Chapter Text
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Marinette Dupain-Cheng arrived at school armed with three pens, two granola bars, and one final, furious resolution.
She was going to ask Felix Agreste to the Winter Gala.
Not because she was feeling bold, or flirty, or remotely confident. No, this was a declaration of war. Because if she really thought about it, really thought about it, Felix had been driving her slowly insane since day one. He was nothing like Adrien, even though he looked like he’d been printed from the same golden-boy template. Where Adrien sparkled, Felix smoldered. Where Adrien charmed, Felix dissected. He was sharp, observant, infuriatingly precise. And every time she thought she had him figured out, he did something weird and contradictory like... help her pick up spilled sketches without saying a word, or leave behind a coffee cup with her exact order written on it in the library, or casually recommend a book she’d mentioned liking once in passing.
She had stared into the abyss of ambiguous eye contact and survived. She had endured six entire months of sideways glances and emotionally charged silences. She was done waiting. Done. Either he liked her, or he didn’t. Either way, she was going to know by the end of the day.
She tightened her grip on the strap of her bag and marched through the school courtyard like a girl on a mission. The sky was clear, the air sharp with winter chill, and the whole building smelled faintly of printer ink and stress. The perfect setting for emotional carnage. She slammed her locker open with a little more force than necessary, like maybe she could rattle the nervous feelings out of her body. Inside was the usual mess of textbooks and stray hair clips, but something new caught her attention.
A piece of paper. Folded, rectangular.
M.
Library @ Lunch. Don’t be late.
—F
She stared at it for a long moment. Then reread it, twice. Of course she would finally gather every ounce of courage in her body to ask him to the Gala, and he would beat her to the emotional punch with some cryptic middle-of-the-day summons like she was being recruited to join MI6. She folded the note again and tucked it into her bag, heart thudding now in a way that made her knees feel untrustworthy.
Maybe he needed help with English problems again.
Or, more likely, he was going to reveal that it was a prank that normal Marinette should absolutely not fall for but current Marinette was infuriatingly curious about.
Or maybe, just maybe—
No. No maybe. No hoping. No more reading into things.
She didn’t go.
By the time lunch rolled around, Marinette was planted firmly in the art room, pretending to reorganize the thread drawers like her life depended on it. She had stared at that folded piece of paper for the first ten minutes of history class, then again in the hallway, then again while pretending to eat half a granola bar. She’d even held it under the table during chemistry like it was a secret artifact that might whisper its meaning to her if she just looked at it long enough.
But it didn’t whisper anything.
After everything, all Alya’s lecturing and marching around and Odette’s clipboarding, Marinette chickened out. It was like the moment she saw that note, her plan stopped being a power move and became as fragile as glass.
What if it really was a confession?
Worse: what if it wasn’t?
What if she showed up and he said something cold and cutting and completely neutral in tone, like he always did, and she was left standing there like a cartoon idiot with her heart in her hands?
So instead, she stayed in the art room. She sorted spools of thread by color. She sewed a new button onto the sleeve of her coat. She even reorganized the embroidery floss, which hadn’t been touched since first term. She didn't go to the library, and for thirty-four whole minutes, she told herself she’d made the right call. Until, of course, Felix found her. “I waited twenty-three minutes,” Felix said, voice flat. Marinette froze with her hands half-stuffed into her bag. He was standing just inside the door, arms crossed. His uniform blazer was slightly rumpled and his expression was unreadable, but edged with something unmistakably annoyed. “Felix,” she turned, guilt already rising in her throat. “I got caught up with a project. I meant to—”
“No, you didn’t.” Her eyes widened. He wasn’t angry, but there was something sharp in his voice. Something that sounded disappointed. “I left you a note,” he said, stepping closer. “You read it. You didn’t come. Why?” Marinette opened her mouth. Closed it again. Her heart pounded in her ears.
Because I was scared you wouldn’t show up.
Because I was scared of hearing what you had to say.
Because you drive me insane and I like you and that’s scary.
“I didn’t think it was important.”
His jaw flexed. “Right,” he said tightly. “Of course. My mistake.” Felix turned on his heel, and for a second Marinette almost let him leave. Then her voice caught up to her thoughts. “Felix, wait.” He paused in the doorway, but didn’t turn around. Her bag slid off her shoulder and hit the table with a soft thunk. Her hands were shaking and heart was beating so fast she could feel it in her teeth, but she couldn’t let this go. Not when she’d come so close . “I lied,” she said, stepping toward him. Her voice wobbled. “I was going to ask you to the Winter Gala.” The words landed in the space between them with a sort of awful, echoing finality. He turned around slowly. She kept going. Because now that she’d started, she couldn’t stop. “I had this whole plan,” she said, hands flailing as if trying to catch the pieces of it mid-air. “I was going to do it this morning. Like, first thing. I was going to walk up to you and be confident and normal and just ask you, like a person. A functioning person. But then I saw that note and it threw off all that confidence, because suddenly it felt like you were going to say something first and that meant maybe you like me , but I was so scared of assuming wrong and—”
“Marinette,” Felix said carefully, like he was afraid if he said her name too loudly she’d combust.
“—I’ve spent six months trying not to have feelings about you, but you’re you and you’re so annoyingly complicated and weirdly considerate and you remember all these tiny things about me I didn’t even realize I said out loud and you always look like you’re analyzing the trajectory of a bomb whenever someone talks to you but with me it’s different and—” He took a step forward. She backpedaled. “—and I know I’m talking too much right now, but I have to , okay? Because if I stop talking, I’m going to start thinking, and if I start thinking, I’m going to talk myself out of saying this. And I have to say it. Because I like you. Like, really like you. And I know you probably knew that already, because you’re freakishly good at reading people and because I’ve been wildly, embarrassingly obvious—”
“You haven’t,” Felix said. She froze mid-breath. He was closer now. Felix gave a faint huff of disbelief and ran a hand through his hair. “Although, neither have I. Which is quite a tragedy on my part because I don’t know how you would ever come to such an incorrect conclusion of me not feeling the same, Marinette.”
Marinette blinked. “Wait. What? Since when ?!” Felix looked mildly startled by the sheer volume of her disbelief. “Since…” He paused, his brow knitting. “I’m not sure there’s a singular moment. Possibly the Tuesday you argued with the vending machine. Or the time you cursed out a sewing needle under your breath for ‘betraying your trust.’ Or the afternoon I helped you in the bakery—”
Marinette’s eyes were wide. “So you’ve… liked me. This whole time. I didn’t have to have an art room crisis freak out?”
“If it makes a difference, I find your spiraling strangely endearing,” he said, lips twitching.
“Oh my god.” Marinette buried her face in her hands. “Everyone watched me embarrass myself for months. ”
“It can’t be that bad,” he said pointedly, and she peeked through her fingers. “I had to Google ‘how to flirt’ last night and promptly deleted my browser history because it was humiliating. Adrien found it, and now has more blackmail if you can believe it.” Marinette laughed, loud and bright, taking a few minutes to calm down though the smile never left her cheeks. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. So… if the offer’s still open…” She cleared her throat, “Would you want to go to the Winter Gala with me?”
Felix didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” he said, quiet but certain. “I’d like that a lot.”