Alya 6:03 : hey girl! tonight's the night! happy to finally meet your man?
Alya 6:56 : we saved you a seat!
Alya 7:15 : it's getting pretty crowded upstairs. hurry up!
Alya 7:26 : idk if we can keep your seat for long.
Alya 7:31 : unless you magically appear!
Alya 7:31 : (we got the green couch btw)
Alya 7:35 : update: some jerk took your spot.
Alya 7:36 : because *somebody* is taking forever to get here!
Alya 7:40 : another update: nvm. seat secured once again.
Marinette read through Alya's messages, chewing on her bottom lip furiously. For the past hour, she kept her best friend on read, and the longer she avoided responding, more messages poured in.
What should she say? "Sorry, I'm procrastinating because I'm not ready to leave the safety of my home?"
She saw Alya taking that really well.
Huffing, she turned over her phone, placing it face down on her desk then approaching the red outfit she had been diligently working on since her penpal had invited her to open mic.
Donning her comfiest robe, she stood in front of her mannequin. The oyster pink sweater with red and black detailing paired with the soft, red pleated skirt looked beautiful. Truly, her finest work to date.
As she traced her fingers along the sleeve, her lips pinched into a thin line.
Something was off. She didn't know what yet. It. Just. Didn't. Work.
The whole thing was a disaster.
Her bare feet slid from one to another as she danced around and debated why she couldn't bring herself to put it on.
Oh, she knew why. She chided herself. She knew exactly why she avoided putting on the prettiest outfit her two hands ever created… She didn't want to ruin her hard work, of course!
Which added reason number twenty eight of why she shouldn't attend open mic tonight: what if she spilled something on her sweater? She couldn't let that happen. She had to keep her masterpiece pristine, and the only way she could prevent such an unfortunate incident from happening would be to forego the outfit altogether.
But now… she had nothing to wear.
And if she had nothing to wear, then she couldn't possibly go. So, that settled it, then. She was staying put, another lazy Saturday evening for one.
She shook her head and paced the room as dark clouds rolled into her thoughts.
The same back and forth conversation had been ping ponging in her mind for the past two hours.
Yes, she should just call the whole thing off.
No, she should go.
Although… if she didn't go, it's not like her penpal Adrien would know the difference!
They had never met before. Why would he care if she didn't show up?
Because then she would be disappointing him, her friends, and herself.
And she couldn't let that happen either.
"Hmmnmhhnnnnnuuughhhhhhhhh," she moaned, standing in front of her full-length mirror, fists pressing tightly into her hips as she took in her "meh" appearance.
Was this what the experts defined as spiraling? It seemed like a bathrobe was an appropriate thing to wear for such an occasion.
Her phone buzzed repeatedly. She turned toward the sound, a frown tugging at her lips as she strode over and picked it up, knowing it was probably Alya messaging her …again.
Alya 7:50 : open mic is starting soon. are you on the way?
Alya 7:52 : hello?
Alya 7:53 : please tell me you're not bailing.
Alya 7:57 : girl!
Alya 7:58 : i know where you live
Alya 7:58 : i know where you sleep
Alya 7:58 : i will find you
Alya 7:58 : i am not afraid to break down your door and drag you here.
Alya 7:59 : answer me!
Alya 7:59 : if you don't, i'll have to assume you and your family were tragically murdered and i will be calling the police.
Marinette 8:00 : i'm fine. don't call the police.
Alya 8:01 : oh! so you *are* alive.
Alya 8:02 : what was taking you so long?
Marinette 8:05 : i'm having a crisis in a bathrobe.
Marinette 8:05 : i can't do this.
Alya 8:06 : are you kidding me?
Alya 8:06 : you didn't respond for two hours and you are telling me this now?
Alya 8:06 : i can't leave our spot! the couch-stealers will attack and claim it!
Alya 8:07 : please tell me you're getting dressed at least.
Marinette 8:08 : no i'm not getting dressed.
Marinette 8:08 : …i think i'm going to be sick
Alya 8:10 : it's okay!
Alya 8:10 : deep breaths.
Alya 8:11 : we can figure this out.
Alya 8:11 : you still have the outfit you made, right?
Marinette 8:12 : yes
Alya 8:13 : good.
Alya 8:13 : baby steps.
Alya 8:13 : have you tried putting the skirt on first and then the sweater?
Marinette 8:14 : i have it but…
Alya 8:14 : but?
Marinette 8:15 : i can't put it on.
Marinette 8:15 : something isn't right.
Alya 8:16 : i just saw it yesterday
Alya 8:17 : it was perfect
Marinette 8:19 : …
Alya 8:20 : don't tell me you self-sabotaged it to avoid getting out of this!
Marinette 8:22 : no, it's fine.
Alya 8:23 : *phew* good.
Marinette 8:23 : i haven't sabotaged it …yet
Alya 8:24 : don't you dare do anything to that gorgeous piece of art!
Alya 8:24 : now put it on like we talked about.
Alya 8:24 : then come over here!
Marinette 8:25 : i'm scared
Alya 8:25 : why?
Marinette 8:27 : because what if he's disappointed that it's me?
Alya 8:28 : omg
Marinette 8:29 : alya.
