A/N: This is nutty! The fact I'm pushing through this story is nutty, because I finally, finally know what I need to fix-which is fantastic for future stories and plotting- but I'm kinda stunted on how to fix it here. Which is fine!
This story is literally like the interval training before signing up for a mud run. My other stories being the mud run...metaphors...
I always write to improve, so comments and critiques are welcome! Please rip this to bits! Thank you!
The next morning, Mari skips through the whooshing rotating doors of her apartment after an invigorating run, well more of a huffing jog, through the icy streets of Paris. The change in temperature walking indoors is warmer than expected, causing her to hop in place and fan her face for a moment. Her lungs burn from gulping frigid air but the rush of endorphins makes her body feel light which lifts all her worries.
Waking up this morning without the guilty pleasure of pining after Chat Noir or heavy take-out sloshing in her stomach, was an interesting change. A very healthy change, she ruefully admitted. She considered if she should take this opportunity to give up on Chat, after all. A parading cloud of sadness ran through her chest before she went father than that thought.
When she looks towards the front desk, she is met with the wide smile of Manon, one of the few doorwomen, who throws up her arms the moment their eyes meet.
"Mari! I'm so glad I caught you. I've got the dish of the week. Possibly the year," She rushes out, gesticulating in wide circles which never fails to pull the edges of Marinette's mouth to a grin.
Manon is the central hub of gossip in the luxury apartment complex. Not only is she capable of doing a physically harrowing job—Marinette recalls catching her carrying two queen sized mattresses, stacked together on her back, to the second highest floor - she can catch dirt on any tenant. Not a single person in the building would deny her in fear of blackmail.
"I could start with the smaller events, but this is too exciting," Manon says and leans towards Marinette so their heads are half a foot apart. "Hal finally stopped hovering around the doors during Barry's shift and asked him out."
"What! When?" Marinette exclaims, before realizing more people are coming down the lobby and tries to lower her voice. "He didn't say anything!"
"Just last Friday. Bruce was on shift and told Hal if he didn't come in, he would call the police. Poor Hal, couldn't take ol' Brucey's glares. Barry noticed him, Hal pulled some bull about being in the neighborhood, and yada yada they're going out!" Manon sighs. "Those sweet, naive teddybears."
"Barry is the sweetest guy. I couldn't be happier."
"Oh, but my dear Marinette. I haven't revealed the biggest news." Manon dips her head, her smile morphing into a mischievous smirk.
Marinette dips her head as well, their breathes mingling in the small space, and whispers, "I'm listening."
"Do you know the guy who sings on the balcony at night?"
Marinette's body instantly locks like a mouse spotted by a king cobra.
"N-no, no way. I have no clue who he is. His voice is nice and all but, I mean, I don't even have time to investigate. Not that I would want to, I could get you to do it. Not that I would make you do it, I'm hardly interested—" Marinette rambles.
"Okay, shush, I get it," Manon waves her off. "You're a fan. Most of the tenants listen to him like some ritualistic radio jam, anyway, but the really important bit is do you know about the girl that sings with him?" Manon asks.
"There's a girl? Whaaat? I have never heard of a girl before. I mean, I never heard a girl singing before. I mean—-"
"Yeah, I know what you mean. So, apparently, they don't know each other," Manon slaps the desks and gawks at the idea. "This whole time! Some tenants are saying they've been singing together for almost two months."
"What? How do you know that?"
"Here's the juicy bit," Manon ignores her, too excited in her tale. "Last week the girl went missing. Not kidnapped, but she didn't show up when the guy was there and the guy flipped. He asked Plagg to find out who she was and since Plagg is useless, he asked me and I rarely work the night shift so my information was sparse. The guy was depressed for the week, isn't that precious?"
Marinette isn't sure if describing depression as precious is a socially correct attitude, but she gawks in complete incomprehension. He's looking for her? Why? What does it matter? They don't have any real obligation or relationship, plus he didn't deign to show up one night. She looks at Manon with a dubious expression.
"I know this sounds straight out of Hollywood, but it's true! But here is the best bit. She showed up three nights ago and the guy phoned Plagg to go outside and look at the balcony to scope her out. Plagg called up right after and said he was one thousand percent sure on the door number. The man said, and I quote, 'I refuse to miss the chance to ask out the girl with the most angelic voice I've ever heard.' Isn't this adorable?" Manon continues.
The sound of pounding and blood rushing to her head forbids her from responding. She doesn't know if she nodded, smiled, or downright danced in the middle of the hall but the next moment she was backing away towards the elevator.
"Mari? Where are you going?" Manon asks.
"You know what, I just got—-inspired! Yeah, from the romcom—or uh story. Gotta draw a couples gown or something, before I forget. Thanks a lot, Manon!" Marinette presses the elevator button several times before clapping her hands flat in front of her face to hide her glee. With luck, the elevator dings a moment later and she jumps inside with the widest and most plastered smile she has ever worn on her face.
When she gets to her level, she barely hops out before she's crashing into a sturdy body. The force makes her bounce, but the grip on her arm keeps her level.
She looks up to a grim mouth and confused green eyes. "Oh- Adrien! Hi. Sorry about that." Marinette smiles at him and pats at his chest.
His blinks down at her before his face morphs, like he was waking from a deep dream, and his familiar sparkling eyes and crooked grin emerges.
"Don't worry about it. Went for a run?" His eyes gesture across her body and she mentally preens.
"I did. It was great. More than great," She grins. She realizes her hand is still on his chest and she pats it a few more times. "Is your chest made of concrete? Its pretty impeccable."
He releases a breathy laugh, the vibration hitting her finger tips, and grabs her hand from his chest. "Was that a professional compliment or flirting? Or something?" He teases.
"Don't let it go to your head," She releases her hand from his grasp and flicks at his nose playfully. Her behavior could be construed as a bit flirtatious but she can't help being less conscious of her actions. After all, Chat Noir finds her angelic. How can she care about anything else with that information?
She dances around Adrien, paying no mind to his amused expression, and enters her room, wondering when her prince would come.