"We love you very much," said Sabine Cheng, looking at her daughter with a suspicious gleam in her eye that Marinette would have guessed to be tears except for the fact that she had literally never seen her mother cry. "Be careful, okay?"
Tom, Marinette's father, had bypassed suspicious gleams hours ago and was trying, unsuccessfully, to dry his eyes. He opened his arms and enveloped Marinette in an enormous bear hug.
"We'll miss you in the bakery, ma petite. No one can make macarons like you can."
"I'll visit all the time!" Marinette promised them, pretending she wasn't sniffling a little herself. Really, this wasn't the agonising separation they seemed to think it to be – she would only be a couple of hours away, not across the country or even overseas as some of her old lycée classmates were heading. All the same, it would be strange not to be living at home with her parents. She had little to no idea what to expect from university, and all things considered, it was with an unsettling flutter in her stomach that she waved them off from the pavement outside the block of student housing.
The block of flats was situated close to a metro station, which made life a lot easier, and though Marinette hadn't signed up to all her modules yet, most of the university buildings were within walking distance. All in all, she'd been pretty lucky to score a room here. It was subsidised accommodation, so her costs were very manageable, and it was also minutes away from a Carrefour. In fact, there was only one drawback.
She was sharing the flat with three complete strangers.
It was stupid to worry about it, Marinette told herself as she climbed the three flights of stairs to flat 3B – "Well, at least you'll get a workout every day!" had been her mother's bright observation – stupid to be scared about meeting new people when that was kind of the whole point of university. (Well, that and getting a degree, but she would cross that bridge when she got to it.) She was sure her flatmates would be lovely, kind people, and even if they weren't, so what? She wouldn't have to see them that often, right?
She unlocked the door, the flutter in her stomach metamorphosing into a flock of butterflies. This morning, when she and her parents had arrived to drop off her stuff, the flat had been empty so she hadn't had to deal with any awkward introductions – much to the disappointment of Sabine, who had probably been hoping to vet Marinette's new housemates. The flat itself was decent: tiny but utilitarian, with nice views over the little park nearby from the kitchen window and Marinette's room. She even had a tiny balcony, though she wasn't 100% convinced it was loadbearing, and she shared an ensuite bathroom with whoever was going to be in the room next to hers. She sincerely hoped it was going to be a girl – even if there were locks on both doors from inside the bathroom, knowing her luck, it'd only take a week for her to forget to lock it and have her flatmate accidentally barge in on her shaving her legs in the shower.
Okay, Marinette told herself, just head through the kitchen and go into your room. It might still be empty, but even if it's not, you can just say a quick hello and start unpacking. No big deal. You can do this.
She was nineteen years old, for goodness' sake. She could handle meeting a couple of strangers.
She pushed open the heavy door, noting that the lock was stiff and seemed liable to jam at any minute, took a deep breath, and walked in.
"Hey!" said the drop-dead-gorgeous model standing in her kitchen, giving her a friendly wave.
Marinette shrieked and dropped her keys.
"I am so sorry!" said the boy, darting forwards to pick up Marinette's keys just as she bent down to reach them. They bumped heads, and Marinette stumbled backwards, seeing stars.
This is not happening. Not. Happening. She could feel that her cheeks were flaming red.
"Sorry!" they both yelped at the same time, and then the boy gave her a sheepish smile and handed her the keys, which he'd beaten her to.
"Um, I didn't mean to frighten you," he said, his hand creeping to the back of his neck. "I – I'm moving in here, in case that wasn't clear. Nice to meet you! I'm—"
"I know who you are," Marinette blurted out, and then felt her forehead go just as crimson as her cheeks. WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT? WHY?!
Adrien Agreste, model and son of Gabriel Agreste, genius fashion designer, looked slightly crestfallen. "Ah," he said. "I should've guessed that would happen." He gave her another smile, dazzling this time, and Marinette could have sworn she actually felt her stomach flip right over.
Holy crap, she thought, dazed, he's actually prettier than he is in the magazines. I didn't think that was possible.
It was a face she'd seen hundreds of times – a face she'd even, truth be told, had pinned up around her bedroom mirror for a while during her early teens. Adrien had blonde hair that was cut shorter than she remembered, though long enough at the front to curl up slightly in a way that managed to look both effortless and perfectly styled. His green eyes were disarmingly wide and friendly – shouldn't someone who was this famous be arrogant and aloof or something? – and he had the longest eyelashes she'd ever seen. He also had a jawline that made Marinette understand why people used the world 'chiselled' and cheekbones to die for – oh, and he was about six feet tall, if not more. Was the universe actually trying to kill her?
