Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc

"Oh, please!" Rose moaned, pushing her weight onto the duvet beneath her. "You didn't even set your alarm!"

The body beneath the duvet squeaked in surprise before relaxing their limbs in defeat. "You're before my alarm," a muffled voice replied tartly. "I was up late working on a project."

Rose clucked her tongue, a small giggle escaping her soft lips. She rolled off of her flat-mate, settling down upon the fabric while throwing a lace-clad arm around the sleepy female.

Marinette had two options to waking up, unless it was a special occasion where her friends allowed her a few more minutes of blissful sleep, both of which were just as undesirable. University seemed like the holy grail of creativity and freedom. An escape where she could focus on her studies, rather than waking up to the waxing morning sun to absorb the aromas of her family's pâtisserie. She took pride in her family's success—they were a well-known pâtisserie within Paris—but the appeal of a small break was all too tempting.

Her parents had sent her off with sad, watery smiles that were paired with prideful eyes.

"I am not cuddling with you after that."

The blonde fully dressed upon the covers laughed, a small snort escaping before she squeaked in embarrassment. A habit she hadn't been able to shake, even after all these years. The duo had met in their school's nursery when they were just babes. Rose with her bright cerulean eyes filled with curiosity had toddled towards the other with a skip in her step, and promptly asked whether she'd consumed a crayon to have a peculiar shine to her hair. Marinette had flushed crimson, words stuttering upon her tongue, as the other children had giggled at the confusion.

"Mari," Rose sang, invading the space left on the single pillow.

She huffed, slipping her head out of the covers to glare. "No!"

"But Alya's out right now—even she was up on time!" the blonde retorted.

That caused Marinette to laugh softly. Alya was notorious for waking up a few minutes before she was due somewhere; the red-head would shriek as she awoke, causing anyone within the small, cosy flat to jump or laugh aloud abruptly. Her bespectacled, fatigued face would appear in a flash as she spouted her reasons for being delayed.

The trio were all studying different courses but had agreed beforehand that if they were accepted into the same university, they'd try to share the same house or flat. Their other friends that were included disappeared slowly, travelling across the country or even to another for schooling. The three were the only ones from their original, solid group left within walking distance.

Marinette sniffed. "Wait for Juleka, I'd like to save myself for someone else."

"As if there's anyone else," Rose quipped, falling onto the floor to dodge the punch directed at her. "Come on! We're almost late!"

"We've still got fifteen minutes, and that's not including the breaks!" Marinette groaned, voice muffled by her pillow once again.

The fabric was ripped from her face, duvet forcefully removed, and the brisk chilly air caused her to shiver suddenly. She jumped in surprise from a suspicious sound in front of the bed.

A mischievous smile adorned the blonde's face, white pearly teeth that didn't belong while paired with such an expression, as she clicked the capture button on her cell phone. The pictures were just as bad as when Alya woke her up.

"Will you please stop that?" Marinette whined, hand covering her face in embarrassment as she fell onto her bare mattress. "The Ladyblog is just so embarrassing."

Rose giggled, shaking her head in reply.

Rose and Alya had a strange hobby together. The two of them needed constant amusement, so when the internet began to play up they had sought out different methods. Alya, the curly-haired red-head who was far too handy with coding and anything computer related, had snapped a picture of Marinette sleeping on their lumpy couch one evening. The picture didn't show too many details of her identity, honestly; only the small curve of her chin and a few strands of dark hair that had fallen out of place. When a softly lit picture of a young female wearing summer nightwear fell into the hands of a bored a tech-savvy girl, however, the worst happened. The two of them created a blog that they teasingly called the 'Ladyblog', which had various snapshots of Marinette in strange positions, sometimes in odd outfits, and always not showing her face.

"I think it's hilarious," the blonde chirped, tapping away at her cell phone.

"I'll hack your phone."

Rose snorted. "You still need help getting into yours sometimes."

Some minutes later a lethargic Marinette trudged out of her room in a faded pair of jeans and a tight white t-shirt, wet hair tied into a high ponytail. The flat they shared was slightly bigger than average; the three of them had small bedrooms each. The only setback of their arrangement being there was only one bathroom between them. The kitchen could have been considered cramped, especially in Marinette's eyes coming from a kitchen-active family, but it was quaint with a small island counter to function as a table and a tiny seating area. The flat was all coloured muted browns and cream, which didn't clash with any of their decorations.

Rose was actively pacing in the kitchen, laptop placed on the table beside her with a page open and waiting.

"I'm not sure how you're expecting to bake without ingredients," Marinette remarked, eyebrows high at the blonde's attire.

A peach lace shirt, that was transparent and complimented her skin tone nicely, white sleeveless camisole underneath, and small denim shorts were not the usual cooking uniform. Rose was usually practical and forced the others to change clothes to ones that were either old or dirty.

She flushed and stuck her tongue out.

The loud creak of their front door opening was followed by a holler of, "Girl, you didn't even give me enough money! I looked like a fool counting my coins for a few minutes." Alya's tanned bespectacled face appeared as the voice grew louder. She glared at the blonde, shoving the plastic bags full of ingredients onto the counter before wiping her forehead and fanning herself to cool down.

"Summer fun, huh?" Marinette laughed.

