AN: Rin and Rien are really similar and it took me a while to realise, my bad. I hope it's not too confusing. I'd be glad to accept future prompts via PMs or tumblr (xiueryn).

Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc

There were black spots obscuring her vision, flickering and causing her sight to disappear completely every few seconds, and the harsh strain on her throat was painful, crushing, and she frantically clawed at the water—her mouth opened, wanting to scream, to shout about the crippling sensations, but all that came out were desperate bubbles, floating to the surface and muffling her shrieks.

"Rien!" someone shouted, but it was smothered by her wavering consciousness.

Marinette tried to reach forward, wanting to grasp something to capture her grip so she could pull herself to safety, but a movement caught her by surprise. Swallowing more water by accident, choking, eyes stinging and lungs protesting with every passing second, she squirmed against the hand that was tangled in her hair, forcefully pushing her deeper, keeping her body underneath the water. There wasn't anything she could do; her limbs were growing tired, the lack of oxygen causing her consciousness to react. And as she desperately gasped for breaths, instead choking on the pool water, she wondered whether her last moments were worth it.

Had she been a good daughter?

They had never been there, but her motivation for her life thus far had been to prove herself worthy of their attention—but there she was, losing consciousness while being forcefully held under, the very hands that she'd come to despise being the cause of her distress.

"Rien—please!"

It was her friend's voice. Even muffled from the water, and the laughter that was surely from the rest of their class that was unaware of the situation, she could recognise the panicked trill of her sole comfort in her daily life. Marinette longed to respond, to rip the dreaded hands away that were keeping hold of her, but all she could manage was to weakly attempt to reach up to him before her consciousness wavered. It was a terrifying moment, and as the last bubble left her throat, she just wanted to know why.

What had she done to him? Nothing—she had done nothing! And he'd antagonised her for years, extending the occasional shove and other such movement for explicit violence out of the blue. He—he was a being of pure hatred, and that had showed clearly when his hands first pushed her under.

It was an utter surprise when she became aware of pressure on her chest. Marinette attempted to heave in a breath, instead having air forcefully blown through her own mouth and causing her to splutter and begin to cough. The thrusts on her chest—wet, it was cold—made a mixture of bile and water unpleasantly escape her lips, tainting the tiled floor beside her. She choked, trying to control her breathing as the body that had been performing on her pulled away and allowed her space.

"R-Rin!" a voice gasped, and footsteps sounded against the damp floor. "Fuck, Rin."

Rin? There was no one there with that name—and she would know, it was only her class allowed within the swimming pool for the designated time. Marinette frantically wiped at her tear-stained face, throat dry and protesting from breathing desperately through her mouth, and cracked her swollen eyes open.

The faces were familiar, certainly, but the expressions were not. There were eyebrows furrowed in concern, lips bitten into and eyes wide and all staring down around her. Some were down on their knees, looking quite dramatic, and a few were holding onto each other for comfort. They—they'd noticed that she'd almost drowned, and the sympathetic concerns were not common, not at all. When she was tripped over, most laughed at her clumsiness, or scoffed and snapped for her to be careful. There was barely any genuinely positive feelings, and just seeing them—them, almost all of the class—gazing at her in worry was disconcerting.

Marinette wetted her lips, shivering from her attire.

The same voice called softly, "Rin?"

They were looking at her.

That wasn't her name. Her class-mates referred to her by her surname or her full first name—it was Dupain-Cheng or Marinette, always. Only her best friend shortened her name out of fondness, and it wasn't at all to what they were uttering. So, with wide and confused eyes, Marinette's gaze flickered between each of the students in front of her, trying to determine what was wrong.

She spotted the first difference instantly.

Ivan Bruel, the gaunt-looking weedy male who had sparse black-coloured hair that stuck up in tufts, was standing there clad in a tight black t-shirt along with his swimming shorts; except, it wasn't quite the Ivan that she could remember. It wasn't the jubilant boy who threw up in the bathroom after break, or openly discussed his eating disorder and his sessions with the school nurse. No, it definitely wasn't. The male before her was wide, with broad shoulders, and a surly expression that didn't look quite right on his face. He was taller, too, towering above most of the class.

Marinette's chin wobbled from trying not to burst into hysterical laughter, but all that came out was a muffled gasp and her throat aching just from that alone. She clawed at her damp knees, feeling the naked flesh with her clammy hands, and panicking from the attention that was put on her. With her teeth clattering, she looked down to inspect her attire and sucked in a sharp breath when she realised she wasn't glad in the same outfit any longer.

The one-piece swimsuit was missing. Instead, she was clad in a spotted pale pink-coloured bikini with lace around the cups of her breasts. Marinette's shaking hand slowly moved up to touch her neck, searching for any proof of the attack of any old wounds that would remind her of her time, but she came into contact with a drenched plait.

There was pressured placed lightly around her shoulders, and she jumped and stilled from shock instantly. A blanket was wrapped around her, the material itchy but welcoming nonetheless, and a new voice murmured, "Rin? Are you okay?"

She'd know that voice anywhere. The whispered words were usually paired with a sickening grin, one that promised some sort of villainous act later on, and despite the crowd in front of them, he never usually cared. Marinette's nails clawed into the fabric of the blanket as she panicked, attempting to scurry away across the wet tiles and almost following over in the process. Turning around as he pushed herself away with her tired legs, Marinette propelled herself with her hands, desperately wanting distance between the two of them. He'd sounded close; right behind her, whispering words in her vulnerable ear.

"R-Rin?" he questioned, and the sheer concern in his voice caused shivers of terror to appear.

From her panic she fell to the ground once when she'd started to run, but soon recovered and ran clumsily across the tiled floor, ignoring the shouts of the foreign name and darting towards the designated changing room after glancing back once to confirmed for suspicions. The design hadn't changed, just the people within had, somehow.

Rien had been there, clad in swimming shorts and no shirt, a halo of golden-coloured hair damp and framing his face despite sticking to his skin in what should've been an attractive way. He projected an innocent appearance when his lips weren't curled into a malicious smirk, and the light emerald of his irides had stood out as he stared at her—shocked, worried, concerned—and her heartbeat had stuttered in terror and pleaded for her to flee.

It had to have been a delusion. Her suffering at the hands of Rien had caused her to hallucinate, her sheer desire to want to be liked by her peers appearing from her subconsciousness and causing the strange hallucination to appear.

The room was the same, but the bags were not. Marinette went to run a hand through her hair, coming into contact with the dampened braid once again and furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. Her hair had been short, fluttering around her collarbones freely. It hadn't been long since she was a child, long before her parents had been wholly occupied with work and no longer available to spend their free time doting on her and brushing her luscious hair. It was a thing of a past—was that why she'd caused it to appear? Another deep want showing in a strange way?

Dragging her fatigued body across to the bathroom, she stared at herself in the mirror. It was roughly the same; the dark-coloured hair that came with her half-Asian heritage was long, falling just below her average-sized breasts, and the exotic curve of her eyelids had smeared make-up across the skin, making her appear tired and more tragic that she felt. The cerulean irides she'd inherited from her father were still there, as was her plump lower lip and slightly upturned nose. It was a face she was familiar with, and then was not.

Her earlobes were pierced once with tiny diamonds that shined brightly catching her attention. There was scarlet streaked beside her mouth, too, indicating that she'd worn more make-up than simply on her eyes.

"I—" Marinette choked out, breaking off as her lips trembled.

If it was a dream, she wanted to wake up.

The sound of the door opening behind her caused her to jump, fright and shock written clearly across her expression as she turned around with wide eyes to see who had followed her. "C-Césaire?" the dark-haired female gasped, disbelieving.

The female before her had differences than she remembered. For one, her dark eyebrows were knitted together in concern, lips curled into a frown without anger in her expression. The Alya that she knew was ostentatious, snappy, and relentlessly rude if given the chance, and had dark red-coloured hair that hung straight by her shoulders. Instead, her hair was long and curly, boisterous in volume, and showed no restrain within the ringlets and looked beautiful against her tanned skin. She padded forward, clad in a maroon bikini that was quite modest and not what she was wearing previously, and Marinette stumbled back, coming into contact with the cool tiles of the wall.

"Rin?" she queried, looking at her as though she was a frightened animal. "Are you all right?"

