing less than awkward. He was just glad Emily was asleep so she couldn't jump in and, unceremoniously, reveal the truth.

'Who's your date, Adrien?'

He glanced over at Nino, silently hoping his bro would have his back, but the way Nino stood, arms crossed, his eyes sharp with unspoken understanding, told him everything. He'd heard the slip up too.

'Just this... girl. We've been spending a lot of time together recently, and...yeah.'

The air in the room shifted. Alya stood, her movements sharp and deliberate. She was tall—taller than most of the gang—but right now, standing there with a quiet fury radiating from her, Adrien felt small, as if the ground beneath him had shrunk. Her usual warm, playful expression was completely gone, replaced by something colder, harder.

'Kitchen. Now!'

It was a low command, and without waiting for a response, she stormed out of the room. He felt the sting of fear settle in his chest. He knew what was coming.

Nino gave him a small, sympathetic grimace before moving to take Alya's place by Emily's side. He leaned down, muttering, 'I'll give Sophia a call.'

Adrien nodded, his throat dry. He hesitated at the doorway for a moment before finally stepping through it, his movement slower than usual, his mind racing. He didn't want to face what was coming, but he knew there was no avoiding it.

Alya stormed into the kitchen, her movements sharp and purposeful. The sound of her footsteps echoed in the hallway, and Adrien hesitated for a moment before following. He could already hear the faint clink of dishes as she opened and closed drawers, her frustration palpable in the air.

When he stepped into the kitchen, she was man handling his cutlery from the dishwasher into the cupboards, her tall frame cutting through the space in tight, controlled strides. Her jaw set in a hard line. Every few steps, she would glance over her shoulder at him, her gaze cold, unreadable. Adrien stood frozen by the doorway, unsure whether to stay or step closer, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from her.

The tension between them hung thick in the air, and Adrien's heart was pounding in his chest, a mixture of guilt and fear tightening around him. He'd seen Alya angry before, but this was different. This wasn't just annoyance—it was something deeper, something sharp. Her movements, usually full of energy and playfulness, now seemed controlled, deliberate.

He swallowed hard, feeling a knot in his stomach as she continued her restless pacing. His mind raced, trying to figure out what to say, but every thought seemed to slip away before he could grasp it. He was terrified of this conversation, terrified of what Alya would say. She wasn't just a friend; she was family, and he knew how much he'd just upset her by that slip.

'Alya...' he finally ventured, his voice quiet and unsure. He wanted to say more, wanted to explain himself, but the words felt like they were stuck in his throat, caught between guilt and fear.

She stopped mid-pace, her eyes narrowing, and for a moment, Adrien thought she might snap at him. But, instead, she crossed her arms, standing still for the first time since entering the kitchen. The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy, and Adrien was suddenly acutely aware of how alone they were in the room.

'What's going on, Adrien?' Alya's voice was low, almost dangerous. There was no accusation in it, just a quiet, piercing calm that made Adrien feel even more uneasy.

Her eyes were sharp, piercing through him with an intensity that made his stomach tighten. 'Tell me, Adrien,' she demanded, her voice low but full of disbelief. 'Why would you run back to her? After everything? After she—' She stopped herself, her fists clenching at her sides, her frustration radiating in waves. 'Don't you remember how she left you? Don't you remember how it felt when she just walked away without a care? She's going back to New York, to her boyfriend. She doesn't want to stay here.'

His breath hitched in his chest, the memory of Marinette's departure rising up in a tidal wave. The confusion, the heartache—it was still so fresh, so raw. Alya's words were a sting, but they didn't surprise him. He knew what she was trying to say. She didn't understand why he'd even think of going back to someone who had hurt him.

'I remember,' he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. 'I remember every damn second of it. The feeling of my world crashing down when she chose to break up, when she chose to leave... It's not something I can forget, Alya.'

Her eyes hardened, her jaw clenched. 'Then why, Adrien? Why would you go crawling back to her? After all that? After she abandoned you and found someone else?' Her voice cracked with frustration. She took a step toward him, fury and disbelief written all over her face. 'You can't honestly want to be with someone who did that to you. You can't seriously still be in love with her after everything.'