Marinette 8:29 : help me.
Alya 8:31 : put on your outfit then send me a pic
Alya 8:31 : i'll give you a thumbs up or down
Marinette begrudgingly peeled off her robe and threw on her clothes. She unfurled her hair—thank you, last minute heatless hack. Curling iron burns made sewing hands impossible to work with.
Her make-up was already done up with her signature cat eye, mascara and red-peach lipstick which she had scraped off and reapplied about four times now.
And for the finishing touch, she slipped into black heeled boots, put in her spotted studs, and threw on a red beret, snapping a picture of herself and sending it to Alya for approval.
Marinette 8:48 : *picture attached*
Alya 8:50 :
Marinette 8:51 : is my hair okay?
Alya 8:52 : yes
Marinette 8:54 : do you think the ladybug earrings are too much?
Alya 8:55 : no
Marinette 8:58 : do you think he'll like it?
Alya 8:59 : marinette, my dearest, oldest, bestest friend
Alya 8:59 : if he doesn't, i will personally beat him from here to america and back again.
Alya 8:59 : and you know how i've been going to my sister's gym on the reg.
Alya 8:59 : seriously. i see violence in his future if he calls you anything
less than a beautiful goddess.
Alya 9:00 : you know i'd go to jail for you
Marinette 9:01 : thank you ️
Alya 9:02 : what are friends for
Alya 9:05 : now get your cute butt over here!
"I… I don't know about this." Marinette said to her mirror. Her reflection stared back at her as she nitpicked her ensemble. How the skirt rode up too high on her hips. How her lipstick didn't match the red color of her fabric—she knew she should have brought her skirt to the store to find the exact shade. The picture she took before going to the cosmetic store completely threw off the muted coloring, and now her lipstick was too bright for the skirt's darker shade.
She spotted her little ladybug stuffed doll she had had since she was three. "Tikki… what should I do?" She asked softly.
She picked invisible dirt out from beneath her cherry red nails. "I don't want to show up tonight and end up disappointed." She unconsciously nibbled on her lip, catching and scolding herself. She didn't want to ruin her lipstick again, and clenched her jaw to prevent another nip.
She gingerly picked up the fragile doll; its lifeless blue button eyes stared up at her. The calming, stitched smile wordlessly pacified her fraying nerves.
A thin smile grew on her lips as she gazed upon the lithe ladybug doll in her hand; nostalgia and longing panged inside of her as she sought simpler times where everything could be magically fixed with a wave of her small hand.
Although maybe there was something to Tikki's simple, unexplainable mystic ways: a wonderful, caring boy found her letter and got her to this moment.
Her pen name was inspired by this lucky toy, which, as legend has it, held a magical ability to solve all of her problems. Or that's the tale her maman had told her when Tikki was given to her all those years ago. And Tikki's luck had not failed her yet.
She brought the ladybug doll's head up, and happily chirped, "You should listen to Alya, Marinette! Your Adrien is waiting for you. It couldn't hurt to try."
Marinette scrunched her nose. Did she actually mean them or was she slowly becoming crazy?
She grazed one of the button eyes and relented. "You're right. You always are. I should just… try."
"Yes, I am, and yes, you should," she trilled, lifting the toy again, laughing at her own silliness and looking down fondly at her childhood toy.
"How did you become so wise?" She crooked an eye and rocked the toy back and forth. "I am an ancient, magical being who has lived for thousands of years! Of course, I'm wise!"
She gasped. "How silly of me. How could I forget?"
She playfully nodded the ladybug's head, doing a cheerful, high-pitched voice, "Go meet your penpal, Adrien. I believe in you!"
"Thanks, Tikki," she giggled, nuzzling the toy against her cheek. She laid it back on her desk, petting its head. "For everything." A fond expression took over her features.
She took another glance at herself in the mirror. "I can do this," Marinette encouraged herself, mustering up her willpower. She grabbed her phone, threw her black purse over her shoulder, and headed down the stairs. "I can do this. I can do this. I can do this."
Her parents were sprawled out on the living room couch together watching a movie. Maybe if all went well tonight, they could meet her penpal, too. If he was anything in person like he was in his letters, she knew he'd easily fit in with her family.
She strode toward the door, shouting a quick, "I'll see you both tomorrow morning!"
Her parents turned around as they cheered her on.
"Okay, sweetheart. Have a goodnight! Good luck with everything," her maman said encouragingly.
"Don't stay out too late, my chouquette, and say hi to Alya for us!" Her papa added.
"I will!" She grabbed her coat and closed the door, locking behind herself and flying down the stairs. With every step, her stomach flipped about like a pancake. She barely ate her dinner, only nibbling on a few bites here and there, and yet that small amount seemed to slosh around and nauseate her.
Even with her newfound determination to go, she had this gnawing instinct deep within her that it wouldn't go well tonight.
She threw on her coat and untucked her hair. She opened the door only to be greeted by a familiar face, grinning as the tension melted away. Stepping out into the brisk autumn air, she exhaled a breath of relief at the sight of his teal mop of hair. "Luka?"
