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Stepping into the mall was a little bit like entering an amusement park. Dozens of small trinkets put on display, loud cheerful songs mixing with one another, and last but not least, it filled Félix with a sense of excitement . His fingertips tingled, eager to pick up and inspect the small figurines, pickpocketing whichever one he liked the best.
He kept a collection of them in a worn shoebox under the loose floorboard in his bedroom. He’d pried it open when he was eight. It had been a desperate attempt to blend in, to have the same toys other kids had, to belong.
Not that he ever showed his collection to anyone. And even if he had, it wouldn’t have changed a thing. The cats, and foxes, and angels weren’t a new change of clothes, nor a healthy home-cooked meal. Nor a super cool gift one of his classmates would open at their school Christmas party.
For three years in a row, that misfortune had fallen on one Marinette Dupain-Cheng. The girl his heart had fixated on, never letting go, because she had been kind to him once when he really needed it.
She was always kind to everyone. But not everyone was kind to him.
And she had a dress fitting at the mall that day. Félix had overheard her mention it to her friends, and if the place wasn’t his safe haven already, his feet would still have carried him over to the maze of wonders after her anyway.
Maybe they would run into each other and she would smile at him again.
That would be nice.
Félix slid his hands into his pockets and embraced the hot, stuffy air like anyone whose home was never warm enough. The heat dizzied him for a moment and he nearly tripped over his own feet, as people pushed by. Someone’s elbow hit his side, snapping him back into focus and forcing him to move, careful not to lose his green scarf as it unraveled around his neck.
The seamstress’s boutique was right across from the bookstore to which he was headed. He tried very hard not to glance through its glass door as he passed it, both wishing she would notice him and desperately hoping she wouldn’t as soon as he noticed in the reflection on the glass just how filthy his hair was and how pathetic he looked in a slightly torn black windbreaker jacket thrice his size.
When his name wasn't called out in a loud cheerful voice that she always seemed to speak in, he glanced back before stepping into the bookshop. Marinette was standing with her back turned towards the exit. The shop assistant was adjusting the dress on her, talking animatedly about something that made it difficult for the girl to stand still. Her shoulders trembled as she struggled to hold back her bell-like laughter.
Félix smiled fondly, seeing her like that, but the moment was ruined when some old grumpy man coughed, rudely ordering him to move. Félix jumped out of the man’s way, quickly averting his gaze though it was already too late. The grump had followed its trajectory and was now frowning disapprovingly, in his eyes a look that seemed to tell Félix that she was way out of his league.
Félix knew, and he was thankful the man didn't vocalize that thought.
With a last glance in Marinette’s direction, he also entered the shop. He didn’t notice Marinette steal a lonesome glance his way before being reprimanded for losing focus.
🗝️🗝️🗝️
The shadowy spot between poetry and nonfiction was the perfect hiding place, and that’s where Félix found shelter. He picked a random book off the shelves and cracked it open in the middle, careful not to break its spine. He ran his eye over the poem, reading every word but missing the meaning because his thoughts were elsewhere.
The dress looked good on Marinette. Or rather, Marinette looked good on the dress. She was what made it sparkle. What brought out its colors and its flowy design.
Félix wanted to express his gratitude to her sister for arranging Marinette’s design to be made into reality by a professional instead of letting the younger girl handle it herself, though he suspected Marinette didn’t share his sentiment.
She was always going on and on and on about sewing and design. He’d resented her for it, for having the time to not worry about starving to death, but he’d grown to love the overheard conversations about her latest works, her dreams, and aspirations.
Her happiness was precious and to be guarded.
Realizing that was realizing he cared more for her than he was supposed to.
Félix shut the book with a loud snap. It was all growing to be a bit too much.
There was nothing between them and there would never be. He had to keep that in mind to stay focused on getting out of the hole he was born into. Putting in work towards that goal was more important than chasing a girl, no matter how sweet and wonderful she was.
Unable to fully shake the thoughts from his mind, Félix sighed. The book felt heavier, as though full of his secrets and regret, and he returned it to its original spot.
He wandered around for a quarter longer, then left without buying anything. He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, trying to make himself as invisible as possible as he passed the seamstress's shop one more time. He forced himself to keep his head down.
“Félix!” Marinette’s voice rang loud and clear in the shopping mall. For a moment, Félix thought he imagined it, for no one else reacted. Then a hand grabbed his and pulled him away from the crowd. If she hadn’t called out his name, Félix would have tried to get free, even though with how strong her grip on his wrist was, he wasn’t sure he could even if he wanted to.
“Miss Dupain-Cheng?” he pretended to be surprised once he saw her face.
“It’s Marinette, Félix,” she corrected him. “I’ve told you to call me Marinette at least a thousand times by now.”
