Chapter Text
Almost two years to the day that Marinette got her miraculous, a new student joins their class. She and Adrien Agreste don't get off on the best foot. Marinette is suspicious of anyone that Chloé Bourgeois deems a friend, and Adrien is too nervous and soft spoken to correct her when she jumps to the conclusion that he's the one who put gum on her seat. The day is filled with tension and unease, and Marinette is ready to go home and scream into a pillow for a few years when Adrien joins her on the front steps of Collège Françoise Dupont with an umbrella in hand.
But you know this story, right? Or so you think.
Adrien half-turns away from her, looking out into the pouring rain, and says, "I swear I didn't put that chewing gum on your chair. I'm used to trying to cover for Chloé. We were friends when we were kids. I guess it's a habit now." He peeks up at the sky, then twists to look at her. "I've never been to school before. I only have one friend. She means everything to me, but I'd like to make others. I'd like you to be my friend too, Marinette."
Oh. Marinette's heart turns over in her chest. She's speechless. Adrien's cheeks color when she stares at him.
"I... sorry. I'm not good at this. Was that weird?"
A sharp jab in her thigh, courtesy of Tikki, knocks Marinette out of her daze and she sputters, "I - n-no! That's not... I'll be your Adrien, friend. I-I mean, I'll be... be your friend, A-Adrien."
Adrien smiles. "Really? Because Nino told me that you design..."
Marinette blinks at that. "Well, sort of. I mean I dabble. I've never done anything seriously."
"I design too," Adrien confesses, moving a little closer to her. His voice drops, and Marinette finds herself leaning in to hear every word. "My dad doesn't really like it, so I haven't had the chance to collaborate or even talk to any other designers. Do you think we could go get a coffee somewhere and talk for a little while? I would love to hear your thoughts on the spring collection."
"Sure!" Marinette exclaims, a thrill of excitement running through her. "I don't have to be anywhere until supper."
"Great. We can walk together, if you want?" Adrien makes a motion with the umbrella.
"Uh, okay."
They step out from under cover together. Adrien holds the umbrella closer, so that it better covers Marinette, and she scoots closer when she realizes that he's not fully covered as a result. Their hands brush together as they walk, and it fills Marinette with a weird sort of warmth she can't put a name to. It sort of reminds her of the way she feels when Chat curls up in her lap like a kitten and falls asleep. But that's silly. Chat is her partner of almost two years and Adrien is just a new boy in her class. One of them is way more important to her than the other.
Adrien seems unfamiliar with the area, so Marinette leads the way to the nearest café that serves half-decent coffee. They find a seat in the back corner. Marinette pulls her sketchbook out of her backpack, but a sudden bout of shyness makes her hesitate. This is Adrien Agreste, the son of Gabriel Agreste. She doesn't know much about Adrien, but she knows that Gabriel is one of the biggest people in the business right now. As many daydreams as she's had about showing Gabriel her designs and having him in fall in love, she's had just as many nightmares where Gabriel hates everything she's done. Having his son hate her stuff would be almost as bad.
"I'll show you mine and you show me yours?" Adrien offers, pulling his own sketchbook out. His fingers tighten on the cover. "I, uh, apologize if my stuff isn't any good. Like I said, I don't really get the opportunity to talk to people much. Most of what I've learned is through tagging along to fashion shows, attending photoshoots, and eavesdropping on conversations that my father has with other people in the industry."
"I'm sure your stuff is great," Marinette says. She wants to ask why Gabriel doesn't like the fact that Adrien designs. That seems weird. But she doesn't want to seem like she's prying, either.
"I guess you can be the judge." Adrien slides his sketchbook across the table. After a split second pause, Marinette takes it and hands her own over.
She opens Adrien's sketchbook and sucks in a surprised breath at the first page. It's featuring a woman's suit that's cut more like a men's suit, with sharp angles and cuts. Yet there's something soft about it too, in the flow of the pants. Colors scribbled along the sides suggest that the suit will be blush pink with crème accents and a hint of sky blue on the interior of the jacket - all very in this year according to the magazines Marinette has read. She traces the hem of the pant, realizing that there's a slight cut-out at the bottom. Enough to show off the color of a shoe.
