Chapter Text
One Monday afternoon, sitting with her three friends in the cafeteria, Marinette witnesses the beginning of the end for Adrien Agreste.
The conversation had started out innocently enough: they’d been thanking Alya for the dinner they had at her apartment the other night, where she’d cooked up a phenomenal curry for the four of them.
“We should all repay the favor sometime,” Nino suggests. “Don’t you think?”
“Oh!” Alya says. “Like, we have dinner at each of our places? And each of us cooks for the other three?”
“Yeah,” Nino says. “Wouldn’t that be cool?”
“It would be,” Alya says. “But rich-and-famous here has probably never turned on a stove in his life.”
“I know how cooking works!” Adrien protests loudly. “I’m not stupid.”
“Oh?” Alya says. She steeples her fingers in front of her face. “So if I asked you to cook dinner for the four of us this Friday, you could?”
“I—I mean. I’m not a professional chef, so it would be hard for me to juggle too many dishes. I might…uh…” His eyes slide over to Marinette, who’s sitting next to him. “Need help?”
Oh, that’s for certain. Adrien definitely needs help right now.
“Alright, top model,” Alya says. “So if, say, Marinette helped you out—”
“Alya!” Marinette says. “Don’t drag me into this!”
“Then you could put together a meal?” Alya finishes.
“Absolutely,” Adrien says.
Marinette glares at Alya. “Why me?”
“Because you’re clumsy enough that you won’t give him an advantage,” Alya says. Before Marinette can properly feel insulted, Alya leans close and whispers, “And because it means you get to spend quality time with lover boy over there.”
“Alya!” Marinette says.
“I don’t think you’re a disadvantage, Marinette,” Adrien says, smiling. “Why don’t we both take this opportunity to prove Alya wrong?”
Knowing that she’ll regret it, Marinette nods. “Okay.”
She’s almost positive that this won’t end well for Adrien. She’s also pretty sure that her quality time with him will consist of setting pans on fire and dropping ingredients on the ground. But if there’s even a slight chance that she can save him from embarrassment, or make a bit of progress in the romance department, she’ll take it.
“Great!” Adrien says. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Judging by his slightly wide-eyed look, he is not looking forward to it.
“Ah!” Alya says, holding up a finger. “One more thing.”
Marinette watches Adrien’s entire body go rigid. “Ah—what would that be?”
“Stakes,” Alya says. “Every bet needs stakes.”
Adrien smiles uneasily. “Is that so?”
“If you win…” Alya considers. “You get to pick the next three shows we binge watch together.”
“But it was going to be my turn next!” Nino says.
“Sorry, babe,” Alya says. “I have to offer him something valuable.”
Nino groans. “You know he’s going to pick one of those anime shows that has, like, one hundred episodes, right?”
“Three,” Adrien says gleefully. “She said I could pick three.”
Of course, Marinette realizes what Alya must be thinking: that even with Marinette’s assistance—if it can be called that—Adrien still probably won’t be able to pull this off. Otherwise Alya wouldn’t have offered something so sacred to the devoted weeaboo in their midst.
“That’s right,” Alya says. “Any three shows—but three hundred episodes, max. We can only take so much.”
“And if you win?” Adrien asks.
“Make him buy us pizza that night so that we don’t starve,” Nino says.
Adrien snorts. “I can do that.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of implied,” Alya says. “But for the actual bet…”
The entire table holds its breath as she deliberates. What could Adrien possibly offer in return, that’s equal to three hundred episodes of anime?
“I’ve got it!” Alya says, grinning. “If I win, you and Marinette have to take my sisters to a Salade de Fruits concert.”
“Oh, man,” Nino says. “Alya, that’s harsh.”
Adrien’s face is that of a man who has just been handed a wasp nest on a stick. “You—you mean the kid’s band with the—the—”
“That’s right,” Alya says. “And they really like Monsieur Banane. They’ll probably want to get an autograph from him. Maybe a picture with all five of you.”
“A…picture…” Adrien’s skin looks vaguely green. Like an unripe banana, Marinette’s traitorous mind says.
“Is there something I’m missing?” Marinette asks.
Alya shrugs. “Apparently Adrien has some sort of strange hatred toward Monsieur Banane and the rest of the band. Don’t ask me why.”
At that, Adrien seems to snap out of his panicked daze. “Wait. I never told you that.”
“No,” Alya says. “Nino mentioned it to me.”
“Nino!” Adrien says.