Alya's eyes flickered between the two of them, still glaring.

-x-

Celebrity crushes were normal. Every girl had them—even boys did, too—but sometimes Marinette had trouble understanding them. Watching Rose beside her bouncing on the spot, cheeks lightly dusted in a soft pink, as she watched the screen come to life always made her feel somewhat awkward. Marinette couldn't remember if she had a crush on a film star as a child. The two beside her didn't have the information either; apparently, she'd simply flush in embarrassment whenever they asked, but they'd never managed to siphon the answer out of her.

"It's starting!"

"Yes," Alya drawled in a forced bored tone.

Marinette rolled her eyes, sifting the flour into a mixing bowl to occupy herself.

"Hey, guys!" An attractive red-head appeared on the screen. The woman was mature, early thirties, with soft hazel eyes and an easy smile. "I hope everyone's ready for today's broadcast as we have quite the treat."

Rose animatedly vibrated. Maybe it could be considered an obsession. The blonde enjoyed following a certain celebrity's life; watching any show he appeared in, collecting pictures in scrapbooks, and simply trying to follow anything he did. Marinette shook her head with a small smile—it was okay, as long as her friend was happy.

"Here we go again," Alya whispered, elbowing her lightly in the ribs.

"Hush, you," Marinette scolded.

"I'm Nadja Chamack and I've once again changed my hair colour." She laughed openly, running her fingers through the bright strands. "Purple was way last month, you know? I wanted to be fit and ready for today's guest, who I'm sure you all know… if you've been looking up the teasers!"

"Come on, Rose," the bespectacled girl laughed fondly. "You've seen him lots of times."

"You lived in his house!"

"Eh?" Alya spluttered, stepping away from the eggs that were in the girl's hands. "I didn't know him—I'd just moved from across the country!"

Marinette swiftly stole the eggs, cracking them into the mixing bowl before stirring gently. The tradition of baking some sort of confectionery had only happened within the last three months—at first, Rose would jump excitedly without being preoccupied and spend large amounts of money on expensive sweets to indulge herself during the shows. Alya had suggested that they work together (mostly to save money, so they didn't have to chip in for the blonde's rent) to replicate some of the products that Marinette's family sold. And so, they were gathered in the kitchen with bright lacy aprons—that Marinette had crafted—with the ingredients for simple cupcakes in front of them (the previous attempts at baking difficult recipes had turned out to be disastrous with their cheap oven combined with Rose's destructively happy force).

"It's Nino Lahiffe!" Nadja cheered, making room for a tanned male to slip into the seat beside her. He grinned widely and waved to the camera, perfectly white teeth standing out. "That's right, the popular star from this year's hit film is here! I'll be selecting questions from fans over social media while we chat quickly." She turned to face the camera. "Just send in your question to me, and you might be selected and Nino himself will reply!"

"Phone, phone, phone," Rose murmured, patting herself down to see where she'd hidden the device. Marinette bit her cheek to keep from laughing aloud; she could see the bright pink metal sticking out of shorts' front pocket.

"Nino," Nadja greeted, tilting her head in a small bow. "Thank you for joining us today! And can I say what an honour it is to have such an attractive guy such as you here with us."

"The pleasure's all mine," he replied sweetly. He wore a crisp white shirt, tucked into slightly faded jeans that were just tight enough to make Rose blush (even more so). His glasses were horn-rimmed and thick, a dark ebony which he seemed to prefer, rather than the contact lenses that he usually wore in films. Marinette had spied a few pairs of similar glasses in her flat-mate's room. "It's not too bad, though I must say it's rather hot in here."

Rose rushed across the room. "We should open the window."

The show transitioned to a selection of clips from Nino's work.

"I thought you were looking for your phone," Alya reminded her with a smirk, glancing towards Marinette briefly.

Marinette rolled her eyes fondly. "In your front pocket, Rose," she pointed out, "but only send one message to Nadja—you don't want a repeat of last time." Rose had been too busy selecting the best question that the time had run out, but the blonde had been preoccupied and hadn't realised. Tears had appeared upon her eyes, but the floodgates never opened.

"Right, right." Rose waved a hand dismissively, fishing her cell phone out.

Rose's crush on Nino was awkward to deal with but she tried her best. The tanned boy had been Marinette's neighbour when they were young—before Alya had moved into his house and he disappeared with only a letter in her mailbox—though the memories were hazy. Rose was the source of most of her childhood memories that hadn't been documented; an unfortunate event had caused the young girl to spend a few weeks in hospital and left her with a blurry memory that had gaps that needed to be filled.

Marinette's mother, Sabine, had told stories of how Marinette played with the boy next door. They never ventured into her garden or through the front doors of the pâtisserie (the only time being when her mother had seen flour knocked onto the floor, and small footprints being the only clues about what had happened) and stayed in his house with the thick curtains and private family. Her father, Tom, had introduced himself to Nino's parents and given them their number for emergencies and to investigate where their daughter was spending all of her free time.

Free time that she couldn't remember any longer—if only she'd kept diaries as a babe.

"Ask him about his childhood," she suggested wistfully.

