Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

ACT I

Marinette had felt the shift before anyone said it aloud. The heat gathered first at the nape of her neck, sticking the collar of her shirt to her skin, then settled over the town like a held breath.

Summer had arrived early that year.

And with it, something else.

You could feel it in the way Hemlock Creek breathed — slower, heavier, as though the town had rolled onto its back and let the sun press down into its ribs. Sap slid lazily down pine bark, amber and slow as honey. 

The lone gas station on Main began filling earlier in the mornings, tourists unfolding paper maps to their full wingspan. By noon they were gone again, cars packed tight and rattling up the long roads toward their summer homes tucked higher in the hills.

Félix had felt it too.

He just hadn’t said why yet.

They were tucked beneath the shade of his porch roof, the boards still warm from the day, a deck of cards fanned between them. They’d picked up poker that winter in study hall — two seniors with too much time and not enough people who understood them. Texas hold ’em had become their first hobby where neither had the upper hand.

“Check,” Félix said, expression blank.

Anyone else might’ve thought it was discipline. Marinette knew better.

She studied her cards. Ten of spades. Queen of hearts smiling up in red. Three and five of spades on the table. Bottle caps — Coca-Cola, root beer, grape soda — sat stacked in the centre as their makeshift pot.

Cicadas whirred in the trees beyond the porch. The lantern near the railing buzzed faintly, a doomed moth batting itself senseless against the bulb.

Marinette rolled three caps between her fingers. “Raise you.”

Félix’s blue eyes narrowed, sharp and assessing. He tilted his chin down, leaning forward. She saw it — the slight tightening at the corners of his mouth.

She snorted. “I don’t know why you still try to figure me out.”

“I’m hoping one day I’ll detect an aura of falsity.”

“This isn’t a campaign. I’m not a riddler under a bridge.”

“You’re right.” The faintest smile touched his mouth. “You forced me to lock you into the seer class the first day we played.”

“You could’ve talked me out of it.”

“You should’ve researched the characters. It’s not my fault the seer takes critical hits harder than my knight and needs a refraction period.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you calling, or are you folding?”

Félix hummed— which, in Félix language, meant he cared deeply. He slid three grape soda caps into the pile.

Marinette’s eyes gleamed. She would almost feel bad if she hadn’t already secured the promise of chew from the store on Main should she win.

Félix had trouble reading expressions. The local doctor had once called it behavioural rigidity. Marinette called it simply Félix. Care, with him, arrived in quieter forms — calculus worksheets completed in handwriting disturbingly close to her own, or Friday nights that had become ritual.

She flipped the river.

Seven of spades.

Félix’s jaw sharpened. “Pair of queens.”

Marinette laid her cards down. “Three, four, five, six, seven. Straight.”

He cursed softly, leaning back against the porch swing. “I thought you were bluffing.”

“You say that every time you underestimate me.”

Félix glanced at the spread again, frowning faintly. “Statistically, you shouldn’t win this often. Unless you’re cheating.”

Marinette blinked. “Félix if you’re trying to—”

Félix began to explain the joke, “I’m saying it because the probability—”

Marinette couldn’t resist a friendly roll of her eyes “Or,” she cut in, already gathering the caps, “I’m just better than you.”

He paused. Considered it. Then nodded once. “I knew it sounded accusatory instead of funny.”

She huffed a laugh.

They turned in unison to look across the street.

The pine trees swayed, Marinette’s house sitting opposite — kitchen light glowing warm and yellow. Her parents moved in familiar silhouettes, dinner already underway. The scent of Félix’s rose garden drifted upward in the thickening air.

She was used to this. Every Friday, rain or shine.

She remembered the first day she had appeared on that doorstep, clinging to her dad’s pants as he made introductions.

“This is Měi lì, but you can call her Marinette.”

“We have a boy her age!”

The smell of cardboard still clung to her clothes from the move. She’d shuffled her feet against the crisp leaves on the step, already aware their house was the worst on the street.

Then the slow sound of footsteps. Polished shoes.

She’d looked up and met a mirror — the same apprehensive expression, shy and uncertain.

“I’m Félix.” He’d stuck out his hand like it was muscle memory. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Marinette had stepped forward, taking it.

“I’m Marinette. Do you want to help me decorate my new room?”

And just like that, history. Afternoons by the quarry, rebuilding the cabin, sharing cassette tapes, spending every spare dollar at the record store.

Félix nudged her shoulder, pulling her back.

“I asked if you’re free tomorrow morning.”

She nodded. “I don’t have the gelato stand shift.”

He didn’t look at her. His gaze stayed fixed on the trees.

“My cousin is coming for the summer. My parents want you there to greet him. As the friendly one.”

“The whole summer?” She kept her tone light. “Our last before you abandon me for that snotty college?”

“It’s not snotty.”

“Latin is mandatory and the dorms have frescoes.”

“The art could never be as good as yours,” he replied evenly.

She felt the heat rise to her cheeks. Félix didn’t know how to lie.

“I wrote to him,” Félix continued. “Told him about you. That we already had plans. He’d just need to follow them.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “That’s… a little bossy.”

“He doesn’t have much choice.” He said it casually, but the bottle caps began turning between his fingers.

She noticed.

“So,” she said carefully, “what’s he like?”

Félix finally turned toward her. “Imagine me,” he said, “dipped into a vat of sunshine.”

“Hot enough to crisp the gel off your hair?”

“You said it looked good.”

“It looks like hardened shellac.”

He bristled. “You could’ve been honest.”

“I was. With my eyes.”

“You know I can’t read those.”

She laughed, throwing her arms around him. He tolerated the hug with a sigh, fingers tugging absently at the braid near her temple.

“So you’ll be there to meet Adrien?”

She leaned back, grinning. “Your cousin will receive a greeting befitting the Fathom family. Covered by Marinette insurance.”

Félix rolled his eyes, but his mouth was already betraying him.

“You’re insufferable.”

Marinette simply grinned.

—

The door creaked the same way it always did, a soft complaint in the hinge that Tom swore he’d fix every winter and never quite did.

Marinette slipped inside, letting it close gently behind her. The air was thicker here. Not just warm but scented. Yeast and vanilla clung to the walls like an old knit that had absorbed too many seasons.

Her dad stood at the counter, sleeves rolled high, forearms powdered in flour like he had dipped them into snow. He was kneading tomorrow into existence, palms pressing, folding, turning, the dough yielding under him with a patient sort of obedience. The kitchen light caught in the curls at the nape of his neck, damp from steam.

Her mom sat at the small table near the window, ledger open, glasses perched low on her nose. The pencil behind her ear had slipped slightly into her hair, glossy black and coiled at the base of her neck. A porcelain bowl sat beside her — thin slices of pear floating in cooled syrup.

“You’re home,” Sabine said, voice quiet but carrying with the usual lilt her Mandarin always had.

Marinette toed her shoes off at the door and into her familiar slippers, the forgotten Mary-janes peeling at the sole. 

“I won,” She announced, greeting her mom with a chaste kiss on the cheek before swiping a slice of syrupy pear. “He had pairs, but I was smarter.”

The end of her sentence muddled into the sweetness of the pear, dissolving with a slight ache in the molars. 

“Reading the room before the cards, smart girl.” Her dad praised. 

Sabine glanced up from the ledger. “Reading is good. Discipline is better.” Her eyes flicked to Tom’s flour-covered hands. “And patience.” She ended in English. 

“I said the rise-time on this dough would be enough, trust me, my dear.” Tom teased, obviously referencing some forgotten spat that had dissipated into the beginning of twilight. 

Her mom turned the attention to her, “How was the stand, Měi lì?” 

“Busy,” She answered. 

Her mother clicked her tongue, “Mandarin, please, or it will get rusty.”

Marinette turned to hide the annoyance on her face, serving herself dinner from the pots on the stove top, the strong sent of aniseed washed over her, the ladle sticky with caramelised rock sugar. “Ms. Dorris called our red bean flavour exotic.” 

Her English created a silence as she set the plate down next to her mom, she didn’t look at her eyes, the brown ones that mirrored her own, almond and decidedly different from the population of Hemlock Creek. 

Her mom sighed, and if backing away from the beginning of a battle before she reached out, the side of her palm smudged by red and black ink, she pinched her cheek softly “Eat, you look skinny.” 

Marinette smiled softly into the touch, “I will.”

Outside the pines softly whispered between the trees. Summer was here, and tomorrow apparently, so was sunshine. 

—

The train station was little more than a single platform and a dusty newspaper stand showing revelations from three weeks ago. She stood with Félix and the Fathom parents, Amélie and Colton. Colton’s face held a pensive expression, while Amélie’s remained pinched, her hand resting on both their shoulders as the distant chug of a train rolled in.

“He’ll want a good pair of friends for the summer. I’m sure you can manage that.”

Marinette knew it was meant for Félix, but she answered anyway, shifting her feet and adjusting the hem of her yellow dress where it pinched at her waist.

“He’ll have a great time.”

The train pulled in with more ceremony than the station deserved, metal sighing as it slowed, steam folding into the warm afternoon air. The wind it dragged in lifted Marinette’s hair and carried the faint smell of oil and iron.

Passengers disembarked in pieces — a woman with two canvas bags, a man in a fishing hat, a cluster of children sticky with melted sweets.

And then him.

Marinette knew immediately.

It was something about the way he stepped down — careful, but trying not to look it. As though he’d already practiced how to arrive.

He looked, at first glance, almost like Félix. Blonde hair, neatly cut. Tall. Slim in that effortless way boys from certain families always seemed to be.

But where Félix was sharp lines and held breath, this boy was softened at the edges.

His jaw curved rather than angled. His mouth, when it shifted into a polite smile at the sight of Amélie waving, pulled two small dimples into his cheeks like parentheses bracketing something gentler. And his eyes — not blue like Félix’s, but green. A lighter, leaf-green that caught the sun and turned almost lush, like a meadow.

