A date.

Marinette had a date.

With Adrien. In five days.

Her body was alive, humming with the memory of his touch, like a blazing echo on her skin where he had left his mark. She smiled, and gazed at her designs.

Then she threw them away.

He was right, these were not right at all. Too elegant, too formal, too cold. Not her. They did not reflect this joy inside her.

The deadline loomed, and Marinette was starting over from scratch, starting all the way back with her theme. That had been her first mistake, trying to show off her range, like wading around in the shallow end of the pool instead of diving deep into the ocean.

But there was no panic, no doubt at all whether she would make it in time. She would. She was inspired. All she needed was a new theme, and the rest would flow from there.

Marinette knelt down, digging around in the drawers of her childhood room to unearth an old shame. Her Adrien Agreste folder, the one she'd rather obsessively collected as a tween, all his old shoots and posters and cut-outs of his media appearances.

She stared at the boy she'd once fancied herself in love with.

It looks nothing like him.

Yes, he'd been younger, of course, hadn't yet grown into his frame, but this blandly smiling angel instantly struck her as not quite right. Adrien was way more interesting than this.

She got back to her feet and walked back to her desk, absently moving a potted plant to make a little room. She laid down the opened folder next to her tablet, which showed one of Adrien's more recent advertisements.

But this isn't you either.

He was staring back at her with a smirk, his half-lidded eyes promising all manner of sin if she dared follow his lead. Dressed all in black, he was casually leaning back, his shirt left open to reveal his toned bare chest.

Around his neck dangled a pendant in the form of a green butterfly.

Why would you go along with this, Adrien?

It was one thing to not concern himself with hatred, another entirely to invite it like this.

Was this what Nino had been trying to warn her about?

Have I ever known you at all?

But Marinette wanted to. She wanted to peel back every layer he had until she knew him as well as she knew herself. And she would start by trying to puzzle this out.

Setting down her pen to paper, she tried to imagine an outfit that would capture all facets of this kind, playful, cynical man.

Few understood the connection Tikki shared with Plagg.

She'd tried to explain it to Wayzz many times, but the wise kwami was always left vaguely disturbed that Tikki let Plagg undo so much of her hard work. And that she was happy about it.

Oh yes, of course, in the moment, when she brought Destruction her newest creation for him to examine, there was always that sting of disappointment when he turned his nose up at it. Plagg was not easy to please, and he could find fault in almost anything. If her creation particularly offended him, she might even come across it later, smashed to bits.

Destruction loved to smash things.

But oh, he drove her to new heights. Unburdened her from her mistakes until she could soar freely, create something even better. Without Plagg, she would still be in her garden, content that her plants were bearing fruit and flowering, and striving for no more.

She'd cried the first time she'd found one trampled, crushed under the paw of the great black beast that had wandered in. He'd looked down on her in puzzlement.

"It's ugly, why do you cry for it?"

"Because it was mine!"

The cat had taken care to step lightly after that.

And when she got it right… the way Plagg's face lit up with wonder was a sight to behold, and it made her heart sing. That was when Tikki always knew she had created something truly special.

Plagg's face had been alight when she had shown him the first Miraculous she had forged, connecting them to an unknown world.

"Would you like to go on an adventure with me?"

Of course he did. Plagg followed her everywhere. Even now that he had somewhat soured on this most recent expedition of theirs, he was still here because Tikki adored humans and their endless inventions and innovations.

Destruction fueled Creation – without it, she was stagnant.

So Tikki smiled indulgently at Marinette as she finally escaped this creative slump she'd been in, scribbling rough sketches, writing down key phrases and designing prototypes until deep into the night.

She would leave her partner to her happiness for now.

But Tikki was deeply worried, not just about the flame creatures that had suddenly started appearing, but about her other half. Him and his charge, who had been infused with far too much of Plagg's destructive energy, and had not seemed entirely in control of it.

Why so premature, Plagg? Where have you been? Your kitten is ill-prepared.

But as she watched Marinette pour creativity on the page, she realized that her Ladybug was not. She was ready to embody more of Tikki's essence, and would need it in the battles to come.

So Tikki reached for that bond that bound them together, and gently plucked at its strings.

