Chapter Text
your gravity’s making me dizzy - star girl; mcfly
lot of people take it for a game - love is strange; mickey & sylvia
Everything is better upside down. Being a dancer and therefore an amateur artist of the upside down, Marinette is very much certain of this. You can’t take anything as seriously as you can when you’re upright.
Example: Marinette is holding a headstand in front of the mirror in her little abandoned studio and she simply can’t take any of her problems seriously as she slowly watches her face go red. Her cheeks look rounder and slightly chipmunk-like, and her eyes are getting very glassy. When she switches her feet from flexing to pointing she feels like she’s back in her beginner’s ballet class.
So when she thinks about Chloé and Adrien and her whole future as a dancer, it’s not really quite as upsetting as it was this afternoon.
But it’s still the only thing she can think about.
This morning was when Mme Bustier gave them their partners for their duets at the showcase.
Marinette, to her initial delight and subsequent terror-that-kind-of-feels-like-excitement-but-is-also-definitely-fear, has been paired with Adrien Agreste. He’d seemed pretty content with the idea too. He’d bumped her shoulder and smiled down at her with a, “Guess you’re stuck with me for a little while, huh partner?”
Chloé, naturally, had cracked the windows with her outraged shriek. She’d torn the list off the door and shaken it in Marinette’s face.
“How dare you,” she hissed. “You rotten little upstart.”
Marinette rests a foot on the mirror at the memory, pushing into the glass and half-pretending Chloé’s face is underneath it.
Of course, the hardest part of the day was not Chloé’s nasty comments. (Those, she’s used to.) No, because Mme Bustier thought it was practical to have today’s lesson be more of a do-it-yourself workshop. “Partner work” was to be the aim of the lesson and that meant spending an hour and a half practicing partner dance moves with Adrien.
It was difficult to remember what she was supposed to be doing half the time—especially when he had his hands on her hips for some of the steps.
Her cheeks redden and it’s not just because of gravity.
But the most daunting aspect of working with Adrien is not that he is Adrien Agreste her crush, but that he is Adrien Agreste world renowned classical dancer. How is she supposed to bring anything to the table when the boy sitting at it has won competitions around the world?
A muffled crash from outside jerks Marinette from her reverie. She wobbles in her headstand. It wouldn’t be the first time a kid from around the neighbourhood came to crash her party. There’s something about old, dilapidated buildings that attracts the young, sharp mind.
She sighs and pushes herself up into a proper handstand, falling into a bridge and standing up out of it. It’s not like she’s getting any practice done anyway. Maybe this is a sign to call it a night and just go home.
Something rattles loudly from near the door and she freezes.
Oh god. What if it’s the police? What if they’re here to arrest her for breaking and entering?
She rushes to grab her hoodie and bag, scooping her phone and speaker into it as the rattling gets louder. They can’t really accuse her of breaking though, the place has been just as shabby looking since she first found it. If anything, it looks better . She, Alya, and Nino had spent the summer painting the walls and installing new mirrors.
But wouldn’t that still be defacing property? Shit . She doesn’t even know whose —
The door knocks her square on her forehead as it opens.
Someone yelps from the other side and Marinette lets out the longest string of curse words she can manage. (It’s hard not to have some of Alya’s habits rub off on her.) She stumbles backwards until suddenly the couch is behind her and she falls upside down onto the seat of it, legs sticking up over the top.
“Sorry!” the policeman says. “There wasn’t supposed to be someone in here!”
It makes her pause in all her painful panic. He’s apologising?
She sits up to peek over the back of the couch between her legs. There’s someone standing halfway in halfway out rubbing the back of their neck awkwardly. Decidedly not a policeman.
She squints at the figure in the doorway. “Chat Noir?”
He freezes then steps forward, letting the light wash over his smile. It’s tight and panicked looking. He hasn’t seen her, Marinette, since he told her he didn’t have a phone to her face while he stood there holding his phone. She’s already allowed him the lie (Ladybug has seen him a few times at practice since and who is she to not look the other way? Besides, Alya’s made sure he’s the one in the Facebook group), but it’s clear from the way his eyes jump around the room that he knows he’s in a bit of a pinch.
“You should have called,” she says lightly, sarcastically, but it’s a joke enough that he’ll know he’s off the hook.
