She put her hand down on the table. Pierre was staring at her intently, with a frown on his face.

“We haven’t spoken oddly in–” His eyes narrowed.

Marinette stood up straight, fluffing her curls again and taking a deep breath. “What we meant was, we want to speak–”

The frown deepened, and Pierre crossed his arms, staring down at her with concern.

“We don’t think it’s a problem!” She shouted in frustration. Bastion put his hand on her shoulder and whispered comforts that she couldn’t find outside in Pierre’s concern. She knew it was worrying him. She knew it was worrying everyone, but she couldn’t seem to change the word, no matter how much she tried.

“We had to help; you know we did…” she whined, pathetically, through pouting lips as she turned her head away from his steel eyes. “… We couldn’t just.. leave them.”