His linen was too fine to be casual. Pale, pressed, sleeves rolled just so. Shoes too clean for Hemlock Creek gravel. A watch that caught the light in a way that suggested it cost more than Marinette’s gelato stand.

Rich city kid, she thought immediately.

But it wasn’t just that. It was the way he held himself— like he was fitting into something. 

“Adrien!” Amélie called, her voice breaking its usual composure.

He smiled properly then, dimples deepening, and for a second he looked younger. He pulled his suitcase behind him and let himself be folded into her embrace, hands settling carefully at her waist, as though placed there on purpose.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, voice even, almost too measured. “I— it’s been a while.”

Colton stepped forward next, clasping his shoulder firmly. “Long trip?”

“Not too bad, Uncle.” He adjusted the strap of his bag, just slightly too precise. “The conductor let me sleep through most of it. There weren’t many stops, so it was… efficient.”

Marinette felt Félix shift beside her, a small tightening. She nudged him with her elbow. Adrien’s gaze moved then, first to Félix, and something unreadable passed between them.

“Félix,” Adrien said, offering his hand.

Félix shook it, precise and brief. “You look the same. Good to see you.”

“You don’t.” Adrien paused as if the words caught up to him in real time. “I mean— you’ve changed. It suits you. Good to see you too.”

Félix blinked once. “You didn’t say what changed.”

Adrien hesitated. “I— right. I just meant—”

Marinette cut in, “He means your hair looks worse.”

Félix nodded. “You’re right, I’ve changed it.”

Adrien let out a small breath of laughter, a second too late. Marinette didn’t like that, either. And then, finally, he looked at her. His expression softened, the way people did when they were trying to be kind. It made something in Marinette resist.

“This is Mei—” Amélie started.

“Marinette,” Félix corrected.

“Marinette,” she amended, her hand still resting over both of them. “She’s practically ours.”

Adrien’s smile returned, careful again. “Marinette,” he repeated, as though testing it. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Up close, she could see the way his shirt shifted with his breathing— slow, controlled.

“You too,” she said, suddenly aware of the dust on her sneakers.

He glanced at her dress— not long enough to be rude, not short enough to miss.

“Your town is… quieter than I expected,” he said, looking back at the platform. “It’s nice.”

Marinette lifted her chin. “It grows in the summer.”

Félix added, “It’s got all we need.”

Adrien nodded, but something in his expression didn’t quite land. “Right. Of course.”

Colton cleared his throat. “Let’s get home. You must be hungry.”

Félix reached for Adrien’s bag without asking, pulling it from his grip.

“Thank—” Adrien started.

Félix was already walking.

Amélie drew Adrien into her side. “I made your mother’s pasta recipe.”

Marinette missed the way his expression shifted, already moving to catch up with Félix before they reached the car.

—

The afternoon past lunch settled softly over the porch, the kind that hadn’t decided what it wanted to be yet. The air still held onto the heat of the morning, but the sun had begun to press through the middle of the trees behind her house, catching along the railing, the steps, the rim of Marinette’s paint jar.

She sat cross-legged near the edge, her canvas propped against the wooden slats, one hand steadying it while the other moved in small, careful strokes. The smell of pine sat thick in the air, mixing faintly with acrylic and something citrus from the soap she’d used earlier.

It wasn’t anything complicated—just the tree-line, the slope of the hill, the way the light broke unevenly through the branches.

But she liked the quiet of it, the way it narrowed the world down to something she could control.

When the screen door creaked she didn’t turn right away. There was a pause before footsteps crossed the porch.

She added another line of green, adjusting the edge where shadow met light, before the voice came.

“That’s really good.”

Marinette glanced up. Adrien stood a few feet back, hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his pants, his gaze caught somewhere between the canvas and the trees beyond it.

He looked less arranged than he had at the station—hair slightly out of place, sleeves pushed unevenly up his arms, like he’d tried to undo something that came naturally to him.

“It’s just the trees,” she said, brushing colour along the edge.

“They don’t look like that,” he replied, nodding toward the canvas. “Not really. It’s… nicer here than it is out there.” He hesitated, like he was searching for the right version of it, then added, “You’ve improved it.”

She stilled slightly, the brush hovering. That didn’t feel like a compliment. “They do if you’re looking properly,” she said, tone flattening as she turned back to the page.

Adrien smiled faintly, stepping a little closer, though not enough to crowd her. His eyes moved over the paints, the rag draped over her knee, the jar of water clouded with colour. “Félix doesn’t have a creative bone in his body,” he said, almost absently. “So this is… unexpected.”

The brush stopped completely this time. She didn’t look at him right away, just felt the words settle somewhere sharp. “Unexpected?” she echoed, quieter now.

“Yeah.” Adrien gestured lightly toward the canvas. “You seem like the complete opposite of him. You’re this, and he’s—” He faltered, the sentence slipping out of his control before he could finish it.

“Something else?” she offered, setting the brush carefully against the rim of the jar.

Adrien exhaled, a small, uneven breath. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You kind of did.”

The screen door creaked again, cutting through the space before he could respond. Félix stepped out onto the porch, taking in the scene in a single glance—Marinette on the floor, Adrien standing off to the side, the paint laid out between them like something interrupted. His gaze lingered half a second longer than necessary.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Grape soda,” Marinette said immediately, not looking up. Her voice was quick, decisive, like it explained everything that needed explaining.

Félix stilled, something shifting behind his expression. “You’re invoking that now?”

“Yes,” she replied, already reaching for her brush again. “Go inside.”

His gaze flicked to Adrien, then back to her. “You’re okay, Mari?”

“Balmy,” she said lightly. “Just getting to know Adrien.”

Félix hesitated, mouth pressing thin. “I don’t get it,” he muttered.

“Tell you later,” Marinette said. “Go.”

He lingered for a moment longer, like he might push it, then turned back toward the door, pulling it shut behind him with a quieter click than before. The porch settled again, the air folding back into place around the absence he left behind.

Adrien watched the door for a second, then looked back at her. “What was that?”

Marinette dipped her brush into the paint, dragging the colour across the canvas with more pressure than before. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“It didn’t look like nothing.”

“It’s not for you,” she said, simple.

That landed. Adrien shifted slightly, like he wasn’t entirely sure where to put himself now, his hands slipping out of his pockets before settling back again. “I think I said something wrong.”

Marinette let out a small breath through her nose, not quite a laugh. “You think?”

“I didn’t mean to insult him,” he said. “Or you. I just thought—” He stopped again, the sentence catching before it could form properly.

“That you understood him?” she cut in, turning toward him now.

Adrien frowned slightly. “I know him.”

“He told me at the station you only started talking a year ago,” she said, the edge in her voice sharper now. “That’s not the same thing.”

He held her gaze, something quieter settling into his expression. “And what do I think he is?”

“Serious,” Marinette said. “Predictable. Simple.” She gestured toward the canvas, though she wasn’t really looking at it anymore. “He’s not.”

A silence opened between them, thinner than before but more deliberate. The leaves shifted overhead, the light breaking differently across the paint, across his face.

“He likes fantasy campaigns,” she added, quieter now. “He can build entire worlds.”

Adrien didn’t respond immediately. When he did, his voice had lost some of its careful polish. “…I didn’t know, Marinette.”

She glanced at him at that, the way he said her name still unfamiliar. For a moment it almost softened something, but not enough. She wiped her brush clean instead, slower than necessary, before setting it down beside the jar.

“For the record,” she said, standing now, lifting the canvas from where it leaned, “first impressions matter to me.”

Adrien let out a soft breath, something like a laugh that didn’t quite form. “Yeah,” he said. “I can tell.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she tucked the canvas under her arm and stepped past him toward the door, the smell of paint and pine following in her wake.

—

Lunch the next day was an interesting affair. 

The silverware clinked on the porcelain plates, a familiar luncheon sound if it wasn’t for the slightly awkward atmosphere. Félix was as consumed as always, cutting the chicken with precision in an effort to keep it segregated from the pasta.

Adrien put his head up every few minutes, looking around the house or at the company around the table. Marinette could tell the boy was feeling a little out of his depth. 

“So,” Amélie began, folding her napkin neatly over her lap, “have you been showing Adrien around?”

Marinette kept her eyes on her plate. “Not yet.”

Adrien nodded quickly, like he’d been waiting for a cue. “I’m looking forward to it,” he added, a touch too fast. “Félix said there’s a lot to see.”

Félix looked up at that, brow faintly creasing. “I didn’t say that, cousin.”

Marinette disguised her laugh as a cough into her napkin. Félix didn’t lie. 

A pause settled over the table. Adrien blinked once, then smiled lightly. “Right. I meant at the station— you said it has everything you need.”

Marinette pressed her fork into her chicken a little harder than necessary.

“He meant it’s small,” she said.

Adrien nodded again, too easily. “Small’s good. I prefer small.” He smiled, a charming one where his dimples deepened. 

Marinette didn’t look up to watch it, but she felt it— the way he kept reshaping himself mid-sentence, like he was too used to fitting himself around conversations.

Félix looked ready to contradict him again until Colton cleared his throat. “Well, you’ll have plenty of time to get used to it.”

Amélie brightened, turning toward Marinette. “Why don’t you take Adrien out this afternoon? A proper introduction.”

Félix immediately looked up, “I have to go to the library, I’m busy.”

Marinette unceremoniously kicked him under the table. Hard. 

“No,” she said, the words slipping out through her teeth as she glanced at Félix. She tried to send him a look, something akin to don’t leave me alone all afternoon with him. 

Félix shrugged, “Marinette can do it, I need to get ahead for the courses I’ll be starting soon.” 

“Félix you have all summer to do it!”

“But I want to do it today.” 

“Félix!” 

“My textbooks only got delivered this morning, I need a plan.”

“You can plan later.”

“But then that infringes on my other plans!”

