Marinette

The café was tucked into a quieter corner of Paris, well away from the typical tourist paths. Here, in this little pocket of the city, locals gathered for their afternoon coffees, and the bustle of Christmas shoppers was only a distant hum, softened by the gentle snowfall. Alya had chosen it specifically, no doubt, so they could sit and catch up without the interruption of the holiday crowds. Outside, bundled-up Parisians walked briskly along the side walks, their scarves and coats pulled tight against the chill, while tourists shuffled with maps and cameras, layering souvenirs over heavy coats, trying to navigate the unfamiliar streets.

Marinette couldn't help but notice how different she felt in her own attire. She was bundled up in an oversized camel coat with high-heeled boots that gave her a bit of extra height, and a chunky knitted scarf that looped around her neck in warm, effortless layers. Her style had shifted to fit New York's fast-paced energy, a bit more polished, a bit more daring—just enough to make her feel like a stranger in her own city for a moment.

But Alya, standing there in that little café, looked as if no time had passed at all. Marinette watched her friend, taking in the familiar, vibrant warmth that radiated from her, now with a touch more elegance. Alya's figure had filled out in subtle, graceful ways, lending her presence a quiet confidence. Her hair, too, seemed to have grown richer, shining under the soft café lights as she laughed with the Barista behind the counter. Her casual chic style—a fitted wool coat over a flowing dress and ankle boots—made her look effortlessly Parisian, blending seamlessly into the warmth of the café.

For a moment, Marinette just watched her friend, her heart swelling with a mix of nostalgia and affection. Alya hadn't changed, not in the ways that mattered. She still had that same bright, spirited look about her, the same sense of ease that Marinette had missed more than she'd let herself realise. It felt grounding, like being back on familiar soil, after too long away.

But as they made their way to a table, it was obvious that Alya didn't look back with as much fondness. The past was still a well constructed wall between them.

Alya was sipping from a mug of dark coffee—a drink she'd never touched at sixteen. There was a story there, one Marinette didn't know. It had been four years since they'd last seen each other, with only the occasional message here and there to check in, or wish the other 'Happy Birthday'–more out of obligation than want.

She'd once thought they'd be friends forever—that they'd grow older side by side, go to university together, stand as each other's maid of honour, then become godmothers to each other's children. But the day she packed up and moved to a different continent, she should have known things would change. Now, they lived different lives, both busy, both changed.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, her heart faltered as she saw the screen was blank. Just the picture of her and Johnny when they were ice skating outside the Rockefeller centre a week ago fading to black. She tapped the screen one last time, disappointment looming as it remained blank. He'd be awake by now, probably over at his mother's, getting ready for that evening's party.

She hated those parties with a passion—too many stuck-up snobs wandering around like they owned the place. She despised the fake-ness, the older men who treated her as if she were there for their entertainment, and how Johnny would parade her around before disappearing for hours. Not only that, but eventually disappearing for hours on end, leaving her alone without a second thought. She didn't know what he was doing during his absence, but she knew for certain he probably wasn't thinking about her.

But she deserved this cold shoulder. The more she thought about it, the more she found his argument valid. She shouldn't have been so selfish and understood his own reservations more.

They sat across from each other, drinks in hand, and avoiding eye contact as much as possible after a rather frosty greeting. What had she been thinking, coming here?

Marinette nursed a festive mint hot chocolate with marshmallows and extra whipped cream between her hands, hoping the sugar kick would support her through this. She was still tired and emotionally drained from the phone call, Johnny's reaction and the flight—add in seeing Adrien and Alya, and she was almost ready to collapse.

Perhaps she should have taken today to get used to the time zone. Ripping the bandage off wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

'So, how have you been?' Alya asked. Her voice was tense with caution, her shoulders still and raised.

'Good, thank you. How about you?'

Alya's smile brightened almost as much as the ring on her finger.

'What is that?' Marinette asked, her mouth gaping as she studied the most amazing diamond ring flashing back at her.

'Oh, this.' Alya brushed the hand, containing a crown jewel, through her hair. 'Nino asked me to marry him last year, and obviously I said yes.' Her smile was so warm, so full of love that Marinette's hand itched to grab her own phone to see if there was anything from Johnny again.

The shock must have been written all over her face. How did she not know? 'Oh, wow! That's incredible news. I'm so happy for you guys! Have you set a date yet?'

The uncomfortable shuffle in her chair was the only answer she needed. Yes, they had set a date. No, she wasn't invited. 'It's — um — it's New Year's Eve.'

'As in —'

'Three weeks time,' Alya interrupted.

