A/N: We're only three chapters in but I'm already considering rewriting chapters one and two. I feel like... there's something missing and I recently watched a film that really inspired me with the direction I want to take with the fic. Plus, with the slow uptake, I'm feeling like it could be revamped.

Till next time,

D.L.D


Chapter Three: Call Me


Heavy in her pocket, Marinette swallowed as she traced the edge of the business card - Adrien's business card - sitting at the bottom of her pocket. All night it had been hidden there, buried with the clutter of her lip gloss, keys and a few scrunched up receipts, simply because she did not want to acknowledge the truth yet. No, not yet. Right now she wanted the hazy dreams to continue, floating in her mind like joyful clouds of smoke, light and heady like the array of cigarettes her patrons often burned.

Tonight someone had actually respected her. Tonight someone other than her friends and family had seen Marinette as something other than the risque woman prancing about onstage in dresses that could cover a five-year-old better than they did herself.

One of her biggest idols - a past flame in her young designer heart - had noticed her talent, noticed her drive, and handed her a card, plated with the silver letters of his name and number, just for her to take. If Marinette was still in school she would have screamed at the news, tightly hugging her sketchbook to her racing heart.

Too bad she was Marinette the adult, twenty-something with a crippling student debt and a string of rumours tagged onto her name. Not that she would ever deny them.

First things first, Marinette never avoided owning what she was. Even when she was younger, more susceptible to peer pressure and bullying, the woman had not crumbled to others' whims. In this moment, with absolute certainty, Marinette could tell you what she was: undoubtedly, undeniably, she was a whore. In the world she lived in, scraping the corners she scraped, there was just no way of sugar-coating it.

In her mind, she liked to believe that she was not a slut. Often she like to spin the tale that she was someone who used her resources to survive, someone who was a product of her own naive and terrible life choices. In her heart, in her soul, Marinette liked to lie to herself, to make make herself believe that she was not a slut by choice. Above anything else she was a victim - another tragic sob story to cry over. But in reality, as much as anyone could say that she wasn't, Marinette knew what she was. To others she was a woman who would sell her body, use her beauty, to achieve survival. She was someone who would sleep with anyone, knowing that it was morally wrong and that she should be more respectful. Dignified. But then again, she was not someone who was worth any real dignity.

Marinette was a slut. A worthless, forgettable slut.

Yet this slut had gained Adrien Agreste's business card.

And that feeling was worth a thousand pills of ecstasy.

Heart pounding in her chest, the woman frowned as she pulled open her front door and slipped inside. Yet again she returned to an empty apartment, early morning sunlight slipping through the cracks in her blinds as she hung up her jacket. Long shift, as usual, kept at her working the floor until about three. Another hour was spent hanging around talking to a few eager fans before sneaking out the back to dash home before anyone could stalk her.

All in all Marinette was used to being a nocturnal creature. Mornings were her nap time and evenings were her playtime. Honestly it worked out splendidly; Tikki always preferred being up in the evenings anyway.

Speaking of her cat, Marinette had to feed her. Rushing out earlier on, she'd neglected to feed her one and only companion before her shift. Nevertheless, content as always, Tikki was purring away on the kitchen counter, her orange fur almost a vibrant russet as she peeled open a beautiful blue eye to peek at her intruding owner. Around her neck was a pretty black bow - courtesy of Marinette's sewing skills - a silver tag meshed with her soft fur.

"Morning Tikki," Marinette yawned, stretching as she reached for the cat food stowed away in her cupboards. Why was she so short? Even with the damned heels she still had to stretch to reach the cupboards! "Did you rest well?"

An ear perking up in response, the cat gave a slight mewl. Marinette couldn't help but smile. Yep, she had a great night.

"Good," Marinette sighed, relieved that her pet wasn't peeved at the missed meal. Living alone would become a lot more unbearable if even her cat was peeved at her behaviour.

Fondly scratching behind Tikki's tufty ears, Marinette dished out the cat food into her food bowl. Immediately, the graceful creature hopped down from her post, prancing toward her bowl with the tinny tinkle of her little bell. Another Marinette addition. What? She loved to kit her cat out in tiny designer collars, made to fit and entirely unique, made for Tikki and only Tikki because Marinette cherished her cat that damn much. Was that so wrong?

Knowing better than to ponder on her slight obsession with caring for Tikki, Marinette brushed that thought aside and returned to her jacket - the business card. Too busy to even think about calling Adrien during her shift, she had shied away from Luka's table after being slipped the card. Alix, thankfully, didn't ask many questions when she returned to the counter; she did look at Marinette though, raising a brow as she also glanced at Adrien. No doubt she saw the exchange.