“What other plans do you have? We have no friends and all summer, Félix!”

Félix grumbled into his plate, “You don’t know that.”

Adrien, who had been watching the conversation like it was a tennis match put his hands up, “If it’s going to be a bother I can walk around by myself.”

“No!” Colton and Amélie said, both turning to look at Marinette. 

Marinette poked the chicken with her fork, watching the lean flesh press against the silver and puncture under its force, the silence almost hurt. 

“Actually,” she coughed, “it’s not a problem, I’ll take you, Adrien.” 

She tried her best to look up and smile at him, but she couldn’t stop a slight grit in her teeth. 

“But… before we go, you might want to change into something more… comfortable.” 

—

Félix left them at the library with a clipped, “Two hours,” like they were signing a contract.

The bell above the door gave a thin, metallic jingle as he stepped inside. Marinette watched him disappear behind the dusty front windows into the rows of books before turning back to Adrien.

“Well,” she said, adjusting the strap of her satchel. “Welcome to the metropolis.”

Adrien glanced up and down Main Street.

There were around twenty storefronts in total: the library; the diner with its sun-faded red awning; the hardware store next to the fabric store, with a hand-painted sign chipped at the corners; the record and electronics store; a few clothing stores dotted around.

The heat was suffocating, trapping itself on the dusty road. It shimmered off the pavement and made the fountain in the centre of town seem like a mirage. Marinette wiped her brow with the bandana around her neck. Her overalls were short, the denim mended over the years with various patches and scraps of fabric so that she looked like a quilt. The collar of her shirt was open, but the back of it kept catching against her neck under her thick black hair. It felt like a hot compress.

“It’s…” he started.

“Small?” she supplied. The heat on the pavement was enough to melt the rubber of her sneakers.

He smiled faintly. “Alive.”

Marinette didn’t answer.

His too-clean shoes beat against the pavement as they walked. She noticed the way he stepped carefully over cracks in the sidewalk, how he avoided the strip of sap bleeding from the pine near the convenience store. City feet, she thought. Unused to terrain.

His face was slightly reddened, sweat already shining along the curve of his collarbone as he bent down to retie his shoes. He propped his foot on the bench outside the store, the tee-shirt he had borrowed from Félix dipping low at the collar. Marinette saw the way his skin flushed. 

It was normal not to be used to summers at Hemlock Creek. The town centre was surrounded by woods and let little breeze through, and the heat tended to stay, lingering and humid.

“Wait here,” she decided. “I’m going to get us a drink.”

Adrien didn’t wait. He caught up to her easily as she crossed the threshold into the store, the entry sensor beeping as they stepped inside, the heat dissolving into the cool air-conditioning.

“Let me,” he offered.

Adrien had an easy confidence, nothing like Marinette or Félix. He moved with practiced posture — casual, trained — and navigated through the rows of produce to the back where the fridges were. He turned to her, hand on the door.

“What do you like?” His face was annoyingly earnest.

“Coca-Cola,” she answered.

He grabbed two, letting her lead him to the counter, the bottles clinking in his hands behind her.

“Marinette!” Mrs. Henley looked over her spectacles warmly, her eyes travelling up to the boy behind her. She pushed the spectacles up her nose. “My! Who’s this young man behind you? A boyfriend?”

Marinette’s cheeks burned. “Félix’s cousin, Mrs. Henley. This is Adrien.”

She couldn’t see the smile Adrien gave as he reached over to place the bottles on the counter, but it seemed to work in his favour. Mrs. Henley — the old geezer — had the gall to blush deeply, the crow’s feet by her eyes deepening as she fanned her face bashfully.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Please, call me Marjorie.”

Marinette resisted the urge to roll her eyes as the old woman turned her attention back to her.

“Just the sodas, dear? Chew came in yesterday.”

Marinette pulled coins from the middle pocket of her dungarees. They flashed brightly in her palm. She shook them once, counting.

“Um—”

“Three packs, please,” Adrien said easily, stretching his arm out to place a few coins by the register.

Marjorie, obviously pleased with the etiquette, rang them up. He looked down at Marinette, shrugging at her expression.

“Consider it payment for the tour.”

They opened their bottles at the register before walking outside. The coolness of the drink fizzed down her earlier irritation. She took a deep breath, turning to Adrien as she led him away from Main Street toward the neighbourhood houses.

“You don’t have to get on my good side, by the way,” she said.

He smiled that easy smile at her, his dimples shadowed by the afternoon sun. “I’m not. I wanted to say thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You’ve overpaid me for how short this tour will be.”

He laughed. It was the first time she’d heard it — deep and slightly breathless, like he was surprised by it himself.

The park entrance sat just off Main Street, the metal arch slightly rusted. The grass was lush and green despite the heat that had gripped the town for the past week. Sprawling lawns were dotted with trees for shade, picnic benches tucked beneath pavilions where families were having lunch, and a large lake on the outskirts where kids were trying to catch frogs without falling in while a few people fished from the dock.

A group of girls from school sat cross-legged or sunbathing on gingham picnic blankets, magazines spread between them like tarot cards. One glanced up, did a double take at Adrien, then leaned immediately toward the others. They all turned, sunglasses adjusted, staring at them like meerkats.

Adrien threw them an easy smile. He turned to Marinette. “Your friends?” he asked.

Marinette felt a familiar prickle in her chest. She quickened her pace. “Sure,” she hummed.

He tilted his head slightly, but she cleared her throat.

“This is the park,” she continued. “We have festivals here. Fourth of July fireworks, summer concerts. Mrs. Henley once set her lawn chair on fire lighting a cigarette.”

Adrien huffed a quiet laugh. “Was she okay?”

“She insisted on finishing her sherry before anyone put her out.”

“Marjorie’s committed.”

Despite herself, Marinette’s mouth twitched.

They passed the tennis court next. The chain-link fence rattled in the faint breeze. Two boys were playing lazily, shirts already discarded in the heat. Adrien slowed, watching the arc of the ball.

“You play,” Marinette guessed.

“Sometimes.”

“Country club, I bet.” It came out sharper than she intended.

Adrien glanced at her. It was the first real pause between them, the kind that made Marinette want to scuff her feet and stare at her sneakers.

“I had lessons,” he said simply. “My whole family played.”

Not defensive or proud. Factual and unapologetic.

Marinette felt the tips of her ears heat. She nodded once and kept walking. They discarded their bottles in a bin by one of the benches, the chew tucked into her satchel.

“Well, the forest behind the park as the best hiking trails, there’s also the quarry that way.”

“Where’s the cabin?”

Marinette turned, catching his eye as she lead them back toward Main Street on a long loop. She watched backwards, gesturing vaguely to the ridge-line above the park. Adrien followed her gaze, nodding. 

“I’d love to see it. Félix told me you made all the furniture.” 

“I just reupholstered it.” She corrected. “I sew.”

Adrien took the time to look over her outfit, as if he wanted to ask her if she was wearing anything she’d sewn. Marinette felt a little warm under his gaze.

“I made this,” she finally added after a moment, gesturing weakly to the top under her dungarees.

He took in the stitching, the way the fabric sat against the worn denim of her overalls, the small inconsistencies that made it hers. Marinette became all too aware of the crooked hems and mismatched thread colours. 

“It looks professional,” he said. Then, after a beat, “Like something you’d buy.”

Marinette stilled. It looked anything but professional and they both knew it. What a false compliment, she thought. She gave him a nod, turning around again to lead him back towards the library to pick up Félix. 

“It’s different.” He tried to amend from behind her, quieter now. 

“Yeah.” She replied, but it sounded hollowed. She turned them back onto Main Street, “come on, we’ll pick up Félix and show you the woods by the house.” 

Adrien didn’t respond. 

—

“You’ve been short with Adrien.” 

Félix’s voice hummed faintly over his personal line, Marinette twisted in her bed onto her stomach, the phone pressed against her ear as she picked at a loss thread on her sheets. 

When Félix had met them outside the library the three of them had walked home in silence. Marinette had let Félix take over the role of tour guide soon after, leaving the cousins to peruse the woods behind her house as she went in for dinner.

“Catch you.” She had called dismissively over her shoulder. 

The phone had rang after dinner. If Marinette looked out her window she’d be able to see the light in Félix’s room. She wished she could see his expression. The judgement definitely wasn’t a question. 

“Took you this long to figure out?” Marinette spoke dryly. 

Félix sighed, the type of sigh that told her he was getting impatient, although about what she had no clue. 

“We should take him to the cabin, tomorrow.” 

Marinette blinked. “Did Adrien ask you to go?”

“We also wanted to go there a bunch this summer.” Félix pointed out. 

He was right. Logically they did agree to that, and if Félix had truly told Adrien in their letters that he was going to be ‘following them around’, this was definitely the kind of thing he would drag him along too. 

So why did it feel so weird?

“I don’t know.” Marinette trailed off, she into the window above her bed, she saw the light from Félix’s room, the curtains drawn. “He’s been saying weird stuff about you, Félix.”

“Like what?”

“Well— at the train station he said your hair looked bad.”

“You said that, Mari.” The line crackled, Marinette tried again. “And… And before I pulled a grape soda on you be told me he thought you were boring.” 

“Did he really say that or did you imply it?” 

Marinette pressed her face into the pillow and groaned. It sounded stupid without a clear quote. 

“I just— he tries too hard to be liked! We’re not like that, Félix.”

“He just got here.” Félix pointed out. “He probably wants to be liked.”

“Then why does he feel like he can’t be himself?”

Whatever the answer was Félix seemed to know it. She heard him hum, and she could almost picture the way he would pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“Just— just loosen up the reigns on him Mari. You know I never cared about those kinds of comments even if he did say them.”

There was a beat of silence as Marinette tried to find a rebuttal, something along the lines of wanting to protect her best friend. She couldn’t think of one.

“Fine you win. Let’s go to the cabin tomorrow.” She groaned.

