AN: There seems to be some confusion, so I hope I can clear some things up here. Marzipan's name was changed to Tikki. Marinette believes that Nino is shy and has roped Adrien into meeting her first.
Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc
She was too wary to check any e-mails from Chat. Her feelings were uncertain at that moment, wavering between fondness, and whether her adorations would be lost upon him. How hurtful would it be for her to ask to just be friends—to pursue her original plan? It had fallen off course, disastrously and fantastically at the same time. She'd put herself out there for answers, to converse with her childhood best friend, but had ended up in a spiral of constant flirtations and her ever-beating heart.
"What do you want to try today, Marinette?" Manon's voice broke her out of her dizzying thoughts. The two of them had decided on their second day that they'd share and enthuse over the different foods in the cafeteria together, rather than working their way through separately and grimace silently if they weren't fond of their choice. "I'm feeling something spicy, I think. Anything you're allergic to?"
"Any is fine," she answered, shrugging slightly. "I'm good with most things."
An arm reached over her to select a sandwich. Vincent firmly avoided talking unless it was extremely necessary, though he wasn't against flaunting his height by reaching over the two females whenever the opportunity arose. Manon stuck her tongue out childishly at him, eyes narrowed half mockingly.
Xavier met them every morning in the same room, and assigned small tasks to each of them, though they were usually separate. Simon was sent off the second day, while Théo had been selected for the third. They were mediocre tasks, it seemed. Simon had shyly admitted that he had been selected to fetch coffee and lunch for higher-ups, while Théo had messaged Manon to say he was copying files. Perhaps it was so they could integrate themselves with the staff, to get to know them slowly by themselves rather than with the rest of the interns. Would she be subjected to cleaning the bathrooms one day?
Marinette picked at her food, accepting the small portion of Manon's selected food on her plate which soon smeared across the plate with the rest.
Her stomach felt uneasy. Was it the nerves coming back?
"Excuse me for a bit," she found herself saying, "I'll meet you back at the studio."
In the bathroom that was tiled neatly with splashes of blue to brighten the room, she stared at herself in the wide mirrors, tap running softly so the splashing of water filled the silence. Her skin was pale, standing out more than usual against her dark hair. The black dress with dots decorating the material wasn't a wise choice with her complexion. She splashed water on her face, careful not to cause her make-up to run, and took deep breaths to calm down.
The tasks they had to do in the studio weren't tedious. The interns that were there were assistants to the others, meaning they moved props, clothing, and anything else that was required of them. The staff were all positive personalities, so working with them was delightful, much like Manon.
"All right," she said after the water had dried.
There was still some time left before they were due at the studio. Marinette wiped her sweaty palms on the material of her dress, taking small but balanced steps on her journey. Employees were rushing past her, some with red faces as they exerted themselves, while the tapping of high-heeled shoes meant that more than a few weren't worried about the time.
Marinette stepped aside, trying to avoid being in the way of individuals travelling through the open door. She glanced to see whether she recognised the faces, when she glanced and noticed a thick pair of wide-rimmed glasses.
Oh, no.
Nino, dressed in casual attire of a t-shirt, jeans and a jacket that wasn't appropriate for the weather, was laughing at something the others around him were saying. There were three men beside him, significantly older, and she didn't recognise any of them. His hazel-coloured eyes flickered to her for a moment before looking straight ahead at where he was walking, still conversing with his company. Marinette blinked, confusion surely leaking into her expression, wondering whether it was normal for his reaction to be so nonchalant.
He glanced at her again, lips turning up at the corners in a small smile, as he winked quickly before continuing on his way as if nothing had happened.
That was surprising. She'd expected him to pretend that they didn't know each other, or introduce himself normally; certainly not wink and waltz off into the distance. She had never told him about the competition, the internship, or the fact that they would be possibly working together in the future. And yet, he didn't seem surprised that she was there.
It was the first time he'd acknowledged her, even slightly, in person, though. She touched her cheek, bemused to notice that a smile had appeared without her consent.
"Hell," she murmured.
Work distracted her from her thoughts. There was no sign of Nino, even though he had been in the building, and she soon found out from the higher-up that she was helping push a clothing rail that the two celebrities were filming during the week, so they wouldn't cross paths with her unless there was a hiccup in their schedules. Mid-afternoon Marinette packed up her belongings, slipping the strap upon her shoulder and wrapping the scarf around her as Manon chattered on about her day. Simon shyly waved in farewell on his way past, which caused Manon to reply loudly, "See ya!"
"Leave him be," Marinette scolded, attempting to banish the fond smile upon her lips. "He's older than you, so have some respect."
Manon simply pushed her long chestnut-coloured strands of her behind her shoulder with a huff. "You're older than me."
"Respect, please," she joked.
"I respect your body, is that enough?" Manon winked cheekily. "I'd love to go out with you sometime. You'd probably look killer in a pair of heels and a nice dress."
"This is a nice dress," she defended, smoothing the material of her clothing. "How far away do you live from here, by the way? My friends throw some extravagant parties at times, and I could probably get you an invite."
Manon quickly leapt at her, wrapping her lace-covered arms around Marinette's shoulders. "Really? That would be fun! I'm… I live about an hour away, I think? I could probably crash at my mother's place, but that would be pretty awkward. Any chance there's a place I could stay nearby?"
She blinked. "I could check with my flat-mates and see if they're okay with you staying with us? As long as it's not all the time, it should be fine."
"My apartment's amazing, though. I'd miss her even just for a night." Manon sniffed dramatically. "Hey, can I ask you something?"
"Shoot."
Of all the questions that were available, the one that came from Manon's red-painted lips was bewildering. "Are you friends with Chloé Bourgeois?"
"Chloé?" Marinette repeated, surprised when she nodded in confirmation. "I'd call us more acquaintances—we've got a mutual friend, so I see her more often than I would otherwise. Why do you ask?"
Manon shrugged. "She's mentioned quite a lot. It's like automatic bragging rights if someone's friends with her, or seen in photographs at events she's been at." But that didn't seem to be the whole story. Marinette raised her eyebrows, bumping her shoulder into Manon's to urge her to continue. With a small smile, she did. "My mother's been trying to push us together for a while. She's an acquaintance of Chloé's father."
"Do you not like her?" Marinette asked, shivering slightly as they passed through the front doors.
"I've never met her." Manon shrugged. "I've always said no or that I was busy, since I know how everyone would react. I'm not really interested in being friends with a socialite."
Marinette bumped their shoulders against in each other in a comforting manner. Although she had never considered categorising the finicky blonde as a socialite, the title fit her quite well. Chloé danced around with lots of different crowds, especially the sort that would land her photograph in some sort of a gossip post, though she was a lot more toned down during their hours at the university. Her education wasn't unimportant to her, then. Chloé was rough around the edges, but she wasn't too bad.
"Why do you want to get to know her now?" Marinette asked softly, uncertain whether it was wise to continue.