She wasn't Rin! The Alya she knew made fun of her bruises, cursed when they were paired together in class, and certainly wasn't caring enough to venture into the changing room to enquire about her mental health. Making a noise of protest, Marinette raised a hand to grip her hair, tugging at the roots and feeling the pain that was offered from the movement. There was no use trying to wake herself up from the sensations; it simply wasn't working.

Her eyes stung, the back of her throat prickling, too, as she realised she'd have to continue with the torture her subconscious had conjured.

Alya cleared her throat. "Do you want me to get the teacher? I—I thought you'd want to be alone for a bit." When Marinette made no move to reply, simply clutching a hand to her head with a wild expression, the red-head took a cautious step forward. "Did you hurt your head earlier? Is that it?"

No, she'd been drowned, actually. She hadn't thought to thank whoever had done the emergency action on her, never catching who had performed it because of the sudden shock and the slight mental breakdown. And yet, she pondered why she'd choose to create the differences in the world if some things were going to be the same. Her usual teacher was constantly busy, attempting to manage other work while on the job and therefore not paying attention to the students, and that was surely why the accident had happened in the first place. But, there was a difference.

No one was shouting at Rien for his actions.

"Why did you go in if you can't swim, Rin?" Alya questioned, voice contorted with pain briefly. "I-I know we're not close but—you stopped breathing."

They weren't close, not at all. The female before her was one of the ones that she disliked the most; she was the closest friend of the opposite gender that Rien had, and perhaps that had translated into this world, too. The most problematic thing that she'd stated was that she couldn't swim—but Marinette could. A noise of distress passed her lips, and Marinette tugged on her hair more, bubbling hysterical laughter soon escaping and echoing within the empty changing room. Her balance faltered, back sliding against the cool tiles as she slid down to sit on the floor, pressing her forehead into her knees and firmly squeezing her eyes shut. She could accept her fate if she'd died, but being placed in such a nightmare for an unknown amount of time was causing her breathing to pick up, and ragged breaths to fill up the silence.

And then there was the red-head was in front of her, crouching down on the damp floor and reaching out for her with a confused expression. Marinette flinched, huddling further into a ball of security and shutting her eyes once again.

Alya didn't try and touch her again. "Just take it easy, okay? I'll call your mother to come pick you up, but it might take a while. I'll have to get the number off of the teacher." And with those words, the red-head padded away with her footsteps taking up the silence of the room, and she was left alone, shivering, and close to hyperventilating.

Her mother would never have a schedule free enough to collect her from school. When she fell ill during her education time, her parents could never break away from the hospital to care for her. She had become accustomed to doing everything for herself, and hearing that someone was concerned enough to attempt to contact them was confusing. In her previous life—if it could even be considered that—the principal had been given a note to not disturb them during their work, and that had never been breached.

The blanket had been forgotten by the pool, and her skin had bumps and shivers coursing through her by the time that students began to pour into the changing room. Marinette was still propped against the wall, glancing up from her shaking knees every few moments to observe the familiar faces before her.

There were changes, that was for sure. If she had thought the difference in Ivan had been extreme, then she wasn't quite right there. Females that had short hair or faces pinched in irritation most of the time had the opposite here—some with different hair colours completely—and when Alya trailed back in with a tall, pale girl, it took her a few moments of blinking her bright blue eyes in confusion before realising who it was before her.

Juleka Couffaine. She had always been tall and pale-skinned, but the long black hair that had bangs cut and covering one of her beautiful hazel-coloured eyes was a new style. The Juleka that she knew—or, rather; the one that she looked at from afar as she was indifferent to her surroundings—was a bubbly girl that smiled beautifully and showed her dancing skills whenever the opportunity arose (especially around her boyfriend). Instead, the dark-haired smile was smiling tentatively, an uncertain expression flashing across her face, and holding the itchy blanket out in front of her, offering it without verbally announcing it.

"Your mother said she'll be here in ten minutes, Rin," Alya announced, taking the fabric from the other's hands when Marinette made no move to retrieve it. She kneeled down, an encouraging smile on her lips, and wrapped it around her shivering shoulders before pulling back and attempting to make eye contact. "Do you want me to wait with you?"

Her mother was coming—her mother. She hadn't seen her for over a week, apart from a glimpse before she disappeared through the front door one evening. Marinette made her own meals, sometimes leaving some for her parents, too, after their shifts, and hadn't sat down for a meal with her parents outside of special occasions or birthdays for months. But her mother was coming because Alya called.

Clutching at the fabric and pulling it closer around her, Marinette averted her eyes. The class-mates around her were busy getting dressed into their clothing, chattering away apart from the glances that were sent her way.

It seemed that Rin had no friends; that was her conclusion from no one apart from the red-head coming forward in an attempt to comfort her.

A chill ran down her shiver spine. What if she was different here, too? Had she taken the place of her opposite—was Rin her nasty counterpart, and had somehow been replaced by her? She had no evidence, though. Rin could've been a wonderful person, but the fact that they looked alike and seemed to share the same world, that was tipped upside down at that moment, was alarming.

They had been on a school trip. It was the last day before the extended holiday before the next year of education, and there had been a poll taken to decide what they'd do with their time. She and her best friend, the comfort of her days and the one that had been pleading with her tormentor to stop, had been wading through the water and attempting to enjoy their time before they were parted for the holiday.

"C-Chloé?" Marinette whispered, catching the red-head's eyes with a pleading expression. She was trying to convey her want for her friend, to see whether she was around.

Alya blinked, knitting her eyebrows together. "She didn't come today, remember? Not a fan of chlorine in her hair."

Her face fell, forehead pressing against her knees as she processed the information. Her friend had been right there, shouting for her, but now she hadn't even been present for the trip that day. And—chlorine in her hair? The Chloé she knew didn't care about appearances! It was another difference, the most heart-wrenching so far, and the maniacal laughter spilled from her lips, with no sign of holding back any more.

Pain and torture had brought her into this world, had it not? Paying no regards to the confused looks sent her way, a smile spread across Marinette's face, and she desperately clawed at the bare, cold skin of her shoulders, sinking her nails into the flesh. She felt the pain, the sensations shooting through her and causing a moan of protest to slip through, and she clenched her teeth together to stop from accidentally biting her tongue. Building up the courage to do so, Marinette pulled her head forward, taking in a shaking breath, before slamming it back against the tiles with a sickening crunch. Her vision was blurred momentarily, and it became apparent that there was blood within her mouth as she'd failed from stopping the wound there, and she hissed in pain and raised her body to repeat the motion.

"R-Rin!" someone shouted, eerily similar to the words that had first been said when she'd been resuscitated. "Fuck, Rin!"

Her consciousness wavered before she could hit herself for the third time—she was sure there was a wound, more scarlet liquid than the droplets falling from her lips and trailing down her chin, and she could only hope that the result would be one she was looking for.

-x-

It wasn't.

Marinette had been trapped in the strange world for weeks; when she'd awoken in a hospital, a bandage wrapped around her head, she'd blinked in shock before processing what had happened. It took days to come to terms with the changes, especially her ever-present parents that had different personalities, occupations, and were genuinely loving and caring people with similar facial features. It had been hard at first, but she soon played it off as memory problems. The doctor complied with her story, saying it was highly possible, and then she didn't have to smother the wide-eyed shock she felt whenever she saw something new.

Her mother, with her hooded eyelids and dark-coloured hair that hung nicely by her jaw, was doting and kind. It was everything she had been looking for. Her father was much the same; still broad shouldered, with tufts of brown hair and bright cerulean eyes that stood out nicely because of his slight facial hair. They weren't doctors in this world, though.

The two-story home that they lived in had changed. The bottom floor had been converted into a pâtisserie, a successful one at that, and the second contained their living area, and there was a small room which was usually classed as a loft that was used as Rin's bedroom. It was the same layout as her old home, but filled with details and furnishings that made it quite lived in.

There were hot meals every day. Her parents were awake before her, preparing their business and making it so sweet scents wafted through the streets surrounding them. They ran their fingers through her hair when they walked past, or hugged her briefly, and the affectionate actions had caused her throat to close up and eyes to grow hot for the first few times before she could control her surprise.

