20. The Gala Part l

A bomb had exploded in Alya and Nino’s apartment.

At least that’s how it first appeared. Somehow, despite knowing exactly what they were going to wear for the Gala, the living room floor was strewn with piles and piles of clothes. Make up was littered across the already overloaded coffee table. Nino’s shoes were inexplicably placed on an empty clothes horse. And the purses, the endless sea of purses glistened as they caught the late afternoon sun from wherever spot one of them had tossed them.

“This is definitely a late-night cleaning job,” Marinette sighed from her spot on the sofa, referring to her strange penchant for cleaning when she returned home drunk from a night out on the town. It was like she was trying to give a gift to her hungover self, though it did mean she sometimes found a bra in the fridge (her drunk self thought cold boobs would be funny and she was wrong ) or socks in the sink. She was still trying to figure the latter one out.

Although she didn’t plan to get drunk at the Gala (she wanted to be on her best behaviour around people who one day might be her colleagues or superiors), if Alya or Nino suggested some after-party drinking at a bar, she sure as hell wouldn’t say no. They’d invited her to stay at theirs, in the hopes that they could heal from whatever the night would bring together, and absolve her of any embarrassment from her parents if she was hungover. So, wherever they went, Marinette would happily follow. It was nice to let other people take charge for once.

Wrapped in a fluffy white robe, she slunk down on the sofa with a sigh. With a glass of prosecco clutched in her hands, she leaned against the cushions and watched Nino frowning at the mirror above the non-working fireplace. Yes, she wasn’t planning on getting drunk, but pre-drinking was helping with her nerves. None of them had been to such a fancy event before and it was giving her a lot of relief to know that, finally, she wasn’t the only one freaking out.

At least if Alya shrieking “DAMN OTHER EYE- LET ME PUT AN EYELINER WING ON YOU, YOU ASSHOLE!” from the bathroom was anything to go by.

“I BELIEVE IN YOU BABE, SHOW THAT EYE WHO’S BOSS!” Nino called.

“HELL YEAH!” Alya replied, making Marinette chuckle into her glass.

His encouragement given for the time being, Nino began to grumble over his own problems. Grunting with frustration, he fidgeted with the bow tie around his neck. “How do rich people do this every week? I don’t get it. Now I know why cats hate collars so much.”  

As the Gala was a black-tie event, Adrien had set Nino up with a tailor who rented out the kind of suits nobody could ever afford, the kind even celebrities rented. Nino, who was one of the most casual dressers Marinette knew (and that wasn’t a slight on him, he was one of those people who were blessed with the magic to make casual look fashionable), was struggling with the formalities of it all.

With an exaggerated sigh, Marinette took a final sip of her prosecco and placed it on the table. Trying not to think of her own (was he even hers anymore?) kitty and his collar, she shuffled forwards and sat upright.

“Gimme it.” She wiggled both hands in a beckoning motion and Nino trudged towards her, flopping on the sofa beside her. “Oh come on, it's not so bad,” she soothed. “Look, if you manage to go the whole evening without taking it off, I’ll get you doughnuts from the bakery. I still haven’t paid you back for the ones I dropped at Adrien’s fashion shoot.”

His eyes glazed over and he stared out into the middle-distance as Marinette tugged at his bowtie, redoing it so that it was less tight.

“Ah those doughnuts, how they’ve haunted my dreams,” he sighed dramatically and Marinette noticed Nino had picked up Adrien’s habit of speaking like an old-fashioned drama teacher whenever he was being silly-serious. She giggled and it snapped Nino out of it. He looked at her with a pout. “No but literally, they were so good. Damn Adrien and his sexy super-abs. I mean!” he flapped his arms. “I mean his REGULAR, HUMAN SEXY ABS.”

“No I think you’re right,” Marinette agreed with another laugh. “Those abs were superhuman. But he’s a model right? So it’s his job. It makes sense. He’s not allowed doughnuts. You are though, so yay for you.” 

