Marinette fixed her hair for the final-final-final time, trying to make her fringe lie flat in the awful humidity.
"Heh, it's not a bad look, you know," Tikki offered, gesturing her own antenna as she adjusted her own tiny body in the mirror.
"Very funny," Marinette whined as she clipped another bobby pin in place, adding a little spray, and removing the pin again.
Voice hopeful, she beamed in the mirror. "There?"
It twirled right back up her forehead.
"Uuuuugh," the girl let her head roll backwards, defeated. "I don't have time for this! The DiMaggio's wedding is this Friday and they're coming to look at the final selections. Aaaagggh!"
Her kwami tried to reassure her, but Marinette was hardly listening as she threw on her clothes. With the mid-May heat, her usual ensemble of pink capris, white and black shirt with her blazer would be stifling. She managed yesterday, but the weather had been dreary and unusually cold.
Today could not have been more different - hot, humid, and so bright it blinded her.
Marinette had enlisted Ayla to help her capture the right "look" for a greenhouse-employee-but-also-aspiring-designer-and-sort-of-manager-of-operations. She wanted to be professional, but something that could get afford to get dirty. Nothing flowy like a skirt or a dress, as she'd be hauling bags of soil and planters of every size. They settled on breathable, form-fitting jeans and a simple buffalo-plaid shirt with capped sleeves. Navy blue and white, the colors seemed right for summer, and the jeans were soft and easy to wash. True sleeves would make her sweaty, but a tank-top seemed too unprofessional, so the capped shoulders seemed a suitable compromise.
"Marinette!" Tikki poked her directly in the face, causing her to jump.
At least she stopped fidgeting with her outfit, the kwami thought ruefully, and she pointed towards Marinette's phone. "What time are the DiMaggio's supposed to be there?"
"The shop doesn't to open until 10 AM, and they're going to be there at 10:30-ish? They said it might a little… oh, god, Tikki," Marinette blanched, looking at her phone. "Please tell me this doesn't say 9:58 AM."
The kind kwami made a face and tried to lie convincingly. "It… doesn't say 9:58 AM?"
"How can I be this late? How? It's so much later than school! UGH." Marinette sprinted around for her bag and the dark green apron embroidered with her name in black before she froze in place.
The kwami and her charge met eyes, the latter trying not to look too pathetic.
"Tikki… please?" Marinette made her eyes glassy and pleading, but the red presence simply appeared bemused, if not a little exasperated.
Tikki smiled and flew to her palms, shaking her head knowingly. "Of course, Marinette. Just be careful when you release the transformation, and your parents will be wondering why you didn't come through the front. Perhaps you should wait until you're in an alley?
She groaned. "Oh, for the love of marzipan..."
Marinette was wearing a such a very "Marinette look" on her face that Tikki couldn't suppress her giggles as she flew into the familiar pouch at the girl's hip.
For as clumsy as she was known to be, Marinette demonstrated impressive speed and reflexes as she flung herself down the stairs and into the bakery. A bag with some variety of sweets and (bless her mother) her extra-large coffee thermos were already perched on the back counter, so she grabbed them and in a flurry of sound and movements, she said goodbye to her parents and ran out the door, the bell jingling as she passed the threshold. It all ended with an unceremonious splat of Marinette's torso hitting the concrete - she was good all the way until leaving the bakery. Anything after was fair game.
"Gahhh…" Rubbing her shoulder, she was vaguely aware that Tikki was tittering in worry, squeaky voice muffled by the bag.
"Sweetie?"
Marinette could already hear her mother coming to make sure she was okay, so she jumped to her feet, shouted, "I'mGoodNoWorriesByeMamanLoveYou!" and sprinted in the direction of the flower shop, flinging herself into the first alley she could find.
Through comically heavy breaths, Marinette heaved three familiar words. "Tikki… spots… on…"
The flash of pink surrounded her and, like jumping in an ice cold pool, she immediately felt herself wicked of any exhaustion. Transforming would never become less exhilarating, the strength and curvature of her muscles accentuated by the suit, and with a breathy sigh, Ladybug took to the rooftops.
The tip of the Agreste mansion was the only visible landmark in that part of town that she could see from her vantage point, so she immediately set a familiar course through the Parisian skyways, relishing each breeze that brushed against her cheeks or tousled her hair.
Her appointment with the DiMaggio's would be fine, she reassured herself as she swung through the city, but she was more worried about other customers arriving in the meantime. Her inner-Marinette really needed to get her act together and go to bed, get up, and generally manage her life and schedule a little more carefully. The summer was wedding season, after all, and things would only get busier. Then again, there would be time to think about that sort of misery tomorrow. Right now, she couldn't stop counting the seconds until the coffee in her hands was pure caffeine coursing through her veins.
As she went, Ladybug's mind wandered, wondering after the other miraculous wielder that prowled these streets. He had been in an unusual mood last night when he stopped by the shop, oddly sincere and serious at times, and he just bolted away without a proper goodbye. It's not like she was offended; she had no claim on Chat Noir's time, even as Ladybug, unless there was an akuma attack. So why did his sudden departure yesterday still trouble her?
Perhaps it was the bit of confession, and the subsequent guilt. She shouldn't have pushed him to share for more than a handful of reasons. After all, she should be the first to sympathize with keeping secrets, but this still felt like more than that. The knowledge of his family…
Chat Noir had made a passing comment that his home life was not ideal, mentioning their "gig" as superheroes as a sort of escape. Ladybug felt the truth to that too, though not because of her family, but from herself - Marinette had worries to deal with and burdens to bare, responsibilities to manage and expectations to meet. Becoming Ladybug did not make those duties disappear, but they were easier to manage. Success came more naturally with the suit flush to her skin.
The dark-haired girl shook her head of the thoughts, realizing she had passed the shop already, her line of travel laser-focused towards the Agreste mansion. She wondered with a smile what Adrien was doing or if he was home, but the time for such idle queries ended about 8 minutes ago.
Leaping down between the outside of a building and a solid, wooden fence, Ladybug swept her surroundings for any onlookers a final time before coming back to reality.
"Tikki, spots off."
The kwami fluttered happily beside her almost immediately, not as tired as she might have been if they used her Lucky Charm. Still, Marinette giggled when she opened the wax-paper bag of treats her parents packed and watched Tikki dive-in, antennae first.
Marinette pulled out her phone as she exited the private chasm between heroism and humanity, checking her messages and the time. No new notifications, and it wasn't even fifteen after yet.
"Phew, not bad, Tikki. We made it in like, ten minutes." Marinette half-whispered to the bag in her hands, glad that there weren't many people on the streets. It could've been a lot more of a media hassle to get here if there were more people (not to mention the strange looks she would get talking to a bag of pastries), but there were no Ladybloggers about today.
