21. The Gala Part ll

In years to come, Adrien knew he’d forget things about the Gala. Things like the outfit he wore, the exact colour of the flowered centrepieces, or how many guests he chatted with. There were many memories of that night which could get lost to time, fading like words on an ancient newspaper.

But he would never forget her.

As Marinette glided down the runway, a vision in pink, a goddess of fashion, time seemed to slow. The lights around the runway gave her an almost otherworldly glow, and she held her chin high. Her hair, falling around her shoulders in delicate curls, caught the strands of light and for a moment, it looked like she had captured the very essence of starlight in those cascading locks. Adrien thought there wasn’t another person alive who could own that runway like she did.

The sounds of the festivities died down to almost nothing. Adrien didn’t know if it was because they too had spotted Marinette and were equally as awed, or if it was him focusing so entirely on her that the rest of the world simply fell away. All the air seemed to suck out of the room, but he knew that if he continued to look at her, he’d be able to keep breathing.

It was hard to simply look though, to not stare or gawk. For a fleeting moment, he had the urge to run to her, to whisk her off that runway and into his arms. Forget the plans, forget the confession, he just needed her.

But this was her moment, not his, not theirs, and what kind of partner would he be if he didn’t stand back and let her shine?

And shine she did. He knew she’d made the gown herself, knew she was a talented seamstress. She’d made him a perfect replica of a Final Fantasy outfit for a cosplay after all, and they were notoriously difficult. This dress though? It was a combination of loving craft and a design skill that was, in his opinion, unparalleled. The muted, pale pink bodice was daring, an intricate webbing of lace and rose gold embroidery which etched its way up Marinette’s chest like tiny tree roots reaching from her waist to her shoulders in a v-shape. The empty spaces where the roots didn’t reach were covered with a sheer layer of chiffon which appeared almost nude to the untrained eye. Adrien’s mouth went dry.

But it was the skirts of the dress where her creativity truly shone. Every panel was, at first glance, shaped rather oddly in a slight arch. But the sparkling embroidery, the way the panels gently fanned out with her movements (especially behind her) created the intended effect.

Wings.

But not the typical wings which might inspire a designer-in-training. No cliche, featherlike angel patterns or overly garish fairy designs. No.

The skirts of her dress were lavishly designed to replicate insect wings. Like a bees or a dragonflies or-

-Or a ladybugs, Adrien’s mind supplied. A quiet part of him, a part he’d tried to squish flat, leapt in delight at the thought. He squashed it down again. After tonight, if all went well, he couldn’t let it rear its head ever again.

She descended from the platform, raising her skirts delicately so as not to trip, and was instantly enveloped by a squealing Alya. Even from where Adrien stood, rooted to the spot, he could hear her singing Marinette’s praises as she handed her a flute of champagne.

“Told you to trust me, didn’t I?” a voice popped up from beside him. Nino, he realised a second later than he ought to have. Peering over, Nino smirked, lifting his index finger underneath Adrien’s chin and pushing up. It was only then that Adrien realised his mouth had been hanging open. “You’re such a simp, dude. Though, I’m not exactly one to talk.”

“Yeah,” Adrien agreed with a sigh, still staring at Marinette, who’d just caught his eye. She offered him a wave, smiling shyly and he waved back, already halfway to her. He just about registered the sounds of Nino’s laughter, deciding he’d ask what the hell a simp was another time.

“Hi!” Marinette cried out enthusiastically when he at last stood before her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were slightly wild. “Did you see I didn’t fall over? I can’t believe I didn’t! Alya said I wouldn’t but I genuinely didn’t believe her. That was the scariest moment of my whole life. How do you do that for a living? You’re literally the bravest person ever. Look at me, I'm shaking!”

She lifted her hand, indeed it was trembling. Unfortunately, it was the hand which held her champagne flute. A few drops sloshed over the top and onto the floor and she took a step back. Adrien didn’t think it was possible to fall more in love, but there he was. Every moment he spent in her company proved him wrong on that front.

“Ok Mademoiselle Adrenaline,” Alya rolled her eyes, plucking the glass out of Marinette’s grasp. “Let’s take away that alcohol before you ruin that perfect dress of yours. Maybe some wine will calm you down instead.”

“Actually yeah that does sound good,” Marinette nodded. “Champagne makes me hyper. I think it’s the bubbles, you know?”

“You’re adorable,” Adrien blurted.

The whole group fell silent, except for Nino who choked mid-sip on a glass of red he’d been nursing. Had Adrien said that out loud? Oops.

“T-thank you,” Marinette blushed, glancing down, then looking up at him again. “You look handsome tonight. That suit looks good on you.”

Adrien knew, in an objective sort of way, that he was attractive. You can’t be a model and not be after all. He was so attractive, apparently, that his rivals would resort to kidnapping him and risk imprisonment to remove him from the competition. But to hear those words from the person he loved? To hear her think of him as handsome? It sent his heart cartwheeling.

Emboldened by the compliment, he pushed further. Now was not the time for bashfulness. The plan was in effect. His mission tonight, aside from confessing everything, was to make her happy. She’d been so stressed, so withdrawn and exhausted recently. He wanted to show her a good time, wanted her to forget everything they’d been through. That was his priority. She was his priority. No matter how tonight, how his confession, ended. He wanted to at least make her feel good before then.

“My suit?” he replied incredulously, glancing down. From his periphery, he noticed Alya and Nino casually sneaking away. The suit he wore was a little more lavish than usual, yes, adorned with a few embellishments around the sleeves and lapels, but it was still a black suit. “That’s nothing. Look at you! Look at what you created. You’re amazing.”

Marinette beamed. “Yes, well,” she responded, practically glowing again, she tucked her hands into her dress and it was then Adrien realised she’d given herself pockets. “I had to bring my a-game, you know? We’re surrounded by the best designers in the world here.”

“And they’re all staring at you,” Adrien leaned in close, whispering into her ear. With only the slightest inclinations, he gestured to the side. Marinette followed his line of sight, lips parting in surprise.

It would be so easy to step closer, to step into her embrace and place a kiss to her cheek, to her lips. The problem with memories is they liked to tease you at the worst of times. As Marinette gave a small gasp, Adrien’s traitorous mind supplied other times she’d gasped for him. He balled his hands into fists, trying to think of something, anything, else.

“You think so? They could be staring at you. You are the son of the host, and also the best model here,” Marinette’s eyes flicked back to him, noticing how close they were. But she didn’t pull away.

