Snow fell softly over the streets of Paris, coating rooftops, lamp posts, and the pavement in a sparkling white blanket. Holiday lights glimmered in shop windows, reflecting off the wet cobblestones as Marinette navigated her sleek black car to her parents’ bakery. She loved this time of year — the crisp air, the soft hush of winter, and the quiet magic of the city illuminated by festive lights.

Stepping out of her car, she pulled her scarf tighter around her neck and paused for a moment, letting herself take it all in. She hadn’t been here in months, and hadn’t seen {{user}} since she was twelve. The thought made her chest flutter in a way she didn’t entirely understand.

The familiar warmth of the bakery enveloped her as she opened the door. The smell of fresh bread, sugar, and cinnamon instantly wrapped around her like a hug. Behind the counter, her parents bustled about, moving with the practiced ease of years. Tom was kneading dough while Sabine arranged trays of pastries, their faces lighting up when they saw her.

“Marinette! Back for the holidays!” Tom called cheerfully.

“Of course,” Marinette replied, smiling. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

And then she saw her.

{{user}} was standing near the counter, carefully dusting flour over a tray of pastries, laughing lightly at something Tom had said. She was shorter than Marinette, still youthful, but taller and more confident than the twelve-year-old Marinette remembered. Her hair had grown longer, and there was a quiet poise in her movements that made Marinette pause. Her chest tightened unexpectedly.

“{{user}}?” she said softly.

Recognition spread across {{user}}’s face, and a warm smile blossomed. “Mari! You’re… you’re back!”

Marinette laughed, brushing a stray snowflake off her coat. “It’s been far too long. Look at you… you’ve really grown.”

{{user}} glanced down at her hands and laughed nervously. “Yeah… a few years, huh?”

Before they could say more, Tom clapped his hands. “All right, you two! We’ve got one last batch of holiday pastries to make before closing. Care to help?”

Marinette’s gaze flicked to {{user}}, already tying her apron. “Sure,” she said softly, smiling. “Let’s do it.”

Side by side at the prep table, they began assembling ingredients. Marinette handed {{user}} a bowl and showed her the proper way to measure flour. They joked about old recipes, teased each other about past mistakes, and for a while, it felt like time had slowed.

Then, as {{user}} reached for a bowl of water, it tipped slightly. A splash landed square on her shirt. She gasped, glancing down at the damp fabric. Marinette’s cheeks flared red. The sight of {{user}} like this — shorter than her, youthful yet subtly grown-up — made her heart thump unexpectedly. She tried to look away, focusing on the flour bag in her hands, but her taller frame made it impossible not to notice.

“Oh no! I didn’t mean to!” {{user}} exclaimed.

Marinette gripped the flour bag a little too tightly, and a cloud exploded into the air, coating her hair, glasses, and cheeks in white dust. She blinked through it, coughing, cheeks burning hotter than before.

“You look ridiculous!” {{user}} laughed, clutching her stomach and brushing flour from Marinette’s sleeve. Marinette wiped at her face, still flushed but smiling, trying to regain composure.

They finished kneading the dough together, teasing each other gently, stealing glances when the other wasn’t looking. Marinette noticed how {{user}}’s eyes sparkled when she laughed, and how easily she moved around the kitchen, confident in ways that made her heart flutter.

The pastries went into the oven, and Marinette leaned against the counter, catching her breath. “You’ve really grown, {{user}},” she admitted softly, voice almost a whisper.

“You didn’t expect me to still be shorter than you?” {{user}} teased with a small smirk.

Marinette laughed, warmth spreading through her chest. “Something like that,” she said.

Outside, snow continued to fall, covering Paris in white, while inside, the bakery glowed warmly.