#mlb manon

 “I’m still bored…” Manon said through gritted teeth, her little arms crossed over. “I wanna take a photo with Marinette!”

 Marinette’s head whipped back around to the photoshoot so quickly that she almost could have broken the sound barrier with the power of her neck alone.

 “Oh no, you two are perfect the way you are!” The photographer grinned with barely restrained agitation. “We don’t need any third parties. Now-a please, little girl, give me a biiiiiig smile…!” He crouched down in preparation with a forced, wide grin that slowly began to crawl down into a frustrated scowl when Manon stared down the camera lens with untamed fury.

 The man’s eyes raised above the camera, his mouth opening to say something, but Adrien held up a finger, silently prompting him to stop. Adrien knelt down behind the little girl.

 “Manon, look, I get it. These photoshoots seem fun at first until you’re standing around for hours on end. But I have a little trick to help lift my spirits; do you want to know what it is?”

 “No. I. Want. Marinette.”

 “It’s a little trade secret, Manon. I can tell you, but if I do, you need to promise not to tell anyone. Do you think you can do that for me?” She looked back at him for a moment before she resumed staring down the camera.

 “FINE.”

 “It’s a three-step process for lifting your spirits and I’ve found it to be quite effective,” he started, and Marinette watched on curiously. There was something familiar about the mischievous lilt his voice had taken up, but she couldn’t quite place her finger on just why it digged at her brain. It was like her memory was picking at a thread, but wouldn’t commit to pulling at it completely. “Step one…” He slowly snaked his hands towards the girl’s sides. “Tickles.” He went in for the kill and Manon’s eyes blew wide before scrunching up as she howled out with laughter, twisting and turning to escape the assault.

 The photographer ducked back down to his camera and returned to work, muttering in joyous Italian as he shifted about to get every angle he could.

 “S-stop!” She giggled. “Sto-o-ooop! Aaagggghhh!” She waved her arms around, but couldn’t quite return fire against the model.

 “Step two: spins!” He grabbed her by the sides and lifted her up as he began spinning on the spot, and Manon flailed about with unrestrained glee, her legs kicking at the air as if she was pedalling some invisible flying machine. 

 “WeeEEEeeeEEEeeee!” she squealed, her voice rising and falling as she spun.

 “You’re flying, Manon!’ Marinette called out, and the girl burst into a fit of giggles as she went around.

 “I’m flying! Yaaaa-hahahaha!!!”

 Eventually, he slowed the spin, but went around a few more times so that the photographer could get in some clearer shots.

 “Step three: stomps!” He hoisted her up onto his shoulders and began shuffling around, jumping and stomping and shifting short and wide distances; anything to jostle her about and make her laugh, and the carefree joy on his face was plain to see; his expression more genuine — more real — than anything Gabriel could force out of him.

 “Yes, yes!” The photographer jumped around with them as he kept taking shots. Marinette had no idea how he could be getting any usable material like this, but he seemed to be happy. “Perfetto! He is the jumpy-castle, little girl! The merry-go-round! If he keeps going you’ll launch into space! Oh no!”

 She giggled and squealed and screamed in her own amusement, and Adrien, too, was full of smiles and laughs, and he’d never looked so pretty in Marinette’s eyes. She felt like she had a backstage pass; not into the shoot, but into the soul of Adrien Agreste.

 Was this who he was, when he didn’t concern himself with meeting other people’s expectations? When he wasn’t trying to appeal for the world’s attention, or satisfy his father’s rigorous standards? When he was just being himself, unapologetically?

 He was goofy, and fun, and sweet, the latter of which was normal for him; ever-inescapably caring and kind. But still, this was so unlike his usual prince charming routine, and yet… it was so fitting for him as well. He was Adrien Agreste: the human being, as opposed to the Gabriel-brand caricature of himself that most of the rest of Paris knew.

