Archive of Our Own ^beta

The bell hanging on the bakery’s front door jingled lightly as the door arced inward. A gentle breeze, surprisingly fresh for the time of year, snuck in through the momentary breach.

From her place behind the counter, Marinette looked up. She found a blonde man, probably early twenties, standing just inside the slowly closing door. With a black face mask covering the lower half of his face and a cap on his head, it was difficult to see much of him at all, but she could tell by his stance that he was taking in the layout of the place.

“Welcome!” she called out, her voice muffled by the mask covering her own face. For good measure, she threw in a friendly wave and stepped away from the stool she had been resting briefly on. The magazine in her hands found a home on the countertop, and she reached for a fresh pair of vinyl gloves.

With slow, measured steps, the man approached, but he had yet to glance in her direction. Instead, she could see his head turning up and to the side and around as though wondering over something.

“Wow.” The tone of his utterance made her think he may not even have been aware he was exteriorizing his thoughts. “I haven’t been in here since everything started reopening. Feels a little strange.”

Marinette smiled pleasantly on reflex, aware somewhere in her subconscious that he couldn’t even see the smile on her face. Though, to be fair, he could have probably detected it in the crinkle of her eyes. As though on cue, he stopped his visual assessment of the shop and finally directed his vision toward her, having reached the other side of the counter. Albeit, the counter was now a bit more spacious than it used to be, and there was a plexiglass barrier between them. The set up felt a bit stifling, almost clinical, but there was no helping it. Regulations were regulations, and even if they weren’t, her parents (as well as she) would always rather be cautious than reckless. They placed the health and well-being of both themselves and their customers above everything else.

“Sorry,” the man was saying. A single index finger pointed vaguely off in a general direction as he spoke. Marinette caught the glint of silver on his right ring finger. “I… haven’t really been out since quarantine ended and… wait, who are you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”

Marinette blinked at the abruptness of the question. Her first instinct was to be offended, but the bright green of his eyes was somehow disarming.

“M- Marinette,” she stammered, then turned a little red with embarrassment.  She hadn’t stammered since collège when she earned the affectionate nickname “Muh-muh-marinette” from then-crush Luka Couffaine. (Could it really be termed a nickname if it was actually longer than her given name?) The recollection turned her flush a shade darker. She hoped it was mostly hidden by the mask. “My parents own this bakery,” she added. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she noted the way her fingers began to fidget nervously. Her eyes danced around aimlessly for a second before settling back on the man’s face.

Green Eyes’s green eyes crinkled at the edges.

“Wow. That’s way prettier than what I was going to guess.”

Marinette blinked again, her forehead creasing with confusion.

“My name?”

The man leaned his elbows on the counter and crossed his forearms, his face just a bit closer to the dividing plastic.

“Yea. It means ‘of the sea,’ right? I guess that’s not too far off from what I was thinking. I was going to say “Blue Eyes” or something equally unimaginative. Sorry. I’m unimaginative.”

She watched as the words tumbled invisibly from his similarly invisible lips. The more he spoke, the more nervous he seemed to get. What started out as a relaxed lean quickly transitioned into a tense straightening, then culminated in the absent-minded nervous tick of him reaching back to rub his neck.

Marinette felt the embarrassment melt out of her body. Her frown softened into a small smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Unimaginative Green Eyes.”

He stilled a moment, then his arm fell loosely back to his side. His forehead smoothed, eyes crinkling again, and he laughed.

“Adrien,” he finally offered. “My name is Adrien.”

“Fancy seeing you here again.”

Marinette looked up from the book she had been reading, surprised to realize someone had entered the shop without her noticing.

“Ah, right, um…” she gave her head a shake in an effort to bring herself back to the world. “Pleasure to see you again, monsieur…” Her voice trailed as she finally saw the man in the shop.

It was him. That man with the-

“Unimaginative Green Eyes.”

The man coughed, something between a choke and a laugh.

“Uh, r- right,” he stammered. The part of his cheeks visible just under his bright meadow-green eyes tinged pink. “B- but, you can call me Adrien.”

“Oh. Right.” Marinette’s eyes rounded like saucers. She didn’t realize right away that she had said that out loud. To hide her intense blush, she averted her face and focused on changing her gloves before heading to the display case. “What can I get for you, A- Adrien?” Ugh. There was that stammer again. She cleared her throat and pretended not to notice her own embarrassment.

“The, uh, the passionfruit macarons, please. Two. And, um, a a lemon éclair. And would you include a couple of croissants, please?”

She did as he asked, but couldn’t help glancing at him in a mild surprise. Were there really people in the world who could afford to eat like this and still look like that? Even under his jacket and trousers, she could tell he was in excellent shape.

