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Félix settled into his seat, pulled out a book, and placed it on the wooden counter.
"Here you are," the barman's voice accompanied a white china cup filled to the brim with coffee, sliding across the table not a second later. "With cream, not a latte, if you wanted a freaking frappuccino, you’d go to the Starbucks across the street, you're here for business, not pleasure."
"Will you ever let me forget?" muttered the blonde, opening his novel.
“Will you ever stop being a grump?”
Once upon a time, the question would have made Félix uncomfortable; now, he watched the messy-haired mixologist with a smug smile tugging at his lips, as the man returned to polishing the glasses.
Sebastian looked like a part-timer working the night shift, yet when the displeased customers, of which there were more than enough, demanded to see the manager, he revealed himself to be the master of the house.
Félix brought the coffee to his lips and promptly spilled it from surprise when the door slammed open.
“Sebastian, a drink!”
The bartender threw Félix a rag before attending to the newcomer, who slumped over the counter as soon as her bottom hit the stool.
Félix eyed the woman curiously. Her elbow held up a hand awaiting whatever concoction Sebastian was preparing for her, fingers curling around the lowball glass as soon as it was within reach.
She forced herself to sit up straight, revealing a tired pale face underneath the raven mane, and downed the drink in one go.
“I’m going to need something to wash this down with.” She grimaced at the bitter taste. “I swear, she wants me dead.”
“What you need is a bite to eat and a ride home, Marinette. If you wanted a drink…”
“I would’ve gone to the pub down the street. I know, I know.” She sighed. “How you keep running this place with that attitude, I will never know. It always looks abandoned when I come here.”
Marinette gestured at what she expected to be an empty parlor and froze when her brain registered the image of a young man turning the page with one hand and holding a coffee cup with the other.
She blinked. The image didn’t disappear.
“What was in that drink?” she inquired, whipping her head around to face Sebastian again. “Because I’m either hallucinating or there’s another customer.”
“You’re not hallucinating. That’s just Félix.”
Marinette could hardly believe her ears, so she turned to look at the suited man again.
Félix stiffened under her piercing gaze, though not noticeably, mentally preparing himself for the conversation she was about to strike up with him. He heard her sharp intake of breath and sensed the shift in the atmosphere, the buildup of a verbal waterfall.
His own airways tightened in anticipation, his heart hammered in his chest, and suddenly, a sip from his double espresso with a dash of cream simply wasn't bitter enough.
Before she could introduce herself, the door opened again and the shop bell rang in unison with a distinctly feminine voice, tearing Marinette’s attention away from Félix.
Only Sebastian noticed Félix's shaking hand, as it brought the cup down to its saucer, in stark contrast with the rigid body it was attached to.
Unexpectedly, the barman said nothing.
~☕~
A week later, the scene repeated itself, except instead of a drink, Marinette asked for “whatever that guy is having,” dropping her head on the counter with a loud thud.
She looked scornfully at the dark brown liquid, then decided to give it a try anyway.
She scrunched up her nose for another reason completely. The bitter coffee swirled in her mouth and she swallowed, gagging immediately after. She clamped her hand over her lips to stop herself from vomiting it out.
“There’s not a drop of liquor in this!”
“You didn’t ask for alcohol,” Sebastian smirked. “You asked for whatever that guy’s having.”
“Félix, wasn’t it?” Marinette recalled the man’s name and turned to him. She leaned forward, resting her palms on her exposed thighs. Félix took no notice of it. “You have my respect. Anyone who can stomach this thing deserves a medal of honor. Excuse me.”
She all but fell off the chair and sprinted towards the bathroom, abandoning her purse and phone with the men.
“You didn’t even look!” The astonished bartender picked up the cup and dumped its contents into a stainless steel sink.
For all Félix knew, Sebastian was talking about him, so he shrugged indifferently and downed his drink before escaping into the night.
The drizzle gleaming under the street lights made him regret this choice almost instantly. The humid air crept under his coat, warm and sticky, and he wondered absentmindedly if avoiding this Marinette was worth the effort.
In his father's words, a little social networking never killed anyone.
Félix surmised being the first wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
Still, he refused to enter the establishment again. From the outside, the café-bar was indistinguishable from the rest of the street, blending into its surroundings even too well. Félix remembered searching for the door for weeks, then darting inside by accident while escaping a horde of his father’s security guards.
