Chapter Text
Her name was (Y/N) (L/N). Or at least it was.
(Y/N) scowls as her eyes scan the ID, rereading it over and over again. Detective Muller notices and lets out a small chuckle. "Still don't like it, kiddo?"
Dislike was too soft a word-- She hated it.
Veronique Martin. It sounded so... so not her.
"I really don't understand why I can't just pick the name. At least it gives me something to look forward to." She stores the brand new ID in her brand new wallet, which goes into her brand new backpack.
New, new, new-- All of it.
"You know the drill, state picks your name." He's back to being matter-of-fact, typing rapidly at his keyboard. When (Y/N) didn't respond, Muller sighed and closed his laptop. "Listen, kiddo, I know it's hard..." He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "Veronique isn't a bad name," he finishes.
At least it was better than 'it'll all be okay.'
But no matter what it was, nothing but (Y/N) could ever make her feel like herself. That's who she was. Or-- Who she was supposed to be.
Louisa Thomas... Mia Bernard... Veronique Martin. God, those names would never be enough to make her feel okay or like she didn't lose who she was the day it was tortured out of her.
She must've given it away-- the sapped look on her face, because Detective Muller looked at her with pity. "Why don't we get you some food on the way to your new home?" It wasn't much, but she was starving. "At 12 in the morning? Is anything even open?"
"I know a place." He smiles, "Grab your things, kiddo, we should get going."
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The car ride to her new home was uneventful. Detective Muller let (Y/N) open her window and stick her head out, allowing her to feel the cool spring breeze against her skin. Within minutes, the cold had numbed her skin, covering up the pain of her busted lip and the healing cuts that littered her cheeks.
It sucked when he had to pull over, but she got a burger and soda out of it. She had rolled her window up, picking at the fries as they continued toward the city lights of Paris. Muller was going over (Y/N)'s new identity.
Veronique was a small-town girl who moved to Paris to take care of her grandmother. Nothing of note, meant to be plain enough that she wouldn't stick out.
"...Landed you a job at this bakery. I know you don't know how to bake--"
"Rude--" (Y/N) interjected flatly, and the detective laughed. "But it's temporary. Just until we can get you up on your feet. I looked into some programs to get you into college if you'd like. Left the information in your backpack."
"Your 'grandmother' is Ms. Lydia."
"Ms. Lydia?" He nods, "Old friend of mine. She was a cop long before you were born and was a hell of a mean shot. She's a firecracker too, so be on your best behavior." (Y/N) nodded as she ate another fry.
"Does she know about my situation?" He nods, "Yeah, she hasn't technically retired, but now she just does menial tasks around the station. She saw your case and insisted on taking you in. I don't think I need to tell you that you gotta help tidy up around the place."
He sounded almost like a father... huh.
She almost missed it.
"I'm 19, I think I know how to pull my own weight, detective." She cracked a small, fleeting smile. "She might be a little older, but she's more than capable of protecting you if things go awry..." He furrows his brows, maybe thinking about the last thing to go awry in (Y/N)'s situation.
Her wounds sting along her face, down to her back. She knew that's what he was thinking about. "I planned this out with the thought of you getting found." He finally says, voice firm. Guilt-- she could hear it in his voice.
She may not have known him for more than a few months, but she knows he felt bad. It was okay the first time she got found, 'Louisa' barely escaping again. But 'Mia' wasn't so lucky, and she got beaten to hell and back, earning a one-week stay in the hospital and a new ID with 'Veronique' on it.
"She's familiarized herself with your case, including names and faces. I hope that can bring you some peace." It hadn't, but at least it was something. They didn't speak the rest of the car ride, (Y/N) nibbling away at her dinner as she stared at the passing lights of the illuminated streets.
She'd never been to Paris before, being from Lyon and all, but it was so beautiful. Maybe if she worked up the courage to go out, she'd visit the Eiffel Tower or go to the observatory. God, she loved the stars and wanted to see them so bad, but the lights made the sky an inky black.
They finally slowed down and turned into a smaller street, where houses were cramped together. He slowed the car in front of one of them, a cream-colored house smushed at the far end of the street with front steps that led out into what would inevitably be busy with people come morning.
(Y/N) grabbed what was left of her food and her backpack, following the detective to the front door. He knocked lightly, and the door opened. Ms. Lydia must've been waiting on the other side, a nervous but determined look on her face. She looked nothing like how I'd imagined. He made her sound older than she was. She had been expecting to be protected by a little old lady with a gun, but Ms. Lydia was in good shape and couldn't have been older than 60.
