Marinette Dupain-Cheng, an aspiring fashion designer, sat in her scarlet red Volkswagen bug with a notepad laying against the wheel. Her hand was furiously dragging the tip of a pencil across the previously white piece of paper. The highway was completely backed up, bumper-to-bumper, for at least a mile, but Marinette saw nothing wrong with that. She had thought of another idea for a design while on her way to work and she couldn't let it go. The traffic gave her a reasonable excuse to put her car in park and draw for a few minutes.

"Where did I put my colored pencils…?" She mumbled to herself as she reached across the center console to grasp the rather large pouch filled with pencils of every color imaginable sitting on the floor of the passenger's side. "C'mon…" her fingers strained, "Almost-" She gasped as a loud and obnoxious horn of another car blared in her ear. She sat up and turned to her window. A rather irritated, blond pretty boy in a horrendously old black convertible had driven up next to her.

"Whatever!" She rolled her eyes and lifted her middle finger in the air. The blondie slammed his hand on the horn again before he drove off as the traffic thinned. "I need to finish this design," she bit her bottom lip before looking up at the empty road ahead of her. "I- I should go." She tossed her notebook on the passenger's seat and floored it. Her design could wait, besides, she was a baker not a fashion designer.

Marinette worked at a small bakery in the middle of the largest fashion district in Paris that happened to serve a mean cup of coffee. Her mother had gotten her the job years ago when Marinette decided to quit school to test out her career as a fashion designer. The manager was her second cousin or something ridiculous. Marinette only took the job because she was in the center of it all. She had seen some of the most iconic designs the world had ever seen be created right in front of her eyes. It was her dream to be the most influential person in the fashion industry… at some point. As of right now, she was just a barista and that's what she would remain as, at least until someone noticed her designs. She gazed out of the window as a glossy black car rolled up. Her eyes became wide.

"Marinette, please, I pay you to work, not to daydream," the manager, a grouchy middle-aged woman, stood with her arms folded near Marinette.

"I'm sorry," Marinette apologized. "But I think I just saw Gab-"

"I don't care if you think you saw the Christ, finish baking those croissants, now!" Marinette hung her head and turned towards the back of the restaurant.

"My shift is over in like a minute," she said under her breath, exasperated. As she walked to the kitchen, she turned her head and watched the door. Her mouth gaped when Gabriel Agreste entered. Unfortunately for Marinette, another one of her coworkers had been carrying a rather large sack of flour and had also been captivated by Mr. Agreste's appearance in their humble bakery. They collided and in a puff of white smoke; dust smothered her clothes and stuck to her hair. She turned around, covered in flour to see Gabriel Agreste's disapproving glare, the one she had seen plastered on every fashion television show and magazine.

"I-uh," she stuttered and glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. It was three o'clock. She had swallowed. "My shift is over." She said softly.

"I'm sorry, Marinette," her coworker, a young, bubbly girl who was equally covered in flour, held onto the sack in shame.

"It's okay," she nodded to her before grabbing her coat and running out of the bakery in embarrassment. She had made a fool of herself. She was a fool for believing Gabriel Agreste would pay attention to her anyway.

…

Marinette arrived at an audition with a few of her favorite designs. There was a new, low budget television show that needed a costume designer. Well, the show was new at least, the audition process was unfortunately not very new to Marinette.

"Hi," she smiled at the producers and cast members sitting at table in front of her. They gave her confused looks and glanced at each other continuously. Flour was still embedded in her eyebrows.

"Yes, hello," an older woman looked at the resume Marinette had complied, "Now, if you could please show us some of your best pieces. The show is based roughly in the nineteen-fifties."

"Alright, well, this is my first piece," she pulled a floral dress of her rack of clothing, "It's sort of-" Suddenly there was knock at the door behind her. The producer gestured for the person to come in. There were a few harsh whispers from the producers and cast members before they gave Marinette some of their attention.

"Should I-?"

"No, uh, thank you for coming in, uh..." the woman squinted at the paper, "Margaret... we appreciate it."

Marinette nodded and bit her lip as she put the dress back on the rack, "It's Marinette," she said quietly, "But uh, thank you…" she nodded and wheeled it out of the room. Her face fell as she entered the elevator and slammed the button. Another failed attempt at becoming a fashion designer.

…

As soon as she reached her apartment, she jumped into the shower and scrubbed at the flour that had been stuck in every place on her body imaginable. Letting out a rather large sigh, she wrapped a towel around herself and stepped in front of the mirror. She rubbed away the steam and gazed at her reflection with disappointment.

"Marinette!" One of her roommates, Alya Cesaire, an aspiring journalist, pounded her fist on the door, "Are you done yet? You've been in there for ages."

"Yeah," Marinette turned and grasped the doorknob, swinging it open. "I was keeping it warm for you." She faked a smile.

"You don't need to make a steam room every time you take a shower you know," Alya grinned and pushed past her.