Not that she had been looking, of course.

He seemed to read her thoughts.

“Oh, they’re not all for me,” Adrien seemed keen to assure her. “I’m going to share them with my bodygu- boooody. Girl. I mean. Somebody who’s a girl. A girl like… my faaather's assistant.” 

Marinette looked at him strangely, but said nothing as she stood to her feet and packaged the pastries.

“She’s just a girl,” he continued to babble. “I mean, not my girlfriend or anything. Not that she’s not my friend! We’re sort of f- friendly, I guess. And I guess she’s a woman, not a girl. She is, after all, at least ten years older than me. Haha. Ha.”

Marinette cocked her head to the side, curious at the spectacle before her. With the tiny bit of his face that was exposed, Adrien still managed to turn a bright red. Marinette took pity on him and focused on the register, giving him his total when she was done. He passed a card underneath the divider, suddenly much more quiet than he was less than a minute before.

“So… your father’s assistant, right?”

Adrien seemed surprised at her question but nodded.

“Yep. His assistant. Not mine. I don’t have an assistant. I mean, I don’t need one, either, so.”

The corners of Marinette’s mouth twitched, blossoming slowly into a smile that he probably couldn’t see.

“Got it,” was all she said.

The bag of pastries slid under the divider into Adrien’s hands.

Partway to the door, he paused and turned.

“Th- thanks.”

Marinette felt a warmth flood her cheeks. She tilted her head a bit and waved.

“Come again.”

Adrien’s eyes smiled and shined.

“Thanks. I will.”

The door jingled his exit.

“What? Really?”

Marinette’s fingers danced on the register, though it was mostly muscle memory. She hummed her affirmation but didn’t look up.

“I’m… so sorry to hear that.”

With her gloved hand, Marinette slid a small bag of pastries under the divider to the man on the other side. He didn’t move, though, waiting patiently for her to grant him her focus. Finally, she gave in and lifted her gaze.

His bright green eyes burned into hers.

“I know you may not think so, and maybe it’s not entirely true because everyone is different, but I do know how you feel. What you’re going through. I’ve suffered from anxiety for most of my life. My father is… complicated and difficult. He has really high expectations of me, and I’m pretty sure it’s humanly impossible to meet them. It’s just… sorry. I didn’t mean to make this about me. I just mean… I have my own anxieties, too. Social spaces make me feel panicked and disoriented. Meeting new people zaps my energy completely. Any kind of performance is… well, let’s just say it takes me a long time to recover.”

Marinette listened to him intently, her brow furrowing with focus and concern. She didn’t mean to mention her recent uptick in the frequency of her panic attacks. Somehow they had gotten to talking about the way the pandemic-world had changed daily life, and it just spilled out. She never meant to share something so personal with someone who was essentially a stranger. She knew his first name. She knew the color of his eyes. Did she even know anything else, really? He liked passionfruit macarons and croissants, and his father had an assistant named Nathalie?

She also knew that he was really kind, though. That he had the most expressive eyes, but he was still really good at hiding his thoughts. That he wore a silver ring on his right ring finger, and he had a black cat named Plagg. She was learning more about him, it seemed, almost every day. Hearing about his family, and what it was like for him growing up… it was getting harder to separate the feelings that were growing in her chest.

“I’m… really sorry to hear that,” she said at last. “So, then… what do you do? To cope?”

Adrien took a deep breath. The bag in his hand crinkled as he shifted his stance. 

“My mom is a big help. She’s kind of like… the lion tamer when it comes to my dad, only it’s more like a dragon. I still don’t know how she does it. But she keeps me positive. If I didn’t have her, I don’t know what…” He trailed there, perhaps thinking he had shared too much. With an awkward clearing of the throat, he looked down at his restless fingers as they finagled with the bag.

“You can talk to me.”

The words were out of her mouth before she realized it. Adrien was suddenly staring at her, mouth agape, and she was so shocked at herself that she opened and closed her mouth several times without forming a single word. At last, she began with a stammer:

“I- I mean, you can tell me whatever you want, if you need someone to vent to. It’s not like… I can truly understand your situation because my own is very different, but I would absolutely be there if you wanted to talk to someone. You can… come to me.” Toward the end of her speech, Marinette’s voice started to weaken, and she ended with an uncomfortable clearing of her throat. Was it too much? Did she sound desperate, offering to be support for this man who unexpectedly breezed into her life just a few short weeks before?

But there was something so warm about his eyes. There was so much love in them, like he was waiting for somebody to let him show them how much love he was capable of.