She had beautiful hair pulled back into a bun, salt and pepper strands framing her face. "Lloyd, you made it." She was very chipper for how late it was, cupping his cheeks with a welcoming grin.
"Lydia, this is Veronique." He put his arm behind (Y/N), sure not to touch her healing back as she stepped forward with an awkward smile. Lydia meets her gaze, that warm smile comforting (Y/N) in a way. "It's very nice to see you, Veronique. I bet you're tired, hunny." I force a polite smile to my lips; this woman was direct-- straight to the point.
"Thank you, Ms. Lydia. It's very generous of you to let me stay here." Detective Muller clears his throat, "That's grandma to you, kiddo."
She's hesitant, trying out the word on her lips, although it didn't feel right. "Grandma." Ms. Lydia's smile doesn't waver, as awkward as the interaction was. But the stakes were too high to care, probably.
"Why don't you come in? I'll show you to your room." She moves aside, and Detective Muller puts his hand out, signaling (Y/N) to go first. The inside was a cramped hallway that had a stairwell on the left, and on the right two doorways, a tiny living room, and what was probably the kitchen further down.
"You wait here, Lloyd." Her voice is soft, yet commanding. Detective Muller takes off his shoes, and (Y/N) follows his actions, unlacing her brand new sneakers. Another new thing to add to the list.
Lydia waits patiently until (Y/N) finally looks up, allowing herself to follow the older woman upstairs while the detective makes himself comfortable on the couch in the living room. The house had warm lighting, smelling of caramel, no doubt a candle or wax burner of some kind nearby.
"The place is modestly sized," Lydia says, stopping in the hall. "But your room has the balcony, isn't that neat?" (Y/N)'s lip tugs in a small smile, "Yeah..." She adds quietly. "My room is off limits, but this one," She opens the door to a small room, "Is your place to make your own." It had a double bed shoved in one of the corners, a TV on a table stand in front of it.
"There's a brand new dresser in the closet, and I left you some amenities. None of that crap that the state gives you." On the bed was a bin, filled with supplies. Better shampoo than the dollar store stuff she was given, scented soaps in different spring flavors. Even pads and tampons, the good brand.
"Wow, thanks Ms. Lydia, this is really generous of you." (Y/N) fully smiles now, taking in the rest of the room. There were two wall outlets, one by the bed and the other by the balcony, occupied by a wall plugin that bathed the room in a soft lavender.
"It's customisable to a fault. Don't go breaking holes in my walls, of course." Lydia adds with amusement. "Balcony doors are a little touchy and old, but I plan to replace them soon. Feel free to use it if you feel comfortable." (Y/N)'s gaze follows hers to the back right of the room, the closet nothing more than a doorway and a small space, while the balcony door was guarded by a giant curtain.
It felt nicer than the last place she stayed. Jeez, the detective really must have felt bad. "The bathroom is the door to the right of your room. Feel free to grab a shower and get comfortable, hun. I left a pair of pajamas at the bottom of your bin. I hope they are suited to your taste."
(Y/N) nods, excited to just clean herself off. "The Detective said your back wound is hard to reach..." She pauses, "I know it's not easy to trust right now, but I want to make your life just a bit easier hun. All until this blows over."
If it ever blows over, (Y/N) thought.
"Point is, if you need help redressing your wounds, I'll come help you, so feel free to ask, okay? And that goes for anything you need. I'm only one door away from you, sweetheart."
(Y/N) nods, "Thank you." Ms. Lydia wastes no more time going back to meet with the detective while (Y/N) gets comfortable with the shower. She found her own towel and pajamas situated at the bottom of the bin.
The shower was a little hard to figure out, as they usually were, but she finally figured out how to make it warm, just enough that it wouldn't irritate her wounds. The shower had a little detachable mirror, allowing her to inspect her face.
Her cuts and busted lip were finally healing, while her one eye was still painted in deep purples and oranges, the edges yellowing by the day.
They really did a number on her when they found her. "Found you half dead." The detective had said in passing, his jaw set tight, wound by anger. She didn't blame him, though. It wasn't his fault that life became this way for her.
Her under eyes were dark with loss of sleep, as well as a fight to maintain equilibrium in her head. If she thought too hard about anything other than trivial matters or what she was gonna eat for dinner, she'd have broken down into an inconsolable state. She just needed to pretend it didn't happen-- an all-or-nothing.
Even months later, there was no use in the whys. Why her dad did it, why he left her at the hands of his mistakes, why he didn't care enough about her well-being.