Nino became a child superstar. He was considered France's sweetheart by the time he was ten, at fifteen he was plastered on teenage girls' walls, and at nineteen he became the mature actor that could play any genre of character. Young Rose Lavillant had become enamoured with him at age eleven; she'd seen his first film countless times and wanted to share her feelings with all of her friends. They had a sleepover at Alya's house and watched the film together (thanking the subtitles for the translations, and the added bonus that they didn't need sound, so the red-head's little sisters wouldn't wake up) which caused Alya to exclaim loudly that he was the previous tenant to her current home.

The blonde had stubbornly ignored Marinette for a week for not telling her.

"That's a good idea," she agreed with a smile.

"You've done such a range of films," Nadja remarked, leaning back on her white swivel chair. "Have there been any favourites for you? We've seen you be an adorable child, to a psychotic student, and now to a superhero."

The male in question grinned widely, adjusting his glasses. "I enjoy them all," he confessed sincerely, "but so far my favourite has been anything to do with school, especially the older years."

Nadja whistled.

He took that as a prompt to continue with a shy smile. "My education was mostly from home or between shoots—I haven't been with lots of kids since I was gnawing on crayons. Maybe with my age now I'll be scouted for a romantic role. That would be a change from tight spandex."

Rose clapped silently at the thought.

"Thanks for your honest answer, Nino," Nadja commented. "You wrapped that section up nicely for us, but now it's time to answer the questions your fans have demanded to know!"

The questions were sorted randomly. The selected ones appeared in a bubble on the bottom of the screen (which had a small picture of Nino cheering beside it), and as the first lines of text appeared, Alya pretended to be disinterested as she stirred the batter.

Marinette placed cupcake cases, which were red and white spotted, onto a baking tray and began to spoon the mixture into them equally.

"What is your first memory?" Nadja read aloud.

Nino snorted heartily. "Stealing my cousin's toy."

After showing no indication he was going to elaborate on that comment, Nadja continued to read out questions. The next was asking which underwear he preferred to wear, which he only raised his eyebrows at, and then they continued in that fashion. Inappropriate questions were appearing left and right for ten minutes, causing Nino to wipe a tear from his eye as he still refused to reply to them.

"Here's one that we only just received!" the hostess exclaimed, smirking at the tanned male. "Who is your cousin?"

Nino chortled, clapping his hands in amusement. "Finally!" he exclaimed. "I've been waiting for this question since I was tiny."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes!" His hands were moving animatedly, resembling Rose when she was excited. "His family's much more famous than me, you know. It's really shocking that it hasn't been discovered yet."

Nadja raised her eyebrows.

"Put it this way, Gabriel Agreste is my uncle."

Marinette gasped softly. The man mentioned was a famous fashion designer; one of the best in the world, in a lot of people's eyes. He was constantly producing award-winning designs that were stunning and inspiring. There were countless journals within her room filled with cut-outs of his designs, models splashed onto her walls. His son, Adrien, had blossomed into a talented model during his teenage years and had become just as popular as Nino in the past few summers.

"You heard it here first," Nadja remarked, surprised by the information. "Adrien Agreste, the model who recently won an award, is Nino's cousin!"

Alya knew that Marinette looked up to Gabriel Agreste. She squeezed her hand, just as surprised as the girls around her.

"How did you spend your time before you became an actor?"

It was Rose's question. The blonde squeaked in surprise.

"Oh," Nino exclaimed, blinking in surprise. He pondered briefly, stroking his chin to exaggerate the moment. "That's a hard one. Before I was scouted and all of this happened, I lived in cosy home in Paris—there was a really nice bakery right near it, too!"

"Marinette—" Rose spluttered, gesturing wildly between her and the screen.

"The daughter was pretty cool, when she wasn't busy all the time," he laughed to himself fondly causing Marinette to blink in surprise. He still remembered her. "Gosh, all I wanted to do back then was play music and have people actually listen."

Marinette placed the cupcakes into their shiny, slightly rusty, oven, set the timer and folded her apron neatly onto the side. She patted her friends briefly on the shoulder on her way past.

-x-

Social media was relentless.

Nino's fans were posting theories of where they thought the actor had lived as a child. There were even maps with suggested streets, or specific houses, circled paired with polls for individuals to vote on which they thought was more likely. Three pâtisseries were the most popular choice and, surprisingly, her family's was listed upon it. No information about the families were listed, however many were considering contacting the residents to investigate whether they knew Nino or not.

Marinette slammed her laptop shut in frustration, pinching the bridge of her nose. It was troublesome enough that she had Rose asking her every few weeks whether her memories were less hazy, and whenever she sadly shook her head at her cheerful friend, the blonde would continue and create another scrapbook for future reference. The scrapbooks had been sweet, she thought with a wry smile, though the amount of them that had piled up through the years was extreme. Many boxes were carefully packed and tucked away in her family bedroom back with her parents.

"Nino," she tried his name on her tongue, frowning. It wasn't familiar—he only came up in conversations revolving around Rose, after all.

But he remembered her. He hadn't mentioned her name for obvious reasons—it would have caused so many problems with her.

An odd feeling spiralled in her stomach. He was supposed to have been her best friend, even more so than the ones she knew from school, and yet he'd left abruptly with only a letter shoved through her mailbox.