“Hey Princess,” he says, the lines of his body relaxing slowly, his lips curling. “How many curse words do you know? It’s kind of impressive.”
His voice, his familiar face, his presence; all of these combine to soothe a bit of the anxiety in her stomach. She hadn’t realised how much she’d needed to be with a friend. “What are you—hang on.” She shifts out of her uncomfortable position on the couch, stepping over it and leaning against the back. “What are you doing here?”
His smile strains again. “I, uh, know the guy who owns the place. He bought it a few days ago.”
She remembers seeing a ‘Sale Agreed’ notice hanging up outside, but she’d dismissed it as a weird prank. No one has made a move to buy this place in nearly ten years.
“Oh,” she says, a funny feeling in her chest. She’s lost the place. “Okay.”
He shifts his feet, his eyes darting here and there. “He said I could use it.”
“Right.” She’s not really listening to him.
“T-to practice in.”
“Yeah.”
His frown is confused when he asks, “What are you doing here?”
She hesitates. Sharing this place with anyone other than Alya and Nino feels almost wrong. Especially now that they won’t be able to come back. Marinette may not always abide by rules but there’s no way they can break and enter here when Chat Noir knows who they are and is going to start frequenting the place.
Sighing, she goes for the truth anyway.
“I’ve used this place to practice for years. It’s been abandoned for even longer. I figured no one would disturb me here.” She shifts on her own feet and feels her heart wrench at her next words. “I guess I shouldn’t really come here anymore. I’ll um, I’ll get going.”
She goes to pick up her stuff again but Chat Noir’s hand shoots out to catch her wrist.
“Wait!” he says. “Stay.” His unsure expression melts into a grin. “I could always use an audience.”
Marinette rolls her eyes. “How does anyone put up with you?”
“You seem to be doing just fine.” He winks.
She presses her lips together and crosses her arms, weighing her options. If she stays, she can get the practice done now that she was meant to have done an hour ago. And it can’t hurt to have a second opinion, especially from a dancer like Chat Noir.
“Okay,” she says.
“Okay, you’ll stay?”
“Okay, I’ll stay.”
His answering smile is warm enough to pull a reciprocating one out of her.
“But,” she says, shedding herself of her things and going to plug her iPod back in, “we get some work done. I have stuff to do for class. Alya, I’m sure, has stuff she wants you to practice.” The first round of qualifiers for Miraculous is next week. Alya has been working them all into the ground. “Deal?”
“As you wish, Princess.”
She sighs. “And stop—” she gestures to his grin that’s erring on the side of the darkest corners of Papillon. She ignores the thrill it sends through her veins, the pulse of a beat she can feel “—that.”
“Stop what?” he asks innocently, stretching his arms all the way above his head.
“You know exactly what I mean, Prince Charming .”
His smile blinds. “So you think I’m charming?”
“Chat, I swear to God.”
_______________
They do not end up getting any work done. Well, not the way Marinette imagined it would be getting done.
The figurative train derails about two minutes into their respective practices.
Chat Noir immediately launches into what she presumes is a warm up. He’s freestyling to the song that came on when she put her iPod on shuffle, seemingly completely focused on his own body and its movements.
Marinette watches him for a few moments before closing her eyes and trying to let her creativity lead her towards partner moves. Maybe if she prepares, she’ll make less of a fool of herself in front of Adrien tomorrow. She does her very best to work out some dance moves for Mme Bustier’s class tomorrow, but she was silly to think she’d be able to do anything without someone to practice with. She has no way of properly figuring out if her ideas even work. Besides, all of her ideas suck.
Frustrated, she kicks up into a handstand facing the mirror. Here’s to hoping all the blood rushing to her head will help.
It’s a few moments of this strange meditation before she notices that the sounds of runners squeaking on the polished wooden floors have vanished. She can’t hear his heavy breaths either, or sense his movements.
Before she knows it he has kicked up to a handstand too, facing her and leaning his weight against the mirror.
She raises—drops?—her eyebrows. “Cheater.” She shifts her weight on her hands, kind of wishing she’d had the foresight to lean her handstand against the wall too.
He can’t shrug properly, but she can see the sentiment in his expression.
“Choose the better site next time, Princess,” he says, shifting on his hands. “What are we doing here?”
Sighing doesn’t quite work upside down either.
“I am Stumped.” She trusts him to hear the capitalisation.
He hums seriously. He heard it.
