#mellonmate

Alec rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the fond smile that stole across his face as he did so. He ran his fingers through his hair, combing it out of his face, then he stepped out of the bathroom.

“You’re ridiculous,” he told Magnus. “Completely ridiculous.”

“I just wanted to let you know that I think you’re beautiful!” Magnus protested. “Also, is that my shirt?”

Alec crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “Maybe.”

Magnus’s eyes went wide with what had to be exaggerated shock. “But Alec, it has color.”

“It’s blue,” Alec protested. “I wear blue. Sometimes.”

“You wear that one blue scarf that I gave you, and that’s pretty much it,” Magnus countered. “But you should definitely wear blue more often. You look very pretty.”

Alec scowled, hating the warmth he could feel in his cheeks. Damn his pale skin for showing blushes so easily. “If I’d known you’d make such a big deal out of it, I would have worn one of my own shirts.”

“Honestly, that shirt looks better on you than it does on me, so you can have it,” Magnus said. “Now you are wearing one of your own shirts. So there.”

“You are ridiculous.”

“Is that any way to treat your boyfriend when he just gave you a gift? I don’t think so. Try again, Alec.”

Alec rolled his eyes, then he put his hands on Magnus’s hips and looped his fingers through Magnus’s belt loops, pulling his body flush against Alec’s own. “Thank you,” he said softly, meeting Magnus’s green-gold eyes, “for the shirt.”

Magnus swallowed. Alec could see the bob of his Adam’s apple. “That shirt does look very good on you,” he said in a mostly-steady voice, “but I think it would look better on my bedroom floor.”

“Do you now?”

“I do.”

Alec leaned forward and gave Magnus a long, lingering kiss. When Magnus’s body was completely relaxed against his, he pulled his lips away and whispered in Magnus’s ear, “I don’t.”

He’d already let go of Magnus and taken a step back by the time Magnus even realized what was happening. “Alexander Gideon Lightwood!” he cried, shock settling on his face. “You- What?”

Alec smirked.

The driver gave me a disbelieving look. “You do realize we’re between fortieth and forty-first, right?”

“We are?” I asked, looking out the window. “Shit, I thought we were going the other way. Sorry, my bad.”

“Uh, huh,” the driver replied, not sounding as if he bought my excuse. “Alright, guess we’re turning around.”

“Sorry,” I added in a quiet voice as the driver turned left on forty-first and then left again on seventh.

“Hey, at least it wasn’t as bad as what this one guy did,” the driver replied. I perked up. “So the guy was actually taxi driver, and he wanted me to be busy so his friend could pick people up in his taxi, so he had me driving around the city for almost two hours just to keep me busy. Joke was on him, though, cause he had to pay me for it. And trust me, that adds up.”

“There is no way that happened!” I protested for probably the twentieth time that drive.

The driver shrugged. “I just have a really crazy life.” We were nearing thirtieth, and I knew that, despite all my efforts, I’d have to get out of the car eventually.

“I knew which way we were going,” I blurted out suddenly.

The driver blinked at me. “What?”

“I knew which way we were going,” I repeated miserably. “It was just, you were telling such great stories, and you’re so interesting, so I might have told you to go the wrong way so we could talk longer.”

“Really,” the driver stated. “Do you want to hear another story?”

“Um, sure?”

“So one time, there was this hot chick in my car. She loved my stories so much that she told me the wrong address so she wouldn’t have to get out.”

“And what did you do?” I asked tentatively.

The driver grinned widely. “Gave her my number, of course. So we could talk more. She was thrilled to get it, of course. Her ex was a taxi driver-“

“Oh my god!” I giggled. “What is it with you and taxi drivers?”

“We’re here, unless you lied about the address again,” the driver teased. He grabbed a scrap piece of paper and a pen. “And here,” he added, scrawling on it, “is my number. My name is Mike, by the way.”

“Haley,” I replied, pocketing the paper and handing over the fare. “Thanks, Mike.”

“Adrien!” she squeaked as she opened the door.

Adrien whirled around. “Marinette! I didn’t see you.”

“It’s my family’s bakery,” Marinette replied, which was totally unnecessary because of course Adrien knew it was her family’s bakery. But at least her words were coming out complete and in the right order, so she supposed she couldn’t be too angry with herself.

“I know,” Adrien replied, nodding. “I was just- That’s quite a pie, huh?”

“Yeah, it looks good,” Marinette agreed. “Do you want to buy it?”

“Oh.” Adrien looked down. “It wouldn’t fit into my diet.”

“What do you mean?” Marinette asked curiously. “Why are you on a diet? You don’t need to be on a diet.” She managed to stop herself before she added, because you’re already perfect. She was rather proud of herself for that.

“My dad has me on a diet,” Adrien admitted. “For modeling, you know. And pie doesn’t fit into my diet.”

“What your dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Marinette replied, and oh my god did she actually just say that? Did she actually just tell Adrien to disregard his father - who was Gabriel Agreste - and ignore his diet? She could not believe that the words had actually come out of her mouth.

But Adrien’s look of shock slowly melted into one of excitement. “I guess you’re right,” he replied eagerly. His face fell a moment later. “But he’ll see the charge on the credit card.”

“There’s another pie in the back,” Marinette offered. “Dad didn’t think it was good enough to sell, but I could ask if you could have a slice. For free. Cause you’re my friend.” The urge to clamp her hands over her mouth was strong, but Marinette resisted.

