I swear this chapter was planned out so differently in my head. I rewrote it like 5 times and pretty much every time the kiddos refused to do what I wanted them to, so in the end I gave up and let them have their own way. Y they do dis?

"Remind me why I'm doing this again," Marinette grumbled.

"Because Adrien is just soooo gorgeous?" teased Tikki from the depths of her handbag.

"Nope."

"Because… he's rich and will probably pay, so you can get a really fancy coffee?"

"No—though now you mention that, it might be a selling point…"

"Because you love Alya and would do anything for her and Nino?"

"That's the one."

"You can do it! I believe in you!"

"Aww, thanks, Tikki." Marinette sometimes wondered how she had got through life before Tikki had been gifted to her. She adored the tiny kwami and appreciated her constant efforts to make Marinette believe in herself. It was like having a miniature ray of sunshine at all times.

Well, I guess I'd better go in.

Hoping to get there before Adrien did and thus gain the psychological upper hand, she had turned up a good ten minutes early. Alya, who was terrifyingly good at accurately interpreting body language and using it to her own ends, had taught her all sorts of tricks that helped in situations like this—things like picking one's own table so as to make another person feel less in control, deliberately not mirroring someone's stance (sitting when they stood, and vice versa), or using eye contact to guide a conversation between three or more people. Marinette was a bit too much of a people-pleaser to be quite as ruthless as her journalist friend, but it helped to have some level of resources on her side.

Unfortunately, this was one time when Alya's advice failed her spectacularly.

For one thing, Adrien was already there. She recognised him simply from the back of his head—she was a little annoyed at herself for this, but then again, he had sat in front of her at collège for several years. He was sitting at a table in the corner, near where they had all sat the other day.

For another, he wasn't alone. He was with Chloé Bourgeois.

Marinette did her best to push down the mixture of negative emotions that always overcame her whenever she saw her former classmate. She always tried to tell herself that they were both adults now—sensible, grown-up women in their twenties. Petty feuds from their teenage years shouldn't be an issue. Sure, Chloé had all but bullied her, had mocked her and been rude to her and made her life miserable on many an occasion, but Marinette had learned enough to be able to recognise her own flaws and knew that some of the problems had been of her own making too. She should be perfectly capable of polite conversation, if nothing else, when the situation called for it.

This logical train of thought never seemed to have any impact on her gut feelings, which informed her that Chloé was bad news and should be avoided at all costs.

She stood awkwardly by the door, hoping neither of them would notice her, and wondered what the hell she should do. Were they on a date? Of course Adrien would date Chloé. Five years ago he told us he didn't want to be friends with her any more unless she stopped being so nasty to people. Now, of course, he's all over her—because he's just like her. Despite her insistence to Alya that this meeting was not a date, the fact that Adrien had apparently scheduled her in between all the other girls he was meeting for coffee did not exactly sit comfortably.

She glanced over at them again. It was the first time she'd seen Chloé in person for a couple of years, but she hadn't changed at all. Same long, sleek, blonde hair that seemed to behave itself in ways Marinette's never did. Same perfect skin and immaculate makeup that always seemed to have somehow been Photoshopped, it was so flawless. Same pretty, calculating blue eyes. Same arrogant smirk that ever so slightly spoiled the overall effect of beauty, giving Chloé's features a hardness that was subtle but always present. She was also wearing some absolutely gorgeous clothes that Marinette instantly approved of in spite of herself—a pair of heeled strappy sandals that managed to make her feet (which were at least two sizes bigger than Marinette's) dainty and fairylike, and a yellow summer dress that did not fool Marinette's eyes in the slightest despite its apparent simplicity. Her own outfit, a plain white blouse and knee-length tulle skirt she'd made herself, suddenly felt shabby and unsophisticated.

Chloé was twirling a strand of her around her fingers in what seemed to be a flirtatious gesture, leaning forward across the table as she talked to Adrien. Marinette felt a wave of dislike for her. She wondered if Adrien was on this date of his own free will, or whether he'd been coerced into it. Of course he's here of his own free will. He's an adult man. He can do what he likes.

She was about to turn tail and flee home, possibly texting Adrien to say she'd forgotten about the date—er, not date, meeting—and now couldn't make it, when the unthinkable happened and Chloé's eyes flicked up to meet hers.

Marinette froze, rooted to the spot, and gulped. Merde.

Chloé's baby blues widened with something that looked horribly like delight. Marinette heard her say, loudly enough for it to carry across the café, "Oh, look, Adrien! It's the Dupain-Cheng girl from school!"

If I could wrap my yoyo around you right now, I think I'd let you dangle off the Eiffel Tower for an hour or so, thought Marinette viciously. Adrien, of course, turned round to look for her. When he spotted her, a huge grin lit up his face and he waved enthusiastically, then beckoned for her to come and join them.

