Tuesday Afternoon - Marinette's POV

Marinette hunched over her sketchbook, tongue peeking out in concentration as her pencil danced across the page. A soft pop of pink filled the room as Tikki hovered nearby, her tiny eyes glowing with delight.

"That one's really cute!" the kwami chirped, nodding toward the half-finished sketch of a two-piece dress with lace detailing and a flowy midi skirt.

"Thanks, Tikki," Marinette murmured, shading in a pleat. "I'm just experimenting with softer silhouettes for spring. Something that still feels Parisian but with a twist. Maybe with an asymmetrical hem—" She paused, then scribbled a note in the margin.

The afternoon sun poured through the skylight, casting a warm glow on the familiar chaos of Marinette's bedroom—bolts of fabric, spools of thread, mood boards, and sketches scattered in colorful bursts of creative energy. It smelled faintly of lavender tea and fabric glue.

Tikki floated down and perched on a stack of buttons. "You've been in the zone all day."

"Yeah." Marinette sighed, sitting back and stretching her arms overhead. "Designing helps keep my brain from overthinking everything. Like the party. And Adrien. And... Adrien at the party."

Tikki chuckled softly. "You'll survive. You always do."

Before Marinette could respond, the trapdoor clunked open with a dramatic flourish.

"MARINETTE!" Alya's voice echoed up before her head even popped through the floor.

Marinette blinked. "Is it a Lila emergency or an Adrien emergency?"

"Neither. It's bigger." Alya scrambled the rest of the way in and stood, completely out of breath. "You're not gonna believe what I just saw on the school bulletin board. Hot off the press."

Marinette closed her sketchbook. "Should I sit down? Oh wait—I already am."

Alya whipped out her phone and waved it like it held the secret to the universe. "Gabriel Agreste. Internships. Open. As of. Today!"

Marinette's eyes widened. "Wait—like the Gabriel Agreste?"

"No, the other one," Alya teased, smirking. "Yes, the Gabriel Agreste. The fashion house. He's opening up a summer internship for design students. It's the first time in fifteen years, girl. This is major."

Marinette's heart flipped in her chest. "Fifteen years? But... he never takes interns. Never. Ever. Why now?"

Alya shrugged, dropping dramatically onto the chaise lounge by the wall. "No idea. But they're accepting applications from high schoolers this week only. You have to submit a design, portfolio-style. There's gonna be a panel review."

Marinette stared at her friend, stunned into silence. For a long moment, all she could hear was the soft tick of the clock and the faint whoosh of a passing bus below.

"Gabriel Agreste," she whispered.

Tikki zipped into the air, equally excited. "This is your dream, Marinette!"

"I mean, it is," she said slowly. "It's been my dream since... forever. Since I was nine and saw his winter collection in that old fashion magazine my mom kept in the bakery. But—" She looked down at her ink-stained fingers. "It's Gabriel Agreste. He's like... fashion royalty. And I'm just me."

Alya sat up straight. "No. You are not just you. You're Marinette Dupain-Cheng, brilliant designer, part-time superhero, and full-time ball of sunshine and talent. You could design circles around half the professionals out there."

"Yeah," Tikki agreed. "And you've already had experience designing real-world looks. From Jagged Stone to Clara Nightingale—"

"—and you made that dress that won the Ultimate Fashion Challenge when we were sophomores!" Alya added.

"That was a group project," Marinette murmured.

"And you carried the group," Alya countered. "Don't downplay your brilliance. This internship? It's made for you."

Marinette chewed her lip, trying to calm the cyclone of excitement and nerves swirling in her stomach. "What if I apply and they laugh me out of the room? What if I freeze up during the panel? What if Adrien's applying too and I'm just... there, embarrassing myself?"

"Then you still went for it," Alya said firmly. "You lose nothing by trying. But if you don't apply, you'll regret it. You'll sit at home during summer break wondering what could've happened."

Marinette glanced back at her sketchbook, which now felt like a ticket to something much bigger.

"They're asking for a demo design?" she asked.

"Yeah. One finished piece that represents your style and skill," Alya confirmed. "It has to be submitted with the application by Friday."

"Friday? That's only three days away!"

"Plenty of time for you."

Marinette groaned, dragging a hand through her hair. "I need to pick a concept. Draft it. Sew it. Photograph it. Layout a mini portfolio..."

"And you're already ahead," Alya said. "You have tons of concept sketches. Just pick one and run with it."

Tikki flew closer, eyes warm. "We'll help you. You can do this, Marinette. You've done harder things."

"Like stopping akumas and time-traveling peacocks," Alya muttered with a grin.

Marinette let out a breath and looked between them—her best friend, her magical sidekick, her dream floating just out of reach.

"Okay," she said finally, a tremor of resolve entering her voice. "I'll do it. I'll apply."

"Yes!" Alya fist-pumped. "That's what I'm talking about!"

Marinette stood up, crossing to the far wall where several of her recent sketches were pinned. She ran her fingers over them thoughtfully. One of them—a sleek, minimalist dress with detachable sleeves and a statement collar—caught her eye.

"This one," she said. "I've had the design in my head for weeks. I haven't made it yet, but I have the fabric."

"It's bold," Alya said, coming to stand beside her. "And super you."