Manon shrugged, fishing a pair of knitted gloves from her bag; an action that allowed her to avoid eye contact without causing too much suspicion. "Maybe it's not the best to talk about it now—another time, Marinette," she said softly, waving quickly in farewell and walking fast down the gray pavement, her high-heeled shoes tapping inconsistently in a rhythm that wasn't well suited to the busy brunette.
"Good-bye," Marinette murmured.
Hopefully her mood would be happier the next week. Marinette shivered, rubbing the material upon her forearms for warmth as she waited for her bus to arrive.
"Oh!" she said in surprise, jumping when her cell phone began to make noise.
'Prince Chat:
You should dress fur the weather.'
Fucking Chat. A bloody pun after the strange eye contact earlier that afternoon, and this was how he chose to start up a conversation after their busy weekend? She couldn't tell if the laugh that escaped her lips was exasperated or fond.
'Marinette:
You're not the shining example of a role model.'
Not a good example of consistency either.
'Prince Chat:
Any time you see me at your work, my outfit will change two to three times. Don't judge on first glance, Marinette.'
Did it count as her work? She wasn't being paid, and it was simply an internship for a short period of time. Nevertheless, the sentence caused a smile to blossom on her lips, silently approving of the phrase.
'Marinette:
You really are a pampered prince, eh?'
Coddled, loved, and adored by more than half the population. It was a rare day when he received a negative review, and even then, most of the time they were squashed, set alight and sent to the depths of the internet, not often seen by others.
'Prince Chat:
Then allow me to pamper you, too, princess. In all the ways possible.'
Marinette gulped, the noise louder than expected within the confines of the bus. Thankfully, there was no one squashed beside her that day. Chat was turning the charm on, once again, and she was beginning to wonder whether it would be possible to grow immune to his strange ways. She had grown fond of the rare puns he slipped in, though the absence of them when their conversations were purely serious was wonderful.
'Marinette:
Calm down, kitty. I think we should take it slow.'
Not slow. She wanted to take him aside, and then blurt out the information that was hidden; to understand why he was so sweet, and instantly wanted to reconnect without many questions.
'Prince Chat:
Will you honour me by slow dancing by my side, then?'
"Twat," she murmured fondly.
-x-
On Monday, Marinette stared bewildered at her cell phone. Although she had taken Max and Kim's numbers from Chloé's gathering many weeks beforehand, she hadn't expected one of them to reach out and contact her first. So when her screen illuminated in the darkness early morning, Marinette blinked her bleary eyes in surprise. Max had invited her, and a plus one of her choice, to a charity event he was hosting that weekend. It was half an hour away by taxi, she assumed, and in a rented hall that was more than large enough for the amount of people that would be arriving. When she mentioned it to Aurore as they shared their scalding coffee, she mentioned that a lot of large names were going to be in attendance, and a snippet of information that had been pushed to the back of her mind burst through. Max was one of Nino's closest friends.
She'd been specifically invited, not as a plus one, to one of his friends' social event. It was a step in the right direction, to not being a ghost in the background, albeit it small, she was immensely happy.
There was the question of who to take as her plus one, though. Rose would be gobsmacked and then probably flaunt herself in front of her crush, if she had the chance, or would gape like a fish and constantly open and close her mouth without doing much else. Alya was just as unlikely to be her choice. There was still the small matter that she believed the person she was sending naughty pictures to was the same one that Marinette was conversing with—and she still didn't have the guts to break the news, and confess simultaneously. So when they asked, Marinette said, "I asked Manon to accompany me, so we can get to know each other better." They were surprised, though there were no complaints about it; it was her choice, after all, and she held no obligations.
Two updates had been updated to the Ladyblog—one featured Marinette drying her hair, while another of her bending over to correct the laces of her boots. There was still the underlying feeling of being embarrassed, exposed and violated, though they were very small. She couldn't deny that the attention was good for business. The lingerie that she'd crafted over the holidays had sold instantly the moment they were put online, right after the first picture had boomed out of control. The views of the blog were disastrously high, still climbing with no sign of stopping soon, and Alya was giddy with excitement most of the time. Apparently there had been more than a few attempts to bribe her of the information of Lady's identity, though the red-head assured her that their attempts were futile. The three flat-mates were the only ones that knew that Alya ran the blog, and that Marinette was the unfortunate victim of their fun and games.
Tuesday morning, Marinette shrieked as she awoke with a start, clutching the duvet to her chest on reflex to try and cover any flesh that was peeking out. There was the tell-tale noise of a shutter, and Alya's slightly maniacal laughter that was far too loud that morning.
"The fuck?" she mumbled, grimacing as she realised there were more than a few hairs in her mouth. "What do you want?"
"I have good news!" Alya cackled, slipping the cell phone into the back pocket of her tight jeans. "Really good news, so I had to celebrate it with a great Lady picture."
She tried to glare with half-lidded eyes. "How is a picture of me half asleep good to celebrate with?"
"It's Lady half asleep," the red-head corrected, a stubborn hand perched upon her hip, "and I also captured your right elbow, along with your hip. Nice underwear today, girl."
Marinette groaned in response and threw the duvet over her face. There was no point fighting, especially when the picture had caused such laughter. "Tell me the good news, then."
"We're in business, Mari," Alya announced as she leapt onto the bed. Marinette bounced upon the springs of her mattress, her bewildered expression meeting her friend's overly happy one, surprised to see that her glasses were perched upon the top of her head, directing the short strands of her hair away so she could see her face clearly. Her warm brown eyes, that were oh-so-familiar and comforting, were bright and excited. At Marinette's raised eyebrows, she took the hint. Cupping her mouth to whisper dramatically, Alya said, "Two sponsors for the site. They're paying me to slap a few advertisements on there, and in return, with a code people will get a discount on their site that'll benefit us."
It was a clothing site that had an ever-growing popularity. Marinette had seen a store or two appear in the past few years.
"…What's the code?" she asked suspiciously.
Alya winked. "Ladybug."
"Eh?" she blurted. "Why?"
A moment of brilliance had hit her, apparently. Alya happily explained the reason for the code, and then went on to explain that she'd began to watermark the original photographs with a small ladybug and a caption of text, the blog name, just to make sure they weren't stolen and claimed by someone else with their rising popularity. The lingerie that they'd sold together had earned them quite a fair amount of cash, and Alya had insisted that it went towards Marinette alone as she'd put in the work overall, and the sudden sponsorship was surely going to fill their pockets in due time.
"You're silly," Marinette said fondly.
The surprises kept coming as the day progressed. Aurore had handed her a coffee early morning, saying that her new toothpaste was far too strong and it wasn't working well before running off to class without making small talk, and then Marinette had managed to recover from almost tripping over. When she walked into a lecture hall, fully prepared to be sat alone again, she spotted a bright scarlet mop of hair that was neatly combed and resting upon the shoulders of a lithe figure.
