Adrien had grown to enjoy the call of bells, almost always associating the pitchy jingle with happiness. One would ring at the front and back door of Marinette's shop, come day or night. Another sounded lightly as he prowled the streets as Chat Noir, jostling ever so slightly just below his throat as he leapt from building to building.
And this morning, one greeted him upon entrance to the Dupain-Cheng bakery.
"Welcom - oh! Adrien, hello!" Madam Cheng beamed as he stepped inside, his senses overcome in the most fantastic sort of way.
It was warm within the buzzing bakery, but not hot and sticky like the summer air - this was a comfortable heat, one that reminded him of fuzzy blankets and hot chocolate. The smells were staggering in their own right, the aroma of cookies and fresh bread flowing around him like the sweetest tides of a cotton-candy sea. Adrien could drown in it and never want to come up for air; it was the same smell that always seeped from Marinette's pores, only more poignant. A chattering pair of women eyed a display case near the window, so he strode past them and returned Madam Cheng's smile with as much kindness as he could muster.
"Madam Cheng, so nice to see you. And Happy Mother's Day, of course." He bowed politely as he reached the register, standing just a bit aside in case anyone came up to make a purchase while he chatted. If it was possible, Madam Cheng smile only widened.
"This is Nathalie, my father's assistant," Adrien said through pursed lips, and the woman shook Madam Cheng's hand.
Of course, Marinette's mother seem just thrilled. "A pleasure, Nathalie - and please, Adrien, Sabine is fine." The tiny woman held up a finger to pause their pleasantries, leaning her head into the back. "Hey! Tom! Adrien is here!"
A pause.
"Be right there!" A familiar, jovial voice answered, and Adrien felt himself pink slightly. He tended to almost forget how overwhelmingly kind the Dupain-Chengs were until he was in their company, but then, their daughter was practically the dictionary definition of perfection. He shouldn't be surprised.
"So, how can I help you this morning?" Sabine looked between the two, and Nathalie only responded with a strained smile. It took an impressive amount of self-control for Adrien not to laugh at the woman's dismay, clearly unsure of what to make of Madam Cheng's bubbly attitude.
"Well…" Adrien fumbled with his fingers. "I actually came by to see if Marinette was available. I wanted to talk to her, but my phone is, uh," his gaze flickered over the tight-lipped woman beside him. "Unavailable at the moment."
Sabine frowned. "Oh, I'm so sorry, but Marinette's not home. She left early this morning on an errand."
Adrien had only enough time for his eye to twitch before a small bear emerged from the back in the shape of Marinette's father.
"Adrien! How are you, son?" Tom Dupain walked right around the counter and hugged Adrien fiercely, crushing his bones and giving his torso a light dusting of flour in the process. Nathalie looked like a fish out of water, both literally and figuratively, and appeared about ready to pry the man away from him.
The blond was all smiles, though, and gave Marinette's father a firm pat-pat. "Hello, Monsieur Dupain, how are you?"
"Just great - business is, ah, hold on. Come!" He extended an arm and gestured for Nathalie and Adrien to follow him into the back of the bakery. Sabine nodded at them, but kept her focus on the customers who had just approached the counter with sweet selections in mind.
"Sorry, sorry. Just easier to talk without people buying - so good to see you! And who's this?" Tom smiled kindly down at Nathalie, who cleared her throat.
"Nathalie Sancoeur, thank you. I work for Gabriel Agreste and am escorting Adrien this morning."
He blinked, likely taken aback by her biting tone, but there was no dampening the man's mood.
"Well, welcome to the Dupain-Cheng Boulangerie Patisserie! Don't mind our mess; when you work with flour and dirt, it's something you learn to live with."
"I… see. Thank you." Nathalie eyed their surroundings, quickly understanding the man's meaning. The place was indeed a mess, all sorts of ingredients strewn around the work stations, a half-dozen aprons hanging on hooks, and piles and piles of open books littered with numbers and figures.
Monsieur Dupain set himself to task while making pleasant conversation, and Adrien thought his behavior seemed very much like Marinette at that moment. "So, did I hear you say you were here for Marinette?"
Sheepishly, Adrien scratched his cheek. "I - yes. But Madam Cheng said she's not home?"
The man nodded severely, rolling out a mysterious dough that smelled like heaven. "Yes, it feels like our girl's never home anymore. Did you want to leave a message of some sort? We can always give it to her when she comes back after work."
Before he could answer, Marinette's mother appeared beside Nathalie, and the leaner of the two women flinched.
Adrien had to snicker quietly at that. It was upon Nathalie's own insistence that he was not to enter the bakery unattended, so he was going to enjoy watching her squirm, at least a little.
"Yes, and I'm afraid she didn't say where she was going, probably just had to facilitate some deliveries or something," Sabine sighed and wiped her hands on her apron, which caught his attention.
"Oh, your apron! It's lovely." He pointed, elated by his recognition.
She looked down momentarily and the smile that spread on her features reached her eyes.
"Oh, yes, speaking of Marinette," she sighed contently and rubbed the embroidered D/C proudly. "This was a gift she made me for Mother's Day. I didn't expect her to get me anything; I don't even know how she found the time."
Adrien did not respond, but he nodded his agreement. Marinette had been deadbeat exhausted yesterday, but he wasn't about to say that to her parents or Nathalie.
Oh, yes Madam Cheng, I know. I snuck into your daughter's room last night while she finished making that apron. There was about a million reasons why that was a bad idea, and at least half of those reasons would have made him blush to think about.
Adrien coughed. "Well, I am sorry I missed her… Maybe I will just try again tomorrow, or swing by the shop later." He didn't even need to look her way to feel the look Nathalie was giving him. Such a detour was not in his schedule and therefore was not going to be allowed, but Adrien didn't want to appear suspicious to Marinette's parents.
