❨ pillow talk / poppy & adrien. ❩

"Should we get up?" A light giggle escapes her as she swings an arm across his sheet-covered torso, the pad of her index finger tracing circles across his chest. For a brief moment, she lazily lifts her head to glance at the clock on the table beside the bed where they lay, legs tangled and hearts still semi-racing after their early morning activities. "I really don't feel like it," another giggle, louder and lathered in affection for the boy within her arms and the distraction he provides.

"I like it right here," she purrs, nuzzling into the crook of his neck before reaching up to place a kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

It feels domestic. Like something they could do every day for the rest of their lives—wake up next to one another, make love and then breakfast. And for the first time, the idea of such a routine doesn't make bile rise up in the back of her throat. It doesn't make Poppy nauseous to imagine her life with Adrien by her side. And very briefly, she wonders if he feels the same. She wonders if the poor girl from Five who clawed her way to the top could be enough for the nice boy next door. 

Poppy wonders if such a villain as she is worthy of a sweet soul like his. 

She fears the answer is no.

But even more so, she wonders how a sweet soul like his is fairing after such a sudden and violent loss. Adrien may claim Malcom isn't his real father in every sense of the word, that he has his mother and that's all he needs, but this was his chance, wasn't it? To get to know him. To impress him. To show Malcom that he should be proud of the son who carries around his surname.

She inches in closer and places another much softer kiss against his cheek this time. It's tender. Loving. Unnatural, yet it feels right.

"How are you doing,  though?" There's a small pause before she continues, long enough to give her time to wrap half the sheet they share around her torso and sit up. "After everything..."

It feels like something she shouldn't ask, but concern swells in her chest as she gets a real good look at him. The afterglow has worn off and Poppy squints at his facade, trying to dissect whatever emotions lay behind that half-cocked smile he always wears so well. She reaches her hand out and runs a finger along his jaw to grab his attention.

"If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to, but—" she stops, the sentence going dead atop her tongue as words elude her. Supportive was not something she did well and doting girlfriend was not a title she wanted for herself, but her heart calls out to him. Intimacy was funny like that; in the blink of an eye, you're desperate for the other person to reach out—to lean on you when you know they need it the most.

"I don't know," she shrugs and tilts her head to the side as she looks down at him. "I'm here, Adrien, if you want to talk about it."