Saturday Morning - Marinette's POV || Day of the Party

The scent of sugar and warm butter hit Marinette the moment she stepped out of her room, floating down the stairs in a cloud of floury sweetness. Her hair was still up in a loose bun, her phone tucked into the back pocket of her jeans, and she was half-thinking about what hairstyle to wear to the party tonight when she stopped short in the middle of the staircase.

"What the...?"

The bakery was alive.

Her parents moved like clockwork behind the counter and in the kitchen, the countertops already crowded with trays of petit fours, pastel macarons stacked in careful towers, cream puffs dusted with powdered sugar, and at the very center—a towering triple-tier cake in the process of being iced. It was the kind of cake that would normally be reserved for weddings, not a high school birthday party.

And emblazoned across the pristine surface of the top tier, in delicate golden cursive, were the words: Happy Birthday, Chloé!

Marinette blinked, then rubbed her eyes just in case flour fumes were causing hallucinations.

"Wait. Wait—are we making the stuff for the party?!"

Tom looked up from piping a swirl of whipped cream and beamed. "Good morning, sweetie!"

"Afternoon," Sabine corrected gently, not even looking up as she smoothed fondant along the edge of a tray of éclairs.

"Still technically morning!" Tom insisted. "And yes! Isn't it exciting? We were contacted earlier this week by Audrey Bourgeois' assistant."

"The Audrey Bourgeois," Sabine added with a mix of awe and exasperation. "Apparently she heard about our work from the Mayor's office and said no other bakery in Paris would do. So here we are."

Marinette's jaw dropped. "Audrey Bourgeois? As in... Chloé's mom?"

"Mm-hmm," Sabine said, brushing a bit of flour from her apron. "She placed a large order for the sweets—very particular about color palettes, too—but left the cake entirely up to us. Apparently she 'doesn't do cakes.'"

Tom chuckled. "So we made it extra fabulous."

"I didn't know we were doing this for the party," Marinette said, stepping closer to admire the cake. The frosting shimmered slightly under the lights, and the intricate sugar flowers along the sides were tinted gold and pale pink. "This is... incredible."

"We wanted to surprise you," her dad said, wiggling his eyebrows. "And we heard you were invited to the party, so we thought—well, wouldn't it be special if our girl had a little part in making the night sweeter?"

Marinette smiled despite herself. "It's more than a little part. This is...wow. Seriously, wow."

"Besides," her mother said more quietly, "we heard about how much Chloé has changed."

Marinette turned to her, blinking. "You did?"

Sabine nodded. "A few weeks ago, one of her classmates came into the shop and told us how she stood up for someone being bullied. Said she even apologized to a few people she used to tease. That girl's still a bit dramatic, sure, but she's not the same as before."

Marinette chewed on her lip. "Yeah... I've seen it too. She's been different since last semester. I guess I'm still getting used to it."

"Well, that's what birthdays are for," Tom said, placing the final raspberry atop a tart. "New chances. New beginnings."

There was a pause, and then Sabine added, "And you should wear your hair up in a bun, by the way."

Marinette blinked. "What?"

"With the beads you pinned in your hair for that banquet you attended. You were thinking about it on the stairs," her mom said, grinning knowingly. "It brings out your confidence."

Marinette gave a stunned laugh. "How do you do that?"

"We're parents," Tom said, shrugging. "It's a superpower."

She leaned over the counter and hugged him, careful not to smear any icing. "Thanks for doing this."

"We'd do it again in a heartbeat," Sabine said, softening. "It's good to see you excited about something again, sweetie."

Marinette hesitated. She hadn't realized it had shown. The way she'd been a little more withdrawn since the start of school. The way she'd been quiet during dinner, scribbling design ideas into her sketchpad instead of talking about her day. But of course they noticed. Even when they didn't say anything, her parents had a way of just...knowing.

"It's just been a weird week," she said, not elaborating.

Sabine nodded. "It'll be less weird with cake."

They exchanged a smile, and Marinette lingered for a few more seconds, watching them work. The kitchen bustled with the low hum of the oven, the clink of metal bowls and trays, the occasional whoosh of piping bags. Despite the chaos, it felt warm. Comforting. Grounding.

"I should get going now if I am going to turn in my submission in time. Then I got to alter that dress I bought. Bye!" Marinette grabbed her portfolio and the dress she made from the back room where it was waiting for her before she headed out the door. 

