Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Marinette walked through the grand gates of Lycée Royal de Lune, her heart pounding in her chest. The marble columns, the pristine lawns, the students who looked as if they'd walked out of a fashion magazine, it all made her feel out of place. She wasn’t used to this world of expensive uniforms and untouchable wealth. Her parents owned one of the most famous bakeries in Paris, but even that wasn’t enough to make her feel like she belonged here.

She tugged at the strap of her backpack, nervously adjusting her white shirt and black jacket, her eyes darting around at the students who didn’t spare her a second glance. Her cheeks flushed, the whispers and pointed stares like daggers in her back. Her hands fidgeted with the edge of her shorts. 'I can do this. I deserve to be here. I’m good enough!' she thought, trying to rally her nerves.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a soft voice pulled her out of her self doubt.

"Hey, you must be the new student, right?" The girl who spoke was standing near the entrance to the school courtyard. She was beautiful, with long, light blonde hair woven into a neat French braid, and her bright blue eyes looked warm and inviting. Despite the extravagant environment, she carried herself with a quiet confidence.

Marinette blinked, surprised by the friendly greeting. “Uh, yes! I’m Marinette... and you are?”

“Allegra. Nice to meet you!” the girl smiled, offering a hand in a polite but friendly gesture. “I’m the class president. I was asked to show you around today, if you don’t mind.”

A weight seemed to lift from Marinette’s shoulders and she shook Allegra’s hand eagerly. “That’s really kind of you! I’m... I’m still trying to get used to everything here...” she admitted with a slight laugh.

Allegra chuckled softly, her smile warm. “Don’t worry. It’s a lot to take in at first. But I think you’ll be fine. You’ve got the right attitude. And trust me, being new can be tough, but I think you’ll find your place.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.” Marinette felt her confidence rising just a little.

“Come on, let me show you around before our first class. The other students can be a little intense. But I promise, not everyone’s like that.” Allegra continued, leading her towards the school building.

As they walked through the halls, Allegra pointed out different rooms and areas of the school, explaining the schedule and what to expect. Marinette couldn’t help but admire Allegra’s calm demeanor. She seemed like someone who knew exactly where she was going in life.

They reached the classroom, and Allegra opened the door, ushering Marinette inside. The class was already settling in, and the students glanced up as the two girls entered. Allegra’s presence seemed to quiet the murmurs and stares. Marinette couldn’t help but feel like she was being sized up by the entire room.

“Don’t worry...” Allegra whispered, noticing Marinette’s discomfort. “I’ll introduce you.”

The teacher was already at the front, going over the lesson for the day. Allegra led Marinette to an empty desk in the middle of the room. “You can sit here. It's the only seat let.” she said with a smile, gesturing toward a spot next to a very intimidating figure seated at the back of the class. “But unfortunately... your deskmate, Felix, isn’t exactly the warmest person.”

Marinette looked up and her breath caught in her throat.

Felix Culpa. The name was infamous around the school, but Marinette had never imagined he would look like that. He was leaning back in his chair, eyes half closed, his blonde hair falling messily over his sharp features. His icy grayish blue eyes locked onto hers for a brief moment, and Marinette froze. There was something about his cold, disinterested gaze that sent a chill down her spine.

'What did I get myself into?' she thought, but Allegra was already nudging her toward the desk.

“Good luck...” Allegra whispered with a knowing grin before heading to her own seat at the front of the room.

Marinette swallowed hard and walked to the desk, doing her best to ignore the way Felix was staring at her. She took a seat next to him, careful not to make eye contact again. Felix didn’t even acknowledge her presence anymore, his focus entirely on the desk in front of him.

She could feel the tension but she forced herself to sit up straight and open her notebook. 'I can handle this. Just breathe..' she thought, trying to steady her nerves.

“Excuse me...?” Marinette mumbled, unsure of what to say. She wasn’t used to such coldness. “Hi. I’m Marinette.”

Felix’s gaze flicked to her for just a second before his eyes drifted back to the front. “I’m aware.” he replied, his voice clipped and formal, like he couldn’t care less about her existence.

Marinette’s face flushed. She tried again, “I... uh, I’m new here. Allegra said I’d be sitting here..?”

Felix didn’t even look at her. “So it would seem.” he said, his tone flat, as if the situation didn’t interest him in the slightest.

The silence between them was suffocating, and Marinette could feel the weight of his indifference pressing down on her. She shuffled in her seat, feeling like a fish out of water. 'I guess it’s better this way... at least he’s not making fun of me like the others' she reasoned.

Before she could settle into the awkwardness, a voice cut through the tension.

“Hey! I see we have a new face!” A loud, cheerful voice came from the front of the room.

Claude, the class clown, practically bounded across the room, his friendly brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re Marinette, right? Welcome to the crazy class!” he exclaimed, grinning as he gestured to the group.

Marinette smiled nervously, relieved by his warmth. “Thanks. It’s... it’s nice to be here” she said, trying to sound confident.

“Allan!” Claude called out to the quiet boy sitting next to him. Allan, with his headphones slung around his neck, gave a shy wave but didn’t speak. He seemed kind but distant.

“Don’t mind Allan!” Claude said, plopping down next to Marinette with an exaggerated grin. “He’s a bit shy. But he’s awesome once you get to know him. And Allegra? She’s like the queen of this place.” He gestured to Allegra, who was sitting at the front. “She practically runs the school.”

Marinette laughed a little, feeling a bit more at ease. “I’m just trying to fit in.”

“You’ll do great!” Claude said enthusiastically. “Everyone here is kind of stuck up, but you’ve got that... you know, something special. You’ll be fine.”

Felix’s coldness wasn’t something Marinette was used to, but she found herself wondering... what made someone so sharp and distant? It was all so intimidating. But in some strange way, Marinette was curious.

By the time the bell for lunch rang, Marinette felt like she’d run a marathon.

Each class had been its own kind of trial. The sneering glances from students who didn’t think she belonged, the whispers behind her back, and the suffocating feeling of having to constantly prove herself. The only silver lining had been Allegra, who had kindly checked in with her between classes, and Claude, whose energy made it harder for anyone to stay anxious for too long. Even Allan had offered her a shy smile once, though he remained quiet.
But that wasn’t enough to shake the tightness in her chest.

And Felix. Ugh.

Sitting next to him was like sitting next to a glacier that had come to life and decided it hated you. Not once had he looked at her again after that first soul piercing glance, but somehow, she still felt judged and dismissed.

The moment the final pre lunch bell rang, she grabbed her bag and slipped out of the classroom, ducking away from Allegra before she could ask her to come along. It wasn’t that Marinette didn’t want to make friends, it was that she needed to breathe. Alone.

She wandered the halls until she reached a wide set of double doors with golden handles. A small plaque read Bibliothèque. She hesitated only a moment before pushing one door open and slipping inside.

The library was like stepping into another world.

She wandered past the shelves until she found a tucked away corner, shielded by bookcases on either side. A large, cushioned window seat overlooked the courtyard and there was a small side table beside it. It was perfect.
With a soft sigh of relief, Marinette slid her bag off her shoulder and curled into the window seat, pulling out her sketchbook. The moment the pencil touched paper, her heart started to slow.
Lines flowed easily under her fingers. Curved hems, flared collars, delicate embroidery along a sleeve. The design was a blend of soft elegance and playful flair. Creating helped her forget everything. She didn’t have to prove herself to paper.

She was so focused that she didn’t hear the door open again. Not until she heard the quiet but firm click of shoes across the polished floor. She barely registered it until a cold voice broke through the stillness.

“You’re in my spot.”

Marinette blinked and looked up.

There, a few paces away, stood Felix, looking more annoyed than he had before, if that was even possible. His sharp eyes were narrowed, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

She blinked again, more confused than anything else. “Sorry... what?”

Felix tilted his head ever so slightly, like she was being particularly dense. “That seat. You’re in it.”

Marinette sat up straighter. “It’s... a window seat in a library.”

“I’ve been sitting there every lunch since I joined this school two years ago.” he said, the annoyance in his voice rising by a fraction. “It’s my spot.”

Her expression twisted slightly. “There’s no name on it.”

His eyes narrowed. “There doesn’t have to be.”

A tense silence stretched between them. Marinette closed her sketchbook slowly and let out a breath through her nose. She wasn’t usually combative, but something about Felix’s tone rubbed her the wrong way.
She zipped her pencil case and shoved it into her bag with a little more force than necessary. “I just started this school three hours ago, clearly I didn’t know.” she said, her voice tight, though she kept it quiet.
She stood, slipping her sketchbook into her bag and yanking the zipper closed. “But fine. Sit.”

Felix’s gaze flicked to her bag, then her face.

She stepped aside and gestured toward the window seat like she was presenting a throne. “Enjoy your spot, Your Highness.”

Then she turned, storming past him.

Felix didn’t say anything.
He didn’t move.
He just watched her walk away, the soft clicking of her shoes against the floor echoing in the silence.
And then, just before she reached the end of the aisle, she glanced over her shoulder at him. It wasn’t a glare of anger.
It was disappointment. Sadness. Her eyes were glassy, and though she quickly looked away, Felix caught the way her throat bobbed like she was swallowing something down.
Then she was gone.

“Bloody brilliant.” he muttered.

Marinette found a quiet stairwell two floors down. It was dusty and clearly unused, tucked away behind a maintenance door she wasn’t sure students were supposed to open. She sank down onto the steps and curled into herself, hugging her bag to her chest.

She hadn’t meant to get emotional. It was just a stupid seat. But everything felt like it was piling up. The stares. The whispers. The overwhelming sense of being an outsider.
And then he had to come in and act like he owned the entire school.

She sniffled and wiped her cheek. 'I will not cry over a smug, uptight pretty boy with the emotional range of a teaspoon.' She thought bitterly.

Still, the tears came. Not loud sobs, just quiet ones. The kind that come when you’ve been holding your breath too long.

Back in the library, Felix sat in the window seat. But it didn’t feel the same.
He glanced at the spot where she had been sitting, her sketchbook open on her lap, pencil moving with gentle precision. He wasn’t close enough to see what she’d been drawing, but he could picture it now, the way her brows had furrowed, how the light had caught her dark blue pigtails and made them shimmer.

He was used to silence here. He liked it that way.
But now the silence felt hollow.
He opened a book and stared at the pages without reading a single word.

Marinette returned to class just before the bell rang for their post lunch lesson. She didn’t look at Felix as she sat down. Allegra cast her a concerned glance, but Marinette gave her a small, reassuring smile.

Felix noticed the way her eyes were slightly red. He also noticed the way she kept her face turned away from him, her body angled toward the front of the room.
He hated that it bothered him.

Marinette's hands were folded in front of her, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her notebook, trying to keep herself calm. She wasn’t sure why it bothered her so much, the way he had treated her. She wasn’t used to this, people like him, so cold, so dismissive. She wasn’t used to being made to feel so insignificant.
And yet, there he was, sitting next to her, like a silent storm waiting to wreak havoc.

Felix, as always, was leaning back in his chair, his sharp gray blue eyes barely acknowledging the teacher as he droned on about something she couldn’t quite focus on. Felix's gaze, however, seemed to lock onto Marinette the moment she sat down. She tried to ignore him, focusing hard on the notes in front of her, but she could feel his attention like an icy hand on her back.
And then, when the silence stretched too long, Felix’s voice cut through the air like a blade.
“Dupain-Cheng.”

His tone was laced with a sharpness that made her wince, the deliberate use of her last name ringing in her ears as if he couldn’t be bothered with the niceties of calling her by her first. It was as if she was nothing more than a nuisance, something to be tolerated for the moment.

Marinette blinked, her heart skipping in her chest as she reluctantly turned toward him. “What?” Her voice came out a little more clipped than she’d intended, but it was the best she could manage.

Felix’s icy eyes flicked toward her, his expression unbothered. “You’re disturbing the class.” he said, his voice low, but carrying. “You keep shifting in your seat like a nervous wreck. If you’re unable to focus, perhaps you should reconsider whether this school is the right fit for you.”

The words felt like a slap to her face, and her cheeks flushed with the sting of humiliation. “Excuse me?” she managed, her throat tight. “I’m not disturbing anyone.”

“Oh, I beg to differ.” Felix said, his lips curling into a slight, mocking smirk. “You’re quite good at drawing attention to yourself without even trying. It’s impressive, really.” He spoke as if he were offering some twisted compliment, but his tone made it clear that he wasn’t interested in any of her explanations.

Marinette’s chest tightened, her breath caught in her throat as she fought back the urge to defend herself, to argue that she was trying her best, that she wasn’t here to cause trouble, that she deserved to be here. But Felix didn’t care. He never cared.

“Look, if you’ve got a problem with how I sit, or if my ‘nervous wreck’ presence bothers you, maybe you should just mind your own business!” she shot back, though her voice wavered with the frustration bubbling inside her.

Felix didn’t even flinch. His gaze remained as cold as ever, his posture still perfectly composed. “If I’m to be stuck next to you all semester, I’d rather not have you making a spectacle of yourself. It’s beneath me.”

The words landed like a heavy stone on her chest and her stomach churned with embarrassment. "You think I’m beneath you?" Marinette’s voice barely rose above a whisper, the sting of his words cutting deeper than she wanted to admit. "I’m just trying to get through my first day here without everyone treating me like I don’t belong."

Felix didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he tilted his head ever so slightly, as if analyzing her reaction with that same, detached look. “That’s your problem, Dupain-Cheng,” he finally said, his words cold and precise. “You do want to belong. But people like you don’t belong here. Not in this world. You’ll never be anything more than a passerby in this place. So you’d best learn how to keep your head down and stop trying to be anything more than you are.”

The venom in his words hit her like a physical blow, and for a moment, Marinette couldn’t breathe. She could feel the heat of her anger and humiliation rising in her chest, and before she knew it, her hands had clenched into fists.

“I don’t need to prove anything to you.” Marinette said, her voice shaking with emotion. “You don’t know me, and you sure as hell don’t get to tell me what I am or am not capable of.”

Marinette’s words hung in the air, and for a moment, she thought she might see some kind of acknowledgment, some sign that he wasn’t entirely the cold, cruel person he seemed to be. But then Felix leaned back in his chair, his posture more relaxed, his gaze once again distant. “That’s cute.” he said, as though humoring a child. “But it won’t change the fact that you’re out of your depth.”

He turned his attention back to the front, dismissing her as easily as he had before. But something about the way he did it, the casual finality, the coldness in his eyes, made Marinette want to scream.
Instead, she bit the inside of her cheek and turned away, her hands shaking in her lap. She didn’t deserve this. She wasn’t some helpless, clumsy girl. She was more than that. She would show him. But right now, all she could do was sit there, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.

The rest of the class passed in strained silence. Marinette didn’t look at Felix again, though she could feel his presence at her side, like an invisible weight pressing down on her. Every time the room shifted, every time the teacher spoke, it felt as if Felix’s gaze followed her.
She tried to focus, to force her mind back on the lesson, but it was hard to concentrate with the knot of emotions twisting inside her. Felix Culpa had made it clear that he thought she didn’t belong, that she wasn’t good enough. But she was going to prove him wrong.

Marinette walked briskly down the hall, ignoring the usual stares and whispers. It had become too much to bear. Too many eyes on her, too many conversations about her that she didn’t want to hear.
She needed air. She needed space. She needed something that didn’t make her feel like she was suffocating.
Without thinking, she found herself in the same hallway she had been in before, where the stairwell leading to the old storage rooms was hidden behind a small door. It was quiet here, a little dusty, and she could escape from everything. She liked it here, where no one expected her to smile, no one demanded anything from her.

But as she reached the door, she was suddenly shoved hard against the lockers.
Her breath was knocked out of her chest as her face collided with the cold metal, pain shooting through her nose and head.

“Get lost, baker girl!” a voice sneered.

Marinette squeezed her eyes shut, trying to swallow the pain, but she could feel the blood trickling down her face. The moment she pushed herself off the lockers, she turned her head just enough to catch sight of the girl responsible: Chelsea. Another girl from her class who had been glaring and gossiping about her all morning. She stood there, arms crossed, flanked by two friends who were giggling like hyenas behind her.

“Don't think you belong here.” Chelsea continued, her voice dripping with venom. “Just go back to your stupid little bakery.”

Marinette’s head was spinning, but she bit down on her lip and stood tall, despite the searing pain in her nose. She wasn’t going to let this girl or anyone else bully her.

She wiped her nose quickly, feeling the blood still dripping, and locked eyes with Chelsea. “I’m here because I actually have talent, unlike you lot, who are only here because your daddy bought you a seat.” Marinette said, her voice steady and quiet but laced with a sharp edge. “So, I’m here to stay, whether you like it or not.”

Chelsea’s smirk faltered as Marinette stood her ground, blood still dripping from her nose but her gaze unwavering. Her friends looked uncertain now.

Chelsea glared at Marinette for a long moment before she finally clicked her tongue and jerked her head toward the exit. “Whatever, freak!” she spat, before turning to walk away, her two friends reluctantly following behind her.

Marinette’s knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily. She managed to steady herself, but the world around her seemed a little too blurry.

“Stupid, stupid!” she muttered to herself, trying to push the pain away. She couldn’t fall apart now, not after everything she’d fought for just to be here.
But the tears were starting to form, and no matter how much she tried to fight them back, they fell. She let out a soft gasp as a sob tore through her chest.

And then, just as she started to gather herself, she heard footsteps approaching.

She couldn’t stop the wave of anger that surged through her at the sight of him. It was him again, the person who had made her feel so small, so alone, when all she had wanted was to find some peace.

“Don’t pretend to care...” she said harshly, not bothering to look up at him. “I know you’re just disappointed I survived.”

Marinette brushed past him without another word.
She didn’t give him the chance to respond as she hurried down the hall, desperate to get to class before anyone could see her.

He didn’t move from the hallway for a long time after Marinette left. Her words echoed in his ears, colder than anything he’d ever said to her.
It hit him harder than he expected, sharper than her glare, heavier than the silence that had existed between them since their first encounter. He wasn’t sure what stung more... her assumption of what he thought, or the fact that it wasn’t entirely undeserved.

Marinette reached the bathroom before the tears could start again.
She leaned against the sink, gripping its edge tightly. Her knuckles turned white as she tried to steady herself. The pain in her nose had dulled to a throb, and the blood had slowed to a trickle, but it was still enough to make her dizzy.
She splashed cold water on her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror.
She didn’t recognize the girl looking back. Eyes red and puffy. Again. Skin pale. Shoulders hunched, like she was trying to make herself small. Again.

'You’re stronger than this' she told herself.
And she was. She had to be.
But strong didn’t mean invincible.

Later that day, Allegra cornered Felix outside of class.
He was standing with one hand on his satchel strap, waiting for the next bell to ring, his eyes far away and unfocused.
“What the hell happened?” she hissed under her breath, pulling him aside by the sleeve.

Felix blinked, startled. “What?”

“Marinette!” Allegra said. “She looked like she was in pain, Felix. Claude told me she was bleeding earlier. And you were seen near the hallway when it happened.”

Felix’s jaw tensed. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I know that!” Allegra snapped. “But I also know you didn’t do enough. What happened?”

Felix sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I saw her after it happened. Someone shoved her into the lockers. I think it was that Chelsea girl.”

“Of course it was.” Allegra’s face twisted with disgust. “And what did you do?”

Felix hesitated.

Allegra narrowed her eyes. “Felix.”

“I didn’t say anything.” he admitted quietly. “I didn’t know what to say. She was already getting up. She looked at me like I was the last person she wanted to see.”

Allegra shook her head in disbelief. “You’re really bad at this, you know?”

“Thanks.” he muttered.

“No, I mean it.” she said, poking his chest with one finger. “You can’t expect people to understand you if all you do is stand there and brood like a tortured statue."

Felix didn’t answer.
But something flickered in his expression.

Chapter Text

A fine drizzle had begun to fall by the time Marinette arrived, her pigtails damp and her jacket speckled with raindrops. She stood in front of the gates for a brief second, gathering her nerve, steeling herself for another day of being scrutinized, whispered about, and worst of all, sharing a desk with him.

By the time she reached the classroom, most of the students were already inside. Allegra gave her a quick smile from the front, but Marinette didn’t return it right away. Her eyes drifted, against her better judgment, to the seat beside hers.

Felix was already there. Back straight, hands folded neatly on the desk, gaze fixed out the window like he had better things to do than breathe the same air as everyone else.

Marinette walked to her seat with careful steps, dropping her bag onto the floor with more force than necessary as she sat down. Felix didn’t look at her. His silence was louder than most people’s shouting.

She took out her sketchbook and pen, flipping to a blank page to doodle idly while waiting for the teacher. Her hand moved on instinct, lines curving into a new design, sharp accents, high collars, something dark and regal. She didn’t notice she was drawing him until the profile began to take shape. With an angry noise in the back of her throat, she scribbled a line straight through it and slammed the book shut.

“That drawing must’ve been terrible.” Felix muttered, still not looking at her. “Or perhaps just accurate.”

Marinette turned to glare at him. “Are you serious?”

He shifted his eyes to her at last, one golden brow raised. “It’s not my fault your standards are so low you find failure surprising.”

Marinette’s mouth fell open. “Do you wake up this insufferable, or is it something you work on every morning in the mirror?”

Felix offered her a faint smirk, as if her irritation was amusing rather than offensive. “It’s a natural talent. Unlike your drawing, apparently.”

Her face flushed red. “You didn’t even see it.”

“I didn’t need to. You destroyed it. That speaks volumes.”

“I was drawing you, you pompous, overgrown ego with legs!”

Felix blinked. Slowly. Then turned away again. “So it was accurate, then.”

“Unbelievable!” she hissed, slamming her pen down on the desk. “You think everyone here is beneath you. Do you ever stop to think that maybe you’re the problem?”

“I’ve never had any complaints from people whose opinions actually mattered.” he said, calmly flicking through his textbook.

Marinette leaned in closer, voice low but furious. “I’m not afraid of you, Felix. You can glare all you want, use your big words, act like you’re royalty in exile or whatever, but you don’t scare me.”

He met her gaze this time. His eyes locked onto hers with a force that might’ve rattled anybody else.
“You should be.”

But Marinette didn’t flinch. Her eyes didn’t waver. Felix didn’t see fear in them.
He saw fire.

The teacher finally entered the room, breaking the stare between them. Marinette turned back to her desk, seething.
They didn’t speak for the rest of the class.
But the silence was a battlefield all its own.

The tension between Marinette and Felix was becoming so thick it could’ve been cut with a pair of tailor’s shears.
By the middle of the next period, it had grown unbearable, even to those around them.

Marinette sat with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her pencil tapping a furious beat against the edge of her notebook. Felix mirrored her mood with a haughty, standoffish silence, spine straight as a ruler, hands clasped on the desk like he was above the very idea of being bothered.

Allegra, seated diagonally in front of them, glanced back for the fourth time in ten minutes. Her eyes, cool and calculating beneath their usual calm, narrowed slightly as she studied the pair. She shifted in her seat and whispered just loud enough for Claude to hear beside her.
“They’re going to combust.”

Claude had already noticed.
He was turned halfway in his chair, chin propped in his hand, watching Marinette and Felix like it was the final round of a championship boxing match.
“Oh, it’s tense, all right.” he muttered, clearly entertained. “They’re two seconds away from either fighting to the death or eloping. Honestly, I can’t tell.”

Allegra gave him a deadpan look. “It’s not funny. It’s uncomfortable.”

Claude shrugged. “It’s a little funny. You should’ve seen Marinette at lunch. She stormed past me like she was gonna declare war on someone’s ancestors.”

Behind them, Allan sat quietly, his headphones resting around his neck instead of over his ears for once. He wasn’t usually one to get involved, but even he had picked up on the vibe.
“...Did something happen?” he asked softly.

Allegra didn’t answer right away. She was still watching Felix, whose expression was unreadable as always. But his jaw was tight and his posture stiff.
Her gaze slid to Marinette, who was now aggressively erasing something in her notebook. “Marinette looks like she’s going to snap.”

“She’s got bite.” Claude said, impressed. “Didn’t think anyone could actually get to Felix, but she’s got him rattled. Look at him, he keeps tapping his pen when she shifts in her seat.”

Allan blinked, curious. “Do you think he likes her?”

Both Allegra and Claude turned to look at him.

“Absolutely not.” Allegra said, almost too quickly.

Claude, on the other hand, grinned. “He’s obsessed with her.”

Allegra gave him a dry look. “He’s irritated by her.”

“Same thing.”

“They hate each other.” Allegra exhaled through her nose. “They’re both stubborn, dramatic, emotionally repressed disasters.”

Claude gave a little shrug. “I say fun to watch.”

Allan tugged on the strings of his hoodie. “I think Marinette’s gonna snap and slap him with her sketchbook.”

Claude lit up. “God, I hope so.”

From behind them, the teacher cleared her throat. “Claude, unless you're volunteering to present early, I suggest you redirect your attention.”

Claude gave a sheepish grin. “Right. Yes. Studying. Focus. Learning.”

The group fell into temporary silence, but the glances didn’t stop.

Back at their desk, Marinette turned the page with a snap. Felix shifted, arms folded tighter, eyes unmoving from the board, but something in his shoulders was just slightly off, more tense than usual.
Neither of them spoke.
But everyone knew: something was going to give.
And soon.

The classroom felt like it was holding its breath. Every flicker of movement between Felix and Marinette was charged with a kind of electricity that seemed to hang in the air, making everything feel even more oppressive.
Felix, as always, wore his indifference like armor, but anyone who knew how to read people could see the subtle shifts in his demeanor. The way his hands tightened on the edge of his desk, the sharp flick of his eyes whenever Marinette fidgeted. He was watching her. Waiting for something.

Marinette, meanwhile, had long since given up on pretending she wasn’t aware of the tension. Her eyes would flick over to him every few seconds, and though she quickly turned away, her jaw was clenched, her cheeks flushed from the effort of keeping her anger in check. But another part of her, it was a part she hated, felt a little guilty for what had happened.

'Why do I even care?' she thought, fuming internally. 'He’s just an arrogant jerk. He doesn’t matter.'
But she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d looked at her after she’d walked away. But there was something else there. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

The teacher’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Miss Dupain-Cheng, would you care to answer the question?”

Marinette blinked, startled. She hadn’t been paying attention. Everyone’s eyes were on her now, including Felix’s, who had a faint, amused glint in his icy gaze.

She flushed, scrambling to gather her thoughts. “Uh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t- could you repeat the question, please?”

The teacher raised an eyebrow, but nodded. “The concept of symmetry in fashion design. How would you apply it to haute couture?”

It wasn’t a hard question, not for Marinette, at least. Her mind immediately started to form an answer, but the pressure of all those eyes on her, Felix’s gaze like an invisible weight on her chest, made it harder than it should’ve been.
She cleared her throat. “Well, in haute couture, symmetry isn’t always about perfect balance, it’s about creating harmony, understanding how the fabric, the lines, and the proportions work together to tell a story. So sometimes, it’s more about controlled asymmetry, where the design looks intentionally off balance to create movement.” Her voice was steadier now, but she still felt that underlying tension.

“That’s correct.” the teacher acknowledged with a nod. “But remember, even in asymmetry, you must keep a sense of balance. The chaos must be intentional.”

Marinette nodded and sat back down, feeling both relieved and embarrassed. Felix’s cold stare was still on her. He hadn’t looked away. It was like he was dissecting her, analyzing every little thing.
Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. She turned her head just enough to catch his eye, her voice low and clipped. “What’s your problem?”

His gaze didn’t waver. If anything, it became even more intense. “My problem?” He repeated the words like they were a foreign concept to him, his lips curling into that smirk of his. “You’re the one who seems to be bothered.”

Marinette’s face flushed, anger and frustration bubbling to the surface. “I’m not bothered!” she shot back, a little louder than intended. “You’re just impossible!”

Felix leaned back in his chair, folding his arms with deliberate precision. “I’m impossible?” He scoffed. “Dupain-Cheng, you have a rather impressive capacity for making things difficult for yourself. But then, that seems to be one of the only talents you’ve mastered.” His voice was smooth, dripping with that same sarcastic bite he always used.

The class around them was suddenly very still. Allegra and Claude both exchanged uneasy glances.

Marinette’s hands clenched into fists on her desk. “You really are a jerk.”

“And you...” Felix replied, his tone low and icy, “are a fool if you think I care about your opinion.”

“You’re really gonna act like I’m the problem?” she snapped, leaning forward slightly. “Maybe you should stop hiding behind that attitude of yours and actually talk like a normal person for once.”

Felix’s eyes narrowed, the faintest trace of frustration appearing in his gaze. But it was gone almost as soon as it appeared, replaced by his usual indifference. “I don’t need to prove myself to anyone. Least of all you.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Marinette muttered bitterly. “You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?”

“Better than most.” Felix replied, his voice clipped. “At least I don’t waste my time pretending to care about everything.”

Allegra, unable to stand it any longer, leaned over to Claude. “If they don’t stop this soon, I’m going to have to step in...” she muttered under her breath. “This is getting ridiculous.”

Claude didn’t look away from them. “You think they’ll actually fight?”

“I think they’re already fighting.” Allegra said with a sigh, rubbing her temples.

Felix’s lips twitched, the first sign of a hint of a smile, but it was a cold one. “You’re not worth my time, Dupain-Cheng.” he said, as though the words were a fact he was merely stating.

Marinette’s chest tightened. She wanted to throw something at him, to shout back at him, to make him feel something, anything other than that smug, indifferent mask he always wore.
But instead, she just forced herself to sit back, her hands tightening around the edge of her notebook. “Then why do you keep looking at me?” she shot back, unable to keep the question from slipping out.

Felix’s gaze flicked to her briefly, colder than before. He didn’t answer, merely turning back toward the front of the room, as though she no longer mattered.

But Marinette could feel the impact of his words, the silence between them heavier than any insult could be.
And as she sat there she couldn’t help but wonder what, if anything, lay beneath that unapproachable, impenetrable mask he wore.
And why, despite everything, it made her want to know more.

The rest of the lesson passed in silence, with the tension between Felix and Marinette only deepening. Their words from moments before echoed in Marinette’s mind, each one sharpening the growing unease. She didn’t want to care but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something important was slipping through her fingers.

The bell rang and the students slowly gathered their things. Felix was the first to rise, his chair scraping loudly against the floor, but instead of heading straight for the door like everyone else, he paused. His eyes flicked over to Marinette, briefly locking with hers. It was a look that was impossible to read, but it still felt like he was saying something without saying anything at all.
Marinette’s heart skipped a beat. She swallowed, trying to push down the flare of emotion rising in her chest, but she couldn’t ignore the knot in her stomach. Was he waiting for her to say something? Or was he just trying to get under her skin again?

“Felix?” she started, but her voice faltered before she could continue. The words felt like they were stuck somewhere in her throat.

Felix raised an eyebrow, as if he’d expected her to speak. His lips quirked into a faint, knowing smile. “What is it, Dupain-Cheng? Something else you’d like to lecture me on?” His tone was mocking, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

The mockery stung, but it also sparked something in her. Why did he keep doing this? Why was he acting like she meant nothing to him, when his every action seemed to suggest the opposite? She opened her mouth again, but before she could respond, Allegra’s voice interrupted.

“Okay, you two.” Allegra said, crossing her arms and giving both of them an exasperated look. “You’re like a couple of dogs ready to bite each other’s throats out. Can you both at least pretend to be civil for the rest of the day?”

Claude, who had been silently observing the entire exchange, added in a quieter tone, “Yeah, seriously. This is getting old.”

Felix gave a dismissive shrug, his gaze shifting briefly to Claude and Allegra before returning to Marinette. “You’re the one making things difficult.” he muttered under his breath, though loud enough for her to hear.

Marinette’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t start this, Felix.”

Felix’s smirk returned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “No, of course not.” he said sarcastically, before turning away to gather his things.

Marinette was about to snap back when Allan, who had been watching the entire exchange from his seat, finally spoke up in a more serious tone. “I think you both need to just take a breather.” he suggested, glancing between them. “Whatever’s going on, it’s not helping anyone.”

The suggestion, surprisingly, caused Felix to pause. He glanced at Allan, and then at Marinette. His lips parted as if he was about to argue, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he straightened up, as though pulling himself together. Without another word, he walked toward the door, his footsteps echoing through the room.

Marinette stood frozen for a moment, watching him leave, feeling the frustration welling up again. What did he think? That he could just walk away without any kind of resolution?

The moment Felix disappeared out the door, Allegra let out a deep sigh. “I don’t get it. Why are you even bothering with him? He’s not worth it.”

Marinette turned toward Allegra, forcing a smile. “I know. It’s just... I don’t know, Allegra. It’s like... like he’s trying to provoke me on purpose. I feel like there’s something more to it.”

Claude nodded thoughtfully. “Felix does have a way of making people react. But perhaps you’re both a little too stubborn for your own good.”

Marinette looked at him, eyebrow raised. “You’re one to talk.”

Claude grinned, but there was no real humor in it. “Yeah, well, I’ve learned to let some things go. Doesn’t seem like you’ve gotten there yet.”

Marinette bit her lip, torn between frustration and curiosity. She knew Felix was deliberately keeping things tense between them, but what was his game? He couldn’t possibly be this petty, could he?

Allan nudged her gently. “You’re not going to solve anything by staring him down all day, you know. Maybe you should just talk to him. Get it over with.”

The words lingered in the air, and Marinette couldn’t deny that Allan had a point. But talking to Felix was easier said than done. After everything that had happened, she wasn’t sure where to even begin.

“You’re right...” Marinette said with a sigh. “But that’s going to be a lot harder than you think.”

Allegra shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s better than holding onto whatever this is. It’s a mess.”

Felix, for his part, didn’t go far. He’d slipped out of the classroom but once outside, he leaned against the wall, his gaze drifting aimlessly. He was thinking about Marinette, though he wouldn’t admit it. The exchange earlier had stirred something in him. He hated feeling off balance. He hated feeling like Marinette was getting under his skin when she really shouldn’t matter at all.

"Why do you care so much, Felix?" he asked himself, his jaw tightening. "She’s just another student. Just another person. This isn’t supposed to matter."
And yet it did. There was something about her that he couldn’t seem to shake off.
Felix pushed away from the wall, straightening up and trying to clear his thoughts. He didn’t need to figure this out. He didn’t want to figure it out.
But when he walked down the hallway, he found his mind circling back to her again. Felix realized there was no simple way out of this.

The cafeteria was buzzing with the usual midday chaos: chatter, laughter, the clinking of trays, and the occasional shout of someone trying to get someone else’s attention. But at a corner table, Marinette sat with Allegra, Claude, and Allan, the group forming a small island of quiet amidst the noise.

Marinette was picking at her salad, not particularly hungry but needing something to occupy her hands. Allegra, on the other hand, was already halfway through her lunch and seemed to be watching her closely, her blue eyes flicking between Marinette and the food on her tray.

Claude leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head in his usual relaxed posture, a lazy smile on his face. “So, you two are still at it, huh? You and Mr. I’m too cool for you?”

Marinette sighed deeply, finally putting her fork down. “I don’t know, Claude. It’s like... every time I think I’ve figured out how to avoid him, he just... comes right back into my space. And then it’s like I say something, and he says something worse. And it’s always so cold and—ugh, it’s frustrating!”

Allan, who had been quietly eating his sandwich, looked up from his food, his brow furrowed in thought. “Maybe... maybe it’s just the way he is? I don’t know him well, none of us really do, but he always seemed like he keeps everyone at arms length. Even with us.” His voice was quieter than usual, but the sincerity was there.

Marinette nodded slowly, taking in Allan’s words. “I don’t know, maybe you're right, Allan. But there’s just something about him that bugs me, like he’s always trying to get under my skin on purpose. I don't think it’s just his personality. It’s more than that."

Allegra’s gaze softened, her voice calm and steady. “What exactly happened between you two? You’ve never really told me what happened in the library on your first day. You disappeared for the rest of the lunch period, and I didn’t get a chance to ask.”

Marinette shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and for a moment, she didn’t meet Allegra’s eyes. Her fingers tapped nervously against the edge of her tray. She hadn’t really talked about it since that day.

“I...-” Marinette stopped herself, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. “I just needed some time alone, y’know? I had been dealing with everyone’s eyes on me that entire morning, and I couldn’t handle it anymore. So I went to the library to sketch, just to calm down.”

Claude raised an eyebrow. “And then Prince Charming came in and ruined the vibe?”

Marinette winced at the sarcastic tone but nodded. “Yeah. That’s exactly what happened. I was so lost in my sketching, I didn’t hear him come in. When he spoke, I didn’t even realize he was talking to me at first. And then he just...he just told me I was in his spot. Like I was some kind of trespasser.”

Allegra frowned. “His spot? But it’s a library. There aren’t any reserved seats.”

“That’s what I thought, too!” Marinette’s frustration bubbled over. “I told him that there was no name on it, that it was just a window seat. But he-...he was so dismissive, so smug about it, like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to act like that. I... I tried to stay calm, but he just kept acting like I didn’t even exist. Like my feelings didn’t matter at all.”

Claude clicked his tongue, his expression one of disbelief. “Seriously? He acted like that?”

Marinette nodded, her fingers curling tightly around the edge of her tray. “Yeah. And I wasn’t going to back down. So I made some snarky comment about him being the ‘high and mighty’ one. And then I just, well, I walked away. It was stupid. I was frustrated, and I didn’t want to fight him anymore.”

Allan spoke up quietly, looking at Marinette with sympathy. “It sounds like he was being rude. But maybe he’s just not used to anyone standing up to him.”

Marinette gave a small, wry laugh. “If I had to guess, I think that’s exactly it. It’s like he’s got this wall up around him, and he’s so used to people either fawning over him or avoiding him. I don’t think anyone’s ever called him out on his attitude before.”

Claude leaned forward, his expression serious for once. “And now? What’s the plan, then?”

“I don’t know.” Marinette admitted, her voice soft. “I feel like I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. But at the same time, I don’t know how to deal with him. He’s so difficult. And stubborn. It’s like trying to talk to a brick wall. Except a brick wall is somehow nicer.”

Allegra leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers on the edge of the table, as if in thought. “Felix’s behavior has always been a bit extreme. It’s not just with you; he’s like this with everyone. But there’s something about the way he acts around you... It’s almost like he’s trying to provoke a reaction, like he’s trying to get under your skin on purpose.”

Marinette tilted her head, confused. “What do you mean?”

Allegra gave a small shrug. “He’s used to being in control of every situation. But you’re different. You’re not intimidated by him like everyone else. And that’s what seems to throw him off.”

Claude let out a soft snicker. “Look at you, Marinette. You're messing with the King of the Ice Kingdom and making him flustered.”

Marinette couldn’t help but smile at Claude’s words, even though the thought of Felix being flustered seemed completely impossible. “I don’t know if I’m ‘messing with him,’ but... it’s hard not to react to someone like that.”

There was a moment of silence, where all four of them seemed to be lost in thought. Finally, Allegra spoke again, her voice more serious now. “Maybe you should try talking to him. I know it sounds crazy, but it might be the only way to get through to him. He’s always pushing people away, but I don’t think he really wants to be alone. He just doesn’t know how to let anyone in.”

Marinette frowned, her gaze shifting to her half eaten salad. “You really think talking to him would help?”

“I do.” Allegra said firmly. “He’s complicated, but he’s not some unfeeling robot, I don't think. He just hides behind this cold exterior. If you can break through that, maybe you’ll understand him better. We've tried before, though as you can tell it hasn't really done much.”

Marinette bit her lip, her thoughts swirling. Could she really approach Felix after everything that had happened? Would he even listen to her, or would he just shut her out again? The idea of confronting him was terrifying, but at the same time, the curiosity was gnawing at her.
“I’ll think about it.” Marinette said finally, meeting Allegra’s gaze. “But I’m not making any promises.”

Claude grinned. “Well, at least you’re not giving up entirely. Progress.”

Allan nodded, as if approving of Marinette’s approach.

The final class of the day dragged on, and Marinette found herself tapping her pencil against her notebook, her thoughts far from the formulas on the chalkboard.

Felix sat beside her yet again, silent and stone still as ever, his eyes focused on his notes and it annoyed her more than it should have. Not a single glance her way. Not a word.

'What am I even doing?' she thought bitterly, glaring down at the page in front of her. 'Why am I the one thinking about talking to him?'

She’d spent most of lunch trying to psych herself up for it. Allegra was right, maybe he just didn’t know how to talk to people, maybe he didn’t mean to be cruel. Maybe there was a reason for the way he acted. She wanted to believe there was something deeper beneath the ice. But now, sitting next to him, she couldn’t help but feel the heat rising in her chest again.
He hadn’t apologized. He hadn’t so much as acknowledged her since their blow up in class. Not one flicker of remorse. Not even a glance.
And she kept circling back to the same thought: why should I be the one to reach out first?
It had been her first day. She hadn’t known about his “spot” in the library. She hadn’t meant to take anything from him. She hadn’t even done anything wrong. But he had stormed in like she’d broken some sacred rule, like she was just another intruder in his precious world.
And yet she was the one losing sleep over it.

She clenched her jaw, dropping her pencil and rubbing her temple with a quiet sigh.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shift. Not much, just a slight movement, a fleeting glance in her direction. She caught it. His eyes flicked back to the board a second later, but he’d looked. That much she was sure of.
Her irritation only deepened.
No. No, she wasn’t going to be the one to make the first move. She wasn’t going to try to fix something he broke. She was tired of trying to give people the benefit of the doubt when they refused to do the same for her.

The bell rang, mercifully breaking the silence.

Marinette stood up swiftly, grabbing her things in one motion. She didn’t wait for Allegra, Claude, or Allan. She didn’t even glance at Felix.

“Dupain-Cheng.”

Her shoulders tensed. She didn’t turn around.
“What.” she grumbles, her tone sharper than she intended.

A pause.

“...Nothing.”

That was it.
Just nothing.

She spun around, glaring. “Seriously? That’s all? You called my name just to say ‘nothing’? What is wrong with you?”

Felix looked mildly surprised by her reaction, but not enough to show anything more than a blink. “I was going to speak, but I realized it wouldn’t matter. You’ve already made up your mind about me.”

She stared at him, disbelief washing over her like a wave.
“You think I made up my mind about you?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper but laced with fire. “I tried to be civil. I tried to be kind. I didn’t even know you. And you were awful. From the moment I sat down next to you. So no, Felix. I didn’t make up my mind. You handed me your personality on a silver platter.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Just stood there, expression unreadable as always. His hands were folded behind his back, his face as controlled as ever. But something flickered in his eyes. Shame? Doubt?

“Nobody likes being spoken to like they’re beneath someone.” Marinette said, backing toward the door. “Maybe that’s new for you. But not everyone here is going to just bow their head and take it.”

Felix’s jaw twitched.

Marinette shook her head, voice softer now. “I don’t care how long you’ve been sitting in that library spot. I had every right to be there. And I’m not apologizing for not knowing you usually sit there.”

And then she turned and walked out, her heart pounding, chest tight, but not from sadness this time.
From fury.
From defiance.

She didn’t see Felix lower his gaze to the floor. Didn’t see how he stood still long after the room had emptied, staring at the spot she’d just occupied, the silence heavier than usual.

He said nothing.
But he’d heard every word.

Marinette stormed down the hallway, her footsteps echoing off the polished floors. Her heart was still hammering in her chest, each beat fueled by a mix of adrenaline and raw frustration. She hated that he got under her skin like this. Hated how a few words from him could throw her so completely off balance.

'Why do I even care what he thinks?'

She pushed open the doors to the courtyard and stepped into the late afternoon light, exhaling hard as she tried to steady her breathing.

She sat down on a low stone bench near the rose garden and dropped her bag at her feet. Her hands trembled as she pulled out her sketchbook, but the moment she touched the pencil to paper, nothing came. Her thoughts were too loud. Her emotions too tangled.

Meanwhile, back in the classroom, the others hadn’t left quite yet.

Allegra lingered at her desk, her brow slightly furrowed as she replayed the exchange she’d overheard. Claude stood near the back of the room with his guitar case slung over one shoulder, lips pursed in a thoughtful frown. Allan, quiet as always, glanced from Allegra to Felix, who still hadn’t moved.

“She’s right, you know.” Claude finally said, voice low but not unkind. “You don’t get to act like the world’s offended you when you started the whole mess.”

Felix didn’t react.

Allegra approached him slowly, her heels clicking softly against the floor. “Felix.” she said gently, “you don’t have to say anything. But maybe try listening for once. Really listening.”
“She’s not your enemy.” She continued. “But you’re treating her like she is.”

For a moment, it seemed like Felix might respond. But instead, he gave a curt nod and turned to gather his things. He left without a word.

Outside, Marinette finally managed to sketch a soft hemline, the curve of a collar. But even as the lines took shape, she couldn’t stop hearing his voice in her head.
“You’ve already made up your mind about me.”

It irritated her more than anything. Because no, she hadn’t made up her mind about him. She didn’t want to think about him at all. But she was. Constantly. And that, more than anything, made her furious.

“Ugh, I hate him!” she muttered under her breath.

“You sure about that?”

She jumped.

Claude stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, expression casual but not mocking. Allan was with him, earbuds hanging loosely around his neck, gaze flicking between her and Claude.

Marinette groaned and rubbed her face. “Don’t start. Please.”

Claude held up his hands. “Not starting anything. Just checking in.”

Allan gave her a tiny smile. “You okay?”

Marinette blinked. Of all people, it was Allan’s quiet question that hit hardest.
She let out a long breath and looked up at them. “I don’t know. I thought I was. I tried to be the bigger person. I tried to talk to him today and he... he just shut me down. Again.”

Claude plopped down on the bench beside her, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Yeah, that’s kind of his thing. But you got to him today.”

