Rating gets bumped up to T for this chapter.
He had just set Marinette down when Madame Bustier called over to them.
"Adrien! Mari! Great job. Here, these just came in from the shop."
With that she passed a black mask to him and a red mask to Marinette.
"You need to start getting used to wearing those when you're dancing, so use them until dress rehearsal."
Adrien turned the somewhat flimsy black mask in his hands. Opening night was a little over a month away. Today, a Friday, marked the second week since he gained a new partner. The company had finished Act I already, and were now focusing on the second half of the story that contained most of the action. "Chat Noir" had already soothed a monster and found his Princess (to be fair, Chloe had already learned all the steps in her three scenes). Now all that was left in the plot was his fight with the evil sorcerer, and then the Red Lady's sacrifice.
That's what they were working on today: the final pas de deux. It involved a lot of lifts for him, but far fewer of the jumps that made his ankles sore.
He looked over to his partner to find her struggling with finding a way to tie the red mask around her ballet bun.
"Need help, Marinette?"
She pinked a bit. This was a common reaction coming from her, he had learned.
"Ah, thank you…Adrien."
He took the mask strands and came up behind her. "Hold the front," he mumbled under his breath as he made a quick knot.
Her hair was shiny from exertion, but still looked soft from this up close. And the back of her pale neck was right there, vulnerable and…
She whipped around. "Thanks!" she chirped. The mask covered most of her blush, Adrien noted disappointedly. "Should I do you next?"
He cleared his throat. "Sure, let me grab some water first."
A water break later, and Adrien was masked. He noticed in the mirror how the black framing his bright green eyes really did add to the illusion that he was a black cat.
However, it was a kind of strange weight on his face, and cut off his peripheral vision. Hence, practice.
Their choreographer clapped her hands. "Great. From the top, please."
They took their positions. Marinette sank to the floor, dramatically crouched as the piano banged out a few distressful tones. Chat Noir rushed to her side, his face furrowed with shock and anger.
He slowly helped her up, letting her lean most of her weight upon him. In this scene, she had just taken a finishing blow meant for Chat Noir. Their final dance is one of pain and mutual farewells.
"Yes good, support her. Just like that. And turn! 2, 3, 4…"
The choreographer continued counting the beat, but he could barely hear her. Not when the enigmatic Red Lady was staring back at him, blue blue blue surrounded by that red.
Had her waist always been this small? Now that muscle memory was taken into effect, he was noticing things. Maybe his selective vision helped too. He could only see her.
And her emotions were clear. Every move, although calculated and clean, was hesitant and accompanied with a small twinge of pain. Still, she soldiered on.
"And…up!"
Like a robot on command, he lifted her small but strong body above him. All the while, her eyes never left his. In previous practices she had quaked a bit in fear when the lift began, but there was none of that this time. She arched her back while resting her knee on his shoulder and all he could do was stare at her in awe.
The song was nearing its end now. He lowered her down to the floor, still entangled with him. She went on pointe as he helped her spin, his hands gripped onto the bodice of her leotard. She ended her turns and looked at him, once again.
There was something in those cerulean orbs that urged him to understand. Something sweet. It looked like how his mother used to look at him when she tucked him in at night when he was a boy. A warmth.
And just like that, she slipped from his arms.
He cried, but no sound came out. Only the piano screamed his anguish as his lady laid on the floor lifeless.
The piano ended. The room was silent, save for his heavy breathing. Since when had he been panting? Where did the music go? He was enraptured in the moment.
A sniffle broke him out of his reverie. Madame Bustier stood in front of them, wiping at her eyes.
"Wonderful…just wonderful you two!"
He looked immediately to his partner. She was sitting up now, definitely not lifeless like her character. Adrien let out a breath he wasn't conscious of holding.
She smiled at him, a sun in the evening of Paris.
"Good job," she said, extending a loose fist towards him.
He bumped it back. "Good job," he echoed.
Rehearsal ended early that day.
He got found nine text notifications on his phone when he got to his bag.
hey
hey bro
hey Adrien
ur coming tonight right
you better not forget
hey
hello
let me know you got this bro
YOU BETTER BE THERE!
The last one was followed by some skulls. Adrien gulped.
