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Marinette started ballet before she could even remember. Some of her first memories were of the smell of resin, the brush of her teacher, Mme. Bustier’s, hands against her shoulders and arms, correcting her position. The feeling of awe when her parents took her to see Sleeping Beauty, staring at pointe shoes for months after that, waiting anxiously until she was old enough to finally slip on a pair of her own.
Marinette was dancing before she could add, or write her name in cursive, or practically write her name at all.
She was clumsy everywhere but on stage. If one saw her in the classroom, they’d never guess she was a prima ballerina in the making.
But once Marinette slipped on those pointe shoes, wearing her costumes of delicate tulle and embroidery, she was a different person entirely.
She was lighter than air on pointe. Moving gracefully, each limb like a carefully controlled ribbon floating through the air.
Marinette might have stumbled along most of her life, but on stage, everyone around her swore that Marinette could fly.
They’d done the lift a hundred times. There was no reason their final rehearsal before the performance should have been any different.
“Marinette,” Sabine chided, prodding her young daughter forward, across the floor of the ballet studio, “Go on, meet your partner,”
The six-year-old girl pouted, shaking her head. “I don’t wanna dance with a boy,” she said stubbornly, “Boys are icky,”
“Hey!” Lucas protested.
“I won’t,” Marinette said mutinously, tilting her chin up in defiance.
(she’d done it anyway, and they’d been dance partners ever since)
It would have been easier for her to swallow if it had been their first time trying out a difficult lift. But it hadn’t. They’d been practicing it since they were fifteen. It should have been just like every other time.
From then on, Lucas had been there for every dance.
For every sprained ankle, Lucas was there with a pack of ice and dozens of truly horrible movies to help her wait out the injury until she could get back on stage again.
For every frustratingly difficult dance move, Lucas was there to work through the individual steps until she got it.
For every promenade, présage, or jump, Lucas was there with steady hands to keep her up.
They’d been partners in crime, causing their parents too many headaches to count but winning nearly every dance competition they entered.
Everyone could see it– those two were going to be spectacular.
Not that the lift was easy, but they’d been practicing it for so long. She was supposed to be going to Salle Le Peletier that spring.
They’d done this dance dozens of times. Two ballet students obsessed with getting accepted into the best ballet companies in Europe– never stopping, never resting until their coaches and parents demanded it. Free time was always dedicated to this dance.
The one-hand presage lift was one they’d practiced with Mme. Bustier for years now. It had become nearly second nature for Marinette to hold her arabesque, to expect Lucas to pull her up into the sky, the gentle placement back down.
And maybe they’d gotten too comfortable with themselves. Maybe Lucas had been practicing too long, his hands too slippery. Or maybe it was just truly horrible luck.
But for whatever reason, as Lucas went to place her back down on the ground, she slipped right out of his grip.
The fall was only seconds but it felt much longer.
She did not feel panic, but cold, like her limbs and blood had all frozen over. She could see Mme. Bustier gasping, she knew that Lucas surely must have made some sound, but all Marinette could hear was the pounding on her blood in her ears.
Like the good ballerina she was, she still held on to her arabesque pose.
The only other thing she heard besides her blood pounding was the noise of her ankle shattering as she hit the floor, her legs collapsing beneath her.
One Year Later:
Marinette huffed, leaning against the side of her old ballet studio. While the trek from her apartment to the studio wasn’t exactly long, and the doctors continued to say that fresh air would help keep her spirits up, she still would have preferred to drive.
She checked her watch, assessing the empty room. Ten minutes early. Perfect.
The little ones would be arriving soon, and she always liked to put on one of her favorite pas de deux before they came in so they could see it playing as soon as they walked through the door. One hand on the carved wooden cane that had been a security blanket for her, she wandered around the room, setting up her computer.
She pulled up Youtube, searching for the pas de deux. Would she have performed this for Salle Le Peletier if her fall had never happened?
Like her ankle knew what she was thinking about, the pain flared up again. She swallowed her pain back down, leaning more heavily against the cane.
There it was. The Bluebird pas de deux. She and Lucas had practiced this dance, once upon a time. When her ankle didn’t hurt after every time she landed a jump. When her blood didn’t freeze over when she so much as thought of doing a lift with a partner.
She could still remember what it felt like, floating across the stage en pointe. The Sparrow, they’d called her. Even though she was grounded, Marinette could still remember what it felt like to fly.
