"the moth's apprentice" chat noir x y/n

My Wits End

Two people, intertwined, in the same bed, and as far as I was concerned, they weren't wearing any clothes. My cheeks burned so intensely I might've just lit myself on fire at that point and burned into smithereens to save myself from further embarrassment. I turned away, stuttering some kind of apology, when the girl sat up, bed covers in front of her chest.

She didn't look angry, just mildly confused and put on the spot like a deer in headlights. The boy next to her was hiding under a tuft of blonde hair, but he rolled out of bed when he saw me. I was relieved to see that he was indeed wearing pants just no shirt.

"Shit." her blue eyes were wide. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Her name registered in my head, and I was halfway down the trapdoor when she called out again. "Wait -- come back. Just let me get dressed."

I didn't want to, and honestly, it would've been two more steps and a mad dash to the door to avoid any of this. Instead, I nodded silently, averting my eyes until the coast was clear. When I looked back, she'd tied her hair in two neat ponytails and had slid on a pair of pyjamas.

Marinette was pretty, I guessed. She was built like a gymnast, kind of strong but slight. She sat on the edge of the bed, compulsively smoothing the covers while the boy I assumed was her boyfriend pulled on a shirt. He gave me a sheepish half grin as he went to the window, pulling up the sash, and sliding out onto the roof.

"I'm uh, really sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," my words spiraled like vomit. "I just moved here, um, I'm Y/N, and your mom -- she said I could just come up and meet you. But honestly, I can just, uh, come back another time."

Marinette cleared her throat. "Listen, I'm sorry about that. It's really good to meet you, Y/N." she looked a little closer. "do I know you from somewhere? You look kinda familiar. Maybe we've met before?"

I shook my head. "I've never been to Paris."

"Where's your accent from?"

"Canada," I answered, then, before I could stop myself-- "--was that your boyfriend?"

Marinette sighed. "No. Not yet, at least.  His name's Adrien. He's kind of a big deal around here."

Of course he was. I knew the type. Washed up, rich white boy, living off of Daddy's money and hooking up with whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Marinette appeared to be head over heels for him, but he was obviously a douche. Who would ever date him? I considered telling her that, but it wasn't my place to meddle in her personal relationships. It's not like we were best friends or anything.

"Oh. Is he famous?"

"Yeah," Marinette's eyes glazed over and she smiled in a faraway fashion. "He's a model. You might've seen his perfume commercial. His Dad is Gabriel Agreste, this like, big fashion designer. He says Paris is his muse, but everyone knows he designs based off of his wife. She died, a while back. But there's been rumors. Apparently, not too long after she died, her body went missing. Some people think that they buried an empty casket."

Whoa. I was getting all the town secrets and I'd been here for what, two hours? I could tell Marinette wanted to say more but I cut her off, not wanting any sort of knowledge that would lead to involvement."

"I've never heard of him," I admitted, thinking about all the possible ways I could leave this awkward situation. "I guess we're going to the same school tomorrow."

"Yeah," Marinette said excitedly, as if she hadn't just told me about some fashion designer's missing dead wife. "I'll drive you, since you're just across the street."

"Oh that's not--"

"It's not a problem," Marinette waved her hand, as if to whack a fly. She seemed to be very high energy. "But, anyways, I should do some homework. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Sure," I sighed. "Yeah. And sorry again for interrupting you and your future boyfriend."

Marinette laughed. "Don't worry about it."

I retreated down the stairs, finding it very hard to keep everything straight in my head. In the past fifteen minutes, I'd walked into Marinette -- my new best friend I supposed -- sleeping with the son of some eccentric fashion designer. It was just too much. I was at my wits end.

I waved goodbye to Mrs. Dupain-Cheng and her husband, who smiled warmly at me. Obviously they had no idea about Adrien Agreste. 

The streets were crowded with people when I went outside, and I hadn't made it halfway across the road to my place, when a masked figure in a black cat suit crashed into me.