Day 4 - Number
X + Y = ...
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There came a time in life when people are assigned partners or a group to work with. Rarely does it matter if you get along with the person or not, but what matters is the end result, no matter how it was reached within legal and ethical parameters.
If Marinette Dupain-Cheng could strangle the person who put her with Damian Wayne, then she would. Damian Wayne was, on all accounts, an entitled, arrogant bastard who had the brains and brawn to back it up, much to her chagrin. He was intelligent beyond his years, an Adonis with symmetrical features (that may or may not have influenced her new designs and sketches), and somehow had the maturity of an old wise sage and a thirteen-year-old brat all at the same time. He berated her on the little mistakes she made and poked at the contributions she made to the project in question.
It wasn't like she was a saint either. After the initial bumpy meeting, she would blow her fuse earlier than she did with her friends, and snark made its debut into her attitude. Funny enough, it only came out when she dealt with him.
They were too opposite of each other to get along, yet too similar to each other to let bygones be bygones. Both of them were bull-headed, independent, creative diverse people who work against people two or three years older than them. But where she was bubbly, he was prickly. Where he called it realism, she called it pessimism. Her idealism was his half-witted optimism. Stubborn to a fault, they both were unwilling to see the other's side. She hated him, and he hated her.
Jon was her — their, if they were being technical — only saving light in this whole fiasco. He stepped in before the arguments got too big, slinging an arm over Damian's shoulder, or asking Marinette about her latest fashion project. His smile was their saving grace, and she wondered, on more than one occasion, how he managed to put up with the asshole that was Damian Wayne.
Which brought her to her impromptu lunch with Jon in the campus cafeteria. It was not a date, thank you very much. Or at least, that's what she was telling herself and the little Adrien devil sitting on her shoulder. Jon was there to accompany Damian, and Damian was there to attempt to finish their project together.
At that moment, Damian was out buying his vegan lunch while Marinette and Jon had already found a table and were chowing down on their homemade lunches. She had almost rolled her eyes when he made a snide comment about her squished pastries, biting back a remark about how spoiled he was, buying subpar lunch at a cafeteria that jacked the prices way too high.
"Jon," she whined, slamming her head on the table. "Why, why are you friends with the démon himself?"
Jon gave her a smile, gulping down a bite of his sandwich. "Our dads are friends, and we've been friends since I was twelve. We get along."
"But why? You are like me, so how can you put up with him, but I can't?" She wanted to point at him with her chopsticks, but she could already imagine the earful she'd get from her Maman. She shuddered at the thought. Maman always knew, always.
"Why? We're two different people, so I guess opposites attract." He took another bite of his sandwich, eyeing the crowd.
She stared him down. "Let me put it this way. We," she gestured to the two of them, "we are like terms. X, if you will. Now, he is Y, which is the perpendicular to X, and by all means, should not get along. How is it that you intersect with him while Damian is like a parallel line to me?"
"Because..." He trailed off, trying to process what she said and refute it at the same time, gave up and shrugged. "I don't know. Something about getting put in near-death situations where you can only rely on the other person just does it. You learn to get along."
Marinette blinked at his unflinching smile. Dazzling, yes, and she never would have thought he talked about being in near-death situations if she hadn't heard it herself. They stared each other down. She wanted to know what he meant. He started sweating under her gaze, sandwich laid forgotten in his hands.
He looked away first. Ha.
"I think I can hear Damian calling me. I'm just going to—" He muttered and cut through the crowd like a blade in water. Not even ten seconds later, he emerged from the crowd again, dragging along a grumbling Damian behind him.
Her face twisted, pastries forgotten on the side. "How the hell did you hear Damian calling out to you?"
"Please, I could hear the both of you from a mile away." The green-eyed boy scoffed. "Maybe you should get your hearing tested."
She narrowed her eyes. "If you were listening, you would have noticed I was talking about hearing you, not—"
"Ok then." Jon interrupted, seeing the signs of a brewing argument. "How about we just chill for a bit, maybe not kill each other until the rest of the day?"
They glared at each other from the corner of their eyes and gave a solemn nod. Jon was trying to make an effort to get his friends to like each other, and they both agreed to compromise for Jon. It didn't make it any less irritating to sit with each other though.
Jon grinned. "Great! Now, I think we were in the middle of discussing our favourite heroes the last time we sat together."
Damian and Marinette groaned. If there was one other thing they agreed on, it was their mutual dislike of whatever topics Jon brought up. Specifically if it had to do with heroes.
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Marinette stretched her hands up, rolling her neck. "I think that's it. The hell project is finished."
"Yes it is." Damian cricked his neck with his hand, groaning.
Jon looked at them with puppy eyes. "Come on, it couldn't have been that bad."
"Jon, I don't know where the hell you've been for the past two hours, but this was absolute hell." She glared at the innocent boy, who answered with a blank stare.
"Save it, DC." Damian huffed, not looking up at her. Jon's face lit up at the nickname. In his eyes, it was a step forward to friendship between the stubborn geniuses. "Kent isn't going to suddenly become more aware just because you've pointed it out. You have to wait for him to come to the conclusion himself."
Jon looked like he sucked a lemon. "Hey, rude much!"
"Everything I've said was true, and you know it." Damian rolled his eyes. If she got along with the boy, she would have laughed. As it was, she settled for a minute smile. "And if we're talking about rude, then I would appreciate it if you would not insist on using my phone to talk to Dupain-Cheng between classes."
"What?" Jon's face lit up Peach pink, and she felt hers do the same. "I mean, you're the one with her phone number for the project—"
"—and it's not as if you hadn't memorised her phone number already." Damian gave her a terse nod. She stared at him. What was he doing?
Before the two stunned people could move, he stood up. "Now, if you will excuse me. I have better things to do with my time than to watch this paltry game of chicken."
They watched as he strode off, and the room was quiet. They couldn't make eye contact with each other, and their eyes were glued to the table.
Come on, Mari, she thought, new country, new university, new you.
She took a deep breath, glanced up then back down again. Nope. Couldn't do it that time. Maybe once more.
This time, she met shy blue eyes and a blinding smile.
"So..." He trailed off, phone in his hand.
Her heart fluttered, and she channeled as much Lady Noire energy as she could. "Can I have your number?"
He nodded and gave her that wonderful heartthrob smile she loved so much. She almost melted on the spot. Oh Kwami, she was doomed from the beginning.
hello and welcome back to hlmhlmn! they've exchanged phone numbers now, marriage is next— kidding. but anyways. thank you again @maribat-calendar-events for the lovely prompts and i hope you stick around <3
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