chapter 3
(sucide mention in scene two)
Marinette stands outside her parent's bakery early on a foggy morning. Her hands are buried deep in the pockets of her teal peacoat, her neck warmed up with a snug scarf. Tikki is wrapped up in the scarf too, humming a jingle as Marinette hesitates outside the glossy glass door. The keys to the bakery are already tangled in her fingers, but Marinette's nerves have nailed her to the concrete sidewalk.
There's a lump in her throat again, pressing tight as she tries to breathe. That seems to be a problem as of late too, trying to breathe when her lungs don't want to. Panic swims in her vision, in tandem with the pulse of her heart as she steels herself for disapproval.
"Marinette," Tikki sighs. "Everything is going to be okay." The kwami's words hang in the air for a moment, suspended as the rolling fog stills, barely crawling any further into the city.
Words have magic echoes in Marinette's mind, the phrase from that book encircling her. She can see it her mind, the words jumping out of the pages and tying her up with their spells. She's part of the narrative and Tikki is, too, and the world-the world-
She finally breathes out, pushing the fog back with her puff, refusing to hear her heartbeat ringing in her ears. Everything will be fine, she tells herself. Everything will be fine.
After all, when has Tikki been wrong?
With a gulp, Marinette swallows the lump that has formed in her throat, and she refuses to stay rooted at the door of her childhood home any longer. Gripping the keys tighter, she quickly shoves them in the lock of her parent's bakery.
Beside her ear, she hears Tikki giggle. "That's the spirit, Marinette! I like seeing you fired up."
As the lock clicks open and she pushes down on the doorknob, she lets out a shaky laugh. "Fired up isn't the exactly how I'm feeling, Tik. More like…" she pauses, letting the thought sit on her tongue, "...it's too late to turn back now."
Tikki grins and presses a kiss to Marinette's cheek. "That is also true, but you're my Ladybug. Luck always comes her way." And though Marinette can't see her, she's positive that there was a little wink with that last line.
Marinette hums, accepting the statement as she pushes the door open, welcoming the heat from inside to warm her face and scare away the cold. The scent of bread stirs memories in her heart, and she can't help but smile as she walks quietly towards the kitchen, her father's soft singing echoing in the back. In front of her, she sees half-full display cases too-her father's work as well-as she drops off her coat and slips on an apron hanging at the back counter.
Peeking into the large kitchen, Marinette pauses, blue eyes filling with fondness at Tom, who is elbow deep in flour. Her mother, Sabine, is swaying and dancing with a mixing bowl too, humming to her husband's tune. It takes her a few seconds, but Marinette quickly realizes that it's her parent's wedding song-an old school ditty that she's heard played constantly through the years.
"And I? I love you, for you're mine-"
"And I'm yours too," her mother finishes the lyric softly, mellow in the early morning.
Taking his large hands out of the flour, her father hoists them high in the air before crossing a few paces and placing a kiss atop his wife's head. "I would hope so, love."
Her mother says something quietly, something most likely naughty the way her father bends down to kiss her again and-
"Ahem," Marinette coughs from where she stands in the doorway. She's grinning behind her hand, her brows quirked in a smug way. "Good morning, parental units."
Tom lets out a large yelp, raining flour everywhere as Sabine laughs and greets her daughter at the threshold with a kiss. "Oh, Angel, you should have told me you were coming by! I would have made breakfast!"
Marinette hugs her mother back and chuckles, pulling on the apron she found. "Well, I decided to surprise you and help out," she states. "Besides, I'm sure I can find something to find to eat around here, maman."
"She's not wrong, dear," Tom pipes up, backing to kneading dough. "Good morning, darling."
With one skip, then two, Marinette is at her father's side and hugs his middle. "Good morning, papa."
And in seconds, she's pulling sugar from the cabinet and reaching for eggs and reliving her memories of girlhood where her life revolved around this kitchen. Even though she took so many steps forward to get here, walked from her apartment, walked into the bakery-the kitchen-it's like she's walked back into the past. There is no need for time machines when comforts from childhood never change, practically multiples of the same memories repeating in time.
