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"Here," Sabine said, holding up a tray of angel cakes she had just spread fondant over. "Try one."
Tom took a bite out of a slice, and his eyes closed as he chewed. Sabine's smile grew and grew, a flush gathering in her cheeks, maturing when her husband looked back at her.
"It tastes wonderful, honey," he said, and bent to kiss her head. "Just as always."
Adrien jumped back out of his stupor as they began to lean in and continued wiping the pastry display.
Tom and Sabine's affection intrigued Adrien, the way romance novels might have intrigued someone else. He'd seen a fraction of it before, when he didn't know Marinette's identity and when he wasn't helping out at the bakery just to hang out with her, but now, with his presence around their home, he was seeing it all the more often.
He rubbed at a stubborn speck on the display glass. Looking back on himself three months ago, he could say with confidence that he had finally been reshaped by the love bursting from the Dupain-Cheng household. It didn't embarrass him when Tom and Sabine gazed into each other's eyes or when he walked in on one kissing the other's cheek. It was normal, now, and after having seen his father shrug off his mother's embrace as soon as their son entered the room up until he was thirteen, Adrien never thought love so shameless, so honest, could be a part of his normal.
"Ouch!"
Adrien looked up from the speck and threw a glance in the direction of the kitchen. "You okay, Marinette?" he called before her parents could.
"Yeah! Just grazed a hot tray, I'll be fine!"
He shook his head fondly, and finished wiping the pastry display.
It startled Adrien how similar she was to Sabine. The resemblance had always been clear, but Adrien never knew how alike to Marinette Sabine could sound when she spoke.
(An embarrassing encounter taught him that well. He was counting the money in the cash register, heard who he could've sworn was Marinette say his name, and only realised his mistake in calling her his lady when he heard a laugh, turned, and found Sabine.)
Lifting his eyes from the cloth he was wiping with to Tom and Sabine, Adrien smiled.
Marinette learned her mannerisms from somewhere beautiful.
Which was why she rested against him the way she did when they watched movies on the couch together: a head on his shoulder, her hand on his knee, so gentle and sweet and alike to the way Adrien had seen Sabine sit with Tom after they'd finished their dinner. Or the way her eyes tapered when she smirked at him the way Sabine's did when it was Tom's turn to wash the dishes.
Or… or… or…
He could go on, and on, and on.
Adrien headed into the backroom and hung up the rag.
He heard a clatter from upstairs, and Marinette's soft humming permeating the walls.
Adrien bit his lip and bowed his head and grinned like a fool.
Would Marinette be like Sabine if she were in love?
Rosy cheeks and soft giggles and long, long hugs where she put her face in his shoulder and he could smell the shampoo in her hair? Hand-holding where she rubbed her thumb against his knuckles and kissing his palm when he touched her cheek and gracing him with megawatt smiles whenever he entered the room? Being proud and honest and goddamn shameless and standing on her toes to kiss his lips — because she wasn't ashamed of their love, because she knew it was beautiful.
"Adrien?"
He jolted, hand slipping on the rag and pulling it off its hook.
Marinette stood in front of him, holding up a second batch of angel cakes she had just spread fondant over.
"Here," she said. "Try one."
Adrien took a bite out of a slice.
Marinette's smile grew and grew, a flush gathering in her cheeks, maturing when he looked back at her.
"It tastes wonderful," he said, heart stuttering. "Just as always."