Because of the cover story; or, rather, the excuse that allowed her to gawk and act bewildered whenever she interacted with anyone, Marinette was able to assess her life when she was released from the hospital. Rin's bedroom was pink-coloured, with a little seating area and rugs and trinkets that were wholly adorable and added to the charisma of the room, but there were no personal photographs. Her own had been cream-coloured, far too mature for her tender teenage age, and had a few framed photographs of her and Chloé or from her childhood when her parents had taken non-formal pictures.

Referring to her other self as Rin made it easier to comprehend what was happening. She treated her as a separate being, as she was not able to fully emphasise with her from the limited information. When she spoke soft questions or inserted manners in a quiet tone, never quite the one for long conversations, her parents had looked at her with a bewildered expression. Other than the doctors and nurses—along with the elderly man who occupied the bed beside hers—she hadn't had the chance to interact with anyone else. For weeks she stayed cooped within the confines of the apartment and her room, never venturing outside onto the balcony that held no privacy.

Rin was her age physically. She was fifteen, ready to enter her next year of education. When she found her recent test scores, which had been stashed away deep in the drawers of the pink-coloured desk in her room, it became clear that her counterpart didn't feel fond about studying. She was below-average, an underachiever that disrupted the class with groans and discouraging comments when she saw fit—the opposite of Marinette. Marinette had strived to achieve the highest scores despite the difficulties in her way (meaning, the bullies that always seemed to appear), and it was her way of attempting to get her parents to notice her, no matter how much that hadn't worked in the end.

Rin's parents were loving, fluttering around the apartment and the pâtisserie each day, and it was her counterpart that she hadn't appreciated it. It had taken Marinette over a week to stop tearing up from the affectionate touches, the whispered words of support for her condition, and when she noticed how carefree and snotty Rin was, it made her mad. Rin had everything that she wanted—she had her parents! Loving, kind, caring people that looked out for her, that shared the dinner table with her and spoke such warm words, and she didn't care.

"I-I love you both," Marinette had stuttered over breakfast in the second week.

Her mother had stilled, juice dripping and continuing to pour at a slower rate, and looked at her with wide eyes. With lips curling into a wide and proud grin, she'd responded, "And I love you, too, little one."

She made sure to repeat it everyday, slowly growing in confidence.

They never laughed at her affectionate words. Her father encouraged her, and her mother looked near misty-eyed at every confession.

When it came time for school to begin, she was a bundle of nerves. The last time she had seen them—the female side, at least—she'd been desperately injuring herself in an attempt to get away. Did they think she had a mental breakdown? Were there rumours about what had happened, and were they spiralled out of control? Marinette's hands were shaking as she brushed her hair, happy that she'd cut the long strands to sway by her collarbones in a familiar cut, with the short bangs that brushed her dark eyebrows. Rin had been into make-up—an aspiring make-up artist—and Marinette had never experimented with cosmetics. Therefore, she stayed away from the copious boxes full of the products, and chose to stick to the what she knew, being bare with her favourite haircut.

Along with the decorations across the bedroom, her counterpart had a larger wardrobe that was filled with all sorts of outfits. There were mature dresses, cute ones with bows, more than a few floaty skirts, and shirts and other such things that she would've never associated herself with. Marinette had been a creature of comfort, sticking to warm trousers and familiar t-shirts and sweaters that she'd worn in wonderfully, but Rin was a stylish being. Her wardrobe oozed fashion sense, and she found that she didn't hate the clothes as much as she'd thought (as there wasn't much that showed cleavage or was outrageously short).

So, Marinette dressed herself in a warm patterned t-shirt with a denim dress upon the stop that came to just above her knees, choosing from a larger selection of socks than she thought possible, and shoes that were comfortable and flat. It was the best she could hope for with her limited fashion sense as it was, and she wasn't quite sure what Rin usually wore to school.

There had been a few problems with her new life, however. There was a code to type into Rin's cell phone to unlock it, and the computer had much the same on it, too. She'd been unable to guess the cell phone's one and was limited to five every few hours, but the computer had a guest option to use, so she had to resort to that. It had only a few programs and limited access, but it had to do for the time being.

Naturally, Rin didn't have a diary. Marinette had opened an empty notepad, that was covered in a squishy material that was fun to touch, that had been tired with a ribbon and decided to use it as a journal. It was a means to write down her problems, to vent about her confusion, and convince herself that she was living. She wrote about her past life, the abuse and loneliness she felt, and crafted images of her previous encounters and the fun times with her best friend. Tears had welled up a few times during the process, but it was something that she had to do. If she were to forget all that had happened in the first place, it wouldn't have been fair—not to her, nor to Rin who she'd replaced. It was to prove that it wasn't her imagination mocking her, no matter how distant it felt at times.

The life she was living wasn't hers. She had to remember that. She was walking around tentatively on borrowed time, waiting for the upcoming moment where she'd be ripped away, back into the pool and drowning by the hands of the male she despised the most.

She hadn't always despised him, though.

They had been friends once. Before puberty, prior to puberty, and before his father had passed away and his mother had entered another marriage. He had grown bitter, distant for a year before he transferred into her class after an absence. He had appeared, and she'd smiled in hope when they first saw each other in the classroom, but his expression had twisted into a grimace. And if that wasn't the first warning sign, then she didn't know what was.

He had been Chloé's step-brother. Would he still be?

"Chloé's not my friend," she reminded herself, staring sadly into her reflection.

The image looking back at her was beginning to look like the Marinette of her world. Rin's body was healthier, from the balanced meals that were provided and not cooked by a young girl, and her chest was slightly more ample. Their height was the same, skin sharing a similar pale colour, and the haircut had definitely helped make her begin to feel normal again. But when she took in the pink-coloured walls, sniffed in the sweet-scented air that was all around, she knew that it would never quite be the same.

She slapped her cheeks, narrowing her eyes in the mirror. "No," Marinette murmured, shaking her head. "This is a new chance."

The people were not the same that she knew. She needed to tread carefully, take note of each and every conversation and determine whether they were a threat to her or not. Rin had been an aggressive individual; she'd picked fights in classrooms, interrupted the teachers at times, and that was what she was certainly not going to do. There was no point trying to blend in—she didn't want to be Rin. Her counterpart was an example of the type of people that she loathed; the rude, quick tempered ones that didn't understand the weight of their words.

Her father kissed her forehead, and her mother embraced her tightly and whispered words of encouragement. They explained that the school had been informed of her condition, and that they'd been warned that she might not be able to remember everything. Marinette kept her lips shut, simply nodding and playing along with the conversation. She wasn't going to point out that she was smarter than Rin, or that she'd recognise the faces already—she needed to play along with the amnesia if she didn't want her class-mates to stare at her as though she were an exhibit in a zoo. They warned her that her teacher would have to announce it to the class, so they knew not to tease or taunt her because of the outcome.

"If it ever gets too much for you, Marinette," her father said, leaning down as running his fingers through her hair. "You are always welcome home."

They had never called her Rin, and she was grateful for that. It was closer to become affectionate with them because of that detail, and that was what she had longed for for the longest time. With cheeks tinged pink, Marinette nodded, accepting the loving words and departed on her way to school for the day.

The cell phone she couldn't unlock was in her white-coloured bag, and there was a small map that was drawn crudely on a piece of paper by her father in her hands. It was wrinkled and slightly damp from her clammy hands, and as she crossed a busy street with tentative steps, she made sure to check the street names to what was written down. There was differences in buildings, shops, and even benches that were scattered around, but the general style or shape of each street hadn't changed quite that much. She was able to recognise where she was going, and when she noticed a a small group of students huddled together and walking in the right direction, she folded the map and placed it away in one of her bag's pockets. With quiet footsteps, she followed after them while attempting to decipher their identities.

The group contained a single female with crudely dyed pink-coloured hair, with a half-hearted ponytail holding half of the bright tresses, and a tall male that had straight tufts of black hair and slightly tanned skin. The last was a dark-skinned male with curly black hair, one that she could recognise because of his race from behind—Max Kanté. He had been a short male with broad shoulders and muscles that were overly developed for his age, but the male before her was slim—still small—with no sporting attire on.

Gripping onto the strap of her bag with one clenched hand, Marinette crossed through the gates of the school, eyes darting around nervously to see the chattering students that weren't paying attention to the passers-by. Her legs were shaking as she ascended the steps, palms growing clammy by the time she'd stopped in front of the classroom door, and she stood still, staring at the stained wood while biting her lip.

