Chapter Text
There’s a storm outside when she leaves the conference room.
Marinette was nervous when she first walked in, her mind and heart as clouded as the Parisian sky, but she did her best to keep her positivist demeanor – it was her dream job she was trying to achieve, after all. And after a meeting in which at least a dozen people tested her ability and knowledge to stressful levels, she wasn’t kept from the immediate and exciting news.
She was in.
From that day onwards, Marinette Dupain-Cheng would be working on the Agreste’s creation section. The girl had always wanted to be in the fashion industry, and now, freshly out of another company that had added many amazing things to her curriculum, of course she’d aim high – despite her occasional and stupid low self-esteem.
But, yeah.
‘I’m finally in!’
A few handshakes and lots of Thank you for the opportunitys later, Marinette exited the conference room and reached for her phone, the paperwork she’d brought along almost slipping from her grasp as she tried to do everything at once. Plus, she’d made the terrible mistake to stop by the coffee machine once the meeting was over, which makes everything ten times harder.
After sending a small text to her parents and to Alya about the great news, she raises her head and thanks the person who’d just exited the elevator for holding the doors for her with an open smile.
Marinette pushes the button to the ground floor, not being able to contain her happiness as she checks all the messages she’d received while being interviewed for the job. There were about 35 of them; most from Alya, obviously. A few are from her mother’s phone number, there’s a single one (nonetheless the most emotional, that actually made her tear up) from her father and, surprisingly (or maybe not so much), a couple of them are from Nino. All of them say basically the same thing, but to Marinette, each one is special on its own way.
It’s thanks to their support she’d made it to where she is now, after all.
And it’s only when the elevator’s doors open in a floor that isn’t hers that Marinette actually pays attention to her surroundings. She was alone – or rather, was. Because now, an outstandingly handsome man, who might as well be a Greek god, steps inside the somewhat small place, a gentle and polite smile on his face as he sends a quiet nod in her way. Marinette repays him the gesture and slips her phone inside the bag, gripping strongly at the papers she’s been holding and taking a sip of her coffee.
Now, it would be reasonable to assume she wasn’t staring at him – because, you see, she’s that kind of respectable human being.
But the thing is: she (undeniably) was staring at him.
Perhaps because he made her feel something akin to familiarity, but Marinette wasn’t quite sure. The man was attractive, yes – the kind-of-messy blonde hair being a style on its own, broad shoulders, extremely well dressed, a welcoming and warm smile so natural that it seemed to be part of his routine. But there was more to it.
Or so she sees it, anyway.
And maybe because she’s terribly distracted, they aren’t able to as much as make small talk, and Marinette can’t help but feel she is to blame. Either way, destiny acts in strange ways, and perhaps for being awkward as she is, fate decided to give her a little push.
A very strange, very panic-inducing push.
Because their silence is ripped apart by a strong, powerful thunder, which is followed by pitch blackness and the very much concerning yank of the elevator. Marinette rests her back against the wall, heart hammering against her chest as she lets out a huff of breath, feeling her legs get wobbly.
She hears the stranger mutter a curse under his breath, and Marinette can relate 100%.
It isn’t clear how much time they’ve already spent inside that God-forsaken place, but they’re both still on their feet and the air isn’t all that heavy yet, so Marinette can only guess it hasn’t been that long. She could easily pull her phone out of her purse and check the time, but truth be told, she doesn’t want to open her eyes.
Because the man beside her sometimes unlocks his phone, possibly to do what she initially planned on doing, but the way his face and part of the room are lit by the dim light makes her stomach flip with a strange uneasiness – and so, she keeps her eyes closed, praying it will be over soon.
The room seems smaller, as well.
Marinette really doesn’t want to think about it. She really, really doesn’t. Because she knows she’ll start panicking in no time once the dread of being locked in an elevator finally kicks in and she isn’t exactly ready for that.
But then again, when did any of those feelings ever gave a shit?
She starts hyperventilating, then.
It starts slowly, but surely, and Marinette is lost in the sea of the anxiety prickling her skin in no time. Involuntarily, she opens her eyes. The man turns his head in her direction and the silence (the nothingness but to her rushed breaths, that is) stretches between them. Marinette’s blurred vision doesn’t exactly allow her to see his face, but the worry is evident in his voice.
“Are you okay?”
His voice is smooth, cautious.
Suddenly, it’s like her strength is being sucked away by some sort of unknown force. Marinette’s fingers stop working and she drops both her paperwork and her coffee, hands shaking as the strap of her bag slips from her shoulder, some of the burning liquid spilling on her bare calves. She lets out a pained yelp and crouches down on instinct; her hands touch the ground as she breathes through her mouth excessively. The girl breaks in a cold sweat, her head spins and a sudden urge to throw up scratches at the back of her throat. The person next to her, that had backed away a few rushed steps when she spilled the drink, was now approaching her slowly, crouching beside her.