“Hardly.” He swallowed, feeling a blush creep up on his cheeks. It happened every time she got too close for comfort. Her scent overwhelmed his nose and his body leaned into the warmth she radiated with just her presence.
“Get it through your head, Félix.” She reached out with her free hand and gently ruffled his hair, Félix tried to stop her, face flaring, as he waited for her to comment on its uncleanliness. She never did. “So, what are you doing here?”
“The bookshop,” he shrugged.
“You really like books, don’t you?” she wondered out loud. “Every time I see you, you’re reading… ”
“Studying.”
“Studying,” she nodded. “I never get enough time to speak with you.”
He offered a weak smile. “You have many other people to talk to.”
“But I want to talk with you .” Marinette’s wide smile unsteadied him and he couldn’t quite believe his ears.
“ Why ?” he sputtered.
Marinette looked at him, confused. “What do you mean, why? You’re an interesting person. Whenever Miss Bustier reads out your essays as an example of what we should aspire to with our work, my heart goes pitter-patter, and I want to know more.”
Félix bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from grinning.
Marinette continued, “I know you let me read your papers whenever I ask, but the person behind them… is still a bit of a mystery. So today, we are going to hang out.”
“But… ” Félix opened his mouth to protest.
“You told me earlier that you don’t have any plans for today,” she remarked with a mischievous smile. “Don’t tell me your plans changed.”
“They did, I… ” Félix felt her bright eyes bore into him as she waited for him to finish that sentence. He felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. “I have somewhere else to be right now.”
Marinette bit her lip to stop herself from retorting that it was obviously a lie. “Well, can I tag along?”
Félix sighed again. Her expression was so hopeful that it was hard to refuse, but he did it anyway. “Sorry.”
Marinette tapped the floor with her right foot. The sound drew Félix’s attention in and he noticed she was wearing heels. They didn’t look very comfortable.
“Are you sure you can’t hang out with me today?” she spoke softly. “How about tomorrow then? Or the day after?”
“I’m sure.” Saying the words out loud hurt him more than he let on. He avoided her gaze.
Marinette pouted. “How about the weekend then?”
“I can’t.”
“Then let’s hang out today.” She grinned at him charmingly, still holding onto his arm as she pulled them to a stop. “Come on, just this once. And then I’ll leave you alone. It’s a promise.”
Félix’s nose scrunched up a little but after thinking for a bit, he nodded. “Fine. Just this once.” He took a step forward and hit the glass. Marinette couldn’t help giggling as he slowly took a step back, inspecting the damage. The door was intact so he sighed in relief. No repair costs.
“Are you okay?” Marinette lifted his chin and searched his face for injuries.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, failing to fight off another blush.
“You look a bit hot,” she brought her hand to his forehead. “But I don’t think you have a fever.”
“I’m fine!” he repeated, growing slightly irritated. Marinette let go.
“Great!” She looked away from him towards the shop from where she’d come running after spotting Félix. The seamstress was shaking her head at the escapee. “I’ve still got to deal with this for a moment, but don’t think I’m letting you out of my sight.”
“Are you afraid that I’ll run off?” he raised an eyebrow at her.
“Yes, exactly that.” Her sly smile made his heart skip a beat. “You have that habit, you know.”
She pushed the sliding door open and entered, Félix following behind. He closed the door expressionlessly but not without noticing it had only a single sheet of glass. He inhaled sharply realizing how easily it could have shattered.
“Give me a moment, I’ll be right back,” Marinette loosened her grip on him, holding onto him for a moment longer before skipping over to the seamstress. The woman ushered her to a secluded corner to change out of the fancy dress and into her regular clothes, glancing occasionally at Félix who shrunk every time a little more.
Marinette emerged from behind a curtain, looking as fresh and bright as ever. Félix averted his gaze as soon as their eyes met.
“You ready?” He was willing to swear that he heard the smile in her voice. His face softened a fraction.
“With a smile like that, you could be a model,” she sighed at his slightly upwards-turned lips.
“Me, a model?” he snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious,” Marinette poked his cheek. “Your smile is beautiful.”
Félix’s breath hitched and he tripped over his feet. Marinette caught him in time to stop his fall and chuckled. “You know, since I’m always the clumsy one, it’s so refreshing to have this happen to someone else.”
“You’re welcome,” he scoffed, straightening himself. With his free hand, he pulled his scarf up higher to hide the fact his face resembled a ripe tomato.
“So, do you want to hang out at the mall or would you like to come to the bakery?” Marinette asked nervously, fiddling with her bag strap.
“Bakery,” he said quietly. He didn’t have enough money for either but he knew that Dupain-Chengs wouldn’t make a scene out of it.
