Chapter Text
The soulmark on her hands is that of a guitar pic, and Marinette approaches Adrien with a words that shudder and shake like that of a swimmer caught in a wave. He looks at her with that questionably hesitant smile that she's grown accustomed to seeing lately, and Alya has to finish the sentence for her.
"She asked if you like music," her best friend supplies easily, eyes tracking him critically for his response.
Adrien's face relaxes into a more confident, lazy grin. "It's okay," he says, and he continues with "but I'm not talented at it."
"I'm sure you would be, if you tried," Marinette blurts out, her hands twisted in front of her as she tries not to flail. "I used to feel that way about design, but I'm actually not bad at it! Not... that you know, I'm as good as your father or anything, but I am-"
"I think you are," Adrien says seriously.
Marinette pauses before laughing nervously. "I'm really not," she mumbles.
Before Alya can correct her, Adrien takes the initiative. "You are, though, or at least, you will be once your his age." The blond shuffles on his feet, adjusting how his bag rests against his shoulder with one hand. "If I really tried with piano, I guess I could do that too, but I'm just not as passionate about it as you are with fashion."
Marinette's mind blanks for a moment as she processes his last sentence. Her ears feel fuzzy, and she's mutely aware of Alya's palm coming to rest on her shoulder. Marinette's heartbeat is frantic and strong when she asks, "piano?"
"Yeah," Adrien says with a wistful tone. "My mother and I used to play together. She was much better than I am."
"That sounds great, Adrien. I hate to break up a perfectly good conversation, but I need to grab Marinette for something. She agreed to babysit. No way am I letting her forget," Alya says crisply with a false hint of panic, her spare hand waving in the air at every syllable.
Marinette, after hours of ranting and rambling about how she really thought he was the one, nearly drops her slice of cake on her bed as she realizes the obvious. "Oh my god," she says loudly.
Alya gives a grunt as she chews her croissant.
"We left without saying anything polite about what he said about his mother. What if he thinks-"
Her friend sighs. "Marinette, Adrien is too kind to think we meant anything by it besides what I said."
Marinette points an accusing finger when she says, "but you lied!"
"Mari."
"I just-"
"Mari."
"Yes?"
"I will apologize to him tomorrow, but that doesn't change the fact that he's not your soulmate. He's seen your hand, just like any other one of our classmates, and he's not said a word."
"He's a model," Marinette mumbles. She kicks out a foot against her blankets when she adds, "maybe his father doesn't approve-"
Alya cuts her off once more. "You told me that Adrien's father and mother were famous for their matching neck soulmarks. Isn't the butterfly branding for Gabriel based on that?"
The room is quiet for a second before the raven haired girl bursts into sobs, prompting Alya to join her on the bed for a comforting hug. They spend the rest of Alya's visit like that, and Marinette doesn't hesitate to tell the other girl that she appreciates her.
"Girl, I appreciate you too. You keep me on my toes."
Marinette laughs and adds, "maybe a bit too much."
"What's that American story? Goldilocks? You keep me on my toes just right."
"Sure I do, sure."
Alya slaps her knee as she insists that's the case, and the two drop the subject only when sleep pulls them under, their lips too sluggish to repeat any slight argument.