Note: I don't know how to write Author's Notes but I'mma try my best here.

Where this story came from is a mystery, although I think binge-watching every episode of Your Lie in April (again) was a huge contributor to this behemoth of a fic. It takes slow burn to a whole new different ball game. Honestly.

Also I wanted a music!fic and I couldn't find any. Vanity and self-indulgence fueled my want to write these mushrooms into cutesy and angsty situations with classical music backdrops. You're welcome. In any case, this story will feature a lot of inaccuracies because this girl doesn't know jack about music competitions. I did with what I could? And by that I made do with what Google had to offer.

Oh, and before I forget- Disclaimer: I do not own Miraculous Ladybug or any of the characters.

Reviews make the world go 'round! And keep the plumbing intact!

Chapter One: Violin Strings

Off-key, he thought. He watched and listened more intently. The fingers were in the wrong places. Yes, definitely off-key. He gripped his pencil more firmly and wrote a deduction.

He rested his elbow on the arm rest and put his chin in his hand. Shame, and he started off so well. The boy in question was struggling, trying to find the correct pitch once more. Out of the corner of his eye, Adrien saw his father shake his head. Only slightly. Can't show any outward reaction, it might distract the performers. Adrien pursed his lips.

When the boy finished, he clapped politely, sinking back into his posture when he left the stage. Adrien looked at the pad at his lap, searched for a name. Lucius Belgrade. Poor Lucius, he thought wryly. His father was making some comment to the other judges, who drank in his opinion like it was the gospel of the Holy Lord, and Adrien wasn't really up for any questions that might be aimed at him so he stayed silent.

"What do you think, son?" Shit. He spoke too soon.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Could've done better, it was in A instead of C, and he lost pace a third in." His voice was bored, clipped, and direct. The voice his father preferred in these situations. Gabriel Agreste nodded, almost in approval, and fixed himself to look at the stage again.

Adrien released a sigh through his nose.

A new number was put on the stand, and the next person came on. Another boy, and Adrien flipped to the next page. Claude Jusein. Claude bowed, set his violin to his chin, and played.

Ah. Adrien felt a fond rush of familiarity. Sarasate's Carmen Fantasy, op. 25.

He was good, Adrien had to say. No major mistakes, largely faithful to the score, and with a dramatic flair that hinted at great virtuosic potential. He relayed these statements to his father, who nodded quietly and made note of it. Adrien wrote down the score and flipped to the next contestant.

The picture displayed a girl, for a change. Marinette Dupein-Cheng. Adrien stared at the image for a moment, trying to decide whether or not the girl was familiar. Her eyes, big and blue, stared out of the page, and her tiny mouth was quirked into the most imperceptible smile. What latched on to him was that she wore her black hair in pigtails, held together by red ribbons. Didn't he know a girl who wore her hair like that?

"Adrien," he heard his father say, and he was jolted out of whatever reverie he was in. Gabriel's face was stern, and Adrien understood. He faced the stage, put his chin back in his palm to get his father off his back. The girl appeared, clad in red. Her hair was kept up in a bun instead of twin-tails. Adrien felt oddly disappointed. She bowed, raised her violin. Then she hit the first note.

A chill went down his spine. Paganini Caprice no. 24 in A minor. A good choice, Adrien thought, but such a dangerous one too.

The girl, Marinette, seemed to have no issue with the piece; she played with tense-less shoulders and calm fingers. Everything was fluid in her movement. She made the piece follow her, instead of following the piece. It flowed through her.

Adrien raptly paid attention to her, almost waiting for a moment for her to cough up, to break the spell, but she never slipped, not even once. Her ferocity peaked near the last few bars, playing so earnestly that Adrien saw a few of the hairs on her bow fray and catch light as they fluttered helplessly with each pull and drag.

The hall was completely silent in a new way. The atmosphere was wound up tight and taut, like it was hanging onto every sound that that girl made. The audience was at the edge of their seat. A teenage girl had them all breathless.

And then it was over. Marinette Dupein-Cheng bowed low, breathing so heavily that Adrien could see her shoulder blades moving in effort. The crowd was silent, as if shocked still, but recovered to give her the loudest response given yet. She smiled—she had a very pretty smile—and walked off the stage.

His father was nodding like something had pleased him immensely. "Great talent, good emotion, precision, near-perfect accuracy." he said, counting it off on his long fingers. "She's the best one yet."

Adrien hummed quietly in agreement. "She's perfect," he said, more to himself than anyone else. She was probably the only one whom he gave a perfect score.

Marinette was shaking. She nearly lost her grip on her violin as she walked backstage. The nerves always hit her directly afterwards. Convenient, but the waves of nausea weren't really appreciated. She pushed the heavy door open, a stage hand rushing to help her, but she waved him off with a grimace-y smile and did it herself. Heaving, she leaned against the wall next to the door and put a hand over her eyes. Her fingers were slightly sore.

She heard footsteps, at first coming from far away, but as they got nearer they got more thunderous and hurried. Marinette straightened, let her hand fall back at her side, narrowing her eyes into the darkened hallway. The steps only grew louder.

"You!" Alya appeared quite literally out of nowhere, a finger outstretched in what Marinette felt was accusation. Her best friend took a big, gasping breath, and walked a few steps before nearly collapsing entirely.

"Alya!" Marinette rushed to her side, helping the redhead get up.

"You," Alya repeated as she caught her breath. "You,"

"Yes, me," the girl in red said, chuckling humorously. "Anything else Al? Enlighten me with your words."

Her smart remark earned her a hot glare. Marinette tucked in a smile.

"You dickhead, before your mouth got away with you I was just about to say how amazing your performance was." Alya said, gulping down enough air finally. Marinette smiled softly at the girl and took her in a hug.

"Thank you," she said, grateful. She felt Alya smile.

"Of course."

They went to the changing rooms like that, arms thrown over each other's shoulders.

By the time Marinette was out of her dress and was in the main hall, the results were already posted. She was quite terrified to go over there herself but Alya had grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her to the bulletin, knocking about some people to which Marinette profusely apologized. They rag-dolled themselves to the front, and Marinette peered up the list with anxious anticipation. Alya ran a finger over the list a few times, and stopped. Marinette's eyes followed Alya's finger.

6. Dupein-Cheng, Marinette

She felt herself breathe. Alya sighed in relief and laughed, slapping a hand on Marinette's shoulder. Marinette didn't even feel it, she was too happy.

"Girl, you fucking did it!" Alya then threw her arms around her. Marinette, who wasn't expecting it, nearly fell but caught herself. She laughed, a little dubious, and hugged her friend back.

"Come on," Marinette said as they pulled away. "I'm treating you to lunch."

Alya then pumped her fist in the air and Marinette pulled them out of the crowd and out of the place altogether.