The note was crinkled, faded and covered in plastic to protect it from any rips. She shouldn't have held onto it, even after all these years, yet she couldn't push herself to remove it from her wallet.

He hadn't attempted to contact her. There was no communication between them in over a decade; he hadn't tried, nor had she. How would she go about contacting him? Perhaps convincing his agent to allow her to speak to him, though she was sure his job wasn't supposed to entail such things. Nino's enthusiastic fans had surely already tried.

'Mari,

I'll try and come back soon. Look after yourself and please keep an eye out for Marzi. He fought with Plagg last night so I don't think they're friends.

I will mail you pictures of Plagg every chance I get.

Don't eat too much sugar. I might have more lives than you but that doesn't mean you can die from all that cream.

Sincerely,
Boy.'

With pursed lips, Marinette re-opened her laptop and loaded her internet browser.

There were zero results for Nino and Plagg in the same sentence. Typing in the latter alone took her to obscure websites that held no useful information to her. She'd asked Rose when they were thirteen, when the blonde was slowly becoming more devoted to her celebrity crush, and she hadn't mentioned anything. Nino had no pets that the public knew of, nor did he mention a childhood toy with such a name. Nino often posted pictures of himself and random objects, complete with silly captions that always managed to make Rose smile widely. However, the question of Nino's agent was popularly searched. There was an address to specifically send fan-mail, such as letters and packages of any sort, while there was an e-mail address listed for business only, which was surely abused more often than not.

What harm could it do? Nino's mailbox was surely overflowing with expensive gifts and grateful letters. Contacting the agent was possibly the best way to catch his attention.

'Marinette D-C
to Armand D'Argencourt
Subject: Updates

Dear Sir,

My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I'd like to enquire whether Boy would like to converse with the baker's daughter from next door. The updates of Plagg never arrived.

If the name is not recognised, I apologise for wasting your time.

Sincerely,
Mari.'

-x-

It was dumb, desperate and despite how many times she'd tried to mentally manipulate her computer to delete the email she sent by glaring, it was a small weight off of her shoulders. The nagging feeling would disappear if a response ever came. She wanted to fill the pitiful emptiness that was still left within her memories, to complete the bleeding gaps that were still apparent.

"You and that boy," her mother would say, sighing fondly, "it was impossible to separate you. He'd hide behind a tree every day, waiting for you to appear. A shy little thing, he was."

Internally, Marinette sighed. She forced herself to focus on the present; to perfect her design project for the current semester's assignment. Although her hands were soon smudged with the ebony of pencil, she persisted meticulously, venting her feelings of frustration and converting them into inspiration.

The week passed methodically with Marinette flushing in embarrassment when a picture would be taken secretly of her.

She was standing in line at the local coffee-shop—five minutes from campus, fifteen from their fifth-story apartment—shifting the weight of her feet as the queue began to shuffle methodically when she was shaken out of her trance. Drained faces were the main attraction of the particular shop; the coffee was cheap, hot, and combined with the distance from the university meant it was a hot-spot during the exhausting hours of the day.

"Marinette!" Aurore scolded, whacking her lightly on the shoulder.

She blinked. "Eh?"

"Honestly, if I wanted to talk to buffoon I'd accept one of those dates from the stuck-up boys that keep asking me." Aurore sniffed indignantly. Her hair was golden, shining like a halo in the bright sunlight, and plaited into a braid that almost touched the small of her back (when she felt particularly playful, she'd poke Marinette or anyone else who ignored her with the soft ends of her long hair). "Now are you going to listen to me or not?"

Marinette's lips twitched. "Yes, your highness."

Aurore Beauréal was a quick-witted, bubbly girl who was only a few inches taller than Marinette when she decided to have a comfort day and slip into flat shoes. The two had met in the campus library abruptly and somehow hit it off after a snappy argument concerning which one of them could take the last remaining copy of a book. Aurore had insisted on messaging her to see whether she was done reading every night, right on time. On the fourth night, Marinette had sassily replied, "It'll be ready when you learn some patience, your highness."

Somehow, it was the start of an odd relationship. They met for coffee at least twice a week, sometimes more if they were particularly drained, and sometimes the blonde would invite herself over to Marinette's cosy flat and converse with her flat-mates.

"I'm assuming Rose made you all watch the newest interview, right?"

Rose had only missed one when her internet was out at home. "Do you really need to ask that?" Marinette snorted.

Aurore chortled. "Yeah, I suppose you're right." Then her expression shifted to brighter eyes and a growing smirk. "Nino's having a webcast tomorrow night, you know? He's been talking about showing 'the big reveal' live, even though he's already spilled the information."

Feeling suddenly uncomfortable as the flash of her e-mail to his manager reappeared in her mind, Marinette glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. "Do you think he's going to be talking alone, or will Adrien be there?"

"Gosh, I hope he's there." She bumped Marinette's shoulder playfully. "Then you can finally be like Rose and watch your poster boy on the big screen."

Marinette's cheeks flamed. "I have one poster of him! One, Aurore!"

She snickered. "I'm sure it'll become many more soon enough. Then you'll realise you have a crush and gush with Rose—you could throw sleepovers and scrapbook together."

