Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Marineeeette .”

“Hold on, Adrien, let me just get this done,” she said, back still turned to him. “Mme Laveau will kill me if my formal cloak is creased during ceremony week, and I know I’ll forget if I don’t do it now.”

He sighed, rolling onto his side to watch her. She pulled the iron off her cloak with a tut, conjured up a fire spell in her free hand, and reheated it. This had to have been the fifth time, by now. Even humans could iron their clothes without reheating so often. Probably because they weren't stubborn enough to refuse the help of, well. Actual fire. Adrien had never met Mme Laveau, but if he'd learnt anything from nine years of Marinette's complaining, it was that she would never teach a household chore spell. 

Though that didn't stop Marinette from trying to figure one out.

“‘Spells are not to be used as shortcuts’,” Marinette muttered under her breath as she ironed, and he could just hear the curl of her lip. “‘There are some things we magic wielders must do to remain humble despite our powers’. I bet she’s lying. There’s no way she can turn up to every single class with all her clothes ironed without an ironing spell. I refuse to believe everyone is good at ironing but me.”

Adrien snickered, rolling onto his back once again. As it darkened outside her window, the glow in the dark stars on her ceiling came to life. Usually, she'd be lying next to him, being the one to shake him and point at the pale yellow stars scattered in the darkness, just like when they were kids.

His eyes slid back to her, hunched over her ironing table.

December was going to be one depressing month without her.

Winters were hard for even the best of vampires. Considering the fact their bodies were kind of, well, dead, it made it hard to keep warm. While most of them spent their time indoors, only coming out for the one or two hours where sunset and a bearable level of cold overlapped, Adrien… well. Didn't. With so many of their competitors quite literally unable to step outside, his father always filled up these weeks with negotiation meetings, and investor pitches, and business trip after business trip after business trip. 

And with the new Gabriel branded heating supplements, the first of the kind available? It was going to be even worse than the years before.

He was still deluding himself into believing he could somehow get close enough to Normandy for him to go see Marinette. Although he's not sure how easily a vampire could go unnoticed at winter camp.

Just thinking about it roused a sigh out of him.

" Adrien ," she scolded from the ironing board.

"You're leaving me cold and cuddle-less," he complained. "At least allow me to sigh ."

He knew she was rolling her eyes. She gave her cloak one last pass then placed the iron back on its tray, not even bothering to check if it was still hot. Then, finally, she turned around, and came over to where he was lying on her bed.

She pulled the duvet up and climbed in next to him. "There," she said, once sufficiently settled in. She reached up behind her and unclipped her hair, dumping her clip on the nightstand. "Happy?"

He pulled her into his arms and buried his face into her blouse. "Very."

She was hot. She'd casted another heating spell, for sure, the one specifically for their cuddling.

Her fingers scratched at his scalp. "I should make you my pet."

That didn't sound too bad, actually. But that was very much not the kind of thing that even a friendship as long as theirs could dilute the inappropriateness of saying.

"I bite," he said, pushing his nose into her neck. He could feel her goosebumps against his lips, the rose cream she applied after washing her face.

"I'll charm your mouth shut," she replied, rubbing his back. "Put a muzzle on you."

"Hmm. There are no spells for that."

"No wielder chosen to go to winter camp would let that stop them."

He opened his eyes a little, and they landed on her valise propped up against the wall.

Two weeks left.

Instinctively, his hands slid inside the hem of her blouse and took purchase on her back.

She jumped a little. "Your hands are cold."

"Oh." He began to pull them away. "Sorry."

She didn't scold him, though. Instead, she took his hands in hers and tugged them forward again, palpating his palms in hers.

"You're… really cold," she said.

He looked down at his fingers, flushed against her hand.

He always hated to admit when one of his father's products actually worked. They were tablets, the heating supplements, meant to stimulate a hormone that Adrien didn't pay enough attention to his meetings to remember, and definitely didn't take as regularly as he should've. The concept was revolutionary. And until his father could finally justify some ridiculous three-digit price tag for what could save millions of vampires' lives every winter, Adrien was silenced with an NDA.

Yes, his father would make even him sign an NDA. While making him beta test his drugs.

"Well, it's almost December," he said.

She looked at his hands for a while, rubbing her thumbs over his fingers. He leant his face into her neck again. Taking the hint, she wrapped her arm around him again and returned to rubbing his back.

"You've been really clingy lately," she said.

He tensed. "...Have I?"

"Yeah." She pulled back a little to look at him. "Are you… okay?"

He was grateful, suddenly, that he'd forgotten his heating supplements today. Because he was certain if he had taken even half a dose, she would've had an eyeful of his blush right about now.

"You're just… warm?" he said, and cringed. His voice always did that thing whenever he lied. She knew about the thing . She was the one who first brought the thing to his attention and one would've thought that would've been enough for him to have better control over it. "I— I mean, you know. Just trying to avoid a repeat of the hypothermia incident, haha."

Was it wrong to hide behind the hypothermia incident just to get cuddles from his best friend? Yes. But what else could he say? You're leaving in two weeks and I really don't want you to so I'm doing the vampire equivalent of scent-marking you so you don't go and make friends with some cool warlock guy and replace me ? 

It sucked because it was possible. Admissions to winter camp were cutthroat, only the best of the best being accepted every December. He could just see her now, surrounded in a humble little dorm with twelve other witches and warlocks, charming their hot chocolates with spells way beyond their grades, laughing along with people who were just as smart as her, just as just as funny as her, who got her in a way some homeschooled vampire like him couldn’t.

Who wouldn’t need her to come and administer heating spells every December in case they got hypothermia.

He wasn't actually scent-marking her. Although he might've thought about it. Secretly. Shamefully. Whenever his mouth was close enough to her neck for it.

"...You think it might happen again?" she asked.

The twinge in her voice made him backtrack. "No— no, of course not, it's been years."

Three years, to be exact. A December completely snowed through, and his mother’s funeral, topped off with long, cold walks around the city. Mrs Dupain-Cheng had answered the door to him, pale, blue, and disorientated, and even after Tom Dupain’s famous healing potion, he was still knocked out for a full two days.

"Because of my heating spells, though, right?" she said.

He paused. Because, well, yes. At first. But now he didn't have to rely on just that anymore.

"...It could also be food," he suggested. "I switched from pig blood to bison. That seemed to help a little."

Her eyes drifted back down to his hands, now folded in the space between them.

Okay, yeah. They looked pretty bad when he hadn't taken his supplements.

"...Will you be okay when I'm away?" she said.

He hesitated. The idea of saying no was too intriguing to be good.

"I'll be fine," he said instead. He wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed. "I'm not totally helpless without you, you know."

Her silence remained tense.

"You're gonna be out a lot," she said, rubbing his arm. "What if you don't have enough energy to get your body heat up?"

"Well," he said. "Maybe we just need to cuddle extra long the rest of the month so I have some more stored up."

She snorted. "I'm being serious."

He gave her another squeeze. "So am I."

"Adrien."

He sighed. He understood why she was anxious. But he really was cold today, and he already missed her, and the flurry of anxiety he could almost feel through her skin was making both her heating spell and her arms around him falter.

"Listen," he said, propping himself up so he could look at her. "Just trust me."

"But—"

"It's not like you can use your spells on me from Normandy."

She opened her mouth, and he could almost hear her usual actually you wouldn't know since you're a vampire— but he seemed to have bested her here. She closed her mouth again, albeit reluctantly.

"Fine," she finally said, putting a hand to the back of his neck. "Okay. Let’s just… let’s just cuddle."

When she pulled him back down to her chest, he returned with almost too much eagerness.

Hey. He was still cold.

 ══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══

He got to Marinette's at 20h. Dropping dark at 17h, apparently, was not enough to protect him from sunburn. The supplements made him so sensitive to light that even a few wayward struggles would sear through his skin.

He wondered if all vampires had such bad luck with thermoregulation, or if it was just him.

When he entered her bedroom, she was sitting on the floor, bare legs sprawled out from under her black skirt and a thick, black jumper in her hands.

She didn't look up. "Come here."