Nino gave a half-hearted wheezy laugh in response and Marinette checked to see if she was tightening his bowtie too much, but it looked fine. The pair lapsed into a friendly silence, with faint sounds of triumph occasionally coming from the bathroom. It seemed Alya’s other eye was finally cooperating.

“But you know something, all doughnuts are similar if you think about it,” Nino added, and his tone gave Marinette pause. Her hands stilled at his collar and she glanced up, meeting his eyes. There was something in those golden-brown depths that was searching for something in her, imploring. Marinette had no clue what it was. “It’s just the ones you dropped, the ones I couldn’t have, are more appealing. I’m obsessed because I only got a small taste of them before they were lost to me. If I let go of the idea of those doughnuts, and accept the ones you’ve offered me, I might see that really the doughnut I needed was there all along. Right in front of my eyes.”

Now it was Marinette’s turn to frown. “Nino you’ve had doughnuts from my parents bakery thousands of times before, you know that they’re better than anything else in Paris. Also as a baker’s daughter, I take offense to the fact that all doughnuts are similar. They are absolutely not .”

“Ok I’m sorry for that. But- like- putting that aside, isn’t it a cliché for a reason though?” Nino pressed. “That you don’t recognise how amazing the thing right in front of you is, because you’re so busy hunting down things you think might be better? But really it might be the same?”

“Nino, is this your roundabout way of telling me you’re cheating on my parent’s bakery with those tourist trap patisseries or something?” Marinette teased. It was all she could do, despite the inkling she got that Nino was trying to tell her something. Wracking her brain, she desperately sought out the meaning behind his words. It was off-putting to be honest, Nino was usually pretty upfront with things. So he must have been talking about something he wasn’t really supposed to. Perhaps it was a warning?

She thought about the clichés he used; about things being right in front of his eyes...

Her heart sank like a stone. Had Alya told Nino about the fact that Adrien loved her? Was this his roundabout way of telling her to go for it? He’d encouraged her about it at the fashion shoot, before the whole death threat thing. Was he trying again? If that was the case, why was he being less forthcoming? He had no problem discussing it with her before… unless Alya had sworn him to secrecy?

No. That couldn’t be it. If Alya hadn’t told Nino that she was Ladybug (which she definitely hadn’t) she was sure she would keep her mouth shut about Adrien’s love for her. There was no way Nino could know. Sure he’d teased her about Adrien having a crush, but a crush and love were two very different things! 

The only other theory she had was that maybe Adrien had told Nino himself?

Before she had the chance to question him further, the bathroom door opened and Alya made her grand revelation. “Ta-dah!”

And just like that, Nino was distracted. Leaping to his feet, his hands came up to his head and his jaw dropped. “Noooo, what?! Hold on.” He twisted himself away from Alya, then back to her again. When he saw her again, he wobbled on his feet, clutching his chest. “Oh my god, no that can’t be my girlfriend looking like that. Nope. There’s no way I’m that lucky. I must be dreaming.”

“Oh you flatterer!” Alya sighed, waving a dismissive hand but, judging from the grin reaching from ear-to-ear, she was satisfied with his response. Nino wandered over and grabbed her hand, lifting it so she could twirl.

Meanwhile, Marinette sat back and admired her handiwork. She’d designed and made Alya’s dress herself. It was meant to be a birthday present but when Adrien invited them to the gala, she decided to finish it early and present it to Alya. It wasn’t an uncommon event, Marinette had designed and made hundreds of outfits for her friends over the years, but she was particularly proud of her latest creations.

The dress was form-fitting, sparkling in ombre colours; a deep red at the top melting into a shimming silver at the floor-length hem. It was an off-the-shoulder affair, with a sheer burnt red chiffon sleeve floating against Alya’s right arm. As Alya twirled around, Marinette felt a sense of not only relief, but wonder. Her best friend was so pretty, and she was glad she’d managed to create something which suited her so well. Especially as all those sequins had almost killed her to sew on.