"Hey, Marinette," he replied, taking a step back while admiring her. "Wow, you look lovely tonight." His words were like hot cocoa: sweet and pleasant, a balm to her heart.
"Thanks, and—" Her smile dropped as she questioned his sudden appearance. "—don't take this the wrong way…"
"I'll try my best," he cheeked.
"It's not that I'm not glad to see you, but aren't you hosting open mic?"
Luka shrugged as they started to walk. "My sister said she could host it while I stepped out, and Alya was worried that you wouldn't show up, so she asked me to come and collect you."
"The Nook's right across the street." Marinette rolled her eyes. "Alya didn't need to worry."
"It's only because she cares." Luka bumped her shoulder as Marinette glanced up at him and huffed a laugh.
"Yeah, yeah. I know," she playfully waved off as she tucked her hands into her coat, seeking warmth from the chilly air. She should've grabbed some gloves, too.
"Are you excited for tonight?" Luka asked.
Marinette fisted her inner pockets. "More nervous than anything else."
"You're going to be fine."
"You sound confident," she mumbled, stopping at the crosswalk's red light as the cars drove by.
"I'm confident in you," he looked down with a softened gaze as she met his sky blue eyes. "After all, who wouldn't take one look at you and instantly fall in love?"
She blew a raspberry. "And this is how you get all those tips, isn't it?" She nudged him lightly with her elbow. "Because you're the ultimate snake charmer."
He chuckled, putting his hands in his pockets. "Something like that." He winked as she laughed, dismissing his flirting.
Well, at least Luka knew how to get her mind off of her impending doom if only for a moment.
As the light turned green, they took a step forward. Between the yellow patches from the lamplight, the moon illuminated their pathway, colliding the yellow with blue and white hues to create a beautiful green, grassy sheen. She wondered if colors had scents. If they did, this one would smell like vanilla and used books.
The sidewalk was uncrowded tonight with only a few people walking, couples holding hands and friends laughing here and there. Their high spirits were a stark contrast to her inner emotional distress.
He cleared his throat. "In all seriousness, I can't imagine how he wouldn't be excited to know the girl who was behind the letters was none other than Marinette Dupain-Cheng."
She wearily half smiled. It's not that she doubted him, but— "You really think so?" She folded her arms, hunching in on herself as a cold gust breezed past them.
"I know so. You don't have anything to worry about. And I don't think your penpal would be so blind as to not see how wonderful you are. I bet he's completely smitten with you already."
They shared a smile as Luka opened the door to The Nook.
Taking a step inside, she was amazed by the transformation and the intimacy of the quiet store. The lighting dimmed to a soft, romantic setting. The usual murmurs and voices of the patrons were replaced by a deafening hush. But the smell of coffee and paper was familiar, soothing her senses as she took it all in.
She shrugged off her coat, placing it on top of the overflowing coat rack with several jackets and scarves thrown about the floor. Holy magic—how many people were here?
"Red's definitely your color."
Marinette pivoted swiftly. The dimples in Luka's cheeks were prominent as he smiled and leaned against the railing with his arms folded.
"Thanks. I—um," she glanced down at herself, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she slowly approached him. "I made it myself."
"I'm not surprised," Luka responded, "you've always been incredible with a needle and thread."
She nodded unsurely as her eyes trailed up the staircase. There was a muffled musical sound coming from the second floor.
"Ready?" He asked, holding out his arm.
She froze as the world started to cave in on her. She dreaded the flight of stairs before her.
He slung his arm around her shoulders. "Come on," he assured, guiding her up the stairs. "I gotcha."
Marinette took a deep breath and pushed herself forward.
"Everything will be okay," Luka promised, his steady hold and confident gait kept her upright. With every lift of her feet, her steps became heavier as if lead had filled her boots.
They stopped in front of the ill fated door with the "Open Mic" sign. She swallowed thickly, hands shaking. She couldn't muster up the courage to simply open the door.
"You okay?" He asked, placing one comforting hand on her arm and the other one on the door handle.
"J-Just a little n-nervous," she stammered, her teeth clacking.
Luka smiled warmly as the music ended and cheers erupted from the other side. "That's okay. Remember that we're all here for you. No matter what happens tonight. You'll always have us. Okay?"
She closed her eyes, drowning out the noise and clearing her mind. She inhaled and exhaled sharply, pushing out the negative thoughts throwing themselves against her mental shield. Tonight would be okay. This would work out. Adrien was waiting on the other side—no need to be scared. Be confident, Marinette!
The clapping and hoots halted on the other side; her cue to go in.
"Are you ready?" he asked, turning the handle.
She nodded, staring at the door between her and her destiny. "I'm ready," she breathed, begging her pulse to slow down.
Luka opened the door and gestured inside.
As she walked in, an earth shattering, intimately familiar voice spoke into the mic, "Hi, everyone. I'm Adrien. I have someone special that I'd like to dedicate this to. Ladybug—"
His words muffled in her ears as her head split in two from the newfound revelation.
"It couldn't be." Marinette hardly spoke above a whisper. "H-he's my—" She covered her mouth, suffocating the gasp escaping her, unable to hear his voice, the room, her thoughts. Only the static could be heard as one question consumed her.
Why did it have to be him?