"Well, that sounds like a wasted trip son, at least take some pastries back to your Dad." Monsieur Dupain replied, wiping his cheek carefully with part of his forearm. The dough was taking taking the form of a swirled knot-bread, and Adrien could smell the vanilla and cinnamon from where he was standing. His stomach growled, and by some good graces, not loud enough for anyone to hear.
"Ahh, no, that's okay," Adrien rubbed his neck. "My Dad's not really a… 'sweets' kind of guy. But thank you for offering."
Of course, Madam Cheng wouldn't hear of it.
"Hmm, well, how about at least something for your troubles? Nathalie, that includes you of course, pick out anything from the display and we'll package it up for you."
Adrien blushed, always overcome by their generosity. They hadn't much, at least compared to his father's wealth, but that never meant they weren't eager to share.
"I- I, well," Nathalie sputtered, uselessly pushing random buttons on her tablet. Clearly she was not used to being treated this way either, and Adrien remembered how flustered he had been the first few times he had come here.
"That would be amazing, thank you," he accepted for the both of them, and Sabine lead them back out the front.
Adrien didn't want to disrupt Marinette's father a second time in the middle of working, so he went to give him a friendly pat on the back in farewell. Once again, more bear than man, Monsieur Dupain turned and engulfed Adrien in a hug so tightly he felt short of breath by the time his feet were back to solid ground.
"Take good care Adrien, and thanks for stopping. I'm sure Mari will be sorry she missed you."
Tom Dupain finished his statement with a not-so-subtle wink. Adrien swallowed a lump in his throat and tried not to burn too furiously while returning to the front of the bakery.
Sabine greeted a new gaggle of customers that entered just as the three of them returned to the front of the store, so Adrien gestured for Nathalie to follow him to the glass display of cakes and breads and cookies.
Once out of earshot, Nathalie shot him a sharp whisper.
"These foods will not comply with your meal schedule, so please say your goodbyes and we'll go."
At that, Adrien snorted and had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing. He actually felt a little bad as Nathalie flushed, evidently disquieted by his behavior. She saw this place as one of indulgence - sugar and happiness, free food and plentiful hugs.
How ironic.
Wealth meant Adrien had seen display cases just like these many times, usually filled with pillows of rich velvet that were topped with excess. Diamond jewelry or watches that could fund a year abroad were the "bread and butter" of the upper-class, so expensive taste came with the territory.
Adrien felt the bread and butter prepared by the Dupain-Cheng's hand to be much more tempting.
Everything was a careful arrangement of love here, and it filled him with a million reminders of Marinette at every turn. Each price tag was hand-written, with chalkboard specials on display. All of the boxes were pink and simple, somehow adorable and refined at the same time. The energy itself was animated, a welcome world, and it required no explanation to surmise that Marinette was a product of this saccharine wonderland.
By comparison, Adrien had felt only lucky enough to window shop before. He didn't want to browse anymore.
Marinette may have been reared within these candied walls, but Adrien found it hollow without her in them. He longed for laurels of green and Banks' roses. The absence of dirt felt like the absence of her, resolute and empowering without ever being too much. To him, the bakery had become an echo of her, whereas the shop was filled with Marinette from the dirt to the air to the sun itself. A pastoral daydream, between the green apron and the green house, the shop was the metropolitan wilderness.
A paradox.
It shouldn't exist in a city like this, and it was too pure for this world.
Yet somehow, he had found her.
Nathalie interrupted his daydreams by clicking her tongue.
"We cannot accept their food without paying. If word gets out, the press might take it to the rumor mill."
His response was probably more bitter than it had to be, not because of her words but because of the sneer behind them.
"You are worrying too much," he studied some cocoa truffles absently. "I've tried to pay them for years, but they always refuse. Marinette even snuck money back into my wallet once; their obstinacy is borderline unfair."
Nathalie pursed her lips. "This… Marinette that you came to see. She's been through your wallet?"
Sometimes he forgot how protective Nathalie and his father were, to a painful degree. Still, the insinuation that came with Nathalie's worry he found to be in poor taste.
He kept his tone matter-of-fact. "Yes. I'd trust her with anything, my wallet included."
The dark-haired woman narrowed her eyes and looked ready to say something else, but Sabine completed her recent customers and appeared across the glass case.
"Have you settled on anything? I already grabbed some of that cheese bread you always ask for, Adrien, but please, pick out at least a few more things." Marinette's mother jostled a bag lightly over the counter, and Adrien thanked her. In his shirt pocket, a very exciting twitching began at the call of cheese.
After some back and forth, Adrien made up Nathalie's mind and kindly accepted two pieces of cheese bread, a sweet smelling strawberry tart for himself and a few macron's for his father's assistant. It took more effort than it should have to accept, what with Nathalie's constant disapproval, but he had gone through the motions with the Dupain-Cheng's enough time to know they were impossible to argue with.
By the time he said farewell, two hugs later and a whole heart fuller, Adrien settled into the backseat of the car and sighed comfortably. He almost could have forgotten he had come to see Marinette and utterly failed to do so. Almost.
Nathalie directed them home, dubiously accepting a macron when offered, and Adrien even tried to see if his ever-silent bodyguard would accept one. There was no verbal response, but the man did hold out his hand when Adrien reached towards the front of the sedan.
"So, is Marinette someone we should…?" Nathalie began as they were neared the mansion, and Adrien cleared his throat.
"Nope, that's - nope."
The woman sighed pointedly, but did not ask any further questions. They both knew better than to bother his father with petty matters like high school crushes, so Adrien at least could confidently say Nathalie would not to bring up the subject again.
