"What do you want from me? Why don't you run from me?
What are you wondering? What do you know?"
Bury a Friend - Billie Eilish

She couldn't believe that she has become one of those people that sit in the waiting room, twiddling their thumbs because they can't find something more useful to occupy their time. She glanced around the room, mentally cataloguing unfamiliar faces as she has trained herself to do, taking in the grandeur of the place. The room was huge, with the tall ceilings and large open windows that occupied the majority of the wall, allowing the natural light to enter the room. She supposes that the windows were there to reduce the stress of the office, or maybe anxiousness of the wait; it was not working for her.

The secretary was positioned against the wall that had a clock that read 16:13 on it. She was stationed in between the hallway to enter this floor and the hallway that led to the offices. Her strawberry-blonde hair was twisted into a tight knot on the back of her head, and she wore a tight blouse that was tucked into an even tighter skirt, a thick buckle (which she recognized as the Agreste brand) holding the entire ensemble together. No matter how hard she tried to look professional, she looked out of place in the room. To Alya, it was almost like watching a child wear their mom's high heels. Which was precisely how Alya felt in her get-up.

As if hearing Alya's thoughts, the secretary looked up, her dark brown eyes locking with Alya's hazel ones.

"M. Marseille will see you now." She said curtly, jerking her chin in the direction of the editor-in-chief's office before returning to the computer screen.

Alya got up silently, sending a quiet thanks the secretary's way in hopes of getting in her good graces as she walked to her most dreaded dream. As she walked down the hallway, the room widened. There were several small-spaced desks around the room, most of them occupied by people furiously typing on their desktops. In the opposite corner of the room were a bunch of monochrome-colored couches and scattered into a makeshift circle.

Probably where they meet up to talk about current events that may be cover worthy. Alya's mind supplied helpfully as she made her way to the dreaded destination. Knocking on the glass door, the name M. Marseille written across it in elegant black letters, Alya stood outside the glass-encased office. The blinds inside the office kept her from seeing if he was inside. After a few moments of silence, she finally heard his voice call to let her in.

Stepping inside the office, Alya already felt out of place. Everything around her felt too extravagant and expensive, and she was overcome with the worry that just touching something will make it break. Swallowing her anxiety, Alya closed the door behind her.

"Good morning, Monsieur Marseille. How are you?" It felt like she wasn't even speaking with her own tongue. She never was comfortable with formal settings, but she has to suck it up. She has to nail this and get herself a guaranteed future as a journalist. If she can't get this, she may as well kiss her dreams goodbye and- oh god, she's starting to sound like Marinette with this over dramatic monologue.

"I am well, Mademoiselle Césaire. And you?" The older man greeted.

"I am well." Alya copied. He gestured for her to sit in the chair placed in front of his table. As she did, she took the time to study the man before her. He had to be in his late forties, early fifties, if the gray streaks in his balding dark hair had anything to say about it. He had worn lines across his forehead, signs of a man who has either been through a lot, or constantly frowns. She wasn't sure which one she wanted. He had pictures of a rather handsome young man, most likely his son; however, when she glanced at his left hand there was no ring.

"I am sure you know why I've called you here today, am I correct Mademoiselle Césaire?"

She honestly didn't. She only received a monotone message from the secretary before, informing her that Monsieur Marseille wanted to meet with her at 15:20 today, barely giving her enough time to change into this stuffy get-up and take out all the earrings that weren't considered "professional" (there were a lot). She had to skip the rest of school for this meeting, but she wasn't too concerned about that. Adrien had promised to give her his notes that she missed, which is probably better than anything she would learn in class.

"No, I don't sir."

The man held a pinched look glancing over at Alya and met her eyes for the first time since she arrived. He was silent for a moment before he looked away.

"... I see." He said at last. Mindlessly clicking on his mouse, M. Marseille continued. "We believe that you are a very talented girl, Mademoiselle Cesaire. You run a rather successful blog, I believe it's called the Ladybug?"

She felt her eye twitch at the butchered name.

"The Ladyblog, sir. I've been running it for the past three years."

"Yes," He leaned back in his chair, "The Ladyblog. Very popular with our youth."

Alya was starting to get confused. She had no idea where this meeting was going. He was complimenting her, yet everything about his demeanor said that the news he was going to tell her was not good. Was this his way of letting her down easy?

