2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Miraculous Ladybug.

Lucky Us

By: Princess Kitty1

Chapter 2

Chat NoirRE: 20153 minutes ago

Good morning, buginette! It looks like we're about to have another beautiful summer day, doesn't it? But somehow I did not think it beautiful enough for you. I looked out my window, turned up my nose and cried, "No! This will not do! My Lady deserves better than this!" So I wrote you a poem:

"Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

When will you see that I'm purrfect for you?"

x.x.x

"Hold on. I think I might have wax in my ears because it sounded like you said you screamed at Adrien Agreste." Alya Cesaire stuck her pinky finger into her ear and pretended to dig around. Marinette glared at her.

"Alya."

"All right." She leaned closer to Marinette. "Say again?"

Marinette filled her lungs to capacity and let out a full body sigh. The bakery closed at six o'clock, after most people gave up on the idea of snacks and went off in search of a proper meal. She had half an hour left before she could sit down and prop her feet up for a while. "It was humiliating," she said. "I couldn't sleep last night because I kept getting these worst-case scenarios in my head, like what if he doesn't come back? What if he only wanted to know my name so he could tell people I was crazy and to not buy from our bakery? What if we lose our customers and have to close shop because I can't go two seconds in Adrien's presence without turning into a moron?"

Alya rolled her eyes. She was used to Marinette's theatrics; they'd been best friends since middle school, and she'd seen her through many a crush. "If he does do that, I'll use my journalism powers to call him out as a bully and restore your good name."

"You're the best."

"Don't I know it?" Alya took a sip of her coffee. "Although," she said, "if the bakery were to close, there'd be nothing holding you back from chasing after your real dream."

Marinette untied her loose apron strings and knotted them up again. She'd known the bakery her whole life, had grown up learning and perfecting recipes under her parents' careful instruction. Working there had been so inevitable that she'd pretty much started without anyone asking her to. But when she wasn't rolling dough and making fruit fillings, she sewed. She drew. She snatched colors out of dreams and turned them into clothes of all kinds. Her desk was covered in sketchbooks, fabric samples, eraser shavings, and fashion magazines.

Since high school she'd earned money on the side by sewing clothes for ball-jointed dolls. She eventually made enough to purchase her own—a miniature she named Tikki—which she displayed in the bakery whenever she made her a new outfit. But apart from the occasional gift and the bakery's colorful aprons, the only human Marinette had ever made clothes for was herself.

She smiled at Alya. "We both know it isn't the bakery that's holding me back."

Her mind flashed to the night before, to the email she'd sent Chat Noir before going to bed. Telling him to take a risk—she must have been the biggest hypocrite in all of Paris. Her favorite designer's son came to her bakery every other day. What was stopping her from showing him her work?

Her inability to form a complete sentence before getting lost in his eyes, for starters.

"There have been whispers down the grapevine this week," Alya said. "Rumor has it Gabriel Agreste might be holding a design competition before the end of the year. Apparently he's still undecided, but…" Alya gave her hand a squeeze. "If he does, promise me you'll think about it?"

"Sure, if his son hasn't filed a restraining order against me."

"Oh my God," Alya groaned. She checked her phone, then pushed away from the counter. "Gotta go. Someone sent an anonymous tip that Jagged Stone is in town, and I want to see if I can persuade him to talk about his second farewell tour." She got as far as the front door before turning and pointing a finger at Marinette. "Think about it!"

Marinette waved at her. "I will." As much as she'd ever thought about entering a Gabriel Agreste design competition, anyway. She could picture herself, sitting at her desk with a glass of wine to brainstorm, and by midnight she'd be surrounded by wadded up paper, simultaneously crying and pouring the rest of the wine down her throat.

As she waited for her last customer to leave, her thoughts drifted back to Chat Noir. Earlier, during a lull in customers, she'd replied to him saying his poem must have had Lord Byron rolling in his grave. Honestly, that guy. To think she could recall a time before Chat's messages were full of purple prose, terrible puns, and dramatic love confessions.

Emailing him had been a simple mistake. She'd meant to write to a regular client, whose email address was chatnoir1588, to confirm she was available for a meeting the following afternoon. She sent it off without realizing she'd typed chatnoir1589 instead.