“What are you Stumped about?” he asks.
Marinette weighs whether or not to tell him for a moment, then continues with her streak of truth-telling. A part of her knows it’s because not being able to fully own Ladybug as herself is troubling, but she doesn’t really like listening to that part. Besides, she’s being herself with Chat Noir right now, so is she truly lying to him all that much?
“I’m doing a duet at the academy,” she says. “It’s for the possibility of being in the showcase at the end of the semester. Huge opportunity and I—I really want to have a good routine.”
He frowns. “Isn’t this a problem you should be working out with your partner?”
She hesitates. How to explain her insecurity around Adrien Agreste? But Chat’s green eyes are earnest and she hasn’t talked about it all day to anyone. Maybe letting it out will relieve her a little.
“My partner is part of my problem.” He’s still frowning so she rushes to clear any confusion. “Not because I don’t like him or anything. It’s just…”
His frown is throwing her off.
“... It’s just that he’s this amazing, world-renowned dancer,” she says. “Everything he does is golden. He’s so good at this and I just wanted to—I don’t know—”
— impress him —
“—show him that I can be a good partner too. That he can count on me to get to the showcase. I just—have to be amazing.”
She stares at him, waiting for his reaction. She doesn’t expect him to start laughing.
“Hey!” she frowns. She pokes her foot into his shin. “This is a serious issue!”
He pokes her right back and she tenses, trying to keep from falling.
“I know, I know,” he says, but he looks like he’s trying not to laugh again. “I just don’t know why you of all people would worry.”
She opens her mouth to argue but he gets there before her.
“You’ve already got what it takes to impress him, Princess. You’re in the academy on a full scholarship, right? Doesn’t that mean you’re already amazing?”
She doesn’t answer him, stunned by the compliments. A weight lifts off her and she feels undeniably lighter.
“He’s probably already impressed that he was named as your partner,” Chat says, trying to pull off the compliment as casual with a weird shrug motion, but she smiles at him.
“Thank you, Chat Noir,” she says.
He flashes a grin at her then balances his weight on one arm to cover a yawn with his other hand and it’s so him blatantly showing off his strength that she gives him a light kick to one of his legs to try and throw him off balance.
“You’re so annoying,” she grins, hooking her toes behind his ankle and pulling.
He yelps and she just realises what a bad decision she made because when he starts falling he takes her with him. They land on the floor simultaneously laughing and groaning in pain.
“Your elbow landed in my armpit,” Marinette complains, but her grin belies her tone.
Chat Noir snorts. “Well your knees sure aren’t marshmallows, Princess.”
She opens her mouth to continue their bickering when the track changes and he gasps. A delighted thing that leaves him pushing up into a sitting position and smiling like she suggested they order five pizzas. His hood has fallen off and his hair is a total mess. All of these attributes pull together to make him look five years younger than he is and fondness settles in Marinette’s chest.
“I love this song,” he says.
Marinette listens for a moment, the old 2000s tune feeling very comfortable. She can’t remember putting it on this particular playlist but before she can think too much on it Chat starts doing the air guitar. Without his hood she can see the tips of his ears are a little pink, whether a residue from being upside down or a self-awareness of the embarrassing mouthing along he’s doing to the song, she can’t tell but she finds herself smiling back when he looks at her.
“Nice,” she says. “Who knew the elusive Chat Noir was a fan of boy bands from the 2000s?”
He pauses in his air guitar to grin at her. “Who wasn’t?”
“Fair point.”
“Come on,” he says, tugging at her arms.
“What—” she protests as she lets him pull her to her feet.
“Dance!” he says and when the chorus breaks he’s whisking the two of them across the floor in a truly terrible waltz. Marinette is pretty sure she stepped on Chat Noir’s foot a few times, but he hasn’t said anything about it. She laughs loud and happy and soon he does too. She beats him in a tap-off. He surprises her with her a truly extraordinary display of ballet. Marinette doesn’t forget about her dilemma exactly, but she stops worrying about it so much. By the time they decide it’s too late not to go home there’s something light in her that was heavy that afternoon.
“Thanks, Chat Noir,” she says. She wonders if she could say goodbye to him the way she does her friends. He has more than made it clear that he’s earned a spot in her heart. The moment passes.
He bumps her shoulder with his fist. “You’ll do great, Princess.”
The warmth of his smile follows her home.