It was a strange start to her vacation, for sure, and nothing like the movies made her believe high school summer would be like. There wasn't enough time for beach outings, no wild and rowdy road trips, no late night bonfires or images really worth scrapbooking. To be fair, she didn't really want for any of those things in particular, but just to have more time with her friends. Going to the arcade, fencing, or getting dinner and catching a movie with Ayla, Adrien and Nino were some of the most precious memories she had, but they weren't the sort of thing you put down in a picture book.
They were too special for that anyways. Marinette kept the feelings, not the sights, locked in her heart, and in those versions she kept for safekeeping, there might have been some PhotoNetteShopping going on that involved more than a friendly arm around her waist from a certain blond boy. There might have been more strokes of the jaw, tucking of hair behind the ears, and many, many more kisses in her imagination of the ideal summer, but hey, she wasn't complaining. Adrien was a valuable, cherished friend - she tried to accept that he didn't want her like that almost a year ago, and it made being his friend so much easier. She would always be hopelessly and utterly in love with him, but her nerves and jitters had been crippling what precious little time they all had together during these years before they had to grow up and move on.
Marinette sighed and took a long sip of her coffee. Hot - even in the summer - with cream and almond syrup.
"Mmm," she cooed, going back for a second sip while Tikki's minimal weight shifted in the bag.
And then she smacked into someone, lost as she was in her tasty reprieve, narrowly avoiding dribbling coffee down her front.
"Oh, god, I'm so sorr-"
"Pardon me, I should -"
A pause and two pairs of wide eyes.
"Adrien?"
"Marinette?"
Face affixed with a blushy smile, Marinette thought literally running into a stranger (or worse, the DiMaggios) would have been the most humiliating thing that could happen first thing in the morning, but alas, here stood her literal worst case scenario, blonde and gorgeous. And her predictable two-left-feet had persuaded him, good-natured as he was, into holding her arms when she started to stumble. He looked about as surprised as she was when they righted themselves.
"I'm so sorry, Mari. You okay?" He smiled easily, a little flustered himself.
Chalking it up to embarrassment for almost causing her to fall, Marinette grinned apologetically and tried to cover up the redness on her cheeks. "Pff, don't worry. I'm good. You're good. You're so good! I mean, um, it was all me anyways. Unless you were walking backwards, I bulldozed right into you."
They both laughed, unable to deny the truth to her words. Marinette prayed to her lucky stars that he hadn't heard her say "you're so good," in that social faux pas, and judging by the easy way Adrien rubbed the back of his neck before falling into step beside her, he hadn't noticed. She allowed herself to relax a tiny bit.
The shop was only a little way down the block, and now he was walking her to work. How had things gone from disastrous to a daydream so quickly? Her heart was soaring despite the blunder, and Marinette felt evermore anxiety melt off her shoulders when she spotted no angry customers or DiMaggio family standing at the door.
Marinette held her breath and turned her head to the side, meeting Adrien's polite gaze. She never would be able to get over how mesmerizing his vibrant green eyes were and sighed longingly.
Ayla's voice perked up in her mind.
Don't stare - if you stare, ask him about his day!
Marinette coughed. "So, what brings you to this part of town today?"
"This part of town?" Adrien nodded his head towards the high walls surrounding the Agreste mansion, visible even from a few blocks over, and his voice sounded amused. "I do live right over there, you know."
"Duh, me," she laughed and scratched her cheek. Thankfully, she didn't have to try to remember Alya's conversation coaching as they made it to the shop a moment later.
"Oh, could you hold this for me for a sec?" Marinette offered him the thermos, and Adrien compiled without explanation. As calmly as she could, she dug for her keys, thanking her designer neuroticism that she color-coded them all or they might be here for an hour.
The lock clicked and Marinette pushed open the door, exhaling happily at the warmth within. It was just as hot and just as humid in the greenhouse, but at least the shop was prettier than the mostly empty streets. It was like a mini jungle, curated privately in the middle of Paris, and she easily fell into her rhythm of opening the store.
"Gosh," Adrien gazed around, following her inside, still holding her coffee. "I sometimes forget how pretty this place is."
Marinette nodded in agreement and relieved him of his duty, taking back her drink with greedy hands. She sipped heartily.
"Ahh," her face immediately relaxed. Adrien watched her curiously, and she merely shrugged.
"I've been deadbeat tired, and coffee is a great invention. I'd, um, offer you some, but you don't drink it, right?"
"Not regularly," he grinned and tapped his chin. "The last time we all went out for coffee, I still regret it. I was up like, half the night, bouncing off the walls. Too much caffeine for me." His eyes sparkled, and Marinette felt her heart stop beating.
"I can't imagine you hyper…" she mused and shook her head. "Just a sec, I need to put my stuff down."
Adrien started perusing the shelves and displays politely, allowing Marinette to catch her breath and regulate her heartbeat again. All she really needed to do was let Tikki out of the pastry bag and put on her apron, but damn if this boy wasn't going to give her a heart attack.
Tikki popped out as Marinette unruffled the top of the bag, printed with the logo D-C on the front, and she was beaming.
"Tikki," Marinette whispered furiously, bouncing on her heels. "Adrien is here! What do I do?"
"You're doing great, Marinette! Remember Alya's tips, and don't forget to breathe." The kwami gave her an encouraging hug against her cheek, and Marinette cupped Tikki in her hand to return the affection.
With a low exhale, she nodded a little too vigorously and shook out her apron. Bright green and warn with care, Marinette looped the fabric over her head, gripped the ties at her waist and fixed an easy bow at her back. "Phew, phew, okay. I got this. I got this."
"You got this." Tikki agreed.
One foot out the back, her gaze lingered on the lunch her parents packed for her, and she grabbed it on an impulse.
"Okay, sorry about that," Marinette said, hoping she didn't sound as nervous as she felt. Thankfully, the words were out before she spotted him, turning to her greeting with an award-winning smile. He drifted back to the counter to, leaning his elbows across the surface and meeting her eyes. Marinette had to remember Ayla's, Tikki's and her own advice: breathe, woman!
"No need to apologize, you're working, Mari. I'm not in any sort of hurry."
"Okay," she nodded and looked away for sake of her blood pressure.
Only slightly squeaky, she grasped the bag over the counter in front of him. "Oh!" She tried to gather her confidence, using the familiar weight of her parent's labor of love to push her on. "You don't drink coffee, but, maybe, you'd want a croissant? Or something. I'm not actually even sure what's in here, my parents just sort of shove stuff in, and then I forget to eat it all half the time, and I know you usually love Papa's food, and it would be a shame to waste them – and - oh, I'm rambling, aren't I?"
