"Fine. What is it you want to talk about?"
Before Marinette's eyes, the cool, collected Adrien who still felt like a stranger melted away, and in his place was someone whose eyes were lit up with excitement and affection, making him look about seventeen.
He said enthusiastically: "I want to throw a party!"
Marinette put her fork down. She was beginning to feel distinctly dizzy. Ever since she'd met Adrien, she'd had a very fixed and definite idea of him. Quiet, gentlemanly, sweet, and occasionally a little goofy when the mood struck him. But now she was having to reconcile so many different sides of him that she couldn't really believe they were all the same person. There was the irresponsible driver, the gorgeous but slightly pretentious model, the party boy, the arrogant douche…
…The boy who had been overwhelmed by Nino's request to be best man, the boy who had called himself a 'shit friend', the boy whose childhood had been silently overshadowed, the boy who was tired of constantly apologising.
And then there was this Adrien, who was practically bouncing in his seat with delight at his own plan.
"A surprise engagement party!" he burst out. "For Nino and Alya! I want to hire a big hall and invite all their friends and family, and have a cake, and music, and balloons, and champagne—lots of champagne—and—and—whatever else you have at engagement parties."
Oh no. Marinette gulped. I think I preferred it when he was mean and rude. This was definitely not helping her get over her crush. At this rate, Adrien Agreste was going to end up giving her whiplash.
"Okay," she heard herself saying.
"You think it's a good idea?"
"Yeah, I do, actually. I was thinking of organising something—not on that scale, exactly, but with someone else to plan things with it'll be easier."
"So you'll help?" That thousand kilowatt smile again. She felt herself sinking into his vibrant green eyes.
"I'll help," she promised.
"Thank you!" He was practically incandescent with joy. "I just really want to make it up to Nino, you know? He's been such an amazing friend, and I—"
For a second, just a heartbeat, Adrien's face dropped, and Marinette caught a glimpse of the painful guilt she thought she had seen the other day. Then he made a visible effort to plaster the smile back on his face. Why does he do that? she thought. All that rubbish about being done with apologies, but he still feels he has to put this mask on.
"—I just want to celebrate their engagement in style," he was saying. He became abruptly business-like. "There's a big hotel just down the road from my block of flats; I was thinking of hiring their function room."
"Not Le Grand Paris?" interjected Marinette, with just a hint of sarcasm. "I'm sure Chloé's father would give you an excellent deal."
Adrien's lips twitched. "I just figured it might be nice for Alya's mother not to have to cater for her daughter's party."
"How wise of you." She ate another mouthful of her pastry to hide a smile that she couldn't entirely suppress.
"Merci. Now, I'm relying on you to find a good date when Alya is free—I'll cross-reference with Nino. And you'll have to help me with the décor, of course. And—"
Marinette was impressed at the sheer scope of his plans. When she tentatively brought up the issue of cost, it was waved away instantly. If it had been anything else, she would have been irritated by the casual disregard for money, which in her small world was one of the concerns that dominated everyday life; but Alya and Nino deserved the best, and they were going to get it, dammit. She became engrossed in the planning, barely noticing when Adrien ordered another coffee for them both, and starting a list of things to do in the notebook she always carried around with her.
It wasn't until she got a text from Alya (asking how the 'date' was going) and glanced at her phone screen that she realised it was somehow half past five. How on earth had that happened?
"I should go," she sighed, regarding the double-page spread she had filled with notes. They certainly had made a good start, anyway. "I have loads to do before work tomorrow."
Adrien downed the last of his coffee. "All right," he agreed. Even his bottomless well of excitement had been temporarily drained. "But we'll meet up again next week and compare notes?"
"Oui, oui." Marinette rolled her eyes. "Same time, same place?"
"Sounds good to me." Adrien watched her as she tucked the notebook back into her handbag. She could feel his gaze, almost as if it was something physical settling over her skin. She wished she didn't have such a tangible reaction to it, a faint tingling that heightened the blush on her cheeks. "So, what work do you have to do?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing major, just a couple of alterations. Claude—that's my boss—gets most of the exciting stuff, like actually making clothes, but he says in a few years he might start delegating some to me." She felt more at ease talking to him now, which was a relief.
"A few years?" said Adrien. "Hmm. Where do you work, then?"
"Retoucherie Girard. We specialise in men's clothing, but we do adjustments or alterations on most things. I've been working there for a couple of years now—Claude took me on even though I had pretty much no experience other than my degree. For a while I just did shifts behind the counter, but now he gives me work to take home."
"And do you enjoy working there?"
There was a faint note of something almost like accusation in his tone that made Marinette answer defensively.