He bound up the stairs once they arrived home, shutting the door to his room behind him. A greedy-eyed kwami greeted him swiftly.
"Pay up, kid, I wants me some of that bread." Plagg almost cackled as Adrien unfurreled the bag and set it at his desk, listening to the strange gorging sounds of a kwami bodily assaulting unsuspecting pastries.
Adrien was already pacing, running a frustrated hand through his hair.
"What a waste of a morning." He stopped at the window, pressing an arm against the cool metal beams and resting his forehead there. "I don't think I can wait until tonight to see her, and not as Chat Noir. I need to see her as me this time."
"You know," Plagg called from the bag, clearly speaking with his mouth full.
"You sure are going way out of your way to see this girl. You're sure you just want to be friends?"
Adrien rolled his eyes. "Just, shut up, Plagg."
"If your poor heart can't wait, we could sneak out again. You know, stop by the flower shop, go and see your lovely lady," the kwami mused in a sing-song voice.
Adrien didn't answer. It's not like he could deny it anymore.
From the night she gifted him the Russian Snowdrops petals, he probably should have realized it then. The comfortable way she deposited the sentiment, more than just the flowers, into his hand and the sincerity of her soft blue eyes within their private twilight was something from a movie.
That night had been a wickering candle that had burned just bright enough and just long enough for him to fall smitten.
If not then, Nino's not-so-subtle talk should have forced him to acceptance. His friend had called him out like a judge during a fencing match, making Adrien confront some imaginary coin flip that he didn't believe could be real.
But how far back did his denial go? The shy glances, sweet blushes, thoughtful gestures and innocuous little fleeting moments they had shared through the years. He couldn't tell if his stomach had always twisted in excitement when it happened and he had just tried to bury the instinct, not wanting to freak her out, to the point where he himself believed it wasn't there. Adrien tried to remember, but then, none of that mattered anymore.
What mattered now was that Adrien was absolutely, hopelessly in love with her.
Of course he was.
Marinette's smile was everything. When she laughed, he felt like the most fortunate person in the world to hear the sound - and that's not even to say how he felt when he was the one to make her erupt into giggles. Sometimes, if surprised, she would squeak, and it was adorable. She was beautiful - lean, strong, soft features and lips that looked so kissable he wanted to tear his hair out just thinking about it. If he hadn't come to her home with the mask last night, he might not have been able to stop himself from kissing more than just her forehead.
His legs guided him to his bed, laying down and staring at the ceiling. Marinette was everywhere in his world, and so suddenly, too. It was like the most pleasant vertigo imaginable. The dark ceilings looked like her hair, soft and rich tresses of ebony. The sinking sound of his head hitting the pillow was her sigh, and the rustling of Plagg at his desk was the fluttering of her lashes. Most devastating was the sky, though, miles of her eyes for him to get lost in.
Marinette was everywhere, but even so, she wasn't here.
Plagg belched and flew over to him, looking upon his charge with a smug grin.
"You've got it bad, you know that, don't you?"
Adrien didn't respond, but his face surely said enough. Plagg nodded.
"Well, if it means anything, I - "
The kwami stopped and his brow dipped, catching Adrien's attention. A moment later, there was a crisp knocking on the door, and they met eyes before Plagg flew away to hide.
"Yes," Adrien groaned as he sat back up, walking towards the door. "What is it, Natha- ?"
"Adrien." His father greeted with a nod, and the blond went slack jawed.
"D-Dad, hi, what are you…?" Adrien cleared his throat and paused when his father motioned for him to stop, raising a hand.
"Why don't you come to my office for a moment?" He asked, though he spun on his heel before Adrien could answer. Stumbling after him, he hoped Plagg had enough sense to stay put, just in case, and followed his father down the stairs.
Each step felt like a march towards some sort of purgatory. Had he done something wrong? He couldn't remember the last time his father called him to his office and they had a pleasant conversation. All they seemed to talk about anymore was Adrien's future, and they both had very different visions in mind for what that looked like.
Adrien kept his irritations under lock-and-key. He was resigned to wait for his father's invitation to speak.
It wasn't until he shut the door that the conversation began, and Adrien wondered which one of them had lost their minds. It had to be one of them, because his Dad didn't just say that, or he himself was dissociating and misheard him.
"Are you in a relationship with Marinette Dupain-Cheng?"
It was the proverbial record scratch of the past week. Flowers and blue eyes, slamming doors and text messages, late night stargazing and bitter coffee all rushed to greet him in a visceral sensory experience. A whole week's worth of memories pumped through his veins, sending his heart into a tailspin of nerves and worries and fears but, more than all of that, Adrien was blindsided by so much sudden happiness that it a miracle he managed to stay on his own two feet.
He didn't really have words, so he managed a croak.
"Huh?"
His father pursed his lips, hands behind his back as he gestured for Adrien to sit in the pit around the runway. Apparently, he managed to comply with his Dad's request, though he had no memory of even sitting down.
A few hours earlier
"I can do this." Marinette fanned her face with a hand, as if it would help. It wasn't particularly hot today, in fact, it was cloudy and pleasantly mild for a morning in the summer, but that wasn't the cause of her clammy complexion.
No, this was the kind of crippling nervousness that would knock anyone off their feet in her situation, and Marinette wasn't exactly known for her superior coordination.
"I can... do this."
Spilling your guts out to your crush of three years was never easy.
Doing it on Mother's Day seemed like an awful mistake, given his mother's mysterious disappearance.
Coming to his house unannounced, early in the morning, with pastries and a tiny potted plant?
"I can't do this."
Every neuron in her brain was firing off at once, screaming at her legs run away, but she was trying not to listen. Her heart was hammering, working overdrive to make up for the disagreement between her body and mind, and she was stuck.
Hiding.