But it gave her a welcome distraction from patrols. She’d actually not gone the last two nights, although she was trying hard not to feel guilty about that. It was unrealistic to patrol Paris every night and, for the sake of her mental health, taking a break from it was good. Yes it meant she was deliberately choosing not to run into Chat Noir and confess anymore, but that was only temporary. If she was honest, it was somewhat of a welcome relief. She hadn’t realised how exhausted she’d been until she spent the night at Adrien’s a week ago.

“You’re a genius!” Alya cried, snapping Marinette out of her thoughts. She grabbed her own neglected glass of prosecco, and shuffled over to Marinette, placing a kiss on her cheek. “This is your best creation yet, except for your dress. I love them both so much.”

Marinette flushed, a bubble of worry forming in her stomach. “You really think so? I love it to pieces but I’m worried. What if nobody likes my design and they laugh me out of the room? What if I leave the fashion industry in disgrace before I even get a job there?!”

Nino, who’d moved to slump over the adjacent armchair, snorted, “Not likely! And if that happens, the fashion industry is broken.”

“But it won’t happen!” Alya rolled her eyes and began tugging Marinette out of her seat. “Now go- go and get ready or we’ll be late.”

“Yes ma’am,” Marinette sighed, the knot of worry growing despite the words of comfort she’d received. Shuffling over to the bathroom, Marinette plucked her dress, which was hanging covered in protective plastic, from the bathroom door and headed inside to get changed.

So she completely missed Alya whirling around to Nino, eyes narrowing, finger pressed just underneath the bow tie.

“Alright buddy, what do you know?”

“Hi Chat! It’s me. Just wondering if you were showing up to patrol tonight? No worries if you aren’t though- I can totally handle it.”

Beep.

“Hi Chat! I haven’t seen you the past couple of patrols. I know that sometimes our schedules don’t cross, but you usually always tell me. Message me when you can, ok?”

Beep.

“Hi Chat. Listen. I’m going to be taking a little break from patrols. Like literally a few days. I’m… kind of getting burned out a little (wait that was stupid to say). It’s not like I want to shirk my responsibilities or anything! Classwork and stuff is piling up. I hope you’re ok. I miss you, Kitty Cat. I’ll still be checking my messages so let me know how things are going. I’m a little worried now, as I haven’t heard from you in a while. Anyways gotta go! Love ya, bye…”

His baton beeped a final time, symbolising the end of Ladybug’s messages, and all Chat Noir could do was stand rooted to the rooftop. Their usual meeting spot was empty. Now he knew why.

He groaned, walking backwards towards the chimney and sliding down to the ground. Pressing his hands against his face, he began to lose himself in a sea of self-destructive thoughts. Had he really been so caught up in his own mess of a life that he’d forgotten to message Ladybug?! Seriously? He ought to turn in his miraculous right then and there. What a terrible excuse of a partner he was. In every sense of the word.

Curling his hands into fists, he slammed them onto his knees and tilted his head back so that it rested against the chimney. Nino’s words from earlier grounded him back to reality, pulled him out of those dark thoughts. He had a lot of things to make right, sure, but he would make them right.

In fact, that was why he was at their patrol spot to begin with, instead of preparing for the gala like he ought to have been. It was a weekend and that usually meant they met during daylight hours, often around this time. But he’d come with ulterior motives. Instead of a patrol, he hoped to meet Ladybug…

And confess it all to her. The first encounter with Marinette, the clandestine meetings which followed, how he wanted to reveal his identity to her. All of it.

Historically, he knew Ladybug had to tell her parents her identity when she’d almost died, and her best friend also found out so she could cover the truth from her other friends. Ladybug also knew that one of his friends (Chloe though he didn’t name her) accidentally walked in on him transforming. They were always honest with each other about these things.

But this time he wanted to do it right. This time, some semblance of control over the situation was in the cards. So he chose to tell Ladybug the truth before it happened. Not to mention, he had to tell her that he’d revealed his identity to a new person too. Nino.

And maybe, a quiet yearning voice whispered in his mind, maybe they might want to finally reveal to each other too.

Maybe it might inspire them both to finally rip off that bandage. 

Maybe not.