He glanced at the time. Of course! Nino had been telling him for weeks about how he was dancing the solo in tonight's contemporary performance. Rays of…something, it was called. Friday, 8:00.
The clock on his phone read 7:36.
Normally, he would still be stuck in rehearsal but they had been let out early so he couldn't use that as an excuse to see his best friend's performance next week. And besides, it wasn't fair to Nino. When Adrien had first joined the company, he was the only one who approached him because of his "sick shoes bro," not because they wanted to discuss his father. He was a true friend, to the end.
"You look…stressed."
It was rare for his partner to be the first to initiate the conversation. Her friend, the one she always went home with, was waiting by the door.
"I almost forgot about the contemporary performance tonight. My good friend's in it." An idea struck. "What are you doing the rest of the night? You should come watch."
Marinette stammered. Actually stammered. "Uh actually A-Alya and I were going to…"
"…probably order some takeout and then watch 'Mafiosa' but that can wait right Marinette?"
Her friend had appeared behind her, placing her hands firmly on the ballerina's shoulders. If Adrien didn't know any better, it almost felt as if she was pushing the nervous girl towards him.
She extended a hand. "I'm Alya, by the way. Newly-promoted Costume Manager, at your service."
He shook her hand. "Of course, you can come too. The more there to support Nino, the happier he will be."
"Sounds fun!"
Marinette still looked unsure. "Um, I'm not dressed right."
Her outfit looked fine to Adrien, but maybe girls were extra careful about things like sport shorts and leg warmers.
Alya's eyes glinted. "Come with me."
She whisked the other girl out of the studio, and Adrien felt like he had no other option but to follow.
They were led to the costume shop door. With an order to Adrien to wait outside, the two girls entered the room. After five minutes, Alya popped her head out.
"Adrien, red or blue?"
Both were equally good and brought up images of that spellbinding pas de deux earlier. "Uh, red."
She left without another word. Moments later, Marinette stepped out.
"Won't somebody get mad if I'm wearing this?"
"Honey, I'm the one who would be getting mad. You look cute."
Her black tights and converse from earlier had remained, but a long gray sweater covered her like a dress. He saw her hair for the first time released from its usual bun—when she brushed a strand back, her ears glinted with red costume jewels.
"Nice enough?" asked Alya.
He nodded. Vigorously.
"Good. Let's get to the theatre."
"What's this supposed to be about again?"
"I have no idea, actually."
Nino was on stage and shirtless, just like all the other male dancers. Bright orange paint was splashed upon his torso in a not-quite-tribal pattern. He stood in the middle of a circle of dancers, a bit unrecognizable to Adrien without his glasses.
His hands were raised and he just…stood there, frozen.
Alya popped her head, waving a program half-heartedly.
"It says it's supposed to be about 'the interplay between humanity's rise and the sun cycles.'"
He frowned. "That sounds…really vague."
"Right?"
They all turned their eyes to the stage once again. Nino had finally started to move now, leaping into the air with impressive strength. Unlike the smoothness that Adrien was used to, the contemporary performance had a lot of jagged movements and the music was dark and foreboding.
All of the sudden, his friend stood still again, center stage. Two female dancers disappeared and came back with drums and…
"Oh god, please don't tell me that's what I think it is."
Nino grabbed the phallic-shaped sticks and began banging on the drums in time with the music. Even worse, his friend began yelling to add to the cacophony.
The dancers began to all partner up and grind in ethnic motions.
Marinette squeaked beside him.
He had only two hands, so he used one to cover his partner's fragile eyes while face palming. Best friend or not, Nino certainly had a different view on what he considered "art."
However, his friend looked stern but content up on that stage. Full of life. He must've practiced his solo for hours, and yet it still looked fresh.
Finally, the music ended and he couldn't help the relief that washed over him when the house lights came up.
He turned to Marinette right away. "I am so sorry about that. I had no idea that…"
She waved him off. "I-it's fine Adrien! I'm glad I was able to spend time…uh experiencing other types of dance from our company."
"No no, I really mean it, I feel bad." His stomach took that moment to growl menacingly.
"Let me make it up to you. Do you like Chinese?"