Adrien shook his head. “They’re looking at you. They want to know you,” he replied firmly, but quietly, gently. “And I think I finally have some decent competition. You were a vision on that runaway. Nobody could look away. Everyone wants to speak to you about your dress.”

He stood up, taking her hand and bringing it towards his chest.

“You see what I’m going to do now,” he explained, “is pretend to go and get you a drink. The second you’re left alone? They’ll come to you. Are you ready for that? They’ll ask you questions about your dress, about the designs. When they find out you designed it, they’ll be ravenous, asking more questions, asking about your inspiration, the fabrics, the hours you spent on it. Are you ready for that? Or do you need more time? I’ll stay here as long as you need.”

He knew the answer before he’d asked it, but he still wanted to give her the choice. Of course Marinette, leader of the Gaming Club, top of all of her classes, would have suitably prepared for this scenario. Marinette’s body tensed, in a way a soldier’s might as their sergeant approached them for inspection.

“Ready? I was born ready,” she grinned confidently. “Bring them on!”

Trying to quell the ridiculous impulses in his brain (kiss her now! Kiss her now you fool!), Adrien simply nodded.

“Well then,” he pressed his lips to her hand. “I’ll be back with the wine shortly.”

On unsteady legs, he turned away from her and proceeded to go towards the bar. Alya and Nino were nowhere to be seen. He wondered if the latter had snuck off to check everything on the roof had been set up. Patting his pocket, Adrien felt the lucky charm and his shoulders relaxed.

“Well,” Chloe sniffed from beside him as he finished ordering. She crossed her arms, huffing, before she ordered a whisky for herself. “It seems I’ve been thoroughly shown up.”

Adrien frowned. He hoped Chloe wouldn’t get too jealous and start trying to sabotage Marinette’s chances. But, as if she’d already read his mind, Chloe rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“Relax, Romeo, your Juliet is safe for the night. I’m not quite as dramatic as I was when I was young, you know, the same way you’re less of a wilting flower now,” she sighed, leaning against the bar. Adrien was prepared to let the slight against himself go, not only because there was some element of truth in the sting, but also because he knew when to pick his battles with Chloe. “It’s almost a relief to have a rival now.”

“Why do you have to be rivals? Why can’t you just collaborate? You two would be unstoppable together,” Adrien replied, not hiding his exasperation as he received the glasses of wine from the bartender. He turned to face the direction Chloe was staring, back towards Marinette. A smile split his lips as he found his predictions correct. There she was, chatting away to an enraptured audience of his father’s peers. His father however, was notably absent from the group.

Good, his mind snarled protectively, let him stay far away. Then he remembered his father’s words earlier, and wondered if Gabriel kept his distance purposefully, to help rather than hinder Marinette. The idea made his thoughts tangle unpleasantly, but he wouldn’t allow his feelings to follow suit.

Luckily, Chloe’s quick bark of laughter sliced through the sudden dark cloud over his thoughts. “Honestly Adrien, businesses don’t get to be empires if you go around expressing love to all your competitors. Besides, where’s the fun in being free-loving? No, no. See, all the best stories start with rivals. You compete, get other people to join your side or theirs. This drives up profits for both teams and your beloved fans become rabidly competitive. Remember the viral poll that went around Twitter a few years ago of who would win in a fight, y- Chat Noir or Ladybug? Merchants declared soaring profits for both LB and Chat merch alike! It’s simply shrewd business tactics to be rivals first. Then you take the world by storm by announcing a collaboration, an end to the rivalry.”

“So you’re going to use Marinette for profit?” Adrien scrunched his nose, not at all liking the sound of that. Marinette, as a baker’s daughter, was already starting from behind in terms of finances and connections. How was that fair? Wouldn’t that add to her stress?

“Of course not, who do you take me for?” Chloe leaned back, looking as sweet as honey in her golden gown, with her flowing silky hair and big blue eyes. At first glance, anyone might have thought of her as an angel. Until she knocked the whisky back and said with a wicked smirk, “I’d only be her fashion rival if she wants us to be. One-sided competition is rather pathetic. And besides, I know my worth. I know I’m just as good as her, and I have been so terribly bored winning all these young design awards, getting any offer from any large fashion house I’ve given a second glance at. It’s nice to have to seriously try again.”

Adrien looked at her, really looked at her then, as she finished the last remnants of her whiskey. There was an electric energy about her, her eyes crackled and she stood in the model equivalent of a fighting stance as she stared at Marinette for one last time before bidding Adrien goodbye.

“Let the games begin!” she chuckled, disappearing into the crowd, and Adrien realised, he wasn’t sure the last time he’d heard her laugh. Truly laugh, the way she just had. Perhaps he’d been too wrapped up in his own personal things to not notice the absence of it. He vowed to check in on all of his friends, including Chloe, more often.

But it was wonderful to see Chloe look so bright, so enthused and full of life, like she wasn’t just waiting to be taken advantage of (he’d never liked Winifred) or treated like one of her mother’s quick throwaway designs.

And it was all due to her. Marinette. Her magic, her influence, inspired everyone around her to be a better version of themselves. Even Chloe. He fought a delighted laugh as an elderly designer, whom Adrien knew as one of the former creative directors of Valentino before she’d retired, gripped Marinette’s arm and steered her away from the rabble. Marinette’s eyes lit up in recognition before the lady whispered in Marinette’s ear.

And Adrien? Well he would happily stand back and watch her flourish for the rest of the night, content to stand by for whenever she needed him.

Until the plan was ready, of course.

Marinette’s head was in a total spin.

From the elegance of the gala itself, to her success on the runway and the way her friends reacted, to now as she was surrounded by a group of people she’d admired her whole life, everything seemed like a dream. Well, if it was, she never wanted to wake up. Prada, Gucci, Versace, Oscar de la Renta, they were all here, talking to her, wanting to know about her dress, her design. No Gabriel though. But that was alright. He’d stopped being her idol a long time ago.

And she seemed to be saying all the right things because they stayed and continued talking with her!

Yep. Best night of her life. Hands down.

Others entered on the runway and soon the night was in full swing. She glanced over at the big, empty dance floor, wondering why nobody was dancing yet.

“They’re waiting for our hosts,” a croaky voice spoke from beside her, grasping her elbow. Marinette could barely process that Laura La Rosa, the Laura La Rosa of Valentino, was steering her away from the crowd. The woman was ancient, tiny and impeccably dressed of course. The rest of the group yielded to her instantly and allowed Marinette and Madame La Rosa some space. “Our hosts will give a speech, then the dance floor will open.”

