This one will make you hungry. Thanks for reading! (Sorry for the late post)
You're so close but far away.
I call you up all night and day.
I give you my affection and
give you my time, trying to get a
connection on the telephone line.
-Kraftwerk, "The Telephone Call"
Adrien couldn't stop thinking about Ladybug. She got him through Natalie's endless drawl, the sound of her voice ringing in his ears and drowning out the history of whomever. In the short months they had communicated, Ladybug had consumed whatever small part of Adrien there was left. He lived and breathed for their conversations that lead nowhere and revealed little.
She had opened up considerably in comparison to their first talk, enough to the point where she felt comfortable to reveal she had short dark hair and blue eyes. He congratulated his imagination in correctly guessing her eye color. She had a friend who was nosy but supportive. Adrien couldn't help but be a little jealous that she had someone to actively talk to. She also revealed that she liked to draw, and wanted to be a fashion designer.
It took all of Adrien's willpower not to out himself right there as the son of one of the world's leading fashion designers. Instead he encouraged her to pursue her dream, and made a mental note to approach anyone with dark hair and blue eyes that appeared at one of his father's events. Thus far his search had revealed nothing, but Adrien refused to give up.
"You should show me some of your designs sometime," he suggested, speaking quietly into the phone so as to not distract the Gorilla from his driving. It was about mid-afternoon, coming back from his piano lesson. He had the rest of the day off, and had decided to spend it with Ladybug. He marveled at how far into his life she had wormed her way into his schedule; every spare moment he looked for a phone call. Though it had taken a couple of rings, she had finally accepted his call, sounding a little breathless on the other line, but he hadn't questioned it. "I happen to know a little about design myself."
"Really, now?" Her smirk was audible in her tone. "I might just have to quiz you."
"Oh yeah?" he challenged, a smirk of his own curling his lips.
"Yeah. I'll write up a test and everything."
"How do you know I won't look up the answers on the Internet?"
"I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt."
"A horrible idea, really."
Their banter continued like this. Adrien didn't fail to notice that she didn't address his open invitation to meet in person. He had expected it, though. Adrien had been toying with the idea for days, how to ask her if she wanted to meet in person. He knew she lived in Paris, according to the area code, so it wasn't completely impossible to meet… but he refrained. If she wanted to meet, then she would tell him.
"A horrible idea, really."
Marinette purposefully dodged his obvious invitation to meet. Whether he didn't notice, or he did and had decided not to mention it, Marinette didn't question. It wasn't that she didn't want to meet him, to see in person what this boy looked like in real life. He was a charming person, and even if the lingering fear of serial killer was still floating in the back of her subconscious, Marinette was still drunk on the anonymity of their conversations, and finally revealing their identities to each other would somehow shatter the illusion she had constructed for herself. An illusion that, she knew, would one day shatter. They would run into each other on the street. He would walk into the bakery. He's actually her long-lost cousin from her father's side twice removed and he comes to the next family reunion. So what was the big deal about duct taping their anonymous relationship together for just a little bit longer?
He had blonde hair and green eyes. Marinette mulled over the description, her previous image of dark hair and dark eyes taking a swan dive out the window. She found that she liked the brighter colors; it broke the bad-boy image she had, and pleasantly gave her more pleasant things to think about when it came to Chat Noir. She found herself glancing at every blonde-haired green-eyed person on the street.
"Ladybug?"
Marinette realized she hadn't said anything for a minute. "Oh, sorry. Was thinking about something."
"What'cha thinking about?"
"The inevitability of death and how small and insignificant humans are in the face of the universe," Marinette said dramatically.
"Ha-ha," Chat replied. "My Lady, you are far from insignificant. I'm pawsitive you put the very sun to shame!"
"Again with the puns."
"Always with the puns."
Marinette shook her head and allowed a smile to play at her lips. She hated puns. Her father used them incessantly, and she had grown to abhor them. Yet, Chat Noir's were endearing, and she tolerated them simply because it was impossible to reach through phones and smack people. Chat Noir was a flirtatious, egotistical, punny nuisance in her life, and she cherished every moment with him. He was a friend that she could confide in.
Her mother's voice called up the stairs into her room, calling her downstairs.
"I have to go now; you're not the only one with a part-time job."
"Ah, that's too bad. Where do you work? I'll come visit."
"None-ya business."
"Me-ouch. I'll be wearing a black shirt and white jacket. Keep an eye out for the ruggedly handsome guy."
"Keep your rugged handsomeness to yourself, tomcat," Marinette teased, and finished tying the apron around her waist. It was Saturday, a popular day at the bakery, and her parents had asked her to pitch in behind the scenes. She wasn't complaining; working the front register was a pain, especially on busy weekends. "Talk to you later, Chat."
"Talk to you later, Chat."
Click.
Adrien replaced his phone back into his pocket, returning to staring aimlessly out the window, dopey grin intact. She had a part time job, also. He subtly wondered how long it would take to visit every place of business in Paris during every shift to try and spot the dark haired girl that had seized his heart. Tomcat.
It was stupid. You can't fall in love with someone you've never met. And yet, Adrien was positive that the pounding on his chest wasn't a dependent love felt by ducklings imprinting on surrogate mothers. The heat that flared in his chest when she said his (fake) name, the sound of her laugh, slightly distorted by questionable audio connection but still as clear as giggling fairies. Her fierce and heave-ho attitude, so unlike his own natural submissive nature, made his blood burn. The fire beneath his skin and in his chest was in no way, shape, or form, a fake kind of love.
Adrien rolled down the window, letting the wind into his face and hair in a half-hearted attempt to quench the fire in his heart. It did very little.
The car pulled to a stop at a light. Adrien realized they were near the school that he wanted so desperately to attend. It was a Saturday, so there would be no students there now. Around the corner, a he spotted a bakery nestled into the corner street, black awning adorned with golden calligraphic lettering: Dupain-Cheng Bakery. He could see a crowd of people inside, bustling about and could detect the faint scent of warm bread drifting through slightly open windows that made Adrien's mouth water.
The fresh scent of his dietician's worst nightmare was almost hypnotic, and Adrien found himself throwing open the car door and putting the rubber soles of his converse to the sidewalk as he gave in to the temptations. Something was drawing him toward the small confectionary, diet be damned.
The warm scent was even stronger when he pushed his way into the packed bakery. Shelves upon shelves of the ambrosia of the gods glittered in their cases, enticingly calling his name. Multi-colored macaroons, chocolate-coated éclairs, strawberry and mango tarts, and even the golden browns of croissants drew his attention. Adrien decided that giving in to the temptation was a bad decision on his part. He had better self-control than this!
Lol, nope, said the row of fresh Mille-feuille and marzipan Coussin de Lyon.
"I'll be right with you!" A pretty Chinese woman with raven hair and grey eyes worked the counter and smiled when the bell above the door signaled his arrival among the clamor of customers.
He smiled pleasantly back and continued to browse the displays. He shouldn't buy anything. His dietician would kill him.
"Marinette! How's that next batch of Gougère coming?" The Chinese woman behind the counter called over the din of voices, a call that Adrien only heard because he had navigated closer to the counter to better see a tray of Petit four.
A strong hand suddenly clapped down on his shoulder, and Adrien didn't even have to look to know his Gorilla had found him. "Don't tell Father," he said with dejected sigh, and allowed his bodyguard to escort him from the confectionary.
*casually looks up location to nearest French confectionary*
