ON the first day of December, on a quiet street in Paris, on the floor above a small bakery, the Dupain and Cheng family were gearing up for Christmas. Their living room was littered with cardboard boxes and decorations, and a tree, just waiting to be spruced up.

Adrien didn't believe there was a better place to be. Fresh pine and peppermint hung in the air, supper lay cooking in the oven, and Tom led out in singing carols. Adrien's personal favorite being the baker's The Twelve Days of Christmas pastry edition.

While Tom and Sabine sorted which decorations were for the apartment, and which were meant for the bakery, they set the younger pair on a more tedious task. Adrien sat on the floor behind the couch, fingers fumbling through the tangled heap that lay before him. Though he didn't mind. He got to see Marinette's adorable expression of concentration, sapphire eyes intent, as she patiently worked with the string of lights. Every once in a while, whenever she came across a portion that was particularly arduous, her tongue would peek out.

The sight was cute enough to make the whole undertaking completely worth it.

Now she rose from the floor, and planted a hand on Adrien's shoulder to assist her up. Once she was sturdy on her own two feet, she stretched her arms out, to help ease the stiffness in her limbs. "I need something warm to drink," she said, though it was barely intelligible through the massive yawn that escaped her. "You want something?"

Adrien glanced up from the Christmas lights coiled in his lap. "What are you having?"

Her hand dropped to absently thread through his golden hair as she thought. "Mmm. . . I was thinking chamomile sounded nice."

"Do you have peppermint?"

"We should," she replied.

Adrien tilted his head up, better to see her reaction to what he said next. "Is it in mint condition?"

She scoffed, and shot him a sideways glance.

He nudged his shoulder against her leg, and a mischievous glint filled his eyes. "Festivitea?"

Tom burst into a rumble of laughter, from his spot near the tree. "Good one, Adrien!"

"Papa, please!" Marinette shook her head. "Don't encourage him."

His mouth sobered a bit under his bushy mustache, but his eyes still twinkled in humour. "Of course, sugar muffin. I'll try and remember next time."

Because there would no doubt, be a next time. Adrien's grin spread wider.

Satisfied, Marinette turned her back, and stepped into the kitchenette. What she didn't see, was the wink Tom shot Adrien.

"So. . ." The baker cast a meaningful look at his wife. "Honey bunny?"

She didn't look up from the box of red bows she was currently rummaging through. "Yes, dear?"

"Do you know what you're giving me for Christmas?"

Sabine finally met his playful gaze. "And you're not getting any hints this year."

Tom's expression soured. "Not one?"

She tilted her head. "Mm. Not a single one."

Adrien turned to look over his shoulder, where Marinette was pouring hot water into two mugs. "Hey, Marinette?"

"Mmhm?" She set the kettle back on the stove top, and lowered the tea bags in. She came over, one in each hand. "What is it?"

Adrien's gaze flicked back to her parents. "What are they talking about?"

She placed his cup of tea into his hands and smiled. "Well, every year for Christmas, Mama and Papa exchange a new recipe with each other."

"Oh." Adrien's eyes fell to his mug. "That's cool."

"It is," she said. "But Papa is terrible about trying to figure out what she's picked out."

As if to prove her point, Tom poked his head around the tree. "Is it savory this year?"

Sabine just hummed and shook her head. "I'm not saying a word, sugar."

"Sugar!" his booming voice filled the room. "Then it's sweet!"

"Perhaps."

Marinette giggled. "He never gives up, Mama." She settled on the floor beside Adrien, and crossed her legs, tucking her fuzzy, slippered feet beneath her.

Adrien placed his tea to steep on the floor, and turned his attention back to detangling the lights. He tried to disguise his thoughtfulness as being wrapped up in the task, but really, his mind was pulling him away. Because this was the first time it had struck him, that he would have to get Marinette a gift. And he didn't have a clue what to get her.

He was startled from his thoughts by Tom. "Look!" He drew the curtains aside, to reveal the pale, dusk lit sky, peppered by white flakes. The first snow.