Rumours were probably being bounced around the workplace group chat - Alix always was an extremely active member. Between her and Alya's prodding into Marientte's romantic affairs the woman just couldn't catch a break. One moment Alix was prying into the multiple men who tried to charm her at work; the next Alya was dragging her along to blind dates and group outings, insisting that the latest candidate would surely do Marinette well.

Well-meaning, both women only meant the best in their relentless meddling. Yet their efforts always made Marinette feel frustrated, almost constipated, from the impossibility of it all.

There was a reason why she didn't date. There was a reason why she turned down the many men who wanted to offer her more than a night of wonderful pleasure. Marinette's life wasn't made to cater to two. Before romance was even a thought, a concept in her hormone-wired brain, Marinette had always made her life comfortable for her and only her. Becoming a designer consumed the majority of her teenage years; surviving in the nightclubs ate up her young adulthood - still technically in progress.

Self-preservation and survival were the two main goals in her life. Before anything else, before anyone else, Marinette would always place her own cowardly hide. There was too much hidden from the public eye; her life was one made of several complications. Accepting what came with Marinette was not an option: she'd never let anyone accept her baggage.

Releasing a sigh, Marinette returned to the business card, holding it within her hands as she padded toward her bathroom. After a good scrub in the shower, (taking extra care when removing her makeup and regretting her choice to use BODY glitter that evening) Marinette wrapped herself in a fluffy towel, drying her hair as she glared at her pink reflection.

On nights like these, nights dedicated to stewing thoughts and ponderous lip-biting, Marinette often sought refuge through the warm waters of a steamy shower. Soothing, heated water; the scratchy yet gentle sensation of a good scrub; and the heavenly scents of her favourite soaps and shampoos always were a remedy for a thought-stricken mind. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was never one to cheap out on her toiletry supply. Why not have it serve a better, more useful purpose?

Toweling her midnight hair dry, Marinette frowned as she glared at the business card - somehow not soggy from all the steam, glinting silver in her bathroom's cheap fluorescent light. Adrien Agreste, just ten digits and a simple button press away. So simple it was, so effortlessly easy it could be to kickstart her launch in the fashion world. Just one phone call, one simple tap of a button and a flurry of words. Compared to everything else, it all seemed so simple. Taunting her almost with its ease.

Time wasn't an issue. Oh no. Plus, he had told her to call if she was interested...

Releasing a frustrated huff, Marinette threw her damp towel into the hamper nearby, snatched up the card and trotted toward her room. If she was going to make that damned call, follow up on her own damned dreams, then she might as well do it now. While the flame still burned with her youthful, careless spirit, while she was no longer burdened by the realities of Marinette's everyday life, she would do it. Now.

Tapping in the ten digits, double checking as she bit down her lip and dried off her ankle, Marinette sucked in a deep breath. This was it. Her first step into the world of Gabriel Agreste's brand.

Pressing the green call button, Marinette put the phone on speaker and tossed it onto her bed. A droning dial tone met her ears. Heartbeats thundered murderously in her ears; already she was regretting this spur-of-the-moment idea. Was this even an appropriate time to call?

"Hello?" Unexpectedly, a low-toned, languorous voice answered the call. Distinctly male. Most likely Adrien himself.

Tensing, Marinette let out a shrill squeak as her hands froze, halfway through drying her leg. Only now, in the moment, was the concept of daytime and nighttime rumbling in her brain. Only now, catching the hints of sleepiness to his voice, did Marinette think about standard etiquette. Most people did not wake up at four fifty in the morning. Most people were asleep. Why did she choose now to call again? Oh yeah because she was a bumbling, panicking idiot.

Sighing once more, Marinette resumed drying off her skin. Like always she'd just have to bullshit her way through this awkward encounter.

"Hey Adrien, I know it's late..." The cringe could not be hidden as Marinette heard her voice, sharp canines nicking the delicate skin of her bottom lip. Clumsy hands tried to massage cool body lotion into her skin. "Well, early, but I just wanted to try the number out," A nervous laugh. "Y'know make sure it wasn't a dupe."

"Pretty smart of you," Her spine stiffened as he responded, sounding lighthearted across the phone. Adrien's laughter was the last thing she expected. If anything she would have expected a line trilling with the empty beeps of a declined call. "And pretty forward."

