i purr-omise that someday sun will shine and our faves will get laid but for now... ANGST
xo moonbaby
...
Marinette marched out of the building, blindsided.
SLUT.
She'd been attacked before –– no amount of superpowers spared you from turns in public opinion –– but not like this. Not Marinette, not where she worked, not where she defined herself.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she turned right up 8th avenue, and let New York City autopilot take over. Walk, stop, wait for the light, go, stop, wait, go, walk, stop, go, stop, swerve, walk, go.
Hands deep in her pockets, eyes straight ahead, Marinette went blank, her heartbeat lurching as every foul insecurity rose up and threatened to spill out. Savagely, Marinette bit down, ground her teeth, dug her nails into her palms, stomped that much harder into her heels, and absolutely fucking refused to cry for 126 blocks.
When she ran into the river in Harlem, she turned around and marched back. Her phone buzzed and she ignored it. She tripped over a curb and tore her jeans and scraped her knee and she ignored it. She walked, and walked, and walked, and tried not to exist.
Hours passed. Thirst finally slowed her relentless pace, and Marinette slowed to get her bearings, her dry throat and tired feet momentarily overwhelming the rush of her thoughts. Autopilot had deposited her at her own dingy apartment building.
Reluctantly, she glanced at her phone, four hours after she'd stormed out.
New message from Adrien: I used your spare key - see you at home, m'lady :3
The last time she'd climbed her own stairs, the air had been thick with tension and delight. This time, Marinette forced herself to climb, to take a breath before opening the door to find Adrien sitting on her bed.
"You're back!" He leapt to his feet, beaming. Excited energy radiated off of him, seeming to shine from his golden hair.
"What's all this?" Marinette looked at the bouquet of flowers and the ice bucket of champagne on her tiny countertop. She wore a tight smile that didn't quite reach her searching eyes.
"I've had a great idea!" Adrien grinned, coming over to pick her up. "I'm taking you to Paris Fashion Week as my date!" He set her down, excited smile faltering as she shrugged out of his embrace.
She crossed the room, standing stiffly by her shelves of fabric, shoulders tense. Her voice was level but quiet. "I don't think that will work out."
Adrien was confused, but smiled patiently. "What do you mean? You used to hang around the tents all week, trying to listen in on interviews and spot designers." He bustled over to the kitchenette and poured her a glass of champagne, handing it to her as he got excited again. "And I can introduce you to everyone you need to know, and to the parties where the next season is already being discussed, and get you in—"
"I said no, Adrien." Her voice was as tight as her posture. She set the glass down on her dresser without taking a sip.
"Well why the hell not?" Adrien was bewildered and crushed. He let the Prosecco bottle sink back into the ice bucket. "I don't understand, you've always wanted to be at Fashion Week, you just said it yesterday."
She wouldn't meet his eyes. "Everyone will think—" She stopped abruptly.
Adrien's heart pounded heavily.
"Everyone will think we're dating, is that what you mean?" His voice was low around the lump in his throat. "Is that so terrible?"
Marinette darted a look at him and shifted uncomfortably. "I just — think about how it will look, and in Paris, no less. So my first fashion week is about how Ladybug and Chat Noir got back together?" She wrung her hands. "That Marinette Dupain-Cheng sure is "lucky" in her choice of lovers?"
Adrien scoffed softly, incredulous as he read between the lines. "Oh, I see," he said, "You still think Gabriel did it on talent alone? That it had nothing to do with my mom being the supermodel daughter of an elite businessman?" There was a feline edge to his voice. "You think there's some moral high ground in fashion, that what - your grades are going to get you a job? Come on, Marinette, you can't be that naive. Starting out is about who you know, and I can be that for you!"
Marinette opened and closed her mouth, arms crossed in defiance, but no words came out, just a couple of hot tears.
Adrien crossed the room and took her hands, heart pounding as he tried to meet her eyes. "And what about us? So it looks bad, who cares? We've been fighting it for years, but we're destined to be together! Goddamnit, Ladybug, look at me!"
"I am not Ladybug anymore." Marinette's voice was low and tight. "I gave her up a long time ago, and you should too." She took her hands back and turned away from him, arms crossed.
Anger pressed against his lips as age-old insecurities bubbled up inside him. "I'll never be enough for you, will I? Chat Noir certainly wasn't, and I wasn't either. It's always been Ladybug first, with your family, and your friends, and- and your perfect life!"
Marinette whirled around at that, pissed and indignant.
"No, Adrien," she said with a terrible, calm condescension, as if explaining herself to a difficult child. "It was always Paris first." Her voice shook with fury. She jabbed a finger at him. "Akuma first. Hawkmoth first. Fucking Chloe and La Grande Paris first," she spat, her voice rising. "It was saving the entire city first and literally breaking my back first, it was always, ALWAYS Miraculous first!"
"And I've always been a means to an end anyway, isn't that right, Ladybug?" Adrien countered, all composure lost. "I was, what, a human shield, a belt, a distraction!? Funny, isn't it, that when I finally come up with a plan, the problem is that I'm part of it?!"
"Oh fuck you, Adrien!" Marinette cried, her vision going red. "Excuse me for wanting front row seats at fashion week because I'm a great goddamn designer, and NOT BECAUSE I'M CASUALLY FUCKING THE HEIR OF GABRIEL!"
Adrien recoiled as if he'd been slapped. Marinette knew she'd gone too far.
"Adrien—" but he held up a hand.
"Don't." His face smoothed to cold stone as he picked up his coat and strode to the door.
"Goodbye, Marinette."
He stepped out silently, closing the door quietly behind him. Marinette wished he had slammed it. His anger would be better than the finality of his dismissal.
Marinette sat numbly on her bed, staring blankly at her comforter as her heart rate slowed, overwhelmed with cold, acidic guilt.
An hour later, or maybe five, she was startled out of her misery by a knock on the door. A man in a perfect suit held out a large, sleek black box in his gloved hands.
"Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng?" he asked.
She nodded dumbly.
"For you." He bowed as he held the box out to her and she took it, unable to form a question or pleasantry. The man nodded politely, then turned crisply on his heel and strode down the hall and out of sight.
Marinette took the box inside and laid it carefully on her bed, feeling the weight of it and the smooth finish. After a moment's hesitation, she lifted the lid and gasped.
Inside was the most beautiful pair of shoes she had ever seen. The black leather gleamed, and the bottoms were such a sultry red that her mouth watered, even as her heart squeezed with pain.
She gingerly plucked out the cream-colored card nestled between the shoes and opened it to reveal familiar handwriting.
Your true colors.
Love, Chat
And Marinette burst into tears.
...
welp.. did i lose ya?