“I’m sorry!” Nino says. “I thought it was common knowledge!”
“Why would I tell Alya about my aversion to Monsieur Banane?”
“To be fair, you never really told me about it, either,” Nino says. “I still have no idea why you hate him so much.”
“It’s the suit,” Adrien says, crossing his arms. “I don’t like it. It’s too yellow. And banana-y.”
Marinette nods. “It is both of those things.”
Of course, she has her own strange relationship with the banana suit, since she’s fought alongside it twice when Chat was forced to wear it to battle. Marinette makes a mental note to design him a backup suit that is neither yellow nor banana-y.
“Please, Alya,” Adrien says. “Anything but that. You can even change your terms! I don’t need three hundred episodes of anime. I’ll accept thirty. Or fifteen. Or a commemorative keychain.” He glances at Marinette with wide, pleading eyes that say, Please talk your best friend out of this sadistic idea.
“What are you worried about?” Alya says. “As long as your cooking is passable, there shouldn’t be any problem.” She raises an eyebrow. “Unless you don’t know how to use an oven after all…?”
“No, you’re right,” Adrien says firmly. “I have nothing to worry about.” His feigned confidence is really quite impressive. Marinette almost believes him. “You’re on, Césaire.”
As Marinette watches Adrien and Alya shake hands across the table, though, she knows there’s no way on earth that Adrien Agreste is going to pull this off.
Later that day, the terms of the bet are clarified over text. Friday morning, Alya will present Adrien with five recipes to choose from, and he’ll make his selection; then she and Nino will buy the ingredients and bring them to Marinette’s house after school. Marinette can tell Adrien where different kitchen utensils are kept, and she can prep or mix some ingredients for him—but the bulk of the cooking has to be done by Adrien.
Despite her nerves when it comes to talking with Adrien, Marinette works up the courage to send him a text after school. Are you sure about this bet with Alya?
Almost instantly, Adrien responds. Marinette wonders if he was about to text her. Sure! As long as she doesn’t ask me to make a soufflé or something, I’ll be fine.
Marinette frowns at her phone. She doesn’t want to push, but she’s almost positive that Adrien has no idea what he’s doing in a kitchen. Do you want me to text you some cooking guides or something?
Marinette! I told you, I know how cooking works!
It’s so adorably petulant that Marinette can’t help but laugh. So you don’t need any guides?
I guess you can send them if it will make you feel better =^.^=
“If it will make me feel better,” Marinette mutters. “Tikki, can you believe him? Who is he trying to fool?”
“He’s probably just embarrassed!” Tikki says, perching on Marinette’s shoulder. “He grew up in a different environment. Maybe he didn’t have anyone to teach him how to cook when he was younger.”
Marinette sighs. “You’re right.” Often, she forgets that Adrien missed out on a lot of common life experiences when he was younger: sleepovers, birthday parties, going to concerts. It makes sense that he doesn’t know how to cook. It’s also kind of sad, when she thinks about it. “Okay, I’ll play along.”
I’ll send you a few links, Marinette texts him. That way you can brush up on anything you’ve forgotten. Also, you should be prepared in case Alya decides to throw you a curveball. You know she probably will.
Ugh. That’s a good point, Adrien responds. Thanks, Marinette! You’re the best :)
Marinette can’t stop herself from squealing. She’s glad he can’t hear her over text. “Tikki!” she says. “He said I was the best!” She clutches her phone to her chest. “The best! But—the best at what?” She glances at Tikki frantically. “What does he mean? Am I the best in general? The best at texting? The best at sending cooking guides?” Groaning, she falls onto her chaise lounge. “What does he mean, Tikki?”
Tikki giggles. “I don’t know! But make sure you text him back.”
Marinette sits up. “Right! Cooking guides.”
After searching for fifteen minutes, she manages to find three guides that are easy to understand without being patronizing. Hoping she doesn’t offend Adrien, she sends him the links.
A minute later, he replies. These look good! Thanks again, Marinette :)
Not one, but two smiley faces? Is Adrien Agreste trying to kill her? Marinette feels like she just stuck her face in front of an open oven.
No problem! she texts back. Then she throws her phone on the ground, grabs the nearest pillow-like object (her purse), and screams into it.
“Marinette?” Tikki says. “Is that a happy scream, or a bad one?”
“It’s a je-ne-sais-pas one,” Marinette grumbles. “On one hand, I get to spend hours in the kitchen with the love of my life. On the other hand, I have to spend hours in the kitchen with the love of my life.”
