Work Text:
The rain was pouring from the skies in fat, heavy drops, pelting the umbrella of famous designer Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Raindrops were splashing under her heels and her quick pace kept launching them directly onto her white nylon stockings, slowly tinting them a light brown. Lightning flashed out of the dark clouds hanging over Paris. She should find shelter to let the worst of the thunderstorm pass.
She let her steps slow down to look around. Many storefronts were already locked up for the day, leaving her standing in the pouring water until she spotted a glowing window in a side alley. Marinette took off, sprinting the short distance to the shop. The light seemed like a small ray of sunshine, contrasting the dark sky with all its might.
The door handle was wet as she pulled the door open, quickly stepping inside the cosy establishment. Everything smelled slightly of coffee, but the pleasant scent of pastries and cinnamon almost drowned it out. A few people were sitting in the store. A guy in his mid-fifties working on a chunky laptop, three girls conversing quietly in one of the booths and a woman sipping her cup of coffee with a content smile as her toddler in the stroller nibbled on a chocolate chip cookie.
Marinette shut her umbrella, idly wandering a couple of steps towards the counter.
‘Hi, how can I help you?’ A tall blond guy had appeared and was smiling at her from behind the counter. His green eyes had Marinette speechless for a moment before she caught herself and answered.
‘Uh- do you serve tea? It’s a bit late, so I don’t really want coffee.’ She let out a nervous huff.
‘We do serve tea,’ he answered, the smile still present. ‘Anything else to go with it?’
Marinette let her gaze flash over the pastries. One looked tastier than the other. Her eyes landed on a cinnamon bun. Before she could point it out, the blond had already reached for it with a pair of metal tongs and put it in a paper bag together with a napkin.
‘If you give me your name, you can take a seat until your tea is finished,’ he offered, gesturing to the tables.
‘Oh, sure,’ Marinette blurted, caught off guard. ‘It’s Marinette.’
‘Marinette,’ he repeated. His eyes scanned the countertops until he found the marker. He snatched it up in a swift motion and scribbled her name onto the brown paper cup. ‘I’ll call you when your drink is ready,’ he reassured.
Marinette settled down on a lush sofa. She kept her eyes on him, and her thoughts began to drift. He and her in a house near the seaside, with a cosy garden, a big kitchen, and a hamster that they could call – she was startled out of her thoughts by his voice calling her name.
With her hands digging into the cushion, she pressed herself out of the comfy sofa and made her way over to the counter.
‘I’m so sorry, but I forgot to ask what kind of tea you would like.’ His smile was apologetic like he felt awfully bad for making her get up, but there was something completely different to it as well.
‘Just some mint tea sounds good,’ she answered. She didn’t go back to the sofa but kept standing by the counter, keeping him company. Or maybe because she wanted him to talk to her.
‘The weather is crazy, right?’ he finally asked.
‘It really is.’
Very creative, Marinette, she scolded herself internally and felt the urge to facepalm.
‘I haven’t seen a thunderstorm this crazy in forever.’ He placed the cup next to the cinnamon bun. ‘Here you go.’ She couldn’t help but stare at his stunning smile again before her eyes drifted up and met his. She should probably say something, ‘Thank you’ or ‘What do I owe you’ but no, his tender gaze had taken her ability to speak.
Finally, she managed to half-ass a thankful smile and grabbed her purse.
‘If you want to eat here, you can also pay later,’ he said. So, Marinette grabbed her tea, along with the bun. A croaked ‘Thanks’ later, she sat down on the sofa again.
What had just happened? This was awkward as hell.
She set down the cup on the small coffee table and dunked the teabag in it. The yellow swirls were dancing in the liquid as she stirred it with one of the tiny wooden sticks. She let the tea sit a bit and took out her sketching pad in the meantime. Trying not to be too obvious, she began throwing glances his way. He’d probably look great in a black suit, not too loose but not skintight either, and maybe some gold accents. The black pen hit the paper, and within a court minute, she had scribbled out a first design.
With every bite from the cinnamon bun and sip of her tea, the creative juices in her brain seemed to flow better. She was diving into a deep focus, redoing her sketches over and over, adjusting little details here and there. Between sketches, she allowed herself to glance up from her book and note down other details that came to mind by simply looking at him. Despite him looking like a friendly golden retriever, she decided to go with a theme that was more remnant of a black cat. Instead of a regular tie, she chose to draw a small bowtie to go around the collar and pointed an arrow to it, labelling it with ‘gold’. She decided to put small paw prints on the buttons, them too being labelled to be golden.
Slowly, her tea started to cool down, but she didn’t pay attention to its temperature when she took a sip. She was too immersed in her creative process to notice. She also didn’t notice how everyone else slowly started to filter out of the café.
‘That’s a nice drawing.’ Marinette was ripped out of her bubble and whipped her head up. The blond guy was leaning over the coffee table, peeking into her sketchbook.
‘Oh. Thanks.’ Her eyes searched the room. Nobody but her was left in the café. ‘Are you closing?’ Embarrassed, she shrank into the sofa.
‘I should have closed the shop twenty minutes ago, but I didn’t want to interrupt,’ he replied, taking her empty cup.
Marinette scrambled to pick up her stuff and followed behind him to the register. She picked out a twenty euro note.
‘Do you have fifty cents?’ he cocked his head up from the register.
‘Oh no, you can keep the change,’ Marinette’s cheeks started to burn, ‘take it as me making up for keeping you working so long.’
‘That’s fine,’ he shook his head, ‘I’d take your number to make up for it if you think that works.’
Marinette’s head went beet-red, but she grabbed the marker on the counter nonetheless and scribbled the first digits of her phone number on the empty paper bag from the cinnamon bun.
‘But do keep the change please,’ she insisted before putting down the pen.
‘Well, then the next mint tea and pastry are on the house.’ He smiled wide, sending Marinette home with butterflies fluttering in her chest.
-
Adrien watched her go, the grin still big on his face.