She looked at him, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...” Claude said, leaning back, “he didn’t say anything, but trust me, I’ve known him long enough to know when something actually hits. You didn’t yell. You didn’t insult him. You told him the truth. And that’s rare around here.”

Allan sat on the edge of the planter beside them, nodding. “You challenged him. Not in a mean way, just in a way that made him think.”

Marinette scoffed. “Well, he didn’t look like he was thinking. He looked like he wanted to throw me out a window.”

Claude snorted. “That’s just his resting face. You’ll get used to it.”

Despite herself, Marinette chuckled.

Allegra joined them a few moments later, her expression calm. “He’s difficult. Infuriatingly so.” she said simply. “But I don’t think he wanted to hurt you. He’s just so used to being on the defensive, he doesn’t know how to be any other way.”

Marinette looked down at her sketchbook. The sketch on the page was unfinished, but she could already see what it was turning into... a jacket, sharply tailored, the kind someone like Felix might wear. But softened. Lined with embroidery. Edges trimmed with something just a little more warm.

She closed it quickly.

Chapter Text

Marinette tapped her pencil against her open textbook, trying to focus. She really, truly was. But Felix was sitting two feet away and that made concentration an actual battle.

Their math professor paced at the front of the room. His monotone voice droned through quadratic formulas and graphing derivatives with the passion of someone who loved numbers more than human connection.

Felix, naturally, was already three pages ahead. His pen glided across his notebook with quiet precision.

Marinette's eyes narrowed.
It wasn’t fair. Nothing about him was fair. The way he looked like he belonged in a black and white film, the way his voice sounded like it belonged to someone announcing a royal execution. The way he moved like he was too good for the floor itself.
And most of all... the way he made her feel like she didn’t belong.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng.” The teacher called out suddenly, snapping her attention forward. “Would you be so kind as to solve number eight on the board?”
Her stomach dropped. She hadn’t even seen number eight.

“Uh—yes, of course!” she chirped, stumbling to her feet, heart racing. She grabbed the chalk and stepped up to the board, painfully aware of Felix’s gaze boring into her back like a dagger carved from disdain.

Okay. It was just math. She could do math.

She stared at the problem. It glared back.

And then, from behind her...
“You’ve written the equation backwards.”

Marinette turned her head slowly, chalk still hovering midair. “Excuse me?” she said, far too sweetly.

Felix didn’t look up from his notebook. “It’s a common mistake. Especially for people prone to panic.” He said the last word like it was poison.

A few scattered chuckles came from behind them. Claude cleared his throat, loudly. “Hey, maybe let her try before delivering your critique, yeah?”

“I wasn’t aware stating facts had become criminal.” Felix’s tone remained infuriatingly detached.

Marinette smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “How about you keep your facts to yourself and let me fail in peace?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it peace.” he murmured, finally looking up. His gray blue eyes were cutting. “But certainly failure.”

Allegra pinched the bridge of her nose from her seat nearby. “He’s going to get slapped.” she muttered. “And I won’t even feel bad.”

Marinette gritted her teeth and turned back to the board, correcting the equation with angry jabs of chalk. She finished the problem, then stalked back to her seat without waiting for the professor's approval.

Felix didn’t flinch as she dropped into her chair. But he spoke. Of course he did.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what, exactly?” she snapped.

“For sparing you the humiliation of incorrect math in front of the class. I imagine that would’ve haunted you for hours.”

“I would’ve been fine!” she hissed, keeping her voice low as the teacher resumed his lesson. “And even if I wasn’t, that doesn’t give you the right to act like I’m some kind of... of incompetent side character in your drama!”

Felix glanced at her sidelong, as if she were a particularly perplexing equation. “You assume everything I say is about you. That’s remarkably self centered.”

She let out a breathless laugh. “I’m sitting next to you. You commented on my answer. That is literally about me.”

“I simply value efficiency. And logic.” He tapped his pen once, neatly. “If you wish to interpret that as a personal attack, that’s your error. Not mine.”

Marinette looked like she wanted to launch him through the window.

Claude leaned over from the next table. “Hey, maybe we just... dial it down, yeah? Like two notches? Maybe one? Before someone throws a compass?”

Allegra, flipping a page in her textbook, didn’t look up. “Let them go. Eventually one of them will combust and we can all finally move on.”

Felix, for his part, ignored them. He’d returned to his notes. But his knuckles were white against the black pen.

Marinette leaned away, arms crossed tight. Her heart was hammering.

For the rest of the period, they didn’t speak.
But the silence was louder than anything.

By the time World Literature rolled around, the tension in the classroom had hardened into something brittle, something ready to crack with the slightest pressure.

Marinette sat stiffly at her shared table, sketchbook untouched and her pencil still.

Claude drummed his fingers nervously against the desk. “So. Group project. Presentation next week. We good?”

“Define good...” Allegra muttered, flipping a page in her notebook. Her eyes flicked toward Marinette, then Felix. “Because I’m pretty sure we’re circling the drain.”

“We’re organized enough.” Felix said, voice clipped and calm. “Provided that Dupain Cheng actually completes her portion instead of retreating again.”

Marinette stiffened. “You mean provided I don’t lose my mind listening to you insult everyone who breathes wrong in your presence?”

Felix didn’t flinch. “I hold people to standards. If that offends your delicate sensibilities, that’s hardly my fault.”

“Maybe if you spent half as much time listening as you do talking down to everyone, you’d realize no one wants to work with you!” Marinette snapped, voice rising.

Felix closed his book slowly. “And yet, here you remain.”

“I’m only here because the grade is group based and I don’t want to drag them down.” She gestured to Claude and Allegra. “But if I had the choice, I wouldn’t spend another second near you.”

Felix’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened. “How noble of you, Dupain Cheng. Enduring the unbearable with such grace. Though if you truly wanted to avoid embarrassment, perhaps you’d consider contributing something worthwhile.”

Marinette froze. Claude gave a low, warning “Dude...” and Allegra sat up straighter, suddenly alert.

But Felix wasn’t done.
“Your work is inconsistent. Your arguments lack cohesion. You compensate with melodrama and superficial charm. Frankly, the only thing you seem to excel at is playing the sympathetic fool.”

Her fingers curled at her sides. “What did you just say?”

Felix tilted his head slightly, like he hadn’t just shattered the room’s equilibrium with surgical precision. “I believe I spoke clearly, Dupain-Cheng.”

Her heart pounded in her ears. She knew the room was watching, waiting—Claude holding his breath, Allegra frozen mid sentence. Even the teacher at the front had paused his notes on the board.

“I’ve had enough of your superiority complex!” Marinette spat. “You walk around like we should all thank you for tolerating our existence. Like you’re doing the world a favor by allowing yourself to breathe near us.”

Felix’s eyes didn’t flicker, but his lips twitched at the corners, whether in amusement or disdain was unclear. “If mediocrity bothers you so much, perhaps you should reflect on your own contribution to it.”

That did it. The sharp crack in Marinette’s chest finally gave way to a full break. Her voice rose, furious, trembling.
“You want to talk about mediocrity? You wouldn’t know how to connect with another human being if someone handed you instructions with diagrams and flashcards. You just sit there with your stupid cold eyes and act like feeling things makes people weak.”

Felix stood now, his posture unnervingly composed. “Emotions cloud reason. And yours, evidently, have smothered it entirely.”

She almost growled. “You are insufferable!”

“And you,” he said, voice sharp as a blade, “are a distraction dressed up in sympathy. They pity you, Dupain-Cheng. That’s not respect. It’s charity.”

A collective inhale rippled through the class. Even Claude muttered, “Okay—no. That’s too far.”

Marinette’s face flushed crimson, her throat tightening. She stepped back, eyes stinging, and before she could stop herself, a textbook slammed shut.
Her own.

“I won’t let you use me as target practice just because you’re too emotionally constipated to function like a normal person! You absolute disgusting selfish son of a-”

“Miss Dupain-Cheng.”

The teacher.

She halted, shoulders heaving.

“With all due respect,” the teacher said, folding his arms, “your outburst is disrupting the entire class. I’m going to have to ask you to step outside and collect yourself.”

Marinette spun around, stunned. “Me?!”

Felix sat back down, as if none of it concerned him.

“He’s been provoking me all class—!”

“Enough.” The teacher’s voice was firm. “I saw the escalation. Regardless of cause, I cannot allow this level of disruption. Outside. Now.”

A choked breath escaped her. She looked to Claude. Then Allegra. Even Allan across the room, who had been watching with widened eyes.

No one moved.

And Felix? Felix just looked down at his book again. As if she were no more than static.

Her throat tightened. She grabbed the door handle.

Before she stepped out, she turned over her shoulder, eyes locked on him, voice barely above a whisper.
“I hope one day you realize how much damage you do just by opening your mouth.”

Then she left. The door clicked shut behind her, harder than necessary.

The next morning, Felix arrived precisely five minutes before first bell, as he always did.
He walked past the murmuring students without a single glance, cutting through conversation like a shadow that didn’t belong in the daylight.

Not a flicker of hesitation.
Not a crack in his mask.
Not a single word about the day before.
And if anyone had dared to bring it up, Marinette’s outburst, his scathing remarks, the way she left with fire in her eyes and water clinging to her lashes, they would’ve been met with the same cold steel in his gaze that had silenced better people.

Claude watched him from a nearby bench, elbow propped on his guitar case, brow furrowed.

“Did he actually sleep last night?” he muttered.

Allegra sat beside him, arms crossed, expression tight. “Sleep? Please. He’s probably been polishing that ego until it reflected the trauma he caused.”

Allan slid his headphones down around his neck. “Maybe he just doesn’t care.”

“Or,” Allegra added, voice low, “he’s pretending he doesn’t.”

But if Felix heard them, he didn’t show it. He passed them with the same detached elegance, not even glancing their way.

He sat beneath the bronze statue at the center of the courtyard, violin case at his side. The breeze carried laughter and fragments of conversation, the world continuing as if it hadn’t fractured the day before.
He watched the fountain for a while, his face carved from stone.

Allegra approached cautiously, hands in the pockets of her blazer.

“You’re proud of yourself?” she asked flatly.

Felix didn’t look at her. “I don’t concern myself with emotional theatrics.”

“She’s not here today.”

“Then I suppose the air is a touch less humid.” His voice was quiet, sharp.

Allegra’s jaw tightened. “You don’t fool anyone, you know. Not me. Not Claude. Not even Allan. You say you don’t care, but you looked her in the eye when you said those things. You meant them.”

“Yes.” Felix said coolly. “That was the point.”

“You hurt her.”

“She should grow thicker skin.”

She turned and walked away, leaving him in the silence he claimed to crave, fists clenched and gritting her teeth.

Once next class started, Felix settled into his seat with an air of detached indifference. He adjusted his tie with deliberate precision, eyes briefly scanning the room but never settling on anything that demanded his genuine attention. To anyone watching, he appeared as cold and composed as always, a fortress behind which no crack showed.

The minutes ticked by in the quiet of the classroom, punctuated only by the rustle of papers and soft coughs. And then, the door swung open.

Marinette stepped inside, her usual bright eyed energy replaced by something far grimmer. Her hair, usually neat and playful in twin pigtails, was slightly disheveled and loose. Her face was pale but resolute, with eyes blazing an icy blue that seemed to cut right through the stale classroom air.
She moved toward their shared desk like a force of nature, dropping her bag with a thud and seating herself with such intensity the chair groaned under the weight of her determination.

Felix’s cold gaze flicked to her briefly, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk curling the corner of his lips. 'Impressive', he thought, 'to look like she’s fought hell and actually won.'
But, true to his nature, Felix didn’t miss the opportunity to fan the flames rather than douse them. With a voice smooth and dripping with condescension, he said, loud enough for her and the few nearby students to hear, “Ah, Dupain Cheng. Back from the abyss, I see. I trust you’re ready to not embarrass us all this time?”

Marinette’s head snapped up, eyes locking onto his with an intensity that could have frozen fire.
Her chair scraped back as she stood, no hesitation, no breath between Felix’s smug remark and her reaction. Her hands trembled, not from fear but from fury barely contained beneath skin and sinew.

“I had to go to the principal.” she hissed, voice low and razor sharp, the kind of tone that demanded silence even from those who weren’t listening. “Because of you.”

The murmurs in the classroom stilled. Heads turned.

Felix blinked but didn’t flinch. His posture remained composed, the slightest tilt of his head betraying amusement. “Is that so?”

“They gave me a warning.” Marinette went on, each word laced with venom. “Because apparently, you get to act like everyone here is dirt beneath your shoes, and no one’s allowed to call you out on it.”

A flush of red rose along her cheeks, but her eyes didn’t waver. If anything, they seemed to burn brighter. “And I’m not allowed to defend myself. Not against you. Because you’re some stuck up high and mighty royalty. And I’m just the measly little baker girl from the wrong side of Paris, right?”

Felix’s jaw tensed, only slightly. The smirk vanished, wiped clean as if by force.

“Well, tell you what, Culpa.” She spat his name with enough venom to put an elephant down and took a step forward, her voice rising. “If I’m going to be expelled because of you, I’m damn well going to make sure it’s worth it.”

Gasps echoed from the back of the room. Even Claude sat motionless, brows raised so high they nearly vanished into his hairline. Allegra had gone very still, lips slightly parted. Allan lowered his headphones slowly, like sound alone could interfere with what was unfolding.

Felix said nothing.
Not because he didn’t have a retort, but because for the first time since arriving at this school, someone had spoken to him without fear. And it stung.

Marinette’s voice dropped to a deadly calm, so low it forced everyone in the room to lean in just slightly to catch the words.

“You talk like you’re better than everyone because that’s the only thing you have. You don’t connect. You don’t trust. You don’t feel. So you build walls made of insults and hide behind words that cut people apart before they get too close. But here’s the thing. When you finally push too far and there’s no one left to insult? You’ll be the one standing alone in the wreckage.”
She grabbed her sketchbook from the desk. “And you won’t even realize it until it’s too late.”
Then she sat.
She didn't storm out. She didn't flee.
She claimed her seat like a throne.

The class remained silent. The teacher hadn’t even arrived yet, but it no longer mattered. Something irreversible had been set in motion.

Felix turned away slowly, returning his gaze to the front of the classroom. His hands, so steady and elegant, folded over each other, tighter than before. His expression? Unreadable again. Cold, yes. Still composed.
But inside, something shifted. Quiet and unwelcome.
And for the briefest second, no more than a flicker, he felt it.
Not guilt.
Not shame.

Doubt.

But despite that, Felix opened his mouth, the faintest trace of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he settled back into his usual air of bored superiority. His voice was low, measured, each word carefully chosen to wound without seeming desperate. “So dramatic. Quite the spectacle, really. But tell me, Dupain Cheng, how exactly does your tantrum advance the project? Or is theatrics all you’re good for?”

The room shifted, tension coiling tighter. Marinette’s eyes flashed with fury, but before she could respond, Felix leaned forward.
“I suggest you collect yourself. This outburst only confirms your inadequacy.”

Claude gritted his teeth, ready to protest, but Allegra’s warning glance stopped him.

Marinette’s jaw tightened, the sting of Felix’s words digging deep, but she refused to let him see the fracture beneath her composed exterior. Her breath steadied, and with a deliberate calm, she met his cold gaze.
“Maybe,” she said quietly, voice steady yet sharp, “your endless condescension is the real problem here. If the project’s sinking, it’s because you’re too busy belittling everyone else to actually help.”
She paused, then added, venomous, “You’re not the infallible genius you pretend to be. You’re just afraid no one else will put up with you.”

Claude’s eyes flickered with a mixture of surprise and worry, Allegra’s lips pressed into a thin line and even Allan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Felix’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment, barely perceptible, but his gaze remained ice cold.

Without a word, Marinette turned back to her notebook, fingers trembling just slightly as she began to sketch, shutting down the confrontation. Felix watched her as the others exchanged uneasy glances.

Claude exhaled sharply, breaking the fragile quiet. “Can we just focus on the damn project before this turns into a full on war zone?”

Allegra nodded, voice tentative but firm. “We have a deadline. We need to get back on track.”

Marinette didn’t respond. Instead, she picked up her pencil again, burying herself in her notes and sketches with a fierce intensity that seemed to push Felix and the rest of the room into uneasy submission.

Felix folded his hands neatly on the desk. Despite his outward calm, the undercurrent of the encounter lingered, a silent challenge waiting to be reignited.

Marinette’s voice flowed steadily as she detailed her analysis, outlining the layers of symbolism in Canto V of Dante's Inferno with surprising depth. She highlighted the tragic nature of Paolo and Francesca’s story, the complexity of Dante’s empathy amid punishment, and the emotional undercurrents beneath the surface text. Her insights were thoughtful, well researched... far beyond the scattered notes Felix had expected.

His eyes flickered briefly, an involuntary sign of interest, but his face remained carefully neutral, lips pressed into a thin line. He folded his hands on the desk and finally spoke.
“Hmph. A decent summary, Dupain Cheng, though hardly groundbreaking. One might hope for more originality than a mere recital of commonly discussed themes.”

Marinette’s smile faltered for a split second, but she steadied herself. “I’m not here to impress you. I’m here to get a good grade.”

Felix let out a faint, derisive laugh. “As if this project isn’t about impressing the teacher and perhaps saving some of your dignity in the process.”

Claude glanced between them, a nervous grin tugging at his lips, but didn’t dare interrupt. Allegra gave Marinette a small, encouraging nod.

Marinette returned her attention to the project, forcing herself not to let Felix’s dismissal sting. She could tell he was watching her closely, perhaps even recalibrating his opinion, but he’d never admit it aloud.

For days, each meeting was a careful dance around Felix’s biting remarks and Marinette’s simmering frustration. Claude did his best to lighten the mood with jokes that often landed awkwardly, while Allegra quietly kept the peace, and Marinette buried herself deeper into her notes, determined not to let the chaos unravel her work.

Felix remained as cold and sharp as ever, criticizing every detail, dismissing ideas with a razor edge. Yet, despite his abrasive nature, it became clear, begrudgingly, perhaps even to himself, that Marinette’s knowledge and creative insights had elevated their project beyond what any of them had expected.

On the final day before the presentation, the classroom was unusually quiet. Papers were stacked neatly, laptops closed, and notes highlighted to perfection. Marinette, Claude, Allegra, and even Felix sat together, an uneasy truce between them.

Felix finally broke the silence, voice calm but unmistakably relieved. “It appears we have reached a satisfactory conclusion. One that, against all odds, should secure a passing grade, if not something marginally better.”

Marinette glanced at him, surprise flickering in her eyes. He offered her a brief nod, almost respectful in its simplicity.
She didn’t return the nod, at least, not immediately. She studied him for a second longer, as if unsure whether to interpret his words as praise or provocation in disguise. But there was no smirk this time. No glint of derision in his icy gaze. Just cool, indifferent acknowledgment.

“Good.” she said simply, closing her notebook. Her voice held no warmth, no invitation. Just finality.

Claude let out a long exhale, slumping in his chair like someone had just defused a ticking bomb. “Thank the heavens. I was about one awkward silence away from a nervous breakdown.”

Allegra rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. “Let’s not jinx it before the presentation.”

Felix rose from his seat with practiced elegance, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt before reaching for his folder. He didn’t look at any of them as he spoke.
“I assume you’re all capable of performing your respective parts tomorrow. I’d rather not carry this entire presentation after all the effort we’ve put in.”

That earned him a withering look from Marinette, but she didn’t rise to the bait. Not anymore. Not when they were this close to being done.
“Don’t worry, Culpa.” she said with a tight smile. “I wouldn’t trust you to represent me anyway.”

Claude snorted. Allegra bit back a laugh.

Felix paused, the corner of his mouth twitching, something just shy of amusement or maybe disbelief. Without another word he turned and walked away, posture still as composed as ever.

She stared after him for a second too long before shaking her head.
“He's still dead to me.” she muttered under her breath.
But it didn’t sting the same anymore. Not after he’d seen her work. Not after he’d acknowledged it. Even if he’d never admit it aloud.

“Tomorrow’s the big day.” Claude said, stretching. “We’re actually ready. Sort of.”

Marinette gathered her things, her voice quiet but sure. “We’re ready.”

The morning of the presentation arrived.
Marinette sat at her desk, notebook closed, fingers clasped together in her lap. She was dressed a little sharper than usual, a soft white blouse beneath her selfmade black jacket and navy shorts.

Across the room, Felix stood by the windows with his back to the class, arms folded behind him in a pose that screamed composed detachment.

Claude was the first to speak as the teacher entered, cheerful and loud enough to cut through the tension. “Morning, Madame! Ready to be dazzled?”

Allegra rolled her eyes from behind her sheet of notes. “Please don’t ruin it in the first five seconds.”

Felix finally turned, walking toward their table with the slow, deliberate steps of someone heading into battle. He gave Marinette a single glance.

She didn’t look at him.

Their names were called.
They stood at the front of the class, Marinette being up first to speak.
And she was brilliant.

Her voice was calm and steady as she spoke. Her points, precise and clearly rehearsed but not robotic. She spoke with conviction, her hands moving slightly as she emphasized key details, drawing the class into the emotional arc of Dante’s Fifth Canto with ease.

Claude followed with a well rehearsed bit of humor that landed surprisingly well, lightening the room at just the right moment. Allegra grounded them again with elegant poise and analysis, her voice quiet but firm.

And then it was Felix's moment.
He stepped forward, the room seeming to still with his presence, the way it always did. He spoke with that same unshakable tone, but there was something different today. Less venom. Still sharp, still composed, but his delivery felt less like a lecture and more like a performance.

He didn’t glance at Marinette once.
But when it was over, and the teacher gave a quiet but impressed nod, the class applauding politely, Felix stepped back. His gaze brushed over her only briefly, but this time, there was something almost resembling respect. Maybe.

Claude was grinning, practically bouncing. “We nailed it!”

Allegra allowed herself a satisfied exhale. “No thanks to the endless tension.”

Felix said nothing. But as he adjusted his tie and turned to leave, Marinette caught up beside him, her eyes forward and her voice low.

“We made a good team. Somehow.” she said simply.

He didn’t stop walking. “Hmph.”
But then after a beat he added,
“Acceptable. I suppose.”

She smiled, just a little.
It wasn’t much.
But it was something.

The long days had left Marinette mentally drained and she needed something to help her focus.
Her steps were light, her bag swinging lazily from her shoulder as she moved down a quieter wing of the school she hadn’t explored much yet. It was peaceful here, almost eerily so, the echo of her own footsteps the only sound...
Until she heard it.

A single, aching note cut through the silence like silk over glass. Pure and beautiful.

Marinette froze mid step.

The melody was soft and full of sorrow. The kind of song that made your chest tighten even if you didn’t know why. It rose and fell like a story being told without words, each note heavy with emotion, with longing.
Drawn to the sound, Marinette tiptoed down the hallway until she reached the half open door of the music room. She hesitated for only a second, then leaned close and peeked through the gap.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It was Felix.

He stood near the center of the room, entirely alone, bathed in the gentle light of the sun pouring through the tall windows. His jacket had been discarded over the back of a chair, his white sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the black vest snug against his lean frame. The violin rested beneath his chin, and his bow glided across the strings with effortless grace.

Gone was the stiff, cold boy who sat beside her in class like a statue. His eyes were closed, brow lightly furrowed in concentration. He played as if the music was the only language he truly knew. Every note carried weight, sorrow and beauty.

Marinette felt like she was intruding.
She didn’t dare breathe too loudly.
She should have walked away.
But she couldn’t.

Her hand clutched the strap of her bag as she stood frozen in the doorway, listening, watching. And then Felix’s bow stopped.

The final note hung in the air for a moment before slowly fading.
And he opened his eyes, his gaze meeting hers instantly.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The moment stretched, tense and uncertain.

Marinette’s breath hitched. “I—I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

Felix blinked once.

She began to turn away, cheeks burning, but his voice, soft, low, and surprisingly tired, stopped her.
“You weren’t.”

She turned back to him, slowly, unsure if she had heard him right.

Felix set the violin down carefully. He stepped away from the music stand and ran a hand through his hair, suddenly avoiding her gaze.
“I knew someone was there.” he added, quieter now. “I just didn’t bother to stop.”

Marinette didn’t know what to say. She stepped into the room slowly, her shoes nearly silent against the wooden floor.
“That was beautiful...” she said, her voice sincere. “I didn’t know you could play like that.”

Felix gave a small shrug, almost bashful, though the way he held himself remained distant.

Marinette felt her heart ache. For a moment, she saw him not as the arrogant boy from class but as someone deeply guarded, someone who kept every part of himself locked away.

Felix stood completely still, the violin now resting gently on the table beside him. He looked at Marinette as if seeing her properly for the first time. not as a nuisance, not as an interloper, but as something far more disarming. Something unfamiliar.
She wasn’t glaring at him. She wasn’t fuming or snapping back like she had all the other times they spoke. She looked calm. Open. Soft in a way that made his throat tighten.

His brow creased slightly. He looked down at his hands, long fingers still flexing slightly from holding the bow.
“I don’t usually feel comfortable when people are watching.” he said slowly, carefully. “It’s different when it’s just me and the notes. The sound. I know how to make sense of that.”

“Music doesn’t lie, does it?” she said, almost to herself.

Felix looked at her, startled.

She smiled faintly, stepping further into the room. “It tells the truth, even when we can’t.”

He didn’t respond to that. But he didn’t look away either.

Marinette stepped closer, not enough to crowd him, just enough to be near. “You don’t like people seeing you, do you?”

He looked up, sharply. “No. I don’t.”

“Why?”

Felix’s jaw tensed, like he was wrestling with something. “Because they never see all of it. Just the parts they want to pick at.”

Marinette nodded, her gaze softening. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I get that.”

The words surprised him.
“You... do?” he asked cautiously.

“I don’t exactly blend in here.” she said with a rueful smile. “Everyone watches. Judges. Especially when you don’t come from the kind of money or name that makes you belong by default. You and pretty much the rest of the school have made that perfectly clear to me.” She says bitterly.

Felix was silent.

“But when I sketch...” she continued, “I don’t have to be perfect. I don’t even have to be liked. I can just be.”

Felix looked at her, truly looked, eyes narrowed slightly, not in coldness, but concentration. Like he was trying to decode a language he hadn’t dared learn before now.
He stepped back toward the violin case, brushing a bit of dust from the table before carefully picking up the bow again. “I don’t usually play for anyone.” he said, almost to himself.

“You didn’t stop when you knew I was there.” Marinette pointed out gently.

“I know.” Felix replied.

Marinette tilted her head, eyes still on him. “Was that your way of apologizing?”

Felix hesitated.
Then, ever so slightly, he inclined his head. Not quite a nod, not quite a bow. A subtle gesture, but unmistakable.
It was the closest thing to a yes he’d given anyone.

Marinette blinked, taken off guard by how sincere it felt. Her lips twitched at the corners.
“That was... uh. Well... At least it had melody...?” she teased softly.

Felix made a small sound somewhere between a huff and a scoff. “Don’t get used to it, Dupain-Cheng.”

“There’s the smug prince I unfortunately know.” she said with a smirk.

For the first time since they’d met, Felix smiled. Quick to miss if you blinked, but genuine.

She blinked, caught off guard by how warm he looked when he wasn’t hiding behind cruel sarcasm and cold indifference.

“Did you just smile?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“No, I saw that.”

“You must be mistaken. It’s a rare condition. Happens once every few years.”

She rolled her eyes, but a soft laugh escaped her lips.

Felix tucked that sound into the back of his mind. A rare melody he’d very much like to hear again.

Chapter Text

The sun had barely risen when Marinette stepped into school.
She tugged the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder, fingers brushing the rough seam of her sketchbook hidden inside, as if seeking reassurance.

Class was already beginning to fill when she stepped through the door. Claude was joking loudly with Allan by the window. Allegra shot her a small wave from the second row. But Marinette barely returned it. Her gaze snapped instinctively to her desk.

He was already there, as always.
Felix sat in his pristine stillness, eyes trained on the open textbook in front of him like it had personally offended him. His posture was impeccable, his shoulders back, his legs crossed, his chin lifted slightly in that same aggravating way he always does.
Marinette inhaled, slow and steady. She wasn’t expecting a parade. She wasn’t even expecting a hello. But some kind of acknowledgment wouldn’t have killed him.

“Morning.” she said quietly as she slid into her seat beside him.
He didn’t look up.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe, apparently.

Marinette frowned. “Okay. Rude. But consistent.” she muttered under her breath, pulling out her notebook.

Still nothing.
Not even a flick of those glacier eyes.

Marinette’s brow furrowed. She sat rigidly for a long moment, trying not to spiral. Maybe he was just focused. Maybe this was him being awkward again. Maybe—
But then he turned a page in his book and murmured without looking at her. “If you’re waiting for me to entertain whatever misguided assumptions you carried over from yesterday, I’d suggest you redirect your expectations.”

The words hit harder than they should have.
Marinette blinked, caught off guard. “Sorry—what?”

Felix exhaled through his nose, the faintest hint of irritation ghosting across his otherwise impassive features. “You seemed under the impression that we’d bonded. Or some equally juvenile nonsense.”

Marinette’s heart gave a small, traitorous twist in her chest.
“Wow.” she said, her voice flat. “You really are a masterpiece of self sabotage, you know that?”

Felix finally looked at her then, sharp and cold like cracked porcelain. “Pardon?”

“You heard me.” she snapped, anger rising like floodwater. “Yesterday, you let your mask slip. Just a little. And I thought maybe, maybe, there was an actual person under all that cold blooded aristocratic arrogance. But no. Silly me, right? How dare I think Felix Culpa could act like a human being.”

Whispers fluttered like moths around them, classmates tuning in, pretending not to.

Felix’s jaw tightened. “You're making a scene.”

“No, you’re making a scene.” Marinette shot back. “By pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about. By pretending you weren’t the one who opened up, even if it was just a little. You played the violin, for god’s sake! You let me in. You let me see you.”
Her voice cracked, not with sadness, but something harder. Raw disappointment.
“And now you’re pretending like none of it happened?”

Felix looked away. Not toward the teacher. Not toward his book. Just away.
His silence wasn’t indifferent. It was brittle. Fragile in a way he couldn’t afford to be.
“I didn’t mean—” he began, voice low.

“Oh no.” Marinette cut in, rising to her feet now. “Don’t bother. I get it. You didn’t mean to share anything real. You didn’t mean to let your guard down. You didn’t mean for me to think you’re capable of being anything other than a cruel, lonely boy with a superiority complex.”

Felix’s lips parted as if to reply, but he faltered. Not because he had nothing to say.
But because none of it was the right thing to say.

Marinette stared at him, hurt, but beneath it all, disappointed.
“I was willing to give you a chance...” she said, softer now, more to herself than him. “But it’s clear you have no idea what to do with one.”

She gathered her things with hands that only trembled a little and walked across the room, sliding into an empty seat at the back of class of someone who had called in sick, before the teacher could object.

Felix sat frozen, hands limp on the edges of his desk. His eyes didn’t follow her. He didn’t even glance.
But he felt her absence like a silence in the music, one that no note could fill.

After class ended, the bell rang like a judgment, slicing through the classroom’s tension.

Marinette stayed in her seat at the back, chin low and shoulders tight. She kept her eyes on the same meaningless doodle she'd been tracing into the corner of her notebook since her argument with Felix began, an unfinished rose, its petals too sharp, its stem jagged.

“Hey.”

She looked up. Claude was peering down at her, all rumpled blazer and concerned brows. Allegra hovered just behind him, arms folded, expression attentive in that way that meant she wasn’t going to let Marinette dodge the conversation.

“You okay?” Claude asked, his tone light but careful. “Because you kind of—how do I say this politely—verbally incinerated Felix in front of half the class.”

“Kind of?” Allegra echoed. “She torched him, Claude. It was like a poetry slam where the prize was his dignity.”

Claude winced, but nodded. “Okay, yeah. That.”

Marinette sighed and rested her forehead in her hands. “I didn’t mean to go off like that. It just happened.”

Allegra tilted her head, sliding into the seat beside her. “We’re not judging. We just didn’t know there was anything between you two to go off about.”

Claude leaned on the desk, curious now. “What even happened? Yesterday you were both at each other’s throats as per usual, and then this morning you looked like someone drop kicked your soul into the Seine.”

Marinette hesitated.
What had happened? It still felt blurry around the edges. Real, yes. But surreal in its softness, its unexpectedness. A single moment of clarity in a storm of miscommunication.

She straightened, her voice quieter. “After school yesterday... I found him in one of the music rooms, playing violin.”

Claude blinked. “He plays violin? I thought he only played the piano.”

“Beautifully.” Marinette said and immediately hated how wistful her voice sounded. She cleared her throat. “I didn’t know either. He didn’t know I was there at first, and I almost left, but... he didn’t stop.”

Allegra’s brows drew together. “He let you stay?”

Marinette nodded. “Yeah. And then we talked. Sort of. It was awkward, but... like... he let his guard down for the first time since I got here. I thought maybe we’d turned some kind of corner.”

Claude exchanged a look with Allegra, surprised.

“I even asked him if it was his way of apologizing for how he’s treated me. That that's the reason he let me stay.” Marinette continued, lips pressing into a thin line. “And he didn’t say yes. But he did this little head tilt thing. It was subtle, but it felt genuine.”

Allegra’s eyes widened slightly. “From Felix, that’s basically throwing a parade.”

“That’s what I thought..” Marinette said bitterly. “So when I said hi this morning, I expected... well, not a handshake and a hug, but something small, at least. Instead, he acted like I was delusional for thinking we had any kind of moment at all.”

Claude let out a low whistle. “Oof.”

“Classic Felix.” Allegra muttered, though there was no real venom in her voice. Just a sad sort of knowing.

Marinette looked between them. “Has he always been like this?”

Allegra nodded. “He wasn’t always so icy. When he first transferred, he was quiet. Awkward, yeah. But not mean. The whole superiority act started after his second month. Like he decided it was easier to push people away than let anyone in.”

“And now he doesn’t know how to stop.” Claude added.

Marinette looked down at her hands. “Well, he picked the wrong person to test that strategy on.”

Claude grinned faintly. “You were kind of badass though. Not gonna lie. I’ve never seen anyone shut him down like that.”

Allegra smiled too, but her gaze was more contemplative. “You got under his skin. That’s rare.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” Marinette muttered. “I just thought maybe we’d both seen a part of each other no one else gets to see. But I guess I was wrong.”

Allegra nudged her gently. “Maybe you weren’t. But even if you weren’t wrong, that doesn’t mean he knows what to do with it.”

Claude leaned closer, tapping his fingers against the desk. “Look. Felix isn’t just bad at feelings, he’s violently allergic to them. You saw through his whole cold prince thing and now he’s probably spiraling internally like a malfunctioning NPC.”

Marinette allowed herself a small, humorless laugh.

“But hey!” Claude said, straightening. “If he pulls that crap again, we’ve got your back.”

“Absolutely.” Allegra agreed. “We may be all glitter and gold around here, but some of us know how to recognize a good soul when we see one.”

Marinette blinked. Their kindness, though unexpected, landed softly. Like a scarf wrapped around her shoulders on a bitter morning.
“Thanks.” she said quietly. “That really means a lot.”

Allegra smiled. “Come on. Let’s get to next period before we’re late and Madame Lefevre accuses us of plotting an uprising.”

Claude stood, stretching dramatically. “She’s not wrong, though.”

They gathered their things and Marinette followed them out.

By the time the trio stepped into the south corridor where sunlight spilled through tall arching windows and students moved like silk across marble floors, Marinette could almost pretend she belonged.
Almost.

She walked between Allegra and Claude, their presence like a buffer against the cold undercurrent that always lurked in the school's golden perfection. Her laughter from earlier still lingered faintly, soft and fleeting.
That was when she saw her.

Chelsea. Heiress to some perfume empire. Flawless in posture, hair like spun gold, uniform tailored within a millimeter of its life. And her smile was the kind of thing that made girls flinch before they even realized they were afraid.
And right now, that smile was directed at Marinette.

“Oh, look.” Chelsea cooed, arms folded across her designer bag. “The baker girl’s picked up some strays. Did someone finally take pity on you, Dupain Cheng?”

Marinette slowed, spine straightening.

Allegra stepped forward, but Marinette gently touched her arm. “Let me.”

Claude gave a wary look but stepped back.

Chelsea’s clique fanned out behind her like petals, each echoing the same glimmering smirk, as if cruelty was a fragrance they all wore.

Marinette took a single step forward, meeting Chelsea’s gaze. “Is there a reason you keep picking at me? Or is it just a hobby at this point?”

Chelsea’s smile only widened. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re a walking, talking mismatch. This school is for legacy and polish. Not for... whatever freak of nature you are.”

“Resilient?” Marinette offered, voice cool.

“Desperate.” Chelsea countered. “You stomp around like you’re some tragic underdog with a heart of gold. But you’re just loud and clumsy.”
The girls behind her snickered.

Marinette’s hands curled into fists but she kept her voice steady. “You mean I don’t lie about who I am? Must be terrifying for someone like you.”

Chelsea’s eyes narrowed just slightly.
“I heard about your little outburst in class.” she said, voice oozing false sweetness. “Tell me, are you planning to challenge his mother as well? Or just Felix?”

Marinette stiffened. “What happens between me and Felix is none of your business.”

“Oh, but it is.” Chelsea’s tone dropped. “See, unlike you, Felix belongs here. You, on the other hand, are a distraction. A charity case with dirt under her nails and big dreams about fitting in.”

Marinette flinched just a little. Chelsea saw it.
But so did Allegra.

“That’s enough.” Allegra said sharply, stepping in now, voice tight. “Leave her alone.”

Chelsea gave her a look that dripped superiority. “Allegra. You always did have a thing for strays. I’m surprised your leash hasn’t snapped yet.”

Claude laughed, humorless. “Wow. That was a stretch. Even for you.”

But Marinette wasn’t hearing them anymore. Her heart was thudding too loudly.
It wasn’t just the words, it was the precision of them. How close they landed to fears she tried so hard to smother.
'You don’t belong.'
'You’ll never be one of us.'

Chelsea leaned in, voice barely above a whisper. “Careful, Marinette. You might just fool yourself into thinking you deserve to be here.”

Marinette met her gaze, steady this time.
And then she smiled, tight lipped, small, but unflinching.
“You’re right.” she said softly. “I don’t belong here.”

Chelsea blinked.

“I don’t have your money. I don’t have your last name. I wasn’t bred for elegance or trained to wear cruelty like a designer label.”

She stepped closer, and suddenly Chelsea looked less amused.
“But I earned my place here. Every grade, every sketch, every sleepless night. So no, I don’t belong to this school. But I belong in it. And nothing you say will change that.”

A silence bloomed around them.
Chelsea’s face faltered, just for a second, before reassembling into perfection.
“Hm,” she said coolly. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”
She turned on her heel, her entourage clicking after her like well oiled heels on tile. Gone, just as quickly as she'd descended.

Allegra exhaled slowly. “Well. That was horrifying.”

Claude gave Marinette a low whistle. “You okay?”

Marinette nodded. But her jaw was tight.
“I’m fine.” she said, even if her heart felt like it was vibrating inside her chest. “People like her are used to scaring everyone into silence.”

“And you?” Allegra asked.

Marinette looked down the corridor where Chelsea had disappeared. Then back to her friends.
“I don’t scare that easily.”

Meanwhile, the library was everything Felix had been taught to value. It was quiet, ordered and untouched by chaos. A cathedral of control.
But even with the sunlight filtering softly through leaded windows, he couldn’t seem to breathe properly.

His lunch sat untouched beside him. It was simple and elegant, carefully packed by the family chef. A meal engineered to look like love, but with no warmth behind it. Just like everything else he was raised to expect.

He hadn’t turned a page in seventeen minutes.
His hands were perfectly still on either side of the book, but his mind... his mind was a mess of sound and color. Of violin strings and sharp words. Of blue eyes and fire.
Of her.
Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

He flinched inwardly just thinking her name. It rang like an unfinished chord, tense and unresolved.
He’d broken whatever fragile understanding they’d stumbled into yesterday. Shattered it with all the subtlety of a hammer through glass. She had every right to be angry. He’d deserved every word.
But that didn’t mean he knew what to do about it.
Feelings had never been part of the plan.

“A Culpa does not show weakness, Felix.”
His mother’s voice, as clear in his mind as if she were standing beside him now. She didn’t raise her voice often. She didn’t need to. Cold precision was far more effective than volume.
“A Culpa does not form attachments. We are above sentiment. We are legacy. The world bends to us, not the other way around.”

He had been twelve the first time she said it. Fifteen the first time he understood what it cost.
Now, at seventeen, it had become a reflex and armor.

So why—why—did a single girl with ink stained fingers and defiant eyes make it feel so wrong?

He gritted his teeth, gaze drifting back to the page. A line of philosophy stared up at him:
“One must still have chaos within to give birth to a dancing star.”
His fingers twitched. He closed the book too hard.

Chaos. That was exactly what Marinette was.
She didn’t walk quietly, didn’t defer, didn’t twist herself into polite silences. She burned. She clashed with everything this school, and he, were supposed to represent.
And she’d seen him.
Not just the polished facade. Not the snide, disinterested heir.
Him.
And for a moment, he’d let her.

The way she’d spoken yesterday, it haunted him. She hadn’t just stood up to him. She understood him, in ways no one had ever dared.
“You build walls made of insults and hide behind words that cut people apart before they get too close.”
He pressed his fingers to his temple. The memory echoed like a dissonant chord.
He hadn’t meant to hurt her this morning.
But he had, hadn't he?

Because the only language he knew was distance. Disdain. Cold detachment passed down like fine china.

He’d felt something shift in the music room yesterday. Something terrifying. She had stood close, looked at him without flinching, and for a moment, he wasn’t Felix Culpa, heir to a legacy.
He was just a boy with a violin and a hollow ache.
And then today, when she’d greeted him, warmly, even after everything... he’d panicked. He’d gone cold. Cruel. Defaulted to survival mode.
Because what was he supposed to do? Smile? Ask her to sit closer? Thank her?
He didn't know how to be that version of himself.
Not when every instinct screamed that vulnerability was a weakness that would be exploited.

He stared at the wall across from him, eyes unfocused.
He hadn’t even looked at her when she’d spoken. Couldn’t. Because if he had, he might’ve done something stupid. Like apologize. Like care.
And now she hated him even more. Again.

He could feel it in the way she’d spat his name. The way she’d stormed to the back of the room like she wanted nothing more to do with him.
And maybe that was for the best.
But then again, why did it feel like he’d ripped out something important and left it bleeding between them?

A whisper of sound drew his attention.
A girl passing between the shelves, blonde hair gleaming. Chelsea.
She didn’t look at him, but her presence made his skin crawl. Too perfect. Too sharp. She reminded him of his mother.

He’d heard her sniping at Marinette once in the hall, weeks ago. He hadn’t said anything. Hadn’t done anything.
But today, something twisted uncomfortably in his chest at the thought of her crossing paths with Marinette again. Of that venomous voice aiming lower and sharper.

Felix closed his eyes.
He was unraveling. One thread at a time.
And Marinette, she wasn’t like the others. She didn’t try to impress. She didn’t try to manipulate.
She was everything he was not allowed to be.

He remained seated in the library long after lunch had ended. The room had emptied, save for a few stragglers buried in books and notes. The soft rustling of pages was a fragile barrier against the loud pulse of thoughts in his head.

He glanced at the closed violin case on the table beside him.
Maybe tomorrow.

His fingers traced invisible patterns on the polished wood of the desk, as if seeking some kind of rhythm in the silence.

Marinette.
The name felt strange on his tongue, like an unfamiliar melody he couldn’t quite play.
He had always been taught that a Culpa’s worth was measured in legacy, control, and unyielding perfection. But sitting here, alone with only his thoughts for company, he wondered if legacy could ever truly fill the hollow that clawed at his chest.
He thought back to the rare, fleeting smile he’d let slip yesterday. It startled him, the warmth it carried, so unlike the cold mask he always wore.
But the moments after that had been a reminder that the walls he built around himself were there for a reason. To keep others out. To keep himself safe.

Yet, in his quieter moments, Felix couldn’t shake the nagging question: what if the walls were just a prison?
What if the distance he insisted on was exactly what kept him so lonely?

His gaze drifted toward the window, where a few students walked past, their voices carrying faintly on the breeze.
Among them, he imagined Marinette’s bright smile, her sketchbook clutched like a shield, her determination burning beneath the weight of judgment.
He wanted to tell her he was sorry. Not with words, he wasn’t sure he could manage that, but with something genuine.
But the path to that was tangled and he didn’t yet know how to take the first step.
And somewhere beyond the library’s walls, Marinette was still fighting to claim her place in a world that wasn’t built for her.

She sat alone at a stone bench tucked between two ivy covered walls in the school’s central courtyard. She hadn’t touched the sandwich she brought with her. It lay beside her, half unwrapped and forgotten, as her pencil scratched across the surface of her sketchbook with growing aggression.

She was drawing, but not creating.

Everything she sketched, a pair of shoes, a few silhouettes, draped fabric, it all looked cold and flat. There was no soul in the lines. No risk. No Marinette.

She stopped, closed the book and exhaled.

And there it was again: that feeling.
The kind that crept in after confrontation, after disappointment. After almost.

Almost friends.
Almost seen.
Almost something worth salvaging.

She had tried to meet him halfway. She wanted to. She’d offered him a moment of honesty, and Felix had met her with frost. She should have expected that.

Why had she even tried?

Marinette leaned back against the bench, head tilted up to the cloud smeared sky. Somewhere behind one of those windows was a boy who had let her see something rare and beautiful and then slammed the door shut the next morning without a second thought.

