Adrien didn't quite understand Marinette. When he first met her, she was a shy, awkward, and cute in a sort of sweet way. But when he met her again, she lied about her name, her school, and her attitude completely changed.
She didn't recognize him, either.
It wasn't like he changed his look too much; a hat, color contacts, and a pair of glasses. Was that all it took to make him unrecognizable? Was that a compliment or an insult?
No other skater from T&L went to the local ice rink. Sometimes it was empty enough to get a little extra work in, but most of the time it wasn't. It was only good for the equivalent of a walk around a park. Thinking on the ice felt natural. He needed all the time he could get before New York Fashion Week. Talk about hell on earth. Instead of carefully balancing modeling and skating, it became a whirlwind only managed by putting his mind and body on autopilot and becoming a robot. Go there. Do this. Smile here. Put this on. Eat that.
When he entered the training building, he saw Marinette just ahead of him, dashing to the locker room. "Mar-" he began, but stopped himself. What would he even say to her? Good morning, I lied about yesterday and I want to start over, if that's okay?
She lied too. He didn't know who she was trying to fool either - no amateur would be able to dance like that on the ice on first try. But he played her game and gave her a different name, acted like a different person, and all but regretted it the moment he got home.
He had more fun with her in those brief moments on the ice than he had in years. Now he couldn't capitalize on it and talk to her at school without revealing that he also lied. He should come clean when they met for coffee. Try to make a joke out of it.
Would she laugh?
"Morning, Nino," he greeted as he walked into the locker room.
"'Sup?"
Adrien yawned. "Same old."
"It's our ice day, at least."
"I'm looking forward to falling a thousand times or listening to Coach D'Argencourt insist I landed on the inside instead of the outside blade." He stretched. "I'm the one landing, I know which side I'm on!"
Nino started lacing his skates. "I feel ya."
"Hey, do you think a pair of glasses changes a person?"
Nino arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"Like, when you wear your glasses, do people not recognize you?"
"They say I look different, but they still know who I am."
Adrien frowned. "Is that so?" he mumbled.
"Why?"
"Just wondering. Thinking about taking up a disguise."
Nino laughed. "Just do sunglasses and a baseball hat like all the other celebrities."
Maybe it would be better to ask Chloé about it. Was she filming right now? Those producer sharks would smell the storyline a mile away. Lying to a fellow skater in a world smaller than the smallest of small towns was bad enough, let alone having it broadcast to the entire world.
The locker door opened. "Boys, you have one minute to get onto the ice before I make you do burpees as punishment."
"Yes, sir!" both said in unison. The door closed.
"Get your skates on," Nino hissed.
"On it!"
≿—- ❈ —-≾
"I've watched your last competition several times. Your form during your quad was bad. You stumbled the landing, but it was because you didn't have proper form in the air," Coach Bustier explained as she tied Marinette into the jumping harness. "Your triples also need work as well. We're going to do jump drills."
"Yes, ma'am!"
Marinette had only ever worked with a jump harness on the ice. T&L actually had one that was hooked to a pulley on the ceiling. Her last coach wasn't fond of them. Said it lead to handicaps that would cripple her during competitions. His strict insistence on them being horrible made her stomach churn in reflex when Coach Bustier started tying her in.
"The enemy of jumps is friction. You'd think it'd be gravity, but you are wrong. Women have it tougher," she patted her chest, "Because we naturally create more drag than men. That is why quads are a standard in male competition and not in female." She crossed her arms and raised a brow. "But you're not going to let that stop you." She tugged on the harness to ensure it was tight. "We are going to focus on your arm position. I'm going to have you try several jumps with your arms in different positions. I'm going to see which one works best for your build." She pantomimed her arms crossing with the right over the left, elbows parallel to her hipbones. "On three, do a triple."
Marinette jumped.
Coach Bustier clicked her tongue. "Wrong!"
Marinette blinked. Her tone changed and her voice was stern, not sweet. She swallowed.
"Again!"
Marinette jumped.
"Again!"
She followed orders. Coach Bustier tugged on the pulley and there was an audible click as it locked into place. Coach Bustier pulled Marinette's arms closer to her side. "Feel it." She pushed her in a circle. "Know it." She unlocked the pulley. "Do it."
≿—- ❈ —-≾
"Ayla," Marinette whined, "I want to die."
"Surely not."
"Coach Bustier is so tough! You only think she's sweet and then BAM! Mr. Hyde comes out and she makes you jump a hundred different ways." Marinette collapsed on her bed. "Do you know how hard plyometric workouts are?"
"I tried Insanity once, does that count?"
Marinette groaned and hugged a pillow. "My thighs are so sore."
"Go get a massage."
"You come here and give me a massage."
"I can, but I demand an interview with Adrien for my blog as payment."