It was hard, so hard, not to blurt out the platitudes, the adorations; that Marinette had admired Madame La Rosa since she even knew what fashion was, that she was overwhelmed by the presence of a true fashion power house. She had to keep it cool. Here, these people weren’t famous celebrities to be gasped and gawked at. Although her insides shook with the need to simply scream out in joy, she had to remain calm.

“How did you know I was thinking that?” she asked instead.

La Rosa’s eyes glistened, silver to match her perfectly styled hair which was pulled back into an elegant bob adorned with a tiny clip of jewels. A gift from her late husband, one she always incorporated into her outfits, Marinette knew. “You come to pick things up in this industry,” she said. “Body language. You must.”

A warning. A lesson. Marinette nodded. “I see.”

“Good,” La Rosa seemed pleased, glancing her up and down, and Marinette felt as if she was being sized up. Better get used to that in the industry, she supposed. She’d had a fair share of experiences like it, during competitions, when she applied for fashion schools, but never one on this level. It was as if La Rosa was looking into her very soul, measuring if she was worthy or not. Marinette wouldn’t let herself be cowed. She smiled, tilting her chin up and placing one hand casually into her skirt pocket (she would never design a dress without them).

“Exquisite darling,” La Rosa said after a short time, and Marinette wanted to pass out. Instead, La Rosa took Marinette’s forearm in her gloved hand and leaned into her ear. “The band has finished warming up. Why don’t you go to that nice man and get the drink he’s so clearly bought you. The rest of my peers will understand.”

Marinette’s head snapped up. Sure enough, there he was. Adrien. He offered a proud nod her way and she felt traitorous heat spread up her whole body.

Before she knew what was happening, La Rosa nudged her away from the group just as Emilie Agreste approached. She passed Marinette with a wink before heading up to the edge of the runway, microphone in hand.

Arriving at Adrien’s side just as his mother began her speech, Marinette took the glass of wine he offered her and the pair watched as a hush fell over the crowd. Emilie greeted all her guests warmly, absolutely resplendent, and the crowd hung on her every word. It was a power few possessed, and one Emilie wielded with a grace and humility which only made Marinette’s love for the woman grow. She already loved Emilie, it was her fast thinking which had saved Marinette’s life after all, and she had killed The Puppetmaster before he had a chance to harm anyone again. But those were dark times. There, in the safety of the ballroom, Marinette came to see why others loved her too, saw so much of her son in the humble way she expressed her gratitude, the way you could see that her gentleness did not equal weakness.

Marinette was so glad the light inside Emilie had refused to go out the years she’d spent in captivity.

The crowd began to applaud, the speech had ended, and Marinette realised a second too late. Setting her glass down, she began clapping along with the rest of the crowd, but Adrien noticed.

“Everything alright?” he asked, once the crowd began floating to the outskirts of the dance floor. “You seemed lost in thoughts.”

And boy was that an understatement. Thoughts. It was easy to get lost in them the memories of that horrific day. But how could she possibly bring such things up when he didn’t know the full extent of how much she knew? Besides, now wasn’t the time to dwell on such a terrible moment in their shared histories. That was over now. They had a bright future ahead of them.

“Oh it was nothing,” she dismissed softly, taking a sip of her wine. Her eyes trailed to where Emilie met Gabriel in the centre of the circular dance floor. “Your mum seems happy.”

Adrien immediately lit up and it was sweet, so sweet, the way he cared for her, doted on her after everything she’d been through. “Yeah,” was all he replied, watching his parents.

The first strings began to play and Marinette recognised the notes, though she couldn’t put her finger on it. An old love song?

“My mother requested that almost no classical music be played tonight. They’re all covers of famous pop songs,” Adrien explained, and something flashed in his eyes. The corner of his lip quirked and Marinette’s heart raced, though she had no idea why. Was he planning something?

They fell into silence again, watching Gabriel and Emilie open the party officially. For such an awkward man, for a former villain (was he a villain, an anti-hero, or something else? Marinette had wrestled with the morality of Gabriel’s intentions for the longest time but- gah!- again! Now wasn’t the time) he was remarkably graceful on the dancefloor. As was customary, eventually other couples joined the dance.

Marinette watched and, for a brief pause, felt a sense of melancholy tugging at her chest. She wondered what Chat Noir would make of all of this. She knew he was wealthy, knew that from the Cartier bracelet she wasn’t wearing tonight. But would he, his real identity, like these kinds of events? Would he dance the night away with her? She knew he would make such fun of the stuffy older gentleman, and probably make some weird puns about the food which would make her laugh and relax.

She missed him, hated the whole mess they’d gotten into. Romantic entanglements aside, she missed her partner so much. Where was he? Why had he had to return on the one night she’d been drunk enough to tell him to stay away? Why had he stayed away from Ladybug too? She’d had her theories but-

“Dance with me.”

Like the snip of scissors through string, Adrien’s words cut through the swirling nature of Marinette’s thoughts, instantly silencing them. She looked to his outstretched hand, noticed the tremor in his voice as she replayed his request in her head, over and over again.

Dance with me.

Dance with me.

Dance with me.

She shook her head, and Adrien’s hand lowered. It was difficult to not hate herself for disappointing him, for upsetting him. But what would the other designers think? If they danced together, wouldn’t it confirm the rumours of them being together? The Agreste PR team had said that the excitement around her and Adrien’s alleged relationship had died down and actively drawing attention to it (whether as a statement of denial like Adrien suggested, or showing up in public together) would do more harm than good.

If Marinette was being honest though, that wasn’t the real reason she shook her head, the reason she now backed away from him. How could she dance with someone who knowingly loved her? How could she lead him on in such a way? It was cruel, despicable to even think of.

“I have to”- she stumbled over some excuse, any excuse, to get away from the sadness he was so desperately trying to cover up. It was too much. All of this was too much. -”I have to use the bathroom, I’ll be right back.”

She was hurrying, borderline running, before he could say anything in response. There was nothing he could have said to convince her to stay anyway. With every step she took, her chest grew tighter and tighter. She could feel her neck constricting, as if invisible hands wrapped around her, choking her. Too much, too much, too much.

By some miracle the bathroom was empty. Marinette flung herself towards the cubicle nearest the wall, but a hand gripped her wrist.

“Girl, what is going on with you?”

Alya. Without thinking Marinette turned around, bringing Alya further into the cubicle. Something drastic must have been written on her face, as Alya went from bafflement to concern in the space of a heartbeat. Tikki floated out from Mariette’s left pocket.