Marinette stopped and chuckled abruptly, trying to imagine which was redder, her face or her Ladybug suit at the moment. It must have been close.
Mercifully for her, Adrien was so consumed in the offer that he basically didn't hear anything she said after "croissant."
"Yes, please." He nodded and let her open the bag, and they both leaned forward to peer inside. She felt the warmth of his body, and when a few tickling tresses of his hair touched the top of her head, Marinette was about ready to faint.
He dug around in the wax-paper for a moment and appeared victorious, his fingers awkwardly clinging to two different pastries.
"This is basically the best morning of my life," Adrien sighed contently, worshipping the croissant he moved to his left hand and the orange cranberry muffin that stayed in his right.
Marinette giggled, pleased, and he didn't even mind being embarrassed about his manners as he took a bite of the croissant.
"Why don't you sit here?" She offered, impressed by her own confidence. The stool behind the register was light and she had no problem bringing it around. The timing was in her favor, as he was still working on his rather large first bite, and the scowl on his face looked prepared to decline.
"Don't, I insist." She held up a hand and situated the stool next to him, now on the opposite side of the counter. "I don't like standing while I eat, and I'm not hungry yet. And besides, I have to count the till."
Thanks to Mo's diligent training, the motions for opening were more or less ingrained in her subconscious. Marinette was able to keep up the conversation with relative ease while bringing out the cash for the register, placing the newest crowns on the display case, filling up watering cans with the hose, and checking over her list of arrangements for the DiMaggio's appointment.
With a brief silence as Adrien finished chewing his rather greedy bite, he swallowed and frowned. "Well, okay, but only because this is so good, I would probably faint without a chair."
Marinette found it easier to speak when she wasn't drowning in the green pools of his eyes.
"That good, huh?"
Half-stuffed cheeks responded. "They're a-muff-azing."
She winced, about ready to throw her clipboard at him, but the big goofy grin on his face was simply too charming. "Why does everyone I know insist on puns?"
"They're objectively funny, Marinette." His tone was serious.
Instead of risking doing the model any bodily harm at the claim, she hummed and sought for a different topic.
Ayla's voice was in her mind again: Don't have anything? Turn the conversation to him! Ask him a question - anything - just don't freeze up.
"Sooo, um... you were just…. walking around this morning?" Marinette had to stop herself from groaning. Real smooth.
Adrien paused before answering. "You could say that… I would ask you the same, but I see the working man's burden is your keeper today. Has business been nice, at least?"
Her snort was automatic. "Nice might be putting it strongly. Do you remember Mohamad?"
Adrien looked thoughtful, watching her move about the store. "You called him Mo, right? The owner?"
"Previous owner," Marinette corrected. "God, I forgot I haven't hung out with you all since before finals. My parents bought the business. It's just me now."
His mouth dropped open, which Marinette found amusing. She smiled and cracked her knuckles, heaving a fifty pound bag of topsoil on one of her shoulders. There were definite perks to being a superhero, she mused, moving the sack towards the eastern wall that housed the towering, Amazonian-esque plants. Her speech continued as naturally as if she just bent over to tie a shoe.
"That's... crazy! I had no idea. Are your parents going to hire help?"
Marinette wiped her hands on her green apron. "Probably, eventually. It's just hard to find the time to even bother with interviews."
"I guess summer is probably your busiest season," he said, concern evident in his voice. Marinette paused and returned to the counter, standing a few feet from him and taking a long sip of her coffee. She smiled appreciatively.
"Mmm, yeah, that's part of it. You can have the rest, by the way," she shook the bag of treats at Adrien. Internally, Adrien scolded himself for probably seeming too eager, but he simply could not resist the smile and temptation of the Dupain-Cheng pastries. After claiming the remaining two chocolate chip cookies, he urged Marinette to continue.
"Summer is busy, what with weddings and stuff, but Mo used to joke that Chat Noir was like a walking billboard. He would come here pretty often, and you know…"
Adrien made a scowl so adorable it should have been criminal, lowering the cookie and meeting her eyes, green to blue, like a valley and the sea.
Marinette forgot what - to breathe - and - how - what?
What?
Breathing?
What was her name again?
Um…
Oh.
Right.
Right.
With a shy smile, Marinette inhaled and adjusted her fringe, patiently waiting for her voice to return. Damn those Agreste genes - he had only grown taller since they met, and the quizzical look that hooked up one of his perfectly symmetrical eyebrows was downright unfair.
Before she could address the confusion on his face, both teens jumped at the loud bell at the front announcing entrance.
"Mari!" A plump older woman with a bronze complexion, maybe in her fifties, rushed towards the pair and Adrien swiftly grabbed the stool and stepped away before he was caught in the cross-fire.
A blur of fiery hair, crossed the length of the store easily and wrapped Marinette into a tight hug. The woman was wearing a maroon velvet blazer-pencil skirt combo that… frankly, Marinette found appalling. It was matronly, and that choice of fabric in this weather made her sweat just by looking at her.
"Ma-madam DiMaggio! Good morning," Marinette replied, her petite figure shrinking under the force of the embrace. She and Adrien made eye contact and he looked like it was taking every last bit of his mental energy not to burst out laughing, and she stuck out her tongue in his direction.
Mercifully, the pressure subsided as the woman stepped away from Marinette, a hand on each shoulder. "You are looking healthy, my dear. So glad. So glad! I hope your school year ended well. And you remember my soon-to-be daughter, mademoiselle Declair?"
A younger woman stood in the doorway, looking clearly uncomfortable, with a man about her age. Marinette recognized the auburn-haired woman, tall and statuesque, but only barely - they probably met once at the store for a brief introduction a few months ago, but this was a much more intimate morning appointment. She presumed the man was the fiancé and strode forward to make her greetings.
An appropriate distance away, Marinette bowed politely. "Bonjour, Madam Declair. It is very nice to see you again," she paused and turned towards the gentleman. "I don't think we've had the pleasure?"
"Mademoiselle, the pleasure is mine," said the man, and he bowed and took her knuckles, grazing them with a kiss. "Jared Declair. Madam Declair - Suzanne - is my sister."
Marinette gulped at the lump in her throat, a little taken aback by his brazen introduction, but nodded and turned robotically back to the counter. Adrien had returned her stool to its proper place and had taken to studying her current project - the Russian Snowflakes - and was politely pretending not to listen, for which she was grateful.
"So I've been going over my list," Marinette cleared her throat and looked at her clipboard, reviewing the DiMaggio's order. She smiled kindly towards the bride, who still appeared uneasy.
"And unless you have any objections, I believe the cream ribbon that Madam Declair originally selected would be best for the bouquet. Here, if I may…" Marinette draped the selected silk around the bundle and pined it in place with a needle, careful to turn the bouquet at the base and not disturb any of the arrangement.