Needless to say, chatnoir1589 was very confused, but he sent a polite reply informing her she'd gotten the wrong email address. Marinette cringed and wrote him a short apology… then hesitated before clicking send. Admittedly, she hadn't had both feet in her right mind that day. She'd gone through a mutual-but-less-than-amicable breakup a few months earlier and still coped with the fact that she was back at square one instead of planning her wedding. Hell, she was woman enough to admit that part of the reason she'd taken over the bakery was to distract herself from the pain of abandonment.

And now, here came opportunity knocking on her door. An anonymous person. A whole new human being that didn't know her and couldn't give her pitying looks (poor Marinette, so cute and she still got dumped!). Someone who would never have reason to believe that she was an awkward twenty-something hiding at home to nurse a broken heart.

But what could she say to this stranger? Her eyes roved the email until they landed on his username. Chat Noir. Not a real name, but a pseudonym. She couldn't judge him for that; her account went by Ladybug, a childhood nickname given to her by her parents for being their lucky charm. Marinette thought for a moment, then added a line under her apology: P.S. What kind of a name is Chat Noir?

Not even half an hour after that, a reply: What kind of a name is Ladybug?

I asked you first, she wrote back.

Five minutes later: A secret identity. ;3

And just like that, she had a friend. A friend that no one knew about. Not her parents, not Manon, not even Alya. Chat Noir belonged to Marinette alone, and even though he'd gone from intriguing stranger to flirtatious goofball, she was always happy to see his name in her inbox.

The sound of the front door's bell snapped her out of her reverie. "Thank you, come again!" she said to the departing customer. It was 6:02. Closing time.

There wasn't much left in the display case at this point. Her parents had long since figured out how many desserts they needed to make each day. What happened to the leftovers varied. Marinette liked to pick one out for after dinner, generally the most deformed looking pastry. The bread she sold at half price the next day, and the cakes and other sweets she donated to a local homeless shelter.

She stepped out from behind the counter and walked to the front door. Outside, Parisians reveled in the summer evening. The sun was on its way down but wouldn't set until well past nine. If she wanted, she could go out for dinner that night, enjoy a plate of someone else's effort for once. She'd told Chat Noir to take a break from his routine, so why shouldn't she do the same? It wasn't like there was a shortage of restaurants in Paris. She flipped the open sign around, then locked the door and smiled to herself. All right then. As soon as the people from the homeless shelter came by for the leftovers, she was leaving.

Marinette got three steps from the door before she heard a sound.

Taptaptap.

She turned. A man in a black hoodie wearing a cap and sunglasses stared in at her. At least, she guessed he was staring in at her. His sunglasses were the mirrored kind, so all she could see in them was her own puzzled reflection. She approached the door, too wary to open it, and spoke loud enough for him to hear through the glass. "Sorry sir, we're closed."

The man glanced in another direction, then brought his face closer. "Marinette," he said, "it's me." He tipped his sunglasses down.

Green. Beautiful green. Glorious green. Like a meadow in heaven. Marinette's pulse skyrocketed.

Supermodel Adrien Agreste stood fidgeting outside her door, incognito.

"May I come in?"

So many questions hit Marinette at once that her mind temporarily shut down. Her body, however, moved on autopilot, and turned the lock on the door before stepping out of Adrien's way. He entered in a rush and let out a sigh, and she just stood there, mouth open, gawking for lack of a better response. "Thank you so much," Adrien said. He looked over his shoulder. "I—ah!"

Marinette followed his gaze. His bodyguard, The Gorilla, walked up the street at a distance from the bakery. The panic on Adrien's face snapped Marinette out of her shock and she sprang into action. "The kitchen," she said with an unnecessary point in its direction. While Adrien slipped away she busied herself drawing all the window curtains shut. What in the world was happening? She had no idea. Her brain was a whirlwind of panic and confusion. The Gorilla paused in front of the bakery. Marinette gave him a friendly smile, gestured to the closed sign, and resumed covering up the windows. After a few seconds of minding her own business, she looked up and saw the enormous man lumbering back down the street. "He's gone," she called out.

Adrien poked his head around the doorway, but he didn't move until the last of the curtains had been drawn. Marinette watched him emerge from his hiding spot, lower the hood of his jacket and remove the cap underneath it. He'd taken off his sunglasses, and his blonde hair was delightfully tussled. Marinette's knees would have weakened at the sight had she not been so bewildered. What was Adrien Agreste doing in her bakery, on a Tuesday, after closing time—other than hiding from his bodyguard?