Chloé was not her friend, and Rin didn't have any. There would be no one to seek comfort from, and that alone caused her stomach to twist from nerves. How would her class-mates react to her? Were they expecting her to make nasty remarks under her breath, to attempt to cause them distress and discomfort?

She felt nauseated. The nerves were piling up, fluttering around in her stomach and pressing against the lining and begging her to vomit, to expel the negative feelings from her body and start fresh. Her body felt cold, bumps appearing across her bare arms and she shivered, a hand reaching to hold her mouth in an attempt to keep the feelings at bay. Her tongue felt fuzzy as she swallowed, lips quivering from trying not to—

"Rin?"

Turning around quickly, back connecting with the door, Marinette's muscles tensed and her eyes widened as she stared at the one who'd approached behind her. She hadn't heard the footsteps, too occupied with her heavy pulse within her head, and that was one of the main reasons for the horror that flashed across her expression.

Rien, with his golden hair styled perfectly, wearing dark-washed jeans that fit snugly and a long-sleeved t-shirt that contrasted with his skin, making him look wholly innocent and not at all intimidating. His eyebrows were knitted together, concern clearly showing, but all she could see was how his lips could curl into a sinister smirk, how his hands could cause such pain, and how he could ignore his step-sister to inflict her pain—

Her throat felt hot, and she leaned forward in time to splutter and cough, liquid splattering across the tiled floor and his pristine shoes. The pungent smell hit her nostrils and she heaved, the remainder of the contents of her stomach splashing onto the floor. Her eyes stung, liquid seeping from her nose from the action, and she frantically wiped at her mouth and backed away with undisguised terror within her expression.

Without giving him the chance to reply, she sprinted into the nearest toilet.

The shaking of her hands had disappeared after a good half an hour had passed, much like the nerves that had kept her stomach churning uncomfortably. Instead, she was left with a terrified expression and a throat that couldn't be quenched despite how much water she tried to drink with her hands from the tap.

"He's not the same," Marinette told herself, leaning against the cool mirror. "No one is."

It was her mantra, and she repeated it until her mouth was dry. It was the vital piece of information that she needed to keep saying until it really sunk it, and it had to—she couldn't be scared of everyone from her past when in this world, it was most likely her counterpart that was the terroriser.

Classes had already started. Marinette trudged through the hallway, cheeks wet from the water she'd splashed in hopes of calming down, and she noticed that the floor was clean from her earlier incident. It had taken her a lot of encouraging talks in the mirror to work up the courage to come, and as she adamantly refused to look within the windows and look at the class before she was ready, Marinette knocked on the wood and waited for the teacher to waltz over to see who it was.

She stared at her feet for the introductory speech. The teacher explained that she had suffered an accident and mentioned her foggy memory, and there were hums of acknowledge from the class, and a few muffled comments that she couldn't quite catch. She was directed with a wave of the teacher's hand to a desk in the second row, and she slid into it and clutched her bag within her lap with clammy hands.

"I see you're okay, Rin."

Peeking to see her desk-mate, she realised who the bouncy red curls belonged to quickly. With thick spectacles perched upon her nose, that certainly hadn't been there in her previous world, Alya was sat there with her dark eyebrows raised. The expression on her was guarded, cautious, and she quickly understood why; the red-head had been right in front of her when she'd began to laugh manically and attempt to smash her head open, after all.

Clearing her throat, she tentatively replied, "I prefer Marinette."

"Do you?" Alya asked, looking at her critically.

She blinked, and murmured uncertainly, "I'm not sure who Rin is any more."

By the smile that appeared across the red-head's lips, she assumed it was the right thing to say.

-x-

It was hard trying to adjust. Marinette blinked and stared wide-eyed most of the times when she was included in a conversation, and that was the most positive reaction she could muster up. Alya was kind, friendly, and generally wanted to get to know the new her; she was unsure whether Rin had terrorised her, but they simply didn't speak of her counterpart. There were hushed whispers, rumours floating around about the accident, but no one addressed them where she could hear clearly, or ask her straight to her face. So, the dark-haired female walked through life with cautious eyes and jumped at almost every loud noise—if someone dropped their books, she flinched, and when someone tripped over, she rushed over and tried to extend a helping hand to lift them up. It hadn't gone over well at first; they looked at her cautiously, surprise clear across their expressions, and it had taken weeks before someone other than Alya understood that she had changed, completely.

The bane of her previous existence was, indeed, still close to the red-head. Rien sat in front of her, and she had the pleasure of staring anxiously at the back of his head daily. When he turned around to talk with Alya, she averted her gaze and adamantly stared at her desk, shaking hands hidden underneath the desk and out of view. Her desk-mate never questioned her behaviour; she was friendly when they were alone, and quickly noticed that large groups of students caused her to stutter, freeze up, and panic altogether.

During the second week, after she'd began to settle into classes and quietly work and the teachers had taken note that it really wasn't false information about her personality change, Marinette had been scribbling maths equations upon her page when the other male—the tanned one—that sat in front of her turned around, the hat that had been upon his head gone and leaving his ebony, curly hair flat and sticking up oddly, and stared at her for a few minutes before clearing his throat.

Marinette's muscles tensed, memories of the same noise flashing in her mind—him, clearing his throat before making a scathing remark and walking away with his arm around his shy girlfriend, always taunting and making fun of her test scores, claiming that they wouldn't help anyone like her, that showing off would do nothing for her future. It was the usual drivel that escaped his mouth, and no matter the amount of times Chloé had hugged her closely and said to ignore them, the comments still stung.

"I'm Nino Lahiffe," he introduced himself, voice soft as if he was talking to an animal, "it's nice to meet you."

She didn't reply; simply staring at him with a confused expression before nodding and returning her attention to her work, but he had seemed pleased with himself nonetheless. It started a trend, though. Soon there were students introducing themselves to her within the classrooms, hallways, outside, and even within the safety of her home, when they wandered in to buy from the selection of delicacies that were sold. They were mostly civil, curious, even, and treated her as though she'd snap and have a crying fit at any moment. From her misty-eyed stare she gave a few of them, they were closer to the truth than they knew.

Everything had changed. The relationships of her class-mates was completely different, and those that had been dating previously were not even friends at times. The only friendship that was still there was between Alya and Rien, but that was because of Nino in this world, it seemed. Previously Nino and Alya hadn't been friends at all; they'd clashed, constantly yelling at each other, especially when it concerned the male's girlfriend. And yet, from the shy glances that they sent each other in classes, she suspected that they shared feelings for each other in this one, and hadn't quite acted upon them yet. There were a few other crushes around the classroom, but none were dating as openly as the couples in her world had. A lot more were reserved, shy, and not open to publicly announcing their feelings.

When she first saw a familiar face waltz through the classroom door after a few weeks of absence, light blonde-coloured hair piled into a high ponytail, Marinette had gawked and let out a noise of surprise. She had healthy looking skin, make-up on that was perfectly applied (much how she thought Rin would've worn hers), and clothes that clung to her body wonderfully and accented her teenage figure. It was the opposite of the soft, kind-hearted Chloé she knew, and when the blonde opened her mouth and openly scoffed and made rude remarks, her heart sank and her eyes prickled. Marinette furiously wiped at her welling eyes, willing herself to stop appearing so distraught and weak, and it quickly caught the attention of her desk-mate.

Alya's hand hovered by her shoulder, unsure whether her touch would offer any comfort. It was a gesture that was slowly appearing more often, and despite her attempts she never quite reached further to make contact. "Rin?" she called, uncertain.

"Marinette, please," the dark-haired female responded, grimacing as her voice cracked. She rubbed her cold cheek, making sure there was no leaking moisture before hiding her hands underneath the desk again. The mistake had been uttered more than a few times, and with each call of the name she'd wince, making it known that she wasn't comfortable with it. "I'm fine."

"Do you want to come over to my place after school?" the red-head questioned instead, tapping her fingertips against the desk lightly. "We can play some games, if you want."

The invitation was a surprise. Marinette blinked, gaze flickering between her desk-mate and the two males in front of them—they were friends, after all, and she wasn't expecting Alya to make time to simply be alone with her. Alya caught onto the hidden meaning and nodded, indicating that they would be coming, too, and she rapidly shook her head in denial and refused to look up, denying herself from looking at the enquiring looks that the two males in front were sending her way.

