note: A macaroon is different from a macaron; while they're both almond flour based, the macaroon is denser and coated with coconut flakes.

It should have been a routine patrol, just one in dozens like it since Chat Noir had begun his stint as one-half of Paris' superhero duo.

And it would have been, if Adrien Agreste had had time to eat more than some fruit for breakfast and a few bites of a sandwich for lunch beforehand. With fashion week coming up in less than a month, his father has been running him ragged with fittings and rehearsals. Consequently, Adrien has had to very quickly figure out what his essentials in life are; when taking the time to eat proper meals would mean either missing class or missing patrol, food had been easily deemed unnecessary.

Looking back on his choices from his prime spot on the floor of the Dupain-Cheng's rooftop terrace, Adrien is forced to admit that maybe eating had been more important than he'd initially thought.

—

—

pour une bouchée de pain

—

—

"You're crushing my irises," one Marinette Dupain-Cheng informs him from above.

Chat shoots her his most dazzling grin from where he's still laid out on his back. "Sorry about the unexpected house call, princess. I didn't mean to take a catnap in your plants."

Marinette looks utterly unimpressed, but the hands that haul him to his feet are careful. "What are you doing here? I didn't hear any news about new akuma."

Stretching, Chat winces when his joints audibly crack, "Worried about me?"

Marinette presses her lips together, and Chat laughs, "You're a hard customer, you know that? I was just doing my duty as the neighborhood patrol cat when I...tripped."

His classmate still doesn't look convinced, "I was there. You fell mid-leap."

Cats hate water, the Earth is round, and he'd indeed fallen right out of the sky. For the first time Chat's glad he and Ladybug have started to alternate patrols, because otherwise she would never let him live this down.

A cough, and then Chat repeats, "I tripped."

Marinette sighs, the sound low and long-suffering, and not for the first time Chat wonders where the starstruck fan of only a few weeks ago has gone. He's usually unfailingly smooth behind the mask, but Marinette's many moods catch him off guard, both in and out of the suit.

It's obvious that she doesn't buy his story, but she seems ready to let him go until Chat's stomach decides to make it known that he hasn't eaten in hours.

Marinette's laugh is clear and unexpectedly lovely, and Chat finds himself reflexively smiling in response. She's still chuckling when she stops in front of the skylight to turn and look over her shoulder, "Well, aren't you coming? I can't very well let one of Paris' superheroes starve to death, can I?"

For a moment, the light of the setting sun bounces off the glass in just the right way, and Marinette's silhouette—the gentle curve of her profile—is so familiar that it hits him like a baton to the gut. Then the light shifts and there is just Marinette Dupain-Cheng again.

Maybe, Chat thinks, he'd hit his head harder than he'd thought.

—

—

The bakery is quiet when they make their way downstairs, and Chat realizes that it must be closing time. The sun has almost fully set by the time they descend the last few steps, and the soft glow of the bakery's lights combined with the lingering smell of freshly baked bread fill Chat's chest with warmth. He remembers what he'd thought the first time he'd stepped through its doors:This is a real home.

"Marinette...Are you sure this is okay? Won't your parents be mad?" Too late, he realizes that he sounds more like Adrien than Chat, and quickly shuts his mouth.

Marinette pauses in her rummaging behind the counter, her expression strange as she looks at him. "No, it's fine. We close early one day a week, and my parents are out picking up some last minute groceries."

When she emerges again, she's holding out a brown paper bag for Chat to take. "For you. These are some leftovers from today."

There's only the sound of crinkling paper in the steadily darkening space for a minute, and then Chat has to swallow the sudden lump in his throat when he sees what's inside: there are a few madeleines and a small assortment of cookies, and then the rest of the bag is filled with golden, flaky puffs.

Marinette breaks the silence, her voice uncertain. "Those are congolais—they're called macaroons in English. Papa picked up the recipe when we visited London a few years ago and they're sort of a specialty at our bakery now. Everything's still good! We just can't sell any pastries that aren't made on the same day, so..."

She trails off awkwardly for another moment until Chat snaps out of his stunned trance. "No, no! Thank you so much! Um, macaroons are my favorite, so…This is perfect, princess. I really appreciate it."

Marinette beams, and the smile makes it easy for Chat to understand why so many boys from their class have fallen in love with her.

Makes it so that his lie is worth it even when Chat Noir takes a bite of the unfamiliar dessert later and realizes what the little flakes are in a violent, hive-inducing way. Adrien Agreste, it just so happens, is incredibly allergic to coconut.

—

—

"Chat?"

"Yes, buginette?"

"Have you...Have you been taking care of yourself?"