"I appreciate it," he said. His face was flushed, and Marinette realized he must have been hot wearing that thick jacket in the middle of summer. Then his greenest of green eyes met hers and she lost her mental capacity for realizations. "Err…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "This probably seems strange to you."

Marinette managed a dumbfounded nod.

"It's weird for me, too. I don't usually, uh, sneak out of my house. Not that I have to sneak out of my own house. I mean, I kind of do? But it's not what it sounds like. I have every intention of going back. I just" —he sighed— "really wanted something to eat."

Marinette stared at him.

Adrien ran a hand through his unkempt hair. "Wait, that makes it sound like I'm being starved to death."

"You wanted something sweet," she offered.

Now it was his turn to stare at her. He must have been surprised that she'd put together a complete sentence without stuttering. "Yes," he said, "I wanted something sweet." His gaze shifted to one of the tables. "And maybe a moment's peace, if it's alright for me to stay a few minutes?"

Marinette heard a trace of longing in his voice that wrapped itself around her heart and squeezed. Though her mind still reeled at his presence—at the knowledge that he'd come here to escape from the world, of all places—she pulled herself together and smiled at him. "Have a seat," she said before dashing back behind the counter. She picked up a plate, hands trembling, and went to the display case to see what she had left. One decadent slice of raspberry cheesecake, two puff pastries, a couple of lemon macarons, and a huge chocolate chip cookie. She went for the cheesecake.

Adrien had settled in his regular spot. She brought the cheesecake to him with a clean dessert spoon and two napkins. Adrien reached for his wallet. "How much?" he asked.

Marinette shook her head. "On the house," she said, then turned and marched back to the kitchen as fast as she could.

Well.

Well.

This was an interesting development.

She did a full lap around the kitchen, then stopped at the doorway and peered at Adrien. He held a spoonful of cheesecake in one hand and his phone in the other. She flattened her back against the wall. Oh God. Okay. She had to keep it together, she knew that much. Act natural. But then what? Leave him alone. He was there for peace. Yes, good. But wouldn't it be strange pretending he wasn't there?

She had to call someone. Manon? No, she'd find a way to make the situation worse. Alya? No. Reporter. Bad idea. Her mother? What time was it in China? She could send Chat Noir an email, but knowing him, he'd move heaven and earth to find her location, show up at the bakery and chase Adrien away.

A car horn beeped twice outside and Marinette nearly jumped out of her skin. The homeless shelter volunteers. She ran back into the bakery and found Adrien half out of his seat. "No! Ah—they're not coming in!" she said. "It's fine." She picked up a large white box and began filling it with the last of the pastries. "They're from the homeless shelter. We donate our leftovers to them. It'd be wasteful not to, right? Everyone has to eat so why not do our part and help feed the hungry?" She knew she was rambling but she couldn't shut her mouth. "Nothing to worry about. You just sit there and, uh, relax!"

She didn't even try to gauge his reaction before carrying the box into the kitchen and pulling open the side door. Once the pastries were delivered and the volunteers awkwardly waved off, Marinette found herself able to breathe again. Unless Mayor Bourgeois decided to march an entire parade through the bakery for shits and giggles, that should have been the last of her visitors. Which left her, once again, with the present dilemma: Adrien Agreste was in the next room and she had no idea what to do about it.

If the goal was to act natural, then she had cleaning to do. Dishes to wash. The storefront needed to be swept, the counters wiped down, the coffee dumped, cups and lids restocked. She'd start there.

Adrien was halfway through his slice of cheesecake when she emerged with a wet rag. "It's cool that you guys give your leftovers to the homeless," he said.

Marinette's eyes widened. She hadn't counted on him talking to her. "My father insisted on it," she said, concentrating very hard on wiping the counter. "Normally we have more than we did today, and there's no way the three of us can eat it all ourselves, let alone just me."

"Is it hard running the bakery on your own?"

Marinette had two options here. She could make herself sound more impressive than she was, or she could tell the truth. "It helps that I have employees," she said, "but I still don't get much time to myself. I'm up every morning at four o'clock to prepare for opening at seven, work until six, have dinner, maybe watch a little television before going to sleep early to do it all again the next day…" She looked up at him, horrified. "I hope it doesn't sound like I'm complaining! It's not bad, really."

Somehow, telling the truth had managed to impress him. He regarded her with wide eyes. "Wow. I've been getting up at six for years, but I'm not even coherent until eight."

