Adrien Agreste was perfectly aware that the way he was feeling, the way he was longing almost painfully for his phone to chime, was completely irrational.

It was simply ridiculous how fast and how hard he had fallen for the faceless girl (if she was even truly a woman) on the other side of his phone's screen. It was insane. He knew next to nothing about her—for all he knew she could look like a mountain troll with fangs and beady eyes who ate little children for breakfast—and yet here he was, sitting in his depressing office feeling none-the-wiser and pining over her so hard that he couldn't focus on his daily tasks.

He reluctantly opened another heavy file, sighing deeply, trying to concentrate on the dreaded task of finding suitable candidates for a soon-available internship directly under his father. For some reason, all the portfolios he had reviewed so far were dead set on proving their ability through grandiose ideas and out of this world concepts. But more often than not in fashion, out of this world also mean completely ridiculous on a real model, and pretty impossible to sew even if it looked good on paper. At this rate, Adrien would be forced to choose the least lame of the lot instead of the best one, and he knew his father wouldn't be pleased with that.

His mind wandered despite himself as he tried to go over another new applicant's over the top and ridiculous portfolio.

It had been six months. Six long months since the first telltale buzz of his phone one very early morning had put a smile on his lips. He truly had enjoyed their little chats since that blessed morning when he had been the fortunate recipient of her angry rant aimed at her best friend. Her funny and witty replies had prompted him to laugh out loud alone in his kitchen. His first true, genuine laugh in a long time. Her impromptu company, though only virtual, cast a ray of sunshine in his otherwise boring and lonely life.

The next morning he had toyed with his phone pensively for long minutes, hesitating. What if she thought he was a creep? What if their conversation the day before had only been a happy accident? In the end, he texted her quickly, perfectly aware that odds were she wouldn't reply.

[Me]: Good morning princess! =^.^=

He had hopefully stared at the blank screen for a good ten minutes, without it buzzing in his palm. Disappointed but resigned, he had put his phone back in his pocket and had went on with his day, an uncomfortable lump weighing down his stomach. After all, this was fully to be expected: no matter how much he had enjoyed their little impromptu conversation, it was nothing more than the lucky consequence of a typo on her part.

And no matter how hard he had wished otherwise, he had no place in her life whatsoever.

Then, at around nine o'clock that morning, in the middle of some photoshoot, he had felt his phone buzz in his pants. He motioned to the photographer that he needed a moment and fished out his phone with hasty fingers. Anticipation gnawing at him, he had fished it out almost immediately, unlocking his screen with a knot in his stomach.

[Unknown number]: Good morning to you too, Monsieur Chat. Told you I'm not an early bird, sorry if I kept you waiting.

Adrien had let out a huge sigh of relief upon reading those words, a much larger one than would have been appropriate in such circumstances. Grinning openly and earning himself a scowl from the already annoyed photographer, Adrien had quickly typed back,

[Me]: No jogging with your buddy this morning I take it? =^.^=

He truly had done his best to focus on the photo shoot after that, trying his best to please Jean-Claude and finish the session as fast as he could. When he finally had regained his sweet freedom for a brief moment, he had whipped out his phone to look for her answer.

[Unknown number]: Nah. I outran her and it pissed her off. I think I'm in the clear for a few months at least. Until her next crazy idea.

[Me]: I was half expecting death-threats again this morning.

[Unknown number]: I truly didn't want to bother you again.

[Me]: To be honest, I missed you bugging me, m'lady. I was looking forward to talking to you more. =^.^=

[Unknown number]: What is it we are doing right now if it isn't talking?

At that he had laughed again in the mostly silent studio, earning himself some weird looks from the makeup artists busy cleaning their tools. He hadn't cared the slightest.

[Me]: You're right, as always m'lady. =^.^=

And that had been the beginning of their odd friendship. He had written to her as soon as he had been out of the photo shoot, which had miraculously gotten cut short. The photographer had somehow been pleased enough with what he had so far. After this, Adrien had decided she was his lucky ladybug and had saved her number under that name in his contacts.

[Me]: Just thought I'd let you know from now on you're Ladybug as far as I'm concerned. =^.^=

The reply had been almost instant, and he had figured she must have had a day off or something.

[Ladybug]: How's so? I'm not running around in red clothes with black polka dots on them, I'll have you know!

He had snickered out loud as he had made his way to his car.

[Me]: Maybe not, but you were a real lucky charm to me today. Got out of a really boring meeting early, and it's the first time in the whole nine years of my career here it happened. Must be your doing. =^.^=

[Ladybug]: NINE YEARS? How old exactly are you?

Adrien had stared at his phone in disbelief. How could he explain this slip of the tongue? While it was entirely true that he had started his career at the tender age of thirteen, he wasn't too keen on letting her know just yet that he was Adrien Agreste, famous model by day and lonely man by night. Some things were better left unsaid.