"Sorry," she stammered. "I didn't mean – I mean – I didn't – I just wasn't expecting—"
"Uh, yeah," said Adrien, somehow managing to look embarrassed but still as though he was actually on set for a photoshoot. "Kind of weird, right? But I promise I'm pretty normal, even though I'm, uh…" Famous internationally? "…you know. At least, I think I am. I've been homeschooled up till now, so I don't have much of a frame of comparison." He smiled again, hopefully this time. "So do you mind if we sort of start again? Just pretend that you don't know who I am and get to know me as your flatmate?"
Flatmate. Adrien Agreste is my flatmate. Right. Holy SHIT.
"Sure," Marinette squeaked.
He stuck a hand out, and she stared at it blankly, completely unable to process what was happening. Adrien looked awkward. As she was beginning to realise was the norm for him, he still looked drop-dead gorgeous at the same time.
"Is shaking hands not a thing normal people do? Shit. I knew I'd mess up. Pretend I didn't do that."
It was at that precise moment that Marinette fell in love with him.
She'd been veering towards it from the moment she'd opened the door, really, but this was the definitive point – the moment when her brain just went yep, this is who we're going to pine over forever from now on. Staring into those open green eyes, she was pretty sure she could actually feel her bones turning to mush.
"No, no," she gabbled. "Shaking hands is totally cool. We do it all the time. Normal people, I mean, which is what I am – a normal person, totally. Yep! Nice to meet you, Adrien Ag— I mean, Adrien! So cool that we're going to be flatmates! Totally!" She grabbed the hand he was in the process of withdrawing and shook it, trying not to think about how warm and strong his hand was. Was her whole body going up in flames? Probably. He was looking bemused. Why wouldn't the kitchen floor just open up and swallow her right now? "Anyway, gotta go and start unpacking. You know how it is, hahahahaha! Okay bye!"
She marched towards the corridor, planning what inscription she wanted on her tombstone. Here lies Marinette Dupain-Cheng, killed by a mere glance from the most beautiful boy in the world. That sounded about right.
"Hey," Adrien called after her, and she stopped and turned, hoping against hope that somehow he thought 'blushing so brightly my whole head is glowing' was an attractive look. "You didn't mention your name."
"Oh, right." You idiot! "Um, it's Marinette."
"Marinette. That's such a pretty name! Nice to meet you, too." Adrien gave her one last smile, and her heart tried to explode out of her chest.
This time she didn't manage anything more than a squeak and a nod before she fled.
"Girl," said a feminine voice from Marinette's doorway, "you have way too much stuff."
Marinette straightened up from the box she was emptying of design notebooks, turning to see a strange girl leaning against her doorframe with total ease.
"Er… hi?"
"Hey!" was the cheerful reply. "I'm Alya. We're gonna be sharing a bathroom. Do you have a frying pan I can borrow? I forgot mine, and I have a serious craving for crepes right now."
Ten minutes later, Alya and Marinette were stuffing their faces with crepes and trading stories about their families. Alya, it transpired, was Martinican Creole-French. She had three sisters, much to Marinette's envy, though Alya informed her that having siblings was 'way overrated', and was taking a professional journalism MA.
"Gonna take over the world," she explained casually. "One ground-breaking article at a time."
Marinette glanced at her new friend. Alya was gorgeous, though not in a classical, model-esque way like Adrien; she had the kind of generous curves Marinette had wished for all her life, all hips and bust and exuberantly wavy hair. More than that, though, she seemed comfortable – confident, even – in her skin in a way that Marinette never had. She had absolutely no doubt that this outgoing, enthusiastic girl would achieve anything she set her mind to.
"Have you met our other flatmates?" Alya asked, rolling a crepe into a tiny ball and forcing the whole thing into her mouth. "Nuvvut n'ike?"
"What?"
She swallowed. "Know what they're like?"
A traitorous blush started to creep up the back of Marinette's neck; she could feel it trying to take over her face. "Uh, yeah, I bumped into one of them in here earlier – he must be in his room. He's…" She trailed off, trying to think how to describe him without using the words 'angel' or 'perfect'.
Adrien chose that moment to make an appearance, strolling into the kitchen in his jeans and shirt. He'd rolled up the sleeves, presumably to unpack, and Marinette started mentally composing a sonnet to his forearms before shaking herself out of it. She watched as Alya took him in, eyes widening.
"Oh, hi! I'm Adrien," he explained to her. "Nice to meet you!"
Alya, who was clearly a normal person capable of making normal small talk, introduced herself with perfect composure. Marinette stamped down a flicker of irrational jealousy. The second Adrien turned away to get a glass from a cupboard, however, Alya turned to her, eyes huge.
"Holy shit," she mouthed.
"I know!" Marinette hissed.
"Those crepes smell amazing," Adrien said wistfully as he filled his glass from the tap.
"They are," Alya told him. "Marinette grew up in a bakery, so I'm officially going to gain three stone this year."
"Cool!" He seemed to genuinely think it was. Marinette wondered if it was normal to swoon over a one-syllable word.