“Great choice, even if I’m saying it myself.” Marinette approved. “There’s just one place I want to stop by before we go… ”
🗝️🗝️🗝️
Twenty minutes later, Félix and Marinette were walking down the street, holding matching, already Christmas-themed paper cups. Marinette had asked for the drinks to be made steaming hot and the barista had delivered on her request.
Félix had protested and Marinette had insisted. She had won.
“I’ll pay you back,” he promised. Marinette shrugged.
“If you want to.” She burned her lips while sipping. “It’s Uncle Jagged’s money that we’re burning.”
“Still.”
The cup offered more warmth than his fingerless gloves. He cherished it more than the hot chocolate though he was careful not to spill it. Félix matched Marinette’s slower pace while they walked towards her home. With every step, his heart beat a little faster, causing him to feel more and more lightheaded.
“And here we are,” she grinned, gesturing to a house he had grown used to seeing every day. Right across the street from their school, the Dupain-Cheng family bakery was just as inviting as it usually was, with the scent of fresh pastries wafting down the street.
Marinette pushed the door open, greeted her mother with a kiss on the cheek, and then introduced Félix to her. He smiled politely, ignoring the warning bells going off in his head when she smiled back kindly.
“Ah! You must be Amélie’s son!” she shook his hand. Hearing his mother’s name, Félix cowered a little. Of course, Sabine would have met her. “What a lovely surprise! How is she doing?”
“She’s doing well, ma’am,” he replied with a curt nod.
“Is she still running the museum?” Sabine inquired, voice filled with sincere curiosity.
“Museum?” Marinette frowned, confused. “I thought your mother was working at the theatre’s costume department… ”
“She’s doing both,” Félix spoke a little harshly.
“Then perhaps I should stop by someday,” Sabine smiled, unperturbed by the boy’s attitude. Félix felt guilt settle in his stomach. Guilt and fear that she would rat him out to his mother. “She has always been such delightful company at the PTA meetings.”
“She’ll be happy to hear that.” Feeling a tug on his jacket, he acknowledged Marinette by turning his head towards her.
“We’ll be going up to my room now if that’s alright,” she declared loudly, holding up a plate she had filled with pastries for her mom to see. “See you later.”
Marinette nudged him towards the stairs. When he started climbing, the girl shot a meaningful glance to Sabine who had an unmistakable, knowing smirk on her face. Marinette rolled her eyes before following Félix up the stairs.
“I didn’t know our mothers were friends,” she said as soon as the door closed after her. “Did you?”
“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”
Marinette placed the plate on her desk and stretched before dropping into her chair. It slid a bit across the floor and she stopped it by bringing her feet down to the ground. She looked up to find Félix standing awkwardly by the door, still wearing his windbreaker jacket.
“You can take that off, you know,” she commented. “And sit down.”
His eyes followed the direction her index finger was pointing at. He walked slowly over, unzipping and removing his outerwear under her watchful gaze. He folded it and placed it on the chaise, then sat down next to it.
“Pastry?” she offered, leaning forward. He accepted a croissant somewhat begrudgingly. She rested her chin on her hands, propped up on her knees, as she watched him eat. He took small bites and chewed slowly, savoring every single one of them.
"So… your mother runs a museum? Which one?" She asked curiously.
"Why is it important?" he grumped and his own voice reminded him of the old man in the bookshop.
"I want to get to know you better," she said calmly, though her foot tapped impatiently. "I told you. Do you really want me to repeat myself?"
"I… " Félix was stunned at how much like him she sounded when delivering that last sentence. "It's fine. Sorry."
Marinette stood up and went over to the chaise. She picked up his clothes and sat down next to him. Félix reached out to take the jacket from her.
"I can fix that, you know," she murmured, refusing to let go.
"It's fine ," he held on just as strongly.
"It will take less than ten minutes," she pleaded. "And you'll be doing me a favor!"
Félix didn't believe a word of it but relented almost subconsciously when their eyes met. The desperation in her eyes frightened him and he was willing to do just about anything to make that look disappear.
Marinette swiftly whisked it away and a moment later, she was already at her sewing machine, inspecting the tear and the material. Félix watched her work with admiration until he realized he was staring. He averted his gaze, ashamed, focusing instead on the room and not the way her brows furrowed in concentration, nor the way her pink tongue peeked out from between her lips.
“My father was a screenwriter,” he confessed while his eyes wandered around the room. “My mother runs a museum dedicated to his films.”
“That is so awesome! How come you never talk about him?” Marinette glanced up from her work.
Félix shrugged. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.” Marinette paused her work to study his face. Despite the distance, she could see the indifference on it.
“Can we talk about something else?” he snapped, feeling like slapping himself for being rude immediately after.