I'm doing this for Alya… I'm doing this for Alya, she chanted to herself as she made her way over to them. I'm going to buy the most expensive pastry this place sells and make Adrien pay for it.

"Hey, Mari!" said Adrien happily when she got to their table. "You're here early!"

"Yeah, I—um—took an earlier bus," she invented wildly.

"Oh, you didn't drive today?"

It sounded like he was just making polite conversation, but Marinette narrowed her eyes at him. "No; I didn't feel like risking my life in case you were driving here," she said sweetly.

Adrien looked taken aback for a second, and then grinned. "Good shout," he commented.

Marinette pursed her lips. It irritated her far more than it should that he never seemed to be bothered by anything she said to him, no matter how rude. She deliberately turned away from him and looked at Chloé, who was pretending to be deeply absorbed in a study of her own (immaculate) nail varnish.

"Hey, Chloé."

"Oh—Marinette! It is Marinette, isn't it?"

Marinette kept a horribly false smile on as she nodded. Alya, if she had been there, would have recognised it instantly as a signal of impending doom. "That's right. How are you?"

"Oh, you know, fine," drawled Chloé. "I've just got back from a trip to London, actually. So fabulous there—though of course they know nothing about fashion." She tittered—there was no other word for it—and then added, "You know what I mean, don't you, Adrien, darling? Just appalling. Far too much grey for my tastes." (Marinette automatically smoothed her tulle skirt, which was a silvery grey.) "Oh, didn't you dabble in fashion every now and then, Marinette? How's that working out for you?"

Marinette thought wildly, I can't throttle her in public, the newspapers would have a field day.

"Marinette works for a tailor," Adrien answered for her. "Don't you, Mari?"

Thanks, Adrien, you're SO helpful. "That's right," said Marinette through gritted teeth. Chloé's eyes widened gleefully.

"Oh, how—er—dedicated of you! Don't worry, I'm sure you'll have your big break one day." She flashed a smirk that had Marinette just itching to transform and show Chloé a thing or two. Her career choices were none of Chloé's business. She fumed, clenching her fists tightly.

Either sensing that she might have gone a little too far or simply getting bored with her new game, Chloé grabbed her Louis Vuitton handbag and stood up. With her heels on, she towered a good few inches over Marinette, who had stupidly decided to wear pumps today.

"Not that it hasn't been fascinating to see you again, Marguerite—I mean, Marinette—but I really must dash, you've just reminded me I have an appointment with my hair stylist. Adrien, darling, it's just been wonderful to see you." Adrien had got to his feet as well, making Marinette feel that she was about three feet high between the pair of them. Chloé embraced him and kissed him noisily on both cheeks, then left, trailing a cloud of expensive perfume and a singsong "You two have fun!" behind her.

Crossing her arms, Marinette summoned all her strength and glared up at the blond giant beside her. For the first time, something in her eyes seemed to actually penetrate Adrien's apparent imperviousness to her frustration; he flushed slightly and even deigned to look slightly apologetic.

"Can I get you something to eat and drink?" he offered.

She hesitated. Part of her wanted to demand whether he had deliberately invited Chloé just to humiliate her. After all, he did know of their history, and for all she knew, this new Adrien might do that kind of thing for fun. But she couldn't help acknowledging that he hadn't really done anything wrong. He was allowed to meet other girls. It wasn't like she had any claim over him—completely the opposite, in fact; she couldn't be less connected to him if she tried. And kicking up a fuss about his choice of girlfriends was hardly the way to show that she didn't care about what he did with his free time.

Also, she really wanted a coffee.

"Yes please," she said at last. "Café au lait. And a mille-feuille." If she was going to spend some time alone with Adrien Agreste, she would definitely need a giant helping of crème patissière to get through it.

"Sure," he agreed. "I'll be right back."

"Thank you," she said, with a small smile. He went over to the counter to order it, and she looked down at Chloé's seat with distaste. It might be petty of her, but she didn't want to sit in Chloé's place. Instead, she took the chair opposite Adrien.

Only when she had sat down did the realisation occur to her that it was actually happening. She was having coffee with Adrien. Her past self would have been exploding with excitement and terror, but here she was, cool and collected (kind of, said a sarcastic voice in her head) and not desperate to fling herself into his arms. For the first time, she found herself wondering whether her adoration for Adrien—for the old Adrien, anyway—was justified. Had she put him on a pedestal? Was it unfair of her to expect him to live up to all those impossible standards she was sure he was capable of attaining?

He came back to the table and she pushed down the uncomfortable thoughts. She would think this over later.

"It's on its way," he explained, with another one of those thousand-kilowatt smiles.

"Thank you," she said again, shifting in her chair. He was upsettingly perfect as he sat opposite her—it made her feel incredibly self-conscious. His hair, cut short at the sides but a little longer where it curled over his forehead, was tousled as if he'd been running his fingers through it, and he was wearing a light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His eyes looked very green.