Like he was used to disappointment and loneliness.

He stood there, silent, for several seconds. Just as Marinette was ready to take her words back, or apologize for being too forward, he reached underneath the divider and grabbed her gloved hand.

The light in his green eyes outshone the sun.

“Thank you, Blue.”

“You know there’s no dine-in here.”

Adrien looked up mid-bite. Flaky croissant crumbled and fell from his chin, which was only partially uncovered by lifting the bottom of his face mask.

“Sorry,” he responded with a contrite look in his eyes. A mouthful of buttery goodness behind the mask only muffled his words more. “I was just so hungry.”

Marinette arched an eyebrow and fought an amused expression. To cover it up, she shook her head and pulled the black cap she was wearing down a little lower. Her midnight hair peeked out from the velcro loop at the back.

“Shame on you,” she chastised, though she didn’t mean it. As nonchalantly as she could manage, she walked around the counter to the espresso machine her parents had recently set up by the far wall. It would have made more sense to put it on the counter by the register, but the divider and paraphernalia made it impossible to fit the massive machine. “I can only make this to-go.” Fingers and hands finagled with the buttons and some disposable cups.

“Understood, my lady.”

Marinette snorted before she could help herself.

“My lady? What happened to ‘Blue’?”

Somewhere behind her back, Adrien snickered. The almost indiscernible sound of a step made her ears twitch, but she didn’t turn around.

“Wellll,” he began, drawing out the word, “I can’t see your eyes very well under that cap.” He paused. “It’s a nice choice, though, by the way, Very… flattering.” Smugness seemed to drip from his voice. She rolled her eyes and fought a smile.

“Oh?” Coffee ready, she fastened the lid and turned to face him. “Good to know my face looks better… covered.” 

His proximity surprised her, causing her to halt mid-sentence. At about a meter away, it wasn’t that he was in her personal space, but somehow she had never seen him this close before, and never without a plastic divider between them. Her mind blanked for a second, the green of his eyes suddenly becoming incredibly vivid. They were striking from two meters with a barrier between them. From this close, with only the open air separating them, they were mesmerizing.

It took her a few seconds, but she managed to tear her eyes away. With a clearing of her throat, she held the cup in his direction but refused to look at his face. The brim of her cap helped hide him from her view.

“It’s not that.” His voice carried to her, his feet and lower legs the only part of him within her field of vision. “It’s kind of like… you’re copying me.” 

There was way too much teasing in his voice. She abruptly raised her head. His eyes smiled at her. He reached out with one hand, but instead of accepting the coffee, he extended the appendage further until it was in front of her face. A pause of a second or two passed, and then he tipped the bill of her cap down just a tad, right in the spot where she had embroidered a ladybug.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

“I like the ladybug.” The retreating hand finally took the coffee from her grasp. “It suits you.” With a bag of croissants and macarons in one hand and an Americano in the other, he turned toward the door. Hand holding croissants resting on the handle, he paused and glanced in her direction. “See you, Blue.”

And then he was gone, the bells jingling in his wake.

Blond hair peeking out from underneath a black cap ducked in through the front door, setting off that jingling bell again. A pair of green eyes twinkled above a black face mask.

Upon seeing the visitor, Marinette rose from her stool with a roll of her eyes and a mask-hidden smile on her face.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in on this rainy day.”

Adrien gave an exaggerated shake, dispelling raindrops from his black trench coat and sending them scattering. A customer headed for the exit found himself sprayed with a few and grunted at the annoyance.

Adrien stilled, contrite at his own transgression.

“Oh, I’m… so sorry,” he murmured awkwardly. He started to reach out as a reflex but immediately retracted his appendages. Social distancing and everything. “Ah. Um. Sorry?” he said again.

The bakery patron only stopped for a second to level a look of irritation in the blond man’s direction before exiting the shop without a word.

“Oops.” Adrien closed the rest of the distance to the counter, grimacing with his entire body as he did so. “It’s really been wet out there lately.” Marinette just shook her head at his antics.

“That’s why we don’t allow alley cats on the premises.”

He pulled his attention away from the door in time to narrow his eyes in her direction.

“I beg your pardon, madame?”

Marinette arched an eyebrow.

“Sorry, I don’t speak Chat.”

Adrien pouted visibly.

“Well, if that’s how you feel, Blue, you shouldn’t keep feeding strays. It gives them hope and keeps them coming back for more.”

Are kitten eyes a real thing? He was definitely giving her kitten eyes.

Marinette pushed off the counter and moved toward the display case. It was difficult to calm her traitorous, thumping heart when those electric green eyes were leveled right at her. She leaned over, sliding open the door with her gloved hands and reaching for the nearby pair of tongs.