“Sure,” Marinette agreed. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Did you finish that reading Bustier gave us?” he decided to ask about homework. It was a safe topic.
“Not yet,” she replied, turning her attention back to mending his jacket. “I started. It’s interesting but… not quite my cup of tea. How about you?”
“It was fascinating.” He busied himself on studying the room again. “What is your cup… ”
He fell silent when he recognized a notebook on her bookshelf. It was one of his Christmas gifts, a notebook filled with poetry and quotes he thought she might like. It had never occurred to him that she might actually keep it.
Finding his silence a little unusual, Marinette lifted her gaze. She discovered the source of his quietness and smiled softly.
“It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever received,” she admitted, cheeks coloring. “My favorite is the one about the child and the bird.”
Félix’s heart hammered in his chest. Its loud thumps echoed loud in his ears, blocking out all other sounds. He had written that poem. He had spent hours trying to get it right. It was immensely personal and for a long while, he had considered leaving it out of the handmade collection. But it was also the closest thing to a love letter he could ever give to her, and he had been unable to resist.
“The child and the bird?” he choked just to break the silence.
“Yeah, that one,” she smiled fondly. “There’s something so genuine about it. It touched my heart.”
“I’m… happy,” he decided though his grimace said he was anything but. “That you like it.”
“I’m happy you wrote it,” she grinned. “I leaf through that notebook every time I feel uninspired. Because I know that’s something I can always count on.”
Félix cleared his throat. “Uh, I’m glad you like it so much.”
“Who’s the author though?” she asked. Her eyes returned to the jacket as if knowing he would blush. “It’s the only poem where you didn’t note down the author.”
“Oh.” Félix thought on his feet. “It’s because the author is anonymous.”
“Huh.” She was disappointed. “That’s too bad.”
“But I’m sure he’d appreciate the sentiment,” he rushed to add.
“It would be better if we knew who he was,” she sighed, standing up. She handed him the jacket. “Here, it’s done.”
“Thank you.”
“And the dream… ” She sighed. “A house with double-paned windows, a warm hearth and the scent of sweets swirling around. It’s something that really got to me, you know.”
“It did?” A confused glint shimmered in his eyes. He gathered his courage and looked at her, anticipating her answer.
“Well, yeah. I have a skylight door up there,” she pointed towards her bed. “It was originally a single pane.”
“Oh.”
Marinette chewed on her lower lip, unsure whether to reveal the rest of her thoughts or not.
“But above all, I like that the child’s dream was finding happiness. That’s why he sets the bird free, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
“I like to think the bird came back to him,” she closed her eyes in a short daydream. “Because honestly, he has domesticated her by this point.”
She peeked at Félix through her eyelashes and swallowed back a wide grin, seeing his face burn. Almost feeling sorry for him, she added, “Don’t you think so?”
“What the heck do you mean, domesticated ?!” he sputtered. Marinette’s eyes flew open.
“I mean, isn’t it?” she flailed animatedly with her arms. “She keeps singing to him. Bringing small tokens. And he tells her his stories. That is super sweet.”
“It’s not like that!” Félix protested. “Honestly, how did you read it so… so… ” Instead of trying to explain, he pulled the notebook from its place and flipped over to the last page. He was about to shove it in her face, telling her to read it again when he noticed the note scribbled by its side in Marinette’s neat handwriting.
Félix, if you make me walk into another glass door, I swear to God, I’m going to break it down and then we’ll both get hurt. Let me in.
He looked up to see her biting her lip again. He sighed.
“Marinette… ”
“I meant what I said!” she was unable to contain herself. “You’re fascinating and I like you and your stories always make me think. Think about what kind of world I want to live in, what kind of future I want. And it feels amazing. You make me feel hopeful about things I never thought about. I… ”
Marinette stopped speaking when she noticed Félix’s wide eyes and red cheeks.
“I want to be your friend,” she whispered, slowing down. “And I won’t take no for an answer.”
“Okay,” he croaked. His mind had drowned out everything he had said after she said she liked him. His heart was going wild and his thoughts were a muddled mess.
There was a knock on the bedroom door before it opened. Sabine peeked in, curious as to what the two teens were up to.
“I’m about to start dinner,” she told them. “Is Félix staying for dinner?”
“Yes!” Marinette quipped before he could say anything. Sabine raised an eyebrow at her daughter and turned to Félix for confirmation. He looked from Sabine’s patient eyes to Marinette’s hopeful ones, and he felt it chip away at his willpower.
“Alright,” he confirmed, not entirely sure he was making the right choice. “Yes, I’ll stay.”
Marinette beamed at him, like the beacon of joy that she was, and he smiled back.
Everything would be alright.