Chapter Text
There is refuge in ambiguity. Marinette’s mere presence is enough to stave off the most unsavory attention, but the lack of confirmation of their relationship status leaves them hiding in the gray of speculation.
Their ambiguity is quick to leave them this night.
It happens so fast. Although, is it really so hard to believe that things are so sped up within the hectic haze that is a Parisian runway show? All Marinette knows is that she’s Adrien’s second line of defense should Go...the bodyguard fail to do much against a surge of eager fans.
Reintroducing Adrien to the upper echelons of Parisian society at this event proves to be a more dangerous event than Marinette had anticipated. They’d left the fangirls outside, carefully corralled behind a sturdy metal barrier. Marinette had all but crazy-glued herself to Adrien’s side, curling around his arm in a way that looked more like scared-Plague-going-to-the-vet than a lovely-elegant-date.
He’d smiled and thanked her, as if she wasn’t cutting off the circulation in his arm or wrinkling his lovely navy colored suit.
Now, here comes the conundrum. Marinette can tell that Adrien is uncomfortable with this new girl’s advances. Perhaps the girl is simply a well-meaning fellow connoisseur of the haute couture? Perhaps...and this is a stretch...she recognizes Adrien for his physics university work.
Whatever the reason, Marinette doesn’t feel jealous. Simply indignant on his behalf. She can see his awkward posture...the way he leans the slightest bit back and crosses his arms over his gangly torso to put some more space between him and said girl.
She readies her sweetest tones, mentally rehearsing what to say and how to say it. She clears her throat...in the cutest, most lady-like way she can manage as she approaches the two. She holds two slim glasses of Acqua di Cristallo with a poise she cannot manage without some sort of inane motivation.
Her steps are light in her strappy heels and her peach gauzy skirt flutters around her ankles so wonderfully, Adrien has to take a moment to remember to breathe. The bright overhead lighting of the backstage area makes him feel like he’s dreaming...too warm...too much...he’s almost forgotten he was uncomfortable.
“Adrien...I’ve brought you back some of the water you requested and oh...I see you’ve made a new friend. “ Marinette volleys out her welcome, but her imperious gaze is back and she feels oh so stupid playing this part...but Adrien needs her.
She hands him one of the glasses and turns back to the pretty, tall girl. The pretty, tall girl who’s looking at Marinette with a smile barely holding back from turning into a sneer.
He’s so relieved, he would be a little ashamed to know how obvious it is on his face. As it is, he falls back onto those usual good manners of his and introduces the girl to Marinette.
“Oh...there you were, love. This is Agreste fashion connoisseur, Lila Rossi. She’s come all the way from Italy to watch all the new designers debuting this season.”
Marinette has to keep from collapsing at the too-easy way he lets that moniker roll off his tongue. It’s not fair. He’s too good at pretending. (Although is it really pretending when his heart calls for her affection?)
“Oh! So nice to meet you, Lila! My name is Marin-”
“Marinette Dupain-Cheng! Yes, Yes! I’ve heard so much about you from Adri-Sweetie over here.” Lila boulders through the introduction, offering her hand to Marinette and removing it just as quickly. “You’re the aspiring designer, right? I’m sure you’ll make it soon...especially with Adrien Agreste at your side, right?”
Oh...Oh that rankles. Marinette’s little bits of pride are still in business and they’re pricking, stoking the fire in her gut that’s telling her to yell and shake this asshole of all the smugness she’s got resting behind that pretty face of hers. The higher road, however, is all she’s known. So she picks that way, even if the climb is unwanted cardio and her lungs will burn from holding in her anger.
Before she has a chance to say anything, however, Adrien has shown his teeth.
His eyes take on that same jaded expression from when he’d first met Marinette and interrogated her about her presence at the party. His friendly smile becomes lopsided and laced with the sharpest warning. Piercing, protective anger settles into him, and Marinette almost wants to cry because he’s come to find her important enough to protect...just like he does with Felix. (Remember again, that friendship is a very emotionally fraught thing for our girl.)