"Make sure you tell the sugar you love it, Marinette," her father says with a seriousness he reserved for baking.
She can't stop the grin that's spreading across her face as she pours the sugar into a flour mixture."Yes, Papa, but sugar doesn't have feelings."
In the background, her father gasps, grumbling as he starts on a rant about the importance of feelings and food.
"Listen to your father, Marinette," her mother's calm voice cuts through his growling. "Tell the sugar you love it."
"Yes, maman," the twenty-six year old says, attempting her best to keep her voice very professional and befitting an adult. "On this day, I, Marinette, tell you, white sugar, that I love you."
And as her father mutters to himself in the corner, both daughter and mother share a knowing look that has always been apart of Marinette's life. The balance of her family has always been a trinity-just the three of them, forever and always. It's knowing that jokes can be said again and again and never lose their humor. That warmth is provided from hot ovens and fresh loaves for breads and cookies. That sugar needs to be told you love it to make sure it's sweet enough.
Her whole life has been filled with I love you, been filled with strong arms that hold her close when the world falls apart, been filled to the brim with abundant affection. It's familiar and safe and there is nothing more familiar and safe than being home, with being with her family.
They love me, she thinks. It's not a question, but a statement. She never doubts it either, for their love is as true as the fact that the sun will rise tomorrow and the day after and the day after that.
A timer rings, which makes her turn around and watch with fondness as both her mother and father help take fresh buns out of the oven. They're gentle as they lift the pans and place them on cooling racks. Her father brushes away stray flour from earlier that fell into Sabine's hair.
"Silly wife," her father mumbles, his smile tucked under his mustache.
"Don't you mean pretty wife?" her mother teases playfully.
Happiness stitches itself upon Marinette's heart as she leans against the counter, soaking this moment into memory. Courage dances up her spine, and she feels a small tug at her lips as her heart beats steadily in her chest.
"I'm getting married," Marinette says, confident and content as her parents tease each other before her. "In two weeks. To a stranger."
Seconds tick, her mother and father's playful attention to each other slowly crawling towards their daughter, their laughter falling away to silence. The air in the bakery becomes heated with a crackling undercurrent, and her parents stare at her, gaping with wide eyes and jaws dropped.
Her mother clears her throat first. "What did you say, dear?"
Panic tries to scale the walls of her throat, but Marinette stuffs it down with a small swallow. Pushing herself off the counter, she digs into her purse and grabs the white cardstock invitation. "I applied to be part of a marriage research study a few months ago," she starts, her back turned to them as she shuffles in her bag. "It's like blind dating, you know. But-well, an arranged marriage instead. For six weeks. At least the length of the experiment...we could stay married longer if we wanted too though?"
When she turns around, her parents are still staring, their expressions unreadable, so she just continues talking as she crosses the room. "They used science-behavioral science like sociology and psychology-to find me a match and..well, they did."
She presses the envelope that has her name in gold into their hands, wanting them to read it as her voice falls quieter. "And I really want this. I just-I want what you have and I think this is the best way to go about it…"
Marinette casts her eyes downwards, only knowing that they opened the envelope when she hears the rough sound of cardstock being drawn out from the smooth edges. She wants to peek through black bangs and look, but she just can't. She used up all her courage on words rather than on actions.
It's her father's hand that lifts her chin, making her look up at him as she chews on her lip. His eyes are soft, grey peppering his hair and mustache, and he gives her a gentle smile. "And you want this?"
She lets out a shaky shudder, but steels her gaze. "Yes."
"Well," Sabine says, engulfing her daughter in a hug. "That settles it, I'd say!" Pulling back, her hands go to cup her daughter's face, her voice wavering. "My baby is going to be a bride."
Tom wraps both of them in his embrace too, peppering kisses atop their heads with the biggest grin Marinette has ever seen on his face. "And we get to make the cake!"
At that, Marinette laughs, feeling light and airy like the products her parents make. "Geez, Papa. All you ever think about is baking!"
She says it be biting, to take offense, but all that's there is happiness bubbling out of her chest.
Dear Husband,
I told my family today. I hope you like hugs and fresh baked goods because really-that's all there is to be a Dupain-Cheng.