She flips to the next page and finds a woman's dress. The third page is of a man's tuxedo. Each page leaves her reeling. There's something fresh and unqiue about every design she flips to. It doesn't take her long to identify Adrien's signature; he uses a pop of bright green in every design. When she goes back to the first design, she spots thin green piping along the waistline of the pants. The second design has green polka dots on the skirt of the dress. The third design has a green handkerchief. And so on and so forth.
It takes her a long time to go through the whole sketchbook. And when she's done, she immediately wants to go back to the first page and look through it all over again. She wants to spend hours pouring through it, examining each page with the detail that it deserves. But she's keenly aware that she and Adrien don't have the time for that, so it's with regret that she lifts her gaze to look at the boy sitting across from her. Adrien's head is still bent to her sketchbook, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and lips moving silently - reading measurements, she realizes.
He notices her attention and stops, smiling sheepishly. "Um, sorry. Part of what I like about fashion is the math."
"Really?" Marinette says, wrinkling her nose.
He laughs a little. "Yeah, really. It's all very clear-cut, you see. You take all the measurements and then do your cutting. It's very precise. It has to be, or else your design won't turn out the way you want it to. I like how design combines creativity and order to make something brand new."
"I never thought about it like that," she admits.
"Your designs are amazing, Marinette."
Marinette feels her cheeks turning pink. "Really?"
"Yeah. I especially like this one." Adrien opens her sketchbook to a page near the end. It's a dress she struggled with for a long time, mainly because in her head it’s red with black spots and she tries really hard to stay away from the Ladybug motif if she can. But in the end, she just couldn't bring herself to go with another color. It was red and black or nothing.
"Oh, uh, you do?"
"I'm a big fan of Ladybug." There's something soft about Adrien's face for a moment, before it's wiped away when he meets her eyes. "But I also really like how you did the empire waist here."
"I got that idea from an old fashion book I found at the library," Marinette says.
Adrien's eyes light up. "Was it written by Philippe Bellerose?"
"Oh my god, it was!"
"That book was incredible."
"Right? I was so inspired by the chapter on wedding dresses!"
"I must've re-read that chapter like five times," Adrien says enthusiastically. "Tell me, what did you think about his opinion on boot cut pants?"
Needless to say, the next hour and a half flies by. Marinette is barely aware of the time passing, and only realizes that it's getting late when she gets a text from her mother asking where she is. She answers the text by saying that she'll be home soon, but the truth is that she doesn't want to leave. Her parents will listen to her talk about her designs, and so will her classmates and Alya and Nino. But she's never had anyone who really understands. It's like the difference between talking to someone who only vaguely knows a language and someone who is fluent. Adrien speaks her language, and Marinette wishes she could freeze time.
"I have to go," she says reluctantly, tucking her phone into her pocket.
"Oh, right. Of course," Adrien says. He sits back in his chair, smile fading until it becomes the same reserved expression he's worn all day.
"Could we... tomorrow?" Marinette says. "Coffee?"
"I can't tomorrow, but I could on Friday."
"Okay. Friday." She smiles shyly. "And... we could have lunch tomorrow? W-with Alya and Nino, of course," she hastily adds, because she doesn't want to seem creepy.
"That would be great." Adrien grins again and picks up his sketchbook. "Gosh, I'm going to stay up all night incorporating those changes you suggested."
"Me too." Marinette hugs her sketchbook to her chest. Her mind is overflowing with new ideas. She almost wishes she didn't have to worry about patrolling with Chat tonight. Almost.
"I'll walk you out," Adrien says, standing. Marinette gets up too and they walk out together to find that it's still raining. He insists that she take the umbrella, even though she tries to give it back to him. Adrien just gives her a smile and tucks his sketchbook securely into his back, then dashes out into the rain before she can stop him. Marinette stands there and watches him run until she can no longer see the mop of blonde hair amongst the other people on the sidewalk.
She makes her way home, mind buzzing with everything she's learned today, and has a quiet meal with her parents. When dinner's over, she helps to wash up and then retreats upstairs to her room. Gradually the house quiets as her parents close down the bakery and then do all the prep for morning. Her mother pokes her head in at about nine to say good-night. Marinette is busy pretending to do her homework and waiting out the clock. At exactly ten, she opens the window above her bed and crawls out onto the balcony with a box in hand.