He obeyed, already unzipping his jacket. It was still wet from the snow, and he wasn't about to mess up her sheets — she still hadn't totally figured out a spell that allowed her to forego using the dryer, and considering the two-and-a-half-foot tall suitcase currently spilling out in the corner of her room, she didn’t need any more household chores to complete for which Mme Laveau provided no assistance. He pulled it off along with his scarf and gloves and slung them over her desk chair.

She stood up, too, approaching him with the sweater. "Arms up."

He lifted his arms.

She yanked the sweater over his torso then stepped back. "There. How does that feel?"

He held his arms out. A chain of dark stitches climbed the sleeves in even rows, alternating from green and black. "It's… warm," he said. "...Really warm."

Sweat beaded at his neck.

Sweat . In November.

He paused.

Yes, he was wearing a vest under this shirt. But he had also just taken off all his winterwear and he hadn't felt anything even close to sweat when he'd been wearing it for almost half an hour. Hell, he wasn't sure he'd felt anything close to sweat since September.

But that was definitely sweat at the back of his neck.

"What… did you make this with?" he asked.

"Angora." She reached out to straighten the hem, the backs of her fingers brushing his stomach. "And I charmed it."

"You charmed it?"

"Yep," she said. "Tried to see if I could transfer the heating spell into objects." Her hands rested around his abdomen. "I was thinking about the other day. What you said about storing up more energy for when I'm gone. And I thought… well, why don't I just find a way to give you that energy on my behalf?"

He swallowed around his collar. The sentiment really touched him. 

But what was also touching him was angora wool and a heating spell, mixed with a heating supplement prototype that she didn't know about.

This was as far of a problem from hypothermia as it could get. Which was something that Adrien might've thought was a good thing before now. 

"That's… very nice of you," he said. "And, um. It's definitely working," he said.

“Perfect!” She bent down, gathered her knitting basket, and set it on the desk. “Now,” she said, taking a seat on her bed and grabbing his hand. “Time for extra reinforcement.”

With one firm tug, she had him tumbling forward, falling straight on top of her. She rolled him onto his side, pulled the duvet up, and immediately wrapped her arms around him. The mattress squeaked in sympathy.

“There,” she said, looking down at him with a smirk. The beginnings of another heating spell warmed the scant space between them. “Didn’t you say something about cuddling extra long this week?”

He sucked in a breath of futile, warm air.

Heating spells had a unique quality to them that wasn’t quite like the others she casted. Maybe it was the aspect of temperature, his own vampiric sensitivity to it, the biological instinct to seek it out or push it away, which, when it came to her, had always irresistibly been the former. Since that day when he was thirteen, when he’d come to lying on the Dupain-Chengs’ soft, big couch, a yellow lantern sitting next to him and Marinette’s legs tangled with his, radiating warmth so wonderful it was like she was cupping his heart right in her hands, heating spells and comfort had become inextricably intertwined.

So he couldn’t help but feel like he should like this. Her arms around him, hands in his hair, her skin on his face, in a bed suffused with a heating spell. But he hadn’t realised just how much his affinity to heating spells may have just been because they came from her , and that it was a little harder to manage them when she couldn’t regulate the temperature herself.

The one day that Marinette wasn’t too busy with packing to concede to his cuddles, and he felt like he was about to have a stroke.

He let out a deep breath which did absolutely nothing, and closed his eyes.

Silence lapsed over them. She’d somehow already slowed her heartbeat for him, which was never an easy feat for a witch in the middle of a spell. She really was a top student. A perfectly chosen candidate for winter camp.

“You know,” she said. “I kinda thought about not going.”

He leaned back to look at her. “What?”

She let her weight drop, now lying on her back. Arm wrapped around him, she let him keep his head lying on her chest.

“We’ve… never been apart during this time of year," she said. 

His arms tightened around her waist. “Marinette...”

“So much could happen,” she said. “What if you get sick again?”

“I’d manage,” he told her. “Other vampires do, don’t they?”

“Yeah, but…” She turned her head. Her face was rosy, pinked with magical heat. “I don't want you to be cold and alone while I'm all the way in Normandy."

He felt a little pirouette beneath his sternum.

He didn't want that either.

It didn't matter that he technically wouldn't be cold. That the heating supplements would do all the work for them both. Because, for a moment, lying in her arms like this, it felt like maybe this was about more than just staying warm. That if he asked her to stay, whether to make sure he didn't get sick or just because he didn't want to spend a month without his best friend, she would've said yes.

But he couldn't do that. He couldn't stop her from living her life just because he would miss her.

"Don't worry," he said, and attempted a smile. "I'll keep some of the cold for you when you get back."

Her chest rose and fell with a sigh. She attempted a smile, too.

"Besides." He lifted up a hand to show her. "Look."

It was flushed, not in the way the cold turned it red, but in a way that made him look almost human.

She lit up, then, more than just the smile she'd offered before, taking hold of his knuckles. "The sweater's working!"

He smiled.

Happily, she drew him back into his chest, hugging him tighter.

His smile quickly disappeared.

He couldn’t breathe.

It was the heat . Unbearable, overwhelming heat. Like falling asleep with the curtains open in July, or standing in line at the blood bank when he’d waited too long to restock. This shouldn’t have been happening. It was probably bad, probably denaturing something in either the supplements or his cells that he didn’t know about, but leaving her now was its own unique decibel of unbearable, and he couldn’t quite decide whether it was more or less than the furnace she’d knitted him into.

He sat up, then. “I need to check something.”

She looked up at him quizzically, her arms still hanging around him. “Check what?”

“Um.” He paused, racking desperately through his brain. “Your. Oven. I think I remember seeing it on when I came in”

“Huh?” She sat up, too. “God, please don’t tell me I forgot to take out my cookies again.”

He winced. It was definitely a low blow of a lie, after that one nasty oven fire they’d narrowly avoided a few months ago. But it felt like all his nerve endings were about to melt off, and considering the general consensus that magic and biology shouldn’t really be mixing, he wasn’t entirely sure they weren’t .

Before she could get out of bed, he pulled her back. “No, don’t worry. It’s probably nothing.”

“But what if—”

“I’ll just go check.” He staggered out of the duvet before she could ask any questions. “You just stay here.”

He couldn’t have shot out of her room any quicker, tugging so roughly at the hem of his sweater that he got a handful of his shirt with it. Cold air licked at the exposed skin, shooting his pulse right up his throat, making him fight even harder with the angora. Finally, he got it up over his arms, over his neck, and took a big gulp of air.

And immediately passed out.

He blinked up at the ceiling, wondering whether it was his head that was spinning or the corridor. 

“Adrien?” Footsteps thudded behind the door. She swung it open. “Oh my God . What happened?”

He turned his head a little. He registered her legs, right in front of his face, a run splitting the material of her tights at the side of her calf.

It was then that he realised he was shivering.

“ Cold ,” he hissed, just as she dropped to her knees next to him, pulling his head into her lap. He wrapped his arms tight around her, just as she wrapped hers around him, her heating spell sinking into his veins like an IV drip. “Cold. So cold.”

“Cold?” she asked. “But how? The sweater was—” She reached over and touched the angora, and immediately snatched her hand back. “It was that hot the entire time?”

She held him closer, tighter, her blouse pressing into his face. Remnants of thermal shock shook through his body.

 ══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══

It was easy to forget that, technically, Marinette was a prodigy. She wasn’t stuck up, wasn’t uptight, wasn’t one of those witches that thought vampires and werewolves were intellectually inferior , as they liked to say, compared to magic wielders, just because their race gave them a skill they could actually teach at school.

He remembered whenever one of her charms failed.

It didn’t happen often. Because, well, prodigies didn’t fail , or rather if they did, they’d of course never talk about it. Her charms may have been clumsy sometimes, sputtering and faltering in her first few attempts, but, eventually, they’d always work out.

But every now and then, one of them failed.

And in true prodigy fashion, she would lock herself in her room and sulk.

