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It was the day he finally stepped up. The day he mustered up the courage to finally verbalize the fire that had been consuming him from inside for days, weeks, months.
He and Ladybug had stood up to Monarch, and won. He had taken the hits so many times to save her, he had gone further than anyone else had, all the way down to the gates of heaven (or whatever he kept on remembering from all the times he had succumbed to an akuma’s powers) and back. He had fought monsters and the secret to his own existence.
So why was it entire possible that it took the sole thought of approaching Marinette to terrify him?
He was never, ever laughing along with her at the memories of their collége years together again, even if she was the one to bring it up as a funny memory. Was that the way she used to feel around him? Was that why she always seemed physically incapable of articulating a single coherent sentence whenever he was near her?
He had one shot, and one shot only. Screwing it up would last forever, a lifetime of sorrow and embarrassment. Plagg would make sure he never saw the day when the embarrassment ended.
It was going to be perfect. The girl of his dreams, the one he had fallen for twice. Both in and out the suit, he had let his mask fall when she did.
She deserved nothing but the best. And that was what he was going to make sure to give her.
It took him days to think of something worthy of her, something that would allow him to sleep at night knowing he hadn't made her cringe at his hopeless attempts of winning her heart.
After the rational part of his mind had bad to convince the back of itself not to try and strangle Plagg (how did you even strangle a godlike entity capable of phasing through matter at will?), who kept on suggesting Camembert was the way into any girl's heart, and many sleepless nights, he finally got it.
She was a baker at heart, everyone knew it. Flour always surrounded her in one way or another. Faint ghosts of flour covered her backpack, traces of it tarnished her otherwise impolite black jacket.
Her jet black hair always smelled of bread, vanilla and flour.
Flour.
She had given him many variations of it over the years. Croissants, different types of bread, just as sweet as her.
And of course, macarons.
Passionfruit, his favorites.
Coconut, by coincidences of the universe, the day they had found each other at the Ladybug and Chat Noir movie premiere.
About them.
It was amazing, how a simple piece of fine baking, consisting of so little, had grown on him so much. He could only hope it could be the same with her.
Nothing would ever compare to her skilled hands and strong arms, trained since birth for baking.
But he could try. Maybe. Try, that was it.
He had research to do.
~(x)~
Eggs, superfine sugar, fine almond flour.
So little, that could be turned into a marvelous delicacy. So many options, so many different flavors the same ingredients could give birth to. His skills weren't as good as he would like to admit, but the recipe didn't seem too difficult, right?
Mixing, mixing. More mixing.
Bowls, so many bowls.
The recipe suggested an electric mixer, but he could do without it. Nothing the human hand could not do.
Hopefully.
Piping bags, some tips. He could try making different shapes! It looked fun, almost like a game.
Then, the oven. He could figure out how to use it.
Time to put hands to the job.
~(x)~
He was regretting all of his life decisions already.
He had been mixing for almost half an hour, and yet his mix did not look even remotely similar to the recipe. Not even a little bit.
Plagg, well, Plagg was snickering in a corner.
It didn't look good.
Maybe he should have gone for the electric mixer after all.
Maybe… Plagg could be useful after all. Could transforming make any difference to the stupidly smooth batter? It was worth a shot.
"Plagg, stop laughing at me and come help? Please?"
"I have as little baking knowledge as you do. Don't blame me if anything goes wrong with it."
"Nothing of the sort. Plagg, claws out!"
"YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO USE YOUR MIRACULOUS FOR-"
Too late, as the Kwami was already being sucked into the ring.
~(x)~
Batter, done. Filling, done.
Baking, about to start.
The oven wasn't the most dangerous thing he had seen, after all. Trying. He was trying.
some minutes later, they looked finished. All of those poor souls, supposed to be macarons, looked a little… squished to say the least. But they were there. And that was what mattered.
Figures had been left out of the picture, of course. Getting circles was already hard enough, and most of them were more oval than actually circular.
Filling them was surprisingly the easiest part of the process. He had half expected the pipe to become sentient and attack him with sticky yet awesomely smelling filling, but to his surprise, it was rather smooth.
The packaging, well, it was an entirely different thing. When had he decided to make it a bouquet? Any normal person would have chosen a tray, a nice box with lace edges and a ribbon and velvety insides, or something similar.
A bouquet. Stupid bouquet. It had to work. No matter what, he was going to make it work.
~(x)~
Somehow, he didn't die in the process. The bouquet sat decently, to say the least, on the kitchen counter, ready to meet its final owner. He only hoped it would not be a disaster.
Still as Chat, and grateful not to have Cataclysmed the batch the moment the tray felt too hot on his gloved hand, he was at Marinette's in less than five minutes.