So distraught is she, that she does not notice that mysterious onlooker who should not have been there in the first place...nor does she notice the giant camera he points in their direction.
“Lila...I don’t appreciate what you just said about Marinette. She’s a talented designer in her own right, and she doesn’t need me or my father to prove it at all. I believe it’s almost time for the next segment of the show anyway. You’ll have to excuse us.”
He’s encircled Marinette’s trembling form in one arm, pulling her close to his side. He’s ready to turn, to lead her to safety, when Lila catches hold of his sleeve. She tugs on him and he stops.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, Marinette. I just really wanted to make new friends. I’m new in town and I just...it’s been so hard.”
Lila’s teary expression meets his wary gaze, and her blubbering is enough to get Marinette to feel sorry for her. Marinette...soft hearted, kind Marinette disentangles herself from Adrien’s hold to go and try to console Lila.
“It’s okay...I know how it can look...but it’s not like that. I genuinely care for Adrien. We’re just really new to this.”
Lila’s expression lights up almost too fast. It makes Marinette wonder how genuine her regret had been, but she gives her the benefit of the doubt.
“So you two really are together, like the rumors say?” She says excitedly. The gold bangles on her slim wrist jingle as she clasps her hands. “I just didn’t know because I mean, you guys don’t seem that big on public affection, so no one was really sure, you know?”
Adrien begins to sputter. His previous chill dissipates in the warmth of his hidden dreams...the little niceties he likes to dream about when no one’s around. He forgets it’s okay to say yes...he can hide in the charade.
Marinette...being Marinette...knows her mind is in the process of catastrophizing this moment. She can feel the panic battering blindly against any and all sensical thoughts, reducing them to bloody pulps on the floor of her brain. Her vision tunnels, and all she can think is-
‘Oh god...oh no...she’s suspecting...oh god...oh no...the charade’s over...they’ll know we lied. ‘
Her shaking hands rise up to Adrien’s face, beyond her control.
Gabriel will never let me work in the industry…
She stands on her tiptoes, slowly straining because her strappy heels leave little in the way of balance.
Adrien will be disowned and Felix will inherit the fashion line and release a line of vests and pants all in that same boring shade of gray he likes.
Her head tilts as she cranes her neck. Her nostrils flare the slightest bit as she smells his cologne, piney and smooth. Adrien’s eyes go wide and bright for all of one moment, but she’s still stuck in a haze of panic.
Plague will be out of a home...oh god...I need to do something...any-”
Her lips rest on his, soft and delicate. It’s innocent enough...warm.
It’s the moment between dreaming and waking...when sunlight drifts through and warms your stiff muscles and gently pries open your eyes.
It's the surety of gratitude and affection...protection, as he holds her waist and his fingers press yearning against the flesh bared there by the decorative cuts in her dress.
The snapping of a camera and the brightest flash breaks them out of it. Marinette pulls away with a frightened yelp and Adrien lets loose a sigh of disappointment. She...embarrassed as she is...is still too high-strung to leave his embrace.
He doesn’t want her to leave, either. Instead he pulls her closer, angrily searching for the paparazzi camera man.
“Where are they? Where did they go?!” He says sharply.
Lila looks a mix of pissed-off and smug. She’s placed her hands on her hips, bunching the burnt orange fabric in frustration.
“He went out the back door...does it really matter though? I think we all got the picture. You two are together for sure. Congrats.” She says...probably a bit more bitter than she realizes.
Marinette is too dazed to care...and Adrien finds it more important to reassure her that things will be okay.
Lila leaves with a scoff, figuring the facade wasn’t worth it now that she’s done what she needed to do. She pulls her phone out of her clutch and quickly sends off a message-
Done. They got the pic. Now pay up. :)
----
Alya drops the tabloid on the coffee table with all the weight of her anger. It lands with an accusing papery thud that makes Marinette flinch. Guilt flashes in her expression, but potential excuses (i.e. lies) scroll through her thoughts as she tries to decide how best to explain.
Alya cuts to the chase with all the grace of a fox snatching up her prey. Marinette can almost hear the snap of her curiosity, encircling Marinette’s secrets with a deathgrip.