“Passionfruit macarons?” she asked, despite the fact she was already selecting a few and tucking them into a small paper bag.

“Yep.” She could hear the beaming in his voice. “And could you throw a strawberry one in there, too?”

It was a bit out of character, but she kept the thought to herself and complied with his request. With the bagful of macarons, she headed for the register, then stopped and tucked a chocolate chip cookie in at the last second. Adrien gave her a questioning look, and she shrugged.

“On the house. Perks of being a regular,” was all she said. This time Adrien shrugged.

She was about to pass the bag under the small opening in the plastic barrier when he stopped her.

“Uh, actually…”

She paused, her arm hanging mid-air.

“Could you bag the strawberry macaron separately?”

Marinette blinked, not moving for a second, then retracted the bag.

“Yea, of course,” she said, and did as he asked. He gave her the most grateful smile he could with two face masks (his and hers) and a plastic divider involved, but it managed to show in those expressive eyes she couldn’t stare directly at for too long.

They kind of reminded her of the sun in that way. She imagined that his hair would as well if she could see more than the wisps of growth that refuse to be corralled by his ever-present black cap. She’d never seen him in the store without it. It was almost like he was a celebrity trying to hide or something-

“Thanks,” he said, interrupting her thoughts and breaking her out of her trance. “It’s for someone I met. They’re pretty special, but it’s a really weird time and I just kind of hope it’s not all one-sided? Anyway, I think she really likes strawberry macarons.” Then he pulled a pen out of his pocket and started scribbling something on the bag she handed him. 

There was the sensation that her stomach was dropping, and he kept talking, but for a second, she couldn’t concentrate. Once she realized she missed what he was saying, she forced a smile. He gave her a curious look.

“Oh, that’s great!” she blurted and hoped it hit the mark. He looked really pleased, and there was a secretive glint to his expression. More or less, she thought she was successful. He stared at her for a minute before collecting his things. His head tilted to one side.

“Thanks, Blue. Wish me luck.”

She kept the smile going, though her mind was back-tracking and trying to recall what she missed. Still, she waved as he headed for the door.

“Good luck!”

The bell jingled again as he opened the door, and he turned back for a last wave before disappearing behind it. Marinette averted her eyes, her attention caught on a paper bag sitting on the other side of the counter. It took her a second to process, then she sprinted to the other side of the counter and picked it up. He hadn’t been gone long. She could still catch him.

She lifted the bag up on her way to the door, the writing catching her notice. With one gloved hand on the handle, she suddenly stilled.

You have the most blue-tiful eyes I’ve ever seen

What do you think, do I have a shot?

She stared at it for a moment, processing. Her eyes flicked toward the door, then back to the bag in her hand, then to the door again, her feet completely glued to the floor.

Outside, the lights of Paris after dark continued to glow warmly.

Four weeks. It had been four weeks since the last time she saw Adrien. Four weeks since he left a bag that may or may not have been meant for her, along with a short note that may or may not have been for her, and disappeared into the night.

Well, three weeks and six days, but who was being that careful counting?

( She was. She was definitely counting. To be exact, it had been 27 days, but it felt a lot longer than that. She was definitely counting, and the math seemed to be lying. It had to be longer. ) 

Every day that passed, she found herself staring at the bakery door, waiting for it to open for a blond-haired, green eyed man in a black mask and cap. Every day she fidgeted nervously, hoping despite trying not to hope, that he would appear again.  In reality, they had only met a handful of times, what, ten? over the course of a few weeks, making her wonder whether or not her anxiety from the pandemic had somehow caused her to hallucinate the whole thing.

But, nope. The bag was still sitting in her bedroom as proof. She continued to look at it now and then, when she started to question her own sanity. She even showed it to Alya once over Facetime to verify it was real.

Alya concurred it existed.

In the midst of tidying some of the cleaning supplies behind the counter, Marinette heard the jingle of the front door’s bell. She bolted upward from her crouched position, only to bang the back of her head on the lip of the countertop. Sharp pain shot through her like electricity. She bowled over with a severe hiss, one hand to the injured spot. With the other, she leaned on the offending countertop for support.

“All right?” a deep, gravelly voice asked from the other side of the plastic divider. Marinette managed to peek with one eye at the concerned person. A tall gorilla of a man peered at her with a worried frown.