“Um.” Tikki blinks. “You just said the same thing twice.”
“Because I don’t know!” Marinette says. “It’s a great excuse to spend time with Adrien, but there’s no way he’s going to learn how to cook by Friday. I don’t want to watch him embarrass himself.” She sighs. “And I know I’m going to embarrass myself, too. I’m always more of a klutz around him. I’ll probably just make things worse.”
“Don’t say that, Marinette!” Tikki says. “Maybe things will work out. Adrien’s smart! I’m sure he can teach himself.” She nudges Marinette’s cheek. “And you’ll be fine, too! You’re Ladybug. You can handle a few hours in the kitchen with Adrien.”
“Right,” Marinette says. “I can…handle…”
But her brain is stuck on the phrase hours in the kitchen with Adrien. Adrien, standing in her kitchen! Adrien, using her favorite spatula! Adrien, throwing vegetable peels in her compost bin!
What if his hips brush hers as he walks to the trash can? What if they both reach for the hand grater at the same time, and their fingers touch? Marinette can see it in her mind: Adrien glances up, cheeks faintly pink, and says, “You can have it. I’ll use the box grater.”
“Adrien,” she sighs, lying back down on the chaise lounge with a dreamy smile.
By Friday, of course, she’ll be panicking, and her kitchen will be a disaster area. But it doesn’t hurt to fantasize in the meantime.
That night, just as Marinette is drifting off to sleep, an idea pops into her mind like spitting oil.
“Lessons!” she says, sitting up.
Tikki hums sleepily from the pillow. “Lessons?”
“Adrien,” Marinette says, feeling around for her phone. “I completely forgot he has a personal chef! I bet she can help him.” Squinting at her screen in the darkness, she pulls up her last conversation with him. “I just have to make him think it’s his idea, not mine.”
She quickly sends Adrien a text. You have a personal chef, right? If you need any refreshers before Alya’s challenge on Friday, maybe you could check with her.
“Marinette,” Tikki says, “why didn’t you wait until the morning? It’s almost midnight.”
Marinette stares at her phone in horror as the text delivers. “Oh, mon dieu. It’s midnight. I’m going to wake Adrien up, and he’s not going to get enough sleep—and sleep deprivation can affect you for days, so he’s going to be tired on Friday, and it’s going to be my fault if he—”
“Oh, look!” Tikki says. “He responded.”
“Ack!” Marinette tosses her phone at the foot of the bed. “I can’t look. He’s probably mad at me.”
Why is Adrien awake this late at night? Suddenly, Marinette has a terrible vision of Adrien staring at his phone for hours, frantically reading cooking guides until he can’t keep his eyes open.
Tikki floats to the edge of the bed and peers at Marinette’s discarded phone. “Don’t worry! He’s not.”
Hesitantly, Marinette crawls over to the phone and glances down at the text.
Probably not an option. I asked her a question about chicken earlier and she chased me out of the kitchen snapping her tongs at me.
Marinette snorts. She didn’t.
She did. I’m just glad she was holding tongs instead of a knife.
As Marinette types a response, her stomach growls loudly. “Ugh,” she says. “I shouldn’t have gotten up. Now I’m hungry.”
“Does that mean we can get a midnight snack?” Tikki asks excitedly. She’s always eager for an excuse to eat more sweets.
“I think so,” Marinette says.
Sighing, she climbs down from her bed and slips downstairs. In the kitchen, she fumbles along the wall for the light switch, until Tikki manages to find it instead. A moment later, the kitchen is flooded with soft yellow light.
As Marinette creeps toward the counter, her phone buzzes with another text from Adrien.
So is there a reason you were lying awake at midnight thinking about my personal chef?
Marinette knows she can’t tell Adrien the truth—that she’s worried he has no idea how to cook—so she settles for a half-truth instead. My stomach was growling. It made me wish I had a personal chef so I wouldn’t have to make myself a midnight snack.
A midnight snack? So what’s on the menu, Chef Dupain-Cheng?
Marinette glances at Tikki. There’s really only one answer. Cookies.
A true delicacy, Adrien responds.
Marinette smiles at Adrien’s response as she drags the cookie jar across the counter. Do those even exist in your house?
In my secret stash :3
I’ll bring cookies to school tomorrow, Marinette types. They’ll be better than your stash.
Really?
