Had Adrien had more of his wits about him, had he been entirely there, he might have mistrusted his instincts. But when Marinette's smile fell away, he almost felt her flinch, and he knew that he'd tripped over something huge.

Adrien reached out, fingertips brushing her cheek. They were cool from the cup, but steady. Remarkably steady.

Not for the first time, he felt a comfort, a kinship, a connection with her, this virtual stranger who had been there when he woke up. She'd been alone at his bedside, no one here to comfort her.

"... I'm sorry." He pressed his lips together, then cupped her cheek. "It must have been awful. I shouldn't have said that."