Madam DiMaggio was thrilled.
"Oh, Mari, dear. You never cease to amaze," the woman cooed, practically singing her praises, and Marinette beamed. She was vaguely aware that Adrien had drifted closer, perhaps to get a better look at the display.
The Declairs were a little less enthusiastic. The brother had taken to poking and teasing some of the sample arrangements Marinette had brought to the counter, and she winced every time he nudged a bud.
"I don't know if I remember picking this color," Madam Declaire offered, although not harshly. If anything, Marinette thought the woman seemed sad. Brides tended to act dramatic or they would completely shut down the week of their wedding, as Marinette had come to learn, so she tried to be reassuring.
"Well, that shouldn't be a problem. We have a variety of colors in the basic silk, and even some lace you could add overtop. The surcharge is modest, and - "
The brother spoke over her. "These aren't even in bloom yet. Will they be ready for Friday?"
"Monsieur," Marinette interrupted politely, trying to pull away a centerpiece before he prodded a poor Gerber daisy to death. "These are fragile, if you could please…"
"Mari," Madam DiMaggio called gently. "Could we see the laces, please?"
"Of course, they're just in the back. Just a moment; please, look over the rest of the samples?"
The soon-to-be-joined family continued to chatter amongst themselves, and Marinette left them with her clipboard to review. She mouthed a quick "sorry," to Adrien who merely smiled and waved her to go ahead, and so she zipped into the back and recovered the assortment of laces, and brought out the organza and tulle for good measure.
This was her favorite part of the job, of course. The crossroads of design and flora made the whole experience feel much more familiar - more her. It wasn't just a job to make money or a set of facts and figures Mo left for her to understand; these were her ideas, mingled with the creative demands of the layperson to satisfy and hopefully calm the worries of a bride-to-be. It was like a tiny preview into her future, and Marinette rather enjoyed it.
Unfortunately, as she piled up the fabrics she had, the bell from the front jingled and she had to suppress a groan - hopefully the person wouldn't mind browsing while she tended to the DiMaggio appointment.
With a quick leap around the corner to the entrance, she felt her shoulders unwind marginally - it was only Monsieur Bjalkabrink. He was in his thirties, if Marinette had to guess, and the surname coupled with his impressive platinum beard reminded her of a Viking. He was always very polite, and he stopped by every Tuesday and picked up flowers for his wife. Marinette had even gotten into the habit of putting an extra effort into the bouquets she guessed he would select for Madam Bjalkabrink.
"Bonjour, Monsieur Bjalkabrink!" She waved towards the door awkwardly, balancing the fabrics between her closed arms. "I'll be with you in a minute!"
He smiled and waved in return, heading to the display of prepared bouquets and browsed the selection. Naturally, Marinette's eyes were more interested in the location of a different blond, and her heart fluttered to see he was still here. Granted, he couldn't have snuck out without sounding the bell, but she hoped he would stay a little longer. Marinette even let her better judgement falter, hoping that maybe he wasn't just waiting for her to be finished. Did he want to talk to her? Maybe that's why he was walking this morning?
"Mademoiselle?"
She squeaked in surprise, and with a flush of embarrassment realized the Declairs and Madam DiMaggio were standing at the counter, expectant. The older woman had taken out her reading glasses and was still consulting the quantities (and probably the expenses) of the list, mouthing to herself as she went.
"M-my apologies, here we are," Marinette laid the assortment of textile across the counter beside the register, providing generous clearance for her to accidentally drop something or fall over without upsetting the samples down the length of the counter.
With a relaxing exhale, Marinette adjusted her apron and pointed towards the selections.
"Now, if I recall Madam Declair…"
The woman peeked up at her, looking a little overwhelmed.
"My notes from our first meeting indicated that you are planning for rose-colored accents for your bridesmaids, and your shoes?"
The auburn woman blinked a few times, apparently surprised, and nodded while Marinette continued to discuss complementary accents.
Fiscally speaking, it was not a "productive" conversation. Marinette poured over every detail the bride shared with her, nodding along and considering each detail of the wedding, and nearly twenty minutes had passed before they came to an agreement, but Madam Declair was visibly less tense by the end of the discussion.
"So, we'll agree to this shade of pink for the silk, with cream organza at the top to accentuate the daisies? But we'll stop it about here," Marinette pointed about three-quarters the length of the bouquet. "So you can hold it comfortably, and -"
"So it doesn't get smashed down, it might get wrinkly…"
"Yes, exactly!" Marinette beamed, nodding at the woman's attention to detail. As someone who worries about literally everything, Marinette had to appreciate the astute observation.
As a final assurance, she pinned the look together and allowed Madam Declair to hold it. "Will that work?"
After a shy smile, Madam Declair nodded and handed the arrangement back to Marinette.
"It's perfect."
"Perfect, Mari." Madam DiMaggio agreed.
After a comparatively quick discussion on the centerpieces and arranging a pick-up schedule for Friday, Madam DiMaggio wrote a check paying in full for the remainder of the order. Still, Marinette hadn't been quite fast enough, and Monsieur Bjalkabrink had skirted out of the store by the time she had placed the check in the register - not that she could blame him, he was usually an in-and-out type of buyer. Maybe he would come back tomorrow, she mused while walking the family to the front door and thanking them again for their business.
"Give Sabine my best," Madam DiMaggio said a final time with a hug, and Marinette promised she would.
"Mademoiselle - Marinette, if I may," Monsieur Declair took her hand again and brought it to his lips, and Marinette simply pressed her own lips together in distaste.
He locked eyes with her, smoldering and dark. "Excuse my forwardness, but you are more lovely than any of the flowers that line these walls. Perhaps I can sweep you away for dinner one evening?"
She felt herself turn red, eyes wide. While he was not particularly bad looking, he was probably in his mid-twenties and definitely not her green-eyed, blond-haired type.
Who happened to be here at this very moment.
Whywhywhywhywhywhywhy?
"U-um, I am flattered, Monsieur," Marinette started.
"Jared." He was still holding her hand, rubbing circles with his thumb.
She coughed, blushing harder as Madam DiMaggio and Madam Declair watched the exchange from just outside.
"J-jared, then. I'm flattered, but I must decline. I must keep a professional relationship with all my clients…"
There was a gentle pressure against her fingers, and she had to resist the urge to grimace. Her arm felt like dead-weight.
"But I am not a client, only a guest to my sister. Don't break a poor man's heart?"
Now she was getting irritated by his insistence - a polite request for a date was different than a guilty plea.
Patting the top of his hand with her free one, Marinette pulled her fingers away. "Really, I'm sorry, but no."