"Oh, fuc—"

A tap on her shoulder made her yelp and cut off mid-sentence. Nathaniel Kurtzberg waved shyly, bright turquoise eyes shining beneath his scarlet bangs. He pointed to the small notebook in his hand—a light rose colour, white dots scattered over the cover—before handing it over to her.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, flashing him a grateful smile.

He always smiled shyly at her. Whenever they would converse, even if he didn't utter a word, it never appeared as though he was displeased with their one-sided conversation. There were a few rumours about his behaviour (Alya had once claimed she'd read a story where a tongue-tied prince was cursed to trade his voice for the ability to draw where the prince looked exactly like the shy boy Marinette sat beside in a few classes), though none were ever confirmed—he spoke softly to the teacher at times which disproved the mute theories.

"I can't believe I forgot this in class," she continued, rubbing her cheek in embarrassment. "You really saved me this time, Nathaniel. That's another point to you—you're six ahead now."

A tally to keep things friendly between them; her only point was from cheerfully passing him his eraser he'd dropped once. The boy was meticulously organised and neat, just painfully shy.

His cheeks stained a delicate pink as he ran his hand through the soft strands of his hair.

"No cutting in queue," a tart voice declared behind them.

Nathaniel recognised the tone and the whiny quality to it which spurred him to nod in farewell to the two girls and leave with his eyes averted.

"You scared Cherry Boy away, Chloé," Aurore said with a huff.

Marinette's smile was strained. Chloé Bourgeois was an uppity girl that constantly ran her fingers through her bright golden hair dramatically, particularly when she flipped the long straight strands to emphasise her point. Although her personality was sugary sweet when she wanted something, the cerulean-eyed female had a sharp tongue and had foul mood swings to match. Aurore was fond of her for a few reasons that Marinette wasn't supportive of—entertainment, access to the upper-class students, and for bragging rights from Chloé's family name.

The girl was the daughter of the ex-mayor of Paris. Her father had fallen out of favour when the girls were still young, before Nino had money being thrown at him wherever he went, and although there was someone new in power, the Bourgeois family still held onto their prestigious name. They were active within the community, constantly donating to charity and throwing events that would further their favour within the city.

Chloé had attended a boarding school in another area with Aurore. They'd travelled together for university without realising it—Aurore recognised the tell-tale sound of Chloé's snarky drawl when she was conversing with their private dorm's security guard (it cost triple to live there—Aurore was lucky she'd featured in a television show as a child).

"It doesn't take much to scare him." She snorted, adjusting the white sunglasses upon her head, making sure her high ponytail wasn't ruined. "Sabrina sends her regards, also asked for you to stop leaving bottles outside of her door."

Aurore cackled heartily, clapping her hands together in joy. "It's not even me anymore! I convinced our neighbours, lovely people, really, to place them there—told them it's for her class project to save her from looking in recycling bins."

"Thoughtful," Marinette said sarcastically.

They ordered their coffee quickly (Chloé's order was the same length as both of theirs combined) and Marinette saw her opportunity and took it. She hugged Aurore quickly, whispering in her ear that she was welcome to come to their flat for the webcast Friday evening and nodded in farewell to Chloé before fleeing to her next class.

Her coffee was still warm as she navigated through the bright walls of her section of the university. Through a window she spied Alya typing furiously at a computer, her face twisted into concentration—the true face of hard work for her was a furrowed brow and her tongue sticking slightly out—which her classmates mirrored.

That damn class was one of the reasons Alya was motivated to keep up the Ladyblog.

-x-

Another picture was deemed good enough quality for the Ladyblog. It was Marinette angrily running through the small apartment in a fluffy white towel, cheeks stained a flaming red. Alya had cackled with glee from successfully snatching her clothes from the bathroom.

It was definitely time to invest in a lock for the shared bathroom, just to try and avoid such an embarrassing situation again.

Marinette's face twisted in horror as she saw the updates on the image. There were more viewers than at least half of the blog put together, and it was still rising!

"No!" she squeaked, silently demanding that the number would just stop.

Refreshing the page only made the count go further up.

"Please, no," she sighed, smacking her forehead on the cold surface of the desk. It was cool against her warmed skin, though it did not soothe her worries. The views and attention were going off the charts (they were rather pitiful before, and even that was bad), even the bad quality captures that had been taken in the beginning were being looked upon.

None of their friends had stumbled upon the atrocious website before. However, now Marinette was more self-conscious than ever.

"Hey, aren't you the girl from that site? You know, the one that's either asleep or doing something strange?"

She could imagine it now.

Goodness, if Chloé ever managed to get her perfectly manicured nails onto such pictures she would be the laughing stock of the university in less than a day. Even sweet Nathaniel wouldn't look her in the eyes again.

The highest picture was her in a towel, the second—by only a few thousand now—was when her white shirt had become horribly transparent from the rain.

Perhaps a few perfectly clean notes of money would convince her two flat-mates to give her some peace.

Marinette sighed. "Certainly not."

E-mails were the same as ever; updates for classes, conversing with a few students that she was paired with, and the necessary spam that always seemed to be there. The vibrating of her cell phone caught her attention from deleting the unwanted messages.

'Alya Césaire:
I'm taking Rose to the store after class. We'll be later than usual but we need to be ready for Nino's webcast—Rose is going all out for the popsicles. Let's just go along with it.'