“Breathe, Marinette! It’s ok,” she encouraged.

“I can’t do this,” Marinette shook her head over and over again, as if replaying those last few seconds with Adrien. “I can’t do this. He wants to dance with me! Dance! You know the thing that couples do.”

“And friends, family members, heck even dogs?” Alya pressed. Sharing a look with Tikki, Alya moved forward and rubbed Marinette’s bare arms up and down. Marinette sighed into the hard but soothing touch. “Just do me a favour and focus on breathing for now, like Tikki said, and we can work out the dumb boy stuff later.”

It took a few minutes for Marinette’s heartbeat to calm down. When she felt she had a better grip on the world around her, she wrapped Alya in a warm hug. “Thanks,” she whispered. “That was so stupid.”

“No you’re not being stupid!” Tikki protested, landing on her shoulder. “This is a big night for you.”

“Tikki’s right. This is a big night for you, what with the runway and being flooded with praise from your idols? Super proud of you by the way,” Alya added, fixing one of Marinette’s errant curls. “It was bound to be overwhelming. That plus romantic drama. I was surprised you didn’t freak out sooner, and that’s nothing against you, just that I would have thrown up the second I got off that runway if I’d been you.”

Marinette couldn’t help but giggle. “I could never picture you doing that. You’re always so self assured.”

“It’s called faking it until you make it, but even I have limits. Everyone has limits, and you’ve been under a lot of pressure recently.”

“Too much pressure,” Tikki lightly scolded, and Marinette winced, knowing her kwami was upset with how much of that pressure was self-inflicted.

Wandering towards the sinks, Marinette turned on the water and held her wrists underneath. The shock of the icy cold against her skin calmed down the last remnants of her mini anxiety attack and she sighed again. Sure she’d been under a lot of pressure recently. It was pressure of her own making and it wasn’t over yet.

She thought of Adrien’s hand outstretched. Dance with me.

“So,” Alya chirped, elongating the syllable as she put her arms behind her body, feigning nonchalance. “You ran away from Adrien when he asked you to dance becauuuse?”

Marinette frowned at her in the reflection of the mirror. “You know why. How can I dance with him? He loves me Alya, I don’t want to lead him on or give him false hope. Besides, wouldn’t that confirm the rumours of us being together?”

Once again, Alya and Tikki shared a look, and Marinette puffed out her cheeks in frustration. It felt like they were in on a secret she wasn’t.

Alya was the first to speak. “Maybe. Maybe not. Adrien did say that most of the attendees tonight let their hair down, so I don’t think they’ll be judging you too much aside from your outfit. Plus there’s no press, just the official photographers and Emilie Agreste will decide which photos are sent out. So you and I both know that’s not the real issue.”

Oh no. That was Alya’s investigative journalist voice. Marinette felt dread pool in her stomach.

“I think you want to dance with Adrien.”

“What?!”

“You heard me,” Alya grinned, caught between teasing and seriousness. “You wouldn’t have freaked out and ran away from him if you didn’t care about it in the first place. See I think you want to dance with him, and the reason you freaked out so much wasn’t about leading him on.”

“I think it’s because you feel guilty about Chat Noir,” Tikki added.

“That’s not-” Marinette tried to protest, but the words died on her tongue. Honestly? What was the point of lying to Alya, to Tikki, to herself? She slumped against Alya with a groan. “Fine. Maybe. I- I hate how things are unresolved there. I miss my partner. It feels… I don’t know. It feels wrong somehow.”

“Marinette, it’s a dance. You aren’t cheating on Chat Noir by dancing with another guy. Especially as you aren’t even really in a relationship,” Alya’s voice turned stern, a symbol of tough love. Marinette winced again, knowing she needed the reality check. Still, dental appointments weren’t exactly pleasant despite being necessary and the same sentiment was true here. “And listen, I love Chat Noir. He’s a great guy usually. But quick question, where is he? Where’s he been? Adrien’s been here the whole time, and you’ve both been through the same thing, his kidnapping, despite Adrien not knowing it. There’s no harm in dancing with him. The guy isn’t so fragile that he’ll be destroyed if you do decide you don’t want a romantic relationship with him. You know better than that. You just won’t allow yourself to be happy.”

“Alya-” Marinette began, a lump forming in her throat. Not allow herself to be happy? “It’s not that… It's not that I don’t want to be happy. I’m just… I’m just scared.” She swallowed painfully, her throat dry. “The last time Chat Noir and I argued like this, the last time we were so out-of-sync, we made a plan to take down Puppetmaster and- and it went all wrong. I”- her hand wandered to her abdomen and Alya’s eyes widened- “They say that when a Ladybug and Chat Noir are out-of-sync, bad things can happen. I don’t want anything bad to happen again. What if I’m not the one to get hurt this time? What if it’s Chat Noir? What if I’m out here having the time of my life and he decides to go on patrol and he gets hurt because we’re fighting and I don’t have his back? I… I…”

“Marinette…” Tikki said, her tone caught between heartbreak and comfort.

“Oh hon,” Alya tugged her into another embrace, and Marinette let herself be comforted, burying her face into the shoulder of her childhood friend. The familiar scents of the rosewater mist Alya used flooded her nostrils and she sighed, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think of that.”

“It’s alright, it’s not really common knowledge is it?” Marinette let out a shaky laugh. She really needed to get it together.

They stayed that way, silent and comforting. Alya held her a little bit tighter, the way she always did when the topic of her near-death experience came up. Marinette thought it might be Alya’s way of holding onto her, of making sure she was really there.

Eventually, Alya spoke up. “I know that last time you were out-of-sync something bad happened. Here’s the thing, you aren’t taking down supervillains together or anything. There’s no major danger. You’ll be able to fix it once you both find each other and talk, I’m positive about that. In the meantime, you know there’s no harm in having fun. You do deserve to relax. That much is true and… just trust Adrien, ok?” her face changed, eyebrows knitting as if she was trying to decide what to say, how exactly to phrase things. “He’s worked hard on this evening, he wants things to go well. And he definitely deserves to unwind and enjoy time with the people he loves, considering he just got kidnapped for god’s sake.”

“And if anything bad does happen,” Tikki said, giving Marinette a little kiss on the cheek, “Which it won’t, but if anything does, I’ll be here. I always am.”

Marinette pressed a little kiss to Tikki’s cheek in response. “Thanks. I know you are.”

