Work Text:
Having finished setting up shop in a green room that smells like it used to be a janitorial closet, Marinette got a ping on her phone while mindlessly sketching.
FoxySox
whos ur 1st singer
Flowersnackz03
Alya, you know I can’t tell you.
Also idk, that’s the whole point of the show
FoxySox
He/she/they?
Flowersnackz03
they aren’t here yet
all I know is the measurements for the costume
… and the smell of this ‘green room’
definitely toilet bowl cleaner. Ajax
FoxySox
U never clean the toilet at our apartment, y do u no the smell of a specific toilet bowl cleaner?
Flowersnackz03
it’s the same stuff they had in the janitor closets at Françoise Dupont
FoxySox
y do u no that
Flowersnackz03
he’s here, gotta go
rules say the phone is off now c u at home
FoxySox
Is he cute?
READ ✓
The door half-way opened after a brief knock. “Just a second,” she said, catching a brief glimpse of the tall man(?) standing on the other side of the doorway. “I’m turning… off… my phone… Okay, come in.”
The door opened the rest of the way and the tall man walked in. “Hi,” he said, by way of apology for being a few minutes late.
He was wearing a gray baggy sweatsuit. 100% cotton by the look of it. Also some white cotton socks and white off-brand trainers. Just like all the other contestants on The Masked Singer. And just like the other contestants, he was also wearing a big blue shower cap, sunglasses so big and so dark that they could have been novelty sunglasses, and a disposable face mask.
“Hi, no problem, I just finished setting up myself.” As he approached, she reached out with a hand. “I’m Marinette.”
He took her hand in his, and she noticed he was also wearing black latex gloves, which weren’t part of the usual get up the contestants had to wear. Or maybe it was and it wasn’t mentioned in her onboarding session.
“Nice to meet you, Marinette. I’m… one of the contestants.”
She nodded with a smirk. That was almost how the contestants were supposed to interact with the backstage staff, so all was well here. Short of practicing whatever song they had this week, all they were allowed to say while at the studio was ‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘maybe’, ‘ask the staff’, ‘I’m one of the contestants’, and a few other rote phrases. Everything else was off limits to prevent their identity from leaking before the show.
She turned back to her make-shift sewing desk and leaned over the back of the folding chair that would be her workstation for the rest of her summer internship. She picked up her notebook that she had been doodling in after the akuma attack and flipped through to the page with measurements.
“Lets see, height 160 cm, no… 173 cm… 210 cm…” She had three columns of measurements for the three costumes she’d be the primary seamstress for. Looking back at the man still standing by the door, she watched him rock back and forth on his heels as he looked around the rolls of fabric and dress forms in the room with his arms wrapped around his sides.
“You must be Monsieur 210 cm.”
He shrugged playfully, “That’s what they called me in homeschool. I mean yes.”
She rolled her eyes, not bothering to fight the smile on her face. “Alright, sit down on the couch. Let’s figure out your costume.”
He nodded and languidly loped his way across the 2 and a half meter space between the couch and the door in two steps before plopping down on the nearest cushion. His arm draped all the way across the back of the couch and his fingers nearly brushed the far edge.
Though his pose was casual as could be, she noted how he bobbed his leg with nervous energy.
She gripped the folding chair behind her and dragged it forward before spinning it around and sitting in it, facing him with legs crossed.
“Are you nervous?”
“... Maybe.”
“Ever been on TV before?”
“Yes.”
She smiled, “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
“Thanks.”
Which was, of course, one of the canned responses the contestants were allowed to say. She placed the notepad down in her lap and slapped the top of it. “Okay! We’re going to design your costume for the show. There are a few preliminary things, so let's go over them first.”
He nodded, and she started down the bulleted list that she wrote during the onboarding session. “Okay so, first thing’s first: Introductions. Well, I guess it's just ‘introduction’ heh. You already know I’m Marinette. I’m a college student here in Paris, and this is my summer internship project so I’m not being paid. Which is… super great,” she said with a sigh.
The tall man said nothing, so she continued. Pressing the tips of her fingers to her breastbone she sat up straight and projected an air of class, like she did whenever she said “I am an aspiring fashion designer.”
“Oh,” he said, his leg freezing mid bob.
She looked up from her notes at the contestant, and… even without moving from his position on the couch and without being able to see his face (or any distinguishing features, really) he seemed… very tense. Surprised, perhaps? Who did he think would be making his costume, Gabriel Agreste?
Ignoring the weird vibe that she was sure she was only imaging, she continued on. “So I’m responsible for three of the costumes. There are only four of us student interns, each with multiple costumes to make.”
He nodded.