Observation had led Adrien to believe that there were two types of beautiful women in the world.

The first was beautiful like lightning. Accompanied by thunder, she illuminated the sky with her presence. Heads turned and jaws slackened in her wake. He was quite familiar with women like this, worked with them every day, and after a while, once the initial stunned shock of seeing them up close had worn off, they just became normal people.

Ladybug had been like this, lighting up his world and then leaving him bereft in darkness.

Then there was the subtler type, beautiful like a meadow. She caught the eye, but rarely inspired awe, unless a man chose to return to her, again and again, to rest in her presence, breathe in her fresh scent, and savor the quiet sanctuary she provided. Until one day he woke up to find she had become his favorite place in the world, more beautiful than all others.

Marinette had gotten awfully pretty in the last few years. It disconcerted him, because he couldn't put his finger on what exactly about her appearance had changed that made her so alluring now. Consulting some old class photos had shocked him – she'd been pretty then, too.

He could kick himself for not returning sooner when this had been in Paris awaiting him all this time. Ah well. Spilled milk, et cetera. He'd get it right from now on.

"So what do you want this time?"

Adrien froze in the middle of setting down the package that had been delivered for him at the reception. "Pardon?"

"There's cheese in there."

"Just stocking up," he said innocently, and cat eyes narrowed at him in suspicion.

"Cut the bullshit, Adrien."

Damn it. Caught.

He cleared his throat and pulled out the casu marzu, which was quite possibly the vilest cheese known to humankind, and set it on the kitchen counter. Plagg's eyes went wide with wonder.

"This," Adrien said, tapping one finger atop the tightly sealed abomination. The one Nathalie had somehow procured – likely on the black market because it was an illegal health hazard. How she had gotten it so fast and from where, Adrien had no idea. He'd expressed no more than idle curiosity, saying that he would like to have one – and she'd actually gone and gotten it for him, delivered to his door no questions asked, along with a bill that made his stomach turn. Not that he couldn't afford it, but still…

My precious nest egg, part of him whined. It had taken a substantial beating in the last two weeks.

"This is not a bribe."

Another suspicious glare, but Plagg floated closer.

"You're right. I want a favor. But this is a gift, Plagg, not a bribe."

"Back to buying my affections, huh?"

"Never hurts to make sure you're in a good mood." Or what passed for it in the grumpy kwami. His voice softened. "But you can say no, and you'll still have this. I promise."

"Alright." Plagg plopped himself down atop his new treasure. "Let's hear it then."

Adrien fidgeted. "I asked Marinette out on a date."

"I heard."

"I… really want this to go well."

"Exchange bodily fluids, got it."

"Plagg," he hissed, and the kwami cackled.

Well, crude as he was, he wasn't that far off, because there was the crux of the issue.

"…I'm not going to be able to control myself – when we get to the point of intimacy, I mean. I was already so damn close to losing it, and that was –" wonderful, mind-blowing, perfect " – just making out."

"Hm." Plagg started slowly unwrapping his gift and oh dear God, the stench. "Sucks to be you."

"…I want your permission to take the ring off."

Plagg froze.

Adrien quickly added the rest of his explanation, jamming as much of it as he could into one breath. "It will just be for dates with Marinette, and I'll keep it on me – in my pocket or something – I'll put it back on right after, I promise, but Plagg, I'm supposed to keep my identity secret and, and, I just won't be able to if I don't do this."

The kwami said nothing for a long time. Then he scoffed. "What are you asking me for? Just take the damn thing off if it's getting in the way."

"Plagg." Adrien tried to make his voice as sincere as possible, to show his neglected kwami that he meant this. "I am never taking this ring off without your permission ever again."

"…and what if I say no, huh? What are you going to do then?"

"I don't know. I'll figure something out." Tell her he wanted to wait for marriage or something equally unhinged. She was half-convinced he was a virgin anyway, so he could probably make her believe that.

It would just suck so much. He'd woken up moaning her name today, and he wasn't exactly looking forward to celibacy with temptation right in front of him.

Plagg was staring at him.

"…you really mean that, huh?"

"I do."