One of them followed him inside and in an attempt of complete desperation, Félix had jumped over the counter and ducked down right before his father’s loyal servant saw him, half-expecting the barman to rat him out.
Sebastian remained calm throughout the entire affair. He’d denied Félix’s presence so convincingly that the boy almost believed he’d gone unnoticed. Then, soon as the guard had left, the barman’s face appeared, his disapproving frown somehow distinctly familiar.
To give Félix some credit, it only took him three days to recognize Sebastian as his brother’s former classmate.
When after a week, the barman made the same connection, his only remark was “Too bad we can’t choose our family, aye?”
Félix couldn’t agree more.
~☕~
Roughly a month later, he stopped running only to find that Marinette was less interested in making friends than in idle conversation. Aside from an occasional “Right, Félix?” she barely acknowledged his existence.
It was fine by Félix, who felt dumb about stressing out over talking to her once the first time had come to pass. She didn’t mind that he replied in grunts and shrugs, unable to find words as quickly as her.
She didn’t yell at him. She didn’t berate him for not holding up his end of the conversation.
Sometimes, she treated him more like a human being than his own family did.
“That awful woman!” Félix knew now that she was referring to her boss, another frequent customer at the café-bar. “She wants me to go down to Marseille first thing in the morning to check on a fabric shipment from Marocco which was supposed to come in last Thursday but which was delayed. And I need to be at a class by ten, which is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous because I wouldn’t make it even if I went now because the port opens at six and the six-thirty TGV doesn’t arrive back in Paris until after ten am.”
“It sure sounds like she’s working you too hard.”
“It’s like she wants me to fail!”
Marinette banged her head against the counter. Félix wanted to say something comforting, something that would take her mind off the work she loved and the employer she hated. But the words died in his throat.
“So what are you going to do?” Sebastian inquired.
“Drink,” replied the woman, bringing the half-empty glass to her rosy lips. “And then I’m going to catch the overnight bus to Marseille. Allons, enfants de la Patrie! ”
Sebastian confiscated the glass at the first note of La Marseillaise that rose from her throat, terribly off-key yet strangely endearing, and Félix smiled into his cup of coffee.
“If you’re going to Marseille, you better start sobering up, sweetheart.”
“I can’t deal with her sober.”
“You’re going to be sick over your pretty shoes.”
From the corner of his eye, Félix saw a happy grin spread over her face when she noticed her pink flats.
“They are pretty, aren’t they?”
Félix was no expert on shoes; but if agreeing meant she would continue smiling like that, he'd gladly fight anyone who dared to suggest otherwise.
~☕~
The next evening, Marinette arrived in a terrific mood, together with her best friend Alya. Both ordered wine—to celebrate—and Sebastian gave the best he had.
Leaning on his elbow, Félix had been resting his head on his palm, facing sideways to observe the barman, as he went about when Marinette occupied his field of vision. He could still see Sebastian, as he uncorked the tall dark green bottle and poured the wine into two identical glasses.
It was the first time Félix really looked at her. Marinette was shorter than he’d originally thought, prettier too when her cheeks bloomed. She was elegant in a way that his father approved of, meticulously neat except for her wind-swept hair. Even the way she sipped her wine was decorous.
She turned her head and their eyes met.
It ended just as quickly as it had started. Félix looked back down at his coffee. His heart rose to his throat and his breath hitched, as panic racing underneath his skin colored it pink.
Marinette froze in her seat, too stunned to address what had happened. It took several taps on her shoulder to rouse her from the daze. When she did, she returned to her wine glass without a word, as though pretending nothing had happened.
At the same time, he was grateful and stung. The silence was preferable to whatever compliment she might have tried to pay out of politeness, to whatever insult she could have hurled at him.
Then her head hit the counter.
“I forgot my stupid sketchbook.”
~☕~
The sketchbook, as he pieced together from bits of overheard conversations, was the one and only item she never left home without. She described it as her bible, as its contents varied from completed designs to unfinished sketches to pages filled with text, not drawings.
Félix didn’t realize how curious he was about it until she brought it along to show Sebastian her favorite design from the rejected pile.
Marinette tilted forward. Her dark hair fell in loose curls, covering her face, as she maundered on about how unfairly her boss had called it a sloppy copy of Gabriel Agreste’s fourth spring collection.