It was terrifying, a no-go area, a boundary they’d not brought up in years. They could have shared their identities the second Hawkmoth was defeated, but it never came up. For Chat, he was too ashamed of his family, too afraid of his own part to play in her near death experience. There was also a part of him terrified that, when Gabriel Agreste’s crimes came to light, the world would turn on him too. And he wouldn’t care, if he still had Ladybug. So he clung to the connection that had mattered the most to him in the whole world, determined to never lose her again.

He didn’t know why she stayed silent. Perhaps she would tell him if things went down that route?

He wasn’t sure- wasn’t sure if he even wanted that anyway. There was still that fear in the back of his thoughts, the image which had haunted his nightmares; of Ladybug’s loving smile turning into a scowl of disgust when she came to realise he was the son of their enemy. The fear of her walking away for good...

So there he was, on the precipice of telling two of the most important people in his life his identity. Possibly. If Ladybug wanted to. If she could forgive him.

But, as the sun began to creep further towards the horizon, as the shadows elongated and city lights began to flicker on, he knew his time was up. He couldn’t wait anymore.

As Chat Noir got to his feet, he stared down at the tiny cracks in the roof tiles, and felt they were akin to the perceived control he’d thought he’d had over the situation. Taking a deep breath, he smiled to himself. Okay, so the first part of his plan hadn’t gone right. As long as he made it up to Ladybug after the fact, as long as he was honest with her after, it would be fine wouldn’t it? She was understanding before.

Everything would be fine. It had to be. He had a plan!

After sending a brief voice message to Ladybug’s communicator, he vowed that he would patrol every night until she was done with her break, and then leapt away to get ready for the Gala.

As Adrien entered the venue via the runway, he couldn’t help but notice how much his mother had outdone herself.

As this was a Charity Gala, the money being raised for Emilie’s charity for underprivileged children’s education, there was to be an fashion-related auction before the festivities began. Hence the runway, which was situated right at front doors to the venue. So guests, most of them designers, would get the chance to make a grand entrance like the supermodels they frequently adorned. There was a side entrance for those designers Emilie knew wouldn’t enjoy such a thing, but it seemed Emilie knew her guests well enough that this would be a novel little ego boost. And if that didn’t quite do the trick of putting them in a charitable mood, at the end of the runway guests would descend and be immediately greeted by servers with canapes and champagne.

His mother was a genius.

Gabriel’s new designs were being auctioned off, but other designers had donated their own creations, some of them unique to this event only. Everyone knew Emilie Agreste’s name had weight to it, and to be part of her Gala was excellent positive publicity. Photographers milled around, ready to take private photographs for guests, but also ones for the media outlets. They weren’t press, the press were outside instead.

Adrien noticed all of this because he had to. He traipsed down the runway, automatically in model-mode, before descending and being greeted by servers, whom he politely declined. One or two photographers were hanging back by the arches which framed the lengthy ballroom, but they thankfully didn’t take his picture. 

Instead of taking in all the décor, he wandered straight over to the bar. So he missed the plush, curved chairs framing both sides of a runway as though it was Paris Fashion Week. He missed the way the golden lighting would give way to strokes of blue, as if the light of a tropical pond was reflected on the curved ceiling. He missed the circular dance floor at the opposite side of the room, and the orchestra set up on the balcony which wrapped around the entire room. 

Propping himself up onto a barstool, Adrien asked the waiter for a glass of champagne. This was no good. His nerves were getting the better of him and he needed to pull himself together before Marinette arrived. Besides he wanted to be able to be there for his mother, be a good son and a good sort-of host. At least the champagne bubbles always made him happy, like they floated around and tickled his chest, comforting him.

Gabriel approached his side and Adrien braced himself for a scolding due to heading straight for the alcohol. It never came.

“Your friend Marinette, did she accept your invitation? And your friends too?” Gabriel asked, standing upright and facing straight towards the other side of the bar.

Adrien copied his father’s position, except he leaned across the bar from his stool instead. “She did,” he replied, uncertainty clawing at his chest, popping all the happy champagne bubbles. 

