Marinette didn't want to get up—didn't want to move. Her whole body felt stiff, aching with the stresses of the day before. The time or place didn't seem to matter. All she knew for sure was that staying as she was, eyes closed, was far more preferable to any alternative. No, she wasn't covered, and she had a vague awareness of her body being exposed, but the heat nearby kept her solidly in place, nose nestled into soft, smooth warmth.
A warmth that was, above all else, familiar. And reminded her of fresh rain, woven with the remains of damp campfire wood.
Okay, well, maybe it was time she got up, if she was to the point of poetically describing nearby smells. Clearly her brain was more than awake, even if her body was lagging a bit behind.
Lashes heavy, she fluttered her eyes open. Thankfully, there were no bright windows or glaring lights to pound in more pain than there already was. The room was shadowed, only an inkling of the day able to cast a soft glow through the cracks and crevices of the covered windows.
Before her, another body breathed, their silhouette shifting lightly in the darkness. Adrien, of course. There could be no other whose bare shoulder, against which her nose was nuzzled, soothed her so fully with warmth and familiarity. Her arm rested along his side, his own hanging loosely around her waist—as if to hold her as close as possible despite his inability to lay on anything but his stomach.
Because, she easily recalled, he was hurt.
Eyes finally blinking open fully, Marinette took a deep breath before using the hand tucked against her own body to push herself up. As soon as she moved, the skin of her shoulder, which was connected to the skin of her chest, pulled tight, causing her to hiss.
A swift burning dashed across her whole upper half, leaving the wounds throbbing beneath their bandages. She cringed, pausing in her motion before ultimately deciding she had no choice but to push through it. Lips pursing, she sat up, breath huffing as she took a few moments to gather herself against the pulsing ache. It was only once the pain had died to a repetitive, steady beat that she set her focus on other things.
Namely, the boy lying beside her.
He was still asleep, blonde hair askew and pooling atop the pillow. Though she could see the nasty bruise along his jaw and the one spreading beneath the long-melted icepack on his back, he appeared comfortable—calm—in his slumber.
Gaze lazy, she allowed her attention to linger, first on his face and the sharpness of his profile. Those high cheekbones and smooth jawline. Down the back of his exposed neck and back. Though he was relaxed, she could see the muscles that were strung on either side of his spine, layered beneath his tanned complexion and marred with nasty blue and purple clouds.
Down lower, to where his skin dipped beneath the line of his boxer briefs, a different sort of heat flashing through Marinette—heat that was not at all related to her wounds.
"I love you."
Swallowing, she forcefully tore her gaze back up, making sure he was still asleep. His words from the night before rang in her ears, echoing over and over despite how she tried to push them away. Until her heart was racing, cheeks flushing despite how she tried to push back on the feeling.
Part of her wanted to be excited, to rush forward thoughtlessly. And, yet, she held back.
What had he meant?
He'd said that he loved her, not that he was in love with her. There was, to her knowledge, a very vast difference between the two notions. She loved her parents, her friends. Alya she loved. And she loved him too, romantic ideas aside. Before she'd known he was Adrien, she'd loved him. He was her friend and partner; someone who meant more to her than anyone.
