Club Shell Shock isn't as run down as he's led to believe. Quite the contrary, it's bigger than expected and inviting in its simple outward appearance. A neon green sign spelling its name (along with a depiction of a turtle with a tipping martini glass) sits happily atop its large, heavy doors where a single bouncer stands with solidity. A line of people curl around its brick walls and corner, eagerly waiting to be allowed entry into the building, which hums and vibrates with music that can be heard through the walls.

just head in, Nino's last text had read, im on music duty so ill meet up w/ u l8r.

Easier said than done, he thinks as he balks just short of walking into a pair of girls who strut past him arm in arm and take their place at the end of the line; one of the girls, a brunette with olive green eyes, giggles and coyly wiggles her fingers at him over her friend's shoulder. His attempt at a smile, polite and cracking with nervousness, doesn't end well, twitching into place a second too late and becoming an awkward grimace once he looks back at the building and the uncertainty it holds.

Okay, breathe, Adrien commands himself to relax, step over the curb and into the street, just go over there and…

A car alarm sounds out from somewhere to the left of him.

Oh God, he couldn't do this. He was such a wimp and he couldn't do this. What was he even thinking? Sneaking out of the house to go to a bar to meet up with some random stranger he met on the streets? This was crazy. He was crazy and he should turn back right now and go home, forget about Nino and street dancers and the girl in red-

No, stop that. He was not going home and he was most definitely going in.

With courage that surprises him he crosses the street, straightening his back as he goes. By the time he reaches the front of the line and the man guarding its principles, Adrien has convinced himself that he deserves this. Like a knight brandishing a sword against a troll lurking underneath the local bridge, he takes charge of the situation.

"Hi- I mean, no, good evening- no, wait, that's worse- just forget I said anything. I'm here because I want to go in? Nino- he's my friend, well I'm pretty sure he is- and well, he plays the music here and he said- said that I should maybe, probably, totally come here and, uh, here I am, because, well," he fumbles at the bouncer, metaphorically tripping and running himself through with his own sword just as the battle begins. "I- I'm on the list."

The buff man looks down at him with a professionally neutral expression, unknowingly crushing what's left of his courage into fine dust with the stare. "You know the DJ?"

Not trusting his mouth, Adrien nods.

"What's your name?"

Shoot, the silent tactic was out now that he had to open his mouth and let the disgusting babble gurgle out. "Its, ah, A-Adrien." Nailed it.

The lack of last name is ignored and, for that, Adrien's grateful (he didn't think he could survive through another live performance of embarrassing himself out in the streets); not to mention that he wasn't completely comfortable with the curious glances sent his way by the other club goers still in line. The clipboard between them is scrutinized, the bouncer's gaze ranging down the long list of names, and Adrien forces his own attention to remain steady as he awaits for the verdict. Seconds pass and he has to adamantly fight the urge to fidget when he feels the stares start to accumulate on his back, growing in intensity the longer he stands there. The blond adjusts his hat, uncomfortable.

Then, blessedly, "You're on the list."

He was on the list. Oh thank God, he was on the list. It didn't matter that he was still going against his father's orders and had absolutely no idea how the night would turn out- it didn't matter because he was on the list. Instant relief rushes through him, sweeping away the panic that had slowly been rising with a cool sigh.

A green, velvet rope is pulled back and the man steps to the side, allowing entry.

His ribs become the kindle in which the spark of excitement, a resource only scavenged from the prospect of something new, is able to transform into a roaring fire within the chambers of his full chest. It remolds itself to a lantern, guiding him through the forest of black lights and smoke machines. Finally, he enters the building-

-and something inside him shifts.

There's music blasting out of speakers at every corner, shaking the air around him as he follows along the back of the club. The main lights are dimmed, sharp purples and blues and reds highlighting the dance floor while soft lights give enough light at the bar and tables surrounding the floor. People mingle about, slipping past each other and colliding in an explosion of moving bodies and drunken calls.

He smiles.

This, he decides then and there, is where he belongs.

Adrien makes a turn about the large room, slinking between strangers who lean against the walls and loiter around the dance floor. Green eyes tack onto the dancers, watching them move with appreciation and thinly concealed fascination. Like a legendary beast waking from slumber, the entire establishment breathes and pulses with an energy Adrien has only ever dreamed of. Never before has he felt so invigorated.