She stared at the door. Adrien’s last words, dance with me, echoed in her mind again. Marinette took a great, shuddering breath, shaking out the cobwebs as her mother would say.

“Ok,” she agreed.

“Good,” Alya grinned. “Then let's get some more champagne.”

When they arrived back near the dancefloor, Nino was there waiting. He’d grabbed them more canapes in their absence, which they snacked on dutifully. Tikki decided to hide in Alya’s pocket for the time being, giving Marinette and Adrien some privacy, and Alya snuck some of the sweeter treats into her pocket when she was sure nobody was looking. Happy times, relax, Marinette thought, don’t think about Chat Noir for once. It’ll be ok. Just have fun tonight, that’s why Adrien invited you.

Speaking of Adrien (she cringed at her behaviour) she definitely owed him an apology for her earlier stunt. Where was he?

Peering into the crowd, she couldn’t see him near the bar. That was the last place she’d left him.

“Oh you looking for Adrien?” Nino noticed her craning her head, and gestured towards the dancefloor. “That terrifying blonde girl asked him to dance.”

Marinette wheeled about and, sure enough, there they were. Chloe and Adrien were dancing gracefully, two people who’d obviously been trained. Classical music flowed through the air (not a rendition of any pop song this time) and Marinette watched the pair glide around like they were floating. Adrien said something to Chloe, quirking his lips, and she threw her head back, laughing as she spun under his arm. Something painful twisted in Marinette’s gut at the sight.

“I’ll grab us some drinks,” she said, turning and taking her companions’ orders before wandering over to the bar. It appeared others had the same idea, as the bar had gotten noticeably more crowded since the last time she’d been close to it.

As she waited, other designers came and asked her more questions about her dress, which she answered with a smile plastered onto her face. Her mind was not back on the dancefloor, her mind was not thinking about the way Adrien held Chloe. They were childhood friends for goodness sake! Plus Chloe talked about dating women- she could have been bi of course but- why did it matter to her so much?! She ought to get a grip. Her hands tucked into her pockets and she released a tense sigh.

At long last, she reached the bar and was able to order.

“I’ll get these.”

Chloe appeared by her side, flashing a card towards the bartender and ordering an extra drink for herself. Marinette blinked, glancing back to the dance floor. “Oh, I thought you were dancing with Adrien?”

Scoffing, Chloe tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and replied, “Only one dance. It’ll be enough.”

Marinette didn’t quite have the guts to ask “enough for what?” so she simply thanked Chloe for the drinks and left it at that. As the bartender poured their orders, Marinette waited to see why Chloe had approached her. Her behaviour was curious, and Marinette found it strange that Chloe acted almost as though she’d already been fully acquainted with her civilian self.

“You know Adrien talks about you a lot,” Chloe accused. “In fact, I feel like I know you already with how he never shuts up about you. I must admit I’ve been curious about the one who caught his attention so.”

Well that answered that question, Marinette thought as her cheeks turned crimson. Still, she wouldn’t be cowed by Chloe. She’d seen the more vulnerable sides to her as Ladybug and knew a lot of this was a front. Besides, she’d been intimidated by far bigger and far uglier characters, though she knew she shouldn’t underestimate Chloe in any regard.

“Is your curiosity sated now?” Marinette rose a brow, grinning over her glass as she stared Chloe down.

Chloe ran her eyes over Marinette’s dress again, clicking her tongue. “I suppose,” she agreed. “I did have hopes he might be with someone else. But your runway skills are decent, if woefully unschooled, and nobody can deny you have the beginnings of something good here,” she flicked her hand to Marinette’s dress. “If Adrien is happy.”

“Gee, thanks,” Marinette replied dryly, wondering who the person Chloe wanted Adrien to be with was. Though, knowing the little game they were playing, she wouldn’t have been surprised if that was made up to get into her head.

Chloe’s eyes darkened and she put her drink on the bar, crossing her arms and jutting out her hip. “Listen,” she said sharply. “I don’t know what your intentions are towards Adrien. I don’t know what you feel for him. Frankly, I don’t care how you feel. But Adrien Agreste has been through more than you will ever know. Whatever happens, he remains happy. He doesn’t go through any more pain. You do not hurt him. Or you answer to me and trust me”- she leaned in close, hissing through her teeth- “you really don’t want to answer to me.”

As Chloe leaned back, Marinette let her words sink in.

“I wouldn’t ever want to hurt him,” Marinette replied, staring at her drink.

“Good,” replied Chloe, standing back upright with a huff.

“Adrien’s lucky to have a friend like you,” Marinette smiled at her, meaning it.

“Oh do shut up,” Chloe rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the pleased glint in them, nor the way her lips turned up ever-so-slightly.

It was then that a beautiful brown haired woman, no doubt a model, approached Chloe from the side. Suddenly, Marinette realised what Chloe had meant when she said one dance with Adrien would be enough. Without a second glance, Chloe left the bar to go and dance with her new partner, leaving Marinette alone to dissect what the hell conversation they’d just had.

So everyone was really out here thinking they were a couple huh? Regardless of Adrien’s PR team, regardless of how much they both tried to deny it. What did it matter, here, if she danced with her friend? What did it matter? Alya was right, Adrien danced with his friends. He’d danced with Chloe. Peering through the crowd, she could see him back on the dancefloor dancing with Nino (if you could call some strange version of the funky chicken dancing). She laughed at the sight and took another sip of her drink, tasting the bitter-sweetness of it.

Really, she’d been too wrapped up in her emotions, so desperate to work things out with Chat Noir in fear of things going wrong again. It wasn’t until her conversation with Alya that she realised the full extent of those fears.

But tonight, this Gala, wasn’t the night to deal with such things. For her own sake, for the sake of those around her, she had to forget about Chat Noir. Just for a night, just for a moment. She thought of her partner, really thought of him, and realised that he wouldn’t have wanted her to worry like this anyway. He would want her to enjoy herself. Chat Noir had always been her loudest cheerleader, when the world hadn’t even known she needed one. He’d be rooting for her to have a good time.

I’ll be here when you get back, she imagined him saying, giving her a nudge of encouragement and sending her on her way.

Finishing her own drink, she grabbed the ones she’d ordered for Nino and Alya and wandered through the crowd. Finally, she glanced up.

The large, cavernous room had been decorated so beautifully. Not so lavishly as to invoke Versaille or anything outlandish, but delicately so. The purple flowers, the fine tablecloths, the soft lighting, all were understated and beautiful. Like a spring morning. Emilie had such wonderful taste. All around her were people living lives to their fullest, dancing and laughing, drinking and celebrating.