Adrien's voice echoed in her mind—his soft smile when he asked her to go with him. The way he'd looked so sincere, so sure, even as her own nerves threatened to bubble over.

Something about it had made her feel seen.

Maybe even... strong.

She bounded back up the stairs, heart lighter, suddenly determined to get it right. Not just her outfit, but everything. The party. The presentation. The possibility of standing out.

Because tonight wasn't just a party.

It was a start.

****

Marinette stood in front of her full-length mirror, dress in hand.

It was a gorgeous little thing—black satin with a sweetheart neckline and soft tulle overlay—but it wasn't... her. It was what the saleslady said was in, what Alya said was safe, what Rose had squealed over in the group chat.

But standing here now, with the buzz of party anticipation in her chest and Adrien's voice still echoing from Thursday—"I can't wait to see you there"—she felt something shift.

Safe wasn't her.

Not anymore.

"I think," Marinette said slowly, holding the dress to her frame, "I want to make a few changes."

From the chaise beside the sewing desk, Tikki blinked up at her, her wings twitching slightly. "Changes?"

Marinette nodded. "Not huge ones. Just... enough to make it me."

A grin tugged at the corner of her lips as she spun toward her desk. In seconds, she had her sketchpad open, pencil flying as she added layers, trims, ideas. A detachable sleeve. A rose gold overlay. A matching ribbon belt with a small embroidered bee on the back—subtle, but a quiet nod to the birthday girl.

"You're glowing," Tikki said with a small smile. "You really are."

Marinette's cheeks colored, but she didn't look up from her sketch. "I just... I want to walk in tonight feeling like myself. Not some version of what I think people want me to be."

Tikki hovered beside her shoulder now. "That's a big step."

"I know."

She glanced sideways at her mannequin, already adorned with the dress. With a few confident snips, she was removing the generic satin sash, replacing it with a length of rose-threaded silk. She pinched the sides and pinned the fabric where the new details would go—an asymmetric sleeve on one side, a subtle cascade of soft fabric petals along the hemline. Nothing too flashy. Just hers.

As she worked, her confidence surged—not in a dramatic or defiant way, but with quiet certainty.

For the first time in a long time, Marinette wasn't panicking over who she needed to impress. She wasn't obsessing over perfect lines, or what Adrien might think, or whether anyone would even notice her.

Tonight wasn't about being seen.

It was about showing up as herself.

"I've spent so long being scared of everything," she murmured, threading her needle with practiced ease. "What if I mess up? What if I embarrass myself? What if Adrien doesn't like me?"

She bit her lip, then gently began stitching the first sleeve in place.

"I'm tired of being afraid of things that haven't even happened."

"You're not the same girl who hid under a pile of scarves just to avoid him," Tikki said affectionately.

Marinette laughed under her breath. "You remember that?"

"I remember everything."

There was a beat of comfortable silence, broken only by the quiet rhythm of her needle through fabric.

Then Marinette asked softly, "Do you think it's okay to hope? Like... really hope?"

Tikki landed lightly on her hand, voice warm. "You can always hope. Just don't lose yourself in the hoping."

Marinette nodded. She knew what Tikki meant. Loving Adrien, admiring him from afar—that had been a dream. A beautiful, distant star. But tonight, she didn't want to chase stars. She wanted to stand on her own feet, wear her own dress, walk into that party not as the girl who loved Adrien...

But as Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Smart. Creative. Brave.

And maybe, if she was lucky, he'd see her for that.

An hour passed like nothing.

The dress took form under her fingers, becoming something new. Something hers. When she finally slipped it on, spun once in the mirror and caught her own reflection—soft gold overlay catching the light, rose accents highlighting her waist—her breath caught.

It wasn't just beautiful.

It was right.

The same dress. Just changed. Just... her.

"Well?" she asked Tikki, stepping back with an uncertain smile. "Too much?"

Tikki floated around her like a fashion drone. "Just enough."

Marinette laughed, nerves and energy bubbling together in her chest. "Okay. Party dress? Check. Confidence? Kinda check."

Tikki cocked her head. "Still nervous?"

"A little." She looked toward the skylight, where late afternoon light was starting to mellow into something golden and soft. "Not about the party. Just... about me. About loving someone and still choosing to love myself too."

Tikki floated closer and rested gently on her shoulder. "That's the most important part, Marinette. You can do both. You just have to believe you're worth loving."

Marinette swallowed.

Tonight wasn't about winning Adrien's heart.

Tonight was about not losing her own.

And that? That felt like the bravest thing she'd done yet.