Before she could answer, Alya eagerly nodded. "Yes. Yes we do."
"That was 45 minutes of my life that I'm never getting back."
Nino viciously finished his bite of fried rice and glared at Alya. "It was 45 minutes of understanding human nature. Maybe you just didn't get it."
They continued to argue back and forth over their Chinese food. Adrien began tuning them out and turned to Marinette, who was back in her dance clothes and pushing a piece of chicken with her chopsticks. She must've still been mentally scarred.
He grimaced. "Sorry, again. If I had any idea that that's where this performance was going to go, I wouldn't have even suggested it."
She smiled at him then, and his heart literally started pounding in his ears.
"O-oh no I'm fine! I'm just glad I got to spend time with…" her voice became low and quiet.
"Come again?"
"…you."
His heart warmed. But words were never his strong point, so he changed the subject.
"So uh, would you ever do contemporary?"
She giggled. "Nothing like that, no. But I have done a little in the past…"
"Wait, are we going to talk about Mari's Youth Prix run?" Alya interjected.
Adrien was surprised. "You competed in the Youth Prix?"
"N-never in the rounds final I mean Final Rounds but I did get the chance to compete, yes."
The Youth American Grand Prix was the world's most famous competition for non-professional dancers from 9 to 19. Adrien had the honor of competing and getting Bronze in the Finals in New York before he got contracted to the ballet company. Before then his father would enter him every year, with looks of disapproval if he didn't make it to the Finals.
"That's amazing! When did you compete, I competed for a couple of years."
Marinette looked slightly embarrassed. "From about age 11 to 15, I think."
"Why stop so soon?"
"I had an ankle injury."
The mood at the table dropped. Even the usually optimistic Alya looked troubled.
"Oh no! It's not that bad. I got back on my feet after all and started dancing again, and now I'm here." She smiled wistfully. "Madame Bustier was my dance teacher before the accident. Oh, but don't tell anyone! I don't want people to think that I'm getting special treatment or anything."
"You're not," Adrien said, before even realizing it. "…Getting special treatment, I mean. You really deserve this role. No one could bring such strength and depth to the Red Lady's dances as you do, Marinette."
Her blue eyes looked up at him then, mesmerized. "You really think that?"
Her stare was contagious. He swallowed down the lump in his throat. She was starting to have this effect on him, an emotion he couldn't quite name when he saw her.
"Yeah, I do."
They finished the rest of their meal in peaceful silence.
"Okay. Why didn't you tell me you were dating?"
Adrien groaned. "They say 'goodbye' and two minutes later you're already asking me this?"
"Dude, what was that? I've never seen flirting more obvious." Nino suddenly lunged onto the sidewalk, dramatically clutching his heart.
"Oh, mi amour Marinette! Your dancing has captured me both body and soul!"
"Quit that."
Nino laughed and retired his dramatic pose. "I've known you for two years, Adrien, and you haven't dated a girl once."
"Yeah, well, dancers don't really have extra time."
"Pssh, that's bull. At least ask her out casually."
"She's not that kind of girl alright?!"
His friend waggled his eyebrows. "How would you know?"
Adrien was not normally an aggressive person, but he suddenly emphasized with that cliché moment in anime where the main protagonist slams his friend into the nearest wall.
In reality, he just glowered.
"She's…she's not. She's incredibly kind and sweet and…strong."
Nino nodded to that.
"Crazy, to recover from an injury so fast. Explains why she's only in the corps."
Adrien smiled. "I like resilience in a person."
"Resilience? You have the vocabulary of a 50 year old. Is that what you'll tell her when you ask her out?"
"Who said anything about asking her out?" Adrien's eyes starting shifting and he couldn't quite explain why.
Nino just grinned knowingly and patted his friend on the back.
"Come on man. One Punch Man's not going to watch itself."
Nino finally left around 1:00 in the morning. Adrien collapsed on his bed again, Plagg coming up to nudge him with his nose.
"What, you wanna sleep here tonight buddy?" Adrien muttered sleepily. He rolled over to scoop Plagg into his arms.
What a long day.
Dance rehearsal, Nino's….thing, dinner out with more than two people, and then three solid hours of video games and anime with some popcorn he had found stuck in the back of a cabinet.
