"It will just take a second," Marinette promises, running off to their bedroom where she had left her sketchbook.

Adrien stretches out on their couch in the living room, pressing his back against the cushion and calling after her. "You know I'm not the best at these things!" He warns.

The couple had just finished dinner and were relaxing together, catching up on some TV. Marinette had been fidgety all evening, tapping her foot, playing with her fingers, and occasionally tense. It had worried Adrien a bit, knowing her tells of when she was anxious, but knew she would say something if something was wrong.

The late afternoon sunbeams were streaming in when she sprung from her seat suddenly and said she was working on some designs and wanted Adrien to see them, it wasn't too out of the ordinary.

She hustles down the stairs and rounds the corner into their generously sized living room. Their style wasn't glitzy, nor modern; it was homey, lived in. Blankets hung over chairs backs, various books scattered around the surfaces in the room, and their hamster, Amande, running around in his cage against the wall. It was perfect.

She sits cross-legged on the couch next to him, leaving some space between as she turns to face him. She keeps her head down as she flips through her sketches, before finally turning to the one of interest. "Yeah, so, I drew these up the other day, and I want to know what you think," she says earnestly, handing him the sketchbook.

He gladly accepts, always fascinated by the designs his wife created for fun or for their various fashion lines that they've established and grown from Agreste Fashion. Adrien mostly manages the business side, being the head of the company, making decisions for new lines and production.

But he raises an eyebrow when he looks over the sketches from Marinette, he suppresses a chuckle, "Ha, I think your scale is off a bit, M'lady."

"How so?" she replies quickly, as if expecting this question to arise. Her hands are tucked under her feet in front of her, leaning forward slightly towards him.

He smiles, now thinking it's a joke, "Well, these measurements make it seem like the piece is only a foot long," he wipes some eraser dust off the page reflexively, "it's as if this were for a doll."

Mari leans in slightly more, her eyes not leaving his face, "Or...?"

His gaze moves to her slowly, "'Or?' Or... what, I don't know?" he looks back down at the sketch.

On the surface it wasn't the craziest thing he'd seen Mari design, especially after they've had a drink or two, but in the end, most of those were just surprises for them to laugh at the next morning. Right now, she was serious. All previous anxiousness has been absorbed into her focus.

Shorts and a T-shirt. That's all it seemed to be. The sketch was of what did seem like was meant for a doll. The proportions were off, even if the scale was right. The colors were bold: bright green shorts and sky-blue shirt.

"Adrien," He looks back into her bluebell eyes. "What else would fit clothes like this?" she asks with a laugh escaping her lips at the end from watching him struggle.

It takes another second before something clicks in his mind, "A baby! You want to start a baby clothing line?" He asks excitedly, "It'd definitely be a new direction for us..."

She rolls her eyes, "Not exactly," her hands slide up to her belly, pulling back some of her loose dress to caress a small baby bump, trying to hold back a huge smile from taking over her entire face, and failing.

The sketchbook falls from Adrien's hands, the paper crumpling against the floor. His mouth hangs agape, his eyes shooting from her belly to her eyes, back and forth. His gaze finally rests on her face, managing a whisper breathlessly "Really?" He had noticed Mari favoring looser clothing lately but figured it was an effect of the rising summer temperatures.

She nods excitedly, glad she's finally able to tell Adrien what she had been keeping a secret for a few weeks, just to make sure it was real.

His eyes glisten, exclaiming in joy before wrapping his arms around her, pulling her over top of him as he falls backwards onto the couch, "Marinette, princess, this is incredible, amazing! I-I love you so much." He stammers, kissing her repeatedly.

"I love you too," she whispers, tears flowing from her eyes.

After a few more kisses he sits up and holds her in his arms, "How long have you known?"

"A month or so, at least when I knew for sure. I'll be 12 weeks along this Wednesday." She nestles her head on his shoulder, picking up and guiding his hand to her belly. "I wanted to wait..."

"I know, I understand" he changes to a comforting tone, rubbing her stomach.

"I didn't want to worry you again, not with opening the new venue and the whole thing with the venders-"

"Those things don't matter," he cuts off her rambling, "I want to be there for you, no matter what." He assures her.

She nods, holding back tears, "I know."

"So when are we telling Alya and Nino, if she hasn't deduced it herself already." He jokes, lifting the mood back up.

She chuckles softly, "I do think she's been suspicious lately. I'll probably text her tomorrow then she'll video call me, so I better clear my schedule."

"You probably should. We should have your parents over this weekend for dinner, do a big reveal-surprise thing," This tone drops on the last syllable, shifting himself anxiously.

She turns to him, "What, what's wrong?" She brushes some of his hair that had fallen in his face.

He shrugs, "It's uh, something, something my therapist brought up last week." He clears his throat, "They said-, they suggested that maybe it's time to reach out to my father."

Marinette sits up, "Really?" she asks, concerned, "It's been, what, 12 years?"

He nods half-heartedly, "Something like that, yeah," he sighs, "I just don't know if I'm ready still. He- he kept me practically locked up in our home for years, and destroyed Paris on multiple occasions as Hawkmoth, tried to kill me as Chat, inadvertently; I don't know if I can do it" his head drops down, "But I think I have to."

She soothes him, running her hand down his arm, "Have you really not contacted him at all since the trial?"

Nodding, he lifts his head, "I, I kind of want to show him, to tell him that I'm better off now, that my life is amazing-" he holds her hand that's on his arm, "without him."

She touches his hand to her cheek, "Whatever you decide, I support you." She whispers.