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Marinette wondered, back propped up against a tree trunk and fiddling with her knitting needles, how long it would take before Alya and Nino noticed the looks she had been sharing with Adrien.
He was sitting a platonic distance from her (where their thighs weren’t pressed to each other’s and neither would be tempted to place their head on the other’s shoulder), one knee up, one leg outstretched, fair skin almost as stark against his black shirt as the white one crumpled in his lap.
Marinette didn’t see the modest swell of his biceps that much, but he had rolled up his sleeves, and was clearly loving the way she ogled him .
Not that he was any better.
Because Marinette had pulled her hair from its pigtails and shrugged off her blazer, so her collarbones and the flesh of her arms were out, and she was sure, sure , that Adrien was thinking about all the times he had thumbed her hair aside so he could kiss her neck.
Smiling, and if anyone looked close, blushing, Marinette continued with her knitting.
“Nino, look here,” Alya called. She was sprawled out, head in Nino’s lap, jeans rolled up to her knees, honeyed by sunlight. She used Marinette’s blazer to shield half her face from the sun while Nino played with her hair. “Wait, the filter won’t recognise you.”
“Because you’re not focusing on my face properly.” Gently, he rearranged Alya’s hand. Her ladybug charm swung idly. “There— that filter is so ugly.”
“Take a picture!”
Nino rolled his eyes, and tapped her screen. Alya burst into laughter in his lap; Nino rubbed her head fondly.
Outstretching her legs, Marinette nudged Adrien with the end of a ballerina flat.
He looked at her. She looked at him. They smiled.
Curiously, she watched him glance at Nino’s turned back. Then back to her ballerina flat. Then, Adrien sat up properly, took his hand off the ground, and began to stroke her ankle. His palm was crenulated with grass lines.
She bit back her affection when Alya’s phone camera shot up and pointed at her.
“Is the filter working?” she asked beneath the blazer.
Amused, Marinette looped some wool over her needle. “Nope.”
“Dammit. Hold on.”
So Marinette leaned back against the tree trunk, letting the sun fall in a lattice through the branches onto her knit work, and watched Adrien shuffle closer, so he could lay her feet in his lap.
She kept her knitting needles poised carefully but her eyes were preoccupied with him. Adrien had let go of her ankles to pull at the daisies peppered around. He brought one up to his face, squinted, and pinched a hole into the stem. His tongue poked out as he threaded another through it, one eye closed, like preparing a sewing needle.
"Dude, what're you doing?"
Marinette's attention snapped to Nino. The daisy-pulling must have caught his ears, because he had turned around (a hand still buried in Alya's hair) to look. Alya pushed the blazer off her eyes and sat up, too.
They both stared at Marinette's ankles crossed in Adrien's lap.
"I," he said, holding up his daisies, "am making a daisy chain for my dear friend." He patted her ankles.
They didn't look away. "Right…"
A knowing glance was shared — at least they thought it was knowing. Because really, they didn't know, they knew nothing of the inside joke between Adrien's explanation, nor how they weren't just friends — not anymore, at least.
Alya didn't lie back down. She got onto her knees and stretched. "I think I'm gonna go back to the bakery. You guys coming?"
Nino brushed the grass off his jeans and stood up. Adrien and Marinette shook their heads.
"Say hi to my parents for me," she said.
Alya wrapped her head in Marinette's blazer, sleeves bowed under her chin like a bonnet. "Will do."
Adrien fiddled with his daisy chain until Alya and Nino disappeared down the Place des Vosges.
Marinette placed down her knitting and peered over the shadow arching across her shins to see Adrien tying his daisy chain off around her right ankle.
"How pretty," she said.
"I thought you'd like it." He fixed the petals so they didn't squash.
He raised his head again. Alya and Nino were out of sight. Adrien shot Marinette a grin.
"I'm armed," she said, flashing him her knitting needles when he crawled up to her on all fours. "If you get handsy…" Marinette made a stabbing gesture.
"Ouch, so mean." He approached her, on the prowl, until his knees were astride her legs and he had his hands on the bark either side of her head. Marinette giggled, and held up her needles. "Not touching you," he teased.
"You're such a dork."
Leaning in, he kissed her — softly.
Adrien dismounted her so he could lay his head in her lap. "What're you working on?"
Marinette shifted so the trail of black wool wouldn't catch over his face. "A little cat. For when I miss my kitty."
Adrien put a hand over hers. She stopped knitting to meet his gaze.
The lattice of sunlight fell over him. Gold here, and gold there. The flecks in his eyes and the lights in his hair breathed with the overhead foliage.
"I love you," he said gently, earnestly, and moved his grasp to caress her cheek.
Marinette tapped his nose with the end of her knitting needle. "I know."