Marinette smiled, and a weight she hadn’t known was there lifted from her chest.

“I sure do know how to pick them,” Alya laughed as Marinette approached her. She was staring at the dancefloor, watching as Nino and Adrien moved from a slow funky chicken to an even slower version on the Macarena. She took a large swig of her drink, snorting as Nino caught her eye and sashayed his hips before he leapt and turned back to Adrien. “I’m going to marry that man one day.”

“Oh for sure,” Marinette agreed. “Never had any doubt about that. Every group needs at least one sane couple.”

Alya raised her eyebrow, thrusting her chin back towards the dance floor and Marinette knew exactly what she was thinking.

“Sane in that you can say you love each other and not have severe mental breakdowns,” Marinette added.

“Hey,” Alya nudged her playfully, “I don’t care for historical revisionism. You know Nino and I were just as much of a mess as any one of you drama queens. We just sorted our shit out earlier.”

“True I guess,” Marinette hummed, noticing as the music came to a close and the crowd began to applaud. She handed Nino’s drink to Alya. “Speaking of ‘sorting my shit out’...”

She approached the dancefloor, trying to ignore the way her heart began to hammer in her chest. Adrien had asked her first, he wouldn’t reject her now would he?

But what if I humiliated him? Running off like that!

When she passed Nino, he must have seen something on her face as he gave her an encouraging pair of finger guns. She barely noticed though, not with the way Adrien was looking at her, like she was water in a desert. Marinette tried to smile, tried to pretend, but nerves struck her too fiercely to pretend at that moment. Considering she was used to lying through her teeth, this surprised her. Butterflies danced in her chest, trying to escape the fire coursing through her body as she met his eyes. Green. Gorgeous. He was utterly gorgeous in that tux.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out gracelessly. “I did want to dance with you. I was just- everything was just so overwhelming.” She waved her hand over her dress, then towards the runway. “But that’s no excuse and I-”

The music began again, and Marinette wondered when she’d lowered her head to the floor to stare at it. Adrien was in her space, finger under her chin as he lifted it up. She followed his lead. Their eyes met and Adrien was smiling. He took his hand from under chin, offered it to her in a wordless question.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe. Her friend was asking her to dance and she couldn’t breathe.

But she took his hand anyway.

“I’m a bad dancer,” she said as they twirled around the dance floor. “I’m sorry if I step on your feet.”

“Wait, how does that work?” Adrien replied, teasing, keeping their bodies a respectable distance from each other. Marinette remembered dances she’d been to as a young teen, and the more overprotective parents would watch eagle-eyed for any smidgeon of body contact. “You were a pro at DDR and yet you're a bad dancer?”

Marinette chuckled, giving his hand a playful squeeze. “That’s different, there are clearer rules to follow in DDR, more instructions and everything, patterns to learn which you can learn alone, without anyone watching you mess up,” she glanced away from him. “I don’t know what the rules are here.”

“Marinette?” his voice, so achingly gentle she barely heard it over the music, caused her to lift her head up to him. He gestured between them both. “You don’t have to worry about the rules with me.”

He twirled her under his arm and Marinette spun away from him. When she lifted her hands, he caught them, and with her back to him Marinette had a moment, one moment, to catch her breath. His strong chest pressed against hers and she swallowed thickly before twirling back to face him.

“Yes I do,” she whispered, voice cracking.

Adrien was silent, mulling over her words. Throat tight, Marinette tried to read his expression, the way his eyebrows knit together in thought. The world felt heavy around them. Maybe it was a mistake to dance? It felt… it felt right though. Together, they weren’t missing a single step. It was as if they could read each other’s signals instantly. This was the best she’d danced with anyone.

She didn’t want to stop.

Before she could contemplate what that meant, Adrien looked down at her again and her breath caught once more. Was that mischief dancing in his eyes?

“No,” he countered. “You don’t.”

Without warning, he broke their step, capturing Marinette’s waist in his large hands and lifting her high in the air. Unable to help it, Marinette let out a squeal.

“What are you doing?” she called down to him, bracing her hands on his shoulders. Other people turned to stare at them.

“Not following the rules,” he grinned up at her and he began to spin. The dance floor blurred around them, and Marinette could no longer pick out the faces in the crowd, so she looked back down. Adrien’s well-groomed hair was beginning to look a little wild, his cheeks were flushed in delight. Taking great strides, he spun and spun. “Whee!”

Marinette burst out laughing. “Whee!” she replied.

When he’d done a full circle of the dancefloor, Adrien set her back down. Marinette’s hands slid from his shoulders, to behind his neck. There was no longer any space between them. Deep down, she knew she ought to pull away.

For the first time all night, she stopped thinking about rules, stopped thinking about other people, and only thought about what she wanted to do.

She rested her head on Adrien’s chest, smiling.

“Thank you.”

Nino and Alya danced past them, and Nino gave him a thumbs up.

Adrien felt like his whole body was glowing with happiness, starting with the warm weight against his shoulder. All the tense knots in his body loosed and he closed his eyes, resting his head against Marinette’s as their dance turned soft and swaying. The scent of her perfume, the shampoo she used, floated in the air and he exhaled. This was it. This was where he was meant to be. This was what everything was for.

Being apart from her just didn’t make sense.

They continued to sway together as the first song faded into another. Adrien barely noticed the song change, but Marinette must have opened her eyes. Whatever she noticed made her laugh.

“Those two,” she mumbled fondly.

Adrien lifted his head to follow her line of sight. Nino and Alya were dancing as if they were old aristocrats, arms out stiff, cheeks puffed out pompously. When they twirled past again, Adrien caught snippets of conversations about cake interspersed with the two cracking up. After having their fun, they settled into a more serious flow, and the love in the couple’s eyes made Adrien’s chest ache in the best of ways.

“They really are relationship goals,” he agreed.

“Well they spent so long dancing around each other!” Marinette snorted, “I’m glad they’re dancing together now. I always thought they’d be a great couple.”

Adrien said nothing, instead choosing to squeeze her hand, his other was around her waist. The words were pushing against his mouth, desperate to come out, what about us? What about when I tell you the truth? Will you still need space? We could be so good together.

He clamped his jaw shut. Now wasn’t the time.

Marinette squeezed his hand back and electricity jolted through him at the touch. He allowed himself to hope, like he’d never hoped before, that this could work. Nino’s words of encouragement echoed in his head, that he was worthy beyond being Chat Noir. He hoped Marinette would see it that way.

