chapter two: please keep all hands safely in the ride

Marinette's world is yellow, nerves fraying at the ends as each corner she turns flashes with bright hazard signs. Don't mess up, it tells her, written in neon and blinding. Don't mess up, you failure. Fear creeps up and chokes her–her lungs working just fine, but the noose around her neck says otherwise.

There are purple impressions, poisoned anxiety leaving marks on her skin, bruising the yellow in their wake. It sinks into her soul and bites down hard until it almost snaps in two. Purple like death, like hatred, like doubt.

Her world is yellow, her world is purple–the polarity of day versus night pulling her apart until all that remains is a broken marionette.

Her world is yellow, purple too as she walks up to school to start a new year with fear stomping her heart as it beats in her chest.

Then everything turns purple, turns dark, as she falls and tumbles and messes up once again.

There's a little black box, starling black in a world filled with yellow and Marinette wants to run away so badly because–new things only hurt when she's not careful.

She's never careful.

But when she opens it and sees two polished earrings gleaming, gemstones unlike any other, her soul pushes her hand forward until she grabs them.

There's a sigh of relief when the world doesn't end.

And then–and then–her world becomes red, becomes black and there is a confidence that seems out of place as she leaps for the first time and tries to fly on her own.

She crashes into green, into gold and everything about her seems to readjust.

Later that day when the world is going wrong and all she's seeing is orange because Alya is orange and orange would make a better Ladybug than yellow–

–she's grounded when she stares up into green eyes, the pressure on her upper arms reassuring and his soul is touching hers sayingtrust me.

So she does and she flies, red trailing behind her every step and the world explodes with color.

The world is blue for a moment, blue and green and peacefully grey as a boy she hated and made her see red hands her umbrella and her heart thumps, thumps, thumps instead.

My heart is now yours, you know.

That's what her heart says when green eyes and blond hair are whisked away and all she's left with is wobbly knees and soft pitter-patter of rain.

Her world is red and sweet as Tikki snuggles close to her to tell her stories from ancient days past.

Her world is silver and bright as her mother praises the new blouse she made.

Her world is orange and warm as Alya hugs her tight, dragging her to confess all secrets of the heart.

Marinette's world is gorgeous and full of color and she's never been happier.

There are pinks in the sunsets as she and Chat Noir trapeze over Paris. Blues fade into purple and soon deep indigo as it becomes night and she smiles, her heart feeling full and her soul feeling light.

The world is beautiful, the world is mine, she thinks, invisible wings jutting from her back as she takes her final leap. Her face is facing the stars and the moon and she's walking on air, once, twice, thrice before landing on her balcony.

The world is mine, she thinks again, the world washing with pink as she releases her transformation.

Blue eyes blink, happy and content as the sun starts to descend and Tikki rests on top her head. The world is perfect, the world is–

Red, the world is red because that's all she can see as she doubles over and red stains her terrace.

Her world is white, bare as she lays there in the hospital late at night as the doctors speak to her parents.

We're not sure as to why, one starts, their voice muffled through the door.

She can hear mother sob and she can see her father's stern face.

Beside her, Tikki flies slowly and rests on her chest. In the darkness she whispers, "Marinette," her voice trembles. "There's something I need to tell you."

So she listens, her world turning yellow, purple painting her skin, and red dying her lips.

"No."

Tikki whines and nuzzles under chin. "I'm sorry, Marinette. I'm–" the little god stutters. "I'm trying my best."

Marinette screws her eyes shut, but the yellow remains, bright and burning as she tugs her a little closer.

"It's okay. We'll figure it out."

We have to figure it out.

Marinette doesn't go to school that week, buried in white and shackled in grey.

Ladybug doesn't go to patrol that week either, her predicament much the same.

Before fashion, before yellow, before purple, Marinette had one thing and that was her violin. A brown little thing that's secondhand. But all she has is nerves burning out with every step and more than enough energy surging through her that she just has to do something.

"Play something for me, Marinette," Tikki asks the day they find it, hidden in her closet behind old, old clothes.

She smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Anything for you, Tikki," she tells the little god, her words soaked with truth as she starts to tune it.

And she plays.

She plays the song of her heart, of pain, of anger, of joy that's been stomping on her rib-cage for weeks with no reprieve.

She plays with every moment sent in pray of somehow knowing the magic spell to make everything better. Just even the tune to erase the unease that rests in her stomach. Anything to wash the taste of iron from her mouth.

Tikki watches the madness, the rage, the–the—everything caught in this moment that Marinette decided to not be caught with strings that hoist her up and pull her in every direction.

Her violin stabs the world just as the world and her body and her life and her circumstances tried to stab her.

Sweat is slick at Marinette's brow as she tries to catch her breath, the sharp notes still ringing in her ears as she goes to wipe her eye.

"I guess I played too hard," she mumbles, an absentminded comment, but all thoughts die when she looks up and sees–

Adrien Agreste, perfection personified, standing there with shock rendering him speechless at her display.

A part of her wants to hide, wants to see yellow, but the larger part of her, the bigger part of her is tired and greets him instead.

"Can I help you, Adrien?" she asks, her voice trying to be soft, but it's rough around the edges.

He blinks, green eyes fluttering for a moment, when he finally speaks. "I didn't know you played."

You don't know a lot about me, she wants to say, but she doesn't. Instead, she opens. "I play when I'm stressed."

Floating behind him, Tikki peers behind a bookcase and gives Marinette an encouraging smile and Marinette can never say no to Tikki smiles.

Picking up her bow and placing her violin back on her shoulder, she tries to make her world fill the brim with red because Ladybug always knows what to do. "Any requests?" she asks, a smile tugging at her lips.

Adrien enters the classroom and shuts the door behind him, thinking for a moment before he answers. "Play me a love song?" he asks, not tells, but ask.

There's an understood please in there somewhere and it makes her heart twist and ache and she just wishes she knew what words to say.

But with Adrien her world has always been yellow, been purple and she's tired of continuing to see either.

Taking a deep breath, she pulls out as much red as possible, stretching it out until it's pink and lets her bow sing the love song she desperately wants to tell him.

Gentle knowing hums fill the air, yellow and purple finally becoming soft as pink mixes with them and rains down like cherry blossoms. She doesn't dare look at him, her heart too mixed up, but she plays.

She plays because she has to, she plays because she can, she plays because not playing means crying and right now, this is all she has.

I'm sorry, but I'm– she doesn't finish the thought.

Instead, as her world swirls melancholy and sweet, she whispers for only gods to hear her.

"I love you. Please let that be enough."

Unlike me–for time's running out and I don't know what to do.