#i haven't decided whether they lost touch as ladynoir or if they are 'just friends' but pine hard so you guys can decide

[gentil-minou]

oops i meant to post this earlier but i wanted to introduce adrien and then i got distracted by mari's trauma but enjoy this preview of an as of yet unnamed au

(also i wrote most of this while waiting for 3 buses on the way to work after i somehow missed all of them and also a drawbridge went up but im a full believer of taking your worst days and making them better but yeah there are probs typos and mistakes but im sleepy so dont judge me this is a super rough draft)

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She missed the bus. Again.

Which means she missed the metro. And then the second bus. Which means she's an hour late. Which means she missed her class in entirely and Madame would rather she not come to class at all at this point.

Lateness in fashion means mediocrity, my dears. You might as well not show up at all.

Which is to say she blew it.

Again.

She drops her head in her hands, the cold from the metal bench seeps into her jeans. And of course, she was running late this morning and didn't have time to check the weather, which means her new boots made for fashion and only fashion were also soaked through.

A terrific Monday morning.

As if the gods themselves heard her and took that for a challenge, thunder claps overhead and Marinette looks out to watch the heavens pour out their mockery, raindrops sounding like an audience's applause and laughter. As if she's a joke. Like she's been feeling all along, up against all the talent and brilliant minds of fashion students whose parents could afford expensive on-campus housing.

Marinette releases another groan, the sound reverberating against the glass walls surrounding her. At least this stop has a decent awning, even if the benches are cold.

Well, with the extra time, she might as well continue working on her designs. Pad out her portfolio so that whenever Madame deigned to take a look at her work she might be impressed.

Rain falls harder, as if daring her. She isn't too far from campus now. In fact. The 15 minute walk is wonderful most days, but she forgot her umbrella and in this mess she'd prefer torture.

She glances around, hoping there might be a place to sketch that's warmer and less damp than the limited shelter this stop offers.

Boutiques and restaurants line the street, though most are closed this early. Marinette knaws on her lip, trying to figure out if stray drops and mist might ruin her sketchbook, when she spots a café just slightly behind her stop.

Comme À La Maison.

She never noticed it before. The sign is small, on a door nestled between two boutiques. A single light shines through foggy glass on the door. No other windows. Smaller than a hole in the wall and altogether too sketchy. Typically, she's rushing from the stop to get to campus so never really had the time to look at this area.

Marinette hesitates, hand's on the clasp of her bag. She clenches them, lip worried raw. Is it worth it?

Lightening and another thunderclap make the decision for her. Covering her messenger bag with her pink raincoat, Marinette runs for the door. Desperately hoping it's not closed or a murder den, she wrenches it open-

-into a long hallway, cracks on the walls and a rug that's seen better days. The bell above her chimes, announcing her arrival and it's too late to back down now.

A distant "Welcome!" comes from the doorway at the other end, hidden behind a curtain of beads and just what era is this place from?

Marinette wipes her boots off on the welcome mat below, a design of turtles and waves she's never seen before. The beads concealing the rest of the cafe’s interior are red and black and move back and forth with the breeze from outside. Light bounces off them, twinkling like stars casting shadows of light in and amongst the cracks. Beyond them, she can hear an old radio playing classics, the kind she hears when visiting her grandfather.

When Marinette brushes the curtain aside, she’s surprised to see the cafe’s interior looks more like a converted old apartment than a storefront. Warm lighting and an assortment of fairylights brighten the room considerably, while posters and old artwork line the walls and cover any other cracks. The furniture is well-worn, but appears cared for, with an assortment of couches, pillows, and low tables dot the room.

On the far wall, a series of floor-to-ceiling windows that are more modern than the rest of the place look out into a courtyard. The rain makes it too hard to see, but Marinette can tell that patio furniture has been stacked under an awning for cover.

There’s something about the place, whether it’s the muted atmosphere or the cozy furnishings or something else, that feels familiar. Maybe it’s the scattering of Chinese decorations that remind her of her uncle’s house in Shanghai, but something feels nice and welcoming. Like home.

So focused on her surroundings, that Marinette doesn’t notice an object in her way and she trips, nearly falling flat on her face—

—Only to be caught in the arms of someone with hypnotic, emerald green eyes that catch fairylights and twinkle almost as bright as them.

She’s reminded, just for a second, of Chat Noir, but the thought vanishes just like that.

“Whoa, I’m glad you dropped by, but this isn’t what I had in mind!”

The pun makes her groan reflexively, even as those eyes shine alongside a smile that looked like it belonged on a model.

“I didn’t—” she stutters, removing herself from this stranger’s arms and attempting to wrestle back some sort of control from the blush raging across her face. “It was an accident I tripped on something but, thank you. And sorry.”

He laughs kindly, stepping back away from her back over to a counter crowded with assorted knick-kancks. As he rounds the corner, he winks in a good-humored way and leans over with his chin resting on the palm of his hand.

Marinette huffs. He’s not even that attractive, his hair a mess of blond curls that look like they haven’t dried properly and his close disheveled and stained. A pair of glasses rest hang from the collar of shirt, thought she can see there’s a bit of tap wrapped around one of the corners in leu of a screw.

She approaches the register, trying to maintain some level of dignity as she squints up at the menu. The stranger grins a wide smile, straightening up and leaning forward on his palms toward her patiently waiting for her order. She tries to read his nameplate, but there’s a stain or a smudge or something that makes it hard to make out what’s after “Adr”.

He must see her staring, because the stranger glances down and bemusedly picks at the name tag as he says, “Oh, it says Adrien. My name is Adrien. I haven’t gotten the money to replace it yet but the cat scratched it up a while back.”

The cat? Marinette looks down and sees a slim little black cat twining itself around her legs. She can hear its purrs now, sound like they come from a cat much smaller than the one below. It’s missing an ear, and its tail appears shorter than it should be. Poor little thing.

“I found him,” the boy—Adrien—starts. She glances up to see him rubbing the back of his head, further mussing up his hair. “Outside once, and the owner was nice enough to let him stay here. My apartment doesn’t allow pets, you see, so, guess he belongs to the cafe.” His grin turns shy and sweet as he peers at her from beneath his fringe.

Just like the shop, he seems familiar. But again, she can’t figure out where from.

Anyways I started writing adrinette coffeeshop au with ladynoir best friends (who love each other in secret but timing is the real enemy) but don't know each others identities who wants a super rough draft?