"Well you did give an exotic dancer your phone number," Marinette cursed the words for leaving as smoothly as they did - right when she was pulling on a nightgown. Who cares about underwear, after all? Tonight she was going to bask in the cool summer night - well, morning - breeze. "What else could you expect?"

A thoughtful hum filled her room as he mused, "If you were like most people I've met, probably phone sex. Or a halfhearted attempt to seduce me."

"How high your hopes are, monsieur," Marinette announced, shaking her head at the thought of it all. Oh she would absolutely die if Adrien Agreste ever heard her moans over the phone - let alone the idea of her drunkenly trying to seduce him into her pants over the phone. Nevertheless, the idea was entertaining. Super hot models did tend to have that effect on the romance-starved mind. "Alas the most you'll get is a glimpse of me at work."

"That's enough for me," Adrien stated simply - and Marinette could oddly see the matching shrug he'd give with that statement. A slope of his broad shoulders as he flashed her a small, nonchalant grin. There'd be a crinkle to his gorgeously green eyes, a slight twinkle that was constantly captured in the ads he posed for or the commercials he filmed.

Unlike most people Marinette had met, Adrien Agreste just... managed to intrigue her. A lot. Maybe it was the hunky, model image; perhaps it was her celebrity crush that had never really curbed itself as she'd gotten older; whatever it was, Marinette Dupain-Cheng looked to this man like a fucking idol. Even knowing what she did, tasked with what she had to do, Marinette couldn't help but admire, adore, everything that this man did.

So perhaps that she was why her brain had gone dead at his words, mouth feeling dry as she gaped at nothing, blinking at nothing. Was it just her or did his words have connotations? Was he... flirting with her?

No, no way. No way was Adrien freaking Agreste flirting with Marinette Dupain-Cheng. That would be preposterous, ridiculous, especially given the circumstances. Right?

Cool, drafty silence stretched between them for a lot longer than it should have been for two prospective business partners. Drawn-out, almost begging for one of them to speak, it played on the awkward tune of a cricket's nightly buzz, the elevator music that flowed through the air of a stuffed ride up ten floors. Through it all Marinette could not find a word. Twitchy, almost like a opossum playing dead, she could only blink.

For the sake of her sanity, it was a damn good thing Adrien knew how to redirect a conversation.

"So is there any particular reason why you're calling me at five am, Miss Marinette?" He sounded thoughtful across the line, something like running water supplying the background to his words. No doubt he was getting ready for work - like normal people did - warming up the stove and preparing breakfast. Like normal people did. Like everyone, anyone, other than Marinette seemed to do these recent, modern days.

"Maybe," Marinette managed to get out in response, pursing her lips as she fiddled with her ladybug charm necklace. A gift. A good luck charm. She never took it off. "Maybe not. Perhaps I just wanted to hear your voice to know that this is all real."

"You're strange," Was Adrien's immediate response. Blunt, straight to the point and taken right back as he seemed to splutter out straight after, "I-in a good way, I mean. Most people wouldn't even tell me something like that."

"Well, I'm not most people," Marinette admitted, her face burning cherry blossom pink at his words. Glancing up from her scarlet painted toenails, Marinette locked eyes with Tikki. Instantly she glared daggers at the cat, currently rolling on her pile of discarded work clothes. "Damn it Tikki! You'll ruin my tights!"

A questioning chuckle, "Tikki?"

"My cat," Marinette explained, rolling her eyes as she bent down to scoop up her now cat-hair-covered tights. Another pair to go in the bin. Removing the hair was something better left undone. "Otherwise known as my child because 'Marinette doesn't do commitment'."

"A free spirit I take?" Adrien asked, his amusement not at all hidden despite the shitty service her phone tended to have. What a miracle.

"More like a chosen widow," Marinette sighed, balling up the tights and tossing them into her little bin. Just like those tights, her love life was often canned, banished to the stinky, grimy depths of reality as Marinette didn't have time to 'do romance'. No she had better things to focus on; people deserved better than what she had to give. "I can't be tied down if I'm entertaining other men, right?"

"Fair enough," Adrien hummed, his voice again a low and thoughtful thrum. The sort that one could pair with an enigmatic person, someone well-used to pondering alone in their thoughts, thinking and thinking and thinking some more. Was he that sort of person? A careful, enigmatic thinker? "I know I wouldn't want to share."

Again, Marinette felt her systems shutting down, a spike in her heart. Was he doing this on purpose? Was he just dropping these statements, in such suggestive tones, just for the fun of it? Honestly, she couldn't tell. With the jellied mush that he managed to turn her brain into, she was surprised that she could even pick up on the comments at all.