Truthfully, he always had a frown, but over the last three or so weeks that he had been coming to the bakery (every day, at that), she had learned to more or less read his expression. His light blue eyes, set beneath a pair of low, bushy brows--white, like the long sideburns on either side of his head. He reached up and removed a furry cap, exposing the black-turning-dark-gray hair on the crown of his head. The glass of the door several feet behind him looked a bit foggy with the chill of the outside air. It seemed winter was well on its way.

“Yes,” Marinette hissed painfully and attempted to straighten. “Thank you, Arnaud. I’m ok.” She reluctantly retracted the hand holding her head and tried to conspicuously eye it for blood. It was clean. “Just give me one moment, please,” she added before turning a nearby sink and washing her hands. When she was done, she donned a fresh pair of vinyl gloves and headed for the display case. Bending over caused her to wince only slightly. “The same?” Despite asking, she was already reaching with a pair of tongs for the passionfruit macarons. (She also did her best to ignore the sting that came with doing so. Adrien always asked for those.) 

Arnaud grunted, watching her with shrewd eyes. Marinette’s mouth quirked.

“I’m really ok,” she assured him again. A brief sensation of dizziness had subsided, and except for a dull ache, her head no longer hurt. “I happen to have a very hard head. Just ask my parents.” 

The corner of Arnaud’s eyes didn’t so much crinkle as they did twitch. She could tell that he wasn’t smiling underneath his mask, yet he looked amused nonetheless. She smiled at the thought, and in appreciation of his concern. At the last second, she plucked out a couple of croissants and stuffed them into a separate bag, then put both bags into a larger one. Arnaud looked surprised and seemed ready to protest.

“On the house,” she cut him off before he could begin, then slid them across the corner. “For one of my favorite customers.”

Arnaud’s eyes seemed to soften, and he accepted the bag into his grip.

“Who’s the first?”

Marinette was only caught off guard for a moment. She sighed, then tapped the side of her nose and gave him her best wink.

“It’s a secret.”

Arnaud seemed to really smile this time. He turned with a deep chuckle, waved, and offered a gravelly “bonne soirée, Marinette,” before passing through the exit.

“Bonne soirée!” she called after his retreating back. The bell jingled cheerily behind him.

“Marinette, I told you already: we can’t have mistletoe or holly in the shop. It’s a health code violation.” A small, Chinese-French woman, emerging from the kitchen at the back of the bakery, tutted at her strong-willed daughter, who was standing on a step stool and hanging something green-looking near the front door. Bright sunlight streamed through the foggy windows and door.

“I know, maman,” Marinette replied with barely a glance in her mother’s direction. The older woman, Sabine, chose to ignore her daughter’s dismissive wave and instead walked to the display case with a shake of her head and a tray of fresh pain au chocolat. 

“It’s not mistletoe,” Marinette continued even as Sabine transferred the pastries to the display case. “I mean, it’s not like I would consider encouraging people to kiss each other in the current climate. How dense do you think I am, maman?”

Sabine eyed her daughter with a gaze that indicated her daughter didn’t want the true answer to that question. Marinette missed the expression, however, as she focused on the task in her hands.

“Then what are you doing dear?”

“It’s holly.”

“Mari-”

“Not really holly,” the younger of the two interjected. “I made it. For decoration. It’s Christmas, and I think people need a reminder of what a joyful season feels like.”

Sabine straightened with her now empty tray and sighed. There was something sad about Marinette lately- for a few months, actually. Sabine knew that the strangeness of the world around them was part of the reason. Marinette had already suffered from anxiety much of her life, and nearly two months of lockdown and several more of an altered, somewhat stifling way of living had left Marinette feeling unstable in many ways. Still, Sabine knew there was more to this recent increase in melancholy than the effects of the pandemic on a person’s mental health.

She set down the tray and walked around the counter toward Marinette, who had finished hanging her handmade holly and was descending the step ladder.  Without warning, Sabine threw her arms around her daughter, who took a half step back from both the surprise and the sudden destabilization. Within seconds, though, Marinette was hugging her mother back.

“I’m ok, maman.” Marinette’s voice was quiet, almost small. “But thank you.” She hugged Sabine closer. “I think I needed this more than I knew.”

Sabine responded by pulling Marinette in tighter.

“Oh, honey. You and me both.”

Marinette tugged her scarf a bit tighter around her before pushing the bakery door open. Cold air rushed through the breach, causing her to suck in a breath at the sudden assault. Still, winter was her favorite season, or at least it was tied with autumn. She loved the brisk air, the clearness of a cold sky, the way everything just seemed brighter, even in the early setting of the night. Without a jacket, though, she would get cold quickly, so she hurried about her task of bringing in the display easel advertising the products they had on special for the day. It was just about closing time, the sun had set more than an hour ago, and Parisians were beginning to trickle homeward from the markets. Marinette straightened, one hand on the sign, and breathed deep. Despite her mask, she could smell the coldness in the air. It was causing her skin to prickle under her thin long-sleeve shirt and the tiny hairs on the bit of her neck that was exposed to stand up. Closing her eyes, she exhaled slowly.

