Chapter Text
She knocked on his bedroom door. “Come in!” Adrien set down his book as she opened his door. “Marinette?”
Heart beating, but nevertheless determined, she spoke. “Adrien, I have something important to tell you.”
As Adrien got up from his mattress and walked towards her, she noticed his stuffed animal resting on his pillow. She gasped at the reminder of how hard Adrien was clinging to the brighter memory of his father from his younger childhood. For a moment, the temptation to not further tarnish that memory washed over her. Looking back at Adrien, though, she saw the concerned look on his face. Concern for her, when she was here to do right by him. She saw the tender, selfless, and strong boy she’d fallen in love with and knew that if she could not be honest with him, then she did not deserve him. She may be beyond that point already. If he broke up with her for hiding the letter from him as long as she had, she knew she deserved it, and she would accept it. Regardless of what it meant for their relationship, he deserved to have the truth and make that decision for himself. Her resolution hardened and she felt her eyes well with tears.
“I love you, Adrien. I love you so much,” she sobbed, covering her eyes. And then Adrien, sweet sweet Adrien, hugged her.
After the countless hours of her agonizing over how or whether to do this and how much it would hurt him, he was comforting her. It felt so good, and for a second she gave in, resting her head on his shoulder. But it wasn’t right. This moment was about him.
She pulled out of the hug, drying her tears, and took a deep breath, intent on being strong for Adrien. She took his hands, and guided him back to sit together on his mattress.
“I love you, but I have made a mistake about what love looks like.” Adrien looked at her confused and worried, and she took another deep breath.
“What do you mean, Marinette? You’ve been a fantastic girlfriend!”
Marinette smiled briefly at him, not surprised that he would be trying to comfort her. “I’m glad you feel that way, and I have tried to be. But trying doesn’t equal success. You’ve been so lost lately, trying to make sense of your father. And I thought that what you needed was to only remember the good parts of him.”
She let go of his hands, folding them into her lap, and looking down at them. “But that’s not right or fair to you. He was pretty awful to you and to your friends. I do remember how his pancakes tasted.” She paused, trying to gather courage and form the right words.
Adrien reached out and touched her arm. “You’re right, Marinette. He was awful a lot. It’s been really hard hearing everyone say he’s a hero. And I guess in the end, maybe he was. That still doesn’t really make sense to me. Making that documentary helped it make a little more sense. I can see now that there’s a side of him I never really knew, and I wish I’d had time to get to know that side.”
Marinette gulped. That did not make this easier. She looked back up at Adrien. “I’m so sorry, Adrien. I shouldn’t have tried to get you to forget the ways your father has hurt you. That was wrong. I tried to choose for you how you would remember your father. And so when I found a letter in the photo album that he wrote to you, I hid it from you.”
Adrien looked at her, shocked and hurt. “The letter you’ve been holding onto? That’s not a poem, that’s from my father?? Why would you keep that from me?”
Marinette looked down again, this time in shame and embarrassment rather than nervousness. “Because I read it, and it made me hate him so much more. And I know that reading it is going to hurt you. And because I showed it to Nathalie, and she forbade me from telling you, even when I did want to. But ultimately, my choice to lie to you was a way of controlling you. I’m no better than him,” Marinette choked as she said it, overwhelmed by guilt. “I wanted to make sure you remembered him the best way you could, but that wasn’t my choice. I shouldn’t have read it, I shouldn’t have shared it with Nathalie, and I shouldn’t have kept it from you. You deserve the truth, and you deserve to grieve with an honest picture of who your father was.”
She looked back at Adrien, worried about how he was taking this so far. He was searching her eyes, even more shocked and confused than before. There also seemed to be a mixture of gratitude, fear, and anger in his face. He was pulled back from her and she felt her heart break. Tears streamed down her cheeks once more, and she managed to say, “I have the letter with me. I brought it to give to you, but I’m not going to make that choice for you either. I will give it to you now, or I can hold onto it until you’re ready. If you want, I will summarize it for you, read it directly aloud to you, destroy it, sit with you while you read it, or leave it with you to read by yourself. It is up to you Adrien. You deserve to make the decision of if, how, and when, you learn the complete truth about your father. I’m very sorry, and I deeply regret ever trying to make that choice for you.”
After that, she had nothing left to say. Adrien had turned from her to face forward from the foot of his bed. He was resting his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees, staring at his feet. His breathing was deep, and forcibly regular. Marinette awkwardly waited, letting him process what she had shared. She glanced back and forth between him and her own feet while her heart tried to escape her chest.
Following what felt like an eternity of silence, Adrien spoke but didn’t move. “I’m glad you brought this to me now instead of waiting even longer. I... ” He breathed, taking a minute before he continued. “I would like you to leave the letter on my nightstand.” He gestured to the cardboard box next to his mattress that a lamp was resting on. “And—and then I think I need some space for a little while. I’ll message you when I’m ready to.”
Marinette felt a lump settle in her throat. His words stung; she’d hoped to be a comfort for him in this. But she stood by her decision to let him choose and her earlier resolution to accept whatever this would mean for their relationship. She nodded, then realized he wasn’t looking at her still. A mangled “of course” escaped her throat. Standing up, she took the letter out of her bag, placed it where he had requested, and then went to the door. She looked back at him one last time, hoping he would look at her at least to say goodbye.
His gaze was still fixed on the ground, expression hidden from her by his hands. Holding back a sob, she uttered a quiet “I’m here for you if you want, Adrien. Goodbye.” Adrien gave no acknowledgement.
She closed his door, walked sullenly past the Gorilla as she left the house (Nathalie was nowhere she could see), and out the gate. Once she turned the corner, she slid to the ground, back against the wall, and sobbed. It took several minutes to compose herself enough to call Alya and ask if she could come over.