It's probably this one track focus that has him not seeing the chair or the girl perched on it, completely unaware to the fact that he had circled around the entire room and reached the bar. And it is most definitely his fault when he rams into the unexpected obstruction, nearly falling over and taking the poor individual who's unfortunate enough to be pulled along with him. They are saved from breaking the table next to them by last minute reflexes, her arm catching a pillar near by while he catches himself on the chair, feet sliding unsteadily.

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry- I wasn't looking where I was going! Are you okay?"

The girl, sporting a round faced and colorful dreadlocks, peeks up at him from underneath a head bandana and seems to shrink on the spot.

Worried, he repeats his apology and question again, receiving a small nod after a hesitant pause on her end. Meekly, she introduces herself as Myléne.

"It's nice to meet you, Myléne," he begins, helping her straighten out the chairs they had scattered in their almost tumble, taking notice of the lack of people and how, when she sits back down, she casts a sad (wistful) look over at the dancers in front of them. "Again, I'm sorry for, you know, nearly crushing you. It's my first time here and, well, ha, it's all a lot to take in and-"

"Is that… a cat?"

Adrien stops, gives the girl a blank look, confused until sudden realization and irritation sets in. Oh no, he thinks, you can't be serious…

Sure enough, as soon as he looks up and over his shoulder, there's Plagg. Sitting under the protection of a bar stool, he practically blends into his surroundings. Adrien counts himself lucky that he spots him so quickly (he owes that to years of practice and a pet with the habit of sneaking around), knowing that the cat has a knack of disappearing once he's been caught.

Once again, his cat is crashing his social outing.

"I told you to stay at home," he hisses once he has the animal in his arms- his cat makes a surprised sound, caught off guard just enough to leave Adrien scratch free- and immediately tries to think of a way to sneak him out without anyone noticing. He's just considering the idea of stuffing Plagg under his sweatshirt when Myléne stops him.

"It's yours? Can I… Can I pet him?"

"What? You want to…" A black paw bats the tassel hanging from his neck and he blinks in confusion because someone wants to willingly interact with his jerk of a cat? "Are you sure? I-I mean, yeah, go for it- if you want."

Praying that Plagg would at least have the decency to behave like a good pet for once, he hands him over to the girl.

Though he has nothing to worry because the moment the cat's out of his arms and safely in hers, any hint of deviousness vanishes, his pet relaxing into something akin to contentment. With a small smile, the girl hesitantly brings Plagg closer and strokes his head. When the cat closes his eyes and doesn't retaliate with biting, Adrien feels almost cheated.

"He likes you even more than me," he tells her, half joking to hide the sting of betrayal.

"That'd be a first," she mumbles and Adrien pauses, unsure if he had heard right.

"Is… Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong," she says too quickly. "Why would something be wrong?"

He leans against the pillar, bringing himself closer but still keeping a respectable distance away. "Well, we're at a club and you're here petting my cat- which isn't normal, I know, but let's ignore that. You're a dancer, aren't you?"

It's a guess more than anything, but he can't be far off seeing as they've met in a place that seems to breed the profession and those like it. Unfortunately, the guess seems to bring what progress he's had in connecting to people his own age to a screeching stop. The stout girl stops her petting and the cat in her arms raises his head questioningly.

"Not a very good one," she concedes to answer after a minute, tone self deprecating. There is a silent sigh that lets slip the implication that this is an ongoing struggle that she faces. (Not being good enough is something he can definitely relate to).

"I'm sure you're just saying that. I bet you're a great dancer." When he doesn't get a response, disagreeing or not, he doesn't know what to do. A few more minutes pass in what he could only describe as awkward silence (could it still be considered that when there was music to drown it out?).

Looking around, he struggles to find something to say that will hurdle them over this (not so small) bump in the road. "Well, do you want to dance?"

"What?"

He nods to the dancefloor. "Do you want to dance?"

Myléne drops her gaze to Plagg's glossy coat. "Oh, no, I don't…"

The expression reminds him of himself. Not the Adrien who's snuck out and taking control of his life for the night, but the Adrien who puts on a face and follows the orders given to him, naively believing in the transparent labels others designate to pin to his skin. That Adrien, in any way or form, he decides in that moment, doesn't belong here.

"Hey." The sudden softness in his voice catches her and he wills his next words to be ones she will remember. "The only thing keeping you down is yourself."