"Okay." Pause. "Put it on a necklace – a sturdy one – and make sure it doesn't touch your skin, or you'll still get some transference."

The kwami yelped when Adrien caught him in his hand to bring him up to his cheek, rubbing it against Plagg's and purring.

"Learn to control yourself, idiot!"

The kwami phased out of his hands and darted back to his revolting cheese.

He'd have to give Nathalie a raise for this, there was no way around it. Crazy efficient woman, savior of his love life.

But first he had a date to plan. And it had to be perfect.

Marinette finally laid down the pencil, staring at her newest idea.

It was rough and would require polish, but – yes. She could develop this further. Even this simple sketch spoke to her in a way the near-finished design she'd had before never had. She leaned back and stretched, wincing as her body protested the movement. A quick glance at the clock left her startled – she'd been hunching over her desk for hours. It wasn't even worth going to sleep at this point.

Not that she wanted to sleep. She felt amazing, awake and alert, like she couldn't wait to tackle and solve more of life's problems. Strange, since the winter months often left her a little on the lethargic side.

There was one problem she'd been trying so hard to avoid thinking of.

Chat Noir.

But now, in a burst of inspiration and epiphany, she finally put her finger on what his issue was, why he'd been so hostile even as he ostensibly tried to work together. And he'd told her so, hadn't he, right at the beginning?

"Reporting for duty."

Chat Noir bristled against things he had to do, had always spoken dreamily of how his costume freed him from daily drudgery and the crushing weight of responsibility.

And now he viewed Ladybug as a chore he had to endure.

Carapace, too, apparently.

Her Chaton had become a misanthrope.

"Taking a life can change people forever, Marinette."

Marinette hadn't given Hawkmoth much thought in recent years, but in this moment her hatred for the man was ignited anew, for choosing the path he did, for abandoning his son to chase power, for forcing their hand. For ruining her kitty, robbing him of all his playful joie de vivre.

It was still buried inside there, somewhere, surely? She just had to coax it out.

Pondering her options, she hummed a tone-deaf tune as she grabbed the watering can, deciding to get the daily care of her little garden out of the way early as well. It had started so small, with a little vase of flowers here, a potted plant there, and over the years had somehow escalated to encroach on every last window sill and clear surface in the apartment she'd shared with Alya.

Then Marinette had been forced to fit her entire collection into her cramped childhood bedroom when Alya had moved in with Nino. Now her overcrowded room was more of a maze filled with too many pots she'd developed a routine of artfully dodging.

At least Tikki seemed to like it, often slept among the green leaves.

Marinette perked up when she noticed the zinnias that had been wilting recently seemed to have recovered.

Although. How strange.

It was too early for them to be in bloom.

Nathalie Sancoeur: Was the package to your satisfaction, Mr. Agreste?

Adrien: Yes! Thank you so much, Nathalie, you are a life saver.

Nathalie Sancoeur: I'm glad you approve, sir. The Armani shoot has been successfully moved to Paris, and I've taken the liberty of adding it to your schedule. It's in three days. You will need to check the reception for a package tomorrow again – a gift to bring to the crew. They were rather put out to have to accommodate you like this on short notice.

Adrien: What would I do without you?

Nathalie Sancoeur: Indeed. That is why I've also decided to return to Paris.

Adrien frowned as she sent him her new address – how had she already secured herself a lease while his apartment hunt was only getting started and he was forced to live in housing provided by Chloe's good graces? Well, stupid question, really. It was Nathalie.

Adrien: You don't have to move. London isn't so far away, you can still be my agent from there. We've already been working together long-distance on international shoots, we'd just be taking it full-time.

Nathalie Sancoeur: Mr. Agreste, I'd be a poor agent indeed if I didn't know how to prioritize my most successful client.

He shifted uncomfortably, frowning at their exchange. Adrien was not the only one who had gotten significant blowback from his father's deeds. It had taken him a while to discover, but Nathalie, as amazingly competent and efficient as she was, had trouble holding down steady employment – in France, at least.

She'd built herself a new professional clientele in London, where people were not as reluctant to hire Hawkmoth's former assistant.

And she's throwing it away just like that?

Author's Notes:

Plagg: The kwami of Constructive Criticism and Tough Love