He was prepared for this when he visited the next day, a bag full of candy apples, pumpkin slices, and fresh berries in tow. Her parents were home this time, Mr Dupain briefly leaving his wife to finish counting the cash in the till so he could unlock the door to the apartment to let him in. He mentioned nothing about Marinette, didn’t even hand him a box of macarons to take up to her room like he usually did whenever she got into one of these moods. Maybe she hadn’t told them about it. He couldn’t decide whether that was good or bad.

He stopped at her bedroom door, eye to eye with the remnants of blue tack from the drawings they'd stuck up there when they were eight.

He didn't even deserve to be here. Not when it was his fault that the charm had failed in the first place.

“Um, Marinette?” He knocked hesitantly, careful not to hit the bag. “Can I come in?”

He half expected no response. But then, after a pause: “Yeah, go ahead.”

He sucked in a deep breath, and put a hand to the handle. If what he was about to walk into was anything like the time she'd filled her whole room with fog so she could hide away in bed in the darkness, he resolved to come clean about the supplements, NDA be damned.

He turned the handle and pushed open the door.

No fog.

But rather the distinct, spicy smell of rosemary.

She was at her desk in a tank top, her plaid overshirt draped on the back of her chair. Her hair was twisted up in a claw clip, some stray strands sticking to the back of her neck, and the skin of her forearms was shiny with a thin sheen of sweat.

She looked up at him, still grinding into her mortar. "Take your shirt off."

His fingers faltered around the bag.

Well. Whatever cheered her up, he supposed.

He shucked off his jacket first then made work of the rest. It was easier than before, at least — he'd foregone the vest and woolies, trusting that the chill from outdoors would be better taken care of by the supplements than risking another thermal shock. He'd gotten his T-Shirt over his head by the time Marinette left her pestle on her desk and approached him.

She grabbed his wrist, took a scoop of the purple paste she'd been grinding, and spread it over his skin.

Heat spread through his whole arm, deep in his tissue.

Watching his face, she massaged the paste into his flesh.

Oh.

Oh .

There was something about the motion. The rubbing, the gentle strokes of her fingers. It seemed to disperse the heat, break it up into pieces, allowing it to seep into his bones without that surface-level sensation of burning from the charmed angora. It made him realise that the warmth from the supplements wasn't really warm as much as it was just, well, biology. He couldn't feel it the way he felt this. It was like she'd condensed their cuddles into a pestle and mortar and was now transferring it to him through his skin.

"Is that okay?" she asked softly.

He watched her massage him, the heat from the balm blooming more sweat on her arms. "Extremely okay."

She smiled, took some more onto her fingers, and began spreading it on his chest.

He twitched a little at the contact. His skin was still cold from outside. But once the initial temperature change mellowed, the same slow, liquid warmth began to spread through his torso.

"I found a couple of old notes from my botany class," she said. "Flaxseeds are great at retaining heat. So I thought if I crushed some up and charmed them, they could absorb the heat for you to use the way you want."

"Ah." He closed his eyes a little. "And the rosemary?"

She smiled. "You like the smell."

He smiled back.

A few moments passed while they stood there together, her soft fingers resting on his chest.

"Um." He touched her hand. "Should I do it?"

"Oh." She pulled back, setting the mortar down on the desk. "Sure, go ahead." Picking out a wet wipe, she cleaned the residue from her palms.

There was still a good amount of paste left on his chest. He worked that through in lieu of scooping out anymore, taking a seat at Marinette's desk.

"I'm sorry about the sweater," he said.

She looked up from her hands, an eyebrow raised. "Why are you apologising?" she asked, taking a seat on her bed. "I was the one that made you wear it."

"Yeah, but—" The heating supplements wouldn't have been worth bringing up now. Without that, however, there was not much left for him to say. He sighed. "I don't know," he said. "I just… feel bad when you're hard on yourself about magic stuff. You're really smart, you know. Even if your projects don't always work out."

She gave him a small smile, tossing the wipes into her wastebin. "Thanks," she said. "I'll keep that in mind when I accidentally turn everyone at camp into frogs."

Adrien laughed.

He finished rubbing the leftover paste in, then pulled his shirt back over his head.

It was so warm. Like Marinette was hugging him.

Not that this was a sufficient substitute for that.

With that in mind, he got to his feet and approached her bed. She smiled, shuffling back and opening an arm out to him.

But then her eyes dropped down. Her face paled.

"Adrien," she said. "What's that?"

He looked down to where her gaze was, fixed on his hand. He turned it over, and gasped.

The skin on his wrist was blistering.

It was then that the pain struck him.

He hissed through his teeth and clutched his arm. It was burning , the skin reddening and bruising by the moment, small pockets of membrane rising from his arm. No amount of sunburn could feel like this. Not even the time he accidentally burnt himself on Marinette's stove was as bad as this.

She grabbed his hand and brought it closer to her face in horror.

"How?" she asked. "I— I tested it on myself at every stage. Is this— is this a vampire thing?'

He groaned.

He already knew what it was.

The warmth in his arm was quickly supplanted with shots of pain.

As that same heat bloomed through his chest, he realised just how screwed he was. And judging by the way her expression dropped, so did she.

" Crap ." She shot to her feet, grasping the hem of his shirt. "Take it off. Now."

He didn't need to be asked twice. He whipped it off at the same time as her hands shot forward, and when she pressed her palms to the skin of his chest with a healing spell abrew, he didn't have any priorities above breathing.

Slowly, the pain ebbed. Seeped out through his cells, drew itself through his bloodstream, all converging at the point where her skin touched his. His wrist turned purple, then burgundy, then turned a soft, raw pink, the blisters smoothed out and the skin new and tender. The warmth in his body, too, began to disappear.

When the opiate from the spell finally absorbed, he slumped forward and pressed his face into her neck, breathing hard.

He was shivering again.

Marinette paused. She wrapped her arms around him, and sighed.

══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══

Marinette was leaving in a week.

He considered this while staring at his ceiling, sulking, currently banned from entering her room in case she 'accidentally killed him' while she prepared for camp.

So dramatic. The spells she was administering weren't enough to kill a vampire. Well, sure, second degree burns weren't fun , but he'd live .

It sucked being away from her, feeling the clock tick down until he wouldn't be able to see her again. It made him wonder if he would make it through the whole month. The heating supplements were okay for now, yes, but what about her? He couldn't even remember a time when she wasn't there. What if it was like the thermal shock, his biological systems so accustomed to existing with her next to him that it wouldn't cope with the sudden absence? It could happen. He'd heard plenty of wielders' familiars die from heartbreak at the loss of their owners.

He sighed, getting out of bed and pulling on his jacket. He wasn't her familiar. He didn't have to listen to her. Especially if there was a chance she was actually doing the fog thing this time.

When he opened the door to her bedroom, though, she wasn't there.

He stopped inside, looking around. Her suitcase was open on the floor, kicked aside, and her desk chair pulled out of the table. Another invisibility spell? No, she'd mastered those years ago. Then what? She wouldn't be buying new potion ingredients now . They'd all expire by the time she finished them up.

She burst through the door behind him. "Hi!" she said. "I have blood!"

He blinked. Packed in the clear plastic bags from the bank, she had easily fifteen litres of bison blood in her arms. "I… see that."

She heaved herself into her room and kicked the door shut, crouching down to drop the bags onto the carpet. She didn't even seem slightly surprised that he was here. Maybe the fact he was going to come over anyway was not as surprising to her as he thought it would've been.

She rolled up her sleeves, rummaging through the different bags. He watched, dumbfounded.

"You're not allowed to purchase more than five litres at a time," he said.

"Not allowed unless you're a wielder," she said with a wink. She checked the expiration date on one of the bags, dropped it, then continued checking the others. "One of the guys from camp told me. Obviously we're allowed to buy in bulk — we use blood for potions all the time."

His attention zeroed in. "Um. From camp?"

"Yeah!" she said. "Mme Laveau took us to train with another school today. Turns out my partner got into winter camp too!"

Partner.

Already.

He fiddled with his hands, pulling at his knuckles harder than strictly necessary.

"So, uh." He took a seat at her desk, watching her. "What did your partner suggest you do with all this blood?"