"Ready, Tikki?" she says. And, at a nod from her kwami, calls out, "Spots on!"
Ladybug tucks the box under one arm and leaps off the balcony, using her yoyo to propel herself towards the roof across the street. She's running about ten minutes late. As she gets closer to their meeting spot, she makes out the figure in black waiting for her. Chat Noir, the other half of Paris's legendary heroes, is sitting on the edge of their agreed-upon meeting place. The stiff way he's sitting makes alarm bells go off in Ladybug's mind, and she almost trips and faceplants in her haste to land and go running over to him.
"Whoa, hey, don't kill yourself," Chat says, tipping his head. His nose twitches and he zeroes in on the box in her hands.
"Are you okay? What did he do?" Ladybug asks, scanning him from head to toe. Their bodysuits cover them from the neck down, so all she really has to look at is Chat's face. And even then, his eyes and the bridge of his nose are covered by the mask. Like always, she doesn't see anything on his bare skin. But then, Chat's told her multiple times that his father is almost always careful not to bruise him anywhere that shows.
They were partners for approximately six months before Ladybug finally put the clues together. They didn't talk about their families for obvious reasons, but Chat had made a comment or two here and there that made it obvious that he and his father didn't have the best relationship. Ladybug hadn't paid much attention to that, but it was impossible to ignore the way Chat always seemed to be injured somehow. A sprained wrist, a limp, sitting stiffly because his ribs were sore - she knew none of it could've been because of akuma attacks thanks to her miraculous cure, and Chat had always been open about how he spent his time: besides homeschooling, his time was otherwise occupied with lessons, none of which were dangerous enough to account for his injuries.
It was none of her business, and Ladybug had known that. But that still hadn't stopped her from asking. She would never forget the look on Chat's face when she asked him if someone was hurting him: equal parts terror and relief. That look alone was answer enough, but Chat had confessed that it was his father. He'd never told her why, and she hadn’t pressed for details. Sometimes, she wishes she had. She wants to know how someone could hurt her beautiful, precious partner. She wants to know how Chat can put up with it. She wants to kill Chat's father.
But those aren't the kinds of details they can safely share, right?
"It's nothing," Chat says, drawing her attention back to him. "He punched me in the stomach, that's all."
Her stomach curls at how flippant he sounds, like this is all normal. It's not normal. Ladybug can't even fathom a world where her maman or papa would lift a hand to her. She takes a seat on the ledge beside him and silently puts the box of pastries in his lap. It's the only way she can help. It's not as though she can help with Chat's injuries, or give him a place to sleep at night. Not with the question of their identities hanging between them.
Sometimes, Ladybug regrets obeying Master Fu and Tikki. Sometimes she just wants to tell Chat her name and beg him to move in with her. Sometimes that urge is getting stronger than she can handle.
"Oooh, cookies!" Chat squeals, opening up the box. He grabs a chocolate chip cookie and stuffs it in his mouth, grinning at her.
Ladybug laughs, because otherwise she'll cry, and reaches over to gently brush a crumb from his face. His eyes flutter shut and he leans into her touch. He's touch-starved. She figured that out about two months in. Sometimes she thinks she's the only person who ever touches him with kindness and affection. It's no wonder, really, that the Ladyblog thinks they're a couple, because she and Chat are always touching in some way. But she can't help herself. He just needs it so much. Needs her. And he probably doesn't know it, the clueless boy, but by now she'd give him the whole world if he asked.
"Leftovers," Ladybug tells him, letting her hand slide down and rest on his shoulder. "Maman didn't like this batch."
"Why not?"
"She said they came out poorly shaped." Ladybug squints down at the plain box. She's not sure what her mother was talking about, because they look fine to her, but she supposes it's the same way a crooked seam stands out to her even when Alya tells her it looks amazing.
"Their loss," Chat says, grabbing another cookie. Sometimes she wonders if he gets fed enough, but she's not brave enough to ask. She settles for a smile and scoots closer to lay her head on his shoulder. He melts into her, contentedly leaning his head on top of hers while he makes his way through half the box.
"Does your stomach hurt?" she asks after he's set the box aside.
"A little, but it's better now that you're here, My Lady."
"Flirt," she says half-heartedly.
"Only with you," he says, nuzzling the top of her hair, and she doesn’t know whether that’s the truth or not and she’s too afraid to ask.