“Girl,” Alya said drily, snapping Marinette out of her reverie. Her friend was leaning against the open doorframe, wearing a leotard and see-through orange skirt over tan tights. “Are you okay?”
“Mmmhmm” Marinette hummed back, hooking up her computer to the overhead projector. Yuhui Choe and Alexander Campbell appeared on screen, both donned in baby blue.
Alya shrugged, making her way over to Marinette. “Mar,” she chuckled, “You’ve shown them this dance so many times I think even the youngest ones have it memorized,”
“Good practice,” Marinette replied. “To do it right, you’ve got to know the dance better than you know yourself,”
“You’ve gotten into your practice clothes today,” Alya said softly.
It was rare for anyone to see Marinette don her old ballet clothes, even the practice skirt, and leotard. The last time she’d even gotten out her performance clothes, her parents had found her two hours later, sobbing over the dress she’d worn in her studio’s performance of Swan Lake. She’d been Odette that year. To no one’s surprise, Lucas had been Prince Siegfried.
Marinette gave her best friend a nonchalant shrug– one she’d perfected over the last year.
Alya sighed. “Lucas is here to see you,”
“Yeah?” Marinette said with a raised eyebrow, slamming her computer shut. “What, is he back from the Royal Ballet for a while?”
“He didn’t mean to hurt your feelings by accepting that offer, Marinette. You know that, right?” Alya said softly.
Marinette turned so fast her cane clattered to the floor. Without meaning to, she had gone en pointe, and she slowly lowered her heels to the ground again. “Yeah, and I’m sure he didn’t mean to drop me so I shattered my ankle, either, but here we are. He’s playing Romeo in a couple of months and I’m here teaching kids how to hold the fifth position.”
Alya’s jaw dropped, “Oh, Marinette…”
“No,” she said harshly, snatching her cane off the ground in one fluid motion, “I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine. We’re all… fine. But tell Lucas he can get the hell out of my life. He’s already dropped me one too many times.”
“He really is sorry,” Alya tried one last time.
Marinette shrugged, “I am too,” When Alya remained by her side, she walked her best friend to the door of the studio. “I think you should go,” she said. “The kids will be coming in soon.”
The door shut just as Alya turned to give her friend a remorseful look. Marinette sighed, leaning against the closed door.
Lucas could feel bad all he wanted, but he had a life to get back to, and Marinette had hers. And sometimes, seeing that look of joy and belonging on the faces of the girls she taught was enough to make Marinette forget that her future had ended before it even began.
Slowly, girls ages six to nine trickled into her room, hair coiled into tight buns and pink skirts fluttering around them. She made sure to play back all their favorite parts of the pas de deux as the group stretched before leading them into the simple ballet exercises she had prepared for the day.
They might not have felt like much to her, but to the girls in front of her, these simple moves meant everything. Marinette couldn’t fight back the smile on her face.
Her career had been shattered with her ankle, but these girls still had years of ballet ahead of them. They could be her wings. They would fly for her.
* * *
As the last of her class left the ballet studio, Marinette sighed, hunching over her desk. She loved teaching the girls, but a small part of her was still bitter that she’d been stuck with this job while Lucas had gone off to the Royal Ballet.
She shook her head, searching her phone for a song. One dance, she told herself. Just one dance, and then she’d go. As difficult as it was for her to realize, ballet couldn’t be her future anymore.
Marinette carefully lifted herself en pointe, mindful of her ankle. She’d put it in a brace for class, which would usually help. The gentle music led her into the song, and Marinette quickly lost herself in the music.
She found comfort in the repetition of the arabesques and attitudes, the gentle flow of her arms through the air as she paused in croisés. Marinette ignored the slight jolt in her ankle when she reached the footwork, pushing through as she made her way across the stage.
The moves became second nature as Marinette was thrown back into a different time, one where she might have been practicing this with Mme. Bustier for a showcase: another pirouette to footwork, back to another pirouette. She could feel her ankle beginning to burn, but she was so close to the end.
Marinette grit her teeth as she came to the final part of the routine. She threw herself into a loop around the room, spinning and leaping despite the pain in her ankle. And then spin after spin after spin until Marinette could feel her ankle throbbing. The music ended, her arms outstretched and chest heaving.
The sound of clapping broke Marinette’s concentration. Her head snapped up, stumbling back. A man about her age was standing in the doorway, his face bright with a smile.