"A-and I'm the one who's forward!" Marinette couldn't help the stutter, the stammer, that betrayed her bashfulness. Forcing out a playful giggle, she shook her head, unable to fight the girlish smile splayed on her lips, "Slow down Mr Agreste or I might think you're flirting with me."

"Maybe I am," Adrien retorted, no doubt with that same mischievous grin he'd sported at the club. If they were face-to-face he'd be staring her down with those impossibly gorgeous eyes of his, golden lashes twinkling and all. "Maybe I'm not. Perhaps I just wanted to hear your laughter to know that it's real."

Now Marinette definitely couldn't function. Playfully, teasingly, he had quoted her words exactly and shot them right back at her - much more smoothly than she could ever manage, might she add. If teenage Marinette was not weeping from joy already she most certainly was now. Sixteen year old her would drop dead on the spot if she knew that this was happening, over the phone, in real life, in real time.

Sucking in a deep breath, Marinette closed her eyes, attempting to calm her racing heart, "Well played sir," Yes. Very well played. Now she was going to fuck right off. "Anyway I'm pretty sure I'm holding up the line- "

"Not at all, it's my personal number," Adrien interjected. Yep, he was flirting with her. Not just anyone got a private number - let alone the private number of a delicious, delectable Adrien Agreste. Marinette had played this game way too many times to know why he would give her his own phone number.

"Why you sly schemer," The smirk couldn't be helped as she toyed with her nightgown, fingers picking at the fuzzy material of the worn lace hemline. Raising a brow, she turned to glance at her phone, faced with the now black screen, "Are you sure you're not trying to get into my pants? Because I'll tell you now, I am not an easy lay. I may be a sex worker, but I still have my limits."

"I never said you didn't," He wasn't one to miss a beat. At all. Flattering as ever, Adrien Agreste easily responded, entirely nonchalant in his wording, "I said you were an interesting person and I told you to call me."

"Surprisingly I'm hurt that you didn't lie," Marinette pouted, surprising herself as the words slipped out. Inside of her chest, her heart was pounding erratically, squeezing pressurized blood around her veins and arteries as a furious blush overwhelmed her nose and cheeks. Even her fingers, once a pale cream, were now pink at the tips, still wrapped around her nightgown's hem.

This man wasn't failing in his ability to stun her. From his blunt honesty to the fact that he had handed her his own private number, Adrien Agreste just kept pulling the rug from under Marinette's unsuspecting feet. And this was in a casual acquaintance-type relationship! The beginnings of what could be a wonderful, beneficial partnership. If he'd let her get that far.

"I'm bound by contract to always tell the truth," Adrien's voice sucked her back into reality, almost somewhat resentful. "At least to the public."

"So what is your truth Adrien Agreste?" Marinette asked him, her voice a quiet hush in the night as she clung to his answer like a cat would cling to a quaking tree branch. "Why did you decide to give me, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, a chance?"

"Because I think you've got what it takes," Sighing, Adrien paused. Then, he quickly added, "And maybe I do want to get into your pants."


"And maybe I do want to get into your pants."

Ringing in his skull, Adrien's words to Marinette remained firmly wedged within his memory. Had he really said that? Over the phone, half-awake, having the grandest time teasing the ever-living shit out of that woman, had he really let that tiny truth slip? Glancing at his phone, the latest call made belonging to the recently added contact for Marinette, Adrien was forced to believe so.

Talking to her in such a way had never been the main plan. Voicing that part of him, the part buried deep within who resonated with her in a strange sort of way, had never been a driving factor in his decision to give her his private number. When he had given Marinette his business card, slipped her the golden ticket into the fashion world, Adrien had never intended to try and woo her. No, it was going to be professional. It was going to be entirely professional.

Professionalism was at the forefront of his father's brand. Bad enough, it was, that Marinette had origins as a sex worker, dancing the nights away in gloomy clubs in costumes and outfits that left nothing to the imagination. Terrible enough, it was, that she was seemingly a nobody, a forgettable face that would have no doubt faded into the shadows of society if Luka had not picked her up. But tack on a scandal with Adrien? That poor woman's life would be over.

Definitely.

Nevertheless, despite all the plausible reasons to not engage with her in such casual conversation, Adrien couldn't deny that it was pleasant to talk to her, somewhat refreshing. All of his life he had been surrounded by people who kissed up to him. Whether it be someone who was dying to be featured in his father's advertisements, or one of those eager-eyed fans who vied for the chance to experience the celebrity lifestyle, people all around Adrien had always wanted something from him.