Adrien waits awkwardly in a restaurant, dressed up stiffly in a suit and tie, hoping that his company will arrive sooner rather than later. It's his father's favorite restaurant, actually-one of the few places in the world where diets don't matter.
But Adrien's mind is far from fine dining and places with ambient lighting. There are no deep maroon tablecloths and suits and ties and waiters stopping by every five minutes asking if he'd like another glass of wine. He's caught in memories where he's running, not sitting, sprinting towards his father's office on a sunny afternoon.
They don't live in the mansion yet, still in the small apartment towards the outskirts of Paris. Peeling, old wallpaper isn't a problem either when there's a roof over their heads, his parents would say. Not that Adrien would care-he never did, just happy to run to and fro down the wooden hallway, this time into his father's lap as he creates a design, always drawing.
"Oomf!" Gabriel grunts, his pencil clattering to the desk before wrapping his arms around his son's belly.
Adrien gives him a big toothy grin, emitting happiness as he looks across his father's desk. "These are pretty dresses, papa."
His father's hair is longer in memory, not always slicked back, but parted down the side. Gabriel leans his chin on his son's head, his words vibrating against Adrien's back. "They're wedding dresses."
The child squeals in delight, pointing to a photo on the desk, practically bouncing with glee. "Like the one you made mama?"
His father laughs, a rich, not drawn out sound. "Yes, son."
Adrien reaches forward and grabs the fallen pencil, his father swiftly placing a piece of paper underneath the tip.
"And when you get married, son, I'll design a beautiful gown for your bride too."
Peeking over his shoulder, Adrien smiles widely. "She'll be so pretty, Papa!"
The memory is hazy around the edges, choppy in the motions such as when Gabriel smooths back his son's hair or the way his father's fingers tickle his ribs. It's a memory that's only reinforced with nostalgia, but Adrien's not sure which part is fact and which part is fiction, for he read somewhere that memories are only remembered how people last remembered them, not from the actual event. His fingers dig into the tablecloth, wondering where his mind filled in the cracks-if he needed to at all-if all those happy moments were never real, but they had to be-they had to be.
Adrien waits awkwardly in a restaurant, his heart pounding in his chest, and he stops breathing because all he can hear are sirens, see them flash red and blue. People are speaking too quickly-people talking too quickly, and he can't understand because English isn't his native tongue, but there are sirens outside his house and he's twenty-one and there is a stretcher being pulled out, a white sheet over it.
And Adrien can feel the way the officer grabs hold of his shoulders, tethers him to the moment when the world falls silent because he sees his father's wedding band glinting in the afternoon sun.
"Son," the officer says, said, says in memory. "He's gone."
There's a note pressed into his hand and all he can see is the metal of his father's ring reflecting the light, blinding him and his eyes are blurry because all he sees is-
Adrien, I'm sorry. I love you very much. I'm sorry.
It is here where both memories collide, the childhood happiness tangling with adulthood grief. I'll design a gown for your bride and I love you repeating endlessly in his mind. A part of him wants to throw up and run away and he's forgetting how to breathe because all of this happening and there is a wedding ring in his pocket for a woman he doesn't know and there is-
So, you see, Adrien. You want there to be an embedded diamond, or diamonds, so they don't snag on anything. And rather than just a circle, an interesting design instead, such as a knot as to make her band unique but also functional.
A screeching chair being pulled out cracks the intensity of his thoughts, but does not shatter them completely. With wild eyes, Adrien looks up to find both Natalie and Gorilla, soft concern wrinkled between their brows.
"You all right?" Natalie asks as Gorilla pulls out her chair.
There's a thick silence that follows as Adrien tries to piece himself back together and Gorilla sits too. There are still sirens in the edges of his visions, still laughter in his ears. It snuck up on him, he thinks, the feeling of his world crashing and burning and being leveled to the ground. It comes back from time to time and rears its ugly head when things are joyous and good.
