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giuliafc · 3 years

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Stuck in a Cabin (with you) chapter 3

Read on Ao3 || FFN || Wattpad (link to chapter 1)

Summary: Summoned to save his Lady's life, Adrien gets stuck with her in a cabin during a blizzard. Identities get revealed, feelings come out...but who's been plotting to kill Marinette? Will the culprit be punished? Read to find the answer :) (Adrienette)

Read previous chapter here on Tumblr

Written by: JuliaFC

Betas: Khanofallorcs, Agrestebug, Etoile-Lead-Sama and genxha. Thank you all so much!

Cover Art credit: Rosehealer02 on Deviantart

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by (c) Thomas Astruc, TS1 Bouygues, Disney Channel, Zagtoon, Toei Animation. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter 3 — Prince Chat-ming

“WHERE IS SHE, TIKKI?” cried Chat Noir when they reached the lake. The place was silent and not even the sound of the cars in the distance seemed to come to his ear, probably muffled by the billowing wind and the snow that had already wrapped the whole park in its white canopy. If he hadn’t been this terrified, the view would have been breathtaking. But the adrenaline rush running through his body kept his concentration on the task. His eyes darted around, looking for the signs he had seen the evening before when he had come here after the first half of the photoshoot. But he couldn’t find any, they were all vanished in thin air.

A really bad feeling started growing in his gut. This looked like a set up!

“I don’t know…” admitted the kwami, breaking his thread of thought. “I had gotten a couple of landmarks but the new snow must have covered them.” She zoomed away and started zipping around the whole length of the lake, appearing to be always more reckless and anxious. She zipped at the centre of the lake mostly, then she went on the other side, then back there again. Until she erupted in a scream.

“Here, Chat Noir, here!” She pointed at where she wanted him to be.

He ran as fast as he could, while he picked up the blue slice of cheese and put it into his mouth shouting, “POWER UP!” he barely managed to transform into his aqua form before diving into the water. For a second he literally turned into ice. God, it was bloody freezing! The water seemed to be stabbing his skin everywhere even if he was wearing his suit. But he forced himself to get used to the temperature and to the dim light quickly, and his gaze started darting in the water trying to find his Lady.

And that’s when he saw her. His heart stopped.

‘No. It can’t be. It can’t be her. No, no, no, no, no… that’s impossible!’

“MARINETTE!!” he screamed, as he swam towards the motionless form and grabbed her with one hand in a manic frenzy, using his enhanced swimming capabilities to get to the surface quickly. It didn’t seem to work, his limbs were too cold and the water felt almost thick against his arm. Shoot. He looked at Marinette’s face and his heart skipped a beat.

His very good friend Marinette. The one whose smile always lit up his day. His everyday Ladybug. The cute, shy, awesome girl who was also one of the strongest people he knew and had been able to stand up to his dad when they had gone to New York. Creative, sweet, determined Marinette. She was his Lady. How did she manage to trick him that well? He clearly remembered having suspected her, but having changed his mind when Kwamibuster attacked because he saw her next to Ladybug! Did she use the Fox Miraculous? She was too clever for her own good.

‘FOCUS! Don’t think about it. Save her now. Freak out later!’

Suddenly, he thought back to the time they faced Evillustrator, when Marinette had shown him how to use his own baton. His lips curled into a small smile. Of course. He picked up his baton from the small of his back and extended it, while holding it tight. The baton reached the bottom of the lake and then started propelling them up and up, until they were out of the water. He waited until it reached a long enough length to have a panoramic view of the lake, and then used the baton to make himself and his Lady fall to the snow-covered grass on the shore. His eyes were full of tears as he held Marinette bridal style to his chest, his heart pounding inside his throat. Was he too late? She was so pale! And cold!

“S-SHE’S N-NOT B-B-BREAT-T-HING!” he said with his teeth chattering, in utter panic, as his ear pushed on her chest to see if she had a heartbeat. A new layer of snow was starting to dust her figure and her hair was already almost covered.

“She must have started to drown, Chat Noir! You need to help her breathe.”

Chat Noir tried to think, although the shivers running through his body and the chattering of his own teeth were so distracting. “I-I n-need t-to… C-P-R…” he managed to say, but then he hesitated.

“What are you waiting for, Chat Noir? Please help her!” begged Tikki. “I can’t do it.”

Although the cold was still biting at him like a rabid dog and he felt his hands slowly turning into ice, he couldn’t help blushing as he nodded warily at Tikki’s plea. Luckily, his father had demanded that he take a first aid course when he had started modeling, as part of the health and safety regulations of the Gabriel brand, and there he had been explained what to do when performing CPR. He knew he had to do it, or she would die.

But it still felt so much like a kiss.

‘Focus, Adrien. She’s dying!’ he thought and gave himself a firm slap in the face to shake himself up. With a determined frown, he moved her head up by pushing on her chin, to give her more room to breathe. Then he put his hands on her chest as he had been shown in the course and started compressing (why had that been such a long time ago? Shouldn’t he have gotten refreshers from time to time, he wondered), trying to remember what to do and how long to count.

Thirty compressions.

Then he gulped and with a firm movement, he opened her mouth and started blowing air into it.

One. two.

Repeat. Chest.

Thirty compressions.

Repeat. Mouth.

One. two.

Repeat. Chest.

Thirty compressions.

Repeat. Mouth.

One. two.

His heart was racing madly in his chest, hoping that he was doing it correctly, as he remembered from the course that if it was performed the wrong way it could have been even more detrimental.

‘Please, Marinette. Please breathe! Breathe for me!’

Hands on her chest. Thirty compressions.

Air in her mouth. One. T—

Marinette started coughing and a massive sigh of relief filled his lungs. He suddenly remembered something that his instructor had said and refrained from hugging her, paying attention to move her a little on the side so she wouldn’t choke again on the water coming out of her mouth. The sound of her laborious breaths was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. Now that she had breathed a little, he dared picking her head up and gave her a hug, tears flowing down his eyes on his cheeks, almost getting frozen mid way.

“I need to take her to the hospital,” he announced, picking her up bridal style. She had fallen unconscious again.