“Really?” Adrien asked, his face lighting up again. Marinette was pretty sure that she would do literally anything ever if it made Adrien look that happy.

“Yeah,” she replied, resolving to do whatever it took to get Adrien a slice of pie. If she had to buy the pie in the display case herself, then she would do it.

“If my dad finds out…” Adrien began.

Marinette shook her head. “He won’t. Come on.” Marinette grabbed Adrien’s arm - she was touching Adrien’s arm - and brought him inside. “I’ll get Mom to cover for me at the counter. She said she’d come down soon anyway. And we can go upstairs and have some pie.”

Adrien’s smile was almost shy. “Okay,” he replied. “If you’re sure it’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” Marinette assured him. “I want to have pie too, so it’s good all. I mean all good!” She should have known better than to think that her astounding feat of being able to speak in actual sentences to Adrien wouldn’t last forever. “I’ll go get my mom. You wait here.” Adrien stood obediently in the middle of the shop as Marinette ran upstairs to find her mother.

“Mom, I need you to go downstairs and take over at the counter!” she yelled, the words spilling out of her mouth almost too quickly to understand.

“Hmm?” Sabine turned around. “I can come downstairs, honey, but why do you need me?”

“My friend is here,” Marinette replied, glad that she didn’t give herself away. “Remember Adrien? And I thought I could give him a piece of pie from the one that Dad didn’t want to sell.“

“Pie before dinner?” Sabine sighed. “I suppose that’s alright, since your friend is here.”

“Thanks, Mom!” Marinette trilled, kissing Sabine on the cheek. “I’ll go get Adrien!”

Adrien was patiently waiting in the shop, looking around at the other treats on display. “Does your dad make all of these?” he asked Marinette, sounding somewhat awed.

“Most of them, yeah,” Marinette replied. “I, um, I made the muffins.”

“You made the muffins?” Adrien repeated, coming about this close to pressing his nose up against the glass. “Those look awesome, Marinette! I wish I knew how to bake.”

“We can teach you!” Marinette offered, her voice a squeak. “I mean, if you want to. I could teach you. With my parents. We could teach you.”

“Really?” Adrien looked amazed at the offer. “You would teach me?”

“Yeah,” Marinette replied, hoping desperately that she sounded casual and not as if she were internally screaming. “You could come over after school sometimes. Or after fencing.” Perhaps it was a little creepy that Marinette knew that (and knew exactly when it was). “You do fencing, right?”

“Yeah,” Adrien replied, looking eager. “And I have Chinese lessons and basketball and piano, but I’m free on Thursdays after school.”

“Thursdays are great!” Thursdays were quickly becoming Marinette’s favorite day of the week. “I mean, we don’t have to do it every week if you don’t want to, but whenever you want to come over, the bakery’s always open! Well, not always, but most of the time. Some of the time. Um.”

“Hello again, Adrien,” Sabine greeted warmly as she came into the bakery, saving Marinette from babbling herself deeper into a downward spiral. “Marinette tells me that you’re here for pie?”

“Everything in here looks so amazing, madame,” Adrien replied. “I’d love to try some of everything.”

“Well, feel free to come in whenever you want,” Sabine told Adrien. “Marinette, you can bring him upstairs. I’ve got the counter. The pie is in the fridge.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Marinette replied. “Oh, Adrien was saying that he wanted to learn how to bake…”

“Like I said, you can come in whenever you want,” Sabine replied. “Tom and I are busy during the day, but I’m sure Marinette can teach you.”

“Thank you, madame,” Adrien replied.

Sabine ruffled Adrien’s hair and Marinette almost screamed. “You’re a sweet boy, Adrien,” she told him. “I’m glad we’ll be seeing more of you around here.”

“Come on, Adrien,” Marinette interrupted, heading for the stairs. Adrien waved to Sabine and followed Marinette upstairs.

“Here’s the pie,” Marinette declared, pulling it out of the fridge.

Adrien gaped at it. “And it wasn’t good enough to sell?” he asked. “It looks just as good as the other one!”

“My dad’s picky about what he sells,” Marinette explained. “It means we get to eat more from the bakery, so I don’t complain.”

“If I lived here, I would weigh a thousand pounds,” Adrien moaned, tracking the pie with his eyes as Marinette cut two generous slices.

“We have ice cream to put on top, if you want,” Marinette offered, putting the two plates in the microwave to heat them up. Adrien looked torn.

“I probably shouldn’t,” he sighed. “The pie is bad enough. I should try to stick to my diet at least a little bit.”

“We could just put a little ice cream on it,” Marinette suggested. “It wouldn’t even count, not really.”

The microwave dinged. Marinette took the pies out and the room immediately smelled heavenly. Adrien looked like he was about to start salivating. “I guess I’ll have some ice cream,” he acquiesced, staring at the pie. “But just a bit.”

Marinette pulled out the tub of ice cream and scooped out some for herself and Adrien. When she passed Adrien his plate, he was almost tentative, cutting a piece off the end gently. Marinette watched as he took his first bite.

“Oh my god,” Adrien moaned immediately, his mouth still full of pie, “this is the best pie I’ve ever eaten.”

Marinette flushed happily. “I’m glad you like it,” she replied. “Dad’s pretty good at baking.”