Warning: pretty music heavy at some parts. I'll make sure that any terms are clearly defined though, if I use them. Also, listen to some of these pieces! They're some of my favorite pieces of music. Also classical music doesn't restrict to just the classical period of music (Beethoven, Mozart, etc.) so I'll be using a lot of pieces from non-classical periods as well. Thank you for reading!

Sometimes if you're burned for long enough, strongly enough, the pain disappears.

She hums something, it's so faint. "No, don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me, ma chere, don't leave me, I-I-"

Her eyes, more tender than a bruise, smile.

The humming stops.

This is when I scream.

o0o0o0o0o0o

"Ms. Dupain-Cheng, you will be expelled by the end of the year."

"Wha- But Ms. Mendeleiev, I just- it's the first week of school!" Marinette cried.

"And how disappointing for there to be such an uninspired student from the first week of school!" Ms. Mendeleiev snapped. Marinette flinched. The music theory teacher brushed away a fuchsia strand of hair

"I am in complete disbelief, Ms. Dupain-Cheng, at how many of the five school days you have missed already. Absolutely ludicrous." Marinette felt herself shrinking. "Are you taking the classes here at the Paris Philharmonic Academy as a joke, mademoiselle? Because you certainly seem to be, and I would be glad to see you gone. Truly, I have not a clue how you passed the auditions." Ms. Mendeleiev scrutinized Marinette, as though wondering how often she had been used as the minimum standard.

"W-w-what do I do for the rest of the year then?" How am I expelled already? Is this real? What… I was out defeating Akuma! Tears were already beginning to burn the rims of her eyes.

"Nothing." Ms. Mendeleiev flicked her hand. "I have no time for slackers. Come to class if you want, whenever it pleases you, Ms. Dupain-Cheng. You are dismissed." She turned back to her desk and began shuffling through papers.

Numb, Marinette floated out of Ms. Mendeleiev's office. The bulletin board outside was already crammed with flyers advertising private lessons in the morning, master classes in the afternoon, and of course, concerts from early twilight to dead midnight. Marinette placed her fingers on the smooth papers, tracing the words, "proudly sponsored by the Paris Philharmonic Academy".

She couldn't help it, the tears began to overflow, and Marinette began to walk faster and faster, until she was sprinting down the hallway. "I wanted to do so much-! I worked so hard to get here, I practiced for so long, I even asked Dad and Mom for a tutor and now-! Just because, just because I'm-" Her words broke off. Why did I have to be Ladybug? Why do I have to give up my dreams like this?

Marinette bolted into the nearest practice room, eyes blind with tears, throat ablaze with bitterness. She finally crumpled to the ground, and sobbed.

Tikki peered out of the purse, her eyes flooding with guilt. "I… I'm sorry Marinette…" She flew out and huddled beside Marinette's buried head. "I'm really sorry," she repeated sadly.

Marinette nodded wordlessly, but she didn't raise her head. She hugged her knees tightly.

I want to go home… Home...

I can even smell Dad's oven-baked, golden croissants and hear Mom's old recording of Debussy… Wait.

I do hear it. I hear it!

Marinette's head shot up. Tikki jolted, eyes wide. "Tikki, do you hear it too?" Marinette whispered. She strained her ears. Faintly, in the unlit practice room, velvety piano notes waltzed tantalizingly in the air. Each note, perfectly rounded like a jaybird's egg. Each rest, the slow breath of a sleeper.

"Oh… the first Arabesque," Marinette breathed. "It's beautiful…" The gentle runs held her heart so carefully, so softly, so hopefully, like the down feathers of a grey dove of dawn, that Marinette nearly burst into tears again.

Tikki watched Marinette's eyes glaze over and the tension in her shoulders drain away.

"Tikki, I don't want to quit music," she murmured. "I… it's so… it's just, music."

"Yes," Tikki agreed.

"I don't want to leave…" The last silver strands vanished into the air. Marinette sighed, before she shook her head roughly. "...I'm going to ask Ms. Mendeleiev again. There has to be something I can do. Right, Tikki?" Eyes bright, she turned towards the sprite with a brave smile.

Tikki beamed back. "Yes! We can do this, Marinette!" Her heart ached at Marinette's shaking hands and sore red eyes and quavering voice. But if Marinette is going to stand up, then I will support her.

"Let's go-! huh?" Marinette blinked in surprise as Tikki shot into her purse. Tikki gave an urgent look before someone knocked on the door.

Eep! Marinette leapt to her feet and grabbed the door handle. She swung it open. "I-I-I'm sorry so, I mean, so sorry, I, feel free practice room use, I mean use room the practice, er-"

"Uhm…"

Marinette squinted out of her screwed shut eyes at last.

A plain handkerchief lightly dabbled over them.

"Close your eyes." Marinette obliged, if in utter confusion.

"... There." The cloth dropped away.

Marinette opened her eyes once again, this time more cautiously.

He scratched the back of his head, eyes bashful. "I, well, heard some crying and I was worried… " He turned towards her, and their eyes met.

The kind sunshine in the boy's eyes melted Marinette like butter.

She mumbled something that might have been words, and she shuffled her feet. Wordswordswordswords, aaaaaah, what do I say, what am I saying-

He shifted back and forth, his face blooming posy red. "Well, since you seem alright, I'll just get going." He took a step away.

Wait! Marinette grabbed his hand. "N-name!" she blurted. Wow, nice going Marinette, aiming for those first grade phrases.

"A-Adrien," he said. "And you?"

"M-M-M-Ma… Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng," she stuttered back.

He smiled. "Nice to meet you Marinette. See you sometime soon?" His hand slipped away, and he waved as he trotted down the hallway.

"Yes," Marinette said dazedly. "Bye…" Her hand waved limply.

Adrien…

Pieces used: "Arabesque number 1" by Claude Debussy