The Vulnerability of Pink

LaTe NiGHT TaLKS

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THE AMOUNT OF TREPIDATION THAT racked Marinette's nerves was mad stupid. Too many events had surfaced their ugly, pimpled heads in the rapid span of five minutes. The girl decided to focus on the most glaringly obvious issue foremost.

"Adrien, why do you have a can of beer in your pants?"

The question wasn't an eccentric one, in fact an average one to bring up at a party. However, he had asked her to look out for him, making certain that he didn't come into any contact with the tempting substance. Her thoughts increased tenfold as Adrien crossed the distance, in the quiet room they now found themselves occupying, to pop a squat on the cushy window bench.

"I thought the alcohol could help quell your anxiety some," he explained, innocence claiming his light features. She had no room to disagree with him. As if her confidence hadn't already taken a major nose dive just by entering the frat house alone, that grabby dude was enough to cause approximately ten stress zits.

"Oh, thank you," she nodded, breaking the gap between them, taking her place next to his casually sitting figure, reaching out to grasp the chilled can. Her polished nails found the tab, flicking it open effortlessly. The dry sizzle from the oxygen releasing sent a welcomed shiver down her spine.

"What about the Sprite and water bottles?" Marinette catechized gently. He shrugged, "I thought you'd like options. You don't seem to be the kind of gal that enjoys her choices being made for her."

Okay wow, he hit the mark once again. She began to wonder just how much psychology the blonde had memorized. Adrien implied to have slaved arduous hours to get behavior patterns down verbatim.

"I'm taking your vote of silence as your way of suggesting that I was correct," he haughtily said, knocking his shoulder into hers with good nature, like two bros in camaraderie.

The impingement was unsettling. Marinette audibly winced, coiling her skirt clad legs into her chest securely. It must have slipped his brain, the fact that she already rejected his touch so adamantly. Not because she was particularly offended by Adrien himself, but because she was nervous by any means of physical connection at this juncture.

Mutely, Adrien scooted away, giving the dark haired girl ample space to breathe. One more admirable thing to add to the list was how he neglected to pry. The two sat in a pregnant silence, the air growing just heavy enough, the weight of whatever was about to occur seeping into their mucid pores.

"When you disappeared, a guy..." she hindered, one hand squeezing the beer can, the other fisting the bounteous fabric of her skirt. "A guy stuck his hand u-up my s-skirt. H-He also grabbed my hips too hard, not l-letting me escape," she choked out. The delivery was numb, despite the heartbreak smeared on her face.

"Who?" Adrien quizzed through clenched teeth. "No. That doesn't matter right now."

"What the hell Mari? Of course it does! I swore I would protect you, and instead I make a mockery my word? No dice," he firmly uttered, growing red with fury. She sighed. It looked like there was no chance in trying to talk things out anymore.

Wordlessly, she reached toward the band of his jeans, snagging the neck of a water bottle. Setting the beer to the side, Marinette clicked the bottle ajar, stealing a quick swig before jarring his jaw forcefully open. She poured a sip into his mouth, attempting to quench the fire before emotions grew too complicated.