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Regardless of Perfection: An Adrinette Fic, featuring Félix 4.5K Words; Rated G for General Audiences

Adrien is dumbfounded. His knee is glued to the floor and his hands poised in front of him, as still and unmoving as his heart, stopped in his chest and aching as it fails to function. He can feel the eyes of every patron in the restaurant, staring with the same shock and confusion he feels.

“No?” he manages to squeak out, not even believing the word as it leaves his lips.

But Marinette has aggressively slammed the velvet box closed. Her face is already pink, hastily turning red, and Adrien can see tears in her eyes as she shoves his hands away with so much aggression that she near topples him over.

“Don’t—” she manages to say, and, “You can’t—” but she can’t seem to find words anymore easily than he can. She stands up and runs from the restaurant, linen napkin falling to the floor.

Adrien is only vaguely aware of the waiter helping him stand, a murmured apology as he’s settled back into his seat. A bottle of wine is placed in front of him, “Condolences from the guests over there,” but Adrien doesn’t even see the gesture, doesn’t know who to thank for the wine he’s meant to drown his heartbreak in. The waiter clears Marinette’s plate and glass without a word.

Adrien had planned tonight perfectly—at least, he thought he had. Everything about today had gone so right, like Ladybug’s own Lucky Charm had made it happen. He and Marinette had seen a movie together that afternoon, had a lovely walk along the Seine, and then she’d gone home to put on a brand new dress for their dinner on the Eiffel Tower. Adrien Agreste, even famous as he was, had waited months for this reservation to come up. Even though he’d carried the ring on him for the last several weeks—just in case the moment felt right—he’d known that this was the plan. That tonight was going to be the night. It was truly perfect.

He’d carefully steered the conversation over dinner to their future together, to the plans they’d talked about over the years amidst dreamy sighs and giggles. She’d seemed excited—had he misread her entirely? He didn’t think so. He’d known Marinette for nearly a decade. Surely he knew the difference between excitement and panic and he was sure that she had been excited—nervous, maybe, because of course she must have guessed how special today was—but he hadn’t seen any panic in her, not until the moment he had opened the ring box.

Her face had dropped. True horror had filled her eyes. And she had said, “No.”

Actually, she had practically shrieked it as she shoved the ring box away.

Adrien still didn’t understand it. Marinette certainly wasn’t the sort of person to be upset about a diamond being too small or a ring being inexpensive. So the rejection had to be about him, and Adrien couldn’t fathom why, couldn’t identify what clue he had missed along the way.

He’d been nervous to propose, naturally, but he had never thought that Marinette would reject him, certainly not so dramatically. He didn’t think anyone had expected it. Even her parents and their friends were all waiting back at the bakery, ready to celebrate, convinced she would have said yes.

A new panic climbed Adrien’s throat as he imagined Marinette arriving back at her parents’ place, greeted with a congratulatory cake and champagne. He needs to call them, tell them the devastating news before Marinette reaches them.

But as his fingers alight on his phone, it begins to buzz. Adrien swallows and draws it out, unable to tamp down the desperate hope that it’s Marinette telling him she’s changed her mind—but instead it’s Nino.

Adrien answers and says nothing.

“Adrien, where are you?” Nino asks, voice thick with concern.

Adrien tips his head back against the chair and stares up at the ceiling. The warm yellow rings of lights glare down at him and he swallows down the mixture of shame and despair that begin to coil in his chest, familiar friends that have known him far longer than Nino has.

“Adrien?” Nino asks.

“I’m still here,” Adrien says, but with no more strength than he had managed to repeat Marinette’s rejection with.

“Where are you?” Nino asks again.

“I’m still at the restaurant,” Adrien clarifies. He doesn’t know where he’s going to go after this. Certainly not home. He considers the possibility of transforming into Astro Chat and disappearing into space.

“Listen, Marinette just called Alya, and Alya called me, and I really think you should—”

“It’s fine, Nino,” Adrien says.

“I know that’s not true. Do you want me to meet you somewhere?”

Adrien considers the prospect of company. He knows even if he does go home alone, Plagg will still be with him. He can’t truly be alone, unless he does decide to transform. Maybe he does need to spend some time on top of the Eiffel Tower, cloaked in Chat Noir’s magic and the silence of being so far above the world. Maybe he needs to spend a few days on top of the Eiffel Tower.

“I just want to be alone,” he says, fidgeting with the miraculous around his finger.

“If you need anything—”

But his phone buzzes against his ear, and Adrien loses the rest of Nino’s offer as he checks to see his cousin is calling him.

Adrien wonders how many phone calls he’s going to receive tonight. He wonders how many of them he’ll take and how many he’ll ignore.