I'm sorry, Adrien. I'm sorry. I'm no better than black butterflies. Even though we came here, both promising to leave those lives behind, I am just black and useless and the world can't be fixed-I can't fix it. Ladybugs and black cats can't undo the pain I've done to you-to them. To us. Between the two of us, I'm the only one who has brought destruction and chaos. At least I'll meet your mother on the other side. If she'll even have me in the afterlife, though I failed her while alive.
"Adrien?"
The sound of his name finally rips the memories away and centers him in the present where there is maroon tablecloths and dim lighting. Natalie leans forward with her hand palm up in a rare display of affection for him to grasp. He slides his own across the table and briefly lets their fingers touch, her guarded love felt through her cool grasp.
Adrien takes a breath and smiles weakly as he retracts his hand and digs into his suit pocket for the wedding ring box he purchased last night. The velvet texture of the box is a reminder that there are better tomorrows to follow rather than poor yesterdays to repeat. The action of putting the ring box on the table helps suture old wounds as both Natalie and Gorilla's eyes go wide at the implication.
"I'm-well, I'm getting married in two weeks, and I want you there," he says directly, a part of him wondering if his father would be proud.
Wordlessly, Natalie slides the ring towards them and opens the box, letting out a small gasp as her blue eyes question. "Like your mother's?" she whispers.
She says the word mother as if it will burn him if said too loudly. She's not wrong, for mother is not necessarily associated with happiness, but complications.
(A woman with short blonde hair and a black veil finds him after the funeral . He's positive he's seen a ghost, but those eyes are his eyes and her mouth is frowning and the note is burning in his pocket and she raises her hand and-
"Hello, Adrien. It's been a very, very long time.")
He clears his throat. "Well, Father always spoke about how this was the perfect style, you know," he says as he takes a sip of water.
Across the table, Gorilla nods as he picks the box up. "He would have liked it. The knot especially."
Time shifts forward fully as Natalie hums, a small sound bouncing between agreement and nostalgia. "Yes, he would have been pleased."
Adrien lets out a shuddering sigh. "I thought so too."
Conversation lulls slightly between them as the waiter comes and takes their orders, the three of them ordering meals full of fat and rich flavors as they're supposed to. Old habits die hard, complicated grey moments of the past still seeping to the present. Even now as Natalie orders the same dish-her favorite rare steak in a buttered sauce-Adrien is positive he can see the outline of his father's ghostly smirk.
That's the spirit, Natalie. These are moments worth savoring.
Family-family is an anomaly, Adrien decides as he sits across from the two caretakers of his youth. It can be made up of ghosts-some dead, some living (though sometimes the dead should not be living and living should never die). It can be made of strict rules and regulations that keep people an arm's distance away, but loyalty effectively fills the cracks between professional and personal all the same.
It is the choice not to interact with people who try to claim you years later when you needed them long ago. It's the ability to decide which bonds are worth keeping and which are not. Family-family-
It is the decision to love someone because you find them worth loving despite all their faults, all the darkness that haunts them, all the evils that make them less than perfect.
It is choice and it is his to make.
Dear Wife,
My family does not fit easily within a box. In some aspects, it is beyond repair, and in others, it's exactly what I need it to be. But with you, my wife, we can make something worth keeping.
It is a cool, late autumn evening as two people leave their respective families to make their way home to where no one is waiting for them.
Not yet.
In one direction, a young woman's step is light and cheery as she hums with delight left over from the warmth of her home. Her design is embroidered with the love of her parents, the love they have for her, and the love they have for each other.
In the other direction walks a young man whose steps are thoughtful and quiet as he carries loyalty close to his heart that he's always known. Like her, his base design is composed of love, but the parts that made him whole-his mother, his father-have stopped being a part of his narrative long ago.
They tread a life where their stories have already been woven once, stitched together once as they stepped forward and answered destiny's call. Magic works in funny ways, fate works in funny ways in the way that it makes history repeat itself constantly in one lifetime. Together they were one, together they were two equal parts, together-they were always, always together. One and one that still equaled one when they multiplied their efforts together.
It is a cool autumn evening when fate repeats itself as two ones walk the same path again to meet in the middle. There is no crash this time, there are not masks this time, there is no youth this time as blue eyes flash up from a cell phone screen and happiness illuminates the night.
