Chapter Text
Marinette had to steal cushions from the couch and beg blankets from her parents to set up a blanket fort for her and Alya in Marinette’s now-empty room. Well, it wasn’t really much of a fort, since there was nothing to hold up blankets. It was more of a pile. All of Marinette’s things packed up as neatly as she could manage and jammed into the rented trailer Kim had agreed to attach to his pickup truck. Everything was set and tomorrow she would be on her way to her new home and the next stage of her life.
This would be the last sleepover in her old room. Marinette pursed her lips as she looked around at the bare walls, and sighed through her nose. It was just a room, she reminded herself. Soon she’d have an entire house and her own studio to put together. It was time for the next step in her life and she was ready, she was, it was just…
“I knew you’d have that look on your face,” came a voice behind her, echoing loudly off the empty walls, and Marinette jumped nearly out of her skin.
“Sorry,” Alya giggled, coming up through the trapdoor with her laptop and an armful of DVD cases. She plopped down on the pile of blankets and cushions and dumped her armful of movies beside her.
Marinette sat down as Alya began setting up her laptop, and scowled as she went through the pile of movies. “Alya,” she said warningly, but Alya held up a finger.
“Don’t start. These are educational.”
Marinette snorted. “How? You know I hate scary movies.”
“I know you’re going to get all mopey and sad about leaving if I don’t keep you distracted,” Alya informed her. “It won’t hurt to pick up some tips on living alone.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Marinette sighed, but she was too tired to argue. An hour in, she was wishing she’d put up more of a fight. She tried to keep her composure by laughing at Alya’s “tips” for living on her own.
“See, there’s another important lesson!” Alya pointed at the screen. “Never go in the basement alone!”
Marinette rolled her eyes. “Alya have you seen my nonna’s basement? It was bad before and now that she’s crammed all her stuff in there, I couldn’t even fit between everything down there, let alone a serial killer.”
“No stereotypes,” Alya told her, shoving another chip in her mouth. “He could be a skinny serial killer. Those are the really scary ones. Remember that movie where Edward Norton was supposed to have multiple personalities?”
Marinette shuddered. “ Yes. ” That one was more suspense than horror but it had creeped Marinette out the worst. “Still,” she tried again, “I’m moving to a suburb, not the inner city.”
Alya raised her eyebrows and held up a DVD case labeled The Burbs . “Oh we’ll cover that next.” Marinette groaned.
“And that terrorist family in Arlington Road ?” Alya reminded her. “They were in a nice neighborhood and don’t forget how that one ended. Nobody suspecting them the whole time except whats-his-face.”
Slapping her hands over her face, Marinette whined. Alya snickered and patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry girl, I didn’t bring anything so ‘realistic’,” she made air quotes, barely able to keep a straight face, “this time.”
“I don’t understand why you want to give me nightmares my last night at home,” Marinette complained, but didn’t bother protesting as Alya queued up the first movie.
“I just want to wake up your fear sense a little bit,” Alya teased, poking her in the side. “You’re about to be on your own, without all of us to look out for you.”
“I don’t know why you guys are so convinced I can’t take care of myself.”
“Marinette,” Alya said, in her big sister tone, and Marinette cringed. “You’re very capable, but you’re also a little naive. You’re just so quick to trust people and make snap judgements based on your feelings instead of evidence. I just want you to open your eyes a little bit because you’re going to get taken advantage of if you keep on doing things the way you are.”
There was no way to answer that without starting a fight, so Marinette just sat in silence. After a moment, Alya added in a lighter tone, “Plus that little squeak you make at the jumpscares is hilarious. ”
Two more movies and Alya was giggling while Marinette alternately cringed and pointed out everything that was silly about the movie setups. “Look, who would even—” she began, and then winced and shrunk down as the killer popped up behind a character and garotted her with piano wire. The sick amusement in his eyes—the actor’s eyes, she reminded herself—was a little too real for her taste.
Another film featured a man who kidnapped women off of rural roads and hunted them in the woods like deer, with a bow and arrow. Marinette was pretty sure arrow wounds didn’t spurt like that, but by that point it didn’t matter. Marinette had given up trying to be logical and was curled up in a little ball pressing a pillow down on the top of her head, just waiting for it to be over.
“Aww, Marinette,” Alya laughed with the credits rolled and Marinette breathed a sigh of relief. “You really need to toughen up.”
“Why, exactly?” Marinette asked dryly. “When in the course of my fashion career am I going to have to worry about blood spraying everywhere?”
“When you show in front of Audrey Bourgeois,” Alya snickered, and Marinette had to laugh.
“Okay, point,” Marinette giggled. “I don’t think this is going to help me with that, either.”
Alya leaned over unexpectedly and wrapped Marinette in a tight hug. “I’m going to miss you, girl,” she whispered, her breath hitching, and Marinette softened, patting Alya’s back.
“I’ll miss you too.”