Félix was curious to see if the resemblance was really there. But at this angle, side-glancing provided meager results at best.
Thankfully, Sebastian didn’t hold back either. He pulled the sketchbook from Marinette and flipped through it, ignoring her half-hearted cries of protest while he inspected the drawing and the fabric samples fixed beside it.
“Yeah, I don’t know,” he chaffed, holding the drawing upside down. “At this angle, it does look like something Gabriel Agreste would come up with.”
Marinette pouted.
“Sebastian!”
“You know what, let’s ask Félix,” suggested the barman enthusiastically. He gestured towards the man with the black tome. “May I?”
Marinette shrunk in her seat but didn’t protest.
“Félix is a bit of an expert on Gabriel Agreste, you know,” continued the waiter, as he walked over to the blonde with a smug smirk on his face. “Went to school with his kid, ain’t that right?”
The sketchbook hovered over Félix’s cup of coffee, blocking him from seeking escape in it.
“No offense, but knowing someone isn’t synonymous with knowing their work.” Marinette rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him, Félix. He just wants to show off my work.”
Félix’s eyes lingered on the drawing; if there was a resemblance between it and his father’s fourth spring collection, then he was not his father’s son.
“It’s lovely,” he choked out, berating himself for not coming up with something more eloquent.
“Any resemblance to Gabriel Agreste’s fourth spring collection?”
Sebastian was pleading with him silently to take this opportunity to introduce himself.
Félix knew then and there that as discreet as he had believed himself to be about the stolen glances, he’d not been discreet enough.
“None.”
He couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Marinette sighed, clinking her glass absentmindedly against the decanter.
“What a freaking waste.”
~☕~
And things might have continued like this, in sweet oblivion, moving forward half a rooster step at a time. Except then, Marinette showed up with a boy.
Félix had never glared at his coffee as he did on that day.
“This is our newest recruit, Paulo,” she introduced him. “If I’m lucky, he’ll be the one she sends to fetch her coffee.”
Sebastian looked at him with pity.
Félix’s hand cramped under the counter, clutching his pants in a fist, wrinkling the fabric. His teeth clenched together, as he held back a bitter comment about Paulo’s youthfulness. Something about him irked the blonde, even though it made Marinette sit a seat closer to Félix, granting him a better view.
One glance at the awkward brunette was enough to make Félix even more uncomfortable.
Paulo looked like a teenager. His baby face would have put him on the cover of magazines intended for a younger public if he had pursued a career in modeling. He was cute in a handsome way, sweet and spicy, as Félix’s father would have put it.
Nothing in Marinette’s manners indicated she preferred Paulo’s company. She still ran her fingers through her hair with an exhausted sigh, taking refuge in the drink Sebastian poured her. She still gazed pensively at the bottom of the glass once it was empty.
But Félix knew he preferred it when it was just the two of them with Sebastian.
Luck was on his side that night.
Paulo left fifteen minutes later, but Marinette stayed.
~☕~
“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Sebastian rested his chin on his knuckles, as he leaned his elbows on the counter.
Félix froze like a deer in highlights, caught in the act of observing her sketch.
“Are you ever going to tell her that her idol is your father?” Sebastian was genuinely curious about that. “I know I promised not to meddle, but don’t you think this has gone on long enough? It’s only going to become more difficult the longer you drag it on.”
Félix said nothing and Sebastian sighed.
“You better drink that before it gets cold,” he nodded towards the coffee, then returned to the grilled cheese sandwiches Marinette was waiting for.
Félix knew Sebastian was right. Objectively, the longer he waited, the more likely she was to be upset over the matter, and the less he was going to want to tell her.
But when he opened his mouth, no voice came out.
Marinette shifted in her seat. She straightened her back and lifted her sketchbook to show off the image she’d put on paper in half an hour.
“Look, Félix!” she beamed like a little kid. “I wonder what she’ll think of this one!”
Félix closed his mouth. A smile softer than a plum blossom crossed his face, illuminating it from below.
Marinette stared openly, too mesmerized to care.
Félix didn’t even notice.
~☕~
Next time, Félix showed up after Marinette did, having run late into a project management meeting. He found them as they usually were, Marinette on the stool that still gave her some trouble, Sebastian behind the counter, mixing her a drink.