“She needs to be warmed up, Chat Noir, and quickly. Do you know where the closest hospital is?” asked Tikki, zipping in front of him and floating on his nose.

He sighed. “No idea. But,” he picked up his baton from the ground, “we can easily check.” He turned on his communicator and saw yet another news alert. He opened it up and saw Nadja Chamack already talking. “—ed. I highlight: Code Red. Stay in. Stay safe. More accidents have been reported on the road. The queue at the local hospitals has increased to three to four hours just to be registered, and even longer to be seen. If you don’t need to go out, sta—” The screen of his baton flickered and turned black. Chat Noir blinked and gave it a shake, trying to get the screen to turn on again.

“What’s going on?” he said to himself, not really expecting an answer.

“Either your phone has died in the cabin or there’s a loss of GPS signal so big that the baton cannot function properly,” said Tikki.

“Shoot!” cursed Chat Noir under his breath. “My phone was nearly dead earlier. What do I do now?”

Tikki sighed. “You heard Madame Chamack. Marinette doesn’t have three to four hours to wait, she needs to be looked after now.”

“Usually, emergencies are dealt with much faster,” argued Chat.

“Can you take that chance?” Tikki looked at him with utter concern in her big blue eyes. Chat Noir lowered his gaze.

“No,” he said in defeat. Then he looked at Tikki again. “I’ll look after her. The cabin should have some blankets, and it’s much warmer than outside.” He saw the wee Goddess of Creation finally curl her lips into a smile and he held Marinette more safely in his arms, bridal style.

“S-so c-cold—” muttered Marinette in his arms, shivering like a leaf. That was the final incentive. Chat Noir grabbed his baton and used it to propel himself forward, trying to reach the cabin as quickly as possible.

oOoOoOoOoOo

“Claws in,” said Adrien as he placed Marinette carefully on the small sofa in the cabin. He made to look for a blanket into the cabinet near the heating system, but as he was walking towards it, Plagg zoomed in front of his face.

“CHEESE!” he demanded.

Adrien raised an eyebrow. “You’ve eaten it all earlier, Plagg. How big is your stomach exactly?”

“You have no idea!” whined the wee black furball, but Adrien didn’t give him any more attention. He opened the press and started rummaging for a blanket, which he found almost immediately. He walked straight back to Marinette and made to wrap her under the blanket.

“That won’t be enough, Adrien,” said Tikki, flying in front of him and stopping him. “You will only make the blanket wet.”

“What do you mean? She’s cold, she needs to be covered up.”

Tikki kept her tiny body between the blanket and Marinette. “You need to take her clothes off. She can’t warm up wearing freezing wet clothes.”

“WHAT?” Adrien's face flushed the color of Ladybug’s suit. “Tikki, I-I c-can’t undress her!”

Tikki gave him a scrutinous look and frowned. “Why? You have two perfectly functional arms and hands. You can certainly take her clothes off.”

“I-I’M A BOY!”

“And she’s a girl who could die of hypothermia!” Plagg appeared munching a crumb of cheese he must have found somewhere in the room, and floated next to Tikki, giving him an amused stare. He folded his tiny paws on his chest and added scornfully, “Who cares if you’re a boy, a girl or even a dog?”

“B-B-B-B-U-T…” Adrien started breathing heavily. “She’s going to kill me!”

“I don’t think so,” said Tikki and Plagg continued, “You need to do it or she will die. I’m sure she will be grateful, gamin.”

“C-cold…” muttered Marinette from the couch. He dashed to her to check if she had woken up — but no, she was still unconscious, probably talking in her sleep. God, she was so pale, she was still shivering badly, her teeth were a constant chattering and her lips were blue. He touched her hands, and they were pieces of ice.

He took a big breath. “O-okay,” he said and started taking her coat off, and then her black blazer, and put everything on the ground next to the small sofa. When she was left in her bra and underwear, he gulped and hesitated.

“Would this be enough?” he asked, looking at his two small companions with a fearful frown. To keep himself occupied he started drying her skin with a dry towel. She was still shivering.

“Would you like to sleep with freezing wet underwear on?” asked Plagg in response.

No, he wouldn’t. But… he couldn’t possibly justify. No, he couldn’t. He ran a hand through his hair and thought carefully of the situation, scratching firmly the nape of his neck. He tried to gain some time by picking a towel and starting to dry her hair. He suddenly realised that she was still having her hair combed into her pigtails, so he put the towel down to take off the elastic bands that held them together.

Shoot. He’d never thought that it would be that hard to detangle elastic bands from wet hair. He felt her wincing as he gave the elastic a firm push and took it off. Quite a few strands of hair came off with it—he felt terrible, but he picked up the towel and carried on drying her hair for a few moments, trying to take away most of the wetness.

He still had the other problem, the wet underwear, which he didn’t want to remove. At least not without her being covered. Wait, that’s it! His face brightened and his lips curled in a triumphant smile, as he’d just had an idea and it could really work. He picked up the blanket and placed it on the now soaking wet leather sofa. Then he quickly dashed to the cabinet and got another blanket, which he wrapped around Marinette’s body. Good, now that she was covered, he breathed easier. He moved her towards him and put his hands inside the blanket, starting to fiddle with the little hooks on her bra. Finally, after some effort he managed to open it up and take it off, with some struggle (he was trying to prevent the blanket from falling off as he did so). Then, he picked up a smaller towel and passed it blindly on her wet skin to dry it, making sure that he wasn’t touching anything inappropriate with his bare hands. But as he proceeded to move to the other piece of lingerie that was left on her, he stared at his hands, literally shaking.

“Told you he was useless, Sugarcube,” muttered Plagg from somewhere behind him, his voice full of mockery and mischief. Adrien turned his head to glare at this little friend.

“I’m not,” he argued.

“You are,” argued back Plagg. “Take that piece of fabric off already. You covered her, right? You won’t see anything.”

Adrien sucked his breath in. His heart was in his throat right now. He moved his hands underneath the blanket and had to run them on her body trying to find the border of her knickers. Oh God, she was so cold! When he found the underwear, he pulled it off, let it fall on the floor on top of the other clothes and gave even that part a blind and very quick drying.