Why they wanted her so bad.
The only 'whys' she could worry about safely were why she chose a damn haircut so short. She runs her fingers through her short locks, a big difference from the long flowing locks she had weeks ago.
"Gotta cut and dye it again, Kiddo." That's what Muller told her. She chose a deep brunette, cutting it to what could best be described as a mullet with curtain bangs. It wasn't a bad hairstyle persay, just not her.
She always liked her hair as long as possible, endless possibilities on what she could do with it. She remembered how dad would bring her new pieces home, hairclips, sparkly hair pieces, fake flowers, anything she could stick in her beautiful, long locks.
Now she wasn't allowed to wear anything in her hair, a rule set by the detective. "Gotta make yourself look as much not like yourself." He said that when he first met her. She thought it was cool at the start, naive to how much danger she was in.
She chose to dye it a fun color then, Louisa with a sapphire blue.
'Mia' had a cut just below her shoulders, platinum blonde from extensive bleaching. God, her hair was ruined, she remembered. It would have been funny if not for the circumstances. Out of the shower, (Y/N) inspected her bandageless back. It looked better than it did a few weeks ago, she'll give it that much, but scars would adorn her back for sure.
She threw on the pajamas, which felt cool against her skin, comforting. Ms. Lydia was downstairs, still talking quietly to the detective. "--Security cams." They both stopped and looked at (Y/N). "We can discuss it over the phone tomorrow, hun," Lydia said to the detective, who nodded with a look only they could understand.
"Yes, I'll take my leave." He stands, gathering his things. "Kiddo, I'll call you in a few days, okay? Just rest until then, your job doesn't start til next Monday. Lydia will let you know all the details." He held out his hand, looking for her to shake it. She took it politely, thanking him again.
When he left, Lydia turned back to him. "Did you have a good shower?" She asked softly, and (Y/N) nodded, reluctantly asking, "Could you help me redress my wounds?" Lydia curled her lips up, "Yes, of course."
It took a while, a lot of wincing, and all that, but (Y/N) finally had bandages over the wounds again, and Lydia had wished her a goodnight.
The room was dark, minus a small lamp on the bedside table, along with whatever was left of her dinner. She sat on the bed, the linens smelling new. She sifted through her bag, pulling out her brand new phone, lacking anything but two contacts, Ms. Lydia as 'Grandma Lyd' and Detective Muller as 'Uncle L'.
She plugged in her phone charger, letting the two sit on the nightstand again as she grabbed the remote to the TV. She wasn't quite tired enough yet, on edge. It was comforting in a way, but unknown nonetheless. It would take her a while to get used to it, if there was enough time for that.
She flipped through channels until her eyes were pulled to a bright red figure. A news reporter, one (Y/N) wasn't familiar with, rattling off questions at Ladybug. Right... Paris had superheroes. It was truly a taboo in Lyon, where she was raised her whole life.
Paris loved their heroes, the ones who saved them from the tyrannical Monarch, but Lyon didn't have that. They had cops and a shit ton of criminal underbosses. Must've been a dumb rerun, (Y/N) thought, ready to change the channel when the curious question was popped.
"When can we see you two settling down, possibly with each other?" Ladybug's smile wavered, no doubt a practiced polite one. That was the hunk of junk they asked these two? Jeez, news must've been slow. Ladybug lets out a laugh, "It's not something I think I have time for right now."
The camera pans to Chat Noir, who has a grin plastered on his face. "Sorry to disappoint the LadyNoir fans, but Ladybug and I are strictly platonic." His tone is amused, but (Y/N) can hear the undertone of annoyance.
Yep, if she were a superhero too, she wouldn't wanna be bugged about something so... so childish. The hell was LadyNoir anyway?
Ladybug laughed softly, "I'm sure many Chat Noir fangirls would be rather happy to hear that, Casanova." They laughed like old friends would, enough to make (Y/N) feel like she was intruding. Was this really broadcast to Paris?
"Casanova, eh?" The interviewer bit the hook, "So no one currently possesses your heart?" Chat Noir thinks about it, maybe running through PR in his head before he looks at the camera, "There's enough of me to go around." He winks. Oh god, he sounded full of himself.
(Y/N) let out a fake gag, giggling at herself and changing the channel. Now she knew why people never talked about them back home; they were nothing more than former heroes who turned into galavanting celebrities.
She flipped through more channels til she ended up on cartoon reruns. Whatever, good enough. She decided to crawl under the covers, much warmer than the hospital's sterile, thin cloths. Or the cheap motel she was shoved into by the state while they figure out her shit.