He doesn’t think he should ignore this one.

“I’ll talk to you later,” he says to Nino, unsure exactly when later will be, and switches to the incoming call.

“Félix,” Adrien manages dismally. He wonders how fast word is spreading amongst their friends. He wonders if the news has already gone viral through a restaurant patron’s video footage.

“Kagami says I can’t kill her,” is all Félix says for a greeting, “but I will if you give me the okay.”

Adrien isn’t in the mood for Félix’s sense of humor. “Félix, I don’t—”

“I’m not joking,” Félix says.

Adrien rubs his eyes and runs his hand through his hair. “I’m going to hang up,” he says, wholly uninterested in Félix’s brand of comfort.

But Félix ignores this threat, and Adrien makes no move to follow through it it.

“Is there a possibility that she didn’t mean it?” Félix asks, voice turning from cold to cautious.

But Adrien doesn’t know how he could have misunderstood a loud, desperate shriek of, “No!” that seems to grow more violent as he turns the memory over and over again.

“She shoved me away and stormed out. I don’t think she could have communicated her feelings any clearer than that.”

Félix is quiet for a moment, and Adrien can picture him evaluating the evidence and trying to draw a picture of the event.

“Where are you?” Félix asks.

Adrien doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t consider himself a liar or even duplicitous in any way. He’s always genuine with his feelings—except when he isn’t.

Anger and heartbreak are too much for him, and he buries them deep, terrified that he’ll use them as weapons against others. He’s glimpsed, as much as the rest of Paris has, how hurt can be weaponized. He knows, too, the way that grief and heartbreak can make someone undesirable. He grew up in a home that treated sadness like a sickness, like rot that needed to be carved out. The last thing Adrien wants is for his friends and loved ones to see him at a low like this.

“I’ll be home soon,” Adrien finally says, avoiding Félix’s question.

“I’ll meet you there,” Félix says.

“Please don’t,” he says.

“You don’t enjoy being alone.”

And how could Adrien not cry at that? He’s been in shock—the rejection hurts, but he hasn’t truly felt it yet—until Félix trods on the roots of Adrien’s aching heart. He doesn’t enjoy being alone, and he wasn’t supposed to ever be alone again. He was supposed to have Marinette with him forever, but now…

He tries desperately to bite down the tears, but they swell up regardless. “I don’t understand,” Adrien chokes out, and his tears drip down his cheeks, like water through a crack in a levy. “I don’t understand what went wrong or why—” But his words fail him as his throat is suddenly consumed with a gasping sob.

He doubles over, one hand still clinging to Félix on the other end of the line and the other tightening in his hair like he can tear it out and his heartache with it. He leans against the table, unable to hold up his own weight as the burden of Marinette’s rejection bears down on him and an empty, lonely future spirals out before him.

“Tell me where you are,” Félix says, voice strangely tender.

Adrien screws his eyes shut, like he might be able to seal up his mess of tears or keep out Félix’s uncharacteristic kindness.

He knows the other restaurant patrons have to be watching, and all Adrien can think is how nice it would be to disappear. He thinks of how Marinette managed to flee the restaurant in her panic, and he wishes his legs would work and carry him out, too. He thinks if he hangs up the phone, he’ll be able to gather himself together just long enough to get out of here and find a place to become Chat Noir.

“Ah,” Félix says, “Nino just texted back. I’ll be right there.”

And Adrien can’t even protest, can’t warn him not to. Adrien certainly doesn’t want Félix to see him like this, doesn’t want anyone he loves to glimpse how utterly broken and devastated he is, but the words stick in his throat, drowned by the sobs he can’t fight down.

Adrien drops his phone onto the table, aware the call has gone dead and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes in an effort to stem his tears. He wonders how long he has until Félix arrives. Perhaps he can leave before his cousin gets here—

But there’s a gasp from the guests of the restaurant, a sudden rise of tension and fear that swells around him. Adrien’s skin prickles, familiar with the way a crowd’s mood changes before an akuma attack, but when he opens his eyes he sees no monster nor black butterfly searching for a victim. Instead, it is his cousin, dressed in the purple and blue hooded uniform of Argos.

Adrien should have guessed that Félix would manage to make a bigger scene than Marinette had.

As he reaches the table, his hand goes for Adrien’s shoulder, but Adrien shrugs him off.

“Please don’t,” he begs, unsure how he can bear Félix’s offer of comfort—unsure how Félix can bear his misery. Already, he can feel another swell of tears burgeoning. He curls into himself, burying his head in his hands, hiding what he can of his heartbreak.

Argos drops into the chair that Marinette had sat in not thirty minutes ago, and as he does, drops his transformation.