“You and Adrien Agreste.”
“Now...hold on, Alya, I ca-”
“ You and Adrien Agreste.”
“It’s not what it looks li-”
“YOU AND ADRIEN AGRESTE AND I HAD TO FIND OUT THROUGH A DIME STORE GARBAGE TABL-?”
“IT’S ALL A BIG FAT LIE!” Marinette interrupts, hurling the truth in Alya’s direction with the unmitigated force of shameless self-preservation. Her broken pride has melted in the face of her friend’s glare. Nothing but a useless, molten pool of glass that has her face burning in shame.
Marinette twists her braids in agitation, digging her neck further into the mock neck of her sweater as she struggles to find a way to explain. No lie seems suitable, so she spills out the truth. She spins out a tale of absurdities and coincidences.
“So yeah, I sort of...needed to protect him from that girl. It wasn’t….there isn’t anything more than that. Honestly, he’s just a friend I’m helping out.”
When she’s done, Alya is silent. Her tawny eyes flash dangerously behind her round glasses. Her pretty mouth has this strange quirk to it that gives Marinette a sense of hope...because she recognizes that as Alya’s trying-not-to-laugh face.
And laugh she does. She guffaws until she’s wheezing and unable to stand up anymore. Alya is still hiccuping little giggles by the time she rolls over on the couch next to Marinette, and takes her stupid, cute little face in her hands.
“Only...only you would get into this kind of situation. Only you, Marinette.” She gasps out, affection and disbelief scrabbling across her face. She gives her a playful smack to the shoulder.
Marinette gives out a yelp, rubbing at her arm. She’s a bit petulant, but she supposes it could've gone worse.
“So...you know you could have broken the news of your uh….relationship...in a way you would’ve liked if you’d asked me, you know? Now people know and it’s from ugh...the French edition of Closer...seriously...the gossip there is third rate.”
“R-really? That’s all you have to say? You...you’re not mad?” Marinette breathes out, holding her sigh of relief until confirmation is given.
Alya sighs and pulls Marinette into an affectionate embrace while ruffling her hair. Marinette gives an exasperated squeak, but slumps into her hold. Relief floods her now that someone she loves knows what she’s been up to. She has someone she can talk to and trust.
The thought almost makes her tear up.
“Mad? It wasn’t really up to you tell me was it? Adrien’s in on this too. I’m guessing he’s made you sign a non-disclosure agreement or something. Rich people always do stuff like that.” Alya surmises, smoothing back strands of Marinette’s messy bangs. “You must have been so scared meeting Gabriel.”
“I was...but I...I think we’re okay now. And no. Adrien didn’t make me sign anything. We just kinda verbally agreed.”
Alya stiffens.
“Just a verbal agreement?”
“Yeah. I trust him. He...I think he honestly pulled the deal out of his ass because he was lonely.” Marinette sits up, tilting her head quizzically. “It didn’t feel necessary to do much more.”
Alya clicks her tongue in disapproval, pushing her glasses up with the look of a sage sitting atop a mound of wisdom.
“So naive my cute Mari...lonely boys know more tricks than just pulling fake relationship deals out of their ass. Rich, lonely boys even more so.”
“Adrien’s not like that!” Marinette finds her words have more bite to them than intended, but she remembers the promise she had made to him, sheltering them both under that worn out umbrella.
She remembers the worry with which he’d run to rescue her from his own father in the garden. She remembers...soft, green eyes begging her not to leave him alone in a too-cold hospital room.
Alya is taken back for all of one second before understanding softens her chastising expression. She tosses her head with all the weariness of a predator who simply wants to stop hunting for the moment, and settles her maw into the gentlest, teasing smile.
“Most importantly...is he a good kisser?”
Marinette splutters and denies...denies...denies until throat is dry and Alya’s hurts from so much laughter.
---
Marinette is of the opinion that once you have the luxury of throwing away the most basic convenience in the name of fun, you have officially made it into the upper echelons of society. She excludes certain activities from this philosophy. There’s giving up some convenience for fun like camping. That’s a fairly middle class activity.