Tikki jostled her purse, knocking into her hip slightly - it was a sort of silent code they had established, for Marinette to check their surroundings for curious eyes before opening the clasp.
With fumbling fingers, she managed to get the thing damned open and her kwami's large round eyes were sympathetic.
"Don't say that, Marinette! You can do it - you can do anything. I believe in you."
"I-I know, Tikki," she stammered, and the kwami's red face frowned. "I just, heh, you know, we said 'set small goals'? That was the agreement… I feel like… this is a little much…?"
"No," her kwami shook her head. "It'll be perfect, I promise. Do you trust me?"
"Of course I do!" Marinette's response was immediate, and she felt her pulse relax just slightly. "I just… no, no, you're right. I can do this."
"You can do this," Tikki parroted and nodded, closing the purse herself so Marinette couldn't talk herself down.
"Thanks, Tikki," the girl whispered before brushing herself off unnecessarily.
With a pit - no, a crater - in her stomach, Marinette slipped around the corner and stiffly walked up to the front gate. She spotted a familiar, almost angry-looking red button on an inlaid control panel, and gulped.
The first time she rang the Agreste doorbell, when Nino had been akumatized years ago, a little camera came out and appraised her. Just in case, Marinette fixed her bangs and patted out her pigtails, hoping her make-up covered most of the bags circling her eyes. Her choice of outfit was… acceptable. It was just her work uniform. The whole pretense of coming before work on a Sunday was so she had a designated time to leave in case things became awkward, and Marientte wanted to have an escape plan; she preferred to plan for the worst-case scenario, so anything better than that exceeded her expectations.
Long inhale.
Marinette pushed the button, feeling the weight of the world compress the shiny plastic covering against her forefinger.
No going back now.
Long exhale.
She stood for almost a minute, fidgeting more and more and thought about pressing again (or, better yet, about just running the other direction) when a voice finally answered, accompanied by a camera's judgmental eye.
"Yes?"
It was male, but it wasn't Adrien.
Oh for fondants sake…
Her mouth was horribly dry and she licked her lips - surely, that had to have looked great on camera.
"M-Monsieur Agreste! I apologize, I'm… um… a friend of Adrien's. I was wondering if he was… home?"
There was a long silence, and once again, Marinette considered fleeing the scene.
A hard voice swept away whatever nerve she had gathered. "What's your name?"
"I-I… I-I'm Ma-Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. A-Adrien's, um, he's in my class." She swallowed, and Tikki jostled lightly against her hip. The reminder of her kwami gave her some confidence, however small, so she added, "I designed… a hat for your contest a few… years ago?"
Marinette tightened her grip on the reusable paper bag she had in her right hand in an effort to stop her nervous shaking, and, to her genuine surprise, it actually helped.
"Hmm," Monseiur Agreste sounded thoughtful, and Marinette tried to smile at the camera as kindly-and-not-dorkily as possible.
"You may enter."
The electric blue eye of the camera retracted back into the wall, and there was a brief buzzing as the lock on the gate fell. She could hear Tikki lightly chime at her hip.
"You're doing great, Marinette! Just keep it up!"
"Phew," she breathed a sigh of relief and nodded, even if Tikki couldn't see it. "Thanks. Wish me luck."
Her usual stride was definitely clipped of it's usual personality, much more rigid as the door loomed ever closer. She had only been here a few times, and this was the first time she's ever come totally alone - the entrance seemed so massive up close.
A tiny voice dubbed Rationality in her mind noted that it was probably unusual for Gabriel Agreste to answer his own doorbell, but then, that tittering was snuffed out rather quickly by the hundred of others voices - Worry, Anxiety, Fear, and Uneasy, for example, were composing an epic interlude against the raging metronome provided by her heart.
Marinette, as conductor for this impromptu orchestra, only found it fitting that the crescendo built with the stacco thump of her knocking fist against the heavy barrier that kept her out.
Much faster than she expected, the door was opening, and stood before her was the ever-immaculate Gabriel Agreste. Sometimes, she was so wrapped up in Adrien that Marinette all but forgot her idolization of the man before her.
He was a fashion legend, and even his home attire showed for it - his hair was swiped back, out of his face. On his person, he wore a crisp white suit jacket with red pants that were tailored to perfection, accented by a red-white ascot.
Marinette bowed, feeling humbled and tragically underdressed.
Staring at her feet instead of at his piercing eyes, she found enough of her manners scattered on the immaculate foyer tiles to muster a greeting.
"Monsieur Agreste, it's an honor to meet you in person. I'm… Adrien's friend, but it's also such an honor. I'm a huge fan of your work!"
She would never bet anything on it, but she could have sworn it almost sounded like, ever so lightly that he… laughed?
"Come in, Mme. Dupain-Cheng," he stepped aside and Marinette meekly scuttered in, feeling more a mouse in a giant labyrinthine of architectural splendor.
Naturally, she drank in as much as she could as fast as she could - huge ceilings, a refreshing clean smell, marble pillars and a central staircase like one she pictured in Cinderella. It was spacious and monochromatic, and Marinette could only admire the careful attention to the building with each slope or facade.
"I'm ashamed to admit I only vaguely recall our first meeting, Mme. Dupain-Cheng." Monsieur Agreste began, hands behind his back. His posture was impeccable, and Marinette quickly tried to fix her slouch.
"But I do remember the bowler you created; it was a rather impressive piece, especially for someone your age. So forgive me if I'm a bit... unsure to the nature of your visit."
Marinette bit her lip - she knew from Adrien's occasional mention that his father was harsh, but she could certainly tell where her friend got his lessons in etiquette. So far, Adrien's father had been entirely intimidating, but surprisingly kind.
He frowned and cocked his head to one side when Marinette didn't respond, and she nearly squeaked when she realized she was just staring into space.