"I'm working in my chosen career field. Isn't that more than what most graduates can say these days?"
"That's not what I asked," he pointed out quietly.
"Of course I enjoy it," she retorted. "I'm getting plenty of experience. That's what counts in the fashion industry. You of all people should know that."
He looked at her, eyes slightly narrowed, as if he was turning thoughts over in his head. "And how many hours a week do you work?"
"Why do you want to know?" she demanded, irritated.
"It just seems to me that this Claude is taking advantage of you."
"Excuse me?!"
"You said you couldn't spare much time to see me because of work—on a weekend. I saw Nino the other night and he said you're always busy, and Alya doesn't really see much of you these days." Marinette spluttered. Nino, you traitor! "You're doing labour-intensive, menial tasks that are probably exceptionally poorly paid, all for the vague promise of 'experience' and a more concrete career path 'in a few years'. It doesn't sound like a dream job to me, that's all."
Furious at how Adrien was poking at an already sore subject (and one upon which Chloé had touched earlier), Marinette flushed again, though with anger this time. "I never said it was a dream job!" she snapped. "No one lands their dream job at my age!"
"Alya is well on her way there. Nino has. And I'm doing pretty well for myself." He said this calmly, with no trace of arrogance for once, but she was too angry to appreciate it.
"I can't believe you're belittling me for daring to work for my career, rather than having it landed in my lap!" she shot at him. "Unlike you, a mention of my surname doesn't open doors wherever I go!"
He raised an eyebrow. "I didn't—"
"I happen to believe that you have to put effort into anything if you want to be rewarded, and personally I'd much rather feel like I've actually earned my success," she continued cuttingly, and was vindictively gratified when he looked down and clenched his jaw, evidently feeling the sting of the insult. "I'd like to hear what magical solution you have that will suddenly give me the advantage over all the other aspiring designers in Paris who are taking on unpaid internships in the hope it'll get them somewhere."
"Fine," Adrien snapped back. "I think you should start a business."
"What?" She was so surprised it came out as a breathless gasp. "Are you mad?"
"Of course I'm not. You should start your own business. You could open a shop. Launch your own fashion line. Do some alterations too, but only if you wanted. Actually do work you enjoy."
Marinette floundered for the second time that day. She had the unsettling, panicky feeling that the world was suddenly widening around her. She liked it the way it was—small and familiar and comforting, even when it was mundane or difficult. The idea of change, and a change so monumental, was simply impossible to consider.
"I—I couldn't!"
"Why not?" The challenging look was back.
"Because starting a business requires way too many skills I don't have!"
"Then learn," he suggested.
"It's not that simple!"
"Maybe you only think that because you haven't tried."
"Where the hell do you get the idea I have the money for this kind of venture?!" she screeched, loudly enough to draw disapproving glances from the surrounding tables. Yelling in public was what the English did.
Adrien shrugged. "If you wanted to do it badly enough, you'd work it out."
For one second, she was sure he was riling her up on purpose. Then she decided that she was too angry to care. With sharp, impatient movements, she picked up her notebook, shoved it into her bag, got to her feet, and glared down (or, rather, glared across, given that he wasn't far off her eye-level even when he was seated) at Adrien.
"You are impossible," she ground out. "I'm leaving."
"See you next week," he said, smirking.
"Well, that went well."
"Tikki, I don't want to talk about it."
"But it did go well!" persisted the kwami. "Most of it. You didn't throw coffee on him! And he apologised!"
"Barely," Marinette pointed out. "And then he ruined it all by being a twat again."
"What's a twat?"
Marinette glanced down at Tikki, peeking out of the handbag with large, innocent eyes. "Um… never mind."
"I think the party is a great idea!" enthused the tiny god. "I'm so excited for you to help Adrien plan it!"
Marinette wanted to be excited, she really did, but she was still fuming about Maybe you only think that because you haven't tried. She didn't answer, walking down the road so fast she was beginning to lose her breath.
"Marinette?"
"What?"
"Isn't the car the other way?"
Marinette skidded to a halt. "Ugh!" she exclaimed. This is definitely his fault. I don't know how, but it is. She stormed back in the opposite direction, now equal parts annoyed and frustrated. Oh well—maybe the exercise would work some of the fury off. She didn't really know why she was so angry, just that she wanted to grab Adrien by the shoulders, look him in the eye, and—her brain went off on a little wander, and she just caught it back in time—and SHAKE him. Obviously. What else could she want from him? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Her phone started to ring when she'd nearly retraced all her steps. She fished it impatiently out of her pocket and snapped, "Well?"
"Mari? What's wrong?" Alya's voice was instantly full of concern. "Are you okay?"