His chest tightened, the familiar pain surging to the forefront again. He wanted to shout, to defend himself, but the anger inside him was beginning to swell in a way he couldn't quite control. 'It's not that simple,' he snapped, his voice trembling with emotion. 'You don't understand the reasons behind it. I agreed to the split. She might have initiated it, but I supported it. You don't understand.'

Alya's face twisted with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance. 'I don't understand?' she repeated, her voice low and dangerous. 'You're still telling me that you want to be with someone who couldn't even decide between you and Ch–?' She stopped herself, rubbing her hand over her face. He knew what she was going to say though. Or rather, who.

'Why would you want to be with someone who couldn't make up her mind and then ran when things got too difficult?'

He felt his anger flare. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his entire body tense as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. 'I'm not stupid, Alya!' he shot back, his voice rising. 'But it's not that simple, okay?'

She scoffed, rolling her eyes in frustration. 'She wasn't—isn't—the one who's ever going to choose you. There is someone else who's always going to be standing in your way. You need to just forget it, Adrien, before she forgets you again.'

His chest tightened with something much darker, something that gnawed at him the more she spoke. She was right in some ways, and yet... she wasn't–she didn't know that hidden piece of information. The one piece which connected everything together. It wasn't about simply "letting go." The feelings were too complex for that, and in his heart, he knew he didn't need to–not any more.

But that's when it hit him. Suddenly, it was like everything clicked into place. Alya's words, her frustration, the anger in her voice—it wasn't just about him any more. This anger wasn't about what happened to him.

'Wait.' His voice was softer now, a question forming in his mind. He took a step back, his eyes searching Alya's face. 'This isn't just about me, is it?'

She faltered, her eyes momentarily losing their edge. She opened her mouth, but closed it again, as if trying to fight the words that were threatening to spill out. Adrien watched her carefully, feeling his anger begin to simmer, replaced by a sudden sense of clarity.

'You're not angry about me going back to her,' he said, his voice slow but firm. 'You're angry because of how she left. Because of how it felt for you.'

She froze, her face briefly betraying the storm of emotions she was holding back. She turned her head sharply, avoiding his gaze, but he could see it now. The truth that had been hidden behind all her frustration, all her anger. It was more than just him.

'You're not angry because of me,' Adrien continued, his voice gentle now, as if approaching something fragile. 'You're angry because Marinette left Paris. You're angry because she chose to walk away, and you never got to say goodbye to the person you once saw as family.'

Her face flushed with something unreadable—embarrassment, guilt, maybe even a hint of shame. She quickly turned away from him, her shoulders tense. 'I don't know what you're talking about,' she muttered, but her voice lacked conviction.

'No,' Adrien said softly, taking a step closer, his voice filled with understanding. 'I think you do. I think you're more upset about her leaving than I am. It wasn't just a breakup for you. It was losing someone you cared about, someone you never thought you'd have to say goodbye to. It was losing someone who meant so much to you, too.'

Alya didn't turn back to face him. Instead, her shoulders sagged slightly, and for a moment, she looked smaller, defeated. 'I... I'm just trying to protect you, Adrien,' she said, her voice thick with something unspoken. 'I don't want you to keep holding onto someone who left you behind. I don't want you to be the second choice again.'

His heart clenched. He knew she wasn't just trying to protect him—she was trying to protect herself from the pain of that loss. The realisation settled between them, heavy and uncomfortable. He knew now that this argument, this anger, was never just about Marinette and him. It was about the feelings they had all buried, about what had been left unsaid for far too long.

His heart pounded in his chest as the weight of their unspoken feelings hung in the air. His mind was racing, but one question, one thought, kept pushing through. He couldn't ignore it any.

'Adrien, you're not the only one Marinette's been seeing since she got back,' Alya finally muttered, her voice tight, almost angry. 'She... she's been seeing someone else. I think it's more than friendly.'