"Nathaniel!" she called, taking fast footsteps towards their usual spot. He looked over his shoulders, body locked in surprise, and expression mirroring his posture. Marinette grinned, happy to see that he was okay—even if he was quiet, his presence was nice in the particular class that they shared together. "You're here."
He nodded slowly, the surprise leaking from his expression and slowly becoming blank and unsure.
"I'm glad you're okay," she said, slipping into her seat. "Class hasn't been the same." And it really hadn't. A class-mate that she hadn't conversed with before had tried to sit there the previous week, and it had been awkward and rather forced. Thankfully, though, they were sat back on the other side of the room in their usual place. Doubts had ran through her mind when Nathaniel hadn't replied to her last message asking whether he was okay, but it was understandable that he hadn't responded. If someone had messaged her whenever she was absent from class, one that she hadn't conversed with often, then she might have pushed the message aside and forgot to answer it after all.
Nathaniel sketched away during the lesson, while Marinette diligently took notes. She picked up his eraser when it fell, and he tapped the desk to catch her attention when she was too busy looking at her notepad to notice the new sentences that had appeared on the board.
"It was nice seeing you again," she said, packing away her things. There would be another week until she sat beside him again, so when she glanced up to see the fair-skinned boy nervously picking at the sleeve of his shirt, Marinette felt the corners of her mouth tug into a small smile as she remembered a previous conversation (of sorts). He wanted to improve their relationship, right? "Do you want to get some coffee with me?" Marinette asked, aware that her voice sounded unsure. He had ventured into her preferred coffee-shop once upon a time, just to return her a lost possession. "It doesn't have to be now, but any time in the future would be nice."
He blinked. Nathaniel pushed the scarlet stands from his face, allowing the view of both, wide turquoise, eyes as he slowly nodded again.
She barely restrained a snort. It was a yes, at least. "Does next week sound okay?" she asked.
Another nod.
"After class or before?"
Her expectations she had of him were shaky, but somewhat consistent. He'd either reply by staring at her blankly, write on a piece of paper, or perhaps message her (though she could count on one hand the amount of times he had), so when he broke the pattern, she couldn't hide the shock from seeping into her expression.
"After," he said softly.
Nathaniel's voice wasn't high as some had predicted; it was melodic, lovely to listen to, even from just the one word that he had uttered. Colour appeared splashed upon his cheeks, and he ducked his head in farewell and walked quickly out of the room, and all Marinette could say while watching him leave was, "Bye."
When she told Alya later about it, she'd teased her constantly and even said it could be considered cheating if the two of them got closer. Marinette sniffed and pointed out there wasn't anyone for her to really cheat on.
Manon was completely okay to go to the event with her; or, rather, she was buzzing with excitement and had almost shattered Marinette's eardrum when she gave her answer via a phone call. Alya and Rose were completely fine with the brunette staying at their apartment for a night, and were looking rather forward to meeting the girl they'd heard strange tales about (mostly the odd conversations that had occurred at work).
Although it was strange to ask, Marinette went against her better instincts and messaged Chat.
'Marinette:
Will you be attending Max's charity event?'
They were best friends; of course he'd attend unless there was an urgent matter at hand.
'Prince Chat:
Are you familiar with Max? I wouldn't be surprised since you know Chloé. I don't think I will be, no. That date is my mother's birthday, so I'll be spending the evening with her.'
Was that a titbit of information she was supposed to remember? Marinette gnawed on her lower lip, wondering how to respond to that. Her stomach had plummeted from being told he wouldn't be there—even if she wanted to deny it, she'd been anticipating seeing him there, in flesh and where they could converse without co-workers (Marinette decided they could be classed as that, for now) shooting the two of them strange looks. If there were reporters inside, her plan was to stay in the background and try not to approach him. The slip-up of her name, and part of her surname, on the latest webcast had caused her to be more cautious than ever, though it was out of her hands.
Social media had connected the dots, and her parents had mentioned that business was absolutely insane and exhausting since that day. Fans had eliminated the other options, and while there were still many fans waltzing into her family's pâtisserie, reporters and bloggers had also attempted to coax information from them. Her mother had reassured her that they hadn't confirmed nor denied anything yet, and they wanted Marinette to be absolutely certain before she could make her decision. What would she say? Go ahead, rake in the money while mentioning the tale of her childhood; just try not to embarrass the celebrity in the process?
'Marinette:
We've met before, yes. If you won't be my prince there, will you at least tell me what sort of attire to wear? This is a first for me.'
Rose had too many ideas and options when she'd asked her. The blonde had jumped head first into Marinette's wardrobe, and had thrown multiple options out and proceeded to cover the entire length of the mattress with different combinations, and while the evening sky covered itself in a blanket of darkness, Marinette chose the right time to banish her friend away so she could relax in peace and quiet.
'Prince Chat:
You'll be beautiful in anything, Marinette. The only thing to avoid is jeans and anything casual like that; the reporter's will eat you alive. And, yes, they will be there and wondering who you are.'
She pursed her lips.
'Marinette:
Thank you for the advice. I doubt they'll be interested in me, though.'
It wasn't her being modest. There would be popular names, with larger than life personalities and looks, so there wasn't much chance of her catching a lot of attention.
'Prince Chat:
If you reveal you're my childhood friend, then there would be a lot of buzz. Sorry for mentioning your name on the webcast, by the way. I was going to ask if you wanted it known first.'
Marinette blinked. "Oh."
'Marinette:
The cat is out of the bag; fans and reporters are swarming my family's pâtisserie already. They've confirmed it by themselves. No one's bothered me at university yet, though.'
Yet was the key word.
'Prince Chat:
My apologies. Does this mean I'm okay to mention you from now on? I promise not to reveal your dirty secrets in any interviews.'
What kind of things could she have told him in her blissful childhood innocence? Though she couldn't deny that there would be a few questions directed her way if reporters were directed towards her, armed with the knowledge that two mainstream celebrities were close with her (one still close, she corrected herself).
'Marinette:
I can reveal your dirty secrets, too. Behave yourself.'
His reply caused her to accidentally snort during her laughter.
'Prince Chat:
Me-ouch.'
-x-
Rose had Friday off, so she was spending her time in the depths of Marinette's wardrobe, matching together different articles of clothing and sending photographs to Marinette's cell phone, updating her on her choices. By the time the dark-haired female had walked through the glass doors of the company's entrance, the message was already entitled 'option eight'.
Under her breath, Marinette muttered, "Silly girl."
Their meeting room was almost empty, as per usual. Marinette smoothed down the material of her tan shorts, straightening her white button-up shirt and made sure the suspenders were still in the right position. Her clothing was slowly becoming informal, though they were still decent and covered anything that would've been deemed inappropriate.
Vincent was the first to arrive, his cheeks flushed a deep scarlet as his hair was pushed back to reveal his forehead. The look was more flattering than the bangs that constantly shrouded his expression, but when his eyes met hers, a scowl formed on his face that immediately ruined any charming qualities he had to him.
