Dearly Despised, (I love you)

Dinner at the Dupain-Chengs

A/N: No because what are you supposed to do after you make out with your enemy? Have dinner!? (yeah)

ALSO ART OF *THE KISS* FROM LAST CHAPTER HAS BEEN ADDED (and can be found on insta).

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Time was an unfair concept.

1; because it ran out, and so Adrien was no longer smothered by his (fake!) girlfriend's mouth counting the seconds until he'd pass out.

And 2; because it went on forever, so Adrien's mind would, for eternity, carry the double-edged memory of being smothered by his (very real!) enemy's mouth.

Some would describe it as bittersweet – but it wasn't. Just very, very sweet, and every sensation in his body—bar his brain screaming why did you just do that—reminded him with a prickling intensity that he thought so. Now he had to grasp he'd soon be attending a 'family' dinner—wherein 'family' would show up—and pretend to some of the nicest people he'd ever met that he was smitten by their daughter (and not ever making it his mission to mess with her sanity).

He could do that. He could be calm, cool, and collected as he stood panicking, hot, and without words.

"Uh..."

Hot whips of reality took over as he stared into the mirror of horror: Her cheeks flushed so deep her freckles were indistinct, and her freshly-polished lips tremored with lingering laboured breaths.

Cool. He'd done that to her. It was fine; he'd done that. He'd done that.

He did not just do that.

They did not just do that.

A light shaking in his jean pocket held Plagg, condensing his laughter, reminding him they did in fact just do that. And he had, in fact, really, really enjoyed it. His own lips tingled with the memory's stain as his veins cooled down. Every inch of his body was an alarming, hot reminder he had just kissed Marinette Dupain-Cheng and so, so disastrously willingly, and suddenly all the mental gymnastics to calm himself had retired.

He opened his mouth – the one so animatedly obsessed with hers a second ago – and rubbed the back of his neck – remember the one she was near-clawing at earlier?

"Um so—"

"Clothes! Our– Your clothes. To take off. I mean! To get changed. Out of. Into. Into the ones... I... I'll go get."

Adrien watched as Marinette hurried around her pink room, tipping over boxes. "My...clothes...?"

"I practice sewing all sorts of clothes. So whatever I find in your size might not be finished."

She spoke better now with her back to him, fists on her hips as she stared down the collection of many-coloured disarray. Mourning the collapse of her composure, he slunk behind, catching the brilliant sight of his frame dwarfing her in a full-length mirror – Even more delightfully, the way her eyes blew open at his beating chest ghosting her back.

"Do you know my size?" he said, speaking into her neck innocently.

Her hands deep in fabrics stilled. "N-no..."

He titled forward. "Do you need to check?"

She spun around, blessing him with the deer-in-headlights look, like she too simultaneously realised what they were doing last time they'd been this close. Instead of the distance jarring Marinette, she remained in his caging-frame and blinked. He lingered in suspense hoping she was about to address the elephant in the room or go on like his presence didn't affect her.