When he let even the towel slip on the floor, he breathed better, his head resting against the blanket that wrapped Marinette. Thank God, that bit was done. He thought he was going to die! He carefully let go of Marinette and placed her on top of the blanket he had wrapped on the sofa.

“Good, about time,” muttered Plagg. Again, the wee black furball zipped in front of his nose and looked at him, a gleam of mockery shining through his electric green eyes. “Now it’s your turn.”

Adrien gave Plagg the most confused look ever. “Huh?”

“Adrien,” said Tikki moving next to Plagg, as her little paw touched Adrien’s cheek. “Marinette needs body heat. You need to undress and get under that blanket with her, and hug her until she warms up.”

His heart stopped. “I NEED TO DO WHAT?” he squealed, his eyes as big as saucers as he looked at Tikki in pure and utter terror. "She's naked, Tikki!"

“Come on, you’ve always wanted to do this. Take your clothes off and cuddle her already!” Plagg snorted.

Tikki blinked and then rolled her eyes. “Stinkysock! You’ve got no tact, at all.”

“It's not a question of tact. I know him, Sugarcube. If we let him take his time, Pigtails is going to freeze to death.” Plagg snorted again. “Gamin, come on. Man up and do your job. You want to protect her, right?”

“Adrien, please. The longer you wait the worse Marinette will get. Do it for me. Or for h—”

“—or for whomever. As long as you do it. Her lips are getting bluer than Duusu.”

Adrien gave them a pleading look. Then he gulped, looked at Marinette’s blue lips, shivering limbs and pale complexion and gave them another pleading look.

“Please, Adrien, we would do it ourselves if we could, but we’re too small!”

Adrien whimpered, but his hands started working their way to his coat. He took his coat off and his skin was greeted with the cold temperature of the cabin. God, it was freezing! Did the heater even work? He hadn’t turned it off before getting out of the cabin, it had been on all day! He proceeded to take off his overshirt, and then his black t-shirt. He shivered.

“Ugh!” he muttered and folded his arms around his chest, trying to warm up. The heater was at full heat, he noted, but the cabin was still freezing.

“Come on!” ordered Plagg. Adrien glared at him, but stood up and took his jeans off. Uh, bloody hell, he had goosebumps!

“What are you waiting for, Christmas?” asked Plagg when Adrien had been left with only his boxers to cover him. Adrien forced himself to get out of his self-induced panic and slipped into the blanket, shaky hands reaching the body of the girl of his dreams and pulling her close.

She. Was. A. Piece. Of. Ice! Oh God!!

He gasped so loudly that Tikki flew near him and looked at him with a frown.

“Are you okay?” she asked worriedly.

“Just being spineless,” spurted Plagg mockingly, gaining another glare from his chosen.

“She’s so cold!” whimpered Adrien, but forced himself to embrace her firmly with his arms and squeezed her against his chest. He wrapped his body around her, trying to keep contact with as much of her skin as possible. His hands started rubbing her back and arms, trying to create heat from friction.

Slowly, very slowly, so slowly that for a while he thought that Tikki and Plagg had been mistaken and he really should have taken her to the hospital, Marinette began warming up. As she warmed up, the rigidity in her limbs faded and without waking up, she started hugging him back.

When he realised that Marinette was finally warm and out of danger of hypothermia, Adrien detangled himself from her hold and let himself fall off the front of the sofa.

“Are you hurt?” asked Plagg, looking at him with no real concern from the cushion he had placed himself.

“No,” answered Adrien, “Marinette isn’t frozen anymore. I want to find some clothes to change her into. You know, to prevent her from killing me when she wakes up.” He shivered as the freezing cold of the cabin hit his bare skin, but he proceeded towards the wardrobe.

Plagg sighed and shook his head. “I told you way too many times that you worry too much, gamin. Sleep and when she wakes up she can dress herself!”

“At least a t-shirt, come on…” muttered Adrien chattering his teeth. He rummaged among the spare photoshoot clothes that were left in the cabin — sometimes a t-shirt or a pair of trousers didn’t fit the ensemble and had to be changed. There was no lingerie (and if there had been, Adrien wouldn’t even have touched it. Ew!), but after a quick scan, he finally emerged from the pile holding an XXL t-shirt that he would easily be able to put on Marinette. It was so oversized that he was sure it would cover enough of her minute figure to make it safe. It wasn’t really nice to look at, but it was something.

He approached Marinette and lifted her head softly to put the neck hole of the t-shirt on. Then he proceeded to put one of her arms in the arm hole, and as he was doing that he noticed that Marinette had opened her eyes. Blood drained from his face.

“Mhhhhh,” she murmured, and drifted off back to sleep instantly. Adrien breathed a sigh of relief. He finished to fit her arm on the t-shirt and then moved her slightly to put on her other arm, making sure that the blanket was covering Marinette’s chest. When the t-shirt was on, he pulled it down and admired his work. Yes, it was reasonably okay, the t-shirt was covering her enough.Of course she was still naked underneath it, but at least it was one layer to separate her from… him. With one firm movement, he buried himself again underneath the blanket, and as if she’d been there waiting for it, Marinette wrapped herself around him again subconsciously.

Soon after that, Adrien’s adrenaline rush dissipated. Marinette was finally warm and soft against his body and the smell of coconut and wildflower coming from her hair hit his nostrils. Her regular breathing was tickling the crook of his neck, and he found himself gently stroking her hair, the only part of her body that was still a bit damp, and cold. Her hug had grown stronger as her temperature raised, and now she was holding him tightly.

It was becoming always more difficult for him to keep his eyes open. He hadn’t thought about it as he panicked trying to rescue her, but the run and the manic CPR session, had really taken a toll on him, even if he’d been transformed. Add to that the long day in school and the even longer afternoon posing for the photoshoot—Adrien was exhausted. He placed a light kiss on her forehead.

“Mhhhhh, me and you against the world, mon Chaton,” she murmured in his ear.

His heart started racing as a smile curled his lips. He grabbed one of her hands, tugged around his waist, and placed a kiss on her knuckles.