"How was your week?" she asked, attempting to make conversation.
The male promptly ignored her.
At lunch that day, when Manon was applying her lipstick to make sure there wasn't any missing on the corners of her lips, Théo had covered his mouth to contain his laughter. The grumpy blonde had disappeared after inhaling his food—most likely to their meeting room, despite the time—leaving Marinette able to groan that she was hated without much reason.
"He has a reason, though," Théo pointed out, his smile reaching the corners of his dark sienna eyes. "Vincent's never been to a co-ed school. He doesn't know how to deal with women, so he resorts to being bloody rude."
"Eh?" Marinette asked, dumbfounded as she rested her chin of her open palm. "What do you mean he doesn't know how to deal with women?"
Manon smacked her lips together audibly. "Does this mean he's playing for the other team?"
Her thoughts flickered to Juleka. "Just because he's tongue-tied around women doesn't mean he's not attracted to them."
"Tongue-tied?" Théo laughed. "He just blurts the first thing that comes to mind, and then sulks about it."
"Well, how do you know this?" Manon asked, shooting the taller male a glare. "You're, what, secret best friends over the week?"
It wasn't too far of a stretch. Marinette had managed to become closer to the girl beside her during that time; she'd had to silence her cell phone during classes since Manon had taken to messaging her the complaints of her classes through the day. They were constant, but amusing—Manon was especially angry with one of her professors, after they'd said her choice in clothing was too distracting for some class-mates.
"Our universities are pretty close together, actually. I saw him during my lunch one day, and we started talking. Did you know he smiles? He has a killer sense of humour, too." Marinette raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "Really, I'm not lying. Just cover up your lovely breasts and maybe you'll find out."
Even though the comment of her body was offhandedly made, Marinette felt her cheeks warm up. Manon had a different reaction, however; she smacked Théo around the head while laughing aloud, and Marinette soon found herself laughing, too.
When she volunteered to put the trays away for their table, Marinette almost dropped them in surprise as her eyes caught sight of a certain someone sitting alone, eating their meal in peace. It was a shocking sight to see, indeed; a curly-haired individual eating slowly, while tapping away at his cell phone with his free hand. She indicated to her group for them to leave without her, and, thankfully, they didn't ask any questions. Manon shrugged her shoulders and led the way out of the cafeteria, with Théo and the silent Simon in tow.
She smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles in her clothing, checking that her bun was still safely in place at the crown of her head, before making her way over to his table.
Nino didn't look up from his cell phone as she stood beside him. She debated between clearing her throat or waiting to see whether he'd glance to his left, before tossing the ideas to the side.
"Nino?" she called softly.
The male stiffened, certainly thinking that the one calling his name was a fan or someone to enquire about his schedule or personal life. As he looked up, seeing her through his thick-rimmed spectacles that obscured her vision of his eyes, his expression smoothed out from blank, to polite and welcoming.
"Hi," he greeted her, "can I help you?"
She was bewildered. Marinette furrowed her brow in thought, her suspicions confirmed when the corners of his lips twisted slightly. He was playing with her—trying to see what reaction she'd have to his nonchalance.
"I don't know," was her reply, "can you?"
They stared at each other in an odd silence. His lips continued to twitch from his efforts to restrain his smile, while Marinette was positively exasperated at the playful attempt to rile her up. Nino, however, was the first one to break. His smile suddenly erupted, reaching his hazel eyes and showing his bright teeth as he laughed aloud, causing Marinette to blink before rolling her eyes fondly.
"Hi, Marinette," he corrected himself.
Her eyes glanced to the empty seats beside him, shifting her feet. "Where's your entourage today?"
"Oh." He blinked in recognition. "My manager's sorting out a few details of my contract, so I'm spending some time here. I wanted to check out the food, but this is pretty bland, actually."
That made sense. He wasn't around in the afternoons often; or, rather, his and Adrien's scenes hadn't been shot yet, so there was no reason for them to dawdle during their busy schedules. "I prefer the dishes that are labelled spicy so far—they're actually pretty mild." She shot him a small smile. "I've got to get going now. I just wanted to pass my congratulations for your mother tomorrow." Was that strange? Surely she'd met, and was at least able to hold polite conversations, with his parents after all the time spent at his home. Her parents had introduced themselves to them, too.
Nino's expression evened out into a neutral one, while he regarded her with slightly raised eyebrows. "You remembered?" he asked, voice quieter than before. He placed his cell phone and cutlery onto his tray in favour of resting his elbows on the table. "I didn't think you would."
Was she a forgetful child? "Well, yes," she replied awkwardly, her hand raised to play with the small hairs of the nape of her neck.
"Thank you," the dark-haired male said with a nod. "She'll be happy to hear from you."
"I—I'll be going now, then," Marinette stuttered over her words, stiffly pointing towards the doorway with her index finger. She tugged on the strap of her bag to secure it, scampering away while resisting to look over her shoulder to see his expression. Their encounter wasn't what she'd imagined it would be when they spoke for the first time—it wasn't even close! She'd been awkward, much more than she'd imagined it to be, more than she thought she'd be capable of in his presence. His messages comforted her instantaneously, almost always, but his voice hadn't.
The rest of the day wasn't stressful, thankfully, but she was still relieved when it was over. Manon as chipper and overly excitable, and Théo was encouraging her to express her emotions more, rather than vibrate on the spot with her energy. By the time she reached her apartment, Manon had sent seven messages, and they were slowly building up to match the likes of Rose's. The blonde, however, had sent at least fifteen different outfit choices, and hadn't cleaned up the explosion of fabric in Marinette's bedroom. Marinette groaned, resting her forehead against the cool wood of her door, and shouted aloud for Rose to come running.
The spunky blonde did, with a large smile on her face. "Alya and I went through all of them, and our favourite side is on the right," she explained, gesturing towards the fabrics draped over the desk, chair, and even Marinette's printer. "Though you might like some from the left, actually. Do you have any idea what others will be wearing?"
"Not jeans," she blurted automatically. At Rose's raised brow, she averted her eyes to glance at the selections on the right side. "I got some advice—basically, don't look casual and all will be good. I trust your judgement, Rose, but I'm not going over the top. It's not masquerade."
Rose huffed. "I'm not a complete fool, Marinette," she defended herself, "but you'll probably have to wear a thong with some of the dresses you've got to choose from. Suffer for your beauty."
She stuck her tongue out.
They draped various materials over Marinette's body—over the clothes she was already wearing, though, so neither Rose nor Alya could sneak a picture and post it online without her realising—and went through various options before deciding on a dress that she'd worn the previous year for Aurore's birthday (which she could easily class as the fanciest event she'd been to).
Marinette sent a quick message to her mother, updating her on the choice of dress and shoes and blushing pink when she approved greatly, when a realisation struck her. She scrolled through her previous conversation with Chat, groaning in exasperation at herself when it was confirmed—she'd completely blanked and forgotten that she'd been given Adrien's number. Had Chat mentioned it to him in passing, or had Adrien approached him first after their last meeting in the café?