"Well, here's the cool part." She grinned. "Did you know vampires and wielders have been working together for centuries? Apparently some witches would charm blood for their vampires to give them extra properties. Like, nutrition they may not find in the kind that they're drinking, or antibiotics."

He paused. "So you're suggesting to charm my blood?" he said.

"I was a little wary on it before," she said. "But, I mean, if Baptiste — oh, that's his name by the way — if Baptiste thinks it could work, then it's certainly worth a try, right?"

He almost asked what exactly this Baptiste’s credentials were for her to be taking his advice, but swallowed the urge. “Sure,” he said. “It’s worth a try.

He watched as she made a pile of bags that would be expiring within the next week. He wondered what it had been like for her at training today. After being around the same cohort of witches since élémentaire, it was bound to have been exciting to meet new people. People who were at the same level as her. Who could help her with her charms and spells beyond being a test subject who couldn’t even do his job properly because he’d messed up his body with heating supplements.

He pulled the sleeves of his jacket over his hands. He knew she had to go. He knew she should go. But after hearing about this Baptiste, he was closer than ever to asking her to stay.

“Okay.” She set out a cluster of around six bags, and leant back on her haunches. “Here goes nothing.”

Adrien watched. Marinette rubbed her hands together, put her fingers around the bags, and closed her eyes.

All good wielders performed spells in silence. So many years of friendship, of watching her create light out of her fingers, create breeze out of particles, create heat out of her own body, he’d never fully been able to track the beginning of a spell before it’d finally been casted.

But it was always mesmerising to watch it in play. The bags of blood glowed a luminescent red, throwing orange hues across her fingers. Ripples shifted inside the plastic, the bags stretching and compressing in sympathy.

“Check if it’s getting warm,” she said.

He reached over and put a hand to the plastic.

“Oh,” he said. “It is.”

Her face brightened.

But, just as his finger made contact with the bag, the luminescence turned blinding. The bags sparkled with white, so much starker than blood ever could be, before exploding into shards of light. The two of them watched as the blood combusted, all six bags, leaving ribbons of smoke in the air between them. Crumpled threads of plastic lay on her carpet, popping and sizzling from the heat.

“Fuck!”

He jolted. At first he thought it was directed towards the spell.

But then he looked over. Her hands were shaking, palms an angry red, the skin peeling off her fingers.

“Oh my God.” He grabbed them in his, staring down at them. “Marinette, what happened?”

“I— I don’t know. ” She flexed her fingers, then winced. “Baptiste never mentioned this would happen.”

His jaw tightened. He was starting to not like this Baptiste very much.

He looked at her hands, at the white skin pulled back in irregular scrapes. Suddenly, he felt rather helpless. He couldn’t cast a healing spell, or even offer some kind of potion or balm or herbal remedy that could take away her pain. He was sure Baptiste would have some kind of solution up his sleeve.

“Adrien,” she said. “Can you, um. Let go?”

“W-what?” he asked. “Why?”

“Your hands are just… really hot.”

“They are?” he asked.

That was when he realised — the heating supplements. It wasn’t Baptiste’s fault. It was his, a vampire with altered biology, interfering with a wielder's spell.

Quickly, he removed his grasp around Marinette’s hands, clutching his fingers together in his lap.

“Sorry.” Her hands were still splayed open, still red, still peeling.  “Are you okay?” she asked. “Did it get you, too?”

“No. Don’t worry about me.”

She looked at his hands until he conceded and showed her, then, once happy with the evidence, performed her healing spell. The skin on her palms knitted itself back together almost immediately. It was easier to heal a wielder than it was a vampire.

Having done this, she sighed, looking at the other bags of blood. “Well, I guess that was a bust, too.”

“At least you have ten litres of blood left to experiment with your camp friends,” he tried to joke, hoping it didn’t sound too bitter.

Marinette didn’t laugh. She rubbed her hand with her thumb, tracing the faint pink marks.

“I don’t actually have to go,” she said. “I can, like, defer to next year.”

"What?" He looked at her. "Why would you want to do that?"

She sighed, thumb slowing over one of the scars. "We still haven't figured out a way to keep you warm, Adrien," she says. "I don't want to leave if I can't be sure you'll be fine."

He took in a sharp breath, and looked away.

He hated how much he wanted to agree with her. Tell her something like, yeah, I'm nervous about it, too, I really would rather you stay, even though it wasn't true, even though the fact it wasn't true wasn't setting off the alarm bells in his head that it should've been. He wanted her to stay, to practice these charmed sweaters and magic balms and spells on him, even if it meant passing out from thermal shock, even if it meant getting second degree burns from time to time, even if it meant having to deal with whatever long term side effects came from mixing it all with his heating supplements. He just didn't want her to leave , find more people like that Baptiste guy, come back with a whole new group of friends and no longer be interested in hanging out with some vampire who couldn't even hold a candle to them.

But winter camp was important to her. It was important to every magic wielder their age. He couldn't ruin that for her.

"I've told you already," he said. "I'd manage."

"But would you?" she pressed. "Your body temperature was twenty-seven Celsius after you passed out. Twenty-seven . Any lower and you could've died."

He tensed. "That was just from thermal shock," he said. "That doesn't happen everyday."

"So you're saying you not switching temperatures while your father totes you around France is unlikely? Those fancy-schmancy businessmen's conference rooms with their two-thousand euro fireplaces after taking a carriage in the snow?"

He bit the inside of his cheek, saying nothing.

"It's just— it's not safe ," she said. "And— and of course I want to go to camp, and, like, Baptiste will be disappointed, and Mme Laveau will never let me hear the end of it, but plenty of witches defer, it's not like—"

"Marinette." He turned his eyes towards her again. "None of those witches defer because they're worried about leaving their friend alone."

She snapped her mouth shut and swallowed, shifting her gaze up and away from him. The way she always did when she was trying not to cry.

He looked down at his hands, hoping they weren't still hot. Then, he shuffled closer, and pulled her into his arms.

"Hey." He stroked her hair. "It's really not as bad as you think it is." When she didn't reply, he readjusted his arms, bringing her face into his neck. "I was fine for years, Marinette. And you've already helped me so much. Do you really think one month is all it'll take to wipe me out?"

She fiddled with the material of his shirt. "You don't get it."

Fighting the urge to sigh, he rubbed her back.

"Is it the cuddles?" he tried to tease. "Are you afraid I'll become touch starved and die?"

She exhaled a small sound of amusement. "Maybe a little."

"I'm not actually your pet, you know."

"You might as well be." Conceding, she wrapped her arms around his waist, face still in his neck.

He closed his eyes. It felt like it'd been ages since they'd done this. Cuddled, like normal, with no weird side effects getting between them.

"Don't worry," he said, brushing some hair behind her ear. "I'm sure there are plenty of less prodigious witches around in Paris that I could convince to warm me up with their spells."

She paused. "What do you mean?"

He laughed. "Well, Françoise Dupont girls all have a thing for vampires, right?"

It was a stupid joke between them, one he found hilarious back when they were twelve, mainly because she absolutely detested it. Ew no of course we don't like vampires! Don't flatter yourself! followed by a solid punch to the arm — until she learnt that electric shock spell and started using that on him instead.

But, now, Marinette didn't protest. She didn't even respond, for a few long moments.

"Right, of course," she said after a while. "I'm so silly. Of course there are other witches that can help you."

She didn't pull away from him. But something had shifted in the air, and Adrien wasn't sure what.

Whatever. Marinette was leaving in a week, and she was in his arms, and right now, that was all that mattered.

Chapter Text

Before he had left, Marinette made him promise to come back before sunrise. We need to hang out as much as we can before I go . It made him happier than he'd care to admit, that maybe she shared even a fraction of the sentiment he had, that maybe she, too, felt like every second apart until next week felt like a waste.

He realised that they were acting a lot like she was going off to war, or something, and, unfortunately, maybe there was some truth to what his father had said about the two of them being unreasonably close. That didn't stop him from waiting by his window for the first blues of the sky to rise, and head off to Marinette's.

And skipping his supplements.

(Listen, it was just a week, and he didn't want anything getting in the way of cuddling).