“Blue.”

Marinette spun in surprise at the familiar voice-- the one that had managed to haunt her daydreams but was increasingly escaping her recollection. Her eyes grew wide and round. Standing there, about two meters away, was a blond man in a black cap, face mask, and wool coat. A green scarf was the only color to break through the dark motif, so rich and deep in hue it managed to make his eyes glow in the city lights. Strangers in masks passed them by, headed in all manner of directions. Marinette found it difficult to speak. Her mind went entirely blank.

Adrien took a step closer, reaching out but ultimately withdrawing his hand and stopping in his tread.

“It’s… been a long time,” he added after a moment. Marinette continued to stare, dumbfounded. His gaze flicked toward the sign between them, then the door. “Are you… closed?” He looked at her again.

“Not yet,” she managed. Her voice was rough, like it hadn’t been used for a long time.

Adrien watched her intently.

“Can I… come in?”

She couldn’t look away from him. Those electric green eyes were holding her captive and causing her heart to pound in her chest.

All she could do to respond was nod. With more than a little effort, she collected the sign and opened the bakery door. A little finagling and the sign was safely indoors. She walked through the door, holding it open behind her. Adrien reached out and levered his bare hand against it. The tips of his fingers looked red with cold, the silver of his ring glinting in the light of the bakery. Marinette swallowed and turned. She preceded him to the counter, crossing to the other side and washing her hands. They shook under the warm water, though her trembling had nothing to do with the cold. She took a shuddering breath and attempted to release it with control before turning around again to face him.

“What can I get you?” Despite the mask on her face, she found herself smiling widely-- the kind of smile you give when you’re trying to hide feelings of pain or sadness. Adrien’s eyes bored into hers. “I’m afraid we’re out of a lot of things, it being the end of the day and all. Somebody else has been buying the passionfruit macarons lately, too.”

When he said nothing after several seconds, she couldn’t take it anymore. She averted her eyes toward the display and cleared her throat.

“Umm, it looks like all we have left is a bit of tarte tartin and a few plain croissants-”

“Marinette.”

The way he said her name shouldn’t have made her heart jump into her throat, but it did. Marinette halted her speech immediately. She fought the prickling of her eyes and looked at him again. He looked back at her, but there was something difficult to read behind his gaze.

“I’m sorry I took so long to come back. I had… some extenuating circumstances.”

A long silence passed between them. Marinette’s mind screamed at her a dozen dozen things she could say, but she couldn’t pick out a single one. At last, after what felt like an eternity, she managed to squeak out.

“Are you all right?”

Adrien looked at her strangely before slumping over the counter. Marinette watched, shocked while his shoulders should, but couldn’t move. When he lifted his head, there were tears in his eyes, but he looked like he was crying and laughing at the same time.

“Oh my God,” she found herself blurting. “Are you- are you ok?” she asked again. Collecting her wits, she flapped her hands wildly for a moment before desperately, shakily shoving one of her hands into a glove and jutting it through the opening in the divider. Adrien grabbed her hand in his own. They were freezing.

“I’m… really happy to see you again,” he rasped.

“Are you all right?” Marinette asked some time later. She had finally finished all her closing duties. The door was locked, the counter and display case were cleaned, and it was well past closing time. Still, Adrien sat with a mug of hot chocolate at one of the tables on a chair that had been, along with its companions, stacked against the windows for months. No one had eaten indoors for three-quarters of a year. The sight felt strange.

She wanted desperately to go to him, to hold his hand with her own bare hand, to hold him close in her arms, but she felt a distinct barrier between them, and it had to do with more than just the limits of interaction in a pandemic-stricken world. He had disappeared suddenly from her life after suddenly appearing in it, and without a word. Granted, he didn’t owe her anything. Their relationship was worker and patron, at best. She couldn’t even confidently call them friends, despite the fact that they had been growing increasingly familiar with each other before his months-long absence.

Perhaps if she had more confidence in this strange connection between them, she would feel more comfortable approaching him.

Adrien nodded, despite not looking up from the hot chocolate before him. The way he gazed into the drink, it was like it held the secrets of the universe. Marinette tentatively hovered a couple of meters away.

“Is there… anything I can do?”

Finally Adrien looked up.

“Would you… sit with me?”