He frowned and shook his head, but fixed his face into a civil smile. "Well, I would have been a fool not to try. Thank you for the flowers for my sister, Marinette. Good day."
With a polite nod and wave, Marinette completed her goodbyes, waiting for the bell to stop before turning around.
She exhaled deeply, not even bothering to will the blush to rid itself from her cheeks. It would have been a lost cause, anyways, knowing full well Adrien Agreste was still here, in the store, and probably looking right at her.
Adrien waited patiently for Marinette to collect herself, feeling no pity for the painful rejection he just beared witness to. Instead, his heart was strangely exhilarated, and he couldn't wipe the grin off his face no matter how hard he tried.
It took a certain kwami to shake it from him, and with poor timing, too.
Plagg zoomed out of his pocket and into some bushes before Adrien could do much more than gasp, and he whipped after him as Marinette turned around.
Her gaze flickered at him and then quickly away. "Adrien? Are you okay?"
Cursing internally, Adrien tried to think of the most cruel way to burn a stockpile of cheese without his father or Nathalie noticing. He forced an even voice. "Umm… yeah. Just thought I… dropped something." He kept his eyes narrowed, scanning the displays for the green-eyed monstrosity.
"Oh," her creased brow relaxed a little, but she was clearly still pink in the face. "S-sorry, about that. I didn't expect them to take so long…" She spoke while moving around the counter and took a seat at the stool behind the register. Absently, her eyes moved over the forgotten clipboard from her meeting with the DiMaggio's a final time, but she wasn't really reading it.
Adrien shook his head of annoying kwamis and put on a smile, turning her direction and resting an elbow on the counter. "Why would you apologize? It was actually really interesting to listen to the appointment - you really know your stuff."
That earned him a curious look, but Marinette's voice seemed grateful. "Oh? Well, then, thank you. That's my favorite part of the job, you know? Meeting with brides and trying to make things work. Most appointments aren't so… crowded."
"That sounds like you," he commented, looking down at some of the injured petals from Jared's aggressive hands. "I hope that guy didn't ruin your flowers."
"Ugh, right." The girl slid from the stool and came closer to the counter, turning the base of the arrangement to inspect some of the damage. Adrien had to admire how quickly she dropped into her role, all of her usual confidence returned.
With laser-focused vision and a serious slant to her brow, Marinette pulled a few damaged petals off and cleaned away the base of the arrangement for fallen leaves. "I think it'll be okay. Thankfully it was just one sample. That guy was a jerk."
Adrien tried not to appear too pleased. "You thought so too?"
"Yes!" Her gaze had grown from intent to intense when she looked up at him, tides crashing with angry currents. "I don't mind guests during appointments, but when he asked me on a date? That was bad enough, and then to start insisting? I mean, yo - Madam DiMaggio and Madam Declair were right there, watching. It was just really embarrassing."
Adrien had to suppress a very Chat-Noir growl that he felt rumble in his chest. He didn't want to overstep, as it was clear Marinette had control of the situation, but it bothered him that she felt embarrassed for that guy's behavior.
"Well… I thought you handled it really well. You were professional but firm."
She sighed and some of the fire dissipated, trying for a smile. "Well… thank you. And, um, … thanks for sticking around."
Did her freckles always dance like that when she grinned? Adrien felt stupid for not having noticed sooner, and he just spoke the first words that came to mind.
"Of course! It would have felt wrong to leave without saying goodbye."
Once the words were out there, he immediately regretted them. Disappointment flickered in Marinette's expression. It was a tiny change, her frown minimal, her brows slightly creased, eyes a little darker, but the image was like a stain on her pretty face. This girl should never be sad, he decided.
Oddly, though, Adrien felt a tiny, selfish swell of pride…Was she bothered that I said I was going? His mind was tempted by the thought, but, no. No, that was silly. This is Marinette. She probably just liked the company, not his company specifically.
"Oh." She found her voice after a beat. "I guess you probably have things to do today. Don't let me keep you."
Adrien tried to backtrack. Standing from his casual lean against the counter, his hand found the way to the back of his neck, rubbing it anxiously. "I - no, I mean, I don't have to say goodbye. Yet? I just, you know… I hope I'm not bothering you. You are busy."
"You could never bother me!" Marinette blurted, her skin blossoming like a dozen roses, and now it was her turn to stumble.
"N-not that, I mean, you're very… kind, and polite. We're not busy now, and... It would be difficult to imagine you bothering me?"
Adrien felt his heart flutter, brightening at the statement. She was just being her polite infallibly self, but that "gentleman" from earlier hadn't elicited such a reaction from her, had he?
Tied as Adrien was to his inner-Chat Noir, for better or for worse, he saw the opportunity for teasing. To no one's surprise, like the sly cat he was, he took it.
"I highly doubt that."
That gave Marinette pause. "Oh?"
He grinned, filling with a familiar sense of mischief. "I bet I could get on your nerves. What if I… started with some puns?"
Marinette rolled her eyes, but the smile that took place of her strained scowl was glowing. "I take back every nice thing I said."
"But you haven't even heard the joke yet!"
Marinette pealed with laughter at his indignation, and Adrien merely beamed. The sound was so delicate, like a lovely chord on his piano.
Resigned to a life of bad jokes, between her father, Chat, and now Adrien, Marinette shrugged. "Ah, well, fine. Give me your best shot."
Adrien, however, acted with mock-offense. He stood up straight and crossing his arms. "Well, maybe now I don't want to tell you."
Marinette was never one to back down from a challenge, he had learned, which made the look on her face all the more surprising. When he might have expected her to laugh or bait him, there was only a puzzling sort of tenacious stoicism. He peeked at her through his own pseudo-anger, watching as she returned to her duties and checking off her clipboard like he wasn't even there.
She was trying to beat him at his own game, trying to out-fake-anger him. Oh, boy, now it was on.
She scrunched her face in focus, the twitching of her lip threatening to betray her careful mask. Adrien, amused, watched her fight what he could only guess was a cheeky remark or maintaining this obstinate silence. A victory could come easily, he mused, if he kissed the twitch right off her lips.
Oh, god. Get it together, Agreste.
But, really, she is cute when she's pretending to be mad.
Not trusting his voice – he knew he would lose if he tried to speak - Adrien moved down the counter to stand directly across from her. Marinette continued humming and pretending to ignore him, and he saw a weakness; her hair was twisted into two little braids on each side, so he reached a hand out and let his fingers brush along her neck for just long enough to get her attention.
With a devilish grin, his fingers pulled out the elastic keeping her hair secure and slid it up his wrist.
"Hey!" Cross, one of Marinette's hand shot up to massage her untamed mane, brushing against her bright red cheeks - from her exertion in maintaining a straight face, he assumed.