Forgiveness was a hard-won thing. Adrien, though he loved his father, wasn’t ever sure Gabriel could win that forgiveness from him. So why was he, even now as an adult, still cloying for the approval of a man who’d once brought Paris to its knees in order to save his wife? The space between them at the bar might have been a canyon, but Adrien still hadn’t let go of the fragile rope bridge hanging between the two sides. Even now, even after everything.

He should hate him shouldn’t he? He did, though. He did hate Gabriel Agreste. The problem was, he didn’t just hate him. He loved him, was disgusted by him. He wanted his approval, he wanted him to leave...

More than anything though, he was still clinging to that hope that one day Gabriel would turn around and be the father he’d always needed- especially when his mother had gone missing. But that would mean undoing time itself, and there were some superpowers he didn’t have nor truly want.

“Good,” Gabriel nodded. “It’s wise to not draw any more attention to your rumoured relationship. It should keep reputations intact. Especially as she has not arrived with you, and I assume she’ll be arriving with friends later. The reporters outside will notice that. Hopefully it will dampen any ideas that you’re dating each other.”

Adrien wrinkled his nose, mumbling under his breath. “She’s not a puppet for keeping up our family reputation, you know.”

The words were unsaid, but Adrien let their implications hang in the air anyway: You’re the puppet who will destroy our family reputation. Once everyone finds out the truth.

“I didn’t mean it that way son,” Gabriel replied. “Your friend is studying fashion, isn’t she?” Adrien nodded. “Well drawing attention to herself by entering a supposed tryst with the son of a famous designer, if the tide of media favour turned on her poorly, it could kill her career before it even began.”

Adrien stopped leaning against the counter. He turned, blinking heavily in disbelief, towards his father. Gabriel was already looking at him.

Is he… is he looking out for Marinette? Why would he be doing that? Since when has he cared about any fashion designer's legacy except for his own?

There wasn’t much time to ruminate on his father’s peculiar behaviour. Out of the corner of Adrien’s eye, he saw his mother approach them, head-to-toe in an elegant royal blue gown. The smile on her mouth and the steel in her eyes meant only one thing.

The Gala was about to begin.

Guests began to filter in, slowly but surely, as the band began to play. Elegant, floating strings mingled with the sounds of laughter. It appeared the runway entrance was a success.

Adrien wandered around, greeting designers politely but robotically. He was charming, poised, and charismatic. Channelling some Chat Noir, he flirted with the middle-aged ladies and joked around with the older male designers, not really liking their ‘Old Boys Club’ ways, but needing to cater to them nonetheless. It was easy to slip into the role, to drop his anxieties as he picked up his Perfect Son persona.

He only checked his pocket about twenty times.

Then he saw them.

Alya, dress dripping with red and silver sparkles, looking delightful fiery in every sense of the word. Nino, slightly more nervous and awed beside her, but incredibly handsome in his dark blue suit. Their eyes caught his from across the room and they waved, heading down the stairs off the runway and beelining towards him.

Marinette wasn’t with them.

It was like all the happy little champagne bubbles had cemented; turned to stone in his chest. Now he couldn’t breathe. He was being dragged by the weight in his chest, down, down, down. Where was she? She wouldn’t cancel at the last minute would she? She wouldn’t…

There must have been something on Adrien’s face registering his inner turmoil. Nino approached him first, took one look at him, and grabbed his bicep like a vice.

“Hey babe!” he called out to Alya. “Adrien’s just gonna show me where the boys room is. Steal lots of those little finger food thingies for me?”

“On it!” Alya called back, already heading towards the servers.

“I love that woman,” Nino sighed lovingly, then shook his head. “Right. Mens room, now.”

Adrien pointed them out weakly. With a strength he didn’t know Nino possessed, he frogmarched Adrien all the way and nudged him into the bathroom. Checking to see nobody was present in the stools, he wheeled on Adrien.

“Ok what’s going on? You look about three seconds from a heart attack.”

Adrien leaned against the wall by the sinks. “Marinette. She’s not here with you.”