It was just past ten o'clock and her body was sore and tired from travelling that day.
'Marinette:
Hello. This is Marinette.'
The message was simple, quick, and she was astounded that her contact list was growing with names that were featured in the news, and she was honestly dumbfounded at her luck.
Her eyes trailed to the selection of images on her wall, glancing between the bright emerald eyes of one and the name on her phone.
"I should get rid of that," she muttered.
The picture that Alya posted the next morning was rather tame for her. It was Marinette nursing a steaming mug of coffee in their kitchen, legs crossed with a pillow from her room pressed against her chest to keep warm. The attire was conservative compared to the previous ones, too—Marinette had a large t-shirt on, which she matched with shorts that she pulled on when she woke to wander into the kitchen. She'd learned not to walk around in her underwear after a previous picture, back when the blog had only just started.
Manon had sent a picture of her wearing the outfit she'd chosen. It was a pearl-coloured dress that would stand out against her lightly tanned skin, and fell to her knees with lace as a transparent layer on top. The front was a dramatic, a v-shape between her ample breasts, and the material fell into styled creases from the thick straps upon her shoulders. Even from the bad lighting of the image, it was clear that the dress itself was expensive and more than what Marinette had expected from her new friend.
They met at the front entrance. Manon immediately sprung and covered her in a warm embrace, a welcome surprise from the foggy coldness outside, then announced that she had been chosen for the separate task that day. Manon tottered away in her bright violet high-heeled shoes and leather jacket, cheerfully greeting everyone she met on her way across the lobby.
Marinette shook her head with a fond smile.
It was easier to understand Vincent's reactions after the information that Théo had supplied the day before. When the blond would look up and catch Marinette looking his way, or when they bumped into each other within the studio, his expression would be blank before his lips twisted into an attempt of a sneer, or he'd utter a comment under his breath (quietly, so there wouldn't be any misunderstandings within the room). Marinette choked back her laughter each time, and only let out a few pearls of chuckles when Simon looked positively confused at the interaction between the two of them.
"I'm going to go get lunch," Marinette said, jutting her thumb towards the door.
"I'll meet you in there!" Théo called, sorting through the racks of clothing.
Vincent ignored her announcement, and Simon was busy with his task still, so the dark-haired female set off towards the cafeteria alone and fished her cell phone out of her bag. There were three messages, and all of them caused her to blink in surprise.
'Nathaniel Kurtzberg:
Best of luck on your internship.'
Nathaniel—of all people, Nathaniel, the male that was strangely mysterious, had been the one to contact her first about her internship (Aurore knew, of course, but other than that there hadn't been many comments). This was his way of reaching out, she supposed, and she felt her lips curling into a small smile. Nathaniel was similar to a wounded animal; she just wanted to coax him from his shell, much like with Tikki. Begrudgingly, she had to admit that there had been much more time spent with him rather than the feline he'd been compared to.
'Marinette:
Thank you. I wish you the best for your health—your attendance must be pretty low lately.'
The reply seemed polite, straight to the point, and it was honest. There was a strict attendance needed for their classes, and if an individual wasn't up to par, there was always consequences (a few students had been rejected, and kicked out in the past—seniors liked to tell their tales as ghost stories, with dramatic drum rolls from their fingers).
The second message was from Chat.
'Prince Chat:
My phone's going to be pretty far away for today. Sorry if I don't reply in time, princess. My mother's strict.'
At least there was warning, she acknowledged with a sigh. Her reply was sent after selecting her food, noting that Manon was nowhere within sight.
'Marinette:
Take your time and enjoy it. I hope her cake is pretty.'
Had they bought cakes from her parents' pâtisserie before? Surely, they had—they had lived right next door. Her family's pâtisserie was considered one of the best in Paris, and they had been featured on television and in different magazines more times than she could count.
The last message made her look warily around the cafeteria, just to make sure the blond male wasn't inside at the time.
'Adrien Agreste:
I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me. Sorry I couldn't give you my number myself, by the way.'
Marinette tugged at her sweater's collar, gulping nervously. This was Adrien; the boy that she'd apparently been friends with, too, and the one that knew somewhat of her problem.
'Marinette:
Sorry about that. I've been pretty busy, so it slipped my mind. Do you think we could talk sometime? About before?'
She wasn't sure where the sudden confidence had come from. Her eyes widened as she read the message, over and over, and she sighed in frustration at herself. Alya's awful advice of using him as a training dummy came to mind, and it was just as terrible as when she'd first heard it. He wasn't someone to be toyed with, not at all.
Adrien's reply came after she'd put her tray away.
'Adrien Agreste:
We could talk at Max's event, if you'd like.'
"Fuck it," Marinette swore softly, shrugging her shoulders.
'Marinette:
Whenever you're free.'
It was going to come out anyway, wasn't it? She might as well be in one of their presence when reporters finally caught on, and started snapping pictures.
'Adrien Agreste:
It's a date.'
"Oh," she breathed before she burst into silent laughter, trying to hold in the noise as to not draw attention as she walked quickly through the hallways. It was just such a Chat-like thing to say—just how close were they? Surely, their quirks were quite similar from all the time spent together, even if it had been in secret until recently. Her cell phone was shoved into her bag to prevent her from sending a teasing message back; one that would've been much better suited to be sent to her hazel-eyed companion.
Chat had probably already shunned his phone. Marinette rubbed her elbows for warmth, rocking on her heels in the lobby while waiting for her brunette friend to appear before her with a wide smile. Simon left with a shy wave, and Vincent had scoffed silently in her general reaction (which had caused her body to shake with laughter), and Théo had bumped her shoulder fondly and had offered to stay and wait. Marinette shooed him away with a dismissive movement of her hand, and a fond smile to at his disgruntled expression. It took five minutes for the male to depart, and at least fifteen more until Manon stumbled into Marinette's back, wrapping her arms around her shoulders with a heavy groan.
"I was a bloody errand boy, Marinette," the brunette sighed, arranging her hair into a messy bun for their journey. She was carrying two bags that day; the usual one, filled with her daily make-up, cell phone, and anything else that she would need, while the other was larger than normal and filled with her clothing for that evening. Marinette offered to take the heaviest bag for the small walk to the apartment, but Manon shot her down with a glare saying she was more than capable of carrying her weight. "These shoes weren't made for photocopying and running to coffee-shops."
Marinette snorted. "You mean you're not."
"Same thing." Manon smirked.
"What have you got in here?" the dark-haired female groaned, tugging the largest bag upon the bus when the other girl had forgotten it at the bus stop. "A brick, maybe?"
Manon scoffed. "Why would I need a brick? I'm trained in martial arts and everything—my hands are lethal weapons. And my shoes are, too."