No, no. She’s referring to the utter ridiculousness that is jeans and sneakers purposefully made to look dirty and worn, a denim jacket with sleeves so long, you could make another jacket from the material there...certain eccentricities that seem to have woven their way into the everyday amusements of those that could afford them.
Haute Couture sometimes walks a thin line between aestheticism and ridiculousness. Marinette finds much of modern art to be the same way. Perhaps she’s simply a traditionalist or perhaps being raised in a working family has tainted her pure appreciation of art for art’s sake.
Bearing all this in mind, one would generally be inclined to forgive her for today’s fuck-up.
“Adrien...Adrien I don’t think this is a good idea...oh god holy crap that’s Jagged Stone and Penny?! They’re still together?” Marinette’s panic has manifested into a stream of outright word diarrhea. Her gauzy shawl is tight around her shoulders and she’s recycling the ladybug dress from her first disastrous encounter with the Agreste boys.
She hopes no one recognizes it from that night. Adrien had gotten a good laugh at the memories attached to it, but had repeated his compliments with a gentle certainty that had almost made her knees go tumbling down to the carpet.
Too sweet. Too earnest, she finds it nearly unpalatable because she’s fully aware of all the things wrong with the dress. She simply hadn’t had time to make something or money to buy a whole new dress. She’s maybe starting to regret turning down Adrien’s offer to buy her one. (But her pride is still a fairly powerful thing, broken as it is, it still prods and pokes into her until she sticks to her principles.)
“Adrien...I’m not dressed fancy enough. My dress is too short. Look, oh my god that’s fucking Aurore. Adrien, that’s a supermodel in a stunning floor-length Christiani gown. Look at that stitching. Look at the way the rhinestone belt falls perfectly over her angles and here I am in some cheap tulle and chiffon and I-“
She’s not prepared for when Adrien merely tugs her gently into a hidden copse in the art gallery, and pulls her into a calming embrace. He rests his chin on her head, muffling any further derision of herself into the purple lapels of his Gabriel Agreste suit.
“You’re okay Marinette. You’re gorgeous and you made a goddamn amazing dress and you stand out as a person of unique talents and quality character, even in this crowd.” Adrien says quietly.
He truly believes in her and she finds it difficult to lift up her head and meet his warm gaze. Her heart’s not racing, but his friendship is something so solid and dependable, she feels as if it is okay in this moment to voice her uncertainties.
It’s only because he’s here that she’s let herself believe for one second that she can make it through this public outing. It’s only been a week since her concussion and about four days since her first run-ins with the paparazzi, so she’s still feeling a little frazzled.
“Thank you Adrien. For everything.”
Her eyes are large and watery, but she gives him a dazzling smile of gratitude that he swears has taken all the breath out of his chest. (And he would gladly give up his breath for this moment if it means she can keep on smiling...because she’s such a dear, special friend.)
Her small hands squeeze his arms in a brief hug, and then she’s ready again. Blooming like a peony fresh after spring rain, artfully styled tendrils of hair sway around her face, further animating her movements.
“Okay. Let’s go see what modern art has to offer!” She cheers, and doesn’t let go of his hand...only, she’s the one leading now and he finds that he doesn’t mind at all.
—-
“I get that the contrast between the red dot and the white background can be really striking, but like...there’s nothing beyond that. What’s the meaning? Is it like the blood of violence on the innocence of the world?” Adrien mutters to Marinette, a conspiratorial smile tugging at his lips.
The humor alights on her lips, extending the corners until she’s got a matching grin.
“It looks like a period stain to me.” She giggles and he nearly chokes on the complimentary wine in his glass. She offers him a napkin in time, so that when he does spew out it in a fit of laughter, it does not fall onto his very nice suit.
He pats at the corners of his mouth in a manner most well-bred, but his green eyes sparkle with an ill-concealed mirth. Despite appearances, Adrien still retains some of the lessons woven into him from his upbringing. Marinette notices it in the little things, like when he holds his tea cups with as few fingers as possible or when he savors the bouquet of wine before sipping it.
