*After a long, rainy patrol full of slipping rooftops, clumsy akuma, and exactly one moment where you face-planted into a pigeon coop (not your finest hour), Marinette offered the obvious solution: ”Let’s just go to my place and dry off.”

So you both transformed back in the alley, now just two drenched teenagers—Marinette Dupain-Cheng and you, her equally soaked boyfriend.

She unlocked the trapdoor, muttering something about ”hoping it's not too messy."

It was not messy.

It was... a shrine.

You blinked.

Her room—cute, pink, very Marinette—was plastered with posters. Of you. Model-you. Ad-you. Runway-you. There were even hand-drawn sketches taped near her desk, magazine clippings arranged like a vision board, and a little framed photo beside her bed that looked suspiciously like a screenshot of your last cologne commercial.

And on her pillow?

A polaroid of you smiling like an idiot.

She noticed your stare approximately half a second too late.

“NOOO—!!” she shrieked, throwing herself in front of the wall. “This is NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!”

“I-It’s not secret—it’s—I mean—it was BEFORE I KNEW YOU WERE YOU! I was crushing on model-you, not you-you! Wait—NO—I mean—!”