"Adrien?"
Adrien looks around when he hears his name and lets out a surprised sound when youth finds him again, childhood recognized in the face of a beautiful woman. The smile is instantaneous, immediate as memories draw their pasts together, and he steps towards her quickly with his arms open in greeting.
"Marinette! It's been so long!"
She nods as her small arms wrap around him briefly, smelling of baked goods like the youth they no longer possess. "You, too! Nino said that you were moving back, but I didn't realize," she starts.
"Yeah," he finishes for her, pulling her to the side so that foot traffic can continue. "I was going to wait till spring of next year, but you know-they needed a professor now."
Marinette grins wide, the cold air reddening her nose. "That's great. I'm so happy for you!" Sweeping her thick bangs to the side, she asks with bright eyes, "Anything new with you besides that?"
He doesn't know why he says it, but he can't stop the good news spilling from his mouth. Maybe because the air around them is comfortable, and for some reason he's always been at ease when he's seen Marinette. My first friend, he thinks, a happy memory of two young children standing outside where a boy hands an umbrella to a girl.
"I'm-I'm getting married soon actually," he tells her, happiness bubbling from his stomach to spring from his tongue.
There's a beat of silence though, Marinette's face blanks and a part of him wonders if he's said the wrong and-then, her face lights up, animated and alive as she clasps her hands together in front of her, beaming. "Oh my goodness, Adrien! That's so great! Congratulations!"
Cool air is comforting to the heat at his neck. "Yeah, I'm really excited…"
Marinette hums, digging her hands into teal peacoat pockets. "I bet," she says thoughtfully. "Whoever you're marrying is going to be so lucky."
There's a tapping on his heart when she says that too, her gaze soft like she's saying something so profound. It makes his heart feel full, emotion spilling over the edges and he doesn't know why.
"Thank you," he breathes. "I hope so. I really do."
It is then, when he feels there will be lull in conversation, that he rushes forward to fill the silence. "And you? What do you do? Are you," he stumbles when he says the word, "m-married?"
She lets out a surprised laugh, grinning. "Oh, um, not yet. Soon, too, actually," she sighs, content and pleased. "And I opened my own boutique last year and it's going well."
"That's amazing, Marinette. You've always been so amazing," he tells her kindly, shuffling from one foot to the other.
"What?" she asks surprised, humor in her inflection. With the flick of her hand, she dismisses it. "No, I just-I just try, I guess? But thank you," she finishes with a warm smile.
Time feels like it's standing still, in this moment, in this strange meet up between old classmates as people move to and fro to their destinations. Marinette breaks the quiet first.
"I'm really happy for you, you know," she tells him, her blue eyes meeting his with such sincerity. "I used to-well-" she pauses, her eyes drifting to the ground.
Adrien leans in a little bit, trying his best to be engaged. "Yes?"
She closes her eyes for a second before looking up again, her cheeks pink. "Well, when we were kids, I was kinda in love with you," she says, looking everywhere but at him. "And I'm just happy you're happy. Fourteen year old me is really happy for you."
There is a surge of emotion sparking from his mind to his heart as surprise washes over him. "I had-Marinette-I had no-" he babbles, but-
She laughs, waving him off. "No, no! I never told you, but," she says. "I'm so glad I did now, and I hope your marriage is everything you want it to be."
He tethers himself to her kindness, to her confession and lets his beating heart feel happy, just as he would have if he were still a child. "Well, fourteen year old Adrien is glad you finally told him too," he tells her with a slight blush. "And I hope everything goes well for you."
She giggles. "That would be nice!" Marinette opens her mouth, about to say something, but her phone beeps and her eyes go wide. "Gah!"
Adrien laughs, pleased that some things don't change about people. "Time to go?"
She sighs. "Yes, but it was so good to see you again," she finishes with a smile.
"Yeah, you too, Marinette."
There is second hug exchanged, a promise to meet up soon, and before they know it, each are going their separate ways back to a home where no one is waiting for them.
Not yet.
A/N: Thank you for all the reviews and follows! What did you like about this chapter? Are you excited for the wedding?