She can imagine his expression as he reads her text: wide-eyed, mouth open slightly. It’s the same adorable look he wears every time Marinette brings pastries to class.
Of course! Marinette says. It’s no trouble. I live in a bakery, after all.
Are you sure? You don’t have to bring me cookies, you know.
Tikki nudges Marinette’s arm and gestures to the cookie jar. Laughing quietly, Marinette lifts the lid for her, then types a response to Adrien. Think of them as fuel! You’ll need extra energy this week if you’re going to win Alya’s bet.
She winces as she hits send. Why did she have to bring up that sore spot again? The conversation had been going surprisingly well until she did that! Now Adrien’s probably never going to text her again.
I don’t need energy, Adrien replies. Just a little luck, maybe. Good thing I have this!
Marinette’s heart melts when a photo pops up on her phone screen. It’s a picture of Adrien’s hand, holding the Lucky Charm that she gave him.
“Tikki!” Marinette says. “He still has it!”
“Of course he does,” Tikki says, nibbling on a cookie.
“Oh, no!” Marinette says. “I left mine upstairs! I—I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll get it!” Tikki says.
For a long moment, she glances at the cookie in her paws. Then, with the kwami equivalent of a shrug, she opens her mouth wider than Marinette’s ever seen and shoves the entire cookie down her throat.
Marinette stares at her, aghast. “Tikki. Where did it go?”
As if nothing’s happened, Tikki darts back through the open trapdoor to Marinette’s room. She returns a moment later with the lucky charm that Adrien gave Marinette for her birthday.
Hastily, Marinette holds up the charm and takes a photo. She sends it to Adrien with the message, I have mine too!
Double the luck :)
Marinette finally grabs a cookie and takes a bite, texting with one hand. So if all you need is luck…you don’t want me to bring you cookies tomorrow?
Adrien’s reply comes almost immediately, and in three parts:
I DIDN’T SAY THAT
PLEASE STILL BRING COOKIES
marinette i swear you and your family are the only people around here who actually know how to make cookies
A smile spreads across Marinette’s face. She takes another bite of her cookie, scattering crumbs on her hand as she does. That’s because other bakers in this arrondissement are mystified by American recipes.
Well, I’m mystified by your incredible baking skills.
Blushing, Marinette pops the rest of the cookie in her mouth. Flattery accepted. I’ll bring you cookies tomorrow.
Adrien’s response consists of confetti emojis.
Also, Marinette types. I’m no professional chef, but you can text me if you have any questions before Friday. I’m not sure if I’m a good teacher, but I did teach Nino how to bake a pie for his parents’ anniversary once, so…
As soon as she hits send, she realizes that she’s implied Adrien needs cooking lessons. Hastily, she sends a second message.
Not that you need lessons! I just meant that if you have any last-minute questions, you can ask me.
Adrien responds, Yeah, Nino told me about that! He said you’re a good teacher :) And honestly, my baking skills are pretty bad. Would you teach me how to bake a pie, if I asked?
Marinette barely smothers a squeal. She doesn’t want to wake her parents up by screaming in the kitchen—but how can she not, when Adrien just asked her for baking lessons? Forget Alya’s bet. This is Marinette’s opportunity to spend more time with Adrien.
Her mind drifts back to her fantasies from earlier about being in the kitchen with Adrien. She hugs her arms around herself, imagining how he’d wrap his arms around her from behind as she mixes ingredients. His chin on her shoulder, maybe a kiss behind her ear…
Her phone buzzes with another text, startling her. Obviously you don’t have to, if it would be too much trouble.
No, no! Marinette responds. I’d love to! But let’s get through this week, first ;)
She gasps as the text delivers. “Oh, no!”
“What’s wrong?” Tikki asks. She’s clutching another cookie. Marinette has no idea how many she’s eaten so far.
“I—I sent a winky face!”Marinette says. “Oh, this is a disaster!”
Seconds later, she nearly faints at Adrien’s response: Okay! But after that, you’re teaching me how to bake. It can be my reward for winning Alya’s bet ;)
“Tikki!” Marinette says. “He sent a winky face!”
Tikki giggles quietly. “You two are flirting!”
“We aren’t flirting,” Marinette hisses. “We’re just—just—urgh!”
She decides to reply with something safe. I’m looking forward to it :)
Me too! But I should probably go to bed now. I’ll see you tomorrow! Enjoy your midnight snack.
You too, Marinette responds. I mean, I’ll see you tomorrow. I wasn’t saying to enjoy your midnight snack, because you don’t have a midnight snack. Face burning, she adds, Bonne nuit!
