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The first time he noticed her, she was sitting in the second row of stage right in the Orchestra section. She was one of the few people who had arrived early to the Agreste Company’s performance of The Nutcracker, which was interesting in and of itself--every classical dancer performs that ballet sometime in his or her life, so there wasn’t a reason to show much enthusiasm over it.
He had peaked his head out of the curtains to take a good look at the place in the full light--he barely spared a glance at it on the way in to make it to hair and makeup on time--and his mind registered the presence of someone in the empty theater.
She was on her phone, presumably texting, but that was as much attention as Adrien gave her before slipping back behind the velvety curtain to get into costume.
It was a night of firsts for Adrien, as it was also the first time that one of his counterparts injured herself opening night before the show. His childhood friend, Chloé Bourgeois, tripped over a set of gift boxes that were lying around backstage. According to a shrieking Chloé, those were supposed to be on stage already and
whoever purposefully hurt her will hear from the Mayor!
Not only did she twist her ankle, but she also damaged a few of the presents that belonged under the tree. Fortunately, Rose stepped in as her understudy for Clara and the set crew just turned the boxes around to hide the indents from the audience’s view.
He also had trouble with his headpiece that night. The Nutcracker Prince’s moustache fell off the moment Adrien placed the over his head, but Juleka was there with some superglue in one hand and a backup moustache in the other.
Aside from the mishaps beforehand, opening night was a success. Everything ran smoothly from the moment the house lights dimmed to the last blackout. The audience gave a rousing standing ovation when the cast returned for a round of bows, and Adrien couldn’t help but squint up at the box seats to try and make out his father.
When he returned back to the dressing room, there was a small bouquet of flowers resting on his side of the table. The bunch of marigolds was wrapped in a string of twine, and someone wrote his name in an elegant script on the card that accompanied it. Yet the card was not signed with the exception of a ladybug doodle, so he figured that the gesture came from one his fellow dancers. His father would never allow Nathalie to send him something that modest.
The second time he saw her, she was waiting near the backdoor of the theater after the nighttime production of
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
. There was a crowd waiting, mostly family members and close friends of the dancers, and the mass of people stood back to allow the performers to filter through the door. Most of them were there to take pictures and congratulate others, but Adrien lingered in the back of the horde. He knew that nobody would be there to see him, and at that point he just wanted to go home and pass out on his bed.
When he looked around the cramped alley, he recognized the girl standing against the wall of the opposite building. She was trying to locate somebody if her searching eyes were anything to go by. Turning away to head to the spot where his bodyguard picked him up from, he had almost crossed the street before he heard someone calling his name.
Mylène was running up to him, and Adrien didn’t realize that she was holding a bouquet until they were almost face-to-face. She thrust the handful of marigolds at his chest while she caught her breath and wiped the sweat off of her brow.
“I was cleaning the dressing room when I noticed these are for you. They must have fallen off the table and gotten kicked underneath all the stuff on the floor.”
Similar to the ones he received after his last show, rugged twine held the flowers together. Again, there wasn’t a name attached to the card other than his own and a small ladybug sketch. The marigolds looked a little bent out of shape and sullied from the neglect, but a small smile tugged at the corners of Adrien’s mouth anyway.
“Do you know who left them?” He questioned.
The small Set Director shook her head, “You can try asking around though.”
After wishing her a good night, he climbed into the town car that drove up next to him. Without even saying a word of greeting, his bodyguard waited until the boy closed the door and buckled in. The ride to back to the estate was silent as usual, but Adrien couldn’t help but clutch the flowers in his lap and look out the window as he passed by the streets of Paris.
It turned out that nobody had seen anything out of the ordinary when Adrien asked people a few days later at practice. He talked to every individual that would have access to the dressing room and backstage, but he still ended up answerless. He mentally crossed off a few more names off the list when he was taking a barre class, and he came to the conclusion that the marigolds had to be from an outside source.
The third time he saw her, she was sitting front and center when he took the stage as Franz in
Coppélia
. He usually blocked out the first row, the only one visible under the lights, in order to stay focused, but he couldn’t help it when his eyes flew over the patrons in the seats. Bright blue eyes met his green ones for a fleeting second, but that was all it took for him to keep glancing at her throughout the length of the ballet.
The marigolds were in the dressing room afterward, right where they always were. From then on, Adrien started to notice a pattern in the girl’s appearances and those of the marigolds.
In every production he starred in, the mysterious girl sat at the front and almost always in the same seat. She never looked bored when watching, and her enthusiasm when she clapped was unwavering.
The marigolds were in their same spot after every show, and they never ceased to put a smile on the dancer’s face.
Soon other ballerinas caught wind of the mysterious appearances of the marigolds, and they would tease their friend about it. Everybody seemed to be interested in uncovering the person responsible, everybody but a certain blonde, but the intrigue surrounding the flowers heightened with every show.
Even Nino would ask Adrien about it when they hung out together after his practices.
“Dude, you should like, plant a secret camera in there or something.”
“It’s a dressing room, so that would be illegal.”
Nino threw his hands up in exasperation. “Well someone should stand in front of the door to monitor it.”
Adrien sighed, “Everyone is too busy doing their own job. I can’t ask anyone to do that.”
“If only you weren’t in every show. I bet she wouldn’t turn up.”