Adrien bit his tongue and tried to suppress the urge to laugh, loving the tone of affront that colored her usually compassionate voice. He knew plenty well as Chat that even when she was annoyed, her words were still kind beneath the inflection.
"I'm sorry," he said, trying to give her his best apologetic eyes. She pursed her lips seriously, and he studied her face for any traces of genuine betrayal. Of course, there was only humor in her grimace.
After forgiving him with a kind shake of her head, Marinette tried to launch herself across the counter to capture his hand and retrieve her hair tie, but in typical Marinette fashion, she banged her elbow into the register. Immediately doubled over, she massaged the spot tenderly and hissed through her teeth.
Adrien was having a very, very difficult time not laughing. His legs automatically brought him around the counter, and with a hand on her upper back, he tried for a response free of giggles. "Oh, Marinette, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"
The dark-haired girl's hissing subsided upon his touch, and her hands shot out and grabbed his left wrist (eliciting from him a very unmasculine yelp). With ease, she stole back the hairband and jumped up in victory.
"Hah!"
He shook his head and let out a good-natured sigh. "Did you seriously hurt yourself just to 'win'?" Neither of them had really pointed out that they were playing a game with winners or losers, but the activity had fallen upon them naturally.
"Actually, no." She rubbed her elbow, but went to re-braiding her lost plait. "That was just unfortunate timing. Or, incredibly fortunate timing, depending on how you look at it."
The mention of misfortune reminded him of a certain absence in his pocket and he gazed around the hanging branches, potted flowers and bushes in the near vicinity with annoyance. No Plagg yet. How was he supposed to sneak the little jerk back into his shirt pocket without Marinette noticing? How was he even supposed to find the darned kwami?
The register dinged as Marinette fiddled with the buttons momentarily, and it snapped Adrien out of his reprieve.
"Oh." Their earlier banter forgotten, he fished around in his pocket and retrieved a twenty-dollar bill and held it out for Marinette.
Too confused to bother with her manners, Marinette frowned. "Wah?"
Adrien placed the bill on the counter. "That guy who was here - the one with the beard. He took a bouquet and he asked me to give this to you - I'm guessing it's payment? I felt a little awkward to be honest, so I hope he didn't underpay… He called you Mari, so I just guessed he knew you?"
"Ohhh," Marinette nodded knowingly, and accepted the payment by popping open the register. "Yes. That's Monsieur Bjalkabrink. He gets flowers for his wife every Tuesday, but he doesn't linger. I'm surprised he gave you the money, though," Marinette added the last part, looking Adrien over with suspicious eyes.
He smiled a little, but shrugged as he returned to the appropriate side of the counter. "Maybe I'm just that trustworthy."
Marinette snorted derisively and they both laughed again, slowly falling into a contented silence by the time the jokes had settled. Adrien decided to leave Marinette to some of her work momentarily, floating away from the front to admire the assorted flora. His mind was wandering, though, silently seeing worries instead of blossoms. Had he outstayed his welcome? Would he know when she wanted him to leave, or was he as clueless as "Monsieur" Declair and needed to be flat out told to go? Marinette was probably too nice to tell him to leave, but then again, Marinette was fierce and did what she had to do when push came to shove. How can she balance that so well? He admired it as much as he found it elusive.
More troubling yet... why did the prospect of leaving fill him with dread? Marinette was just such a positive presence to be around, he hated the idea of leaving her here for hours with no one… or, worse, for his absence to invite more presumptuous young men to come while she was alone. He had no fear that Marinette could handle herself, but that didn't mean he liked the idea, either. The man had backed off once Marinette was firm in her disinterest, but what if he insisted?
A little presence in the back of his mind, sounding annoyingly like Plagg, pointed out that Marinette has worked here for weeks without the original owner and she was doing fine. Why did care now whether or not she was alone? He just appreciated this time with her, and didn't want anyone to take advantage of her kindness, that was all. Yep. That was definitely it.
Adrien glanced over at her, frustrated with himself. The girl was so… what was she? Simple? No, that had a negative connotation. He watched her discover her forgotten coffee and take a sip, grimacing. The drink had likely gone cold, but she took another sip anyways, probably resigned to needing the caffeine.
She's effortless. That's what it was. Marinette was neither cynical nor scornful, but patient and thoughtful and motivated in everything she did. A comment he made last night as Chat Noir swam to the surface of his memories, and now he imagined there was a little more truth there then he intended.
I'm drawn here, helpless to your charms.
Adrien, realizing he was staring, shook his head and coughed. He grappled for an appropriate topic.
"You were saying something about Chat Noir? Him visiting, I think?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah." She made a face, turning on her heel and pausing to look at the Russian Snowflake.
"Yeah. When Chat Noir started to stop by before Mo left, it was really good for business." Her tone sounded unintentionally bitter, and Adrien noticed.
"Do you not like him coming in?" He asked, a little wary of the answer.
Marinette tapped her chin and faced the blond from behind the counter, sitting up on her stool again. "No, it's not like that… He's actually really nice, but I think I'll go crazy if he keeps it up and we don't get an assistant or something in here. He's really popular, especially with the girls, so they follow after him here. When Mo was around we balanced the work, but them's the breaks, I guess."
Marinette had meant the story with good-humor, but Adrien felt his stomach squeeze uncomfortably. He had never accounted for the strain his presence might put on her responsibilities, and Marinette had never mentioned it to him before during his visits. Of course she wouldn't, though.
"I never thought about it like that. I'm sorry. You must be really stressed."
"Oh there's nothing to be sorry about," Marinette assured him seriously, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "Honestly I'd feel probably the same way if he didn't stop by. Chat Noir is a really good person… uh, at least, I think he is. From the times we've crossed paths. It's not his fault, it's more of the job itself... I love this place, and my parents, but..." she stood and moved down the length counter, body turned slightly towards the wall.
Marinette stopped at the far edge of the counter, where it turned at a hard right and connected to the dividing wall that separated the storefront from the back office. Descending from a planter, perhaps four feet up from the surface of the countertop, hovered a sprouting dynasty of blood red petals, each bud bumping and brushing into a neighbor with each inch that it fell. The gravity seemed to only be doing the plant favors in terms of growth, for it was wide and thick and the blooms were almost aggressive as they plummeted towards the Earth, some of the longer tendrils brushing up against the surface of the counter. A contrast sharp enough to put Ladybug and Chat Noir to test, chartreuse vines and bushels of leaves only made each ruby blossom, lustrous and almost sinful in their shades of maroon to crimson red, stand out more sharply. Adrien was reminded somewhat of the ever classic rose, but these petals were much too large, at least two or three times the size of the healthiest rose he had ever seen, and each of these crowded and clambered towards the earth, a red waterfall searching for a spring to yield to.