No warning. No explanation. No acknowledgment.

She should have known better.

The worst part wasn’t that he’d been cruel. The worst part was how much it had hurt.
Because part of her had believed it. Believed that maybe beneath the layers of scorn and privilege and precision, there was a version of Felix who wanted to change.

But what if that version didn’t exist?

“Stupid...” she whispered, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m so stupid.”

She hated that he still occupied space in her mind. Hated that his violin still echoed in her thoughts late at night. Hated that his silence now felt worse than his insults.

Because it meant she cared.

At her old school, things had been easier. People liked her. She didn’t have to prove she belonged every time she stepped into a room. She was confident.

Here, she was always two steps behind, always watched. And somehow, she’d let the coldest person in the entire school get under her skin.

A soft voice cut through her thoughts.

“Hey, Marinette.”

Marinette turned. Allegra stood a few paces away, a lidded drink in one hand and a cautious expression on her face.

“I figured you might not want cafeteria food today.” she said, offering her the cup. “It’s jasmine tea.”

Marinette blinked, touched in spite of herself. She reached for the cup and wrapped her hands around the warmth gratefully. “Thanks.”

Allegra sat beside her without asking.

They were quiet for a while. The kind of silence that didn’t press too hard.

Then softly, Allegra said, “You haven’t said anything about this morning.”

Marinette’s grip on the cup tightened slightly. “Not much to say.”

Allegra gave her a look. “There’s always something to say. Especially after that showdown with Felix. Again.”

Marinette let out a bitter laugh. “It’s like trying to talk to a locked door. One minute he lets you glimpse something real, and the next he’s back to treating you like you tracked mud into Versailles.”

“You did stand your ground, though.” Allegra said. “That takes guts. Especially with him.”

“I didn’t want to fight.” Marinette admitted. “Not today. Not after yesterday.”

Allegra tilted her head. “So what happened?”

Marinette hesitated. “I think... I think he doesn’t know how to be kind.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he doesn’t think he’s allowed to be.”

Marinette glanced sideways at her. “You say that like you feel sorry for him.”

“I don’t. Not exactly.” Allegra tapped her fingers against the bench. “But I’ve known Felix for a while. He’s not heartless. He’s just... trained. Like a machine built for reputation management.”

Marinette sighed. “Well, whatever his programming is, it’s exhausting to be around.”

“But you’re still trying.” Allegra said quietly. “Why?”

Marinette went still.
Why, indeed?

Because of the way he played the violin like it was the only honest thing in his life.
Because of the way his voice almost softened when he thought no one was listening.
Because for one stupid second, she thought he looked at her not like she was an outsider, but like she was real.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she took a sip of the tea, eyes drifting to the shadowed corner of the library wing.
Somewhere inside, he was probably sitting with a book he wasn’t reading, pretending to be untouchable.

She wouldn’t chase him.
But if he looked her way again... maybe she wouldn’t look away.

The jasmine tea had worked its magic. Not enough to untangle the mess Felix had left behind but enough to let Marinette breathe.

She followed Allegra through a maze of side corridors lined with towering windows and polished display cases, until they emerged into a lesser known common area behind the arts wing. The light here was softer, diffused through old glass panes and the noise of students was quieter and more relaxed. It felt a little like stepping outside the rigid script of the school day.

Claude and Allan were already there.

Claude was sprawled across a wide stone ledge beneath the window, his jacket off and draped dramatically over his shoulder. He was sketching something in a worn notepad, but paused the moment he saw them.

“Look who Allegra dragged out of solitary confinement!” he called, grinning.

Allan was sitting cross legged on the floor, his headphones around his neck, a soft electronic beat still pulsing faintly from them. He gave Marinette a small, lazy wave, then went back to idly stacking coins on top of his closed notebook.

Marinette blinked. “Coins?”

Allan shrugged. “I like to see how many I can balance before they fall over. Current record’s eighteen.”

“Which he broke during a lecture on economic theory.” Claude added. “Irony not lost.”

Allegra plopped down beside him and gestured for Marinette to join them. “Come on. We’ve got twenty minutes before chemistry. Plenty of time to pretend we’re not dead inside.”

Marinette sat on the floor beside Allan and crossed her legs, still a little hesitant.

But then Claude tossed her a wrapped snack bar. “You looked like you needed this. Also, you skipped lunch. I’m observant like that.”

Marinette smiled faintly, catching it. “Thanks. That’s very intuitive of you.”

“Don’t encourage him.” Allegra said, flipping open her planner and frowning at it like it had personally betrayed her.

“I’m merely a man of detail and grace!” Claude replied, flipping his notepad around to show a very ungraceful doodle of a bird with a monocle. “Behold, the distinguished Baron Beaksworth.”

Marinette laughed.

Allan glanced up at her. “You look like you haven’t laughed in weeks.”

“I haven’t...” she admitted.

“Well,” Allegra said, nudging her with her foot, “you’re with us now. That means scheduled laughter between bouts of academic despair.”

Claude pointed at her with his pencil. “And no more going toe to toe with ice kings without backup.”

“I don’t need backup.” Marinette said automatically, but it lacked the conviction she was aiming for.

“You’re right,” Allegra said, “you don’t. But it doesn’t mean you have to go through it alone either.”

Marinette looked at her and saw something she hadn’t realized until now: Allegra meant it. All of it. This wasn’t pity. It wasn’t social climbing or manipulation. It was genuine.
And that, more than anything, made something in Marinette’s chest loosen just a little.

“Thanks, guys.” she murmured, voice quiet.

Claude leaned forward. “So. Word is, you and Felix almost killed each other in class today.”

Marinette groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Fair.” Allan said.

“Very fair.” Claude agreed. “But I’m just saying, if you ever need someone to ‘accidentally’ spill water on his notes—”

“I can pretend I tripped?” Allan offered, already stretching his legs like he was ready to demonstrate.

“Guys,” Marinette laughed. “I appreciate the revenge plotting. But I think I’ll survive without destroying his notes.”

“Are you sure?” Claude said, mock serious. “Because I have this very compelling vision of you walking away in slow motion while his fountain pen explodes.”

“That’s not how fountain pens work.” Marinette said.

“Don’t ruin my fantasy, Marinette.”

The four of them fell into an easy rhythm after that, bantering about teachers, homework, and which member of the faculty probably had a secret identity.

The bell rang in the distance, muffled but firm.

Allan stood, stretching. Claude collected his sketchpad. Allegra linked her arm through Marinette’s without ceremony.

As they walked toward class, Marinette glanced back toward the shadowed corridor near the library.
No sign of Felix.
She exhaled and turned away.
She didn’t need him.
But some quiet part of her still wished he’d show up anyway.

Marinette entered with Allegra beside her and Claude a few steps behind, balancing his bag and his dignity like it was all part of a stage performance. Allan trailed at the end.
For once, Marinette didn’t feel like she was entering enemy territory.
That changed, however, the moment her eyes landed on the back corner desk, the one she shared with Felix.

He was already there.
Of course he would be, he was one of the top students after all. His attention wasn’t on her. It was on the open notebook before him, one hand holding a pen he hadn’t written with yet.

But Marinette could feel it.
The tension.
He hadn’t looked at her. Not once. And somehow, that stung more than if he had.

She took her seat beside him without a word. Her bag hit the floor a little harder than necessary.
Felix didn’t flinch.

Around them, students filtered in. Laughter, footsteps, idle chatter. Claude and Allan claimed the table to their right. Allegra took a seat just behind, leaning forward to whisper something that made Claude smirk and Allan visibly roll his eyes.

Marinette kept her gaze on the front of the room, jaw tight. She wouldn’t be the first to speak. Not this time.

But Felix beat her to it, just not in the way she expected.
“You smell like jasmine.”

His voice was so quiet, so devoid of emotion, that it took a full second for the words to register.

Marinette blinked. “Excuse me?”

Felix didn’t look at her. “You had tea, haven't you?”

Marinette considered her response carefully. “Surprised you noticed. I thought peasants like me didn’t have a scent palette worth your time.”

His pen paused mid word.
“I didn’t mean—” he started, then stopped himself. His jaw flexed. “Never mind.”

“You never do.” she said, sharper than she intended.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t argue. Just kept writing in his notebook, though the ink had begun to pool slightly in the corner of the page.

She hated how much that silence felt like guilt.

Their chemistry teacher strode into the room like a human thunderclap. “Pair up. Formulas on the board. No explosions, please. That means you, Claude.”

Claude raised both hands in mock innocence. “I only explode things intentionally.”

Allan gave him a deadpan stare. “That’s not better.”

Allegra leaned forward in her seat. “You okay?” she mouthed at Marinette.

Marinette nodded once. Not convincing, but enough.

Felix was scribbling equations now, already halfway through the formula before Marinette even opened her book. She glanced over at his notes, he hadn’t copied from the board, he’d written it all from memory.

Of course he had.

Marinette said nothing as she pulled out her pen and began translating the equation beside his, biting her tongue against the urge to challenge him. To press. To ask why he said what he did, or didn’t say what she needed to hear.

'Let him stew in the silence', she told herself.
'Let him feel uncertain for once.'

But when their hands barely brushed accidentally while reaching for the same beaker, she felt it again:
That pull.
That annoying, electric thread that snapped between them like static in dry air.

They both froze. Just for a second.

Then Marinette took the beaker and turned her focus to measuring, heart pounding harder than it had any right to.

Felix didn’t say another word.
But his pen stopped moving.

Marinette focused on the experiment: determine the chemical reaction of the compound under controlled heat and measure the rate of change. Simple. Predictable. At least in theory.

Unlike people.
Unlike Felix.
He moved with the precision of someone trained to never misstep. Hands sure. Gaze sharp. Posture always perfect. And yet, the way his shoulders kept shifting ever so slightly told her he was uncomfortable.

'Good', she thought, then immediately hated herself for it.
She didn’t want to punish him. Not really. But she didn’t know how to trust him either. Not when he gave so little and took so much space in her mind.

“You’re off by 0.3.” Felix said, finally.

She glanced at him, startled. “What?”

He nodded toward the measurement she was taking. “The solution will overheat if you don’t adjust the flame. 0.3 degrees matters.”

Her jaw clenched. She looked down. He was right.
She adjusted the burner silently.
“Thanks...” she muttered, unable to keep the bitterness entirely out of her voice.

His eyes flicked toward her, quick and unreadable. “It wasn’t criticism.”

“It sounded like it.”

“It was correction.”

“Oh, that makes it so much better.” she said, voice still low.

Felix’s pen tapped once on the edge of his notebook. “You’d rather I let the experiment fail?”

“I’d rather you talk to me like I’m a person, not some useless idiot!” she snapped, keeping her eyes on the beaker in front of her.

He spoke quietly after a short moment.
“I don’t know how.”

Marinette turned to him, startled.

Felix was still looking at the experiment, but his voice had lost its usual lilt of superiority. It was flat.

“I was raised to win. Not to connect. Not to explain. Not to be... liked.” He adjusted the angle of the thermometer with steady hands. “I don’t know how to talk to someone who expects me to be better.”

Marinette’s throat felt tight.
She looked at him. Not the cold exterior. Not the smug expression he used like armor. But the boy beneath it.
And for a moment, she saw him again. The one who played the violin when he thought no one was listening. The one who bowed his head instead of apologizing.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the notebook.
“You hurt me.” she said quietly. “This morning. Not because of what you said. But because it felt like yesterday didn’t matter.”

Felix didn’t answer. But something in his expression flickered. Regret, maybe. Or fear.

The professors voice cut through the tension. “Five more minutes! I expect a proper write up from each pair.”

Felix cleared his throat and turned the page. “I’ll do the data sheet.”

“No.” Marinette said, her voice steady. “We’ll do it together.”

He looked at her again. This time, longer.
She didn’t look away.
And for the first time, they worked in sync. Not harmony, not yet. But a certain rhythm.
They wrote, passed notes back and forth, corrected each other’s calculations without snapping. It wasn’t warm. But it wasn’t cold either.
It was something new.

When the bell rang and chairs scraped back, Marinette closed her notebook slowly. She could feel Allegra watching her from a few rows away. She didn’t turn around.

Felix stood and hesitated for just a moment.
Then, without a word, he gently placed the cleaned glassware back on the rack and returned to the desk to collect his violin case.

He didn’t look at her. But as he walked past, she noticed his hand twitch at his side, like he almost wanted to reach out.

Then he was gone.
And Marinette was left staring at the space he’d left behind, notebook in her lap, heart still beating too fast for no good reason.

The hallway had mostly emptied by the time Marinette stepped out of the chemistry lab, her notebook hugged tightly to her chest.

Felix was already gone.
And that should’ve been the end of it.

But something... something gnawed at her. A pressure behind her ribs, sharp and uncomfortable. She didn’t want to call it worry. Didn’t want to call it anything, really. It wasn’t rational. It wasn’t deserved.

'He doesn’t deserve your care.'
That voice in her head was firm and unforgiving.

But another voice, a quieter, more stubborn one, pushed back.
'No one deserves to feel that alone.'

Her feet were already moving before she’d made the conscious decision.

Marinette’s heart pounded in her chest as she quickened her pace, the weight of her sketchbook and books forgotten at the bottom of her bag. Something in the way he’d folded into himself after class, the slight hesitation as grabbed his violin case, the twitch in his hand... it had stirred something she couldn’t ignore.

“Felix!” she called, voice steady but carrying over the noise.

He didn’t respond, just increased his stride.

Without thinking twice, she caught up to him and stepped in front of him in the narrow hall near the stairwell, blocking his path.

His eyes flicked up, sharp and cold as a blade.
“You’re following me now? Get out of my way, Dupain-Cheng!” he snapped, his voice low and dangerous.

Felix was taller. He leaned down slightly, looming like a storm ready to break. His presence alone was intimidating, a wall built to keep others out.
But Marinette’s gaze didn’t falter. Her blue eyes were fierce, filled with a fire that surprised even herself.

“No.” she said simply. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Felix’s jaw clenched. “Why? Why are you doing this? Why me?”

Marinette took a step closer, closing the gap.
“Because no one deserves to be this alone.” she said quietly. “Even if you don’t want to admit it.”

He growled, the sound low and guttural.
“I’m not alone.” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m better off without you or anyone else.”
But his hands trembled slightly at his sides, betraying the calm he tried to project.

Marinette raised a hand, palms open, an invitation and a challenge all at once.
“Let me in... I want to help you understand..” she whispered.

For a moment, Felix’s expression flickered with anger, fear and confusion all mixed up.
Then, suddenly, he moved fast, a motion meant to intimidate, to lash out.

Marinette didn’t flinch.

His fist swung, but she caught his wrist, steady and strong.

He stopped mid motion, eyes wide, breath ragged.

Neither understood what had just happened.

Felix looked down at their now intertwined hands, then up at Marinette’s face and her calm, unyielding stare.
Something inside him wavered.
He pulled back slowly, shaking his hand free.

“I don’t...” he began, voice cracking in a way he hated.

Marinette softened her gaze, heart hammering.
“You don’t have to explain.” she said.

Felix took a step back, retreating into himself once more.
But Marinette wouldn’t let him disappear into silence again. Not this time.

Her voice was softer now. Less steel, more ache.
“What happened to you,” she asked, “for you to become so closed off and isolated?”

Felix didn’t move but a muscle in his jaw twitched.
“You don’t know what you’re asking...” he said finally, each word wrapped in ice, but cracking at the edges.

“Maybe not.” Marinette said gently. “But I know what I’m seeing.”
She stepped forward again, one pace, slow and deliberate.
“I see someone who pushes everyone away before they have the chance to care. Someone who lashes out because being cruel feels safer than being vulnerable. Someone who can’t tell if he wants people to leave him alone or just prove they won’t.”

Felix looked away.

She kept going.
“I don’t know your story. I don’t know what was done to you. But I know what it does to someone, being taught that the only way to be strong is to be untouchable.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides.
“Stop.” he said, barely audible.

But Marinette didn’t.
“You told me you were raised to win. To be above. That connecting isn’t something you know how to do.” She tilted her head. “But you want to, don’t you?”

His breath hitched.
She caught it. He knew she caught it.
Then, finally, he turned to face her fully.
There was no mask on his face now. No carefully arranged sneer. Just Felix. A boy who was conflicted and afraid.

“My mother,” he said quietly, the words unfamiliar in his mouth, like something he hadn’t allowed himself to say in years, “taught me that emotions were weaknesses. That friendship was a distraction. That love was conditional. She said connection makes you vulnerable. That you give someone power the second you let them see you.”

Marinette’s breath caught.
“Is that why you hate me?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Felix’s eyes burned, not with anger now, but with truth.
“I don’t hate you,” he said. “I envy you.”

That broke something open in her chest.

“You fight.” he said, voice still low but more urgent now. “You connect. You speak your mind and you care. You take hits and stand up and you don’t hide. I hate how easy it looks for you.”

“It’s not easy...” Marinette whispered. “It’s never easy.”

Felix looked down at his hands, he doesn't remember when they had started trembling.
He clenched his hands into tight fists, knuckles whitening. The weight of family expectations pressed down on him like a suffocating cloak.

“I was never allowed to be anything else.” he said, voice raw, brittle. “I’m just an heir... a legacy.”

Marinette took a careful step closer, her eyes soft but unwavering.
“No.” she said firmly, her voice steady as a heartbeat. “You’re a person.”

The simple truth hit him like a jolt. He looked up, meeting her gaze, as if hearing those words for the first time.

“A person...” Felix repeated quietly, almost to himself.

His eyes flickered away from Marinette’s steady gaze, and he let out a bitter scoff full of disbelief.

“A person?” he repeated, voice dripping with scorn. “You really think I'm going to believe some random baker's daughter over what my own mother taught me?”

The words hit like a slap, his shield harshly snapping back into place.
But beneath that hardness, something fractured.
Because in his gut he knew she was closer to the truth than he wanted to admit.

He shoved past her, harder than he meant to, fingers brushing roughly against her shoulder.

Marinette stumbled slightly but caught herself, eyes wide, not with anger but with hurt.

Felix’s breath hitched as he felt the sudden shock of his own strength.
'Damn..', he thought, 'damn, damn!'
But he didn’t look back.
Not once.

He stepped into the flow of the hallway, swallowed by the crowd.
The noise closed around him like a cage.
And inside, the boy raised to be untouchable felt more alone than ever.

Chapter Text

The days that followed were different.
Not better, exactly. Just not as cold.

Marinette no longer shot daggers at him with her eyes when they passed each other in the halls. She didn’t pretend he didn’t exist. She even returned a begrudging nod once or twice when they locked eyes in class. It wasn’t exactly friendliness but it was no longer war either.

Felix, for his part, didn’t try to push his luck. He kept his distance, respected her silence and neither of them forced conversation.

By the time the final bell rang, thunder cracked the sky with a deafening roar, rattling windows and pulling a few startled gasps from students as they gathered their things.

Marinette zipped up her jacket and stuffed her sketchbook into her bag. She peeked out the school’s tall front windows and winced.
A downpour.
The sky had opened with a vengeance and the rain came down in angry sheets, slashing sideways as wind whipped through the courtyard. Lightning danced across the sky, followed by thunder that boomed so loudly it made her flinch.
She wasn’t usually afraid of storms. She kind of liked the quiet pitter patter of rain against glass when she was safe and warm at home. But this storm, this one felt mean. It unsettled her.

She swallowed her nerves and adjusted her bag on her shoulder.
'I’ll be fine. It’s just rain. It’s just thunder.'
She stepped outside.
The cold water hit her immediately, soaking through her clothes like ice. Within seconds, her hair was plastered to her cheeks and her jacket clung to her skin. The wind pushed her sideways, stealing her breath.
She blinked against the rain and squinted toward the gates, trying to make out where the sidewalk started. Everything was a blur of grey.

Another clap of thunder cracked overhead, sharper this time, like the sky was tearing apart. She froze.
A memory clawed its way to the surface, one of her as a little girl, hiding under the table while a similar storm battered the bakery’s old wooden shutters, the house creaking with every gust of wind. That same hollow feeling curled in her chest now.
She tried to shake it off, but her hands were trembling.
'Just keep walking, she told herself. It’s just a storm.'

She took a shaky step forward, then stopped when a car horn gave a soft, polite beep beside her.
She turned, startled, rain still streaming down her face.

A sleek black limousine had pulled up to the curb, its rear window rolling down halfway.

Felix looked as composed as ever, despite the chaos outside. His hair was slightly tousled, but not a strand out of place. His tie was still perfectly knotted. But his brows were knit together slightly, and his eyes, those cold, storm colored eyes were softer than usual.

“Get in.” he said, raising his voice slightly over the wind.

Marinette blinked at him through the rain. “What?”

“I said...” he repeated, less patient this time, “get in the car.”

She hesitated. Every part of her screamed don’t. Her pride. Her lingering resentment. The small voice in her head still convinced that Felix Culpa was incapable of genuine kindness.

But another clap of thunder sent her flinching again.

Felix opened the door.

“I have towels.” he said, more gently now. “And heated seats.”

She stared at him a moment longer, drenched and freezing, before finally exhaling a shaky breath.
“...Fine.” she muttered, and climbed in.

The moment the door closed behind her, the storm’s roar dulled to a distant growl.
Warmth enveloped her instantly. Soft leather seats, the hum of the heater, the subtle scent of cologne and something clean and expensive.

She sat rigidly, dripping water onto the pristine floor mat.

“Here.” Felix handed her a folded towel from a compartment beside him. “You look like a half drowned squirrel.”

Marinette shot him a glare, but she took the towel anyway, trembling slightly from the cold. “Thanks. I think.”
She started drying her face and hair, avoiding his gaze.

The driver in the front gave a quiet, “Address, miss?”

Marinette hesitated. She glanced at Felix.

“Go on.” he said, his tone neutral. “I didn’t drag you in here to interrogate you. Just making sure you don’t walk home in that storm.”

She nodded and gave her address, then leaned back against the seat with a sigh. Her clothes were still soaked, but the heat helped. But her fingers never stopped trembling.

They rode in silence for a minute or two, the rain drumming against the windows like a constant, angry heartbeat.

“You really were just going to walk all the way home in that?” Felix asked suddenly.

She frowned. “Not like I had much of a choice.”

“You could’ve waited inside.”

“I didn’t want to be around people.” She pulled the towel tighter around her shoulders. “Especially not rich brats with nothing better to do than look down their noses at me.”

Felix looked at her sidelong. “You think that’s all we are?”

She met his gaze. “You tell me.”

A beat passed.
“...Fair” he said quietly.

She looked away.

The limo turned down her street and Marinette sat up a little straighter. Her family’s bakery was visible at the corner, warm light glowing from its windows like a beacon in the storm.

As the car slowed to a stop, Marinette reached for the door handle, then paused.
“Thanks...” she said softly.

Felix turned to her, one brow raised. “For the ride?”

“For the towel. Not letting me get struck by lightning.”

He merely shrugged in response.

And with that, she slipped out into the rain which was still falling hard, but somehow less menacing now.
She dashed to the bakery door, quickly vanishing inside.

Felix watched the door close behind her, his reflection dim in the window’s glow.
His driver cleared his throat gently. “Back to the estate, sir?”

Felix leaned back in his seat, eyes still on the closed bakery door.
“Yeah...” he murmured. “Back... home.” He says the last word with a grumble, as if it was the last place he'd want to be.

------------------------------------

After the weekend, Chelsea and her clique of snickering hyenas were, as per usual, gossiping. Their whispers were louder than ever, punctuated by cruel laughter as they made sly remarks about the girl who had once dared to defy the unspoken rules of their elite school.

“Guess the baker girl finally gave up.” Chelsea sneered, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she exchanged a glance with her followers. “Not everyone is cut out for a place like this.”

Her minions snickered in agreement.

Allegra’s lips curled in disgust as she overheard them. She cast a quick glance at Claude, who was busy trying to ignore them, poking his fork into a salad with exaggerated disinterest.

“Cut it out, Chelsea!” Allegra hissed, her tone darkening.

Chelsea didn’t respond directly but only smiled, tilting her chin upward in an air of superiority. “Don’t get too attached to the baker girl, Allegra. Told you she wouldn't last long.”

Allan, who had been silently observing, clenched his fists beneath the table. He rarely spoke up against Chelsea and her clique, preferring to stay out of unnecessary drama. But the way they spoke about Marinette, a girl who had never done anything to them, riled him.

“They’re idiots.” Claude muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. “Don’t let them get to you.”

They all glanced toward the empty seat, her absence felt like a gaping hole in the otherwise familiar classroom.

Felix had noticed her absence too. The desk beside him, where Marinette usually sat, awkwardly, always half filled with papers and pens strewn about, was conspicuously empty. The thought that she wasn’t there, that he wouldn’t catch her glancing at him in passing or stealing angry glances when no one else was looking, unsettled him in a way he couldn’t quite place.

He was used to being alone. In fact, he preferred it. But today, there was something gnawing at the back of his mind, a quiet tug that felt oddly empty.

By the time lunch rolled around, Felix found himself on the move without thinking about it. Instead of heading to the quiet corners of the library, his usual refuge from the chaos of school, he found himself walking aimlessly toward the school’s gardens, where Claude, Allegra, and Allan were sitting beneath one of the larger trees, trying to stay out of the rain that was now a persistent drizzle.

It wasn’t like Felix to join anyone at lunch. The trio had always been a bit of a mystery to him, but he’d observed them from a distance long enough to know they weren’t the type to judge his every move or share in the venomous remarks like Chelsea and her clique. Still, he wasn’t quite sure why he was here, standing awkwardly just outside their group.

“Uuuuuhhh... Felix?” Claude looked up, eyebrows raised in surprise as he watched Felix approach. “You’re... you’re actually coming over?”

Felix’s mouth twitched and he couldn’t decide whether to smirk or scowl. Instead, he settled for a terse nod. “I don’t suppose it matters if I sit with you.”

Allegra exchanged a confused and somewhat shocked glance with Claude before shrugging and making room for him. Allan, too, looked at him with curiosity but didn’t voice any objections.

Felix lowered himself onto the empty spot next to Allegra, his posture stiff. He wasn’t used to the warmth of this sort of casual, comfortable gathering, and it made him unreasonably tense. He was used to the cold, to solitary moments of silence.

“What brings you over here?” Claude asked, unable to hide his disbelief. “You don’t usually sit with us. Or anyone. Ever.”

Felix glanced at him, then looked out at the garden, where the delicate petals of a few early blooms were being battered by the rain. His voice was cool, but there was an underlying irritation beneath it.
“Where is Dupain-Cheng?”

Allegra frowned, the concern in her voice evident. “She’s sick. She wasn’t feeling well over the weekend. She hasn’t been able to get out of bed at all, her mom said.”

Felix’s brow furrowed as a strange unease prickled his chest. She’d been freezing and drenched last friday when he gave her a ride.
A flicker of frustration crossed his face as he muttered something to himself.
Without warning, he stood abruptly, the scrape of his chair against the stone floor making the others flinch. His movements were sharp as he began to walk away.

“Felix?” Claude’s voice called after him, but Felix didn’t stop.

He didn’t look back. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, only that he couldn’t sit there anymore. His hands were cold as they slid into his pockets, and his mind was already racing in a thousand directions, trying to make sense of the last few minutes. The trio watched him leave and none of them dared to follow.

Felix’s footsteps echoed down the corridor as he made his way toward the music room. He needed space.

The music room was at the far end of the school, a dimly lit haven tucked away from the rest of the world.

The room, thankfully, was empty.
Felix didn’t even bother to look at the piano. Instead, his eyes moved to a small, weathered violin case on the windowsill. He’d left it there earlier that morning, intending to pick it up after class. His fingers twitched, aching to feel the smooth wood of the instrument, to lose himself in the melody that had always been his way of sorting through his emotions.

He walked over to the case and opened it. The violin rested inside, the strings waiting. Felix ran a finger along the body of the instrument, then lifted it carefully, the familiar weight grounding him. He settled into one of the chairs by the windows, placing the violin under his chin and adjusting the bow in his hand.

The first note he played was shaky, unsure, but the sound soon grew more confident. Felix closed his eyes as he began to play, the music flowing through him like a river, pulling him into its depths. The violin spoke for him in a way words never could. Each stroke of the bow seemed to smooth over the tightness in his chest, the strange feeling of loneliness that had settled there since Marinette’s absence.

He didn’t know why he’d been so bothered by her not being at school today. It wasn’t like he cared, right? He didn’t even like her that much. But still... her absence had left a gap, an empty space that he couldn’t ignore. He was used to being alone—hell, he preferred it—but something about this felt different. The soft rhythm of his playing quickened as his frustration rose, the bow biting into the strings with increasing force.

Marinette had been in his thoughts far more than he cared to admit.
And now she was sick.

He let out a frustrated breath, the bow drawing a sharp, piercing note from the violin. He hated feeling this conflicted. It was easier when things were simple, when he could keep people at arm's length and pretend he didn’t care about anyone. But Marinette had broken that simple dynamic. She’d made him question himself, his own behavior, and he hated that she had that power over him.

Felix’s grip tightened on the violin as he drew the bow across the strings again, the music now frantic and desperate. He played harder, faster, as if the violin could somehow help him sort through the mess of emotions and thoughts that were swirling inside of him. But no matter how fiercely he played, the tension wouldn’t dissipate. His fingers burned with the effort, but the knot in his chest remained.

The music stopped abruptly as Felix’s frustration peaked. He slammed the bow down onto the violin, nearly snapping it in half, and the sharp sound of the string breaking echoed through the room like a slap to the face. He stared at the violin in his hands, the broken string hanging limply from the instrument.

He could feel his pulse pounding in his temples as the silence stretched out around him. Felix exhaled harshly, his shoulders slumping as the adrenaline drained away. For a long moment, he sat there, staring at the violin in his lap. His fingers twitched with the need to fix it, but instead, he placed the instrument gently back in its case.

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration now turning inward. Why was this bothering him so much? He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to admit that he might care more than he was willing to acknowledge.

Each class after that moment felt like an eternity, each interaction slipping through his fingers without leaving any meaningful impact. His mind kept circling back to one thing. The image of her drenched in the storm, her small, trembling frame still vivid in his memory, haunted him.

By the time the final bell rang, Felix knew what he had to do. He was done overthinking it. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Marinette, for reasons he couldn’t explain, had become a person he needed to understand more. She was sick, and for some reason, he felt like he should be the one to help her.

He barely noticed the drive home. His mind was consumed by the idea of visiting Marinette's bakery. He had no idea how she would react to him showing up at her door, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. He had to do something.

After grabbing a box of his favorite tea: a particularly expensive brand from London that had always helped him recover from colds and fevers in the past, Felix asked his driver to take him to Marinette’s home.
As the limousine pulled up in front of the bakery, Felix couldn’t help but notice how out of place he seemed. The contrast between the sleek black car and the cozy, humble bakery was striking. He was used to standing out, but today, the attention made him uneasy.

The bakery’s bell rang as Felix entered and he was greeted with the scent of freshly baked goods.
Tom and Sabine, Marinette’s parents, were standing behind the counter, smiling at him with polite curiosity. They had never met him before, and they certainly didn’t seem used to someone from his kind of background strolling into their small, family run bakery.

Sabine was the first to speak, her voice as warm and inviting as the aroma of the pastries surrounding them. “Good afternoon, young man. How can we help you?” She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling with kindness, though a flicker of hesitation passed between them at the sight of the limousine outside.

Felix felt a wave of discomfort wash over him. He wasn’t used to this kind of warmth, especially not from strangers. But he forced himself to meet Sabine’s gaze, taking in the genuine kindness in her expression.

“Good afternoon.” he replied, his tone more formal than usual. “My name is Felix Culpa. I’m a classmate of Marinette’s. I heard she’s ill, and I wanted to bring her something.”

Felix extended the box of tea toward them, his fingers tightening around the edges as he spoke. “It’s a special herbal blend. It always helped when I’ve had a bad cold. I thought it might be helpful to her as well.”

Sabine’s expression softened immediately, her gaze flickering to the box before returning to Felix’s face. “How thoughtful of you.” she said gently. “Marinette has been under the weather for the past couple of days. She’s got quite a bad cough and fever. She's resting upstairs in her room.”

Tom, who had been quietly listening from his place beside Sabine, added with a chuckle “She’s been a bit of a handful, even in her state. Doesn’t like resting much, that one, but we’ve convinced her to take it easy for now.”

“I’ll leave the tea here for her.” Felix said.

Sabine smiled warmly at him. “Of course. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

Felix gave a small nod in response, but before he could turn to leave, another thought crossed his mind.
“I’ll also take a dozen of your finest pastries.” Felix said, his tone shifting to something a little more casual. “To go.”

Tom raised an eyebrow in surprise, but his lips curled into a smile. “Of course. Coming right up.”

Sabine wrapped up the pastries and handed Felix the box, which he took from her with a quiet “Thank you.” He paid for it and even felt the need to leave a tip.

The cool air hit him immediately as he stepped outside, but the discomfort from earlier had dulled. The limousine sat parked in front of the bakery, the driver standing nearby, waiting for him to return.

Felix climbed into the backseat, the door closing softly behind him. He didn’t say a word to the driver, his mind still preoccupied with the events that had just unfolded.

As the car pulled away from the bakery, Felix’s gaze lingered on the small shop for a moment, his mind turning over the words he had said. He wasn’t sure if Marinette would appreciate the gesture, but something about the way she had looked at him before, something about the way he had felt watching her in the storm, made him believe it was the right thing to do.

The limousine slowed to a stop at the front of the grand Culpa estate, an imposing structure of grey stone and intricate ironwork, standing proudly under the early evening sky. Felix stepped out of the car with the same composed grace he always carried, the box of pastries held delicately in one hand.

The marble entryway echoed with the quiet click of his dress shoes as he stepped inside. The house was pristine as always, quiet, cold, and museum like, as though emotion were something to be kept in glass cases rather than lived in. A maid passed silently by with a slight curtsy, and Felix gave a wordless nod in return before continuing into the drawing room.

His mother, Amelie Culpa, sat near the grand fireplace, reading from a leather bound book with gold gilded edges. She wore a pale lavender silk gown and a string of pearls, her blonde hair pinned neatly in a chignon. Her posture was as elegant as ever. When she heard him enter, she marked her page, set the book aside, and turned toward him with a soft smile that never quite reached her eyes.

“Felix, darling.” she said in her usual formal tone. “What, may I ask, is your reasoning for arriving home late today?”
Her words were not harsh, but they carried the weight of expectation and quiet judgment, the kind only a mother like Amelie could deliver with such poise.

Felix loosened his tie slightly, placing the box of pastries gently on the side table near him. “I stopped by a classmate’s home. She had fallen ill over the weekend. I thought it appropriate to bring her some tea.”

“A classmate?” she repeated. “How very civic minded of you. I dare say you’re not usually one to go out of your way for your peers.” She tilted her head. “May I inquire as to who this classmate is?”

Felix met his mother’s gaze. “Her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Amelie’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, her mind working behind that calm, unshakeable exterior. “Dupain-Cheng...?” she mused aloud. “A baker’s daughter, if I recall correctly. That name rings familiar. Her parents run that little patisserie.”
She tapped a finger against her chin, then looked back at her son with a raised brow. “A baker’s daughter in a school for the elite. That certainly is rather unusual, is it not?”

Felix didn’t flinch. “She was offered a scholarship.”

Amelie stood and crossed the room with slow, graceful steps, her eyes falling on the box he had brought with him. “How generous.” she said with a slight edge to her voice. “So you brought her tea and purchased pastries in return?”

“I thought it polite.” he said simply. “She had fallen ill after I gave her a ride home during Friday’s storm. She was soaked through. She accepted the offer, albeit reluctantly.”

“You escorted a girl home through a thunderstorm, and today, you personally delivered medicinal tea? Ours?” Her voice remained neutral.

Felix frowned, sensing what she was thinking.
“She’s persistent.” he said, almost to himself. “Unreasonably so. Clumsy, loud, irrational, incredibly annoying... but not without talent. Her designs are surprisingly exceptional.”

Amelie’s eyes slid back to him. “You’ve never spoken of your classmates like this before. In fact, you’ve scarcely spoken of them at all.”

Felix looked away, lips tightening slightly. “There’s nothing to speak of. They bore me.”

“And yet here you are, unexpectedly arriving home late, bringing back pastries from a bakery I know you’ve never set foot in, all because of her. This... baker girl.” She spoke with barely restrained disdain.

Amelie eyed the box of pastries as though it were something diseased. She lifted the container using a folded napkin, as though touching it with her bare skin would somehow taint her. Her nose wrinkled in silent disgust, a shadow of disdain flickering over her otherwise flawless features.

Then, without a word, she turned... and threw the box.
It struck the wall with a dull, wet smack. A burst of sugary violence, éclairs and raspberry tarts exploding like shrapnel against the pale wallpaper. Cream slid down the plaster like melting candle wax.

Felix didn’t move. His spine was straight, hands folded in front of him with military restraint. But his jaw tightened ever so slightly, barely enough to see, but enough to feel. He swallowed once, slow and quiet.
“There was no need for that.” he said, his voice low and evenly measured, betraying nothing.

Amelie didn’t look at him at first. She stared at the ruined wall as though it were an offense to her very soul, her back to her son, shoulders poised like a dancer mid performance. Then she turned, her eyes glacial.
“Us Culpa,” she said, her voice sharp and exquisitely clipped, “do not associate ourselves with those who are nothing more than the dirt we crush beneath our feet.”

Felix met her gaze, unmoving. There was no tremor in his hands, no outburst, no shame. Only silence.

“You will clean up this mess.” she continued coolly, motioning toward the splattered remains with a flick of her hand, as though shooing away a fly. “Now.”

“We have staff for that.” Felix replied.

Her eyes narrowed. “I will not have my good servants go anywhere near such filth.” She stepped closer, eyes sharp enough to cut glass. “Clean it up. Throw it out, far away from this estate. Then clean yourself up. You reek of failure.”

Each word dripped from her tongue like acid, carefully chosen and enunciated, designed to wound without the vulgarity of shouting. She stepped back, lifting her chin, as if the very act of sharing the same air as her son was an ordeal.

“And don't bother showing up for dinner.” she added as she turned to leave, one hand raised to beckon the staff to follow her. Her final glance over her shoulder was laced with scorn. “I don’t feed disappointments.”

Chapter Text

Marinette slowly woke up. She stretched and yawned, still feeling a bit sluggish from the fever. Her body ached in places she hadn’t even known could hurt, but at least the cough had subsided a little.

She carefully pushed the blanket off her legs, wincing at the ache in her muscles, and then slowly made her way down the stairs, gripping the railing for support.
As she reached the bottom the comforting scent of baked goods greeted her. Her mom, Sabine, was at the counter, humming softly as she worked. The kettle was whistling gently, steam curling in the air.

“Good afternoon, sweetheart.” Sabine greeted her with a warm smile, looking up from her work. “Feeling any better?”

“A little...” Marinette muttered, rubbing her eyes. Her voice still had that hoarse quality to it, but she felt a bit more awake. “What’s that smell?”

“Tea.” Sabine answered, pointing to a small box on the counter. “A classmate of yours stopped by earlier, a polite boy with a British accent. Felix was his name, I believe. He brought some tea for you after hearing you’ve been unwell. A blend of special herbs, he explained, a London brand I haven’t heard of before. And judging by that limousine he left in, I can only guess it's a high quality tea.”

Marinette blinked, startled. Felix? Of all people, Felix Culpa had stopped by? She couldn’t fathom it. Felix, the boy who had been nothing but distant and cold to her, the one who constantly looked at her as if she were beneath him, the one who only ever spoke to her when they were forced to, had brought her tea?

“Felix... stopped by?” she asked, incredulity lacing her voice. “Why... would he do that? He’s always so cold, so distant, so... cruel to me. Usually. Not as much lately.. We rarely speak, and when we do, we always clash. Sure, he did drive me home through the storm on Friday, but... that still confuses me too.”

She was still struggling to make sense of everything. Felix had been the last person she’d expected to show any kindness. She felt a little dizzy just thinking about it, like there was some part of her that couldn’t quite reconcile the boy she knew with the boy who had shown up at her door.

“A-Are you sure this isn’t just poison?” she blurted out, half joking but still a little unsure.

Sabine chuckled at her daughter’s skepticism, shaking her head. “It’s not poison, sweetie. He seemed genuinely concerned. And I’m sure this tea is as harmless as any other.” she added with a wink, her voice warm and teasing.

Marinette could only stare at her mother, still trying to wrap her mind around it. But she had to admit, the offer of tea from Felix was confusing, yes, but it wasn’t threatening.

“Well... if it’s not poison...” Marinette trailed off, eyes narrowing with a touch of suspicion as she gingerly picked up the cup of tea Sabine had prepared while they were talking. The warmth of the ceramic felt comforting in her hands, and she could smell the fragrant blend of herbs, a calming scent that instantly soothed her senses.

She took a tentative sip.

Her eyes widened in surprise as the liquid slid down her throat, warm and soothing, almost instantly easing the irritation that had been burning in her chest. The roughness in her throat disappeared, replaced by a cool, soothing relief. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling.

“...What is this sorcery?” she muttered under her breath, her brows furrowing in confusion.

Her mother, who had been watching her closely, let out a soft chuckle.

Marinette narrowed her eyes at the cup, still processing the strange, unexpected sensation of comfort that seemed to settle into her bones with every sip. She had never tasted anything quite like it. The tea didn’t just warm her; it healed her, in a way that felt deeper than just a drink.

“Honestly, I don’t know what he’s playing at.” Marinette muttered, though her tone had softened, the disbelief fading slightly. “But... this is actually really good. If it's poison, at least it’s some really fancy poison.”

Sabine smiled knowingly, stirring the tea in her own cup. “Well, you can’t blame a boy for trying to help a classmate. And I’m sure it’s just his way of showing concern. Maybe he’s not as cold as he appears.”

Marinette took another sip, still trying to piece it all together. Felix had always been hard to read. He was mean, condescending, and with that air of superiority that made it impossible to figure him out. He wasn’t exactly kind, but perhaps there really was a part of him that wasn’t as indifferent as he let on.

Her mind drifted back to Friday, to the way Felix had insisted she get into the car during the storm. There was something different about the way he had looked at her then.

She wasn’t sure, but she knew this much: Felix had surprised her in ways she didn’t expect.

The next week, her limbs still kind of ached with a kind of soreness that lingered after a heavy fever, and her voice rasped every time she spoke, but compared to the first weekend, she felt somewhat better.

She didn’t bother with her usual pigtails today, there just wasn’t the energy for it. Instead, she let her long navy blue hair fall in soft waves around her shoulders, a little tousled but naturally elegant. Somehow, it made her look more mature. Softer. A touch mysterious, even.

She blinked at her reflection.

“Huh.” she murmured to herself, voice hoarse. “Not bad.”

She tightened her scarf a little around her neck, packed her bag, and, almost as an afterthought, reached for the tin of expensive tea sitting on her desk. Her mother had repacked some into a smaller pouch for her, and Marinette carefully measured it into a slim, sleek thermos.

'Just in case...' she thought, tucking it into her bag.

Downstairs, her parents sent her off with warm smiles and a soft reminder to “take it easy today” and she promised she would.

By the time she stepped through gates of the school, her shoulders squared and scarf tugged higher, a few heads turned in her direction. Some in surprise, some in distaste.

“Oh.” Chelsea drawled as she leaned against a marble pillar, arms folded, eyes narrowed. Her voice dripped poison disguised as concern. “You’re back. We were all wondering if you’d finally come to your senses and dropped out.”

Marinette didn’t slow down. She didn’t even break stride. She simply turned her head and gave Chelsea the most venomous, unimpressed side eye she could muster, equal parts “you’re not worth the oxygen” and “try me, and I’ll end you.”

Chelsea flinched, just slightly, and looked away with a scoff.

'One point for the baker’s daughter.' Marinette thought as she moved past her, lips twitching in faint amusement.

“MARINETTE!”
A blur of energy came bounding across the courtyard. Claude practically launched himself into her orbit, arms flailing with excitement.

“You’re alive! You’re BACK!” he exclaimed dramatically. “I was this close to mourning you with an original sad guitar ballad, and I am not exaggerating.”

Marinette blinked. “Claude—”

“Oh my god.” he interrupted, holding her arms gently and inspecting her like she was a porcelain doll. “Do you need soup? A neck pillow? A tiny blanket? What about a support ferret? I bet I can find one.”

Behind him, Allegra approached at a calmer pace, her braid swaying with each step, while Allan trailed behind with a small smile and a quiet, “Welcome back.”

“Thanks...” Marinette said, smiling as her voice rasped. “I’m okay. Still a little sore, but—”

“You sound like a zombie.” Claude said sympathetically.

“I feel like one.” she coughed.

“Tea?” Allegra asked, noticing the thermos Marinette was holding.

“Oh—yeah.” Marinette nodded, unscrewing the cap. “Felix brought it over yesterday, according to my mom. Said it was a special blend for colds. It helped a lot, actually.”

Allegra’s brow arched slightly. “Felix?”

Marinette nodded, slowly, as if she still wasn’t convinced it had actually happened.

Claude's eyes practically bugged out of his head.

“Okay, okay, wait. Pause. Freeze frame. Record scratch. Felix. As in Felix Culpa, Felix?”

“The very one.” Marinette croaked.

“Ohhh my god, that explains everything!” Claude threw his arms into the air with uncontained glee. “He SAT WITH US the other day.”

“What?” Marinette blinked.

“I know!” Claude said, vibrating with excitement. “Like. Just randomly walked into the garden during lunch like some noir drama character, sat down, asked where you were, muttered something about a storm and then got up and LEFT. Just—poof. Gone. Classic Felix exit.”