It's something his mother would always say, followed almost immediately by a comforting hug when Adrien found himself in a less than happy mood as a child. Of course, he doubts the girl next to him would appreciate a hug from a stranger, but the words still hold truth nonetheless and he backs them up with a firm nod of the head. And it feels right, passing along his mother's wisdom- as if she would be proud to know he's keeping her benevolent memory alive.

"Dance with me."

Still, Myléne's hesitant. "I don't even know you…"

Recalling the times he had felt down and had just wanted someone to be there to push him toward the right direction, he places his hand against his heart, aghast. "What? I'm more than pawsitive that I wasn't imagining this catnection between us. I mean, you're holding my cat. How can we be considered strangers after that?"

When she gives a little laugh Adrien knows he's done something right. It's sweet and bright, a suiting sound to her smile. He grins in return, hoping to ease her out of her shell. "Seriously, dance with me."

This time when she looks away, he refuses to be ignored. He moonwalks back into her line of sight, grinning when he spots the hint of another smile. Hiding behind Plagg doesn't work because he has no qualms about bending down to ridiculous levels to keep her attention. Adrien imagines he's in the safety of his own room and lets loose, spinning on his heel and around the back of her chair to send her an over-eager smile.

If cats could have expressions, Plagg would be looking at him in total disappointment. Jumping from Mylene's arms, he slinks to an exceptionally dark corner devoid of people as if he couldn't bear to be seen in the same room as Adrien.

Well, the blond sniffs, it's his fault for following him out.

Cat no longer hampering her way, his companion rises from her seat. It's enough room to allow the blond to lightly nudge at her shoulder, gently insistent and honest in his desire for her to join him on the dance floor. The music plays a particular chord and he strikes a pose, jutting his hip just so. He must look like a complete idiot, but, still, it's worth it when Mylene giggles and follows him further away from the tables.

Just over the heads of the dance floor goers Adrien sees a familiar cap. Nino is in the zone, nodding to the beat he sets up and expertly utilizing the extensive mixing technology stationed before him. When his eyes flicker upward once, to get a feel for the atmosphere and the people living it, they somehow find Adrien in the crowd; his new friend smiles like sun, throwing an enthusiastic arm out in greeting and changing the song into something earth shattering upbeat.

Adrien grins, liking how the song injects itself into his bloodstream and has him itching to move. Myléne doesn't share his incentive; she looks back to the tables, where a few people are watching them, and he can see her courage failing.

"Hey," he says, offering his hand, "trust me."

When she finally takes his hand, he goes into a deep bow, grinning up at her through his bangs. "Your subjects await, your Highness."

Then he's pulling out all the stops, using every ridiculous move he knows to keep the girl next to him laughing. He gives her everything he wished he had when he was younger- an encouraging pat on the back during a particularly long photoshoot or a smile during on his father's company meetings, anything besides stone faces and disapproving frowns- something to let her know that it was alright to be herself. It works wonderfully, Myléne more focused on him than the attention they're slowing gaining.

"You're horrible!" Myléne laughs, allowing him to spin her. He goes to dip her, tango style, but she's giggling too much and waving her hands to make him stop.

He backs off, but keeps close enough that she can hear him over the music when he says, "If I'm so bad, then show me how it's done."

Adrien is pleased to see the sweet spark of a challenge when she answers, "OK, I will."

Then she is stepping forward into the center of the makeshift circle their audience has formed around them. A few experimental steps, basic but exact and correctly placed, starts her number. It's not long until she gets into the roll of things, adding more to what stands with speed that impresses him. Not one move is fumbled, precise with an ardor that is quiet in its shine.

Adrien mimics her without fault, layering on some of his own moves to give it his own flare. The gleeful surprise on her face is downright adorable and he does them again, wiggling his eyebrows for extra effect.

The response is immediate, the giggling girl starting again, smooth steps having her twirling beside him with more confidence than he'd expect. When she pops out her hip in time with the song, he places a hand over his heart and pretends to stumble back from the force of her greatness bearing down on him. A cheer erupts around them at the move and, like one unit, raise their hands in the air in celebration of the rhythm that flows through them all.

Adrien backs away, letting the spotlight illuminate the talent that's slowly being unburied from past fear. He smiles wide when, during a particular passionate move that has her knee sweeping up and down in one graceful movement, she lets out a delighted laugh. People of all kinds scream their approval, flowing with the melody and living in the now.

Hands clap in time with the beat Nino sets up and Adrien never wants the moment to end. This is it, his mind chants, this is how life should be.