Rien wasn't the same. For one, he went by his full name in this world; Adrien.

And Adrien was... nice, and that caused her to shoot suspicious glances during class when her work was done, and made her step out of the way within the hallways, and generally try not to be alone with him. He'd introduced himself again, proving that he'd kept his father's last name and was named Agreste rather than Bourgeois, and then smiled softly and went back to his work. He was a shy thing, she noticed; he spoke in timid tones to those he wasn't close with, and uttered jokes that made Nino laugh loudly during class, and occasionally hugged Alya to show his appreciation. It was like seeing the mirror image of her tormentor—when he smiled, it was genuine and kind, and when he was frustrated, he touched his neck in a self-conscious gesture and didn't use his fists. He hadn't made any rude remarks underneath his breath, and when someone irritated him, he simply frowned and didn't retort to start an argument. He was a kind being that fluttered around confrontation, avoiding it at all costs, and stuck close to his two friends.

His father had lived instead of his mother in this world. Gabriel Agreste had never married again, and instead lead an empire within the fashion industry as a famous designer, and his son modelled his collections and had created a flourishing career for himself before he had hit his teenage years. It turned out that the previous school year had been his first, as he'd been home-schooled by tutors before then, and that was why he was so distant with the rest of the class.

Alya had taken to whispering information about the students in her ear, trying to ease her into her new environment without scaring her with too many details straight away. She quickly learned to assume that each was almost the exact opposite to their counterparts, and that was helping her get through each day. When night came, she scribbled in her journal about the differences between each person, trying to recall her first time meeting them within her own world, and comparing the differences in their greetings and such. It was rapidly filling with precious information, and knowing that her parents could simply climb the stairs to her room and flick through the pages to read her secrets had her worrying and breaking a sweat. And so, Marinette hid the journal beneath her mattress, safely tucking it in each morning and checking for it when she came home from school.

When she received full marks for her first test, her father had appeared misty-eyed for a moment before pulling her into a tight hug. Her mother had been much the same, and cooked her favourite food for dinner that evening. When she continued to place her tests upon the countertop at home, waiting to see when they would glimpse and see the result, their excitement didn't falter. They were ecstatic, and it was the reaction she had always yearned for from her own parents—they praised her, whispering words of fondness with wide smiles, and mentioned how they'd bragged to their own parents when the time came.

Marinette had created a place for herself in the new world. She was a loner, certainly, but she was happier than she had ever been before. Despite feeling lonely at times, especially when she peeked to see the snooty expression across Chloé's face, the affection and warmth she received at home made up for the lack of her best friend. There was no one tripping her over in the hallway, and the population of the school treated her as a wounded animal, still, treading cautiously as if to not set her off at any moment. She didn't correct them, to say she was fine and that the concern was unnecessary, and simply focused on her studies as she always did.

It had been three months when Alya tried again to persuade her to spend time with her after school.

"Marinette," she started, smiling brightly. "Do you want to have dinner at mine? My mother wants to meet you."

And with those words, the dark-haired female knitted her eyebrows together in confusion. Her gaze went to the two males in front of them, meaning clear once again, and when Alya shook her head with the same smile upon her lips, she found herself nodding, accepting the invite tentatively. Even though she was okay being alone, it didn't mean that it wasn't weighing on her. She missed the kinship she'd had with Chloé, the fond comments they'd mutter to each other, or the mere fact that they used to study in the library during their lunch breaks. She was never going to find another friend to replace her, but having a relationship that was even a tiny bit similar to it would be a blessing.

There was still the problem of her cell phone. She could answer incoming calls, as they popped up past the code and allowed her to answer them, but she couldn't make her own ones or reply to messages. So, Marinette had to explain that she'd have to tell her parents in person first, but that seemed perfectly fine. Her mother was positively glowing when she said a class-mate had invited her over for dinner, and soon there was a small container of treats from the pâtisserie in her hands after she'd freshened up. Her white-coloured bag was left in her room, and she navigated through the streets before knocking tentatively on Alya's door.

It was nice. Alya's family was welcoming, never questioned her too much, and when the red-head pulled her forcefully into her bedroom to retreat, the conversation was light and amusing. There was no tension between them, and slowly, she began to flinch less when Alya suddenly exclaimed something loudly, and didn't shuffle away when they were closer than normal. They were almost friends, more than acquaintances, and she started to return the hushed conversations in the classroom. When Alya invited her over, she'd accept if it was clear that they would be alone.

Although she was friendly with her desk-mate, the same couldn't be said for the two in front of them. She had yet to timidly reply to Nino, and when Adrien turned around—Adrien, not Rien—she still stared anywhere but at his kind face.

She swallowed, averting her eyes and repeating the mantra within her mind.

He was not Rien.

One day, when she'd been busy writing away on her piece of paper, she was called to attention by someone asking softly, "Can I borrow a pen?"

It took a few moments to realise that it was directed at her, not Alya. Marinette blinked up, surprise showing clearly across her expression, and she met his kind, emerald eyes which were looking at her gently, an easy smile across his lips. It was an utterly friendly expression, but she could still see it twisting, turning into a grimace or a smirk that promised pain and insults in the future—and so, she gulped, staring at him without answering.

He didn't look away. Adrien didn't look taken aback by her reaction; rather, from the encouraging curve of his lips, she supposed that he'd been prepared for this. He was testing the air, seeing whether she was still questionably scared by his appearance, and she couldn't deny it. And yet, despite the fact that she'd recoiled from him almost every time, and had thrown up upon his shoes (which he had never once complained about), she held his gaze with bated breath, willing herself not to show how afraid she was.

Rien had once been kind—when he was small, harmless, and before his father had passed away.

The male before her, with his almost there dimples showing from his smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, was not exuding hatred and annoyance. He was kind, making a small offer for friendship that was their first real interaction since he'd introduced himself, and since she'd reacted violently to seeing him outside of the classroom.

So, with her teeth biting into her lower lip, Marinette retrieved an extra pen from within her bright bag and reached out with visibly shaking hands, holding it up in an offering.

Adrien didn't gasp, nor did his expression turn smug or anything negative. Instead, his grin grew, showing the whites of his pristine teeth, and reaching his bright eyes as he tentatively reached and accepted the offered pen, making sure not to touch her shaking hand in the process.

"Thank you," he murmured, and she stared, uncertain, as he turned around and began to do his work. And that was all there was to their conversation, but she clutched her shaking hands within her lap, teeth clenched together and gulped, trying to will the nerves to disappear. Their interaction had been harmless, really, but his appearance only still had this effect on her; one that was negative, quite embarrassing, and her cheeks burned as she narrowed her eyes down at her work.

Nino and Alya had been silent, not intruding on the brief conversation, and that alone was suspicious.

-x-

Her suspicious were confirmed a few weeks later. It had been almost subtle at first, so when Adrien turned around and quietly asked if he could borrow a pen the next week—when he hadn't even returned the first—Marinette had blinked dumbly before complying with the request after staring at him for a few moments, to gauge whether he was serious. Their desk-mates were minding their own business, eyes looking everywhere but at their interaction, and her hand still shook as she passed over the pen.

He grinned, thanked her kindly, and went back to his work.

It happened the following week again, on the same day, and she stared.

Adrien's smile didn't falter, and he leaned to the side to show his empty desk and his need for said writing utensil. There was a muffled snort of laughter from Nino, who's shoulders were shaking as he refused to turn around to look at them, and the red-head beside her was busying herself by leaning over and fiddling with her bag. So, with cautious hands, Marinette handed over another pen and he was still careful to pluck it from her hand, not brushing her flesh with his fingers.

On the fourth week, Alya had burst into laughter and was called upon by the teacher. She was scolded, but that couldn't muffle all of her amusement. Alya had a wide smile as she returned to her work, not looking at the blond that was turned around in his seat with the friendly curve of his lips, or the incredulous expression that was across Marinette's face. He had three of her pens, and still insisted on asking for more—it was always the same day, though he'd selected different lessons (probably so the teacher wouldn't catch on to his lack of pens and discipline him). Her hand still shook when she handed one over.