“He never sits with anyone.” Allegra added, crossing her arms. “Barely even tolerates people. Especially Claude.”

“Rude! But true.” Claude huffed.

Allan chimed in softly, “He looked unsettled. Not like panicked, but definitely different. Concerned, maybe.”

Marinette stared at the three of them, lips parting in slow realization. “He asked where I was?”

All three nodded.

“He seemed annoyed." Allan added thoughtfully. “Like, not annoyed at you. More like annoyed you weren’t there.”

Marinette took a long sip from her thermos, letting the warm tea glide down her throat. Her mind spun, confusion and curiosity circling each other like cats.
“Why is he doing this?” she muttered.

“He’s totally into you.” Claude whispered with mock theatrical flair.

Marinette choked.

“Claude!” Allegra snapped, elbowing him sharply.

“What? I’m just saying what we’re all thinking!” Claude insisted, gesturing around wildly.

“I am not thinking that!” Marinette shot back, voice squeaky with alarm. “There’s no way. He’s Felix. He’s... Felix. Cold, arrogant, possibly the worst person I've ever had the misfortune of crossing paths with.”

“And yet,” Allegra said, fixing her with a knowing look, “you’re sipping tea he brought you, looking like you're trying not to overthink it.”

“I am not overthinking—”

“You totally aaareeee!” Claude sang.

“Maybe he’s just being weirdly decent for once?” Marinette offered, unconvinced even as the words left her mouth.

Allegra gave a small shrug.

Marinette went quiet. She took another sip of tea, then closed the thermos and tucked it back into her bag. Her gaze drifted toward the school building, toward the classroom where she knew Felix would already be seated.

“Whatever it is...” she muttered, “I’m not going to let him throw me off.”

“Good plan!” Claude nodded. “But also if you fall in love with him, I called it first.”

“CLAUDE!!”

“Just saying.”

The bell rang, echoing through the courtyard.

The classroom buzzed softly as students filtered in, chatting in low voices, the scrape of chairs and rustle of paper filling the space like a quiet tide. Felix sat near the window as always. He was already flipping through the lesson notes, but his gaze flicked toward the door every few seconds uncharacteristically distracted.

Then he saw her.

Marinette stepped through the door slowly, her scarf pulled high around her throat, her hair loose today, softly curled and framing her pale face. She looked tired. And unfairly beautiful.

Felix’s chest loosened slightly, something he hadn’t realized was tight. He tried to school his features, to keep his expression impassive, but the way his eyes lit up gave him away. Just a little.

She saw him. Her lips tugged upward ever so slightly as she moved to her seat beside him. She didn’t say anything, didn’t even whisper a greeting, but instead slid into her chair with a soft wince and pulled out a folded note. She passed it to him subtly, fingers brushing against his desk.

He opened it.

"Need to take it easy on my throat, not talking much today. The tea helped a lot though... thank you."

Felix stared at the words for a moment, then quickly looked to her. She wasn’t looking at him. She was taking out her pen, adjusting her thermos, getting settled. Still, a small warmth bloomed in his chest.

He tore a small piece of paper from his notebook and scribbled in neat handwriting:
"How are you feeling?"

He slid the note back, not looking at her. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw her glance at the question, then him. Their gazes met for a brief second. Her blue eyes were slightly wide, soft with surprise.

She scribbled back.
"Better. Still sore. Voice is wrecked. But I’ll live. Also, still suspicious. That tea was too effective. Are you sure you’re not secretly a warlock?"

Felix smirked faintly. He dipped his pen again.
"I only dabble in the dark arts when strictly necessary. Like saving annoying girls who refuse to carry umbrellas."

A snort escaped her. Marinette covered her mouth immediately, but it was too late. She was already coughing, her body wracking slightly as she bent over her desk.

Felix straightened instinctively. “Are you alright?” he whispered, voice low, just audible over the sound of chairs and shuffling notebooks.

She glared at him through watery eyes, still coughing.
Once the fit passed, she picked up her pen again, narrowed her eyes, and scribbled furiously:
"Are you trying to dispose of me in person? Rude. I thought someone like you would know better than to commit a murder in public."

That pulled a quiet laugh from him, so soft it startled even himself. He looked down, one hand moving quickly to adjust his tie, as if embarrassed.
When he looked up again, Marinette was staring at him with an expression that was somewhere between bemused and suspicious, as if she couldn’t quite believe what just happened.

“Did you just laugh?” she mouthed.

He raised one brow slightly. “No.” he mouthed back, deadpan.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. The tension that had always hung between them had softened slightly.

They continued passing notes throughout the quiet parts of class. Nothing too serious. Observations. Snark. Felix had a surprisingly biting sense of humor, dry and intelligent and perfectly timed. Marinette found herself snorting more than once, biting back laughter even when it made her throat ache.

They had shifted at some point. Subtly. Just enough for their arms to touch, pressed together lightly from shoulder to elbow.

Neither of them moved away.

The final bell was close to ringing when Felix carefully wrote one last note. He didn’t pass it immediately. His fingers hovered over the edge of the paper, his gaze flicking to hers again.

She was chewing the end of her pen, lost in a diagram the teacher was drawing on the board. Her hair fell over one shoulder. The edge of her scarf was tugged up again, and her thermos sat near the corner of her desk like a little guardian.

He folded the note and pushed it slowly to her side.

She blinked, eyes flicking down, and opened it.

"I'm glad you're back."

Her breath caught. Just a little.

She looked at him. He was staring ahead again, jaw tight, pretending like he hadn’t just written something honest and quietly vulnerable.

She didn’t respond on paper.

Instead, she carefully folded the note and, after the briefest pause, slipped it into the inner pocket of her shirt and tucked it close to her chest, just over her heart.

And whispered, barely audible.
“...me too.”
Felix didn’t look at her, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

The final bell had barely stopped echoing when the corridor flooded with students. Marinette gathered her things slowly, careful with her sore limbs, her scarf tugged up high. Felix didn’t say a word, just stood, gave her one final look and walked out with his bag slung over one shoulder.

Marinette wasn’t far behind, weaving through the hall, her mind still foggy but tingling with the remnants of their note passing exchange. The warmth it left behind clung stubbornly to her ribs.

She was nearly at the stairwell when it happened.
A sudden, forceful bump from behind sent her stumbling forward.

“Oops,” a voice sneered. “Didn’t see you there, Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette’s breath hitched as her balance wavered, shoes slipping against the smooth tile, the edge of the staircase looming dangerously close. Her heart lurched. She flailed—
And then a strong hand wrapped firmly around her upper arm, steadying her.
Fingers tightened just a fraction more than necessary before releasing her.

Marinette blinked, dazed. Her heart still thudded with aftershock. She turned her head, and there was Chelsea, smiling like a snake, her clique of designer coated hyenas gathered around her, all filming, laughing.

“You should’ve stayed away forever, baker girl.” Chelsea purred with mock sweetness. “We were thriving.”

One of the girls, a brunette with a voice like a screeching violin, giggled cruelly. “Look at her, practically falling all over herself just to get to class. Maybe she got even dumber and uglier after being sick.”

Another girl held up her phone, camera pointed straight at Marinette’s face. “Smile for the internet, loser.”

Marinette opened her mouth, but no words came, just a breathy rasp that hurt too much to push past. Her fingers curled at her sides, eyes blazing with silent fury.

But Felix... oh, Felix moved like a shadow cut from steel. So that's the person who prevented her from falling down the stairs, she realized now.

In a flash, he reached out and snatched the phones from the girl’s hands, his expression stony and his movements ice pure and precise. There was no drama in it, just decisive finality.

“Hey!” One of the girls screeched. “That’s my—!”

“You’ll get it back.” Felix said coolly, tucking the phones away, “After the principal has reviewed the footage.”

Chelsea’s fake smile faltered. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Felix turned, his tone as sharp as glass. “There’s more than enough evidence of your repeated harassment here—this incident included—to warrant expulsion. Unless, of course, you’d prefer I send the footage directly to the police?”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Chelsea hissed, lip curling.

Felix met her gaze, utterly unbothered. “Try me.”

Chelsea's confidence cracked. Her posse shifted nervously behind her.

Felix glanced to Marinette. “Come on.”

Marinette didn’t hesitate. She followed him without a word, her throat burning, chest tight. But something hot and defiant sparked under her ribs.

They walked down the hall, side by side, neither speaking. Felix’s stride was sharp and purposeful, his jaw tight.

Marinette kept pace, though every step sent a dull throb up her legs.

When they reached the principal’s office, Felix knocked twice and pushed the door open without waiting for a reply.

Principal Moreau looked up from his desk. “Felix. Marinette. Is something wrong?”

Felix didn’t waste time. He pulled the phones from his jacket and held them up. “I believe these devices contain multiple recordings of harassment and violence toward Miss Dupain-Cheng and possibly others.”

The principal’s eyes sharpened behind his glasses. “Show me.”

Felix tapped into the video app on one of the phone's, which was still unlocked. The video played: Chelsea’s voice, cruel and condescending, the push, Marinette’s stumble toward the stairwell. Laughter. Taunts.
Then came another video, an older one, timestamped from a few weeks ago.

Marinette’s head being shoved into the lockers. Blood on her sleeve. The high, mocking laughter of Chelsea and her girls as she clutched her nose, clearly in pain.

Marinette looked away.

Principal Moreau did not. His lips pressed into a hard, thin line.
“Leave the phones with me.” he said, his voice grave. “I’ll handle this.”

Felix nodded once, precise. “Of course.”

“I’ll be calling Chelsea’s parents. And the school board.”

“Good.” Felix said, looking at Marinette with a flicker of concern. “She’s had enough.”

Principal Moreau gave a firm nod. “You’re dismissed. Both of you.”

They stepped out of the office into the quiet corridor.
For a moment, neither of them moved.

“Why...” Marinette began, but her voice caught.

Felix turned his head slightly, but was not looking at her. “Why did I help?”

She nodded.

He was silent for a long beat. “Because what they did was vile. And because you didn’t deserve it. You never have.”

Marinette blinked. “That’s surprisingly human of you.”

He glanced at her, one brow arched. His confused expression was surprisingly adorable.

She gave a hoarse laugh, then winced.

Felix frowned. “You should rest your voice. Come on. I’ll walk you to the next class.”

“...You don’t have to—”

“I know.”

And yet, he walked beside her anyway.
Not out of obligation. Not for show.
Just because.

Felix kept a careful, watchful pace beside her, his eyes occasionally flicking her way.
As if he was making sure she wouldn’t stumble again.
As if, for the first time, he allowed himself to care.

Chapter Text

“Did you hear?” a girl whispered, not bothering to lower her voice much. “Chelsea’s gone. All of them, her whole little pack of hyena's too!”

“No way!” a boy responded, his voice cracking with disbelief. “She practically ran the school! What did she even do?”

“I heard it was something about a video..” another girl said, eyes darting around. “Like, proof. Harassment or something.”

Claude stood near the steps of the school building with Allegra and Allan, brows furrowed and arms crossed over his chest like he was in the middle of solving a murder mystery.

“Okay.” Claude said slowly, looking between the other two. “Let’s just get this straight. Chelsea’s locker’s cleared out. So are the others’. No warning. No slow drama. Just boom. Gone.”

Allegra hummed thoughtfully, arms folded. “And the administration isn’t talking. Principal Moreau just said it was a disciplinary matter and ‘not up for discussion.’ Which means it was serious.”

“Finally.” Allan muttered under his breath. “Took them long enough.”

Claude turned, eyes narrowing. “But the question is: who pulled the trigger?”

Allegra turned to Allan. “Do you know anything?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Just rumors. But someone had to report them. With proof.”

Claude’s gaze swung toward Marinette as she stepped through the gates.
“Morning, Zombie Lady!” Claude greeted with a half grin, waving her over.

Marinette raised a hand in reply, her voice still not up to anything more than a strained “Hey.”

As she reached them, Claude stepped closer, eyes gleaming with mischief. “So, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about the royal dethroning that occurred overnight, would you?”

Marinette blinked at him, eyes wide in innocent confusion.

Claude leaned in dramatically. “Come on, Mari. Spill. Was it you? Did you finally go full vigilante? Secret camera pen? Poison lipstick? A trail of justice and glitter left in your wake?”

Marinette choked on her own saliva and shook her head, gesturing to her throat and raising her brows as if to say: Do I look like I’m ready to lead a revolution right now?

“You do have the perfect look for it.” Allegra said thoughtfully. “Mysterious hair. Dark circles. The silent strength of someone who’s Seen Things.”

Marinette offered a weak smile, but didn’t speak.

Claude squinted at her. “Okay, okay, I get it. You’re playing it cool. Respect. But mark my words, someone had to have reported Chelsea. Someone who had video. Maybe even stuff from before. I mean, remember that day she shoved you into the lockers?”

Allegra’s eyes darkened. “That made me so mad.”

Allan nodded. “It left a bruise. And she laughed about it.”

Marinette’s fingers clenched around her thermos, but she said nothing.

Claude sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway, whoever it was, I owe them a fruit basket. Or a song. Something dramatic. Heroic. Maybe involving violins and wind machines.”

Marinette glanced over his shoulder, just for a second.

Felix stood near the school entrance, leaning against one of the marble columns with perfect posture and an unreadable expression. His hair gleamed faintly under the morning sun, his hands tucked neatly into his pockets.
He was watching her. Not intently, not in a way anyone else would notice, but she felt it. The quiet way his eyes tracked her, like he was still making sure she was alright.
She didn’t smile. She just gave the smallest of nods.
And Felix, in return, turned and disappeared into the building without a word.

“Ugh.” Claude said with a groan, catching the direction of her glance. “Felix. You know, if he did it, I think my brain would short circuit. That guy practically glares at puppies. There’s no way he’d go out of his way for anyone.”

Marinette sipped her tea and gave a tiny shrug.
'Let them wonder' she thought.
Besides, Felix didn’t want the credit. She could tell.

Claude, Allegra, and Allan were already in full conspiracy theorist mode before they even made it halfway across the courtyard.
“I’m just saying..” Claude declared, waving a half eaten apple around like it was a mic, “this reeks of elite hacker justice. Someone with serious computer access and, like, twenty hidden USBs. Maybe a trench coat.”

“Or,” Allegra deadpanned, “someone just filmed Chelsea being a jerk and finally turned it in.”

“That’s boring!” Claude whined. “We’re at a high end Parisian school. I demand drama.”

Allan chuckled. “You are the drama.”

Marinette followed behind them, half listening, her steps light despite the soreness still lurking in her muscles. The ache in her throat was worse today, but it didn’t matter. Her mind was elsewhere.
Her eyes swept the corridor ahead instinctively.
And then she saw him.

He stood just a few feet from the library entrance, back straight, hands tucked behind him with all the poise of a statue carved from moonlight. His eyes met hers across the space, as though he'd known the exact moment she'd appear.
He didn’t speak.
He simply tilted his head.
A silent invitation to the library.

Marinette hesitated mid step. Her fingers tightened on the strap of her bag.
That place.

It had once felt like sanctuary. On her very first day, overwhelmed by too many new faces, too many whispers about the "baker girl" and where she'd come from, she had fled to the one place she thought would offer peace.
She had curled up in a chair by the window, trying to breathe.
And then Felix had found her.
She hadn’t known that it was his spot. That it had always been his spot. She had simply needed silence. Safety.
But he hadn’t seen that.
His voice had been brutal. "You're in my seat." he’d said, like it was a crime.
With tears stinging her eyes and a heart cracking in her chest, she had left.
He had apologized, sort of, yes... A month later.

And maybe that was why she'd never fully let her guard down.
Felix Culpa was complicated.
But now he stood in that same hallway. Quietly waiting.

She glanced over her shoulder. Claude was still mid rant about masked vigilantes. Allegra was nodding along half heartedly. Allan was scrolling something on his phone. None of them had noticed she’d stopped.

Marinette turned back.
Felix hadn’t moved.
She walked toward him, each step uncertain but steady. When she reached him, he turned without a word and slipped inside the library, holding the door just long enough for her to follow.

The far corner, his corner, still had the same tall backed chair by the window.
But now, beside it, was a large beanbag, soft and inviting, nestled right in the path of the sun’s warm rays. A small side table stood between them.

Marinette stared.

Felix moved to his usual chair and sat down, wordless, unfolding a slim notebook on his lap.
“You never came back here after that day.”

She swallowed hard. “You made sure I didn’t feel welcome.”

He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the truth without flinching. “I was unkind.”

“You were cruel.” she corrected, voice rasping.

“I didn’t realize.” he murmured, “That you needed that space too. That day.”

Marinette stared at him.

He kept his eyes on his notebook, fingers tightening around his pen.
“I thought if I let you stay...” he said quietly, “it would stop being mine. I wasn’t used to anyone else needing it.”

“You thought I was trying to take something from you.” she said softly, moving to sit in the beanbag without even realizing it.

His gaze flicked to her.
“No.” he said after a moment. “I thought you didn’t see me at all. That you walked into my quiet and made it loud.”

She blinked. “I didn’t know you were even there.”

“I know.” His lips twitched faintly. “That’s why I hated you for it.”

Marinette laughed, a soft, hoarse sound. “You’re really bad at people.”

“I am.” His expression softened. “But I’m trying.”

Her fingers curled around her thermos, holding the warmth close. “Is that why this is here now?” she asked, nodding to the beanbag.

“Yes.” He hesitated, then added, “You still don’t have a place at this school. Not really. Not yet. I thought... maybe you could have one here.”

Marinette leaned back slightly, letting the sun spill over her like a blanket. She looked at him.
“You made space for me...?”

Felix nodded, once. “Properly, this time.”
He returned to his notes.

Marinette pulled her sketchbook from her bag and cracked it open. Her pencil moved slowly at first, then with more confidence.

Back in the courtyard, Claude finally turned around and frowned.
“Wait... where’s Marinette?”
Claude's frown deepened as he spun around in place, eyes scanning the courtyard like a detective in the final act of a mystery novel.
“She was right behind us...” he muttered. “I swear she was.”

Allegra raised an eyebrow. “You probably scared her off with your ‘secret hacker vigilante’ theory.”

“Or maybe she is the hacker vigilante!” Claude gasped dramatically.

Allan shrugged, unbothered. “She probably just wanted a quieter spot. You know how she gets when it’s too loud.”

“But she always eats with us.” Claude protested, tugging at the strap of his guitar case. “What if Chelsea’s ghost came back to haunt her? Or she’s planning a solo mission of revenge? What if she’s-”

“She’s fine, Claude.” Allegra said, rolling her eyes but smiling faintly. “Let her breathe.”

Meanwhile, two floors up and a hallway away, Marinette and Felix sat in silence.

She sketched in measured, fluid strokes. Occasionally, she’d glance up. Sometimes at the window, sometimes at him.
He didn’t look up often, but when he did, it was always at her.
Neither of them had said much since that first conversation. And they didn’t need to.
There was a kind of fragile peace in the space between them now. The tension hadn’t vanished but it had changed shape. It no longer threatened to snap. It simply waited.

“Do you regret it?” she asked suddenly, her voice barely audible, scratchy but steady.

Felix looked up, pen still in hand. “Regret what?”

“Turning them in. Chelsea. The others.”

“No.” he said, after a beat. “Do you think I should?”

She shook her head slowly. “I just... I didn’t think you’d do it.”

Felix tilted his head. “Because I’m arrogant and unpleasant?”

“Because you usually don’t get involved.” she said truthfully. “You don’t care. Or at least... you pretend not to.”

His lips pressed together in a thin line.
“I noticed you weren’t talking back yesterday.” he said instead. “That your throat was worse. I knew she’d use it against you.”

Marinette looked down at her sketch. Her pencil paused.
“You didn’t have to help.”

“I know.” Felix said. “That’s why it meant something.”

That made her heart stutter. She blinked, unsure of what to say to that.
“I thought about telling them it was you.” she murmured, tracing the edge of her drawing with a fingertip. “Claude and the others. They’d probably throw you a parade.”

“I’d rather be boiled alive.”

She laughed softly. “Still don’t like attention?”

“I prefer precision.” he replied coolly. “Recognition is too messy. Too loud.”

Marinette smiled faintly. “Well, I won’t tell them.”

He met her eyes again. “I'm aware.”

A comfortable silence settled once more until the bell rang.
Marinette exhaled through her nose and stood up slowly.
Felix stood as well, tucking his notebook under one arm.

As they stepped out of the library and into the hallway, her friends' laughter echoed faintly in the distance. The noise of school returned all at once, the clutter of voices, the rhythm of footsteps on tile, the hum of teenage energy.

The hallway echoed with the announcement “Afternoon literature class is cancelled today due to staff illness. Students are free to use the time for study or extracurriculars.”

Claude pumped his fist. “YES. Free period! This is the universe rewarding me for not throwing my alarm clock this morning.”

“You were late anyway.” Allegra muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Still counts.” he grinned, slinging his guitar case over his shoulder.

The three of them made their way up the winding staircase toward the music room, already bantering quietly about which piece they should start with for their exam.

Claude bounded inside the classroom first, then stopped short.
“...Huh.”

Allegra blinked. “What the-?”

Allan tilted his head, brows rising slightly.

Because standing there, already at the piano, fingers grazing the polished keys, was Felix.
And beside him?
Marinette.

Claude blinked several times. “Okay, now I believe in miracles.”

Marinette gave them a small wave and a raspy, “Hi.”

Felix didn’t glance back. He was adjusting the bench, perfectly centered. “You’re late.” he remarked.

Claude squinted. “You... waited for us?”

“We have a shared exam, do we not?” Felix said dryly. “Practicing together would be the logical choice.”

“Okay, who are you and what have you done with Felix?” Claude muttered to Allegra.

Felix shot him a glance like a frozen dagger. “Would you like me to leave?”

“No, no! Please, stay. I want to witness this historic event.”

Felix turned his attention back to the piano, unbothered.

Marinette, for her part, quietly slipped to the back of the room, settling into one of the deep window ledges with a pillow she had swiped from the corner reading nook. She opened her sketchbook and began to draw, comforted by the sound of instruments being tuned.

Allegra lifted her flute and nodded. Claude tapped his guitar to the beat. Allan counted them in softly with his drumsticks, and Felix? Felix let his fingers flow effortlessly across the piano keys, filling the room with something deep, fluid, and breathtakingly elegant.

It was mesmerizing.

Even Claude, usually a whirl of motion and commentary, fell into quiet concentration. The melody wove itself between them. Felix’s piano anchoring the sound, Allegra’s flute cutting through like sunlight, Claude’s guitar dancing between them, and Allan’s drums grounding them all in rhythm.

And Marinette, halfway through a new design in her sketchbook, stopped.
Her pencil hovered mid curve.
Her eyes were locked. Not on the instruments, not even on the music, but on Felix.

His fingers moved with a kind of grace that couldn’t be taught. His head tilted just slightly with the rhythm and there was an emotion on his face she hadn’t seen before.

She stared.
Completely, utterly entranced.

He glanced up once during a quieter passage and caught her gaze.
She froze.
He held her eyes for half a second longer than necessary.
Then, with that maddeningly subtle smirk, he turned back to the keys.
Her ears burned.

“Did you want to play?” he asked suddenly, eyebrow lifting as he struck the final note and silence bloomed in the room like a held breath.

Four pairs of eyes turned toward Marinette.

She blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been staring.” Felix said, matter of fact. “I assumed you wanted to join.”

“I- no. I mean, I don’t play,” she said quickly, flustered. “I just... didn’t know you could do that.”

Claude grinned wide. “Right? He never plays with us.”

Felix didn’t respond. He simply reached for a small, bound folder and slid it across the top of the piano.
“I arranged this for the exam.” he said coolly. “It’s a medley. More complex than the assigned piece. You may all review it and decide if you're capable of keeping up.”

“Felix.” Allegra deadpanned. “It’s a practice session. Not an audition for the Philharmonic.”

“I have standards.”

Claude snorted. “He says, while letting Marinette stare at him like he’s a Disney prince come to life.”

Marinette turned a shade of red previously undocumented by science. “I wasn’t-!”

Felix, of course, smirked again. Subtly, but unmistakably.

Allegra raised an eyebrow and turned to Allan. “Something’s definitely going on.”

“Yep.” Allan nodded, unfazed, flipping a drumstick between his fingers. “But let’s pretend we’re not noticing. Might explode if we acknowledge it too soon.”

Claude was already scribbling something on the back of a music sheet, eyes narrowed suspiciously between Marinette and Felix like a gossip columnist gathering dirt.

But Marinette just ducked her head again, sketchbook tilted to hide her face.

Practice wound down slowly, the music trailing off into quiet hums and fading vibrations as instruments were packed away.

Claude slumped over his guitar case dramatically. “I have nothing left. I gave the piano my soul.”

“You didn’t touch the piano.” Allegra muttered, placing her flute carefully into its case.

“Exactly!” Claude replied. “I didn’t want to compete with Felix the Enigma.”

Felix ignored him entirely, already cleaning the keys of the piano with an almost obsessive precision, fingertips grazing the polished ivory like they were made of glass.

Marinette hadn’t sketched in ten minutes. Her pencil had rolled from her lap to the floor. She didn’t notice.
She was still watching him.
Not in the dazed, open mouthed way she had earlier, though Claude had definitely clocked that and would not be letting it go, but now with an expression of quiet curiosity.

It was Felix who broke the silence.
“Have you ever tried?” he asked.

She blinked. “What?”

“Piano.”

Marinette sat up slightly straighter, confused. “I... no. Not really. I mean, I tried at a music camp once when I was eight, but I was mostly interested in the sparkly baton for twirling class.”

Claude nearly choked on air.

Felix, somehow, didn’t even flinch. “Hm.”
He stood, moving aside from the piano bench. His fingers grazed the lid, then gestured faintly. “Come here.”

Her eyes widened. “What?? Now?”

“You said you don’t play.” he said calmly. “So I’m offering to show you.”

Claude leaned over to Allegra and whispered, “Is this his version of flirting? Because I think I’m watching a unicorn.”

“Shut up!” Allegra hissed back, though her smirk betrayed her.

Marinette hesitated, then stood slowly, her scarf trailing behind her. She approached the piano like it might bite her.

Felix stepped back just slightly, allowing her to sit. She perched on the edge of the bench, fingers twitching uncertainly over the keys.

“They’re cold.” she murmured.

“They'll warm up.” he said. “Like people.”

That made her glance at him, startled. His face was unreadable but she noticed the barest twitch at the corner of his mouth. He knew what he’d said.

She rolled her eyes, but her heart gave a tiny flutter.

He moved behind her, not quite touching, but close enough for her to feel his presence. His hand reached forward, carefully guiding hers to rest on the proper starting notes.

“Try this.” he said, pressing her index finger down on a single key.

The note rang out, crisp and clear.

She tried the next, stumbling slightly. He adjusted her wrist with a feather light touch.

“Not so stiff.” he murmured. “You’re not fencing with it.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” she muttered.

“I’m aware.” he said blandly. “That’s why I’m teaching you.”

Behind them, the trio of friends sat frozen in fascination.

“Should we leave?” Allan whispered.

“Are you kidding?” Claude hissed. “This is better than TV.”

Felix guided her through a few simple chords, his voice low and instructive. Marinette’s touch grew more confident with each attempt, and soon, the piano was singing a delicate, hesitant melody beneath her fingers.
“It’s actually working!”

Felix’s tone was dry. “Shocking, when one listens to instruction.”

She turned to make a face at him, only to realize how close he was now. His storm gray eyes looked almost blue in the sunlight.

Neither of them moved.

“Um??” Claude said loudly. “Do we need to sign a permission slip to keep witnessing this?”

Felix straightened immediately. Marinette turned scarlet and fumbled away from the piano.

“I—I should—thanks. I mean. That was... thank you!” she stammered.

Felix gave the barest of nods, but his expression was guarded once again.

Marinette grabbed her sketchbook and pride and made a quick exit, muttering something about needing to stop by the sewing class before heading home.

After the door clicked shut behind her, Claude let out a breath.
“Well.” he said. “That wasn’t intense at all.”

“Not at all..” Allegra said, exchanging a glance with Allan.

Felix quietly picked up his folder again.
“What?” he asked flatly.

“Oh nothing!” Claude said, grinning far too wide. “But just for the record... she totally forgot we were even here.”

Felix didn’t answer.
But for a brief second, just before turning away, a small, secret smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

As the door to the music room clicked shut behind her, Marinette stood in the hallway for a moment, her pulse still a little too fast. The sound of Felix’s quiet voice lingered in her ears, as did the warmth of his hand hovering near her wrist, guiding her over the piano keys.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted to try playing the piano until he made the offer. And yet, she’d been so caught off guard by him, the way he’d spoken so calmly, the way his gaze hadn’t faltered even when her hands fumbled at first. For a moment, it had felt almost normal. Almost like they were friends.
But of course, that couldn’t be true. Could it?

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers brushing against the fabric of her scarf. She wasn’t even sure what to think anymore. Felix was complicated, too complicated. His small gestures, like his offer to teach her piano, sent her mind reeling, but then his coldness, his silence after he’d helped her... it only confused her more.

He’d been kind, sortof. Genuine, even. He’d smiled, she realized suddenly, her heart giving an unexpected flutter. He hadn’t smiled widely or brightly, but it had been there. A soft, fleeting curve of his lips when their eyes met before she’d awkwardly darted away from him.

But was that enough? Could she just forget about the way he’d been so distant and unapproachable in the past? The way his insults had cut deep when they first met? The sharpness of his words, his deliberate cruelty... it was hard to forget, hard to believe that someone capable of such coldness could ever truly change.

She leaned against the wall for a moment, closing her eyes and exhaling a shaky breath. 'This wasn’t supposed to happen' she thought to herself. She was supposed to be focused on getting through school. She was supposed to be looking ahead, toward her future, her dreams. But Felix... Felix was an unpredictable storm she couldn’t seem to avoid.

Her thoughts wandered back to the way he’d been so calm, so controlled as he’d showed her how to play. The gentle pressure of his fingers guiding hers, the faint warmth of his presence next to her. She hadn’t expected any of it. And when he’d made that remark about not fencing with the keys, she’d wanted to laugh and punch him all at once, but there had been something underneath it all. His quiet acknowledgment that she was trying, that he was helping, really helping, and not mocking her for once.

But still... he was Felix. He had his walls. The way he’d slipped back into his usual detached self as soon as she’d stopped playing... it was like a shield going up around him. And yet, there had been that small smile.

No, no, she thought, shaking her head slightly. She couldn’t let herself think too much about it. She couldn’t afford to trust him, not completely. Not when she had no idea what his true intentions were.
But deep down, something inside her hesitated. Her heart, even with its doubts, was tugged in his direction.

Her throat still ached, the scratchiness in her voice refusing to leave, but she clutched her sketchbook a little tighter. There was something else she needed to focus on now. Designing, creating, building her future. She couldn’t afford to get lost in this confusing, uncharted territory with Felix.
But then, as she walked down the hallway, her hand grazing the wall for support, she felt something shift deep inside. She couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was the memory of his voice, soft and patient, or the way his smile had appeared so unexpectedly. Maybe it was just the hope that there could be more to him than the layers of arrogance and distance he hid behind.

The last class of the day felt different somehow. Maybe it was the lingering warmth of Felix's presence from earlier, maybe it was the soft echo of his voice still reverberating in her mind, but something had shifted between them. The awkward distance that had once been a constant barrier now felt just a little bit smaller.

She slid into her seat next to him, the creak of the chair beneath her snapping her out of her thoughts.

Felix was already seated, his eyes on his notebook, the sharp lines of his face set in a distant expression. His eyes flicked to her just long enough to meet her gaze before he looked away.

Her chest tightened. Was he really trying?

She pulled out her own notebook, trying to focus on the lesson but her thoughts wandered again.

The Felix she had always known had been distant, standoffish, and occasionally cruel. But the Felix she had encountered over the last few days...was that the real him? Or was it just another version of the mask he wore?

Marinette tried to focus on the teacher, scribbling down notes without really processing them. She stole a glance at Felix. He was scribbling something in his notebook, not paying attention to her at all. His jaw was set in concentration, and his pen moved with quick, precise strokes. She couldn’t help but watch the way his hand moved over the page. The way he looked so absorbed in whatever it was he was doing.

She bit her lip. Focus, Marinette. She couldn’t afford to get distracted again, especially not by someone like him. But it was hard to ignore him. There was something about the way he carried himself, the way he was always just on the edge of her thoughts, that made it impossible to push him out completely.

The teacher's voice broke through her thoughts. “Marinette, Felix, are you paying attention?”

Startled, Marinette quickly straightened up in her chair, her cheeks flushing with the sudden attention. She glanced over at Felix, who looked just as surprised as she felt. His eyes met hers again, this time with a hint of something that could have been amusement or maybe it was just a reflex, an instinct to cover up whatever was happening under the surface.

“I’m sorry, what?” Marinette asked, her voice still rough from her cold.

The teacher gave her a pointed look. “Try to stay on task. We’re going over the assignment now.”

Marinette nodded quickly, but her mind had already wandered again. Why was he always like that? The way he could so easily slip into this unapproachable, detached persona. But then there were those moments, the ones that didn’t quite add up.

She glanced at him again, this time just long enough to see the subtle way he tucked a stray piece of blonde hair behind his ear, his expression still unreadable.

But... Marinette thought as she stared at the side of his face, maybe she's been wrong about him all along.
For so long, she had written him off as just the snobby, distant rich kid who couldn’t care less about anyone else. But now... now there were cracks in that persona.

As the class progressed, Marinette couldn’t help but notice how her own thoughts began to mirror his actions. Felix wasn't just a source of irritation anymore. He wasn’t just the guy who mocked her, dismissed her, or made her second guess herself. He was starting to become someone she had to understand... someone she didn’t fully trust but also couldn’t seem to shake.

She cleared her throat, shifting in her seat, the lingering thought of him too strong to ignore. Felix was the last person she should be thinking about.
But the way his presence felt in the room, the way it made everything feel just a little different, was impossible to deny.
He shifted in his seat, just slightly, but it was enough to make her aware of the space between them again.

Suddenly, Felix’s voice broke through the silence between them. “You don’t have to be quite so tense.” he said quietly, but the words felt like they belonged to a different person than the one she knew.

Marinette’s head snapped up, blinking in surprise. “What?”

His eyes flicked to hers for just a moment before looking away again. “You’re sitting like you’re ready to run away. Just relax.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She hadn’t realized she was so tense. Hadn't even noticed how much her body had been coiled tight, just like every other time she had been near him.

“Just don’t get relaxed enough to fall asleep.” he added with a touch of dry humor. "That would be embarrassing."

She couldn’t help it. She snorted in spite of herself. The sound of it caught her off guard, and she immediately slapped a hand over her mouth, her face turning red. But Felix’s lips twitched in what could only be described as the faintest hint of a smile. A real smile, one that wasn’t tinged with sarcasm or mockery.
He tried to hide it, but Marinette saw it.

As the bell rang, she gathered her things slowly. Felix was already standing.
She didn’t speak to him as she grabbed her bag, but she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder one last time as she walked out of the classroom.

Felix trailed after her, close behind.
And for a fleeting moment, he didn’t look cold.
Her heart skipped a beat, and she quickly turned her head, trying to ignore the heat rising to her cheeks.

After school, Marinette stood just past the gates, her sketchbook tucked securely under her arm.

Beside her, Felix shifted his weight ever so slightly. He never fidgeted, not exactly, but there was a subtle tension in the way his hands remained perfectly still at his sides. His hair gleamed in the sunlight, windswept now after the long school day and his eyes flicked toward the parked limousine idling a few feet away.

He gave a small nod toward it. “Would you like a ride home?”

Marinette hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the offer, it was more that she didn’t expect it.
She glanced at the sleek black limousine.

“It’s actually nice out for once...” she said quickly, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. Her eyes darted up to his, her voice softer as she added, “But.. maybe... uhm. We could walk?”
The words left her mouth before she had time to pull them back.

Felix blinked.
For a moment, he simply stared at her. His lips parted slightly as if he were going to say something, then he didn’t.
Instead, he turned smoothly on his heel, strode to the driver’s side window and leaned down to say something. The driver nodded.

From the backseat, concealed behind glass dark enough to mirror the world, Amelie Culpa watched everything unfold.
Her son hadn’t even looked at the car again as he returned to Marinette's side and they started walking.

Her fingers drummed gently against the armrest, her elegant posture betraying little of the intrigue brewing behind her composed exterior. Her blonde hair was twisted into a classic chignon, her tailored suit a subtle nod to old money refinement. Her eyes remained fixed on the girl standing by the gates.

"So..." she mused silently. "that would be Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

The girl was delicate in stature, yes, but there was something strong in the way she stood, shoulders square, gaze steady, even beside someone like Felix. Her guarded, particular son, was standing there like a boy caught off balance. She could see it in the way he angled his head toward her, how he lingered.

She reached into her bag and retrieved a small leather notebook, opening it to a fresh page. With a flick of her fountain pen, she began to write:
- Marinette Dupain-Cheng
- 16 or 17, likely.
- Lives above the boulangerie with her parents.
- Aspiring designer. Reputation for talent, diligence.
- Noted tension with Chelsea du Lac—recently expelled.
- Felix mentioned her name three times in the last month.
- Today, he forgot a dinner reservation. For her.
She underlined the last sentence twice.
Amelie snapped the notebook closed and leaned back into the seat, expression sour.

----------------------------------

Meanwhile, out on the sidewalk, Marinette had to keep from smiling as the limousine disappeared around the corner. “You didn’t have to..-”

Felix shrugged, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. “You asked.”

Marinette peeked at him from the corner of her eye. “You sure you don’t have anywhere to be?” she asked, trying not to sound as guilty as she felt.

Felix hesitated as he remembered. “I had a dinner planned.”

She stopped mid step, guilt flaring across her face. “Felix! I didn’t know...! if you have something important...-”

“I forgot.” he interrupted coolly.

“You forgot?”

He looked away, as if embarrassed by the admission. “It wasn’t that important.”

She blinked. “It was dinner. With who?”

“...My mother. And some investors.”

Marinette stopped again, halfway across a crosswalk. “You ditched your mother for me?!”

“I wouldn’t call it ditching, per se...” Felix muttered, but there was a faint flush on his neck now.

Marinette stared at him.

He never forgot things. He never skipped appointments. And he certainly didn’t let people change his routine.
But now here he was, walking beside her, hands in his coat pockets, willingly setting aside a formal dinner with his mother, of all people.

She didn’t know what to say. So instead, she smiled. Just a small one. A little crooked, like she wasn’t quite sure what it meant.
“You’re weird.” she said gently.

Felix arched a brow at her. “And you’re-”

“Careful.” she warned, mock threatening.

He huffed, a sound that almost qualified as a laugh. “Brave. I was going to say brave.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Really?”

His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You can think whatever you want.”

The breeze was light, just enough to rustle Marinette’s hair as she and Felix strolled along the streets. Their path meandered away from the rush of students heading for metro stations or cafes. Neither of them said it aloud, but they both seemed to choose the longer route.

“So...” Her voice rasped like sandpaper, and she winced, clearing her throat carefully. “Are you always that good on the piano, or do you save it just to make people like me feel talentless?”

Felix gave a short huff. “I wasn’t aware that impressing you would make me villainous.”

She smirked, nudging him gently with her shoulder. “You’re already villainous.”

He tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “And you’re quite brave, saying that to someone who caught you from faceplanting down a flight of stairs.”

Marinette laughed softly. “Touché.”

“Do you always forget things when you’re distracted?” she asked, almost shyly. “Like that dinner?”

Felix went silent.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“It wasn’t important.” he said again, this time softer. His expression was hard to read. “I wanted to walk with you.”

Marinette’s heart tripped.
The words weren’t flirtatious. They weren’t dripping in charm or said with a grin. They were honest.
And that made them hit harder than any dramatic speech ever could.

She glanced up at him again and something in his expression startled her. He was surprised, too. As if the words had slipped out before he could decide if he meant them.

Marinette stopped walking. Felix did too, one step ahead of her.

The sunlight caught on his lashes, his eyes the color of storm tossed seas. He looked at her, wary now, like he might have said too much.

“You’re confusing.” she said, her voice gentle. “You’re cold, cruel, and sometimes honestly insufferable.”

Felix’s brow arched faintly.

“But then you do things like...” She gestured vaguely. “That tea. And the beanbag. And today. You’re kind when I don’t expect it. It throws me off.”

A silence fell between them again.
Then, very quietly, he said, “You throw me off, too.”

Before she could respond, a drop of water fell on her cheek. Then another.
Marinette looked up just as the clouds began to darken overhead. “Oh no.”

Felix pulled his coat tighter, glancing at the sky. “It wasn’t supposed to rain until later.”

“It’s Paris.” Marinette groaned. “That means nothing.”

More droplets followed, the rain quickly shifting from a sprinkle to something more insistent.
She reached into her bag. “I think I..- Oh, no.” Her umbrella wasn’t there.

Felix sighed.
He stepped closer, unbuttoning his coat just enough to slip one side off his shoulder. “Come here.”

Marinette blinked up at him. “What?”

“You didn’t bring an umbrella. Again.”

“I...-okay, but that doesn’t mean -”

Before she could argue further, he gently tugged her forward beneath the draped half of his coat. They were suddenly closer than they’d ever stood before. Shoulder to chest, breath to breath.

Her heart skipped hard.
She could feel the heat of him, he smelled faintly of cologne and old books. Her cheeks burned. He was looking at her now, not smug or amused, but just steady.

She blinked up at him as his arm slid around her shoulders, holding the edge of the coat closed over them. His height meant he had to angle slightly to the side to keep it from slipping, but he adjusted without comment, gaze focused ahead as though this kind of closeness didn’t mean anything at all.
And maybe to him it didn’t.
But to Marinette, it absolutely did.

“...You didn’t have to...” she murmured, voice still scratchy from her lingering sore throat.

“I wanted to.”

That shut her up effectively.

They walked like that for several quiet blocks, close enough that her shoulder brushed his chest with each step, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

Her bakery came into view around the next corner, its awning slightly faded from years of sun and rain, the little chalkboard sign out front already misted with droplets.

She glanced up at Felix again.
“You’ve been quiet.” she said, gently.

He raised a brow. “So are you.”

She gave a tired smile. “I’m still recovering, remember?”

His lips twitched, just the faintest hint of a smirk. “Right.”

They reached the bakery steps. Felix pulled back slightly, letting the coat fall from around her shoulders. She already missed the warmth. His warmth.

“Uhm.. Thank you...” she said, quietly. “For walking me. For... well, all of it.”

He hesitated.
Then, with a glance toward the bakery door, he said, “You’re welcome. I... enjoyed it. More than I expected to.”

Her brows lifted. “That was almost a compliment.”

Felix didn’t respond right away. He simply looked at her, his eyes flicking over her face with intimidating intensity.
“Marinette.”

She blinked. That was the first time he'd called her by her name... “Yeah?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His jaw worked, as if he were arguing with himself.
“...Rest well.” he said finally.
And then he turned and walked away, his coat still damp, his gait crisp but not rushed.

Marinette stood on the step a moment longer, watching him disappear down the rainy street before she stepped inside the bakery. She felt the last of the day’s tension start to slip away with every step she took into the cozy space.

-----------------------

The grand foyer of the Culpa estate echoed with the sound of Felix’s shoes as he stepped inside, the heavy front door clicking shut behind him.

He pulled off his damp coat with a quiet sigh, running one hand through his rain mussed hair, now clinging slightly to his forehead in a way that would’ve horrified the image conscious version of himself from just a few months ago. His usually pristine shirt was slightly wrinkled. His tie was loose. He looked, for once, entirely imperfect.

He didn't care.

He hung the coat neatly on the brass rack and turned, only to freeze at the sight of Amelie standing at the base of the staircase.

Her blonde hair was drawn into a soft chignon, not a strand out of place. She wore a tailored dress that complimented her pale complexion, and a string of white pearls at her neck. One gloved hand rested lightly on the banister.

“Felix.” Her voice was serene. Dangerously so.

He straightened instinctively. “Mother.”

“You’re late.”

“I walked.”

“I see.” Her tone didn’t change, but her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “In the rain.”

Felix’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”

“With her.”

It wasn’t a question.

Felix’s lips parted, then closed. He didn’t bother denying it. “Yes.”

Amelie took one slow step down the stairs, each movement elegant, deliberate. “You missed dinner.”

“I did.”

“I had a table reserved at La Belle Epoque. The chef prepared the menu himself. There were investors who were quite curious to meet you.”

“I forgot.” Felix’s voice was low, but steady. “I’ll write them letters of apology.”

“You forgot.” Amelie repeated slowly, as though tasting the words, then gave a short, quiet laugh that held no humor. “That’s new. My son, the one who keeps his schedule to the second, forgot.”

Felix said nothing.

Amelie reached the bottom step and paused. “Is she worth it?” she asked. “This girl who’s turned your perfectly ordered world on its head?”

He met her gaze. “I don’t know yet.”

Amelie blinked.

“But I think I'd like to find out.” Felix added. “And if that means being late. Missing dinner. Walking in the rain... I don’t care.”

Felix was soaked, slightly chilled, and apparently in trouble with multiple investors.
But for some reason... all he could think about was Marinette.
How she’d looked with his coat draped around her.
How her voice had sounded, low and hoarse, but still teasing.
How her hand had brushed his on the walk home and neither of them had pulled away.
And for the first time in years, he smiled without thinking.

Amelie however, did not look pleased.

Felix then turned on his heel and marched toward the east wing, the echo of his mother’s warning from the other day clattering through his thoughts like cold glass... "She’s not your equal. She doesn’t understand the world you come from."

