Work Text:
September has always been Chloé’s favorite month of the year. The breeze that makes its way through the streets lifts Chloé up, raising her heart from the heavy weight she’s been carrying for years. It’s not hot enough to make her hate waking up, but it’s not so cold that loneliness settles deep in her bones. There’s no longing for another human being, no desire for human warmth.
It’s comfortable, practical weather, and Chloé would fight to prove it was the best time of the year.
It seems fitting somehow that September is the month she meets Marinette Dupain-Cheng.
It wasn’t a particularly special day. She’d woken up feeling hollow, her quiet apartment draining energy out of her. Her head was sluggish as she got out of bed, eyes barely staying open. Her neighbors were screaming at each other again, a daily occurrence that never failed to rouse her. They’d start every morning with an argument, telling Chloé why she shouldn’t go around looking for relationships; at night, she could hear them talking to one another, the sounds of soft kissing and mumbled reassurances bringing her to tears with an ache that never seemed to go away.
It had taken two hours for her to finally move around at a normal place, her hair pulled back and clean, ironed clothes adorning her frame. A cup of coffee filled her up as she grabbed her stuff and left the apartment, in the same neat fashion she’d done for the past three years.
Somewhere, a fourteen-year-old Chloé Bourgeois was screaming at her current life, angry that there weren’t loyal followers kissing her feet at every step. Present-day Chloé was glad that the nasty looks thrown her way were few and in between, and that her life was more peace than chaos. It shouldn’t have taken a national scandal to finally pull her off her high horse, but regret was a little too late in coming.
It was a relief that people moved on fast, and disappearing in a city as big as Paris wasn’t hard, even if you were the mayor’s daughter.
Her hands shook as the door closed behind her, and Chloé took a minute to lean against it, her eyes closing as she took a deep breath before she pushed off and began her day. The walk to work was brisk, her steps quick and face downcast. Voices blurred into one, and human bodies became nothing more than obstacles to avoid. Chloé felt calm and energized, the weather doing wonders on her mood.
Getting up was hard, but seeing people live their lives was worth the effort, worth the hours that she spent just gathering the energy to keep existing.
Madame Hidalgo’s office was quiet as Chloé made her way to her own desk, her purse resting under the desk. She’d take her phone out, check to see notifications, but the last person who’d cared about her had long given up, too angry at her avoidance of every attempt at conversation. Now her phone was barren, filled with empty contacts of people she’d gone on one date with and then never heard from.
Not to mention, receiving countless death threats on all social media went pretty far in convincing her that it was time to leave everything behind.
Her inbox filled with meeting requests, and calls came through her phone, and Chloé masked her voice the way she always did, transferring calls and files alike. It was boring, tedious work with a hint of surprise before going back to the mundane. She never thought she’d enjoy a job like this, but she’d come to enjoy it. There was nothing better than people avoiding you because they were too busy with their own problems.
It was sad how her dream job had went from something that would make her glamorous to something that would make her invisible, but growing up was a strange experience. For her, growing up had been abandoning her father and doing everything in her power to make sure he wouldn’t come for her as well.
Someone stopped right in front of Chloé’s desk, and she plastered on her smile, looking up to see the woman standing in front of her.
The first thing she noticed were bright blue eyes; so bright, in fact, that Chloé felt like she was 5 years old again, smiling at the sky with Adrien by her side. It was the smile she noticed next, stretched wide and pointed directly at Chloé. There was something stirring in Chloé’s heart, the way there always was whenever someone attractive existed anywhere near her.
“Are you Chloé?” the stranger asks, and Chloé nods at once, trying not to let her cheeks redden as the stranger smiles even wider. Her heart hurts, a distant voice in her mind telling her she doesn’t deserve such a kind smile, such kind eyes, not after what happened-
“Are you looking for Madame Hidalgo?” Chloé asks, tone clipped and professional. She winced internally at the sound of it, but it’d been her only way to communicate in the past few years. Distant, cold, professional.
But the stranger continues to smile at that, leans against her desk, and holds out her hand. “My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I was told to coordinate some times with you so I can give strategic fashion advice to Madame Hidalgo.”
“The woman sure could use it,” Chloé mutters, and then freezes, realizing what exactly she had said. Marinette laughs fully, her hand hanging between them. Chloé stares at the red polish on Marinette’s nails, the color chipped and faded in some areas. “I apologize for my unnecessary comment.”
As Chloé watches, Marinette licks her lips before straightening again. “Well, originally the plan was that you find an hour and a half every week for me to meet with her, but now that I’m here…”
Her eyes appraised Chloé, who struggled not to blush. Positive human attention was weird when you’d stopped being surrounded by it.
“Well, I’d like for you to also fit me into your schedule. Hopefully for tonight.”
There was a small bud of hope blooming in her that she’d thought was extinguished on the last date, but it seemed that no matter what, a small amount of flattery was all it took to flower.
“I can think about it,” Chloé responded, internally cheering because it didn’t sound nearly as detached . “But I’m afraid my couch and I have plans.”
Marinette’s laughs again, her cheeks reddening slightly. “You can’t break away? Even for me?”
“I can think about it.”
Marinette watches her for a few seconds, a smile lighting up her eyes. And then she pulls her arm back, disappointing Chloé to the core, until she extends it again with a business card in hand.
“Well,” Marinette says, and Chloé dies because a cute girl a cute girl, a really effing cute girl . “If you’re ever done deciding, give me a call.”
Marinette leaves after that, but she leaves Chloé with excitement, and a genuine reason to smile.
Outside, the September weather cools Marinette’s bright red cheeks as she hides her smile.