Marinette pouted and grunted a response.
"Did you talk to him today?"
"No," Marinette sighed. "I don't even have the strength to go to the cafeteria for dinner."
"GO EAT!"
Marinette held the phone away from her ear as Ayla lectured her on eating a proper diet. Ayla would be a good manager or coach if her blog didn't work out. She was on top of every little detail effortlessly.
"Okay, okay," Marinette interrupted. "You win. I'll go eat."
"I can't believe I even have to tell you. You're an athlete! You need to be eating your weight in food daily!"
"I know, I know." Every single fiber of muscle in her thighs burned. She walked like a sumo wrestler to her closet. "Do I wear the sweatpants or the sweatpants?"
"Put on something cute. What if Adrien is there?"
"He doesn't live in the dorms," she replied. "He probably has a personal chef."
"So put on something cute anyway."
Being cute took so much effort. Effort required thighs that didn't scream in agony every time she took a step.
I'll be happy if I can even put on a pair of pants.
≿—- ❈ —-≾
The cafeteria held only a scant hundred people comfortably, and it seemed like double were currently in it. Marinette couldn't find a single familiar face in the sea of students. Why did she suffer through Ayla's advice, again?
She scanned her card at the front kiosk. They weren't allowed to pick their own meals. T&L considered food as part of their training regimen and their meals were personally planned by a nutritionist. It sounded cool, but some days required a greasy slice of pizza and there was no pizza override button. She took her order number receipt and stood against the wall, waiting for her number to come up on the screen.
Her phone beeped.
Luka: Hey, working on a song
Luka: Thoughts?
She tapped play and held the phone up to her ear. The din of the cafeteria faded as she became enveloped in the somber song. Luka's soft voice spelled her into breathlessness. In velvet tones, the loneliness of being in love with someone who never would reciprocate spoke to her heart.
The chorus lingered long after the song ended. Starlit eyes and stormy skies/shock submission into sweet demise
A chill went through her, electrifying her toes. She wanted to skate, no, she needed to skate! A quadruple salchow fell perfectly in time with the last line. It would force her to succeed. If she fell the irony of it would humiliate her the rest of her life.
"Luka!" she gushed as soon as he picked up the phone. "That was amazing!"
The line went silent for a heartbeat. "Was it?"
"I want to use that song for my free skate."
He sucked in a breath. "But it's not done yet."
"I know, but it's perfect! Please!"
"When do you need it?"
"The next competition isn't until November but as soon as you can so I can run it by my coach."
"Are you sure you don't want something popular? You used a Jagged Stone song last time. That was pretty cool."
"I want this song. You know how when you hear something and you get that feeling? How it compels you to dance?"
She barely heard what he said next. "My song did that to you?"
"Yeah," she replied, mirroring his tone. "It did."
The soft thud of her heartbeat drowned out the crowd around her. She leaned against the wall, knees weak. Miles apart, connected only by a signal, yet it seemed like he was right next to her.
The words danced inside her mouth, itching to come forth. Who is the song about? Luka never spoke much about his private life, and though she never thought to inquire before, the intensity in the song created a sensation inside her stomach, flipping it all sorts of ways, spawning all sorts of questions and desires. What did she look like? Was she like him, or was she the opposite? If she was a ballet dancer, she was probably pretty, and tall, with a slender figure and effortless grace.
She envied that about them. Even on the ice, she felt like a stumbling oaf, all power and punch but none of the grace and elegance. Her coach back home even said she would have been a better male skater than female. Misogynistic jerk. But the words persisted in the back of her mind, engraved dead center on the wall of her doubts.
"I'll finish it as soon as I can," he finally said, words somehow sounding promising and empty at the same time. Her gut told her something bothered him, but she had no proof. Maybe it was just leftover feelings from the song. She read too much into it.
"I can't wait!" Somehow the extra cheerfulness she tried to put into her voice made it sound fake. She should have dialed it down, or even said something like 'Thanks!' or 'Take your time!' He mirrored her false enthusiasm in his goodbye.
"Wait!" she exclaimed, but the line clicked dead. She held the phone in her hand, thumb hovering over the call button. She hit it. The moment the screen changed to it connecting, she hit the cancel button.
Exhaustion made her see things when there wasn't anything there. No need to make things awkward between them. Especially since she had dance tomorrow. If he still seemed the same, she'd ask him then.
Her number popped up onscreen. She should have taken the food to go.
As she ate, food tasting bland despite not being bland any other day she ate, a single question permeated her thoughts. How beautiful were her eyes that he saw the universe in them?
≿—- ❈ —-≾
Guy: Still on for tonight?
Marinette had an out. All she had to do was reply no. She could even include some sort of flimsy excuse like something came up and she couldn't make it. Simple and clean.