Marinette nearly spilt her chamomile, she jumped up so fast. She didn't hesitate to grab Adrien's hand and drag him along for the trek across the room, until she stilled in front of the window. They both pressed closer to get a better look, and eventually their faces were glued to the window pane. It was like ice on their skin, but neither cared, overcome by the wonder filled sight. Their breath fogged the glass, but Marinette was quick to swipe it away with the sleeve of her sweater.

Adrien tore his gaze away from the snowfall to look at Marinette. She wasn't grinning as wide as him, but her eyes were filled with a dreamy glow. She's claimed many a time that she doesn't like winter or the cold, but he knew she liked it more than she let on. "Promise me a snowball fight?" he asked, a bit uncertain.

Her eyes scrunched in a gentle smile, and her bright eyes flickered to his. "You're on, kitty."

There was only one thing to be done. It was ten days until Christmas, and Adrien needed backup. There was only one person who could help him now.

He ran a hand through his hair, about ready to pull it out. It was already a quarter past seven, and though it wasn't entirely unexpected. . . She was late.

Not that he'd complain aloud. Alya was a bit intimidating, if he was being honest.

They'd agreed to meet at the coffee shop, a block from her house. At least. . . he'd finally given in. She'd been quite adamant, her exact words being "if you're going to drag me out at that hour of the morning, on a Saturday, you can wait ten minutes while I get a drink. If I don't caffeine, you will regret it, Agreste."

When he'd arrived, and she was nowhere to be found, he shot her a text, asking her for her order. He drummed his fingers against the side of his leg as he waited in line, and silently lamented that the overall "Christmas cheer" was not working in his favor. Sure, it was nice that people were smiling and wishing each other a merry holiday and all that jazz, but he had things to do, places to be, gifts to buy.

Finally, it was his turn to order. "Two coffees, one black and one caramel. With extra cream, please."

His eyes roamed to the snowflake stickers that dotted the windows. Adrien had never been in this cafe before, as it was a bit out of the way of his regular routes, but apparently it was Alya's favorite. He liked the dark brick and dim lighting. It made the place feel cozy. Though there were so many strong scents, his slightly enhanced sense of smell made the room a bit overwhelming. But that was normal, ever since he'd acquired the connection to his kwami.

Simply because they reminded him of a certain girl with bluebell eyes and freckles, he purchased a paper box of strawberry tarts with powdered sugar dusting the tops. He payed, and with two to go cups in hand, and the box tucked beneath his left arm, he headed for the exit.

Through the glass doors, he could see where his driver had parked the car across the street, engine still running. Adrien pushed through the exit, into the crisp morning air. The snow, beginning to soften, crunched underfoot as he strode over the crosswalk. He was thankful for the warm drinks in hand, and for the scarf his Father had given him for his birthday last year. The soft knit wrapped around him, and somehow, it even lifted his mood.

Adrien got into the car, and set down the beverages, allowing the tarts to rest in his lap. He slipped out his phone and sent Alya a text, to let her know he was waiting out front. He'd just tapped send when the car door swung open. Adrien squeaked in surprise, his phone flying from his hands to the carpeted floor between his feet.

Alya slid in beside him, and gave him a dry look. "What're you so jumpy for?"

His hand remained where it had landed, pressed to his chest. "There's this thing called knocking?"

"Coffee?"

Adrien swallowed, and slowly, his heart rate evened to a more moderate speed. "Just like you asked."

Her hands wrapped greedily around the insulated cup. "Ah, that's better." She took a long whiff of her fresh drink. "So what's the game plan?"

Adrien nodded to the driver, a signal for him to pull away from the curb. "I've picked out a couple of shops that might have something. Though I don't really have any idea of what I'm searching for. . ." He gave her a thoughtful look. "Do you know what you're getting her?"

"Of course."

His shoulders slumped, disheartened by her surety.

"I found the purrfect thing." Her eyes glinted mischievously as she leaned closer to whisper, even though they were alone in the backseat. The partition provided them with a bit of privacy from Adrien's bodyguard up front. Not that he'd tell anyone if he overheard. "It's. . . a Chat Noir onesie."