“Always, My Lady,” he whispered before drifting off to sleep.

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Author’s Note:

Hi again! Here’s chapter 3. Marinette is safe. Adrien… hum… don’t know about that XD

In the next instalment of “Stuck in a cabin (with you)”, “Trapped”:

— “What can be more urgent than the ceiling risking to fall on our head?”

— “Look at me, I’m the IMAGE of calm.”

— “Well, this gentlecat deserved a reward, right?”

So… I hope that you enjoyed the fluff at the end of the chapter. This isn’t the end, though. Let me know what you thought about it and drop me a comment! I will continue soon :) can’t promise I will publish every week, but let me know what you think and I’ll publish as soon as I can. Please subscribe if you’re interested in knowing what is going to happen, so you will know when the next update is!

And please check out my other WIPs, “When Magic Fails”, “Caught in the Loop”, “Errata Corrige” and “La Caverne du Papillon d’Or”!

Last but not least, as usual, if you read this and you’re not part of our wonderful Discord server already, but you enjoy reading, writing and talking about Miraculous, please join our Discord server, Miraculous Fanworks (for people on FFN, discord dot gg slash mlfanworks). See you there soon. Not sure when I will update this story but it won't be too long! Promise!

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thelioncourts · 4 years

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title: the mannequin gallery fandom: captive prince pairing: damen/laurent rating: mature words: 5228 for chapter five (5/?); 30021 all together

“You’re going to put a hole in the floor of the car if you keep that up,” Damen said.

Nik was angled to face the left passenger side window and his right foot was the culprit of Damen’s warning; it hadn’t stopped tapping repeatedly and loudly since Nik had slid into his seat. Jord, who was driving them again, didn’t seem bothered by it, but Damen was bothered. The sound was distracting and made it hard to think.

“You need to relax,” Damen tried again. He got a grunt in response this time.

Luckily for Damen’s patience, it wasn’t a long drive to Etoile’s headquarters. The unlucky one because of that was Nik who simply didn’t have enough time to compose his nerves. In fact, the only lucky thing for him was that he also didn’t have enough time to worry himself to death. The car was being parked before Damen could find the words for another failed attempt at comfort or reassurance.

Damen was out of the car first and he watched Jord exit with mild interest. Would Jord have anything to say about this meeting if they asked? What had the previous years been like? Who came up with this system in the first place? Did the owner simply want to better the lives of unknown photographers or was it an idea proposed to him by somebody else? In hindsight, Damen thought as he took in the extravagance of Etoile once again, these were questions they should have asked long ago. And now, as Nik finally found his legs and climbed out of the car, there wasn’t time. Jord led them in.

Nik seemed composed enough as they strolled through the front doors. Anyone looking at him from the outside wouldn’t have guessed how he had just been in the car. But, looking down, Damen could see the grooves in Nik’s palm from where he had dug his own fingernails into the skin. The grooves were so deep that they stayed a stark white the entire time they walked toward the elevator.

They were both dressed much nicer for this meeting than they had been for their last one. For them, that meant they weren’t repping all athletic-wear upon entrance to one of the largest modeling and fashion agencies in the world. Jord, still leading them, seemed to have been right that first day though because no one gave them any more or less attention walking in dressed in button-up shirts than they had when the two had been donned in bright orange sweatshirts.

[Continue on AO3]

Once at the elevator, Jord abandoned them with notsomuch as a ‘good luck’ or ‘goodbye’ and they were off and up to the top floor. There was no petulant child awaiting them and, now knowing the way, it was easy to turn and sit in the available chairs nearest the office. There was an actual assistant at the desk this time and he looked up at them before glancing nonchalantly at a calendar. That must have confirmed who they were because he asked no questions and never once looked at them, not until they had been sitting for ten minutes. Then he said, “You can go in now.”

In the hours before leaving the hotel, Damen had asked Nik if he had found it odd that the man who owns all of this hadn’t been to a single minute of the sessions. Nik hadn’t seemed bothered, though he probably had had other more pressing things on his mind, and had cited all of the close right-hand people — especially those like Charls and Vannes and Herode — who had been there for nearly all of the three sessions. It had been easy to shrug off, at least for Damen. After all, he didn’t know anything about this business. But seeing the man behind the desk for the first time in five days, and for only the second time since their arrival in Paris, was jarring.

Damen noticed different things about the man this time than he had before. Sure, he still noticed the fineness of the man’s clothes and the air in which he held himself, but given the newer context of him being Laurent’s uncle, Damen noticed all the ways in which the two differed. Laurent, whose beauty had been startling, was nothing like the man sitting in front of Damen and Nik. Where Laurent was soft, his uncle was rough; where Laurent was sharp, his uncle was firm; where Laurent was head-turning, his uncle was refined; where Laurent was callous, his uncle was open; where Laurent’s words were rude, his uncle’s were welcoming. Had Damen not been told about Laurent’s familial advantage in the industry, he would have never made such a connection. It seemed impossible.

There wasn’t time to linger on thoughts of Laurent though. The sight in front of them was dazzling. All of Nik’s photographs from the three days of sessions were arranged out on the desk in piles, each pile dedicated to a different subject on a different day. Damen was blinded by golds and reds and more golds glittering from the shiny photography prints.

“There’s not much of a preface I can make here,” Laurent’s uncle began, his smile affable. “I’ve been informed by all three of my designers individually that I simply must hire you on for our upcoming event. None of them will take no for an answer and, with praise that high, I would be a fool to not listen.”

Silently, Damen had to commend Nik’s continued control. Though his eyes widened, nothing else about him gave away his surprise or relief at the man’s words. Instead, after a beat, then two, Nik breathed out a “Thank you,” before clearing his throat and following it with, “I would be honored. Truly. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. Your talent speaks volumes in support of my designer’s words. You will be a most excellent addition to our team.”

He was fiddling with one of the photos, a group one from the first day. Nik had captured it as large cumulus clouds had covered the sun and changed the lighting in the room for only but a minute. In the photo, gold shimmered off of each individual like they were the newly discovered pieces from the inside of a treasure chest. But it was Laurent who had remained in the light and he shone brightest of all, like a crown of jewels amongst lesser coins.