The webcast was scheduled for two hours' time still. An uncomfortable feeling stirred within her chest, a frown upon her lips, as she thought about the e-mail she'd sent once again. It had probably been selected and deleted instantly.

She slapped her cheeks to pull herself from the trail of thought. So what if Nino wasn't going to respond to her? He had no obligation to; that was perfectly clear from the lack of communication they'd had for over a decade. Honestly, who did he think he was—how dare he mention her so casually while he was live? Surely, he'd realise what sort of problems he was causing by riling his fans over such information.

Her parents… Marinette gnawed on her lower lip, wondering whether to contact her doting family so late at night (they awoke early to prepare their store, baking all their products fresh every day) or to e-mail and hope for a response the next day. The latter won in the end. She typed out a kind message, asking how they were doing and adding in her own information of how classes were doing, and, of course, mentioning how Alya and Rose were doing. Rather than delving into the entire topic, Marinette simply asked whether there had been a lot of business the past couple of days.

"Hello in there!"

Sharp knocks on her bedroom door startled her awake, bleary eyes blinking at the sudden hazed vision. How had she fallen asleep so carelessly? There were projects to work on, designs to finish, e-mails to worry about—

No. Breaks were healthy as long as they weren't too frequent.

Marinette stretched as she padded to the door, socks long discarded in her red laundry basket, pausing only to check whether her outfit was appropriate to wear around the two devils in the kitchen. A light cream blouse with a sweetheart neckline paired with a soft pastel rose skirt that fluttered around mid-thigh was surely fine—if she could wear it to university that day then a small gathering at home was no problem.

However, apparently it was.

The sight of Aurore with her arm wrapped around Rose, a pristine glass filled with an amber liquid in her hand, laughing heartily was the first sign of danger. Rose and Aurore were wearing matching outfits, surprisingly; soft beige sundresses with the only difference being the colour of their cardigans. Aurore posed for the camera in Alya's hand, enthusiastically pulling the blonde closer to her so their golden hair twined together.

"We're drinking?" Marinette groaned, settling down on their lumpy couch, trying to avoid the worst lump of all right in the middle.

"Man up," Alya teased, still taking pictures of the two blondes.

The trio were already tipsy when Nino's page turned from black to a static picture. The screen emitted an awful noise as the celebrity fumbled with his camera, trying to set it up in the right place while softly laughing at a quiet hum in the background that distinctively sounded like a shy voice. The camera was only picking up on Nino's shirt as he rearranged the table (it seemed he was in a kitchen, much like the girls watching him).

Marinette sipped her first drink still, the amber liquid burning her throat as it travelled. Becoming intoxicated first before the two armed with cameras of any sort wasn't a smart idea any more.

"Rose, Rose!" Aurore chanted, clapping lightly as she saw the awed expression on the blonde's face.

"Aurore…" Rose mumbled, glaring at her out of the corner of her eyes, which were still flickering back to the screen every few seconds.

"And Alya," the red-haired female interjected, throwing her arms around the two. The glass in her hand almost poured all of the liquid onto the floor from the movement.

Marinette rolled her eyes. She began to clean up after the tipsy trio as the webcast started up.

"Hey, guys!" Nino greeted, waving happily at the screen. Rose waved right back, as if he could see her. "I'm just going to wait a few more minutes for everyone to get here. They wouldn't want to miss this." He wore a dark jacket, zipped up but not quite covering a white button-up shirt underneath.

A snort was heard beside him, though barely audible. "The fame is really getting to you." The voice was smooth and attractive, a tone lower than Nino's, despite the slight static of the microphone detecting the sound.

Nino, surprisingly, stuck his tongue and laughed aloud.

Rose was already vibrating upon the other side of the sofa, shuffling along to lump to steal Marinette's side.

"Oh, is it now?" Nino taunted, teasingly sticking his nose in the air. "I remember a certain someone telling me I need to mind my actions. Apparently, it's not proper to attempt to serenade in public."

"Serenade, Nino? You were beatboxing," the voice replied while chuckling.

Aurore appeared by her side, causing her to jump in surprise. "That's Adrien," she stage-whispered, pointing towards the laptop on the counter.

Marinette jabbed her in the ribs.

She'd seen him in magazines, of course, in articles and mentioned on television at times, though that didn't mean she actively sought out such times; because of such, she hadn't heard his voice before. His father, Gabriel Agreste, was the one she researched thoroughly. Adrien simply appeared in the modelling magazines where they'd interviewed his father at times (one of last year's designs had been absolutely delightful, so Adrien had found his way upon her wall).

Was it fair for a male blessed with attractive looks to possess an equally beautiful voice? The thought of the comic Alya mentioned caused her to snort.

The webcast was stalled for a good ten minutes more which was enough time for Rose to happily pass out popsicles, making sure she kept two for herself as a treat. A second bottle of liquor, curtesy of Aurore's parents, of course, was opened and spilled messily onto the countertop.

Marinette succumbed to the teasing peer-pressure and swallowed the rest of her drink, grimacing at the aftertaste.

"No pictures and I'll drink more," she compromised.

Alya's grin was wide, showing all of her pearly white teeth, and not at all sincere. "We'll see about that."