Bonne nuit, Marinette :)
She sets her phone on the counter, trying to take measured breaths. “Tikki! How—how many emoticons was that?”
Tikki floats over to Marinette’s phone and scrolls back through the conversation. “Five!”
Marinette gasps. “Five! He sent five?” She grabs the phone and looks through the conversation. “Oh, mon dieu. You’re right. Five! Combined with our conversation earlier…” She scrolls back further and counts three more—including a cat emoticon, which she’d somehow failed to notice earlier. Odd. “Eight! He sent me eight emoticons today!”
“You’re making progress, Marinette!” Tikki says, smiling. “Now you just need to work on talking to him in person!”
Marinette groans. “That’s harder. I can only text him because I’m not looking at his face! And because I can’t stutter over text.”
With a sigh, she peers inside the cookie jar to pick the nicest ones for Adrien. Then she freezes. “Tikki.”
“I’m sorry!” Tikki says, eyes wide. “I wasn’t paying attention!”
Marinette stares at the empty cookie jar for a few more seconds. “I can check downstairs,” she says. “There might be some extra cookies lying around.”
As she crosses to the apartment door, she thinks back over her conversation with Adrien. She’d been hoping his chef could help him, but if not…
“Maybe Adrien does know how to cook!” Marinette says. “He could just be self-conscious or embarrassed. After all, he’s smart and talented! He must know how to make something.”
“Maybe!” Tikki agrees. “But there’s nothing wrong with him if he doesn’t!”
“Right,” Marinette says. “Of course! I just meant—”
With a tiny gasp, Tikki suddenly darts into the bookshelf and hides.
“Tikki?” Marinette says. “What…”
Before she can finish her question, she hears something tapping against the window glass behind her. As Marinette slowly turns around, she can’t believe her eyes. Shaded by moonlight, Chat Noir is clinging to the window of her living room, one hand raised in greeting.
Marinette stumbles over to the window and unlatches it, then cracks it open a few centimeters. “Chat Noir!” she whispers. “What are you doing here?”
He grins. “Looking for a midnight snack?”
Crossing her arms, Marinette says, “I hope you’re talking about food, and not me.”
Still smiling, he asks, “Can I come in?”
With a sigh, Marinette pushes the window open the rest of the way. “Just keep your voice down. My parents are asleep.”
“Of course,” Chat says. He climbs inside and carefully closes the window behind him, then smiles at Marinette. “Cute pajamas, by the way.”
Marinette’s face burns. She hugs her arms closer to her chest. “I didn’t expect to have company.”
“Apologies,” Chat says. “I decided to come here rather spontaneously.”
“Of course you did,” Marinette mutters.
Chat’s ears flatten slightly, and Marinette winces. She’d forgotten about his enhanced hearing. “Do you want me to leave?” he asks.
“No! No. Um, you can follow me,” Marinette says, walking back to the front door of the apartment. “I was just about to look for cookies downstairs. If you behave yourself, I might give you one.”
With an excited chirp—how does he make such convincing cat sounds?—Chat follows her out the door and down the stairs.
As they walk, Marinette tries not to let her confusion show on her face. Of course, she’s not uncomfortable spending time with Chat, since they’re partners. But he rarely comes by the bakery. In fact, she can count on one hand the number of times he’s visited when there wasn’t an akuma attack. What could possibly have inspired him to stop by now?
Marinette knows that he probably won’t tell her his real reason. For all of his extroversion and cheer, Chat is surprisingly guarded about some things.
“So,” Marinette says, as she lets them into the bakery. “Did you run into traffic on the way here?”
Chat laughs. “No. Surprisingly, there aren’t too many cars on the rooftops at this time of night.”
Marinette flicks on the lights, illuminating the room. Although she’s lived in the bakery her entire life, she still finds it eerie sometimes to see the space downstairs empty and quiet, without the scent of fresh-baked goods or the sound of her parents’ voices.
“It’s bizarre, seeing the place so quiet,” Chat says, voicing her thoughts. His nose twitches. “Usually there are smells, and sounds, and…well, people.”
“Well, we’re people,” Marinette says, smiling. She opens one of the gigantic fridges and peers inside. “Let’s see…”
“Whoa,” Chat says. “Marinette, that fridge is huge.”
“Paws to yourself, minou,” she says.
“I’ll try.”