Alya and Nino knew what he was doing, and they were wholly supporting it. When classes were over for the day and Marinette had packed up her belongings, the first weekend day that she spent over at the red-head's house had resulted in her being given a pack of pens, being told to put them to good use.

When he asked for a pen, Marinette continued to hand one over.

They didn't speak more than that, and Alya didn't pressure her in private to. In passing, she mentioned her conversations that were amusing with the two males, but never attempted to convince her to be friends with them. Her expressions when she looked at the two in front of her were always a mixture of nervousness, surprise, or neutral. It was strange, really, but the extended amount of time she'd spent in the other world was beginning to feel like it was all she knew. It was passing, disappearing, and her journals were her comfort. She'd bought another one, having filled the previous and left it stashed beneath her mattress, and it was becoming filled with paragraphs of her day.

Over time, Adrien changed tactics. Marinette had met her red-headed friend outside of the school one morning, crossing their last street together while talking quietly about their prior evenings, and when they'd walked through the gates and past other groups of students, him and Nino were leaning against the entrance and chatting with themselves. Nino's expression had visibly brightened as he caught sight of the bespectacled female, and she knew from her quiet talks with Alya that they hadn't confessed their feelings for each other.

Alya smiled, a skip in her step and she shot forward and walked beside him, announcing that she'd see Marinette in class, not waiting for an answer before darting through the entrance and disappearing into the school.

She blinked.

Adrien had one hand within the pocket of his expensive trousers, that fit his body expertly as always, while the other was gripping the strap of his bag. He shrugged his shoulders as their eyes met, and walked forward to stand beside her. "Good morning, Marinette," he greeted kindly.

It wasn't Rien.

Taking a step to the side to create distance between them, Marinette nodded in acknowledgement.

His grin grew, reaching his bright ever-green eyes and showing his barely there dimples upon his cheeks. They walked through the hallway without making conversation, and she fell behind a step to allow him to enter the classroom first. Her heart was pounding, palms sweaty, but he hadn't attempted anything; not even further conversation from the greeting, and that was fine. Their friends were seated inside already, talking over the desk and not being discreet at all at their not-so-subtle glances their way as they entered.

It happened daily after that. Alya would make an excuse, run off with Nino into the distance of the school, and Adrien would greet her with a tentative smile. And every week without fail, he'd request a pen in a different lesson each time, and she handed one over from her ever-growing amount that she kept within her bag.

She idly wondered where he kept them.

During their lunch one afternoon, Marinette was picking at her food while sat outside in the cold, brisk air. She'd had her lunches alone for quite a few months before Alya had invited herself over, leaving her duo of boys to fend for themselves during that time, and she'd never mentioned inviting them over, too. So it had become a quiet, private affair of them gnawing their food at a specific table outside, one that she was fond of as the other students had originally strayed away from going too far outside.

When she noticed that Alya hadn't murmured a thing since she'd sat down across from her, Marinette looked up from her food to gaze at her friend's expression. Confused, she realised that the red-head's eyes were trained elsewhere; rather than looking at her or the food on the table, she was gazing over Marinette's head into the distance, a smile tugging upon the corner of her lips and barely being restrained. Suspicious, Marinette peered over her shoulder and stilled when she caught sight of two figures that were close, close enough to hear their footsteps yet she hadn't, and waving sheepishly at her.

"Mind if we join you?" Nino asked, not waiting for a reply before settling into the seat beside Alya.

The table was small, a tiny little wooden one with quaint benches attached on either side, so the remaining seat for the remaining person was beside her. She had a chance to say no, to stand up and disappear into the distance, but the thoughts of how kind Alya had been, leaving her friends without ever asking if they could join, too, just to give her a sense of comfort. With held breath, Marinette looked up to meet Adrien's eyes, noticing that he hadn't moved from behind her. He was there, standing, waiting for a reply curiously with his eyes flickering to the empty bench with clear intent.

She wetted her lips.

"Okay," Marinette murmured.

A bright smile appeared on his face, making him appear angelic and showed the reason why companies fought to have him as their model, and his dimples were clear to see as he settled into the seat beside her.

Alya was grinning, much like Nino. They shared knowing looks, and Marinette narrowed her eyes at her friend across the table. Making sure their was adequate distance between them, Marinette shuffled over slightly before picking at her food once more. When the conversation started, she kept to herself, but the two didn't ignore her or Adrien like they did in the mornings, or during the pen exchanges; Nino actively attempted to coerce her into their talks, while Alya kept questioning the blond instead.

After that, Adrien and Nino joined them for lunches outside when it was sunny (Adrien had to look out for his health, the tanned male had explained to Alya loudly when he was absent once when it was raining), and it had taken some time for her to open up more than she had in the past. She spoke softly at first, laughing under her breath at jokes that either of the males had uttered, and when she and Alya were alone and in private, the red-haired female would pull her into a hug and say that she was doing great—and never explained what at, not pushing the subject any further. Comments on her budding friendships with the two that occupied the desk in front spread through the classroom, and there were calls for them to be quiet during lessons at times because Alya had gotten too rowdy, or Adrien couldn't control his laughter after telling a particularly bad joke.

When Rien was younger, when other males were in the phase of thinking the opposite gender had germs, he had been accepting and kind to Marinette. They had spied each other at a playground that was near to her home, where she'd wonder off to when her parents were busy and not looking, and it had taken a few weeks until they'd spoken to each other at all. He'd often play with the other boys, pushing the over at times, but when he saw her laughing under her breath at their antics, he began to notice her. His cheeks had puffed out with air, an angry expression for a child, and he'd stomped over and demanded to know what was so funny, and she'd laughed happily even more because he simply wasn't threatening with the halo of golden hair on his head, nor the fancy clothes that were on his body. He'd tried to push her over—a warning sign, one she'd been too young to understand—and failed, and she'd twisted the situation and instead wormed her way out of his grip and he'd ended up on the floor, and she'd laughed and laughed, delighted from his incredulous expression.

Their relationship hadn't been healthy, she knew that. They had been in different classes growing up, only spying each other outside in their free time, but they'd gotten along somewhat well when that time came.

And then, his father had died and he'd been withdrawn from school. She'd lost her friend for a year, only hearing whispers of the happenings within his family and not quite understanding from her young age, and she'd grown accustomed to being lonely during her breaks. She sought comfort in her studies, wanting to proudly wave a test score or announce she was the best at spelling in her class, just so her ever-busy parents would smile warmly and her, and perhaps pet her hair if she did particularly well. But it hadn't turned out that way at all—a year passed, a lonely time, and when he returned and transferred into her class, he wasn't alone.

His mother had married, and he had a tiny step-sister beside him, who's soft blue eyes were downcast and gazing at her feet.

And then, it had started. The rude remarks, the pushes that she couldn't regain her balance from or move swiftly enough out of the way, and when other students began to follow his lead, she realised a daunting fact—he hadn't changed that much, not really, she had simply been looking for something that hadn't been there. The weak Rien, the one that couldn't push her over, had been the one she was fond of, not knowing that his actions had always had mean intentions behind them. He hadn't been strong enough to fully commit to his plans, but that had changed. With the introduction of his step-sister, a blonde-haired girl who flinched and was quiet during class, Rien came out of his shell and spread his wings, becoming popular within the circle of the students. As the years passed, his followers grew; they only made rude remarks, or tripped her over to laugh from the failure, but never ventured further. She had never been shoved down the stairs, had burning liquid poured on her skin, or anything else that was that heinous. It had been petty crimes that were present in most classrooms—only they were all directed at her—before it had escalated.

Thinking back to how she came to be in the new world, Marinette had decided that he hadn't set out to drown her. It was a rare opportunity, one that could've been mistaken for playing around in the water, and she supposed he wanted to keep her head underneath until she spluttered and coughed for fun.

Adrien was nothing like him. The male before her, who's eyes often shined in happiness and his dimples showed more often than not to show the sincerity of his smiles, had only lifted his fists to lightly punch his friend in the arm once or twice. He had never done the same to Alya, only embracing her on the rare occasion, and he often touched his neck self-consciously when talking to the other students in the class. He was an awkward thing that wasn't too sure how to express his feelings, found it hard to reach out in friendship, and he had done nothing to her—that was the main thing, and combined with the silly jokes that came out of his mouth, often muttered under his breath in the classroom, it had made her slowly grow fond of him.