Hands steady, Marinette's fingers delicately brushed the petals of a nearby bud with absence in her eyes.
Adrien had come a little closer, on the other side of the flora as her vision went unfocused. "Mari? Are you okay?"
Blinking repeatedly, Marinette's eyes found his and she blushed before looking away. "No, yeah, I'm good. Sorry. I just… um, it's nothing."
Again, he found himself frowning, and his eyes studied the flower and the tender way her hands danced around the vertical meadow, tracing lines across wild rubies. "Hey, we all need to vent from time to time. It's not a problem. Okay?"
Her eyes, blue and searching, seemed to brighten slightly from his reassurance. She smiled.
"Okay... Thanks, Adrien."
"Of course," he said with a careful smile of his own, wondering what she could be thinking about. Something in their conversation had clearly stirred Marinette, and she was acting with a familiar amount of distance that he often felt around Ladybug. An arm's length away, there was yet another mask separating him from something he wanted to understand.
Turning his attention towards the same wall, Adrien decided he best not pry. The topic literally springing from the walls seemed like an easy enough segway.
"...What is this flower? It sort of looks like a rose, but it's huge."
Marinette nodded, pointing at an especially bulbous example in front of him. "You're not wrong. These are roses, just not the kind we're used to."
Adrien, making a mental note to Google common flowers later so he might not continue to make a fool of himself, urged her to continue. "What are they, then?"
"Well…" She toyed with the hem of her apron, not meeting his eyes. "The roses we're all used to - you know, the one in every cliché movie where the guy is trying to impress the girl?"
You don't know the half of it… He smiled wryly, recalling an evening he had saved this same girl from Glaciator. It was a night that ended by giving Ladybug a rose.
"That's the Modern Garden Rose, and there's a whole mythos to that alone. But these are rosa banksiae, or, Banks' roses. This big guy," she raised a hand and gestured up the wall. "Was the one Spring 'project' that Mo let me plant on my own, so maybe I'm biased, but I actually prefer these to regular roses." She chuckled and scratched her cheek, still focused ahead, not meeting his eyes.
Adrien leaned towards a bud and inhaled, his curiosity growing. It didn't smell quite like a normal rose, either.
"So... what is special about bank roses?"
"No, no," Marinette laughed, sounding a little less vacant. "Not bank roses, Bankssss' roses." She emphasized the s, exhaling the sound through her teeth.
"Banksssss?" Adrien repeated, if only to hear her do it again.
With a giggle, she parroted him. "Banksssss."
Yesssssss, his mind chimed, enjoying her laughter.
Adrien refocused his attention to Marinette, and she had a dreamy look about her, half-lidded eyes with an easy smile. He must have started her from a daydream, because her skin piqued a dark crimson that was uncannily close to their floral subject of conversation.
"Um! Well, they, you - um, they're sig, like you b-baid, - I mean, ugh, big like you said." She shook her head and took a deep breath. Adrien bit his lower lip, a little worried that he might be making her uncomfortable. Was the story behind the roses perhaps too personal?
Before he could excuse his possible intrusion, Marinette recovered her confidence.
"Sorry, heh, my mind was blanking. The ssss's got me." Marinette gave him a breathy chuckle.
"That's okay," he reassured her, and she seemed to appreciate that. Nodding and turning back towards the flowers, she picked up her explanation and Adrien listened attentively.
"Um… Oh yeah. Right. So these are just called Banks' because they're named after the man who discovered them's... wife. I can't remember their first names, but it's sometimes called the Lady Banks' Rose."
Adrien hummed his understanding, not wanting to interrupt.
"So for me, the Banks' rose reminds me of baking something really difficult with Papa, like a mille-feuille. They're really fickle, even though they're big and bold. And they only bloom once per season, earlier than most roses, too. You'd think they're monsters with their size and the just… density and concentration of the blossoms, but they're more fragile than they look."
"Huh…" Adrien replied, not sure what else to say. It was genuinely fascinating information, and much like their encounter last night, her explanation was eloquently simple.
With a little snort, Marinette added, "Plus, they're the only variety of roses that don't have thorns... the less opportunities for me to prick myself, the better."
Now it was Adrien's turn to laugh and Marinette grinned proudly, skin kindled a soft shade of pink.
The two paused and admired Marinette's creation, silence passing comfortably with the shared story. Scarlet underdogs, each successful blossom that cascaded from their plume on the wall was impressive by default. It really shouldn't have surprised him that Marinette had grown these herself, but the knowledge made his perception of them both more beautiful and less overwhelming by extension.
Adrien's phone began to buzz. He blinked a few times and stepped back from the Banks' roses, like someone had flicked some cold water in his face, and dug through his pockets.
Nathalie (11:41 AM):
This is a very long "walk" to go on without your bodyguard. Your father has a break between meetings at noon and wishes to see you.
"Great."
Adrien's tone made it evident that things were not, however, great. The blue letters on the screen were innocent enough, but he could feel the metaphorical leash around his neck tightening as he re-read the message. Nathalie's text had been carefully crafted, the vague threats of his father's will not needing to be made explicit. The "very long walk" hinted at the unsaid disapproval, the mention of his "bodyguard" served as a reminder that his occasional social freedoms without the man could very easily be taken away, and the mention of his father suggested that he already knew Adrien wasn't home.
"Everything okay?"
His gaze flickered up momentarily to see crystal blue pools of concern, trying to decode whatever look crossed his face.
"Mmm," he replied noncommittally, letting inattentive fingers construct a canned response that was good enough.
Adrien (11:42 AM):
My apologies, I will be right home. I bumped into a friend and lost track of time. It won't happen again.
With a heavy sigh, Adrien tucked his phone away and scratched the back of his neck, eyes focusing upon Marinette's hands folded neatly on the counter. They were slender and a little dirty (from soil, no doubt).
How had nearly two hours passed already? He really should feel guiltier for keeping her from her work, but a little selfish voice in his head was not only feeling zero guilt, but was practically soaring on cloud nine. This morning had just been like a tiny gasp of oxygen in a black sea of responsibility, constantly dragging him back to his own reality. Being around Marinette made him feel like he could breathe, and damn it if Plagg hadn't been right.
Plagg!
He nearly forgotten - he can't leave until his kwami comes out of the bushes. And boy, was the little black annoyance going to get an earful when Adrien got his hands on him.
Marinette called his attention again. "Um… Adrien?"
He blinked and shook his head, stating a little too loudly. "I need to go home soon."
Adrien let his gaze fall upon his friend's face, a little worried for what he might see there, but this time there was no frown or disappointment in her eyes. Marinette simply smiled with everything she had, pure and bright, and the sight filled him with warmth.