Rolling her eyes, Marinette begins searching the fridge for leftover cookies. When that fails, she checks around the rest of the bakery, peering into various containers and shelves.
“Merde,” she mutters.
“No luck?” Chat asks. “You know, we don’t have to eat cookies. Some of those other leftovers looked pretty good.”
“But I need cookies for Adrien!” Marinette exclaims. When Chat raises his eyebrows, she finds herself blushing and adding, “I—I promised my friend that I would bring him cookies tomorrow.”
“Hm.” Chat shrugs. “If you tell him you ran out, I’m sure he’ll understand. You can just bring him a croissant or some—”
“No!” Marinette says. “No, I promised cookies.”
Chat glances around the bakery, then back at her. “Princesse, you’re not going to bake a batch now, are you?”
“Oh, I certainly am.” Marinette scampers around the kitchen, turning on the oven and pulling out various utensils and ingredients. “My parents won’t mind. It’s not the first time I’ve done some late-night baking.” She slams two mixing bowls onto the counter and grabs a measuring cup, then hastily measures out the flour into one of the bowls. “You can wait here. It won’t take too long.”
Chat strolls around to the other side of the counter and leans against it, watching her work. “I’ve never tried making cookies before,” he says. “Is it hard?”
“American cookie recipes can be a little tricky if you don’t have the right ingredients,” Marinette says, as she adds salt and baking powder into the bowl. “You have to make a few adjustments. Sometimes there are differences in flour, brown sugar, things like that.”
Resting his chin on his hands, Chat says, “Seems like you’re pretty good at this.”
“Obviously,” Marinette says. She turns to the other bowl and dumps in the sugar. “My parents are bakers, Chat.”
“Right. And, uh…how’s your cooking?”
“I mean, I know what I’m doing in the kitchen,” she says, dropping sticks of butter into the bowl of sugar. “Sometimes I overcook things or make mistakes, but that’s mostly because I’m clumsy.”
Chat nods and hums to himself, as if Marinette has said something particularly intriguing. “Interesting.”
Pausing, Marinette glances up. “What?”
“Oh, nothing.” Chat smiles mischievously. “Just thinking.”
Rolling her eyes, Marinette retrieves the hand mixer and plugs it into the nearest outlet. She doesn’t have time to worry about Chat’s cryptic remarks. She needs to focus on making cookies for Adrien.
The next few minutes pass in silence, aside from the whirring of the mixer and the scraping of Marinette’s spatula against the sides of the bowl. As she works, she feels Chat’s eyes on her, tracking her every movement.
“Am I really that interesting to watch?” she asks, as she finishes creaming the butter and sugar. Cheeks burning, she adds the eggs to the mixture and stirs after each addition. “You’re staring.”
Chat blinks. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t realize.”
Cheeks burning, Marinette pours the dry ingredients into the mixing bowl. “You know,” she says, as she mixes the dough, “you could make yourself useful, instead of just sitting there.”
“I’m not just sitting here,” Chat says, with a lopsided smile. “I’m giving moral support.”
“Well, why don’t you take that ‘moral support’ and use it to pour those chocolate disks into this bowl?”
“Uh.” Chat tentatively picks up the bowl of chocolate. “Like…how, exactly?”
Marinette raises an eyebrow. “Just dump them in?”
“Sure.” Chat frowns, then pours the chocolate pieces into the bowl of dough. “Like that?”
“Yes.” Marinette gently stirs until the chocolate is incorporated into the dough. “Now, if it’s not too much trouble, you could also put some cookies on that baking sheet for me.”
Distantly, she knows she shouldn’t be so commanding with Chat. But it’s so easy to fall into their usual camaraderie, especially when he acts so casually around her. She keeps forgetting she’s not Ladybug right now.
Chat grimaces. “I could, but…I’ve never made cookies before. I have no idea what to do.”
Marinette tries not to act shocked. After all, plenty of people have never made cookies. “It’s simple,” she says. She grabs a scoop and uses it to plop a ball of cookie dough onto the baking sheet. Then she hands the scoop to Chat. “Think you can handle that?”
As if he’s handling a dangerous weapon, Chat accepts the scoop from Marinette. “Uh, sure.”
Marinette presses her lips together, watching as Chat mirrors her movements and deposits a ball of cookie dough next to the first. She’s not sure she’s ever seen him this nervous before. “Like that?” he asks.
“Just like that,” Marinette says. “Now do the rest.”