But, all too soon, Myléne gets low as she sweeps her feet underneath her body and closing it with a spin just as the song comes to a stop. It's a clear win of a game where there are no losers and Adrien feels great- more than great, actually, he feels alive- for being part of it.

There's no instructor to analyze his every move, to point out the flaws and demand he get it right. It's just the beat of the music, the flashing of the lights, and the rhythm of their pulsing hearts. And, if he was being completely honest with himself, Adrien's never had as fun dancing as he did then and there. His cheeks certainly had never hurt from smiling this much.

He turns to his partner and bows, laughing when the small woman returns it with a cute curtesy.

Soon, the people around him convulse and slide into their own cadence, moving with the next song; they are no longer the spectators, but the main attraction. The air smells of sweat and artificial smoke- the stench anthem of the youth living their life to the fullest.

Excusing himself, he leaves Myléne just as a group of girls advance on her; they start questioning her before he's even out of earshot and he catches her eye, both of them with matching grins- he knows that should he need one, there is a friendly dance partner in her.

Sliding past dancers, he makes it off the dance floor. Nino's on him in an instant, a new DJ at the booth. "Dude, you didn't tell me you knew how to dance."

Adrien shrugs. "I dabble."

The boy bounces on his feet, sending a few light punches to his shoulder (he ignores the twinge of pain that shoots down the arm in favor of the excited grin his friend sends his way). "You must dabble in the dark arts, bro, because those moves were killer!"

It's the most absurd and sincere compliment he's ever received.

"And what about you, Master DJ?" Adrien asks, unable to stop the grin that simple won't leave his face. "I saw you up there, rocking that mix. Best I've ever heard."

The compliment hits home and Nino claps Adrien on the shoulder, shaking him with a pleased laugh that climbs over the music. "Ha! I knew there was a reason I liked you!"

The lights change from red to blue and Adrien feels everlasting with the joy coursing through him. No matter what happens he's sure that he'll remember this feeling- as if the world could blow up and he'd take it in stride because the night is young and freedom wraps itself around him like a second skin. No doubt he'll reminiscent about this experience when it's all over, linger over its memory during lonely dinners and gray mornings. It's a bittersweet thought, but a gift all the same.

"Hey! Newbie! Sweet moves!"

The call that breaks his head trip comes from across the room, at a booth stationed next to the bar; it's chalked full of people, whose gazes slide to his form and stick like glue. And although he should be used to having eyes appraise him, constantly dissecting every twitch of the lip and crease of the shirt until it showcases perfection to its most facetious quality, this is different. A string slides through his mind, dragging at its tail a diffident thought that he is on his own and how the world sees him will depend solely on him- there are no makeup artists to polish him or light fixtures to cast the perfect shadow, just plain Adrien.

Nino hears the call too and, without any of Adrien's demureness, makes his way toward the group, dragging the blond after him with the intention of 'meeting the gang.'

They look exactly as they did in the video and Adrien feels a little intimidated because oh my gosh, look, they're right in front of him and Adrien, do not screw this up. He wonders idly what they're doing tonight. Another run through the city strutting their stuff or are they just kicking back and enjoying the night?

He silently settles on the later, taking in the picture of them lounging about.

A small pale blonde girl sits in the lap of tall, lean girl with a taste for dark colors, happily sipping on a drink before offering it to her companion; they are as different as night and day, but synchronized in the same way. Next to them are two boys, loud and obnoxious in their words, especially so with the heated conversation they seem to be holding with another girl, pink hair and short in stature, who leans back in her chair and nudges them with a skate covered foot. Across from them, watching them with heavy set eyebrows and a bored (angry?) frown, sits a giant that is easily twice his size both in height and width; his stare shifts to the two approaching and Adrien has to fight the urge to turn tail and run at the intensity of it.

However, the instinctive flight is cut short when a woman with glasses leans forward, eyes bright as she takes a long look- it makes him feel like his every secret has been dissected and torn through, nothing left unturned- at Adrien and says, "So, Nino… who's your new friend?"

The DJ loops an arm around his neck, obliviously and effectively cutting off any forms of escape. "Ladies and gents, let me introduce you to the one, the only, Ad-"

"Ah," Adrien tries to interrupt without it looking like he's interrupting, shoulders pushed back so he can discreetly jab his elbow into the other boy's stomach. He hears the small puff of air from behind him and, understanding that he has only a few seconds to act, quickly comes forward with a, "They call me Chat Noir."