Marinette laughed a little too loud. Adrien Agreste is sharing personal details with me. "I would've never thought that. You always seem so refreshing—refreshed, when you come in. I meant to say refreshed."

Adrien's gaze lowered to his phone. "Guess I'm good at keeping up appearances," he said in a tone that suggested he wasn't very happy about it. He spooned another bite of cheesecake. "Are you sure I don't have to pay for this? It's incredible."

Color flooded her cheeks. "I-I'm glad you like it."

"That's an understatement. I'd come here every day if I could."

Marinette pinched herself. Either she was dreaming or she'd tripped and knocked herself out on the counter and this was one long hallucination. But when the pinch didn't wake her up, she found herself facing another choice, another strange and wonderful risk that she could either take or leave and allow her life to be swallowed up in routine once more. "You can," she said.

Adrien raised his head.

"If you want to." She didn't know how she kept finding room in her body for more embarrassment. "If you're craving something sweet, or you need another moment's peace." Could he see how red her face was? "You can come here."

To her surprise, he became flustered. "Wouldn't it be troublesome for—?"

"No! No, it's no trouble at all."

"I hadn't even intended—this was supposed to be a onetime thing, I don't think I can pull it off—"

"Oh God, I didn't mean to assume—"

"No, you're alright, it's just…" They both stopped and stared at each other. Adrien cleared his throat. "That's a serious offer?"

"Yes!" Marinette cried. Then, terrified that she'd sounded too eager, she backtracked. "You're a regular costumer, and to be honest we got a lot of new business when you started coming here, so consider it a thank you?" She waved her hands in front of her. "But I won't tell anyone about you! About this. There wouldn't be much point in sneaking out if people knew you were sneaking out, would there?" Her shoulders sagged. "I'll stop talking now."

Adrien stood and brought his plate and spoon to the counter. "I appreciate it, Marinette," he said in such an earnest voice that she could have melted on the spot. "Really. It's not every day that…" He stopped himself short and shook his head. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Marinette took the plate from him. "I-If you do come back, maybe you can knock on the house door? It's not as conspicuous."

He nodded. "Right. Don't know why I didn't think of that today."

She couldn't function as well with him in close proximity, so she shrugged and made a vague noise. He went back to his table and picked up his hat and sunglasses, resuming the disguise he'd used to get there. But before he put on the shades he turned to Marinette and sent her a small wave. "See you tomorrow morning?"

Tomorrow. Wednesday. Routine. "Yes," she said, then added a feeble 'good night' as he slipped out the front door and into the crowd.

x.x.x

Chat NoirRE: 20152 hours ago

An insult? Is that the thanks I get for my effort?! I'm not a morning person, My Lady. It cost me to write that poem. I argued with myself about the last line for half an hour.

I a-paw-logize for my out of character behavior yesterday. You must have been worried if you stopped rejecting me long enough to offer advice. And very sound advice, I might add. I followed it to the letter and the universe rewarded me for my obedience. I'd like to think it was a gift from you, buginette. That your good luck rubbed off on me and made my day just a little brighter.

x.x.x

LadybugRE: 201523 minutes ago

I'm glad you had a nice day, Chat.

Question:

What do you do when you royally screw yourself over?

x.x.x

Chat NoirRE: 20151 minute ago

I break into my father's wine cellar and party with the dustiest bottle I can find. Why?

x.x.x

LadybugRE: 201517 minutes ago

Comparing notes.

I got the wine part right.

x.x.x

Chat NoirRE: 20155 minutes ago

Oh my God. Are you drunk emailing me?! LADYBUG ARE YOU DRUNK?

x.x.x

LadybugRE: 201542 seconds ago

You can drink without getting drunk, Chat.

…

Kay I might be a lttle tipsy.

Just a bit.

Like this much

x.x.x

Chat NoirRE: 201531 seconds ago

You're aware that I can't see your fingers, right?

Brb breaking into the wine cellar. Tell me what we're drinking to and I'll raise my glass in your general direction. (Alas, I do not actually know what direction that is, but I'll do my best.)

x.x.x

LadybugRE: 201512 minutes ago

Chaaaat. Chaaaaaaaat.

Where'd you go?

Here, minou…

x.x.x

Chat NoirRE: 201550 seconds ago

Ladybugs and gentlemen, we have wine! And north seems as good a direction as any to point stuff at. Now then, what are we toasting?

x.x.x

LadybugRE: 2015Just now

My big fat mouth.

To Be Continued