Tongue pinned between his teeth, Chat makes several more cookie balls. “You know, princesse,” he says, as he makes his seventh, “I came by for food, not labor.”
“If you want to eat cookies, then you should help make them,” Marinette says.
“But aren’t they for Adrien?” Chat asks, a smile playing at his lips. “Doesn’t that mean he should help make them?”
“I—uh!” Marinette laughs nervously and wills her mind not to conjure any more fantasies of baking with Adrien. Not while Chat is there to make fun of her. “He’s asleep right now. Even if he was allowed to leave his house, I wouldn’t drag him out of bed to make cookies this late at night.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Chat says. He drops the last ball of dough onto the cookie sheet. “This is kind of fun. I bet he wouldn’t mind being woken up for this.”
“Maybe,” Marinette says, even though she doubts that Adrien would enjoy doing manual labor in her kitchen when he could be sleeping. “I’ll stick these in the oven, and then we just have to wait a few minutes.”
As the cookies bake, she and Chat talk about random things: video games, her school’s high akumatization rate, the best cafés in the area. At one point, Chat admits that he’s been to the Dupain-Cheng bakery as a civilian before.
Marinette’s eyes widen, and before she can stop herself, she says, “Have I seen you there?”
“Maybe,” Chat says, with a wink.
Marinette tries not to think too much about that.
When the cookies are done, Marinette pulls the baking sheet out and sets it down to cool. She’s pretty sure Chat starts drooling a little.
He reaches across the counter for one, and Marinette slaps his wrist. “Not yet!” she says. “They’re too hot.”
Chat wiggles his fingers. “Superhero suit, princesse. It’s heat-resistant.”
“Oh?” Marinette says, folding her arms. “And I suppose your tongue is heat-resistant, too?”
Chat looks unreasonably distressed about that. “So you’re telling me I have to sit here and look at those delicious cookies and smell those delicious cookies, but I can’t eat those delicious cookies?”
Marinette bites back a laugh. “Just wait a few minutes.”
“This is torture,” Chat grumbles.
A few minutes later, when he’s finally allowed to take a bite of a cookie, he groans.
“Oh, Marinette,” he says, chewing. “These are heavenly.”
Marinette smiles proudly. “I know.” As Chat finishes his first cookie and reaches for another, she grabs his arm. “Two more, Chat. Then I’m saving the rest.”
Chat pouts. “Fine.” He takes another cookie and breaks off a piece, contemplating it. “And, uh, well…I also have a request.”
“More cookies?”
Laughing, Chat says, “No. But, ah—I’ve recently decided to brush up on my cooking skills.”
“Okay,” Marinette says. “So what’s the request?”
“Well.” Chat pops the piece of cookie into his mouth. “Cooking is more fun when you do it with someone else, isn’t it?”
“I suppose.” Marinette smiles and watches as Chat devours the rest of his cookie. “Except when your baking buddy tries to eat all of the food you just made.”
Chat sticks out a chocolate-stained tongue. “I can control myself, princesse.” Suddenly subdued, he presses his lips together, fidgeting with the ring on his finger. “Anyway…could I maybe help you cook this week? Pick up a few tips from expert chef Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”
Marinette squints at him. “You want to help me make dinner?”
“Yes?” Chat says, his green eyes imploring. “My family’s not really big on cooking together. And as hard as it is to believe, my skills in the kitchen are…somewhat lacking. I thought this would be a fun way to get better.”
Marinette considers that. It’s an odd request, for sure. But teaching is one of the best ways to learn—and she could stand to brush up her cooking skills if she’s going to help Adrien with the bet in four days.
Plus…although it’s selfish, she wouldn’t mind spending some time with Chat outside of akuma battles. As much as Marinette pretends to be annoyed by him, she really does think he’s fun to be around.
“Okay,” she says. “You can come by after school lets out. My parents will still be working in the bakery then, so we’ll have the kitchen to ourselves.” She shrugs. “I mean, I’ll tell them what we’re doing. They already know we’re friends, so they won’t think it’s too weird.”
Chat smiles. It’s soft and shy—nothing like the mischievous grins he always flashes her in battle. “Thanks, Marinette. That sounds great.” Yawning, he stretches his arms above his head. “Mm. I think this cat needs some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Marinette nods. “See you soon, Chat.”
On his way to the door, Chat scoops up two cookies from the sheet. “For the road,” he says, with a wink.
It’s not until he’s gone that Marinette realizes the damn cat broke her three-cookie rule.