A little shyly, she started to fiddle with her apron. "Well it… um, was nice to have some company?"
"Yeah?" He grinned, unable to help himself.
She was surprisingly enthusiastic. "Yeah! You were fun! I, um, I mean this was fun - you know?"
"It really was. And… uh…" Adrien's voice trailed off.
Just passed Marinette's shoulder, the blonde spotted a conspicuous black movement in one of the DiMaggio's arrangements.
Adrien felt his eye twitch when a beady pair of green irises had the nerve to wink at him.
Gulping hard on his throat, he struggled for a distraction. "I - uh, um, I like your apron, by the way!" He blurted, not really sure what came over him. It was true, although he would have liked to not practically yell it at her.
He forced his attention to the pretty cursive that embroidered her name, black and shiny against a dark green backdrop.
"Hmm? Oh," she appeared dazed before looking down, running a finger over her own name. "T-Thank you! I thought the stitching added a little something, you know?"
"It didn't come like that?" He leaned across the counter, squinting at the perfect detail. It looked professionally made. Meanwhile, in his periphery, he noticed a little brush of black fur hover above their heads.
She kept her eyes on the lettering. "No, I did it. You know, seamstress-to-be and all."
"Wow," he breathed, genuinely impressed but mostly relieved when he felt a stupid kwami's warmth cup into his hands, folded behind his back.
Adrien cleared his throat and leaned back, returning to a respectful distance. "I know I've said it before, but you are really talented, Marinette."
The redness that camouflaged away her freckles in the warming hue was flattering, and Adrien was starting to enjoy being the one to put it there.
This felt good, and right, and he wanted to see her again.
(Bonus Scene)
This was not amusing. Not at all, even if he seemed to find the idea hilarious.
If anything, it was dangerous.
"You're the worst, you know that?"
"Tell me something I don't know."
Plagg placed two paws behind his head and floated against a huge hydrangea blossom, using the petals as a bed. Thankfully, Marinette had moved this pot to the back room to be included in a pick-up order, so they were able to speak and hide without either of their charges listening.
Tikki felt one of her antenna twitch.
"And what would we do if Hawk Moth akumatized someone right now? Adrien has no idea how to find you. If Marinette comes back here and sees you, you've put both of their identities in jeopardy."
Plagg swatted a hand at her, and Tikki considered throwing something at him.
"It'll be fine. You can't tell me you're actually upset about this."
"Actually, I am, but I don't think you heard me the first four times."
He snickered and peeked at her through a closed lid, shrugging. "C'mon, Tikki, they need this. You don't have to live with Adrien, I'm going to lose it if he spends another summer pining after Ladybug."
"And you think manipulating fate is the right thing to do?" Tikki's tone was biting, but Plagg did not back down.
"You know," he hummed, "I thought about that after the whole stint with Dark Owl. If it's 'destined' that they get together like Master Fu thinks, then wouldn't they just be falling right into the path of fate? What if the whole point of 'fate' was to test my ancient patience, until I gave the kid some honest advice and helped him to clear his infatuated brain?"
The red kwami pursed her lips, and Plagg tacked on, "If they're going to get together one way or another anyways, I would much prefer sooner. I think your girl would too, honestly. Why deprive them of that?"
Allowing herself a calming inhale before she constructed a response, Tikki closed her eyes. "Yes, Plagg, to some extent I agree with you. Marinette and Adrien will find each other in the end, at least, I believe they will. But you can't act like this won't be putting the balance at risk; if they move too quickly and fall into the path of fate, they might just as easily fall off it again."
"You worry too much," Plagg responded, nestling into the sapphire buds.
Under her breath, Tikki muttered a derisive "well, one of us has to…"
If Plagg noticed, he didn't say anything.
They sat in silence for a little while, Plagg idle and Tikki listening hard for the sound of Marinette's footsteps.
Eventually, the black kwami sat up, two paws splayed out behind him to support his weight. "I'll back off the track of fate thing, okay?"
That took Tikki by surprise, and when she cocked her head from confusion, Plagg elaborated.
"I'll back off, but I'm not going to lie to Adrien, either. If he asks me for advice, I'm going to tell him what I think he should do. That's our job, isn't it? To guide them?"
Tikki's face softened, and she could have sworn Plagg's cheeks tinted a pale green. "Well… that's fair, I suppose. I do coach Marinette in the same way. Just don't get overly involved, okay?"
He snorted and plopped back onto the petals. "Easy for you to say; at least Ladybug hardly ever seeks out Adrien in person. Kid's got it bad, as himself and Chat Noir."
Still smiling, Tikki detected a hint of something deeper than annoyance in her counterpart. She had a suspicion - was that a twinge of compassion for her charge, she sensed? - but decided to keep the thought to herself.
Instead, she opted for a slight topic change. "Speaking of Chat Noir… it is not my business, but is Adrien okay? At home, I mean. Yesterday, Chat Noir was behaving rather… strangely."
Plagg flinched, but he made a show of relaxing and stretching out on the petals, curling onto his side to face her. Something was definitely up.
"It's just as bad as it always is… just, you know, kid might be hitting his limit with his dad. He's almost 17 and I think he's starting to feel..." The dark kwami made a face. "Trapped?"
They looked at each other for an extended pause, both knowing each other too well after thousands of years. The silence was a sort of acknowledgment: Tikki knew Plagg was withholding information, but Plagg would only do so if he thought it was for Adrien's best interest.
Eventually, Tikki released a small sigh and gave her other half a sympathetic smile. "I'll trust your judgment, then."
His face flickered with a smile, but he banished the look with a roll of the eyes. "Why does everyone keep questioning my methods? First Adrien, now you? I'm just as - "
Both froze at the call of a familiar voice, carrying to the back room.
"I have to go home soon."
Plagg scowled. "That's my cue."
Pressing a red paw to her forehead, Tikki tried not to sound exasperated. "Hopefully Marinette doesn't notice him yelling for you."
Floating from the petals, Plagg smirked and opened his mouth, preparing some sort of arrogant counter. Tikki didn't give him the chance.
She took him by surprise, meeting him in the center of the hydrangea bush and kissing the top of his head, just between the ears.
"Bye, Plagg," she hummed, thoroughly pleased with the ferocious green tinge on his face. His eyes were wider than her own, and the sight made her giggle.
A little smug, Tikki floated back through the pastel purples and soft sighs of cobalt blossoms. "Don't do anything too stupid, okay?"
He mewled uselessly for a moment, but his scowl soon returned.
"H-hey!" Plagg called to the receding sight of the red kwami, still blushing furiously. She didn't turn around, so he grumbled to himself before phasing through the wall, into the front of the store, and settling into some bushel of flowers.
