All That Remains » Marichat

1: a black coat

When Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a little girl, she used to say she had bad luck. Now that she was a twenty-year-old grown woman, she could say she had shit luck.

She woke up because she thought she heard someone speaking to her. A voice pierced the incessant ringing, and for a moment, Marinette was confused. The words sounded muddled to her newly woken ears. Her head rose from the mountains of pillows piled on her bed to beg the voice to either speak up or go away. Marinette just wanted a few extra minutes of much-needed sleep. She was exhausted. Her body not truly used to staying up late to finish assignments as she claimed—and thought—it was. "What?" she heard herself ask. Although, she wasn't all that interested in hearing the reply. It was more about being polite to the voice than anything else. There was a pause that allowed Marinette's heavy eyes to close once more. She was chasing after the sleep that seemed to be slipping through her fingers.

The voice finally broke through the noise and lulled atmosphere. "I said, if you don't turn your alarm off in the next three seconds I'm going to actually kill you!" The sound of Alya's voice sent a jolt of electricity through her veins. She ripped off the blanket that had somehow managed to become tangled around her limbs in her sleep and scrambled off the bed. Her alarm was blaring, a constant sound that never ceased to cause anxiety and dread. Marinette silenced the alarm finally and could almost hear Alya cry in relief. She must have slept through her alarms, plural, as in she slept through multiple alarms and managed to wake her roommate up. There was no other reason for Alya to be awake that morning.

Marinette's heartbeat was thrumming in her ears as she looked at the time. It was late. She was going to be late. The young woman slid off her bed and began rummaging through her clothes for something to wear. Even if she did somehow manage to leave their apartment in the next second, she still wouldn't make it to her class on time. She was pushing a brush through her midnight hair when she realized she hadn't showered the night prior like she had planned. Nothing seemed to be working in her favor. A little frustrated sound escaped her lips as she fought the urge to cry out. Her dark hair was tangled and looked limp. She wasn't even sure what to do to fix it, but Marinette didn't have time to focus on what her hair looked like. Not that she thought that her classmates would really care what she looked like. Half the time her peers showed up in complete disarray due to staying up late finishing designs or pieces. She could always use that as an excuse if her teacher decided to let her in the classroom.

Marinette tried not to let her focus drift away from the fact that she needed to get going. She turned to pick up a white shirt off the floor and tripped on one of her notebooks. "Fuck," she uttered as she looked at the state of her room. Chaos was an understatement. Marinette looked down and realized that the contents of her bag laid strewn across her bedroom floor. She must have kicked it off her bed in her sleep. She dropped down and began gathering all of her school supplies. The young woman began shoving everything back into the old bag without care for the order. However, she noticed a particular pink notebook was absent from the mess. Marinette could almost feel a scream build in the back of her throat. She could feel it as it lodged in her windpipe. It was as if she had swallowed a stone. The mass sat at the base of her throat and created an uncomfortable suffocating feeling.

Marinette began looking for her notebook around her room. When it wasn't in any of its usual hiding places—or actually any place she could think of—she felt herself sniffle, the stone dislodging. The metaphorical dam beaking, the waterworks beginning. Her eyes watered. Marinette snapped herself out of the downward spiral she was following. Being upset didn't change the fact that she had to get to class, even if she wanted to curl up and cry. She let the notebook go for now. She had some of her designs memorized anyway.

The sudden noise of Alya clearing her throat distracted Marinette from the beginnings of a breakdown. She looked over at her best friend and roommate and nearly cried out in relief. Alya held the book full of Marinette's designs in one hand as she coolly leaned against the doorway. Alya must be a literal fucking angel. "Found this bad boy on the counter," she said before tossing it to Marinette.