Would it always be like this? She hoped that this was a leaf she could turn over, but god she had thought the last two times were just that. She turned over in bed, reaching into her bag. Not that they worked most days, but she took the sleeping pills anyway.
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(Y/N) wasn't sure what time she woke up, but she heard soft scratching at her door. Half awake, her heart began to race. The hell was that? She gets up, slowly making her way to the door and bending down. Light pours through underneath, except for one concentrated area that is blocked by something small.
She cracked the door curiously, and a soft pink nose poked its way through. Huge green eyes met her gaze, followed by sleek black fur.
A well-groomed cat.
The tiny bell on its collar jingled as it scratched its back ear, then it focused back on Seph, staring intently.
"Uh, hi..." She reaches out and softly turns over the cat's small engraved tag. "...Edward."
He lets out a little mrrp of greeting and rubs against her hand.
"Aren't you just a sweetheart?" (Y/N) finally relaxes, scratching behind the little tomcat's ear. He roared out a purr, a very affectionate boy he was.
"I see you met Edward Scissorclaws," Lydia says, her head peaking from the staircase. (Y/N) jumped a little, "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you, sweetheart. I came to drop off some clothes." (Y/N) forced herself to relax, heart thumping against her chest.
A new symptom of her situation; people innocently sneaking up on her couldn't be distinguished between being held at gunpoint, according to her nervous system.
"Clothes?" It's all she can manage as she stares awkwardly. "I bought you some stuff, just until you get your first paycheck, of course." She holds it above the railing so (Y/N) can get a better look.
Folded shirts ranging in different colors, jeans mixed in.
Ms. Lydia ascended the rest of the stairs, closing the gap between her and (Y/N). She got back up, accepting the clothes with a smile. "That's very generous of you, Ms. Lydia." The older woman waves her hand dismissively. "I made some breakfast, wasn't sure if you would be hungry, hun, but I wanted to see if you'd come sit with me at least so we can discuss house rules."
She nods, and Lydia shoos the cat. "We'll see you downstairs."
(Y/N) sifts through the clothes, basic t-shirts of different colors. She settled on a black shirt and a random choice of jeans, putting the rest inside her drawers. When she descends the stairs, the hall is much livelier, filled with the bright white of midday outside the front door window.
The narrow hallway is filled with pictures of what was presumed to be Ms. Lydia's daughter, ranging from faded pictures of a child to a college graduation photo. A younger Lydia was smiling next to the girl, which made (Y/N)'s lip curl up warmly.
She entered the kitchen, which had a small table in the middle, already with Ms. Lydia's plate. Edward stood next to her, beckoning her to drop a piece of her bacon. "Little bastard likes to beg." She states matter-of-factly, "Sabrina taught her that."
"Sabrina?"
"My daughter." She stands up and turns away. "Are you up for eating, hun?" (Y/N) nods, "Yes, please." She doesn't argue as Ms. Lydia makes her plate, setting it on her side of the table. Two pancakes and bacon.
One was blueberry, another chocolate. "Wasn't sure which you liked, so I made both." (Y/N) let out a small laugh, "I'm not too picky, thank you for making me a plate." They eat quietly for a bit, Lydia giving her time to get some food in her system.
The white light from the hallway spilled in from the kitchen windows as well, revealing the bright, cloudy sky. The kitchen had a soft green palette, an inviting look.
"So," Lydia finally cuts in. "Rules. I'll try not to bore you."
(Y/N) puts her fork down to give Lydia her full attention. "Lloyd encouraged you to make friends. I don't mind you bringing friends home, I just need a heads up."
Friends...
"The detective wants me to make friends?" She nods, "He said you were feeling down about your situation, said friends would be good for you. I won't force you to do anything, you're an adult, but I think it's a good idea."
"As long as you guys aren't loud, I don't care how late you stay. I like to go to bed around 8 and wake up at 5. Now, I don't think I need to remind you that you can't share information with your friends about your situation. It could put not only you, but them at risk."
(Y/N) looks down at her plate and bites her inner cheek. "I know." She added quietly. "Good. You can raid the kitchen at any time you'd like. I encourage you to eat as much as you want. I cook twice a week and get takeout on Fridays. Grocery orders are on Sunday morning. Text me whatever you want, and it'll be here for you. If you aren't sure about something, it doesn't hurt to ask."
(Y/N) didn't focus much after that, stuff about not drinking in the house, no doing drugs, the usual. "...And lastly, boys." (Y/N) looked up again, brows furrowing.