Nik didn’t know what to say and neither did Damen. The silence spoke for them and Laurent’s uncle, for his part, seemed content to let them absorb the news. Then, after an indiscernable about of time, he huffed out a quick laugh and asked, “Is this really so surprising?”

“I mean,” Nik started, doing his very best to ignore Damen’s excited gaze, “yes.”

“Well, it would be wise to not be too surprised. Because your life is about to get very busy leading up into the big show.”

“What can I expect out of the next few weeks?” Nik asked. He seemed to have found his voice, but his eyes were caught on some of his own photos, an expression of almost disbelief that those were his creations out on the table. “The show’s not for another two weeks.”

“This next week won’t have much for you to worry about. There will be a lunch on Friday that will, no doubt, last a few hours, but besides that singular event, this upcoming week is free for you to do as you please. I will give you a map of the city with several important locations to Etoile marked on it should you wish to familiarize yourself with them. The real work, however, begins Monday morning of the following week. That week will be filled with meetings, dinners, rehearsals, parties,” the man trailed, reaching for another folder. Like the one they received five days earlier, it was expertly organized. Its most eye-catching feature was a calendar for the month which got progressively busier the closer they got to the beginnings of fashion week. “We have many photography sessions planned, as you can see. That is for the benefit of both you and our models. Here at Etoile, we have found the photographs become much more intriguing when a relationship is built between photographer and subject. So, whilst it will give you opportunity to hone in on your already quite successful skills, it will also establish that foundation we so desperately want.”

“Will we be interacting with the models at the other events, like the dinners and parties?” Nik asked. “I fear I won’t be able to achieve what you’re searching for if we’re only doing photography sessions. I tend to zone in on the process.”

“Not all of the models will be at the dinners. Etoile’s faces, as we call them, will be present at every event, but our newer models or our models not intended for the spotlight quite yet will not be in attendance. In all honesty, we’re most looking for your relationship to grow with Laurent, Ancel, and Aimeric.”

“Laurent, your nephew?” Damen couldn’t help but interject. Laurent’s uncle smiled.

“I see you’ve heard of our familial connection,” he said. “Don’t think of it as him, or myself, trying to hide anything. The two of us do try to keep as little conversation around our relation as possible as to not incite the chants of favoritism. And as you’ve seen Laurent, I trust that you are aware I am not simply playing favorites. He is quite beautiful. In fact, it was his beauty that compelled me to move from fashion into both fasion and modeling nearing a decade ago now.”

“He works well in front of the camera,” Nik said, politely.

“He has since he was young. Too young, if I’m being honest,” the man lamented. “When his parents died and he was turned into my care, I had no intention of bringing him near this world of couture fashion. It can be such a cruel world. But he was drawn to it and it allowed us to maintain a close relationship, something he desperately needed after all his — and my own — loss. It ended up being such a wonderful thing at first. He was able to come to work with me, he was inspirational in the growth of Etoile, and he made a name for himself. If only he had stayed as lovely as he had been in his youth.”

“He’s still very lovely,” Damen said, interjecting again. Nik elbowed him.

“Oh, yes, appearance-wise he is. But, as I said, the world of fashion is cruel and it made him cruel. I’m sure you witnessed some of his callous behavior.” Neither Damen or Nik confirmed, but they didn’t deny it either. Laurent’s uncle flashed them a sad smile. “It pains me that I couldn’t protect his innocence. I had thought I was doing the right thing in allowing him to choose his path in life but…” he trailed.

There was an awkward pause that went on just long enough to make it more awkward. Damen broke it.

“So are these dinners and rehearsals black-tie? Because I’ll need to go shopping.”

“Don’t worry yourself with attire,” Laurent’s uncle said. “As it is an Etoile event, we have all of our guests wear Etoile clothes. Someone, Jord no doubt, will take your measurements sometime this week.”

“It won’t,” Damen started, before pausing to find the right words, “it won’t be clothes like what the models wear, will it? I mean, they’re beautiful but —”

“No, no, no. Your clothes will be simple tuxedos. I’ll only allow Charls to perhaps find you both a burgundy or deep blue tuxedo but,” he scanned them both, “given your size, that may not be possible.” Damen, for his part, grinned.

“Understood.”

With the folder and its calendar and other contents in possession, Damen and Nik left after another ‘Thank you’ and ‘No need to thank me’ exchange. The secretary was gone from the desk and in the lobby no one still paid them any mind. Damen was grateful because he had a stupid smile on his face that wouldn’t leave; he risked a look at Nik and was thrilled to see the exact same expression. The moment the door to Etoile closed behind them, all bets were off. Damen launched all his weight at Nik in a clambering hug and Nik hugged him right back.

“Are you proud of my self-control?” Damen asked, stepping back to bounce on the balls of his feet once, twice.

“I am,” Nik said, still smiling.

“I was going to hug you as soon as he told you, but I didn’t.”

“I know. I’m very proud.”

“I’m proud of you,” Damen said. “I mean, I knew from the beginning that you could do it, that you would do it, but I also know you were waiting for this moment to believe it yourself. But it’s here now and I’m so proud of you. But, for the next week at least, it’s time to focus on me.”

“Good news, I take it?”

Jord looked nonchalent from where he was leaning against the car, but he had a miniscule smile on his face that betrayed everything else.

“Maybe not good news for you,” Nik said. “You’re going to be seeing more of us for the next little bit.”

“You’re not the worst people I’ve had to drive around,” Jord said. It was as much as a ‘Congratulations’ he was going to give apparantly.

The car ride back to the hotel was the opposite of their car ride earlier. Both Damen and Nik were chatting and dragging Jord into conversation and Jord was smiling and glancing at them in the rearview mirror. But, like earlier, it wasn’t a long journey and there wasn’t a lot of time to harass Jord who seemed both amused and a tad bit unsure of them both.

“Jord,” Damen started to ask. Jord had just parked the car and Damen had one foot out of the door. “Since our next week is free, do you have any recommendations for things to do in Paris?”

