mind over mask

fifteen

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Damian's POV

Marinette's back is towards me, but she's still getting dressed. She has white sweats on, and is slipping into an oversized dark pink sweater. I catch a glimpse of her silky skin, before it's covered up.

I turn red, and go back into the bathroom, because I don't want her catching me watch her. Luckily she doesn't hear me.

What is she doing to me? What magic does Marinette posses?

My biggest question was, who is Marinette? And why does she have this power over me? No, Marinette makes me nervous. That's why my heart is pumping so erratically. I lie.

"Damian?" Marinette calls out.

"Coming," I say, slipping out of the bathroom once again.

Marinette is now at her mannequin, studying the black pieces of fabric she's carefully laid across it. Her mouth is holding needles, and in her hands she holds a design. "I need to finish something really quick on this dress, before I forget. You can sit on my chair, and then we can do something after." She mumbles.

I sit in her chair, pulling out my phone. But I didn't have any texts from Jon, he was still in school, hours behind Paris's time. My phone was dry, but I didn't mind. Watching Marinette was entertaining.

I never understood fashion, it was like parading around like a peacock, and I saw plenty of those people at my father's galas.

But watching Marinette breath life into this dress, enraptured me.

It was a 1920's style dress, sleeveless, except for the tiniest, daintiest straps. Fringe descended down the dress, carefully and meticulously put. Marinette knelt down on her knees, adding slits into the sides of the dress, bringing it back into the modern era.

The best part was, the dress was pure black, sequins and not.

"Who's the dress for?" I asked her.

Not taking her eyes off of her prized possession, Marinette emphasizes, "It's a commission. It's for Sel—someone in the States. I'm making it for a New Year's party or something."

"But that's months away," I point out.

"I usually am swamped with orders, and I'm particular about who I send out my pieces to. I'm used to doing things this far in advance." Marinette shrugs.

I make a mental note of the sophistication of the dress, and then ask, "Are you well known in the designing world?" She had to be some up and coming designer.

Marinette admits, "Not really. I made a hat for a contest once, and it won. And then I designed an album cover for this rock artist, but that the only recognition I've gotten as Marinette for my designs."

I nod. Our conversations are weak, and straight to the point. Come to think of it, I don't know why I was invited over. We're not close, we've maybe shared two conversations in the past two weeks I've sat next to her. Maybe it was out of pity.

Marinette notices my boredom, and puts down her supplies, standing up. "Okay, I'm done. Do you wanna do something?" She asks.

I shrug. "What are we going to do?"

"I'm not sure," she says. Her eyes brighten suddenly, and she says, "The new Ultimate Mecha Strike VI just came out a few days ago, and I haven't tried it. We should play that!"

Before she even lets me responds, she sits on the couch in front of her tv, setting up the game and grabbing the remote. I sit next to her.

"You do know how to play video games, right?" She asks, but I can't help but taking it as a taunt.