Marinette Dupain-Cheng had big ambitions, but they had to start somewhere, and for her that was art school - in particular the weekly class on the human figure. They studied the various contours of the human body and how to accurately encapsulate them onto an intimidatingly blank canvas. All too often, she'd find herself staring dumbfounded at the ghostly sea of white before her. It stared back too, as if mocking her, and sometimes she swore she could make out an accusative face in the faint bumps of the linen. The face laughed at her, derided her, and accused her of being a charade. After all, unlike her classmates who positively oozed talent, Marinette was no artist - nor did she have any aspirations of being one either. Art school was simply a means to an end; it was an appropriate way of improving her rough designs so that a fashion brand might someday finally take notice of her. Sadly, in all her nineteen years of life, the closest she'd come to acknowledgement from any illustrious designers was winning a school contest with her hat design.
The contest had been judged by none other than Gabriel Agreste, famed fashion designer with an equally famous modelling son - both of whom she had not seen since finishing college at fifteen and (in the latter case) sorely missed. Entering the room, Marinette took her usual seat. It was a wooden stool: the uncomfortable kind with no backrest which seemed reserve solely for art rooms and science labs. Rather ironically, a shared hatred of those chairs was perhaps all that brought the scientists and artists together. The student body was always complaining about it!
"Right, class," began the usual seminar lecturer, a surprisingly forgettable woman with a generic face and even more generic voice. It was no wonder that Marinette struggled to memorise her name. However, something was different today; the lecturer was still wearing her handbag, the brown leather strap draped loosely over her shoulder, and she hadn't even bothered to remove her sunglasses. "It's time to see just how much progress you've all made. I've arranged for a model and, well, I'd like you to draw him. This will contribute towards your final end-of-year grade, so I expect a good effort from all of you. Arranging such a prestigious guest was no small effort on my part…"
As if on perfectly rehearsed cue, said prestigious guest entered the room to the sound of restrained gasps and whispers. Marinette, on the other hand, was simply stunned and frozen to the spot. She felt one of her eyes spasm nervously as a lump formed at the back of her throat and, rather absentmindedly, she exhaled deeply which only served to earn a few odd stares from her neighbours. What was she going to do? She couldn't draw him! Of all the people in Paris, why did it have to be him?
The man stood before the class was, quite simply, ravishing. Sans any designer clothes and instead simply clad in a glistening white bathrobe, he had the ethereal appearance of an angel as light cascaded almost magically of said bathrobe and his luscious blond locks. A vascular hand rose to part his lengthy fringe, which in turn only revealed an alluring set of verdant eyes that seemed even more beautiful than Marinette remembered. His lips curved upwards into an awkward smile, clearly daunted by the prospect before him, and below those lips was the most magnificent jawline. Gone were the cutesy, chubby cheeks of his early teens and in their place were the chiselled cheekbones of a man - and a very attractive one at that. Indeed, only one such man could make Marinette's heart stop like this: Adrien Agreste.
"Class," continued the lecturer in her address. "This is, as I'm sure many of you already know, Adrien Agreste. He's going be our model for today. So, without further ado, let's begin - shall we?"
Suddenly, the blond teen dropped the bathrobe into a crumpled heap on the floor and positioned himself in a central position so that everyone could see him clearly - including Marinette. Everything was on show; it was the stuff of teenage fantasies. Broad shoulders gave way to bulging pectoral muscles and, below those, abs of steel from which a seductive trail of blond ran downwards to a sight which Marinette was sure she would never forget. Sweet, innocent Adrien Agreste was packing!
. . .
Hours had passed, yet Marinette was no closer to producing a piece than when she first began. Instead, she merely fluctuated between staring at Adrien and the blank canvas with contempt. His gorgeous body, bathed in natural sunlight which acted like some perfecting camera filter, was simply too distracting - so much so, that it made her angry. When the bell finally tolled to mark the end of class, she wanted nothing more than to flee to the sanctuary of her bedroom. Sadly, however, it was not to be.
"Salut, Marinette," said Adrien, characteristically rubbing the back of his neck like always when he was nervous. He made his way over, trapping her, and stopping her from making an unnoticed escape. "I never knew you studied here."
"I didn't either... No! Wait! I mean, I d-didn't know y-you studied here," she stammered in response, awkwardly averting her eyes from the still naked model before her. How could he be so relaxed?
"We should get a coffee, catch-up, for old time's sake."
"Uh... Sure, I.. I would like t-that..."
It had been an eventful art class. Even if her grades weren't thankful for Adrien's sudden appearance, she sure as hell was.