Jord seemed to really have to think about the question. “I don’t get out much. I know it’s a cliche, but the Seine really does give a stunning view of the city. And you can never get a bad meal at any of the smaller bakeries. But that means one that’s affordable. Any place trying to charge you over five euro for anything is a tourist spot thriving off of ignorance. Then again, that’s mostly aimed at the Americans.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Damen said.

Nik had already gone up to their room and when Damen entered, he heard Nik ordering a bottle of champagne from room service. Damen raised his eyebrows and kept them raised until Nik saw his expression.

“What?” Nik asked. “This is a cause for me to celebrate, don’t you think?”

“Definitely. But it’s not even noon. Bit early, don’t you think?”

“It’s not for right now. We can stuff it in the fridge and pop it open tonight. I just didn’t want to have to wait on room service tonight. You know it takes longer the later you call.”

“Remember that time we were staying in a real busy hotel when we flew out to California and we ordered room service and it took so long that we emptied the minibar and fell asleep on the balcony?”

“I do. That was the exact incident I was thinking of.”

“Well,” Damen said, his walk over to the singular desk in the room suddenly determined, “we have bigger things to be thinking about. We have a city to explore.” On the desk were maps Damen had taken from the concierge and had marked up to hell and back with circles and lines and all other kinds of strategic symbols Nik had come to know quite well over the years.

“What do you have in mind?”

“We have to hit the big stuff; the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, Notre-Dame, Arc de Triomphe, even head to Versailles. But I’ve been looking for some smaller places, the real parts of Paris. The problem is that there are so many places and things to do that I don’t even really know where to start.”

“Have you tried talking to anyone? That’s our usual strategy,” Nik said, coming over to look at the maps.

“I asked Jord before I came up here, but he said he doesn’t get out much. He said to do the Seine river rides for some pretty sights.”

“I doubt asking anyone from Etoile where to go would be our best bet,” Nik said. “They’re in an entirely different universe than most people living in the rest of the world.”

“They really are,” Damen said with a little chuckle. “Speaking of Etoile, have I said congratulations again? Because if not, seriously, congratulations, Nik. Everything you do is so far over my head, this more than anything you’ve ever done, but I know enough to know just how big this is. I can’t say congratulations enough.”

“Thanks,” Nik said. He ducked his head and when he lifted it back up, he was smiling. “I know I’ve told you before, but I don’t give two shits about fashion. But I do care about the colors and the process of honing in on those details in the clothes. It’s going to make me better and, after this, I’ll have a big event to put down on a resume.”

“And I think this guy will give you a great recommendation should he ever get a call about you,” Damen said.

Both Damen and Nik scanned over the maps still laid flat on the desk. Nik rolled his eyes when he saw the Moulin Rouge circled in red pen, but otherwise they chatted about all the big places they needed to go see in seven days. Their conversation wandered to the Louvre.

“I think we need a whole day for the Louvre,” Damen said, tapping the map three times on the spot. “There are three wings and at least three levels for every wing and the gods only know how many people are going to be there.”

“We could do it Friday. We’re supposed to go to an introductory lunch at Etoile, but nothing more, and Etoile is located only a minute walk from the Louvre,” Nik said.

Damen nodded in agreement before he spoke. “Were you as surprised as I was to hear Laurent’s uncle had raised him?”

“Yeah, a little,” Nik said with a hum. “I don’t think I’m as invested in his personal details as you are, but that wasn’t something I expected. His parents must have died when he was very young.”

“I’m not invested in his personal details,” Damen said. “I just found it surprising, that’s all.”

“Not invested in his personal details,” Nik mumbled. With a forceful throw, he hit Damen in the head with a jacket that had been lying over the back of the chair at the desk. “Come on, get ready. If we don’t go out today, I’ll never hear the end of how we wasted quality exploring time.”

Damen grinned. “Where do you want to go first?”

They had lunch at a French steakhouse called Il Etait Un Square and they both ordered burgers near the size of their fists. While they let their too-big-of-a-lunch digest, they wandered on foot, taking in the people and the sights. Nik, instinctually, snapped a few photos here and there. Eventually their wandering took them to the Seine and Damen chatted amicably with a group of twenty-somethings dancing on a low walkway right at the river’s edge. They caught a taxi to the Eiffel Tower and decided to snap pictures in front of it; the line to wait for the elevator was ridiculously long and neither of them were in the clothes to sweat as they tried to climb 674 steps to the second level. There was just enough time to stop by a nearby café called Carmine Café for a quick espresso before dinner which they had at a bistro called L'Assiette. They had a glass, or three, of wine before they began a journey back to the hotel under Parisian moonlight.

“I don’t know why we had all that wine,” Damen said, his arm slung heavily over Nik’s shoulders. “We still have that bottle of champagne to pop open.”

Luckily for them, they sobered up a bit before they got back because they got lost one, two, five times. A kind taxi driver, seeing them pointing stupidly at street signs before doubling over with laughter, took sympathy on them and drove them back to the hotel all before eleven. Damen tipped him graciously.

They laughed all the way back up to their room, laughing harder as they passed a group of people far drunker than they had been yet, and Nik beelined for the refrigerator he had stuffed the bottle of champagne in as soon as the door opened. It bubbled just a little down the sides, pooling and landing on Nik’s shoes.

“To fashion snobs,” Damen said, raising his glass for a toast. The flutes clinked together, the high note of their meeting musical.

“To fashion snobs,” Nik repeated.

Nik scrolled through photos from the night on his camera and it got them talking, comparing the city with ones they had visited in the past and pointing out the unique things that made it what it is: Paris.

“I still maintain we need to go back to Prague,” Nik said, moving to lean against the open door frame of the balcony. The air outside was just chilly enough that Nik could see his breath. “We weren’t there long enough.”

“You want to know where we weren’t long enough? Australia.”

“We were in Australia plenty long enough.”

“We only went to Sydney! What about Perth or Brisbane or places more inland, like all the national parks and nature reserves? What about ditching Australia altogether and heading over to New Zealand?”