He knocked on her window the way she'd instructed. She threw open the curtains, a flood of light hitting the dark sky, and let him in. He climbed over the sill without much hassle, but once his feet hit the carpet, he stopped.

"Marinette," he said. "What did you do?"

She glanced blithely over her shoulder, at the clothes, toiletries, spellbooks, jars of mushrooms and pinecones and herbs strewn around her suitcase like confetti.

"What?" she said. "That? I was just trying to find my projector." She grabbed a box off her nightstand and showed him. "I packed it in case any of my dorm mates wanted to watch a movie or something, but then I remembered there's someone else that tradition started with."

His heart did a funny little flip in his chest.

But it didn't stop his eyes from snapping back to her suitcase.

It felt almost like a crime scene, the grotesque remnants of her colour-coded, alphabetised, vacuum-sealed bags and the neat little rows of jars. That suitcase took a month to pack. And now she'd undone all that work for… a projector?

"I…" He looked it in her hands. "Maybe we should work on re-packing your stuff?"

"Nope." She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards her bed. "No thinking about camp stuff now. We've done enough of that all week."

"But—"

"No buts!" She sat down and leaned back against the pillows, pressing her fingers down on the projector until her magic transferred and that old cartoon they used to watch lit up her opposite wall. "We're going to watch this and snuggle and won't talk about any camp-related subjects at all."

He paused. “...You don’t have any new charms you’re gonna test out on me?”

“Nope.” She opened her arms out and made grabby hands at him. “Just some good old fashioned cuddling.”

Adrien looked back at her suitcase, and opened his mouth to protest. But then his eyes returned to her. Her cotton pyjama top, the flannel pants, the bedsheets that still smelled of laundry detergent and fabric softener.

And, well. He hadn’t taken his heating supplements.

Sighing, he undid his coat and crawled into bed next to her.

She hugged him tighter than usual. He didn’t comment on it.

══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══

“What’s this?” he said, picking up the leaflet she’d left on her nightstand.

She looked up from his shoulder lazily, still rubbing circles on his chest. “Hm?”

It was written in an a sophisticated, no-nonsense font. The Winter Camp Mixer . Underneath, a simple subtitle – A networking event for future pupils . He turned it so the candlelight could catch it at an angle she could read it. A dark tea ring crackled on the paper.

“Oh,” she replied. “That. Mme Laveau was meant to give it to us before broke up for the term. It only just came in the mail the other day.”

He flicked through the pages, catching that unique perfume of casted spells that always smelt a bit like burnt paper. “This sounds like it’d be right up your alley,” he said. “Free food, magic workshops, alumni panels…”

“Eh, I skipped it.”

He whipped his head around. “What?”

She was fiddling with the material of his shirt, lazily casting a colour-changer on one of his buttons. Ripples of heat emanated off her in slow, steady waves.

“It sounds incredibly boring,” she said. “Having to sit around and talk to a bunch of snooty upper-class witches and warlocks and pretend to be excited to spend the month with them.”

“But you could’ve brought a plus-one.” He found the relevant page and showed her. “See? Friends and family – including non-magic wielders – are welcome . I would’ve come with you.”

She paused, fingers splayed out over his button, currently red. “You sure you wouldn’t have been distracted by all the cute witches there?”

It took him by such shock that, for a long moment, he did nothing but stare. “H- huh?”

“You know, all those witches with their heating spells,” she said. “They’d be in full swing this time of year. Vampires aren’t the only ones who need to keep warm.”

He couldn’t tell if she was joking or not, and if she was, what exactly the punch line would be. Sure, there’d been that one girl in her middle school class that he’d briefly had a crush on (before he went on one date with her and realised he couldn’t stomach hearing all the ways snail slime could be used to treat skin sores) but she hadn’t brought that up since, well, middle school.

And there was something in her face, a little too hard to write off as a joke.

But then she laughed. “Just teasing,” she said. Her fingers resumed on his shirt button, the plastic swimming leisurely from red, to orange, to yellow. “Really, though. It wasn’t all that important. We would’ve both left early, anyway.”

She plucked the leaflet from his hand and set it down behind her on the bed.

Taking the hint, he didn’t say anything else.

══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══

“Your father would like to see you in his office.”

Midway through pulling on his jacket, he froze.

There were very few circumstances in which those nine words could possibly be a good thing.

In the five seconds of a pause he could use before she realised he was freaking out, Adrien racked his brain. Yes, he’d been slightly reckless as of late. But Marinette had been cuddlier than usual, to the point where sometimes she even forgot to cast her heating spell. It’d been such a long time since they’d cuddled without the specific purpose of keeping him warm that he couldn’t not be sneaking out to see her everyday, even if it was at 5AM. With a curfew of, well, anytime without the Gorilla chaperoning him there, the fact he was out of the house for hours at a time alone just before sunrise would be enough to warrant a grounding for the the next week and a half.

Effectively taking away any time he had with Marinette before she left.

“Um,” he said, glancing down at his jacket. He thanked whatever higher power was out there that it was only 19h. He quickly finished shrugging it on, straightened, and cleared his throat. “I’ll be down in a second. Thank you, Nathalie.”

With a short nod, she disappeared down the corridor, the wolf marking at the back of her neck catching the candlelight.

He took in a deep breath, and headed to meet his father.

His office felt a lot like what Marinette described as a principal’s office. Tall, imposing, black marble doors, unpatterned and sleek. Actually, he wasn’t totally sure public schools had marble doors, even for principals. All he knew was that he was never called to his father’s office unless he was in trouble, and the awareness that this was the first time he was knocking on those marble doors in a couple of years at the least , his body seemed to have no problem providing a little extra heat, even without the supplements in his bloodstream.

He knocked twice, quietly, both raps an even half-a-second apart. “Father?” he said. “You wanted to see me?”

“Come in, Adrien,” he replied through the stone.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door.

His father was standing at his tablet, one hand behind his back, the other touching the screen. He didn’t look up as Adrien entered the room. He hoped that meant he didn’t notice the he’d gulped, but if his vampire senses were already so sharp, he was sure his father’s were much sharper.

Silence lapsed over them. Adrien stared down at the flooring, the veins running through the marble.

“Have you been taking your heating supplements?” he asked.

Oh.

Oh no .

His chest tightened, more painful than usual, as it was whenever his body temperature was low. He considered saying yes, of course he had been taking them, why wouldn’t he be taking them, it wasn’t like he had his priorities completely skewed and would rather risk hypothermia than giving up cuddle time with his best friend, of course not. But he wasn’t sure lying through his teeth would get him into any less trouble than he was already.

“…Not as of late,” he replied tentatively. “The side effects are, uh. A bit bothersome?”

His throat felt tight. His father said nothing for a long time, the glow of his tablet deepening the contours of his face.

“Nathalie will provide you with a second prototype,” he said. “If there are any further side effects, you are to inform me immediately.” He lifted his head. A hard glare travelled across the lens of his glasses. “I expect you to know better than to discontinue your supplements without giving any notice.”

He swallowed hard. “Yes, father.”

The silence stretched on. Finally, one of the marble doors opened a crack, and Nathalie ushered him out of the office.

══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══

He took two tablets as soon as Nathalie handed them over. It sounded like a good idea at first, providing evidence that, yes, he would be taking them this time, but realised he’d shot himself in both feet – taking them now meant he hadn’t taken his dose earlier today. Now he couldn’t even lie about it, and would probably have to waste his limited time with Marinette dealing with whatever stupid side effects this batch had.

Opening the door to her bedroom made him realise he had much more important things to be thinking about today.

Her suitcase.

It was even worse than before.

Clothes had been removed entirely, tossed haphazardly over her desk chair. She’d thrown open her wardrobe door and, by the looks of it, had been in the middle of filing through her dresses, but the task appeared to be abandoned midway, leaving five of them hung up on the lip of the closet door and another five spilling out onto the floor. He couldn’t even see the robe she’d been ironing in this mess, which concerned him the most. She couldn’t attend winter camp without at least one formal robe.

“Oh, good, you’re here!”