The drink was poorly timed. Adrien choked, and burst into a fit of coughing. Though perhaps it served as an excuse as to why his cheeks had flushed red.

At the first store, they didn't have much luck. Or the second. Or the third. By the sixth store, Alya was growing impatient. The last of the strawberry tarts were gone, and Adrien had to drag her past every vending machine and cafe they passed.

"You can't do this to me," Alya said, as they drifted past shelves of craft supplies. "What kind of friend are you, that you would just watch me starve?"

"When we find Marinette's gift, I'll buy you a six course meal at your favorite restaurant." Adrien spun to face her, hands clasped in a pleading gesture. "Please?"

Without missing a beat, she reached for the first thing she saw, and held it out. A pack of pencils, in varying sizes and leads. "This." She forced it into his hand, and began to push him from the aisle.

"No, Alya, stop." He sidestepped, and hurried to put them back. "She already has this same set. I can't get her these."

"Pencils all look the same anyway," she grumbled, eyes intent on the tiled floor.

Adrien set the package carefully back into its home. For the first time since he got out of bed that morning, he stilled. His feet seemed heavy, his arms hung limp at his sides. Perhaps Alya had a point. He'd been picky beyond belief, and she'd had to put up with it all.

It's not like he hadn't found anything at all. There'd been that pair of bunny slippers that reminded him of her. And a pink coat that practically screamed her name. But nothing felt quite right. This was their first Christmas together, after all. It had to be perfect.

Alya snagged him by the arm, and pulled him onward. "Don't look now, but I think those girls are tailing us." She yanked him into an aisle full of yarn, all colors of the rainbow. "I saw them at the last store too."

Adrien did exactly what he was told not to do, and looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, two girls, maybe thirteen or fourteen were trailing behind them. They squeaked when they realized they'd been spotted, and broke into a fit of giggles. He sighed. "Yeah. I think you're right."

They made a hasty retreat, back onto the sidewalks. Adrien spared a glance behind them, and sure enough, the same girls stepped out the craft store.

"I'm sorry," he said, and forced his attention ahead of them.

"It's not your fault." She shrugged. "If they do catch up, and try and give you a hard time, they'll have to deal with me."

Somehow that made him feel better. Even so, the first chance they got, after rounding a street corner, they ducked into a shop in an effort to ditch them. For a fleeting moment, Adrien wondered if fate had brought him here, and he'd find the perfect present.

It wasn't quite as he'd hoped. The whole front of the store, nearly every inch, was decked out in red and black. There was Ladybug merch everywhere.

Adrien paled, and wondered if this was what people meant when they said they felt faint. Because he really could have dropped right then and there.

He turned right on his heel and he ran. He ran out the store, and nearly ran smack into the two girls tailing him. Their eyes turned round, and they barely stepped back in time to avoid a collision.

"Adrien!" This was Alya, somewhere behind him. "If you make me run another second, you will pay!"

He skidded to a stop, the sidewalk slick with snow under his shoes. His chest heaved with lung fulls of frosted air, and his head was swimming. It was almost out of necessity that he collapsed onto a nearby bench. He leaned forward, hands pressed to his face.

A few moments passed, before Alya finally arrived, and slid into the spot beside him. "Yo, Adrien."

"I'm doomed."

"Look." She settled her shopping bags in her lap. One of them contained the game Adrien had helped her pick out for Nino. It had helped him feel less guilty about taking up her time. Now, she laid a hesitant hand on his back. "You know whatever you get Marinette, she's going to love it. That's just who she is."

He only sunk lower. "But that's why it has to be something amazing. Because she is that kind of person." He tugged at the fringe of his hair. "She deserves something awesome."

Alya sighed. Then slowly, her exasperation turned to a devious smirk. "So. . . what you're saying is, that my Chat Noir onesie isn't awesome?"

He shot up straight in his seat, eyes wide with fear. "N-no! It is, really. Uh, it's. . . pawesome!"

Her smile widened, albeit a bit faltering, taken by surprise at the pun. "Thanks."