“I’ll stay until you’re ready to leave,” Félix says, voice still tinged with tenderness, and it only makes Adrien’s chest ache more.

Adrien is not used to people standing with him when he makes a mistake. He’s used to sharp critique and deathly silent meals. Marinette and Nino alike have been so gentle in their attempts to draw him out, to allow him to misstep without flinching, but this particular misstep feels so monumental. He doesn’t know how he could have read Marinette so wrong; he doesn’t know how anyone would want to sit with him through this.

Félix, at least, knows what it’s like to bury heartbreak and mistakes well out of sight and well out of reach. Félix knows the way perfection is not an achievement but an expectation, and he understands that something as ugly as grief is not fit for public consumption nor private indulgence.

Adrien draws in two shaky breaths, but they’re whole and uninterrupted by wild sobs. He thinks he has enough composure to speak again and asks, “Do you know where I went wrong?” He doesn’t care for how raw and ragged his voice sounds, and he reaches for his glass of water.

Félix picks up the wine that Adrien has left untouched and sniffs the uncorked bottle curious. He pours a little, swirls and sips it, then wrinkles his nose, and checks the bottle. His upper lip curls in disgust and finally, he turns his eyes back to Adrien. “Have you considered that you may have made no mistakes at all?”

Adrien shakes his head. “No—I must have done something—or said something—” he feels the tears threaten to crawl out of his chest again, and he presses his thumb and forefinger against his eyes to hold them back. “Alya might know. I can text her.” But when he reaches for his phone, he finds that Félix has already snatched it out of reach.

“Adrien,” Félix murmurs, “you cannot charm the world to your will by following a dance step diagram. There is no pattern to unlock, no measure of perfection that will make everything turn out right.”

Adrien grits his teeth, certain that what Félix says is true, but unable to accept it. If he could just be better, then things wouldn’t have turned out this way.

“I’m sure you did everything right,” Félix continues. “The date, the dinner, the tie, the ring…” Félix’s hand closes over the blue velvet box. “But sometimes, Adrien, things simply—” He stops as he flicks the box open.

Adrien’s heart sinks. The ring was the problem after all, wasn’t it? He should have bought something expensive, something that glittered. He had just thought that Marinette would have preferred something sentimental, so he had chosen to propose with his mother’s wedding band. Apparently it had ben the wrong choice.

Félix snaps the box closed and slides it back to Adrien. “I’m going to find Ladybug,” he says, and Adrien’s heart pounds with new concern.

“Ladybug?” he asks weakly.

Félix gets to his feet, but he hesitates as he eyes Adrien and his disheveled hair and tear-stained cheeks. Something in his tight shoulders sags ever so slightly.

“No, not Ladybug,” he says. “Adrien, I’m going to take you to Marinette.”

“Félix, I can’t—”

“I don’t think she meant to turn you down.”

Though Adrien is reluctant to believe Félix, his heart pounds with hope. “What’s wrong with proposing with my mother’s ring? I thought she’d think it was romantic.”

Félix scrubs a hand over his face. “Well, she didn’t.” His voice is once again flat and cold, void of the care he’d been displaying moments ago. His words, at least, show an awareness of feeling. “I’m going to take you to Marinette, and the three of us are going to have a very difficult conversation, and it is going to hurt, but it will be all right. Can you trust me on that?”

Adrien isn’t sure how he can, but Félix doesn’t make it sound like he has any choice in the matter. “How do you know it will be okay?”

Félix draws his mouth into a tight line. When he does speak again, it’s painstaking and slow, like poison being drawn from a wound. “Because you have people who will love you regardless.”

There is not much more room for discussion. Félix pauses only to call Alya—on Adrien’s phone, certain it’s the only way she’ll answer—and merely says, “Where’s Marinette?” before engaging in tense negotiations with Alya for Marinette’s whereabouts. He wins the interrogation, or at least Adrien thinks he must have, because as soon as he ends the call, he transforms back into Argos and scoops Adrien up in his arms.

Adrien decides that he prefers when Ladybug carries him, but he doesn’t have much choice in the matter, unless he were to suddenly tell his cousin the truth about the ring he wears on his middle finger. But Félix is clearly in a hurry to reach Marinette, and is uninterested in mortal means of travel. Leaping across rooftops with the power of the Peacock Miraculous is the best the two of them can manage.

He lands on Marinette’s rooftop, and Adrien stumbles out of his cousin’s arms, unsure he has ever dropped onto this rooftop as himself.

He does his best to scrub his cheeks free of any tearstains. His hair, he’s sure, is unsalvageable after their flight across the rooftops, and he does not even want to know the state of his suit.

