Chapter Text
It is the 17th of August. Despite the steady stream of tourists, the summer vacances lend a lazy air to the morning.
No truer is this than at Café Le 21e, where even the breakfast rush has a decidedly relaxed feel. Relaxed...and, for whatever reason, romantic. Behind the bar, Ivan cradles a comically tiny coffee cup in one giant hand, carefully fashioning a heart with steamed milk before passing it across the counter to a beaming Mylène. Alya bestows a kiss on Nino’s brow as she passes his table, tray in hand. She delivers a plate of croissants to Marc’s table, but they are too absorbed in conversation with Nathaniel to notice.
Tikki leans on her cane as she watches life go by in her little corner of the world. But then, something out the window catches her eye. It’s an oddly familiar scene: an Asian man, his gait slightly more hunched than when last she saw, accompanied by a frail woman, her greyed hair pulled up to reveal a face radiant with happiness. Their heads bow together as they pass, chatting as they share a box of macarons from the bakery next door.
An amused smile spreads across her face. All these years later, she still remembers. And she knows - her recipe for love still stands the test of time.
On the other side of the Seine, a taxi idles outside the home of Rolland Dupain. The elderly gentleman steps out the front door, a poorly fitting fedora atop his head as he struggles to wrench his suitcase onto the front porch.
A voice calls out. “Let me handle that for you, Papa.” Tom lifts the bag as though it weighs no more than a feather.
Rolland grumbles rather than thanks his son for his trouble. “If you’re going to treat me like an invalid the whole time we’re in China,” he warns, “this is going to be a very long month.”
Sabine appears, laughing as she escorts him to the waiting vehicle. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he behaves.” She turns to the taxi driver. “Charles de Gaulle airport, if you please.”
The trio squeeze into the car and speed away, the promise of adventure awaiting them.
Over in Pigalle, Plagg is deep in thought, his hands jammed into his pockets as he ambles toward his shop. (Contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t live at La Petite Mort - he just really enjoys naps.) Schedules and inventories fight for attention in his brain, but he is largely preoccupied with one big question: what is he going to do now that he’s lost his best employee?
As if on cue, Plagg looks up, only to spot a perfume ad on the street. There, smiling back at him, is the very cause of his current predicament. Despite his annoyance at the situation - what had he been thinking, encouraging Adrien to quit? - Plagg shakes his head with a bemused chuckle. How that kid ever thought he was capable of going incognito is beyond him, but he’s amused that he tried.
LPM comes into view, but he notices something curious about the storefront. The shop has a metal chain link wall to protect from vandals and thieves, but that’s not what gets Plagg’s attention...it’s the wooden box that’s sitting next to the lock, calling out to him. He breaks into a light jog, not trusting that someone won't try to swoop in and grab the package before he even gets to see what it is or who it’s for.
Luckily, no would-be thieves get in his way, and the box remains undisturbed as he makes his approach. He leans down to inspect it, and his eyes light up as he sees the words emblazoned on the lid in flowing calligraphy: Camembert & Confitures.
Plagg doesn’t stop to unlock the shop - he has more important things to do - but instead uses his key to pry the lid open. And there, nestled in mounds of shredded paper, are five of the most beautiful rounds of cheese he’s ever seen in his life.
There’s also a note.
Sorry for leaving you in a lurch. Hope this numbs the pain. Nino ;)
Plagg stands up to look around the near deserted street. He suspects the delivery must have been recent, but there’s no one to be found. Shrugging, Plagg just laughs. He stoops back down to unlock the gate and lifts up the grate with one hand. It’s a bit of a struggle, as his other hand holds the cheese box protectively against his chest like it’s a kitten.
(A kitten he will eat. Perhaps that is a bad analogy, but he's sticking with it.)
Absent employees or not, this is going to be a good day.
Back in the 4th arrondissement, Marinette is doodling in a sketchbook, the tip of her tongue slipping past the corner of her mouth as she shades in a detail on her latest design. It feels good to be drawing again, and although she knows she’s got a little while longer before she starts at the boutique, this time she knows it’s temporary. Besides, this transition period is a great opportunity for the new apprentice to get a feel for things independent of her parents. Still, it’s probably a good idea to get another assistant. She makes a note to float the idea to her parents when they get back from their trip.
The bell tinkles at Tom and Sabine’s to signal the entry of another customer. It’s slow in the shop, but she’s not complaining. In fact, it’s a nice change from the insanity of earlier, when she’d had to contend with both the morning rush and the departure of her parents.
“So what’s next out of the oven...baguettes, or a new batch of croissants?”
Marinette looks up, her welcoming smile stretching into an all-out grin as she realizes that it’s not a customer at all, but her parents’ new apprentice.
“Croissants,” she replies. “They’ll be out in ten minutes.”
“Perfect.” Adrien slips behind the counter, stealing a kiss as he reaches for an apron on the hook behind her. “That gives me time to work on my macaron piping technique.”
Marinette rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “You’ve already got it perfect. Papa said he’s never seen someone take to baking so quickly,” she says, pride evident in her voice. She laughs lightly at the way Adrien’s cheeks redden at her father’s praise. “Anyway, did your special delivery go well?”
Adrien nods. “Perfectly. I stuck around just long enough to see him open it, even.”
“And?”
“I think it’s safe to say Plagg’s forgiven me for leaving,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “But it was a little weird.”
Marinette quirks a brow in question. “Weird? Why’s that?”
Though his face is uncovered, his smirk is unmistakably Chat Noir. “Because that’s the first time I’ve gone on a mission without my lady…”
She swats at his chest. “Well, technically it’s not a mission since he definitely knows it was you,” she points out.
He tips his head in concession. “True.”
“But I had an idea for something else, if you aren’t too busy piping macarons after work?” Her expression is happy, hopeful.
Adrien grins. “I can’t think of anything better, Milady.”
Marinette flips to another page in her sketchbook, one already laden with doodles and words. She turns to Adrien - her partner, her friend, her love - and smiles in return. "Then, mon chaton, let me walk you through the plan."
The sun hangs low in the sky as a girl in red and a boy in black zoom along the streets of Paris on an orange scooter.
The girl presses herself against the boy’s back as she clings to his middle. Despite the swirl of questions around her future, she hums with contentment.
The boy sighs at the contact but focuses on the road ahead. Her very presence makes him feel as though a fog has been lifted; for the first time in his adult life, he can breathe deeply, see clearly.
For once, for both, there is no fear, no trepidation. Only a quiet joy rooted in the confidence that they’ve each found their person, the one with whom they can face down the challenges of the future. Just the two of them, against the world. As it was meant to be. Always.