“We’re tight on time, and you’re in the season opener, so there won’t be a chance to redo the costume design if you don’t like it. So let’s get it in one, okay?”
“Yes!” he said, giving her a rather sincere thumbs up.
“Great. First, the concept. Since you have a limited vocabulary, we can do this in a couple of ways. Are you any good at art?”
“No.”
“Ah. Well you can always write down what kind of costume you want, how about that?”
He nodded, and she handed him the notebook and her pen. He took the notebook and turned to the next page to start writing, and stopped. Confused by his pause, she looked down and felt embarrassment stab her in the gut. It was the quick sketch of Chat Noir she was doodling just before he came in.
“Sorry! Sorry,” she said, scrambling to grab the notebook from his hands. He pulled the notebook out of her reach, stood up, and walked to the other side of the room in such a fluid motion that she almost fell out of her chair.
He was studying it. He was pacing the room and studying it and whoever this D-list celebrity was, he was going to think she was some kind of superhero fangirl nutjob who-
“This.”
“I’m sorry?”
He turned the notebook around and tapped at the drawing of Chat Noir with a black gloved finger. “This.”
“You want to be Chat Noir. On The Masked Singer?”
“Yes.”
She laughed. Fairly hard. Harder than she probably should have, given that this was someone she didn’t know who wanted to dress up as someone she did know, but it’s not like he knew that.
“You can’t be Chat Noir.”
His arms dropped along with his shoulders, and she felt like she just told him there was no such thing as the Easter Bunny. Before she could stop herself, she tutted and cooed at the man. But she did manage to stop herself from wrapping him up in a hug. But only just. She realized that she had moved to within a meter of him without thinking.
What was wrong with her? There was something about this absolute stranger’s body language that was short circuiting her brain.
Here she was in a tv studio green room. Alone with a strange man. A man she couldn’t pick out of a police lineup if she tried. He was blocking her way out the only door (intentionally or not). And without him saying more than a handful of canned phrases, she was ready to hug him?!
She quickly spun around and nearly leapt over the folding chair to get a little more distance from this man whose mere presence seemed to make her numb to risk. “Okay, let’s get back on task.” she said, gripping the back of the chair. “You can’t be Chat Noir, but if you want to be a cat we can make that happen.”
The slump in his shoulders vanished. If he had a tail it’d be wagging. “Okay!”
She pointed back at the couch. “Sit down.”
He did.
“Notebook,” she said, holding out her hand. He handed it to her. “Okay, so cats. Let’s see. Panther? No. Lion? Oh, a lion could be nice.”
She started sketching a new design next to the Chat Noir in her notebook, and started thinking about colors outloud. “Gold, of course. We need two tawny colors for the fur and the mane… Should the mane be darker or lighter?” She looked up at him.
He was peeling the protective cover off of a brand new smartphone that he had pulled out of his pocket. She smirked. A burner phone was probably a good idea to prevent location data from figuring out who the singers are ahead of time. She studied him while he worked. His hair was hidden by the blue shower cap, but she could just make out a hint of blond to his sideburns.
“I think a lighter mane is the way to go. Do you have a favorite color?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me?”
“No.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head, handing him the notebook, “Can you just write it in here?”
He held up a finger for a moment and typed something into his phone. Then he dropped it onto his lap and took her note book. She took the opportunity to stand up, stretch, and take a sip of water from the bottle on the desk.
He handed it back to her. There was a little stick figure of a lion with a speech bubble above his head saying ‘blue’. The drawing was cute but yeah… “Nice penmanship… Okay, I have your dimensions, and I’ll start a few concept sketches right away. I’ll send it to the Production Supervisor later this afternoon, and she’ll send it to you… Or something. I guess. Anyway, pick the one you like and let them know so they can tell me. I have to have it done for initial fitting by Wednesday so… I guess I’ll see you in a week?”
“Yes.”
She nodded and smiled. He sounded just as eager as she felt. Which again was super weird. Instead, she stood up and headed towards the door, opening it for him. “Terrific. Okay, I have the next concept session in 5 minutes, so… Get out.”
He laughed a beautiful laugh and walked past her. As he made it into the hallway, he spun in place and she shrank back, pulling her notebook to her chest. He reached forward and tapped the notebook with a black clad finger, “Check again,” he said in a whisper.
“O-okay,” she said as he sauntered off down the hallway.
Blinking after him, she opened her notebook and looked through the different pages. Not really seeing whatever it wa-
And then she saw it. Her sketch of Chat Noir. He also had a speech bubble. With a phone number.
Flowersnackz03
Hey.
FoxySox
so is he cute
Flowersnackz03
I have no idea
I almost hugged him
FoxySox
Marinette.
