Their second attempt at ice cream eating was far more successful than the first. Following their unfortunate mishaps with the initial two cones, Adrien had repurchased for them both, the clerk working the shop appearing quite disappointed in their previous behavior (as he'd been able to see them through the window).
As it was, the rain had let up to only a sprinkle and they'd been walking for some twenty minutes, comfortably quiet as they licked their respective cones. Marinette turned to look up at Adrien occasionally, initially allowing her thoughts to run rampant and unchecked as the tip of her nose seemingly burned with the echo of his tongue. Yet, the shock did eventually fade, which allowed her mind to be cleared for other, more coherent considerations.
Namely, what she'd been wanting to ask him about all day.
No, longer than that. Since Tuesday night. She wasn't sure why the feeling nagged at her, but she was positive something had happened. Yet, he'd been so busy with Haute Couture that he'd barely had time for texting, let alone to give much attention to any interrogations Marinette may have tried to instigate.
Even as she watched him then, she could tell he was relatively distracted. Though he licked his ice cream regularly and flicked his own attention to her every once in a while, she could read it... somehow.
Maybe she was just getting to know him better, and so could pinpoint these things. No matter, she didn't feel she was taking a risk in assuming something was up.
"Adrien," she said, once she'd swallowed the last bit of her cone. His head twitched in her direction, eyebrows raised questioningly as he shoved the final piece of his own cone between his lips. "What's up with you?"
"Whah?" he said around his mouthful of ice cream, before swallowing. "What do you mean?"
Marinette narrowed her eyes just a bit. "I know something's bothering you." Her accusation, had it been false, should have been followed by confusion. But, instead, Adrien's whole expression froze, before he glanced purposefully away.
She'd seen such behavior out of him before—when he didn't want to talk about something serious. When he was avoiding her in plain sight. Like a mask was simply snapped across his face, portraying nothing. And not nothing as though he were simply lacking opinion on the subject. Rather, it was like he was lacking expression altogether.
A purposeful emptiness—something she's seen him adopt when his father was the problem.
"Is there something wrong?" she continued, a few cars honking in the street beside them. But it was easy enough to ignore. "Did you and your father fight again?"
The way he barely looked at her—as if he'd done so accidentally—before glancing away again told her far more than he'd probably intended. Coming to a halt, Marinette stood firmly in place, until her position demanded he also stop to look back at her.
He sighed, that mask evaporating as he did. "You don't really want to hear about my drama with my father, do you?"
"If you need someone to talk to about it, then yes," she confirmed, taking up the short distance between them, until she could reach out and gently touch his arm. "I can tell it's bothering you. And I know that maybe talking about it won't change anything, but it might make you feel better. I know I can't do anything about it, but I can listen if you want me to." That was really all she could do, and it didn't seem near enough to her. But it was something, and perhaps something was better than nothing.
Adrien craned his neck around, looking to the side anxiously. She could see he was tense, distressed even, and so she allowed her hand to drag down his arm. Until she could gently wrap her fingers around his own, a motion that pulled his focus back her way.