"O-Oh! Right. I'm very sorry to show up unannounced, and on… a holiday, no less." She paused to make sure she hadn't just put her foot in her mouth, but he didn't seem to mind the mention of today's date. His wife was gone, but it had been several years so perhaps he had just learned to accept such affairs. "But I… I wanted to see Adrien and thank him for his help the other day. Your son is, um, a very… kind young man."
Studying her shoes, Marinette quickly found his lack of response to be unbearable, so her gaze flickered his way. Mounseir Agreste had a small, albeit nonplussed, smile on his face, and it looked remarkably similar to Adrien's.
Maybe she could do this after all.
Feeling a bit emboldened by his agreeable expression, Marinette held the bag out infront of her with the D/C logo printed proudly on the front.
"My parents own the Dupain-Cheng Boulangerie Patisserie - it used to just be called Tom and Sabine's - by the school, and they recently purchased a flower shop only a few streets over from here. I work there and… I brought some pastries and flowers for Adrien as thanks. I... hope that's okay?"
Mounseir Agreste studied the bag with a severe expression on his face before bringing a hand to his chin.
"Mme. Dupain-Cheng," his eyes flickered to her face, and Marinette felt herself blanch slightly. His voice was like a whip, and each word was the crack before the lashing.
"While your gesture is very kind, Adrien is not here at the moment."
She deflated. Bag lowered back to her side, Marinette felt all of the reassurance she had spent the past several days gathering be swept away with a single sentence. This had been hard enough to do the first time, and now she was doubtful she could ever find the courage to come back here like this.
Still, she couldn't just stand and sulk in the middle of the Agreste mansion, so she cleared her throat and turned politely towards the door.
"I'm very sorry for intr- "
"But he should be back soon," Adrien's father interrupted lightly, and her head shot up in his direction. Was he really saying what she thought he was saying…?
Flatly, he confirmed her disbelief with a few easy words.
"If you'd like, you are welcome to stay here until he returns."
Marinette felt her mouth fall open, and she blinked repeatedly. "A-are you sure? I'd hate to impose!"
He shrugged, and Marinette couldn't believe how impressively casual he was acting. Surely this couldn't be the monster Adrien painted him to be?
"I assure you Mme. Dupain-Cheng, it is fine. But Adrien is out with my assistant Nathalie, so would you be willing to wait for their return in my office? I mean no offense, but we prefer company to stay supervised in the house."
She was practically bouncing now, almost too elated to mind her manners. "Are you kidding? Me, in the Gabriel Agreste office? Where you create your designs?! I would - I can't - ummmm," she exhaled low and tried to calm herself, and to her relief, Mounseir Agreste didn't seem to mind her fangirling. "I would be so honored, sir!"
"Very well," he gestured for her to follow, and Marinette tried not to trip over her own feet as Adrien's father stopped at the western wall before a set of massive double-doors. "We can leave the door open, so we'll hear them come in."
As Marinette passed the threshold, she could barely keep the bag in her hand, marveling each and every surface of the room with adoration. She had been in here before as Ladybug, but never had there been a chance for her to really stop and appreciate the room for what it was.
The walls were smoky marble, scored in a diamond lattice of light grey that stopped a few feet up from the ground, framed by wood so dark it was almost black. Each panel was carved with intricate molding, giving a sort of three-dimensional depth to the walls. The room itself was divided into three levels with short steps between each. Adrien's father walked straight towards the top level on the far-end of the room where a large white screen - his famed 'designscape' - was situated, just in front of a grand golden portrait. Between the computer and the door, Marinette noticed a short sort of pit in the center of the room that opened to a lower level that mimicked a runway, but, she guessed, could also double as a conference table depending on the circumstances. Spread across the crisp white surface was a dozen portfolios and even more loose pictures, covering the desk from end to end with hundreds or even thousands of drawings and pictures of designs. The far end of the room was pierced by two larger-than-life panes of glass, windows to the world beyond, and they shone brilliantly with the emerging light of a Sunday morning.
On the wall to her immediate right upon entering, Marinette spotted Adrien. And Adrien. And more Adrien. This had been the image to capture her attention most prominently the last time she came here, naturally, and it was an ever expanding collection of his portraits done for his father's fashion line. Everything about him, the poses, his smile, his presence - all of it, he was effortless.
Mounseir Agreste, apparently, noticed her staring. From behind his pseudo-computer, he commented off-handedly, "He does excellent work, doesn't he?"
Marinette felt her heart leap into her throat, and she could barely breathe for how quickly the blood rushed to her cheeks.
"U-um, yes, sir. He's very… ahh... talented?" Her hormone-addled teenage brain could come up with plenty more colorful descriptors for what else Adrien was, but perhaps his father was not the best audience for that. Instead, Marinette just laughed awkwardly, and Mounseir Agreste looked at her from above his glasses before smirking.
"You can set your things down on the tableau, if you'd like. Just push aside any of the mess," he gestured towards the runway-esque-table in the center of the room, and Marinette shyly nodded and accepted the invitation.
Her mind was racing a million miles a minute, of course. Was this a stupid thing to do? What could she possibly talk to Adrien's dad about? How long would they be - what if she had to get to work before Adrien even came home? And if not, would she even have sufficient time to talk to him? Why did she stop stalking Adrien's calendar, if she knew where he was then this never would have happened!
Because, her brain scolded, tracking his whereabouts was creepy and you know it.
Yes, but, her squirming stomach argued, she had never been trapped in the Gabriel Agreste's office when we had Adrien's schedule memorized, now did we?
Both of you - Marinette's jack-hammer heart interrupted - whatever figment of my imagination is giving you unique voices, please, cut it out! This is hard enough when I'm not arguing with myself!