It seemed that Nino got his wish, but it wasn’t planned on purpose. At one point in the season, Adrien had to take a leave of absence for a modelling gig in Barcelona. As a result, he had to skip out on
Carmen
, but Nino said he was going to watch it with his girlfriend. It seemed that Alya had some friends at the Agreste Company, so they went on a date the night it premiered. Nino told Adrien that he would let him know if a girl matching the description he gave him would turn up, and if the flowers made an appearance from some investigating by Alya.
As suspected the girl was absent from the ballet, much like the marigolds that frequented his room.
From then on, Adrien was hyper aware of the girl’s presence. She attended every ballet that Adrien danced in, in the same seat at the very front. She became known as “Ladybug” in his mind, a pseudonym that stemmed from doodles of the very insect on the cards. Even though it was possible that she knew that Adrien suspected her identity, she never made the move to talk or confront him.
By the end of the season, he began to wonder if she would introduce herself at all.
With each passing practice and dress rehearsal for
Romeo and Juliet
, Adrien thought of bridging the gap by going up to her first. Yet he didn’t know where to find her after the show or if he could even catch her in time. Besides, he thought, her anonymity must have been for a reason.
After the last closing of the curtain, Adrien went straight to his dressing room. On the way, he passed by Max, one of the crew technicians, asking if anybody wanted to grab gelato to celebrate their accomplishments. The ballerina heard a fleeting round of cheers before entering the dressing room and shutting the door behind him.
The distinct lack of marigolds in the vicinity made Adrien deflate. He couldn’t distinguish whether or not it was out of relief or disappointment; he either beat the girl to the room first, or she wasn’t planning on showing up.
Of course he noticed her presence the second he walked onstage in his ridiculous blue tights and billowing white top. Her eyes zeroed in on him in a way that made him feel secure and confident, and his final performance felt all the more meaningful knowing that this would be the last time she would see him on stage in a while.
Yet doubts swirled through his mind, and the longer he stood there the more his faith weaned. It couldn’t have been more than ten seconds before he heard the door behind him open. Frantically, he spun around.
The girl had already entered the room, but she was so focused on slipping through without detection and as quietly as possible that she didn’t realize the boy standing further inside. The moment she turned around, the girl yelped and pressed herself against the closed door.
Adrien’s gaze flickered to the marigolds clutched in her hand like a baseball bat, and his eyes danced with mirth at her attempt to use the flowers as a weapon.
It was silent for a beat. Then a flush crept up the girl’s neck, but rather than shrinking under his stare she squared her shoulders and held out the marigolds to him.
Without a word, his hand slowly reached out to take them from her. Their fingers touched for the briefest of seconds, but it was enough for a spark to shoot down his entire arm.
Before he even knew what was happening, the girl was already turning away to leave. Panic shot through him.
“Wait!”
She paused, her back tensing and her hand on the doorknob.
Suddenly, everything that Adrien dreamed of telling her flew out the window. His mind was blank as he struggled to form a coherent sentence, anything to stop her from leaving.
He took a deep breath, “I’m glad to have you as one of my fans.”
That was the one thing Adrien
didn’t
want to say, but now his statement was out in the open. He mentally chastised himself for ruining the moment and opened his mouth to apologize when she returned the sentiment with a small smile.
“This is probably really weird of you,” her eyes widened, “I mean
to
you, but you’re such an amazing ballerina and I admire you.” Mouth opening in surprise, she jumped up and waved her hands, “I mean I admire your dancing!”
They both looked away, the girl blushing and Adrien with a hand on the back of his neck. He didn’t know what to say now that she was finally here, so he settled on his concerns from earlier.
“Thank you for everything. These marigolds always made my night, and I was worried I’d never find out who Ladybug was.”
She giggled and clasped her hands behind her back, “Ladybug?”
“I really wasn’t given much to go off of,” He answered not unkindly.
She scrunched up her face, “Yeah,” she paused. “You have no idea how much I wanted to give those flowers to you myself, but,” her eyes zeroed in on a point behind his shoulder, “I was so nervous to talk to you. If I’m being honest, the more you performed the less I wanted to reveal my identity.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re this renowned ballerina with an honored family legacy, and I’m just me.” She gestured to herself before turning a pretty shade of pink.
His heart clenched at her forlorn expression. “I’ve never had anyone support me in this way, not even my own father,” he said with a shake of his head and a downturned mouth. “I’ve never known such kindness, and you’re everything I’d hoped you’d be.” It was his turn to turn pink.
Her eyes sparkled from his admission. From lack of better words to say she stuck out her hand, “I’m Marinette by the way.”
“It’s nice to meet you Marinette.”
They shook hands, and the same spark from before made his grip falter. When he snatched his hand back, it seemed that she was not unaffected either.
“If you want,” he began, “do you want to get out of here? Maybe walk around the Seine for a bit?”
Incredulous, she gaped at him. “With me?”
“Of course.” He looked down at his attire. “Maybe once I change?”
Speechless, all Marinette could do was nod her head.
He reached around her body to open the door for her, but before that he caught a whiff of her scent--something similar to cinnamon and warm pastries--and he swore he imagined the hitch of her breath.
When she stepped out of the doorframe, Adrien couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “I’ll be right out.”
Marinette grinned, “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”