“Miss, breathe through your nose,” he says.
Marinette tried to comply, but it was useless. The man turned the flashlight of his phone on and placed it on the ground, illuminating directly above, but in a way that the entire room would be at least dimly lit. Marinette blinked a couple of times, trying to ease the pain inside her head.
“I’m going to touch you, alright? I’m trying to help.”
At first, she doesn’t quite grasp the meaning behind his words.
She’s distracted, confused, in pain.
But when he touches her shoulder and hesitantly brings her closer, her minds goes positively blank. The man wraps his arms around her in a way they’re almost hugging each other and then, as one of his hands reach for her nape, bringing her head to rest against his shoulder, the other hand travels till the cold floor in an attempt to support their weight. Even this close, the strange man keeps a somewhat respectable distance between their bodies, which Marinette is immensely grateful for. The hand on the back of her neck lowers to the small of her back, caressing slowly.
“Breathe, miss. Breathe through your nose— Here, do it with me.”
His voice was firm, demanding - and under the cool gaze of piercing yet gentle eyes she now only faintly remembers to be of a strong green, Marinette feels herself calming down a bit, eyes fixed to his lips as she watches his long and calm breaths, now trying to mirror them. Her nose is fortunately back to its work, small huffs escaping her lips as the man’s breath ghosts over her face.
He keeps patting Marinette until her breath is considerably even, but both of them know she wasn't fully well just yet – and so, the stranger’s soothing, almost husky voice come to her ears again, this time with something very strange.
“Now tell me, can you taste anything?”
Marinette sighs, not fully aware of what he’s trying to do. She licks her lips, and the fact the first think she tastes is her strawberry chapstick makes her flush to the roots of her hair, embarrassed for the childish choice – she’ll make sure to use a pretty lipstick next time she goes to work, because if this encounter is anything to go by, she’ll end up needing the appeal. Not completely lost in thought, she purses her lips and tries to think of something else, body still shivering.
“C-Coffee…”
“Okay,” he breathes. “Can you feel two different things through touch?”
Marinette wiggles her fingers, unconsciously scooching closer to him, “The floor and— And y-you?”
“I guess that’s good enough,” he chuckles, and a strange warmth splashes across her chest. “Can you say three smells you can distinguish here?”
She snorts and giggles a little, unconsciously nuzzling her cheek against the man’s shoulder.
“… The coffee I spilled… M-My hand cream, your cologne…”
The stranger nods calmly, but his heartbeats thrum twice as fast against the palms she’s been keeping against his chest and Marinette is sure his voice sounds a little quieter than before. “Great… Now, four things you can hear?”
It’s getting progressively easier to think and breathe and everything else as she regains her grasp on reality. The room looks a little less scary, as well. “T-The noises from the elevator, t-thunder, your voice… My… Heartbeat…”
“And five you can see?”
His voice is more lit, lighter - as if he were smiling. Despite that, Marinette doesn’t raise her head to check if her perception of his tone is correct or not; she simply hums back, trying to force her brain to come back and function fully once more.
“The… Cell phone, my bag, the cup, my papers, you…?”
Marinette’s voice trails off, and the man caressing her back slowly makes her embarrassment grow tenfold because wow, most things she listed to calm herself down involved him – the man with a very nice voice and a warm body who’s cuddling her in a closed space and ok, she’s not so calm anymore.
“Good. You did well.”
Marinette breathes in, senses impregnated with his scent, suddenly feeling kind of overwhelmed by his powerful presence - but more like his personal smell, and not the cologne he’s wearing per se, as if he somehow exhaled pheromones and Jesus Christ, this is getting more and more ridiculous each time she stops to think about it—
“You can close your eyes you if you don’t like how the elevator looks like right know.”
And apparently, her quiet state had sent him a wrong impression because, well, it’s not like she’s still scared – all thanks to him, by the way.
“Mmm,” she finally complies, then, being warmed up not only by the stranger’s embrace, but also by his kindness. Feeling a little brave, Marinette speaks up, “Can… Can you keep talking? Your voice is… Soothing.”
The man freezes, and a moment of sheer silence takes over. Marinette is almost running to the other side of the elevator in shame, her excuse already ready on the back of her stupid, stupid head, but then, his arms hold her tighter, bringing her even closer.
“Alright,” it’s all he says, a tinge of happiness in his voice.
Sighing, a wave of delight hit her senses. The smell of coffee, the man’s scent, the comfortable and warm and secure feeling of his embrace alongside with his calming voice almost have Marinette drifting to the land of the sleeping - but she manages to hold herself back from dozing off, fortunately.
“My name’s Adrien,” he begins a little sheepishly. “I’m 29 years old. I have a black cat called Plagg back at my apartment. I just realized I forgot to eat breakfast— And believe me, I do that a lot. I’m 100% sure I’d forget my head at home if it wasn’t attached to my neck… Probably. And… And I don’t think I’ve ever approached anyone like this, but I—” and he breathes in deeply, Marinette’s fingers making random patterns against his ribs, the soft fabric of his suit tickling the pads of her fingers. “I think you’re beautiful, and when you're feeling better, I’d like you to tell me your name.”