Marinette nodded. "It's modern but classic. I think Gabriel Agreste would appreciate the structure."

Alya pulled out her phone again. "Okay, we have 72 hours. I'll help however I can. Snacks, moral support, yelling at you to take breaks—whatever you need."

Marinette grinned, the first real grin since before the party drama started. "Thanks, Alya. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Probably sit in a corner mumbling about hemline ratios."

"True."

The girls laughed, the tension easing into excitement.

Marinette turned back to her desk, rolled up her sleeves, and grabbed a fresh piece of muslin. Her sewing machine hummed in the background as she began mapping out the pattern.

"Let's do this," she whispered, the buzz of possibility electrifying her fingers. "Let's go for it."

Tikki zipped in a loop of joy. "That's the spirit!"

And for the first time in days, Marinette felt like the world was opening instead of closing in. The party, the awkwardness, the nerves—all of it could wait. Right now, she had a dream to chase.

*********

Marinette sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, surrounded by fabric swatches, sketches, and thread clippings. Her sewing machine sat idle for the first time in hours, and a cup of long-forgotten tea had gone cold on the nightstand.

The faint glow of her desk lamp painted golden halos across the scattered chaos, but even the soft light couldn't chase away the pit growing in her chest.

She stared at the half-finished dress on her mannequin. It looked... fine. Clean lines, neat stitches, strong structure. The detachable collar had worked exactly the way she'd sketched it—bold and architectural, with crisp edges that reminded her of one of Gabriel Agreste's earlier runway pieces.

But that was the problem. It looked fine. Not breathtaking. Not unforgettable. Just... good enough.

Marinette let her head fall back with a soft groan. "What am I doing?"

Tikki floated out from under a fabric scrap, blinking sleepily. "It's almost midnight, Marinette. Are you okay?"

Marinette didn't answer right away. She just hugged her knees to her chest and stared at the ceiling.

"I thought I was," she said at last. "But now I'm looking at this dress and wondering if it's all just... pretend. Like I'm pretending to be someone Gabriel Agreste would actually want on his team."

Tikki floated closer, her antennae drooping. "Marinette... you've designed for real clients. You've saved Paris more times than anyone knows. You're not pretending."

"But what if it's not enough?" Marinette whispered. "What if all the talent I have still isn't good enough to matter? Adrien's dad isn't just a designer—he's the designer. People would kill for a chance like this. What if someone else designs something better, or flashier, or more fashion-forward and—poof—I'm out of the running before they even look at my name?"

She reached forward and adjusted the collar on the mannequin, even though it didn't need adjusting. Her hands trembled slightly.

"It's like I'm scared to try," she admitted. "Because if I try and fail... that's proof. Proof that I was never going to make it."

Tikki settled on her shoulder and leaned into her. "Or it's proof that you're brave enough to chase something that matters to you. Even when it's terrifying."

Marinette swallowed. "You think so?"

"I know so," Tikki said firmly. "You've faced villains with reality-warping powers and still showed up for school the next day. You've designed outfits on ten minutes' notice for celebrities. And you always, always put your heart into it."

Marinette reached out and ran her hand along the bodice of the dress, fingers smoothing over the careful topstitching.

"It's just... sometimes I think about all the people Adrien's dad has worked with. He designed for Audrey Bourgeois. He mentored fashion giants. I'm just an eighteen-year-old girl who hides behind a sewing machine and barely speaks full sentences around his son."

Tikki gave her a patient look. "And yet, you've managed to impress Clara Nightingale, Jagged Stone, Prince Ali—"

"Okay, okay," Marinette muttered, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Point taken."

She stood and circled the dress slowly, examining it from every angle. "I do like the structure. And the color palette. Maybe I just need something more unexpected. A surprise element. Something that feels like me."

Tikki brightened. "Like your lucky charm inspiration!"

Marinette blinked. "Wait—actually... that's not a bad idea." Her eyes lit up. "If I incorporated a signature detail, like the hidden ladybug clasp I used in Clara's dress... something subtle but playful..."

She was already flipping through her sketchbook before she finished the sentence. Pencil flying, she added an update to the sleeve design, then jotted down ideas for hidden button embroidery along the hem—barely visible, unless you were looking for it. Something cheeky. Whimsical. Personal.

Something Gabriel Agreste wouldn't expect.

Marinette looked up, her cheeks flushed with a new wave of excitement. "I think I just saved this piece."

Tikki did a small loop-de-loop in the air. "I knew you'd figure it out!"

Marinette turned back to her workstation and started pinning fabric to the mannequin again, this time with steadier hands.

"I'm still scared," she admitted softly. "But I want this. And I think I'd regret not trying more than I'd regret failing."

Tikki settled back on her spool perch, smiling proudly. "That's all anyone can ask of you."

Outside, Paris glowed under the moonlight—buildings still and silver, the Seine a ribbon of glass in the distance. In her cozy room, with a dozen half-baked ideas and one really good one taking shape in her hands, Marinette Dupain-Cheng did what she'd always done: she got back to work.

And somewhere in the stillness, that flicker of doubt began to shrink.

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Who else is loving the chapter titles? Thanks alvares715 for introducing me to Young Sheldon. And, you know, writing the best miraculous fanfics. <3