“That was amazing,” he told her, “Aurora’s Act I variation?”
Marinette nodded, eyeing him warily. “Thank you,”
“It was incredible,” he said earnestly, “I’ve seen that show thousands of times. You could pass for the real thing.” He tilted his head. “Have you ever danced professionally?”
She shook her head, “I actually don’t really dance at all, anymore.”
The man raised an eyebrow, “And what would you call that?” he asked wryly.
“That was saying goodbye,” she said harshly, “Listen, I don’t know what you’re here for, Monsieur–”
“Adrien,” the man interjected.
“Alright, Adrien then. If you’re looking for classes, you can go see the front desk.” Marinette said, pointing down the hall.
“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” he asked, “It would only be polite, you know,”
Marinette shook her head, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, “Goodbye, Adrien.”
She pulled off her ballet slippers, frowning at the same of them. Since she’d stopped competing and practicing, they hadn’t been getting as much wear, but it looked like she might need some new ones soon. She stuffed them in her bag, pulling on her boots. Marinette slung her bag over her shoulder, leaving the room.
She’d hoped that Adrien would take a hint, but it seemed he was stubborn.
He followed after her like a lost puppy, “How long have you been dancing?”
“Longer than a decade,” Marinette answered, trying to keep things vague in the hopes that Adrien would get bored and leave her alone.
“And you’re not signed to a company?” Adrien asked in surprise.
That question made Marinette feel like someone had just twisted a knife into her chest. She let out a sigh of exasperation. “Listen. I don’t know why you’re so interested in me, but none of this is your business, okay? No, I’m not signed to a company, and I never will be. And honestly, why would you care? You saw me dance one time. And it was sloppy– I haven’t danced that variation in a year, at least.”
He quirked an eyebrow, “What do you mean, why would I care? I’m Adrien,”
“Yes,” Marinette deadpanned, “I believe we’ve established that,”
Adrien looked like he was fighting back a laugh. “Adrien Agreste. You know, principal dancer for Salle Le Peletier?”
Marinette slapped a hand over her mouth, “Oh shit,”
“Uh, yeah,” Adrien said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, “And I meant what I said, earlier. The way you danced that was amazing, …?”
“Marinette,” she said, “My name is Marinette,”
“Marinette,” he repeated, sounding out the name. Marinette refused to think about how nice her name sounded when he said it. “And you’re telling me a company never tried to sign you?”
“Well, that’s not exactly what I said…” Marinette muttered under her breath.
Adrien cocked his head, “What?”
“Nothing!” Marinette exclaimed quickly, “It’s nothing.” She let out a deep sigh, “What’s it going to take to make you drop this whole ballet thing?”
Adrien frowned, but thought about it for a minute, “Coffee. Can we meet up at a cafe this weekend?”
“Alright. But,” she added, pointing at him threateningly, “No talking about my dancing,”
Adrien raised his hands in a placating gesture, “Alright,” He fumbled around for a pen and slip of paper, scrawling out his number. “Um, here’s my number. Text me, okay? Please?”
“Yeah,” Marinette nodded. If it took one cup of coffee to get him off her back, she’d do it. She wrote her number on his wrist. “There’s mine.”
“Great!” Adrien exclaimed. “See you this weekend, Marinette,”
Marinette nodded with false enthusiasm, “Yep!”
One cup of coffee with Adrien Agreste. One meet-up with one of the most prestigious ballet dancers of the year, and she’d forget all of this ever happened. After this, she’d walk away from the ballet world, and she wouldn’t come back.
* * *
That Saturday, Marinette sat at the cafe, a cup of steaming coffee in her hands. Adrien sat across from her, about five minutes into a story about how he’d taken Alice in Wonderland too seriously and tried to paint the white roses in the garden red.
She sat, listening attentively, although her heart wasn’t in it. She’d been searching for jobs the past couple of days, determined to leave ballet behind her. Marinette had been preparing to say goodbye to her class and getting ready to tell Mme. Bustier. It broke her heart to think about leaving ballet behind like that, but it was clear she didn’t have a future in that world anymore.
“Hey…” Adrien said awkwardly, “I know I’m not really supposed to mention ballet, but…”
Marinette narrowed her eyes at him, “What do you want?”
He winced, “I’m playing Jack and the Knave of Hearts in Alice in Wonderland, and I was wondering if you’d come to a rehearsal with me?”