 By the time any of these photos hit a sheet of paper, they’d be edited into something perfect and picturesque; the mess and dirt and joy stripped away for something unreal, in an attempt to make him seem more than human; more than a person. Or, perhaps, less than a person. A pretty, porcelain doll, that any advertising campaign or agenda could be painted on top of.

 She could see it now: Adrien holding Manon on high with a joyous expression, his hair edited back into place and the background saturated into something surreal, right below a banner that said some crap like ‘live life to the fullest; live Gabriel’ or some-such.

 The reality of the moment was much more precious. And it was just for them; just for her.

 The photographer said something and Adrien put Manon down. Marinette blinked out of her fixated stupor as the boy approached the photographer, whispering to him conspiratorially as his eyes shifted over to her. Just the fleeting eye contact between them sent butterflies rushing through her stomach.

 The photographer turned to look at Marinette and Alya, before turning back to the boy, who looked up at him hopefully. The man relented, patting the model on the shoulder before turning back to the girls.

 “You two! Yoo-hoo?!” Alya looked up from her phone and the man waved them over. “Group photo! Free of charge!” He looked over to Adrien. “This time,” he said with a smirk, and Adrien shook his head with a smile as he ushered the girls towards him.

 ‘A photo?’ Marinette thought. ‘With… with Adrien?!’

 She slowly ambled towards him, swaying as if in a dream-state until Alya grabbed her arm as she passed and pulled her along.

 “Heck yeah!” the brunette cheered, before leaning into her friend. “Look alive, girl.” They strode up to the blond, who looked to the photographer for directions.

 “Okay, okay, up against the fountain. Adrien, you’re in the middle… uh, little girl, if you could detach yourself from Pigtail’s leg for just a moment…” Marinette hadn’t even realised that she was there. “... that would be good…”

 “Manon… i-it’s only for a m-m-moment… p-please?” Marinette tried, and thankfully, the girl did as she was told for once.

 “Bene, bene…” The photographer took a couple steps back and worked at his camera. “Little one, you stand in front of Adrien, Glasses, you stand to his right… Pigtails, to his left… oookay…” He looked up from the camera for a moment. “Move in a little closer… a liiiitttle closer…” He ducked back down behind the lens. “Not that close! You, Pigtails! Are you friends or are you lovers?!” Marinette squeaked and Adrien gawked, but before she could move, the camera clicked, and Alya burst out into a laugh that she wasn’t prepared to contain.

 “V-Vincent!” Adrien spluttered, red in the face, and the man responded only with the most shit-eating of grins. Marinette, on her part, was frozen in place and an almost impossible deep red. If her transformation ever failed to give her a mask, all she’d have to do is remember this moment, and her face would be disguised the same shade as her suit.

 “Okay, everyone, seriously, gather in and smile! I’m off the clock now! You get one more.” They did as they were told. “Adrien, hands on the little one’s shoulders. Girls… sling an arm around him. Come on, come on, you have a pretty boy right there for you!” Adrien drew a twitchy smile. Manon looked up at them.

 “What’s a ‘lover’?” she asked, all innocence, but Marinette was too caught up in the moment to even process what she’d said, and both Adrien and Alya took the need to smile as an excuse to ignore the question.

 “Vincent…” Adrien seethed through his teeth, his face turning what Marinette could only describe as being a pretty shade; a rose blush that she could only hope to see on him a billion more times before the end. Seeing him at least half as embarrassed as she was made her feel a little less alone in her humiliation, and that feeling steeled her to put an arm around him and lean into his space, even as she desperately fought off the nerves that commanded her to shake and squirm and retreat back into the depths of her bedroom. Alya threw an arm around him much more casually.

 “Smiles!” Vincent commanded, and they each tried their best; Marinette offering something cute and dorky, Adrien, calming into something shy but composed, Manon, something silly and Alya, something downright cheeky.

 The camera snapped, and both Marinette and Adrien exhaled.

 “Alright…” Alya drawled. “Cool it, lovebirds.”

 The lovebirds in question turned to her, mortification written all over their faces, and once again, the camera clicked.

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