It’s in the ease of his steps and the carriage of his neck as he walks through life.
Nonetheless, she finds in him an amusing fellow detractor of the earlier mentioned eccentricities of the elite.
“Wanna go see if we make shadow puppets with the neon light installation upstairs?” He cheers, and Marinette finds it difficult to stifle her affection when she wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him close.
“Hell yeah.”
They manage to make their laughing way through a couple more exhibits, only stopping every once in a while when some odd designer or famous person recognizes Adrien and absolutely has to inquire after his father. Marinette notices that his expression of joy becomes a bit shuttered during these instances, and it’s during one particularly long conversation, she decides to do something about it.
A distinguished older lady with silver hair cropped short and a purple, velvety gown that drifts towards the floor has accosted them both. She’d introduced herself as some sort of television drama director. Marinette isn’t entirely paying attention to the beginning of the conversation and is slowly spacing out as she notices said woman isn’t at all interested in her presence.
Still, Marinette keeps her hold on Adrien’s arm, refusing to leave her friend to the metaphorical wolves prowling the halls of this gallery. She holds her head high, and plasters on her best imperious gaze as she looks between the both of them.
It’s only when Madame Bargeron says something that causes Adrien’s entire frame to tense up that Marinette finds the courage to fully jump in.
“Well, I must say young Adrien you have fully taken on your mother’s looks, thank the heavens. Such a shame you didn’t follow in her footsteps and go into acting. You know, it’s not too late. Before you go off gallivanting to the States again, I can offer you a role i-”
“Pardon me, Madame, but I believe Adrien promised to take me to see the Matsumoto exhibit on the third floor. It was certainly a pleasure.” Marinette detangles her date from the triggering conversation as efficiently as she snips away tangled string from her designs.
(Adrien can almost here the metallic shing of her words as they cut through the unpleasantries, all for him.)
The tension in his shoulders is released, dropping like a weighted blanket all around him, wrapping him up in the comfort of acceptance Marinette seems to be so great at giving.
Madame Bargeron is simply left to stand there, straining to say something about rude know-nothing girls. By the time she manages to get out the first syllable, Marinette has already tugged Adrien away, wrapping a protective arm as best she can around his broad frame. Adrien merely shoots Bargeron an apologetic smile, and moves along. Relief makes his grin a bit too wide, but he can’t find it in himself to care.
----
Adrien has gone to finish up a last round of schmoozing to make it up the minimum level required to not receive a word of admonishment from his father. Marinette is tired and has had enough of high society for tonight.
Instead, she’s been allowed to wander the halls of the upper level exhibits. There are a few lingering guests, but they’re too much in the throes of drunken niceties to notice her.
In one of the emptier rooms, she notices the mess they left behind. Glasses strewn in every corner. Napkins littering underfoot. Confetti is sprinkled on some of the porcelain sculptures. She narrowly avoid a puddle of mystery yellow liquid. She hopes it’s whiskey.
A rolling judgement curls her lip in disgust.
Rich people are just as gross, if not grosser, at parties. And they don’t even care about the clean up...speaking of which, a single custodian lady is currently sweeping up the mess in the center of the room.
There’s no one here but Marinette and the lone custodian. The lights are dimmed and most of the crowd has moved downstairs for the long hour of farewells and alcohol-smelling la bise.
She knows that lonely feeling. Staying after hours to sweep up a mess in a place you’d been expecting to be at least relatively okay after an event. Pity stirs in her as she takes in the copious amounts of inexplicable trash spread out all over the concrete. Newspapers and old cardboard and crumbled cookies.
She makes her way to the giant trash bag open near the dust pan and pulls it up to where the woman is still sweeping. The woman stops for a moment, wondering if Marinette wants something, but smiles wide when she sees that she’s holding open the bag for her.
“Ah...you really don’t have to, Mademoiselle.” The lady says, holding her broom close to her.
Marinette shakes her head vehemently, opening the trash bag a bit wider.