Marinette sighed, regretting her temper. "Hi, Alya. Sorry. I'm fine, I just… Adrien drives me crazy."
"What happened? Do I need to hire a hitman?"
"Ugh… no." She felt some of the tension drain out of her at hearing her best friend's voice. Alarmingly, tears rose to take its place. Horrified, she beat them back. No way would she cry over Adrien. This was ridiculous. "It's fine. I just got annoyed at him because he said I should quit my job and start up my own business."
There was a pause on the other end of the phone, so long that Marinette actually took it away from her ear to check she hadn't accidentally hung up or put Alya on mute. She hadn't.
"Alya? You still there?"
"You totally should start up a business," breathed Alya. "You'd be amazing at it!"
"Not you too!" Marinette groaned, starting to laugh in spite of herself. "Surely I don't have to explain to you why it's impossible?"
"Mari, c'mon, can you imagine? You could design and sell all your clothes! And do a tailor-made service! You're already gonna make my wedding dress—I'll be your first client! Aw, do it, Mari, please…"
Marinette chewed her lip. She knew if Alya knew how badly she'd reacted to Adrien, she wouldn't be pushing the issue, but she also just wanted the topic to be done with. "Well, we could talk about my career plans, or we could talk about the fact that Adrien was having coffee with Chloé Bourgeois before I got there."
"WHAT?!"
"Ow!"
"Sorry. What did you just say? Did you say Adrien was with Chloé? Did I hear that right?"
"Yep." Marinette told Alya about the bitchy comments. Alya called Chloé a word that made Marinette gasp and reprove her.
"Oh, calm down, you're like an old spinster. She is, anyway. I don't know why Adrien hangs out with her. What did he want in the end?"
Merde. Marinette had forgotten to plan out an answer that wasn't 'He wants to plan a secret engagement party for you and Adrien'. She panicked.
"Umm… he just wanted to, uhh…" GIVE ME SOMETHING, BRAIN! ANYTHING! "…To, uh, talk about… you and Nino." NOT THAT!
"I know that," said Alya impatiently. "What about us? I've been dying of curiosity all day."
"He umm…" Inspiration struck. "He wanted to ask me about your relationship! For the speech. The best man's speech." I'm a genius. "Like, if there's anything major he's missed, stuff like that."
"Ohh." Alya sounded relieved. "That's actually a great idea."
Oh no, Marinette realised. Now I'm gonna have to make sure he actually does that with me.
"Yeah! That's what I thought."
"You didn't tell him about the Polish karaoke bar, did you?"
"No, Alya, I didn't. Though now you mention it, it is one of my favourite stories…"
"Mari!"
"I'm gonna text him as soon as you hang up."
"Marinette!"
"Byeeeee," she called sweetly, ending the call, though not before she could hear Alya's impotent screeching at the other end.
She grinned to herself. It was rare for Alya not to get the last word in, but when it happened, it was a triumph to be savoured. Feeling better, she stuck her phone away and said, "Come on, Tikki, let's go home."
Soo... Not to bring you guys down or anything, but things are pretty shit for me right now. A couple of weeks ago, on the night of our first wedding anniversary, my husband and I found out we have lost our third baby at just six weeks of pregnancy. It's honestly... not how I would have expected my first year of marriage to pan out. I've had some really incredible times and I'm lucky enough to have married my best friend and the love of my life, but I'm really struggling at the moment to cope with all the physical and mental effects of multiple miscarriages and I'm just so fricking fed up of feeling ill and pathetic and sad. Ughhh.
Anyway: sorry to overshare, but a) it kind of helps and b) it's the reason I've been so slow in updating! I've finally got my head round to a space where I can write a bit more so hopefully chapters will be more regular from now on. I ugly-cry every time I get a kind comment. I can't even explain how amazing it is that people are reading this silly little story and actually liking it! You guys are awesome! :D
About this chapter: 1) The Polish karaoke bar is a story that happened to me. I am not proud of it. 2) My husband is super protective of me and has been known to nag me about my editing job because it started out basically as an unpaid internship. I'm now manager of a team, less than a year later, and the Senior Editor, so it's paid off pretty well - but it still infuriates me every time he tells me I'm letting people take advantage of me. At the same time, I know it comes from a place of wanting me to have everything I want without ever suffering for it, so I appreciate his concern. Hopefully you guys can see that the same goes for Adrien, and he's not ENTIRELY being dickish here... even if he needs to work on his communication skills.
P.S.: I've also been working as a Beta for imthepunchlord (on AO3). On the off chance you haven't read her incredible works of genius yet, head over and check them out. Lucky Fox Paradox is what I'm working on now! :)