Okay, so Even noticed Isak the first day of school which killed me, but what kills me even more is that school starts in august, right? But the first clip of season 3 aired the 2nd of october. Which means that Even has been paying attention to Isak for more than a month, before Isak even noticed him and I’m like ??? Deceased.
I want a scenario where Adrien finds out his scarf was actually from Marinette and not his dad, and for it not to go very well at first.
Because while I’m sure Adrien would understand it was a mix up and still, his friend went out of her way to make him a gift, I can’t imagine him really looking at the scarf for a while and being happy about it, not while knowing his dad didn’t actually get him anything at all. Adrien would have very mixed feelings about it IMO, and I wouldn’t really blame him either.
So, angst time. Adrien wants to confront his dad about it but he’s overseeing a fashion show and he couldn’t ask Nathalie because she went with him, so that leaves Marinette. He pulls her aside after school, and there’s so much anger and resentment for his dad building up, and he really doesn’t want to take it all out on Marinette, but Adrien’s afraid that if he opens his mouth he might say something he’ll come to regret, so instead he pulls his scarf out from his bag and smooths out a corner of it, displaying Marinette’s tiny signature for her to see.
He can see the panic flash in her eyes while she stares at the scarf, but it doesn’t seem like she can find words, so he asks a question, “Why didn’t you you say something?”
Meanwhile, Marinette really IS panicking. True to what she told Alya all those months ago, Marinette tries to explain that she didn’t want him to be disappointed that the scarf wasn’t actually from his dad, just her, but even as she explains this she can see it’s not making Adrien feel better and honestly, it’s no wonder.
(“I wish you said something earlier,” Adrien finally says, and he’s rubbing his neck and chuckling and trying to keep the situation light. “I feel like a bit of an idiot.)
Because Marinette let the secret go on for too long, and surely finding out a cherished present wasn’t actually from his dad after all this time believing that it was… it must have hurt. It must have hurt ten times worse than if Marinette would have just told him the truth, though surely that would make her look like an opportunist more than anything. She didn’t want to come off as selfishly wanting his attention. Marinette was stuck, honestly. She didn’t know if there was a right way to have gone about that situation. So she says the only thing she can.
And offers the only thing she can think of.
“I-I can take the scarf back, if you want.”
Now Adrien feels bad, because he really wants to keep it. He wants to look at the scarf and think, ‘my friend made this for me, she took time and care to knit this with me in mind.’ But instead, all he can see is Gabriel Agreste’s stern face, and all he can think when he sees the baby blue fabric is that his own dad didn’t even bother buying one of those lame pens for his birthday this time.
Being best friends with Michael had always been the easiest thing in the world. He never failed to make you laugh, and most of the time he knew you needed it even before you did. You’d wake up most mornings, especially ones when he was on tour halfway around the world, to texts sent at 3 a.m. his time, full of memes and rants about whatever video game he’d been playing, and why he was angry about it. Your favorite times were when you were together though. He’d always needed to be as close as possible to you, snuggled into your side while you marathoned TV shows and scary movies, pretending that he wasn’t over six feet tall, draped over you and nuzzled into your neck. He had a penchant for prodding at you until your hand came to rest in his hair, his hand finding your free one. Neither of you seemed to notice when your friendship began to morph into something more serious, the kisses he’d press to your cheek turning moving down the column of your neck, and to the bare skin of your shoulder, where the collar of the Iron Maiden shirt you’d stolen from him had slid down. The first time he kissed you was a rainy Monday night, after he’d spent a long day in the studio. You’d been in the kitchen of the apartment that was yours, but also unofficially his, and he’d sneak up on you, winding himself around your waist and pulling you back into him. He’d murmur his hello, his voice deep and scratchy from a day of singing and no doubt yelling at the rest of the his band, and then he’d spin you to face him, taking your cheeks in his hands before closing the distance between you. It was safe to say you spent a lot of time over the years thinking about what it’d be like to kiss Michael, even if you’d deny it, and a part of you wanted to have the whole fireworks, seeing stars experience, but when his lips finally pressed gently against yours, it was better. He felt warm and wonderful, everything that he’d been missing in your past relationships. He felt like home, and when he pulled back to kiss your forehead, a smile spread slowly across his face, and you knew he felt the same.