'She doesn’t need to.' he thought. 'She understands ME. And that’s more than you've ever bothered to do.'

Chapter Text

Marinette stood near the edge of the garden path, her sketchbook clutched under one arm, animatedly telling a story to the trio of students around her at school.

“So then,” she said, hands flying through the air for emphasis, “Fang just plopped right on top of me, like, full on ‘you’re my beanbag now’ levels of commitment, and I’m just sitting there, totally squashed, and everyone’s screaming like he’s going to eat me or something!”

Claude laughed so hard he almost dropped his guitar case. “Wait, you mean the actual crocodile?!”

Marinette grinned. “Yes! Jagged’s crocodile. He’s huge now. He still thinks he’s a puppy sized creature.”

Allan chuckled softly. “That’s insane. I would’ve run for my life.”

“Same.” Allegra murmured, though her lips twitched in the smallest of smiles. “You’re oddly calm about being flattened by a massive reptile.”

“Well, it’s not the first time.” Marinette said, flipping her hand dramatically. “The first time he knocked me into the Seine.”

Claude snorted. “You live a wild life, M.”

“I really don’t! It just sort of finds me.”

Claude threw an arm around her shoulders. “I’m just saying, if a giant crocodile tries to cuddle me, I’m calling animal control.”

Marinette giggled, ducking out from under his arm. “You’d cry.”

“I would not!” Claude gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. “Allan, back me up.”

Allan shrugged, grinning. “You’d cry a little.”

Even Allegra chuckled at that.

Felix stood past the archway of the main hall but his eyes were on her.
Marinette paused when she caught sight of him
For a moment, the rest of the world dimmed.

Claude followed her line of sight and let out a low whistle. “Well, well. The prince of perpetual gloom arrives.”

“Do you think he sleeps in that tie?” Allegra asked dryly.

“Absolutely.” Allan murmured.

Marinette smiled faintly, trying to ignore the sudden flutter in her chest. “I should... probably go say hi.”

Claude nudged her gently. “Want us to come provide emotional support? Or tackle him if he says something snooty?”

“I think I’ve got it.” Marinette laughed, her voice a little nervous as she adjusted her bag. “Thanks, though.”
As she stepped away from her friends and crossed the courtyard toward Felix, the crowd of students seemed to part subtly around her, as if sensing the strange gravity between them.
When she finally stopped a few steps away, her voice was soft but steady. “Hey.”

Felix inclined his head in greeting. “Good morning.”

There was a brief pause, and then his eyes drifted toward where her friends still lingered in the courtyard, watching with thinly veiled interest.

“You seemed occupied.” he said flatly.

Marinette raised an eyebrow. “With my friends? Yeah. I was telling them about Fang.”

Felix’s mouth twitched. “The crocodile incident.”

“You heard about that?”

“You texted me about it.”

“Oh. Right.” She blushed a little.

His gaze settled back on her. “I take it you’re well, then? After the ordeal of emotional trauma and reptilian affection.”

Marinette gave a short laugh. “Surprisingly, yes.”

Felix’s eyes lingered on Marinette for a moment longer than he intended, his chest tightening with an unfamiliar feeling he quickly pushed aside. He cleared his throat, breaking the silence.
“Well, we’re both going to be late if we stand here any longer.” he said, his voice cool, but there was a hint of something softer beneath it.

Marinette blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. She smiled, a little sheepish. “Right. We should probably get to class.”

They turned together, walking side by side through the courtyard toward the doors of the school.

Felix’s pace was steady and purposeful as always but he couldn’t help but glance at Marinette every so often, wondering if she felt the same strange tension between them. The way her blue eyes flickered over to him with a mixture of curiosity and care was unsettling. She was different from anyone else he knew and for reasons that he couldn’t fully understand, he found that both frustrating and oddly comforting.

Marinette, for her part, felt the heat of his presence at her side, and the silence was both welcome and unsettling. She hadn’t expected Felix to open up like that or for him to look at her the way he had, like he actually trusted her in some small way. It was both a relief and a challenge. She’d never thought of herself as someone who could bridge the divide between Felix and the rest of the world, but now, she wasn’t so sure.

Felix made his way to their seats by the window, his expression impassive.
Marinette sat down beside him, casting a quick glance in his direction, but he was already focused on the front of the classroom.

The teacher began speaking and the room fell into a rhythm of pens scratching against paper and soft whispers exchanged in the back corners of the room.

The days of their animosity, their sharp words and icy glares felt like they were slipping further away, but he didn’t know how to stop it. Or, if he wanted to. There was a part of him, one he barely dared to acknowledge, that found the warmth of their odd truce almost comforting.

But Felix wasn’t someone who did comfort. Not easily. Not when it came to people like her.

He could feel her presence beside him, but he refused to acknowledge it directly. Instead, he focused on his notebook, his pencil moving in sharp, deliberate strokes as he began to take notes on the lesson. His mind, however, wasn’t fully on the words the teacher was saying. He couldn’t help but wonder how long this fragile new understanding between them would last.
For now, all he could do was pretend that nothing had changed. Pretend that it was just another day.
But deep down, he knew that was a lie.

Marinette sat with her pen poised, pretending to take notes, though her mind wasn’t anywhere near the subject matter. Every now and then, she glanced sideways, careful not to be obvious.

At one point, her pencil rolled off the desk. She reached down to grab it at the same time Felix leaned down, he’d already picked it up.

The contact when their fingers brushed was fleeting but Marinette’s breath hitched ever so slightly, and when she looked up, Felix was already straightening, offering the pencil back with a practiced neutrality.
“That one nearly escaped.”

Marinette managed a smile. “Thank you.”

The teacher called on a student near the front of the room and both of them turned back to their notebooks.

Class ended and students packed up their bags, the shuffle of chairs and chatter rising. Marinette tucked her books away carefully, sneaking another glance toward Felix.
He hadn’t moved yet.

She hesitated before standing. “Hey, um... piano after school today?”

Felix didn’t look at her, but his response came easily, as if the answer had been waiting. “Of course.”

Her smile grew a little. “Okay. Meet you at the usual spot?”

This time, he looked up, one eyebrow lifting. “Naturally.”

With that, she shouldered her bag and made her way toward the door. As she left, Claude shot her a look that was all knowing smirk and wagging eyebrows.

“You two are starting to vibe.” he whispered dramatically as they filed into the hallway.

“Claude.” Marinette groaned under her breath.

“I’m just saying...” he said, nudging her playfully, “I didn’t see any murder eyes between you two today. That’s growth.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t keep from smiling.

The hallway echoed as Marinette walked toward the music room, her thoughts still lingering on the conversation with Felix. Her heart had yet to calm from their quiet interaction earlier in class. It was strange. She didn’t know what was happening between them, but it felt like the most honest thing she’d experienced in a long while.

Claude, Allegra, and Allan were already in the music room, settling into their usual spots. Claude was strumming his guitar, lazily picking at a few chords, while Allan had already set up behind the drum kit, absentmindedly tapping out a beat. Allegra glanced up at Marinette with a soft smile.

“Hey, Marinette!” Allegra greeted her, her voice warm. “You’re not late this time.”

Marinette returned the smile. “I tried to be on time today. Felt weird, you know?”

Claude let out a loud laugh. “Oh, I’m sure it felt weird to show up on time, huh? You’re usually fashionably late, but today you’re just normal.”

Marinette grinned, rolling her eyes playfully at him.

The others fell silent for a moment when Felix entered, their gazes lingering on him before the natural ease of their friendships took over.

He nodded at the group, his eyes catching Marinette’s for a split second before he made his way toward the grand piano at the center of the room. He took a seat, pulling a sheet of music from his bag and glancing over it.

Allan gave a small, shy wave to Felix. “Hey, Felix. You’re joining us again today?”

Felix didn’t answer immediately, his attention on the sheet music in front of him. His fingers brushed over the piano keys absentmindedly, as if testing the feel of the instrument. Then, he finally looked up, catching Allan’s eye.
“I suppose so.” He replied, his tone neutral, but there was a subtle softness in it that wasn’t lost on anyone. He turned to Marinette, his gaze lingering just a second longer than necessary. “I can’t let you have all the fun by yourself, can I?”

Marinette smiled at that, a small, knowing smile. “Right, I’m glad you’re joining us.”

Claude raised an eyebrow, leaning in toward Allan. “Is it just me, or do those two look way too comfortable around each other these days?”

Allan just shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips as he focused on his drumsticks. “I’m not touching that with a ten foot pole.”

Allegra chuckled. “I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear that, thank you.”

Marinette took her spot next to the piano, pulling out her sketchbook, ready to start sketching some new designs while the others played. But her eyes kept flicking over to Felix, watching him as he began to play a gentle, slow melody. His fingers glided over the keys and there was something calming about the way the notes filled the room.

“Alright, let’s try something.” Claude called out. “Let’s start with a little acoustic intro, then we’ll get the drums in. Allegra, you lead us with that flute of yours.”

Allegra nodded, and as the music began to flow around her, Marinette pulled her sketchbook closer, though her attention was still partially on Felix. The notes he played mixed with Claude’s guitar, Allan’s rhythmic drumming, and Allegra’s delicate flute. The sound was harmonious, but it was Felix’s playing that she kept returning to, almost hypnotic in its beauty.

It was a perfect blend of everyone’s skills. But as the song progressed, Marinette realized something she hadn’t fully understood before: the quiet tension between her and Felix, that unspoken pull, seemed to soften when the music surrounded them.
It wasn’t just that they could work together. It was that, in this space, their differences didn’t feel so wide. It was like the music allowed them to meet in the middle, each note and beat bridging the distance.

As the melody wound down, the final chord lingering like a breath held too long, the room fell into a comfortable silence.

Then Claude let out a loud whoop, throwing his arms into the air.
“That was magic! Did you guys feel that? Because I felt that!” he grinned, practically vibrating with energy.

Allan offered a small, satisfied smile from behind his drum kit. “It did sound really good.”

Allegra nodded, gently setting down her violin. “We’re finally learning how to blend.”

Marinette glanced up at Felix. His eyes were focused on the keys, fingers still ghosting over them as if trying to hold onto the last note. There was a quiet stillness to him now, but the edges of his usually cold features had softened.

“You played beautifully.” she said quietly.

Felix didn’t respond right away. When he did, it was barely above a murmur. “Thank you.”

Claude leaned over the back of Marinette’s seat with a conspiratorial grin. “See? Music brings people together. Even grumpy aristocrats like Culpa.”

Felix’s gaze flicked upward, one brow arched. “Careful, Claude. I can still transpose this piano into a weapon.”

Claude held up his hands in surrender, laughing. “Okay, okay. My bad, your highness.”

Marinette laughed softly, nudging Claude away before turning back to Felix. “Still... I think it’s the first time I’ve seen you really enjoy yourself.”

Felix tilted his head slightly, considering her. “Perhaps.” he said, then added, more quietly, “Or perhaps I’m just becoming accustomed to chaos.”

Marinette smirked. “You mean... friendship?”

He didn’t answer. But the way he looked at her, something half frustrated, half fond, was more than enough.

Allegra stood up. “We should do this more often. It’s the only time Claude isn’t actively destroying something.”

“Hey!” Claude barked, but he didn’t deny it.

Allan was already gently rolling his drumsticks into a case. “Next free hour?”

Marinette nodded. “Definitely.”

As the others packed up, Felix closed the piano lid with a soft click, standing slowly. He didn’t say anything at first, just slid his hands into the pockets of his black slacks and stared out the sunlit windows for a moment. Marinette lingered behind, not ready to go just yet.

“Are you alright?”

Felix turned to her slowly. “I’m fine.”
...
“I’m just... adjusting.”

“To what?”

He didn’t answer immediately, but his eyes dropped briefly to her sketchbook resting against her chest, and then back to her eyes. He stepped closer, not quite in her space, but near enough to make her breath hitch.

“To the idea,” he said quietly, “that this place... these people... you... aren’t so unbearable after all. Not like I was taught it would be.”

Marinette blinked. Her heart skipped.

“Felix!” Allegra’s voice called from the hallway. “Are you coming?”

He turned slightly, enough to respond over his shoulder. “Hm.”

But before he followed, he looked at Marinette one more time.
“I’ll see you later.” he said, his voice lower now, the words not just polite, they were almost personal.
And just like that, he turned and walked out, his stride measured and shoulders straight.

The midday bell echoed through the courtyard. Most of the students flooded toward the cafeteria or spilled out onto the school grounds in lively clusters, laughter and chatter trailing behind them. Marinette, however, slipped away from the noise, her steps leading her through the quieter halls toward her newfound favorite sanctuary, the library.

She pushed open the tall oak doors, instantly soothed by the gentle rustling of pages and distant whispers.
Her spot, tucked in the far corner beneath the biggest window, was perfect for sketching, reading, or simply escaping the world.

But as she rounded the bookshelf, she stopped short.

Felix was already sprawled out comfortably in her beanbag. Yes. HER beanbag.
One leg crossed over the other, an open book resting in one hand, he looked very much like he owned the place. His hair caught the light just so, his sharp features relaxed in a way that was rare to see. He barely glanced up at her arrival, as if he’d been expecting her.

Marinette narrowed her eyes, placing a hand on her hip. “Seriously?”

Felix turned a page lazily, his voice maddeningly calm. “It’s comfy.”

She gave him a deadpan stare. “That’s not an excuse.”

He looked at her then, smugly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “You should’ve arrived earlier if you were so protective of it.”

“I always sit there. You know that. You... You're the one who made this spot for me!” Marinette shot back, stepping closer, arms crossed. “You have an entire window seat right there. What happened to your dark academia aesthetic?”

He tilted his head slightly, lips twitching. “Today I felt like something different.”

Marinette exhaled, exasperated. “You felt like stealing my beanbag?”

“I didn’t steal it.” he said smoothly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m borrowing it.”

Marinette opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. There was a glint in his eyes that said he was enjoying this far more than he should’ve been.

She gave him one last squint before muttering, “Fine.”

Before he could look too satisfied, she stepped past him and plopped down onto the floor beside the beanbag, her back against the wall.

He blinked. “You’re really going to sit on the floor?”

“Yup.” She opened her sketchbook, flipping to a clean page. “If you’re going to steal my seat, I’m going to make you feel bad about it.”

Felix arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “I don’t feel bad.”

“You will.”

He gave a soft, barely there huff of amusement, turning back to his book. “Is this a silent protest?”

“No, this is a strategic battle for dominance.” she replied sweetly, pencil already dancing across the page.

After a few moments, Felix shifted. “We can share it, if you’d like.”

Marinette’s pencil paused mid line.
She glanced at him, suspicious. “You’re serious?”

“I don’t make offers lightly.”

She hesitated, squinting at him again, trying to figure out if this was another one of his dry jokes. But he wasn’t smirking now. He was just looking at her, face impassive, but his voice quieter. A little unsure, even.

With a cautious smile, she tucked her sketchbook under her arm and shifted onto the beanbag beside him. It was a tight fit, but surprisingly warm. She settled in, careful not to lean against him directly.

For several minutes, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the scratch of pencil against paper and the occasional turn of a page.

“You do realize this means you’re now part of the beanbag club.”

Felix gave her a slow, sideways glance. “There’s a club?”

“There is now.”

“Then I expect a badge. Designed by you, preferrably.” he replied.

Marinette grinned without looking up. “It’s in the works.”

Her pencil moved effortlessly across the page, her thoughts drifting between the sketches she was working on and the presence beside her. Felix, for once, wasn’t the usual aloof figure she’d come to know. His usual sharp, guarded aura had softened, and she couldn’t quite figure out when or how that had happened.

Without realizing it, Marinette’s shoulders had relaxed, her earlier tension forgotten. She allowed herself a small, contented sigh, sinking deeper into the beanbag. Her hand paused, resting gently on the page as she looked out the window, the view of the trees and rooftops beyond giving her a sense of calm.

She glanced sideways at Felix, who was still focused on his book. His posture remained as stiff as ever, but there was an odd sense of ease to him now. He was no longer the prickly, distant version of him she’d met months ago, at least, not right now.

"Do you ever get... overwhelmed?" His voice was quieter than usual and Marinette blinked in surprise, unsure if she had heard him right. She turned her head to face him, her eyes widening slightly.

"Overwhelmed?" she asked, her tone uncertain, as she tried to read his expression.

"Like when there's too much happening in your head. When... you can't figure things out."

Marinette’s heart gave an odd little thump at his words. The ever perfect, always composed Felix, was admitting to feeling something similar to what she often struggled with. She nodded, her voice soft. "Yeah. All the time. It’s like everything gets too loud, you know? And I can’t hear myself think."

He was quiet for a long moment, before his eyes flicked away from her, back toward the book in his hands. “I don’t really know how to deal with it.” he murmured, almost to himself. “I just bury it.”

Marinette watched him closely, noticing the tightness in his jaw, the subtle tension in his shoulders. He was still so guarded, but this...this was different. He had shared something with her that he clearly didn’t say to anyone else.

She shifted, her movements careful. "I get that." she said gently, her voice sincere. "It’s not easy. But sometimes... talking helps. Even just a little bit." Her fingers curled around the edge of her sketchbook. "I’ve learned that when it gets too much, it’s okay to take a step back. Or ask for help."

Felix didn’t look at her right away, but the tension in his posture seemed to ease, if only slightly. The flicker of his gaze softened as he met her eyes. There was a long silence before he finally spoke again, quieter than before.

“Help.” he said, the word almost foreign on his tongue, like it didn’t belong there. “I don’t really know how to ask for it.”

Marinette smiled softly, her heart going out to him in that moment. She could see the struggle in his eyes, the conflict between wanting to stay distant and the quiet need to let someone in. “It’s okay.” she said, her voice warm, steady. “No one’s really taught you how, have they?”

Felix’s lips twitched, just for a second, as if he were debating whether to admit it. Finally, he gave a small shake of his head. “No. Not really.”

Without thinking, she shifted closer, her shoulder brushing his lightly. She didn’t even flinch at the proximity, not when she could see the guarded tension in his eyes slowly easing, just a little.
“Well.” she said, her voice gentle, “I’m here. If you ever need someone to listen.”

Felix froze, his gaze flicking toward her, caught off guard by the sincerity in her words. Then, with a slow exhale, he nodded, though he didn’t say anything.

Marinette’s pencil had long since stilled, resting loosely in her hand, forgotten as she snuck a glance at Felix from beneath her lashes. He was still half turned toward her, eyes no longer guarded but thoughtful, somewhere between surprise and calm acceptance, like he was trying to understand how they’d ended up here, in this moment.

“You should steal my beanbag more often.”

Felix blinked.
His head turned fully to her now, eyes narrowing faintly, not in irritation, but as if trying to decode whether she was joking.

Marinette, suddenly unsure if she’d said something too forward, fidgeted with the corner of her sketchbook, cheeks warming. “I mean...only if you want to. Not that I want you to steal it or anything, it’s just...” She trailed off, face blooming red. “Never mind.”

Felix tilted his head, studying her.
Then, in the softest voice he’d used yet, he said, “That was a terrible save.”

Marinette groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I know.”

He let out a quiet breath. Less than a laugh, more like the ghost of one. “But... duly noted.”

She peeked at him through her fingers. “What does that mean?”

His eyes were on hers again. “It means,” he said slowly, “I’ll consider stealing your beanbag more often... if you don’t mind sharing.”

A quiet invitation.
Marinette blinked. Then smiled, small but sincere. “I think I could live with that.”

She could feel the steady rhythm of her heart against her ribs, pulsing a little faster than normal, a little louder. Her fingers fidgeted against the edges of her sketchbook.

After another long moment of silence between them, his voice broke the hush.
“Perhaps,” he began, his gaze remaining forward, though his tone was directed at her, “you could accompany me home after school today?”

Marinette’s head turned slightly, blinking up at him in surprise.

“I could teach you more piano.” he added smoothly. “You’ve improved. It would be a shame to let it stagnate.”
Marinette’s lips parted, but no words came out yet. He continued, his voice even softer now, careful.
“I assure you... my mother will not be at the estate. She has obligations until the evening. You would not be observed.”
He didn’t say it, but she knew what he meant. He was offering her safety. A space without the suffocating gaze of Amelie Culpa.

Marinette looked at him fully now, her blue eyes wide, shimmering with a mixture of surprise and something softer. He wasn’t just inviting her to play piano. He was opening a door to his world, his space, one he guarded fiercely. And he was doing it for her.

A beat passed. Her lips curved into a small smile, touched with warmth and just the faintest flicker of shyness.
“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice gentle. “I don’t want to intrude.”

Felix turned to meet her gaze finally. His eyes, so often cool and distant were still sharp but softer now, like a storm held at bay. “You wouldn’t be.”

Marinette’s breath hitched slightly.
She looked down at her sketchbook, pretending to consider it, though her mind had already made the leap.
“I’d like that...” she said, voice almost shy. “I’d... really like that.”

“Very well. After the last bell. I’ll wait for you at the front gates.”

Marinette gave a small nod, trying and failing to suppress the fluttering in her chest. “Okay.”

-----------------------

After the last bell, Since they didn't share the last class together, Felix was already standing at the edge of the school steps as promised and looked up as she approached.
“You’re late.” he said.

Marinette rolled her eyes. “I had to survive the locker room. Some of us aren’t above the peasantry.”

Felix’s lips twitched at that. “Tragic.”

After a short walk, yes they walked, Felix was really starting to despise the limousine and now avoids it if he can, the Culpa estate loomed ahead. The gravel drive crunched beneath their steps as they entered.
Felix led her through a side entrance, avoiding the main hall. “The music room’s this way.” he said, his voice softer than before. “Mother won’t return for some hours.”

Marinette nodded, unsure why that comforted her.

The room they entered was stunning. Floor to ceiling windows, polished wood floors, and sunlight spilling across the baby grand piano at the center like a spotlight.

She looked around, eyes wide. “It’s beautiful.”

Felix merely inclined his head, as if it were a fact, not a compliment. “Sit.” he said, motioning to the bench.

She sat down, fingers hovering nervously over the keys. Felix stood behind her at first, observing. After a moment, he stepped closer, his hand brushing hers lightly to adjust her posture.

“You’re still too tense.” he murmured, voice near her ear.

Marinette tried not to shiver. “I can’t help it. You’re watching me like I’m about to ruin your piano.”

Felix moved to sit beside her. “You might.”

She shot him a glare. He only smirked.
But as they played, something began to ease. She fumbled less. Laughed once, even, when she hit a sour note and he mockingly winced like she’d injured him.

“Better.” he said after a while, hands resting in his lap. “You’re learning to listen.”

Marinette glanced sideways at him. “Is that your subtle way of saying I’m usually a disaster?”

Felix gave a slow blink. “No.” he said, unexpectedly. “Only that it’s nice. Hearing you try.”

She blinked. “Try?”

“At this.” He hesitated. “With me.”

The room quieted. Marinette looked at him and for once saw no walls... just a boy, eyes unreadable but not unfeeling.

“I’m not just trying.” she said softly. “I’m choosing to.”

Unexpectedly, Felix stood. He crossed the room, opened a cabinet, and pulled out a leather bound folder. From it, he drew a sheet of music, careful, like it meant something.

“I wrote this.” he said, returning to her side. “It’s a duet.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “You write music?”

He looked away. “It was years ago. I never finished it.”

She took the sheet gently, scanning the notes. It was delicate and beautiful, even in its unfinished state. Her voice was quiet when she asked, “Why show me?”

Felix’s gaze found hers again.
“Because I think... you might be able to help me find the ending.”

Marinette smiled, heart full. “Then let’s finish it together.”

Felix watched as Marinette studied the sheet music, her brows furrowing in concentration. She chewed lightly on her bottom lip, an unconscious habit, one he’d noticed before, and he found himself watching the movement with a strange sense of focus, like it mattered.

She traced the notes with her finger, murmuring softly to herself. “It’s in E minor... the right hand moves like a conversation, kind of hesitant, but it wants to say something.” She glanced at him, a little unsure. “Was that intentional?”

The blonde blinked, a little surprised. “Yes.” he said after a pause. “Though I didn’t expect you to notice.”

“I feel things in music.” she said, almost apologetic. “It’s not technical for me, it’s emotional. Like fabric. Or linework. It has texture.”

“Then perhaps you’re exactly the person I should’ve given it to.”

Marinette gently set the music down on the stand, brushing her fingers along the worn edges. “Do you ever want to perform it? When it’s finished?”

Felix hesitated. “I don’t write to be heard. I write to quiet things.”

She looked at him, head tilting. “But sometimes, sharing quiet things makes them feel less heavy.”

He didn’t respond to that. Not with words.
Instead, he sat beside her again, this time without the formality he usually carried like a shield. His fingers hovered over the keys, then began to play the intro, low, deliberate chords that sounded like something unspoken trying to take shape. Marinette listened, heart skipping at the way the music filled the space between them.
And when it was her turn, she followed.

The notes she played weren’t perfect. A little hesitant. A little unsure. But Felix didn’t stop her. He didn’t correct her. He simply played with her, his part weaving beneath hers like a second heartbeat.
Together, they made something incomplete feel whole for a moment.

Felix turned toward her slightly, one arm resting on the piano, head tilted. “You didn’t hesitate as much that time.”

Marinette shrugged, cheeks warm. “It felt like a conversation.”

He studied her, his gaze intense but not cold this time.
“...I don’t mind playing with you.”

Marinette met his gaze. “I don’t mind it either.”

From somewhere deeper in the house, a soft chime rang. One of those elegant, old fashioned bells.

Felix straightened slightly. “That’s the signal for tea.” he muttered. “The staff insists on serving it at four sharp. You can ignore it, but they’ll take offense.”

Marinette blinked. “The staff?”

Felix stood. “Come on. You’ll cause less trouble if you follow me.”

She rolled her eyes but stood anyway, following him through the estate’s long, high ceilinged corridors. As they walked, Marinette couldn’t help but glance around. Oil paintings hung on the walls like silent judges and the thick carpets swallowed their footsteps.

“This place is huge...” she murmured.

Felix glanced at her. “It's a mausoleum of ambition.” he said dryly. “It looks impressive, but it’s built to be cold.”

She looked at him, thoughtful. “Then why bring me here?”

His steps slowed. He turned slightly toward her.
“Because I was certain it’d be warmer with you in it.”

Before she could respond, they rounded a corner and stepped into a sun drenched sitting room, where a delicate silver tea service had already been laid out on a table between two velvet chairs.

Felix gestured to the seat nearest the window.
“Sit. I’ll pour.”

Marinette gave him a mock suspicious look. “You know how to pour tea?”

“I’m not entirely helpless.” he replied with a faint smirk, already lifting the teapot with perfect poise. “You’re the one who nearly tripped over a garden hose.”

Marinette gasped, scandalized. “You saw that?”

“I hear everything.” he said smoothly, pouring without a spill. “It’s a curse.”

She narrowed her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her lips. She took the cup he offered and sat back, the sunlight warming her knees through the window.

Felix settled into the chair opposite hers.

As she sipped the tea, surprisingly perfect in taste and temperature, Marinette studied him over the rim of her cup.
“You really don’t let many people in, do you?”

Felix didn’t flinch. “No.”

“Then why me?” she asked softly.

For a long moment, he didn’t answer.
“Because I don’t feel the need to pretend when you’re around.”

That answer stole the air from her lungs more effectively than any piano chord could.
She didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.
Because she understood.

-----------------

Unbeknownst to either of them, they had been watched.
Amelie Culpa had not left the estate that day.
Her luncheon meeting in the city, a discussion of art endowments and social obligations, had been abruptly cancelled due to a family emergency. She had returned to her private salon in the east wing without informing the staff, uninterested in conversation.

She hadn’t expected Felix home early. And certainly not with company. And most definitely not with... her.

The moment she had glimpsed them from the second floor landing, Felix and the Dupain-Cheng girl crossing the threshold together, her interest had stirred. She hadn’t moved, not immediately. She had simply stood, one hand resting lightly against the balustrade, watching them disappear down the corridor. Felix’s posture was as it always was but there was something different in the way he walked beside the girl.

Not ahead. Not above.
Beside. As if they were equals.

Amelie descended the staircase in silence, her heels making no sound against the marble. She followed at a distance, a phantom in her own halls, unseen. Decades of etiquette had made her a master of controlled presence. One could be in a room without being in it. One could observe without participating. She had learned long ago that being underestimated often led to truth.

She had paused outside the music room, concealed by the heavy carved door, open just a sliver. Her eyes, the same piercing grey blue as her son’s, narrowed slightly as she listened.

Piano. Two sets of hands.
One confident, articulate. Felix.
The other softer, searching. Unpolished. Marinette.
A duet.

She leaned in slightly, gaze slipping through the gap.

They sat close, their shoulders almost touching, though neither seemed aware of the space—or lack thereof—between them. Felix wasn’t correcting her with his usual sharp tongue. He was waiting. Guiding.

How so very unlike him.

Amelie’s lips pressed into a thin line. She watched as they finished the piece and sat in silence, neither moving to stand. Felix spoke, his voice low, quieter than she had ever heard it inside this house.

She followed them again, staying just out of view as they made their way to the tearoom. She did not need to hear their conversation to see what was changing.

The silence between them was not filled with tension, but with an intimacy that had no business existing between her son and anyone. Felix did not allow closeness. Not with the males his age. Not with instructors. Certainly not with females.

But here he was, pouring tea. And not out of obligation or show. There was no audience but the girl. He had even ushered the staff to have their tea someplace else.

Amelie stepped into the adjoining corridor, where an archway offered a perfect view of the tearoom without being seen. She studied them now with the clinical precision of a historian examining a delicate artifact.

Marinette laughed softly at something Felix said. He didn’t smile but he didn’t scowl either.

That was what struck Amelie the most.
Her son had always been composed. Controlled. A Culpa to his bones. She had taught him not to show vulnerability, to wield intelligence like a blade. He was a boy sculpted into armor.

But now the armor was cracking.
And Marinette Dupain-Cheng was the chisel.

A strange emotion stirred within Amelie.

The Culpa legacy was not built for softness.

Felix had always been hers. Her son, her legacy, her proof that the name would endure in a world that had long turned brittle. She had watched his isolation take root, had allowed it, encouraged it even. It had protected him.

But now? Now there was this girl, who made him speak gently, who made him linger instead of retreat, who had been allowed into the inner sanctum of his world.

Into the music. His music.

---------------------------------

The tea had long since cooled in their cups.

Marinette had shed some of her nerves now, legs tucked up beneath her in the chair. Her blazer hung loosely off one shoulder, her sleeves rolled up to the elbows, revealing faint graphite smudges along her wrist from sketching earlier. She looked so completely out of place in this room, bright and alive among antique porcelain and stiff backed formality, and yet, she fit.

Felix found himself watching her more than he watched the time.

She was leaning forward now, eyes flickering across the rows of paintings along the far wall. “That one.” she said, pointing toward a portrait with oil dark shadows and a woman in a stiff high collared gown. “Is she your ancestor?”

He followed her gaze, expression unreadable. “Eleanor Culpa. A great aunt. Mathematician. Brilliant. Unforgiving. She refused to marry unless her husband could solve a set of equations she wrote into a poem.”

Marinette’s eyebrows lifted. “Romantic.”

Felix gave a small huff of breath. “Terrifying.”

She laughed, full and sudden, the sound echoing just slightly in the vast room. “Still. I like her. She looks like she’d stab someone with a letter opener and then go back to reading quietly.”

Felix glanced sideways at her. “You have an unsettling sense of admiration.”

“You’re just mad I compared your relative to a potential murderer.” she teased.

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze had drifted. Not to the painting, but to her profile. The softness of her cheekbone, the hint of a smudge near her temple, the way her mouth tugged when she was about to laugh.
“You aren’t what I expected.”

Marinette blinked, turning to look at him. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“A confession.” he said simply.

She didn’t look away, not this time. “You weren’t what I expected either.”

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “And?”

Marinette tilted her head slightly, studying not just his expression, but the boy beneath it. “I think... I like the unexpected.”

Her voice was gentle. A whisper more than anything. But the weight it carried was enough to settle heavily in Felix’s chest.

He didn’t speak. Couldn't, for a long moment. The walls around him were paper thin now and her words had slipped right through the cracks.

A quiet knock at the door broke the moment.

Felix blinked. His jaw tightened slightly. He hadn’t heard anyone approach. That was unusual.

A servant peeked in, bowing politely. “Master Felix. Madam Culpa requests a brief word.”

Marinette froze beside him, her posture straightening slightly. “I thought she wasn’t home?”

Felix’s brows furrowed. “She wasn’t meant to be.”

The servant gave no indication otherwise. “She awaits you in the west parlor.”

Felix stood slowly, smoothing down his vest. “Wait here.” he murmured to Marinette. “I won’t be long.”

She nodded, watching him go, a flicker of uncertainty behind her eyes.

------------------

The west parlor was immaculate as always. Early evening light filtered in through tall, leaded windows. A fire had been lit. Amelie Culpa was nothing if not theatrical in her silences.

Felix entered without being announced. He didn’t need to be. She was already seated, one leg crossed elegantly over the other.

“Mother.” he said, his voice clipped. “You’re home.”

Amelie didn’t look up immediately before finally turning her head toward him, eyes narrowing. “I never left.”

The words hit like a quiet slap. Felix froze in place.

“I presume,” she continued, “that you did not think to check.”

His jaw tightened. “You weren’t expected.”

“No." she agreed, standing now. “But one finds that the most illuminating truths arise when one is not expected.”
She stepped closer, the click of her heels soft against the carpet. “I had the pleasure of hearing a... "charming" duet earlier today.”

Felix’s spine straightened. “You were spying.”

“I was observing.” Her gaze pierced him, unblinking. “Do not mistake the difference.”

He said nothing, but the tension that coiled in his shoulders gave him away.

“I must say...” she went on, circling him like a hawk, “you played well. And she—” Amelie paused before continueing. “—was very... earnest.”

“Don’t.” he said with a low growl.

Amelie stopped. Just behind him now, her voice slid like velvet over a blade. “How dare you allow her near our home, let alone inside it? Do you truly believe she belongs here, Felix?”

“I didn’t bring her for your approval.”

“Clearly.” she said, stepping in front of him again. “You brought her into this house. Into our name. Into you.”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “She’s not some outsider.” he growled. “She’s not a threat to your precious bloodline.”

Amelie’s eyes flashed. “She is not one of us.”

He snapped.

“No.” he hissed, stepping forward, and for the first time in a long, long while, Amelie took a half step back. “She’s better. She doesn’t play your games, she doesn’t wear masks to dinner or bleed people dry with silence. She doesn’t know how to pretend.”

Felix was breathing hard now, the heat in his chest no longer containable. His voice, when he spoke next, was quiet but furious.
He stepped in close, towering now, every word gritted out like stone through his teeth.
“I. Will. Not. Lose. Her.”

The silence that followed was unbearable.

She narrows her eyes at him. “Is that so? Then I'd have to take measures into my own hands. I'll have her removed from school and perhaps even from Paris.”

Felix swallowed. “That's not something you're able to do! Culpa might be a big name here but you don't have that kind of power!”

His mother towers over him now, locking eyes with him. “Is that truly a risk you're willing to take, Felix?”

“I know you're bluffing! You will not take her from me!”

She looked up at her son, at this storm of a boy she had raised to be stone, now cracking wide open. And something flickered behind her eyes...something old, almost regretful. But it vanished just as quickly.
“I see.” she said softly. “So... it’s already gone that far.”
Amelie turned away. “Then I suggest you prepare yourself, Felix.”

He stiffened. “For what?”

“You'll see.” Her voice was cold and final.

And with that, he turned and left, the doors closing behind him with a sharp, decisive click.

----------------------------

The tea had gone cold.

Marinette sat in the same place, her legs drawn up into the oversized chair, her sketchbook balanced on her knees. The pages were blank now, her pencil unmoving. Her earlier ease had drained away slowly ever since Felix left the room.

Something about the silence had shifted.

She glanced around the tearoom. It was beautiful, yes, but too pristine. Too quiet. The kind of room that didn't feel lived in. It felt curated.

She gave a little laugh under her breath, shaking her head. “You’re being paranoid again...” she muttered, tapping the eraser of her pencil against the page.

But the unease didn’t leave her.
Her stomach turned, just slightly.

She rose to her feet slowly, her movements careful as if the room itself might notice. Her eyes scanned the space again. She’d grown up around details, taught to read fabric, thread, posture. And this room felt wrong in the way that a perfectly hemmed skirt could still ride just a little too high.

Felix hadn’t expected his mother to be home. Marinette had heard it in his voice, seen it in his face.
She stepped to the doorway, peering into the corridor. Everything was too still.

She suddenly missed the comforting clutter of her room, the hum of Paris outside her window.
But even with her nerves rising like a tide, Marinette didn’t leave. She wasn’t sure why... maybe it was stubbornness, maybe curiosity. Or maybe it was Felix, and the way he had looked at her when they played together. The rare, real glimpse of him that he didn’t offer to anyone else.

He’d invited her here.
And something told her that wasn’t easy for him.

So instead of pacing, instead of panicking, she returned to the seat, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Her fingers fidgeted with the corner of the page, flipping it back and forth. She hated waiting. Especially when the silence started whispering back.

Finally footsteps echoed down the hall.

She stood again, fast. Her heart leapt as Felix entered the doorway but she stopped short at the sight of him.
He looked different.

His shoulders were still squared, his expression still schooled. But there was something haunted in his eyes. Like he’d stared something down and hadn’t liked what it reflected back.

“Sorry I kept you waiting.” he said softly, voice more strained than before.

Marinette hesitated. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then, very carefully, he stepped into the room, walked to her, and offered her a hand.
“Come on.” he said. “There’s something I want to show you.”

Marinette took it without a word. His grip was firm, steady, but beneath it, his fingers trembled.

Felix led her out of the room, his grip never loosening around her hand. Marinette followed without question, though her curiosity piqued with each step. She noticed how his footsteps had become heavier, as if the weight of whatever was on his mind was beginning to take a toll. His usual arrogance had melted away, leaving only a faint tension in his posture... a subtle shift that told her something was off. She didn't press him, though. She was content to let him lead.
They passed through the mansion's grand halls, down narrow corridors lined with tapestries and old portraits, their faces frozen in time.

Felix stopped at a grand pair of glass doors, the last ones at the end of the hallway. Beyond the glass, the garden stretched out like a painting, the moonlight catching on delicate petals and cool stone pathways that twisted through rows of ivy clad columns. It was serene, untouched by the noise of the world beyond the estate walls. Felix pushed open the door and a rush of cool night air greeted them.

Marinette stepped outside, inhaling deeply. The garden felt like another world. She had always loved the city’s gardens but this place... This place felt ancient, as though it had been made for quiet moments like this.

She looked at Felix, who now stood beside her, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. The soft moonlight illuminated the sharp lines of his face, making him seem even more untouchable, more closed off, but there was something in the way his eyes shifted under the light.

"This place..." Felix murmured, his voice low and almost reverent, "is where I come when I need to think. Or when... I'm not sure how to feel."

Marinette turned her gaze back to the garden, feeling the weight of his words settle over her like the soft, cool breeze. She wasn’t sure why he had brought her here...she wasn’t sure if he even knew himself, but there was something compelling about the way he looked at the space, like it was both a refuge and a prison at the same time.

"Does it help?" she asked quietly, not wanting to intrude but unable to stop herself from wondering.

Felix hesitated, his gaze falling to the ground. "Sometimes. But sometimes, it only reminds me of everything I can't change."

Marinette felt a pang in her chest. She wasn’t sure what exactly he was talking about, but there was something in his voice that made her heart ache for him. He looked so distant, so closed off, even in this beautiful place. It was as though there were invisible chains wrapped around him, keeping him tethered to something he couldn’t escape.

"Felix..." she began, but stopped, unsure of how to proceed. The words felt too heavy, too much for this moment. But then she saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes flickered to hers, and she felt that familiar pull.. the desire to understand, to help him in some small way.

"You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to." Marinette said, her voice softer now, careful. "But if it’s something you need to say, I’ll listen."

There was a long silence and Felix didn't immediately respond. But then, as though the weight of her words had given him permission to speak, he took a slow breath and exhaled sharply.

"My mother..." he said, his voice tinged with something sharp and bitter. "She never approved of anything I did. It’s never been enough, not for her. No matter how hard I tried... I was never what she wanted. Not truly." He let out a bitter laugh, his eyes darkening as he looked away, over the maze of roses and vines that surrounded them. "And now... I fear losing someone who means more to me than I ever imagined was possible."

Marinette felt a jolt in her chest, and her breath caught in her throat. Someone who means more? Was he—?

But before she could process the thought, Felix continued, his words raw, the walls he so carefully constructed around himself slipping for a moment. "I don’t know how to stop her. I don't know how to change the way she sees me. Or how to keep you from becoming just another disappointment for her." His voice dropped into a near whisper, as if confessing a truth that even he wasn’t sure he could face. "I never wanted this for you. I never wanted you to become involved in my world."

Marinette took a cautious step forward, the soft crunch of gravel beneath her shoes breaking the silence. "Felix," she said, her voice trembling slightly as she reached out to him, her fingers brushing his sleeve. "You don’t have to change for anyone. Not for your mother, not for me... You just need to be yourself."

He turned toward her, his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her heart race. There was something so vulnerable in his gaze, something he rarely showed to anyone, and in that moment, Marinette realized just how deeply the fight inside him went. It wasn’t just about his mother, or about the pressures he faced, it was about fear. Fear of losing what mattered most to him.

"I don’t know if I can do that..." Felix said, his voice quiet but steady. "But I don’t want to lose you. Not like I’ve lost everything else."

The words hung between them as Felix’s hand slowly reached out, as if unsure of whether he could allow himself to touch her, to let her in. The moonlight reflected off his face, casting him in a soft, silver glow.

Marinette felt her heart soften in response. She reached out to him, her fingers brushing his lightly before she offered a reassuring smile. "You're not going to lose me, Felix. Not if I can help it."
She stood there for a moment longer in the garden, her fists slowly curling at her sides. She could still feel the tremor in Felix’s hand, hear the strain in his voice. And the look in his eyes... That was what finally sealed it for her.

'He doesn’t need protection from me.'
'He needs someone to stand beside him.'

Marinette’s jaw set. She turned on her heel, moving quickly toward the mansion with determined steps not sparing a single glance back. Her shoes echoed sharply across the cold marble as she made her way inside, weaving through the corridors as if the house itself were testing her resolve with every hallway she crossed.

She didn’t need to ask where Amelie Culpa would be.
She had a hunch.
The study.

She’d passed by it earlier. Grand and suffocating, with high backed chairs and walls lined with books that hadn’t been opened in decades, probably more for display than knowledge. A room made to feel intelligent. A room made to intimidate.

Marinette paused just outside the door. Her heart was pounding now. But she didn’t falter.
She knocked once.
And without waiting for permission, she stepped inside.

Amelie's icy eyes lifted to meet Marinette’s.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng,” she said evenly, in that regal, lilting tone. “To what do I owe the unexpected displeasure?”

Marinette took a steady breath, closing the door behind her.
“Madam Culpa,” she began, her voice respectful, but firm. “Forgive me for intruding, but I need to speak with you. About Felix.”

That caught her attention. Slightly. A raised brow, the faintest incline of the head. But the chill never left her gaze.
“I see.” Amelie said, setting her teacup down with a delicate clink. “Do proceed.”

Marinette stepped forward, meeting her gaze without flinching. “You’re worried.” she said plainly. “Worried about him changing beyond your control. And as his mother, you have every right to worry. To want to protect him. I understand the importance of the Culpa legacy. I respect it. I respect you.”

She let those words settle. Amelie’s expression didn’t shift.

“And I respect Felix.” Marinette continued, her tone tightening. “But you need to understand something too.”
Her fingers clenched at her sides, but she didn’t look away. “Felix is a teenage boy. He’s not an heirloom to be polished and put on display. He’s allowed to make his own choices. To be who he wants to be. Whether he wants to stay closed off or open up, that’s his choice. But what matters to me is his well being. His happiness.”

Something flickered in Amelie’s eyes. Not surprise. Not offense. Something quieter. Harder to name.

Marinette stepped closer. Her voice didn’t rise but it gained weight.
“For someone who claims to see all,” she said, “to be so observant... you sure overlook a lot of details. Like the way he flinches when you speak his name like it’s a command. Or how he hesitates before saying anything personal, even when he wants to. And not to mention how you look at me like I’m some kind of threat.”

Marinette's eyes narrowed.
“I’m not a threat to his future, Madam Culpa.”
She paused.
“You are.”

The silence that followed was absolute. Even the fire seemed to pause its flickering.

Amelie didn’t move. Her lips parted slightly, as if to respond, but no words came. Not right away. She looked at Marinette like she was seeing her for the first time and perhaps she was.
Because this wasn’t the clumsy little girl she’d quietly judged at the piano.
This was someone who would fight for Felix in ways Amelie never had.

Marinette didn’t wait for her to find a response.
Instead, she gave a small, respectful bow of her head. “Thank you for your time.”

And she turned.
Her heartbeat roared in her ears as she walked to the door, refusing to rush. Her hand closed around the handle.
And as she stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking softly behind her, she felt something she hadn’t expected to feel.
Not fear.
Not doubt.
Power.
She had spoken her truth.
And now...
Amelie Culpa knew exactly what kind of girl had entered her son’s life.

--------------------

Amelie sat perfectly still, spine straight, hands folded in her lap like a portrait come to life yet her mind was a storm of motion.

That girl...

She had expected naivety. Nervousness. A fumbled attempt at civility, perhaps, or an overly sentimental plea. She had anticipated a child. A temporary presence, easily dismissed with a carefully chosen phrase and a glacial smile.
But Marinette Dupain-Cheng had walked in like a quiet reckoning.