"Do you – would you – eat?" she said. Great! 10/10. He probably wants to marry you now, that was so smooth.
FUCK.
Luckily Alya came to her rescue, looking amused. "Yeah, come and join us! There's tons more batter."
Adrien shook his head, though he was staring at the crepes as if they were an oasis in the desert and he was dying of thirst. "I really shouldn't. I'm supposed to watch what I eat. If I gain even an ounce more than I'm supposed to, I get into trouble."
"All the more reason to eat up!" declared Alya. "Grab a fork."
He reached for one hesitantly. "Seriously, my father would kill me. I—"
"Adrien?" Alya interrupted. He jumped slightly, Marinette noticed, as if he'd been caught red-handed doing something terrible. Her swooning melted into something slightly less vapid as she wondered why he'd have such a strong reaction to something so innocuous.
"Yeah?"
"Now you're at university, he won't know."
The girls could practically see the cogs whirring in his head. "He won't know…" Adrien said slowly. "…Huh."
There was a pause.
Adrien pulled a chair out from the table with a loud scraping sound, threw himself into it, and grabbed a plate. He slathered it with the Nutella Alya had provided – Marinette, being a purist, preferred lemon and sugar – and proceeded to eat it in about two mouthfuls. Then he had another. And another.
And another.
"Theshe are AMASHING," he informed his flatmates. "Are there any more?"
Alya, with a raised eyebrow to Marinette, got up to heat up the frying pan again.
3B's fourth and final occupant turned up towards the end of the afternoon, when the crepes had all been finished and some level of unpacking had been achieved. Marinette and Alya were at the kitchen table, having an undeserved coffee break and continuing to bond over their shared love of Disney movies, when the door opened and a tall, dark-skinned boy strolled in. He wore a cap and glasses, beneath which were large amber eyes that beamed at the girls.
"Yo! I take it that you're my housemates?"
"That's us!" said Alya happily, lifting her coffee cup to him.
"Hi!" said Marinette with a shy smile. "Welcome to flat 3B."
His name was Nino and he was taking film studies and some music modules on the side. He seemed very easy-going and open, and it felt natural to talk to him as though Marinette had known him for years. Adrien came to hear what the commotion was about and introduced himself as well, and they all sat chatting for a while. Marinette had a sense of things settling into place, of boundaries and roles being established, that was strange and nice at the same time. Alya was clearly the Mum Friend™, a mixture of bossy and caring that Marinette instantly liked and felt at ease with. Nino was laid-back and funny, the kind of person who is invaluable in a group setting, but also good company on his own. And Adrien… Adrien was…
Perfect, sighed a voice in the back of her head. She shushed it. Yes, perfect, but also shy, kind, polite and sweet. He was attentive to everything the others said, only rarely making a contribution to the conversation, and somehow Marinette felt that he had yet to figure out who he was himself. She could relate to that.
Eventually they reluctantly agreed that they should all separate to continue the unpacking process, which kept them occupied for the next few hours. Alya got bored after a while and wandered into Marinette's room, which was beginning to look less like a tornado had hit it.
"Hey, do you mind if I shave my legs at you? It's weird being in my own room. I've shared one with my older sister for years."
Marinette, slightly taken aback but strangely flattered, said "Sure!" and cleared space on the bed. Alya was in checked pj shorts and a vest top that said 'Foxy lady' on them. She didn't seem bothered that she was showing a considerable amount of skin to what was essentially a stranger, but then again if Marinette looked like her she probably wouldn't be bothered either. She plonked herself on the bed and whipped out a razor and some moisturiser, carefully shaving both legs up to the knee while Marinette finished putting up some posters.
"How you feeling about leaving home?" Alya asked, looking critically at the back of her ankle.
Marinette gulped. She'd been trying not to think about it too hard, but it was definitely beginning to hit her. As cosy as this room was becoming, overly full of her belongings, it didn't smell like home. It was weird to think that her parents weren't simply in the other room – that she was totally responsible for things like cooking and shopping and general life from now on. She'd been so desperate to move out in the last couple of months, frustrated by even the fairly relaxed rules her parents insisted upon, but now that the moment was actually here, she felt… strange.
"Uhh…"
"Me too," said Alya simply, and she looked up with a grin. "It's nice to have someone here I feel comfortable with."
A warm feeling enveloped Marinette. She smiled back. "Same here."
"Want to eat pasta and watch The Princess and the Frog tonight so we don't sit and think about how weird it is to be adults?"
Marinette's smile widened. "That sounds perfect."
Later that night, Marinette lay in bed with the duvet pulled right up to her chin and listened to her parents' familiar voices on the phone. It was so wonderful to hear them, but she didn't feel as homesick as she had expected.
"So, what do you think of your new housemates?" asked her mother. "Do you think you'll get along with them?"
Marinette smiled. "Yeah. I think I got pretty lucky, actually. I'm looking forward to being part of flat 3B."