Why am I angry at him again?

…C'mon, Mari, pull yourself together!

"I'm sorry about Chloé," he said, to her astonishment. "I know she can be a bit… much. It was actually quite nice to catch up with her, though."

"Oh, so you are capable of apologising?"

The words tumbled out of Marinette's mouth before she could stop them, and then it was too late to catch them back and she stared at him, horrified.

There was a quite significant silence.

Then Adrien, grinning slightly, said, "Is this where you call me a dick again?"

Marinette, cherry-red, started babbling just like she had the other day. "No, no, I'm so sorry, that was incredibly rude of me, I didn't mean to say—"

"Yes you did," said Adrien calmly. "Go on. Spit it out."

"Excuse me?"

Adrien leaned back in his chair. He had once more assumed that intensely irritating air of arrogant laziness that somehow rubbed Marinette in all the wrong ways. "Spit it out," he repeated. "Just tell me whatever it is that's been making you look like you've stuck a finger in an electric socket ever since I saw you the other day."

In an electric socket? Marinette bristled with indignation. "As if you don't know!" she snapped.

"No, I don't." His eyes snapped at her in a kind of laughing challenge. "As far as I'm concerned, I've been nothing but nice to you. And you have been incredibly rude."

So he had noticed. Why hadn't he said anything? Marinette felt angry and embarrassed and confused all at once.

"You could have made me have a serious accident!" she blurted out. "And you didn't even say sorry to me!"

Adrien continued to look at her coolly. After a moment or two, he said: "That's it?"

"What do you mean, that's it?" she squawked. "Nearly killing me is enough, don't you think?"

The waitress, bringing Marinette's coffee and cake on a tray, gave them a distinctly alarmed look as she placed the drink in front of her. Marinette, flustered, gave her a smile that she hoped didn't look too manufactured, and the waitress left.

"You aren't having anything to drink?"

Adrien shook his head. "I had something earlier. But do continue—I believe you mentioned me trying to kill you?"

She glared at him. "This isn't funny."

"Agree to disagree."

"You know," Marinette said, throwing caution to the wind, "I don't think I like you very much anymore."

He leaned forwards, propping his chin in one hand. Marinette noticed, and hated herself for doing so, that he had rather nice forearms. "And that's supposed to bother me?"

She floundered. He kept saying the exact opposite of everything she was expecting him to. It was incredibly annoying. "No," she began furiously, before changing her mind. "Well, actually, yes! I thought we were friends!" In spite of herself, a little hurt entered her tone.

Adrien gave her a quick, startled look, this time free of what she was beginning to mentally designate his 'model mask'; then he looked down at the table.

"We were. Are. I hope." His voice was more serious now. "Don't doubt that, Marinette."

She picked up a fork and stabbed it into the mille-feuille, infuriated at herself for how much she liked how he said her name. I DO NOT HAVE A CRUSH ON ADRIEN AGRESTE. I DO NOT HAVE—

"The thing is," Adrien continued, "I've spent a lot of my life apologising for things. And when I left—when I left Paris, I promised myself I'd stop apologising for everything."

She looked at him directly, her attention caught. "But this was your fault," she pointed out.

"And for that, well, I do apologise." The corner of his mouth pulled up in a grin. "Mademoiselle, je suis vraiment desolé de vous avoir dérangé. I've been told I do drive recklessly at times. A bad habit."

Marinette returned to playing with her pastry, neither accepting nor rejecting his apology. She still had no idea what to make of all this. It wasn't exactly how she'd imagined this meeting going.

"But," he added, "I don't intend to say sorry for anything else. I know I'm different. I don't care."

Marinette jumped. Those green eyes were blazing into hers now, so intense she couldn't look away. "How did you—what do you—"

"Oh, c'mon, you're easier to read than a child's first picture book," he scoffed. He put on a high falsetto. "Oh, Adrien, you've changed! Why aren't you the nice boy I used to know?"

She couldn't decide whether to deny it, get angry, or laugh. She settled for none of them, instead cramming a bite of delicious, vanilla-infused custard and flaky pastry into her mouth. Still not as good as Maman's.

"So," said Adrien serenely, leaning back in his chair, though never taking his gaze off her. "Now that we've established that we're both all grown up, shall we begin?"

Adrien: *tries to stand up for himself for once* *comes across as a huge idiot*
Bless his little designer cotton socks.
Btw, the reason his apology is in French is that it somehow sounds more sarcastic not in English. It's not intended to sound mocking, but it's not exactly the world's most genuine apology either. 'Deranger' means 'to upset/bother/disturb', so it's a bit like saying 'I'm soooo sorry I inconvenienced you'.
Also, there's a link to Chloé's dress on my AO3 account version of this chapter if you wanna check it out :)
As always, thank you for your INCREDIBLE AMAZING reviews!