Amelie’s lips pressed into a thin line. She tilted her chin slightly, eyes narrowing as she stared into the fire. The flicker of flame shifting shadows across her sharp cheekbones and distant expression.
It wasn’t the words that haunted her.
It was the certainty.
The clarity with which that girl had stood before her, not begging, not groveling, but challenging, with elegance and control. Not once did she raise her voice. Not once did she tremble. She had stood her ground like someone raised in a lineage older than time, like someone who had learned to fight for what mattered.

And worst of all, most unsettling of all... she had meant every word.
The insult should have been unforgivable.
“You are the threat.”

Any other girl would have been dismissed from her estate before the sentence had time to settle. But Amelie had watched Marinette turn and walk away with more dignity than most nobles carried in their entire bloodline.
And now... now she could feel something dangerous coiling in her chest.
Not anger.
Doubt.
She hated how it crept into her.
Had she truly overlooked that much?

She thought of Felix as a chessboard: each piece placed with precision, each move calculated. He was to be brilliant, composed, untouchable. The son she had cultivated for a future she could no longer afford to entrust to chance. She had trained him not to feel, because feeling was weakness, and weakness devoured legacies.

But tonight, she had seen something she hadn’t seen since Felix was a child, before he learned to hide behind silence and sharp words.

Emotion.

It wasn’t Marinette’s presence that had unnerved her. It was Felix’s eyes when he looked at her. There had been longing there. Hope. And something even more dangerous.

Trust.

A slow breath escaped Amelie’s lips. Her gaze drifted to the window, where she could faintly make out the edges of the garden in the moonlight. Somewhere beyond those walls, her son walked beside a girl she had not chosen... but one who may have chosen him.

-----------

Felix had watched Marinette go.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t call after her. Didn’t reach out.
But his fists clenched slowly at his sides, the muscles in his jaw tight with restraint. The moment Marinette’s silhouette disappeared past the hedges and into the shadows of the estate, a cold wind seemed to ripple through the garden, biting at the edges of his calm.
She knew.
Of course she knew.
He had tried to keep things still, quiet, controlled. He’d given her the smallest parts of himself in careful doses, kept the rest locked away beneath polished words and perfected indifference. But Marinette... she always saw too much.

He dragged a hand down his face and turned away from the path she’d taken, as if looking at it would betray too much of what he was feeling.

She went to find her.
He knew it without needing to ask.
She went to speak to Mother.

The thought landed like ice water in his chest.

He stepped away from the bench they’d shared, his shoes crunching softly against the gravel as he paced. His coat stirred behind him with every movement, but his thoughts spun faster than his feet ever could.

Marinette didn’t understand what she was walking into.

Amelie Culpa was not simply cold or commanding, she was calculating. She didn’t raise her voice to win a fight. She didn’t argue. She simply dissected. Quietly, carefully, and without mercy. She could take someone apart with a sentence and leave nothing behind but self doubt.

And Marinette was walking straight into her study.

Felix stopped walking and leaned forward, bracing both hands on the edge of a marble pedestal carved with ancient roses. His reflection stared back at him in the dark pane of a nearby window.

She wasn’t just some fleeting fascination, like his mother no doubt believed. She wasn’t a phase. Marinette had somehow gotten in. Under his skin, into the corners of his mind where he had never allowed anyone before.
She challenged him. Resisted him. Saw through him.
And still stayed.
Even when he was at his most closed off, his most difficult, his most him, she never treated him like a project or a burden. She sat with him on a beanbag in the library, and shared silence with him like it was music. She didn’t ask him to be better. She simply asked him to be real.
And now, she was putting herself in Amelie’s line of fire. For him.

He felt it again... that slow, building pressure in his chest. Not fear. Not even anger.
Helplessness.

He hated it.

The need to do something clawed at him, but he stayed where he was, fists tight against cold marble. The garden around him felt suffocating, the air too still.
If Amelie said something cruel...
If she looked at Marinette the way she looked at him when he dared to disappoint her...
If she made Marinette doubt, even for a moment, the decision to care about him...
Felix didn’t know what he would do.

But he knew one thing with crystalline certainty.
If his mother made Marinette cry..
If she hurt her, even in the smallest, sharpest way...
She would no longer have a son.
Not in any way that mattered.

Felix stood there for what felt like hours, though the fading light of the afternoon would suggest it had only been minutes. His back was still pressed to the cool marble pedestal, one hand gripping the edge hard enough to leave white knuckles. His breath came a little faster now, like he was trying to exhale the pressure building in his chest. The garden, once a place of peaceful retreat now felt like a battleground. His thoughts scattered like fallen leaves in a storm, every possible outcome playing out in his mind.

What if she says something unforgivable?
What if she manipulates Marinette like she’s done to me?

He pressed his palms into his eyes for a moment, trying to block out the swirl of images... his mother’s sharp, calculating gaze, the way she would corner him with questions until he felt as though he was being suffocated by his own guilt. And Marinette... oh sweet, stubborn, brave Marinette... walking into that, walking straight into the lion’s den without even knowing what she was up against.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. He knew his mother, knew what she was capable of, but this? This felt different. With Marinette, everything was different. It wasn’t just about winning or losing. It wasn’t just about what his mother expected, what the family demanded. With Marinette, it was personal.

He wanted to shout at the sky, demand it all stop. Why did everything always have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t he just live his life without the pull of family legacy or expectations weighing him down? Without his mother hovering, trying to dictate his every step, every thought?
But more than that... why did his heart ache with the thought of Marinette walking into that conversation alone, without him? It felt wrong, like a betrayal, like he wasn’t there to protect her from the storm that was coming.

'She doesn’t need me to protect her', a quiet voice in his head whispered. 'She’s not some fragile thing that needs to be sheltered.'

No. She wasn’t. And she’d probably be furious at him if he tried to protect her like that. She’d want to handle it herself, deal with it in her own way. But still...
She shouldn’t have to face it alone.

He pushed away from the marble pedestal, his movements jerky now, agitated. He started walking, pacing back and forth across the garden, too restless to remain still. Every so often, his eyes would flick toward the main house, toward the path that led inside.

He needed to know what was happening. He had to know.
But there was no way he could get involved, not without making everything worse.

Minutes passed. Then longer.
Finally, just as he reached the stone bench where he and Marinette had sat earlier, Felix’s heart skipped a beat.

He caught the faintest sound. A rustling, the softest footfall on gravel. A shadow moving across the garden’s edge.
His breath caught in his throat and he stopped cold.
Had she returned? Had it already happened? Was it over?

His mind screamed to turn, to walk toward her, to confront whatever had unfolded. But he didn’t move. He somehow couldn’t.
The footsteps stopped just out of sight.
And Felix was left there, tense, his pulse hammering in his ears, waiting.
His breath hitched in his throat as he watched her. She stood there for a moment, still and quiet, as if collecting herself, before her gaze flicked toward him. Her expression was unreadable, her face pale, but there was a quiet strength in her posture, something that both terrified and relieved him.

She met his eyes, and in that moment Felix felt the weight of everything that had been left unsaid between them. Her silence was almost deafening, but he couldn’t find the right words to break it. There was an unspoken understanding in the way she stood there.
After what felt like an eternity, Marinette took a breath then spoke with a calmness that belied the storm behind her eyes.

“I spoke with your mother.” she said, her voice steady, though Felix could detect the faintest edge to it.

Felix's heart sank. He wanted to ask what had happened, to demand how she was, but he didn’t dare. He could see it in her expression..whatever had taken place, whatever conversation had transpired, had left its mark on her.
He took a cautious step forward, his hands reaching out to her though he hesitated, not wanting to overstep, not wanting to make the moment worse.

“Marinette...” he whispered, his voice tight, unsure of how to even begin.

She glanced down for a moment as if gathering her thoughts, then lifted her gaze to meet his.
“I told her what I needed to.” she said, her words sharp, but her expression was softer now, the tension in her shoulders loosening. “But I need you to understand something, Felix. This isn’t just about what she wants. It’s about you. About your life. And I don’t want you to lose yourself in the middle of all of it.”

Her words cut through him like a cold breeze, leaving him breathless. The way she spoke, as if she were reaching for something far beyond the surface, made Felix's chest tighten with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and frustration all at once.

“I’m not asking you to change anything, or to force anything. I just—” She broke off for a moment, shaking her head as if the words were difficult to find. “I just need you to understand that you deserve to be happy too. And you can’t keep letting her control everything. You can’t let her decide for you.”

Felix felt something stir inside him, a realization that had been brewing in the pit of his stomach ever since he’d stepped into that garden, ever since he’d let himself believe that there could be more to his life than what his mother had planned for him.
But hearing Marinette say it so plainly shook him to his core. It was as if a door had opened inside him, letting light flood in for the first time in ages.

“I know...” he whispered, voice cracking slightly. “I know.”

She studied him for a long moment as if weighing whether she could trust those words, before giving him a small nod, the kind that held both reassurance and a touch of sadness.
Then without another word she turned, her footsteps soft against the gravel as she moved toward the edge of the garden. Felix stood rooted to the spot, his heart racing, caught somewhere between hope and dread.

Before he even realized what he was doing, his legs were carrying him toward her. He didn’t think about the words he wanted to say or the fear that clawed at the back of his mind.
He followed her across the gravel path, the soft crunch of his shoes echoing in the silence and when he reached the small clearing near the fountain, his breath caught in his throat. Marinette had seated herself on the stone edge of the fountain, her back slightly hunched as she stared at the gently rippling water. The reflection of the moon danced on the surface, casting soft silvery light over her face. Her posture was tense, as if she were holding something back, something deep inside her.

Felix hesitated, unsure whether to disturb her or give her the space she seemed to be asking for. He took another step forward, his heart in his throat.
“Marinette..?” His voice was low, almost tentative.

She didn’t look up at first, her gaze fixed on the water, but she didn’t move away either. A part of Felix wanted to respect her silence, to give her the time she needed, but another part compelled him to approach her, to get closer.
Taking a careful step forward, he stood beside her, not quite close enough to touch, but near enough that his presence could be felt.

“I..” Felix’s words faltered, caught somewhere between guilt and gratitude. “I never thanked you. For what you said to my mother. For standing up for me.”

Marinette finally turned her head slightly, glancing up at him. Her expression softened, but only marginally.
“I didn’t do it for you...” she said quietly, her voice almost a whisper, blending with the sound of the fountain’s trickling water. “I did it because I believe in you. And because you deserve to choose your own path, Felix. You’re not a puppet to be pulled on strings. You’re a person, with your own dreams and desires.”

Felix felt a pang in his chest at the sincerity in her voice. It was as if she could see him, truly see him, in a way that no one else had. And it unsettled him, made him feel both exposed and strangely free at the same time.

“I’m not sure how to even begin to change any of this...” he admitted, his voice raw, as if confessing something he had buried for too long. “It feels like I’ve been walking in someone else’s shoes my whole life. I never really had someone to talk to about this.” Felix admitted quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess... I guess I’ve always kept it to myself, thinking I had to handle it all on my own.”

Marinette tilted her head slightly, her gaze softening even further. “You don’t have to handle everything on your own, Felix. I’m here. And I think you’ve got a lot more strength in you than you give yourself credit for.”

Felix exhaled slowly, feeling a sense of relief that had been so long in coming that he almost didn’t know what to do with it. He wasn’t used to hearing words like that.
“I don’t know if I can live up to your faith in me.” he said, his voice low, a little rough. “But I’ll try. I’ll try, for myself. For me.”

Marinette nodded, the faintest smile curving her lips. “That’s all anyone can ask for.”

Felix swallowed hard, a strange, hopeful sensation settling over him. He wasn’t sure what the future would hold. He didn’t know if he was ready to fight his mother’s hold over him, or if he could truly start making decisions for himself.
“I..” he hesitated, unsure how to express the gratitude he felt. But the words came anyway, softer now. “Thank you, Marinette. For everything.”

She smiled again, her eyes warm, her expression open. “Anytime, Felix.”

Felix and Marinette sat in a comfortable, yet somewhat tense silence near the fountain. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving only the soft glow of the moon and the garden lights to illuminate the path ahead.

Felix’s thoughts were still scattered, trying to piece together the moments with his mother and the sudden shift in their dynamic. But there, beside him, Marinette was his anchor, a presence he didn’t fully understand but was growing to rely on more than he’d expected.

It was then that Marinette's phone vibrated on the stone bench next to her, the quiet buzz jarring against the calm of the evening. She glanced at the screen, her face softening at the sight of her mother’s name.

“Ugh, I forgot to text her...” Marinette muttered under her breath, realizing the time.
She took a breath and swiped to answer, her voice tentative. "Hello?"

"Marinette, where are you?" Sabine’s voice came through, laced with concern. "You're late for dinner. It’s already past seven, and I haven’t heard from you. Is everything okay?"

Marinette winced, guilt creeping in. She had gotten so caught up in the moment that she hadn’t even thought about getting home on time.
“I’m with Felix...” she said softly, unsure how her mother would take it. She hadn’t told her where she was going.

Sabine paused on the other end, likely processing the name, her tone shifting to one of curiosity. "With Felix? You mean Felix Culpa?"

Marinette bit her lip. "Yes, Mom. He invited me over after school and we just lost track of time, I guess."

Sabine was quiet for a moment. Marinette could practically hear her mother’s thoughts racing. Felix Culpa. The name alone was enough to stir up questions. Sabine had only met him once, when Marinette had been sick and Felix had come to the bakery to bring her some tea. But beyond that, their interactions had been few and far between. Sabine knew Felix was... not quite a friend, but not an outright enemy either. There was still a distance between them, one that Marinette couldn’t quite place but knew existed.

“Hmm, alright... well, I’m glad you’re okay.” Sabine finally said, her voice softer now but still carrying a hint of concern. “But it’s getting late, sweetie. You should come home soon. We’ll have dinner waiting for you.”

Marinette glanced at Felix, her gaze lingering for a moment. The thought of leaving now, of breaking this fragile peace, gnawed at her. She didn’t want to leave. Not just yet..
“I will, Mom.” Marinette replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just... a little longer, okay?”

Her mother sighed on the other end. “Just don’t be too late, alright? Your father’s worried, too.”

“I won’t be.” Marinette reassured her quickly. “I’ll be home soon, I promise.”

With that, Sabine let out a sigh of relief. “Okay, honey. See you soon. Love you.”

“Love you too, Mom..” Marinette said softly, ending the call.

She lowered the phone and stared at it for a moment, feeling a tug of responsibility, but also a pull to stay.

Felix was watching her and though he didn’t speak, his gaze was steady, understanding.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. Marinette was caught between the warmth of this evening and the pull of home.

“Are you alright?” Felix finally asked, his voice gentle, cutting through her thoughts.

Marinette nodded, even though she wasn’t entirely sure of her own feelings. “Yeah, just.. my mom. She didn’t know exactly where I am and she’s probably wondering what’s going on.”

Felix tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing just a little in thought.

Her gaze flickered toward the estate’s towering windows, half lit in the distance. She had promised her mother she would be home soon, but a part of her didn’t want to leave just yet.

“I just don’t want to leave yet..” she admitted quietly, more to herself than to him. “I guess.. I’m not quite ready to go back yet.”

Felix nodded. He didn’t push her to leave nor did he try to make her stay.
“I don’t mind if you stay a little longer.”

Marinette’s heart softened at his words. For someone who had always seemed so distant, so careful with his emotions, Felix was showing a side of himself that few got to see. It made her realize, once again, just how complicated he was and how much more there was to him than met the eye.

With a small smile, she settled back into the stone bench, her eyes now focused on the quiet rippling water of the fountain.
“Okay.” she said, her voice steadying. “I’ll stay a little longer.”

The evening air had grown cooler, but the garden remained tranquil, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of leaves and the gentle splash of water from the fountain. Marinette and Felix sat in a comfortable silence, the tension from earlier slipping away as they both basked in the quiet.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and glanced over at Felix who was leaning back slightly against the stone bench, his gaze distant but not unfocused. The faint light from the garden lamps cast gentle shadows on his features, making him look less like the aloof figure he often projected and more like a young man simply trying to make sense of everything around him.

"So.." Marinette began, breaking the silence but keeping her voice light, "I didn’t expect you to be this kind of company." She leaned forward a little, her lips curving into a playful grin. "I thought I’d be talking to some rich entitled snob all evening, but I guess you have more personality than I gave you credit for."

Felix raised an eyebrow, turning his head to meet her gaze with a half smirk. "You think I’m rich and entitled?" he asked, his tone laced with mock offense. "I am shocked. Absolutely shocked."

Marinette rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, you do come from a family that's practically synonymous with wealth and power. You know, the type of people who think they can buy anything. Except, apparently, some basic social skills."

Felix chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You wound me, Dupain-Cheng. I pride myself on my impeccable manners."
His voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Like offering you a spot in my private garden, so you could bask in the splendor of my unparalleled hospitality."

“Oh, of course!” Marinette said, playing along. “How could I have forgotten your boundless generosity? You’ve even given me the privilege of sitting next to a fountain. What more could a girl ask for?”

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if imparting some deep secret. "Well, there's the free Wi-Fi, the unlimited supply of tea, and my - if I do say so myself - undeniable charm."

Marinette laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "Undeniable charm, huh?" she teased. "That must be a recent development. I’ve heard rumors of your so called charm, but I'm still not entirely convinced."

Felix smiled knowingly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Ah, but you haven’t seen it in full force. It’s a work in progress, really. You’d be amazed by my subtlety."

"Subtlety?" Marinette raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is that what you’re calling it these days? I would’ve called it ‘mildly insulting,’ but I guess we can go with ‘subtle’ for now."

"Touché." Felix said with a theatrical sigh. "I must admit, you’re quite the master of sarcasm yourself. I’m beginning to think I’m not as quick witted as I once thought."

They both shared a quiet laugh, the playful energy between them easing the last traces of tension. It felt surprisingly nice, Marinette thought...being able to banter with Felix without the heavy weight of expectation. She didn’t have to tiptoe around him or worry about his moods shifting unpredictably. In this moment, it was just them: no legacy, no expectations, no drama.

After a few moments, Marinette leaned back against the bench again, her eyes resting on the fountain’s sparkling surface. It was peaceful. A welcome change from the noise and chaos of school and home life. She hadn’t realized how much she needed something like this until now... just a moment of calm, free from anything urgent or pressing.
"I should probably get going soon, though.." she murmured, not wanting to break the mood but also remembering that her mother would be expecting her soon. "I didn’t realize how late it was. I promised I wouldn’t stay too long."

Felix’s expression softened, the teasing tone from earlier melting into something quieter. "I understand. It’s just... you don’t always have to leave when things are going well, you know?"

Marinette blinked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. It was the first time he’d said something that didn’t feel like a guarded response or a carefully constructed mask.
"Are you going to pull a dramatic, ‘I’ll miss you’ line on me?" she teased, though her voice had lost its usual bite, softened by the moment.

Felix smirked, the familiar wall of sarcasm back in place. "Only if you’re planning on making it difficult for me to say goodbye."

"Don’t worry." Marinette said with a laugh, standing up from the bench. "I’m sure I’ll survive without the charm and the free Wi-Fi. I’ll manage."

She took a couple of steps away from the bench but before she could take another, Felix’s voice stopped her.
"Marinette?"

She turned to face him, meeting his gaze. "Yeah?"

He stood up slowly, his posture a bit more serious now. "I’m glad you came today. Really. It... it wasn’t what I expected, but it was nice."

She smiled softly, her expression warmer now, the playful edge fading. "I’m glad I came too, Felix. It was nice to just talk. Without any pressure."

Marinette was already halfway to the garden gate when Felix’s voice stopped her, pulling her from her thoughts. She turned around, her hand still on the handle.

"Wait!" he called, his voice carrying the same calm tone as before, but with an undercurrent of concern or just a sense of politeness. He was standing a few steps back from the bench, his posture relaxed, but his eyes held a new level of focus. "It’s quite late. I’ll give you a ride home. I can flag down a driver."

For a moment, Marinette just stood there, her heart skipping slightly at the unexpected offer.
"I don’t want to trouble you.." she said, her voice unsure. "I can just take the bus home. I don’t want to keep you too long."

Felix shrugged casually, but there was a certain earnestness in his eyes. "It’s no trouble, really. It’s not safe to be out this late on your own. Especially around here. I wouldn’t feel right letting you leave without at least offering."

Marinette let out a quiet breath, thinking about the cold dark streets she’d have to walk through to get home. She wasn’t exactly eager to face them on her own and, if she was being honest with herself, the thought of spending just a little more time with Felix didn’t sound so bad. Not after the strange, yet surprisingly comfortable evening they had shared.

"Okay." she said, giving in with a reluctant smile. "I guess a ride wouldn't be the worst thing."

Felix’s lips curled into a satisfied half-smile. "Good. I’ll make sure the driver is ready."

He stepped back toward the entrance to the estate, his hand brushing through his hair as he made his way to the side of the house, where a sleek black car was parked a little further away, hidden under the cover of some trees. Felix was already striding toward it, a calm purposeful air around him.

When they reached the car, the driver, a tall man with a sharp respectful bow opened the back door for her. Felix nodded his thanks, and the man, without a word returned to his place in the front.

Felix gestured for Marinette to enter first, then slid in next to her, the door clicking softly behind them.
"I’ll make sure you get home safely." he said. "No more late night wandering for you."

Marinette chuckled, looking out of the window as the car began to roll forward. The city lights shimmered in the distance, casting soft glows on the path before them.
"Thank you." she said, her voice quieter now, the atmosphere feeling a little different than it had been in the garden. "I didn’t realize how much I needed this."

Felix glanced over at her. Then, with a small smile he replied, "It’s the least I could do."

The car turned onto her street, the lights of the bakery's sign beginning to come into view. Felix was quiet for a few seconds before speaking again.
"I’m glad you decided to stay longer." he said, his words carrying an unspoken meaning that made Marinette's chest tighten slightly. "It was nice... To talk. To not feel so alone."

She turned to him meeting his gaze.
"Yeah." she replied softly, her heart thumping unexpectedly in her chest. "It was nice."

The car slowed as they reached the bakery. Felix leaned back in his seat, his gaze lingering on her for a beat longer than usual.

"Here we are." he said, his voice quieter, tinged with something almost reluctant. “Safe and sound.”

Marinette nodded, her fingers tightening slightly around the fabric of her coat. "Thanks again, Felix. I really mean it. I-"
Before she could finish, the driver pulled to a stop in front of the bakery the lights flickering softly in the night. Felix opened the door but Marinette hesitated for a moment, her fingers brushing against the edge of the door frame.

"Goodnight, Felix.." she said softly, her voice almost a whisper.

Felix paused, his eyes locking with hers for a beat too long.
"Goodnight, Marinette..." he said, his tone laced with an odd sincerity that lingered in the air between them. "Take care of yourself."

Marinette stepped out of the car, her feet hitting the pavement as she closed the door behind her. She turned, casting one last glance at Felix through the window. He hadn’t driven away yet, his eyes still focused on her, and for a brief moment, it almost felt like the world had slowed down just for them.

She swallowed, pushing back the butterflies in her stomach. "Take care.." she murmured under her breath, before walking toward the bakery doors.

Felix watched her walk away, the soft glow of the bakery lights illuminating her figure. He waited until she was safely inside before he allowed himself to look away, finally signaling to the driver to pull away. The car glided back into the night, leaving Marinette standing there with a quiet lingering warmth filling her chest.

Chapter Text

Marinette was earlier than usual, hoping to find a moment of quiet before classes began but she wasn’t sure whether she was avoiding someone, or hoping to run into him.
She hadn’t seen Felix yet.
Not since last night.

Her cheeks flushed just thinking about it. The way his voice had softened. The way he had looked at her like she wasn’t just another passing face in his polished world of cold elegance.

She headed toward the library by instinct, her footsteps echoing down the corridor...
And there he was.
Seated in his usual spot by the window. The beanbag had been pushed back into place beside the chair. A book rested on his knee, unopened. His posture was perfectly composed until he noticed her and their eyes met.
There was a beat of stillness.
Then Felix gave the barest of nods, as if acknowledging a secret only they shared.

Marinette approached slowly, her heartbeat quickening, but she forced herself to play it cool. “Not stealing my beanbag today?”

His eyes flicked toward it, then back to her. “You may reclaim it. For now.”

She raised a brow, lips twitching. “Gracious of you, Your Highness.”

Felix’s mouth twitched at the corner, a half smile, faint and fleeting, but it was still a smile.

There was a pause as she settled into the beanbag, cross legged with her sketchbook in her lap
“So...” Marinette began, flipping open her book, feigning nonchalance. “Everything okay? After I... uh. You know.”

Felix’s expression shifted, just barely. He didn’t answer immediately, and for a moment she wondered if she had crossed a line.
Then, quietly he said, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” she said. “But I did.”

His gaze was unreadable, but no longer cold. If anything, it was contemplative. “She won’t forget it.”

“I didn’t expect her to.” Marinette replied calmly. “But I meant what I said.”

Felix turned his gaze toward the window, eyes distant. “You always do.”

Marinette looked over at him, her tone teasing. “So... does this mean you’re still talking to me?”

Felix gave her a sideways glance. “Unfortunately, yes.”

She laughed, a bright, light sound that made something tighten in his chest. He didn’t let it show.
Outside, the morning bell rang, echoing across the grounds.
Neither of them moved, however, not yet.

The bell faded into the distance, swallowed by the hush of the library and the quiet turning of a page.

Marinette, still curled up in the beanbag, tilted her head slightly to glance at Felix again. He hadn’t opened his book. He wasn’t reading. He was just sitting there, hands clasped neatly, eyes distant... like his mind was elsewhere.
Maybe still in the garden.
Maybe still with her.

She nudged him gently with her foot. “You’re being suspiciously quiet.”

He blinked, glancing at her. “I’m always quiet.”

She raised a brow. “Not like this.”

Felix studied her for a moment, like he was weighing whether to say something. Then he finally spoke, voice low, smooth, but with an edge of sincerity she was slowly learning to notice.
“Most people look at me like I’m something to be handled. Dangerous. Or valuable. Or both.” His eyes didn’t leave hers. “You looked at me like I was... just me.”

Marinette’s breath caught.
He didn’t say it accusingly. He wasn’t even looking for comfort. He was just being honest.
She sat up slightly, hugging her sketchbook to her chest. “Maybe because I know what it’s like. To be looked at like something you’re not.”

His gaze softened almost imperceptibly.
“Do you regret it?” he asked. “Coming with me yesterday. Saying what you said?”

“No.” The answer left her lips without hesitation. “Do you?”

Felix didn’t respond immediately. His jaw tensed, then relaxed. Finally, he shook his head. “Not even a little.”
“Though,” he added, his tone dry, “Mother is likely already composing an opera about your impertinence.”

Marinette chuckled. “Well, if she needs a costume designer, I know a girl.”

Felix’s lips twitched again. He looked at her, fully now. “You’re very strange.”

“Takes one to know one.” she shot back.

That earned a small sound, something between a scoff and a laugh, as he stood, smoothing out the creases in his vest.
“Come.” he said. “We’ll be late.”

Marinette stood too, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

They walked side by side down the hall, steps falling into an unconscious rhythm, the silence between them warm.

The hallways of Lycée Royale de Lune gleamed in the pale morning light, filled now with the sounds of students shuffling to class. Marinette and Felix walked in tandem, an odd pair among the crowds: he, impeccably dressed in his black vest and tie, face unreadable; she, a contrast of energy and warmth even in her quiet moments, her sketchbook hugged close.

As they turned a corner, voices drifted toward them, familiar ones.
“—and I told him, no, I will not play Freebird at the student showcase again, you little menace!” Claude’s voice carried loud and theatrical down the corridor.

A muffled laugh followed. “You’re the one who taught him that riff, you realize.” came Allegra’s cool, measured voice.

Allan trailed behind them with his usual headphones half on, a soft smile playing at his lips. “It’s still kind of impressive though. I mean, the janitor air guitaring in sync with Claude? That takes coordination.”

Marinette smiled brightly. “Claude! Allegra! Allan!”

Claude turned first, eyes lighting up when he spotted her. “Mari! There you are! We were wondering if you got abducted by a sentient sewing machine or something.”

Allan waved quietly, pushing his headphones down. Allegra gave a small nod of greeting, her expression curious as her eyes flicked between Marinette and Felix, especially noting their proximity.

Felix’s expression barely shifted, but his pace slowed, just enough to let Marinette fall into step with her friends.

Claude’s gaze bounced between the two of them like a radar. “Wait. Did you guys come in together?”

Allegra arched a single, questioning eyebrow.

Felix, in classic fashion, answered smoothly without looking at any of them. “We share a common appreciation for arriving early.”

“That’s a very poetic way of saying ‘yes.’” Claude muttered, clearly trying to hide his grin.

Marinette just rolled her eyes playfully. “We met up in the library.”

Allan looked at her with mild concern. “Are you okay though? You were super quiet yesterday after class. And then you just kindof vanished.”

Marinette hesitated for a second, but nodded. “Yeah. I just needed a bit of quiet.”

Allegra studied her carefully. “Did it help?”

Marinette looked up, past her friends, to where Felix walked ahead now, shoulders straight, eyes forward, but just within reach.
Then she smiled softly. “Yeah. It did.”

Claude bumped her shoulder with a teasing grin. “You’re glowing. Did someone get a crush?”

“Claude!” Allegra snapped, though not without a faint smirk.

Marinette’s face flushed. “I—what? No. It’s not like that. We just—” she trailed off, flustered, then sighed. “You know what? Never mind.”

Claude opened his mouth to retort, but stopped as Felix turned ever so slightly, just enough to glance over his shoulder.

“Are you done?” he asked, voice dry. “We do have class.”

Claude blinked. “Okay, rude, but fair.”

Allan chuckled as they all started walking again, falling into a looser group now.
As they moved toward their next lecture, the sunlight streamed in through the tall glass windows, catching on Felix’s hair like strands of platinum. Marinette, at his side again, felt a strange peace settle in her chest.

The rest of the school day passed quite slowly. For Marinette and Felix, it was an unspoken rhythm, sitting near each other in shared classes, subtle glances exchanged, the occasional dry comment from Felix that drew a quiet snort from Marinette.

She didn’t push him. He didn’t pull away.
It was a delicate balance and yet strangely easy.

But that comfort faded as Felix stepped through the grand front doors of the Culpa estate later that afternoon. The air here always felt different. Heavy and controlled. The very walls seemed to demand composure.

He handed his satchel to a waiting staff member, his stride sharp, footsteps echoing against the stone as he made his way down the marble hall.
He found her in the solarium.

His mother stood by the wide arched windows, her posture as straight as the cane resting idly against the chaise. Pale golden sunlight poured in around her, making her look like something painted, delicate, ethereal, and wholly immovable.

She didn’t turn when he entered. “You’re late.”

Felix’s voice was clipped. “There was class. And then I chose to walk.”

Amelie’s fingers lightly traced the carved edge of a nearby table. “You chose to walk... with her. Again. I presume.”

Felix exhaled through his nose.
“I’m not here to explain myself.”

“No.” she said calmly. “You rarely are.”

Felix stepped forward, his hands folded behind his back, his tone icier than usual but laced with something deeper.
“I’m not going to stop seeing her, you know.” he said flatly.

Amelie turned her head slightly, just enough to cast a cool glance over her shoulder.
She faced him now, and in the light, her resemblance to him was striking. The same eyes, the same precision in their expressions, refined and practiced, carved from stone. But hers were older, wiser, and infinitely more weary.

“I worry.” she said, voice calm but firm. “She sees a side of you that is... soft. Unpolished. One that will not serve you in the long run.”

“I’m not one of your curated antiques, Mother.” His voice had hardened now. “You don’t get to decide which version of me is most presentable.”

Her expression didn’t shift, but something flickered behind her gaze. “You are a Culpa, Felix. There is an expectation—”

“I. Know.” His voice cut through her words. He stepped forward now, no longer composed. The mask had cracked. “I’ve always known. You made sure of that from the moment I could walk.”

Amelie’s lips parted, just slightly.

“But I’m not you.” Felix continued, his voice lower now, but no less fierce. “And I will not spend my life sculpting myself into something cold and hollow just so I can be admired from a distance.”

He stood right before her now.
“She doesn’t want to change me. She doesn’t need to.”
He met his mother’s eyes with a quiet defiance. “But I do. I want to change. I want to feel. And if that means being misunderstood by you... then so be it.”

Amelie stood still, perfectly still. Her fingers were no longer resting on the table. They were curled just slightly at her sides.

Felix inhaled deeply. “I already told you more than once, Mother.” He stepped closer, eyes hard. “I. Will. Not. Lose. Her. You will not make me.”

The words echoed.
Not shouted. Not begged.
Declared.

Felix stood tall, but the tension in his frame betrayed how much the confrontation had cost him. Still, he did not back down. Not this time.

Amelie regarded her son, the golden light gilding the sharp planes of his face. So much of her own youth lived in his expression, so much of what she had once been before the world taught her to conceal, to calculate, to contain. His voice still echoed in the quiet solarium.
She had expected resistance eventually. Every child rebels, every heir questions. But she hadn’t expected this. Not from Felix. Not after years of discipline, of elegance etched into him like marble. He had always been so careful. So distant.
Now he stood before her, shaking, not with fear, but with conviction.

Amelie finally stepped forward. Her heels clicked softly against the floor until she stood directly in front of him.
Her voice, when it came, was quiet. “Is that truly what you want?”

Felix’s throat bobbed once. “Yes.”

Amelie studied his eyes, eyes like her own, but sharper now, burning not with cruelty but with purpose.
“She is impulsive.” she said, as if testing him.

“She is honest.” he replied.

“She’s emotional.”

“She cares!”

Amelie’s gaze lingered a moment longer. Then, slowly, she exhaled, looking past him, somewhere into the gardens beyond the solarium windows.
“You are growing into someone I no longer recognize.” she said softly, not with anger but something almost mournful. “And perhaps that frightens me.”

Felix’s breath hitched. He hadn’t expected that.
Still, he held steady. “You don’t have to approve. But I’d rather be someone you don’t recognize than become someone even I can’t live with.”

Amelie didn’t reply right away.
Instead, she turned away, walking a few steps toward the glass, one hand lifting to rest delicately on the edge of the windowsill. “Then I hope, for your sake, that she’s worth the cost.”

Felix’s voice was steady, but quiet. “She already is.”

That, at last, drew a small reaction. Amelie’s posture faltered, just slightly, before she nodded once, like conceding the end of a chess match she hadn’t expected to lose.
“Go.” she murmured. “Before I say something I’ll regret.”

Felix lingered only a second longer, then turned and walked out, his steps lighter than they had been in years.
His thoughts were a whirlwind as he made his way down the grand hall, his footsteps echoing in the vast emptiness of the estate. His mind raced with the conversation he’d just had with his mother, each word like a sting, each moment dragging him further into a tangled mess of emotions.

'She’s scared', he thought. 'She’s afraid of losing control, of losing me... but she never understood me.'
His fingers curled into his palms as he tried to keep his emotions in check. But she doesn’t get it. She never will. It’s not about control. It’s about living. About not being a puppet to legacy, to duty.

He stopped for a moment at the top of the grand staircase, staring down at the intricate marble flooring beneath his feet. His reflection stared back at him in the polished surface, a distorted version of the boy he used to be.
For so many years, he’d been the perfect son... silent, obedient, playing his role in the family drama. He’d been a prince in a gilded cage, waiting for a moment of freedom that always seemed so far away. But now, with Marinette’s words still fresh in his mind, he felt like he was finally seeing the bars of that cage for what they were.

'I have to live for myself', he thought, his chest tightening with the weight of it. 'I can’t keep living, hoping to make her proud, or to follow a script I never asked for.'

Felix’s mind drifted back to Marinette's passion, her fire, the way she had stood up to his mother without hesitation.

'She doesn’t just see me as a legacy, a surname, or a symbol. She sees me for who I am, for who I could be. She doesn’t want to change me. She just wants me to be happy.'

The thought felt foreign, but comforting.
He hadn’t realized how much he needed someone who could see past the facades, the armor he’d built around himself to protect against the world. It was easier to keep people at a distance, to be aloof, to stay in control. But with Marinette everything felt different. Complicated, yes, but in a good way.

He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining the look in her eyes when she’d told him she understood him. She’d said it so simply, like it wasn’t a big deal. But to Felix, it was everything.

Chapter Text

Felix didn’t know how long he’d been walking. He hadn’t meant to go anywhere in particular, hadn’t meant to find her.
But still, he stopped across the street, his gaze drawn to the quaint awning and warm lights glowing through the windows of the Dupain-Cheng bakery.

He shouldn’t go in. It was a terrible idea. He didn’t belong here. This wasn’t his world. it was hers. Marinette’s. Wholesome, chaotic, filled with love and life and honesty. All things he had barely begun to understand, let alone be part of.
But still... he crossed the street.

The bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside and immediately the warmth of the bakery hit him like a soft wave. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the cozy interior. It was quiet this late in the afternoon. Only a couple of customers sat near the back, murmuring quietly over pastries.

“Ah, bonjour! Oh—”
Tom Dupain had come from the kitchen, flour dusting his apron, his big hands wiping on a towel. He froze when he saw Felix. Not hostile, not cold. Just surprised.

Felix straightened automatically, defaulting to formality like armor. “Good afternoon, Monsieur Dupain.”

Tom blinked, then smiled politely. “Well. Hello there, young man.”

Felix fought the urge to fidget. “I... apologize for the intrusion. I didn’t mean to impose. I was simply in the area.”

Tom gave a soft chuckle, walking toward the counter. “Paris is small like that.” He leaned on the counter slightly, eyeing him with something unreadable. “You’re Felix, right? From Marinette’s class?”

Felix gave a slight bow of his head. “Yes. I visited once before, months ago. I left some tea that day.”

“Ah yes.” came another voice, Sabine emerged from the back room, wiping her hands. She paused when she saw Felix, then offered a soft smile. “You’re Felix Culpa.”

Felix inclined his head again. “Yes, Madame Cheng.”

She exchanged a look with Tom, then stepped closer, her voice gentle. “Is Marinette expecting you?”

“No.” Felix said quickly. “She doesn’t know I’m here. I... wasn’t actually sure I would come in at all.” His fingers curled slightly. “But I found myself here anyway.”

Sabine folded her hands gently in front of her.
“You and Marinette have had a complicated start, I heard.” she said delicately.

Felix swallowed. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“But things have changed?” Tom asked, his tone curious, not accusatory.

Felix hesitated. “Yes. They have.”

Sabine studied him for a moment longer. And then her expression softened. She stepped back and gestured gently toward the stairs.
“She’s in her room. Latch should be open. You can go up, if you’d like.”

Felix blinked. “Are you certain?”

Tom smiled now, full and warm, as he nods.

Felix felt something shift in his chest, something small but important. He gave a small, grateful nod. “Thank you. Truly.”

He took the stairs slowly, like each step weighed more than it should. It felt strange, walking up into her world.
He stepped forward. Gently knocked on the frame of the trapdoor.

And Marinette’s voice called out, soft and surprised: “Come in?”

Felix stepped inside and met her eyes.

She was sitting on the floor, surrounded by fabric swatches and tangled threads, sketchbook open beside her, a pencil tucked behind one ear. She blinked when she saw him. “Felix?”

He stood awkwardly in the doorway, one hand behind his back. “Hello.”

Marinette smiled. “Hey.”

Felix cleared his throat. “I wasn’t planning to come. I just... ended up here.”

Marinette tilted her head, soft and curious. “Bad day?”

Felix thought of his mother’s voice. Her warnings. Her fear.
Then he looked at Marinette.
“No.” he said. “Not anymore.”

Marinette reached out slowly, offering him a spot beside her on the floor, between the colors and chaos and comfort.
Felix stepped forward and sat down carefully, his back stiff, like he was afraid to disturb the world Marinette had built around her. The floor was scattered with bright scraps of fabric and loose threads, colorful evidence of a life lived boldly, messily... it was nothing like the cold precision of the Culpa estate. He glanced around, then at her, and his shoulders dropped a little, like he was finally allowing himself to breathe.

Marinette tucked her legs under herself, watching him. “You okay?” she asked softly.

Felix hesitated. Then he nodded, but it wasn’t convincing.
“I spoke to my mother today.” he said, voice low, as if saying it too loud might undo his fragile calm.

Marinette’s brows furrowed, her hands stilling on the swatch she’d been holding. “What happened?”

There was a pause. Felix looked down at his hands, fingers curled slightly in his lap. Then, almost mechanically, he started to speak.
“I told her that I didn’t want to be something cold and hollow. That I wanted to feel. That I wanted to change.”

Marinette’s breath caught in her throat. Her fingers found the edge of her sketchbook, grounding herself.

“She said she didn’t recognize me anymore...” Felix murmured, eyes distant. “And she’s right. I’m not the son she raised. Not the statue she tried to carve.”
He paused. Then added, more softly, “I told her I wouldn’t let her make me lose you.”

Marinette’s chest ached. She reached for him without thinking, just a gentle touch on his arm, grounding and warm.
“I’m so proud of you.” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “For standing up to her. For choosing yourself.”

Felix’s eyes widened like she had just spoken a language he didn’t understand. Like the words themselves hurt to hear. His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.
Proud. She had said she was proud of him.
His entire body stilled. The silence between them stretched and then a quiet, broken sob escaped him.

He flinched at the sound, like he hadn’t meant to make it. Like he hadn’t realized it was in him.
He turned his head away, tried to press a fist to his mouth, to force it down like he always did. To shove it deep where no one could see. But this time... it hurt too much to try.
So for the first time since he was a little boy, Felix let the tears fall.
They came silently, trailing down his cheeks with a kind of fragile disbelief. His shoulders trembled, his composure shattered like thin glass under the weight of years he hadn’t let himself feel.

Marinette didn’t say anything. She didn’t move to fix it or make it better.
She just scooted closer, leaned in carefully, and wrapped her arms around him.
And Felix let her.

He didn’t cry loudly. Didn’t wail or fall apart dramatically. But he broke, quietly, completely... in the arms of the girl who had told him he was enough.

Marinette rested her chin gently against his shoulder, holding him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she’d been waiting to catch him for years, even if she hadn’t known it.
“I’ve got you.” she whispered.

Felix didn’t answer.
But for the first time, he believed it.

The moments stretched. Felix sat completely still in Marinette’s embrace, but the tension in his body told a different story as if he was barely holding himself together beneath the surface. His hands, always so poised, so perfectly placed, hovered in the air for a moment before they slowly, hesitantly, came to rest against her back.
He clung to her, not tightly, not desperately, but with the quiet, aching grip of someone who didn’t know they were allowed to hold on.
His face was pressed just against her shoulder, hidden in the curve of her neck. Marinette could feel his breath hitching, uneven and shallow, the warmth of it brushing against her skin. Every now and then, she felt a tremor run through him. A stifled sob. A gasp he tried—and failed—to swallow.

Marinette didn’t let go. Not once.
They stayed like that for what felt like forever, her arms steady, his breath ragged. Outside, the soft murmur of Paris carried through the open window, a breeze stirring the edge of the curtain. Somewhere, a bird sang. Life moved on, untouched.
But in this room, everything was still.

When Felix finally pulled back, it was slow, like he wasn’t quite ready, like leaving the safety of her arms was something he had to convince himself to do.
His eyes were red. His face blotchy in a way he clearly hated. He turned his face slightly away, jaw tight, ashamed of his own vulnerability.
“I’m sorry.” he rasped, voice hoarse.

Marinette reached up and gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind his ear. “Don’t be.”

“I shouldn’t have—” he began, but she cut him off.

“You needed to.” she said softly. “It’s okay, Felix. It’s okay to let people see you.”

He shook his head, not in disagreement, but in disbelief. “No one ever has.”

She met his gaze, unwavering. “I do.”

Something flickered in his eyes then, something raw and terrified and hopeful all at once.
He swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to do this...” he admitted. “Any of it. Being open. Feeling things. Letting someone in.”

Marinette’s voice was gentle, but sure. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

Felix stared at her like she’d said something impossible. Like she had rewritten every rule he’d ever known.
Together.
It sounded like freedom. It sounded like home.

He exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair as he glanced down at the chaos around them... threads, fabric, her sketches scattered like a little universe she’d created.
“I don’t deserve this...” he whispered.

Marinette shook her head, her smile soft. “You don’t have to deserve kindness, Felix. Or love. You just have to let yourself accept it.”

His gaze met hers, quiet and intense.
“I’m trying.” he said.

“I know,” she replied. “and I’m proud of you for that, too.”

He closed his eyes for a second, like the words themselves hurt in the best way.
Felix’s breath caught as her hand came to rest over his heart. The warmth of her palm seeped through the layers of his shirt, settling directly into the place he’d spent years fortifying with silence and restraint.
He didn’t flinch.
He didn’t pull away.
But his eyes fluttered shut like he needed to hold onto this moment before it dissolved.

Marinette’s voice was quiet, just above a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a ribbon through fog.
"You don't have to change, not for me, not for anybody.” she said gently. “You are allowed to be cold and distant, smug, arrogant... sometimes annoying.”
A small, breathy laugh escaped her, light and fond and so Marinette that Felix opened his eyes again just to look at her.
Her gaze didn’t waver.
“I accept you as you are.”

He didn’t know how to respond. No one had ever said that to him before. Not without condition. Not without a warning folded between the lines. His throat felt too tight for words.
“But,” she continued, more tender now, more serious, “I can tell you’ve been struggling. Keeping everything inside... it’s causing you pain, doesn’t it?”

He gave the faintest nod. Just once.