A smile blossomed on her lips. "Why can I just imagine you in front of the television, trying to copy techniques from films?"
"I might have done that." Manon crossed her arms beneath her breasts, leaning back against the brightly-patterned seat. "My mother thought it would help stop the boys from bullying me."
She blinked. "Boys bullied you?"
"Well, yeah." Manon rolled her eyes. "I was fucking five. My mother lost her shit and placed me in a load of classes after I tried learning by myself. It's probably the best thing she's done to this day."
Their previous conversation concerning Manon's mother popped into her mind. The topic of her caused awkwardness in the brunette; her posture was guarded, eyebrows furrowed in slight irritation, and Marinette was unsure whether to push further with the subject. It wasn't as though she'd started the conversation—Manon had willingly mentioned her both times, though, previously she'd abruptly ended it, too.
"Mother?" she questioned. "Not Mom?"
"Mom is not respectful," the brunette replied, eyes firmly latched onto the seat in front of her. "I—she's barely a mother. She doesn't deserve that title." There was venom to her tone, though it was only just there. Manon wasn't just angry at her mother—it was clear that the irritation was pointed elsewhere, too. "My grandmother raised me. When I was growing up, I'd have to turn on the television to remember my mother's voice. She never called, or visited to see how I was doing."
Were they close enough to talk about such things? Marinette raised her hand, uncertain whether it was to reach out to comfort her, before dropping it to rest of her thigh. Manon had never introduced herself with her last name, perhaps because of her mother being featured on television (if it was as often as her comment had suggested). They jerked suddenly to the right from a bump in the road, and she was still unsure how to comfort her friend.
"I have amnesia," she blurted out. Manon perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed in confusion, creating a small crease between them. "There was an accident when I was nine—no one really knows what happened—and I woke up and couldn't remember anything. It was really weird." She clasped her hands together, focusing on the creases of her skin. "I knew how to talk, of course, and all the skills I'd been taught came back after a few hours of practice."
Manon was the one to comfort her first. She reached over, tugging Marinette's hand free and clasping it with her own. "Mother used to send envelopes of money addressed to me. They stopped when I was ten. Last year she sent a designer bag—the first present in years—and I gave it to charity."
Goodness, how messed up were they to openly talk about sad topics in public? She wanted to try and crack a joke, attempt to lighten the mood, but all that came out was, "I don't even remember my best friend. He moved away a few weeks before my accident."
Manon squeezed lightly. "I want success to spite her—I want her to know I'm worth something, and that I don't need her to succeed." It wasn't the whole truth. Marinette pieced together the snippets of information to conclude that the reason she had been curious about Chloé was to get her mother's attention.
"I started talking to him recently," she admitted in a quiet voice. "We—I think our relationship is more than just friendship, but he doesn't know."
"So what?"
Marinette squeezed her hand. "So everything. I don't remember all those years, and we've only really spoken through e-mails."
"I repeat my previous question: so what, Marinette?" Manon huffed. "This was when you were eight and below, was it not?"
"Nine," she grumbled.
The brunette rolled her eyes. "Nine," she corrected herself sourly. "I doubt it's that important? There was bound to be a few years of him avoiding girls—the usual girl disease and all. I doubt you were immune from that."
"You don't understand!" Marinette sighed, running a hand through the tresses of her fringe.
Manon tugged on her hand. "Then make me! Explain it to me, because you obviously haven't got anyone else to talk to if you're telling me this."
"I…" Marinette trailed off. She cleared her throat awkwardly. "Then neither do you since you told me about your mother."
"You're my personal agony aunt now." Manon offered a small smile. "You're unbiased, and pretty easy to talk to. I'm sure you'll hear a lot more when I'm tipsy later on, so don't be surprised. But we're getting off topic here—mother problems later, let's focus on yours for now."
She blinked. "Why in that order?"
Manon raised her upper lip into a sneer that was almost Vincent level. "I'll have to say her name, and I'm not comfortable with just anyone knowing about that." Her eyes trailed to the occupants of the bus, and an old man in particular looked away when their eyes met. "So that leaves us with just you."
Well, it wasn't like she could declare her childhood friend's name in public neither. Marinette made a small hum of agreement, thankful that their stop had arrived. They clutched their bags and stumbled off of the vehicle, and set off towards the apartment building with shivering frames.
"Go on, then," Manon prompted, narrowly avoiding a glob of chewing gum on the pavement.
"Fine," she grumbled, wondering whether the brunette would continue to be stubborn in the future. "He's really charming, actually. It's distracting and I find it hard to think straight at times."
To her surprise, Manon choked with laughter, bringing brightness to her eyes. "I asked you to make me understand, not give me the prologue to your love novel!"
"Shut up," she hissed, face heating up in embarrassment. "I'm setting the scene here. I haven't tried to talk about all of this before."
The brunette chuckled, and raised her thumb in an encouraging gesture that was destroyed by her shaking frame.
"I contacted him first," Marinette said. "I just wanted to know how it was, and to see if I could learn anything about when I was little. My other friends that were still around have been really patient, and told me stories while I was trying to piece everything together." Rose was an angel in disguise; the perfect example of patience and a caring personality. The day when a spunky blonde had burst into her hospital room had been bewildering. "I… I'm not really sure what happened, honestly. One moment I was asking if he'd like to talk, and the next he started flirting and I encouraged it."
"And you like him?" Manon asked.
She fiddled with her keys, pondering the question. There was an attraction, she could confirm that easily, but it was hard to connect those feelings to the male in person—when they'd conversed quietly, no matter how short it had been, Marinette had felt out of place.
"I think so," she said.
Both of her flat-mates were home and eager to addition to their household for that evening. Rose was standing in the hallway with a large grin, waving enthusiastically with her free hand, and Marinette immediately noticed the strange additions to the blonde's outfit. She certainly hadn't left that morning and left her in such a state. There was glitter covering her open palm, and sprinkled over her outfit, and there was, without a doubt, googly eyes glued onto the cast as well. Rose had decorated the surface outrageously, and it truly outshined the time she covered her cell phone case in gemstones meticulously.
"Oh, nice," Manon appraised, waltzing into their apartment with an easy smile, "I'd do that, too, if I had a gnarly cast."
Fucking gnarly. The two of them were going to get on fabulously. Marinette rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but they're going to fall off by tomorrow because you're terrible with glue, Rose."
"So you're Rose!" Manon exclaimed excitedly, thrusting her hand forward to offer a handshake. "I've heard you're a kindred spirit."
Rose blinked. There was glitter caught in the tresses of her bright fringe. "What—" A loud gasp escaped her lips as her cerulean eyes travelled down to see Manon's violet high-heeled shoes. "I've been trying to get a pair of those! Purple has always been sold out, though."
"I know, right?" Manon grinned. "I only just managed to get a pair, and I fucking love them."
"All right, break it up," Marinette said, clucking her tongue in disapproval. "You can just put your bags in my room, if you want. The only limit here is the shared bathroom, so don't spend so long in there."
