Day 4 - Croissant Murder
"I'm only going to ask this once, what are you doing?"
Chat Noir pulled away from the glass window at speed and glanced up guiltily at the girl standing watching him. It was Marinette. Of course it was, this was her parents bakery. She lived here. But it was late. Very late. He wouldn't have expected her to be awake at this time, let alone out on the street.
She raised her eyebrows and cocked her head at him and he was reminded that he hadn't answered her question yet. "The food in the window looks good," he said, "and I was hungry."
Her features softened at his words and he could even spy a tiny amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips as she shook her head a little. "You do know that isn't even real, right? We can't leave food sitting out like that for display. There's all sorts of rules for that."
"It's fake?" he asked, turning back to the display of fluffy golden croissants, piled on top of one another in appealing mock disorder and surrounded by little pots of jams, pats of warm and slick butter, and wedges of cheese. In hindsight it was kind of obvious now. The butter would have melted, the cheese moulded, and the croissants would have hardened visibly if they were left out for any length of time. "Pity. It looks delicious."
His stomach growled loudly on cue and he looked back as Marinette frowned at the sound. "You must be hungry," she said, "if you think that plastic rubbish looks real. Do you want to come in and have a real one?"
"I'm not actually hungry per se, but that would still be awesome," he said, face lighting up at the idea.
"Okay. Then, um..." she glanced at the door, then looked up towards the top of the building before glancing back at him and biting her lower lip. "I kinda snuck out," she admitted to him, "and I hadn't really thought about how I'd get back in. A little help?"
"So, you snuck out, huh?"
"Yeah. But I had a good reason," Marinette told him as she munched on some cookies she had secured quietly a little earlier, and brought up to her bed for them to nibble on, "And no, I will not tell you why. It's my secret. Why are you out so late?"
"Ladybug and I had a patrol," he said through a mouthful of his own, "I passed by here on my way home ad got distracted by the food."
"Fake food," she laughed, continuing to do so as she continued, "Don't you eat?"
"Of course I eat," he said, rolling his eyes at her, "I wasn't even hungry when I first stopped. I just have a very strict diet on what is healthy and what's not. And I get a very limited amount of the not healthy stuff." It was true. His father didn't like him to eat badly because not only would it change his modelling physique, but it would set a bad precedent for the Agreste name if he was constantly seen eating junk by the people who mattered. But that didn't mean he wasn't allowed any snack foods at all. Well, except for right now.
"I just...I have this job," he said, wondering how to explain, "and for a few weeks a year it gets more intense than any other time. My...boss, he, um...I have all sweets and junk food completely cut off so I don't get...lazy."
Fat. So he didn't get fat. His father didn't want him to put on any extra weight right before fashion week. And especially not after his measurements had already been taken, or garments had already been fitted and adjusted to the point that he could barely breathe if he chose to wear a thick under-shirt.
But he wasn't stupid. He knew he was capable of indulging a little without overdoing it. Besides, he burnt off enough extra calories as Chat Noir that he often had to pack in extra calories to avoid losing weight. But no one knew that and so Adrien was banned from sweets and pastries. Which only made him want them more.
"That's stupid," Marinette said with a snort and he jumped a little where he sat. He'd almost forgotten where he was or that she was here. "From now on, you're coming over here when you want something and Regular Guy Chat can't get it."
"Oh really. Whenever I want something? Is that a promise?" It had slipped out before he could remember that this wasn't Ladybug chatting with him, but his sweet and often shy classmate instead. Her face darkened to crimson in perfect pace with his own overpowering blush.
"Do you want your croissants or not?" she asked with a false air of nonchalance, unaware that the colour of her face betrayed the effect his words had had on her.
"Yes please," he said, desperate to distract her and himself, "I could murder a croissant, Princess."