Why did she hesitate?
She stared at the text, keyboard open. Autocorrect already suggested a few replies. "Of course!" "Sorry!" and "I will be late!"
She did put effort into her clothes this time. A pair of pink capris, a white camisole, and a black jacket. Not wearing athletic clothes fell into the category of "dressing up", considering 75% of her life revolved around exercise.
It would be a waste to not go.
Maybe I can ask Ayla? But she hadn't told Ayla about Guy or anything about that evening. And she would have to explain the lie. Ayla would have a few cents to pitch in and she already knew what she would say and think.
Maybe she could come clean. Tell him from the beginning she lied. Play it like a joke.
Yeah, sure, what a hilarious joke. He'd probably be even more upset that she tried to play deceit off as nothing.
That's why it would be easy to just reply no.
So much easier.
She hit "Of course!" and sent it.
≿—- ❈ —-≾
Adrien wore the same disguise. He justified it to himself as being helpful to Marinette. She wouldn't recognize him as Guy if he appeared like Adrien. And then he could remove the glasses and hat and explain that he dressed like that so he wouldn't be recognized by the general public and hoped she would understand.
"Guy?"
He turned around.
Marinette waved. "Hey."
"Wow, you look great!"
She raised a brow and laughed his compliment off. "It's nothing special."
"You're something special."
She rolled her eyes, but her smile proved it didn't actually annoy her. He put his hand on the small of her back and led her to the line. "What do you want?"
"I can get it."
"I insist."
"White chocolate mocha is fine."
"Okay."
The clerk at the front smiled as he approached. "Hey, A-"
"Hi, Larissa!" he interrupted. "How's it going?"
"Same old. The usual?"
"Yeah. And a white chocolate mocha for the lady."
"And a white chocolate mocha for the lady," she repeated, enunciating each syllable as she tapped on the screen. "That'll be 7.50."
That was close. If Marinette heard her say his real name things really would have gotten complicated. "Let's go sit over there," he suggested, pointing to the table beside the window. "It's my favorite spot."
"I take it you come here often?"
"Yeah. Best coffee I've ever had."
"Really? Did you say you traveled for work? Better than all the places you've been?"
"There's just something about this place that makes it special. Even though I've bought the coffee to make at home, it never tastes the same." He took care to pull out her chair before sitting down. "How was your week?"
"It's been okay. Coach B- my dance coach worked me pretty hard. Today was the first day I could walk normally. It was horrible! I looked like a sumo wrestler!"
He burst into laughter. "That must've been a sight."
"It was something, all right," she muttered. "What about you?"
"I've had a rough go of it too." He hesitated. He could come clean here, but maybe if he waited a bit, for her to really like him, it would go over better. "I've had some fierce deadlines I need to meet. If it wasn't for this," he lifted his cup like he toasted her, "I'd suffer."
"Caffeine addict, got it." Marinette winked and took a sip of her mocha. Her brows arched. "This is good!"
"Told ya." He wanted to drink up every little move she made. Her nose wrinkled when she laughed. She tapped her pinky finger against the paper cup when she talked. She also had a self-confidence he didn't see on the rink at all. "If you could wake up an expert at something, what would it be?"
"Hmm..." she tapped her cheekbone and pursed her lips. "Jumping, I guess."
"Jumping? What kind of jumping?" How would she dance around this question? The way she answered questions without actually answering them amused him rather than annoyed him. Maybe because he knew the actual truth behind it? When other celebs, especially Chloé's circle did it, he felt like he was the only one not in on the joke; that they mocked him with their half answers and coy comments.
"When some people jump, they look like they fly. I want to do that too."
"I never thought about it that way."
"Really? I feel like that when I jump. Landing is another story though." She groaned. "Just a little bit off ruins your entire score."
"Right? And then your coach always finds a way to make you seem like the biggest idiot because you landed on the wrong edge."
As soon as the words left his mouth he swallowed and stared at her, waiting for her to ask about it. But she didn't say anything, or rather, didn't look like she noticed. Instead, she took a small sip of her drink and rested her chin on her hand.
Was she bored?
"You're a pretty good skater. Do you skate often?" she asked.
He cringed. She did notice. Now she had to be testing her theory. His hand was caught in the cookie jar and no sugared words would wiggle out of it. He grasped at straws, but decided to try that half-answer thing that she was so adept at. "Whenever I can. It clears my head better than walking."
"Oh, so that's why," she mumbled. "Did you ever compete?"
"When I was a kid I tried. Didn't get very far."
"Horrible parents? Or lack of interest?"
"Horrible parent."
"I'm sorry. My parents aren't too hands-on when it comes to my competitions. If I suddenly decided one day I didn't want to do it anymore, they would support me 100%."
