Chapter Text
Marinette seemed to have this tendency to sabotage herself.
The evidence of this tendency was clear this morning when she pressed the snooze button on her alarm a total of three times. One time would have only caused her to rush out of bed and not spend so long overthinking her outfit for the day. She would have made it to the office with five minutes to spare and her world would not have imploded. Two times would have seen her throwing her comforter off, skipping breakfast, and only applying a coat of mascara before quite literally running out of her tiny apartment before arriving at work with no time to spare whatsoever. Three times, though. Three times meant no breakfast, no mascara, wrinkled button up shirt, and being ten minutes late and when you work as an intern in the most premiere fashion magazine in Paris, being ten minutes late set your career back ten years.
After being chewed out by her boss, Marinette had dejectedly hurried to the break room to fill up a cup of coffee and nab a donut, sketch book clutched close to her chest. Alya was already waiting for her in the break room, a sympathetic look on her face and chocolate donut in hand. Marinette took the pastry gratefully and leaned against the counter as she ate. “What happened this morning? You’ve gotten so much better at being on time to things,” Alya pointed out and Marinette hung her head.
“I know,” she moaned. “I betrayed myself in the ultimate way this morning.” Marinette met Alya’s eyes, confusion clear on her best friends face. “I hit the snooze button. Three times.”
Alya gasped and reached for the coffee pot and nabbed Marinette’s and her own mug from the cabinet. “Three times? Girl, why? You know that the snooze button is your worst enemy,” Alya reminded her as she filled the mugs and added Marinette’s usual packet of sugar to her cup. Abandoning her donut-less napkin on the counter, Marinette wrapped her hands around the warm mug and blew on it. Taking a sip, the warm coffee slid down her throat and everything seemed to be a little better in that moment.
“I was up really late last night.” At Alya’s disapproving look she hurriedly added, “I had a burst of inspiration! It was maybe 11 and I was trying to fall asleep, really I was, but I just couldn’t. So I was in bed, staring out at Paris and the lights and the buildings that I’ve grown up looking at my entire life right? Well, my eyes unfocused for a moment and suddenly everything looked different,” Marinette babbled. For a long time, Marinette had had been having some designer’s block. Every time she sketched it looked forced and unappealing, like she was a puppet on a string and someone else was drawing for her. Pages and pages were torn out of her sketchbook as nothing made her happy. Nothing around her was inspiring as it was the same things she saw every time she looked around.
Then last night, when her eyes were heavy with the desire to sleep, the harsh architectural lines of Paris softened. Street lamps blurred into the buildings and the dark Paris street was suddenly no longer boring or familiar. It was new and exciting; an ombre of blues and blacks with streaks of gold breaking up the dark pattern. With a faint structure as her setting, her apartment’s street became a story of a single golden light twisting and weaving itself amongst the suffocating midnight blue darkness. This light wanted nothing more than to escape from the darkness and find other golden colors to play and be free with.
With a gasp, Marinette shot straight up in bed with the image of a deconstructed Parisian street still fresh in her mind. She reached over to her bedside table for her sketchbook and pencil and turned the switch on the lamp. Soft light poured over Marinette as she let her mind run rampant with this idea of overwhelming blues, blacks and deep purples and a focal point of gold.
Some people told stories with their words, either on paper or aloud, and others used their bodies. Marinette had tried all of those things and discovered that she was just as incoherent in writing as she was aloud, couldn’t sing to save her life and had two left feet. In her designs though, Marinette told her stories on people. Marinette expressed herself through avant garde dresses with bubble skirts and tasteful pant suits. Fashion was the one media Marinette felt comfortable speaking her mind in. When she sketched, most of the time it required little to no effort on her part with the part of her brain that overthought everything taking a backseat to the free and creative part.
All through the night, Marinette designed. The light struggled for escape in the bodice of a ball gown and in a tailored suit jacket. In one particular cocktail dress, the light almost won as the design was entirely gold with only slight streaks of blue painting its way up the bottom and back of the dress but any hope of freedom was crushed in the next design. Hours passed and by the time Marinette passed out again onto her pillow, her sketchbook was filled with crude sketches and haphazardly colored in lines. In her rush to get out the door that morning, Marinette had barely remembered to grab the book.
Alya gestured to the book laying beside Marinette and she nodded. Alya picked it up gingerly as she knew how much Marinette’s numerous sketchbooks meant to her and began to leaf through it. Marinette watched her friend’s face from over the rim of her coffee cup and tried to judge her reaction but it was pointless. As a journalist, even one for a fashion magazine, her poker face was impeccable and Marinette couldn’t read a single thing on it. Alya looked up at her friend and gave her the biggest smile. Unintentionally, Marinette breathed out a sigh of relief. Alya’s opinion mattered more to her than anyone else’s.