It's the first name that comes to mind and Adrien wants to bury himself right there because come on, Chat Noir?

Nino, bless his heart, goes with it. Not a word is said about the mistreatment of his body and he, what luck, seems to think it's a joke, probably thinking back to Plagg slinking around somewhere. His laugh gets everyone else to crack their hard exterior and going along with the feeble attempt to shroud his identity without making it weird (as he's one to do). It's a thinly veiled blessing in disguise, one that covers and smooths the suspicion and tension in a soft blanket of humor.

He's about to add more- tell them about how cool he is and how he swears he doesn't stalk them on social media because obviously he didn't wake up and immediately check their blog (that would be ridiculous and untrue since he does it before he goes to bed)- when something rips his attention away from him.

Something red.

How he didn't notice her immediately is beyond him. She sits in the very center of the group, squished between glasses girl and a boy with tomato red hair, listening to the conversation with a half smile. Pigtails dip with a nod of her head as she leans a small chin upon an upraised palm. Her eyes, blue and bright and bewitching, stare at him and he feels himself slipping into their wondrous hold.

Her mouth opens and he waits with bated breath to hear what voice belongs to such a person. He's rewarded with the high trill of bells, "If you're Chat Noir, then I'm Ladybug."

It's a joke, made so on his benefit. There's laughter all around, Adrien joining in because, as much as it's a tease, he can't help but think it's fitting.

He doesn't know what pushes him toward the table, but he does and ends up bracing an arm on it as he leans forward in such a way that he's sure that all she sees is him. A smile, lopsided and definitely not appropriate for any of his shoots, curls his lips. "Well, I've never met a bug as cute as you."

A slender eyebrow twitches up in an acknowledgment of his weak, like wow, what was he thinking? pickup line. Still, her presence emboldens him and he doesn't back down- instead of sinking into the shadows of doubt as Adrien, Chat Noir takes on the dark unknown as if it was an adventure and he, hungry for the challenge.

The girl so rightly dubbed Ladybug rises from her seat and, like waves rippling over a once still surface, the others follow. The coordinated movement has the other clubbers on high alert, the background music dimming as faces turn their way. Though Adrien doesn't expend much focus on the fact or how the dance crew walk around the bar and towards him almost predatorily, only having eyes for the girl in red.

"Nino," he hears the glasses girl say and he can only imagine the visual that goes with the tone: arms crossed as a puckish smile pulls at her cheeks. "Get back to the booth- I think we have ourselves a challenger."

Now, hold on- what?

The DJ's expression is comical in its surprise when Adrien momentarily glances his way, but it quickly clears until he's supporting the most gleeful grin Adrien's ever seen. He rubs his hands in what looks to be anticipation before bolting through the crowd and towards his station.

He yells something at him, but Adrien can't hear it over the current music, but he thinks he sees the words "Good luck" on his lips. He doesn't have time to dwell on what that's supposed to mean, Ladybug stepping in front of him, chest out with an air of someone who's completely comfortable in their own skin.

"You ready, kitty?"

Blonde eyebrows rise into his hairline at the name, but he decides to forgo the flirty snippet that teeters on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he goes for something a little classier, "This cat's always ready to play."

Well, he tried.

Ladybug doesn't bat an eyelash as she struts toward him, getting right in his face (the instinct to keep his identity a secret and jerk away is almost too strong to quell, but he succeeds, knowing that his credibility would take a hit if he so much as twitched). He goes cross eyed when a manicured finger comes up to tap the tip of his nose. "You know, I thought you'd say that."

Then she shoves him back into the awaiting arms of the mob, smirking. Arms catch him and push him forward again, straight into the ring. Somehow, he's been herded away from the booths and onto the dancefloor; he's caught between a wall of people and her eyes, not entirely sure which one intimidates him more.

She turns away from him and toward the crowds, her shirt rising with her hands. "DJ, give us a new beat!"

The background music cuts off abruptly and the entirety of the club has her attention, bending under the sweep of her gaze. The lights are turned down everywhere except on the dancefloor, highlighting Ladybug and how she milks the excited masses of yells and cheers. The beginning of a song is already trickling through the speakers as she swivels on her heel to face him once more, teasing everyone with the prospect of an upcoming battle.

"Now," Ladybug says. "Let's see what this kitty can do."

"Watch Me" by Bella Thorne and Zendaya