[Me]: I'm 22, I'm not some old creep, so don't worry. Family business. =^.^=

He had hoped dearly she wouldn't press further, reluctant to jeopardize a blossoming relationship with his unwanted celebrity, and sure enough, she had not.

[Ladybug]: Oh I get it. My parents own a shop, been helping now and then ever since I've been tall enough to reach the register.

He had felt his phone buzz a few times in his pocket as he had been driving back home and had checked his messages as soon as he turned off the engine.

[Ladybug]: I can't complain too much about being Ladybug. You're Chat Noir in my phone.

[Ladybug]: Thought it was fitting.

Stunned and dumbfounded, he could only reply,

[Me]: Chat Noir? Where does that even comes from?

[Ladybug]: Well the only thing I knew about you yesterday morning was that you own an old and grumpy black cat named Plagg.

[Ladybug]: I guess I now know you're 22 too.

[Ladybug]: I can change it to Plagg22 now, or GrumpyOldCat22 if you wish.

Genuine laughter had bubbled up in his throat as he had typed back,

[Chat Noir]: I'll stick with Chat Noir, it's kinda cute. I changed it in my phone too. =^.^=

[Ladybug]: Awesome, I'll change myself to LadyLuck in mine.

[Chat Noir]: Ladybug. Polka dots? =^.^=

[Ladybug]: Right, sorry silly kitty. There, all set!

Ever since that day, they had kept texting each other every single day without fail. She was his first thought in the morning. Even before getting out of bed, he was sending her some sort of silly greeting or cute meme to try and put a smile on her lips for the day. She was his last thought at night; he always made it a point to wish her good night before going to sleep.

Through the weeks at first and then the months, he had managed to learn a few things about her, bits and pieces from her he had come to cherish. Namely, she was graduating from university this very week from a still undisclosed major. Her favorite color was pink even if she had a thing for green and she absolutely loved sweets. This information coupled with the fact he learned much later on that her parent's shop was actually a bakery made complete sense.

She was turning twenty-two in July and had never owned any pets (that's what happen when you grew up in a bakery, she told him) though she'd like to get a cat or a bunny someday. Her current apartment was a bit small for her liking but still comfortable enough and she loved to cook. Therefore, her tiny kitchen was driving her completely crazy because she was a terribly messy cook and desperately lacked counter space. She labeled herself creative, clumsy, and silly, but a loyal friend nonetheless.

Despite her reluctance to share any personal information about herself and his own careful withholding of his celebrity double-life, she had become a constant presence in his life. She was someone that would worry if he texted her later than usual in the morning, someone that would appreciate his playful banter and give him a run for his money when it came to lame puns. Someone who would ask about his day and give him advice whenever he was upset or sad.

Someone that cared about him.

And he was hopelessly head over heels in love with her.

Reluctantly, he tried to cut short his daydreaming and focus on the task at hand. Adrien opened the next Manila folder. He spared himself reading the cover letter—probably found something on Internet and filled up with lies—and without even a glance at it, he hastily moved on to the portfolio.

And froze almost instantly.

Here it was: what he had been searching for all day.

These designs were simple but yet never seen before. Eye-catching on the runway and wearable in everyday life, but each with a flair of its own, a unique touch. The drawings overflowed with neatly scribbled notes on possible materials, cost estimates, alternative color schemes, and details on the fabrication process. The designer had obviously tailored their entire presentation to highlight their versatility, and it worked wonders.

Their portfolio was very well balanced, including two women's outfits, two very different men business suits, children's pajamas cute enough to make him squeal, and a gorgeous ball gown that took his breath away in the details.

And a wedding dress.

That wedding dress was a masterpiece in itself.

It had a form-fitting lace bodice snugly covering the bride from hip to shoulder and underneath spilled a majestic ruffled tulle skirt. But the real genius of the design was the reveal of a completely bare back. It showed just enough skin to be daring and enticing, but not too provocative. The designer had even designed an intricate pattern of snowflakes for the sparkling beadwork on edges of the tulle skirt.

It wasn't grandiose or out of this world.

It was gorgeous, very well designed and taking into account the reality of each of the production steps. It looked nothing short of professional.

Grinning to himself, Adrien went back to the cover letter, now more than eager to know more about the awesome designer he would certainly recommend for the upcoming internship.

He froze once again upon reading the first line.

"To whom it may concern:

"My name's Marinette Dupain-Cheng. It has come to my attention that you need an intern with a meticulous attention to detail and excellent design skills. My experience as a fashion designer and my current status as a major student from École Supérieure des Arts et Techniques de la Mode make me an ideal candidate for the junior designer position at Agreste."

The rest of her cover letter was completely lost on him. His old high school friend, one of the most creative and amazing people he had ever known outside of his father's lead designers, was behind this marvel of a design, and it was more than enough for him. Adrien quickly annotated her file, stating it was by far the best application he had reviewed and that she was his first choice.

He then checked his watch and sighed. He barely had fifteen minutes left before he would be late meeting Nino at the jewelry store.