Marinette jolts and jumps back, parting from him only enough to sit on her calves and have a good look at the man’s (Adrien, Adrien, Adrien—) slightly red face, flabbergasted. “W-Wha—!”
Then, he seems to finally grasp the ultimate meaning of his request, his facial features going from embarrassed and surprised to serious and extremely concerned.
“I’m—! I’m so sorry!” he blurts, raising his hands in surrender. “Did it trigger you? Just forget I said that! I didn’t—”
Marinette lets out a squeak and buries her face against his chest, not exactly caring for the consequences as she circles him with her arms and hugs his waist in a tight grip.
“… I’m sorry. Are you okay?” he asks hesitantly.
A quick nod.
A brief moment of silence.
She breathes in, and then out – slowly.
One second, two.
“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”
Adrien blinks, “I beg your pardon?”
“My name,” she simply says.
“… Oh.”
The man goes back to petting her back soothingly, then – a smile hidden in his voice. “Hello there, miss Dupain-Cheng.”
Marinette kind of wanted Adrien to call her by her first name, but she guesses this will have to do.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before. Do you work here?”
She nods weakly, “I just got accepted.”
He hums back, “I see.”
There’s something in the air she can’t quite put the finger on, but the silence is comfortable as they hold each other. After a while, she opens her mouth to say something, mind blank, but the lights come back and make her go back to her senses.
“I guess they fixed the elevator, huh?” he prompts a little absent-mindedly.
Marinette keeps silent, with no intention of moving anytime soon - or at least, not realizing she was supposed to. When the petting stops, Marinette raises her head – just to find an Adrien flushed to his neck, gorgeous green eyes looking anywhere but her.
“So… Someone’s probably going to arrive soon and— The camera is probably already working so— U-Um—”
There’s a loud squeak as Marinette rapidly shots up, almost tripping on her own feet. Adrien gapes for a moment, blinking slowly until he lets out a small giggle. It quickly develops into something completely out of control and he doubles in laughter, shaking his head. “That was adorable.”
“W-What?!”
“Uh, sorry,” he tries to hold back the smile, but to no avail. Clearing his throat, Adrien stands, crouching down a few steps further to catch Marinette’s bag and the few documents scattered around, handing them to her with a carefree expression. “I believe this is yours.”
Marinette purses her lips and accepts the strap of her bag, along with the paperwork, giving only a quick nod as thanks. She’s beyond embarrassed and perhaps it’s a wise decision not to trust her voice just yet.
Then, someone calls out to them through the elevator’s speaker.
“Everything alright in there?” and it’s a man’s voice.
Adrien approaches, still visibly flustered, but keeps his tone idle, “We’re fine. But sorry, could you also call the janitor in? We’ve made a little mess in here.”
The man seems to be suppressing his laugh, but agrees nonetheless. “Right away. We’ll drop you both on the 6th floor first. The nurse is already waiting.”
He opens his mouth, apparently with a response already in mind, but stops himself short to turn to Marinette. Adrien offers her a small smile as one of his hands go up to scratch sheepishly the back of his neck, “Sorry. Are you up to a little detour?”
Again, she simply nods.
‘Stupid smile. Stupid green eyes. Stupid very nice and very attractive voice—’
Adrien steps closer to the speaker device, “Very well. Thank you.”
Even if they don’t talk on the way, a warm feeling spreads through Marinette’s body. She suddenly feels lighter, the tense muscles of her shoulders finally relaxing as she lets out a breath she had been holding without noticing. As the elevator's doors open on the 6th floor, a bespectacled woman that looks very much on edge and spooked beyond her mind comes directly to Adrien in quick steps.
“Mr. Agreste, sir! Are you alright?! Are you hurt?!”
Adrien wears a generic but polite smile and nods. “I’m just fine, Nathalie, thank you,” and as that smooth voice answers the seemingly older woman, Marinette freezes because what the actual hell— “But I’ll drop by the nurse's office now. Better safe than—”
Then, Marinette’s documents scatter all over the floor once more.
Mr. Agreste, who also happens to be the well-known director of the Agreste company looks back, startled. He's the son of the owner of the company; the same son who worked his ass off to get a hold of his current position; the same son who used to be a teen model, hence his familiar face. She opens and closes her mouth, but nothing comes out. He frowns worriedly and looks on the verge of speaking up, possibly to ask about Marinette’s well-being, but the girl doesn't give him the chance to do so.
“Mr. Agreste?” she asks with wide eyes.
Adrien’s expression is suddenly full of understanding as a smirk tugs on the corner of his lips, eyes gleaming in something akin to amusement, the tip of his ears acquiring an extremely light shade of red – but his voice never wavers.
“Yes?”