By the time her hands stopped shaking when she handed him a pen, it had been over half a year. And yet, their exchanges were still soft-spoken, but more than one worded like they had started out from her. Marinette could laugh happily at his jokes without recoiling in premature terror, and when they walked through the school gates together her stomach didn't churn uncomfortably and she didn't take a step away. When they sat beside each other, eating their lunch and enjoying the passing breeze, she didn't scoot along to the edge to distance herself.

She felt like she was home.

-x-

It was their last week of education for their grade, the day before the trip that the teacher had planned, when Adrien's actions caused her to look at him in suspicion. She'd sat through the lessons in her same seat, a second pen placed neatly beside her paper and waiting for him to turn around and ask for it. Even though she'd noticed months ago that he'd slip his own up his shirt sleeve, or discreetly drop it on the floor, she never questioned his motivation. Their small interaction had become a tradition that she was quite fond of, and as time passed and their last lesson of the day she started, Marinette rolled the spare around in her fingers, fiddling with it.

He hadn't turned around.

Marinette stared at the back of his head, noticing that he'd cut his hair as the golden strands were swaying against his shirt any longer, and the strands of his fringe were almost on level with the tips of his ears that often grew red when he was embarrassed. She tapped the lid against the desk, chin propped upon her open palm and tuned the teacher's speech out.

Her grades had been the top of the class since she'd came to—the principal had expressed their disbelief to her parents at first, and they'd backed her up and proved that she wasn't cheating straight away. The support was warming, and after that there wasn't any questions about the legitimacy of her grades. Through passing comments it was usually revealed what the other students had as their average results, but the only way she'd found out about Adrien's had been by peering to look over his shoulder, or when he leaned over to talk to Nino quietly. It shouldn't have been a surprise that he was smart—Rien hadn't been too bright, after all—so finding out that he was only just behind her, barely by one or two questions most of the time, was strangely unsettling at first. Whereas her grades had been for her parents at first, she strived to beat him, too, before deciding that they were for her—to help secure a future in the world she was thrust into.

Gnawing on her lower lip, her eyes travelled to the large clock at the front of the room. There was ten minutes left to their lesson, to the end of the school day, yet he hadn't requested what she'd expected. She knew that it would have to stop eventually—he'd taken more than a few bags of pens from her at that point—yet it didn't stop the pang of disappoint and the curve of the frown on her lips.

She'd been looking forward to it.

When they were dismissed, after she'd packed away her possessions apart from the pen that she'd planned to pass over to him, Marinette worked up the courage to lean forward and tap him lightly on the shoulder. Alya scurried past her, darting out of the door to catch up to the male she still hadn't asked to date her, and the rest of the students poured out of the classroom eagerly.

He turned around to look at her, expression visibly surprised, and their distance was closer than she'd suspected. With her arms leaning on the table still, buttocks slightly out of the chair as her weight was on the desk, Marinette blinked from their proximity and quickly settled down into her seat with a flush across her cheeks.

He cleared his throat. "Marinette?"

"I—" Marinette started, biting her lower lip and averting her gaze from embarrassment. "You didn't ask for a pen." She reached to collect the pen from the desk, hand hovering above it before she withdrew and played with her fingers nervously on her lap.

"You're right," Adrien mused, body slanted from leaning down to reach his bag. It was placed on his lap, his body twisted in an attempt to still see her and therefore showing the side of his face as he searched through the designer bag (that was surely as expensive as the rest of his clothing). "I finally remembered to bring one today," he said, lips twitching as he tried not to laugh.

She blinked.

If he collected them, then he probably had a drawer full at his home. She wasn't too sure, though, as although they were friendly at school, she hadn't ventured into meeting him, or Nino, outside of education hours. "That took a while," she replied instead, not attempting to hide her amusement. She fiddled with the pen, rolling in upon her fingertips and spinning it on the desk occasionally, eyes peering down to watch her ministrations. "I guess you don't need me any more."

Adrien smiled then, showing his teeth as he released a breath of amusement. "I thought we could change things around, actually," the blond announced, shifting her attention to the bag upon his lap as his hand moved through his possessions. Furrowing his eyebrows, he reached throughout the material, murmuring for her to wait a moment while he was busy. Marinette settled back into her seat, connecting her buttocks with the chair, and waited patiently.

When he pulled his hand up, the clearly smug smile that appeared caused her to stifle laughter. Between his fingers was an obvious white stick with a brightly-coloured wrapper around the circular top, and he was gesturing towards her with it, so she tilted her head slightly, questioning silently whether he was teasing or if he genuinely wanted to give the sweet to her.

They hadn't exchanged gifts of any sort other than the pens; Adrien didn't share the lunch that was specifically made for him, and Marinette treasured her own food that had been lovingly made by her parents. Only Nino and Alya gave out food at times in their makeshift group.

"A thank you for all the pens," he started, catching her attention and his grin showed his dimples and sincerity, "and for being my friend."

She wanted to thank him for not being Rien—for being genuinely likeable and possessing an endearing personality. Instead, Marinette swallowed audibly and her grin grew, reaching her bright cerulean eyes and hopefully conveying how much he had come to mean to her; the awkward gestures he made, how nervous he came when confronted with new people, and definitely how unbelievably nice he was to her. The male before her would never lift a finger to harm her, and just knowing that she could trust him warmed her heart.

When she accepted the sweet, she maintained eye contact and didn't shuffle away when their hands brushed.

Her hands didn't shake. She wasn't scared, and the sheer difference to their first interaction to how they were at that moment, together awkwardly passing a lollipop between each other, proved how she'd accepted her place in the world without showing their previous counterparts onto others any longer.

"Well," Marinette said, the sweet twirling within her fingertips on one hand while the other had the pen, "if I knew I'd receive this for all my kindness, then I would've given you even more." Her gaze flickered from both as she tried to keep her expression neutral. She could feel his gaze on her face, but she remained stoic. "You shouldn't have, Adrien."

Making a disapproving noise with his mouth, Adrien reached into his bag again and the tell-tale sound of crinkling appeared, and she burst into laughter as he pulled out the entire bag which he'd selected the lollipop from previously. He grinned wolfishly, placing it unceremoniously onto her desk between her busy hands.

"You're absolutely right, Marinette," the blond agreed, plucking the pen from her hands and tucking away into his bag before leaving it on his table, out of sight. He turned around fully in his seat, weight upon the back of his chair, and gazed at the offered sweet. His golden-stained eyelashes were creating shadows on his cheekbones, and all he had to do was utter a bad pun to ruin his angelic appearance. "Those pens were payment for your life, so consider the sweet a gift of friendship."

"My life?" she parroted, furrowing her eyebrows and not quite understanding. Her thoughts flickered, trying to piece together the meaning, before she realised that she'd been too busy coughing and wheezing after coming into consciousness at the swimming pool to turn around and thank her saviour—she'd assumed it had been Chloé at one point, before noticing that things were different. But from what she'd known, Adrien had only transferred and spent a year with Rin (who she still suspected hadn't been friendly with him), and yet he'd jumped in and saved her, proceeding with the correct procedure because it had been the right thing to do. She asked softly, "That was you?"

Adrien blinked, a confused expression appearing for a moment before his lips parted in recognition. "You didn't know? I—I assumed you just didn't want to talk about it."

Shaking her head, the blue-eyed female murmured, "No, I didn't. It—I was too panicked to think clearly."

"Can I ask you something?" he whispered, fingertips tapping soundlessly against her desk. His expression was sincere, no smile across his lips any longer, and his eyebrows were slightly furrowed in concern. "You can tell me to stop if I make you uncomfortable at all, but, well, I—I want to know you."

Didn't they already know each other? It had taken almost all of the education year, but they could be classed as friends at that point. Marinette mulled over her answer, gnawing at her lower lip anxiously as his expression conveyed how serious he was. Wordlessly, Marinette nodded and dropped her clutched belongings onto the table so she could play with her fingers in the safety of her lap.

He released a quiet breath. "The teacher explained your condition to us, but... something's been nagging me, and I'm so sorry if this is intrusive," Adrien began, expression looking pained and his voice was low and strained. "Marinette... are you afraid of me?"

"No," she whispered, voice cracking and causing warmth to blossom along her cheekbones. After clearing her throat, she repeated in a stronger voice, "No."