"What are you doing tonight, all dressed up like that?" Marinette gazed at her outfit in confusion. Alya was wearing a nice flowy orange dress with nude heels and her makeup done expertly. She had even exchanged her glasses for her contacts, which was very uncommon for Alya. "It's the twenty-third, remember?" She laughed slightly, "Don't tell me you forgot."

"I'm not telling you anything," Marinette pressed her lips together and brushed past her, heading to her room.

"No, no, no, Marinette," Alya grabbed her arm, "You're going." Marinette dragged her into her room.

"I'm really not up for it," Marinette said quietly as she sifted through her designated sweatpants and sweatshirt drawer.

"Not up for what?" Chloe Bourgeois, their other roommate, destined on becoming the wife of a famous and crazy attractive politician one day, stuck her head of her room. She was already dressed up as well, in a bright yellow swing dress with black accents.

"The party," Alya rolled her eyes.

"Marinette, are you kidding me!" Chloe scowled, "You have to go! Millions of fashion designers are going to be there."

"I don't think there are a million successful fashion designers in the whole world, Chlo." Marinette sighed.

"No, no, none of this sad Marinette bullshit, okay? Go get that hot red dress you made a couple months ago and put it on." She pointed to Marinette's closet.

"I'm really not feeling it." Alya grabbed her arm and they plopped down on Marinette's bed. Chloe leaped next to her holding a generous glass of wine. Marinette was squeezed between them.

"One bad audition doesn't mean you're a bad designer, girl," Alya said softly.

"I'd beg to differ-"

"You got the invitation," Alya squeezed her hand and grinned.

"You got the right address," Chloe leaned on Marinette's shoulder.

"Oh God, help us all," Marinette rolled her eyes and stood up, heading back over to retrieve a pair of sweatpants.

"Someone in the crowd could be the one you've been waiting for Marinette," Alya looked into her eyes, "You can't sit around and sulk if you really do want to be in fashion one day."

"I'm sorry," she sighed, "I'm really just not in the mood."

"Marinette-" Alya tried.

"You guys go, you'll have fun, I know you will," Marinette smiled meekly at them as they stood up and turned to exit Marinette's room.

"Let me know if you change your mind," Alya said, "Someone in the crowd could be the person who needs to discover you, Mari." She took a sip of her own glass of wine before her and Chloe opened the door to their apartment.

And suddenly, Marinette didn't want to just sit on her bed with a damp towel wrapped around her body and watch romantic comedies until she cried herself to sleep. Suddenly, she wanted to put on the dress she had designed and sewn all on her own. Suddenly, she wanted to drink champagne and talk to strangers. Suddenly, she wanted to find that someone in the crowd.

Alya and Chloe were halfway down the sidewalk when Marinette came barreling out of their apartment in her very own, low v-neck red dress with a little makeup around her blue-bell eyes.

"Thank god," Alya said under her breath.

"Let's take the ladybug," Marinette grinned, holding her car keys. The three of them piled into the little red car and drove off towards the completely over the top, insane, outrageously exhilarating party filled to the brim with fashion designers from all over Paris. All Marinette had to do was show them her dress. Was that so difficult to do?

Well, apparently it was. Several hours into the night, Marinette shut herself in the wildly expensive bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror, gazing at her reflection with a disapproving sigh. All she could think about was Gabriel Agreste looking at her like she was a complete and utter mess. Was that how her designs looked to everyone else? Like a mess?

Marinette breathed out. "There's someone in the crowd, but I don't know what they see." She shut her eyes, "Somewhere there's a place where I'll find out who I'm gonna be. But that's somewhere that's still waiting to be found."

Marinette walked out of the bathroom and it was as if everything was in slow motion. She knew what she had to do, but she didn't know how she was going to do it. She didn't know anyone who could help her get there but herself… at least no one yet.

She walked out of the party, completely sober and pretty disappointed with how the night turned out. Her feet had begun to ache and she couldn't wait to jump into her car and take her heels off and blast the radio. However, when she walked to the place where her car used to be parked, she found that it had been towed. Some silly, 1AM to 6AM parking rule.

"Are you kidding me." She cursed and swung her arms in frustration. Her car was miles away by now and Alya and Chloe were nowhere to be found. They probably found an attractive guy to spend the night with. In total, the night had been a disaster. She rubbed her face with the palms of her hands and started walking towards the bus station, which was also quite a ways away. Her only option, however, was to walk there.

Marinette eventually found herself outside a little restaurant with Christmas lights glittering on the chilly streets. She leaned against the wall and sighed. The bus stop was still- wait a second, what was that? Marinette heard the most beautiful song echoing from the inside of the restaurant. She pushed herself off of the wall and yanked open the door. When she peered inside, she saw a dimly lit restaurant with green, red, and white lights strung around the wooden poles and paneling. In the middle of the restaurant, there was a large black grand piano with a blond man with green eyes playing it expertly. His fingers graced over the keys as if he was completely at home, and Marinette felt at home as well. Her breath was taken away as she watched him. Her mouth gaped open and she wanted to say everything, but also, nothing at all.