Marinette - unsurprisingly - did want something. Being a designer, earning her place in the fashion world, was her undisputed goal in life. That much had been evident from his conversation with her. That much was obvious from the sheer admiration that had slipped through the cracks, filling her eager eyes with a hope akin to a young girl.

But, Marinette didn't ask for his help with any of it. No, instead she had only asked if he thought that she could make it. Nothing else. Nothing more. Even when she'd called, at the unusual hour of five in the morning, she had asked nothing of him. She had only wanted to know if the number worked.

Perplexing, completely puzzling, it was to him how someone could want nothing from him. Nothing at all. Not a shot, not a name, not a single shiny cent. Everything that came with the Agreste name came with the mandatory distrust of everyone's motives and goals. Nothing was ever clear cut. Someone was always out to get him, whether it was because of his image as a model or as the successor to his father.

Trust was something that didn't run deeply with Adrien Agreste. Trust was a difficult thing to earn from him. So why was Marinette so gifted at getting the truth out of him? Why was she somewhat... familiar?

Piercingly tinny, his phone rang with the sharp jingle of his ringtone. Yet another wake up call to reality, shucking him of his thoughts and dreams as he glanced at the screen, Luka's name lit up on the device.

After Luka's introduction of Marinette, business seemed to run smoothly between them. Cards on the table, ace up his sleeve, Adrien had perfectly executed the best case scenario of a partnership between himself and Luka Couffaine. By the time it had reached two am, the wait staff switching duties and the stage being lit in a ghostly glow for intermission, they had reached an agreement. Terms drawn, rewards granted, Adrien had contentedly left the club, satisfied in Luka's side of the deal.

There was still one problem though - one that even he couldn't ignore. Even if Luka did agree to the deal, did choose to supply for the Akuma for the next six months, he still had to have the go ahead from his own boss.

Like Adrien himself, Luka had little room to negotiate or make plans on business matters. Everything had to be done through back alleys, hidden meetings between acquaintances set in busy nightclubs or shady bars. For them there was no such thing as an easy, done deal. Everything they set up had to be approved and thought over.

"Hey Adrien," Luka answered, a somewhat fatigued edge filling his voice. No doubt he wasn't used to being up so early; his schedule surely didn't demand such an early start to the day.

"Morning Luka," Adrien was his complete opposite, bright and chipper in the early morning. Ever since his childhood, dedicated to routine and structure and perfection, the blonde was used to an early rise. In the past they had been dedicated to exercise; these days he used the quiet hours to contemplate. "What's going on?"

"I spoke to some of my guys," Luka sighed, no doubt scratching at his head. "And we're in. But you have to promise me something."

There it was: the condition that would always pop up after negotiations. No matter the person, no matter the negotiation, there was always a surprise condition. Oftentimes, Adrien liked to think it was because others thought he was easy to fool. Less experienced than his father, new to the game, he was someone who could be easily misled. At least, to the untrained eye he would appear easy to sway.

Selling the perfect, blonde image for the Agreste brand had been a disadvantage for him. Presenting himself as the beloved sweetheart of Paris had been both a massive help and obstacle. Now, in his late twenties, Adrien was having a tough time shaking it off.

"I'm all ears," Adrien grinned, a somewhat bitter thing as he took a sip from his cup of coffee. Surprisingly still warm after his period of prolonged thinking.

"You need to make sure that Marinette's set up," Luka stated, serious and resolute as the words rattled off his tongue. Without him being there, Adrien could picture the solemn edge to his friend, the firm set to his blue eyes as his dark brows furrowed. "For life. If this thing between us goes south, I want to know that her position in your father's company will be assured. No matter what happens between us."

Marinette. Again. What was it about this woman? How did she managed to captivate so many people? And why, just why, did she keep popping up within his mind now?

Not even ten minutes after he'd ended his call with her and she had popped up again, returning like a catchy melody from a song. It was like no matter what Adrien did, now Marinette was here, she would keep popping up.

"That was unconditional," Adrien shook his head, swallowing another gulp of coffee. That never was his style. If he gave someone a lifeline, an easy in, they needed to prove to him that they deserved it. Once they did, their own safety was assured, secured, by their own actions. "I was never going to base her work off you."

"Oh," Luka breathed. His offence was deafening.

"Not like that," Adrien sighed. Maybe he had sounded a little too much like his father with such blunt wording. Running a tired hand over his face, he continued, "It's just that Marinette doesn't seem like the kind of woman who likes using others to make her way. She seems like the hardworking type, someone who would rather building something from nothing, than steal everything from others to get what she wants."