He whipped around to see her walking in, both hands wound around two large, woven bags, straining at the handles. She lugged them over to her desk and dropped them on the table, stepping over the bomb site that was her room as if it was nothing.

“Okay, so, I get that it’s messy, but–” She began pulling out various cork-stopped bottles, the ones with the hand-painted flowers on the glass that she liked using for her potions. “I suddenly realised something about why those spells I was trying weren’t working. And I know I said that we wouldn’t be talking about camp stuff anymore but–! I just needed to try. One more time.”

He stared at the potions, soft and blue inside the bottles. The potions she gave him were always a little red, always having to mix them with some form of blood agent so he could consume them without throwing up. Maybe she’d found something to bypass his digestive reflex?

But then she uncorked the bottle, waited for the steam to let up, and brought it to her mouth.

“ Wait.” He grabbed her hand, some cyan liquid spilling out of the lip in sympathy. “Have you even tested this yet? What if you get sick just before camp?”

She lowered the bottle, looking a little annoyed. “Well, who else is gonna want to drink this?”

He sighed, knowing he would probably regret this. Whether ‘this’ meant already having heating supplements in his body or volunteering himself for Marinette’s science experiments, he wasn’t sure.

“Give it to me,” he said. “I’ll tell you if something’s wrong.”

Usually, there was some hesitation. Some hemming and hawing. And eventually she would give in, allow him to test it out, because although she didn’t want him to get sick, she knew that adverse side effects of spells and charms didn’t last as long on vampires.

To his surprise, her answer was firm. “No.”

He stared at her, blinking. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“Because,” she said. “It’s supposed to suppress my magic. So the heating spell isn’t too strong when I charm your things. You don’t have magic to suppress.”

Adrien didn’t even try to keep the shock off his face. “What?”

She made a face. “What?”

“You’re not being serious, right?” he asked. He felt like gesturing to the state of her room would’ve probably been a touch too far, although it would’ve added emphasis he deemed incredibly necessary. “Marinette, you’re leaving for camp in less than a week. You’ve already unpacked your entire suitcase, and now you want to suppress your magic?” Seeing her frown deepen, he found himself getting annoyed. “How on earth are you going to get around winter camp with your magic suppressed?”

“I mean, it might not last that long,” she muttered.

He stared at her. She stared back. She still hadn’t corked the bottle.

“God, fine!” She slammed the bottle back down on her desk, stuffing the cork back in. “I won’t drink it.”

He let out a deep sigh of relief. “Good.”

Her frown didn’t iron out. Nor did she turn around. She stood facing the desk, jaw clenched.

A new twist of anxiety entered his stomach.

“Um.” He stepped forward, touching his shoulder. “Marinette?”

She didn’t reply, staring angrily down at her potions instead.

“I think you should go,” she said. She started gathering up her bottles, dumping them back in the bags. “I still need to finish packing.”

“Oh,” he replied, wounded. He wasn’t sure what had just happened. Was she mad at him? For not letting her mess up her magic just before she would be assessed on it? Opting not to say this, he swallowed, and took a step back. “O-Okay. Do you want me to come back tomorrow?”

She shrugged, not turning around.

“Okay.” He pulled his jacket around him a little tighter. He surveyed her room, the floor littered with the innards of her suitcase. He stepped over each item carefully, until he made it to her door. “I’ll see you later then?”

“Yeah.” She knotted the bags shut, still not looking at him. “See you later.”

He waited for her to explain. Tell him what exactly he’d done wrong, what in this interaction he was missing.

She didn’t.

He closed her bedroom door behind him quietly, and headed back home.

Sometimes, she could really act like a prodigy.

══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══

He woke up in the middle of the afternoon to a soft chill in his room.

Half asleep, he reached for his bag, fumbled at the sweater Marinette had charmed, and pulled it over his head.

He knocked back out without a second thought.

══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══

When he woke up again in the evening, he felt braids of angora wool brushing his cheek.

Immediately, he shot up in bed.

He looked down at his arms, ensconced in the dark material. The heating spell had been active for hours. He could feel it in his veins, the way he felt it after cuddling with Marinette for a while, like the warmth had seeped right through his pores, expanding in his bloodstream.

He grabbed his clock from the nightstand and checked the time.

18h.

Crap .

It’d still been bright outside when he’d stirred. At least two hours ago.

Dropping the alarm clock, he stared at his hands. They looked normal. That human-looking flush he’d gotten the last time he’d worn this. But that hadn’t taken away what had happened afterwards, had it, when he’d all but clawed the sweater off himself and fainted in Marinette’s corridor. Was that what was going to happen now, if he tried taking it off? Or maybe something even worse. Maybe he had burns all over his arms, this time. And while it was fine when he was with Marinette, he couldn’t exactly sneak past his father with blisters all over his arms just so she could perform a healing spell.

Slowly, he rolled his left sleeve up to his wrist.

He sucked in a breath.

Nothing.

He stared at it hard. Rubbed his thumb over the skin. No breakage at all. Not even any redness .

He pushed it higher up, burying the material in the crook of his elbow.

Nothing. Again.

Although he couldn’t help but notice how good his complexion looked, without that winterly pallor he usually got.

He did the same to his other sleeve, with more confidence, this time, scooping the angora all the way up to his bicep, and, again, nothing but a stretch of warm skin. He stared at his arms in front of him, these unfamiliar looking things, flushed and healthy and plump like he was never a vampire to begin with – or a dhampir, at least. He’d never seen his body cooperate with him like this before. Even with just the heating supplements, or even with just Marinette’s spells, it felt like a cheap mimicry of actual body heat, satisfying in the way that it would be when the other option is literal hypothermia, but never enough to feel real .

He looked down, and took hold of the hem. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the sweater off his head.

He braced himself for the worst. Burns sticking his T-Shirt to his torso. Or even passing out again, falling right off his bed and smacking his head against his nightstand and freezing to death on his bedroom floor because nobody would know he was there and nobody would think to call Marinette over to help.

But when he took off his sweater, the angora clutched tightly between his fingers, he was warm.

Still warm.

If he was quiet, it almost felt like he had a heartbeat.

The wind had knocked out of his chest. How was this happening? Was it the new heating supplements his father had given him? And if it was, did that mean that they could collaborate with magic?

Did that mean he could use Marinette’s charms while she was gone, stay warm throughout December, and have her close to him at the same time?

He spent a long moment staring at the sweater in his hands, before finally getting out of bed.

══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══

She let him into her room like normal. Things were much tidier, now, her suitcase zipped up and tucked away behind her door where it had been before. It seemed like whatever chaotic cloud had overtaken her before had passed. Neither of them mentioned the other day.

He sat on her bed while she worked on something at her desk. He was itching to test his new theory, but she didn’t seem to be in the mood to cuddle today.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, and dipped her quill in the ink again.

“No, not really.”

“I still have some of that blood leftover from the other day.”

He let out a noncommittal sound. When he was sure she wasn’t going to look over, he returned to inspecting her nightstand, peering into the sliver of space in the bottom drawer, the one that she stuffed all her miscellaneous items in when she couldn’t be bothered to tidy up before bed.

Could he find something she’d charmed in there?

He didn’t know how many times she’d practiced that heating spell on inanimate objects. She’d never spoken about it before last week, but he assumed that there must have been some prototypes before the sweater. It was a good spell, rather high-quality in its function if it really was her first time. But he had no idea where she kept all her practice work. She might’ve enjoyed seeing her progress when it came to magic, but he had no idea whether she kept everything .

He hooked his fingers inside the gap in her drawer and, as slow as he could, pulled it open.

Staring back at him was a small tub, marked with a red sticky tab.

He looked up at her furtively, then twisted it open.

Rosemary wafted into his face.

Immediately, Adrien recoiled.

This was not what he was looking for. If he was going test out one of her charms, the last thing he should’ve been using was the item that had actually given him second-degree burns the last time they’d mixed them with heating supplements. How would he have even explained that to Marinette?

He leant forward to get a better look inside her drawer.

Broken quills. Packaged up ink. Some blank notebooks with the Françoise Dupont insignia emblazoned on the front.