Argos lifts the trap door without knocking and drops down inside. Adrien, suddenly aware that he has this brief moment alone, considers the risk of simply leaving.

But before he can quite manage a whispered, “Plagg, claws out,” Alya’s head appears from below. She gives him a sad smile and climbs out to meet him.

Adrien backs into the balcony railing, but Alya approaches anyway. She puts a tender hand on his shoulder and ignores the way he flinches. Even as he tries to shrug her off, she squeezes tighter.

“I’m really sorry,” she says.

Adrien refuses to meet her eyes. He can’t let her see the tears that are springing up all of a sudden. He doesn’t know why his cousin has insisted on this.

“For what it’s worth,” Alya says, “I don’t think she meant to turn you down. She’s… she’s really embarrassed, but she won’t say anything more to me than just that she panicked.”

Adrien doesn’t think that quite matches with his memory of the event, but his heart is racing again, brought back to life by the hope Alya is offering him.

“You should go talk to her. Félix won’t let me in there for whatever it is he wants to say, and I don’t know that I trust the two of them alone together for very long.”

Adrien isn’t entirely sure if that Alya’s fears are about mistrusting Félix—distantly, he remembers Félix’s offer of murder—or if they’re about mistrusting Marinette and her own scheming.

“I’ll go down there,” Adrien concedes, “but I’m not sure I’ll have much more to say.”

“Then just listen. And, hey, you know that no matter what happens, you and I are still friends, right?”

His chest swells and Adrien thinks this alone might break him. He isn’t sure how to accept this offer of kindness, of unconditional trust.

“Okay,” he manages, voice strangled with a whirl of emotions he can’t begin to name.

Adrien climbs down the ladder into Marinette’s bedroom and finds that Félix is once again without his magical costume. He has settled into Marinette’s desk chair as easily as if it was his own, while Marinette sits on the edge of her bed, head between her knees and hands locked behind her neck as if she is preparing for an earthquake or a tornado. Adrien considers mirroring her posture, but chooses not to, only because he is unsure where he would sit. So he stands, leaning against her windowsill, unsure how to begin this conversation.

“If you don’t tell him, Marinette,” Félix says, “then I will.”

Marinette’s whine is muffled by her knees and whatever she murmurs into her leg is fully unintelligible.

Félix sighs in exasperation. He takes his own ring—his father’s ring—between his thumb and finger and yanks it off. He turns it over between his fingers. “Adrien, have you ever wondered how you and I are so terribly alike in appearance even though we are only cousins?”

“Our mothers are twins,” Adrien says, almost automatically. He distantly remembers asking his mother about it once, and she’d said the same. She had said to never bring it up again, so he had done as she asked and never questioned her answer. Even now, it seems impossible to think otherwise.

“My mother can’t have children,” Félix says, and there is nothing in his tone nor expression that indicates how absurd the statement is.

Adrien glances to Marinette for some sort of clue or help, but she is still in a panic. His heart aches to see her like this, and all he wants is to sit down next to her and hold her. But he remembers how she pushed him away just an hour ago, and he remains by the window.

“Félix, that doesn’t make sense.”

“My mother can’t have children and neither could her twin sister.”

Adrien does not have the patience for this conversation. He rubs his eyes, aching and tired from the tears they have spilled. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“My father created me, and your mother created you, using the Peacock Miraculous.”

Marinette moans like a seasick sailor whose ship has made a sudden lurch beneath her feet. Adrien can only stare at Félix, stunned.

“Why would you say something like that?”

“Because it’s the truth,” Félix says, “and because I told Marinette.”

Adrien’s gut twists. He isn’t sure which part is harder to swallow: the idea that he’s a Sentimonster or the idea that Marinette rejected him because of it. His entire reality shifts before him, and he clings to the window’s ledge to make sure he stays on his feet.

“But you… you can’t be serious.” But even as Adrien says it, he can’t imagine Félix would be anything less than serious. His next concern, then, is that Félix has simply been horribly misinformed.

He looks to Marinette again, and he knows by the white in her knuckles and the half-formed sob that bursts out of her chest that she believes it.

“My father used this ring as the object to bind me to life,” Félix says. “Your mother chose hers and your fathers’ wedding rings.”

Adrien shakes his head, still unable to see truth in Félix’s words, but finally—finally—Marinette says something intelligible.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and hiccups on another sob. She lifts her head and looks at Adrien. Her face is flushed, cheeks tear-streaked and eyes puffy, red, and streaked with mascara. Though she’s still wearing the dress she had put on for their formal dinner date, the satin is wrinkled like she’s the one who took a journey across Paris’ rooftops in a superhero’s arms. “I didn’t mean it, Adrien, I swear.”