Unsure what else to do, her eyes eventually started to linger across the countless designs sprawled across the length of the runway. The action started as a distraction, but Marinette's attention was swept away in the painstaking detail that went into each image. From bodice to bustier, tulle and organza, slacks and skirts and accessories of every kind, the Gabriel span of influence know no bounds. She was particularly interested in a volume of unfinished work, most pages only half-colored but otherwise lined with pencil sketches suited to the shapes of men and women of every size and proportion.
"M-Mounseir Agreste?" Marinette spoke meekly, and his attention flickered up from the screen. "I hope you d-don't mind me saying, but these are all so lovely." She gestured a shaky hand across the runway.
"I-I promised myself if I ever got the chance, I would tell you the Adalaid handbag from Milan Fashion Week… was - is the most amazing use of suede I've ever seen… the attention to detail is something to be… sorry, I'm rambling," Marinette pushed a hand against her forehead and ducked her head again, hoping he might just let her self-esteem die a quiet death.
"Milan is always a favorite of mine," he responded, almost sounding bemused. Marinette glanced up to see him come to end of the runway, looking down over the cascade of his own creations through his decades in the industry.
"Ah," his attention lingered over the thick portfolio right in front of her. "I see you've found Emilie's work."
"Emilie…?" Marinette responded, but she need not clarification when the man turned around and beheld the abstract, flawless painting of his wife hung behind his work station. She lowered her eyes on the book, and suddenly the unrefined but peculiar drawings seemed to make sense.
"Oh… these were, um, your wife's…" She mumbled, trying to put distance between herself and the bound collection of sketches, feeling like there was some invisible line in social etiquette and that she had most definitely crossed.
"Yes," he responded curtly, but sighed and descended to the pit. "She wore many hats, and her own creativity is something I still… I never sketch without the book you've got there." His voice sounded wistful, and Marinette was surprised to hear him speak so openly about his wife. Adrien very rarely even mentioned Madam Agreste.
"It's one of the handful of things she... left behind."
Marinette didn't dare ask for clarification on what else she might have "left behind," but she didn't really have to. There were some that required no explanation, like her husband and her son.
"You do have an eye for fashion, Mme. Dupain-Cheng," Mounseir Agreste said as he looked over her shoulder, noticing the sketches she pulled towards the front in her absent minded admiration. "I always did like this one, but the color always felt wrong. I could never get it as I wanted."
He pointed at a brown-leather ensemble, fitted like a trench-coat but seemed to Marinette a dress, the bodice dipping to a sweetheart neck with dropped-shoulders. A wide buckle pulled the eyes to the waist while accentuating the curvature of the hips. Interestingly, there was a peek-a-boo line of fabric that poked out from the bottom of the dress, where the leather crossed over itself like a coat; vertical stripes of white and brown just hinted at something more. To the side of the page, a razor sharp stiletto heel of the same color crisscrossed over a more detailed side-sketch of a foot, with smaller straps that resembled the center buckle as it clasped around the ankle. Were it food, Marinette would have been drooling; but as a designer, she could only feel her creative intuition flare at the sight.
"Wow," she breathed, and without thinking, added "You said it was the color? You mean the tone of the leather?"
He frowned. "Yes, it was supposed to be… young and bold. Spirited, even. But it always seems… matronly, when worn."
Marinette had to swallow the urge to make suggestions - who was she kidding? She was a no-name designer speaking to the Gabriel Agreste. No way would she even think of proposing modifications to one of his designs. It's not like the leather might not be better suited as the patent variety, broadening the possibilities of color. Something like red would certainly pop with spirit, but this… that wasn't her place.
"I never considered patent leather," mused Monsieur Agreste, and picked up the paper with one hand and rubbed his chin with the other.
Marinette's eyes widened in mortification.
Did I seriously just… say that… out loud?
"Oh - oh my, I'm so sorry Mounsier Agreste! I just blabbed and I know that was totally inappropriate, my sincerest apologies - sir, um," Marinette stood and stepped away, bowing her head again, but this time in shame. Her face was burning and her eyes were nearly watering from the embarrassment.
Looking at the floor, Marinette couldn't see the amused, if not a little bewildered, raise of Monsieur Agreste's brows.
"You should never regret speaking on an original idea, Mme. Dupain-Cheng. They are scarce enough as it is. And a good idea? All the better."
All she could do was blink inanely, sure she must have heard incorrectly.
"Some people make their literal livelihood as purveyors of honesty, you know," he said, taking the picture with him to his designscape. Marinette slowly returned to the long table, not sitting but listening with interest.
"What is a critic but someone who is paid for their opinions? Or the curator of a museum? They seek out the best pieces of art on some sort of objective scale and create a gallery from their opinions alone. A discerning eye is a rare gift, Mme., you might not be so quick to silence yours."
"I… wow," she eventually answered, nodding as she sort of collapsed onto the row seating again. "Thank you, that… that really means a lot, coming from you."
Marinette watched Adrien's father's with rapt attention, his own gaze flickering between the wide touchscreen and the picture in his hand. He hardly paid her any mind for several minutes, and for that, Marinette was thankful; her face right now was probably the picture of dumbfounded admiration.
"So," Mounsier Agreste offered after a few minutes of silence. "What exactly is the nature of your relationship with my son, Mme. Dupain-Cheng?"
His voice had regained that pointed, almost dangerous quality to it, and Marinette flinched slightly. Thankfully, the man's attention was caught in his work, so he didn't notice see the very obvious embarrassment color her cheeks a deep crimson.
"Ah…" Marinette scratched her cheek.
