2. Empathy
If looks could kill, Adrien would be splattered in bloody chunks all over the classroom walls.
Sinking deeper into his seat, he does his best to ignore the girl trying to burn a hole into the back of his head. Yet the awareness of it never fades, some primal instinct awoken by the ring around his finger urging him to turn around, unhinge his jaws, and hiss at the threat to his life.
But he's stronger than his instincts, and he's aware that Alya's not really a threat to him, no matter how mean her glare can be.
He tries to stare straight ahead, but it's impossible to concentrate on M. Bustier's lesson today. Not with the way soft sniffles keep ringing out behind him, sometimes accompanied by a low, comforting murmur. Can the rest of the class hear it? He hopes not. Bad enough that Adrien's enhanced senses make him an unwitting voyeur to every suppressed sob.
Every too-deep breath she takes makes him flinch, her shuddering exhales scraping his insides like claws.
And it hurts.
Turning down a girl has never hurt before. Not like this.
Adrien is no stranger to rejection. He has learned how to let down starstruck fans with a sympathetic smile and rehearsed platitudes. Wiggling his way out of Chloe's advances is so routine at this point that it elicits nothing more than mild irritation. Even Kagami only ever left him feeling confused.
But this is Marinette.
Marinette.
Sweet, kind, amazing Marinette.
Who loves him.
And he's made her cry.
He can't stop combing through his memories, trying to find the moment everything went wrong. What could he have said differently? What should he have said differently? Is there any combination of words that would have led anywhere but here?
Well, not trailing off into awkward silence when she started crying would have been a start.
But if Adrien hadn't shut up then and there, he might have grabbed her by the shoulders and yelled to make her understand and that – that would have been even worse.
Marinette called herself deluded. Deluded. Just for hoping he might love her back. Adrien's not easily driven to anger, but that makes his blood boil. Because how can she think that?
She's Marinette.
Smart, driven, relentlessly kind Marinette.
Does she not see herself?
Because he can see her. He sees her in crisp high definition, his imagination painting a vibrant vision of what would happen if only he could love her back. It's a dream of being wrapped in warmth and the scent of sweet pastries.
He's never considered her in this light before – maybe he hadn't allowed himself to – but now he can't stop thinking about what it'd be like. Like he's staring down a precipice at his feet, only now realizing he's been standing on its edge all along.
It would only take a single step.
A single step toward her, and he'd be falling.