Unless she was trying to distract her professors with weirdly hot paper while they marked, he couldn’t imagine any of those being of use to him right now.

His eyes moved back to the balm.

He sucked in a breath, and scooped some onto his fingers.

He tried to ignore the tingling as soon as it touched his skin. They were phantom tingles, he knew, because he hadn’t had a problem with it so soon after making contact back when Marinette had been applying it for him. He couldn’t stop the quick pace of his breath as he outstretched his arm for himself, and rubbed a generous amount of the paste into his skin.

It disappeared into his wrist.

Traces of purple remained in swirled patterns.

Then, the heat began. It was the exact same as last time, the fullness of it, not just heat but warmth , bringing with it memories of her arms around him, their legs intertwined, smelling that perfume of hers that was just deep enough, just similar enough to burnt paper that he had to wonder whether it was because of the magic inside of her. It was even better than what it’d been like with the sweater that evening, a warmth that not only felt real but also profound.

He stared at the skin. Waited. Prepared his brain with images of redness, of blistered flesh, of broken fibres and the pain , that pain that had shot all the way up through his arm.

It didn’t come.

He waited. Waited longer than they had to wait until she had to use her healing spell before.

His skin remain intact. The heat continued blooming, spreading, slowly filling his entire body.

(She didn’t really have to massage the paste into his chest, he realised).

“What’s that smell?” Marinette asked, lifting her head. “Did I leave one of my jars open again?”

Quickly, Adrien twisted the balm shut and shoved her drawer closed. He hid it underneath the duvet, fingers clenched so tight around the lid he was sure it would leave marks.

“I don’t smell anything,” he said. “Were you making potions earlier today for camp?”

Her quill stopped near the bottom of her paper. “No,” she said. “I wasn’t.”

She lapsed back into silence, dipping her quill in the ink more than a few times in the process, continuing her writing on the other side of the paper.

Adrien glanced down at the tub of balm in his hands, and let out a deep breath.

══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══

“Ugh, this is so annoying.” She let the ball of light between her fingers fizzle out and straightened. “Adrien, can you come try? It’s too dark for me to see anything.”

He poured the last of the batter into a cupcake case, then set down his spoon to come over. He squatted down next to her, using the dishcloth to move the oven rack inside to get a closer look.

“It’s your base element,” he said immediately. “It’s broken again.”

" Again?" she groaned. "Are you sure?"

"Who's the one with night vision here?"

She grumbled under her breath, yanking off her oven mitts and throwing them down on the dining table.

He straightened, too, draping the dish cloth over the counter. "So, what now?" he said.

"Well, we wait for Papa to get home," she replied. "And then wait for Papa to pretend he can fix it before calling that werewolf to come fix it instead."

He glanced at the baking tray, polka dotted with pink cases. "So… what happens to the cupcakes?" 

She sighed, crossing her arms. "Well… he doesn't do mechanic work on the weekends."

"Are you serious?" he said. "So you won't be able to take these to camp?"

She stayed quiet, fiddling with the corner of one of the dining chairs.

If he didn't know any better, he might've thought she'd broken the base element herself. Camp was already only three days away, and she couldn't seem any less excited to go. She hadn't mentioned staying back again, and, albeit begrudgingly, had finished packing, but she didn't talk about it at all. She never mentioned Baptiste, although he knew full well they were meant to meet up and train again before Monday, nor whether Mme Laveau had given her extra spells to learn beforehand — and Mme Laveau would've definitely given her extra spells to learn beforehand. 

It was weird. If she wasn't worried about him getting sick again, then what was it?

All the cases had batter in them. "Why don't you just use a heating spell?"

Her eyes snapped towards him. "Really? You think a heating spell is going to help this?"

He looked at her, the tense in her shoulders, the unnecessary malice in her reply.

Oh.

She was feeling insecure.

He wasn't sure why he hadn't thought of it before. Of course him getting sick wouldn't be the only thing that was on her mind — as far as she knew, those charms weren't working because of her , not him. How must've that felt, in the last two weeks before she had to go to one of the most prestigious programmes for magic wielders their age? 

Guilt knotted in his stomach.

He just needed to boost her confidence. Maybe that would be enough to cheer her up.

"Why wouldn't it?" he said. "You heat me up rather often."

She gave him a look. It'd been a while since they'd cuddled, in fact, which he wasn't too happy about, but was willing to look past if it didn't provide any ammunition to her argument.

"Vampires are different from cupcakes," she replied.

"Arguably more difficult." 

"Need I remind you I almost turned you into a roasted marshmallow with that balm?"

"And what a happy roasted marshmallow I would've been."

"Adrien, seriously, it isn't that important." She reached behind her and double checked the gas was off. "They probably won't even like some lame cupcakes."

"Just try?" He lifted the tray up for her, hoping the smell of the batter would entice her not to waste it. " Pleaseee ?"

She turned to look at him. Her mouth opened, and he thought, for a moment, she'd figured out what he was doing, that she wouldn't humour him because no, she knew it wouldn't work, there was no point in even trying.

But then it closed, and she sighed. Bringing her hand forward, she took hold of the other side of the baking tray.

While he was holding it.

Heating supplements in his blood.

Panic coursed through him. If the magic reacted to his heat then they were both, to put it nicely, screwed. They were both so close to the tray that any burning, or melting, or, as the blood had done, combusting, would definitely leave scars. 

But worst of all, if the spell failed again, all it would do was make her feel worse. And it would be all his fault.

Frantically, he glanced around the dining table. With the way she was holding the tray, if he let go of it now it'd fall, and there was nothing nearby to support it. Before he could suggest setting it down on a placemat, he felt it. The heat winding through the material of the tray, pressing flat against his palms.

Then, slowly, the cakes began to rise.

It felt the same as watching it through the oven window. The batter solidified, darkened, filling each case with an even curve crowning the top. Vanilla extract perfumed the kitchen, sweetened with the butter and generous amount of sugar they'd added.

When she was done, he took a hand off the tray and checked.

Nothing. Not even a hint of redness.

So it was true. The change in supplements had helped.

"Look!" he said, gesturing to the cupcakes. "You did it!"

She looked at them for a minute, fingers still wrapped around the tray. "Looks like I did." Grabbing her wire rack, she began arranging the cases on top.

She didn't meet his gaze.

══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══

He didn't get it.

She was the top witch in their district. She'd received so many awards that it was hilarious that her formal cloak was perpetually wrinkled. She didn't just learn spells but created them, altered the ones in the books, made charms for everything under the sun just because she thought it was fun.

And yet, she was nervous about winter camp.

Maybe it was just because he'd never been a prodigy. Or at least not in a way that it mattered. Piano and fencing and perfect Latin grades meant nothing when the only person grading him was his father, and since that was all he really had, maybe he wouldn't understand why she'd still be doubting herself.

He looked at the bottle of supplements sitting on his nightstand, then at the sweater around his arms.

But he could at least try to help.

He got out of bed, grabbed the capsules and his bag, and headed over to her's, sweater still on.

══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══

He went up the stairs faster than necessary. Partly because Mr Dupain had been baking all day in the kitchen, and although his heating supplements weren't reacting with her magic anymore, it didn't change the fact that wearing a thick, woollen, charmed sweater in a 30°C room would make you want to exit that room as soon as possible. 

But also because of what he wanted to tell her.

He went to push open the door, then hesitated. She was leaving tomorrow. What if she didn't want to see him right now? She'd usually be in the bakery at this time, anyway. Had he made a mistake in coming?

No. He wasn't going to let her go off to winter camp thinking she was a bad witch, just because of his stupid heating supplements. 

He opened her door.

She was sitting with her back against her desk, one of her suitcases open in front of her, flicking through a spellbook idly.

She looked up when she heard him. "Hi."

"Hi," he said. "Doing some last minute studying?"

She fiddled with one of the pages. "Kinda."  Then, she closed it, and put it back in her suitcase. Her eyes fell to his torso. "Why're you wearing that?" she asked. "Are you trying to get thermal shock again? I'm not gonna cuddle you back to consciousness if you pass out this time."