Marinette stared at him for a bit, wondering not for the first time what he looked like underneath that mask and cap. For the months since they had met, she had only ever seen a thin sliver of him, or so it felt. The eyes are the windows to the soul, so they say. Then why did she feel like there was so much about him still hidden?

She took a measured step forward, then another. With care, she untangled another chair from the stacks by the windows and set it down across the table from Adrien. He set his mug down on the tabletop between them. His gaze drifted toward the windows.

“My mother...got sick, suddenly and unexpectedly. My father is already an obsessive control-freak of a man. He didn’t take it well.”

Adrien stopped for a moment, and Marinette did her best to process the abrupt revelation with grace. Tears seemed to begin welling up in his eyes. He continued. 

“It progressed pretty quickly. Within a few days, she was in the hospital. We weren’t allowed in to see her. My father was livid, pitched a fit right there outside the ICU.”

Marinette’s breath caught in her throat, and she had to force herself to swallow. 

“My mother... passed after two weeks in the hospital. We weren’t there when it happened.”

The tears that had been brimming were now streaming steadily. He dropped his eyes to his lap as if trying to collect himself. 

With a slight feeling of horror, Marinette realized she, too, had begun to cry. But, feeling helpless, she could do nothing except listen. 

“My father went crazy after that. He was overcome with grief and anger, and I… avoided dealing with him. I didn’t know how. That was always my mother’s role. Anyway, he was paranoid about letting me go outside after that… so I’ve been pretty much under house arrest for a few months. I… finally had enough. I told him he couldn’t keep me alive by keeping me on a leash, because that isn’t a way to live, and I left.”

Heavy silence cloaked them like a blanket. Months of social distancing told her she couldn’t touch him, but everything about his posture cried out for comfort. Hesitantly, she scooted her chair closer and reached for his bare hand. The moment their skin touched, she gasped. It was, she instantly realized, the first time they had ever made real contact. His fingers felt like ice in hers.

“S- Sorry,” he murmured, though he only tightened his grip instead of letting go. “I was walking around for a few hours I think before I finally came here. I… wasn’t sure if I was welcome.”

Marinette squeezed his fingers in her, and he finally raised his eyes to hers. She held them with her own.

“Adrien. You are always welcome here.”

“Honey, there’s someone out front to see you!”

Marinette could hear her mother’s voice calling from the front of the bakery, but she was elbow deep in bread dough and a little irked to be summoned just 20 minutes after she had been sent away to prepare the next day’s selections.

“I got this, honey,” her tall, werewolf of a father offered with a nudge. Despite his size and hairiness, however, he had the gentlest, most childlike face and eyes. And his bear hugs were more like being snugglest by a giant toy than a ferocious animal. The green of his eyes twinkled when she looked in his direction. “You go on ahead.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes in suspicion but ambled toward the large sink nonetheless to wash her hands and arms. Her mind began to wander curiously as to who exactly could be looking for her. Alya had been out of town on assignment, and Adrien was supposed to be on a business trip for his father that wasn’t ending for another five days. Even Arnaud had disappeared somewhere around the time Adrien left for his trip. Since his return around Christmas time six months ago, in fact, Marinette had been seeing much less of Arnaud--a fact which her subconscious told her must mean something, but she ignored it.

All this she mulled while washing the dough away. Then she towel-dried her hands, sanitized them, and pulled the mask that was hanging from her neck over her nose.

When she emerged into the front of the shop, her mother was facing her.

“Oh, honey, I really don’t think you’ll be needing that mask.”

“It’s ok,” Marinette answered automatically. Her fingers tied the apron strings behind her back through muscle memory. “Can never be too careful.”

Sabine shrugged and turned. It was then that Marinette noticed the man on the other side of the counter.

“Blue.”

Her jaw dropped, stretching on the mask on her face.

“Y-you’re Adrien Agreste.”

The man with hauntingly familiar eyes grinned widely at her. Sabine conspicuously made her exit.

“It’s nice to officially meet you.”

“B- but… wait.” A beat passed while her brain processed the sensory data. Her mouth went dry as dry as the Atacama. “ What did you just call me?” Her eyes roamed over his face and build, coming back ceaselessly to the green eyes staring back at her. She knew those eyes. She knew their expression and every fleck of gold glimmering in the irises. He continued to grin but said nothing. At last, she whispered, “ Adrien.”  

“I missed you, Blue. I came back early to surprise you- oof!”

Before he knew what was happening, Marinette was flying into his arms. Her legs straddled either side of his waist as he steeled himself against the force of her assault just in time to avoid both of them pitching backward.