The shock transformed into hurt, a look which must have been evident on her face. Alya winced, and her eyes moved away to the window. Marinette was meant to have been the maid of honour. She was supposed to have designed Alya's one of a kind MDC wedding dress, but she wasn't even invited. Her best friend, her only best friend (without a mask) was getting married to the love of her life—who got together thanks to her. She should be there. She should have known.

'Woah! That's really — wow! New Year's Eve?' The words struggled past the lump in her throat and the pain that resided with it.

Alya's face brightened up. 'Venues tend to be booked years in advance, but Adrien called in a few favours. Apparently when you have a face like his, you can pretty much charm everyone into doing favours.'

The name stabbed her in the gut. Adrien. Her Adrien. Yet, he wasn't any more. She'd been the deciding factor of that. It hurt to see he was still as wonderful and caring as ever, and involved in their lives in a way she was not. Her hand hovered over her phone again. If only Johnny was as considerate.

'Enough about me,' she said uncomfortably. 'How about you? Still with that guy?' She didn't even know Johnny's name. Was that how little she cared, or did she just not know?

'Yeah,' Marinette said. 'Johnny and I have been together for almost three years now.'

Alya nodded before picking up her drink and holding it to her lips. Marinette wasn't even sure she was swallowing anything. The more time she spent here, the more she could see Alya had firmly chosen a side, and it wasn't hers.

'I've missed you,' Marinette said, her teeth biting her lower lip as she threw out an olive branch. It wasn't a lie. New York was lonely. All she had was work and Johnny.

Alya placed the cup down gently, the amount of liquid still sitting in there proof that Marinette was right, she hadn't been drinking.

'Marinette,' Alya said her name so formally she thought she was about to get fired from the Françoise Dupont 'Class of 2017' WhatsApp group. 'We all tried to call you. Hell, Adrien almost went to New York to be with you. You ditched us. We never hear from you anymore. I really miss you, but I'm not sure where we can go from here. As soon as he came on the scene, it was as though we never existed.'

'A-Adrien was going to come to New York?' That cut the rope still holding her to the group, sending her free-falling down into the great void. Why was he coming to see her?

Alya sighed and ran a hand through her thick red hair. 'I'm sorry. It's not my place to say. I shouldn't have said anything.'

Marinette's thoughts were nothing more than a jumbled mess. Something in the back of her mind telling that this was always what she wanted. She had wanted Adrien to chase her, wanted him to see this as a big mistake...just as she did—had. But he hadn't come. So she'd found someone else, and so had he if the call she'd heard at the airport was anything to go by. Nothing more than water under a bridge.

'I — um — I suppose I should try to catch up with him at some point. Really Alya, I didn't know, I swear. He never said.'

A sad smile crossed her friend's face. 'I know.' Silence stretched between them, Alya's face contorting like she wanted to say more. 'Maybe we could meet up again soon. How long are you here for?'

Forever! The thought shocked her. Half a day back in Paris, and she wanted to stay, but her life wasn't here any more, she didn't belong here any more. 'A couple of weeks. My plane back is on the 23rd.'

'We have time then,' Alya said. It seemed after her outburst she was done with her grudge, a metaphorical line drawn underneath.

They both picked up their drinks, this time taking proper sips, not just blocking themselves in defence. Alya stifled a giggle as whipped cream clung to Marinette's top lip, giving her a foamy little moustache. She blinked, catching Alya's amused expression before realising and quickly wiping it away with a laugh.

'So,' Alya began, setting her mug down with a smile still tugging at her lips, 'how's life in New York? I never see anything on any of your socials any more.'

That's because she didn't have them. One of the things Johnny had warned her about when they'd started dating was the trolls lurking in the shadows. When she'd started working for his mother, she had placed herself as a prime target to make people find her and pass judgement on how she received her position in his mother's company. Johnny was protecting her from that pain as much as he could.

She shrugged, tracing her finger along the rim of her mug. 'Busy, chaotic, a little overwhelming sometimes. But... exciting, I guess? It's hard to explain.'

Alya nodded, leaning forward. 'Sounds intense. Do you miss home at all?'

'More than I thought I would.' Her gaze drifted to the window, watching the snow dust the streets. 'There's nothing like Paris at Christmas.'

Alya's smile softened. 'True. And I suppose it's not the same without you here causing trouble.'

'I fix trouble, not cause it.' She laughed, Alya flicking her eyes over to Marinette's ears.

'You've put your earrings in again,' she said.

Marinette automatically reached for the studs. 'Yeah.'

'And how does it feel?'

She smiled, the brightest she had in years. 'Good... Actually, not just good.' Her smile widened. 'It's great.'

*****

Adrien

Adrien closed the door softly behind him, leaving Sophia and Emily giggling in the lounge as they built towers from stray building blocks. He moved down the hall toward the study—once his father's sacred space, now an awkward reminder of a past he tried not to dwell on too much.