Speaking of Nino, as the second song ended, he cast his eyes towards Adrien in a silent conversation. Turning away from the dancefloor, he and Alya disappeared into the crowd. Adrien knew what was happening, what Nino was setting off to do, and fought the shiver of anticipation which threatened to wreck his whole body. It was almost time.

“I know I’m being greedy,” he began, as the string quartet picked up its tempo, and he realised what song was about to play. It was one he’d requested. “But one more dance?”

For a second, he saw a brief flash of uncertainty cross Marinette’s features. Was she still worried about the rumours of their relationship? The urge to protect her rose from the depths of his soul, and he was about to assure her that anyone trying to spread things or start trouble would answer to him.

The uncertainty vanished and she beamed up at him. “One more dance.”

Once again, they twirled across the floor. The quartet had finished the introduction and the first notes of the pop song they covered rang through the hall. Adrien smirked, waiting for Marinette to cotton on.

It didn’t take long. They spent so much time at the Gaming Club, certain music was instantly recognisable. Marinette’s eyes widened, her jaw dropped. “Wait, is this-?”

“Yep,” Adrien huffed a laugh as he spun Marinette under his arm. “I put it on their list.”

Marinette's face burst into a smile which could have lit the entire room with its radiance . “Well then, Monsieur Agreste,” she purred and Adrien was about three seconds from melting into a puddle when she quirked her eyebrow in a challenge. “Shall we show them all how it's done?”

“With pleasure,” Adrien growled playfully.

And there, right there on that dance floor, Adrien was once again reminded why he fell in love with Marinette as quickly as he had. It had once caught him off guard, how strong and sudden his feelings had struck him. But, hands held, spinning and dipping, replicating a few of their DDR moves without caring how silly it might have looked to others, he knew why. With Chat Noir, he had a freedom he’d never experienced with Adrien before…until he’d met her. Marinette, the Gaming Club, his new friends, they embraced him fully, accepted him into their group. Marinette was strong and sweet, klutzy and intelligent, funny and fierce. He found a kindred spirit in her contradictions.

Eventually the song ended. Red faced and breathless, the pair applauded along with the crowd.

“I think I have to rest my feet now!” Marinette whispered to him, “I feel like I’m pushing my luck with how I haven’t tripped over yet.”

Adrien offered her his arm and escorted her to an empty table. Pulling out the chair for her, he sat down next to her, grinning from ear-to-ear.

“What?” Marinette responded, matching his smile.

What indeed? What could he say in that moment without completely giving himself away?

“I like dancing with you,” he replied simply, honestly.

Marinette coughed. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her hand floated down and disappeared into her pocket. “Yes, well,” she said, staring at the tablecloth. “I’ve never danced with anyone like I do with you.”

All the remaining air swept out of Adrien’s chest. His fingers twitched, yearning to reach out and hold her close once again. They were halfway to her before he realised what he was doing. Marinette stared at him, curiosity brimming in her eyes, and he held back. At the last second, he sat up, covering his movements by taking off his jacket instead.

“It is hot in here, isn’t it?” Marinette agreed as he hung the jacket on the back of his chair.

“You have no idea,” he mumbled, twisting back around to face her as visions of their dancing, among other memories, flashed in his mind. Why the hell was he torturing himself?

“What?” Marinette asked.

“What?” he responded, causing Marinette to snort. She smirked, and he got the feeling she was about to tease him when someone caught his eye across the hall.

Nino.

He stood up so quickly it felt as if his heart remained in his seat.

“Is something wrong?” Marinette asked.

Adrien shook his head. “No, everything is fine,” he replied, absentmindedly reaching down and kissing her hand. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Without thinking, he raced off, knowing exactly what Nino was saying to him without exchanging a word.

The plan was ready.

The city skyline never looked quite so lovely as it did that night.

As Adrien stood on the rooftop, gazing at the culmination of all of their efforts, he felt a lump rise in his throat.

“So, so?” Nino elongated his words, grinning slyly. “We did good, eh?”

Adrien was so stuck on how the layers upon layers of flowers decorated the makeshift picnic area, the little tea lights fluttering in the gentle breeze, the wine and the snacks, that he’d almost missed the last part of Nino’s sentence.

“We?” Adrien shook his head. “No, man, we made this plan together but it’s you who set this all up. It looks so nice, where did you get the fairy lights?”

“From mine and Alya’s room,” Nino replied, shifting from foot to foot. He scratched the back of his head. “Listen dude, when I said we I didn’t mean you and me. Alya helped me too.”

The horror must have shown on Adrien’s face, because Nino immediately began waving his arms. “She doesn’t know about you being Chat Noir! She just knows you want to tell Marinette how you feel about her. I made her promise not to tell. But you know how Alya is, she’s a prodigy journalist and I’m a terrible liar when it comes to her. She knew something was up, so I had to give her something or she would have kept prodding.”

Adrien leaned against the door which led back down to the Gala, hand pressed against his chest. He tried to breathe.

“You sure she won’t tell Marinette?”

“Positive,” Nino confirmed, moving towards Adrien and slamming a comforting hand onto his shoulder. “She’s rooting for you. We both are. That’s why she’s trying to distract Marinette downstairs right now. Still, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Adrien said and he meant it. Nino did the best he could under difficult circumstances and, with two friends now to watch his back and help him, he felt more secure after the initial blip of panic. “I owe you both so much.”

“Nah,” Nino scoffed, wiping his brow. “It’s nothing to bring two people together. Marinette was there for Alya and I when we were going through all this stuff. It’s nice to return the favour.”

Adrien grinned at that, taking in the scene before him. He hoped Marinette wouldn’t be too overwhelmed by it, like she had been with their dancing at first. Maybe that was the crowds though. Regardless, he’d show her this and give her the choice whether or not to stay and hear him out. His thoughts were that, after the initial mad rush of the ball, after she’d been given time to show off her amazing skills, he could take her away to privately confess. But he had wanted his confession to be somewhere completely quiet, somewhere nobody could overhear them but somewhere romantic too.

That’s when he’d gotten the idea of a rooftop picnic. But it was Nino, and now he knew Alya too, who had helped him put it all together.

“So what do you think Plagg?” Nino asked, swirling around the scene. “Did ya boy do good or what? Come on judge me, I know you want to.”

Silence.

“Plagg?”

Adrien lurched from his spot on the wall, the colour draining from his face.

Plagg was downstairs, in his jacket.

The lucky charm was with him.