Marinette copied Nino's action from earlier and stuck her tongue out, which caused Rose to roar with laughter until she accidentally snorted, once again. She looked briefly horrified before laughing, too.

"All right, all right," Nino said, adjusting his thick glasses. "Our food has already arrived so we're just going to start now. Hey, guys! Once again in case you didn't see the interview earlier this week, some interesting news is going to be revealed."

"Just get on with it!"

Nino yelped, almost losing balance from a dark pillow colliding perfectly with his face. Marinette choked on her new drink, warm liquid seeping into her nose uncomfortably, while everyone but Rose roared with laughter. Rose was torn between comforting her friend by rubbing her back and looking concerned at the screen.

"Wow, thanks, Adrien," Nino retorted, rubbing his face with a forced pout.

"No problem," he chuckled in reply. A blurry body appeared next to the tanned male on the screen (who had decided to hug the lounge pillow in his arms to avoid it being thrown once again), a hand soon appearing to wave at the screen.

Marinette blinked.

"Dude, they know what you look like," Nino grumbled, poking his cousin in the side.

"It would be nice if they didn't, honestly." Adrien scooted along the couch, which oozed wealth from the pristine material that could be seen over the internet, until his shoulder was touching Nino's. He smiled at the camera, flashing the same heart-breaking curve of his lips that he was famous for.

The duo didn't look related at first glance. Where Nino was tanned healthily and had dark untameable curls, Adrien was the opposite. Soft porcelain skin, golden strands that curled slightly at the ends, not into ringlets like his cousin's. Nino had deep sienna eyes, a different spectrum than Adrien's bright emerald—even the shapes of their eyes were different. However, when they smiled side-by-side on the screen, the similarities were certainly there, no matter how small. The delicate, barely visible dimples that showed when they smiled sincere, and the shape of their jaws were the ones Marinette could spot immediately from the years of Rose showing her Nino's pictures.

"It's not polite to wear hats inside, you know," Adrien teased, poking the scarlet hat upon his cousin's ebony hair.

"Oh, sod off," Nino laughed, removing the hat before attempting to tame the messy tendrils underneath. "My hair was ruined from the rain."

"So was mine," Adrien pointed out, "but you've had more than few hours to fix it." The strands looked as healthy and well-styled as they usually appeared in the news. His golden hair was complimented by the dark gray shirt he wore with a black button-up shirt hanging open upon it.

"Actually, I was busy playing for a few hours…"

Adrien simply raised his golden eyebrows.

Marinette and her friends were silent as they watched the duo converses so comfortably. It was such a surprise after so many years to see how close they really were—just how did they manage to keep their relationship in the dark for so long? They were as close as peas in a pod, and surely they weren't able to hide it sufficiently in public. The events were they sure each other in the camera's eye were limited to ones where Adrien's father had organised or company parties, so perhaps it was easier than she had assumed.

Perhaps the younger version of Nino didn't want his uncle's name to promote his career—or possibly his parents had decided that—but after a decade he had finally decided his career was comfortable enough from his own hard work. It was admirable, really.

"Hey, it's rude to ignore your audience!" Nino countered a jab that Marinette had missed. "I know this is your first time doing this, but you can't just interact with me."

"I wouldn't mind," Aurore mumbled under her breath. She winked as she made eye contact with Marinette.

Adrien froze visibly for a second before composing his expression. The soft dimples were gone as his smile became gentle, almost shy as he addressed the viewers. "Hey," he said awkwardly.

"Hey?" Nino questioned, incredulous. "You attack me with a pillow live and all you can say to introduce yourself is 'hey'?"

"I don't know where to look," he admitted with a shrug.

"Look at the dot on the camera, dude!" Nino sighed, shaking his head in exasperation while muttering under his breath. The blonde beside him simply snorted at his attitude.

The webcast became full of the duo joking with each other, only sometimes addressing their audience. It was as though they were lost in their conversations, only realising sometimes that they were being recorded when things were just getting interesting. Soon, thirty minutes into the broadcast, the girls decided to put the bottles that Aurore had brought over to good use. Whenever Adrien would hit his cousin, or Nino would mock Adrien's inexperience with technology, the girls would take a shot each.

They were becoming increasingly giddy as the show progressed.

"No!" Rose cried, drawing out the vowel. "No, no, no!"

"No!" Aurore agreed, bursting into laughter afterwards.

Alya disagreed, instead saying, "Yes!"

Marinette simply nursed her drink and watched her friends with amused smiles. She wasn't so sure what they were arguing about any more, but their volumes were slowly rising as they continued to repeat themselves. A snort escaped her when Rose stomped her foot to emphasise her point in true Chloé fashion.

Apparently, she'd voiced out her observation since the trio stopped arguing to burst out into laughter. They chuckled, gasping for breath, and continued to spout fits of laugher from each other's reaction; it was a chain reaction that only became worse when Alya began to claw at her ribs frantically.

"Man, do you remember how Plagg reacted?"

Marinette sucked in a loud breath. In her hazy stupor, she waved her hands enthusiastically towards the screen to show just how important this topic was to her. Her friends had knitted eyebrows and expressions of clear confusion.