“Can you walk him there? I’ll be at the library.” 

“Félix!—”

The line when dead as he hung up on her. She slammed the receiver down, sitting up in bed just in time to see the lights in Félix’s bedroom go off. She huffed as she flopped back down into her bed, angrily shuffling under the sheets and reaching for the string of her lamp. 

“Fine.” She grumbled. Pulling the string so harshly the lampshade rattled. 

Her bedroom was engulfed in darkness. 

—

Marinette and Adrien started out towards the cabin that next afternoon. She’d put on her overalls again, showered after a morning in the bakery. Félix promised to meet them there, back to the library earlier that day to finish off whatever Félix had decided was more important than mediating Marinette’s distaste for his cousin.

He’d smiled in greeting, giving her a wave she stiffly returned. He seemed more relaxed today, as if her tour had helped settle him in. He wore one of Félix’s shirts, his shoes still too clean. They begun the trek to the cabin in silence, cutting through the residential streets toward the park.

They walked in silence.

The park dissolved into pine needles and filtered green light as they crossed into the forest. One minute carved pavement, the next the crunch of leaves and dirt trails underfoot.

Adrien inhaled more deeply this time. “It smells different,” he said.

“It’s trees,” she replied.

“I know.” A small smile ghosted across his mouth. “But it smells… grounded.”

She breathed in too. Pine, sweet sap, earth underfoot, sweat cooling in the shade.

She traced the trail easily, stepping over the familiar jut of stone near the bend, crossing the old bridge by the stream, avoiding the third plank so it wouldn’t creak, shifting her satchel so it wouldn’t catch on the tree by the fork in the path.

When she cut off the main track, she followed the homemade trail markers she and Félix had put up — bottle caps nailed into trees. Lemonade. Fanta. The rusty Pepsi cap. They were close.

Behind her, she had expected complaints. Instead, only the steady crunch of Adrien’s footsteps matching her pace.

She turned, half expecting him to be scowling and kicking a rock like a spoiled child.

He wasn’t.

He was looking up.

Sunlight filtered through the pine canopy in thin beams. Dust and pollen drifted between them like suspended gold, catching in his hair like a halo, glowing around the flush of exertion.

He caught her gaze, his eyes bright against the dark pines, like cat’s eyes on a road.

It caught in Marinette’s throat— the way he looked, like some model from the girls’ magazines at school.

“You know this path well,” he observed.

Marinette turned quickly, pushing through the trees to hide her blush. “We— we come here a lot.”

A stutter. Really, Měi lì?

“With Félix?”

“Mainly. Sometimes by myself. In winter, when the frost comes it cushions the sound. I like the quiet.”

They walked in silence for a while after that, pine needles crunching underfoot, cicadas pulsing as they climbed. Marinette reached for the guide rope she and Félix had laid when the track grew steep. It wasn’t difficult, just narrow and guarded by trees: tall pines, big-leaf maples, Douglas firs, and the town’s namesake, hemlock.

Adrien’s breath was slightly uneven from the climb. “Félix told me about the cabin in his letters.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “He probably made you look at diagrams for the pulley system he designed.”

Adrien’s breathless laugh murmured through the trees. “The envelope that week was so thick.”

She almost smiled. “Well, we can thank his almost college-educated engineering brain for how well the cabin still stands. If it were just me, that thing would’ve been kindling by now.”

“Funny. He said without you the cabin would still feel abandoned. It was the most human thing he’s said.”

The atmosphere changed.

The words hit her wrong. Marinette bristled, turning sharply, a root digging into the toe of her shoe.

“Félix is human. He just has a different way of expressing himself. That doesn’t make him some alien.” She spat.

Adrien’s face shifted instantly. “I’m sorry— you’re right. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“You don’t know him like I do,” Marinette said, turning back toward the trail.

God, this was the umpteenth time he felt he could speak that way.

She had only taken a few steps when she felt his hand gently catch her wrist.

“Marinette.”

His tone was different— tighter. She turned back. His usual ease was gone. He muttered a quiet curse under his breath.

“Look. I know I’m the third wheel this summer. I know you and Félix had things you were looking forward to, and my being here probably ruined some of that.”

Marinette inhaled sharply but didn’t deny it.

Adrien rubbed a hand over his forehead.

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” he continued. “And I don’t want to be a burden. But if you won’t even give me a chance, it’s going to be a long summer for all of us.”

Adrien drew a slow breath. “Can you just give me a grace period? Hold your judgments until this weekend?”

Marinette crossed her arms.

“I really am sorry about what I said about Félix,” he added. “You’re right. Of course he’s human. That was unfair — especially when I only know him from letters.”

Maybe it was because he was finally being honest. Maybe because she knew he was partially right; if they didn’t learn to get along it would be a long summer.

She inhaled. Félix’s words from yesterday echoed between them.

She exhaled. Taking a step back.

Finally, she extended her hand.

“Hi. I’m Marinette,” she said coolly. “Try to keep up. And don’t insult Félix to or behind my face ever again.”

Relief flashed across Adrien’s features before his smile returned, softer now.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Marinette. I’m Adrien — the jaded cousin hoping to win your good graces.”

Marinette huffed a laugh, letting the tension settle until the air felt easier, and they were calm enough to continue up the trail.

After about a minute, they broke from the trees.

The clearing opened around them like a held breath. The dirt here was packed and warm from the afternoon sun, grass thinner this high up. The trees fell back in a loose ring. Beyond it, the land dipped sharply into the valley, the town scattered below.

They stepped fully out from the shade, exposed under the vast blue of the sky. The sun had begun its slow tilt. Everything felt dipped in honey.

Marinette walked toward the cliff’s edge, shielding her eyes as she looked out over Hemlock Creek. Despite the open view, the cabin was difficult to spot from below. It folded into the trees, its wood darkened until it looked less built than grown.

“Well, jaded cousin, Adrien,” she said, stepping aside. “Welcome.”

Adrien stood very still.

Félix’s borrowed shirt was creased now, a faint smear of dirt tracing one shoulder. His shoes had surrendered their city polish. His face was pink with exertion.

From up here the town appeared in fragments— the glint of diner windows, the flash of a parked car, the ribbon of road curling toward the hills. Roofs tiled together. The creek cutting a quiet seam through it all.

“Wow,” he breathed.

Marinette almost laughed— not unkindly. He always seemed to know what to say. It was almost comic, seeing him caught wordless.

She left him to it.

At the side of the clearing, a red strip of fabric fluttered against the sky, tied to the pulley system they’d rigged years ago. Rope threaded through a wheel bolted high into a reinforced post, two old picnic hampers hooked to the line.

It had started as practicality. Hauling planks and nails up the trail had nearly killed them that first summer. Félix had come back from the movies one night obsessed with pulleys. Marinette had supplied the red ribbon, declaring every operation required flair.

Now the system had evolved into something else.

A way to ferry up snacks without hiking down.
A way to lower notes into the valley when they were bored.
A way to pretend they were smugglers or spies when the mood called for it.

If the hampers were up here, it meant Félix had already been down in the valley to pack everything and hoist it up. He would have finished at the library and follow them up soon enough.

Marinette unclipped the rope and shouldered one of the hampers, lugging the other toward Adrien before dropping it at his feet with a thud.

“You’re going to catch flies if you stand like that,” she said lightly. “There’ll be plenty of time to stare.”

She jerked her chin toward the trees.

“Come look at the cabin.”

It stood just behind them. A little crooked, but proud.

The wood was a patchwork of years — darker original planks weathered smooth, newer boards slightly lighter. The porch had been rebuilt the previous autumn, and Félix’s precision showed in every joint.

Wind chimes made from old spoons hung from the corner. A straw mat lay before the door, and beside the window a hand-painted sign read: GUN OWNER. DO NOT TRESPASS.

Adrien slowed.

Marinette nudged him with her elbow.

“It’s a scare tactic,” she said, grinning. Then she tilted her head. “Although if we did have guns, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Adrien swallowed. “Noted.”

She crouched at the second porch step, prying up the decoy plank. The key lay beneath, warm from the day. She slid it into the lock, turned right, left, then right again with a practiced jiggle. The door gave.

Inside, it was dim despite the light pouring through the two windows.

Marinette moved automatically, lighting the lanterns one by one. The cabin filled with a warm glow, shadows softening against the walls. Strings of old fairy lights were wrapped along the beams— Félix had installed them with neatness, Marinette had insisted on the soft bulbs.

The space wasn’t large, but it had grown into itself.

A deep red rug anchored the centre. Two mismatched sofas faced each other across a low table cut from a tree stump they’d sanded and sealed themselves. The stump still bore faint rings, like a quiet clock.

The sofas were a riot of fabric. Marinette had reupholstered them over the years with scraps and thrifted finds — yellows, blush pinks, small florals, a strip of patterned silk. The curtains matched, shifting in the cross-breeze.

On the far wall sat a wide set of drawers that held everything important: decks of cards worn thin, notebooks, spare batteries, a tin of matches, old board games missing a piece or two but played anyway.

Near the counter stood the record player.

It had been stolen lovingly from Félix’s parents’ attic one rainy afternoon and never returned. Stacks of records leaned beside it in a milk crate, sleeves softened by years of handling. Some were inherited, some bought with pooled pocket money.

Their records told the story of who they had been at fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. Back when Marinette wore too much eyeliner, or when Félix decided he wanted everyone to call him ‘Flick’.

Beside it sat a battered cassette player and a small stack of tapes, some labelled in Marinette’s looping handwriting. The Walkman lay abandoned on the arm of one couch, foam headphones slightly frayed.

This was where they had played poker until midnight, where they blasted music as loud as they wanted, where they snuck a bottle of her mom’s baijiu and pretended they liked it until they both threw up.

The sofa held so many conversations, arguments, comfortable silences, even the smoke from an occasional cigarette or joint. Where rain had hammered the roof so hard they’d shouted over it just to hear themselves laugh.