Hanging on a chair next to Marinette.

Wow. Things sure are getting rowdy, Marinette thought, torn between surprise and amusement.

After a few more dances with Alya, Marinette took in the sight of everyone around her. The dancing was less coordinated, the laughter more raucous, everything was a little bit less tidy than it was before. Adrien was right, it really was a chance for everyone to let their hair down. The photographers weren’t around nearly as much either.

“What happens at the Gala really does stay at the Gala!” Marinette called to Alya about the music.

“Yeah well what happens next is we need to sit down. Curse these damn heels,” Alya responded, hopping off the dancefloor with one foot clutched in her hand.

“You were the one that chose to wear them,” Marinette teased. She wrapped her arm around her friend, offering her support as Tikki snuck from Alya’s pocket back to Marinette’s. The bouncing must have been aggravating her.

“Oh yeah, blame me for my good taste,” Alya clicked her tongue, putting her foot back to the floor with a grimace. Unable to help herself, Marinette giggled. Yep. Alya was definitely tipsy, tipsier than Marinette which was saying something considering Marinette was a notorious lightweight with certain drinks. But, no matter how many reassurances Adrien had given her, she didn’t want to drink too much tonight. First impressions mattered.

That didn’t seem to be a problem on the other side of things though. Some people were starting to get very drunk indeed. Not to the point of some of the more horrendous scenes Marinette had seen during student nights out, but still eye-opening considering the type of guests in attendance. From the bar, Madame La Rosa’s eyes met hers and she raised a glass in Marinette’s direction. She was the only one who looked stone cold sober, yet looks could be deceiving.

“Come on you,” Marinette encouraged, glancing back at their sadly empty table. Adrien hadn’t returned yet. Her hand still tingled from where he’d kissed her so absent-mindedly, like it was second nature for him to be affectionate.

She tried not to think about that too much, about all the questions that tingling inspired. Luckily, she had Alya’s weight pressing at her side, keeping her grounded in the moment.

Alya hopped onto the chair Marinette had previously sat on with a big sigh, tilting her head back. “You’re amazing, thank you for rescuing me and my poor feet.”

They both chuckled at that, and Marinette grabbed the chair beside Alya, fingers brushing against Adrien’s jacket, which he’d left behind in his haste. “You know me, if I’m not rescuing someone every hour I’d simply”-

She never got to finish her sentence. As she pulled out Adrien’s vacated chair, the brunette model Chloe had danced with earlier came stumbling into her. Tripping over her own skirts, the model lurched forwards, colliding with Marinette’s side with a force that caught Marinette completely off guard. The drink, which the model had been holding, went flying and splattered half on the chair, half on Adrien’s jacket.

“I’m so sorry,” the model gasped, utterly contrite, glancing down at the wet jacket in Marinette’s hand. “Oh no, please send me the dry cleaning bill! I will pay of course.”

Faltering, Marinette wasn’t sure what to do. The jacket was Adrien’s and she couldn’t speak on his behalf, but at the same time she couldn’t deny the offer. What if Adrien did want the model to pay for the dry cleaning? Though that didn’t sound like him at all.

As if sensing drama, Chloe swooped in from some unknown location, taking the model by the arm. “If Adrien wants his dry cleaning paid for over a silly mistake, he can come and talk to me about it,” she said simply, and Marinette wondered if she was trying to help the situation, or daring her to disagree. “Come along, Ivy.”

“I’m sorry again!” Ivy replied as Chloe whisked her away.

“It’s ok,” Marinette waved them both off, then gave her hand a little shake. Some of the alcohol had gotten onto her too, but thankfully none on her dress.

Once Chloe and Ivy were fully out of earshot, Alya leaned in and asked, “How bad is it?”

“It doesn’t look so bad,” Marinette picked up the jacket and turned it over in her hands. A bit of a splodge here, but it should come out with a dry clean. Thank goodness it wasn’t red wine!”

“Speaking of red wine,” Alya groaned, stretching her limbs. “My feet are recovered enough and I’m craving another drink, want one?”

Humming, Marinette responded, “I think I’ll give the next round a miss.”

“Suit yourself,” Alya shrugged and wandered off to the bar, only half-wincing this time. Marinette admired her friend’s speedy recovery time, before turning her attention back to the jacket.

It really was a stunningly made piece. Mens suits were notoriously difficult to make interesting, at least in her limited experience, so the opportunity to admire the embroidery around the sleeves up close was too tempting not to miss. She avoided the deep side pockets though, as he might have important things in there and she didn’t want to invade Adrien’s privacy.

As she twisted the jacket around to face the back, her fingers slipped and the jacket clattered to the floor.

“Shoot,” Marinette said, leaning down, then cursed further when she noticed something had fallen out of Adrien’s pocket. So alcohol and possible dirt were added to the poor jacket. As Marinette reached under the table for the small thing, she hoped she didn’t have to explain why whatever it was was broken too.

At last her fingers brushed against the item and she curled her hand around it. It felt like…beads? String? Some kind of watch or bracelet? Standing up, she began to tuck the item back into his inside pocket, not wanting to pry any further…

Until the object caught the light, and she realised exactly what she was holding.

Adrien didn’t think he’d run so fast in his entire life. Not in his civilian form at least. He ran back down the stairs with such speed, it was as if he was floating rather than running. His mind was blank in its panic to get back to the table, even as Nino’s reassurances attempted to break through.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine! It’s a jacket on a chair, nobody’s going to touch it!”

But Nino’s voice was far away, nearly halfway up the stairwell as Adrien was already down at the bottom. It took every ounce of his willpower not to burst back into the ballroom, but that trained part of him took over and he slowed his pace to an important stride. Plagg would be able to hide himself if anyone went snooping, but the Lucky Charm didn't have such a luxury.

Nobody tried to grab his attention or, if they did, he was too focused to notice. I have to find her, she can’t discover it this way, she can’t-

At last, the crowds parted and he spotted the table where Marinette still waited for him.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

Over one arm, Marinette had draped his jacket.

And in the other?

It was the bracelet. The lucky charm she’d gifted Chat Noir what seemed like a lifetime ago, the lucky charm he was going to ask her to put on him, should she have accepted who he was.

Adrien couldn’t breathe.

Then, as if sensing his presence from across the room, Marinette looked up. Their eyes met and Adrien watched, despite the distance which separated them, as all of the pieces click into place behind her eyes. He was helpless to stop it.

There was no denying it now. Marinette knew.

Marinette knew he was Chat Noir.