His breath caught in his throat. The words cut deeper than he had expected. He felt a strange mixture of betrayal and confusion surge through him. He stared at Alya, studying her face, searching for something—anything—that could explain what she had just said.

But it was when Alya looked away from him that he knew something was wrong. He couldn't stop the rising curiosity, the need to know. Slowly, he took a step forward, his eyes never leaving hers. He reached out, gently taking her hands in his, and the sudden closeness between them made Alya tense, her body stiffening.

'Alya,' he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. 'I know Marinette's secret. You don't need to hide it from me.'

She tried to pull her hands away, but Adrien held on, his grip firm but gentle. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she seemed at a loss for words. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Then she quickly averted her gaze, her voice rising in an attempt to deflect.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' she muttered, pulling at her hands again. 'You're just making things up.'

His expression softened, but there was no denying the truth in his words. He had waited far too long to keep pretending. 'I'm not making anything up, Alya,' he said, his voice steady and calm, but the weight of his words hung in the air. 'I agreed to the breakup because I was in love with someone else too. Someone I worked with. Someone who... who I had a special bond with.'

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she still remained silent, clearly not understanding where he was going with this. Adrien stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers, the tension between them building with each word he spoke.

'Do you want to know who that person was, Alya?' He took another step forward, closing the distance between them, and his voice dropped to a whisper. 'It was Ladybug. I was in love with Ladybug. I still am.'

The words seemed to hang in the air like a thunderclap. Alya's eyes went wide, her mouth slightly agape, as if trying to process the revelation. Her mind was racing, the truth clicking together like pieces of a puzzle. And at that moment, Adrien saw it—the recognition, the realisation in her eyes.

'You... you were in love with Ladybug?' she repeated, her voice barely audible.

Adrien nodded slowly, his eyes softening as he saw the moment of understanding flicker in Alya's expression. He had known it would hit her like this. He had always known that this secret was something that couldn't stay hidden forever. But now that the truth was out, there was a certain relief in it.

'Yes,' he said softly. 'I loved her. I still do. But I knew... I knew that she couldn't be with me. That I couldn't be with her. And when she was so torn between us, between me and everything else... I thought maybe she needed the chance to be free, for her to find her own way.'

Alya was staring at him now, her expression unreadable. She didn't say anything, but the hurt was evident in the way her shoulders slumped, in the tightness of her jaw.

'But that wasn't the end of it,' Adrien continued, stepping even closer, his voice full of quiet intensity. 'My best friend needed a break. She was losing herself. I saw it in her. She was so consumed by everything, by the pressures, by the weight of her responsibilities. So I agreed to give her that space. I thought it was what she needed. But then...when she came back, everything had changed. It wasn't just about me and her any more. It was about her realising that being away from Paris, away from me, was only making things worse. Being apart didn't help her find herself. It made her lose her way even more.'

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. His heart was in his throat as he waited for Alya's reaction. But all she did was look at him—her eyes wide, processing, her lips parted as if she didn't know what to say.

'Alya,' Adrien said softly, his voice quiet but filled with an unspoken plea. 'I'm not the only one who's been holding on to the past. You're angry at Marinette, but maybe you're also angry at yourself for losing a part of her too.'

For the first time, Alya's face softened, and her eyes betrayed the confusion and hurt that she had been hiding behind her anger. She blinked a few times, as though trying to clear the storm in her mind, but the weight of the truth hung between them.

Adrien could feel it—the moment when everything shifted. She wasn't just angry at Marinette. She was angry at herself for not being able to fix things. For not being able to bring everything back to what it once was.

Her eyes flickered with something raw as she finally spoke, her voice quiet but full of emotion. 'I didn't want her to go.' She let out a breath, her hands fidgeting nervously at her sides. 'When I lost Marinette, I lost a part of myself. I know it might sound silly, but even with Trixx still here with me, it wasn't the same. She was more than a friend. She was my family.'

He watched her as she spoke, the depth of her pain unmistakable. He couldn't deny the bond they had, how much it hurt Alya to lose Marinette. He knew that pain all too well. And maybe, just maybe, he hadn't fully understood how much it had affected her until this moment.