Flowersnackz03
He gave me his phone number
FoxySox
UEHYJK4TY6H9PWR8SBOG[IJKM
A week can go by quickly. Especially when you spend the whole thing sewing up three bedazzled fursuits that need to hold up to what is effectively a gymnastic floor routine. Like a woman possessed, Marinette spent her week doing just that. Well… not just that.
“Are you texting him again?”
“Hm?” she said not looking up from her phone.
“Forget it Alya, she’s off in her own little world.”
“Do you know his name yet?”
Marinette looked up at Zoe and frowned. “No, I don’t know his name yet, I’ll know his name when everyone knows his name. That’s how the show works.”
Zoe smiled as she continued on her way through the aisle to where their seats were. “I know how the show works, that’s why I’m here, remember? The big fan from America that you just had to invite along?”
Marinette put her phone in her purse as she waited for the elderly couple at the end of their row to stand so the three of them could squeeze past to get to their seats. Alya spoke up. “I seem to recall Marinette mentioning that she had two extra tickets in Discord and you replied in HUGE LETTERS that you had ‘dibs’.”
“Markdown, baby.”
“I run the ladyblog, I know what markdown is.”
The three girls sat down in their seats. They weren’t great. But they were free. Marinette wasn’t being paid for her internship, but that didn’t mean there were no perks. She got a staff shirt, a ratty snapback from last season, and three seats for each live episode this season. Her purse vibrated.
“Kids today with their phones,” huffed Alya, as she fished her own phone out of the breast pocket on her flannel.
Zoe chuckled as she snapped a quick selfie with the three of them. Marinette stopped typing to make a duck face and throw up a peace sign. Photo taken, she was back on her phone.
Flowersnackz03
Are ya winning son?
Lionaround
That’s the plan. Just gotta not get eliminated in the first episode. How hard can it be?
Flowersnackz03
break a leg
Lionaround
rude
Flowersnackz03
oh well now I mean it >:u
Lionaround
rude x2
Are you here?
Flowersnackz03
I am
got my girls with me
<photo.jpg>
Lionaround
Haha, of course you’re IRL friends with the ladyblogger.
READ ✓
show’s starting gtg
Zoe and Alya watched Marinette as she scrambled to collect her phone off the floor and under the seat in front of her. She suddenly dropped it with a yelp.
“You alright?” Alya asked over the rising din of the intro music being played over the speakers.
“No. Yes. Yes I’m fine, sorry the… music startled me,” she said as she settled back into her seat and jammed her phone back into her purse.
The next fifteen minutes were a blur. There was an announcer, some pretty boy she’d seen on tv a few times. They introduced the judges. They went to a commercial break. But the whole time she was wondering what his message meant.
Whoever he was, he recognized Alya as the ladyblogger. Maybe he was a big fan? That would track. When they first met, he wanted a Chat Noir costume. But in the last week they’d been talking, they never mentioned anything about heroes. So maybe he wasn’t like… obsessed obsessed? The only time it ever came up was after last week’s volcano akuma where he confirmed he had been safe through the whole thing after she texted him.
But maybe that wasn’t about him? Maybe it was about her? Maybe what he meant by ‘of course you’re IRL friends with the ladyblogger’ was ‘I know who you are’?
The commercial break ended, and the first performer was on the stage. It was her Lion. Well, not her Lion, it’s not like she owned him or anything, he could belong to himself or anyone he wanted to really, and that didn’t mean he’d necessarily want her to-
The lights dropped and a hush went over the audience. A pink sunrise effect from the back of the set began to spill over the stage. The tall man in a lion suit was sitting in front of a grand pink piano. On closer look, it was a white piano, bathed in pink light. The piano sat on a rotating plinth. He started to play a song. A song that she knew.
Doesn't seem to matter what I do
I'm always number two
No one knows how hard I tried, oh-oh, I
I have feelings that I can't explain
Drivin' me insane
All my life, been so polite
But I'll sleep alone tonight
He rose from his seat and, still singing, he moved with that same fluid grace that she saw first hand in the green room. He sashayed and spun and vogued and when he asked “Am I not hot when I'm in my feelings?” Goddamn was he hot.
Soon two waves of men in blond wigs came streaming in from off stage, pumping their arms as they stormed the stage for a Kenergy dance off. By the time her Lion was taking manly hands in his, the audience was clapping along. One of the judges was standing, stradling their chair and the desk like they were at the summit of a mountain, pumping both fists in the air along with the music.
The song ended and the audience went nuts. Alya leaned over “Girl you are grinning so hard.”
Marinette touched her face, surprised by how warm her cheeks were. “Am I”?