The place looked almost like a museum piece: dark mahogany walls lined with meticulously organised shelves of rare books, many of which Adrien doubted anyone had touched in years. A massive antique desk sat in the centre, its surface pristine and gleaming, flanked by elegant leather-bound ledgers and an old-fashioned brass lamp casting a dim glow over everything. Heavy velvet curtains, the same deep green as the upholstered armchairs in the corner, blocked out most of the morning light, giving the room a timeless, almost daunting atmosphere. This room had never been touched since the day of his father's not-so-noble 'sacrifice'.

Everything in here had been chosen to project power, authority—qualities his father had embodied all too well. Adrien had never felt entirely comfortable here, but it was the one place in the house where he felt he could make this call without interruptions. And this needed no interruptions.

He took a steadying breath, pulled out his phone, and dialled Ivy. It rang twice before she picked up, her voice smooth and chipper, even through the receiver.

'Adrien! I was just thinking about you!'

He didn't waste time on pleasantries. 'Ivy, you need to retract those posts on Instagram. People are getting the wrong idea—they think we're together.'

There was a beat of silence, then a slight rustle as if she were adjusting her stance. 'Oh... oh no, Adrien, that wasn't my intention! That was just my publicist. She thought it would... add a little fun to things. But I'll have them taken down right away.'

Her voice sounded bright, sincere, and yet there was an edge to it that he couldn't quite place. He could almost picture her hand fluttering to her chest, performing remorse in the most dramatic of ways.

She sighed, 'I'm really, really sorry. I didn't mean for this to cause you any trouble.'

Adrien rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of the room pressing in. 'Just... make sure it doesn't happen again, Ivy. I - um - I'm sorry if you took the dates for more than what they were.' He reached up, scratching the back of his neck. 'I'm just not in a place for a relationship at the moment. I have a lot going on.'

'Of course,' she replied, her tone dipped in sweet apology. He hoped she was being honest, that this wasn't just a game to her. She hadn't seemed like the type to do that, but now he had Emily to think about. He couldn't afford the kiss and tell stories, or the lies. Whatever was said about him was about her, too.

'Well, thanks for that.'

'Anytime. I was thinking, maybe once I'm back in Paris we could go to that café you mentioned. The one near the Sacré-Coeur?' Adrien winced, completely forgetting he'd mentioned that in passing the café he used to take Marinette to on dates. He didn't want to share that place with anyone else. That was theirs.

'Like I said, I have a lot going on at the moment, so I can't make any commitments.' Geez, he was such a weakling. Why couldn't he just say to her that he wasn't interested, that no matter how many dates they went on he was still trying to get over his ex-girlfriend, and his superhero partner might suddenly be back in his life who would was a solid number two on his 'list'. Why couldn't he just be normal? Whatever that was.

'Sure.' She definitely didn't believe him. He ended the call and took a deep breath. He needed to pull himself back together before returning to the girls. Sophia was already curious about his life. The last thing he wanted to do was give his nanny more ammunition to think he was crazy.

Finally, feeling level-headed, he exited the study and headed back to the girls. 'Right,' he said, clapping his hands together. 'Who's ready for the dance show?'

Emily squealed in delight, running for the staircase, with Sophia and Adrien following her. The looks from his nanny questioning him, his own response coming in the form of a non-committal shoulder shrug.

A couple of hours later, he was standing outside their old collège with a wad of tickets in his hands. Emily's first dance show, and he wasn't entirely sure who was more excited – him or her. As always, the whole gang was there to support Emily. Ivan and Mylène. Zoé, Marc and Nathaniel, Max, Kim, Alix and, of course, Nino and Alya. As he handed tickets to Juleka and Rose, he couldn't help the way his eyes had drifted over to the boulangerie. Should he go over and see if Marinette wanted to join them? Nah, that wouldn't do any good. Alya's response to their brief meeting this afternoon was all Adrien needed to know she wouldn't be entirely welcome.

Everyone, for some reason, had taken it upon themselves to choose sides. There was nothing to choose, though. Marinette had initiated it, but he'd been in full agreement. If she hadn't done it first, he would have had to. There was no other choice. But their friends didn't see it that way. They saw it as Marinette dumping and running, but that wasn't it at all. She'd had an opportunity, and she took it. Something he was proud of. The others didn't see it the same way as him. They believed she should have checked in more, she should have been around more. He said it was fine. They said he was just in shock and depressed.

Emily had been his little secret for so long, and his friends and Marinette's parents had honoured his wishes that nobody else found out–Marinette included.

As Luka pounded up the steps, closely followed by Félix and Kagami, Adrien gave the boulangerie one last, quick look. He would need to speak to her at some point, but tonight was about Emily, and nobody would get in the way of that.