They started arguing, arguing about travel and the timing of travel and Damen was making a very valid point of ‘It is our job’ when Nik quit responding for the sake of squinting at something from the balcony.

“Are you listening to me?” Damen asked when a solid minute went by with no response. He leaned forward from where he was sitting up against the headboard of his bed to pull out a pillow and toss it at Nik, missing him by a foot.

“Yeah, I just,” Nik started, trailing off and squinting harder as though it would make sense of whatever he was staring at. “I think that’s Laurent.”

Damen wasn’t above admitting he ran across the room. He almost slipped on the jacket Nik had hit him in the head with earlier, but he was next to Nik in seconds. Like Nik, he squinted in an attempt to make the vision across the street clearer and when that didn’t work, he moved to the balcony’s railing.

Across the street was an apartment building, another Haussmann building, and almost exactly across from their own room was a figure standing in the door frame of their own balcony illuminated by the warm light of a lamp. It was hard to be certain because they didn’t truly know Laurent that well, but it was definitely a possibility. The blond hair was more gold in the yellow of the light and the person was on the phone and pacing so it was impossible to keep focus in too much, but Damen was sure that aristocratic profile he kept catching glimpses of belonged to Laurent’s model-built face.

“If that is him,” Nik said as Damen continued to stare, “don’t you dare go over there in an attempt to run into him.”

“I think I’ve behaved quite admirably so far,” Damen said. He leaned over the railing, just enough to make him and Nik both woozy.

“Promise me you won’t go over there and attempt to run into him, or attempt to find out if it’s really him.”

“I promise,” Damen said. He was still staring.

Eventually Laurent, or whoever the figure was, left the space of the balcony window and not long after, the light went off. Damen remained leaning against the door frame of their own balcony, enjoying the night air while it got colder and colder and Nik’s voice got sleepier and his conversation more single syllable words like “Yes,” “No,” and “Hmm.” When Nik was finally asleep, Damen took in one more deep and sobering breath before closing the balcony doors and changing into something comfortable. Before making his way back to his own bed, he picked up the pillow he had thrown and fished in his black bookbag for his laptop he carried around for editing YouTube videos.

It wasn’t intentional, but it was intentional, to go to the search bar and type in ‘Laurent DeVere.’

75,909,000 results came up in 0.62 seconds. The first result that came up was an Instagram page (@laurentdevere) with only two posts, both from 2015, and with a quick scroll Damen deduced that that must be Laurent’s only social media account. The second result was a Wikipedia page that Damen clicked on.

There were only five sections on Laurent’s Wikipedia page, each one the ones expected: Early Life, Career, Personal Life, Awards and Nominations, and a whole one just for Etoile. ‘Laurent DeVere (born March 20, 2000) is a French model. In 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, and 2019, he was voted “Model of the Year” by industry professionals,’ Damen read. And as much as Damen wanted to click on the Personal Life section, he was drawn to the Early life section which was long and detailed. It read, ‘DeVere was born in Paris, France to politician Aleron DeVere and former Swedish teacher Hennike DeVere (nee Kempt), and was raised in Paris. DeVere had an older brother, Auguste DeVere (born November 9, 1988 and died September, 13, 2013).

DeVere’s parents, Aleron and Hennike, were assassinated in a politically motivated assault on June 22, 2013. Aleron had been the President of the National Assembly for three years upon his death. No one has been arrested in the assassination, but there have been several people of interest interrogated. The situation continues to be investigated by the DGSI.’

After that, it was a rabbit hole Damen got lost within. He clicked on Aleron’s page, reading about the assassination before searching for the headlines. There was a video, but Damen couldn’t bring himself to click on it. He caught sight of a simple and blurry photo of Aleron and Hennike’s slumped over bodies and that was enough.

It was hard, almost impossible, to equate the Laurent Damen had met briefly with to the stories he was reading. Laurent — beautiful and cold and internationally known — couldn’t be the boy being written about here; it felt so separated.

Damen fell asleep that night thinking of Etoile, Laurent, and how Laurent’s uncle, the very one that took Laurent in, was only mentioned throughout the articles once or twice in passing. Damen fell asleep that night thinking of how Laurent’s uncle had lost his own brother, sister-in-law, nephew, and the only family member he had left gave him no gratitude.

Putting on a face the next morning was easy enough, however, when Damen remembered all they had planned. Once again, they exhausted themselves going around Paris. Damen took Jord’s advice and found a bakery, Blé Sucré, where they ordered Madelienes (which came in a bag of 6), a croissant, pinwheels, and two cappuccinos all for 9€. Then they went to more must-see places, like finally climbing the steps of the Eiffel Tower and paying a visit to Notre-Dame. After hours at just those two destinations, they went back to the hotel a little early to eat at a restaurant a block away they had noticed the day before. They finished the night similarly to how they had the night before, sipping on drinks while planning their next day adventure to Versailles. And if Damen hung around the open balcony window while sneaking glances at the dark apartment across the way, Nik didn’t say anything.

Tuesday, two days after the meeting at Etoile, their entire trip changed.

Everything that morning had gone to plan. They woke up, grabbed more caffeine and pastries from a nearby café, then went about getting ready and calling a ride to get them the forty-minutes to Versailles. The Palace of Versailles made Damen feel like he was drowning; there was so much design, so much unnecessary grandeur that wasn’t there to be anything but a bullhorn announcing all the way from the past, ‘Look how we lived.’ Damen told Nik this must be where Etoile got its inspiration from; as they walked through the throne room and took in the gold and the blood reds all around, Nik told him he agreed. There was so much to see in Versailles, so much space to cross, so much intricacy to absorb, that they were there nearly all day. Upon their arrival back in Paris, they decided to get more caffeine in their system so they could edit a few photographs from the day. They were walking back, eyes and feet tired, when they ran into him.

In Damen’s defense, Laurent was on their side of the road, not the other way around.

He must have been on his phone because it was the thing that Damen and Nik nearly knocked out of his hands upon bumping into him. Damen had immediately gone to grab for it, to make sure it didn’t hit the concrete below, an ‘Are you okay?’ on his lips that died when he saw who they had almost trampled. Laurent looked at them both coolly as Nik managed to ask what Damen had tried to sputter out.