Nino exhaled loudly, clutching his chest. “Bro is that all? She’s just checking all our coats in for us! There was a queue so she’s probably going to be a little while. Jeez, you had me freaked that something happened to the Lucky Charm or whatever.”

At the mention of the Lucky Charm, Adrien patted the secret breast pocket inside his jacket. He kept phantom dropping it, and sighing with relief when it was there. He was going to use the Lucky Charm in his confession. He had a speech prepared. The rooftop was still empty and he had the key to get up there so he could take her there to confess. Nino was here for emotional support and Marinette was on her way.

“I need to calm down,” he gasped.

“Yeah you do,” Nino chuckled, folding his arms and staring fondly at him. “It’s kind of funny though. Like I’m looking into a pale, sweaty mirror of my past. I was a wreck when I told Alya I loved her for the first time.”

“Oh my god I’m SWEATING?!”

“Easy there, Monsieur Model,” Nino replied, grabbing some tissue from the dispensers and offering it to him. “Just your forehead. Calm down already.”

“Yeah no kidding,” Plagg rolled his eyes, floating out of one of Adrien’s other pockets. “It’s boiling in your suit you know, and I can’t believe you didn’t let me bring any cheese.”

“I literally gave you a WHOLE WHEEL for lunch!” Adrien argued.

“Wait, is that why you sometimes smell like cheese on hot days?” Nino gawked, still not used to seeing Plagg.

Adrien poked Plagg’s side affectionately. “Yep, all thanks to this guy.”

Plagg bit the air close to Adrien’s finger. 

“Anyways, we better get back out there, I don’t know if that cloakroom queue is going fast or slow and I don’t think you want to miss Marinette’s arrival,” Nino replied, checking his phone and typing out a quick message to someone.

“Why?” Adrien pondered.

Nino glanced up at him, his eyes glinting with a promise. Though what he was promising, Adrien didn’t know.

“Dude. Trust me.”

Marinette peeked out from behind the curtain, staring at the runway which stretched into the ballroom. A sliver of light hit her, and she looked down at the way the sparkles on her dress smiled at the light, wanting to be bathed in it fully. She looked down further, to the pink heels poking out from the hem of her dress. Her heart was in her throat.

“No way, no way, I can’t,” she whispered, shaking her head and closing the curtain. She stepped aside, hands wrapping around her bare arms, and allowed an elderly couple to walk through instead. Laughing, the pair clutched each other's forearms and stepped into the light. The elder lady turned to her husband and teased him, before the curtain closed again. 

Marinette was pretty sure they were the designing couple that were responsible for making shoulder pads huge in the eighties. But she was too freaked out to be star struck, and that was saying something.

They didn’t really expect her to walk down that runway, did they? Sure she was much less clumsy than she used to be (it turned out her clumsiness had to do with puberty and once she was out the other side of that whole mess, she was ever so slightly more graceful), but years of making a fool of herself by breaking things and tripping over her own feet had left a scar. She might as well have been staring at Mount Everest.

From out of the corner of her eye, a door opened and Alya’s head popped around it.

“Oh! There you are! The boys were getting antsy so I came to hunt you down,” she said.

Never before had she been so relieved to see her friend. Walking down the steps and around the runway, she rushed towards Alya and wrapped her hands around her.

“There’s a door! Alya thank you for pointing it out,” she sighed in relief and was about to walk through it when Alya grabbed her hand.

“Woah, woah, woah! Marinette Dupain-Cheng, where do you think you’re going?”

Her outraged tone caused Marinette to swivel back to Alya, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. “Um,” she said uncertainly, “I’m entering the gala? On the non-runway where I won’t make a fool of myself by tripping up and destroying my dress in the process?”

“Wrong answer,” Alya scowled, swapping places with Marinette and attempting to tug her back towards the runway, but Marinette dug her heels in. “I know it’s scary, but it’s also fun! You don’t have to strut like a model. Besides, I want EVERYONE to see this dress and I know you do too. It’s your best work.”

“Alya I can’t! I’ll trip over my own feet, I’ll never be able to work in this city! I’ll-” 

“Excuse me.”