Marinette’s thumb moved gently, brushing against the fabric of his shirt, slow and reassuring. “Then... if you’ll let me... I could help you.”

Felix stared at her, unmoving.

“Help you understand your emotions.” she said, eyes searching his. “Help you feel. And to understand the meaning of those feelings.”
Her voice was so gentle. So patient. Like she already knew how fragile this part of him was, and she wasn’t afraid of it.
“You’ve never learned how...” she said softly. “Have you?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then managed a barely audible “No.”
Felix looked down, ashamed. “It always felt dangerous. To feel. I've been told, and proven, that more than I can count.”

Marinette’s fingers twitched slightly over his heart, not pressing but staying.
“It’s not dangerous.” she said. “It’s human.”

He gave a small, dry laugh... humorless and broken. “That’s never been something I’ve been encouraged to be.”

She tilted her head. “Maybe it’s time someone encouraged you.”

He looked up at her, and something shifted in his eyes. Like the ice had cracked just enough to let in light.
“You’d really do that for me?” he asked, voice low and uncertain.

Marinette smiled. It wasn’t big or dramatic. It was soft, filled with quiet conviction.
“I want to.”

Felix stared at her for a long time. Then slowly, so slowly, he reached up, one hand coming to rest over hers where it still sat on his chest.
He didn’t say thank you.
He didn’t need to.
The look in his eyes was enough.
He wasn’t healed. Not even close.
But for the first time he had hope he could.

And she would be there, every step of the way.
Not to change him.
But to help him find who he was beneath all the walls he’d built.

Felix’s hand lingered on hers, the warmth of her touch anchoring him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.
He closed his eyes again, absorbing her gentle tone as she spoke, her words careful yet full of an understanding that he hadn’t expected.

“Your mother...” Marinette began, her voice steady. “She is a good person. But maybe, she misunderstands what a person needs. What you need.”

Felix’s brow furrowed at the mention of his mother, but Marinette didn’t let him withdraw.
“Perhaps, she herself has never learned how, either. This is all she’s known, I think, and I don’t fault her for that.” Her hand shifted slightly, her fingers still resting gently on his chest, as if to keep him from retreating into himself.

He swallowed, unsure of what to say. There was so much truth in her words. His mother had always seen the family name, the legacy, as something that defined him more than his own feelings. But hearing it spoken aloud? It hurt in a way he hadn’t expected.

Marinette continued, her words careful but unwavering. “The Culpa name, the legacy... your future legacy... it is very important to her, I understand that. However, I think she should understand that allowing you to feel, to express yourself, to live your life the way you wish to... it doesn’t mean the legacy is in danger.”

Felix clenched his jaw at the thought of his mother. The Culpa name had always been everything to her, everything he was expected to uphold. His duty had always come before his desires. His emotions had always been secondary to the reputation of the family.
But Marinette’s words were different. They didn’t feel like an attack on his mother. They didn’t feel like judgment. They were an invitation, an invitation to see things through a new lens. To imagine a different possibility.

“You can find a balance.” she added softly. “Maybe we can help her understand that you're not abandoning her, that I’m not a threat to you, her, or the family name.”

Felix blinked, her words sinking in, swirling around in his mind like ripples on a pond. Not abandoning her. Those words were so simple, yet they hit harder than he expected. In his mother's eyes, any deviation from the path she'd planned for him was betrayal and he'd carried that weight on his shoulders for so long, not knowing how to ease it.

“I don’t know if I can change her mind...” Felix murmured, the doubt creeping back into his voice.

“I’m not asking you to do it alone.” Marinette reassured him, her voice warm and encouraging. “I just think she needs to hear it from you. Not just what you want, but why it matters. And that it’s not about rejecting everything she’s worked for. It’s about finding a way for both of you to have what you need. For you to live your truth, and for her to see that your truth doesn’t diminish the legacy, but makes it stronger.”

Felix’s breath hitched slightly. No one had ever spoken about his legacy like this, not even his mother. There was always this underlying pressure, this unspoken expectation that he would sacrifice everything of himself to uphold something that was never truly his to begin with.
But Marinette... Marinette was offering him something different. A way forward. A way to be true to himself while still honoring his family's name without losing himself in the process.

He looked at her, his expression soft, unsure. “And you think... you really think she’ll understand that?”

Marinette smiled, that same gentle, reassuring smile that always seemed to hold so much warmth and trust. “I think it’s worth showing her. You won’t know unless you try.”

Felix swallowed again, the weight of what she was asking feeling both heavy and strangely freeing. It was terrifying, but in the best way. Because for the first time, he felt like there might be a path forward that wasn’t just about duty. It could be about him, about his life, his emotions, his choices.
And Marinette would be there beside him.

“Thank you...” he whispered after a long moment, his voice quieter than he intended. “For believing in me.”

“I’ve always believed in you, Felix.” she said, her voice unwavering. “Now it’s just time for you to believe in yourself.”

Felix blinked, feeling the soft brush of her fingers against his cheek. It was such a simple gesture, but it felt so intimate, so full of care. He hadn’t realized how much he needed it until that moment. His breath hitched slightly as he turned his gaze to hers, feeling a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability he wasn’t used to expressing.

Marinette smiled gently, her eyes warm and understanding. “Why don’t you go freshen up in the bathroom and join us for dinner? I’ll fill in my parents on the situation... if that’s alright with you?”

Felix took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the weight of everything was still lingering. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel as though he was about to drown in it. Marinette had given him a lifeline. Her presence, her support, it was grounding him, pulling him out of the shadows he’d lived in for so long.

“I... I think I’d be okay with that.” he replied softly, his voice still a little hoarse. The idea of joining her family for dinner, of stepping out of the cage he’d built for himself and sharing something as simple as a meal, felt oddly freeing.

Her smile widened and she gave him a light, reassuring squeeze on the hand that was still resting on hers. “Good. You deserve to feel comfortable, Felix. To be able to just be yourself.”

He nodded slowly, grateful for her kindness, but still unsure of himself. The idea of facing her parents, of opening up more than he ever had before, made his stomach twist with nerves. But Marinette’s steady gaze kept him from pulling away.
“Alright. I’ll go freshen up,” he said, standing up carefully. His legs felt a little shaky, as if the emotional weight of the moment had made them weaker than usual, but he took it step by step toward the bathroom, turning back once to catch Marinette’s eyes one last time.
She gave him an encouraging smile and a soft nod, her presence a constant, unspoken support.

As he walked into the bathroom, Felix closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment. His reflection in the mirror was that of a person he barely recognized... a boy who had spent so long hiding his true feelings behind walls, behind a mask.
He wiped at his eyes, surprised to find them wet again, but this time the tears didn’t feel like a burden. They felt like release, like something he’d needed to shed for far too long.
After a few moments, Felix turned on the faucet, splashing his face with cool water to wash away the last remnants of his emotional storm. He stared at his reflection for a moment longer, taking in the boy he had been, the one who had lived only for duty. Then, he thought of Marinette’s words, of her belief in him, and the flicker of possibility that had been ignited within him.
He wasn’t sure what the future held, but, he felt like maybe he was allowed to want more than just to survive it.
Felix took one last deep breath, wiped his face dry, and opened the door, ready to join her for dinner and, perhaps, to begin the slow, daunting process of discovering who he really was beyond the name he’d been given.

Marinette took a moment to steady her nerves as she approached the dining room. Her parents were already setting the table, the clatter of dishes a comforting sound in the background. She had to explain things to her parents, everything she had just shared with Felix, everything he was going through. And most of all, how much she believed he deserved to be accepted for who he was, not for the legacy he was burdened with.

Her mother, Sabine, was placing napkins around the table while her father, Tom, was carefully arranging the silverware. Both of them looked up when Marinette entered, their expressions warm but inquisitive.
"Everything okay, sweetie?" Sabine asked, her tone laced with concern.

Marinette hesitated, then took a deep breath, stepping closer to the table. "I... I had a conversation with Felix. And I think we need to talk." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "He’s been struggling, Mom. Struggling with a lot of things. His mother, his legacy, his emotions... It’s been building up for so long, and it’s been hurting him. Pretty badly too, from what I can tell."

Her parents exchanged a glance, concern deepening in their eyes.
"His legacy?" Tom repeated, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean, Marinette? Is it about his family? The Culpa name?"

"Yes..." Marinette answered quietly. "Felix has been carrying the weight of his family’s expectations for years. His mother has always pushed him to be perfect, to live up to the name... But it’s made him shut himself off from feeling anything, from being himself. And he’s been bottling everything inside." She swallowed, feeling the heaviness of the situation in her chest. "It’s caused him so much pain. And I don’t think she knows how much it’s affecting him."

Sabine and Tom were both silent for a moment, absorbing her words. Sabine placed her hands on the edge of the table, her eyes softening with empathy.
"That poor boy." Sabine murmured. "No one should have to feel like they can't be themselves, not even for a moment. But I understand now, Marinette, why you’re concerned. Why you want to help him."

Marinette nodded. "I just want to give him the space to be himself. To know that he doesn't have to be perfect all the time. And I think... I think maybe I can help his mother understand. He’s not abandoning her or the family name. He just needs to feel, to live his life. And if I can help him with that, if I can help her understand... maybe we can help him heal."

Tom set down the fork he had been holding, his expression thoughtful. "I see. It’s not just about Felix, is it? It’s about breaking a cycle. Helping him find balance, not just between the past and the future, but between who he is and who he’s expected to be."

Marinette smiled slightly, relieved that her parents were starting to understand. "Exactly. And I want to show him that he’s not alone, that he can open up to people and trust that they won’t judge him for it. Not just me, but all of us."

Sabine nodded and her gaze softened with the wisdom of experience. "We’ll support you, Marinette. Felix is welcome here. But remember. Helping someone through something this deep isn’t quick or easy. It’s going to take time and you’ll have to be patient. With him. With his mother. And with yourself too."

Marinette’s heart swelled with gratitude. "Thank you. I’m ready to be patient. I believe in him. He just needs to believe in himself too."

Tom stood up from the table, crossing the room to give his daughter a gentle hug. "Then you’re already doing the right thing. Helping him, helping his family. It’s not always about fixing things overnight; it’s about making sure no one has to face those battles alone."

Marinette returned the hug, feeling the warmth of her parents’ support settle over her like a comforting blanket. "I’m not giving up on him. And I’m glad you’re both willing to help him too."

Her parents smiled at her, and Sabine placed a hand on her shoulder. "We’re proud of you, Marinette. And I think Felix is lucky to have you by his side."

Marinette felt a warmth spread through her chest at their words, and she felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this was the beginning of something beautiful for both Felix and herself. Something real, something that would grow and heal, slowly but surely.

"I’ll go tell him it’s time for dinner." she said softly, turning to leave the room.
As she stepped toward the hallway, she glanced back to see her parents beginning to prepare the meal, their love and care for her evident in their every movement. She had no doubt that this dinner would be the first of many shared moments, moments where, together, they would help Felix find the peace he so desperately needed.
She only hoped he would trust them enough to let them in.

Marinette walked down the hallway, her steps slow but determined. She took a deep breath before knocking lightly on the bathroom door. Her heart beat a little faster, knowing that Felix was inside, still processing everything she had said earlier. She hoped he was okay.
"Felix?" she called softly. "Dinner’s ready soon. You, uh, you ready to join us?"

There was a long pause before she heard a faint voice from inside, rough but steady. "I’ll be out in a moment."

Marinette waited quietly, the sound of running water filling the silence for a few seconds before it stopped. After another moment, the door creaked open, and Felix stepped out, looking a little more composed than he had earlier, but there was still something about him that seemed distant. His gaze was a bit softer now, though, and Marinette noticed that the storm that had been in his eyes earlier seemed to have calmed, just a little.

"Are you sure you’re alright?" Marinette asked gently, not pushing too hard but still concerned. She wanted to be there for him, even if he wasn’t ready to fully open up yet.

Felix gave a small nod, his expression neutral, though there was a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "I’m fine. Just needed a moment to collect myself."

Marinette smiled softly, relieved to see him a little more at ease. "Okay. If you’re ready, you can come join us. My parents are waiting."

Felix hesitated, his eyes briefly flicking down to the floor. "I’m not sure how they’ll feel about me... after everything."

Marinette stepped closer, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "They just want to help, Felix. They’re not going to judge you. Trust me."

He met her gaze then, his expression softening, as though he was searching for some kind of reassurance, something to ease the tension in his chest. Slowly, he nodded again. "Alright. I’ll come."

She smiled, pleased that he was willing to join them, even if it was a small step. "Good. You don’t have to worry. Just be yourself. That’s all they’ll ask of you."

Felix gave a quiet sigh but didn’t pull away as she led him toward the dining room. He was tense, clearly still unsure, but he was following her, letting her lead him through this unfamiliar territory. Marinette glanced over at him as they walked, her heart heavy with both hope and worry. She knew this wasn’t going to be easy for him, however.

As they reached the dining room, Marinette opened the door and stepped inside, leading Felix in behind her. Her parents were already seated, waiting for them with warm smiles. The table was set beautifully, the meal a comforting sight after the tension of the day.

Her parents smiled warmly, their kindness shining through despite the formality of the situation. Sabine stood up first, her voice welcoming and gentle. "We’re glad you could join us."

Tom also stood, offering a handshake. "We’re happy to have you here."

Felix stood still for a moment, uncertainty flashing in his eyes. But then, slowly, he extended his hand to shake Tom’s, then Sabine’s. His grip was firm, but there was a subtle tremor in his fingers that Marinette noticed. It was clear that he was still guarded, still unsure about how to interact with them, but at least he was trying.

"Thank you for having me." Felix replied quietly, his voice low but polite.

Marinette could see the way he was holding himself, still distant, still so closed off, but she could also see that he was doing his best. And that, to her, was enough for now.

"Why don’t you sit down?" Sabine suggested, gesturing to the chair across from Marinette. "Dinner’s ready. I’m sure you’re hungry."

Felix nodded and took a seat, though he remained a little stiff, still unsure how to relax. Marinette sat down beside him, offering him a small, encouraging smile. She could see that the room was full of kindness and understanding, but she also knew it would take time for Felix to truly feel at ease in this space. She just hoped that, over time, the walls he had built around himself would start to come down.

As her parents began serving dinner, Marinette kept an eye on Felix, quietly hoping that this simple meal, this moment of normalcy, would be a step in the right direction. And perhaps, just perhaps, it would help him understand that he didn’t have to face his struggles alone, that there were people who cared, people who would stand by him through it all.

The conversation at the table flowed easily enough, though it wasn’t long before Marinette noticed that Felix was still a bit withdrawn. Her parents, sensing his discomfort, made sure to keep things light and relaxed, talking about everyday things to keep the atmosphere calm.

After a while, Felix seemed to soften, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. He was still quiet, but he was listening and that, to Marinette, was a victory in itself.

Tom leaned forward with a big, mischievous grin as he spooned some rice onto his plate. “You know, Felix,” he said, glancing between him and Marinette with a twinkle in his eye, “when Marinette was five, she used to put on my baking apron, climb onto the kitchen counter, and declare herself ‘The Princess of Cupcake Kingdom.’”

Sabine laughed softly, clearly already amused. “Oh, and don’t forget how she’d make a scepter out of a wooden spoon and demand everyone bow before her before she’d let them eat her imaginary desserts.”

Felix, mid bite, froze, his eyes widening as the mental image formed: Marinette in a too big apron, wielding a spoon like a royal staff, ruling a kingdom made of sugar and flour. A muffled snrk escaped him before he started coughing violently, clearly having tried too hard not to laugh with food still in his mouth.

Marinette slapped a hand over her face, groaning. “Papa! Maman! Why would you tell him that?!”

Tom just chuckled as he reached over to hand Felix a napkin. “It’s important he knows what "royalty" he’s dealing with.”

Sabine winked at Marinette. “Besides, we think it’s adorable. And brave. Not every child is confident enough to crown themselves ruler of baked goods.”

Felix, recovering from his fit of laughter, wiped his mouth and tried to compose himself, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “Well,” he said, voice still a little hoarse, “I think I owe Her Majesty a formal curtsy next time we’re in the kitchen.”

Marinette shot him a glare, cheeks flushed pink, but she couldn’t hide the small smirk that crept up as he grinned at her. “Don’t even think about it, Culpa.”

Felix leaned slightly toward her, lowering his voice just enough so her parents couldn’t hear. “Too late. I already am.”

Marinette buried her face in her hands again with a dramatic groan while her parents laughed warmly, clearly enjoying the energy in the room.

For the first time that evening, the atmosphere felt light, like something good was blooming there between laughter and memories. Even Felix, though still guarded, looked just a little more at home.

As the laughter faded into soft conversation, the plates slowly emptied, the warm scent of herbs and fresh bread lingering in the air like the echo of comfort. Marinette let out a contented sigh and leaned back in her chair, her earlier embarrassment melting into something fonder as she glanced across the table.

Felix was finishing the last bite of his meal, noticeably more relaxed than when he’d arrived. His posture was still proper, because of course it was, but his eyes had softened, a rare ease settling in the lines of his face.

He caught Marinette watching and raised a brow with mock suspicion.
“What?” he asked, setting down his fork.

She shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “Just checking to see if you’ve recovered from your near death by cupcake kingdom.”

He gave her a dry look, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “Barely. I’ll need time to process.”

Tom stood and began clearing plates and Sabine moved to help. “Thank you for joining us tonight, Felix,” she said warmly. “You’re welcome here anytime.”

Felix stood as well, giving a small, respectful bow of his head. “Thank you. The food was exceptional. And the company, too.”

Tom chuckled, clapping him lightly on the back. “You’re polite. That’s dangerous around here. Marinette’s not used to polite dinner guests.”

Marinette groaned again, but this time she smiled through it.

Sabine gave Felix a knowing look as she took his plate. “You’re a good boy, Felix. I hope your mother comes to understand that the way we have.”

There was something in the way she said it, kind, yes, but honest. Felix met her gaze and gave a quiet, genuine nod. “I hope so too.”

As the dishes were rinsed and the hum of water ran in the background, Marinette gestured toward the stairs. “Come on.” she said softly. “Let’s go back up. I want to show you something.”

He followed her, and for a brief moment, Felix glanced back at the kitchen, at the warm glow, the soft laughter, the smell of soap and garlic and family... Something unfamiliar curled in his chest.
Longing.
But not painful this time.
Hopeful.

He turned and followed Marinette up the stairs, step by step, into the quiet calm of her world.
As they reached her room, Marinette closed the door gently behind them. She walked over to her desk, where several sketches were neatly arranged, and picked up a design folder she had been working on for the past week. Her fingers hesitated for just a moment, before she turned toward Felix with a soft smile.

“I... I wanted to show you something,” she said, her voice a little more tentative than usual.

Felix tilted his head slightly, a flicker of curiosity crossing his features. He leaned against the doorframe, watching her, and waited as she opened the folder, revealing a set of drawings. Marinette’s eyes softened as she began to explain.
“I’ve been working on a new line of designs." she began, pulling out one particular sketch. "But... this one is different. I designed it with you in mind.”

Felix raised an eyebrow. “Me?”

Marinette nodded, her fingers tracing the outline of the drawing. It was an elegant jacket, sophisticated but with a rebellious edge. The fabric was sleek and sharp, but with subtle, intricate details that added texture and depth. The collar was high, almost like a coat of armor, and there was an angular pattern sewn into the hem. It was both bold and understated, perfectly encapsulating what Felix was to her: someone with an impenetrable exterior, yet so much depth beneath it.

“It’s inspired by your style...” Marinette said quietly. “The way you carry yourself. Like you don’t want anyone to see inside, but you still have this kind of strength and beauty that’s impossible to ignore. The sharp lines, the dark tones, but also... softness. You’re not as cold as you present yourself.”

Felix blinked, taken aback. The design, despite its sharpness, conveyed something raw and deeply personal. His breath caught, and he felt a tightness in his chest, unsure of what to say.
“You really think that about me?” he asked, his voice quieter than he intended.

Marinette met his gaze, her blue eyes earnest. “I do. I think there’s so much more to you than just the ‘Culpa legacy’ or what everyone expects. I see the real you, Felix. And... I wanted to show you that in my work.”

Felix stood still for a long moment, his mind racing. Nobody had ever paid attention to him like this. Not like Marinette. There were no walls between them here. Her sincerity was something foreign, but in the best way. He swallowed, feeling a shift in the way he understood things. This was a side of him he hadn’t really considered allowing others to see.

“That’s...” His voice faltered, and he cleared his throat, finding his footing again. “That’s... actually incredible. I—” He paused, unsure how to express what he was feeling. “I didn’t expect something like this.”

Marinette smiled, her cheeks slightly flushed. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like it. I know it’s not the typical thing you’d wear, but... I thought maybe it could represent who you are. What you could be.”

Felix took a step closer to the desk, eyeing the design with renewed interest. It felt different, like a tangible reflection of what had always been a foggy idea in his head. “I... don’t really know how to explain it...” he murmured. “But I think I get it. It’s not just about the clothes... it’s about letting someone see beyond the surface.”

Marinette looked up at him, her gaze soft and understanding. “Exactly. That’s what I wanted to show you.”

He didn’t know what to say in response to that. Instead, he found himself smiling, a small, almost imperceptible quirk of his lips, but one that was honest, genuine.

“Thank you, Marinette.” he said quietly, his voice almost unrecognizable to his own ears. "For seeing me... for who I am, not just the version of me I show the world."

Marinette nodded, her smile just as small but equally sincere. “You don’t have to be anyone else. Just be you, Felix.”

Felix exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest easing.

Marinette hesitated for a moment, her fingers gently tracing the edges of the sketch as if she were weighing her words. Then, after a deep breath, she looked up at Felix, her eyes sincere.
"I've been wanting to turn this design into a real outfit for you." she said softly, her voice carrying a note of excitement. "I know it's a bit bold... but I think it could be something really special. Not just a piece of clothing, but something that represents you. Something you could wear when you're ready to step into who you really are."

Felix blinked, his eyes widening slightly as he processed her words. He hadn’t expected that at all, he’d thought the design was simply a gesture, a reflection of how she saw him, not something she actually wanted to create.
"You really want to make this into a real outfit... for me?" His voice was quieter now, almost unsure.

Marinette nodded, her expression firm but warm. "Yeah. I didn't want it to be something that’s just for the fashion show or for a collection... it’s personal. It’s you. And I want to help bring that vision to life. If you’d let me."

Felix didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flickering to the design again, as if seeing it in a new light. A part of him was hesitant. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to wear something that personal, something that would expose parts of himself he often kept hidden. But another part of him, the part that had been gradually shedding layers over the past few days, felt a stirring in his chest. It was a chance to embrace something real, something meaningful. Maybe it was time to stop hiding.

“I... I think I’d like that,” Felix said finally, his tone uncharacteristically vulnerable. “But, no promises. I’ve never been one for showing myself off in public.”

Marinette smiled softly, understanding the weight of his words. “I get it. We can take it slow. I still need some time to actually make it.” she reassured him. “But when you’re ready, I want you to have the option. No pressure.”

Felix's expression softened, and there was a quiet gratitude in his eyes that he didn’t often show. “I appreciate that, Marinette.” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "It means a lot... more than I can say."

Marinette felt her heart warm at his words, the sincerity in his tone making something inside her flutter. "I'm just glad I can do something for you. You've been carrying so much and I think this could be a way for you to feel like you're not alone in it."

Felix looked down for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “I don’t know what’s changed... but I feel like I can trust you with this. I’ve never let anyone in like this before. It’s... a little scary, honestly. But not in a bad way. It’s just new.”
He looked at her then, really looked at her, for the first time without the walls he’d always kept up. And for a moment, it felt like the world wasn’t so heavy. Like he didn’t have to carry everything alone.
“You’ve made a complicated mess feel a little less messy.”

Marinette laughed softly, her own smile matching his. "I think we make a pretty good team."

She glanced at the design again, then back at Felix, her fingers still resting on the corner of the page. “You know,” she said, her voice lighter now, “when I first started sketching this, I wasn’t even sure why. It just came to me. Like something inside me knew who you were, before you even let me see it.”

Felix raised a brow, but there was no sarcasm in his expression this time, only curiosity. “That’s oddly poetic of you.”

She grinned. “I guess you’re rubbing off on me.”

Felix huffed a short laugh, and for once, it wasn’t guarded. “That’s dangerous. You’ll start brooding in corners and glaring at your tea.”

“I already do glare at my tea when it’s cold.” she teased, nudging his shoulder gently.
“I’ve been thinking about which fabric would suit it best. I found this deep slate blue wool blend that has the right structure, but it still breathes well. And there’s this silvery silk lining I’ve been dying to use—”

“You’ve already put a lot of thought into this.” Felix interrupted, a note of surprise in his voice.

Marinette looked over her shoulder at him, a quiet sort of smile tugging at her lips. “Of course I have. You matter to me, Felix. And I want this to be something that reflects who you are, not just what the world expects you to be.”

That silenced him.
For a moment, Felix didn’t know where to place that feeling in his chest, the kind that tugged at old wounds and wrapped them in something gentle. Not pity. Not pressure. Just care.
He stepped closer to the table, slowly reaching out to touch the edge of the fabric she’d mentioned. His fingers brushed it, reverent.
“Slate blue, huh?” he murmured. “I didn’t think that was my color.”

“It’s not just a color.” Marinette said softly, watching him. “It’s a feeling. Quiet strength. Stillness. Depth. Mystery. It is you.”

Felix blinked slowly, almost disarmed by her answer.
“...You’re very good at this.”

She gave a modest shrug. “Designing? Or reading people who don’t want to be read?”

He smirked faintly. “Both, apparently.”

They stood there in silence for a moment, the atmosphere mellow and charged all at once, until Marinette finally broke it with a soft, hopeful question.
“So should I start working on it? The outfit?”

Felix looked at her, then back at the design one more time.
“Yes. Please.”

And in that simple word, there was more than permission. There was trust. A new beginning.

Felix glanced at the clock on the wall. The hour was getting late, he knew it. He should’ve already called his driver, should’ve been halfway back to that sprawling, quiet mansion he's supposed to call home. But instead, he stood there, still by Marinette’s worktable, watching the way the soft light haloed around her as she organized her materials.
The thought of returning to the Culpa estate twisted something in his stomach.

It wasn’t just the silence, he’d grown used to that. It was the weight of it. The sterile halls, the antique furniture that was meant to impress, not comfort. The constant reminder that feelings were a liability. That legacy came first. That the version of himself he was slowly shedding was still the only one his mother would ever fully approve of.
He swallowed that thought and looked toward Marinette again.

She was humming softly to herself now, completely immersed in her creative rhythm. It was her sanctuary, he realized. This cozy, lived in space filled with bright colors, soft fabrics, and warmth. It was everything his home wasn’t.
And he didn’t want to leave it. Didn’t want to leave her.

Marinette looked up, sensing his gaze, and tilted her head. “You okay?”

He hesitated. “I should be heading home.”

She nodded slowly, not pressuring him either way. “You don’t have to, if you’re not ready. I mean—if you’re uncomfortable, or... if you don’t want to be alone tonight, we have a guest room. Or the couch. Or—well, you can just stay. If you want.”
There was no awkwardness in her offer. Just understanding.

Felix studied her, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, in a rare show of honesty, he exhaled quietly and murmured, “I don’t want to go back yet.”

Marinette gave him a soft, knowing smile. “Then stay.”
She walked over to the hallway and pointed. “Guest room’s that way. But if you want to stay up a bit longer, I can make some hot cocoa. No judgment if you want extra marshmallows.”

Felix smirked faintly. “I’m not five.”

“But you do like marshmallows.”

“...That’s beside the point.”

Marinette grinned, already heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

As Felix sat down on the couch a few minutes later, a warm blanket tossed over his lap, the scent of cocoa in the air, and Marinette’s quiet presence nearby, he realized something unexpected:
He didn’t feel like a burden.
He felt home.

Marinette returned balancing two mismatched mugs, each filled to the brim with hot cocoa and crowned with an unnecessarily generous pile of marshmallows. She handed one to Felix with a sly grin. “I may have gone overboard, but I figured you wouldn’t complain.”

He eyed the marshmallows skeptically but accepted the mug without argument. “I’ll allow it... just this once.”

Marinette plopped down beside him on the couch, folding her legs underneath her. The warmth of the mug seeped into her hands, and for a moment, they sat there in a companionable silence, sipping cocoa and letting the stillness settle around them.
Then, her eyes darted toward the TV.
“So...” she said casually, “are you any good at Super Smash Brawl Frenzy Deluxe Ultimate Remix?”

Felix raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a real title.”

Marinette burst into a laugh. “Okay, true, but you know what I mean. You ever play anything that doesn’t involve brooding or being emotionally repressed?”

He took a long, deliberate sip of cocoa. “So, you’re challenging me.”

“I’m inviting you to lose.” she teased, already grabbing the controllers.

They booted up the game and soon enough the room was filled with the sounds of epic music, pixelated chaos, and heated banter.

“Stop button mashing!” Felix snapped, frowning at the screen.

“I’m not button mashing, I’m using strategy!” Marinette countered, eyes locked on the screen.

“You’re pressing literally every button at once!”

“That’s the strategy!”

Felix was trying very hard to maintain his signature cool, but when Marinette’s character knocked his off the stage with a sneaky combo, his jaw dropped.
“You cheated.”

She just grinned. “I’m sorry, did the emotionless heir to the Culpa legacy just lose to a ‘button masher’?”

“I demand a rematch.”

“Two more rounds.” she said, passing him a marshmallow from her mug like it was a peace offering. “Winner gets bragging rights and the last cookie.”

The competition escalated, full of smack talk, laughter, and the occasional dramatic gasp whenever someone narrowly avoided a knockout.

By the time the game ended, they were both slightly out of breath from laughing too hard, cocoa mugs empty and forgotten on the coffee table. Marinette leaned back against the cushions, stretching out with a satisfied sigh.
“I think that’s the most fun I’ve had in weeks!” she said, glancing over at him.

Felix, still holding the controller, smirked but his expression had softened. “I think that’s the most fun I’ve had... well.. ever.”
Their eyes met for a moment, unspoken thoughts flickering in the quiet.
Neither of them said it aloud but they both knew:
This was something special.

After the laughter from their gaming marathon settled into a comfortable quiet, Marinette reached for the remote.
“Okay, you’ve lost spectacularly, been thoroughly humbled—”

“I demand an official investigation into the scoring system.” Felix cut in dryly, which earned him a playful elbow to the side.

“—and now it’s time for a movie.” she finished with a grin. “Something light. No brooding antiheroes or philosophical nightmares.”

Felix gave her a mock look of offense. “You wound me.”

She scrolled through the options until she landed on a quirky animated film with talking animals and a questionable plot. He made a face.
“That one?”

“Don’t judge until the musical number hits.” she warned him with a smirk.

They curled up on the couch. Marinette tucked into the corner, and Felix beside her, not quite leaning into her but close enough that their shoulders brushed. A soft blanket had made its way over their laps, shared without a word.

As the movie played, the room dimmed, city lights filtering through the curtains, casting shadows across the floor. Marinette laughed quietly at the ridiculousness on screen. Felix didn’t say much, but every now and then, he glanced at her more than the movie.

The warmth of the cocoa, the comfort of the blanket, the soft hum of the TV, it all wrapped around them like a lullaby.
Somewhere between the second act and the closing credits, Marinette’s head gently tipped onto his shoulder. Felix froze for a second, unsure. But then he let himself relax. His cheek brushed the top of her hair and he closed his eyes.

The movie kept playing, but neither of them saw the end.

By the time the screen faded to black and the soft glow of the TV illuminated the now silent living room, the two of them were sound asleep, leaning into one another, the world forgotten for just a little while.

Chapter Text

Morning crept in gently.

Felix stirred first. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. The couch, the scent of baked goods lingering faintly in the air, the weight against his shoulder, it all pieced itself together slowly.

Marinette.

She was curled against him, her head resting softly on his chest now, one hand still tucked near her face, rising and falling with his steady breathing. Her hair was a little messy, and one of her legs had tangled a bit with his under the blanket.

He hadn't meant to stay.
But the truth was... he hadn’t wanted to leave.

His gaze softened, something unfamiliar settling in his chest. A quiet stillness. Safety.
The kind of peace he didn’t know he’d needed until now.
He didn’t move. He didn’t want to wake her. Instead, he allowed himself to stay there, eyes drifting back closed, just for a little longer.

Minutes passed, maybe more. Then Marinette shifted, letting out a tiny sigh as she blinked awake. She froze when she realized she was practically lying on top of him.

“Oh my gosh...” she whispered, her voice raspy with sleep. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

Felix looked down at her, the corners of his lips lifting slightly. “You drooled a little.”

Her face turned a brilliant shade of red. “I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

Marinette groaned and buried her face in his chest, mortified.
“Kill me.”

He chuckled softly. “Sorry, but I’ve decided to spare you.”

She peeked up at him, half hiding under the blanket. “You stayed.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t want to go back.”

Felix hesitated, then nodded. “No. I did not.”

There was no judgment in her eyes. Only warmth. Only understanding.
“Then... I’m glad you stayed,” she whispered, settling back beside him.
And he realized, with quiet certainty, that so was he.

Marinette’s face was still flushed, but a playful edge began to return to her voice as she sat up, her gaze glinting mischievously.
“...For someone cold enough to cause hell to freeze over... you’re surprisingly warm.” Marinette teased, a smirk tugging at her lips.

Felix’s eyes narrowed instantly, and his posture straightened, a challenge flickering in his gaze. He met her playful jab with equal sharpness. “I’m not sure how to take that. Are you complimenting me, or insulting me?”

“I think it’s both.” she replied, her hands folding in her lap as she tilted her head, studying him with a gleam in her eyes. "But hey, even the coldest people have their moments."

Felix scoffed, but there was a hint of a smile threatening to break through his mask of indifference. “I’m sure you’ve got an explanation for everything, don’t you? It’s cute.”

“Oh, please, I’m not cute.” she said with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "I'm just stating the obvious."

“Ah. And the obvious is that I’m surprisingly warm?” he said, his tone dripping with mock sweetness. “How charming.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow. “Is that sarcasm? I can never tell with you. You have this constant 'I’m so above everything' vibe going on. It’s hard to decipher if you actually mean anything you say.”

“I meant it.” he replied, deadpan. “I am above everything. You’re lucky you even got this far.” He gestured to the space between them with a flourish, indicating the proximity, the comfort, the shared morning. “I could have just left, you know.”

“Oh, really?” Marinette shot back, her voice dripping with sarcastic sweetness. “And I would have let you? Please, Felix. I’m not some damsel in distress. You’d have had to drag yourself away if you wanted to leave, and you’re obviously too much of a coward to do that.”

Felix’s eyes flashed dangerously, his lips curling into a smirk. “Careful, Marinette.” he said lowly. “You don’t want to push me too far.”

“Oh, I’m trembling...” she replied, her tone absolutely deadpan. “You’re so intimidating.”

“Trust me, I’m very intimidating when I want to be.” he shot back with a cocky grin, his words measured like a challenge.

Marinette snorted, folding her arms across her chest. “Oh sure, and I’m sure your perfectly sculpted jawline and mysterious, attractive gaze are enough to strike fear into the hearts of people everywhere.”

Felix didn’t even flinch. He leaned forward, his smirk now fully playing out. “Well, now that you mention it, I do have a certain effect on people. And yes, my jawline is perfect. It’s a curse, really.”

“You’re insufferable.” Marinette muttered, flopping back down onto the couch dramatically. “You can’t even take a joke.”

Felix raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “I’m not sure you can take a joke, either. You’re the one who made fun of me for being ‘surprisingly warm.’”

Marinette huffed in frustration, staring at the ceiling. “It’s not my fault you're like a living ice cube one minute and then suddenly melting the next.”

“I don't melt.” Felix said, his voice hardening slightly. He leaned back into the couch, crossing his arms, still facing her. “I just choose when to tolerate people.”

“Such a grand gesture.” Marinette quipped sarcastically, flipping over to face him again. “How noble.”

“I think it’s nice of me.” Felix muttered, turning his gaze away from her. But there was no real venom in his words. It wasn’t quite as biting as he wanted it to sound.

She gave him a small, almost mischievous smile. “I don’t know. If I were as cold as you claim to be, I’d be making people pay for my time, not ‘tolerating’ them.”

Felix scoffed. “You're missing the point, as usual. I’m not the one with the problem here.”

“You just spent a good five minutes bragging about how perfect your jawline is. Do you hear yourself?”

Felix stared at her for a moment, as if weighing her words, before he sighed in exasperation. “I was being sarcastic.” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Clearly, you’re missing the whole point here. I’m not perfect.”

“You do have the ‘smug and superior’ thing going for you, though.” Marinette shot back with a grin.

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “So this is what it’s like to have an actual conversation with you.”

“Yep. You'll get used to it.” Marinette replied cheerfully, crossing her arms behind her head as she leaned back into the couch again.

For a long moment, Felix stared at her, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his lips. But as usual, he fought it.
“Unbelievable.” he muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching again.

“Oh, please, don’t get all dark and broody again!” Marinette teased. “You were actually kind of fun for a moment there.”

Felix smirked. “Kind of?”

“Fine.” she grinned, “You were fun.”

Felix rolled his eyes, but there was a lightness in his chest he couldn’t quite push away. “I’ll take that as a compliment, I suppose.”

Marinette leaned back, turning her head slightly to look out the window. The quiet of the morning had returned, but it felt different now, like something had shifted, a little warmer, a little lighter. "You don’t have to keep pretending with me, Felix. It’s exhausting just watching you sometimes."

“Excuse me?” He turned toward her sharply, but his gaze softened as he realized she wasn’t mocking him this time.

She shrugged, her voice quieter. “I can see through it. All that cold, that distance. You don’t always have to put up walls around everyone.”

Felix’s throat tightened. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched her carefully.

And he thought.. maybe she was right.

His smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with a mischief that matched Marinette’s own. In an instant, he picked up the nearest pillow, his movements swift and before Marinette could brace herself, he swung it directly at her face.
The soft thud of the pillow hitting her caused a burst of surprised laughter to escape her lips. She blinked rapidly, still slightly stunned by the sudden attack. The pillow fell away as she blinked at him, eyes wide in disbelief.

Felix lifted his chin, looking down at her with an infuriatingly smug expression. He clearly found the whole thing amusing, the edge of his arrogance sharper than ever.

Marinette's hand went to her face, brushing away the remnants of the pillow, but she couldn’t hold back a small chuckle. “Oh, so that’s how it is, huh?” she said, narrowing her eyes, clearly not taking the attack too seriously. “Well, if we’re playing that game...”

Before Felix could even react, Marinette reached for another pillow, swinging it toward him with a swift motion. But she didn’t just hit him, she swung it with force, determined to get a rise out of him.

Felix grunted as the pillow collided with his chest, and in that moment, the playful tension between them spiked. His posture remained stiff for a second, but then his lips quirked up, no longer fighting the amusement bubbling inside him.
“Oh, you want to play dirty, huh?” he teased, raising his hand to grab another pillow from the couch.

Marinette’s grin widened. “You started it!” she shot back, scrambling to grab another pillow for defense, but Felix was quicker.

Before she knew it, he swung the pillow at her again, knocking her back lightly as she tried to dodge. They both burst into laughter as the game escalated, feathers starting to fly out of the pillows as they pummeled each other. It was lighthearted, reckless, the type of bickering that made the morning feel a little less tense.

Felix was relentless now, his arms moving swiftly as he attacked her with his own brand of unspoken challenge. “You really think you can outdo me in a pillow fight?” he quipped, his voice a mixture of challenge and amusement.

Marinette’s laughter was unrestrained now, her voice carrying the joy that seemed to have been missing between them until that very moment. “I’m pretty sure I’m winning, Felix!” she shot back as she dove to the side to avoid another hit.

“You’re fast.” Felix admitted with a cocky grin, but the warmth in his voice belied his words. He swung the pillow again, and Marinette barely dodged it, just enough to avoid a direct hit to her face.

“I can do this all day!” she said with a wink, launching into another playful assault. “Bring it, Culpa.”

The playful bickering went on for several minutes, each swing of the pillows accompanied by teasing remarks and laughter. The tension between them seemed to melt away, their earlier sharp words replaced by lightheartedness. Even Felix’s normally stoic demeanor was shattered, replaced by the small cracks of genuine enjoyment he allowed himself to feel.

Finally, out of breath and laughing so hard that neither of them could swing properly anymore, Felix threw his pillow aside, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breaths. “You... are infuriating,” he muttered, but the glint in his eyes said something entirely different.

Marinette, similarly breathless, slumped back onto the couch, clutching her pillow to her chest as she tried to steady her laughter. “You’re one to talk.” she gasped. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so... unguarded.”

Felix’s smile faded slightly, but there was still a warmth there, soft and almost reluctant. He glanced at her for a moment, then looked away, shifting uncomfortably. “Don’t get used to it.” he said, trying to return to his usual cold edge, but there was something vulnerable in the way he said it.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Marinette said playfully, lying back on the couch with a satisfied sigh. “I don’t make a habit of getting too comfortable around people. But it’s nice to know that even you have a sense of humor.”

Felix shot her a sideways glance, an unspoken agreement settling between them, that maybe he didn’t mind this as much as he wanted to let on. “Only for you...” he muttered, but there was no harshness in his words.

She caught the look in his eyes and smiled, though it was softer now, as if the game had been more of a way to break through something neither of them had been willing to admit. She relaxed into the couch, still holding the pillow close to her chest.

Tom and Sabine’s footsteps echoed through the living room as they stepped into the space, clearly startled by the ruckus they had heard from the kitchen. Tom’s eyes darted around, scanning the room, before they landed on the couch. His expression was a mixture of confusion and surprise.

Sabine, on the other hand, was a bit more direct. “Marinette Dupain Cheng! What in the world happened here?” she asked, eyes wide as she took in the scene before her.

Marinette and Felix were sitting side by side on the couch, the remnants of their pillow fight scattered around them like a warzone of fluffy chaos. Feathers floated in the air, some still drifting lazily toward the floor, while the pillows were half deflated and haphazardly tossed about. Marinette, ever the picture of innocence (or at least trying to be), sat with one pillow still clutched in her arms, a sheepish smile on her face.
“We, uh...might’ve fallen asleep during the movie last night?” Marinette offered with a weak grin, trying to downplay the situation.

Felix, looking every bit as smug as ever, leaned back on the couch with his arms folded across his chest. “And what? You think I made this mess?” he teased, raising an eyebrow at the parents, though his eyes glinted with barely suppressed amusement.

Tom blinked. “Felix...?” he asked, voice wavering slightly as he tried to understand the situation. “You’re still here?”

Felix shrugged, the nonchalance in his posture almost comical. “I didn’t see much reason to leave, really. Your daughter’s hospitality is surprisingly decent.”

Sabine, always the more warm hearted of the two, tilted her head, her gaze flickering from Marinette to Felix, then back again. "Oh... I see," she said slowly, a knowing look on her face. "I suppose we should be glad the two of you didn’t turn the place upside down... more... but what’s with all the feathers?"

Felix leaned forward and snatched up one of the pillows, tossing it lightly in the air. "A pillow fight. I’m afraid I am the innocent party in all this."

Marinette rolled her eyes, clearly not buying the act. "Right. Innocent." she muttered under her breath, giving Felix a pointed look. "YOU started it."

Sabine let out a quiet laugh at their back and forth, clearly enjoying the dynamic between the two. “Well, it’s good to see you’re both having fun, but I think it’s time we all get cleaned up and get some breakfast, huh?” She smiled at Felix warmly. “You’re welcome to stay for that, if you’d like.”

Felix looked at her for a moment, then glanced at Marinette, who was practically glowing with the offer. The awkward tension that had lingered earlier seemed to dissipate as he gave a small nod. “I suppose I could stay a little longer... wouldn’t want to disappoint your daughter.”

“Oh, you’ve already done that.” Marinette shot back, her playful tone betraying the affection she felt. "But breakfast sounds great, Mom."

Tom, finally shaking off his initial shock, chuckled and placed his hands on his hips. “Well, if you’re staying, Felix, you’d better not be thinking of stealing my seat at the table.” he warned with a grin. “I’ll let you stay this time, but only because you’re such a good sport about all this.”

Felix’s smirk returned, that familiar arrogant glint in his eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of taking your seat.” he said with mock sincerity, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “But I can’t promise I won’t make the food a little more... elegant.”

Marinette groaned, both embarrassed and amused by Felix's ego. "Don't listen to him, Mom. He thinks he's so refined. He’s probably got some snobby way of eating a croissant or something."

“I do.” Felix said coolly, unbothered by the teasing. “I have my standards.”

Sabine chuckled again, shaking her head in fond exasperation. "Well, whatever your standards are, Felix, I hope you're ready for pancakes." she said with a wink, before heading toward the kitchen.

Tom followed Sabine, but not before giving Marinette and Felix one last, lingering look, his brow furrowed with that protective fatherly instinct. “Remember, no more pillow fights.” he said with a mock serious tone. "At least, not until we’re not worried about you breaking anything."

“Actually we’re just getting started.” Marinette called after him, still grinning.

Felix snorted at that, but his gaze softened ever so slightly as he looked at her. “Don’t go getting too cocky, Marinette.” he teased, trying his best to look unaffected, even though the warmth in his chest was still there, lingering.

As the parents disappeared into the kitchen, Felix turned back to the couch, a hint of contentment settling over him. “This is actually kind of nice.”

Marinette smiled at him, a playful twinkle in her eyes. “See? I told you my family’s not so bad.” She stretched out on the couch, clearly comfortable with the way the morning had unfolded. “And now, you get to experience the joys of my mother’s pancakes. You’ll survive.”