But the atmosphere was somehow different.
Félix wondered what they talked about when he wasn't around.
“I’m telling you, you have nothing to worry about.” Sebastian’s grin widened knowingly when he noticed Félix. “He already considers you a friend. It wouldn’t be weird at all.”
“You think?” she asked softly, fumbling with a small pink box. She hid it as soon as she noticed Félix, her cheeks twinging red.
“Would you like me to ask him?” Sebastian suggested. “Hey, Félix…”
Marinette shrieked, mortified at what he was about to say next. But the barman continued, as though nothing was amiss: “Same as usual, aye?”
Marinette slammed her forehead against the counter.
“Sebastian, I hate you.”
“I bet you do.”
Félix looked at them both, curious and a little left out.
“Would you like something sweet with that coffee?” offered Sebastian, the smirk on his face telling Félix that something was up. It made him cautious of whatever Sebastian was going to say next.
“Your menu doesn’t have any sweets,” observed Félix in a quiet voice, running his eyes over the chalkboard.
“Oh, now that you mention it, it really doesn’t, does it?”
Félix shook his head, allowing the silence that followed to overrun his brain.
Marinette broke it with her loud shaky voice: “Félix! Do you like sweets?”
Félix turned robotically; this was the first time she had addressed him like that, and while his body froze up, his mind was on fire, and he had so many words he wanted to say, but all he managed was a few measly words that came out strangled.
He wasn’t sure she even heard him, yet then she pushed the box across the counter with such force she almost sent it flying. It came to a stop, hitting Félix’s arm.
Their breaths hitched simultaneously, and Sebastian found it hilarious.
He told himself that what he was doing wasn’t meddling, yet when he sneaked a glance at the two, he felt proud of how far they’d come.
Then Marinette’s voice broke the pleasant quietude, shaky and nervous and rambling.
“Today was one of my coworker’s birthdays, so I got up way too early to make some, but I made too much, and then while I was pouring myself my second cup of coffee, I thought of you and how I see you here, like, all the time, and I thought: why not give some to Félix? If anything can make Sebastian’s coffee better, it’s macarons, but maybe he doesn’t like sweets? So I wasn’t sure, but I figured, it’s worth a try, right?”
“She’s been winding herself up for hours,” Sebastian mock-whispered to Félix. Marinette grabbed a rag off the counter and tried to smack the obnoxious barman.
“I hope you like them,” she added softly, giving up.
Félix looked at the box. It was the first gift anyone had given him in years, not out of obligation but because they wanted to give it to him. Gratitude burned in his chest, like a small wildfire threatening to consume all.
“Thank you,” he stammered. Then, helping himself, he lifted the lid off the books to reveal a neat row of six pink macarons and took one.
His eyes rolled back from the overwhelming sweetness, an involuntary sigh escaping his lips, as the treat melted in his mouth, its taste heaven compared to the bitter hell of his coffee.
Marinette laughed gleefully when he threw his head back, savoring the moment, and he couldn’t think of a single reason why he shouldn’t want to hear it again.
~☕~
There were quite a number of things Félix could’ve given her in return; things that would have made her happy, ranging from anything money could buy to his father’s highly guarded sketches. But he went beyond all Sebastian’s wildest expectations.
He gave her his heart.
Or the closest thing to it that he could give her without instantly giving away his identity, which had become a problematic secret. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her to know; it was just impossible to tell her.
He was afraid she’d reject him and their weird camaraderie; that she’d treat him differently.
But it wasn’t like he could not tell her either. The knowledge tormented him. It twisted his guts and opened guilt’s gates, flooding his body with regret of not having taken any of the numerous opportunities Sebastian had created for him over the past couple of months.
The barman whistled when he saw the present wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.
“Going all out, I see.”
“Shut up.”
“I can’t help but notice you’ve grown a mouth.” Félix glared at the man who poured him a cup of coffee. Sebastian smiled. “I’m sure she’ll love it. Don’t worry about it.”
Up until that moment, Félix hadn’t worried.
Sebastian’s words made his back stiffen and his stomach turn.
He slumped in a very marinettesque fashion, dropping his shoulders forward, face darkening. He had her catastrophizing look down to perfection, his brows furrowing exactly as much as hers did.
Sebastian found it a little scary, because running into Marinette during lunchtime, he’d noticed her imitate Félix, too, when she gazed pensively into her caramel latte before drinking it.