Chat turns from the view of Paris at dawn, grinning hugely at his partner, "My lady does care! Don't worry, I may be roguishly handsome but I'm no alley cat."

Ladybug rolls her eyes, affectionately nudging his shoulder with hers, "Why do I even bother?"

The two soon lapse into a comfortable silence again, but the smile on Chat's face doesn't fade for the rest of the time they're together.

—

—

The next time Chat visits the bakery, it's another accident. Sort of. It's been a week since he dashingly fell out of the sky, so his patrol route is finally taking him past the Dupain-Cheng's again. He'd only meant to drop down to the street for a minute, just to peek inside, but Marinette had seen him through the window and waved, and it would have just been rude at that point to not go in and say hello, right?

Pleased with his logic, Chat mentally claps himself on the back as the door jingles open. The smell of the bakery hits him all at once, and he can't stop himself from closing his eyes in bliss, greedily inhaling the scent of bread and sweets.

Too late, Chat registers the sudden hush that has fallen. Maybe, if he keeps his eyes closed long enough…

"Chat Noir!"

Chat manages to catch a glimpse of Marinette's expression before the crowd explodes, and it's priceless. He can only sheepishly smile in response.

—

—

It takes them at least ten minutes to get the crowd under control, and another five for people to stop staring at Chat. Eventually, Tom Dupain emerges from the back kitchen, and despite his friendly smile his sturdy presence is enough to maintain the peace.

The guilt ballooning inside Chat's chest eats through the armor of his suit and burrows straight into Adrien; he hadn't bothered to consider the other people in the bakery before going inside on a silly whim, and now look.

Chat is torn between staying to apologize profusely and slinking out the door before he causes any more trouble. But before he can do so much as twitch, Sabine Cheng fixes him in place with a look and gestures for him to get in the line snaking up to the register that Marinette is manning.

It makes a comical picture: Chat Noir trying his best to casually blend in while the other customers pointedly look at anything but the boy dressed as a cat in the middle of the room. The man right in front of Chat has to be clutching his poor loaf of bread to pieces.

When Chat gets to the front, he can barely stand to look his classmate in the face. "I'm so sorry , Marinette. I didn't mean to—"

"Here," she interrupts him abruptly, and a small paper box embossed with the bakery's logo slides into view. Surprised, Chat looks up, and Marinette's expression is nothing like what he'd expected: neither the fierce annoyance of when she'd had to deal with particularly clingy customers earlier nor the indignant anger he'd seen from her occasionally in class.

Instead, there's a knowing smile, an arched brow. Dumbfounded, and vaguely aware that the rest of the shop has once again gone silent, he looks down at the box, and then back up at Marinette again.

"Here," she reiterates. "Did you come by because you wanted more macaroons? They're pretty good, huh?"

How to tell her no? How to say that in reality, he'd been drawn to the warmth that both she and her family—her home—effortlessly radiate? How to casually let slip that actually, the desserts were amazing but came with the price of a severe allergic reaction for him, so he'd had to grudgingly give the rest of her well-meaning gift to Nathalie?

—

—

He says: "They were delicious! But I can't pay for these, princess. There's no room in this suit for anything besides these guns that I'm packing."

Chat flexes for good measure, and then, because apparently hell is a hill and once you start there is absolutely no stopping: "I'd be happy to offer pawment in the form of chivalrous furvors though."

Inside, Adrien screams.

Oblivious to his internal anguish, Marinette snorts and bags the box for him. "How about next time, you just bring some euros with you."

—

—

Adrien stares at the immaculately packed box of macaroons on his desk, Plagg drifting lazily by his shoulder.

"Look any harder and your eyes are gonna cross, kid."

A minute more of silence, and then the boy says in a hushed, awe-filled whisper, "They were so nice to me, Plagg. I caused all that trouble and Marinette still..."

The kwami rolls his eyes, and Adrien returns to quietly staring at the box.

—

—

"Plagg...What am I going to do with these?"

—

—

tbc

note: The title is a French idiom that directly translates to "for a mouthful of bread" and is used in the context of getting something for a pittance, a song, cheaply etc. I know I have a million WIP's and this is the absolute worst time to be getting into a new fandom, but I can't deny it any longer...I'm now Miraculous Trash through and through. I am working on my WIP's though, even if I don't know how much free time I'll have now that I'm officially done with the post-graduate limbo, woohoooo.

Originally posted on my AO3 (handles and info in bio; I miss the days when authors could just throw everything onto ffn). A million thanks to boreum dal for encouraging my descent into Miraculous Ladybug Hell and for all the help she's given me with this fic!