"Yeah," Luka quietly admitted. Almost apologetically. "She's always been like that. Ever since we were kids."

Now, Adrien didn't have to be a genius to catch the admiration. No, being the source of public admiration he had always been aware of when others felt dazzled by another's presence. Such a skill had proven useful in his late pubescence, helping him the navigate the slippery slope of the celebrity world. Now he used that skill to make others vulnerable, to exploit their blind admiration for his own gain.

Completely dazzled by Marinette, Luka Couffaine's interest could not be any less blatant. Something about her held sway over the musician's heart, held it within the grasp of her delicate, dainty hands.

Maybe in the past Adrien would have asked about it. A billion years ago he would have teased his friend about the girl in red, jabbing him on about when he was finally going to make a move. But that past Adrien was dead and buried the moment he was passed the baton to the Agreste name. This Adrien, isolated and solemn and serious, had better things to do. He did not waste time on memories and sentiment.

"So when can you get the latest shipment?" Adrien asked, dragging the conversation back to its original topic. To work.

"This weekend," Luka confirmed, sounding much more certain. Then, he added on, "If my deal in Morocco holds up. Someone's been fucking with the borders again."

"Felix?" Adrien probed. Wouldn't be a surprise if it was.

"I wish," Luka scoffed. The eye roll could be felt from miles away. There was no secret that Luka disdained Felix, the two developing a bitter bond from the moment they had first met. "That asshole cousin of yours has a trademark and this latest meddler doesn't leave a trace. Thanks to them, a good chunk of my contacts are out of business, either down for smuggling or laying low to avoid the police. I'm not gonna lie to you, it's a mess out there Adrien."

"Yeah, father was saying something similar," Adrien admitted. That was why he had been so urgent on chasing Luka down. With the leak in his father's system, the Akuma needed a new supplier to keep the stock consistent. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Adrien leaned back against his counter, "He was even talking about dealing with people further south. Apparently the United States have a more reliable chain going than Southern Europe."

"That's not a lie," Luka responded, clicking his tongue. "But it's faster through Africa. Straight across the Mediterranean, less border checks and everything. You get a better amount of product that way with a smaller amount of costs."

"Plus the chemicals," Adrien chipped in.

"Never forget the chemicals," Luka mustered a laugh, deep and resonate like the notes on his guitar. "That's why I stick with what I know."

Yeah. When rapid change was forced into their lives, human beings tended to stick with what they knew. Change was a scary thing. Meaningless and yet meaningful at the same time, it could warp and twist everything a person knew. In the field that Adrien was half-submerged in, slowly sinking further and further into its dark depths, change was a feared thing. New competitors, new threats, new supply chains: they all offered unknown territories and unmarked rules.

Cautious, careful, Gabriel Agreste had never been one to gamble his entire empire on change. Too comfortable with placing his eggs in one basket, he had allowed someone in his close contacts to gain too much power. Completely different from his father - a stark mirror - Adrien wasn't afraid of risk. No, not anymore. After his first time donning the mask and getting into the car, he had learned that risk was mandatory to the job. He just hoped that he was taking the right one.

"Well, I'm trusting you with it now, Luka," Adrien sighed, feeling somewhat more stressed than he'd ever been in all the years of his life. "Don't fuck it up or it's both of our asses on the line."

"Agreste, you're talking to the most connected man on the planet," Luka chuckled. More humourous, more light, it offered amusement this time. "I know what I'm doing. All you have to worry about is Marinette."

Yeah, Marinette. Luka's Marinette. The same Marinette that had wormed her way into his brain, enchanting smile and snarky humour definitely striking something within his neurons, stirring long-lost memories. Still, Adrien couldn't place them. Ghost-like, fleeting, they came to him like puffs of clear smoke, dissipating into the air as soon as they formed.

But, within them all, there was a common theme: ladybug spots, bubbly giggles and a lovely smile. Dancing in the club, flashing neon lights that made her pale skin look blazing orange and then dazzling dark blue. From those brief flickers alone, projections of false images, Adrien could have sworn that he had met her before. Hidden in the gloom, drink in hand, he could have sworn that she had offered him that sealing cherry.

Alas, it was but a fleeting image. Smokey, hazy, it was nothing more than a misplaced fantasy. Yes, it it had to be that. At least that was what his raging hard on had to say for itself.

Releasing a sigh, Adrien ended the call and headed toward his bathroom. It was a damned good thing he always had a shower to start of the day.