She honestly did not mean to slam right into a handsome, smirking boy on the first day of the tournament. She really didn't; it had just happened in a blink of an eye. Later on, she'd wonder to herself whether it was the panic she'd been in, or just her bad luck that had resulted in their meeting. But, as the mysterious 'Chat Noir' had told her smugly, it was probably destiny that brought them together.
A few hours before that fateful moment, Marinette had promised to meet up with Alya before the hip-hop competition began - her best friend was participating in the prelims, already driven to the edge with wild fear, and completely freaking out over the phone.
"I can't do it, Mari," she'd wailed, her face stretched and pale. Her shirt was scrunched up from her twisting it in her hands, and from the look of it, she'd run her hands through her hair about a thousand times now. Alya buried her head in her hands, visibly trembling. Marinette couldn't believe that she was having stage fright now; she'd been vibrantly confident in her capability the entire week. But now, Alya seemed to be having second thoughts about everything: the competition, her dancing skills, hip-hop in general... Honestly speaking, Marinette had not been expecting this to happen. "I shouldn't have signed up. I shouldn't have even considered this. Everyone's going to be watching me. The audience, the judges, Nino… I'm going to fall flat on my face and look absolutely ridiculous - "
"No, you're not," Marinette had interjected firmly. "Remember what you told me? You're going to blow the socks off the audience and the judges. And remember how Nino reacted when you showed him what you were going to perform?"
Alya let out a weak chuckle at the memory of Nino's large, shimmering eyes swimming with a mixture of admiration, awe, and adoration.
"He told you that you were going to take the tournament by the arm and judo-flip it," Marinette reminded her softly, her voice still rock-hard determined. "You can do it, Alya. It's not about impressing people, remember? It's about you, and how much you love to dance. So go show them what you can do."
"I can't believe you're my best friend, Marinette Dupain-Cheng," Alya groaned, but a bit of colour had returned to her cheeks. The hesitant smile hovering around her mouth gradually transformed to a full-grown grin, and she flashed her friend a peace sign. "Thanks. I feel a bit better. I'll see you soon, 'kay?"
"Now that's the Alya I know," Marinette replied, before hanging up and clutching her head, moaning.
I'm a hypocrite, she thought ruefully, trying to stifle the rising butterflies in her stomach. Right before the hip-hop tournament was the break-dancing tournament, and she was going to do horrible.
"I can't do it," she said out loud, rubbing her cheeks frantically. "Alya had confidence in herself because she's just… awesome at hip-hop. But I barely started break-dancing, what was I thinking when I signed up? Oh my gosh, this is going to be the worst moment of my entire life… I'll never be able to show my face in public ever again… Alya's in the next stadium over, watching the break-dancing prelims… My class will be watching… Paris will be watching… Adrien will be - " She let out a muffled scream, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Oh, no. I am so dead."
She turned the corner and sprinted to the washroom, peering anxiously into the mirror. Her costume - was it a good enough disguise? Was it conspicuous enough to reveal her identity? The red 'mask' she'd painted over her eyes and the bridge of her nose - how much did it hide? It still showed the curves and contours of her was still recognizable, if someone looked really closely at her. Marinette gulped, trying to stifle the sudden heave in her stomach. She pulled at her top uncomfortably; maybe it showed too much skin? And her hair… would it get in the way when she was performing?
"ARGH!" she shouted suddenly, making a series of startled yelps echo from the closed stalls. Mumbling apologies, she shivered, wishing miserably that she was back home at the bakery, helping her father arrange pastries in the shop window, or even helping her mom clean the house. She wished she was anywhere but here.
A surge of fear - unrestrained, reeling, dizzying fear - rushed through her veins, making her fingertips tingle. Marinette wasn't supposed to be here. Nobody knew she was participating in the break-dancing tournament, not even Alya - she'd signed up under the name 'Ladybug', and all Alya and Nino knew was that she had a previous appointment before she could watch Alya perform. She wasn't meant for the stage, not meant for the blinding lights and the roaring crowds, not meant for the eyes trained on her figure, not meant for the role of heroine. Alya was the perfect example of someone born for the stage: determination, charm, a perfect balance of respect and self-confidence for her opponents. Marinette didn't have the drive, the energy, the courage. What was she even doing here?
She ran out of the bathroom, hurtling through the crowd like a speeding bullet. Her heart pounded, apprehension, anxiety, and above all, an urge to run far, far away pumping through her body. Electricity sparked down her spine, and adrenaline fueled her weakened legs. She could feel people pushing against her, voices of annoyance and surprise surrounding her, choking her, suffocating her, trapping her -
Marinette swallowed a scream and willed her legs desperately to work faster. Her pulse hammered a deafening one, two - one, two - one, two - and she pushed people aside carelessly, lungs heaving for air -
In her hurry, she didn't even notice the blonde boy, his shoulders tense with excitement, step into her line of fire until she slammed into him with the force of a lionness racing through the plains.
Reeling back, Marinette realized all too late that in her haze of panic, she hadn't paid any attention to where she was going. Two beautiful emerald-green eyes widened before her, a soft, peach-pink mouth popped open in astonishment, and two slender but strong arms encircled her waist and caught her before her head hit the floor.
"Woah, easy there," she heard a voice like smoke and honey say, the words edged with concern and shock. "I've been told that I have drop-dead good looks, but I've never had a girl throw herself at me like this before."
Despite the still-accelerating beat in her chest and the clamminess in her palms, Marinette managed to summon the very last shreds of her dignity.
"You wish," she nearly snarled, lips tightening with dislike. "And I wasn't throwing myself at you, so get that into your head, kitty."