Aurore was the first to speak. "Pl—"

"No, Plagg!" Marinette insisted, hands still frantically gesturing to the screen. The cousins were laughing together, a section of the conversation missed from Marinette's reaction. "Plagg!"

"Plagg," Alya tried, tasting the word upon her tongue. Her expression turned sour as she shook her head.

Marinette, however, took this as a sign of confirmation that her friend knew exactly what she was on about. "You know, Plagg!" she cried, nodding twice for good measure. "Updates—I'm going to get updates!"

Rose smiled brightly and poured more liquor into Marinette's glass. They each took a shot when Adrien hit his companion lightly on the shoulder. "Don't be so rude," he retorted, "Plagg is perfectly healthy."

"Yes!" Marinette cried, jumping with a fist attempting to touch the ceiling. It was good news, definitely! Whatever thing Plagg was—perhaps a toy, a pet, or even some sort of object—it was okay to the present date. "Adrien!" she cheered, thanking the model for finally delivering the news that had plagued her thoughts for years.

The click of Alya's camera was either unheard or simply ignored at that moment. Marinette chose instead to dance to an imaginary tune within her mind, which Rose soon giggled and joined her in, which slowly turned into her attempting to perfect the ballet moves she'd given up on many years ago.

-x-

Her head was pounding. The sun was oozing like butter through her curtains, causing the young girl to cower into her pillow to escape the bright tendrils disturbing her. A constant tune of disgruntling thumps sounded within her skull, a nagging ache within temples refusing to disappear no matter how much she willed it to. Marinette was sure her dark hair was a frizzy mess, and a much needed shower was calling to her.

She'd slept in her clothes from the night before. It was a surprise that she'd managed to make it to her bedroom at all (especially since the last time she'd wound up in her bed, intoxicated, there had been a certain red-head snoozing right beside her). Nausea had passed by the time she was towel drying her hair on the plush desk chair in her room, the offending white fluffy towel from the most recent picture wrapped around her.

The memories of last night were mostly hazy after the webcast had started. When she'd invited Aurore over for the night it had been for company, not her father's willingness to provide his daughter with too much money for a girl her age. The golden-haired beauty either spent her money on clothes, expensive food to share with others, or party supplies for the strange themed events she liked to throw every few weeks at her entirely-too-spacious upper-class apartment.

Her cell phone only had one message from Alya. It was blank other than a teasing emoticon typed out, which made her gnaw her lip in suspicion. The Ladyblog soon appeared on her screen, bold intricate letters of the title taking the longest to load.

Marinette's face turned as red as the hairband that was holding her hair in a loose ponytail. There was a new entry—dated from last night—which was just as bad as the towel picture. Marinette was actively cheering, or perhaps dancing oddly from the position, with such enthusiasm that her loose blouse had risen up during the pose. Although the material of her blouse was still, barely, covering her brassiere, her flat stomach was fully on display. Of course Alya had managed to capture the moment. Even when drunk, the girl was devious. The picture had already garnered a lot of attention over the duration of the night. How many people wanted to see a jumping girl show her stomach and skin in the process? More than she would have liked, definitely.

Marinette methodically checked her e-mail first to keep her mind focused. She'd think of a good way to retaliate against her flat-mates teasing at a later date. There was no response from her parents, though there was one from an address that she didn't recognise. The subject was entitled, 'Mille-feuille'.

Intrigued, she opened the e-mail.

'Bulle-Chat
to Marinette D-C
Subject: Mille-feuille

Mari,

It's a pleasure to hear from you. I've wondered about you for years, especially when none of my letters were responded to. Thank you for getting in contact with me, though it is strange how sudden your request was.

Are you okay?

Sincerely,
Boy (who should be a man).'

He'd responded.

He bothered to think about her, after all these years—even outside of the interview! Marinette was torn between grinning in excitement and frowning in confusion. The message was short and didn't answer any of the questions that were burning within her. There was no mention of Plagg, or whether it was actually Nino that had responded.

The e-mail address was ambiguous and seemed perfect for a young teenager, not a celebrity who was constantly walking upon a red carpet.

Bulle-Chat.

Goodness, what was he thinking? And he had the audacity to imply that she was the one that had cut off contact between the two of them! His letters had never arrived, nor had he bothered to leave an address to contact him at.

Marinette took a few minutes to compose herself, thinking of how she could reply to him correctly without giving away that she was a stranger to him. If this really was Nino, the boy that used to hide in his backyard until she appeared to play with him, then she needed to confirm it somehow.

She swallowed the unknown lump in her throat.

'Marinette D-C
to Bulle-Chat
RE: Mille-feuille

Boy,

Bulle-Chat is a strange choice, even for you. I apologise if this seems rude, but I'd like confirmation that this isn't a joke.

How many lives do you have?

Sincerely,
Marinette.'

Perhaps the message would bring up the topic of the hastily shoved good-bye letter that she'd received. The parting words had been that he had more lives than her; surely, he'd reply with how many to refresh her blank memory.

To keep herself from simply sitting and waiting in front of her laptop, Marinette closed the device down and changed into clothes for the weekend.

A cruel smirk spread across her lips as she saw the time. Eight o'clock in the morning—her hungover flat-mates were sure to be in bed.

PREVIEW: 'Your face isn't everywhere, but it is in my mind.'