It had been two days since the kiss in Marinette's room.
Neither of them had brought it up.
Which, honestly, was insane.
Because it wasn't a little kiss. It was a "my heart might be entirely yours if you asked" kiss.
But Kagami had gone back to her usual emotionally-armored self. And Marinette… well, she was a mix of wide-eyed DISASTER and tightly bottled heartbreak, as always.
So when Marinette texted her "Meet me at the greenhouse. Sunset."Kagami just sent back: Understood.
And showed up twenty minutes early.
The greenhouse was empty, drenched in orange light. Flower petals floated in the air like little secrets.
Marinette stood in the center — red hoodie, flushed cheeks, hands clenched.
Kagami stepped in.
Neither of them moved at first.
Then Marinette said, "You kissed me. And I don't know if it meant anything or if you were just—"
"It meant something."
That stopped her. Kagami walked forward — slow, careful, composed.
"I don't kiss people to comfort them," Kagami said. "I'm not good at… emotions like that. But with you…"
She reached out, gently brushing Marinette's wrist. "With you, everything is loud. And warm. And frustrating. And real."
Marinette was blinking so fast it looked like she might glitch.
Kagami leaned closer. "May I?"
Marinette nodded, barely.
The kiss this time was not soft.
It started soft — sure — but quickly bloomed into real want.
Marinette's hands tangled in Kagami's perfectly flat hair. Kagami's arms circled her waist, pulling her close, firm and protective.
They kissed like they had been starving for clarity.
Marinette made a tiny sound — surprised by how much she felt. Kagami's lips curved into the smallest smile against hers.
When they broke apart, both of them breathless, Marinette whispered, "I didn't know it could feel like that."
Kagami brushed her thumb along her cheek. "Neither did I."
They stood there for a long time. Pressed close. Hearts syncing. No masks.
Later — on Marinette's rooftop, tangled in a pile of blankets and pillows under the stars.
They weren't doing anything scandalous. Just… lying next to each other, arms barely touching, words spilling like poetry.
"I think I've always liked you," Marinette said, voice quiet. "But I was so busy chasing Adrien I didn't see what was right in front of me."
"You weren't ready to see me," Kagami replied, not unkindly.
"And now?"
Kagami turned toward her. "Now, you look at me like I'm the answer to a question you didn't know you were asking."
Marinette's breath caught.
Then she leaned in again.
This kiss was slower. More intimate. Lips barely brushing. Not about hunger — but about the delicate terror of being known.
Kagami let Marinette take the lead, soft sighs between each kiss, her usually stiff arms wrapped gently around Marinette's waist, fingertips tracing patterns like secrets on her back.
Marinette giggled into the kiss — breathless, dizzy, drunk on sunlight and girlhood and everything she'd never let herself want.
"You're really good at this for someone who says she's bad at emotions."
Kagami smirked. "I practice. In my head. A lot."
They both laughed — that kind of stupid, breathless laughter that only happens when you've stopped pretending.
And that night, Marinette slept with her head on Kagami's shoulder. Safe. For the first time in forever.