“Don’t worry about it,” he repeated gently.
In the end, it couldn’t be helped.
When Marinette stumbled in, grabbing onto the clothes rack to steady herself, as her knees went weak from the Rohypnol that was slipped into her drink at the club everyone had gone to celebrate another line well-done, all that mattered was that she was safe.
The little prince he had so much likened himself to as a child was suddenly non-essential.
Sebastian himself drove her to the hospital while Félix was in charge of keeping her upright so she wouldn’t choke. Félix was sure that they broke more than ten traffic laws in their rush to get her to a doctor who agreed to keep her overnight solely for their piece of mind.
Then they went to the club and Félix had the satisfaction of punching the bastard in the face.
~☕~
Neither mentioned it to Marinette.
When she returned, she returned to the safe haven.
Félix had to remind himself that he had no right to embrace her as Sebastian did, to make sure she was really alright and in no danger of disappearing
He settled for her smile, one she directed at him, as though knowing how distressed her absence had made him.
Soft and bright, it always sweetened his day considerably, posing a problem he didn’t even see rising until Sebastian pointed it out one night after Marinette had retired early, unable to fight her exhaustion.
“You’re smiling.”
Félix denied it, but try as he might, he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face.
“It’s not a bad look, you know,” commented Sebastian, paying him one of his rare compliments.
“Pour me another cup,” Félix sighed. “I can’t show up to work like this.”
Sebastian obeyed.
“God forbid you show any emotion, is that it? Your father is the same as ever, I see.”
Félix shrugged. “It is what it is.”
“This is the last cup. Else you start seeing double and he’ll come after my head,” warned Sebastian, not a hint of amusement in his voice.
“You could probably take him.”
“In hand-to-hand? Absolutely. But let’s be honest, that man will never go hand-to-hand with me. If anyone’s going to give him a bloody nose, it’s gotta be you, boy.”
Félix hummed in response.
~☕~
Eight months and twenty-seven days later, Félix Agreste still hadn’t told the woman he was decidedly in love with that his father was the one and only Gabriel Agreste she so much adored. Though how she missed that fact when all the newspapers were buzzing about the rebellious child whose forgiving father didn’t cut him off from the heritage after said son punched him publicly in the face was another mystery entirely.
It was both a blessing and a curse that she didn’t find out the truth through the article that had written a four-page feature on him.
He had been so sure he had prepared himself mentally for the backlash.
It never came—she’d had no time to read the news that day, and Sebastian conveniently left it out of his recap of current events.
“I need a bucket of coffee, stat,” declared Marinette waltzing through the door. “She wants to put on a runway show! Can you believe that? Almost a year of we only do private showings and we are above runway shows and now, with only a handful of weeks left to prepare… guess who’s in charge?” She pointed at herself. “Yours truly has been watching videos for nine hours! ”
Her forehead made contact with the counter. “I’m going to have to be the manager, the assistant, and the director because hiring someone is apparently out of our budget.”
Félix shifted, an inkling of an idea forming in his head.
“And I don’t even get to design a piece for it!” complained Marinette, dry-crying.
“Why don’t you just quit then?” Sebastian poured her a drink. “If you hate her so much…”
“Because her work is so good.” She took a sip and sighed, throwing her head back. She laughed wryly. “I’ve just got to become a master stage technician in two weeks. No big deal.”
Félix didn’t even realize that he’d pulled out his wallet and turned to her until his own voice roused him.
“Marinette, please don’t underestimate my job!”
He jolted upright, cheeks coloring, as she frowned, losing a grip on his words, as his voice caressed her ears.
She caught something about a job.
“Right, I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned what you do for a living?” she wondered with a giggle.
Not trusting his words, Félix pushed his business card across the table, hands shaking from either too much caffeine or too much adrenaline. She read it quietly, not quite processing anything once her eyes alighted on his surname.
“I’m a master stage technician,” he said, pulling up a video on his phone. Marinette had watched it only hours before, mouth agape only wishing they could afford someone to pull off something as wickedly awesome as that. “My usual rate is 3000 euros per hour, but for you, I’ll do it for a cup of coffee.”
Marinette could’ve kissed him.
And after dragging him away to discuss Several Important Details of that arrangement, maybe she did.