“Absolutely not,” Marinette said, shaking her head.
“Please?” Adrien asked, giving her heart-breaking puppy eyes. “I’m not asking you to dance or anything, but you clearly know techniques. It would be really helpful for me to have an extra set of eyes watching.”
Marinette frowned, “You’re one of the best technical dancers Salle Le Peletier has. Every newspaper has said as much. I doubt you need me to help you.”
“Please, Marinette?” Adrien said again, pouting, “Do me this one favor?”
She sighed, “You’re really not going to stop bugging me about this, are you?”
“Nope,” Adrien said solemnly, though Marinette could see mischief sparkling in his eyes.
“Alright,” she agreed, “But just this once. I won’t do it again.” When Adrien smiled at her, she added more harshly, “Ever again.”
Adrien nodded innocently, “Of course not,” he agreed, “Just this once,”
And that was how Marinette managed to find herself watching the Salle Le Peletier rehearsals every week for nearly two months, even after she had sworn to herself that she wasn’t going to involve herself in ballet anymore. Something about Adrien made her want to be a part of it again, no matter how annoying his pestering was.
She’d promised herself that Aurora’s Act I Variation would be her last dance, but since then, and especially when she spent time with Adrien, she found herself longing for the feel of ballet slippers on her feet.
Adrien had ushered her backstage before she could protest, and she watched him prepare for the dance from the wings. His hair was only partially gelled back, and Marinette could tell that by the end of the rehearsal, it would be a mess. He’d briefly introduced her to the dancer playing Alice, a snobby girl named Chloé, who was glaring at her.
The dance started quickly, Adrien placing his hands on Chloé’s waist as she immediately went into a spin. Marinette admired their combined technique, but couldn’t help but think that Chloé’s harsh look and polished features didn’t fit the whimsy of this ballet.
She tilted her head, studying Adrien’s form as he lifted her in near bridal-style, making it look like she didn’t weigh anything.
“He’s impressive, isn’t he?” a voice said from beside Marinette.
Marinette whipped her head around, taking in the woman beside her. She looked only a few years older than Marinette, but she knew that ballerinas had a tendency to look younger than they were.
“I’m Tikki,” the woman said, sticking out a pale and graceful hand dotted with gentle freckles.
Marinette returned the handshake, “Marinette,”
“I know,” she said with a small smile. “Adrien mentioned he was bringing you over. I’ve known him for years,” Tikki added.
“Oh,” Marinette said in a hushed exclamation, “I know you! You were Aurora when I went to see the ballet!”
Tikki smiled, “Yes, I did play Aurora for a while. Plagg’s around here, too.” She glanced around. “Somewhere. I could introduce you two if you’d like to meet the Prince Désiré to my Aurora,”
“Maybe after the performance,” Marinette said, “I’m supposed to be watching Adrien’s technique,” she snorted, “Not like he needs help with that, but he insisted.” As she spoke, Adrien lifted Chloé up into another lift, making the whole thing look effortless.
Tikki and Marinette watched the rest of the pas de deux in silence, waiting until the final note before Tikki burst into applause. Marinette joined in, smiling and giving Adrien a thumbs up.
Adrien and another man wandered over, Tikki immediately gravitating towards the other one. Marinette felt panic flood through her body as she recognized him– not just from Sleeping Beauty, but from her time auditioning for Salle Le Peletier.
“Plagg!” Tikki cheered, unaware of Marinette’s panic, “This is Marinette, the girl Adrien was talking about the other day,”
Adrien flushed to his ears, but Marinette was too distracted to notice it as Plagg’s face lit up in recognition.
“We’ve met before,” Plagg said, “You were the dancer from Mme. Bustier’s dance studio. They had this nickname for you…” he snapped his fingers, “The Sparrow!”
Marinette closed her eyes as tears began to burn behind her lids, praying that Plagg would stop talking.
“But then you had an accident, didn’t you?” Plagg asked as Marinette nodded. “Shame about that, you were supposed to join us that Spring. Partner dropped you in a lift, right? You shattered your ankle? How’s PT going?”
Marinette dared a glance at Adrien, whose jaw was hanging open.
“You were supposed to join the company?” he asked.
“I’m so sorry,” Marinette said, backing up frantically. “This– this was a mistake. I don’t do this anymore. I don’t dance. I– I shouldn’t be here.”