“I’m fine. It appears my phone is fine as well,” Laurent said, not even bothering to inspect if his phone was actually fine or not before he pocketed it.

Damen wanted to say something to that, he did, but the words were lost as he stared. It was almost the same stare he knew had given Laurent the first minute he saw him all dressed in gold, but this was different too. It was different because Laurent wasn’t dressed in gold, in fitted clothes made for runways and magazines, in makeup that accentuated parts of his beauty and hid others. He was wearing a blue turtleneck sweater so deep in its color it was almost black, the same color of the very form-fitting pants he had on that stopped just above his ankles so the quality of his black boots could be seen. Folded over his arm was a black jacket, a thin but solid fabric, and around his neck was a loosely wrapped scarf made of a light blue material. It was all so concealing, so austere, and yet Damen was able to tell that he wasn’t holding himself quite as artfully; he simply radiated his own kind of natural elegance this way.

But it wasn’t even the clothes that had Damen staring. It was the lack of makeup on Laurent’s face. In the three days Damen had seen Laurent, Laurent had always had something on his face, whether it be eyeshadows or lipsticks or designs of some kind. But now his face was bare and it was so surreally beautiful that Damen felt as though the air he was trying to breathe was too thick to go down to his lungs. He felt lightheaded as a result. That blond hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, held with a singular clear band, and it drew all of the attention to the sharp lines of Laurent’s cheekbones, to the blue of his eyes, the fan of his eyelashes, and the fullness of his mouth.

Oh, Damen thought.

In his staring and his silence, Nik and Laurent took the time to talk — that is, if you can count such a stilted conversation as theirs talking.

Luckily, Damen shook himself out of his own stupor and was just honing back in on the conversation when he heard the tail-end of Laurent’s response to Nik.

“— told Nicaise I would take him out for dessert and the devil doesn’t seem to care that it’s well after the time people are supposed to go get dessert.”

“Who’s Nicaise?” Damen asked. Laurent turned his gaze in Damen’s direction.

“A tiny devil of a boy. I believe he interrupted one of the photoshoots last week,” Laurent said. Both Damen and Nik seemed to, at the same time, remember the horrid child from Etoile’s office bombarding the photoshoot that second day. “From the looks on your faces, you’ve met him.”

“At the office,” Nik said.

“Is he your brother?” Damen asked, knowing that it wasn’t. It was odd, he thought ever-so briefly, recalling what he knew of Laurent now. All the information still seemed as though it was about someone else.

“No. He’s merely one of my uncle’s prodigies.”

Damen and Nik moved to the side to allow a group of people to pass. Laurent stayed where he was. After stealing a look at his phone, he then looked up at Damen and Nik and asked in a tone that said, ‘I'm just killing time really,I’ “Where are you two off to so late? Not tired of Paris yet?”

“We’re just getting back, actually,” Nik said, waving the camera in his hands once as an explanation.

“We were at Versailles all day,” Damen said. Laurent huffed out a laugh, one that pulled tightly at his mouth and sounded insincere, and Damen asked, “What?”

“I suppose it was my own ignorance that had me making the assumption you two weren’t necessarily common tourists. I appear to be mistaken. Pray tell, what other famous sights have you seen and not seen?”

“We’ve seen most of the big names,” Damen said. “We haven’t gotten to Sacré-Couer, and we have plans for the Louvre on Friday, but —”

Laurent crossed his arms over his chest, pressing the jacket into the blue of his sweater. “If you truly want to see Paris, you cannot limit yourselves to that which you see in movies. You need to go to the parks, the markets, the open-air concerts, and the book and poetry readings. You need to Galerie de l’Instant and you need to simply go on walks. Tourist attractions are famous for reasons, yes, but you’ll never learn about a city like Paris that way.”

“Why don’t you show us around then?”

Damen hadn’t meant to say that, to ask that, the words seemed to have slipped out of his mouth on their own accord. From the look Nik was stabbing into the side of his face, Damen guessed it had come out the way it had sounded in his head: a flirtatious challenge. Nik was going to kill him if Laurent didn’t.

Laurent, for his part, didn’t seem taken aback by the question. He did shift his stance, moving his weight from one foot to the other, but there was nothing else but that bored expression on his face.

“I mean, you clearly know the best spots and the fastest ways to get to them.”

The words continued to come out of Damen’s mouth on their own volition. It was a classic case of word-vomit and Damen was making a mess. Then Laurent said, “Why not?”

It was Nik who double-taked and managed to mumble out an, “Excuse me?” and thank the gods he did, because Damen was, once again, speechless.

“You’re clearly a lost cause,” Laurent said, stealing another look at his phone, “and I’m certain my uncle gave you a speech on the importance he places on model-photographer relationships. You’ll get to see Paris and I’ll not have to endure near the wrath I would receive next week when I spend our Friday luncheon ignoring most of everybody.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Damen said, finding his voice. Now Nik seemed to have lost his.

“Perfect. I’ll be here early Thursday morning.”

Damen thought, watching Laurent walk away without another word, that it probably would have been wise for them to have exchanged phone numbers or, at the very least, given Laurent their room number.

“Seriously?” Nik deadpanned.

“What?” Damen asked, defensively, but he was smiling and that wasn’t helping him right now. “We always take advice from locals. It’s always gotten us to the best sights and food, you know that.”

“Did I not just say, oh, two days ago that asking people from Etoile where to go probably wouldn’t be our best bet because they’re in an entirely different universe?”

“You did, but —”

“And did you not agree because you’re the one who first brought up the snobbery I’d be dealing with?”

“Yes, but —”

“Damen.”

“Nik.”

They stood there for a moment in silence, the only noise that of the moderately-busy street around them, and then Nik said with a sigh in his voice, “At least it seems he’s getting something out of this so he might not be too awful. Though I’m not sure how good I feel about helping him get around his uncle in any way.”

#mannequin gallery 'verse #the mannequin gallery #laurent of vere #damen of akielos #captive prince #nikandros #my writing #chapter 5

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