His sleepy mind mulled over Marinette. He had dated before, thank you very much Nino. Although, his only experience was Chloe briefly forcing him on a few dates and hanging off of him in lycée, showing him off like he was a branded handbag. Which, he guessed, was somewhat true.
Gabriel Agreste designed and approved. He snorted.
Anyways, the whole thing was called off (by him) in a matter of days with the excuse that his studies were taking too much of his time…which wasn't exactly a lie. Before he went pro, his father made him take Chinese and composing lessons with a tutor. He didn't really have much of a teenage life.
Marinette. Did she have a normal life? Laughing with Alya over lunch? Struggling to write an essay for English? Maybe she had even dated before.
Imagining her with some mystery teenage boyfriend suddenly made his stomach drop. He grimaced. Why was he so interested in his dance partner's romantic life? Surely it didn't matter if she was dating anyone, even now. They were just colleagues.
He couldn't stop this dark feeling though. Somehow, she had become the thing he looked forward when he woke up every morning. Just her smiles and her dancing and the way she looked at him, like she wouldn't mind if the real him was just some dude who talked to his cat and was only in this line of work because he wanted to postpone the inevitable.
She was his partner. His. Other men be damned.
Adrien shook his head. Whoa, where had that come from? Exhaustion, he concluded. Nino's stupid, prying words. Sleep.
Sleep.
It was around the third time that Adrien rubbed his eyes when Marinette walked in.
She hadn't noticed him yet, but his eyes followed her. Life had a way of messing with him, because his rest was constantly interrupted with dreams about her. And the next night. And the next. He wouldn't remember much in the morning, and the lack of sleep was making him cranky.
She was stretching now, feet spread far apart on the wooden floor. While she wasn't facing him, he could make out her slightly troubled expression in the mirror. The curves of her entire body looked inviting.
He wanted to go over to her, but what would he say? Hey there partner, just wanted to mention that you have a distracting lock of hair outside your bun. Oh, and I've been having these dreams about you and right now your stretching is affecting my concentration. The poor girl was somewhat uncomfortable around him already.
Maybe there was some sort of cure for this…whatever. Adrien had danced with female partners since he was 11! Yeah, he liked girls and had the occasional crush growing up, but this was bordering on infatuation.
Whenever he wasn't dancing, he was thinking about her. The idea that this somewhat quiet girl could become this dominating and fierce dancer whenever she put on that mask made him giddy. If she hadn't gotten injured, he was sure she would've been promoted to a lead position already.
He wanted to be her friend.
And more, if given the chance, his mind whispered. Like the rest of his feelings, he swallowed it down. Thank God he had years of training to do so.
She finally noticed him on the other side of the room. He pretended to be interested in the label of his water bottle.
"Hey there. Um, could you help me again with the mask please?" She held out the item in question to him.
He had to clear his dry throat. "Sure, no problem."
Except it was a problem. He had been looking forward to this moment the entire weekend, ever since those stupid stupid dreams had started.
It was unnatural, how much he enjoyed this simple action of brushing away her hair to tie the mask together. She shivered when his fingertips lingered along her nape.
Without a word, his masked lady turned to him, hands stretched out to return the favor.
It was his turn to shiver as a cold wave of anticipation ran up his spine. Her cool fingers rustling through his hair were both stimulating and calm. Before he could relish in the bliss, she was done.
But not without a quick pat to his head.
He almost had a heart attack right then and there.
"Ready to work, kitty?" she teased.
Yes. Yes. God yes. He sunk to his knees, actually daring to briefly kiss her hand. It just felt right.
He already was so much freer with the mask on. His feet were lighter, body more sure as he moved along with her light form. They would leap in tandem with timing of the music, small smiles shared when they finished a series of difficult steps in a row.
She was really his one and only Lady.
And right now, he was her Chat Noir.
A/N: I have to go study but here take this Ballet AU trash.
On a side note, I swear Nino just writes himself. He makes me laugh out loud when I'm writing, which would be rather egocentrical if it wasn't, y'know, Nino.
Special thanks to phantomwolfblue, DJKatt, Anony mouse101, Shidake, and Shinobi of life for reviewing!