At the back of the cabin, tucked into the corner, a narrow wooden ladder led upward through a square cut into the ceiling.

Adrien followed her gaze.

“There’s more?” he asked quietly.

“Attic,” Marinette replied. “Careful, the fourth rung wobbles.”

The loft space above was small— barely tall enough to sit upright— but a mattress had been dragged up there years ago and dressed in faded quilts. A string of lights lined the slanted ceiling. Old magazines and dog-eared books were stacked beside the bed.

Marinette dropped her hamper by the couch and turned slowly, watching Adrien take it all in.

He moved carefully, fingertips brushing the back of the sofa, the edge of the table, the crate of records. Not like someone inspecting. Like someone cataloguing.

“This is…” He trailed off, searching.

She waited, wary of the wrong word.

“Félix was right, it feels lived in,” he finished.

Lived in.

Marinette felt something loosen inside her.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “It does.”

—

Adrien watched as she moved the hampers toward the sofa, he jumped in, lifting them both until they landed on the oak-ring table with a soft thud. They crowded together over the baskets, Adrien close enough to feel the heat from her black hair as it brushed his cheek. 

He looked at her briefly, her lashes downturned as she worked the latch between her fingers, the shade of her bandana melting into the faint heat of her neck.

He watched her undo the latch, opening the first lid and tearing off the cloth. Inside was neatly packed food: leftover pasta salad, the container still cool, a bag of linked sausages— frozen solid from crushed ice, and an item wrapped in a cherry-print tea-towel.

Adrien watched her unwrap it, her fingers freezing as she recognised the object.

“Bread.” He supplied, hoping the statement didn’t sound as dumb as he thought it did.

She gave him the explanation, “It’s my dad’s, we own a bakery. Félix definitely threatened to let us starve without this.”

“Where’s your bakery?”

Her eyes shifted away from him onto the patchwork of the couch, a crinkle in her nose that made her freckles squish together.

“It was actually by the park.”

Adrien tried not to look put out. They had probably walked right past it, and she hadn’t pointed it out.

He knew how he must have arrived. Some clean-shaven boy with ironed sleeves who had never had anything denim, let alone starched. He had rode in on that train with a one-way ticket to infiltrate his cousin’s final summer, with a girl important enough to be mentioned at least thrice in every letter.

Maybe Félix had grown smitten for her— he had good reason to. He remembered her on the platform, the yellow dress swaying against her calves, her long black hair shining down her back. Her expression, serene, the soft oval of cheeks and jaw, freckles over her nose, those eyes— tawny, inquisitive, staring at him like a puzzle.

She obviously disliked him. He didn’t need years of tutoring to figure that out.

But their truce was shaky and he had the means to strengthen it. All he needed was a few hours to assure his cousin he could blend into the background and let them have their summer together, lurking behind them like some kind of ghost until his time was up.

So he schooled his best expression of faint interest, and nodded at her to continue.

“That’s cool, maybe you can show me later.”

He saw the relief that peppered her face, the way her nose smoothed and she threw him a small, grateful smile. He nodded once, like he understood— the past is done, let’s move on. They opened the second hamper, and he heard Marinette let out a small laugh before he extracted the items.

Adrien watched as Marinette reached under the tea-towel. It was homemade lemonade, the concentrated syrup his mother used to make, bottled a dull lemon colour. He figured this must be his aunt’s. He remembered his own mother making it in the heat of summer— only a few bottles each year from the lemon trees on their estate. He still remembered the taste, overloaded with sugar to mask the bitter edge of underripe zest.

“What’s this for?” Marinette asked, dipping deeper until she pulled out the final item.

Three ringed six-packs of beer sat on the table, cans glistening as they sweated in the evening light. Marinette turned to him, and he could see a spark that made his stomach flip.

“I think this means he wants us to stay the night.”

“How did he even get that?”

“It’s definitely something Félix got from one of his football friends.”

Adrien blinked. “Félix has football friends?”

Marinette snorted. “He calls it an ‘anthropology study,’.”

Marinette cleared her throat and stood, brushing her hands on her overalls. “Well. Dinner and drinks.” She nodded toward the ladder leading up into the attic, then toward the sofas below. “We’ll let you have first choice later.”

Adrien glanced up at the attic opening, the string lights faintly glowing above. His mouth twitched. “Is this some initiation, the part where you tell me the cabin is haunted and I have to prove myself?”

Marinette tilted her head. “It might be haunted. But I’m not going to tell you that. That’s for you to discover when the wind starts knocking on the windows.”

Adrien made a face. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Immensely.”

She crossed to the record player, fingers brushing the milk crate of records. Adrien watched as she flicked through them, the sleeves worn and soft. She flipped slowly — old rock, some folk, a few pop records she passed too fast for them not to hold embarrassment.

She put one on, lowered the needle, adjusting the volume until something rock-like but summery filtered through the cabin. He smiled, like he knew the song, and accepted the beer from her outstretched hand. They knocked their cans together casually.

“To your first night.” Marinette announced.

Adrien felt something in his chest loosen. “To the grace period.”

Their cans clinked. The door creaked then — a familiar complaint in the hinge. Félix stepped inside without ceremony, as if he belonged to the walls.

His hair was slightly wind-tossed, his shirt crisp despite the climb. A library book was tucked under his arm, and he paused only long enough to take in the scene: the food spread on the counter, the beer already open.

“You two have made yourselves at home.”

Adrien shrugged, “I had a good tour guide.”

Félix shrugged in return, grabbing a beer from the pack. “Turn up the music, will you?”

—

Marinette had no idea when the two boys had built the fire. It had been somewhere between the first and second pack of beer, when the taste had grown familiar and they had begun mixing it with lemonade.

The sausages roasted on a makeshift spit Félix had fashioned. Adrien was feeding a little too much wood into the fire, and the spit risked charring and dropping their dinner into the flames.

They had started with a round of poker, and when their concentration wavered they abandoned the game in favour of sitting around the fire.

The stars were clear tonight. The moon was bright over their clearing, the faint hum of crickets and crackling fire punctuated by conversation.

“That one’s Hercules.” Félix said, pointing to the right-hand side of the sky over their clearing, “you see the four bright stars in the square shape?”

Adrien nodded and Marinette saw his eyes focus on the keystone, his expression softening.

“It’s so cool to see these. I actually tried to learn a few constellations when I was little.” He gestured upward. “But back home you’d be lucky to see the morning star on a clear night.”

Félix looked over, “It’s actually a planet, you know? Venus.”

Marinette expected Adrien to get annoyed. Instead, he simply shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed on the constellation.

“That’s true, but it doesn’t stop people calling it something else. Imagine how boring it would be if we called everything by its official name.”

She heard Félix huff across from her.

Marinette nodded, “Like peanut, it’s actually a legume.”

Adrien laughed, “Or starfish— they’re closer to urchins than fish.”

“You have a point.” Félix said, “I suppose they were named based on appearance instead of science. It’s just a mark of how old something is.”

“We wouldn’t have constellations if we didn’t bother to name things before we had a scientific reason to.” Marinette said, nodding at Félix. “How could we bore Adrien about Greek myths without that?”

Félix laughed. Marinette always liked his laughter, sharp and sure, it made her grin.

“Okay Adrien, point to a star in the sky and we’ll try our best to work out its constellation.”

Adrien looked at her, his face bright and rosy from the beer, his gaze wandered upward, tracing the patterns of the night sky. Marinette watched him, taking a sip of her can. She saw his arm stretch out to point at the heavens, more muscular than she’d thought. He must play tennis a lot, she thought.

“That one,” he said, “The next brightest star next to Hercules.”

Félix immediately groaned, “Adrien, please choose another one.”

“No!” Marinette cried, “You picked my favourite.”

“I did?” Adrien’s voice couldn’t hide his pleasure, he flashed her a dimpled smile, “So what is it?”

Félix put his head in his hands across the fire, “It’s the Lyra.”

“It’s the greatest love story ever told.”

Félix scowled at the correction, Marinette turned to Adrien, helping him trace the constellation.

“It kind of looks like a horseshoe, but it’s actually a Greek instrument called a lyre, owned by Orpheus. When he played, water shifted toward him, animals stopped fighting, flowers grew.”

She let the night settle through the story. Her fingers moved through the air, strumming the empty space between stars. The fire answered in a soft crackle, low and rhythmic, as if something unseen plucked along with her— a thin, aching sound carried in the heat between them. The trees beyond the clearing leaned in, their needles whispering faintly, like a held breath.

“Eventually, he fell in love and charmed a nymph called Eurydice with his music.”

“She was a dryad.”

Marinette sent Félix a pointed look. “I thought you hated this story.”

He shrugged, flicking her a look before gazing back up. “I just want Adrien to hear it correctly.”

“So, they fell in love?” Adrien prompted.

“At their wedding, Eurydice was at the altar. As they were about to say their vows… she cried out. She had been bitten by a viper, and died shortly after.”

At the edge of the clearing, where the firelight thinned into shadow, something pale seemed to flicker between the trunks— a suggestion of white fabric, of stillness where there should have been none. The breeze shifted, and it was gone.

“Orpheus travelled to the underworld and played for her soul. The world felt empty without her.”

Neither boy spoke. Adrien was watching her.

“As he played the underworld felt his mourning. The judges of the dead stopped, the souls wailed, the three-headed guard dog lay down to listen. It even brought the God of the underworld to tears. Hades, gave Orpheus a chance to lead his bride away from the underworld.”

“There was only one rule,” Félix interjected. “He couldn’t look back to see her.”

The fire popped sharply. The ground beneath it shifted, cracked and glowing at the seams— red light threading through dark soil like something breathing underneath. The warmth pressed upward, thick and close.

“Hades— notoriously sly, told Orpheus she was right behind him. But he could only hear her footsteps.”

“So what happened?” Adrien’s tone was distant.