She clapped her hand over her mouth at the last part. Normally, Marinette would've burst into incoherent strings of apologies - she'd never openly insulted anyone to this extent, not even Chloe. But the boy didn't seem to mind. He slowly helped her to a normal standing position, his hands dropping away from her hips slowly. A knowing smile brightened his face and he flicked his hood carelessly, grinning as he tugged at the makeshift cat ears sitting on top of his head.
"I like that," he all but purred. "Kitty… huh? Well, it's nice to meet you - ?"
"Ladybug," Marinette hastily offered, giving him a wary glance. He didn't seem like those flirtatious, unpleasant boys from the other side of town that swaggered into the bakery and dropped a couple thousand pick-up lines. (Okay, he did seem a little flirty, but she noted that his smile was good-natured instead of leering, so that placed him about second to last place in her book instead of dead last.) "Sorry for, uh, barreling into you. I wasn't thinking clearly."
"Ladybug," he echoed, and drew his hood back, popping the black and white cap off his head. His face, no longer shadowed, showed Marinette his slightly tousled golden hair and the bridge of his nose leading to a rounded, but still pert, tip. "I'm Chat Noir, at your service."
And in one single fluid movement, he dipped to one knee, took her fingers gently in his, and kissed the back of her hand.
Marinette barely stopped herself from screeching and backing away rapidly. She stared down at the broadly smirking boy, closed her eyes, and counted to ten before pulling her hand away and asking, "So, what're you here for?"
"What am I - ?" He began, then scratched his head sheepishly, gesturing at his clothes. Once he got to his feet, Marinette found herself a little disgruntled to find that he loomed taller than her by a few inches. "I'm participating, of course! And so are you, by the looks of it," he added cheekily.
Marinette fought the sudden urge to slap her forehead and race back home. She'd thought her stage fright was bad enough, and now she had to deal with a - with a - what was he classified as, anyways?
"Yes, I am," she said, keeping the growl out of her words. "I'm in the first set of prelims for the break-dancing tournament."
"Oh!" Delight lit up Chat Noir's features, and he grabbed her shoulders eagerly. "So am I!"
"Participating in the prelims?" Marinette said, blinking at the sudden warmth on her shoulders. He pulled away, and to her mild surprise, the absence of his hands made her feel a little disappointed.
"No," he laughed, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in amusement. "I'm in the first set, too."
"So we might be opponents," Marinette said, crossing her arms. It wasn't really a question, more like a statement.
"Yeah!" Chat Noir replied, nearly bursting with excitement. Really, this guy was seriously unpredictable. One moment he was acting like a gentlemen, another he seemed like a child at a circus. "Man, I'm so excited I could explode. This is my first time participating at a tournament you know."
Marinette allowed herself a brief smile.
"Me, too."
She tipped her head at him, watching curiously as the pure, childlike happiness drained slowly out of his slim frame. This Chat Noir was truly phenomenal. Was he aware of how openly he displayed his emotions to the world? Mere seconds ago he was bouncing on the balls of his heels from anticipation, and now he was slumped over, brow furrowed and and mouth curling in a frown.
"What's wrong?" she asked, placing a hesitant hand on his back.
"Nothing," he said, flicking her a glance. "It's just… You looked a little upset when you ran into me."
She couldn't help but let out an amused laugh. "You're worried… about me?"
"Well, yeah," he mumbled, straightening again. His eyes flickered and a light rosy flush of embarrassment darkened over his features. "You looked ready to cry, so…"
"It's nothing serious," Marinette said, inwardly smiling at him. He certainly was an interesting person. "I guess I was just a little scared. It is my first tournament, after all." To her surprise, the writhing in her stomach had disappeared without a trace, and had been replaced by a steady thrum. Was this happening just because of Chat Noir? She had absolutely no idea. "I have horrible luck, you know. A lot of things go wrong just because of me being there. I guess I was just… insecure. About the judges, and my luck."
"What?" Chat Noir stared at her, eyes wide, and for a moment, Marinette thought he looked incredulous. In fact, he looked positively disbelieving. She scowled. It did sound a little stupid, but it was true; she had amazingly bad luck, ever since she was young. Why was he not taking this seriously? "That's not true."
"Well, it is," she shot back, a little irritated at the grin beginning to return to his face.
"Well, it isn't," he countered. "I think your luck's turning, because meeting you is luckiest moment of my life right now."
She leaned forward and flicked his forehead, smiling in resignation. So much for no pick-up lines; Chat was brimming over with smug confidence.
"And besides, I'm terrified right now, too," Chat admitted quietly, smirk faltering a little. Marinette stared at the sudden transition - how quickly did his feelings change, anyway? What a strange cat. "Nobody's ever watched me break-dance and this is going to be - "
"A wonderful experience," Marinette finished for him, feeling the excitement of participating in a tournament rush through her again. His head shot up in surprise and she gave him a grin that would've given his own trademark smile a run for its money. "Thanks, Kitty. I'm not too scared anymore. I have a feeling this will be a fantastic tournament."
He raised his eyebrows.
"Yeah?"
Marinette put her hands on his shoulders, giving him a playful pat.
"Yeah."
Then, on a simple spur of the moment, she gave him a large, over-exaggerated wink.
"Get ready to lose, Kitty."
The previous blush he'd been wearing had nothing on the rapid spread of crimson from his forehead to his neck. He sputtered a little, trying to find the right words, then promptly gave up, and nodded slowly.
"Like I would," he returned gleefully. "I don't have experience or training, but I have a good feeling about the prelims."
She offered him her hand, her eyes sparkling with mirth and exhilaration, and he took it without a moment of hesitation. But to her shock, instead of shaking it, he gave it a sharp tug, sending her flying into his arms.
"I don't purr-lan to lose," he purred in her ear, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She shivered unconsciously at the soft gliding of his fingers circling her arms, and he let out a light chuckle. "I'm looking forward to future tournaments, matches, collaborations, and meetings… my lady."