They paused, staring at each other for a prolonged amount of time; his eyes were kind, taking in her expression and she tried to keep a neutral face, because it was not a lie. She was afraid of Rien, not the male before her—if anything, he was a source of warmth in this world, and the kind-hearted smiles that appeared were more than enough to comfort her. He was not her tormentor, and could probably never be.

"W-were you?" he choked out, grimacing.

How could she explain it? Admitting that she was from another world, and that she'd taken over her counterpart's body, wasn't going to do any favours for convincing anyone that she was sane. There was only the option of going with her injury, no matter how much of a sour taste it left on her tongue. So, with a strained expression that was caught between distaste and feeling nauseous, Marinette whispered, "I was scared of everyone—I didn't know who you were."

Her lower lip trembled.

"Oh," Adrien whispered, averting his eyes. Guilt coursed through her, and she bit into her lower lip to stop the tell-tale signs of her anxiety. "I..." He cleared his throat. "I've never heard you ask about how you were before; it's like... you don't want to know."

She didn't, not really. From what she could tell Rin had been a spoiled brat, and it was the complete opposite of her character. "I consider her a different person," Marinette whispered.

The choice of words didn't escape his notice. She didn't flinch when his bright eyes snapped up to meet hers, confusion clear within his emerald irides. "Is that why you go by your full name?"

"I never thought the nickname suited me," Marinette confessed, wrinkling her nose briefly in distaste. "It's easier to differentiate us this way, isn't it? Rin is a person of the past, and I am here in her place." Her voice shook throughout, and it was a feat that she'd managed to maintain her composure throughout without feeling the prickling at the back of her eyes. There was only a small chance of her bursting into tears, and that hadn't happened since the first couple of months. "Adrien," she found herself calling, "were you friends with her?"

He blinked.

A one-sided smile tugged on his lips, but it wasn't sincere; no dimples were shown, it didn't meet his eyes, and his expression was flat. "I wouldn't quite call it that," the blond murmured, leaning down slightly to rest his chin upon his open palm (a comfortable pose, conflicting his expression). "Rin was very opinionated. When we first met, she threatened to punch me in the face because of a misunderstanding."

Definitely her opposite, then. Marinette blanched with wide eyes, recalling their first meeting. "That might've been preferable to me vomiting on your shoes."

To her surprise, he laughed. It was genuine, too, and his grin after the breathy guffaw had left was kind, creating the indents on his cheeks. "I didn't know you were, well, you back then, so I thought it was a new tactic to try and rile me up." At her confused expression, the blond continued to say, "Rin liked to see whether she could cause me to embarrass myself; she pestered me in class often because of it."

She averted her eyes that time, looking at her clasped hands anxiously. "I'm sorry." Despite how nice it was for someone to openly talk about her counterpart and admit that they were separate beings, the offered information was anything but positive. It was no wonder that it had taken time for them to become friendly—would Rin have become like Rien in this world if she was given the chance? "Did she—was she ever violent?" Marinette whispered, fingers curling into her fabric-clad thighs from nerves.

"No, thankfully," he answered.

When a hand came into contact with her shoulder, she visibly jumped and hit her knees on the underside of the desk. Marinette grimaced, feeling the throbbing pain quickly, and flushed when she met his concerned expression. He was there with a gentle hand on her shoulder, in a comforting gesture that had rarely been intended for her.

And then, he murmured softly, "I don't blame you."

It was what she wanted to hear. To her utter horror, there was a tingling behind her eyes and the back of her throat grew irritated, dry, and she swallowed audibly and uncertainly raised her hand, placing it upon his on her shoulder and squeezed to signal that she understood. And she was thankful for the words; to know that her errors of her counterpart were no longer being thrust upon her shoulders, and she wanted to confess that he wasn't the blond that she'd grown up with, to tell him that he was a free being that had done no wrong to her, and his words were so precious that her cheeks grew warm and her smile was shy just from hearing them.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Rose-coloured blush appeared across the tops of his cheeks, matching hers, and he grinned openly. Squeezing her fingers, Adrien pulled their hands back so he could clasp her hand within his easily, lacing their fingers together gently with a matching expression. "I like you."

It was direct, blunt, and caused her to blink in surprise, incredulous. "I like you, too?"

And despite her confused tone, he laughed softly and the attractive noise added to her growing embarrassment. Shifting in her seat, uncertain about their clasped hands, Adrien shook his head, causing the strands of golden-coloured hair to fall out of their usual style slightly. "Not like that," he said, running his free hand through the tresses and showing her a glimpse of more of his forehead for a moment. "I'm trying to confess to you."

"Oh," she said dumbly.

When she was about to answer again, surely to blurt the first coherent sentence that popped into her head, Adrien wildly shook his free hand and head, indicating for her to stop. She paused, bemused, and didn't restrain the smile across her lips.

"If it's not too much trouble," he said, calming down from the sudden movements, "could you give me your answer in a few weeks?"

Her feelings weren't clear for him. Only a few months ago he'd acquired the status of being a friend, and before that she'd shook and attempted to stay away from him; but she knew he was different, that they, perhaps, could've been successful in a relationship if she pushed the idea of his counterpart aside, but she was still settling into the world. She had her parents, more friends than she'd even had before, and knowing that he had such an interest in her made her cheeks warm.

After she cleared her throat, Marinette asked shyly, "Is that why you kept asking for pens?"

His answering grin was wide, blinding, and he squeezed her hand and it made her realise that she hadn't recoiled of pulled away. They were still holding each other innocently upon the table, him leaning on it to talk to her efficiently. "Not at first, no," he admitted sheepishly. "I wanted to be your friend, but I wasn't sure how to approach you, especially because of how... we met." He chose his words wisely, and she appreciated the effort. "So, I thought it would be best to wait for you to open up to me."

It had only taken months for it to happen. "I was horrible to you."

"No," Adrien denied, thumb caressing her skin softly in a circular pattern. "That wasn't you."

"I—"

The smile across his lips disouraged her. Marinette closed her mouth, pulling her lower lip in to gnaw on and peeked at him through her lashes. There was feelings of fondness for him, certainly, but there was the underlying feeling of guilt—what is she disappeared as easily as she'd appeared? If they were to be close, and when he opened his eyes it wouldn't be her in front of him; if Rin would ever appear after her stint away, it would've been horrifying. The thought of her appearing after spending time with Rien (and, perhaps, becoming somewhat friendly), and breaking any feeling of affection that Adrien had for her.

And so, with a painful expression, Marinette gently tugged her hand free of his and grasped the straps of her bag. "I can't," she rasped, averting her eyes and busying herself by preparing to leave.

The silence was deafening. She gulped, bowing her head in farewell and ran through the doorway and as far away as she could.

For all the effort she'd put in, Rin still had the chance to destroy it; if she could protect someone close to her from that feeling, she was going to try her best and ignore the pain she felt in the process.

The trip for their class wasn't the swimming pool as it was the last year. Instead, they were visiting a art museum that had recently opened an hour away, and she'd walked through the different sections with a dazed expression. Nino and Alya were busy, whispering to each other and being generally close, and the one that she usually spent time with when they were busy flirting was absent. Adrien hadn't appeared in the morning, hadn't been on the coach already, and when they exited the vehicle and did a headcount, he still hadn't been there. The teacher didn't comment on his absence, and when she asked Nino he simply shrugged his shoulders and predicted it was because of his work.

Adrien had withdrawn and home-schooled like he had in the past. She learned the information from Nino eventually, when the three friends had been accepted to their wanted colleges and noticed that a blond-haired male had never turned up. And then, Adrien's popularity grew, and as she was pursuing her want of studying fashion, he was appearing in multiple magazines and even being featured in interviews. Nino and Alya found it hard to get into contact with him; his schedule was packed, and messages on cell phones were what they could squeeze out of him every few days.

After she'd graduated from university, settled down into her old bedroom that still had Rin's decorations within it, there was a single emotion that was being amplified—regret.

It had been years, and Rin hadn't made an appearance. There had been no flickers of the other world, or of anything else waking up with a spontaneous different personality, and all she could think was that she was an utter fool for rejecting him out of fear; she wanted him to flourish, be happy, and not deal with the troubles of her life, and from his smiling face that was plastered on glossy paper and billboards, it was clear that he was doing just fine.

He was happy.