“He tried to talk and sing to her, strumming his lyre. But nothing coaxed her voice, only her footsteps. They walked for days, through dark tunnels.”

She looked up at the sky. The sound slipped in easily— the uneven shift of dirt underfoot, the soft crunch just beyond the firelight. Behind them.

“And eventually they saw the exit. The first light of the mortal world.”

“So they made it?”

“Almost.” Marinette hesitated. “As they reached the final staircase, he realised he could no longer hear her footsteps.”

Adrien’s brow furrowed. No crunch. No shift. Just the quiet hum of crickets and the low hiss of the fire.

“And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard them.”

The pause stretched.

“And— worried she had lost her way — he turned around to check she was still behind him.”

Félix gave a small nod. “She hadn’t reached the surface yet. So the moment he looked back, she vanished.”

For a flicker of a second, the edge of the clearing seemed empty in a way it hadn’t before— no movement, no pale shape between the trees. Just dark trunks and deeper shadow, like something had stepped back and closed the space behind it.

Adrien sat there, slightly pale.

In a rare moment, Marinette saw something like sympathy cross Félix’s face. He leaned over the fire, checking a sausage, then handed it to him.

“There are lots of different versions,” Félix said, gentler. “In one, he looks too early. In another, he hears her crying and turns out of pity.” He shrugged. “In another, they hold hands, and she stumbles. Orpheus always turns.”

Marinette looked at Adrien. He wasn’t looking at the constellation anymore, instead staring at the ground, turning the stick slowly in his hands. The sausage was forgotten.

“Look,” Marinette said gently, “what Félix means is that in every version, Orpheus loses her.”

Adrien didn’t look up.

“If he hadn’t looked,” she continued softly, “he wouldn’t have loved her deeply enough.”

“Also, the story wouldn’t be nearly as beloved if Orpheus got what he wanted.” Félix added. “If there’s something humans love, it’s complaining about how unfair life is— and death for that matter.”

The fire crackled softly, casting shadows in the hollow of Adrien’s cheekbones. He looked older. 

“Death really is unfair.” He breathed out.

Félix nodded, walking around the fire to pat Adrien once on the shoulder. His face looked pinched, his jaw clenched, like he was holding knowledge Marinette didn’t have.

“I’ll get you another beer, cousin.”

She heard Félix’s steps retreat as the sounds of night filled the air. The town below faded into silence. No cars, no chatter— just crickets and quiet among the trees.

“I’m sorry.” She spoke first. “The story seemed… personal, to you.”

The apology was the first she had given him, and it didn’t go unnoticed. The truce they had shook on earlier that afternoon was softening into something else.

Adrien simply shrugged, schooling his expression back to that polite smile she recognised from the train station.

“It was.” He admitted, scuffing his sneakers into the dirt, shifting to face her on the log they shared. “But I get it, if you really loved someone, you’d want to make sure they were there, right behind you.”

“Did you—” Marinette caught herself.

Adrien only nodded, nudging her knee with his.

“Go on,” he coaxed.

“Did you love someone enough to look back?”

Silence. The crackle of fire. The smell of ash.

“My mother. Less than a year ago.”

Marinette’s eyes snapped to him, her heart like a skipping stone. She felt the heat of the fire, the burn of smoke in her eyes. She opened her mouth, but his voice spoke instead.

“Before you say anything, don’t apologise.” He spoke with conviction—almost harsh. “I don’t need sympathy—I don’t want it. I just want—”

His hands flailed slightly, searching.

“A summer?” Marinette offered.

Adrien smiled, and she could tell it was right.

“A summer.” He confirmed, looking back out at the view, “I want to picnic at the park you showed me, come to this cabin, laze around on Félix’s porch, hike these woods.”

He inhaled deeply. “I want…”

But he never finished, and Marinette didn’t supply anything. Instead she fumbled with the bandana around her neck. It was paisley, caught years ago as it flew out the window of a corvette, lost by a damsel on her way up-country.

It smelt of smoke, and Marinette leaned over Adrien, grabbing his arm softly. She didn’t watch his expression as she tied it snugly around his wrist, some type of nautical knot.

“A souvenir.” She explained, leaning back, “For our summer.”

It was hard to forget the look he had given her.

—

The early morning at her parents’ bakery melted into the afternoon with a sizzle that could cook an egg on the sidewalk. The oven made the kitchen swelter, and Marinette was sure the flour on her skin had formed a paste from the humidity, caking itself onto her arms and forehead.

Her parents weren’t faring much better. A batch of loaves had been burnt, the sourdough couldn’t rise in the heat, and the icing for their cake orders melted so often her dad had taken to icing them in the fridge.

Outside the bakery the park was packed, families sat out enjoying the weather, picnic blankets dotting the lawn like a quilt. The afternoon continued as she worked, the oven causing her hair to frizz around her face.

It was around two in the afternoon when the bell chimed.

“Měi lì, register!” her mom called, popping around the corner to see her daughter fanning herself with one of the oven trays.

Marinette huffed, attempting to flatten the top of her hair, smoothing it back to her scalp. Unfortunately this just smeared flour along her hairline. She wiped her hands on her apron before stepping out to the front of the store.

It was a simple bakery, a bell at the door for customers, pale yellow walls with white trim, a glass display case next to the big wooden register. Marinette walked out to find Félix and Adrien standing there, Félix staring into the display case, while Adrien—

Adrien looked up first.

He was half-turned toward the window, sunlight spilling through the glass and catching in his hair, turning it into something softer than gold, more like honey left out too long in the heat. It curled slightly at the ends from the humidity, brushing against his forehead in a way that made him look less polished than usual. There was a faint flush across his cheeks, whether from the heat or the walk over she couldn’t tell.

His shirt clung just slightly at the collarbone, the fabric lightened a shade where the sun had been unkind. One sleeve was rolled a touch higher than the other, careless.

“Hi, Marinette,” he said, and his smile wasn’t wide—just the subtle lift of one corner first, then the other.

She became acutely aware of the flour on her forehead.

“Hi,”

Félix straightened, cool and sharp as ever. “We were hoping you’d be free soon.”

Marinette nodded too quickly. “Soon, yes. I mean— we close soon. The bakery, I mean.”

Félix looked at her questioningly, “Why are you talking like that?”

Marinette felt her face burn. She cleared her throat, mentally resetting her brain.

Adrien’s smile deepened, not laughing at her, but softer, almost encouraging. His eyes flicked briefly to the smudge of flour at her hairline. She saw his hands move at his side before hesitating.

“It’s really hot,” he offered.

Félix raised a single eyebrow, clearing his throat. “There’s a breeze off the water down by the quarry. We thought we’d go before it gets too late.”

The quarry. The word alone felt cooler.

Marinette glanced toward the kitchen. Through the doorway she could see her father carefully transferring a cake into the refrigerator and her mother inspecting a tray of puff pastry.

Her mom looked up and caught her eye. One glance at the boys, then back to Marinette. A knowing smile tugged at her lips.

“Go,” her mother called, waving a hand. “We’re closing early anyway. It’s too hot for proper baking. You’ve worked enough.”

Marinette blinked as she replied in English. “Really?”

Her dad leaned around the corner. “Take the afternoon. Before you melt into the dough.”

Félix gave a small nod, as if this had gone exactly according to plan, he held his small radio and the bag she now saw at his side, “We brought your stuff.”

Adrien straightened, hands slipping into his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels. His shoulders relaxed in a way so subtle she almost missed it. His gaze lingered on her just a second longer before darting away.

Marinette untied her apron, suddenly conscious of everything—her frizzing hair, the flour dusting her arms, the heat radiating off her skin.

Outside, the sunlight wrapped around them the moment they stepped through the door. The air shimmered above the pavement. Adrien squinted, lifting a hand to shield his eyes, and she noticed the way the light caught in his lashes.

He glanced at her again.

“Can you tie this for me please?” He asked, pulling out the paisley scarf she had given him at the cabin. “I couldn’t get the knot you did.”

Marinette laughed, pulling lightly at his wrist as they walked, securing the scarf. “I’ll teach you one of these days.”

“Here, Félix packed you this,” he offered, digging into one of the bags and pulling out a granola bar. “You must be hungry.”

Félix was already halfway down the sidewalk, calling back over his shoulder. “If we don’t leave now, we’ll roast.”

Adrien fell into step beside her as she ate.

Their shoulders brushed once.

“Is it always this hot here in the summer?” he asked.

“Usually,” she said. “But you picked a particularly dramatic summer.”

He smiled at that, glancing at her sidelong. “I guess I did.”

They cut across the park and into the woods, turning at the fork in the path onto a flatter track instead. The heat crowded in among the trees, humid and almost sentient. She looked at Félix up ahead, his sandals thudding against the dirt as he led them along the trail.

After his first night at the cabin, Marinette had thought—hard. She’d reanalysed every look.

The way he stepped cautiously, which she had originally attributed to stuck-up city boy, now felt more like a boy out of his depth. The hopeful expression he’d cast around the table over lunch that second day, like he wanted to be part of the conversation but didn’t quite know how to step into it.

She hadn’t had a chance to catch up with Félix about it yet. She’d spent all of yesterday at the gelato stand, scooping ice cream and two regrets away from smacking her head against the ice box.

She’d treated him horribly. Judged him immediately—the very thing she hated when people did it to her.

What’s worse, he’d accepted it. Accepted her earlier bristling and simply moved on.

All the past day had simmered down to was the uncomfortable feeling of being wrong.

The trees began to thin, the packed dirt path giving way to thick stone slabs and dry bushes as they made their way toward the quarry.

It had been around since the gold rush during the Gilded Age, abandoned soon after a rockfall that carved out a pseudo-beach along one side of the quarry wall. Over the years, spring water had burst up from underground, mixing with rainwater that collected in the basin.

