Work Text:
Yellow had always been Chloé’s favorite color.
She remembers being five years old and learning its name. Yel-low would roll off her tongue the same way demands at her staff would. She’d whisper the word to the dark late at night, roll over on her bed, and smile.
It’s no surprise that she’d gotten angry and defensive when all her classmates made fun of it.
Yellow is the color of pee , they’d all laughed at her jacket. Who would consider that their favorite color?
It’s those same people who sneered at her when the scandal broke out, gave interviews about how they knew this is what would come of her. She wants to say her heart was broken, wants to talk on and on about how making fun of the last gift her mother had given her had been the thing that destroyed her.
But those words were lost from her, sucked out of her until the only thing left were snarky remarks and the best phrases to get things done. It hadn’t taken that long before those were also stolen from her.
When she woke up early October, she didn’t feel as tired as she usually did. Her morning coffee was more of a choice than a necessity, and it didn’t take her two hours to finally function properly. Her door was locked behind her forty minutes earlier than it usually was, and her neighbors were still arguing in the apartment next door.
For all that she spoke of September, there was something about October mornings that made her smile as she walked down the street, risking detours and stops she found useless, even in September. Bakeries would get her business, street players would get her money, and she’d feel lighter all month.
Maybe it had something to do with her father’s weekly television appearances in October, but that was no one else’s business.
Walking into Madame Hidalgo’s office didn’t damper or depress her, and she felt a lot more confident than she had just last week. She’d had a few great dates with Marinette, her makeup was flawless today, her outfit was cute, and she’d abandoned her flats in favor of her favorite heels. A quarter of confidence dictated the way she held herself, head high enough to make eye contact instead of just studying the drab floor.
Her chair rolls close to her desk and her phone stays out, eyes peeled out for a message from Marinette. The day isn’t too painstaking as time passes, and Chloé even makes conversation with some of her coworkers, feeding information for peoples’ absences and shutting down rumors.
It’s closer to noon when someone taps her desk, and when Chloé looks up, Marinette is standing there with a giant gift bag in her hand. She smiles at Chloé, gesturing towards the door. In return, Chloé raises an eyebrow, looks around the lobby, and then shrugs, pulling away from her desk.
“Nice to know I take priority,” Marinette greets, and Chloé’s eyes roll immediately.
It feels nice being able to start over with someone who doesn’t know about what went down. Marinette’s ignorance is bliss for Chloé, and in the moments she isn’t constantly screaming about how she’s lying to Marinette, she can actually enjoy having a clean slate.
Lying is a strong term anyway. Chloé just hasn’t brought up her past much, and they’re not really dating . They were just getting to know each other, and there was nothing wrong with withholding private information.
Right?
“So what brings you here?” Chloé asks once they’re outside, and Marinette reaches for her hand, squeezing it.
“I have a gift for you.”
Chloé eyes the gift bag with a small smirk. One of the greatest things about hanging out with Marinette has been the way she can feel an actual personality rising up again, snark and smirks alike dictating their conversations. Sometimes it felt weird, like all the effort she’d gone to suppress it all had gone to waste.
But then she’d think of the way Marinette would straighten up in response, her eyes glinting with a snarky response before Chloé could even say something. It felt powerful, like she’d finally met her match.
“You realize you can’t buy my love, right?” Chloé says, staring at the curl of Marinette’s lips. She doesn’t respond, not really, as she thrusts the bag closer to Chloé. She takes a hint, tucks her loose hair behind her ear, and takes it.
“It’s… a jacket,” Marinette announces, receiving a raised eyebrow from the blonde. The wind whipped around them, lifting Chloé’s hair and rendering her hairstyle useless. She didn’t even care, too enchanted by Marinette’s company. “That I made. In your favorite color.”
She was stunned by that. Marinette had really put in the effort to make an orange jacket?
“My favorite color, huh?” Chloé mused, her eyes roving the outside of the gift bag. It had come up so long ago, maybe the first time they’d hung out. She hadn’t really thought Marinette would think much of it.
It seemed Marinette was thinking along the same lines because she gestured towards the bag again. “You should really take a look.”
Chloé takes the hint at that, shoving the bag into Marinette’s arms so she could reach inside. The jacket was.
Yellow.
“I thought you said it was my favorite color,” Chloé said after a moment of studying it. It looked exactly like the jacket she’d worn all throughout ecole and college. She’d shed it in lycee only because she was tired of having people laugh and complain about the color, but that hadn’t stopped her from sleeping with it, her arms wrapped around an article of clothing when it should’ve been her mom instead.
She’s positive she never told Marinette about the jacket, or the significance yellow had to her.
“It is,” Marinette states, and when Chloé looks up at her, she’s smiling, gentle and sweet in the way that warms her heart. “I’m not stupid, you know? I’ve seen the way you stare at yellow objects, and I like to think I know you well enough to tell what your tastes are.”
“But the jacket…?”
Marinette walks closer at that, the jacket and gift bag trapped between them as exhales. Chloé feels herself warm, her hand gripping the jacket tighter. “I did a little bit of research because your name sounded really familiar. And then, the results reminded me-”
“You know,” Chloé interrupts, her heart beating out of her chest. Marinette nods and Chloé feels herself fall, finds herself unable to catch her breath. “Oh no, you know .”
“I’ve known since after our first date,” Marinette admits. “I didn’t really think much of it.”
The world wouldn’t stop spinning, Marinette’s eyes so bright, too bright . Chloé closes her eyes, her breath shallow as sounds blur and fade. All that’s left is the panicked memories conjured by her mind, a mess of flashes and screaming and yelling -
“We don’t have to talk about it,” Marinette announces, and Chloé forces her eyes open to find Marinette apologetic. “I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to hide.”
Catching her breath is a lot easier after that, and Chloé shoves the jacket into the bag again, her hands trembling. Marinette hooks the bag onto her forearms and grabs Chloé’s hands, squeezing tight. Chloé hangs on like Marinette’s hands were a lifeboat and Chloé had been sinking for too long.
“Thank you,” she cries somewhere, and then Marinette is hugging her. Chloé thinks about the way Marinette went through the effort of remaking her favorite jacket, in her actual favorite color and not some lie Chloé had fed her. She’d spent so long running, from her father, her classmates, her mother’s past, yellow, herself , all because she was tired of constant criticism. To have someone who knew and accepted felt so new, so raw, so.
So powerful.
Their… relationship … doesn’t feel quite as distant as Chloé once thought. She can feel her heart resisting, refusing to wilt. She hadn’t felt this way in so long .
She felt a little scared, but ignoring it while being in Marinette’s embrace seemed like the best option.