Their little disagreement was interrupted and, for a wild moment, Marinette thought they might be kicked out for causing a scene, despite the fact they were off to the side and nobody was paying attention to them. Then her logical brain kicked in and she recognised the tone of the ‘excuse me.’

Chloe was standing in front of them, eyebrow quirked and covered head-to-toe in a layered, golden-yellow gown which instantly reminded Marinette of honey bees.

Before either of them could speak, Chloe closed the gap and gave Marinette a once-over. It never stopped being strange, meeting someone as Ladybug and then meeting them as her civilian self. The discrepancy in treatment was never lost on her, especially once people got even more hero-worshippy after Hawkmoth’s defeat.

“You are Adrien’s friend? Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I couldn’t help but overhear,” Chloe said in a way which indicated she very much could help overhearing, but chose to and didn’t want to be challenged on that fact.

“That’s me,” Marinette confirmed, awkwardly waving and offering an even more awkward smile. Once all her crazy relationship drama had died down, she really had to make good on her Ladybug promise to take selfies with Chloe.

Chloe hummed. It was strange to see the much more guarded expression, the icier tone in her voice. If she’d met Chloe before she’d been Ladybug, perhaps she might have been put off by it. But Ladybug had seen Chloe’s walls come down a bit, so she didn’t take it personally. Alya was bristling beside her.

“You know, Adrien’s told us a lot about you,” Marinette said, smiling less nervously this time and taking the first step. “Did you design that dress yourself?”

That did the trick. A little sparkle began twinkling in Chloe’s eyes. “Oh this old thing? I suppose I both did and didn’t. It’s one of my mother’s old designs, never seen before, which I’ve updated and improved. Now I’m going to show off my skills for everyone to see. And I suggest you do too.”

“See? Everyone wants to see you walk down the runway in your dress!” Alya pointed out, tapping Marinette’s shoulder playfully. “And I know you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

At the thought of walking down the runway, her smile crumbled. “I’m really not sure,” she sighed.

“So don’t go,” Chloe snapped, “Run through the door and don’t get the attention of hundreds of the best designers in Europe and leave them all to me.” Her lips quirked in a challenge. “From what Adrien has said about you, I expected someone who might finally offer me a little competition. It’s been so dreadfully boring winning all the time.”

Marinette gaped at her. Chloe tossed her well-curled hair over shoulder, checking her mini tiara-like headband was still in place. She sauntered up onto the runway.

“Watch and learn,” she said, then disappeared through the curtain to a sea of cheering and applause.

Marinette and Alya hurried after her, poking their faces through the curtain and staring as Chloe floated down the runway with ease. It was as if she was walking on air. Her dress billowed out. There were gasps, mutterings amongst the crowd, but none that showed disapproval.

Alya turned to her with a smirk, “Oh girl, you’ve been challenged. You really going to take that lying down?”

Marinette lifted up the hem of her dress, stared at the pink heels adorned with rose-gold  metallic swirls and delicate flowers. She loved those shoes so much. But right then, she hated them.

“You won’t trip,” Alya soothed, placing a hand on her forearm. “And even if you did, I bet Adrien would be there to catch you.”

Marinette flicked Alya’s forehead and the latter wandered off back through the door, laughing.

“See you on the other side!” she called. “I have total faith in you.”

And then she was alone.

She stood there for a while, lingering in the shadows and letting guest after guest past her. Not one of them used the door.

They were right, Alya and Chloe, of course they were right. She wanted everyone to see her dress. She worked so hard on it and she was so happy with it. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. And Marinette was so sick of regretting things she’d not done; not confessing her identity to Chat (in more ways than one), not admitting she loved him sooner, being so brave in so many areas and being so cowardly everywhere else.

Well tonight she wouldn’t be cowardly. Tonight she would be brave.

She climbed the stairs.

Tonight she wouldn’t show the world her superhero self.

But she would show the world that her civilian self was just as much of a force to be reckoned with.

Taking a deep breath Marinette held her chin up high, pulled back the curtain and stepped into the light.

The runway was hers.