"Boys?"
"Or girlfriends, I don't judge. Partners: No partners in my house. Detective Muller wants you to make friends, but he thinks partners aren't a good idea right now. I expect you to uphold that for your safety."
Her tone wasn't stern, but rather motherly.
(Y/N) was really getting the talk as a 19-year-old woman. It almost made her smile again, almost.
"Oh-- Work. I know you probably wish you got to choose, but Lloyd pulled some strings and got you a decent starter job at a bakery nearby."
That definitely piqued her interest. "It's right just a few blocks away, I can give you a ride if you want, but Lloyd told me you're very independent, so I assume you wanna walk, huh?"
(Y/N) goes back to picking at her food, stabbing her fork gently into one of the chocolate pieces of her pancake. "I don't wanna step on any toes." Lydia frowns and stands, grabbing her empty plate.
"Don't feel that way, dear. I quite enjoy your company so far." The sink fills the space that quiets between them. When she turns it off again, she wipes her hands off with a dish towel and turns around to face her. "Listen, (Y/N)-- Veronique. Apologies, I won't slip up again." (Y/N) looks up, startled at hearing her name.
"I want you to find a semblance of normalcy. I'm not asking for us to be thick as thieves, but I want you to know you can lean on me, at least until we know what the next step is. So you need to know, most importantly, that if you need to talk about it, I will listen."
The air suddenly became thick, and (Y/N) wanted desperately to get away. Talking about it wasn't a choice. "Thank you." Her voice is barely above a whisper. Lydia must've sensed the change between them because she excused herself.
(Y/N) got up, cleaned her dish, and returned to her room for the rest of the day, letting Edward in and out as he pleased.
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The next few days weren't too much different, (Y/N) recovering like she was instructed to. She walked around the block a few times when the sun was at the highest point in the sky, but felt too nervous to step foot past that bubble that was her new street.
Things with Lydia were... well... as good as living with someone you don't know could go. Edward was good company, hell, he was great company. He didn't ask her questions and curled up on her bed, watching shitty reality TV.
Her life sucked badly lately, but at least watching other people's shitty lives made her feel somewhat better. As the days passed, her wounds had gotten better. The only sign of what she went through was her torn-up back and the yellow around her eye.
Monday came sooner than she thought, earlier than she thought.
3 fricken am.
She never even fell asleep, too restless to close her eyes, tossing and turning in bed. Edward had gotten fed up, scratching and meowing at the door to leave at some point in the night, unable to handle her mood swings anymore.
She couldn't blame the poor little fella; she was unable to handle it either, anxiety bubbling in her gut. And her alarm went off at 3 am, reminding her she had to get up for work. At some point in the week, she had gotten the text from Detective Muller about her job details.
The address, the pay, and god forbid... the hours.
"It's a part-time job," He said over the phone. "Just for now at least. Sabine said if you pick up quickly, she'd keep you on full time." (Y/N) listened, detailing in her notes app the things he wrote and told her.
"Your shifts start at 6:30, but Sabine said she needs you in at 4 on the first day, to go over the ropes with you." Fun. So yeah, now (Y/N) was up at 3, miserable and tired. She freshened up and put makeup over her eye, something she'd been given by Lydia the night before.
"Gonna have to cover it up, at least until it's fully healed." She said, handing over a bunch of items. Primer, concealor, a color corrector, setting powder, and spray. "Do you know how to cover up bruises, hun?" Her question was gentle. "No, do you?" Lydia helped her after that, showed her how to cover the eye, and for once in weeks, (Y/N) looked like a normal person, unharmed by her circumstances.
(Y/N) quietly opened the bathroom door, stepping out with her phone in hand, playing music softly through a pair of earbuds she had gotten from Muller. She was quiet, walking past Lydia's room. She'd assured her earlier in the night that she didn't need a ride; she'd walk.
That now became a daunting task; the sky was still dark at 3:44. The streets were illuminated, but it still had her on edge. She stuck closely to the streetlights as she followed her GPS to work. By the end of the fifteen-minute walk, she had felt a little better, the cold morning air refreshing against her exposed skin.
Lydia had lent her an old coat, something her daughter used to own.
The Bakery looked beautiful on the outside, with huge glass windows exposing the inside. A woman was scribbling with a pen behind the counter. She looked up and met (Y/N)'s gaze, a smile spreading.