“These are amazing! You designed all of these last night?” Alya breathed and Marinette nodded with a sheepish grin on her face. Alya came to rest next to Marinette and flipped through the pages, pointing out her favorite designs. “This story is incredible. You’re incredible Mari,” Alya said and Marinette couldn’t help the blush that spread across her cheeks. She had never been one to accept compliments without blushing or stuttering.
Marinette and Alya continued to look through the book and Marinette had started to believe that her bad start was in the past and that the rest of the day wouldn’t be so bad. How naive of her.
“What are you two doing? Shouldn’t you be working?” Marinette groaned internally at the snobby voice that signaled the arrival of her boss, Chloe Bourgeois. Alya flipped back to the cover of the sketchbook and met Chloe’s glare head on. Alya was one of the few people that dared to stand up to the editor-in-chief. Most of the staff, Marinette included, bowed their head and followed her orders, taking pleasure in muttering a few choice words once they were out of earshot.
“We’re on break Chloe. We’ll get back to work in a minute,” Alya snapped and passed Marinette her sketchbook. Marinette accepted it, grateful to have something to do with her hands as her empty coffee cup was resting in the sink. Marinette refused to meet Chloe’s eyes, having already been confronted by her once this morning.
Chloe smirked, “Considering Marinette showed up late today, I don’t think she deserves a break. So I’d suggest getting back to whatever it is you do. Or do I need to call Daddy?” Marinette’s head shot up at her words and sure enough, Chloe’s gold phone was dangling between her fingertips. Marinette watched her friend’s shoulders tense and her jaw tighten. A phone call to Mr. Bourgeois meant that you were going to lose your job and if Marinette ever wanted to get somewhere in the fashion world, she needed the connections this job provided.
“Fine. I’ll see you later Marinette,” Alya squeezed her friend’s shoulder comfortingly before pushing past Chloe, purposely letting their shoulders bump. Chloe sent a glare Alya’s way before turning back to Marinette. Giving her a once over, Chloe simply sniffed and turned on her heel. Apparently Marinette wasn’t good enough to degrade any more and she was grateful for it. One of these days, when Marinette had a more secure and well paying job, she would stand up to the awful woman. Chloe didn’t even deserve this job but she got it because of her dad. Mr. Bourgeois owned a collection of magazines and needed someone to run Design Co. and who better to be editor-in-chief of the highly profitable magazine than his inexperienced daughter?
With every hope of a good day thoroughly dashed from her mind, Marinette took every bad situation that arose in the office in stride. Nathaniel, the art director, had lost the SD card that held every picture he took of the most recent Agreste fashion show. He had torn through the office like a tornado, leaving a wake of destruction in his path and he didn’t stop until Marinette found it on Nathaniel's desk underneath a stack of forms. Then another editor lost the layout file for his page, the one that had hours and hours of work poured into it. Marinette had had to help him recover the file from his hard drive and the moment that was done, Chloe needed another latte.
Marinette got pulled around like rag doll all day and by the end of it, she felt like her stitches were going to pop. The only thought that got her through was that one day, these very same people would be laying out a feature on her latest runway show and that one day, that editor that couldn’t keep track of their work would be scrambling to recover the interview they did with Marinette.
Convinced that this day really couldn’t get any worse, Marinette parked her car in the apartment parking garage and forced herself into the elevator. Once she reached her floor, Marinette fumbled her keys trying to get them out of her purse and almost lost them down the crack in the elevator. Luckily, she was quick enough to secure her hold on them and then hurried away from the elevator and all dangers it presented. Though if she was honest, if she had lost her keys she wouldn’t have been surprised.
She headed to her doorway, the path familiar to her feet. She didn’t even bother assessing her surroundings as she had lived in this building, on this floor, in this apartment for over a year now and nothing had ever changed. While most of the time, Marinette hated it when things never changed she was grateful for the minimal brain power required to find her way home at the end of a particularly hard day like today. Her key was almost in the lock when there was a large clatter behind her.
She whipped around in time to see a streak dash away from an overturned table. Laying in pieces was a tacky vase that Marinette had passed by and hated for over 365 days. Clear pebbles that had once secured a horrendous fake arrangement of hydrangeas lay scattered around the broken pieces and Marinette felt a surge of satisfaction looking at the ruined decor. “Plagg! Come back here!”
Marinette turned towards the voice and saw a figure dash out of the apartment closest to the elevator. In her haze to get home, she hadn’t noticed the open door and the stacks of boxes beside it and the faint upbeat music spilling out into the hallway. Between her feet, Marinette felt a rush of air and something soft brush her ankles. Quick as lightning, Marinette swooped down behind herself and grabbed the streaking vase destroyer.