Rose excused herself and told the two of them to meet her in the kitchen when they were ready. Apparently, Alya had taken it upon herself to create a few cocktails to get them into the correct mood for that evening, and there was most likely going to be a few clicks of her camera within the confines of their apartment. It was rare for the trio to have someone staying over, though. Aurore left early in the morning, before dawn at times, and Mylène had cancelled her plans to sleep in Rose's bed one evening before. The only problem with another person staying would be the bathroom routine, most likely.
"Cosy room," Manon commented, placing her bags onto the floor and sitting down on the mattress. "I especially like the small selection of posters you've got. Do I see Adrien Agreste in there?"
Her face flamed, guilty eyes trailing to the poster in question. "I—well—yeah, I guess."
"Do you think we'll be able to choose him as our model later?" she questioned thoughtfully. "I've had a crush on him since I was old enough to appreciate boys."
Well, that was another piece of information that caused Marinette to open and close her mouth awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. "Maybe. I doubt it, though. Wouldn't you want to select Nino?"
To her surprise, Manon scoffed. "Nino, Nino, Nino." She waved her hand dramatically with each syllable. "I've heard enough about him from my mother. Adrien is much better, in my opinion."
Oh, dear. The hints of information that had been supplied were that Manon's mother was rather popular, from being on television more often than not while the girl was growing up—and probably still to that day—and that she was friends with Chloé's parents, a family that were considered upper-class, and a part of their own crowds. Marinette had read, and laughed about sometimes, negative comments about Nino, but hearing them in person from someone she was fond of was rather disheartening. She couldn't force Manon to like him, but it hurt nonetheless.
"I wouldn't cast judgement until I knew them both personally," she mumbled.
"Fine, fine." Manon blew an exaggerated breath out at her hair. "Just don't smite me and I'll be nice."
"You better," she retorted. "Please don't go crazy over Adrien tonight, or anyone else there."
Manon blinked slowly, processing the information. "Oh, right!" she cried. "I completely forgot about that. Shit, this is high-end, isn't it?"
"I… guess?"
"Look at you," the brunette said with a coy smile. "Shy little Marinette actually has some big connections."
She wanted to say that Manon had no idea of the extent of her connections, but she bit her tongue and rolled her eyes fondly instead. Manon laid out her dress on the bed, setting a white pair of high-heeled shoes that were decorated with sweet lace around the ankle straps right beside them. Her jewellery was still tucked safely away in her bag, though, just in case they were lost. After a few moments of the brunette begging, Marinette begrudgingly opened a teal-coloured box from underneath her bed, allowing her friend to gently pull out the dress that she'd selected the previous night.
Aurore's birthday party had been themed, of course. She'd jokingly said it was princess-themed to see how extravagant the gowns that her guests arrived in would be, but she'd taken her actual friends to the side and suggested they were formal dresses that weren't overly decorated, and definitely hinted not to wear tiaras or anything else. Although it was a confusing tactic, it had been worth it to see the bewildered faces of Aurore's old class-mates as they strutted through the open doors, dolled-up with accessories and layers upon layers on their evening gowns.
Marinette had purchased a cream gown and altered it herself, especially for the event. The original had a semi-transparent top section that was sleeveless, with a neckline that was modest and covered her collarbones, while the material from the waist down was slightly lighter, and fell dramatically down to brush the floor, while there was a deep slit to show her right leg when she walked. Back when she'd purchased the gown, Rose had been deeply into covering her books and folders with different sorts of gemstones (much like her cast), and had urged Marinette to try the same. And so, she had; Marinette had carefully glued white and golden beads in intricate designs across bodice, and upon ribbons if she wanted to include them within her hairstyle.
Manon huffed. "Well, this puts me to shame. Did you make it yourself, or is it bought?"
"Both." She smiled. "I just added the beads, actually. It was for a party last year."
"If this is what you wear to parties usually, you need to invite me—oh, oh!" Manon cut herself off, scurrying across the room to pluck a garment of clothing off of the desk. Marinette recognised it immediately, and stilled when she realised just how excited the brunette was to see it—oh, goodness, it was just going to get worse. "You guys really have everything, what the fuck?" she commented, lifting the lingerie so she could hold it within her hands.
It was one of the newest designs for the Ladyblog, and Alya hadn't gotten round to snapping pictures of Rose in the new thong to place in the store yet. Alya had edited the banner of her blog to include a ladybug, and convinced Marinette to add it on the tags of their products. And so, she'd messily drawn one on a small tag on the inside of the underwear, and it was clear that Manon had recognised the design.
"I—"
"Should I just ask you to order me things?" Manon mused. "My internet's actually pretty slow, so by the time I've typed in the details and such, the items are already sold out. I've been trying to get some Lady underwear since they came out."
What was she supposed to say? "I see," Marinette blurted awkwardly, unsure of how to continue.
"Are you wearing this tonight?" the brunette asked, lifting the white thong that had a scarlet trim up. "I wonder if you'd see it through your dress."
"The bottom half isn't transparent," she explained. "So anything that isn't chunky is fine, really. I wasn't going to… I'm not sure how good that underwear is."
Manon responded with more enthusiasm than she'd expected. "It's great! There's so many good reviews, and I've heard that some shops are trying to sell the lingerie for themselves."
Marinette raised her eyebrows. "Are you a fan?"
"Gosh, yes." Manon laughed. "Of course I am. I'm secure enough to admit that she's really attractive. And her pictures are really fun to look at. Hey—why are you looking at like that? I'm not the only one who thinks that!"
Well, she was the only one to say that to Marinette's face. "You're strange."
"No, I'm just very comfortable." Manon suddenly stilled, whipped her face around to look Marinette in the eyes so fast that her hair fell onto her shoulders audibly, and said, "Do you think she'll be there tonight?"
"Eh?"
Manon huffed. "Lady."
"I…" Maybe. "It's not like you've seen her face."
"Even so, I'd say she's pretty much celebrity status." At Marinette's startled cough, she proceeded to say, "What? Have you been living underneath a rock? If you've purchased some of her underwear, then you know that she's a freaking celebrity on the internet. Her identity is a whole big thing, too. Some guy tried to hack the blog and the police were called in and everything."
Actually, the man in question had tried to hack several different websites, and the police had been involved for an entirely different reason, but that was the rumour that had spread around. Marinette cleared her throat awkwardly, uncomfortable with the conversation. Her flat-mates were the only ones that knew her identity, since they were the masterminds behind the embarrassing blog, but to hear someone that she considered a friend to enthusiastically talk about her pseudonym with such a positive attitude was rather strange. It was like she was having an out of body experience momentarily.
"Down, girl," Marinette said with a laugh.
Manon stuck her tongue out childishly.