Her mouth was on his, only there was a swath of fabric in the way. Adrien just chuckled, accepting the fact that their first kiss wasn’t really a kiss. When she pulled back, he obligingly  pulled the mask down from her nose. She could only stare at him in amazement, her hands gripping either side of his neck as he gazed up at her with a look of pure adoration.

“Quite forward, aren’t we my lady?”

Marinette huffed and smacked him on the shoulder.

“You could have warned me! How are you going to date me all this time and not tell me you’re Adrien Agreste?”

Adrien was grinning so stupidly, the muscles in his face were beginning to ache, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t stop.

“It never came up.”

She made a disgruntled noise before dismounting him in one fluid hop. Once her feet were back on the floor and she was back to her usual height, he towered over her again. Marinette glared as well as she could.

“Still,” she muttered petulantly.

“All right, all right, I’m sorry.” He didn’t seem that sorry. He seemed more tickled than anything. “It was kind of nice not to be Adrien Agreste for a while. It feels really good to have somebody love me for me, not for being Adrien Agreste.”

Marinette winced. She had to give him that one. He had been through a lot in the last year, and honestly, what good time was there for him to suddenly spring his identity as a supermodel on her?

Marinette smacked her own forehead.

Holy shit, I’m dating a supermodel.

“So why now?” she asked, leading him by the hand to the stacked chairs by the wall.

“Welllll.” He drew out the word in a way that made her imaginary hackles stand. She pursed her lips and stared at him from an opposite chair, waiting. Adrien avoided her eyes and played nervously with the mask still hanging around his neck. “You see, I… had an interview recently… for a shoot I was part of…”

Marinette breathed with as much control as she could. Of course he was on a business trip. Agreste fashion was shooting ads for their fall line, and Adrien Agreste was the face of the brand.

“... and the reporter asked how I was dealing with the pandemic, with my mother’s passing, and… if I’ve been able to date anyone with the social distancing and everything that’s been happening up until recently.”

Marinette stilled, almost not breathing. Adrien had a very sheepish, very guilty look on his face.

“Oh my God, Adrien.” She reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose as her eyelids fell shut. “Please tell me you did not.”

“I… might have said I was dating a future fashion designer whose parents also run a bakery? Maybe?” The pitch of his voice continued to rise until it almost squeaked like a mouse. “In retrospect, I realize this is not a difficult criteria to narrow down. I am… really sorry for accidentally outing you without your consent.”

Marinette opened her eyes and took in his expression. He looked sorry. He looked nervous. It was obviously a moment of carelessness on his part, but he didn’t do it on purpose.

To be fair, though, she was still processing the supermodel boyfriend part.

Marinette took a deep breath and sighed.

“It’s… all right. I mean, it will be ok. I haven’t been harassed or anything, so I guess the world doesn’t care.” She patted his knee. “Next time you’re sitting on information like this, though, I’d like to be let in on the secret. It’s kind of weird for me to be learning this at the same time as everyone else.”

Adrien grimaced.

“Wellllll…”

Marinette’s expression deadpanned.

“You see… the article won’t be out until tomorrow so…” 

She processed that information.

“So then that means… tomorrow everyone is going to know?”

“Yes.”

“But they don’t yet?”

“Yes.”

She pursed her lips thoughtfully for a moment. Then, she seemed to make a decision.

“All right,” Marinette announced. “I’m game. Let’s get ahead of this.”

Adrien stared at her, expression blank.

“Huh?”

Marinette was standing.

“Give me your phone.”

He rose beside her, reaching into his pocket and extracting his phone.

“Uh, Blue, what’re we doing?”

She sidled up next to him and wrapped an arm around his waist. Reflexively, he returned the hug.

“Want to beat them to the punch?”

She could see by the expression on his face that the wheels were turning. He wasn’t quite there yet, but he was slowly beginning to understand.

“All right. What do you have in mind?”

Marinette had to tilt her head back to look him in the eyes, both of her arms wrapped around his waist now. A smile slowly spread across her features.

“Kiss me.”

As though it was the most natural thing, Adrien didn’t even hesitate. He caught her lips with his, mentally fistpumping in excitement. She tasted like strawberries and vanilla. It only lasted a few seconds, but when she pulled away, he had stars in his eyes.

“Ok,” she said, breathless. “Do it again, but this time take a picture.”

Coming back to Earth, it took Adrien a few seconds to figure out what she had in mind. When everything clicked, a crooked grin took over his lips. He impatiently opened the camera on his phone and angled it in their direction, a bit high to fit them both in the frame. As he lowered himself to meet her lips, thumb poised over the shutter, he answered, voice hushed:

“As you wish, princess.”