Instead of miners, the place had turned into the local swim spot for teenagers. The rocks were wide enough to lie on in the sun, the water so deep no one had ever swum to the bottom. A narrow trail wound up along the quarry walls to the higher ledges, where teens dared each other to jump.

Urban legends—mostly used to scare middle schoolers—told the story of the miner’s wife. She’d wandered into the tunnels looking for her missing husband and died there, searching for him.

The husband hadn’t been missing at all. He’d hidden half his gold fortune in the tunnels before running away with his mistress. Years later, when the mistress had bled his pockets dry, he returned to claim the rest.

That was when the dead wife’s ghost had wailed.

The earth cracked open. Spring water burst through the tunnels. The quarry flooded, drowning him in revenge.

Marinette used to believe it when she was younger. That anyone who reached the bottom of the quarry would find nuggets of gold buried in the silt.

The three of them set their towels down near the water’s edge.

It was busy today—as busy as a small town like Hemlock could get. Almost everyone from their senior class was out there baking themselves on the rocks or egging each other on to jump from the highest ledge.

She watched one boy leap, limbs flailing, before he smacked into the water with a thunderous splash. Cheers erupted from the rocks above. When he surfaced, he pumped his fist triumphantly before the next victim stepped forward.

Lilos drifted lazily across the surface or were dragged onto the rocks, groups of friends circling each other in the shallows while they floated in the sun.

For the first time since the suffocating morning at the bakery, Marinette felt herself breathe.

The air was warm as she undressed, kicking off her sneakers and tossing aside her uniform shirt so that only her blue singlet remained over her bra. She stepped out of her shorts and pulled the band from her hair, letting it fall down her back.

She stepped into the water without ceremony, wading forward until it was deep enough to dive.

The relief was immediate.

The water was cool and fresh as it worked its way through her scalp and down her back. She dove deeper, the temperature dropping the farther she swam.

It was peaceful down here.

No drowned miner. No buried gold.

Just a quiet, relieving solitude. She broke back through the surface into sunlight, her hair soaked and plastered against her head.

“Come on in, the water’s fine!” she called over her shoulder, treading water.

She turned to see Félix on the shore shrugging off his shirt before wading in after her. At the same moment, Adrien looked down at his feet and quickly began unbuttoning his shirt, his expression unreadable.

Félix entered the water the way he did everything—controlled. A smooth glide forward rather than a jump.

Adrien followed the way Marinette had, diving in broad and clean, sinking deep enough that she lost sight of him beneath the surface. He resurfaced moments later and shook out his hair, droplets scattering across them. Marinette laughed and Félix wiped his cheek, but smiled all the same.

A lone hot-pink lilo drifted toward them. Marinette and Félix immediately swam for it.

Félix’s head turned toward a cluster of football players nearby. They were tossing a volleyball back and forth in what appeared to be a chaotic version of water polo, lacking both goalkeepers and any sense of rules.

“Hey Carson,” Félix called. “This yours?”

Carson glanced over with a grin. “Sure dude, it’s all yours—oh, shoot!”

A volleyball sailed over his head.

Adrien moved without hesitation. He cut through the water in front of them, eyes tracking the ball’s arc before he twisted and caught it just before it hit the surface. In one smooth motion he spiked it back toward the group.

It whistled over his shoulder and landed squarely in Carson’s hands.

Marinette noticed her paisley scarf still tied around Adrien’s wrist, the fabric dark and soaked.

The football players’ expressions shifted from confusion to impressed approval.

“Great throw!” one of them called.

Adrien gave an easy smile.

“Looks fun,” he said.

Carson whooped, looking over at Félix. “New offer—I’ll trade the lilo for your friend.”

“Cousin,” Félix corrected coolly.

“Deal,” Adrien said immediately, already swimming over to introduce himself.

Marinette waited until Adrien was fully absorbed by the group before punching Félix hard on the shoulder. 

“Manners, Mari.” He quipped dryly 

“Why didn’t you tell me why Adrien was here?”

Marinette hissed it as she rolled away from Félix into the water and drifted beside Félix’s on the lilo, one arm hooked lazily over the edge of it while the warm quarry water rocked them both in slow, uneven swells. Félix lounged on the float like he was holding court.

Behind them, the football boys had fully absorbed Adrien into their chaotic circle. The ball skipped between them in wide, careless throws, and Adrien had already learned the rhythm of it—floating backwards between two of them, arm raised as he waited for the next pass.

“I just had him pegged for a city kid.”

Félix followed Marinette’s gaze for a moment before speaking.

“Well,” he said, adjusting slightly on the lilo, “it’s only the start of summer. Just get him a gelato and make peace.”

Marinette let out a soft breath through her nose and pushed the water gently with her hand, making the lilo drift a few inches away before she caught it again.

“Also,” Félix added, “from his letters I got the impression he just wants to be treated normally.”

Marinette glanced over her shoulder toward Adrien again.

He had the ball now, laughing as one of the boys tried to drag him underwater. Adrien twisted out of the hold easily, splashing the offender once before tossing the ball back across the circle.

“Clearly,” Marinette said.

Félix watched the exchange for a second before speaking again.

“His mother was sick for a while. Everyone in the family knew it was coming.” He rested one arm over his eyes against the sun. “Mom told me he kind of hates his father.”

Marinette floated a little closer to the lilo, chin resting on the plastic rim.

“And your parents thought making him bunk up with you for the summer was the nicest option?”

Félix lowered his arm just enough to peer at her.

“They were probably counting on your kindness,” he said calmly. “It’s a shame you disappointed us.”

Marinette nudged the lilo with her elbow. Félix rocked slightly with the movement but didn’t bother sitting up.

“He’s handled everything really well,” she said after a moment, watching Adrien again. “And he’s… pretty likeable.”

Félix sighed. “Yes. That’s the problem. The football boys will insist we bring him along with us.”

As if on cue, a cheer went up from the water behind them. Adrien had just sent the ball skimming clean across the surface toward the far side of the circle.

Marinette smiled faintly. “They might just invite him.”

Félix tipped his head back again. “Then you get the summer you wanted. Just us.”

Marinette leaned her forearms across the lilo now, letting the float steady her in the water.

“Actually,” she said slowly, “I like having him here. I like us—but we are… only really friends with… us.”

Félix considered that.

“It is nice,” he admitted, “to have someone around who is generally considered likeable.”

Marinette gave him a sideways look, 

“That’s very nice of you.”

Félix ran a hand thoughtfully over his cheek, 

“He’s good to have around. I’ve been… learning.”

Marinette squinted at him. 

“Learning what?”

Félix shook his head immediately. 

“No, it doesn’t matter.”

Marinette stared at him for a long second. 

“What?”

Félix looked uncharacteristically distracted, watching the lapping of water along the stretch of lilo. 

“I just… I’m thinking about college.”

“Félix,” Marinette said, reaching her hand up to place a hand on his shoulder, “You’ve got it all. You’re smart, funny when the time calls for it, and strange enough to be interesting.”

Félix rolled his eyes but his mouth twitched.

“Seriously, what is there to think about?”

There was a beat of silence. The distant splash of the water as someone jumped in.

“Could you get me a drink?”

“Félix.” She gave him a pointed look, urging him to stay on topic. 

He didn’t take the bait.“Grape soda.”

“Félix.”

He only raised a single eyebrow in return, with a sigh, Marinette ducked under the lilo and pushed away from it, swimming toward the rocks where their bags were piled. If he didn’t want to talk about it, there was no way she could find out even no matter how hard she pried. 

The last thing she wanted to do is get into an argument with him during their last summer. 

The water shallowed quickly near the edge. She pulled herself up onto the warm stone, droplets running down her arms as she crossed to where their towels and bags had been left in a loose pile. Félix’s bag was half-open, the inside damp from the sweating cans.

She dug through it until her fingers closed around two cans. Turning back toward the water, she spotted Félix immediately—still lounging on the pink lilo like he’d grown roots there.

“Drink,” she called.

He lifted one hand lazily in acknowledgement. Marinette tossed the can. Félix caught it without even sitting up.

She cracked open the other one for herself, the soft hiss of carbonation sharp in the quiet heat, and took a long drink before stretching out on the warm rock beside their towels.

The stone had been baking in the sun all afternoon. It radiated heat through her back as she settled down, one arm tucked behind her head while the other rested loosely over her stomach, soda balanced against her fingers.

Below her, the water shifted and splashed with the occasional shout from the quarry. Adrien’s voice drifted across it now and then—easy laughter, the sharp slap of a volleyball hitting the surface, someone yelling his name when a throw went wide.

Marinette listened to it all with half-lidded eyes, the warmth of the rock and the steady hum of summer slowly pulling the tension from her shoulders. The soda was cold against her palm. The sun pressed gently at her eyelids. For a while she just lay there, drifting in that pleasant, hazy space between awake and asleep, letting time pass. 

The sounds of the quarry softened into a blur of voices and splashes somewhere beyond the brightness of the afternoon. She might have actually dozed for a moment, because the next thing she noticed was the quiet crunch of gravel nearby.

Marinette blinked her eyes open, she saw a faint shadow of someone was walking toward her. She pushed herself up slightly onto one elbow, squinting against the sun as the figure came into focus.

Adrien. He had climbed out of the water and was heading across the rocks toward her, running a hand back through his damp hair as he walked. The sunlight caught in it, turning the strands a muted blonde where they were still wet.

His shoulders were still beaded with water, droplets trailing slowly down his chest and disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts as he moved.

Marinette watched him approach in the lazy, unfocused way of someone who hadn’t quite woken up yet. Some distant part of her mind registered the thought as she compared him to the boys around Hemlock Creek.

He really was unfairly good-looking.

The football boys had a kind of solid, broad charm to them, sunburnt shoulders, loud laughs, the general look of people who had grown up outdoors— not that she was even in the realm of possibility with them.

But Adrien looked polished, some kind of easy country-club charm like he’d be better fitted in a some swanky golf get-up than wet shorts. Not that she minded the shorts, really. 