After the brunette had wandered out of the room to find the other two in the kitchen, Marinette stared at the illuminated screen of her cell phone. Her lips were twisted into a frown as she saw that Chat hadn't reply, once again, though he had a genuine reason for that day. Their conversations were slowly dwindling, and becoming less frequent and rather tame compared to before, and she wasn't sure whether she was relieved at that fact. It gave her time to think; to ponder over her choices and decisions. There was one choice she was sure of, though; she was going to talk to Adrien that evening. Their conversation, hopefully, wouldn't be forced, and he knew slightly about her problem. The real question was whether Manon would be attached to her hip that evening, or out wandering the large room and introducing herself to everyone.
Even though she knew he wouldn't see it, she sent Chat a quick message.
'Marinette:
I suppose Adrien's your replacement tonight.'
And in a way, he would be (especially if Alya managed to succeed with her awful scheme).
"Marinette!" Alya stumbled through the doorway into her bedroom, wide-eyed with a maniacal grin across her lips. "Did—did you—"
Marinette recoiled in surprise, and found herself wrapped in the red-head's warm embrace in a matter of seconds. "Alya?" she questioned, perplexed.
The tanned female simply squeezed, making a noise of excitement as she rocked left and right. "We just met our first fan," she whispered excitedly. "As in an actual fan, not just some guy from around campus."
"Wait, she told you?"
"Yes!" Alya grinned, flicking the dark-haired female's forehead teasingly. "She came in the kitchen and asked whether we had Lady underwear, too. At first I was pretty nervous, but Rose just chirped that we managed to get a few, thankfully." A few? Her two flat-mates didn't own a single pair yet, because Marinette felt too awkward gifting her friends lingerie, rather than clothing that she'd put effort into. "That girl—Manon, I hope—is talking up a storm with Rose in there. It's pretty great."
She laughed at the thought. "Well matched, aren't they?" Marinette flashed her a knowing smile; she'd predicted that the two would get along, even slightly. "And before you even suggest it, we're not going to tell her the truth."
"Well, not without a blood oath," Alya deadpanned.
"They'll probably fall out soon, though," Marinette mused. "Manon prefers Adrien a lot more."
The red-head raised her eyebrows. "How much is a lot, though? I hope you gave her some sort of speech, so she knows that Rose might try and claw her eyes out." The most the blonde had done previously was whack someone firmly around the face—she refused that it was a punch or a slap—when they'd spoken negatively of her idol in her presence.
"Kind of." Marinette winked. "I just said not to judge until she knew them personally. And then I mentioned that Adrien will be there tonight…"
"Oh, right," Alya said, clicking her fingers for added effect. "Look out for Nino for me, would you? I think he might try to withhold information if something happens, and I trust you to tell me."
She blinked. And blinked again. "He won't be there," she said without much thought, "it's his mother's birthday."
Alya furrowed her eyebrows. "Has Rose rubbed off on you?" she asked before bursting into small spurts of laughter. "No—not like that, you pervert! You're turning into a walking Nino encyclopaedia."
There was a small chance; a minute hint to drop to her in hopes that she'd catch on. "He hasn't told you?"
"No, not really," Alya said with a shrug of her shoulders. "We don't really talk about our families much, but that's kind of understandable. I'm much more interested to know about him, too."
What a fucking imposter. Marinette scoffed silently before schooling her expression, unsure of what to say to her friend. "I guess I should get ready soon," she blurted.
Alya didn't notice her awkwardness. She just shrugged her shoulders and waved her hand dismissively as she left the room, and said she'd send Manon in to prepare for their evening as well. When the bedroom door opened, giggles and loud exclamations were audible, and it was clear that there was a friendship building between the two females in the kitchen. Manon waltzed through the doorway and gingerly closed the door behind her with a wide smile on her face; it reached her eyes, and made her look younger than she really was.
"Your friends are great," she gushed as she began to strip her clothing off. Marinette blinked in surprise as the shoes were discarded, and Manon's brassiere was fully on show by the time she'd opened her mouth to say, "And they're so freaking nice. Rose was trying to make me do shots in there."
"I was going to offer you to bathroom," Marinette said while she shook her head, "but it seems you're comfortable here, so continue."
"I'm a comfortable girl," Manon retorted, though the spell of her being a confident female was broken when she accidentally fell forward, face first into the mattress while removing her clothing. She huffed, air blown to move the strands of hair from her face. "Well, your bed is comfortable, too."
Marinette threw her head back and laughed. "Right."
With make-up fully applied, an evening gown paired with accessories and high-heeled shoes, Manon looked older than eighteen. She fixed her curls in the mirror while Rose clapped excitedly behind her, offering to take a picture on her cell phone.
"Make sure to remember you've got nipple covers on," Alya advised, holding in her laughter when Manon kept jumping to see whether her breasts would be on show when she moved. "Just don't bend down too much, and you'll be golden."
"Or only bend in front of the cameras," Rose advised with a sly smile.
Marinette muttered under her breath, "You're both terrible."
Her dress was on, and thankfully covered her nipples despite the lack of brassiere, and it still fit her frame correctly. The only worry for that evening for her would be tripping over the long material at the front when walking up steps (if there were any in her path), or shivering too much from the cold temperature. Manon had quite the same predicament, so they could suffer together at last. The only reason she was able to worm herself out of a Lady picture that evening was because the new addition to their apartment that evening had no idea of what was going on between them, and would certainly recognise the gown that Marinette was wearing if it appeared on the blog in a matter of days.
By the time their taxi pulled up to their destination, their teeth were chattering and they were clutching each other's hands for warmth. Marinette idly wondered why she hadn't researched the event more; it was for charity, she knew that much, but what was actually going to be happening inside was beyond her. The only information supplied had been the time, date, and dress code.
"What the…" Marinette trailed off as her eyes spotted the crowd outside the doors. There were men dresses in matching suits—and one woman, she spotted—that were patrolling the rope that made a pathway down the middle, and reporters were swarming the other side, along with fans and others that had come to watch. Marinette watched with wide eyes as the last person that had arrived waved towards the flashing lights before disappearing through the glass doors. "I—"
"Do you have proof of your invitation?" Manon asked, smoothing her curls out.
With a wave to her bag, where she had the message from Max, they paid the driver before exiting the vehicle. Manon was on the side by the curb, so her feet hit the pavement first, and she moved with grace and dignity that Marinette hadn't quite associated with the spunky brunette. She wasn't put off by the murmurs of the crowd, and she walked with a straight back and her head at a normal angle.
When Marinette got out, however, she stumbled and almost fell face first into the pavement. There was the tell-tale flash of a camera, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment from the moment. There weren't many pictures taken after that, however, which she was thankful for. The bouncer at the door had to confirm her identity first the duo were allowed inside, but that was over quickly. Marinette placed a hand on her rapidly beating heart as they passed through the glass doors, blissfully happy that the temperature inside was marginally warmer than outdoors.
"Come on," Manon urged, grabbing her by the hand.
PREVIEW: "You bitch!" Despite the harsh words, the voice wasn't full of venom.