She came over, keys in hand, unlocking the door. "Veronique?" She asked, as chipper as anyone could be at 4 in the morning. "Sorry, I'm late, I got a little lost." Sabine's eyes widened, "You walked here? Dear, it's so cold, come in, come in." She ushered the young woman in and closed the door again, locking it.
"Welcome to the bakery, dear. It's so good to meet you. Thank you for meeting me so early. We have a lot of stuff to learn. I don't expect you to pick it all up right away, especially the drinks, but I promise to make you a master by the end of the week!"
Drinks...
"I see that look on your face, 'Bakery's serve drinks?' Tom-- My husband, he started serving more than pots of coffee about a year ago, and the people love it! We don't make too many fancy drinks, but we have the essentials."
(Y/N) unzipped the coat, letting it slide off her shoulders. "Ah, let me take that dear! Coat rack is just inside our hallway. Our house is connected to the bakery, bathroom just down the hall, don't feel like you're intruding, dear." Sabine talked at a million miles an hour, overwhelming (Y/N), who forced a polite smile to her lips.
"Go wash your hands, and we can get started."
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Sabine explained minute details of (Y/N)'s job. She'd shown off the glass case, which lacked much but the scraps from yesterday. "We sell them half off," Sabine said, pointing to a few slices of Opera cake and muffins. "You should familiarize yourself with the menu; we don't change it often, just seasonal things. Our current special right now is lotus cupcakes, they should be gone by 9 am though."
Then they got into the drinks. "We roast coffee, it's simple, just a few buttons on the machine. We also sell lattes, cappuccinos, mochas, and hot chocolate. I'm gonna run it through you, okay? I printed you a little chart if you ever get confused."
She dug at the little cove under the counter, pulling up a laminated chart attached to a magnetized chip clip. "Let's get started, yeah?" (Y/N) took a deep breath in and nodded, "Yep." (Y/N) listened closely to Sabine's instructions, making drinks next to the older woman who was quick and precise.
The latte was easy enough, just espresso, steamed milk, and milk foam. Making the milk foam was actually kind of interesting. "You can have it if you'd like, dear." She says, pushing the steaming drink towards (Y/N). "Really?" She could use the caffeine, her eyes heavy with sleep she hadn't gotten the night before.
"Yeah, you look like you're about to crash and burn." The woman said, amused. (Y/N) set the drink aside, taking occasional sips as they continued down the list of drinks. It wasn't so hard with just them two in the quiet, but she knew it would be during the morning rush.
"If you get stuck, please don't hesitate to grab me." Sabine's tone was encouraging, making (Y/N) feel at ease. At least her boss wouldn't rip her head off for not being good, at least not yet.
They had been an hour into the training when Sabine stopped and looked up at the clock. "Tom's gonna be in soon. Usually, we all come in between 6 and 6:30 to prep for the rush. Tom and I will be working the kitchen while you do the shop cleaning checklist and prepare the glass case."
(Y/N) sipped her cold drink, nodding at the woman. "My daughter, sometimes she helps around the shop too, she won't get in your way much, but she can be really chatty, so feel free to shoo her away if you want. She's actually around your age-- 20 to be exact, you're 19, yes dear?"
"Yeah, I'll be 20 later this year," (Y/N) adds, setting the drink back down and scanning the shop checklist. "Ah! Maybe you and Marinette can be fast friends-- Not that that's a requirement, though! Just thought since you're new in town, you might be interested in others your age."
(Y/N) flashed her boss a smile, "Thank you, ma'am."
"Oh, please, just call me Sabine. Oh! Also, I forgot, Adrien comes in a few times a week. He graduated with Marinette. He's a sweet boy. Works with us in the kitchen, so you'll be manning the front alone, but I'm sure you could be friends with him too. He doesn't bite at all."
A coworker who was around her age. Tempting. But (Y/N) wasn't sure she was in the mood for friends and hoped Adrien would just stick to some small talk, Marinette too. "He'll be here in a few minutes. I'm gonna go find Tom. Wipe down your work area while I'm gone." Sabine unlocked the front doors and turned to leave down the hall of her house.
(Y/N) was left alone, the quiet hum of the ceiling fan in the kitchen saving her from complete silence. She sprayed the countertops and wiped them down for a few minutes when the doorbell jingled, no doubt her new coworker, Adrien. She turned around, a polite greeting caught in her throat as she met his gaze.
No way.
Detective Muller had been detailed with (Y/N)'s new life, pulling the strings meticulously to make sure it was all perfect this time. But he had failed to mention-- maybe even missed the fact that she'd be working with a former celebrity model.
Adrien Agreste, to be exact.
So much for keeping her head down.