Felix chuckled softly, leaning back into the couch. “I’m sure I’ll do more than just survive.” he muttered, but there was a lightness in his voice that made Marinette’s heart flutter, just a little.

The lightness between them lingered as Felix and Marinette settled into the couch, the soft hum of the kitchen in the background as her parents worked together to prepare breakfast. Marinette couldn’t help but feel a small, contented smile tug at her lips as she watched Felix, his usual smug demeanor softened just enough to show a glimpse of something else, something she wasn’t sure he’d ever let anyone see before.

Felix, noticing her gaze, raised an eyebrow. "What?" he asked, his tone laced with his usual teasing edge, though there was a slight vulnerability in his expression.

Marinette blinked and quickly looked away, a flush creeping up her neck. "Nothing..." she muttered, trying to hide the warmth spreading across her cheeks. "Just thinking."

"About what?" Felix pressed, his tone more curious than mocking. "You can tell me. I won’t bite. Not hard at least."

Marinette chuckled softly, shaking her head. "No, I’m just... wondering how you managed to make yourself so comfortable here." she said, gesturing around the living room. "You’ve been so... well, distant and cold all this time, and now here you are, getting involved in pillow fights, staying for breakfast." She looked at him with a playful but genuine curiosity in her eyes. "What changed?"

Felix’s expression faltered for a brief second, before he shrugged nonchalantly. "I don’t know." he muttered, his gaze flickering briefly to the kitchen before returning to Marinette. "Maybe I was tired of being... alone. Maybe I had a good night's rest for once. Or maybe I just enjoy torturing you." he added with a sly grin, though the words lacked their usual biting sarcasm.

Marinette’s heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t sure if he was being serious or just trying to deflect, but for the first time, it felt like there was something real beneath the layers of his cool exterior. "If you’re just here to torment me, you can leave." she said, nudging him playfully with her elbow. "I’ll survive."

Felix met her gaze, his smirk fading just enough to reveal something softer, something unsure. "Maybe I’m not here to torment you." he said quietly. "Maybe I’m here because... well, maybe I like the chaos. And maybe I like... having someone who doesn’t expect me to be perfect."

Marinette froze, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning around them, and the only thing that existed was this moment—this rare, unguarded side of Felix that he rarely let anyone see.

Felix, clearly aware of the weight of the silence, cleared his throat awkwardly, sitting up straighter. "Look, it’s nothing. Forget I said anything." His usual smugness was returning, but there was an undertone of uncertainty beneath it. He ran a hand through his hair, visibly trying to brush off the vulnerability he had just exposed.

Marinette, however, was too stubborn to let him retreat. "No." she said firmly, turning to face him more directly. "I’m not going to pretend like you didn’t just say something important."

Felix shot her an incredulous look, but there was a flicker of hope, something he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge yet.

"I’m serious." Marinette continued, her voice softer now. "You don’t have to hide behind your attitude all the time. I get it... I know it’s hard to let people in, but I’m not going to run away just because you said something real for once."

Felix stared at her for a long moment, his mouth opening as though to say something, but no words came. Instead, he let out a frustrated sigh and leaned back into the couch, staring up at the ceiling. "This is stupid." he muttered under his breath, clearly conflicted.
He turned his head slowly to meet her gaze, his eyes lingering on her face for a moment too long, as if he were searching for something, anything, to ground him. Something that would make sense of the mess of feelings that had begun to build up between them.

Before she could respond, Sabine’s cheerful voice rang out from the kitchen. “Breakfast is ready, you two! Hope you’re both hungry!”

Felix chuckled quietly, his usual smirk creeping back onto his face. "I suppose I can tolerate breakfast, if it’s your cooking, Mrs. Dupain-Cheng."

Sabine laughed from the kitchen. "Just wait and see if I let you off easy after that comment, young man!"

Marinette rolled her eyes with a grin, nudging Felix again. "See? Told you it’s not all bad here."

Felix gave her a sidelong glance, a half smile on his lips. "Yeah, yeah... I’m starting to get that." He paused for a moment before adding, almost as if speaking to himself, "Maybe it’s not so bad after all."

The scent of freshly made pancakes wafted through the kitchen as Marinette and Felix entered, the warm, sweet aroma filling the air. Sabine was busy flipping pancakes on the griddle, humming a light tune as she worked, while Tom was setting the table, carefully arranging plates and silverware with his usual meticulous attention to detail.

"Smells amazing." Felix said, his voice quieter now as he took in the scene before him. It was a stark contrast to the environment he was used to at his own home, and it made something in him shift, just a little. He wasn’t sure what it was, comfort, perhaps? Or maybe something softer, a sense of belonging he hadn’t realized he was missing.

Marinette beamed, clearly proud of her mother’s cooking skills. "Just wait until you try them—Mom’s pancakes are legendary."

Felix took a seat across from her, glancing at the stack of perfectly golden brown pancakes in front of him. He wasn’t used to eating like this, relaxed, with people who genuinely seemed to care about making him feel welcome. It was a strange, almost unsettling feeling, but in the best way possible.

Sabine set a plate of pancakes in front of him, smiling warmly. "Well, I hope they live up to the hype." she said, winking playfully at Felix. "Let me know if they need more syrup. I always make sure to have plenty on hand."

"Thank you." Felix said, almost unsure of how to respond. His eyes flickered between the pancakes and the syrup bottle, unsure of the proper protocol for this kind of breakfast. Back home, meals were a quick affair, often eaten alone or with his mother, who was too busy to really pay attention to anything beyond the family legacy. The idea of sitting down and sharing something this simple, this warm, felt almost foreign.

Marinette, noticing his hesitation, leaned over and poured a generous amount of syrup onto her own pancakes, then nudged the bottle toward him. "You can have as much as you want." she said with a grin. "We’re not fancy around here. Go wild."

Felix shot her a sidelong glance, the ghost of his usual smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "I’m not the one with a syrup obsession, Marinette." he said, his tone dry but not unkind.

"Hey, don’t knock it till you try it!" Marinette teased back. "You’ll see what you’ve been missing."

He raised an eyebrow but obediently poured a small amount of syrup over his pancakes, giving it a hesitant first bite. To his surprise, the pancakes were light and fluffy, and the syrup added just the right amount of sweetness without overwhelming the flavor.

"Well, this isn’t bad." he admitted after a moment, his tone neutral but with a hint of surprise. He hadn’t expected to enjoy something so simple, but there he was, enjoying the pancakes. "It’s... actually kind of good."

Sabine beamed, clearly pleased by his compliment. "Glad you like it." she said, sitting down beside Tom at the table. "We make them every Sunday, when we can. It’s a bit of a tradition."

"Yeah, now you’ve officially been inducted into the Sunday pancake club." Marinette added, her voice teasing but warm. "You’re stuck with us now."

Felix gave her a look but didn’t argue. He had expected the morning to be awkward, full of stilted conversation and strained politeness. Instead, it felt easy. Comfortable, even. It wasn’t the kind of thing he was used to, but perhaps this was something he could get used to.

"So," Tom said, looking up from his pancakes with a smile, "how are things going, Felix? Had a good night's rest?"

Felix paused, surprised by the question. He glanced at Marinette, who gave him a small, encouraging smile, before turning back to her parents. "Yeah." he said, his voice more subdued than usual. "I mean, I didn’t expect it to be this... normal. I guess."

Marinette smirked. "Normal? You mean we’re not the crazy bunch you thought we were?"

Felix shook his head, his lips curling into a faint smile. "No. I mean, you're still crazy," he teased, "but in a... charming way."

Marinette chuckled, clearly pleased by the comment. "Good save, Felix. You almost earned yourself a spot on the permanent breakfast invite list."

Felix raised his hands in mock surrender. "I’m honored." he said dryly. "I’ll do my best to behave."

"Well, if you do decide to come back next Sunday, you’ll be expected to bring something." Sabine said, glancing at him with a twinkle in her eye. "You can’t just eat pancakes every week and never contribute."

Felix raised an eyebrow. "What, like I should bring my own pancakes? I don’t know if I’m quite at that level yet."

Tom laughed, a hearty, warm sound that made Felix feel, oddly enough, more at ease. "No, no, we just need someone to help us clean up afterward. That’s the real contribution."

Felix gave a mock groan, though his eyes sparkled with amusement. "A cleaning committee, huh? Now I’m really feeling the love."

"Hey!" Marinette replied, grinning. "It’s the price you pay for free pancakes."

Felix leaned back in his chair, the warmth of the moment settling over him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed this. A quiet, simple morning. No expectations. No judgments. Just people. Kind, loving people who cared, who accepted him as he was, no strings attached.
For a moment, he allowed himself to relax, to enjoy the food, the conversation, and the quiet joy of simply being with someone who didn’t require him to be anyone else. It was different from what he was used to. It was more than he thought he could have.

After breakfast, the warm, comforting atmosphere that had enveloped the house seemed to dissipate just a little, replaced by a quiet heaviness that seemed to settle over Felix. He felt his chest tighten as he glanced around the kitchen, taking in the warmth of the moment. But the soft hum of normalcy couldn’t keep the reality of his situation from creeping in. He knew he couldn’t stay here forever. His mother, his staff... they’d all be expecting him back soon.

Felix had kept his phone on silent since he’d left the estate the day before. He’d seen the missed calls from his mother, the ones from his staff, the ones that demanded answers, but he’d chosen to ignore them. It was easier that way, he told himself. But he couldn’t ignore the inevitable forever.

As he sat there, finishing his last bite of pancakes, he felt the weight of the decision hanging over him. His fingers twitched slightly, almost as if they wanted to reach for his phone and check the messages, but he resisted. Instead, he cleared his throat, trying to mask the hesitation in his voice.

“I should head out soon...” Felix murmured, his tone low, almost reluctant. “I walked out of the estate after the conversation with my mother yesterday, and I haven’t notified anybody I was leaving. And...” His voice trailed off, his gaze flicking to the door as if the thought of returning there already seemed like a distant, unpleasant reality.

Marinette looked up at him, concern in her eyes. She could tell he wasn’t done talking, that he was holding something back. She set her fork down gently, watching him intently.

Felix exhaled deeply, his hand curling into a loose fist on the table as he leaned back in his chair. “I think I know how to make it clear to my mother that I no longer want to live like this. That compromises need to be made. I’m not certain she’ll listen, but... something needs to be done. Soon.”
His voice softened with the last words, almost as if he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. He wasn’t sure what the future held. But he knew that if he didn’t take action now, he might never be able to make the change he desperately needed.

Marinette’s eyes widened with understanding, and she nodded, but didn’t push him to explain more. She knew this was something he needed to do on his own. Something that, for all the stubbornness he exuded, had been weighing on him for far too long.
“Felix..” she said quietly, her voice soft but filled with an unspoken support. "I know you’ll figure it out. Just... don’t let her control you. You don’t have to follow the path she’s set for you if it’s not what you want."

Felix met her gaze, and for a moment he saw the sincerity and understanding in her eyes. It was almost like she was giving him permission to take control of his own life, to stop being what others expected him to be. And as much as it terrified him, he knew she was right.
He nodded slowly, swallowing the knot in his throat. “Thanks, Marinette.”

With a final deep breath, Felix stood up from the table, the weight of his decision heavier now that it was time to face the consequences. He turned to Tom and Sabine, who were sitting quietly, watching him.
“Thank you for breakfast.” he said with a hint of warmth in his voice, something he wasn’t used to showing. “For everything. I’ll be fine. I just... need to handle this.”

“Of course, Felix.” Sabine said with a gentle smile, standing up to give him a warm hug. “Take care of yourself. And remember, you don’t have to face it all alone.”

Felix stiffened slightly at first, not used to affection like that, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. He returned the hug, albeit awkwardly, before stepping back.

Tom gave him a nod, his eyes thoughtful. “You know where to find us if you need anything. And don’t hesitate to come back anytime.”

Felix’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, something that was almost unrecognizable as a smile, but still there. “I’ll keep that in mind.” he said, his voice quieter now.

He turned to Marinette last, pausing for a moment in the doorway. She stood up to walk over to him, her expression a mix of concern and something softer.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Felix met her gaze, and for a moment, he allowed himself to truly feel the weight of her question. The warmth of the morning, the laughter, the unexpected kindness, it all seemed to make him feel more than he’d allowed himself to in years. He sighed, the air leaving his chest as he leaned against the doorframe.
“I don’t know if I’m okay.” he admitted, his voice laced with exhaustion. “But I will be. Eventually.”

Marinette studied him for a long moment, her eyes filled with empathy. She didn’t push him to explain further. Instead, she simply nodded, her expression softening.
“Good luck, Felix. I know you’ll figure it out.”

Felix’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile, and he gave a small nod. “Thanks. I’ll... be in touch.”

With one final glance around the cozy kitchen, the comfort of the home feeling so starkly different from the cold, empty halls of his estate, Felix turned and stepped out the door. The crisp morning air hit him instantly, a reminder of the world outside, the world he was about to step back into.

As he made his way down the steps and began walking toward the estate on foot, his mind was filled with conflicting thoughts. He didn’t want to return to that place, but he had no choice.

As his footsteps echoed on the cobblestone path, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to change, something within him, and something within his life. And no matter how difficult it would be, he knew that taking the first step toward that change was something he could no longer avoid.
No longer could he live in the shadow of expectations. It was time for him to take control of his own future. Even if he had to face his mother to do it.

-----------------

Marinette sat in the living room, her fingers nervously twirling a strand of her hair as she stared out the window, watching the faint trail of dust settle in the wake of Felix’s departure. He was heading back to the estate and for some reason her chest felt tight with uncertainty. There was something about the way he had opened up to her, something that reached into her and twisted her heart in a way she didn’t fully understand.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard her mother’s voice, soft yet piercing through the silence of the room.
“You like him, don’t you?” Sabine’s voice was calm, measured, as though she were stating a fact rather than asking a question.

Marinette’s heart skipped a beat, and her cheeks instantly flushed. She froze for a moment, her gaze flicking nervously towards her mother, who was standing in the doorway with a knowing look in her eyes. Sabine’s expression was gentle, but there was a hint of understanding.

“I... I don’t know,” Marinette replied slowly, her voice catching a little as she tried to find the right words. She hadn’t expected her mother to ask such a question, not like this. It was so sudden, so real. “I mean, I think I’m just... confused. I don’t even know how to explain it.”

Sabine took a few steps forward, her smile softening as she sat down beside her daughter. "I understand." she said with a quiet tone. "He's different, isn't he? The way he keeps to himself, the way he carries his burdens. It’s not like anything you’re used to.”

Marinette looked down at her hands, her fingers fidgeting. "Yeah. He’s complicated. And difficult. But he’s not a bad person. He’s just..." Her words trailed off as she tried to grasp the right way to describe the whirlwind of emotions inside her.

"Distant?" Sabine suggested, her eyes searching Marinette’s face, trying to see through the confusion.

"Exactly." Marinette whispered, her mind racing with the complexity of the situation. “He’s distant, cold even. But when he opens up, when he actually trusts someone enough to let them in, he’s so much more than the facade he puts up. I... I want to help him. I know it’s not my place, but I can’t help it.”

Sabine’s gaze softened further, and she reached over, placing a hand gently on Marinette’s. "Sweetheart, sometimes we feel drawn to people who need us in a way no one else can. But remember, love doesn’t mean you have to fix someone. You can be there for them, but they also have to be willing to let you in."

“I know.” Marinette said with a sigh, her eyes falling to the floor. “But I just... I can’t stop thinking about him. I don’t think I could even if I tried. There’s something about him, something that just pulls me in.”

Her mother gave her hand a soft squeeze, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Then you’re already halfway there, sweetie. But take it slow. Let him find his own way, and in the process, you’ll find yours too."

Marinette’s heart thudded in her chest, the warmth of her mother’s support filling the space between them. Her thoughts drifted back to Felix, to the quiet moments they’d shared, to the way his eyes had softened when he spoke about his struggles. It was a side of him she hadn’t expected to see, but now it felt as though she couldn’t unsee it. And as much as she tried to deny it, there was no ignoring the pull in her chest, the connection that had quietly begun to form between them.

“I’m not sure what I’m doing, Mom.” Marinette admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m not letting go of him.”

Sabine smiled warmly, her eyes filled with pride. "Then hold on tight, sweetheart."

----------------

Felix stepped into the grandiose foyer of the estate, his shoulders heavy with the weight of the conversation he knew he had to have. The cold marble floors beneath his feet felt unforgiving, as though the house itself was waiting to judge him for returning late. His tie was wrinkled, a testament to his restless night, and stray feathers clung to his hair, remnants from the pillow fight with Marinette. His appearance, more disheveled than usual, only added to the oppressive tension that already filled the air.

Before he could even fully close the door behind him, he heard the sharp click of heels approaching. Amelie, his mother, appeared at the top of the stairs. Her posture was as straight as a rod, her expression frozen in that practiced mask of indifference and regal grace that made it nearly impossible to tell how she truly felt. But the moment she laid eyes on him, her gaze hardened, immediately taking in the messy state of his attire.

"Felix, dear!" she purred, her voice dripping with an old fashioned politeness that felt more like a blade wrapped in velvet. "Where have you been, and why do you look so disheveled?" She tilted her head, eyeing him with distaste, clearly annoyed by his unkempt appearance.

Felix felt the tension rise in his chest. He wanted to snap back but he had prepared himself for this moment. He had made the decision long before he set foot in this house that he wouldn’t shrink back, wouldn’t let her cold demeanor control the conversation. He straightened his posture, trying to appear composed even though a part of him felt as though he were on the verge of a breakdown.

“I’ve been with Marinette.” he said calmly, his voice devoid of any emotion. But his mother’s reaction was immediate, her eyes flashed with something between surprise and disdain. Felix could see the tightness in her expression, the way her lips barely twitched as she processed the name. Marinette.

Felix took a deep breath before continuing, his gaze steady as he met his mother’s cold eyes. “And I’d like to clarify a few things.” His words were careful, deliberate. He knew this was the moment where everything would either break or shift.
“The Culpa name, the legacy... my future legacy,” he began, each word measured, “I know it’s very important to you. I understand that. However, I think you should understand that allowing me to feel, to express myself, to live my life the way I want to... it doesn’t mean the legacy is in danger.” He stood taller, his hands flexing at his sides as he spoke. “I would like to find a balance, a compromise of some sort, together with you. I can still carry the legacy, but on my terms.”

Felix’s voice softened ever so slightly, but the resolve in it was clear. “But I’d like to have a life outside of that too. One where I can feel and express myself like any other regular teenager. One where I can truly be me and not feel suffocated with every breath I take.”

He took a step forward, his heart hammering in his chest. “Because that’s what you’ve been doing to me, Mother.” His voice hardened, the words coming with force he hadn’t anticipated. “You suffocate me. And I will not accept that any longer.”

For a moment, there was silence. Amelie’s eyes narrowed, and her hands, which had been clasped in front of her, tightened into fists. Felix could see the wheels turning in his mother’s head, but for once, he didn’t feel afraid of the judgment that would inevitably follow.

Amelie, ever the picture of control, seemed to exhale slowly, her posture stiffening even further. “Suffocate you?” Her voice was quiet, almost dangerously calm, but there was a steel edge to it. “Felix, you were given everything. Everything your father and I could possibly provide for you. You were raised with purpose. With direction. We gave you everything we had and this is how you repay us?” Her words, though clipped, were heavy with disappointment, but Felix stood his ground, unwavering.

“I never asked for this, Mother!” Felix said, his voice tight but resolute. “I never asked to be locked away in a gilded cage, expected to follow a path that wasn’t mine to walk. I didn’t ask to be treated like a tool to further your legacy.” His chest tightened, but he held his head high. “I want to live my own life. I want to make my own decisions. I want to breathe freely.”

She regarded him with a mixture of disbelief and frustration. “So, what is it you want, Felix? To throw away everything we’ve worked for? To betray our family’s honor?”

“I’m not betraying anyone.” Felix replied, his tone firm. “I just want to live for myself. I want to know what it feels like to not have every decision made for me, to not be constantly shaped into something I’m not. You’ve made choices for me, all my life, but this... this is the first time I’m making my own.” His voice cracked ever so slightly, the emotion threatening to spill over, but he held it together. “I’m not asking you to let go of the legacy. I’m just asking you to let me live.”

Amelie didn’t speak for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Felix stood there, his pulse racing, waiting for her response. He wasn’t sure if she’d shout at him, if she’d accuse him of being ungrateful, or if she’d shut him out completely. He didn’t know what would happen next.
But after what felt like an eternity, Amelie finally spoke, her voice low and icy. “You’ll learn, Felix.” she said with finality. “You’ll learn that the world doesn’t work the way you think it does. And when the time comes, you’ll understand why we do what we do.”

She turned on her heel, her footsteps echoing down the hallway as she walked away, leaving Felix standing there, his heart pounding in his chest. He hadn’t convinced her. Not yet. But something had changed. He had spoken his truth and he felt a sense of pride.

As the echo of his mother’s retreating steps faded, Felix stood in the doorway, staring after her. He didn’t know what the future held, but he was done living in fear of it.
He was finally taking his first step toward freedom.

-----------------------------

The afternoon dragged on, each hour stretching longer than the last. Marinette found herself lost in her work, fingers deftly stitching together the fabric of the jacket she had designed for Felix. The pattern was coming together beautifully, each stitch a step closer to the dream of seeing him wear it. But despite her focus, her mind kept drifting back to Felix, the tension in his voice when he’d left, the uncertainty in his eyes. She couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing now, how the conversation with his mother had gone.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sharp ring of her phone, pulling her out of her focused haze. The screen lit up with Felix's name, and her heart skipped a beat. She hesitated for only a moment before answering, her voice soft but eager, despite the calm she was trying to maintain.

“Felix?” she asked, her tone light, but there was a layer of concern underneath.

"Hey," his voice came through, a little rougher than usual, like he'd been through something draining. "I, uh... I thought I'd give you an update."

Her fingers immediately paused their work, her full attention now on the phone. "Oh? How did it go? With your mom, I mean."

Felix let out a heavy sigh on the other end, and Marinette could almost feel the weight of it from the other side of the phone. "It didn’t go how I expected. I was honest with her. Told her everything about how I feel, how suffocating it is to constantly have this legacy hanging over me, how I can’t breathe when it’s all that matters." His voice dropped slightly, almost as if he were trying to contain the emotions behind the words.

Marinette’s chest tightened at his words, and she leaned against the edge of her desk, trying to process them. “Felix, I’m so proud of you for speaking your truth. That’s... that’s huge. How did she take it?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before Felix responded, his words measured, like he was choosing them carefully. “She didn’t react the way I wanted her to. It’s complicated. She’s not just going to let it go. You know how she is. But I think... maybe I planted a seed. She didn’t completely shut me out. She heard me, at least. And I think she knows I’m serious about wanting to live my life on my terms. Even if it means going against what she’s always wanted for me.”

Marinette smiled softly, her heart swelling with a mixture of pride and relief for him. "That’s more than a lot of people can say, Felix. It’s progress. It’s more than you had before. You’re not giving up on yourself. And that’s a victory."

Felix’s breath seemed to hitch, and for a moment, Marinette wondered if she had said something wrong. But then his voice softened, and she could hear the sincerity in it. "I didn’t think I’d be able to say those things to her, Marinette. But you... you made me feel like I could. Like it was okay to stand up for what I want. It’s... it’s strange, but I think you’re right. Maybe I do need to find that balance. And I want you to know, I’m trying. I’m really trying."

Marinette’s heart fluttered at his words, the affection she felt for him bubbling to the surface once again. She hadn’t realized just how much of an impact she’d had on him, but hearing him say it made her chest ache in the best way.
"You don't have to do it alone, Felix, remember that." she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m here. And I’ll be here for as long as you need me to be."

There was a pause, and Marinette could practically hear the weight of Felix's thoughts. "Thank you, Marinette. For everything. It.... it means more than you know."

The sincerity in his voice made her smile, a real smile, one that reached her eyes and lit up her face. "Anytime, Felix. Anytime."

They sat in silence for a moment, neither of them needing to speak, just sharing the comfort of the connection they had forged over the last few days. Finally, it was Felix who broke the silence again, his voice a little lighter this time.
"By the way," he said with a teasing tone, "I saw your jacket design. I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so daring."

Marinette couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips, the playful banter between them feeling like a welcome breath of fresh air. "Oh, you’ll pull it off." she said confidently, her grin widening. "You just have to trust me. It’s not every day you get to wear something designed specifically for you."

Felix chuckled, the sound light and warm, and for a brief moment, the weight of everything seemed to lift. "I trust you. And hey, if it turns out terrible, I’m blaming you."

“Deal.” Marinette responded, her voice bubbling with amusement.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Felix asked, and the softness in his voice made her heart skip again.

“Yeah, I’ll see you then." Marinette answered, trying to keep her voice steady, though she couldn't quite hide the warmth that was creeping into her chest. "Good luck with everything, Felix."

"Thanks. I’ll need it." he replied, the hint of a smile in his words. "Talk soon."

The line clicked as Felix hung up, and Marinette let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She sat back down at her desk, staring at the jacket she had been working on, a quiet smile playing on her lips. It wasn’t going to be easy for Felix, but she had faith in him. He had taken the first step. And that meant more than anything.

Chapter Text

Marinette stood near the front entrance with Claude, Allan, and Allegra, animatedly recounting a chaotic baking mishap from the night before that involved a burned batch of cookies and an overly dramatic fire alarm.

“—and I swear, the oven wasn’t even that hot!” Marinette exclaimed, flailing her hands. “But nooo, the smoke detector had to act like we were all about to die.”

Claude snorted. “You? Set off a fire alarm? I’m shocked. Absolutely stunned. You’re such a paragon of grace and control.”

Allan grinned. “Did your parents ground you from the oven again?”

“I plead the fifth.” Marinette said with mock dignity.

“Hey, speaking of stunning,” Allegra suddenly said, her voice sly, “look who just walked in like he owns the entire school.”

Marinette turned to look and promptly forgot how to function.

Felix strutted through the gates. Yes. STRUTTED.
But not the usual, perfectly buttoned up, borderline intimidating Felix that everyone had grown used to. No, this Felix was different. His tie was gone. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing just a hint of collarbone and that annoyingly flawless skin of his. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled up to the elbows, exposing lean forearms that somehow made Marinette’s brain short circuit. His hair, while still meticulously styled, had a slightly disheveled, artfully wild edge that looked criminally good on him.
And he walked with confidence, not with the cold, stiff, unreachable confidence he’d worn like armor before, but something smoother. More... alive.

Marinette’s heart skipped three beats.
Then promptly tried to leap out of her chest.

Claude nudged her in the ribs with an evil smirk. “Uh-oh. He’s not even close yet and you’re already malfunctioning.”

“I—what? No, I’m—Breathing! Yes... breathing is definitely happening...!” Marinette stammered, her eyes still locked on Felix like he was some divine apparition. “I’m breathing right now.” she added quickly, though her voice cracked halfway through.

Claude cackled. “Sweetheart, you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

“Shut up!” Marinette muttered, cheeks blazing as she tore her gaze away and stared into the void like it might swallow her whole.

Allegra leaned over to Claude and stage whispered, “Should we fan her? Get a paper bag?”

“Or call the nurse. This looks suspiciously like a medical emergency.” Allan added.

“Oh my God!” Marinette hissed, covering her face with both hands. “I hate all of you.”

“Well, you’re going to hate us more in about five seconds.” Claude said with glee. “Because he’s walking over here.”

“What?!” she squeaked, yanking her hands away just in time to see Felix approach, hands casually tucked into his pockets, expression calm and unreadable, but those storm blue eyes locked onto hers like they saw through everything.

“Good morning.” Felix said smoothly, his voice lower and more relaxed than usual.

Marinette blinked up at him like a deer caught in full high beams.
“Hi...” she managed, but it came out as a squeak. She cleared her throat, tried again. “Hi! Uh—good morning. You look... um...” Like a Greek god who stepped off a magazine cover. “Different.”

Felix lifted an eyebrow, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Different bad, or different good?”

“Different very.” Claude cut in gleefully, watching Marinette flounder. “She’s been staring at you for five minutes. I think she temporarily forgot what oxygen was.”

“I did not!” Marinette yelped, horrified.

“You did.” Allegra, Claude and Allan said in unison.

Felix’s smirk deepened, just a fraction, and he turned his gaze back to Marinette. “Well. I suppose this change in appearance was successful.”

Marinette blinked. “Wait, you meant to look like this?”

“I told you,” he said quietly, so only she could really hear him. “I’m trying to find balance. To be myself. Not just the person my mother dressed me to be.”

Her heart did a somersault.
“Oh!” she breathed. “Well! It’s a good look! Really good. Too good, honestly. It’s unfair. I feel attacked.”

That earned her a low, quiet chuckle from Felix.

Claude, Allan, and Allegra exchanged a look behind them, mouths twitching with restrained laughter.

“We’re gonna... go now.” Claude said, already backing away. “You two have fun. Try not to combust.”

Once they were gone, Felix looked down at Marinette again, tilting his head. “You’re still working on the jacket, aren’t you?”

Her eyes widened. “How do you—did you bug my room?”

“You mentioned it.” he said innocently. “And I remembered. Thought about it all week.”

Her breath caught.
“Oh.”

He smiled, just slightly. Just enough to make her knees weak. “I can’t wait to see it.”

Marinette could only nod dumbly as the first bell rang in the distance.

A moment passed between them, where neither seemed to know quite what to say. Marinette fumbled with the strap of her backpack, her mind racing, unsure of how to bridge the gap of awkwardness she was suddenly feeling. 'Get it together, Marinette. You’ve talked to him a hundred times before. Why is today so different?'

Felix, however, didn’t seem phased. He glanced down at her with that half smile playing on his lips, his eyes still holding a quiet intensity. “You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?” he asked, the teasing tone unmistakable.

Her cheeks flushed, and she shot him a quick glare, though the warmth in her face betrayed her. “I-I’m fine,” she stammered, almost glaring at herself for the way her voice trembled. “Just... processing.” She took a deep breath. “Processing the fact that you look like you stepped out of a fashion magazine or something. I might need sunglasses to survive today.”

Felix’s smile stretched slightly. “I’m not sure sunglasses would help you now. Might be too late for that.”

Her face turned even redder. She couldn’t tell if he was being teasing or serious. Either way, it only added to her growing fluster.

The bell rang, and they both started to head into the classroom. Felix fell into step beside her as they walked through the door, and she couldn’t help but glance at him every few seconds. His relaxed, new look was still throwing her off, but in a way that was almost impossible to resist.

“You’re staring again.” he remarked, not even looking over at her but clearly sensing her gaze.

“I—what?!” Marinette sputtered, caught off guard. She snapped her head forward, trying to look like she was focused on anything else besides him. “I wasn’t staring!” She added a bit too defensively.

“Uh-huh.” Felix drawled, glancing at her sidelong, his smirk tugging at his lips.

They arrived at their usual seats, and Marinette quickly sat down in her spot next to him, still trying to regain her composure. Of course, Claude and Allan had already taken their seats a few rows ahead, and Claude’s eyes immediately locked onto her with that mischievous gleam.

Marinette sat down, feeling like she might combust at any moment, but then Claude piped up, his voice ringing out from the front of the room.
“Oh wow, Marinette.” Claude called from across the room, drawing the attention of a few nearby students. “So, what’s the deal with you two, huh? I thought you were supposed to be focused on the lesson, but now it looks like someone’s distracted.” He shot a pointed look toward Felix and then grinned wickedly at her. “Must be hard to concentrate with Mr. Sexy Bastard right next to you, huh?”

Marinette’s face burned. She quickly swiveled in her chair, pretending to study the front of the room as if the blackboard was the most interesting thing she’d seen all day. “Claude, shut up...!” she muttered, her voice barely a whisper. “You’re not funny.”

Felix, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, an amused smirk still playing on his lips. “I think I’m starting to understand why your friends are always laughing. You are amusing, Marinette.”

Her head snapped in his direction. “I—am not amusing,” she sputtered. “And you—stop agreeing with him.”

“Are you really going to argue that?” Felix said, raising an eyebrow. “You know, I thought it was only Claude who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, but now you’re proving me wrong.”

“Oh, please, you’re both insufferable!” she groaned, dropping her face into her hands in a futile attempt to hide how red she was.

Claude, of course, couldn’t resist a final jab. He raised a hand dramatically, “Marinette, you’re lucky you’re not getting distracted by Felix’s obviously perfect jawline during class. Or by, I don’t know, his general perfectness.” He put air quotes around the word “perfectness” as he mimicked Felix’s voice, making a few of the students around them snicker.

Marinette made an exasperated noise in the back of her throat, but Felix’s reaction was far less flustered. He simply gave Claude a deadpan stare.
“Really, Claude?” Felix drawled. “You’re still trying to work that angle? You’re not funny.”

Claude leaned back in his seat, hands behind his head like he was already victorious. “I’m just here to make sure you’re both miserable together. I’m practically a matchmaker.”

“Miserable together?” Felix repeated, eyes narrowing, but there was no real edge to his voice. He leaned over slightly toward Marinette. “I don’t think she’s miserable.”

Marinette, still beet red, didn’t trust herself to speak.

Claude only grinned wider, clearly enjoying the moment. “Oh, you two are definitely miserable together, but in the best possible way. Right, Marinette?”

“Claude, I swear, if you keep talking...” Marinette growled, though she couldn’t suppress the tiniest grin. “I will throw my pencil at you.”

“Oh, she’s threatening now!” Claude said in mock horror. “I’m terrified.”

Felix, sensing the teasing was over, shifted slightly in his chair. “Can we get through one class without being the center of attention?” he muttered, leaning back against the desk. His voice was quieter now, a little more sincere.

Marinette nodded, thankful for the shift in tone, but her pulse was still racing. She glanced at him once more, this time trying to keep the slight smile from tugging at her lips.
“Maybe,” she said, keeping her voice low, “but at least we know you’re definitely not blending in with the crowd anymore.”

Felix smirked at her, his eyes glinting. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The classroom settled as their teacher walked in, heels clicking crisply on the tile floor, a thick binder cradled in her arms and her sharp eyes scanning the room with intensity.
“Phones away, chatter off.” she announced, without breaking stride, dropping her binder onto the desk with a dull thud. “Today’s lecture will require your full attention. That means you too, Claude.”

Claude held up his hands innocently, flashing a grin.

Marinette muffled a snort behind her hand. Felix didn’t even try to hide his smirk.

The teacher raised an eyebrow but said nothing as she began writing equations on the board in her elegant, looping script. “As we continue with probability theory,” she said, “I want each of you to partner up. You’ll be given a scenario and will need to calculate the statistical likelihood of each outcome.”

Immediately, chairs scraped and whispers filled the room. Marinette started pulling out her notebook when Felix leaned closer and murmured, “Looks like we’re stuck with each other again.”

She smiled faintly. “Good. I don’t trust Claude with math. Last time he tried to calculate the probability of him becoming famous from eating a hundred marshmallows in a minute.”

“I believe that’s called a choking hazard, not probability.” Felix deadpanned, already opening his textbook with an ease that was so perfectly him.

They got their scenario shortly after: a theoretical “game” involving dice, cards, and choosing at random. It was messy, but Marinette enjoyed watching the way Felix approached it, analytical, focused, brow furrowed slightly in concentration.

She’d been working beside him for nearly ten minutes when Claude, seated just a row up, leaned back in his chair and whispered toward them, “Hey, Marinette, don’t forget to calculate the probability of you not blushing every time he breathes.”

Marinette nearly dropped her pencil. “Claude!”

Felix didn’t even look up. “The probability is zero.” he said coolly, flipping a page in the textbook.

Marinette froze. So did Claude.

She glanced at Felix, startled, but he still wasn’t looking at her though his lips twitched with the faintest amusement.
“...You’re evil...!” she whispered, nudging his shoulder with hers.

Felix’s eyes slid toward her. “I prefer ‘efficient.’”

The teacher turned from the board. “Everything alright in the back?”

“Yes, Madame!” Marinette and Felix chorused, just a beat too quickly.

The teacher eyed them with faint suspicion, but resumed writing.

Marinette covered her mouth to hide her grin, and Felix leaned back in his chair like nothing had happened.
A few moments later, he murmured without looking at her, “You really are blushing though.”

Her mouth dropped open in indignation. “I am not—”

He finally glanced sideways at her, the smirk fully formed now.

She narrowed her eyes and let her head fall dramatically onto her notebook with a groan as Felix chuckled under his breath, and for a while, the only sound was the quiet scratching of pencils, occasional math questions, and the pulse of something new and fluttering between them.

The bell rang, signaling the end of probability theory—thank God—and the start of music class. As the students gathered their things and filed out of the classroom, Marinette lagged behind just a moment, letting Claude, Allegra, and Allan go ahead.

Felix, however, waited beside her.
“Ready to be humiliated in front of the entire class?” he said, hands in his pockets.

Marinette arched a brow at him. “I could ask you the same thing. I have been practicing, you know.”

Felix gave her a sidelong look, lips curling into that infuriatingly smug smile. “Mm. We’ll see if you remembered to use the soft pedal this time.”

“I will throw my pencil at you again!” she threatened, holding it up menacingly.

“That would only prove you’re afraid.” he replied smoothly, brushing past her and walking toward the music hall with the kind of infuriating grace that made her want to trip him. Or kiss him. Or both.

She followed quickly after him, her heart fluttering with a nervous excitement she couldn’t quite shake.
The music room at Lycée Royale de Lune was just as grand as the rest of the school, arched windows, high ceilings, and the gleaming black grand piano that sat like a centerpiece in the middle of the room. Students were already filling in, some tuning instruments, others chatting or setting up their sheet music. Their music instructor stood at the front with a clipboard and a pencil tucked behind her ear, her silver hair tied into a sleek bun.

“Culpa. Dupain-Cheng.” she called as soon as they entered. “You’re up first today. The Chopin duet, yes?”

Felix gave a polite nod. “Correct.”

Marinette tried not to look like she was panicking. Right. No pressure. Just play a duet in front of the entire class with the boy who makes your brain melt. Easy.

They took their places at the piano. Felix on the right, where the melody would soar, and Marinette on the left, handling the delicate harmonies and chords. He glanced at her, fingers already resting lightly on the keys.

“Follow my lead.” he murmured. “And breathe, cher ange.”

Her heart stuttered at the nickname. He had never said anything like it before. Had he even noticed he called her that?

She gave a quick nod, set her fingers on the keys, and waited.

Felix played the first note, a soft, shimmering E-flat, and the rest followed like water. Marinette’s hands moved almost instinctively, falling into step beside his. The duet was slow and tender at first, a graceful waltz of overlapping sounds, building in emotion with every measure.

She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she heard him, the faintest humming under his breath as he played. Not lyrics, just the tune. Rich, deep and full of soul.
It startled her, that he would hum in front of others.
And for a moment, it wasn’t the classroom around them. It wasn’t the high ceilings, the watching students, the prestigious school. It was just them side by side, fingers dancing over the keys, their rhythms merging like two halves of a whole.

At one point, their hands brushed as they crossed over during an intricate measure and Marinette's breath hitched. She didn’t dare look at him, but she could feel him watching her.

They reached the end of the piece, an elegant decrescendo into a final, soft chord. It rang in the air like a sigh, and then silence.

A few moments passed before the music instructor began to clap. “Well done!” she said, sounding genuinely impressed. “Balanced, emotive, and precise. A little more polish on tempo in the second section, Marinette, but overall, beautiful.”

Marinette blinked, stunned. “Th-thank you.”

Felix stood, smoothing down his sleeves like it had been nothing. “She did well.”

“She did more than well.” The instructor replied, eyeing Felix over her glasses. “You two make a striking pair on the piano. There’s chemistry.”

Felix arched a brow. “Musically speaking, I presume.”

The teacher smiled faintly, already turning to call the next pair up. “Of course.”

As they returned to their seats, Marinette couldn’t resist whispering, “Chemistry, huh?”

Felix didn’t look at her, but the corner of his mouth lifted just enough.
“Statistically inevitable.” he murmured.

And Marinette couldn’t decide whether she wanted to scream, melt, or maybe just keep playing duets with him forever.

Later that afternoon, after a lunch that mostly consisted of Claude making Allegra threaten him with a fork, and Allan playing ambient drumbeats on the table using his chopsticks, Marinette found herself wandering back into the library.
Not just any part of the library, of course.
Their corner.

The quiet corner beneath the great window, where soft light spilled onto the floor like golden silk. The beanbag Felix had brought her was still there, looking oddly inviting. Marinette sank into it with a soft huff, sketchbook already open in her lap. She was halfway through reworking the collar on Felix’s jacket design when the familiar sound of dress shoes on polished wood made her look up.

“You always sketch with that furrow in your brow.” he said, lowering himself gracefully into the nearby armchair, the one he’d claimed from day one. “One would think you were plotting a military invasion, not designing lapels.”

“I am fighting a battle.” she muttered, flicking her pencil. “Against uneven stitches. And badly behaved thread. And the occasional creative crisis.”

Felix didn’t smile, exactly. But his eyes warmed.
After a moment of silence, he spoke again, quieter this time. “I wanted to thank you. For earlier.”

She looked up, surprised. “The duet?”

“No.” he said. “Well, yes. That too. But... I meant for not looking at me differently. After what I told you. About my mother. About... everything.”

Marinette tilted her head, heart aching a little at the vulnerability in his voice. “Felix,” she said gently, “I didn’t start liking you because you were perfect. I started liking you in spite of how insufferable you are.”

He looked scandalized. “Liking me?”

She immediately went red. “Not—I mean—liking you as a friend, obviously. Obviously.”

He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and for a split second, something mischievous danced in his gaze. “So you admit we’re friends now?”

She groaned, hiding behind her sketchbook. “You’re the worst.”

“I try.” he said dryly, though there was no venom in it. “Still. I’d like to think the duet went well.”

“It went magically well.” she said honestly, peeking at him through her fingers. “I didn’t even know you could hum like that. You never do that during practice.”

“It’s different...” he murmured, leaning back. “With you. It feels less like a performance.”

Her heart fluttered at that and she didn’t know what to say. So she sketched instead. Silence settled between them again, comfortable this time. Felix pulled a book from the small stack beside his chair, Wuthering Heights, of course, and began reading, one leg crossed elegantly over the other.

After a while, Marinette glanced over at him.
“I, um...” she began awkwardly, “I was thinking. Maybe this weekend we could... work on the jacket fitting? It’d help to have you try it on as I make adjustments.”

Felix didn’t look up. “I see. So it’s finally come to this. You’ve invited me to your lair.”

“My room. And you've already been there before, barely a week ago.” she said, face burning.

Felix didn’t respond. But when she glanced at him again, she caught the small smirk curving his lips.

Marinette's pencil scratched softly across her page, and she paused to glance up at Felix again.
He hadn’t moved much. One leg still crossed, back straight as always, though maybe not as stiff as before. The book in his hands lay open, balanced against his knee. His eyes scanned the lines slowly, deliberately, like each word was being measured before being allowed entry into his mind. But there was a subtle tension in his jaw. Like he wasn’t fully there. Like the pages were failing to distract him the way they usually did.

“Felix?” she said quietly.

He didn’t look up. “Hm?”

“Are you alright?”

A long pause. Then, gently, he closed the book and set it on the table between them. “No.” he said simply. “Not really.”

Marinette blinked. His honesty caught her off guard. Normally, he'd throw out some aloof deflection or biting remark. But not now. Now, he sounded tired. And a little lost.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” he said after a moment, staring at the floor. “Everything I said to my mother felt right. But now it feels like I’ve set something in motion that I can’t take back. Like I’ve stepped onto a path and burned the bridge behind me.”

Marinette set her sketchbook aside and shifted in the beanbag, knees pulled up so she could face him properly. “That’s how it feels when you’re finally choosing yourself over what others expect. It’s terrifying.”

He looked at her then, those intense gray blue eyes locking onto hers.
“You say it like you know.”

“I do.” she said softly. “When I told my parents I wanted to go to a school like this, one filled with people who’ve had training and money and connections, I was scared too. I didn’t think I’d fit in. I still don’t sometimes.”

“You shouldn’t doubt yourself.” he said, voice low. “You don’t realize how far above most of them you are.”

“That sounds like a compliment.” she teased gently.

“I’m working on it.” he replied, deadpan, but then, a flicker of a smile.

She smiled back.
“I know it’s hard...” she said, voice quiet again. “To step out of something that’s been suffocating you, even if you hate it. There’s still comfort in the familiar. Even when it hurts.”

Felix didn’t speak for a moment. Then he murmured, “It’s not that I hate my family. I just hate what they expect me to be.”

“I know.”

They fell into silence again, not heavy or awkward, just thoughtful.

Felix leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, his hands loosely clasped. “Do you think it’s selfish? To want more than what’s already been decided for you?”

“No.” Marinette said immediately. “It’s human.”

Felix looked down at his hands. “I don’t know how to be human sometimes. Not the way you are. You’re alive, Marinette. You laugh, you stumble, you care so deeply it’s almost frightening.”

She felt her face go warm.

“I envy you.” he said softly, voice almost brittle. “Because when you smile, it’s real. When I do it’s usually for show.”

Marinette reached out without thinking, her hand brushing over his. He went very still, but didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to keep pretending.” she said gently. “Not with me.”

Felix turned his hand over, so their palms touched.
It was the lightest thing. Just contact. Just skin against skin. But it felt like the beginning of something delicate and unspoken. A truth neither of them had the courage to name.

After a long pause, Felix spoke again, voice lower now, almost reverent. “Do you think I could become someone better?”

“You already are.” Marinette whispered. “You’re only just now starting to believe it.”

He said nothing to that. But his hand stayed in hers.