Adrien pulls the velvet box out from his jacket and looks at the ring inside. He still can’t wrap his head around the idea that this ring and his father’s ring, still attached to the necklace fastened beneath his shirt, are tethers that hold him to this world. He still can’t believe that he isn’t human. He feels human. He imagines that this night wouldn’t hurt so much if he were otherwise.

But more urgent than this absurdity that Félix has laid at his feet is Marinette’s apology. He stumbles over to Marinette and collapses onto the bed beside her. “Which part didn’t you mean?” he whispers.

Marinette hiccups again and tries to rub her eyes dry, but she only succeeds in smearing her mascara. The black streak bleeds into her hairline and her tears continue to fall regardless.

“The part where I pushed you,” she says, and chokes on another sob. “The part where I said no.”

Adrien plucks the ring out from the velvet box. “Marinette—”

“No!” she yelps again, and closes her hands over his. She falls off the bed, knees hitting the hardwood floor with a thud and she winces, but does not lose her grip on Adrien’s hand. He’s afraid she’s going to break his fingers

“Adrien, don’t,” she says. “I can’t take this.”

“But Marinette—”

“Please,” she sobs. She buries her face into his knees, tears and makeup soaking into his suit. Without looking up at him, she pries the ring out of his hand and slides it onto his own finger. “Adrien, I love you,” she chokes on another gasping sob, “and I cannot love you and wear this ring.”

Something new inside Adrien breaks, something he can’t name. He stares down at the top of Marinette’s head, and her hands holding onto his like he’s the only tether she has to this world. New tears fall from his cheeks, unattached to sobs. They aren’t sad tears, not at all.

Human or not, Marinette loves him. He’s not sure anything else matters.

He sinks to the floor beside Marinette, takes her face in his hands, and kisses her.

She doesn’t push him away. She doesn’t shriek and reject him. It’s the kiss he had expected, long and deep and perhaps a bit more wet than he had been prepared for. Even her hiccups, he thinks, ought to have been expected.

The chair beneath Félix creaks as he stands, and he coughs.

Marinette and Adrien politely pause their kiss, but they keep their hands intertwined and their foreheads pressed together.

“I’ll let Alya know we’re finished, then.”

Marinette tries again to wipe her eyes dry. “I’ll go—” She pauses for a sniff and a hiccup. “I’ll go tell my parents the good news.”

Adrien squeezes her hand. “Wait, one more thing.” He turns to his cousin, already halfway up the ladder steps. He supposes that Félix has given a lot of emotion today, and he shouldn’t be surprised his cousin is trying to slip away. “Why did you tell Marinette about the rings before you told me.”

Marinette sucks in a sharp, sudden breath of air and her hiccups vanish. Félix freezes on the ladder, but it’s brief. He shrugs and says, “I’ll let Marinette tell you that one.” And he leaves.

Adrien looks at Marinette, watches her worry her bottom lip and flick her eyes between her sewing machine, the box that he knows her diary is hidden in, and the dollhouse perched on her desk.

“Marinette?” he asks.

“Well—I—I mean—I can’t—I mean you can’t—” Marinette fumbles for the right words, but Adrien is used to this. He waits patiently.

“I’m Buglady,” she finally spits out, “I mean Luggybady. I mean—”

Adrien’s eyebrows lift. “You’re Ladybug?”

She swallows and nods.

He glances at the plain black earrings fastened in her ears. He thinks about the last several years of interrupted dates and how he hadn’t even noticed her terrible excuses for lateness because he was too busy thinking about his own.

Adrien works his ring off of his finger. He never removes it, and it requires a bit of doing, but once its off, he slides it onto Marinette’s finger.

“Adrien, I said I can’t—”

He leans in close, whispers, “It’s just my miraculous,” and kisses her cheek.

She swallows and looks down at the band, clearly thicker than the wedding band and with an unadorned place for a stone setting—a space perfectly sized for a glowing pawprint—and begins to hyperventilate all over again.

“But you can’t—I can’t—but Adrien—Chat—”

Adrien kisses her, and she sinks into it, panicked words and breath forgotten. There’s nothing more to be said between them.

Nothing about today went perfectly; nothing about this kiss is picturesque or even truly romantic. But Adrien wouldn’t trade today and all of its mess for anything in the world. He loves his lady, panic and stuttering and all, and he’s willing to admit that maybe it’s okay if she loves his mistakes and his secrets too.

#OH I LOVE THIS SO MUCH #incredible writing and everyone is characterized so well #really love how you wrote felix!!#and i love the line about the perfect dance steps that hit hard #ml #ml fic rec

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