"Excuse me sir, but did you call me here today to tell me whether or not I got the job?"

"You are a very talented girl, Mademoiselle Cesaire." He repeated. "However, there are many other deserving people who want this job. People that are more... experienced, than you. People who have graduated university, and need this job. We think you would be a great fit for our company, but maybe in a few years time. For now, we need someone who will be a more stable hiring, so unfortunately, we are going to have to tell you no. For now."

The rest of the meeting went by in a blur for Alya. He was trying his best to make it seem like he wasn't rejecting her solely because of her age, but all that Alya really wanted to do was leave the office as fast as she could. She didn't even feel angry, at least not at the moment. She didn't feel anything, in all honesty. She was just, well, there.

She took her chance to escape when the secretary up front called M. Marseille about some journalist's inquiries. She slipped out of the office when he answered the phone, and somehow made her way out of the building. She ignored the look the redhead secretary had given her as she entered the elevator.

Her comment that she made earlier hung heavily over her head. She truly felt like a child wearing her mother's clothes. Alya plucked at the Gabriel Agreste symbol that sat on her breast pocket. She couldn't wear this anymore; she felt like she was suffocating in it. She wanted to cut the clothes up and never see them again. And then she stopped when she was outside.

She couldn't cut the jacket up, she was only borrowing this from Adrien because he had wanted to help her get the job. She had to return it. She only had one question though, as she approached his apartment building.

What was Marinette doing outside the building?

~~~~~

Pressing her finger next to A. Cappelle, Marinette didn't have to wait long as Adrien immediately buzzed her in. The older security guard smiled at her warmly before returning his attention to the show he was watching.

When she entered the elevator, her phone buzzed with an impatient text from Adrien. She couldn't stop the smirk that was curling at her lips. She loved that she had this effect on the kind and usually well-tempered Adrien. Knowing that she can make him unravel at the seams excited her; it excited her to the point where she felt she should be worried.

And when she arrived at his door and he instantly pulled her in for a hungry kiss, well, she wasn't complaining. Nights where Adrien lacked his typical self-control were the most enthralling. She vaguely heard the slam of the door behind her before she was pulled along into the living room. His hands were grabbing at everything that they could, trying to put as little space between them as possible. The thin cardigan that Marinette was wearing started to slide down one of her slim shoulders, revealing the tank top she wore underneath, as well as the navy strap that immediately conjured a picture of what else she was wearing.

He broke away from her lips, letting himself fall backwards onto his couch. If either of them hadn't been so consumed in the other, the would've noticed the small, black blob that darted past them to the kitchen. Bu they were, and Adrien directed all his focus to the creamy shoulder that was exposed, knowing full well how sensitive she was in that area. With Marinette saddled on his lap, Adrien had just managed to latch his hot mouth onto the junction of her neck and shoulder when a loud banging noise came from outside.

The two jumped at the sudden disruption, grasping each other closely as their heartbeats rose in unison.

Marinette slid herself off of his lap as Adrien stood. He briskly walked to the door, glancing back at Marinette as she looked at him. Her cardigan was now fixed, and the pillows that they had knocked over were back in their place on the couch. He almost smiled at how quickly she had managed to make the place look like nothing had been happening, but he was more concerned about the person who had knocked on his door.

He glanced through the peephole at the top of his door and frowned when he realized that no one was there. Opening his door, Adrien looked down the hall to see if he could find the person who had essentially ding-dong ditched him, but he didn't catch the culprit. Just as he was about to close the door, figuring that maybe it was a neighbor's friend knocking at the wrong room, Adrien noticed something that made his blood run cold and his bones chill.

He vaguely registered Marinette's voice calling his name as she came up behind him, placing her delicate hand on his bicep. She stood up on the tips of her toes, using his arm for support as she leaned over his shoulder to see what the problem was.

On the floor in front of them, folded neatly, was a Gabriel Agreste blazer.

"She had to have seen us, Mari- How else would she have gotten in without buzzing up?" Marinette picked up the offending article of clothing as all the blood drained from her face. Adrien glanced around the empty hallway once more before pulling her back inside and securely closing the door, locking it behind him.

Marinette leaned against the console table in the entryway, rubbing her head as Adrien frantically paced back and forth in front of her. They had managed to break their most simple rule.

Rule One: No one can know.

Finally some drama! Am I right?

Let me know what you guys thought!

Until next time, peace!