Adrien reached out to grab her hand, but Marinette jerked away.
“I have to go,” she said quietly before exiting the building as fast as her ankle could take her.
* * *
Two weeks later, Marinette frowned as her phone lit up yet again with a call from Adrien. She thunked her head against the desk in her studio, sighing as she reviewed the showcase plans for that month.
“They had this nickname for you… The Sparrow!”
Marinette shook her head, blinking back tears. From the next room over, she could hear music from Giselle playing, the sound of ballet slippers hitting the Marley floor, and the sound of Alya coaching the girls. Her friend taught the older kids, so the music and moves were more sophisticated than what Marinette taught the younger girls.
“Partner dropped you in a lift, right?”
Two text messages appeared on her phone screen, both from Adrien, pleading her to text him back. She closed the phone down again, staring at the second text message. ‘Please, Marinette.’ She was tempted to throw her phone across the room, but instead just slammed the phone down on the wood desk.
Her body began to feel restless, her leg bouncing up and down. She shook her head, shaking out her arms and legs before hooking up her phone to the speaker.
She let her muscles loosen, raising herself en pointe. She’d always struggled with her footwork, but continued through it, moving to the beat and counts. Marinette worked her way through the song, allowing herself to feel the emotions of the music.
Marinette lifted her leg as high as it would go in an attitude, lowering it back down when the next beat hit. She threw herself into the dance entirely, pouring all her emotions into it.
When she looked up, Alya and Adrien were both staring from the doorway.
She frowned, muttering to herself. “Why does this always happen to me?”
“Marinette!” Alya exclaimed, “That was beautiful! When did you choreograph that?”
Marinette bit her lip, “Uh, just now, actually,” Unable to ignore Adrien for any longer, she turned to look at him, “What are you doing here?”
He blinked slowly, smiling bashfully, “I– I was worried about you…”
“You were worried about me?” Marinette said drily, “You didn’t think that maybe I didn’t want to see you, you know, after I ran away from your rehearsal?”
Adrien blushed, “I–”
“Go easy on the Sunshine,” Alya interjected. “He’s just trying to help.”
She frowned, watching Adrien’s worried face, soft green eyes. He gave her a gentle, nervous smile, moving towards her. Marinette took another step toward him, Alya still standing by the door awkwardly.
“… alright,” she said, clearly amused. “I’m gonna leave you two alone,”
Adrien placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, pulling her into a hug– his grip loose enough that she could pull away. “I missed you, Marinette,”
“I missed you too,” Marinette said gently. Somehow, over the last two months, Adrien had become a huge part of his life. Not something that Marinette couldn’t live without, but something she didn’t really want to.
Adrien made her want to dance again, made her smile and laugh.
She’d spent two weeks without him, and it had been misery. A world like that wasn’t what she wanted. A world where Adrien Agreste didn’t drag her to rehearsal once a week, giving her sweets and coffee to make it up, was not a world she wanted. A world where Adrien didn’t repeat the same leap five-thousand times in her studio as she sewed her kids' tutus wasn’t a world Marinette wanted to live in.
Adrien propped his chin up on top of her head, “Will you dance with me?” he asked softly.
“Yeah,” Marinette said, “I will,” He smiled at her, a smile that could outshine the sun. Then, he put on the gentle music Marinette had seen him dance to for weeks, now. She raised an eyebrow, “Really? You want me to dance to that?”
He nodded.
“I’m not as technically good as Chloé,” Marinette said.
Adrien shook his head, “But you have more heart,” he pointed out, “And I’d rather dance it with you,”
Marinette shrugged, “If you say so,”
She spun into his arms like she’d seen Chloé do hundreds of times, feeling comfort in his hands on her waist. She knew it was silly, but somehow, when she was dancing with Adrien, her ankle didn’t burn as much.
As Adrien moved to pick her up, he whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall.”
“I know you won’t,” Marinette said with a smile.
All his practice had paid off, and his technique and emotions were perfect in the performance. And with Adrien, she wasn’t as scared that she would fall again. She gently slid down his shoulder, let him hold her in a fish lift.
The rest of the performance was flawless, and as it came to an end Marinette melted into his arms. Adrien leaned down to kiss her and she met him halfway.
Marinette most likely wouldn’t dance professionally, but she could still dance with Adrien. And being with Adrien made her feel like she could fly again.