"No— that's—" He stuffed a hand in his pocket to play with the capsule bottle. "That's actually what I came here to talk to you about."

Pulling her knees up, she leaned forward. "Go on."

He sucked in a breath. He turned to shut the door behind him, then came over to where she was sitting.

Putting a hand back in his pocket, he produced the bottle.

She reached over and turned it around, reading the label. "Heating supplements?" she said. "What're those?"

He swallowed, mouth dry. "My father's producing them," he said. "They're tablets. To keep us warm during winter."

"Oh," she said, dropping her hand. "Well, I guess you won't need my spells anymore."

He paused. "I've been taking these since last month."

At that, she blinked. "What?" She took the bottle from him entirely and twisted it around. "Are they not working, or something? Is that why you wanted to cuddle all the time?"

He pursed his lips, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. "I wanted to cuddle because I like cuddling with you," he said quietly. "Even when I was already warm."

She stared at him with an unreadable expression for a long time, bottle hanging off her fingers.

"The reason your spells weren't working was because of my heating supplements," he said. "Not because you're a bad witch."

Her face didn't change. She glanced back down at her hand. "Why're you telling me this now?" she asked.

" Because ." He knelt down beside her and took hold of her shoulders. "You're too talented to believe you're not good enough."

Her eyes shifted to him. "What?"

"Look, I know you're nervous about camp," he said. "I know it's gonna be scary being around so many good magic wielders. But you're one of the best, Marinette. You can't let something like a heating spell psych you out just before you go. Especially when they're working fine." He sat back, and pulled the jumper over his head. "See?" he said, gesturing to himself, now only clad in a short-sleeved T-Shirt. "I'm not passing out."

She watched him for a moment, mouth ajar. He shifted uncomfortably. He expected her to be surprised, of course. But not… confused.

"Adrien," she said. "I am literally the smartest witch I know."

He smiled. "That's the spirit!"

"No," she said, completely straight-faced. "I mean it. I mean, I was nervous at first, but that day when we were at training? Baptiste couldn't even use a heating spell to light a fire." 

"Oh." He looked down at the sweater, at the  supplements, feeling a bit like he'd gotten booed off a stage. "Then why've you been acting so weird lately?"

She looked down at her hand, rolling the bottle around. "...I don't want to leave you."

Something softened in him. "Marinette," he said. "The heating supplements, I'll be okay—"

"It's— it's not that." She pulled her knees tighter to her chest. "We've never been apart for so long. Ever. What if when I come back…" She sighed.

He leant closer. "What if when you come back…?"

She bit her lip. "What if we aren't best friends anymore?"

The words harpooned through his chest. 

Had she been thinking about this while they'd been cuddling? While he listened to her talk about Baptiste? While she tried out heating spell after heating spell, and he let her use all of them, in that secret hope that maybe one of them would work even despite his supplements? 

He opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue felt dry. Before he could get the words out, she beat him to it.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," she said, sliding her hands under her thighs. "I sent my deferral request to Mme Laveau this afternoon."

He had no trouble speaking then. "I'm sorry, what?"

"It's— it's honestly not that big of a deal," she said. "I mean, all it is is a bunch of magic wielders hanging out in the woods for a month. And, I mean, maybe the extra year will give me time to improve even more, maybe research some of the alumni before taking their classes—"

"Marinette," he said slowly. "You sent the deferral request?"

"Well!" She threw her hands up, exasperated. "Yeah! That's the whole point of a deferral request!"

He felt a bit like the way those guys at his fencing class did when they'd made that stupid deal with that fae girl. Something about wanting her to give them potions to study better during the day and instead ended up with insomnia so bad they dropped out. He's wanted Marinette to want to stay. And here she was, staying, without him even asking. But somehow, this couldn't feel worse.

"W— why ?" he said.

"Because!"  she replied, as if that explained everything. "Look, I've been planning this for a few days, it's not a spur of the moment thing."

"You— you can't seriously be deferring because you're afraid we won't be best friends anymore, right?" he asked, trying to ignore the slight twinge in his chest, because, well, yeah, he would've definitely done the same, but she's different . "You're smarter than that. That can't stop you from chasing your dream ."

"That's easy for you to say when you probably have a whole gaggle of witches to cuddle with as soon as I'm gone."

"Huh?" He leant back, blinking. "What are you talking about?" he said. "I don't even know any other witches."

She averted her gaze, face growing red. "Well," she said. "Françoise Dupont girls all have a thing for vampires, right?" It was laced with something hard, nothing like the way they usually talked about it. 

He stared at her. "...Marinette, I was joking."

She kept herself turned away for a moment. Then, she sighed. "Yeah. I know." Her legs sank to the floor.

They sat like that for a moment, saying nothing. Mr Dupain's humming travelled up through the floor.

"Adrien, I— I don't like change," she said. "Winter camp is already a huge change. I mean, I've been talking to the same thirty witches every day since I was seven — now I'm gonna spend a month living with all these other wielders." She rubbed the back of her thigh. "I just want things to stay the same between us . You know? I don't want to come back and for you to not want to cuddle anymore because you realised your heating supplements are doing a better job at keeping you warm than I was. I mean, you've already stopped trusting my charms—"

"Stopped trusting your charms?" he repeated. "Since when?"

"Those magic suppressants!" she said. "You didn't even let me try them."

"Because it was insane , Marinette. I didn't want you to mess up your first ever camp."

She groaned. "That's all you seem to care about. Me going to camp."

He raised his eyebrows. "Huh?"

She sighed, looking down at the sweater. "It all just seems… fine for you," she said. She glanced up at him. "You haven't told me you'll miss me even once."

The shock knocked the breath out of him.

That was what she wanted? For him to tell her that he'd miss her?

"Oh my God, Marinette," he said. "I miss you already."

Maybe there was something in his voice when he said it. Because he knew she could've protested, knew that usually she would've . But her head snapped up and her mouth fell open, and no words left her mouth for a moment.

"You think I'm not scared, too?" he asked. "You're gonna be at this super cool camp with all these super cool people who have so much more in common with you than you ever had with me and— and I hate it. Because I know you could find a best friend better than me there. And, like, I know we'd still be friends when you come back, but you wouldn't have time for me to come over everyday anymore, and you wouldn't need me to help you with spells anymore, and—" She was still staring at him, and he was feeling increasingly like this attempt at comfort and gotten way out of hand. He cleared his throat. "A-Anyway. Of course I'm gonna miss you. But… I didn't want you to feel bad about missing out on such a good opportunity. I wanted you to have a good time. Even if it meant you were gonna forget about me."

She was quiet for a long, unsettling moment. 

Then, she got to her knees, came over, and slid her arms around him. "You're dumb," she said against his T-Shirt, dripping with affection.

He let out a sigh, running his fingers through her hair. "So are you."

"No, you're really dumb." She squeezed him hard, pointedly, catching his breath for him. "I am never going to forget you. You got that?"

He sighed. "Yeah. Got it."

"Never. Even if we don't see each other for months. For years . There is no one else in the world that could ever be my best friend other than you."

His throat tightened. He buried his face into her neck. He felt like he should've said something to her, something in a similar vein, but he wasn't sure he even needed to anymore.

It just… made sense, now. 

They were best friends. That fact would never change.

He felt her heating spell seep through her skin, even though she technically didn't need it. "Do you promise not to get hypothermia while I'm gone?" she said.

"You're still going?" He looked down at her. "Not that I don't want you to— I mean, I will miss you, but—"

She laughed. "I get it." She leant back to meet his eye. "And Mme Laveau isn't gonna give up her star student that easily." She eyed her suitcase. "I'll just repack and turn up at Gare du Nord tomorrow."

He rolled his eyes. "You are so full of yourself."

"I am the smartest witch I know."

He smiled, pulling her back into his chest. "You're the smartest witch ever."

She happily hugged him back, and for once, it felt so good to accept it without feeling like he was hiding something from her, like she was only doing this because he needed it.

"If you cuddle any other witches while I'm gone, I'll kill you," she said. 

He laughed. "I wouldn't dream of it."