He stopped beside her, casting a shadow over the rock.

“Hey,” he said.

His voice pulled her a little further out of her haze, Adrien glanced at the can resting near her hand.

“Can I have the last soda?”

Marinette blinked up at him, still halfway between sleep and sunlight.

“Yeah,” she said.

She heard him rummage through the bag before he opened it, settling beside her when the giggling first started.

The soda in his hand was still cold enough that condensation slipped slowly down the aluminium, dampening his fingers. Marinette heard the sound before she saw the source of it—bright, sharp bursts of laughter skipping across the quarry rocks like thrown pebbles.

The kind of laughter that made the back of her neck tighten before she even turned her head.

She lifted her gaze against the glare of the water.

Two girls from her class were picking their way over the stones toward them, stepping carefully where the rocks dipped and slanted. Their arms were loosely linked, shoulders tipped together as they whispered and laughed again. Behind them, a few others lingered near the waterline, pretending with very little effort not to watch.

Marinette felt the familiar knot settle low in her stomach.

Adrien followed her line of sight, squinting slightly against the reflected sunlight. For a moment he simply watched the approaching group, then let out a quiet, almost amused breath.

“Oh,” he said lightly. “Your friends from the park.”

Marinette hesitated.

The word friends hovered somewhere in the space between them, too generous to correct and too wrong to accept.

“Something like that,” she murmured.

Adrien didn’t seem to notice the pause. Or if he did, he was kind enough not to comment. By the time the girls reached the rock where they sat, he had already shifted upright, easy posture unfolding as naturally as if he’d been expecting them.

He offered them the same open smile Marinette had seen him give strangers all week—bright, polite, impossibly effortless.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m Adrien.”

The taller girl brightened immediately.

“We know,” she said quickly, her voice carrying that particular excitement reserved for someone new and interesting. “Félix’s cousin, right?”

“That’s me.” Adrien nodded.

The second girl glanced briefly at Marinette, her toothy smile disappearing as she gave a thin-lipped acknowledgement that was quick and assessing, before returning her attention to Adrien as if the interruption had barely registered.

“So Marinette’s been showing you around?” she asked.

“A bit,” Adrien said. He tipped the soda can in his hand,“I’m still getting my bearings.”

“It’s surprising, right?” The first girl laughed softly, tilting her head toward Marinette in a way that was almost friendly. “That she’s lived here basically her whole life.”

The sentence floated there, light and casual, but long enough to feel strange. Marinette felt her shoulders stiffen before she could stop them. It wasn’t just the words themselves—it was the tone beneath them. The particular brand of curiosity that dressed itself up as politeness.

Adrien didn’t react right away. Marinette glanced sideways at him, he only lifted the soda to his mouth and took a quiet sip, eyes thoughtful over the rim of the can. Marinette noticed his jaw clenching minutely, it made him look wary. 

The second girl crouched slightly, bringing herself closer to their level on the rock.

“I saw you working yesterday,” she said to Marinette. “At the ice cream stand.”

“Yeah.” Marinette couldn’t figure out why her throat felt tight. 

“That must be rough,” the girl continued, her sympathy wide and exaggerated in the way people used when they didn’t actually mean it. “Being stuck there all summer while everyone else is out here.”

The taller girl nodded eagerly. “But your uniform is so cute,” she added. “The little apron? Adorable.”

Marinette managed a tight smile and a nod, humming thanks, not trusting her mouth to say a word. 

Beside her, Adrien had gone very still. He tensed, the can clicked softly under the change in force in his hands. Attentive in that quiet way he had when he was listening closely, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t yet understand.

The taller girl turned back toward him.

“If you want,” she said brightly, “we could show you where everyone usually hangs out. There’s a few places around the creek most people go at night.”

Adrien listened politely before he shook his head, small and easy.

“Thanks,” he said, the refusal gentle enough to almost sound like agreement. “But I think I’m already in good hands.”

He gestured lightly toward Marinette. “She’s been doing a pretty great job so far.” Adrien took another relaxed sip of his soda before continuing, still perfectly pleasant.

“And I’d probably get lost without her,” he added. “She knows this place way better than I do.”

“Well… if you change your mind,” the taller girl’s smile wavered for a fraction of a second.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Adrien replied kindly.

They lingered another moment, uncertainty settling into the edges of their posture, before stepping carefully back across the rocks toward the others waiting near the water.

Marinette watched them go. Only when their laughter faded again into the quarry noise did her shoulders finally loosen.

Beside her, Adrien leaned back onto his hands like nothing unusual had happened, face tipped toward the sun as he squinted out across the water. He nudged the soda can with his thumb.

“Your town’s nice,” he said.

Marinette huffed quietly. Before she could answer, the water sloshed. Félix hauled himself up onto the rock with a practiced motion, water streaming from his hair as he raked it back with one hand. He threw his empty soda can towards his bag, and it bounced close by before between the two of them.

“Did the welcome committee come by?”

Marinette groaned and Félix’s mouth curved immediately. He lowered himself onto the rock beside them, stretching his legs out into the sun like he had every intention of drying there indefinitely.

“Ah,” he said. “I see. What did they want?”

Adrien tipped the soda can slowly in his hand.

“They offered to show me where everyone hangs out.”

“Oh good,” he said with a bark of laughter. “You should absolutely go with them.”

Marinette nudged his shoulder. “Félix.”

“No, really,” he continued smoothly. “You’re ruining your reputation sticking with us.”

“My reputation?”

Adrien raised an eyebrow as Félix gestured lazily toward the quarry.

“There are significantly more parties available to you for the summer if you abandon us now.”

Marinette laughed nodded solemnly. “He’s right. Hemlock Creek is small but its party economy is thriving.”

Félix leaned closer, lowering his voice. “We’re what you’d call a poor investment socially.”

Adrien looked between them, amused.

“So what you’re saying,” he said slowly, “is that my options are popularity or you two.”

Marinette shrugged, Félix lifted his soda in a small toast. Adrien took another drink before setting the can down beside him.

Then he glanced toward the far side of the quarry.

High above the water, a small cluster of teens stood along the upper ledge. One of them jumped, cutting through the air before disappearing into the quarry with a distant splash. The three of them watched the ripples spread across the surface. By the time Marinette turned, Adrien was already looking at them. 

“Well,” he said. “If I’m going to ruin my reputation…”

Marinette squinted at him as he nodded toward the ledge.

“We might as well do it properly.”

Félix followed his gaze. “I’ve already jumped that.” 

“So do it again, with me,” he said easily. “Highest ledge.” Adrien stood, brushing the heat of the rock from his palms.

Marinette stared up at the cliff.

“So you’re ruining your reputation and we’re?” 

“Risking our necks?” Félix offered.

Adrien smiled, extending a hand to them both. “Exactly. Let’s jump.”

They followed the narrow trail that wound up along the quarry wall, the packed dirt giving way to loose gravel and flat stones worn smooth by years of careless feet. The higher they climbed, the quieter the noise from the water below became.

Voices softened. Splashes turned distant. The quarry breeze brushed warmer against Marinette’s shoulders as the path opened to sunlight. She had made this climb dozens of times before, but it always felt steeper near the top.

The path finally opened onto the highest ledge—a wide shelf of stone jutting out over the quarry like the lip of a bowl.

The drop always looked much worse from up here.

The water below had shrunk into a dark blue mirror broken only by drifting lilos and the occasional ripple where someone surfaced. The people on the rocks looked smaller now, their voices rising faintly through the air.

Marinette stepped closer to the edge and immediately stepped back again.

“Right,” she said faintly.

Félix walked past her with the calm air of someone refusing to acknowledge something as primal as fear. He stopped at the edge, peering down with mild interest like he was inspecting a particularly deep bathtub.

“Well,” he said, rolling his shoulders once, “nothing to it.”

Before Marinette could protest, he stepped forward and vanished cleanly over the edge. For a second, the ledge felt strangely quiet before resolving itself with a splash far below. She burst out laughing, half relief and half disbelief.

“He’s insane,” she said.

Adrien stepped up beside her. From this close she could see the water again, dark and glassy and impossibly far away. She felt her stomach as it did a small, traitorous flip. Despite having jumped before, there was always a latch of hesitation that seemed to clip you in place when you were teetering on the edge. 

“This was your idea,” she confirmed, looking at him.

Adrien smiled.

“If you’re nervous,” he said, “You could try picture the quarry naked?”

Marinette laughed again, she stepped toward the edge again.The drop still looked enormous. Adrien must have noticed the hesitation because his hand brushed against hers.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She looked up.

He was smiling, steady and calm, like the whole thing was simply another ridiculous thing they were about to do together. She found herself being comforted by it, like he could take her nerves and she could trust that nothing bad would happen if he shouldered them. 

He held his hand out. Marinette didn’t hesitate as she gripped it. His palm was warm, one edge of paisley scarf she had given him brushed over her fingers. Their fingers wrapped together and Marinette felt his hand give hers a light squeeze. 

“On three?” Adrien said.

“Sure,” she replied, and she found herself being sure of it.

“One…”

The wind tugged at the ends of her hair.

“Two…”

The quarry shimmered below them.

“Three.”

They jumped.

The world rushed upward in a blur of wind and sunlight, the quarry spinning briefly around them as the air roared past Marinette’s ears. Her stomach lurched violently, a startled shout ripping from her throat as gravity took over.

For a moment it felt like flying. Then the water rushed up to meet them.

They hit the surface with a crashing splash, the cold swallowing the last of her excited scream as the quarry closed over her head. When Marinette surfaced a second later, pushing wet hair from her face, she was laughing breathlessly.

Her heart was racing wildly in her chest, fluttering, unsteady. Their hands had let go of each other at some point of the jump, but she felt the residual touch in her palm, the way he had anchored her. Her heart sped up. 

Probably just from the jump, she told herself.

Definitely the jump.