Adrien turned his head, to cast a faraway look at the snow laden horizon. "Thanks, Alya. For everything. Even if I couldn't find the right gift, you still spent you morning trying to help." He scraped his shoe against the snow gathered around the bench, and left an indent. "You're pretty cool. You know that?"

Alya tilted her head. "You should be grateful, y'know. Not only am I pretty cool, I'm also freezing my butt off sitting here." She jumped off the bench, and swiped the snow from the back of her coat. "Come on."

"What?"

"I said come on." She put a hand to her hip. "We're not giving up now. That's not how Alya Césaire does it. We're getting Marinette's present today. Get off your butt and let's get some shopping done!"

Her enthusiasm did little to stir him. His head drooped. "It won't do any good." Still, he stood. "But I will do one more thing."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I'm taking you out for lunch." He gave a sheepish smile. "What kind of friend would I be, if I let you starve?"

And though no one could see, snuggled beneath Adrien's coat, tucked in his shirt pocket, Plagg gave a single, grave nod of agreement.

After a long day, be it after photo shoots, seemingly endless classes, or a fruitless morning spent shopping, there was no place Adrien would rather be than the Boulangerie Patisserie. The warm ovens, the fresh bread, and of course, the sweetness of Marinette and her parents. He's thought, silently, many times, that he doesn't believe he knew what home felt like until he found his way here.

Marinette was out, gone shopping herself, so Adrien settled into the kitchen. Sabine was quick to set him to work, cutting out sugar cookies. The first few came out a bit lopsided, but soon enough, he picked up the right pressure for rolling out the dough, and took such care cutting them out, it earned him a silent smile from both bakers, he hoped, because they were proud.

The first tray of reindeer and snowflakes went into the oven. Adrien absently drew squiggles in the flour that blanketed the table, as Tom brought another batch of dough over. "Does your family have a lot of Christmas traditions?" Adrien asked. Not because he was attempting to make polite conversation, but because he genuinely wanted to know, to learn more about them.

"Oh, nothing out of the ordinary," Tom replied. "We decorate the tree together, bake lots of Christmas goodies, and stay up late on Christmas Eve to watch old classics."

Adrien's gaze dropped intently on his work with the cookie cutter. But his mind was faraway, in a time when Christmas was something he looked forward to. When he'd had someone to share it with. Because he realized, it wasn't the act of a tradition that made it special. It was the people you did it with. "Those. . . all sound really nice."

"What about you?" Sabine set a flour dusted snowman onto the cookie sheet. "Does your family have any special traditions?"

It caught him off guard. In hindsight, perhaps he should have expected the question to come back around to him. To his. . . family. Instead of dwelling on more recent years, he reminded himself of the things his Mother used to do with him during the holidays. "We would wear special Christmas socks and go 'skating' on the floor in the front entryway." His voice quieted. "But, that was a few years ago."

For a second, he was overcome with an ache to return to that moment in time. When his mom had sung, more off key than himself to Christmas tunes. And then when they were out of breath, they'd have hot cider and try to guess what Santa would put in their stocking that year.

The last of the cookies went in to bake, and Adrien was left without a task to occupy himself. That made it worse. That made him remember.

Perhaps Sabine sensed this, and took pity on him. Or perhaps she was just in a 'get things done' kinda mood. She got like that sometimes. Either way, she sent Adrien up to the apartment to wrap some of the cardboard boxes sitting under the tree.

"They should have the to's and from's written somewhere on the package, dear," she said. "The wrapping paper is already out. Though you may have to look for tape."

"I'll check Marinette's room." He took the first step of the stairs, a warm feeling inside when he realized what he was being entrusted with. "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of everything."

Though this particular quest brought to the forefront of his mind how he'd failed to find Marinette's present. He knew, somewhere inside, that Alya was right. His jaw clenched as he took up the first box, and lay it over the sheet of wrapping paper. He realized, with a nearly overwhelming sense of bitterness, that Marinette would be content with a pen, like one of the many his Father had gifted him over the years.

But that's not what he wanted. He wanted to show just how much he cared. How much he cared about her.