"We are… just friends." She sighed, unable to keep the regret from her tone. "His best friend Nino, you might know?" Marinette paused, but he so much as look up. With a dry gulp, she continued. "W-well, Adrien's best friend Nino is in a… he's dating my best friend, Alya. So… the four of us, um, hang out together. Socially. And at school, too - Adrien's been… been, uhh, in my class since he started school with us. So…" She sort of just let her explanation taper out, not really sure where she was going with that.
They continued to sit quietly for a time after that, save for Marinette's heart pounding in her ears and the occasional tap-tap against the designscape. She was torn between excusing herself, trying to think of anything that might not sound stupid to say to him, or continuing to suffer in the near-silence.
Mercifully, he cleared his throat and looked up from his work before she could act on any of her escape plans.
"My apologies, I wanted to incorporate this while it was still on my mind." With a few keystrokes against the side of the machine, a projecting eye - much like the one she had been interrogated with at the front gate - popped out of the ceiling and a dazzling splash of blue light spilled onto the wall across from Adrien's portraits. A narrow, blank canvas hung on the wall there - Marinette hadn't really given it a second thought upon entering - but now it's utility made perfect sense.
A life-sized drawing of the leather outfit, now accommodating Marinette's suggestion for red patent, appeared and occupied the space perfectly. The empty canvas was almost poetic as Marinette stared, wide-eyed, at the creation come to life before her. With her suggestion, so too did the outfit itself come to life; the shine of the red seemed more animated than the maturity of browns and whites. Along the bottom lining, Monsieur Agreste had also recolored the peek-a-boo fabric to follow a nautical schema - vertical stripes of blue, white and red seemed to wink out from the folds of the dress, and it definitely looked youthful. Sexy, even, Marinette dared to admit.
"Wow…" She breathed, amazed by how quickly and masterfully her idea materialized by his hand.
"Indeed," he said, agreeing with the sentiment of Marinette's exclamation. The girl realized she was gaping, mouth-open, so she firmly closed her lips and tried to her fix her face into something appreciative but not too starstruck.
With all the practice I've had with Adrien, I'm pretty sure I've got that one down.
A contented sigh escaped Adrien's father, and with a quick hand, he turned off the projection and the canvas returned to its former off-white, all creativity sterilized by the flip of a switch. Marinette's eyes could still see the echo of an image, splotchy as her focus blinked back into reality.
"Now, where were we?" Monsieur Agreste came down from the top-level and stood with his back to her, which Marinette found less intimidating, They both faced a wall of Adrien.
"You said you're a friend of Adrien's from school - and, oh, that's right. A gift in thanks? And what did he do that would be so deserving of such a kindness from you?" He turned his head slightly and smiled, laughing just one breath of a laugh, but Marinette felt the tension in her stomach unknot slightly.
She considered how best to respond this time, not wanting to ramble or putter through her sentences like she had been. Honesty felt right, and Adrien was someone with his whole day planned out, so it's not like she might be sharing anything he wouldn't already know. Maybe it had been a stroke of good luck with their designer-to-designer moment, but she felt like maybe he respected her… just a tiny bit?
"Well… we crossed paths recently since I work so near to your home… I fell at work a few days ago and messed up my shoulder, and Adrien stayed to help me sort out my mess with the customers. I was willing to pay him, but he declined - so I thought, um, this would at least be a small form of thanks."
Looking at the bag, Marinette smiled. "He even made a sale. I know it's probably… not the best idea for him to do something like that, with his fame, so I hope he didn't get in trouble because of me. But he wouldn't take no for an answer."
Adrien's father turned, a brow raised. "That... sounds like my stubborn son."
She laughed lightly. "Stubborn is a good word for him." They met eyes, and Marinette was relieved to actually see him smiling.
Proudly.
"And again, I really am sorry for just showing up like this, sir. If I had known Adrien was out I would have just dropped this off," she gestured towards her bag, ducking her head shyly. "I appreciate you letting me wait with you, but I do have to get to work soon."
Adrien's father adjusted his glasses and glanced at his watch. "I see. Well, your apology is not necessary Mme. Dupain-Cheng, but it is a nice gesture. You can leave the… gift with me, and I'll make sure Adrien receives it once he gets home."
Beaming, Marinette nodded and stood up, walking out of the pit towards the door. He followed a few steps behind her into the foyer. She put a hand on the door and prepared to open it when he caught her attention.
"By the way," he said, voice curious. "What was the name again?"
She blinked, admittedly a little hurt. "M-my name? It's Marinette Dup - "
"No, I'm sorry," Monsieur Agreste stopped her with a hand. "I meant, the name of your place of work. The flower shop."
"O-oh! I don't think I said it, my apologies… It's Sous les feuilles si vert." She dug in her purse quickly, Tikki pressed against the very bottom. The kwami read her mind and lifted a business card for Marinette to grab. "I, um, imagine you have a florist on hand… but if you ever need anything quickly we are over off Courtier St.!" She nodded fervently as he accepted the card, and Mounsier Agreste studied the piece of cardstock in his hand.
"Under leaves so green? An interesting name…" He tucked the card in his breast pocket as Marinette pulled open the door.
"We can't take credit, that was the name when my parents bought it. The previous owner said it's from a famous poet… William Blake, I think."
The man wrinkled his nose. "English. I should have figured."
Marinette giggled nervously and started out the door, waving. "Yes, my thoughts exactly. Thank you again, sir, for everything!"
His expression was strange, looking caught between amusement and something else she couldn't identify, and Marinette found couldn't get around the gate fast enough. Each step was a beat to her mantra, repeating again and again as she made her way to work.
You. Just. Met. Adrien's. Dad. THE. GABRIEL. AGRESTE. You. Just. Met. Adrien's. Dad.
THE.
GABRIEL.
AGRESTE.