“I work part time at a cafe. I know how tedious cleaning peoples’ messes can be. Please let me help a little.”
“Suit yourself.”
The lady shakes her head in humorous disbelief, and shrugs. She dusts off her broom, and gratefully takes the dustpan when Marinette hands it to her.
“God...You’d think these people would know how to keep something clean...I guess not.” Marinette says lightly. She carefully bends down in her lovely dress to pick up some stray pieces of crumpled paper. She tosses them into the bag with a happy “whoop”.
The lady laughs. A nice laugh that sends her slight wrinkles shooting up into her eyes and crinkles them with mirth.
She introduces herself as Fatima. Fatima has a grandson in La Sorbonne and she likes cats and black tea with milk in the evenings. Fatima is a riot. She gossips about the idiosyncrasies of the rich and about the weirdest messes she’s had to clean up after expensive socialite gatherings in the museum.
Fatima has been working here for 15 years and her favorite exhibit is the one inspired by Moroccan fairy tales.
By the time the hour is done, the vast majority of trash from the center of the room has been gathered up and Marinette receives a text from Adrien that it’s time to go home.
She bids farewell to her new friend. Fatima kisses her cheeks in gratitude. It’s la bise, smelling of black tea and mint and she finds that she’s glad she stayed behind.
--
Adrien doesn’t throw the newspaper angrily. In fact...he doesn’t look angry at all. His face is flushed and his mouth keeps moving to say something, but no audio comes out.
Rather, he throws his face into it and Marinette winces when she sees the outline of his nicely shaped nose poke through the other side.
She hears his muffled exclamations, but doesn’t move from her perch on his desk chair. Instead, she carefully arranges the edges of her long, cream shirt around her knees and pulls her legs up to her chest.
“Just say something, please...How badly did I mess up?” She says hoarsely. She’s too stunned to even cry.
He pulls his face out from the newspaper. His skin is smudged with ink, his hair in more disarray than usual. His mouth is still flapping, but his eyes are narrowed in a strange way. She doesn’t know what that expression is supposed to be, but boy is it scaring her.
“15,000...15,000 euros.” He finally chokes out. “The art sculpture you cleaned up was worth 15,000 euros, Marinette.”
Marinette’s squawks in horror. She slumps against the chair, her legs sliding off with a pitiful thud as she slowly goes down.
“15...15,000 euros...I don’t even have 2000 in savings...A-Adrien...I can’t p-pay that off...it looked liked trash...it was trash...old newspapers...there was even a tra-trash can…”
Adrien breaks then. Adrien breaks then and his narrowed eyes are revealed to be the mirth wrinkling them. His smile is nearly manic as he doubles over, laughing so hard he has to slump against his bed as he re-reads the headline.
“You...You thought it was trash...god...only you, Marinette...only you...It’s okay. The artist has already been compensated. Your friend Fatima isn’t implicated...but of course it would be you...who managed to get into this sort of trouble.”
He’s wheezing. Marinette feels a small sort of guilt that she’d cost Adrien’s family so much, but not so much. She wouldn’t be in this trouble if she hadn’t been made to go because of their deal. She wouldn’t be here, in this weird, mixed up world of splendour.
His laughter is warm. Her face is warm.
She looks indignant. She wants him to shut up.
He thinks she looks so cute, all pouty and red. He wants her to smile.
She rises and pulls the collar of his shirt down so that he’s forced to bend down and look her indignance in the face.
She’s so close. So close, he can see the tears of embarrassment clinging onto her lashes. The scintillating blue of her fierce gaze. The bluish shift of her hair in the sunlight drifting into his room.
He shuts up, his smile frozen comically on his face.
She got what she wanted. She smiles in victory and lets him go.
“There. You’re so much cuter when you’re quiet.”
She stretches in content and gives a little laugh of relief.
“15,000 euros...one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, alright. I’ll never understand modern art.”
Adrien is still slightly dazed...remembering the smell of peonies that had wafted into his nose at how close she’d been. How soft she’d been...how...oh god no...He shakes his head of such thoughts and gives a stiff giggle at her words.
He’s so fucked.