"Would you tell me why?" she asks suddenly. The words are out before she can second-guess them. Tikki's going to have a heart attack, but suddenly the desire to know is overwhelming her common sense and she’s desperate to know if only he’ll tell her.
"My mother disappeared about a year before we got our miraculouses. She just walked out the door one day and didn't come back. My father was furious. He's never liked me all that much; he wanted me to be a model, but I don't have the right attitude for it. All the photographers say that I'm just a pretty face. And I look like her. A lot like her. Sometimes I wonder if maybe he used to hit her too, and that's why she left. I took her place."
Ladybug's heart sinks further with every matter-of-fact word Chat says. Her head spins and for a second she feels faint, trying to absorb it all. She latches onto the first bit of information gave and repeats, "Your mother disappeared?"
"Yeah." Chat sighs like a popped balloon, all the tension seeping out of him. "She went out in the morning and didn't come back that night. The police got called, but they couldn't tell us anything. I've often wondered why she left... what happened that she couldn't tell me about." He shifts, the pressure of his head rising from her head, and Ladybug peers up at him. He's staring out at the city with an expression she's never seen before, like he's looking at something that no one else can see. He looks like a stranger, and that's frightening in ways she can't put words to.
"And your father?" Ladybug prods in a whisper.
Chat blinks and suddenly he's back to normal, her familiar partner. "I don't know. I wish I could tell you why for sure, My Lady. I wish I knew." He sighs again, cupping his hand over his stomach. "He's never given me a reason, and I never wanted to stick around long enough to ask."
Her throat tightens and she blinks rapidly, trying not to cry. "He wanted you to be a model, you said?"
"Yeah. Can you imagine? Me as a model?" Chat snorts. "Not in this lifetime. I didn't like it on that side of things. Too much attention. I suppose he's lucky that I never took to it. People would notice if they took my shirt off and saw the bruises."
"I could see it. You're handsome," Ladybug says absently.
"Really?" Chat looks surprised by her comment. Pink colors his cheeks along the edge of the mask and he clears his throat awkwardly.
"Yes," Ladybug says, blushing too, because there's no point in denying it.
He smiles and takes her hand, lifting it to brush a kiss against it. "It's really not that big of a deal, LB. I don't want you to worry about me. It doesn't happen very often. I was late getting home today. That's what set him off."
"It's not right, Chat. I can't help but worry. What if one day he goes too far and -"
"Whoa, hey, that won't happen. I'm Chat Noir, remember? My kwami is always with me. I could transform and kick his ass before that happened."
But would you? Ladybug doesn't ask because she's afraid she knows the answer. Chat may not like his father, but it's evident that he loves his father. He's always talking about being proficient in his lessons, and hoping that his high grades will be impressive. It's like he wants to impress his father enough to stop the beatings - and maybe, she recognizes now, to somehow apologize for ressembling his mother or not being a model. Ladybug's not sure that's possible. And even if it is, she doesn't think that Chat's father deserves that opportunity. Not after what he's put Chat through.
"I worry anyway," she says instead, "because you're my partner and I care about you. It's not something I can turn off, Chaton."
Chat looks pleased. "I knew I'd make my way into your heart eventually."
Eventually? Ladybug snorts at the thought. She's pretty sure she's loved Chat since he put his hands on her shoulders and told her not to give up because the city of Paris needed them, and that was all the way back at the beginning. Ladybug was fully prepared to give up her miraculous before Chat convinced her not to. Every time she has a moment of self doubt, all she has to do is spend a few minutes with him to remember that she's not alone. She can do this with Chat at her side. He's the only reason that she's made it this far.
"What can I say? I guess I'm a sucker for silly kitties," she says, tapping him on the nose with her free hand. She can tell he wants to change the subject, and she's willing to let him. For now, anyway. She needs some time to think about what he's told her tonight, and figure out how it fits in with everything else she's learned about him during the time of their partnership.
"Silly? You think I'm silly? You wound me, Bugaboo," he says, putting a dramatic hand to his heart.
"You don't agree? Well, maybe I should mention that I only feed silly kitties."
"I'm as silly as they come," he says, perfectly serious with wide open eyes, and Ladybug lasts about ten seconds before she bursts out laughter. Chat drops the look and laughs along with her.