That had gone far better than she could have imagined - if she had been planning on meeting Gabriel Agreste today. Seeing Adrien and dumping three years' worth of feelings in his lap, with gifts in tow? Yeah, that part could have gone better.
Still, the whole way to the shop, Marinette felt a spring in her step, a lightness in her chest. The blaring philharmonic that carried her to the mansion had quieted, shifted keys, and now the melody was brighter. It twisted and bloomed, unrefined around the edges and a little off-tempo, but Marinette found that she rather enjoyed it. It felt natural and beautiful and right.
This felt right.
The question came a second time, with a different inflection but a surprising amount of patience on his father's behalf.
"Are you in a relationship with Marinette Dupain-Cheng?"
Adrien had half a mind to wonder what he looked like at that moment, because he was pretty sure his face would have made for a good laugh for Nino. Alya, too. Heck, even probably Marinette would get a kick out of his scrunched lips, drawn brow but concerningly wide eyes. It was a mixture of shock and embarrassment and a stupid amount of pride. That emotion definitely doesn't belong there, mixed in with the others. Adrien was at least self-aware enough to recognize that, but he didn't question it, either. That's love for you.
"I'm not..." Adrien managed, meeting his father's gaze. "But... I... want to be."
Across the table-desk-runway, his father's face remained passive, but a curious finger tapped his pointed chin.
"I see. Why didn't you tell me?"
Adrien was wondering if this was a joke and some washed up celebrity was going to pop up and shout "You been PUNK'D!" in his face. Then again, that was even less likely a thing his father would agree to... So, somehow, this conversation was really, actually happening.
Struggling to find the words, Adrien leaned over his knees and rested his elbows on his leg. "I… I didn't even think you knew who Marinette was. It's all still sort of… new… I'm just sort of admitting it to myself, to be honest."
A beat of silence passed, and he heard his dad release a long sigh. The clipped sound of dress shoes on cold floors were like short little needles, pricking his ears until the swishing of fabric told him that his father was sitting beside him.
"I'm sorry, Adrien." His voice was gentler than Adrien was used to, and the blond glanced at him. Glasses off, his father looked uncharacteristically pensive - regretful, almost. "You're not wrong. I didn't know her name until this morning, and I feel… I'm not sure how I feel, actually."
Adrien blinked, too surprised to react verbally, just watching his father return the glasses to his face and lean back, crossing one leg over his knee and looking at the ceiling.
"I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but I at least hope you know that you can talk to me about anything." With a little grin, he glimpsed towards his son. "Even about girls, believe it or not."
Adrien leaned back too, folding his hands in his lap. His fumbling thumbs seemed much more interesting all of the sudden, and it certainly didn't have anything to do with the redness he felt rush across his cheeks.
"Father," he stopped to clear his throat, surprised by how choked he sounded. "I, um, thank you. I… I know that. I guess I just haven't figured out a lot of this myself yet. I only just discovered that she has feelings for me, so I'm trying to make sense of it… I don't want to freak her out by coming on too strong, but I hate not having my phone. She's… she's sort of amazing, Dad." He laughed through the stress, halting momentarily to gaze down the length of the room. A portrait of molten gold, beautiful as the woman portrayed there, made Adrien smile. Words were coming easier, and it felt like his Mom was listening, too. He imagined she would approve - but then, how could she not? Marinette was perfect.
Indeed, so wonderful, Adrien didn't even realize that he started rambling.
"Her parents are bakers, and she works at a flower shop around the corner. That's… that's where I was, actually, when I lied to Nathalie a few days ago. I really was with Nino and his girlfriend Alya, but I wanted to see her and I just sort of got caught up. Sometimes I can't even remember my own name when she's talking about something, she gets really…" Adrien paused, trying to use his hands to explain. It didn't even occur to him that he was rambling.
"Animated? I don't know. I can't figure her out, and that's the best part about her. And… well, I didn't want to tell you because… um, I don't know. She's really kind, Father, but I don't know if she's… uhh, who you would expect me to date," Pursing his lips momentarily, Adrien turned back to face the man seated next to him.
"But I think you might like her if you met her. She's interested in design, so you would even have something to talk about."
At this point, Adrien was pretty sure it could have started raining akumas in the room and he wouldn't have been surprised. A very large part of him still wasn't convinced this conversation was really even happening.
Adrien was startled a second time, and it was by a sound so foreign that could do little else but stare.
His father was laughing.
Really laughing. Covering-his-face-with-a-hand laughing. Shaking-and-covering-his-stomach laughing.
Laughing.
Adrien was torn between confusion, indigination, and shock just at hearing the sound come from his own father. Still, his lips turned up and let out a laugh or two himself; it was an infectious sound.
Eventually, through some breathy chuckles, his father shook his head and stood, turning towards the door. "I didn't realize you felt so strongly for her, son. I am... happy for you, but I wish you would have let me finish."
Adrien frowned. "Finish… finish what?"
Only then did he notice the bag sitting by the door, and Adrien balked. It was brown paper, stamped with a familiar logo across the front.
"Didn't you wonder how I knew about your interest in Mme. Dupain-Cheng?"
Adrien just opened his mouth and closed it again, utterly baffled. Did his Dad go to the bakery? Or the flower shop? Had he gone through his text messages? But that wouldn't give him away - he hardly texted Marinette. Adrien had just sort of assumed Nathalie had told his father about this morning, but he had already figured that wouldn't have made sense for his assistant to do.
"These are for you. They were delivered this morning, in-person."
"In… person?" Adrien accepted the bag and pulled out tissue paper, his hands shaking with disbelief and unbridled excitement.
A small piece of stationary was the first thing he could find, tucked into the silky face of a dozen tiny petals.
" 绣球花"
For your help.
Love,
Marinette
He blinked at the Chinese. "Hydrangeas."