Struggling in her arms was a tiny black kitten, a bright green color around it’s neck. Marinette whispered soothing words over the kitten’s desperate meows until the thrashing cat reluctantly calmed down. It took only a few more moments of her running a hand down it’s back and scratching behind it’s ears for the cat to become putty in her hands. With a satisfied purr, the kitten nuzzled its head into her neck and curled up in the crook of her arm.
“You’re a destructive little thing huh?” Marinette laughed and scratched behind the kitten’s ear again. “Well I have to thank you for finally taking out that horrible fake plant. I couldn’t stand it either.”
The sound of approaching feet tore her attention away from the cat. Standing in front of her was a stranger with a wide eyed look on his pretty face. He ran a hand through his thick blond hair and Marinette couldn’t help but notice that when he brushed his bangs away from his face, his stunning green eyes stood out and took her breath away. A faint blush crawled into Marinette’s cheeks and she forced herself to look slightly past him to regain her composure.
When she met his eyes, he had a sheepish grin on his face and a hand was clamped on the back of his neck. “Hi.”
Marinette smiled, “Hi.”
The stranger glanced behind him at the broken vase and then back at Marinette and had the decency to blush. “I’m sorry about my devil cat. I was moving my stuff in, forgot to lock him in a room so he wouldn’t get out and then…”
“He got out,” Marinette finished and the stranger nodded. “Don’t worry about it. Everyone on this floor hated that vase anyway. Or at least I did so you did me a favor and your cat isn’t the devil! He’s sweet, a perfect angel really,” Marinette cooed and the kitten headbutted Marinette’s chin. The stranger watched the affectionate display with a shocked expression.
“Are you a cat whisperer or something? He is never that calm with me.” The stranger reached out a hand and ran it along his cat’s back. The kitten swatted playfully at his large hand and his tail swished deviously. “See?”
“I’ve been living with cats practically my entire life so I know how to handle them. Is this your first kitten?” He nodded his head and Marinette clicked her tongue. “Hm, seems about right. Even to the most experienced cat handler, kittens are a handful. To a newbie, they’re practically the Tasmanian Devil.”
“Truer words have never been spoken,” the stranger muttered bitterly. Marinette unhooked the kitten’s claws from her shirt and handed him back to his owner. There was definitely a distinct change in attitude, his calm demeanor shifting into a slightly more energetic one, but he stayed put in the stranger’s arms. The man in front of her lovingly stroked his kitten and Marinette couldn’t help but smile. Despite how overwhelmed the new tenant seemed, he obviously loved this animal.
“I’m Marinette by the way,” she said suddenly, realizing she hadn’t introduced herself. She stuck out a hand and he shook it. It was most likely her imagination but Marinette couldn’t help but sense a small spark of electricity jump into her palm when his hand touched hers.
“I’m Adrien! I just moved into apartment 3A down the hall.” He smiled so brightly, Marinette should have been wearing sunglasses. His teeth were perfectly straight and brilliantly white. It was a smile fit for a model and if she thought about it Adrien could have been a model with his lean build and flawless skin. His eyes were expressive and youthful and there was a certain charisma that radiated off of him and automatically brought a smile to Marinette’s face. Something about him seemed familiar, maybe it was that charming grin but she couldn’t place it and she knew it would bug her until she figured out why Adrien looked so familiar.
“Well welcome to the Dupont Adrien.”
“Thanks.”
An awkward silence enveloped the pair as the conversation died. Marinette was desperate for something to say because a strange part of her wanted to keep talking to her truthfully, very attractive, new neighbor but for the first time in her life she was speechless. Adrien looked just as much at a loss for words. His mouth opened and he looked about to say something but before any words could come out, it closed again. “Well, thanks again for catching Plagg.” Adrien nodded to the kitten in his arms.
“Of course. Any time,” Marinette replied and she cringed internally at how awkward it sounded. Adrien nodded and spun on his heel. Marinette watched his retreating form, desperately racking her brain for something to call out to him. It was hard to explain, this sudden desire to keep talking to practically a stranger but the feeling was there, warm and bubbly in her chest.
In her hand, her keys jingled. She had almost forgotten about wanting to get into her apartment in the kitty chaos. So Marinette made a rare snap decision, one that she desperately hoped she wouldn’t regret making later. Marinette was the type of person to overthink every choice, making pro and con lists a plenty but she decided to throw her typical patterns to the wind. She also almost managed to completely convince herself that she called out to Adrien in the next moment because it was the neighborly thing to do.
“Adrien!” He stopped and turned, only ten feet away. Marinette closed the distance quickly, her keys a familiar weight in her hand. She took a deep breath and smiled up at him, blue eyes matching green ones. “I was just about to make dinner. Would you like to join me?”