Before he could respond, something small stirred in his chest. Trixx, who had been quiet and reserved throughout their conversation, suddenly leapt from Alya's side and landed on the counter, their eyes bright and alert. Adrien turned, only to see Plagg appear from behind him, floating lazily in the air.

'Hey there,' Plagg muttered, lazily stretching his little body. 'Guess we've got company.'

Alya's lips curled into a soft, almost imperceptible smile.

Trixx giggled from their spot. 'It's time, isn't it?' The kwami looked at Adrien, its face softening, but there was a strength in their eyes. 'Go find her, Adrien. Bring her home. She belongs here, with all of us. We can't lose her again.'

'No we can't,' Alya agreed, her face more sheepish than he'd ever seen before.

Adrien hesitated, his heart pounding. She was right. Marinette needed to come home. And if anyone could bring her back, it was him.

But Alya's voice broke through his thoughts. 'You know, you've got a ball to get ready for, right? I'm sure your fairy godmother's waiting for you.' Her lips curled into a playful grin, but the tenderness in her eyes remained. 'Go, Adrien. Go do what you have to do. We'll keep you informed about Emily.'

Adrien chuckled, though his mind was still spinning with the thought of Marinette. 'I guess you're right,' he said, though his heart was in a completely different place. He nodded at Alya before stepping out into the hallway, feeling the weight of everything he needed to do weighing on him.

*****

A few hours later, and a couple of thousand annoying texts to Nino and Alya, Adrien found himself walking down the Champs-Élysées, the afternoon air crisp as he made his way towards his destination. His thoughts drifted back to Alya's words, to Marinette, to the promise he had made to bring her home. His heartfelt heavy, but determined. He couldn't leave her lost in the shadows of her own confusion any more. She had to come back to Paris—to him, to everyone who cared for her. She needed to be away from Johnny in more ways than one.

As he passed one of the shop windows, something caught his eye. He slowed his pace, stepping closer to the glass. There, on a velvet cushion under soft lighting, was a display. He blinked, not sure at first what exactly drew him in.

It was a simple thing, really. Small and unassuming, gleaming under the light. Its edges were perfectly cut, sparkling with an inner fire that seemed almost too beautiful to be real. Its clarity caught his breath as he stared at it, transfixed by the way the light danced across its surface, shifting and shimmering in the evening glow.

He couldn't tear his eyes away. The more he studied it, the more he saw. It was perfect. A perfect reflection of everything he felt for Marinette, and what would most certainly make a perfect, yet certifiably insane, Christmas gift.

He stepped closer, pressing his palm gently against the cool glass of the window. His thoughts ran wild as he found himself comparing it to the girl he loved. Flawless. Its beauty undeniable—just like Marinette. On the outside, it sparkled and shone, but it was the depths within that made it truly breathtaking. The way it held its light, its warmth, even in the darkest shadows. Just like Marinette, there was a fire within her that no one could dim.

A symbol of eternal commitment, of love that never faded. And as his eyes traced the edges, he realised that's exactly how he saw her: unyielding, brilliant, eternal. She was strong and rare, and the more you looked at her, the more you saw in her—a depth, a strength, a beauty that could never truly be captured in words.

But it wasn't just her outer beauty, like these perfect facets, that captivated him. It was the way she carried herself, the quiet grace, the selflessness she showed without asking for anything in return. She was tough, but her softness was what made her truly extraordinary.

His fingers grazed the glass of the shop window as he continued to stare, a wave of emotion flooding over him. He had to bring Marinette home. He had to make sure she knew how much she meant to him, how he couldn't live with the thought of her being lost, of her feeling like she didn't belong. He had to show her that, just like this gift, she was everything he had been searching for—everything he would never let slip through his fingers again.

And as his heart swelled with the realisation, he knew he had to do whatever it took to make her see that she was the one thing he had always been waiting for, and the soft chime of the shop bell was the beginning of one other thing he had always wanted.