"Lucky," he replied with a deep sigh. "My father is strict. If he commands it, I do it. And of course, I can't be a failure."
"That's a lot of pressure. How did you manage in college?"
She doesn't think I'm a student? He kept the gasp in his chest. No, wait, he mentioned doing business, of course, she thought he was older than her. How much older than her? What would be a reasonable age? Twenty?
"At first the freedom was great, but when I had one bad semester I lost the freedom I had. It helped though," he shrugged, "The working world is similar."
"What do you do, exactly?"
Why did she ask that? It was more of his fault for not coming up with a complete story before coming here. No, it was his fault for not telling the truth in the first place. "Fashion." It wasn't too far from the truth. He did work as a model, after all.
"Oh?" she perked up. "What part?"
"Design," he lied, again, though his father was a designer, so he could probably still work with the lie. He knew enough about the behind-the-scenes stuff to play the part.
"Really? Do you think you could design a performance outfit for me?"
At this precise moment, he realized just exactly the depth of his lie and how deep the rabbit hole went. If only there was a way to magic up a big black hole for him to crawl into and disappear. Poof! Gone!
"What kind of performance outfit?" he egged on, trying to sound confident.
Now she seemed like she squirmed. She giggled and looped a lock of hair around her finger. "I guess I should have asked if you even design that type of stuff."
Lucky! She gave him an out because it would expose her own lie!
He draped his arm over the back of the chair. "I design high-end couture stuff. Chloé Bourgeois is one of my clients, do you know her?"
She wrinkled her nose. "I know of her, can't say we're part of the same social circle."
Once this was over, and they could possibly continue as a maybe-couple, he would have to take care in how she and Chloé met. Chloé wasn't exactly easy to get along with on a good day, and Marinette obviously could hold her own and then some against any barbs Chloé threw at her. "Even I'm a slave to Chloé," he joked. She didn't laugh. He cringed.
"So sports stuff is beneath you."
"No, not at all!"
She shook her head. "That's okay! I don't want you going out of your comfort zone."
"For you, I want to try."
"Don't go out of your way," she amended.
He drummed his fingers on the table. Nice save! She seemed into him despite his foibles. It could work. He would ask this question, and when she answered, he could unmask himself and say "Surprise!" and then they could laugh and start all over. "What celebrity have people said you look like?"
"This is so silly, but Ladybug."
"Ladybug?"
"Maybe you don't remember her. She was the lead on a popular superhero show when I was a kid."
He cocked his head to the side and stared. She did have a button nose and large, round eyes. "I can see it."
"I used to have everything Ladybug. My room, my clothes, even my school supplies." Her cheeks were tinged pink. "It was my childhood. I always wanted to be like her. I've even thought about doing a routine based around her, but we're in an Ol- a big competition year so there's no time for fun routines."
"That sucks. It would be cute."
"I don't think many people know who she is nowadays though."
He shrugged. "Do it anyway."
She giggled. "Right. What about you? Do you get mistaken for anyone on the street?"
"Adrien Agreste."
Her brows furrowed and she leaned forward. "Hmm... I don't really see it."
His jaw dropped. "Really? You don't see it?"
"Not really." She shook her head and leaned back into the table. "I can't pinpoint anyone else you might look like though."
I am Adrien Agreste! Absurd! Preposterous! How could she not see Adrien Agreste in him? He didn't know what to say. He didn't even know how to react. His plan didn't just fail, it blew up into smithereens and nothing short of hitting a reset button and starting this entire date all over again would save it.
Sometime during his mind being blown, she found something behind them to stare at. He followed her gaze. There was a tall guy at the counter, clad in a leather jacket and dark jeans. The tips of his hair were dyed a cerulean blue. Was she looking at him? Why would she know a guy like that?
The guy looked over and he seemed to recognize her. She looked down at the table, biting her lip.
What was going on? Who was that guy and why did she react that way? Was it a stalker? He balled his hands into fists. He could take care of that for her.
"Marinette," the guy greeted as he approached the table.
She looked up to him and obviously forced a smile. "Luka?" Her voice seemed apprehensive but her cheeks were slightly flushed.
Flushed in the same way he saw them when he met her as Adrien. Awkward and sweet. That confident persona he spoke with vanished.
"This is Guy," she said, gesturing to Adrien. "A friend."
A friend. That hurt. His chest tightened. Nightmares would be an upgrade.
Luka met his gaze. His brows furrowed before he looked at Marinette, then back at him. He cocked his head to the side and Adrien could see him mouth really? before he held out his hand.
"Nice to meet you."
Adrien took it and as they shook, all he could think about were all his opportunities to come clean during their conversation, and how he didn't.
There was no way to confirm it, and he didn't even know how he could say for certain, but Luka knew he was Adrien.