Zoe leaned over and handed Marinette her phone, which was open to her recently taken photos. They were all of Marinette. Marinette with her mouth hanging open. Marinette gripping her purse like it was the only thing keeping her from floating up to the ceiling. Marinette clapping along. Marinette with her eyes closed mid blink, but a smile of satisfaction so intimate she was shocked it was her own.
Marinette handed the phone back to Zoe. “For the wedding album!” Zoe said as loud as she dared to be heard over the crowd.
She chuckled a low warning laugh and gave Zoe the middle finger, which she pretended to take offense at as the pretty boy announcer was on stage interviewing her Lion.
“Wow! That was great huh?” he asked, addressing the crowd. Marinette (and everyone else) whooped and cheered.
“I’m Just Ken, huh?”
“Yep,” the Lion said, still catching his breath.
“Strong opener. Why did you pick this song?”
“It’s a song that speaks to me, you know? A lot of people see me as just another pretty face.”
“Uh huh.”
“But I’m great at doing stuff.”
The audience laughed. Marinette did not. She was hit with a wave of deja vu. His mannerisms were so familiar it threatened to give her a headache. The interview concluded and the Lion waved to the crowd before bounding off backstage and the show cut to commercial.
Flowersnackz03
I didn’t know you played the piano.
Lionaround
I’ll play for you anytime, Barbie.
Flowersnackz03
don’t call me Barbie
Lionaround
And how would the Lady like to be addressed? I’d hate to bug her.
Flowersnackz03
…
Lionaround
>:3c
Flowersnackz03
how?
Lionaround
There’s only one person I know who says
aspiring fashion designer
the same way you do And she says it fairly often. Everything else just kinda clicked.
READ ✓
The rest of the show went by in a blur. Marinette had her phone in her purse and she calmly stared straight ahead. She clapped when the sign said clap. She smiled and nodded when Alya asked her again and again if she was okay. Everything was fine. Everything was super great.
Whoever her Lion was, he knew she was Ladybug. Somehow she’d given herself away talking about being a fashion designer. Something she’s talked about at length with both her friends and Chat Noir. But she didn’t know the first thing about this tall, good smelling man who wanted her to make a Chat Noir suit so he could sing and dance on television about being an unappreciated blond boy playing second fiddle to… to…
She shot to her feet “HE CALLED ME BARBIE!”
Alya pulled her back down into her seat so fast it knocked Marinette out of her head and back to the studio audience, where several rows worth of people had turned in place (or were in the act of turning in place) to look at the strange girl who yelled ‘he called me barbie’ in the audience of a live tv show.
The announcer continued whatever he was talking about, completely unphased. Because he was a professional tv pretty boy, and the three contestants standing behind him similarly seemed unmoved by her plight.
“Thank you so much for joining us,” she heard one of the judges say.
“We’ve all had a lot of fun so far in this new season of The Masked Singer, with lots of guessing and some spectacular songs-”
“And acrobatics!” cut in one of the judges, pointing at the woman wearing a Llama mask and a tracksuit.
“Yes, and acrobatics. But! Unfortunately we have to pick someone to leave us.”
As the judges continued their banter, Marinette had fallen back into contemplation. The good smelling nice singing piano playing tall man was Chat Noir. She was sure of it. And he knew who she was. He wanted her to know that he knew. And soon. Maybe tonight, maybe 9 weeks from now, but soon, she’d know who he is too.
She looked over at Alya who was rubbing her back with a worried look on her face that was clearly asking if they should leave. Marinette shook her head and looked back at the stage.
A name was announced, and she watched as the farthest contestant stage right, the man with the pigeon head on, took off his mask. Marinette was genuinely delighted when he saw Mr Ramier’s face. He was out. But her Lion, her Chat Noir, was still in. He could still win it.
A few minutes later the house lights went up, and the people in the audience rose to gather their things and leave.
“He called you Barbie?” asked Zoe.
“Y-yeah. He texted me after his song, and called me Barbie.”
“You’ve already told me like four times,” started Alya, "but he’s not like… pushing you to do things or to see him outside of your internship, right?”
“Besides driving me crazy, he’s been a perfect gentleman.”
“It’s so weird that you see this guy once a week and text him all the time-”
“- all the time,” parroted Alya before Zoe finished her point. “And you don’t know his name or what he looks like.”
Marinette shrugged, “Doesn’t seem that weird to me. Plus I’ll know who he is soon enough. The show ends in 9 weeks.”
She stopped in the aisle just before the exit. She turned and looked at Alya. “I’ll know who he is.”
Alya nodded, and turned Marinette back around by the shoulders and steered her out of the studio. “Girl, you are so gone.”